Self-disgust slammed into him. He stood and turned away from temptation. Bruises and abrasions marked those sprawled legs, proof of what she’d been through. He was sick to his gut that he slavered over a helpless woman who needed his care. Worse, a woman he was convinced was a liar.
He curled one hand around the bedpost until his knuckles shone white. Behind him, the girl released another soft whimper of distress, but he hardly heard her through the blood drumming in his ears. His breath rasped on the still air.
It took far too long to leash the beast inside him, but gradually he came back to himself. By God, it was time he visited Edinburgh again. He kept his slate clean here at Invertavey, where he was laird and where his behavior set a pattern for his tenants and servants. But in the capital, he was just another rich, unattached young man seeking amusement.
How long was it since he and his last mistress had parted company? Six months? No, more.
With displeasure, he counted out the time. He and Sally had separated amicably just after Christmas, around the time his cousin Elspeth had married Brody Girvan. No wonder he was randy as an old goat. Diarmid was far from a rake—Brody was the lad who had been a devil for the ladies, until he fell under Elspeth’s spell—but he was a healthy male with physical needs.
Needs that hadn’t particularly bothered him until he rescued the duplicitous siren sleeping behind him. Just now, he refused to consider the implications of that fact.
He sucked in a breath and feeling more in charge of himself, he faced the bed. The girl had shifted to lie flat on her back, hands flung up on either side of her ruffled head. Her skin was so white and fine, he could see the network of blue veins running up her forearms under a mottled pattern of bruising. Another frown tightened her features, and he watched the hands on those fragile wrists close into fists.
Thoroughly ashamed of his lewd impulses, he approached the bed and tugged the nightdress down over those spectacular legs. He straightened the covers as well as he could without waking her. He pulled the quilt up, although with the fire, the room wasn’t cold.
Only once she was safely tucked in did he feel able to look into her face. To find he hadn’t been careful enough. Dazed blue eyes stared up at him.
Again he was struck with their beauty—and with the dread that turned them brilliant in the candlelight.
“Ye have nothing to fear, lassie,” he said softly and knew himself a hypocrite when he spoke the words. Perhaps she recognized that, too, because the tension in her face didn’t ease. He went on in a low soothing voice, in case she was confused to wake up in a strange place. “You’re safe in Invertavey House. I’m Diarmid Mactavish, the laird here.”
Her gaze clung to his face, as though she sifted his words for any hint of a threat. “I…I remember.”
“Ye do?” Startled, he straightened. “What’s your name?”
With obvious difficulty, she pushed herself up against the pillows. Every small movement made her wince. She might be lying about most things, but the physical toll the wreck had taken on her was no masquerade. Her suffering made him feel even more of a sick bastard for that flash of powerful lust when he’d stared at her sleeping.
“Oh, I don’t remember that,” she said, dismissing the idea as if it hardly mattered. She brushed tendrils of fine silver-blond hair back from her face. Her nightmare hadn’t been kind to her once tidy plait. “But I remember you finding me on the beach and bringing me here. There was a woman…”
“Mags. My housekeeper. I sent her to bed a couple of hours ago. Peggy, one of the maids, is coming in at midnight to watch ye.” He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “In about half an hour.”
“I’m a lot of bother.”
“Not at all.” Her remark reminded him of his role as sickroom attendant. “How are ye feeling?”
Her lips turned down with the self-mockery that he was beginning to think might be characteristic. “Like I’ve been through a shipwreck.”
He could imagine. “Would ye like anything? Something to eat? Something to drink? Are ye warm enough?” He stifled the memory of how she’d looked lying before him in just her nightdress.
She made an apologetic gesture. “A glass of water, please.”
“On its way.” He crossed to the dresser to fill a glass and carry it back to her. When she reached out to take it, the covers slipped to reveal the way her breasts pressed against the nightdress. Every cell in his body went on alert, much as he loathed the reaction.
Damn it, he should have let Mags sit with her.
