The Highlander's Lost Lady

by Anna Campbell

  “With pleasure.”

  “Mrs. Grant? If you’d rather have a tray in your room, we can arrange that. I can see this dunderhead has put ye through the wars.”

  A night to herself? It sounded like paradise, but she couldn’t rest easy until she’d explained herself to this man who seemed so ready to accept her at face value.

  “No, I’ll join you for dinner. Thank you.”

  Mr. Mackinnon offered his arm. “Then welcome to Achnasheen.”

  Fiona curled a trembling hand around his elbow. What on earth was she getting into? If Diarmid hadn’t been just behind her, she might have taken to her heels and run.

  Chapter 15

  Within half an hour of his arrival, Diarmid was downstairs. Weariness thickened his head and made his muscles ache, tugged at him with every step. Weariness and his uncertainty about the best way to help Fiona. But a good wash and some clean clothes, courtesy of Fergus, left him feeling more like his unflappable self.

  He’d visited Achnasheen since he was a boy, so he needed no guide to find the library where Fergus usually enjoyed a wee dram before dinner. Before Fiona joined them, he wanted a quiet word with his friend.

  “Fergus, may I come in?” he asked from the doorway.

  “Buonasera, Diarmid.” Fergus’s striking half-Italian wife looked up from her seat near the window. “This is a treat to have you here.”

  Diarmid had last seen Marina in Edinburgh in April, at the triumphant opening of her exhibition of Scottish landscapes. She was a famous artist whose work was in demand across Europe. Fergus had told him then that he and his wife expected their first baby in August. Over the last few months, she’d grown large with child.

  Now she sat in a leather armchair with her feet up on a stool. As usual, a sketchbook lay open on the table next to her elbow.

  He smiled at Marina with the genuine fondness he’d always felt for her and crossed to kiss her olive-skinned cheek. “Och, I hope you’ll still say that, once I’ve explained myself. I ken it’s an inconvenient time. But we had nowhere else to go.”

  “That sounds desperate, laddie.” Fergus crossed the room to push a glass of whisky into his hand.

  “I’m afraid it is,” Diarmid said somberly. He accepted Fergus’s offer of a chair and took a sip of his whisky, relishing the smoky flavor. “But first, how are ye, Marina? You’re looking blooming.”

  Marina made an unmistakably Continental sound of contempt. “I’m looking like I’m about to explode. This baby must be the size of a horse. Porca miseria, I’m beginning to wish I’d married a skinny man who was five feet tall, instead of this brawny Highlander.”

  “Ye dinna mean that, mo chridhe,” Fergus said gently.

  With obvious difficulty, she shifted. She was a tall, naturally slender woman—or at least she had been. “Don’t I?”

  But the glance she shot her husband from her bright black eyes was loving.

  Diarmid felt a sharp pang of envy for his friend’s happiness, although this outspoken, independent woman was the precise opposite of the docile, biddable wife Fergus always said he wanted.

  It was difficult to imagine that such a happy union awaited him. After his mother’s antics, he was too reluctant to trust, and it was clear that mutual trust formed the basis for the love between Fergus and Marina.

  Och, stop feeling so blasted sorry for yourself, man. You’ve got more important things to worry about than your uninspiring love life.

  “I want to explain what I’m doing here, and why I need your help. Then if ye wish, you can send me to the devil.”

  Fergus crossed to stand behind his wife and rested one hand on her shoulder. “Diarmid, we’ve been friends most of our lives. If I can help ye, I will. Ye know that.”

  “That’s what I hoped you’d say. Although ye might end up being sorry you did.”

  “Diarmid, you’ve never brought a woman here with you before.” Marina raised her hand to lay it upon Fergus’s. “Who is she?”

  “She’s no’ my mistress,” he said quickly.

  Marina shrugged. “Per pietà, I don’t care if she is. You vouch for her. That’s enough for me. She’s a married woman? Fergus called her Mrs. Grant.”

  His hostess took a refreshingly broadminded attitude to life, he’d long ago discovered. Years on the road as a working artist in her father’s company, not to mention associating with people from all levels of society, had shown her more of the world than most gently bred Scottish girls ever saw.

