Regency Proposal

The Laird’s Forbidden Lady

Haunted by the Earl’s Touch

Ann Lethbridge

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

The Laird’s Forbidden Lady

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Haunted by the Earl’s Touch

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Copyright

In her youth, award-winning author ANN LETHBRIDGE re-imagined the Regency romances she read—and now she loves writing her own. Now living in Canada, Ann visits Britain every year, where family members understand—or so they say—her need to poke around every antiquity within a hundred miles. Learn more about Ann or contact her at www.annlethbridge.com. She loves hearing from readers.

The Laird’s Forbidden Lady

Lots of people are involved in getting a story on to the shelves or up on line, and I am grateful for all their hard work. This book I am dedicating to my amazing editor, Joanne Grant. Thank you for your patience and for your invaluable guidance with this project. Without you it would never have come to fruition.

Chapter One

Scotland—1818

Why had she ever thought returning to Scotland a good idea? Lady Selina Albright eyed the wrought-iron candelabra suspended from ancient oak beams and the grey stone walls covered with ragged tapestries, great swords and rusting pikes, and suppressed the urge to flee.

Having run from two eminently eligible bridegrooms, one more would put her beyond the pale. Not even her father’s considerable influence would prevent her from being gazetted a jilt.

And besides, this one was her choice. Finally.

All around her, dark-coated gentlemen and sumptuously gowned women, their jewels flashing with every movement, filled Carrick Castle’s medieval banqueting hall.

‘I hadn’t expected it to be such a squeeze,’ observed Chrissie, Lady Albright, her father’s wife of only a year and the reason Selina had agreed to this trip.

Not that she would ever have been so unkind as to tell Chrissie the truth.

‘He must have invited every member of the Scottish nobility,’ Selina said. ‘At any moment I expect to see Banquo’s ghost or three witches hunched over a cauldron.’ A shiver ran down her spine. ‘I should have waited in London for the end of Algernon’s tour of duty.’

She glanced across the huge chamber to where Lieutenant the Right Honourable Algernon Dunstan, conversed with another officer in front of the enormous hearth decorated with stag antlers. Fair-haired and slender, he looked dashing in his red militia uniform. Not quite the brilliant catch her father had expected, but he was a young man of good family with a kindly disposition. The kind of man who would make a pleasant husband.

He caught her eyeing him and bowed.

She inclined her head and smiled. He was the reason she was here: to bring him up to the mark and get her out of her father’s house, where she felt decidedly underfoot.

‘I think it is all very romantic,’ Chrissie said, looking around her with wide-eyed appreciation. ‘I feel as if I have been transported between the covers of Waverly. Is Dunross Keep equally enchanting?’

‘Dunross is about as romantic as an open boat on the North Sea in winter.’ It was hard to imagine she’d fallen in love with the keep when she first saw it some ten years before. She’d been a foolish impressionable child, she supposed. ‘Nowhere near as grand as this and as cold and damp in summer as it is no doubt freezing in winter. Did Father tell you the local people hate us because we are English? They think of us as usurpers, you know.’ For some obscure reason her father, the lord of the manor, wished to visit there next—something he had not told her before they left London and the real reason she was regretting her agreement to accompany him. Dunross was the last place in the world she wished to visit.

‘Oh, my word,’ Chrissie gasped. ‘Who is that?’

Selina followed the direction of her gaze.

A hard thump of her heart against her ribs was a painful recognition of the tall man in Highland dress framed within the stone arched entry. Ian Gilvry. The self-proclaimed Laird of Dunross.

The reason she hated Scotland. A knot formed in her stomach and made it hard to breathe as her gaze took him in.

He was not the gangling youth she remembered, though she would have known him anywhere. He was virile and brawny and, despite his green-and-red kilt, exceedingly male.

His features were far too harsh and dark to be called handsome in the drawing rooms of London, and the frill of white lace at his wrists and throat did nothing to soften his aura of danger. The raw vitality he exuded drew and held every female eye in the room. Including her own.

He was the last man she had expected or wanted to see at Lord Carrick’s drum. Hopefully, he wasn’t here to make trouble.

His gaze swept the room and, to her chagrin, her heart raced as she waited for some acknowledgement of her presence in his sky-blue eyes. When his gaze reached her and halted, she couldn’t breathe. Her heart tumbled over.