“Thank you,” she said, with the lovely manners he’d noticed from the first. “Please don’t wait up with me. I’m sure I can sleep without supervision.”
With a brooding air, Diarmid watched the girl sip the water. “Dr. Higgins says head injuries can be unpredictable. He doesnae want ye to be alone until he’s sure you’re out of danger.” In fact, Higgins had left him with a list of questions to ask if the girl woke up. “Is your head sore? Any nausea? Any double vision?”
“Yes. No. No.” A shaking hand rose to touch her temple. “I’m sure the headache is only the result of a common or garden thump on the head.”
“He said to listen for slurred speech and confusion.”
“I think I sound all right.”
“I do, too. Apart from no’ knowing who ye are.”
Which he still didn’t believe. Despite the unwelcome lust that had ambushed him, his powers of deduction were as sharp as they’d ever been. She took her loss of memory too easily for it to be anything but a hoax.
She grimaced. “Apart from that. I’m overwhelmed with all this kindness.”
“Och, it’s the Highland way to help travelers in trouble.” He reached out to take the glass, which looked likely to spill in her unsteady grip. The brief brush of his fingers across hers shot a blast of heat up his arm. He’d reined in his animal awareness of her, by heaven, but he hadn’t banished it. “More?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He placed the glass on the nightstand. “Is your head any better?”
More humor deepened the corners of that soft, pink mouth. “I swear there’s a troupe of monkeys playing cymbals and drums inside my skull.”
He frowned, worried. “Dr. Higgins left a powder for ye to take if you were troubled in the night.”
“Troubled. Aye, that’s one word for it.”
“Ye dreamed.” Before he sat, he pushed his chair further away from the bed.
He was sorry he’d spoken when the hunted expression returned to her face. “Did I…did I say anything?”
He couldn’t mistake her relief when he shook his head. “Nothing I could make sense of.”
Which wasn’t totally true.
She avoided his eyes and started to pluck at the sheets around her waist. “I must have been dreaming about the wreck.”
“Aye,” he said, surer than ever that she lied, however plausible it might be that she should relive her ordeal. Her lie was another reminder that even if he was prepared to disregard the rules of hospitality, he needed to keep his hands off his delectable visitor.
He stood and crossed to stoke the fire so that he didn’t have to stare at her any longer. Staring at her was bad for his willpower, he discovered.
“Would you give me a moment’s privacy, please?”
He turned and saw her looking uncomfortable. “Of course. Let me help ye out of bed first.”
Blast it, he’d have to touch her. Whatever else he’d learned tonight, he’d learned that was a bloody bad idea.
“I’m sure I can manage.”
“I’ll help ye across the room, then I’ll step outside.”
“Mr. Mactavish, there’s no need.” In a clear attempt to prove her independence, she slid her feet to the floor and with some effort managed to stand.
Impressive. Less impressive when she took one tottering step toward the screen that hid the chamber pot and her knees folded beneath her.
“For God’s
sake…”
Before she hit the ground—before he could remind himself he shouldn’t touch her—he caught her up against him.
They’d touched often. He’d touched her down on the beach, and he’d held her in his arms on Sigurn’s back and when he’d carried her upstairs. But that was when he’d only thought of the girl as someone who needed his help. She’d been wet, cold and afraid, and for all her beauty, an object of pity.
In this cozy, quiet room with night crowding around them and with her wearing only a nightdress, that was no longer the case. When his arms closed around a soft, supple body, and he felt her collapse against him, heat he’d barely conquered pulsed in his blood. The fierce urge to sweep her back into that untidy bed and join her there rose like a wave.
When he’d first found her, she’d smelled like salt and seaweed. Now after a bath and sleep, she smelled like lavender soap and warm woman. With her so close, he couldn’t escape the alluring scent. It permeated his every breath. That evocative perfume made his head swim, stole his ability to see clearly.
