By the following afternoon, there was still no sign of Dair. John saw how worried Fia was, noted the dark circles under her eyes, saw how drawn and pale she was. She looked thin behind her pregnant belly.
Gillian was supposed to sail the next morning, but it was clear that wouldn’t happen now. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or dismayed. He’d avoided her company as much as possible, but he couldn’t help but see her. It had been torment and pleasure. He couldn’t look into her eyes or smell her perfume without wanting to drag her into his arms.
Best she was gone, he thought, and soon.
When Fia asked to see him, he expected she would tell him that plans had changed, and Angus would take Gillian to Edinburgh aboard the Maid. That was fine by John—he could easily manage things until Dair arrived home.
Gillian’s MacLeod escorts were anxious. They’d been given the task of taking their laird’s daughter to her wedding, and Donal MacLeod would expect a full report of any problems. He didn’t like bad news, had no patience with delays or misadventures, or so Fia said. All five MacLeod warriors were pacing the floor of the hall as John made his way to the library.
The only one who didn’t seem concerned was Gillian herself. She was calmly playing with her niece and nephew as he passed. She’ll make a wonderful mother, he thought, and gritted his teeth.
He found Fia using Dair’s telescope to scan the sea. “Is there any sign of him?” he asked her, and she turned.
“No, not yet.”
He helped her to a chair, watched her try to find a comfortable position. She frowned at him once she was settled. “You look like you haven’t slept,” she said to him.
“Me?” He looked at her in surprise. Trust Fia to notice even the subtlest changes in the people she cared about. “I’m fine,” he assured her, then forced a grin. “Better than fine.”
She sent him a look of mild rebuke. “I hope the same can be said of Elspeth, or Rhona, or Effie . . .”
He winked, played the rogue. “A gentleman never gossips.” He sat beside her. “And how are you feeling?”
She put a hand to her belly, rubbed gently. “Tired. Worried.”
“About Dair? Dair is a fine sailor, and he has the devil’s own luck in the kind of seas that would sink anyone else. He’ll be—”
She held up her hand to stop him. “I know, I know. Angus keeps reminding me of it. Still . . .” she sighed. “It’s not him I’m concerned about right this moment. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Anything,” he said.
She smiled sweetly. “Dear, noble John. I can always count on you. I’m glad you’re here at Carraig Brigh.” He made no reply, waited for her to continue. “As you know, my sister Gillian is to be married in Edinburgh in a little more than a fortnight’s time. She was supposed to be here for a week, but it’s stretched to almost three, waiting for Dair.”
“Aye,” he said. He was well aware of every day, every minute Gillian had been here.
“And Dair was to escort her to her wedding aboard the Virgin and give her away to Sir Douglas.”
He nodded. His belly tensed, suspecting now that Fia’s favor was going to be something he wasn’t going to like.
“It’s clear that if we wait for Dair . . .” Her voice hitched. “If we wait for him, Gillian will be late for her wedding. What if her groom thinks she isn’t coming?”
He relaxed. “Ah—you want me to find someone to take a letter to Edinburgh.”
She gave him the kind of look women give men who are particularly slow. “I want you to take Gillian to Edinburgh.”
“Me?” He rose to his feet in sheer astonishment. “Me?”
Fia smiled sweetly. “Of course you. You’re Dair’s captain, and his friend. That makes you my friend, and Gillian’s. I know you won’t sail, but there’s just enough time to go by land. If you leave tomorrow, you should reach Edinburgh a day or two before the wedding. It won’t be much time, but it will have to do.”
John stared at her. He thought of long days on the road with Gillian by his side—along with five MacLeod clansmen, of course. He wondered if they shared the same sentiments as their laird regarding Englishmen. “Why not send Angus Mor?” he suggested.
“Because Annie’s babe is due any day now. He’ll want to be here.”
He pointed to the door. “But surely all those fine MacLeod warriors can take her. They’re built like blockhouses. They can easily protect her. She doesn’t need me.”
