by Caro LaFever
“I’m tired from traveling, Dad.” Lilly slumped into the cozy couch in his den, determined to keep to her decision. “You go on and have fun.”
“Now, ye had a fine sleep last night after we got home.” Her dad hummed over the last word, making her irritation at him rise. “And I let ye sleep in past nine to make sure ye had your rest.”
“I’m still tired.” Also very reluctant to stick her nose out of the cottage’s door. Because what she’d seen on the trip through Fingal and around the island yesterday had told her one thing above all the others.
The McPherson wasn’t shut up in his castle like he’d been before.
She’d scolded herself last night as she tucked herself into bed. How could she have been stupid enough to think she’d arrive in Scotland to find nothing had changed? Somehow, she’d lulled herself into believing Iain wouldn’t cross her path when she visited her dad because he’d be locked up in his sanctuary.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
The truth screamed its new reality in the shiny, bustling stores in Fingal. The truth roared when they’d driven past the B&B with its new stone steps and a dozen cars in the parking lot. The truth crashed down on her as her dad had driven past the creamery, the construction project evident in the backhoes and dump trucks circling the structure.
The McPherson had been busy.
Busy outside his castle.
Busy with more than just improving Somairie too, apparently.
“There’s going to be a nice show in Fingal with Highland dancing and singing.” Her dad glanced at his watch and stood from his leather chair. “It starts in under an hour.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
He went right past her objection with his ideas for their day. “After that, we’ll want to hike to the castle where there’s a grand fair with all sorts of food and trinkets. Maybe you’d like to buy something for your mum and sisters.”
Eyeing him with disbelief, she couldn’t help the snort. “Why would my mom want anything from Scotland?”
A flush ran across his face and she immediately felt awful. “I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t—“
“Perhaps your sisters, then,” he kept on with dogged determination. “Or something for yourself.”
The last thing she wanted to do was climb to the castle and pick out something Scottish to give her memories. Not only would she be far too close to the McPherson, she’d be far too close to weeping. “Dad.”
“Yes?” He gave her a sweet smile.
“Is this why you insisted I come here to Scotland?” She still wondered, and still hadn’t received a believable response. “To go to this fair?”
Shaking his head, his gray brows creased. “Not at all. If ye remember, I initially asked ye to come for Christmas.”
“Right.” She frowned at him. “Then why now?”
He shuffled in place, his gaze darting away. Her father had never been very good at lying.
“Tell the truth.” A quick flash of anger bolted through her. She should be back in New York, setting up her new life—not here on Somairie, mourning a life she’d never have. The bolt shot her off the couch, her body vibrating with emotion. “You didn’t have any real reason to ask me over here, did you?”
He finally faced her, his brown eyes wary. “I had a reason.”
“And that was?” She lurched closer, her frustration growing.
“Well,” he paused, as if reaching for any reason he could think of.
“Dad.”
“I thought ye might like to see the changes going on.” He beamed at her, obviously pleased with what he’d found.
Instant hurt rushed through her. Didn’t he know how hard it was to be so close to Iain? Didn’t he understand the last place she wanted to be was this place? “How could you believe that?”
“What?” A look of astonishment crossed his face. “I thought you’d be pleased Iain’s fine and he’s doing his bit for his islands.”
Agitated, she drew closer, planting her face close to his. “You could have told me that on the phone.”
“I’d thought ye might like to take some photos and be a part of it.” Her dad didn’t retreat, his smile reappearing. “Ye always like to have a great time.”
A great time.
How could she be angry at her dad when she’d told him a lie, a lie he clearly believed? She had no one to blame but herself for allowing him to think her time with Iain hadn’t been important to her.
“I’m not in the mood for great times.” Pulling her sweater close, she turned back to the couch.
“Lilly Marie.”
Her dad’s harsh tone shocked her to a stop. He couldn’t be that mad at her for wanting to stay at the cottage, could he? Glancing over her shoulder, she cringed when she saw where his gaze had landed.
