The Highlander's Lost Lady

by Anna Campbell

  “You want to talk about getting married,” she said flatly.

  “Aye, I do.” His expression was implacable.

  “I don’t want to marry again.” She was already shaking her head. “If you knew the nightmare I’ve been through, you’d have enough pity not to ask me.”

  As he stood and caught her hand, his eyes softened. “Fiona, I ken—or I can guess—what you’ve endured. I wouldnae ask this, if it wasnae the only way.”

  For a moment, Fiona let her hand rest in his. It was mad, but his strength flowed into her, bolstering her against quaking terror.

  But his strength only weakened her resolve against doing what he wanted. She wrenched away and began to wring her hands in distress.

  “It can’t be the only way. I won’t believe that. How can we marry? I’ve only known you for a couple of weeks.”

  She was grateful that he didn’t try to touch her again. “That’s long enough for ye to learn I’ve got your best interests at heart.”

  Hot tears of rage and frustration pricked her eyes. She had the odious sensation that he backed her into a corner.

  “And what about your best interests, Diarmid?” she asked in a broken voice. “Don’t they matter?”

  “I said I placed myself at your service. I meant it.”

  “And you get nothing in return?”

  “I get the satisfaction of doing down the Grants. Since Allan Grant tried to shoot me, no’ to mention discovering what they did to ye at Bancavan, trust me, that’s a major inducement to help.”

  She shook her head again, not that it seemed to make any mark on his determination. “It’s not enough.”

  “It’s something.” His voice hardened. “A legal solution is the only way ye and your daughter can have security, Fiona. The courts willnae give a child to a single woman without means. They will give her to Lady Invertavey, who has the full backing of her powerful husband, a laird and a magistrate. No’ to mention a man with a network of aristocratic connections throughout Scotland.”

  “I can’t do this to you,” she said dully, looking across the garden and seeing only darkness instead of the spectacular roses. The awful truth was that she was mightily tempted. She wasn’t blind to the good sense of what he said, but her conscience balked at tying him to her for life. “I just can’t. Don’t ask me.”

  Diarmid went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “The courts willnae give Christina to a woman living openly with a man to whom she isnae married, nor to a woman who has been alone in that man’s company as they traveled halfway across the Highlands.”

  Shock made her face him. “But we didn’t…”

  “I know,” he said gently. “But as Fergus said, the appearance of sin is what counts, no’ the sin itself.”

  This time her tears welled up beyond her control and trickled down her cheeks. “Diarmid, I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”

  His mouth curved down in a bleak smile, as he passed her his handkerchief. She always seemed to rely on him for a handkerchief. She relied on him for more than that.

  God help her, if they went through with this lunatic plan, she’d be relying on him as long as she lived.

  The thought stiffened her backbone. She couldn’t believe he offered to do this for her. His generosity and self-sacrifice beggared her imagination. But despite that, she couldn’t allow him to proceed.

  “If we marry, it’s forever,” she said in a thick voice.

  “I know.” Almost hesitantly, he took her arm and steered her back to the bench. He sat beside her, keeping that decorous distance between them.

  “What happens if you find a lady you want to marry, and you can’t because you’ve done this mad, gallant thing?”

  He didn’t answer immediately but stared down at where his elegant hands rested on his knees. “Ye heard all about my mother when you were at Invertavey.”

  She frowned. The statement seemed a million miles from his attempts to coax her into accepting his proposal. “She ran away with a lover and died in the Indies, they said.”

  “They were right.” That muscle in his cheek returned to its erratic dance. She could see he loathed talking about this. “They probably didnae tell ye that my father fell in love with her at first sight at a ball in London. She was one of the Macgrath sisters, two famously beautiful girls from a humble background. Both of the lassies made stellar marriages, at least in a worldly sense.”

  “No love?”

  “Och, there was love, all right,” he said bitterly. “My father worshipped my mother until the day he died. He died with her name on his lips, though by that time, she’d been buried five years in a fever pit in Jamaica, with her twenty-year-old paramour dead beside her.”

