The Highlander's Lost Lady

by Anna Campbell

  “Are ye ready?” Diarmid murmured to Fiona.

  “Are you?” Wide blue eyes full of doubt focused on him. “There’s still time to change your mind about this outlandish scheme.”

  “This is the only way to save Christina, Fiona.” He paused. “I have a feeling we were heading for this moment since we met.”

  Her lips turned down with the familiar self-mockery he liked so much. “You should have left me on that beach.”

  “No, lassie, that I couldnae do. Ye made the place look untidy.”

  As he brought her forward to the minister, he heard her stifle a huff of laughter. Not a bad way to start a marriage, he thought.

  The ceremony didn’t take long. To his surprise, Fiona spoke her vows in a confident voice. Her demeanor gave no hint that she harbored doubts about this union. She held her head high, and her spine was as straight as a ruler.

  Because she was a widow, he supposed a new bride’s blushing hesitation was inappropriate. Hell, what reason did she have to blush anyway? She’d slept undisturbed since he met her, and she’d sleep undisturbed tonight, too.

  Damn it.

  Even that thought couldn’t cast a pall over what they did, although he wasn’t foolish enough to imagine he’d remain quite so reconciled to his cold marriage as time went on. Just now, he wasn’t ready to borrow trouble. Something felt right about this simple ceremony in this room he’d always loved, with his dearest friends by his side. There were worse ways to pledge your life to a woman.

  As he’d known it would, the most uncomfortable moment came at the end of the ceremony, after he’d slid the gold ring Fergus had found for him onto Fiona’s slender finger.

  “Now ye may kiss the bride,” Reverend Angus said, closing his prayer book and regarding Fiona and Diarmid with misty-eyed approval.

  With a hesitant smile, Fiona turned to face him. Diarmid couldn’t help remembering her awkward kisses in the crofter’s hut. When it had taken him far too long to realize that she was as unresponsive as a stone in his arms.

  Still, he had an image to keep up. If the Grants decided to question the validity of this union—and it might well come to that in the end—he wanted the parson to say that all was done in accordance with law and tradition.

  Not wanting to frighten his bride, Diarmid leaned in to brush his lips against her cheek. But at the last second, Fiona shifted and her lips met his. This close, he couldn’t miss her swift intake of breath.

  For an instant that seemed to extend into eternity, her lips remained motionless under his, before he felt a faint flutter as, unbelievably, she kissed him back. He hardly had time to register that tremulous response, before she’d pulled away.

  For a blazing instant, he stared into blue eyes shadowed with uncertainty and astonishment. He struggled to mask the titanic effect that kiss had on him.

  It was over so quickly, now he wasn’t even sure he had felt her kiss him. Dazed, he turned to Marina who embraced him with an enthusiasm he’d never encounter in his bride.

  And yet…

  “Diarmid, I’m so pleased for you. Congratulations, caro. I know you and Fiona will be very happy together.”

  By God, he didn’t. But he owed Marina so much, not least for her generosity when he brought a stranger to claim her help and hospitality. He made himself smile. “Thank ye, Marina.”

  “Congratulations, old man.” Fergus came up to shake his hand. “She’s a wonderful lassie.”

  “Thank ye.” He glanced at Fiona, and acknowledged that Fergus was right. Fiona was wonderful. Beautiful and brave and steadfast.

  The undeniable truth that her steadfastness wasn’t focused on her new husband didn’t take away from how exceptional she was.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Mactavish and Lady Invertavey,” Reverend Angus said. “I’ve got some papers for ye to sign, then I believe you’re both acting as godparents at the christening I’m to perform the noo?”

  “Aye,” Diarmid said, noticing Jenny had slipped into the room carrying a sleeping Eilidh. That peace wouldn’t last, heaven help them.

  Fiona had already left his side to go across to take the baby in her arms. He’d been touched when Marina and Fergus had asked his bride to join him as a godparent to their first child. Fiona had looked completely overwhelmed at the offer, reminding him yet again how lonely her life had been over the last years.