Her stomach.
She let go of her sweater, her hands suddenly sweaty. “I don’t know what you’re think—”
“Naw. Don’t even try.” He waved her words away, his mouth tightening. “I’ll not be put off by any explanations. I know what I see.”
Facing him, she met his narrowed gaze. “Okay. I’m pregnant.”
“Aye.” His brown eyes went hard. “And I have someone I need to speak to, don’t I?”
“No, you don’t.” Grabbing his arm before he could move past her, she tugged him to a stop. “It’s not any of the McPherson’s business.”
He stilled. “Are ye saying, Lil, it’s not his baby?”
Sighing, she slid her hand down to his. She couldn’t lie about that. Not to her dad. “No, it’s his.”
His hand clenched on hers, pinching her fingers. “Then I aim to have a chat with the lad. He needs to face his responsibilities, not dither around with his plans.”
Plans. Plans she had no right to disrupt only because of the baby.
Her brain lurched into a frenzy at the thought of the McPherson in full-responsibility mode. He’d charge over here, intent on having his way, and she was too emotionally fragile at this point to fight him off. She needed more time and more space. And yeah, she needed a whole ocean between them when he found out.
But how could she explain this to her dad?
At her continued silence, he bent and gave her a kiss, his gaze firm with purpose. “I’ll be back with the lad in under an hour and we’ll get this fixed.”
“No, Dad, no.” She held onto his hand, her grip tighter than his own. “Listen. He doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know?” His gray brows rose, surprise flashing into his eyes. Along with a disappointment that made her heart sink. “I expect better of ye. The man deserves to know he’s going to be a father.”
“I’m going to tell him.” She forced a smile. “Just not right now.”
“Why not?” He yanked his hand from her grasp and paced to the fireplace. “Now is a good time, I would think. You’re right here, and he’s here, too.”
“He’d feel obligated.” Obligated and responsible and ultimately, trapped. She wouldn’t do that to him. Not to the man she loved. “I don’t want that.”
Her father scowled. “He should feel obligated, dammit.”
She started at the growled curse, not remembering even one time in her life her passive dad had grown angry enough to swear. “I’ll let him—”
“I know Iain McPherson, lass.” Swinging around, he marched past his chair to stare through the window at the castle. “He’s a man who takes on his responsibilities and handles them with care. He won’t disappoint ye and the baby.”
“I don’t want that.” Tears threatened at the bottom of her throat and she sucked in a deep breath, trying to dispel them. “I don’t want Iain McPherson like that.”
She wanted Iain McPherson and his love.
Not Iain McPherson and his fearsome sense of responsibility.
Turning to glare at her, her dad crossed his arms in front of him. All fatherly outrage. All patriarchal. “And what exactly is wrong with our Lord of the Isles?”
&n
bsp; So this protectiveness wasn’t for her, but for Iain? The realization hit her with a punch, leaving behind bruised hurt. Along with it came the anger, back again. “I’ll handle this in my own way.”
“Will ye?” He stomped to her side, his brown eyes stony, his face pale. “I’m supposed to stand aside, then.”
“Yes, you are.”
A grumble of disgust came from his throat as he kept his glare on her. “If ye would only tell the lad, I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m telling ye, he has this in hand.”
This being what?
Confusion swept through her, and behind it came a pump of dark fear glazing her mind. Her dad wasn’t known for being closemouthed, especially with his Somairie friends. If she didn’t nip this to a stop, he might tattle the tale to Mrs. Butler, who’d spread the word to Mrs. Ciste, who’d promptly announce the news to the entire village. Within the day, even if her dad didn’t march to the castle, Iain would know and she’d be right back into an impossible dilemma.
“I want your promise.” She speared him with a firm, unflinching look. “Promise you won’t tell him or anyone else on Somairie.”