  “Your father had a steadfast heart,” Fiona said, still unsure what Diarmid was trying to tell her.

  “A heart that stayed steadfast through years of infidelity and humiliation.”

  She frowned. “Are you afraid I’ll lead you a similar dance?”

  “No, you’re nothing like my mother.” He turned his head to give her a brief glance. “But because of what she did to my father—and to me—I always swore I wouldnae marry a beautiful woman. And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Fiona.”

  It was absurd, but even at this harrowing moment, she felt a trickle of pleasure to know he thought her beautiful. Particularly absurd when until now her looks had brought her nothing but trouble. “I’ll never take a man into my bed.”

  “I believe ye,” he said. “I wonder if perhaps ye and I can find a wee measure of happiness with a bond closer to friendship than the mania my father had for my mother.”

  “Don’t you want what Marina and Fergus have? They’re happy, and it’s clear they love one another.”

  “Aye, they do. They’re lucky.”

  “You could be lucky, Diarmid.”

  “Ye don’t understand.” He shifted on the seat until he looked into her face. “I’m saying this isnae a love match, what we’re talking about. But that doesnae mean it cannae work. You and I could establish a good life together with Christina. Ye like Invertavey.”

  “How could I not? That was where I experienced real kindness for the first time since my father died.”

  His tone turned hesitant. “And I think…I hope ye like me.”

  “Of course I do.” She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “You’re a good man.”

  “Then let’s try this. After we’ve seen off the Grants, if ye discover you cannae endure living with me, I promise to give you an allowance and set you and Christina up wherever ye choose. I swear you willnae be worse off for knowing me, Fiona.”

  “But you will be.” Damn it, she was starting to cry again. One shaking hand raised his handkerchief to wipe her eyes, as she went on in a raw voice. “Because marriage is more than chats by the fireside and jolly outings and running an estate. A marriage is a man and woman in bed together, and I told you, I’ll never willingly do that again. Even with a husband. Even with someone to whom I owe so much.”

  Fiona could see that he didn’t like the way she harped on obligation, but surely he must know that what he offered placed an intolerable burden of gratitude upon her.

  “If I can bear a chaste marriage, I’m sure ye can,” he said with the first hint of resentment he’d shown.

  “But you shouldn’t have to.” She blinked back more tears. “And don’t you want children? What about an heir for Invertavey?”

  She couldn’t help remembering how right he’d looked holding Eilidh. This was a man who was born to be a father. The sight of big, powerful Diarmid Mactavish cradling the wee baby had stirred a strange longing inside her.

  “The estate isnae entailed. I can leave it where I wish.” That muscle still danced in his cheek, proof that he wasn’t as composed as he seemed. “I can leave it to ye or to Christina. Or my cousin Hamish and any bairns he might have.”

  She stood up and stared at him, appalled at what he was giving up for her sake. “That can�
��t be enough for you.”

  Diarmid met her eyes, and she read both resignation and stalwart strength in his eyes. Neither reassured her. “It will have to be.”

  “I can’t accept this sacrifice. Not from a stranger.” She made a sweeping gesture of denial. “Not when it costs you so much and costs me nothing.”

  His lips flattened, and he looked old as she’d never seen him before. “Your pride objects to what I’m offering.”

  “My pride. My principles. My heart. My soul. You’ve already done so much for me, more than any other man would ever have done. And you’ve asked nothing in return.” She swallowed to loosen a throat so tight that it hurt to speak. “I honor you for it. I’d reached a point where I believed true goodness was unknown in this wicked world. You’ve shown me I was wrong.” Her voice lowered to an urgent rasp as she went on. “It would be heinous to repay that goodness with an act that deprives you of the hope of love, an heir, grandchildren, the life that you have every right to lead. I won’t do it, and you can’t make me.”

  Fiona folded her arms and stood square facing him, for once firm on her feet. Nothing he could say would shift her. She’d decided her fate, and she meant to abide by that decision. There would be some other way to defeat the Grants. There must be.

