God wouldn’t help Christina. Only her mother could do that.
“No, especially if he’s known to ye.”
She dragged her attention back to Mr. Mactavish. He looked spectacular in his somber black. But then, he always looked spectacular, curse him.
“I told you, I don’t remember who he is. But I must have known him once, or we wouldn’t have been on that boat together.” The fact that she deserved the laird’s suspicions didn’t make those suspicions any less annoying. “No more absurd to weep for him than for half the village to turn out to bury a stranger.”
Mr. Mactavish offered his arm. She wished she could refuse it, but she didn’t trust her wobbly knees to hold her up.
“People here respect the sea. If ye visit the churchyard, you’ll see that many an Invertavey man has lost his life to drowning. Your friend isnae the only unknown sailor buried here either.”
He unlatched the gate to the pew and helped her down the wooden step to the church’s flag-stoned floor. Up in the loft, the organ was playing something soft and sad. Fiona and the laird proceeded down the aisle, while the rest of the villagers filed out behind them.
By the time they reached the church door, Fiona was feeling seriously shaky. All she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears, and every step she took felt like a mile. As she struggled to remain upright, her fingers formed claws against the fine black wool of Mr. Mactavish’s coat.
The world tilted and reeled as she found herself swept up in Mr. Mactavish’s powerful arms. “Ye really shouldnae have come,” he said.
She drew a breath to clear the fuzziness from her head and sent him a disgusted look, even as her arm curved around his neck. “If you say I told you so, I’ll bite you.”
He stifled a laugh inappropriate to the solemn occasion. Fascinating creases deepened around his eyes as he smiled.
Spectacular she’d called him? The word didn’t do him justice.
“Och, I might like that.”
Before she could muster a reply to that taunting remark, Dr. Higgins had come up to them. She’d smiled at him in the church, but he’d been too far back from the Mactavish family pew at the front for her to speak to him. “Is Miss Nita all right?”
“She wasnae ready to come out in public.” Mr. Mactavish’s grip on her was firm yet gentle. “Will ye take her back up to the house, John? I should go to the graveside.”
“With pleasure.”
“I can speak for myself.” She winced at how childish she sounded.
Mr. Mactavish stopped and directed a mocking lift of a dark eyebrow at her. “Would ye like to go back to the house, lassie? I could carry ye into the churchyard, but we’re causing enough talk as it is.”
She looked around and saw that everyone was staring at her in the laird’s arms. Uncomfortable heat prickled her cheeks.
“No, I’ll…I’ll go back to the house.” She mustered a stronger tone. “You know, you don’t need to haul me about like a bag of flour all the time.”
He gave a sardonic grunt. “I do, when you turn as white as that flour. I cannae have strange women fainting at my feet and littering the church. People might trip over ye and do themselves a mischief.”
Fiona didn’t want to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. She was annoyed with him. And she was genuinely sad that they buried old Colin Smith today. If he hadn’t agreed to help her, he’d be tucked up safely beside his fireside in Bancavan.
Mr. Mactavish’s efficient care belied his sardonic manner. She soon found herself in the open carriage with the luxurious rug wrapped around her once again.
As Dr. Higgins took the seat opposite, Mr. Mactavish tipped his hat to her, then turned to his friend. “Stay on for a wee dram, if you’re no’ in a hurry to be elsewhere.”
“Aye, I will. Thank you.”
As the driver clicked his tongue to the horses and the carriage rolled away, Fiona couldn’t help turning her head to watch Mr. Mactavish stride after the coffin.
I’m sorry, Colin. I’m sorry I got you into this. I’m sorry you died. And I’m sorry I’m too feeble to see you safely placed in your grave.
“The service didn’t spark any memories for you?” Dr. Higgins asked.
She’d forgotten he was there, she was so busy staring after the laird, who towered above everyone around him. There was no reason to blush. She didn’t harbor wicked intentions toward Mr. Mactavish, however handsome he was. But blush she did, even as she brushed a tear from her eye and said a silent farewell to Colin.
“No.” She avoided his gaze and stared down to where she ripped at her damp handkerchief. “I’d tell you if it did.”