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

“Aye. Only a couple of hours away, I’d say. That’s to our advantage. It will give the Grants even more trouble tracking us.”

It also meant she’d be stuck inside a small cottage, alone with Mr. Mactavish. Would he demand the obvious reward for helping her? Nobody did anything for another person without recompense, and she knew he wanted her. Perhaps that was why he’d saved her, to turn her into his whore.

The thought wasn’t as bitter as it might have been. She’d already decided that in return for his aid, she’d do whatever he wanted. Pride and morality might object, but she’d long moved past the point where either of those things mattered. If Mr. Mactavish wanted to use her body, she could endure it. After all, it would only be another loveless coupling, and she was used to that.

He dug in the bag and passed her a crusty roll full of pink ham and hard yellow cheese. “Are ye hungry?”

When her stomach gave an audible growl, he laughed. Despite everything, so did she. “I haven’t eaten since I left Invertavey.”

His smile died. “Those bastards didnae feed ye?”

Fiona took a bite of the roll. The delicious taste of the simple fare almost made her weep. She only just resisted the urge to devour the whole roll in a couple of bites.

“It was part of my punishment for running away,” she said through a mouthful. “I’m used to going hungry.”

He sat beside her, keeping a decorous distance. Wearing only his shirtsleeves, he looked magnificent. Broad-shouldered and strong.

As the slight breeze ruffled his thick dark hair, a muscle jerked in his cheek. “Dinna start telling me everything now. We’ll talk when we get to the bothy. I have a feeling ye have a lot to say, and I want to make sure the weather willnae interrupt us.”

To her surprise, she realized she’d wolfed down the whole roll, while he hadn’t touched his. “I’m sorry I stole from you,” she mumbled.

Mr. Mactavish turned to face her. “Ye must have had good reason.”

His black eyes glittered, and that muscle still danced in his lean cheek. He was furiously angry, but not with her. Relief tinged the breath she drew. “I did.”

He took a bite of his roll before he set it on the grass. “Later.”

Another rummage in the bag, and he passed her a second roll and a flask. “It’s ale. Or I can fetch ye some water from the burn, if you prefer.”

“Ale is fine, thank you.” She took a long drink before she returned the flask.

His strong throat worked as he swallowed. Watching him drink from the same vessel felt like an act of breathtaking intimacy.

Realizing that she was staring, she looked away. Heat prickled her cheeks, as a wicked thought rose in her mind. Perhaps if she gave herself to Diarmid Mactavish, it might end up being more than mere self-sacrifice. The act itself might disgust her, but the prospect of that vigorous body joining with hers made her shiver. And not with revulsion. The messy, uncomfortable invasion might be worth it, in return for those brawny arms holding her close.

A strangely peaceful silence fell, as she ate her second roll more delicately than the first. Sigurn’s bit clinked as she grazed closer to the burn.

“Mrs. Grant?”

She looked up to realize he held the flask out to her. “Thank you.”

His fingers brushed hers and despite everything, a tingle of warmth rippled up her arm. As she drank, forcing the liquid down a tight throat, he produced some dried apple from the bag.

She accepted a few pieces of fruit. As the intense sweetness hit her tongue, she closed her eyes. It took her back to childhood, to the days before she’d learned to fear the world.

“Would you like some more ale?” she asked through a foolish urge to cry. What she’d give to be that innocent girl again.

Then she realized that if she were that innocent girl, she wouldn’t have Christina. Nothing was worth missing out on that.

“You’re tired.” Mr. Mactavish took the flask and stoppered it. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You’re no’ fine. But can ye go a wee bit further?”

He was a considerate man. She’d been in his house long enough to recognize that his people served him because they loved him, not because he bullied them into obedience. He’d always been considerate of her, too, even when he’d handed her back to the Grants.

“Yes,” she said.