A tight line of anger furrowed his brow. “Lil—”
“Promise. I have a right to do this in the way I think is best.”
“I’m telling ye—”
“Dad.”
Throwing his hands in the air, he marched to the front door and threw it open. “All right,” he groused his reluctant agreement. “In return, though, ye are coming to the festivities.”
“I’m too tired—”
“Dammit, Lilly Marie Graham.” His voice rose, almost in a thunder. “Ye are coming and that’s that.”
Thundering? Edward Graham? Surprise propelled her to her coat. Perhaps if she humored him for a few hours, he’d settle down. Plus, she didn’t want to let him loose by himself, filled with this incendiary knowledge. She’d have to take the chance of seeing Iain before he saw her and keeping away from him. It shouldn’t be too hard with the crowds of tourists.
Pulling on her raincoat, she buttoned it to the top.
“Ye think ye can hide?” Her dad’s eyes blazed.
She’d label that blaze of emotion as anger, yet there was a light in the midst that told her it was something else.
“Ye won’t be able to.” Grabbing his own coat, he waved her outside. “But I’ll just stand aside and watch ye try.”
She could hide. Hide her pregnancy and hide herself from the McPherson.
Couldn’t she?
The castle’s front gate was thrown open in greeting, something Lilly hadn’t seen since she’d been here two years ago. The revelers, surrounding her and her dad, laughed and chatted as they walked through the entry to join the crowds of tourists still shopping at the fair. Above them, the flames of the torches swayed in the New Year’s Eve black sky and the sounds of the bagpipes coming from behind them swirled in the cool air.
She tried again. “I’m going back to the cottage, Dad. I don’t have to be here all the way to midnight.”
His hand shot out, for the umpteenth time, to grab her elbow. “Not yet.”
She’d been lucky so far. No Iain McPherson had popped in front of her when she’d arrived on the grounds by the covered stage to be greeted warmly by the villagers. The entire time she’d stood and watched the string of lovely dances, merry fiddlers, and bombastic storytellers, she’d shivered with apprehension.
He hadn’t shown himself.
The Lord of the Isles had been nowhere to be seen when she and her dad had been invited into one of the new pubs lining the main street of Fingal. Relaxing enough to enjoy a tasty treat of smoked haddock on crackers, she’d allowed herself a few sips of island ale. She’d kept a close eye on the door and her father, but no one had come through the door to disturb her and nothing had come out of her dad’s mouth to cause her any distress.
She’d wondered for a moment if her dad or Mrs. Butler or any of the other villagers had let Iain know about her arrival. Maybe he was avoiding an ex-lover. Maybe he didn’t want to see her as much as she didn’t want to see him.
The thought made her heart sink.
Maybe coming right to his doorstep would be the last thing he wanted her to do.
This was foolhardy in the extreme.
“I’m tired and I’ve seen enough.” She tried to ease her arm from her father’s grip.
His hold only tightened. “Ye haven’t seen everything.”
That was right. She hadn’t seen the McPherson and she didn’t want to damage her heart any further. “Dad—”
“There he is.” Letting go of her, he waved at the front steps of the castle. “Now, doesn’t he look like a Lord of the Isles should?”
She couldn’t help herself. She looked.
The McPherson stood, his hands on his hips, his strong legs planted on the stone of his land. He wore the traditional kilt, the blue and green of his family’s colors weaved into the cloth. A black jacket with silver buttons covered his broad chest and arms.
He’d cut his hair.
Grief welled inside, along with the memories of running her fingers through his long, messy curls.
You should get your hair cut.
I’m not going to get my hair cut.
She’d figured out why. Cutting his hair meant taking back the role of a hero.
Apparently, he had no problem with the role any longer.
His gaze swept the inner court, taking in his villagers, the tourists he’d drawn to his land, the stalls filled with the goods that land had produced. His gaze went this way and that and would eventually find her and her father.