  Diarmid didn’t immediately respond to that defiant little speech. Instead, he bent forward and linked his hands between his spread knees. His dark head lowered in thought.

  Fiona’s stomach clenched with foreboding. She’d hoped she’d won the battle, but she knew him well enough to guess he only summoned more arguments against her.

  It didn’t matter. Nothing he could say would change her mind. Nothing.

  Because lying unspoken on the air was yet another argument against this marriage. The fact that he wanted her. She and desire were only the most distant of acquaintances. But she knew enough to recognize that if he promised never to touch her, this union would become the vilest torture for him.

  Eventually he raised his head, eyes as black and lightless as coal. “What about Christina?”

  She frowned, feeling like she’d prepared for a head-on attack, only to find herself assailed with a sudden flanking movement.

  “Christina?” she said, faltering back. Because she could guess what was coming.

  If she was right, she’d surrender. She’d have no choice, and that knowledge tasted bitter as aloes in her mouth. She’d do this tremendous wrong to a man who didn’t deserve it, who had already done too much for her.

  The unfamiliar ruthlessness in Diarmid’s face disturbed her. Usually he was the kindest of men.

  “Aye, Christina,” he said in a hard tone. “Marrying me is your best chance of getting your daughter back, certainly the best chance of establishing anything like a happy, comfortable and safe life with her. Will your pride hold out against your daughter’s future?”

  “There are other alternatives.” She sounded shaky. She was shaky.

  “You’re no’ a fool, Fiona.” His lips flattened with impatience. “Ye ken how risky any other plan is, how fragile, how vulnerable you’ll be. How vulnerable you’ll both be."

  She did, God help her. “Why are you doing this?” she asked in a ghost of a voice, twisting the damp linen handkerchief between her nervous hands.

  Diarmid sat up, still staring at her. He hadn’t touched her. He hadn’t moved closer, but with every second, she felt more trapped.

  “Because I’ve pledged to help ye.”

  “There’s help, and there’s ridiculous self-sacrifice. You’ll regret this.”

  “However this works out, I’ll find my reward in knowing ye and your child are safe.” His voice turned implacable “Will ye marry me, Fiona?”

  Despair flooded her and a guilt so sharp, it made her feel like vomiting. But he had too many weapons against her. She had nowhere else to go, no other choice to make.

  Because the bitter truth was that when she was backed against the wall, she’d sacrifice anyone and anything for her child’s sake. Even Diarmid Mactavish.

  She bowed her head and blinked back more tears. Crying struck her as the height of hypocrisy when she achieved just what she wanted, a genuine chance to get her daughter back.

  But at what cost to her? What cost to Diarmid?

  After a long delay, her voice emerged low but certain. “Aye, Diarmid. I’ll marry you.”

  Chapter 21

  On a perfect Scottish summer morning, Diarmid waited for his bride in Achnasheen’s library. He remained unsure whether Fiona would balk at the last minute, so when she and Marina appeared in the doorway, his first reaction was surprised relief.

  They’d all spent yesterday making plans to defeat the Grants. Fergus, who stood up with him now, would travel to Edinburgh next week to seek legal advice about Fiona’s circumstances. Fiona and Diarmid would leave today and journey across to Inverness, from where they’d assess the situation with Christina’s foster family. With Fiona married to a rich, influential man, it was possible they could just collect the child and return to Invertavey.

  Possible, but not likely.

  The final resort was to snatch the girl from her guardians and spirit her away somewhere secret until the legal issues were resolved.

  It wasn’t going to be much of a honeymoon for the bride and groom. But then he was grimly aware that it wasn’t going to be much of a marriage.

  Diarmid hadn’t touched Fiona since she’d agreed to marry him, not even so much as a hand on her arm as they went into dinner. She probably thought he was being considerate of her feelings. When he’d proposed, he was shocked to realize that she’d developed an unrealistically rosy view of his character.