  “A widow.” He took another mouthful of the fiery spirit and launched into the tale of Fiona’s arrival at Invertavey, the Grants’ appearance, the chaotic rescue, and the wild chase across the hills. To give Marina and Fergus credit, they were bonny listeners, only interrupting when he told them what he’d recently discovered, the reasons behind Fiona’s reckless quest.

  “Oh, la poverina,” Marina said. “What cruelty she’s endured.”

  Diarmid hadn’t spoken at length of what he’d learned or guessed about life at Bancavan. That was Fiona’s business. But he’d clearly said enough for Marina and Fergus to reach their own conclusions about her sufferings.

  Fergus now sat on the opposite side of the fire. His expression was austere. “She’ll be safe here.”

  “The problem is that the Grants must ken Fiona plans to rescue her daughter. They dinna need to go to the trouble of tracking us all over Scotland. They just need to hold onto the girl and wait for us to turn up.”

  “Like spiders in a web,” Marina said in a grim tone.

  “Aye.”

  A sound at the door made Diarmid look up. Fiona hovered at the entrance, and Fiona as he’d never seen her. She wore a pale blue evening gown that made her eyes look like the sky, and she’d arranged her moonlight hair in an elaborate style that made her seem an aristocratic stranger.

  By God, she was bonny. He felt like someone hit him with a hammer. He’d always been painfully conscious of how exquisite she was. But when he saw her dressed in silks, her beauty thumped him in the belly like a punch. Before he even thought to stand, he found himself on his feet.

  He moved to take her hand, then remembered he had no real right to touch her, even if she’d rested in his arms all day as they rode across the hills. Damn it, he felt awkward, as he rarely had until he met her. He turned the gesture into a sweep of his hand toward Fergus and Marina.

  “Fiona, come away in and meet our hosts.”

  After a hesitation, she stepped into the room, as graceful as a doe picking her way into a forest clearing. He couldn’t mistake the caution in her expression. Like him, she’d learned that trust must be earned. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  Marina came up to Diarmid’s side, her hands extended. Fiona in her borrowed finery had so dazzled him, that he hadn’t even noticed his hostess rising to her feet. “Of course not. Benvenuta a Achnasheen, Signora Grant. I’m Marina Mackinnon, and this is my husband, Fergus. We’re so pleased you came to us in your time of trouble.”

  The warm, spontaneous welcome took Fiona aback, Diarmid saw. There was an uncomfortable silence, then Fiona’s rare, radiant smile lit her features and she curtsied. “You’re too kind.”

  “Not at all, signora.” Marina took her hands. “I see Sandra has worked her magic.”

  “She’s amazing.” Fiona self-consciously touched the becoming curls framing her face.

  “Certo, she is. I bless the day she decided to come to Scotland with me, instead of staying in Firenze. When I heard you’d arrived without any luggage, I knew if you had something bellissimo to wear, you’d start to feel at home.”

  Fiona glanced down at the pretty dress with an expression of wonder. “It’s a beautiful gown.”

  “Certo, but that blue never did very much for me, whereas it’s perfect for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Prego. Come and join me, bella.” Marina brought Fiona across to a sofa and sat beside her.

  As Diarmid turned back to his chair, he caught Fergus’s inter
ested gaze from where he stood near the unlit hearth. Embarrassment prickled his skin. He had an unpleasant inkling that his reaction to Fiona’s arrival had revealed too much to his sharp-eyed friend.

  “Would ye like a glass of wine, Mrs. Grant?” Fergus asked. “I imagine you’re hungry. Dinner willnae be long.”

  Fiona’s gesture was apologetic. “You must curse me for arriving uninvited at such a time.”

  “We’d do anything for Diarmid,” Marina said. “And he’s just told us a little about your difficulties.”

  As she accepted a glass of hock from Fergus, the inquiring glance that Fiona sent Diarmid wasn’t altogether friendly. “Did he?”

  “Aye, I did,” Diarmid said. “Ye can trust Marina and Fergus, and I’m hoping they’ll help us against the Grants.”