An expression of horror flickered across his face, then his gaze moved on. The sting of rejection lashed her anew. Ridiculous. She cared not one whit for Ian Gilvry’s opinion. He might have been the first man, or rather boy, to kiss her, but it had been a clumsy attempt and not worth thinking about. Especially not when their families were at daggers drawn.

‘Who is he?’ Chrissie whispered.

‘Ian Gilvry of Dunross,’ she murmured. No further explanations were needed.

Chrissie looked down her nose. ‘That is Ian Gilvry? What is he doing here? I thought only the real nobility were invited.’

Selina winced at the sudden urge to protest the scornful tone. ‘He is a distant cousin to Lord Carrick. On his mother’s side.’

‘That costume is positively indecent in polite company.’ Chrissie sniffed, clearly reflecting her husband’s opinion of all things Gilvry. On anyone else Chrissie would have declared it romantic. ‘He looks positively barbaric.’

He did. Deliciously so.

Oh, that was not the way she should be thinking about a man who held her and her family in contempt.

‘It is the traditional garb of the Highlands.’

‘I am surprised you would defend him,’ Chrissie said with a little toss of her head.

She felt herself colour. ‘I am stating a fact.’ When Chrissie stared at her with raised brows, she realised she’d spoken more sharply than she intended. She shrugged.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Ian stroll across the room to greet a friend with a smile that lit his face and transformed him from stern to charming.

What, was she still fooled by his smile? Hardly. She didn’t give tuppence for Ian Gilvry or his brothers. They were proud, arrogant men who would stop at nothing to put her father off land they considered their own.

As if sensing her watching, he glanced her way. Their gazes clashed for no more than a second. Heat flooded her cheeks. She swiftly turned away.

‘Look, Sel,’ Chrissie said, ‘there is Lady Carrick. Your father particularly asked me to get to know her better and this is the first time she has not been surrounded by crowds of people. Will you be all right here by yourself?’

Selina swallowed a sharp retort. Chrissie was being her usual sweet self and she had promised herself she would vanquish her annoyance at the young woman’s attempt to play the mother. ‘I am perfectly content to remain here and await your return.’ She gave an airy wave of her fan and hoped Chrissie would not see the effort it cost her not to show her impatience.

Chrissie bustled away with a wifely determination that brought a genuine smile to Selina’s lips and a warm feeling to her chilly heart. She hadn’t expected to like her father’s new wife, but they rubbed along quite well, most of the time.

Unfortunately, Chrissie’s unflagging solicitude and her unfailing kindness made Selina feel increasingly like a guest in her father’s house. It had become a source of increasing irritation since her accident had kept her confined to the house for so many months. With time for reflection, she had decided it really was time she found her own place in the world. And the only option available was to become a wife.

Unintentionally, her gaze slid once again in Ian’s direction. He seemed to be circling the room, going from group to group, drawing closer to where she sat by the minute. Her heart picked up speed. Her mouth dried. Surely he would not have the unmitigated gall to approach her? She eased her grip on her fan and kept her gaze moving in case someone noticed her interest.

And here came Dunstan to ensure she was all right on her own. He bounded up to her like a puppy who had found his new bone, after misplacing it for a while. She wasn’t sure whether to pat him on the head to keep him happy, or throw him a stick to send him scampering off. Neither was appropriate, of course. Not if she wanted to keep him.

The third son of a powerful earl, he was a perfect match for the daughter of a baron, though at one time she’d been on the brink of landing the rakish heir to an earldom, had even been so bold as to follow him to Lisbon. But when he’d come up to the mark, she’d panicked and run. When it had happened again, with a viscount, she’d been labelled a jilt and become an object of fascination for gentlemen who liked a challenge. Or at least she had until her accident made her an object of pity.

She’d been right to flee that first time, though. Her suitor had later proved himself an intractable husband, according to gossip.

Dunstan was a whole other prospect. He would make the perfect husband. Malleable. Kind. And definitely besotted. She would have no trouble twisting him around her finger. She just wished he’d been stationed at Bath or Brighton instead of the wilds of Scotland. She smiled in welcome as he arrived at her chair.

‘May I say how lovely you look this evening?’ he said eagerly.

‘Thank you, Lieutenant Dunstan, you are too kind.’

His eyes flickered down to her bosom and then up to her face. Desire shone in his eyes as he pressed the back of her gloved hand to his lips.

A public demonstration of possession.

Again the urge to run beat in her blood, but that would be cowardly. She gestured for him to take the chair vacated by Chrissie. ‘Lord Carrick’s castle is a thing of wonder, don’t you think?’

