“Aye, it is.”
She stared at him, seeing him clearly for what felt like the first time. One thing was apparent—he’d loved her for a long time. Now that he’d put a name to the glow in his eyes when he looked at her, she realized that light had been there at least since he’d married her. Maybe even before that.
“I’m sorry, Diarmid,” she said with aching regret. “If I was to love any man, it would be you.”
“No’ much consolation.”
“No,” she said bleakly. Not much consolation at all.
For a long time, she stared into his face, willing what she saw there to be an illusion. But he was as steadfast as she was. She couldn’t doubt that he loved her. Nor could she doubt that he suffered because she couldn’t love him in return.
Eventually Diarmid shifted, wincing as he jolted his sore shoulder. When he reached out to take her hand once more, she didn’t pull away. “Och, lassie, it’s no’ the end of the world.”
He was so gallant. She crushed his hopes to nothing, yet he found the generosity to offer her comfort.
Fiona started to cry. Because she wanted to love him and couldn’t. Because when she’d seen him fall to Allan’s bullet, she’d feared that she lost him forever and that prospect had turned the world into a blighted desert. Because the day had been full of too many overwhelming emotions, and she reeled with the rapid changes from fear to fury to joy, all ending with this excruciating conversation that threatened to tear her apart.
“It feels like the end of the world,” she sobbed, trying to dash the tears away with shaking hands.
“I’ll survive.”
“But I hurt you.”
His smile conveyed the piercing tenderness that should have warned her long ago that he felt more for her than mere physical attraction. “This time, I dinna have a handkerchief on me. But dry your eyes. We’ll work something out.”
Fiona fumbled in her pocket and found a useless scrap of lace. Masculine handkerchiefs were much more practical. With shaking hands, she wiped her eyes. “Do you want me to leave you?”
“Now?”
“No. Forever.”
“Do ye want to go?”
“You might come to hate me because I can’t love you.”
“Never.” Diarmid sounded so sure, she couldn’t doubt he meant it.
“I’d like to stay with you,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I’d like Christina to grow up at Invertavey. I’d like her to have the example of a good man in her life.”
“In that case, stay.” He squeezed her fingers. “I promise I willnae annoy ye with endless pleas for your love. In fact, ye have my word, I’ll never mention the word again.”
She studied him, knowing yet again he was acting with a pure-hearted benevolence that put her to shame. “Won’t that be difficult?”
“Not as difficult as going on without ye. But you need to know the truth before ye commit to your new life. I love ye, Fiona, and that will never change.”
“I wish things could be different,” she said, hating that she started to cry again.
“We’ve got Christina back. The Grants are no longer a threat.” He looked strained and defeated, although she saw he did his best to pretend he was at peace with a lifetime of unrequited love. “We’ve come through our travails.”
“Except Allan shot you.”
“I’ll heal. We’ll stay together, and we’ll build a good life. Dinna cry anymore. We still have plenty to celebrate.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” she said thickly.
“It will in time. You’re just tired and overwrought right now.”
“You’re the one who was shot. You’re meant to be resting, and all I’ve done is upset you.”
“I’d rest better, if you lay down beside me,” he said softly. “Never fear, we’ll find a way forward. After all, we mightnae have love, but we have so much else. And I miss sleeping with my bonny lassie beside me.”
She summoned a shaky smile and slid into the bed to curl up at his side. Despite everything, when she twined her arm around his waist, a fugitive peace filled her heart.
Diarmid was right. They’d already achieved so much together, more than she’d ever imagined they would. Who knew what else the coming years would bring them?
Chapter 35
Invertavey House, August 1820
“I won! I won!” Crowing over her convincing victory, Christina flung her cards down on the baize table.
Diarmid laughed at her childish delight and folded his hand. “Aye, you did, ye canny brat. I’m beginning to be sorry I taught you piquet.”
