Page 18 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

Fiona stood on the threshold of Westhall Manse, meticulously dusting and straightening her skirts. It was strange, Marjorie’s request that she deliver news to Archie. But it meant Fiona could see Archie once more and on her own, so she’d leapt at the chance.

She was to inform Archie that Marjorie was going away for an extended visit to Dunnottar. Only on the walk over did it strike her what an odd turn of events it was. Why was Marjorie leaving now?

And why didn’t her mistress tell him herself? Was it to distract Fiona from something? Or did Marjorie simply suspect the fancy she harbored for Archie?

Fiona couldn’t imagine why any woman wouldn’t be fascinated by the young physician surgeon.

Archie was proper and kind, and though he was beyond the reach of a mere maid like her, she relished every chance she got to see him.

Marjorie could have a man like him in an instant, and it baffled Fiona that she’d chosen not to.

“Just knock, chit,” she scolded herself, her heart thudding in her chest. She grew light-headed trying to catch her breath, and that made her even more anxious.

But then again, if she fainted, Archie might be the one to resuscitate her. Quickly, she fingered the pleats in the front of her skirts one last time. She knocked hard, before she had a chance to think twice. “He’s a physician, and I’m a fool.”

The rectory housekeeper ushered Fiona into a tiny receiving area off the main entrance. Fiona’s eyes widened as she entered. The Keith family had bigger closets than this.

“We’ve no showy solars or sitting rooms here,” the old woman told her. “Lord Murray puts every space to some use.”

Lord Murray. The woman had meant Archie. Fiona gulped. Because of his close association with Marjorie, he’d always insisted Fiona call him by his given name. But she was a mere maid, just like this housekeeper.

Had she overstepped all this time? She felt a rush of heat to her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said as primly as possible.

Though she’d visited Saint Machar before, it’d always been with Marjorie, and the instant the housekeeper bustled out, Fiona looked around eagerly.

The room was narrow, furnished only with a padded bench and side table.

A cross hung on the wall. Distant bustle echoed from the rear of the building, and she peered back out the door, wondering if it was the next meal’s preparations she heard.

She met with Archie’s chest as he strode around the corner, and she pulled back with a start. “Oh! Losh, I . . . my apologies . . . I had no notion . . .”

Archie caught her arms to steady her. “Oh no, no. I’ll not hear of it, Fiona. You must accept my apology.”

He put her at her ease, as he always did, and she gazed up at him. So tall and chivalrous, just what she imagined a lord should be. Lean, well-spoken, and neat as a pin—not rough like Cormac. His hands lingered longer on her arms than was strictly proper.

“I have news, Lord Murray.” She made herself say his correct title, and self-consciousness inflamed her cheeks.

He gave her a scolding look. “Archie. I’ve told you. You must call me Archie.”

“Archie, then.” She gave him an adoring smile that she thought might split her face in two. “I’ve news from my mistress, Archie.”

He swallowed hard, seeming unsettled. He was pleased to see her, but he looked a little nervous, too. The thrill of it swelled in her breast.

Slipping his hand around her elbow, he guided her to sit next to him on the bench. “First, we must see to your wound.”

“But that was so long ago.” Weeks back, she’d cut herself badly with a kitchen knife. As luck had it, Archie had been visiting Humphrey’s house at the time. It had hurt something fierce, but it’d been worth it to experience his tender ministrations.

“Aye,” he said, taking her finger, “but I’d like to see how it healed.”

His hand was cool cradling hers. He nestled his thumb in her palm, tilting her finger to the light. She thought her heart might fly from her chest.

“Perfect,” he said, his voice husky.

She had to clear her throat to reply. “I’ve you to thank for it.”

“It was truly my pleasure.” He brought her hand down but didn’t let go. “And now what can I do for you, my dear Fiona?”

“So . . .” It took all she had not to sputter.

She cursed her hot blood, feeling a flush rise from her breasts all the way to the tips of her ears.

Her eyes met his. The silence hung between them, and finally she shook herself.

She was here for a reason, as much as she wanted just to sit and gaze into his expressive brown eyes.

She’d always dreamed of finding a man with expressive brown eyes.

“So?” he asked gently.

“So . . . Marjorie wanted that I tell you. She’s going away for a time.”

“Where?” Archie sat up, immediately concerned.

She knew a flare of jealousy, and fought to tamp it down. It’d do no good to envy her mistress. God had given Fiona her lot in life—maids who yearned for more only ended up heartbroken. “She says it’s to visit the MacAlpins, but . . .”

“Aye?” he asked, anxiety pinching his brow.

It was a rare treat to have news to report, and she prolonged the telling of it. “But I don’t believe her.”

Something shifted in his tone, from apprehension to intrigue. “Do you think something else is afoot?”

She shrugged, giving the gesture as much meaning as she could without seeming a gossip.

“Do you think she’s going with that MacAlpin devil?” He leaned closer. “Does this have to do with Davie?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. His conspiratorial posture excited her.

It was impossible to think that a man like him could ever be interested in a mere maid like her, but huddled close, his eyes alight with shared secrets, suddenly a maid and the physician surgeon seemed the rightest thing in the world.

“But there’s one thing I do know,” she said breathlessly.

He squeezed her hand. “What is it?”

“He’s no gentleman like you, Arch.”