The Highlander's Lost Lady (The Lairds Most Likely 3)

“Did she offer any explanations for her behavior?”

“No, although when she tried to run, that told me her feelings about going back to her family.”

“And what breed of men were the Grants? Mags wasn’t too impressed.”

“You’ve lived in this glen long enough to ken nobody called Grant will ever be welcome among my clansmen.”

“Aye.”

John and his blasted silences. Eventually Diarmid answered, although by God, he didn’t want to. “They didnae strike me as…kind.”

“Diarmid…”

He stood and prowled across to slam his crystal glass down on the sideboard with a loud crack. “Hell, she’s gone. Let that be an end to it.”

“It’s not, though, is it?” John said slowly from behind him. “You’re not happy you let her go.”

“She belongs to them.”

“I don’t believe in ownership of people, whether man or woman.” He paused. “And neither do you.”

“What the devil can I do, plague take ye?” His hands fisted on the polished mahogany. “It’s over.”

John shifted to stand beside him. “At this time of year, there’s plenty of light. And there’s only one road out of Invertavey and one inn where a traveler can pass the night if he’s headed north.”

“Are ye suggesting I go in with all guns blazing and rip the woman away from her lawful husband? And what in heaven’s name do I do with the lassie then?” He squashed completely unacceptable fancies of luring her to his bed and burying himself and his turbulent reactions in her pale body.

John shrugged, unimpressed by Diarmid’s heated tone. “What you do with her depends on what you find when you catch up with the Grants.”

“I might find her relieved to be on her way home.”

He didn’t believe that for a moment. The flare of primitive panic in her face when she saw her kin had been unmistakable.

Diarmid hated a faithless woman more than he hated anything else on earth. He should be saying good riddance to the lying baggage. But that fear had been too stark to forget. Its memory had tortured him since she’d left.

“She was a gallant creature.” It was as though John peered into Diarmid’s mind.

“She was a liar and a thief.”

“But brave for all that. She was in a dreadful state when you brought her in, yet I heard not one word of complaint from her.”

That was true, damn it. Diarmid couldn’t help recalling how stoically she’d borne her pain that first night, when he’d been alone with her.

“Aye, she was brave.” Despite everything, his voice softened.

“If she was as scared of the Grants as you say, that indicates she had cause.”

“She’s the man’s bloody wife,” Diarmid bit out, knowing he fought a losing battle, but not quite ready to admit it.

“That doesn’t give her husband the right to mistreat her.”

Diarmid at last turned to face his tormentor—and close friend. “It does under the law, ye know.”

John’s lips tightened. “Then the law is an ass.”

And so, Diarmid feared, was he. It was all very well for John to urge him to pursue Mrs. Grant, but he was dangerous to her, too. His honor offered frail defense against lust.

He wondered what his friend would say, if Diarmid confessed his wicked yearning. John wouldn’t be so quick to advise him to ride after her like a knight on a quest, then, by Jove.