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

Through this long day on horseback, he hadn’t talked much. She supposed he was still angry with her for last night’s failed seduction. Nor had she tried to coax him into conversation. She’d been too busy cringing at the memory of her clumsiness. The constraint between them had made a hard journey more exhausting than it needed to be.

“Aye,” she said softly, wanting to apologize for making herself cheap, for everything, really. She’d brought him nothing but trouble.

But what was her apology worth, when for Christina’s sake, she’d do it all again?

Humiliation still churned inside her, made today’s skimpy rations lie like stones in her belly. He’d known straightaway that her kisses last night were a self-serving attempt to bind him to her. She owed him her gratitude, but gratitude wasn’t the reason behind that disastrous encounter.

If she became Diarmid Mactavish’s mistress, he wouldn’t abandon her before they rescued Christina. She’d steeled herself to endure a man’s possession. Only to have her shabby bargain rejected as unworthy of her. And of him.

When he said no, he exposed the rot in her soul. He’d recognized her seduction as the counterfeit it was and sent her back to her bed, alone and ashamed.

And even more astonishing, a little miffed. Not to mention…disappointed.

That unacceptable disappointment was the hardest memory of all to bear. She’d gone to Diarmid feeling like a brave martyr for a good cause, and he’d left her with the knowledge that she was nothing more than a wee hypocrite.

“That’s Achnasheen.” The way he spoke the name rippled through her like music.

After years of nothing but harsh voices, the sound of Diarmid Mactavish’s deep baritone made her want to weep. It reminded her of a time when every word wasn’t angry or critical or peremptory.

“That’s where we’re going?”

While she made herself appear cheerful, she shrank from meeting Diarmid’s friends. She must look a fright, not to mention she arrived in their home, after spending days in the company of a man to whom she wasn’t married.

The world would condemn her as a slut. And if Diarmid told his friends the full story, they’d know she was not only a slut, but a liar and a thief. If it meant saving Christina, she’d suffer any derision, but still her pride smarted.

“Aye.” He clicked his tongue to Sigurn, and the horse set off at a gentle canter. She too must want food and warmth and rest. “We’ll stay here while we decide what we do next and while ye recover your health. You’ll like Fergus and Marina.”

“Right now I’d like anyone who offered me a bed and a hot meal.”

“I can promise ye that much.”

She supposed she should welcome the presence of other people. It might ease the tension simmering between her and Diarmid.

But even after last night, the thought that they’d no longer be alone together stirred a forbidden regret. Since her father’s death, she hadn’t enjoyed any amiable or interesting company. While their circumstances over the last few days had been uncivilized, Diarmid hadn’t been. He’d remained courteous throughout, treating her like a lady, when surely she’d relinquished any claim to the description.

Over the last ten years, she’d fought for her very survival. Life’s more sophisticated pleasures hadn’t got a look in. But since meeting Diarmid Mactavish, she’d remembered that every minute didn’t need to be a brutish scramble. She hadn’t realized how she’d missed that gloss of grace and manners. If she failed, if her daughter stayed out of reach, if she had to return to Bancavan, life there would be unendurable now she’d glimpsed something sweeter.

As they neared the castle, she realized it was bigger than she’d thought. The fairy-tale magic hardened into a fearsome defensive structure.

She liked that. The days of sieges might be over, but even if the Grants found her here, she’d be safe behind thick stone walls.

Today, the portcullis was raised, and Diarmid rode in without a challenge. They trotted through a dark tunnel where the weight of centuries-old stone pressed over her head. Then they emerged back into the evening light.

“Good evening, Jock,” Diarmid said, as a burly Highlander rushed out into the large courtyard to take Sigurn’s reins. “I hope Fergus and Marina are at home.”

“Good evening to ye, Mactavish. Aye, the Mackinnon and his lady are here.”

The doors at the top of the impressive stone staircase opened, and a tall and spectacularly handsome man with auburn hair ran down to greet them. “Diarmid, this is an unexpected pleasure. Ye sent nae word you were coming.”

“Aye, well, it was a spur of the moment thing. Can ye offer a friend and his companion shelter?”

“Shelter, is it? That sounds dire.” An expressive russet eyebrow tilted in inquiry. “Last I heard, Invertavey House was still standing.”

“Aye, it’s standing. But it’s no’ safe for us right now. I have a tale to tell, but no’ in the middle of the yard. Is it all right if we stay for a wee while?”

The tall man made an expansive gesture. “Och, my doors are always open wide to a friend in need. Although you’ve caught us at a difficult moment.”

“Marina?”