“No…” she said in a choked voice. Frantic hands scrabbled at his chest as she pushed against him.
Shame rose bitter and stabbing, made his gut cramp with self-contempt. Not least because if he despised anything in this world, it was a liar. And he’d wager his whole estate that this fragile lassie had lied from the first.
“Dinna worry, you’re safe,” he growled.
“Can you…can you help me across to the screen?”
“Aye,” he said, knowing he sounded ungracious, but unable to help it. He wished to the devil that Peggy was here right now instead of him. Cursing that he had to hold the lassie at all, he adjusted his hold. “Dinna rush.”
She gave a huff of grim amusement. “I don’t think that’s likely.”
After a few unsteady steps, she found her balance. Still, the distance across the room felt like a hundred miles. By the time they reached the screen, they were both breathing hard, but she was mostly walking under her own steam. Once she made it behind the screen, she had a heavy marble-topped table to cling to.
“Shall I help ye?”
“No,” she said sharply. The walk had tired her, turned her complexion ashen, but at this moment, a fugitive pink colored her cheeks. “No, I can manage. Will you please wait outside?”
Diarmid understood her pride. He wouldn’t like to rely on strangers for his intimate needs either. So while he doubted the wisdom of leaving her alone, he bowed his head and stepped back. “Hold onto the washstand, if ye feel giddy.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
He turned and left the room, refusing to look back. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d keep his distance. And he desperately needed to keep his distance.
“Good God, what in holy Hades is the matter with ye, man?” he muttered, once he was safely out in the corridor and he’d shut the door behind him.
This woman was sick and hurt and in his care. Not only that, her beauty made him uneasy, not to mention he knew he couldn’t trust her an inch. She was the last person he should want in his bed.
Worse, he knew she’d sensed his masculine interest. When he’d saved her from falling, it wasn’t the prospect of crumpling to the ground that had placed that terrified light in her eyes. It had been the possessive strength of his hands and the heat that flared as her body pressed against his.
Devil take her, he was a man of honor. Whatever forbidden urges might torment him, he had no intention of molesting her while she was under his protection.
Gritting his teeth and telling himself to stop acting like a bloody lunatic, he opened the door a crack. “Are ye all right, lassie?”
If she extended her stay at Invertavey and if she intended to persist with this nonsense about not knowing her name, he’d have to come up with something to call her. Another thing to worry about in the morning, when hopefully his sanity returned.
“Yes,” she said in a reedy voice.
Not believing her, he stepped back into the room to find her clinging to the edge of the screen with its pretty decoration of Chinese birds and peonies. All hint of color had fled her face, and she didn’t look much better than the waterlogged wraith he’d stumbled across on Canmara Beach.
“God give me strength,” he bit out in impatience and strode over to pick her up in his arms.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“Aye, I can see that,” he said, and bit back a twinge of remorse when his sarcasm made her flinch.
Gently he settled her in an armchair near the fire, still blazing hot and high and warming the whole room. “Stay there,” he said, expecting an argument.
When she didn’t object, he realized she’d reached the limit of her strength. Compassion tinged his impatience, conquered it. The girl might be a liar, but she was also alone and in trouble. She deserved better than a host as grumpy as a bear because he couldn’t swive her.
Under her wide-eyed stare, he restored the untidy bed to order and refilled her water glass, leaving it within reach on the nightstand. “Still nae double vision?”
“No.” She looked exhausted. The fleeting spark of spirit faded away. “I’m just tired.”
“And bruised and sore,” he said. “Shall I carry ye?”
“I’d rather walk, thank you.”
He held out his hand, expecting her to refuse it, but she accepted his assistance without hesitation. Perhaps she sensed that he was no longer any threat. He was furious with himself to think that he ever had been.
With his help, she stumbled the few steps to the bed and slumped onto the mattress with a sigh of weary relief. Diarmid arranged the covers over her.
“I’ll prepare the potion Dr. Higgins left,” he said.
