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

She stepped closer to the mirror, because even she didn’t believe that. What on earth was the matter with her? That couldn’t be yearning in her eyes. The marital act had always repulsed her.

“He’s a good man.” While that was true, it went nowhere near to expressing her turbulent feelings about Diarmid.

Marina made a disgusted face, obviously agreeing with that assessment of her lukewarm comment. “And handsome and virile and mad for you.”

She bit her lip and ventured to speak as much of the truth as she dared. “My first husband wasn’t kind.”

“Cavolo, I’m such a blundering fool.” Marina dropped the beautiful dress back on the bed and rushed across to hug her. “Mi dispiace. Mi dispiace. I’m so sorry, Fiona. I should have realized. You’re nervous about sleeping with Diarmid, even though you can hardly wait. No wonder the two of you have been dancing around one another. Don’t worry. Your husband’s a clever man, and he cares for you. He’ll give you pleasure.”

“I’ve never felt…pleasure.”

Marina drew back and subjected her to a searching inspection. “Trust me, you will tonight. All that desire raging between you is going to lead to lots of lovely explosions.”

“Explosions?” Fiona went rigid. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

A note in Marina’s laugh made her shift in discomfort. Her friend’s black eyes were bright with certainty—and secret knowledge.

“They’re better than nice. They’re…” A smile little short of gloating curved her lips. “You’ll see. Trust me. And trust Diarmid.”

Fiona’s cheeks burned with embarrassment—and chagrin. Because what Marina didn’t know was that this wedding night would be as lonely and barren as all the nights preceding it.

“It seems you did need to talk to me after all.” Marina’s expression sobered, and she hugged Fiona again.

After a moment, Fiona sagged and hugged her back. Because while she’d done her best to hide it, she was afraid and confused and far from certain that she should have married Diarmid.

Marina drew away, and Fiona was shocked to see tears glittering in her eyes. “Per pietà, it’s a happy day. I shouldn’t be upset. But when I think of all the things you’ve missed, everything stolen from you, it just makes me so angry.”

“My daughter.”

Marina wiped her eyes with an unsteady hand. “Sì, certo, la tua figlia. But other things like the pleasures of the marriage bed.” She must have caught a hint of Fiona’s skepticism, because she gave her a misty smile. “You’ll see. Giving yourself to the man you love is a joy. The greatest joy. I hope you discover that tonight with Diarmid. You both deserve to be happy, and I’m just so glad that fate decided to bring you two together.”

“Oh, Marina…” Fiona said in dismay.

Because none of what her friend predicted with such well-meaning optimism was going to come to pass. Suddenly that seemed a tragic waste.

“Now let’s get you ready to face the world.” Emotion thickened Marina’s voice, as she turned to pick up the traveling dress once more.

“You’ve already given me so much, how can I ever repay you?” Fiona asked.

Marina’s smile turned tremulous. “If you make Diarmid happy, you’ll repay me a thousand times over.”

Acrid self-loathing cramped Fiona’s heart. Today’s marriage promised her new husband nothing but danger, toil, misery and frustration. God forgive her for what she did. She should never have agreed to marry him, whatever Christina’s straits. Now it was too late to do anything about it.

Chapter 23

When the door connecting Diarmid’s room to his wife’s clicked open, immediate concern had him sitting up against the pillows. Fiona hovered in the doorway about ten feet away, twining her hands at her waist in what he’d learned was a sign of nervousness—or fear. She was dressed for bed, in a white nightgown, and she’d draped a pretty paisley shawl around her shoulders.

“Fiona, is something wrong?”

The lamps in the cavernous chamber were lit, although it was late and the day had been long and fraught, with the wedding and miles of travel to follow. Fiona had used Fergus’s luxur

ious coach, and Diarmid had ridden ahead on Sigurn. His friend had cast him a curious glance when he didn’t join his bride in the carriage. But even for the sake of appearances, he couldn’t face sharing that confined space with his wife. The woman he could never touch, despite what the law might say about her being his.

They’d arrived at this bustling inn on the main north road in time for a very late dinner. The Northern Lights offered more luxurious accommodation than anything else on the way to Inverness. He’d taken a suite of rooms. While their private arrangement might be unconventional, he wanted to honor his bride with worthy lodgings on their first night as a married couple.

“Fiona?” he asked with a hint of sharpness, when she didn’t immediately answer. He was renowned for his patience, but the day’s tensions had tested him to the limit.

“No,” she answered on a breath of sound. Her gaze dipped to his bare chest, then rose again. Pink tinged her cheeks as she took a step closer. “Nothing’s wrong.”