  “Indeed we will,” Marina said, squeezing Fiona’s hand. “I think you’ve been so brave, poverina.”

  “Desperate, more like.” Fiona’s lips turned down. “I know the shipwreck was a disaster, not least because a good man lost his life to the sea, but I was lucky to wash up on Diarmid’s beach. Without him, I dread to imagine where I’d be now. The more I think about it, the more I realize I had no chance of succeeding on my own when I ran away from Bancavan.”

  Fergus emptied his glass and gave her an encouraging smile. “With Diarmid’s help and now with ours, the odds have changed in your favor, Mrs. Grant. It was indeed a lucky thing that ye made land at Invertavey.”

  Fiona didn’t smile back. As Diarmid recovered from the shock of seeing her dressed like a lady of fashion, he realized that she looked tired and uneasy. The last days had been long and hard, and telling him her story had been draining. Not to mention that since she’d kissed him, hostile awareness had buzzed between them like a low, irritating hum. It had worn at his nerves all day. He suspected she must find it just as grating.

  “I don’t know why you’d pledge yourselves to my cause,” Fiona said gravely. “You know nothing about me.”

  Marina’s eyes were dark and serious. “Signora, we told you—we’d do anything for Diarmid. It’s enough that he’s on your side. Even before he told us your circumstances. Your daughter is in trouble. So are you. Accept what help we can give you. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your good sense.”

  Fiona tugged her hand free, and her expression didn’t lighten. “But one of the problems is that I’m not sure why Diarmid is on my side.”

  “That’s easy to answer.” Fergus’s laugh held a hint of fond mockery. “At heart, my stalwart friend is a white knight. Your plight is a chance for him to devote all that chivalry to a lady in distress. You’re doing the laddie a favor. Life at Invertavey is so peaceful, he was getting too lazy and complacent for his own good.”

  Diarmid ignored his friend’s good-natured jibes. “I saved your life, Fiona. It puts me eternally at your service.”

  “Shouldn’t that work the other way?” Fiona retorted.

  “I told you when I saved ye that you’d never break the bond between us.”

  He wanted to sound jocular, to ease the heavy atmosphere building in the room. But the words emerged like a vow.

  Fiona looked troubled and didn’t reply. He waited for Fergus to scoff at him or for Marina to break the weighty silence that descended. But neither spoke.

  Instead two pairs of astute eyes leveled on him. The intense scrutiny made him rise from his chair and turn toward the window to avoid the discomfiting knowledge he read in his friends’ faces.

  When Kirsty chose that moment to come in and announce dinner was ready, Diarmid sagged with relief. For a moment there, he felt like he stood on that precipice again. And this time, he’d been on the brink of jumping.

  Chapter 16

  Fiona was so used to sleeping with one ear alert for danger, that she woke the minute she heard distant sounds in the castle. She opened her eyes to firelit darkness. After a warm, fine day, the weather had closed in. By the time she came upstairs, she’d been grateful for the blaze in her hearth.

  She had no idea what time it was. Not late, she suspected. The exhaustion weighing her body hinted she hadn’t slept for long.

  Before she thought what she did, she was up with a shawl wrapped around her borrowed nightdress. When she opened her door, the long corridor outside was empty. Had she imagined the sounds of doors opening and closing?

  She retreated into her room to light a candle from her fire. As she stepped out once more, the house lay quiet around her, but instincts honed over years with the Grants told her something was afoot. Further down the hall, another door opened, and Diarmid emerged wearing breeches and his loose shirt untucked around his narrow hips.

  “What is it, Fiona? Are ye all right?”

  He, too, carried a candle. The frail light turned his chiseled features into a symphony of shadows. His hair was wildly disheveled, falling in charming disarray over that noble brow.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked, telling herself it was idiotic to blush. “I’m sorry.”

  He padded toward her on bare feet. His shirt was open over his chest, revealing a scattering of black curls. For the last two nights, they’d shared sleeping quarters. This midnight encounter shouldn’t feel so forbidden. But it did. Perhaps because Diarmid hadn’t undressed when they’d been traveling, and now it was clear that he’d woken and tugged on whatever clothing lay near to hand.