Again her roving gaze fell upon Ian. He was much closer now. Too close. Oh, why was he here of all places? She could not concentrate upon a thing Dunstan was saying. She shifted in her chair, turning to focus all her attention on the man at her side. But she could still feel Ian’s presence, like a dark shadow looming in the corner of a room.

She forced a smile at Dunstan, who blinked.

‘I think you will like Pater’s seat in Surrey,’ he said. ‘I am to go on leave at the end of the month. I hope you and your father will do us the honour of a visit?’

Perfect. A man only interested in flirtation did not ask a woman to meet his parents. And it seemed he was no more enamoured of Scotland than she. ‘We will be delighted, I am sure. And I hope we will see you at Dunross Keep before you depart for England?’ It was to be her dowry. Her contribution to a convenient arrangement. He might as well see what he was getting.

‘It will be a pleasure since I will have business in the area.’

‘Military business?’

‘Indeed,’ he said heavily, his tone full of importance. But since he did not volunteer to say more, she let the matter slide. ‘There are a great many people here I don’t know,’ she said brightly. ‘I am sure you know all those of significance. I would be grateful for your insights.’ If she’d learned one thing in her years on the town, it was how to make a man feel important.

The rather proud smile as he glanced around the room gave her a pang of guilt, but he seemed to enjoy the opportunity to show off his knowledge.

‘The couple talking to your father is the local constable and his wife. Colonel Berwick fought at Waterloo with the Black Watch.’

‘A brave man, then.’ Selina memorised the soldier’s face. A good wife paid attention to those who could aid her husband. And she would be a good wife. She was determined to keep her part of the bargain.

‘An unruly Highlander, more like,’ Dunstan grumbled. ‘They give the regiment no end of trouble.’ He was now staring at Ian.

Her blood ran cold. It was as if a chill wind had swept through the room. ‘What sort of trouble?’

‘Illegal whisky stills. Smuggling.’ His gaze narrowed.

If Ian was engaged in smuggling, he was more of a fool than she ever imagined. Without thinking, she noted the way his plaid grazed the tops of his socks as he sauntered with lithe grace to a group of guests not far from her chair.

Her heart hammered so loud she was sure Dunstan must hear it. Would he speak to her? Surely not. What would she say if he did? His words at their last meeting some nine years before had been horrid. Crushing. But more recently he had responded to a written request to call his brother home with a surprising alacrity. For that at least she owed him a debt of gratitude.

Now was not the time, however. With luck, Ian would pass on by.

Luck, as ever, was not her friend.

Annoyance crossed Dunstan’s face when Ian paused in front of them. Ever the gentleman though, Dunstan gestured to Selina. ‘Ian Gilvry, allow me to introduce you to Lady Selina Albright.’

Ian bowed. ‘Lady Selina, it is indeed an honour to once more make your acquaintance.’

The butter-soft burr of his highland brogue made her skin tingle the way the touch of his lips to hers once had. Or was it the feel of his hand on hers and the sensation of warm breath she could not possibly feel through her glove? Or was it merely his acknowledgement of recollection?

Heat flashed in her cheeks. He was the only man who had ever had the power to disturb her equilibrium. Years of careful training stood her in good stead, however, and she gave him her most brilliant smile. ‘Why, Mr Gilvry, I hardly recognised you after all these years.’

Bright blue eyes regarded her coldly. His mouth curved in a bitter smile. What did he have to be bitter about? It was her pride she’d ground into the dust by asking for his help for Alice. But the Gilvrys and the Albrights had always been enemies. Perhaps she was reading more into his expression than she should.

‘You have also changed a good deal, Lady Selina.’

His tone said he spoke out of mere politeness. Something to say.

Dunstan frowned, then his brow cleared. ‘Ah, right. You spent some time at Dunross Keep as a girl. You must have met then.’

‘Briefly,’ she said.

‘Once or twice,’ Ian said at the same moment.

She snatched her hand back. ‘No rocks in your pockets today, I hope?’

An unwilling smile curved his full lips. ‘None today, my lady,’ he said smoothly.

She arched a brow. ‘And how is all at Dunross? Your mother is well?’

His eyes darkened to stormy grey. ‘As well as may be expected under the circumstances.’ A muscle jumped in his jaw. ‘I understand you are to honour Dunross Keep shortly.’