“So that means I can have a kitten from the litter that Mags’s cat had last week? I know just the one I want. The wee black and white girl.”
“It does. Serves me right for making such a reckless bet against a card sharp like ye. Ye should run and tell her now, before she gives your kitten away to someone else.”
The prospect of losing out on her choice had Christina scampering out the library door. Diarmid found himself smiling as he watched her go. What a difference a year had made in the lassie.
The Christina who first came to live at Invertavey had been quiet and subdued, and inclined to start at her own shadow. She’d accepted her mother’s second marriage as she accepted everything—too placidly for a nine-year-old girl. Diarmid read a lifetime of fear into the way she shied from his presence. She’d suffered months of bad dreams, too, filled with the dramatic events of that day near Glen Lyon, but also featuring other, older miseries.
Only gradually had the playful, happy child emerged. Now the house echoed to her chatter. Diarmid hadn’t put much thought into what it would be like to have a lively young girl in his home. To his surprise, he took to his role of stepfather as if born to play the part.
“You spoil her,” Fiona said from the window seat, where she was sewing some pink ribbons onto one of Christina’s dresses.
“Och, she’s overdue a bit of spoiling,” Diarmid said, smiling at his wife and unable to deny the charge. “When I think of what that swine Allan Grant put ye both through…”
As he looked at his wife sitting in a pool of sunshine on this lovely summer’s day, he knew he was a deuced lucky man to have both his gorgeous lassies in his life. Christina wasn’t the only one who had blossomed with kindness and contentment.
Fiona was more beautiful than ever, now that strain no longer tightened her features. It had taken a long time, but the haunted look had at last left her azure eyes. She smiled more often, and her silvery laugh had become the music of his life. His wife was a lover who turned his nights to fire, but just as precious were quiet, sweet moments like this one, where they shared a closeness he’d never felt with anyone else.
How grateful he was that he’d discovered his mermaid on Canmara Beach that stormy morning. He’d even face another bullet in his shoulder in return for a life with Fiona. The wound had healed, although cold weather brought twinges that he suspected would remain a permanent reminder of Allan Grant’s spite.
A small price to pay for the fulfillment he’d since found.
This last year with Fiona had flown. Once Diarmid had recovered from his wound and settled Christina and Fiona into their new home, he’d pursued the legal case to restore Fiona’s property. That matter, too, had found a satisfying ending. Without Allan, the Grants had lacked the will for a long, bitter fight through the courts in Edinburgh. Correspondence last week indicated that the wrangling would be resolved in Fiona’s favor next month. At her urging, he’d demanded his ten thousand pounds back, and to his surprise, even that would now return to his coffers as part of the settlement.
Nor had he and his wife neglected family and friends. Visits to and from Fergus and Marina, and to Hamish’s house at Glen Lyon had punctuated the months. Everyone had celebrated Christmas at Achnasheen, where Elspeth and Brody’s baby son Percival had been the center of attention.
Life was good and promised to get even better. Fiona made him happy and banished
a loneliness that before his marriage he hadn’t recognized he felt.
The fact that he loved his wife more with each minute and she didn’t love him back should be no more than a minor niggle.
To his regret, it was worse than that, but with every day he woke up beside this glorious woman, he lectured himself about not baying for the moon. He should be content to settle for what he had.
Because what he had was marvelous.
Fiona bit into the thread and set her sewing on the seat beside her. “I happen to know that you told Mags on Tuesday to keep that particular kitten for Christina.”
“Och, you’re getting a little too clever for your own good, lassie. I’ll soon have nae secrets from ye at all.”
“Neither you should.” She glanced out the window behind her. “It’s a bonny afternoon. Would you like to take a walk?”
Without a qualm, Diarmid put aside his plans to check the estate accounts. When a comely lassie invited a man for a stroll, only a clodpoll said no. He might coax his wife into sharing a few kisses, once they were out of sight of the house.
Perhaps more than kisses.
