Page 115 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

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She dreaded facing Nick’s mother at the Penningtons’. That was probably why her upset continued on the ride over.

Guilt was a terrible thing.

She’d spent her whole life thinking she was strong, resolute, and coldhearted, but apparently that had all been a delusion. Faced with one tiny lie, she wanted to crumble.

Fortunately, Nick was the first person she saw as she stepped out of the carriage.

He came to her and took her hands and kissed her cheek. Then he stilled. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She gave him a toothy offering. “What makes you think there’s anything wrong?”

“Because I know you. Did you sleep?”

She scowled at him.

“So, no. Tell me, darling. What’s wrong?” He led her down the path toward the gardens where the tea party had been set up.

“I canna stop thinking about it.”

“What?”

She scowled again. Seriously? Had it not bothered him? Not bothered him to the point that he had no idea what had kept her up all night? “The property in Scotland.”

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, ah?”

“It was very generous of them.”

“It was.”

“And you’re feeling guilty.”

She frowned at him. “Are you no’?”

“No.”

Really?

Her expression must have spoken for her because he shrugged. “I’m not the one determined to end this betrothal. I was clear about that last night. In fact, it occurs to me that this property may be the answer for us.”

The hopeful glint in his eye made her bile churn. “The answer?”

“Don’t you see? We can live in Scotland. Just as you wish.”

She had no idea how to respond.

Because that folderol about living in Scotland had only been part of the issue. There was so much more, so much she had not shared with him. How could she? How could she let him know she was . . . afraid?

She was Isobel Dounreay Lochlannach. She was afraid of nothing.

But this.

Needing someone.

She didn’t like the way it made her feel, being afraid. She didn’t like feeling weak, fretful, worried. Guilty. It was not in her nature to be so.