The Highlander's Lost Lady (The Lairds Most Likely 3)
“Then we should go. I dinna fancy being trapped out on the braes, when the storm comes through.” He rose and extended a hand. “Mrs. Grant?”
She didn’t immediately take his hand. “Please don’t call me that.”
He frowned. “That isnae your name?”
To her everlasting regret, it was. “It is. But it reminds me…”
She didn’t know what Mr. Mactavish saw in her face, but compassion softened the dark eyes. “Would ye prefer Miss Nita?”
“No.” Reaching for his hand, she stood.
She felt better after the meal. A couple of hours away from the Grants made her feel even better.
“We dinna have far to go.”
She withdrew her hand. “If it means escaping Allan and Thomas, I can ride forever.”
“Hell, I cannae believe I handed ye over to those bastards.” Mr. Mactavish looked sick, and his hands fisted at his sides. “I should never have…”
For so many years, nobody but Christina had been angry on her behalf. How gratifying to know that at last she had someone on her side. She managed a smile.
“You came to get me. There’s no need for remorse
.” Especially when she’d dealt him such poor gratitude in return. “You may call me Fiona, if you like.”
She watched him struggle to overcome his disgust with himself for letting the Grants take her away. “It’s a bonny name.”
“Thank you.” He crossed to catch Sigurn, and buckled on the saddlebag. With obvious affection, the horse butted her master. Aye, he was a kind man. Sigurn knew that, and so did Fiona.
He brought the horse back to where Fiona waited. “Ye should call me Diarmid. Mr. Mactavish is too much of a mouthful, when we’re going to be alone together for the next wee while.”
If anyone but Diarmid Mactavish had said that, she’d be terrified. But somewhere between the two rescues, she’d accepted him into the very exclusive category of people she trusted. As far as she trusted anyone. Of course, he was yet to hear her confession, but something told her that he’d listen with his usual intelligent tolerance.
“Then Diarmid it shall be.” She found herself smiling with genuine pleasure.
“Excellent.”
He came close and for a mad moment, she wondered if he meant to kiss her. Even madder, she wondered if she might kiss him back. But he merely caught her waist in his strong hands and tossed her into the saddle. Sigurn whickered and sidled under Fiona’s weight, but stilled at a soft word from Mr. Mactavish.
Diarmid.
He mounted behind her and when he settled her against him, she had to fight more foolish tears. Already his embrace seemed safe and familiar. It was so long since she’d felt safe.
“Let’s go.” He clicked his tongue to Sigurn, and they set off at a smart canter.
Chapter 11
As the short summer night brightened toward dawn, they rode up to a turf-roofed cottage. Fiona felt close to exhaustion, and Sigurn wasn’t in much better state. Even the indomitable Diarmid showed signs of tiredness.
When he lifted Fiona from the saddle and set her down on the grass, her legs folded under her. Only his swift action saved her from hitting the ground. She was sick to the devil of not being able to stand on her own two feet, but there was little she could do about it. It was only a few days since she’d nearly drowned in the shipwreck that had killed Colin.
With grim stoicism, she submitted as he carried her inside and set her on a rough cot against the wall. The interior of the cottage was dim, but she caught an impression of a few simple pieces of furniture and a cold hearth. At this point, she hardly cared, as long as there was a bed and the roof was intact.
She was too tired to talk much, but one thing she had to say. “Thank you.”
“Och, it’s nothing, lassie,” he said gently, kneeling to remove her half-boots. “Sleep now.”
“Aye,” she whispered before she fell asleep, worn out with fear and the long ride, and the day’s turbulent emotions.