“It made me feel so thickheaded,” she said, too drained to put much force into the objection.
“Nonetheless, you’ll drink it. It will ease your pain and help ye to go back to sleep.”
A ghost of a smile curved her lips as she reclined upon the pillows. “Can I say again how kind you are, even if you’re also a bit of a sergeant major?”
“I’d rather ye didn’t,” he said drily and crossed to the sideboard to mix the powder with some water.
He glanced at the clock. Blast it, Peggy should have been here ten minutes ago.
As if she’d heard him, the door crashed open to reveal the young housemaid looking flustered. “Mrs. Curran, I’m so fashed I’m late. I slept…” Her eyes widened in dismay when she saw Diarmid passing the glass of medicine to the patient. She bobbed into a curtsy so shaky, he wondered if he might have to rescue her from falling, too. “Mactavish, och, I didnae expect to see ye here.”
“I sent Mags to bed,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “I’ve seen to our guest, and she should sleep now.”
“Aye. Aye, I’m sure.”
“So I’ll say goodnight to both of ye.”
“Goodnight, Mactavish,” Peggy said, eyes alight with curiosity as she stared at the girl in the bed.
“Call me if there’s any change.”
“Aye, Mactavish,” Peggy said, managing a slightly steadier curtsy.
“Thank you,” his mermaid said in a low voice. She looked to be nearly asleep.
Diarmid rescued the half-empty glass from spilling and set it on the nightstand. “Dr. Higgins will be back in the morning. Sleep now.”
Her eyelids already descended over those lovely eyes. It was time he left. Good Lord, he shouldn’t have come up here in the first place. He forced a smile for Peggy, as she settled on the chair beside the bed.
Out in the corridor, he came to a stop and struggled to beat back a powerful premonition of trouble looming ahead. This girl from the sea had been here a mere afternoon. Already she disrupted Invertavey’s peace. Not to mention his.
What was to come? Nothing good, he feared. His heart heavy with disquiet, he made his way to bed.
Chapter 4
“I’m very pleased with you, lassie,” Dr. Higgins said with a smi
le, as he mixed a draft over by the dressing table in Fiona’s airy room.
Yesterday she’d been too sore and tired and frightened to appreciate her surroundings. This morning, no trace remained of the wild weather that had brought Colin’s boat to grief. The windows opened on a warm summer’s day, and sunlight poured into the large chamber with its pretty chintz fabrics and graceful old walnut furniture.
The day was so warm in fact that sweat prickled her skin under the tartan shawl she’d draped around her shoulders for the sake of modesty. Hard to recall how she’d shivered with cold in yesterday’s howling wind.
“I’m glad,” she said from where she sat up in the bed.
The doctor shot her a humorous glance from his sharp gray eyes. She liked Dr. Higgins, who was tall and spare and sinewy, and looked like a horse with his long nose and big teeth. Liked and feared—he might practice at the back of beyond, but even yesterday, she’d recognized that he was a perceptive man. Under that observant gaze, she wasn’t convinced she could maintain the pretense that she’d lost her memory.
More reason to be on her way as soon as possible.
“You don’t believe me, I can see. I know this morning you’re still feeling like you’ve been pummeled every which way, but you’re bright and alert, and you managed some sleep. The bruises will fade, and your strength will return if you give it time.”
She wanted to retort that time was something she didn’t have, but that would blow the myth of her amnesia sky high. And while she might be desperate, she wasn’t a fool.
This morning she was purple with bruises, the worst and most painful in a band across her stomach where she’d gone over the side of Colin’s boat. Her muscles had seized up, too, so every movement, even something as simple as lifting a cup of tea to her lips, hurt.
If she could, she’d rise out of this soft, cozy bed and run a hundred miles. But given she needed help to reach the chamber pot—she still blushed to remember her clumsiness in front of Mr. Mactavish last night—she acknowledged she wasn’t going anywhere for the moment.
The Highlander's Lost Lady Page 4
