A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,66

the frost left his eye. He took a silent sip of ale.

“I warn you though, ’twon’t be easy.” Stuart directed his statement to Gair. “Fiona will want to keep a sharp eye on you.”

“Aye.” Gair deflated, his laughter dying, he probably imagining Fiona’s eagle gaze fixed on his every move. “I thought as much.”

Fiona’s stomach growled as the savory odor of food being carried into the chamber wafted to her. She had her back to the door, only glimpsing the servant trundling in as she tidied her bag of belongings. She pushed the men’s shirts and breeches she’d arranged to be left here with Carrie beneath her own clothes, so that anyone having a peek into the bag would see only her spare petticoats and stockings.

Una poked at the fire, not trusting the inn’s staff to build it to her liking. The small room was gloriously warm, defying the snow swirling outside the dark window.

“Thank you,” Fiona said to the servant. “Leave it on the table, and we’ll have at it.”

“Aye, miss,” came the gravelly reply.

Fiona swung around. The servant, hunched in a homespun wool coat, glanced up at her, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

“Una,” she said. “Will you wait outside a moment? Ask Carrie to give you something to eat.”

Una took one look at Stuart Cameron bending over the food tray, folded her arms, and plunked herself onto a stool by the fire. “Nay,” she said. “I’m staying.”

Chapter Three

Fiona weighed the perils of Una remaining—she’d have to argue long and hard to send her maid away for a private moment with Stuart. Stuart clanked the plates on the tray, also making no move to leave.

Fiona, resigned, stepped past Stuart and closed the door.

“Your reputation, ma’am,” Una said, aghast.

“Is beyond saving by this time,” Fiona returned briskly. “Either everyone pities me as the sister of Broc Macdonald or they believe me a hussy, and nothing will change their opinion. It scarcely matters these days, does it?”

Stuart lifted his head. “When did you grow so cynical, love?”

His soft lilt threatened to shatter Fiona’s heart. “When Highlanders died and my world was destroyed.”

Stuart rose to his full height, his feigned obsequiousness falling away. “Why are you truly here, Fiona? Traveling alone?”

“Nothing I can tell you now.” Fiona shivered as she indicated the walls and one small window. Anyone could listen, anyone could be in the pay of the Hanoverians, or hate the Jacobites for their own reasons. So many scores were being settled in the Uprising’s aftermath.

Stuart nodded his understanding. “Will ye be returning home then?”

Fiona went to her bag and buckled it closed. “I don’t know.” Go back to Broc for Christmas and pretend to dote on him? She’d been gone for months this time, her travels ostensibly to visit friends all over the Highlands, which was partly true—she simply didn’t mention what she and her friends got up to. Broc thought her a frivolous gadabout and had upbraided her the few times she’d returned. She hadn’t been home now since June.

Stuart pushed his hair from his face in the endearing way she remembered. He was so tall, his broad shoulders in keeping with his size. He was a crazed fighter—she’d seen him do battle—and yet, the blunt hands that wielded a claymore and pistol so deftly could be gentle …

Stuart’s fingers left a sooty streak on his cheek. “When ye do go, I have a boon to ask.” He darted a glance at Una, who fixed him with a scowl. “Take me with ye.”

Fiona came out of her daze. “To Castle Mòr? Are ye mad? If Broc sees ye again, he’ll kill you. He said so.” She put her fists on her hips, her slim panniers swaying. “I recall you saying the same about him.”

“Aye, but Padruig wants to go there. He thinks your brother might have this dagger he’s searching for. The pair of them sent me in here to persuade you.”

“Oh.” Fiona tamped down her sudden disappointment. She had no reason to believe Stuart would want to rekindle what they might have had if Prince Teàrlach hadn’t arrived in the west. They’d only begun a few tendrils of passion, and then hell had come to them.

“If I find this bloody knife, I can go about my business,” Stuart said. “Debt paid.”

“Ye trust them?” Una asked in amazement. She’d never learned that retainers weren’t to interrupt their employers—Una was a distant cousin, in any case, a member of Fiona’s clan.

“Not really,” Stuart answered. “But I’m ready to be