“That’s a braw idea. The gardens?”
“I have a fancy to see Canmara Beach.”
“Then Canmara Beach it is.” He rose from his chair and held out his hand. “Lady Invertavey?”
***
The day was warm, with just enough of a breeze to set the pines whispering as they entered the woods leading to the dunes. In the shadowy, mysterious light, Diarmid felt that he and Fiona ventured into an enchanted kingdom. Which suited his plans very well.
“Come with me, lassie,” he murmured, drawing her off the path and into the trees. At this time of day, the estate workers should be busy, but he didn’t want to take the chance of anyone interrupting him.
“Diarmid, I have a feeling that you’re about to shock me,” Fiona said, although he noticed she followed him readily enough.
“Och, I hope so,” he said with a low laugh, gently pushing her back against a moss-covered trunk.
“We’re outside.” She landed with enough of a bump to gasp. Or perhaps she gasped because she was excited. She linked her hands around his neck, and the eyes she raised to his were bright with sensual interest.
“We are indeed.”
He’d often fantasized about taking her in the open air. Today provided the perfect opportunity.
“And it’s daytime.”
“Och, we’ve made love in the daytime plenty of times before.”
“In our rooms.” Fiona had got into the habit of afternoon “naps,” although precious little sleeping ever took place.
“Time for a change of scene, surely. If you’re missing the night, I’ll do my best to make ye see stars.”
“That’s a rash promise, my cocky laddie.” The carnal promise in her smile sent heat rippling through him. She dragged his head down toward hers. “Just make sure you keep it,” she murmured against his mouth.
The eagerness in her lips made his head swim, and he kissed her back with unabashed appreciation. She fumbled at the front fall of his breeches until he sprang free, full and ready.
When her fingers curled tight around the hot column of flesh, he groaned.
“Aye, that’s it, my darling,” he bit out as that clever hand squeezed the head of his cock. He reached forward to gather up her skirts, but she brushed his hands away.
“No.”
“No?”
“Not yet. Let me service you first.”
His heart crashed against his ribs. “Fiona?”
“Take a step back.”
Dizzy with anticipation, he retreated far enough to allow her to sink to her knees in front of him. She’d taken him in her mouth before and even seemed to enjoy it, once she’d recovered from her astonishment at the whole concept. But the prospect of her doing this to him here, with nothing above them but God’s bonny blue sky, made him shake with sinful excitement.
When the wet heat of her mouth enclosed him, he released a long, shuddering groan. His hands framed her head, tangling in silky blond hair as she drew hard on him. The sensations rocketing through him flared to a wildfire.
As she fondled his tight balls, she adjusted the angle and took him deeper. Struggling against losing himself, he ground his teeth together. Her tongue swirled around him, and as she began to move her head up and down, he was the one who saw stars.
He sucked in a breath that tasted of pine needles and arousal. The pressure built higher and higher. He was so close…
Clumsily, he staggered back. He’d come in her mouth during prior encounters, but today he wanted to share the pleasure in the most intimate way he knew. “Wait, sweetheart.”
She tilted her head to regard him with a puzzled expression. “I want this.”
Her lips glistened where she’d taken him. He closed his eyes briefly and wondered if he was mad to stop her at this point, but he burned to be between her legs when he spilled his seed.
“And I want ye.” He caught her under her arms and hoisted her to her feet. “Turn around and put your hands against the tree.”
Once she might have hesitated to obey him, but the trust between them now was so strong, it was invincible. Panting, she shifted to place her palms flat on the rough tree trunk.
“Push your hips out toward me,” he said in a voice that rasped like a file on metal.
“You’re going to use me like a stallion covers a mare,” she said in wonder.
“Aye.”
She lowered her head, lifting her hips toward him in silent invitation. With shaking hands, he flung up her skirts and petticoats to reveal luscious buttocks draped in sheer lawn drawers.
