Her laugh was soft. “I’m not one of your clansmen. I can sort myself out.”
The glance he cast her was disconcertingly penetrating. “Isn’t it nice when ye don’t have to?”
A weak, feminine part of her agreed. It had been a difficult day. Cold, wet weather and long hours of travel over appalling roads, culminating in that terrifying crash when she’d been so certain she and her father were doomed. Then on top of that, her fears about Papa’s injury. Not to mention the tumult of finding herself so suddenly, so completely in thrall to an arrogant stranger.
The part of her that had carved out her career fought back. If she ceded her will to this man, it might be easy in the short term, but afterward her lonely path would only prove more difficult.
Lonely path? What was this? She loved her life. She loved that she was in charge of where she went and what she did. If after mere hours, the Mackinnon had her questioning such a fundamental truth about her existence, he was even more dangerous than she thought.
“I’m fine.” Perhaps because the idea of leaning on him remained so appealing, her answer held a touch of tartness.
“You’re a prickly lassie,” he said easily. “I don’t know why I put up with ye.”
He sounded as if he was fond of her. Which was ridiculous, when they’d known one another for a single evening.
She summoned a light response, although the warmth in his tone made her wayward heart wobble. “And to think you’ve invited me to stay as long as I wish.”
They’d reached her father’s door. Flickering light from the candle the Mackinnon carried cast shadows across that striking bone structure. Her fingers itched to draw him like this, a man half lost in the world of the past.
“Aye, well, madness runs in the family.”
She shook her head. “Not madness. Vengeance. Passion. Power. Violence. All those. None of the stories you told me tonight indicated anyone on the family tree was out of his mind.”
When he moved closer, she gave a start. On unsteady legs, she faltered back until she bumped into the door behind her. Although she generally wasn’t nervous around men.
“Perhaps I’ve saved the stories about the mad Mackinnons for next time.” That deep voice with its alluring lilt played glissandos up and down her backbone. “Or perhaps the first mad Mackinnon is going to be me.”
The words echoed between them with the force of thunder, although they weren’t precisely a threat, and he’d spoken in a murmur, as if he didn’t want the shadows hearing.
He leaned in closer and every tiny hair on her skin stood up in expectation. Per l’amor di dio, was he going to kiss her? If he did, did she mean to kiss him back? Or send him away with a flea in his ear?
And if he did kiss her, did that change her decision to remain at this isolated castle?
Hurriedly she turned and pushed open the door with a shaking hand. Candles lit the room to gold. Her father snored softly. Maggie lifted her head from wher
e she sat knitting beside the bed. She smiled as Marina stepped inside and ventured close enough to see that some color returned to Papa’s cheeks. Sleep smoothed away the deep lines of pain that had marked his face since the accident.
“He’s peaceful as a Sabbath morning, lassie,” Maggie whispered.
Marina stared into her father’s relaxed features and said a silent prayer of gratitude that they’d both come through the accident. Hiding a wince, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Bending over reminded her yet again of her bone-jarring arrival in the glen. “Buona notte, Papa.”
He didn’t stir. She glanced up at Maggie with a smile. “Thank you for looking after him.”
“Och, it’s no trouble,” the old woman said. “No trouble at all. Now away with ye to bed, my bonny.”
Marina said goodnight and crept out of the room, although Papa was so deeply asleep, she doubted a brass band could wake him. The Mackinnon was waiting in the corridor.
“Oh, I didn’t think you’d stay.”
“I said I’d walk ye to your door, signorina.”
Those warm fingers closed around her arm once more, and the blast of heat made her stumble. He regarded her in concern as they walked the short distance. “I really have kept ye up too late. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been in a carriage accident,” she said drily. “But it’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
“I hope so.” The breath caught in her throat when he leaned in again, but he merely stretched past to release the latch so her door opened behind her. He frowned when he glanced into the dark room. “Didnae Peggy wait up?”
“I told her not to. I’m used to looking after myself.”