Gossip abounded. But then the self-professed Laird of Dunross would know everything about the demesne he claimed as his, when it really belonged to her father. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without flinching. ‘I believe it is on our list of quaint points of interest.’ She smiled sweetly.

He stiffened slightly. Resentment flashed across his face, before it once more smoothed to bland indifference. ‘Do you have many quaint places on your list?’

‘A few. It is de rigueur to be in love with Scotland since Waverly came out. You have read Sir Walter Scott, I assume?’

This time real anger flashed in his eyes. ‘Why would I?’

Dunstan tugged at his collar. ‘I will also be visiting Dunross.’

‘How pleasant for you,’ Ian replied, his gaze never leaving Selina’s face. ‘I am delighted you Sassenachs find us poor Scots of such interest.’

‘La, sir, you make yourself sound like insects beneath a lens.’

He gave a hard laugh. ‘Touché, Lady Selina.’

This was getting out of hand. She turned to Dunstan. ‘Lady Albright is in alt with the country. And knowing Scotland as well as I do gives it a special charm.’

‘Some say familiarity breeds contempt,’ Ian said, before Dunstan could respond.

She raised a brow.

‘No need to be churlish, Gilvry,’ Dunstan muttered.

The orchestra struck up a reel. Ian inclined his head. ‘I see I should make amends. May I request this next dance, Lady Selina?’

The air left her lungs in a rush. That she had not expected. For a moment, she almost said yes. It might be her only opportunity to speak with him alone, to proffer her thanks for the service he’d rendered her friend. A dance was about as private as she’d ever dared be with Ian Gilvry. But dancing was out of the question. Did he know that? Was he taunting her, knowing full well she could not dance? It would be the sort of thing a Gilvry would take pleasure in. ‘I do not dance tonight, Mr Gilvry.’

His eyes remained wintry, giving no hint of his thoughts. ‘You will excuse me, then,’ he said softly. ‘I promised Miss Campbell I would lead her out at the first opportunity.’ He executed the slightest of bows, an arrogant inflection of his neck that said he bowed to no man or woman, and strode off, his kilt swinging with each long stride, his wide shoulders square.

The feel of her arms clinging to those shoulders for dear life teased at her memory. Although on that long-ago afternoon, they’d not been quite so breathtakingly broad.

She dragged her thoughts back to the present and watched Chrissie and her father take to the floor in another set. Despite the differences in their ages, they made a handsome couple. And she couldn’t help but feel glad for his happiness, even if it did mean she must depart his home.

Her gaze wandered to Ian and Miss Campbell. His whole attention was focused on his partner’s face. The girl blushed in response to a murmured word and a flash of a smile.

Something tightened in her chest. Jealousy? Certainly not. A pang of envy? Perhaps. It wasn’t surprising. Not because the girl was dancing with Ian Gilvry—about that she surely didn’t give a hoot. No. It was the dancing she missed.

A wry smile tugged at her lips. She was lucky it was only dancing she’d lost as a result of her recklessness. She could have lost her life.

She gave Dunstan her most brilliant smile. ‘I gather your colonel gave strict instructions with respect to entertaining the single ladies tonight and since I do not dance, I shall not keep you from your duty.’

His expression held relief. ‘You are gracious to be so understanding, my lady.’

‘A soldier’s duty must come first.’ And she really needed to be rid of him for a while. Her heart still raced uncomfortably fast after sparring with Ian.

‘I will escort you to supper, of course.’

‘I look forward to it. In the meantime, do not worry about me. I am well entertained.’

He bowed and departed and was soon leading out a handsome young matron. Strangely enough, Selina didn’t feel a smidgeon of envy as she watched him. Nor would she, she was sure, when he continued to dance with other ladies after they were married. It was the way of their world.

As the music finished, Lord Carrick took up a position on the dais in front of the orchestra.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special treat for you before supper. If you will please follow me out onto the terrace.’ A buzz of excitement circled the room and people moved towards the French doors at the far end of the hall.

Ian Gilvry, she noticed, left by way of the arch through which he had entered.

With no choice but to follow the rest of the company, she pushed to her feet.

Chrissie and her father joined her. ‘What is going on?’

‘I have no idea,’ Selina said.

A woman standing nearby turned to them. ‘It is a contest. The local lads will compete for a prize for our entertainment.’

‘Not boxing,’ Chrissie said with a shudder.

‘Och, no. Something better. Wait and see.’ She disappeared into the crowd.

The Albright party joined Lord Carrick, who indicated they should sit in the front row and guided Selina to a chair beside Chrissie.

