Fia had paced the floor, her heart in a knot. She hadn’t eaten or slept. There’d been no news from Carraig Brigh, and that surely meant—she could not bear to think of Dair dead. She cried for him, mourned him, loved him still, and wondered if she always would. He’d shown her passion and love, fiery and sweet, and she didn’t think she could live without that. Still, David MacKay was a sensible choice. He’d give her a home of her own, and children, and make a reliable husband. Was that not everything she’d dreamed of?Once,perhaps, before Dair. . .
Could she be a good wife to David, or would Dair’s ghost forever stand between them? She laid her hand over her broken heart, knew the answer to that.
Her father was gleeful, fully expecting her to say yes—David had spoken to him as well. She should do as her father hoped, as David wished. Even Meggie, who knew the truth, encouraged her to put the past behind her and marry David.
When the day came to give her answer, Fia sat across from David in her father’s hall. She looked at his honest, expectant face, and the equally expectant faces of her kin and his.
Yes.She’d practiced saying it in her mind, over and over. Such a simple word, but now that the time had come to speak it aloud it caught in her throat.
“Well, lass? What do ye say?” David prompted. She looked at his mouth. His lips were thin, a little chapped. She had a salve for that, something to soothe them . . . Was that really all she could think of? She didn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss him, didn’t feel her heart flip or her belly tighten with need at the idea of being held in his arms. She swallowed.
“I wish to say—”
“Fia.”
His voice went through her like a sword slash. She spun, almost toppled. Dair Sinclair was standing behind her. He caught her arm to steady her, and lightning flowed through her limbs. Ah, there was the desire, like liquid fire, familiar and sweet. “Are you a ghost?” she whispered.
She heard the bench creak as David MacKay rose to his feet. “Who’s this?”
Her heart raced. If David could see Dair, then that proved he wasn’t a ghost. He was really here, as dark and braw as she remembered. She noted the fine plaid, the brooch, the bonnet set with three eagle’s feathers. He looked magnificent, powerful, and handsome beyond words. His eyes hadn’t left her face, nor had he let go of her arm. She looked into those eyes, as deep and gray as the waters of Sinclair Bay. There was no madness there. There was hope, and something else, something that took her breath away, made her nipples peak and her hand curl into the wool of her skirt.
She wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotion that poured through her, for the surprise of him, alive and whole, standing in her father’s hall. Air rushed past her ears, and the world tilted under her feet. She’d spent the night pacing the floor, considering things. She hadn’t eaten, should have slept. And now . . .
“You’re here,” she managed to say, and then the world went black.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Donal frowned. For the second time, a chief of the Sinclairs had walked into his hall, uninvited and unexpected, and set the whole place on its ear. Despite the scars on his face, Alasdair OgSinclair looked as chiefly as his father had, and the clansmen with him looked extraordinarily pleased to see Fia. They only had eyes for her this time, though his other lasses did their best to steal the attention. Every man in the room had rushed forward when Fia fainted, but Alasdair Og was the one who caught her, swept her up against his chest, and saved her from falling to the floor.
Donal frowned at the man’s audacity. The Sinclairs had rudely interrupted a moment sure to make him the happiest of fathers. Fia had been about to accept David MacKay. One lass wed—or as good as—and only eleven to go. But now the Sinclair was holding Fia like she belonged to him, and Donal didn’t like that one bit. Nor, by the looks of it, did David MacKay, though he stood like a great thick caber and gaped at the Sinclair chief without saying a word. It was Donal who strode forward and took his daughter’s limp body into his own arms. “What do you mean, marching in here, frightening my daughter?” he demanded.
Alasdair Og removed his bonnet. His clansmen did likewise. “I’ve come to ask for your blessing to marry Fia.”
“What?” David MacKay spoke at last, his eyes popping, and the four other MacKays growled their disapproval. “You can’t,” David said. “She’s betrothed to me.”
Donal winced. Fia hadn’t actually said yes. He looked down at her, still insensible in his arms. She was getting heavy. Meggie plucked at his sleeve. “Papa, I need to tell you something,” she whispered.
But the Sinclairs were glaring at the MacKays, and it looked like a battle was about to begin in his hall.
“Is this true?” Alasdair Og asked. “Is she betrothed?”
“Papa,” Meggie whispered again. Donal shook her off and raised his chin.
“Yes. Well, more or less.” He looked at David MacKay. The lad looked baffled, and as big and daft as a bull.
“Papa!” Meggie wailed.
Donal shifted Fia—it was awkward, holding his daughter, trying to have a sensible conversation and make a very serious decision. The burden, so to speak, for his daughter’s welfare and future happiness lay with him, both as her father and as head of her clan.
He looked at the two men before him. In his own heart, he preferred David MacKay. He wasn’t a pirate or a laird o’ the seas. And he wasn’t mad as far as Donal could see, or chief of a clan with the devil’s own reputation for trouble. David’s plain face and figure spoke of sober good sense, a safe, solid, quiet life, while Alasdair Og was brash, unpredictable, and bold. Donal looked down at Fia. He couldn’t imagine his sweet, gentle lass wanting to be the wife of such a man. Why, just one look at the Sinclair had sent her into a swoon. Nay, she was still fragile, clumsy, and fey, though she’d shown a measure of steel in her makeup of late. He hadn’t the slightest idea how she felt about either of her suitors, and since she was insensible . . . He paused, considered, and the room was silent around him, the crowd of MacKays, Sinclairs, and MacLeods all staring at him, waiting for his decision.
“I choose David MacKay.”
The MacKays cheered. The Sinclairs stood silent. Alasdair Og flushed scarlet but didn’t move a muscle.
“Oh, Papa, no!” Meggie cried. He glared at her.
Fia chose that moment to wake. Her eyes opened, focused slowly on her father. “Dair,” she murmured, and Donal knew at once he’d made the wrong choice. His heart sank. Still, he’d spoken. He couldn’t unsay it now.