  “I heard your door.” It seemed he, too, remained attuned to danger.

  “Is it the Grants?” She clutched at her shawl, as if the soft wool provided some protection.

  “I hope to God it’s not.” He strode past her toward the staircase.

  “I thought I heard people moving about.”

  “I only heard ye.” By now, voices rose from the great hall downstairs, too muffled for her to catch any actual words. “Stay there, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

  For a moment, Fiona remained where she was, her eyes feeding on the sight of Diarmid retreating down the corridor. Heaven help her, the view from the back was almost as good as the view from the front.

  The sheer shirt and tight breeches revealed every line of that powerful back and those taut buttocks. She licked her lips again, as something warm and liquid swelled inside her. Then she reminded herself that she had more important things to worry about than her white knight’s shapely backside.

  She wrapped her shawl more securely around her shoulders and followed him. If it was the Grants, she wanted to know sooner rather than later. At Invertavey, their arrival had taken her by surprise. This time she’d be prepared.

  Diarmid stood on the landing at the top of the imposing stone staircase that led down to the great hall with its medieval tapestries and displays of arms. She blinked at the brightness. Every light in the house seemed to be burning.

  One of the maids who had served them at dinner scurried across the flagstones below and disappeared down a hallway. She carried a large china ewer. Mr. Mackinnon appeared from the opposite doorway.

  “What’s happening, Fergus?” Diarmid called out. “Have the Grants followed us here?”

  When Mr. Mackinnon looked up, the light was stark on his strained features. With a shock, Fiona realized he looked afraid. When she’d met him, he’d seemed as impervious to fear as a rock.

  “No, it’s the baby. Damn it, Diarmid, it’s early. We thought we had until the end of August.”

  “How is Lady Achnasheen?” Fiona asked, descending a few steps.

  She recalled that her hostess hadn’t eaten much at dinner, and she’d been pale and quiet and in obvious discomfort by the time everyone went upstairs. Nobody had lingered over the meal. Fergus had helped his wife to climb the steps, and Fiona and Diarmid had both been exhausted and grateful to retire to their chambers.

  “She’s…” He made a despairing gesture, and his rugged features tightened.

  Fiona had already noted that the Mackinnons shared a rare bond. Now Mr. Mackinnon’s love and terror for his wife lay unconcealed in his face.


  “Have ye sent for the doctor?” Diarmid asked.

  “Aye. But ye know he’s miles away. Jenny’s up there with her. There’s nothing she doesnae ken about bringing new life into the world. I’d trust her over the sawbones any day.”

  The words lacked conviction. Fiona descended until she was close enough to touch the man’s arm. They were strangers, but she couldn’t resist offering a moment’s comfort.

  “Can I help? For the last ten years, I’ve helped with births at Bancavan, and your wife might appreciate another pair of skilled hands at her lying in.”

  When both men regarded her dumbfounded, she bit back an impatient retort. She knew she looked likely to blow away on a stiff breeze, but she was strong. To survive under Allan Grant’s rule, she’d had to be.

  “Would ye?” Gratitude eased the tension in Mr. Mackinnon’s features. “Marina is healthy, but…”

  Fiona stepped aside to allow another maid to scuttle past with an armful of fresh towels. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t believe her. Hiding a shudder, she remembered the times when she’d attended births that hadn’t been fine at all.

  The Grants didn’t believe in paying for a doctor’s services. Instead they relied on the clan’s womenfolk to assist in delivering any babies. Not that Fiona had anything against wise women. Christina’s birth had been long and difficult. Only the midwife’s skill had saved both mother and child.

  “Thank you.” Mr. Mackinnon’s smile was an obvious effort, and she commended his courage. “I’ll take ye up to her.”

  “I’m glad I can repay some of your kindness, sir.” If only she could repay Diarmid, who had done even more for her. But he’d rejected the one thing she had to give, and she didn’t know what else to offer him.

  Except as she studied the two men, she realized that helping Lady Achnasheen would go a long way toward compensating Diarmid. She’d recognized immediately not just that the Mackinnons loved one another, but that powerful ties of friendship united them both to Diarmid.