A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,77
nice price, and sheep don’t fuss over their roofs. Times are changing, Broc. King George beat the Scots idiots who want to live in the dark ages. You picked the right side. Go off to the colonies and leave it to us. You’ll see.”
“This is my home,” Broc said weakly.
“And mine.” Fiona fixed Tavin with her steely gaze. “Make yourself useful, you two. Go down to the kitchens and see what’s to eat.”
“Ha,” Tavin said. “We’re not lackeys.”
“Very well. I’ll go.” Fiona tossed down her scarves and turned toward a door that led to the stairs.
Tavin started after her. Stuart gave him a cold stare, and Tavin quickly backed away. Stuart ducked into the stone stairwell Fiona had entered, holding the walls to steady himself as the stairs spiraled downward.
He’d left Padruig and Gair in the hall, but he did not fear for them. With any luck they’d terrify Tavin and his brother into disappearing into the night.
Stuart caught up with Fiona in a passage that connected storage rooms to the kitchen.
“Are ye all right, lass?” he asked in a low voice.
“They’re leeches,” she said furiously. “Sucking us dry.”
“I see that. Family can be hell.” Stuart cupped her shoulders. “It’s been a long ride, and ye’ve done much.” He brushed a finger over her smooth cheek. “Your compassion astonishes me.”
Fiona shrugged, but he saw a flicker of darkness in her eyes. “I can’t not help Highlanders who are trying to survive. They fought so bravely, while my cousins sit on their cushions, eat sweetmeats, and tend to their wigs.”
Stuart flashed her a grin. “Ye have hidden depths.”
“They need to stay hidden, don’t they? Or I’ll be arrested and those lads hunted down.”
“Aye, as you say. How many others have ye helped while I sat on my … cushion … in prison?”
“I don’t know. Dozens.”
“How do ye find them? If you’ll let me ask? How did those lads come to hide in the rocks near Càrn Eige?”
“They were sent word.” Fiona kept her voice quiet, still wary of being overheard. “And I received word that they were there. No one pays much attention to what women get up to. It’s wives and sisters and mothers all over the Highlands who find the men and make sure they’re fed, clothed, and provided a path to safety. Supplies are left by those who can obtain them at places like the inn where you found me. I and a few others coordinate it.”
Stuart lightly caressed her shoulders. “They are correct—you are an angel of mercy.”
Fiona’s face softened, and she rested her hands on his chest. “If I’d known you were in prison, I’d have tried to find out where and have you released. I’m so sorry.”
Stuart stared down at her in amazement. “If ye’d poked around, ye might have been arrested, or … King Geordie’s soldiers got up to terrible things. I’m glad ye didn’t know. But it’s all right now.”
“Is it?” Fiona’s eyes sparkled with tears. “I’ve always thought of my home as a refuge, even with the arguments I have with Broc. Now it’s too sad. Broc …”
“Aye, he’s not well. He needs to be somewhere warm where he can heal.”
She stiffened. “Not Antigua. I’m not letting Tavin send him off to the colonies.”
“I meant warm and snug, not hot and malarial.”
“Oh. Then what…?”
Stuart forestalled her words by tilting her face up and kissing her. He couldn’t resist with her standing so close, she shrugging off her sacrifices to assist defeated men, never mind the grave danger to herself.
He got lost in the kiss, Fiona rising to him, her arms going around his neck. Fiona held on, her body flowing to his, her lips parting. Stuart kissed her leisurely, tasting her, letting the wanting he’d bottled up surge through him.
Fiona gave and gave of herself, assuming a brisk air to keep others from wounding her. So few gave to her.
But Stuart was here for her now. Coming to this castle and seeing Broc Macdonald had revealed to him exactly what he needed to do.
He eased away from the kiss, tracing her lower lip with a gentle thumb.
Fiona drew in a breath. Stuart expected her to berate him, but she only met his gaze with a steady one, opening herself to him.
He read Fiona’s hurts and fears over the last year as she’d watched Scotsmen and Scotswomen become intoxicated and then destroyed by Prince Teàrlach’s cause, saw her brother come home wounded, his spirits ebbing.
She’d also believed she’d lost Stuart—he saw the sharp