Chrissie gave her a sweet smile. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Excited about the coming spectacle,’ she said, deliberately misunderstanding Chrissie’s true meaning.

Chrissie leaned closer and whispered something in her husband’s ear. Her father smiled down fondly, murmuring something that made Chrissie giggle.

Feeling like an intruder, Selina averted her gaze and pretended not to notice.

Lit by torches and a full moon, the flagged courtyard looked positively medieval. Lord Carrick seated himself on a thronelike canopied chair carved with symbols of his clan. Clearly he was to be judge and jury of the coming contest.

To the skirling sound of bagpipes five kilted men marched into the open area from beneath a shadowing arch, holding swords across their chests. Among them, taller than all of them, was Ian. Two of his three brothers accompanied him.

The men bent and laid their swords on the flagstones crossed at right angles. The music ceased.

Lord Carrick rose to his feet and the five men bowed. Their chief signalled for them to begin and the piper played the opening bars. The men were going to dance for a purse.

It was a magnificent sight. Strong young men in their plaids and white lace leaping lightly over their swords, jumping higher and faster in ever more complex patterns. Ian’s heavy kilt swung high, revealing strongly muscled thighs and … nothing more. Too bad.

That thought brought heat to Selina’s cheeks. How could she be so wicked?

But the sight of Ian dancing, the controlled wildness in his movement, the demonstration of his male strength and grace, called to something primal inside her. The iron control in the lightness of his feet caused her to hold her breath in awe and fear. A man touched his sword, knocking it askew with a clatter. He ceased dancing immediately, bowed and walked away defeated. She could scarcely bear to watch in case Ian also failed, yet could not look away.

The music’s tempo increased. Another man dropped out. And another, until only two of the older Gilvry brothers remained.

Ian and Niall. Of Andrew there was no sign. Ian leapt without effort, his feet so close to the blades he barely moved from the centre of the cross. What held her transfixed was his intensity, the hot blood of battle expressed in the position of his arms, the proud angle of his head and the fire in his defiant eyes.

Impossible as it seemed, she felt their eyes lock and in that moment, it was as if he danced only for her.

Nay, not for her, she realised. At her, rejecting all she stood for. War declared. The final leaps caused an indrawn breath from the assembled company. Yet they landed lightly, clear of the swords, each man holding position until the last note died away.

The connection snapped.

In unison the two men bowed and stood stiffly, waiting for their chief’s judgement while their audience applauded and cheered.

Even Chrissie and Father leaped to their feet, clapping.

Selina had no doubt Ian would win. Yet she still felt anxious until his chieftain beckoned him forwards. He ran lightly up the terrace steps, shook the Carrick’s hand and took the purse presented with an incline of his head. He did not once glance her way.

There had been no connection between them. He probably couldn’t see her on the terrace in the dark. It had all been her imagination. It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken in his interest. The only connection they had was one of mutual dislike.

Deep inside she felt a twinge of sadness. Perhaps because whoever he had danced for, he had expressed himself through movement—a freedom and grace she could never accomplish.

The two men spoke a few words, then Ian ran back down the steps and walked away. Only when he was out of sight did the sorrow inside her lessen.

She thought she had resigned herself to the future she’d charted, but for some reason, now she felt thoroughly unsettled. She rose to her feet with a slight wince.

‘Is your leg paining you?’ Chrissies asked.

Dash it all, the woman watched her like a hawk. ‘I am just a little stiff from sitting, that is all.’ And from the tension of watching Ian.

Chapter Two

Ian joined his clansmen clustered around the piper in the shadows of the gate leading out of the courtyard to the kitchens. His breathing had slowed, but his blood still ran hot—battle fever aroused by the music. There had been a time when he danced for the pure joy of it. Now he felt like little more than a performing bear on a chain performing for these Sassenachs. He swallowed the anger. It had pleased Carrick and the coin would bring much-needed relief to his people. Lord Carrick could easily have spent his money on entertainment elsewhere.

He emptied the prize purse into his palm, first paying the piper his due, then dividing the spoils equally. ‘Well done, lads.’

‘What is that?’ Logan, his youngest brother, asked, gesturing to the other pouch Carrick had slipped into Ian’s palm.

‘You’ve sharp eyes, young Logan,’ Ian grumbled. ‘Carrick wants us to make another run to France.’

‘I thought we had all the salt we need,’ Niall said, glancing up from the pamphlet he’d been reading by the light of the torch.

