She blushed and brought her wineglass to her lips to hide her embarrassment. “Do you mind me looking at you?”
He gave a grunt of amusement. “What do ye think, sweetheart?”
She swallowed her wine and told herself to settle down. He often used endearments. They didn’t mean anything in particular.
“I think you need to tell me what you’re planning. If it’s a full-on assault, you’re wasting your time. Bancavan has never been taken, despite the best efforts of generations of Mactavishes.”
“I ken the old stories, too.” The humor she loved twisted his lips. “Anyway the days of private armies are over.”
“You can use the law against Allan, but it will be slow, and it gives him too many chances to spirit Christina away. Once she hits twelve, he’ll marry her to William’s son. Whatever the legalities, the courts are inclined to let consummated marriages stand.”
“I ken time is of the essence. Tomorrow, I’ll write to Fergus and tell him what happened at Trahair.”
“Good.”
As he sipped his wine, Diarmid’s expression turned thoughtful. “In all those hundreds of years of feuding, the Grants didnae have everything their own way.”
“No, the Mactavishes were always sneaky.”
“Canny.”
“Underhanded.”
“Cunning as foxes.”
Fiona straightened on her low stool and placed her hand on the side of the bath. She leaned forward eagerly. “You have got a plan.”
When she saw Diarmid’s smile, she found it in her to feel a brief twinge of pity for her vile brother-in-law. Allan had made an implacable enemy in the powerful Laird of Invertavey.
“Aye, I do.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Diarmid, blast you.”
He laughed and leaned forward to kiss her with more intent. “It was something ye said.”
She frowned, as she attempted to focus a mind whirling after that kiss. “Was it?”
She’d said a lot about the Grants. None of it seemed remotely likely to result in Christina’s rescue.
“Ye said Allan never met a penny he didnae like. In that case, the prospect of a pound should drum up a fever of excitement.”
She sat back. “Aye, he likes to hoard his gold, does my revered brother-in-law.”
“I’ll offer him a thousand pounds for Christina.”
“Diarmid!” she said in astonishment. Another act of lunatic generosity from her husband. She gulped back an automatic protest about the extravagance of the payment.
“It’s the perfect solution.”
She felt torn. For ten pounds, Allan would walk barefoot to John o’Groats. For a thousand, he might even give up Christina. “I’m sure Allan has never seen that much money in one lump.”
“It will be irresistible. And by far the best solution to our dilemma. Nobody gets hurt. A nice, clean transaction. Cash for the girl. And Allan Grant signing away any rights he imagines he has over either ye or your daughter.”
“It’s too much money, Diarmid. A fortune, in fact.” Only minutes ago, she’d been giddy with hope and looking forward to a night of passion. Reality’s abrupt and unwelcome return left her reeling. “I shouldn’t let you do it.”
He set down his wine and regarded her with a somber expression. “Do ye recall our vows?”
The question disoriented her. She’d expected an argument. “Of course.”