“Of course they can. They’d give their life for her. But Dair was supposed to give Gillian away—an earl, a chief, her brother by marriage—since my father can’t be there.” She looked at him expectantly, and waited.
John gaped at her. “You want me to give your sister away?”
“I’m sure Dair would approve, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“Aye, but what about your father—or your sister, for that matter?”
“Gillian doesn’t share Papa’s view of Sassen—um, the English. She’s as meek as a mouse. Besides, Papa isn’t here to complain, now is he? I’m sure he’d see the sense in sending you as Gilly’s escort. You’re Dair’s captain, John. You have a strong sword arm, and you’re canny, charming, and cultured. You’ll fit in with Sir Douglas’s friends, the kind of educated, titled folk he knows.” She shook her head. “I dearly love every one of the MacLeod clansmen that came with Gillian, but I cannot imagine any one of them in Edinburgh society at a wedding. They’re used to handfastings and ceilidhs. They’re brave lads, and there’s none I’d rather have standing behind Gillian, protecting her from trouble. But she’s shy, John, awkward. She needs someone—different—beside her.” She bit her lip and brushed her hand over her belly. “I could go myself, but . . .”
John swallowed hard. “It will take ten days of hard travel.”
“Aye, I know. She was to arrive weeks before the wedding to have time to prepare. She’ll get there with just a day or so to spare now, but get there she will. I know you’ll make certain of that.”
“There’s no way to say no, is there?”
She gave him a bright, sweet smile. “Not unless you have a very good reason.”
He considered. I kissed your sister hovered on his lips. I dream of kissing her again . . . But he saw the hope in Fia’s eyes, the trust.
He clenched his fists at his sides. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow. Early,” Fia said.
She struggled to rise from the chair, awkward under the weight of the child, and he took her hand, tucked it under his arm, and escorted her toward the door.
“I’d prefer not to leave you, Fia. We’ll ride hard. I’ll be back in a fortnight,” he said, concerned about her.
“Nonsense. I’ll have Angus and Moire. You’re escorting a bride to her wedding, not leading an invading army, John,” she said. She put her hand over his. “Gillian’s more—delicate—than any of my other sisters.”
He would rather be leading an army or going to war. He had faced battle and skirmish before, knew the rules of that game, but this one, with Gillian, was more dangerous. He’d be responsible for her safety and comfort, be in her company day after day, remembering how she felt in his arms.
And at the end of it all, he’d have to give her away to another man and let her go.
It would be torture.
He opened the door and led Fia across the hall. Gillian had taken the children out of the room and left the MacLeods to their pacing. Fia spoke to her kinsmen, told them the plan. They looked blandly at John, the kind of careful, dubious look he’d grown used to from Scots, even after four years here. Not rude, but not entirely friendly—just a reminder that he was an outsider, English, and that made them suspicious.
He recalled a time, nearly seven years past, when he’d faced other proud warriors in battle, men commonly called heathens there, just as the English called Highlanders heathens here. Those warriors had been every bit as proud and fierce as Highlanders, and equally loyal, brave, and steeped in their own traditions. John touched the leather pouch he wore under his shirt. The memories of those men, that wild, untamed land, made Highlanders less intimidating to him now.
He met the eyes of the MacLeod warriors one by one as they left the hall to pack their gear and sharpen their weapons for the journey. They were devoted to their laird and by extension to his daughters. Perhaps the trip wouldn’t be as bad as he feared. In truth, he barely knew Gillian MacLeod. She was shy, nearly silent. She wouldn’t expect conversation. And he’d be busy, arranging lodging, seeing to her comfort, planning the fastest route south. There’d be no time for teasing or flirting.
He’d only have to touch her once, just long enough to place her hand into her husband’s.
And then? He’d be in Edinburgh, and there were any number of diversions that would help him wipe the memory of Gillian MacLeod from his mind for good.