“Dad.” She glanced around for a hideout. “I think I’ll do some browsing.”
“Don’t ye want to greet Iain?” Her father frowned. “Don’t ye think it might be a good time to have a chat with him?”
“Not now.” Glancing at the castle’s front steps again and noting that gaze was swinging their way, she dodged behind a stall filled with a selection of woolen scarves. “Remember your promise.”
Her father grunted. “And don’t be leaving for the cottage until ye talk to me.”
She hadn’t promised him that. As soon as he stomped off toward the vendor selling hot toddies, she whisked down one lane of stalls toward the open gate.
“Lilly Graham.” A plump hand grabbed on to the edge of her coat, stopping her flight. “Aren’t ye a sight for sore eyes.”
Turning, she confronted a wall of women. Mrs. Ciste and Mrs. Solas and Mrs. Butler stood in a straight line, beaming at her with friendly eyes. She wanted to ignore them and scram, but she didn’t want to hurt their feelings because she was worried about her own. “Hi, ladies.”
“Your dad has been talking to everyone about ye coming here for the holiday.” Mrs. Solas clapped her hands in glee.
Everyone?
Like Iain?
A shiver of anxious worry slithered across her skin. Straining her head, she looked over the tops of the women’s heads to the castle steps.
Crap.
Her dad stood right by the McPherson, chatting away, his face alive with excitement. If her father broke his promise, she was going to throw him into the sea or cut him into small slices and feed him to the fishes.
Mrs. Butler patted her shoulder, yanking Lilly’s attention back to the women. “I’m thinking there is a lovely surprise waiting for ye tonight.”
There was that word again.
Surprise.
Her shivers turned to a shudder.
She glanced at the castle steps. Both men had disappeared into the crowd. She could assume that was a good thing or she could listen to her instincts that were screaming at her to run. “Ladies, it’s been nice to see you—”
“I have no doubt ye will handle the hubbub surrounding the announcement with your usual grace and charm.” Mrs. Ciste’s jowls jiggled as the strange words rolled from her mouth.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, as she gave t
heir smiling faces a frown. “I need—”
“Well, well,” Mrs. Butler cooed. “Here he is himself to clear your confusion up.”
“Lilly.” The voice wasn’t her dad’s, though it did have the same accent. But this voice rang through the crowds, through her ears, into her soul like a burr of Scotland that would cling to her forever.
Her heart stuttered to a stop. Her luck had run out.
Swinging away from the voice, she made for the front gate.
“Och.” Strong hands swept her to a stop. “Naw, ye don’t.”
“Let me leave.” She kept her gaze on the bridge leading from the castle, leading far from him.
“I don’t think so.” Twirling her around, he took her into his brawny arms. “Look at me, donas.”
“No.” She folded her arms in front of her, aware of how close her secret was from being exposed. If he moved her another inch closer, he’d know. “Let me down.”
“I’m thinking ye might like to see the inside of my home again.” He hefted her weight as if he were settling her in before marching toward the castle. Or maybe he was surprised at the extra weight? “Ye used to be quite interested in my antiques and such.”
Nerves twitched all over. “No. I don’t want to see anything. I’m not interested any longer.”
“There’s a wee bit of difference now.” He sounded winded. “You’ll be surprised.”
Did she really weigh that much more?
“I don’t care.” She tightened her muscles, trying to pull far from his heat, trying to curve into a ball to protect their baby. “I want to go back to my dad’s cottage.”
“Shite,” he muttered. Then, his body straightened and he began to move forward toward the castle with her still in his embrace. “I’m not done with ye yet.”
Yet. What the heck did that mean?
“I’m not interested in whatever you want to show me.” She risked a glance at his face before she could stop herself.
His dear, handsome face.
He stared straight ahead, his jaw firm, his porcelain skin flushed. His sky-blue eyes were clear in the firelight and there were no circles under them.
He looked wonderful. He looked well.
Accomplished without any of her help.