  The humiliating truth was that if she gave him an inch of encouragement, he didn’t trust himself to keep his promise about a chaste marriage.

  As he turned to watch her walk in, he bit back an agonized groan. This marriage would send him mad, if he wasn’t careful. Marina must know this was no love match, but it seemed she couldn’t resist turning Fiona into an unforgettable bride.

  The cream gown was made of heavy silk and swept down into a graceful train. The tight bodice clung to Fiona’s bosom in a way that set his blood churning. The rich buttery color only enhanced the satiny whiteness of her skin. A collar of pearls circled her slender throat, and her moonlight hair was caught up with more pearls.

  Her blue eyes sought him out, and a nervous smile hovered around those lush pink lips. Lush pink lips he’d never kiss in passion.

  He’d get used to the idea of never possessing his beautiful bride. Devil take him, he had to.

  Marina bustled in behind Fiona and smiled at Diarmid in an obvious attempt to bolster his spirits. “Doesn’t Fiona make a bellissima bride? Sandra was in alt when I told her we needed to make a wedding gown. Certo, she didn’t even complain about having to do it in a day.”

  “It wasn’t necessary to go to all this trouble,” Fiona said, accepting a bouquet from Marina. When Diarmid noticed it was made up of roses, he felt like someone punched him in the stomach. The most romantic of flowers seemed to be haunting him. “I didn’t wear anything special for my first wedding.”

  When she’d been a frightened fifteen-year-old girl forced into an old man’s bed. Diarmid caught Marina’s eye, and knew she shared the same thought.

  “Even more reason to make an occasion of your second wedding,” Marina said.

  Fiona sent her a reluctant smile. Even from across the room, Diarmid could see that she was as taut as a violin string.

  Why wouldn’t she be? A second husband was the last thing she wanted, and she wasn’t reconciled to what she saw as taking advantage of him. He’d tried to explain that he claimed responsibility for her welfare. But how could he explain what he didn’t understand himself? All he knew was that he felt a fierce need to see her safe and happy.

  A fierce need that this wedding answered, despite all the problems surrounding it.

  Right now, when he looked at his glorious bride, he
knew that in giving her his name, he provided her with a security she’d never had before. He suddenly felt at peace with his decision in a way he’d never expected.

  Perhaps he and his father had more in common than he knew. His father had dedicated himself to one woman, despite knowing she’d never give him what he wanted. Fiona was a different creature from his reckless, faithless mother, but the end result was the same. Diarmid, like his father, would spend his life hungering after what he couldn’t have.

  Perhaps it was time to stop blaming his mother for not loving his father and seeking her happiness wherever she could find it. One thing Diarmid had learned lately was that few emerged unscarred from the perilous jungle of the human heart.

  For the first time since he was old enough to understand the tension between his parents, he drew a breath untainted with bitterness over his mother’s betrayal. To his surprise, the air tasted sweet. He’d carried his resentment around for so long, he only now realized how the burden had weighed him down.

  Rest in peace, Mamma.

  As he crossed to take Fiona’s arm, his smile was genuine. Who knew how this marriage would play out? He already owed his reluctant bride a debt for helping him to see his unhappy parents with adult eyes, not the eyes of an abandoned child. “Ye look bonny, lassie.”

  When his hand curled around her silk sleeve, she gave a start. But her voice was steady as she replied. “Thank you. So do you.”

  Ridiculously, like the schoolboy he hadn’t been in years, he found himself blushing under her admiring gaze. “Och, Fergus came to the rescue.”

  Luckily he and Fergus were of a height and of a similar build. The superfine black coat might hang a wee bit loose on his lean frame, but at least he looked a proper bridegroom for his wedding.

  He smiled at Fergus and Marina. “We both owe ye more than we can say.”

  “Any time, laddie.” Fergus turned to face the minister who waited in front of the unlit hearth with a prayer book in his hands. “Shall we proceed, Reverend Angus?”

  “Aye, if Mr. Mactavish and Mrs. Grant are ready.”