  Aye, however it turned out in the end, he did a good thing this morning.

  “After this, we’ve put together a piccolo wedding breakfast,” Marina said, tugging him away from his solemn thoughts.

  Diarmid frowned. “That’s kind of ye, but we must start on our way. We have a long way to go today.”

  Marina took his arm with a naturalness he wished his wife would emulate. “Diarmid, per dio, don’t be such a spoilsport. You both need to eat, and it’s a day when we should take time to celebrate. It’s not every day our best friend decides to take a wife.”

  “What do ye think, Fiona?” he asked, conscious that from now on, he had to consider someone else’s wishes with everything he did. The short ceremony changed his life in ways that he’d hardly started to imagine.

  She looked up from staring down at Eilidh and summoned a smile. Nobody would call her a radiant bride, but she’d handled the difficult day with her usual stoic courage.

  “A chance to say goodbye to Fergus and Marina would be nice. Another hour or two won’t make much difference, when the light lingers so late and the weather promises fair.”

  “Excellent,” Fergus said.

  It was only as Diarmid turned to thank the reverend for conducting the ceremony that he wondered whether perhaps Fiona seized the chance to delay being alone with her unwanted bridegroom.

  Chapter 22

  After the wedding breakfast, Fiona and Marina went upstairs to the lovely bedroom overlooking the loch. A room that she was sorry to leave, where she’d slept in a security she couldn’t remember enjoying since her childhood.

  Heaven knew where she’d sleep tonight. Heaven knew if she’d be alone. Diarmid had promised he wouldn’t demand a wife’s duty from her. But however honorable he was, was that a promise too far?

  A strange shiver rippled through her, and to her surprise while it contained fear, it held no trace of revulsion. She couldn’t help remembering how that kiss at the ceremony had made her blood rush.

  “That went well.” Marina smiled at Sandra, who turned from laying a pretty dark blue traveling gown across the bed. “You’re a lucky ragazza, Fiona. I know of no better man than Diarmid, and if he pledges himself to you, he’ll never falter.”

  The praise had Fiona hiding a wince. She didn’t want to hear about what a fine man she’d wed. Not when she wanted to run for the hills and pretend that she hadn’t remarried, despite swearing she never would. She owed her new husband so much, yet she gave him so little in return. No wonder she’d approached her wedding with mixed feelings.

  She bit back a snort. Mixed feelings? She’d been a jangled mess of nerves and self-disgust and guilt. Marina was right—Diarmid was too good for her. He deserved better than a damaged woman, who married him purely out of self-interest.

  He deserved…love. The kind of love she’d stopped believing in, once she realized fairy tales were cruel lies.

  After coming to Achnasheen, she could no longer pretend she didn’t believe in love. With every moment she spent with Marina and Fergus, she witnessed its power.

  “I wish you ‘appy, Signora Mactavish,” Sandra said in her broken English. “Il Signor Diarmid è un uomo eccezionale. E molto bello. You are blessed.”

  Aye, her husband was molto bello and molto buono, and molto cursed to be tied up with her and her troubles. “Thank you, Sandra,” she mumbled.

  In liquid Italian too fast for Fiona to follow, Marina spoke to the woman. The maid curtsied and left the room.

  “Andiamo, bella. Let me help you change,” Marina said. “I’ll miss you. It’s been nice having another woman of my age to talk to.”<
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  Fiona smiled at her. Unlike her gratitude to her new husband, no shadows tinged her gratitude to this remarkable woman. “You must have wished us to perdition when we turned up at such an awkward moment.”

  Marina shook her head emphatically. “No, not at all. Per pietà, cara, I only survived Eilidh’s arrival with your help.”

  “I was glad to be there. It was the kind of day that stops people being strangers.”

  “Sì, certo.” Marina’s smile was wry. “It was also the kind of day that reveals a person’s true colors. You came out pure gold, Fiona. Diarmid’s a lucky man, too.”