Diarmid ripped the strings of her drawers and shoved the filmy material down to her ankles. The sight of her bare arse had him bending to scrape his teeth over the firm flesh. She moaned and edged back in wordless encouragement.
“Step out of them,” he growled.
Once she did, he reached between her thighs to stroke her cleft. She shivered under his touch. She was close to ready, even before his fingers explored the delicate folds. When he teased the center of her pleasure, she rewarded him with a broken cry and a gush of feminine heat.
He didn’t linger. They were both hungry for what was about to happen. With urgent hands, he caught her hips and slid into her, basking in her body’s avid welcome. Miraculously he felt her clench around him in swift ecstasy. On a groan, he thrust hard.
The world transformed into hot, scarlet lightning. As the mighty climax thundered through him, he let go of her hips and cupped her breasts in his hands. She pressed her back up toward him, urging him on as he shuddered over her.
When at last he withdrew, she was trembling beneath him. She clung to him as he slipped free, as if she never wanted him to leave her. He bent to kiss her nape, inhaling the delicious fragrance of floral soap and musky perspiration.
Half-falling, Diarmid dragged her down until they were sitting on the thick layer of pine needles. He leaned back against the tree and hauled her into his arms.
With a choked sound, Fiona plastered herself against him, and buried her face in his shirt. It took him far too long to realize that she was crying.
“Tears, Fiona?” he asked in dismay. For the love of heaven, had he been too rough with her? “Dinna tell me that I hurt ye?”
She shook her disheveled head without answering. On a broken sob, she pressed into him and her hands made frantic fists in his shirt.
“Please, talk to me, mo chridhe.” Seriously worried now, Diarmid tightened his embrace. “Tell me I havenae done anything too bad.”
“Nothing…nothing bad at all,” she forced out. She struggled to sit up, and shaking hands dashed the tears from her eyes. “Good. Wonderful. Glorious.”
All of that would have sounded fine, if she wasn’t bawling her heart out when she said it. As he struggled to make sense of what was going on, he fastened his breeches. “Then why on earth are ye crying, lassie?”
“I feel…”
He caught her chin in his hand, so she couldn’t hide the truth from him. If he’d hurt her in his desperate passion, he wanted to know. “What do ye feel? Tell me.”
“What can I say? I feel overcome, transformed, swept away from myself. Sometimes it’s just too much. The beauty of it all makes me want to cry.” She twisted out of his hold and surveyed him with eyes glittering with tears. “It happens whenever we’re…together.”
He gradually came to realize that whatever had brought on this emotional storm, his headlong seduction hadn’t caused her any injury, at least. But he was still at a loss to explain her powerful reaction. “Pleasure?”
“That.” She kneeled at his side, her green dress crushed and drooping at the neck where he’d tugged on it, touching her breasts. Her once-tidy chignon was half-undone, and strands of hair hung about her intent face. He’d never seen her look more beautiful. “But much, much more than just pleasure.”
“Good more?”
“Oh, yes.” She bit her lip as she seemed to struggle to find the words to explain. Instinct told him not to interrupt her with more questions. “When you’re inside me, Diarmid, I feel like we become one person.”
The unexpected answer slammed through him like a killer punch from a champion bare-knuckle fighter. He swallowed to loosen his tight throat and made himself respond with a calmness he didn’t feel. “I feel like that, too.”
“Do you?”
“Aye. Always.”
“With other women?”
He frowned. Where the devil was Fiona going with this? “Since I met you, there havenae been any other women. I promised ye my fidelity.”
“But before we married, you had lovers.”
Diarmid shifted in discomfort. “Aye.”
“Did it feel the same?”
“No.” Now it was his turn to struggle for an answer. “It was nice. But what I feel when I’m with ye shakes the whole world.”
It was no mystery why. When their bodies united, she felt like the only woman in the world, because to him, she was the only woman in the world. He loved his wife beyond all reason. A year of marriage had only worsened his affliction.
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