‘He wants brandy,’ Ian said. ‘He will have used up most of his supply by the end of this ball.’

‘Brandy is asking for trouble,’ Niall said. ‘It is bad enough running the whisky over the border to England.

Ian quelled him with a glance. ‘How could I refuse after all he has done for us? Besides, his money will help pay for this autumn’s barley.’

Niall shook his head. ‘Admit it, you like the danger.’

Did he? Long ago, he’d wanted to be a soldier, but when his father died, he’d shouldered the duties of Laird without a second thought. It was his responsibility.

Straying from that duty had never resulted in anything but trouble, for him or his family. And smuggling was a necessary evil. Part of the job, if he wanted the clan to survive. And he did, desperately. It was all he thought of, day and night.

‘What say we go down to the tavern and celebrate?’ Tammy McNab said, jingling the coin in his hand.

Ian jabbed at Tammy’s shoulder. ‘Would you spend your money on drink when your babes are hungry?’

A red-haired man of twenty-five who already had three children to his name, Tammy hung his head. ‘Just thought to have a wee bit of fun.’

‘Why pay for it, when Carrick has food and drink for you all in the servants’ hall?’ Ian said.

Tammy cheered instantly. ‘You’ll be coming too, Laird?’

Ian shook his head. ‘I’ve a ship’s captain to meet now I have this new errand. Enjoy yourself on Lord Carrick’s coin. You’ve earned it.’

The men moved off towards the servants’ entrance in the low-slung thatched buildings abutting the castle. Ian turned to leave by the drawbridge. Logan caught his shoulder. ‘Did you see who was watching? The Albrights. I’d recognise Lady Selina anywhere.’

Because she was just so damned lovely. Even lovelier as a woman than she had been as a child of sixteen. And just as much trouble as she had been then, too.

‘I met her inside.’ He curled his lip. ‘I asked her to dance as Carrick ordered. She refused me.’ He hadn’t known whether to be glad or insulted.

During the sword dance, he had felt the intensity of her gaze. Had lost himself in her beauty in the final bars, drawing strength from her shining eyes and parted lips. He’d gone back in time, dancing for the girl who had roamed freely among the heather that long-ago summer. He’d been enchanted by her pretty face and spirit, until he came to his senses and remembered just whose daughter she was.

Something he’d do well to remember now, too. Selina Albright had caused his family nothing but trouble. And he, like a fool, had helped.

‘I’m no surprised she wouldna dance with you, Ian.’

He stiffened. ‘Aye. Albrights have always been a touch above the Gilvry clan.’

‘She might think so, but I doubt she can dance, not with that limp.’

Stunned by a sudden stab of dismay, Ian whipped his head around. His eyes narrowed as he watched the progress of the dark beauty in the white gown as she crossed the terrace on her father’s arm, the hesitation in her step cruelly obvious in the torchlight.

She had refused him for a reason different from the one he’d assumed. He felt an odd surge of relief.

He turned and pushed Logan after the others. He called Niall back and lowered his voice. ‘Keep an eye on young Logan. He’s developing an eye for the ladies and Carrick has too many of them in his kitchen.’

Niall sighed. ‘You are as bad as our mother, always worrying about the lad. You’ll make him worse.’

‘Our mother has lost one son.’ Because he’d let his fondness for a pretty face overrule good sense. ‘I don’t plan to let her lose another.’

‘Then perhaps you should think twice about smuggling.’

‘Now who’s worrying too much?’ Ian snatched the paper from Niall’s hand. ‘You can read this later.’

‘Give it back,’ Niall said, his voice dangerously low.

Ian tossed it to him with a grin. ‘Keep it in your pocket, then, and concentrate on what is going on around you for once.’

Niall grimaced, his eyes turning serious. ‘Make this trip to France the last one, brother, or we’ll all find ourselves at the end of a rope.’

Ian clapped his brother on the shoulder with a confidence that seemed to stick in the back of his throat. ‘It will be fine.’

Against his will, he looked back at the terrace, his gaze seeking the girl whose eyes spoke to him in unexpected ways. She was gone. Just as well. He had work to do.

Topaz needed no urging to canter. Selina guided her off the road and across open ground, exhilarated by the speed and the edge of chill on the breeze against her cheeks. At last she could breathe. And on horseback she could forget her incapacity.