  She couldn’t agree. She suspected he wouldn’t either, although she’d lay good money, if she had any, that her white knight would never admit that, even under torture.

  “You’re so kind.” She touched the beautiful collar of pearls around her neck. “Thank you for my wedding gift and my lovely gown. I felt much more like a bride than I did at my first wedding.”

  She bit her lip to force back rising tears. It had been an emotional day. She’d started it with a good cry. Because she was about to marry a wonderful man, and all she could offer him in return was heartache. This should be a joyous morning, and she’d spent it feeling like she went to the guillotine in a tumbril.

  As Marina crossed to stand behind Fiona and unhook the cream gown, her expression softened. “You married a much better man this time round.”

  That was true—and Fiona repaid him with poison coin. They’d settle into things, she supposed, if the unbelievable happened and they retrieved Christina and set up home together. In time, she supposed he’d take a mistress. Men had needs, and Diarmid would reach a point where he could no longer bear their unnatural chastity.

  “Oddio, what’s the matter, Fiona?”

  Fiona realized she’d gone as stiff as a board. She struggled to relax, but it was harder than it should be. How addled she was to choose to avoid Diarmid’s bed, yet to loathe the idea of someone else taking the place she denied herself.

  “Nothing,” she muttered and drew a shuddering breath. “Sorry.”

  Her self-contempt deepened another few notches. Every cell in her body revolted at the thought of her tall, handsome husband kissing another woman, or putting those elegant hands on another woman, or sharing his strong, vigorous body with another woman. The mere idea made her feel sick.

  After a pause, Marina went back to unfastening the dress. “At least I don’t need to talk to you about what happens tonight.”

  “We haven’t…” she began, as Marina lifted the rustling silk over her head. She emerged from all that shiny material to catch sight of Marina smiling in the cheval mirror in front of her.

  “Credimi, I know. I haven’t seen so many longing looks since last year when Fergus took me to see ‘Romeo and Juliet’ at the Theatre Royal in London.”

  “We don’t…” Devil take her, why couldn’t she finish a sentence?

  Marina laid the extravagant frock over a chair and crossed to the bed to lift up the hardly less extravagant traveling dress. “You do.”

  “Diarmid is…” Another sentence that frayed at the ends before she completed it, but she balked at telling anyone, even Marina, that this was to be a chaste marriage. Even she could hardly believe that Diarmid had given her his name and his protection, with no plans at all to enjoy the use of her body.

  “In a complete spin over you. Which is nice when you’re in a complete spin over him, too.”

  Fiona met worried blue eyes in the mirror. A shaking hand rose to her throat, where her pulse fluttered like a moth trapped in a bottle. Of course she was in a spin, but not at the prospect of her husband’s passion. She was in a spin because they would soon confront the Grants, and because even with only a good night’s sleep waiting ahead of her, there was something unsettling about a wedding.

  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.”

  Diarmid immediately regretted his irritation. After all, this cold wedding night was what he’d expected. He made himself smile in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and set aside the volume of Hazlitt’s essays he’d taken from Fergus’s library. When he’d opened it tonight, he’d wondered how many other bridegrooms went to bed with an improving book on their wedding night.

  By God, not many, he’d wager. No, those lucky sods had something much more entertaining to look forward to than finding pleasure in an elegant turn of phrase.

  “Dinna be afraid.” He kept his tone soothing. “The Grants dinna ken we’re here. Even if they did, you’re my wife now. They have nae more legal claim on ye.”

  “I know,” she said, her voice still so low, it was almost a whisper. Those busy hands twisted over and around one another in an agitated dance.

  “Then what are ye doing here?” The question emerged much more baldly than he’d intended.

  Curse him, he wished he’d turned down the lamps. The light was more than bright enough to reveal every detail of her appearance. He tried to tell himself he’d seen her in her nightdress before, but Mags’s acres of billowing flannel didn’t give the same impression as this fine—and much more closely fitted—sheath of white clinging to his wife’s slender body.