The Laird Takes a Bride(61)

“I was so worried, lass, that it was impossible to stay angry. You were very brave and stalwart, you know.”

“So were you. When you lowered your pistol!”

She felt him shrug, casually. “I had the uncle’s measure,” he said. “That type tends to shoot first and ask questions later.”

“He said he wanted to have a bit of me,” remarked Fiona.

“What? Did that bastard so much as touch you? I swear to God I’ll go after him right now, and—”

Fiona interrupted him with another slightly loopy giggle. “No, he didn’t, Alasdair. Dear me, how fierce you sound. He also said I was a rare beauty.”

His arm, which had tightened at her mention of Faing, loosened a little. But—thank goodness—not too much. “I wouldn’t have credited him with that much perceptiveness.”

“My head feels all swimmy,” Fiona said, “but I think I just heard a compliment.”

She wasn’t sure, but he might have dropped the lightest of kisses onto her hair.

“Aye,” he answered, “you did.”

“How nice.” Fiona sighed, feeling very warm and comfortable, which was funny, what with her wet gown and soggy boots, and being filthy and exhausted, but there it was. She drifted into a kind of waking dream, in which everything was easy, in which everything was possible. It was even possible, in fact, to rest her head on Alasdair’s shoulder, on his strong, lovely, muscled shoulder, and to slide her hand along that firm, heavy arm around her waist.

And so when finally they stopped at the wide stone steps of Castle Tadgh, Fiona was, almost, sorry.

Even more was she surprised to see so many people there to greet and receive them despite the outrageously late hour, their voices warmly hailing the safe return of their lady, congratulating Alasdair and his men, inquiring as to their respective well-being, and did they wish for anything to eat or drink?

Fiona was helped down by someone, but before she could take a step forward, Alasdair had dismounted and lifted her into his arms, as easily as he would cradle a babe, and bore her up the steps. Once inside, in the Great Hall, she saw that there was Mrs. Allen alongside them, smiling, and to her Alasdair said: “Is the mistress’s bath prepared? And a tray ready for her? Thank you, Mrs. Allen. We’ll go up directly.”

“I can walk,” said Fiona, although secretly she was glad when Alasdair only said firmly:

“I’ll carry you.”

“Thank you, Alasdair.”

“You’re welcome, lass.”

As they went up the staircase she said, “Alasdair.”

“Yes, Fiona?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired before.”

“It’s understandable, under the circumstances.”

“I suppose so. I feel rather fuzzy.” Fiona felt her head lolling back against him. After a few minutes she said thoughtfully, “This is very luxurious, being carried. One feels a little like Cleopatra, although of course without the carpet. Gracious, I’ve never looked at ceilings quite this way before. Did you say my bath will be ready?”

“Aye.”

“Oh, good. Are you sure I’m not too heavy for you?”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re very strong. Oh, Alasdair, look, there’s something painted on the ceiling in this gallery. I never noticed it before. What is it?”

“It’s a bad reproduction of some of the frescoes from the Sistine Chapel. See? There’s the Creation . . . Noah and the Flood . . . the Twelve Prophetic Figures . . .”

“Oh my. They are bad.”

“An enthusiasm of my great-grandfather, apparently. He brought in an artist from Italy, who swore he was a direct descendant of Michelangelo himself.”

“I doubt it.”

Alasdair laughed. “So do I. My mother always meant to have them painted over, but never got around to it.”

“Look, there’s God dividing water from Heaven. And He has red hair, just like yours! These must never be painted over.” And Fiona laughed, too.

All too soon, they were at and into their bedchamber, and she was given into the competent hands of her maid Edme, even as two other maidservants came in, one with a covered tray that smelled delicious, the other with an armful of fresh toweling, and Mrs. Allen was there, to check on things, and at the same time as Fiona was thanking Alasdair again, an exuberant Cuilean bounded into the room, excited to see everyone, and Alasdair said something to Fiona which she didn’t catch and was also ordering Cuilean to calm down, and then another maidservant came in and the next thing she knew she was being bundled off to her dressing-room, stripped of her soggy clothes, and put into a warm bath which felt wonderful.