The scent of heather filled her nostrils. Sweet, like the honey they made from the bees in this part of the country, yet earthy, too. She filled her gaze with the beauty of hills of smoky purple. Wild, unforgiving terrain, but so grand it made your heart ache.

She’d forgotten how easily the child in her had fallen in love with this place the first time she had seen it. Forgotten deliberately. Remembering only brought back the pain of loneliness and betrayal. Something she would never suffer again.

She smiled at herself. Such maudlin thoughts had no place in her mind on such a glorious day. Live for the now, plan for the future and let the past belong to the devil. Lord knew there were enough mistakes in her past well worth forgetting.

Thirty minutes later she was wishing she’d stayed on the track. After months of inactivity, her muscles were complaining at being forced to keep her steady in the saddle when as a girl she’d ridden the rough terrain astride, without effort. Riding astride was not an option for the woman she’d become. She rubbed at her thigh with a grimace at the reminder she was lucky to be riding at all. Lucky she hadn’t killed herself or someone else. She slowed the animal to a walk and turned him around.

A black-and-white collie flashed out of the heather. Barking, it snapped at Topaz’s heels. The horse reared. Off balance, Selina clung to his mane.

The animal landed with a thud on its forefeet, jolting her again. ‘Steady, boy,’ she cried out, fighting with the reins as he tossed his head and spun around, trying to watch the dog. He kicked out with a back hoof. Dislodged by the jolt, Selina had no choice but to free her foot and let herself slide to the ground.

She landed on her rump with a groan. ‘Blasted dog,’ she yelled. She stared up at the wild-eyed Topaz. Dash it. She’d never be able to mount him again. She’d have to lead him home. Her first chance to ride in months had ended in disaster.

She stretched out an arm to catch Topaz’s reins. ‘It’s all right, boy,’ she said softly. The nervous gelding tossed its head and pranced farther away.

Double blast.

Her thigh throbbed a protest. Surely she hadn’t broken it again? The thought made her stomach roil. No. She hadn’t heard that horrid snapping sound and it was her rear end that was bruised, and her pride, not her leg. Breathe. Calm down. All she had to do was get up and catch Topaz. It was a long walk home, but she could do it.

She forced herself to her knees.

‘Lady Selina! Is that you?’

Inwardly, she groaned. Of all the bad luck—it would have to be that well-remembered deep voice she heard. She looked up.

Kilted and wild-looking, his black hair ruffled by the breeze, Ian Gilvry looked completely at home among the heather-clad hills as he strode towards her. He always had.

To a girl of sixteen, he’d seemed heroic and romantic. Especially since the first time they met he’d carried her home and then kissed her, a shy fumbling thing when he set her down at the gate. Utterly besotted, she’d plotted every which way to meet up with him again. And again.

In her innocence, she’d assumed he liked her.

‘Are you hurt?’ he said when he came close, concern showing on his face, a large suntanned hand reaching out to pull her to her feet.

She ignored it and sank back down into the springy heather, primly covering her feet with her riding habit. ‘I’m fine.’

He drew back, putting his hands on lean hips, his head tilted. ‘You fell off your horse?’

She glanced at Topaz, who was now happily cropping at the grass just out of reach. ‘I dismounted rather more quickly than I expected. The horse was terrified of your dog.’

The smile on his finely drawn lips broadened. ‘What, an excellent horsewoman such as yourself put to grass by a wee dog?’

‘The dog should be leashed. The horse could have been injured and that would have cost you a pretty penny.’ What was she doing? She had no wish to enter into verbal sparring with the man. She should just get up and walk away.

His eyes, as blue as the sky above his head, narrowed. ‘Gill is still in training. I apologise if he upset your animal.’

Her jaw dropped. Gilvrys didn’t apologise to Albrights. It was a point of honour.

‘Apology accepted.’ She stared off into the distance, willing him to leave.

‘Allow me help you back on your horse,’ he said, his voice no more than a murmur.

Kind. Full of pity. Like everyone else. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

A year ago, it would have been easy to leap to her feet and let him toss her up in the saddle. Right now, getting back on that horse and trying to control him with her aching muscles was out of the question. She should not have ridden so far.

She gave him her brightest smile and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes glaze a little. ‘I think I will stay here and enjoy the scenery for a while. No need to trouble yourself.’

Dark brows drew down. He muttered something under his breath in Gaelic. A curse, no doubt. She felt like cursing, too.

‘Then I bid you good day, Lady Selina. Come, Gilly.’ He gave her a stiff little bow and strode up the hill.

