Page 88 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

For the first time Fiona had real hope that all would be well. She would become Gavin’s wife and live out the rest of her days by his side. It felt giddy to realize that the happiness that had eluded her for so long was finally here.

Joy, it seemed, came in unexpected bursts, buried among the mundane and ordinary, balanced by tragedy and sorrow. She had known all those emotions, experiencing poignant despair and near-crippling fear. Was that what made this moment all the more sweet? All the more valued? Or was it the fact that she had overcome impossible odds and in the end achieved her heart’s desire?

Most likely it was a mix of all those things. Love, it appeared, was wont to bloom wherever it willed, with no consideration to politics or propriety. How marvelous!

The landscape rolled past. Fiona shifted in the saddle, trying to ease the stiffness in her legs. Seeing her discomfort, Gavin reached down and began massaging her hip, his strong fingers making short work of the knotted muscles. She sighed and leaned back, smiling when she felt him rubbing his nose lightly against the top of her head.

“Only a few more hours and we shall be home, my love,” he promised.

Fiona looked up. She ran her fingers over his forehead, sweeping his hair away from his face. A small smile played around his lips, but his deep blue eyes were alight with happiness.

Suddenly, Fiona’s own eyes were stinging, the corners saturated with tears, but she refused to cry. Sobbing meant sorrow and that was the very last thing she was feeling. The joy in her heart knew no bounds, the delight in her soul was limitless.

Riding thusly, they were only able to converse sparingly. But words were not needed when emotions ran so high. Every now and again, Gavin would lean his head down and rumble some suggestive bit of nonsense in her ear. The provocative statements had Fiona squirming with anticipation. Heedless of decorum, she cooed a few equally graphic suggestions herself, delighted to see the sharp flare of desire heat Gavin’s gaze.

It had been far too long since they shared a bed and never as acknowledged lovers. The anticipation of an intimate reunion was foremost in her mind—and judging by the heat and hardness of the arousal pressing insistently against her lower back, Gavin felt the same way.

Would the freedom to open their hearts and express their emotions without restraint make it different somehow? Fiona suspected that it would and she was more than curious to discover if she was right.

As Gavin had predicted, it took them several hours to reach the castle. Fiona hadn’t realized they were so far away. She glanced down at Laddie, admiring the dog’s stamina. At her insistence, he had been hoisted over Duncan’s saddle, sitting mostly in the man’s lap, when they first rode out, but had jumped down when they stopped to water the horses and refused to be picked up again.

Instead, the dog ran ahead of the horses, leading the way home. It seemed fitting somehow, since he had led them to Fiona and Aileen. Fiona suspected there would be many soup bones in the dog’s future, a fitting reward he had more than earned.

There was a shout of excitement from the men when the castle came into view. The exhaustion that threatened to overtake Fiona melted away as she stared at the impressive gray curtain wall and soaring towers. As they rode into the bailey they were met by a deafening cheer. Bewildered, Fiona stared over at Aileen, but the young woman had already dismounted.

“I thought this lot would have been joyful to see the last of me,” Fiona muttered. “Or be wishing that I was eaten by a wild boar.”

“There are a few who have taken a liking to ye,” Gavin insisted. “’Tis only the witless ones who carry a grudge against yer English heritage.”

Fiona smiled timidly at the crowd, determined not to let the many unexpected smiling faces she saw fool her into a false sense of belonging. No doubt the grumbling would start again, loud and long, when it was revealed she was to marry Gavin.

“Father!” Aileen’s cry of joy could be heard across the bailey.

Laird Sinclair ran forward, his expression one of shocked relief. He was surrounded by a circle of his clansmen, who trotted alongside him. Within seconds Aileen was enfolded in her father’s arms.

“I came the moment my men brought me the news. Tell me true, are ye hurt, daughter?”

“Nay,” Aileen replied, her voice trembling. “Though I’m so happy to see ye, I swear I could burst into sobs.”

The laird broke into a relieved smile. But his good mood didn’t last long.

“I demand to know how this happened,” Sinclair shouted, patting his daughter’s cheek, his anxious, sweeping glance examining her from head to toe. “I left Aileen in yer care, under yer protection. How dare ye be so careless with such a treasure?”

Gavin stiffened. “Lady Aileen’s predicament is entirely of her own doing.”

“I dinnae believe it!” Sinclair growled.

Aileen placed a restraining hand on her father’s shoulder, yet said nothing to refute the claim. Why was she waiting? Why wasn’t she explaining what had happened?

“Lady Aileen?” Gavin’s brow raised, and Fiona could feel his shudder as he struggled to rein in his rising temper.

“Milord?”

“Dinnae ye have something to tell yer father?”

Aileen wrinkled her nose. Gavin cast her a threatening glare and Fiona’s heart lurched. The coy expression on Aileen’s face set Fiona’s nerves on edge, but it was Laird Sinclair’s expression that worried her most. ’Twas evident to anyone who bothered to look that the man doted on his daughter.

So, if Aileen was upset, then the laird would be angered, perhaps even feel compelled to do something rash. If she so chose, Aileen had the perfect chance to mislead her father. A circumstance that did not bode well for Fiona and Gavin.

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