Her quest loomed ahead, never forgotten, but suddenly overwhelming as she came to understand what a disaster the shipwreck was. She was sad Colin was dead—there were few enough good men in this wicked world. But now she faced a journey across Scotland without a man at her side. She had no illusions about the dangers a lone woman might meet on the open road. A penniless woman, at that. What little money she’d managed to scrape together over the past months had gone down with the fishing boat.
“Stop it, Diarmid.” Dr. Higgins stood beside the bed and lifted Fiona’s hand to count her racing pulse. “You’re upsetting my patient.”
Mr. Mactavish rose. Despite her dark thoughts about him, Fiona’s heart skipped a beat over what a magnificent sight he made. Today he wore the kilt in the purple Mactavish plaid, and the loose white shirt did nothing to hide his broad, straight shoulders and powerful chest and arms.
She waited for him to deliver a blistering response to that rebuke from a social inferior, but to her surprise, he ran an elegant hand through his inky black hair and the taut line of his shoulders loosened. “I apologize, John. And to ye, lassie. I spoke out of turn. It’s barely a day since I found ye half-drowned. It’s nae wonder you’re still buffle-headed.”
Buffle-headed? She was speechless with shock.
Fiona tried to think of another man she’d met who might be willing to admit to a fault and say sorry for it. Even her father who had been a man of principle, unlike most of the men she’d encountered since, had been stiff-necked with pride. He’d never admitted he was wrong.
Not for the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for all the lies she told these decent people. It didn’t make her question what she did, but it was strong enough to make every word taste sour in her mouth.
Her daughter’s happiness, perhaps her very life, depended on Fiona finding her. So she had to return to health in a hurry, then continue her journey. That wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped either. It was apparent that both these men had assumed responsibility for her safety. That spoke volumes for their generosity and kindness, but she could already see that Mr. Mactavish wouldn’t send her on her way alone with a mere wave and good wishes.
She’d need to leave in secret. That would take some planning, but it wasn’t impossible. She wasn’t a prisoner. Although flitting off without a farewell was a shabby return for the treatment she received at Invertavey.
What alternative did she have? Explain her difficulties and throw herself on her host’s mercy? Mr. Mactavish might be a superior example of his sex, but it was likely he’d take the conventional view of her rebellion and force her back into purgatory.
If he did that, Christina was lost.
No, she hated to lie, but lying was her only option while she was here. She just had to ignore her conscience’s protests over how she took advantage of Mr. Mactavish’s hospitality.
“I’m sorry I can’t be more help,” she said, meaning it more than she could tell him.
“Och, it’s nothing, lassie.”
“And I’ve disrupted your household.”
“The household needed disrupting. Before all this excitement, the servants just sat around, gossiping about how dreadful the laird is.”
She smiled at that. This house was well run, and the laird was firmly in charge, even if he ruled with a light hand. She’d witnessed enough bad management in her time to recognize the opposite when she saw it.
Regret stuck its claws into her. Regret and envy. How different her life would have been if she’d come to a place like this after her father’s death. How different Christina’s life would have been.
“At least they’re not drinking your whisky when they do it,” Dr. Higgins said.
“Aye. Only because I keep it under lock and key, laddie.” Mr. Mactavish glanced across at her, and the brief amusement drained from his dark eyes. Which was lucky for her equilibrium. She despised the male sex, but it was hard to remember that when this handsome man treated her like they shared a joke against the world. “We still need to call the lassie something. I cannae have my guest room occupied by a lady I ken only as la bella incognita.”
Dr. Higgins smiled at Fiona with an approval she knew very well she didn’t deserve. “Indeed she is bonny.”
She knew he meant only to compliment her, but fear iced her blood. Her unusual looks had always been more curse than blessing.
“Thank you,” she made herself say, but she caught Mr. Mactavish’s curiosity at her lackluster response.
“What about Nita?” Dr. Higgins suggested, not seeming to notice the und
ercurrents flowing through the room.
Her host studied her before he nodded. “I suppose it will do as well as anything else. What do ye think, lassie?”
Fiona didn’t much care. She wasn’t staying at Invertavey long enough to become a significant part of the household. “I’ll answer to it.”
“Grand to hear.” Again that hint of irony. She knew her host didn’t trust her, which spoke volumes for the acute brain beneath that gorgeous exterior. “Nita the lady shall be.”
Dear Lord, how she wished a stupid man had come to her rescue on that beach. If Mr. Mactavish put his sharp wits to work against her, she had no chance of prevailing.
“Now it’s time for Miss Nita to drink her medicine and get some sleep. All this sparkling conversation is tiring her out.”