The dog lay down at her side.

‘Go,’ she said and gave it a push.

It stared at her with soft brown, laughing eyes.

Ian whistled without looking back. The dog remained where it was.

With a heavy sigh, Ian turned, walked back, pulling a rope from his jacket pocket. ‘Once more I must apologise for my dog’s bad manners.’ He looped the knotted rope over the animal’s head and gave a sharp tug.

The dog pulled back with a whine. It pushed its nose under her hand where it rested on her thigh.

‘Go,’ she said, desperate for them both to be gone, so she could limp home with a shred of her pride intact.

His blue eyes suddenly sharpened. ‘Can you get up?’

He knew. Of course he did. He’d seen her at the Carricks’ ball. ‘I’m not ready to leave. Why don’t you and your dog just go away?’ She certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of watching her hobble after her horse.

Ian stared down at the petite dark-eyed beauty sitting at his feet in the heather and didn’t believe a word coming out of her mouth. The tautness around her mouth spoke of pain and more than a dash of humiliation.

‘I’ll go when I’ve seen you safely home.’ He stuck out his hand to help her up.

She gave an impatient sigh, placed her small hand in his and he tugged. The quick indrawn breath of pain as she rose caused a painful twinge low in his gut. Damn stubborn female. He gently lowered her back down and crouched down beside her. ‘I knew you were hurt.’

He glanced down at where her riding habit had rucked up over her ankles, showing a pair of sturdy riding boots. ‘Is it your leg?’

Her cheeks flushed red. ‘Partly, if you must know. But mostly it is because this is the first time I have ridden in a very long time. I stayed out too long. I am sure I will be fine in a little while, but I thank you for your concern, Mr Gilvry.’

Once he’d been plain Ian and she’d been a hoyden who one summer had roamed the hills around Dunross and fought a running battle with his younger brothers, the Gilvrys and the Albrights being mortal enemies.

He’d been away at his Uncle Carrick’s most of that summer. He’d returned home for a few days before he went back to school in Edinburgh and met her by accident late one summer afternoon. He hadn’t known who she was at first, and he’d come to her rescue when she twisted her ankle in a rabbit hole and carried her home.

Along with her pretty face and burgeoning womanhood, he’d found her joie de vivre and her artless chatter captivating. She’d treated him like a man, not a boy, and there had been hero worship in those warm brown eyes—a welcome change from schoolbooks and lessons in stewardship.

They’d met several times after that, until they’d been discovered at Balnaen Cove by his brothers. That had not gone well.

‘So it seems I must carry you home again,’ he said, wondering if she also remembered, then wanted to kick himself as shadows darkened her sherry-brown eyes. Of course she remembered. But no doubt she remembered his harsh words, too.

Like a fool, he’d tried to make up for his cruelty, the next time she asked for help, even though years had passed. Too soft-hearted, his grandfather had always said. Drew had paid the price for that bit of softness. Well, he wasn’t soft-hearted any more. Too many people relied on him now.

But nor could he in all conscience leave her here. He reached for her again.

‘It wouldn’t be seemly,’ she said, batting his hand away. ‘I can manage perfectly well by myself. I just need a moment or two.’

The lass always did have spirit to the backbone. And now she was utterly lovely. She looked like a feast for a starving man laid out in the heather.

He shook his head at himself. He did not have the time or the inclination for romping in the heather. He’d always left that to Drew. And because of Ian’s weakness over this female, Drew was no more.

A good Gilvry would leave her here and let Albright have the worry of a missing child, but a true Highland gentleman would never leave a woman in distress. Not even his worst enemy’s daughter. He glowered. ‘You know I can’t leave you here. And nor can I let you walk home in pain.’

‘I will manage, thank you.’

He put his hands on his hips and grinned at her. ‘Then climb aboard your flea-ridden nag and ride away.’

‘When I’m ready,’ she muttered.

Ian sank cross-legged beside her. The faint scent of roses filled his nostrils. Roses and heather. Never had he inhaled such a heady combination, although he suspected it was more to do with her than the perfume of the surrounding vegetation.

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘And I will sit here until you do. Or until you come to your senses.’

She rolled away from him onto her knees, presenting a view of her curvaceous bottom that sent a jolt of lust to his groin. Thank God for his plaid and his sporran or she’d be thinking him no better than an animal.

Gilly ran around her and licked her chin. She pushed him away, struggling with her skirts and the dog. With a small grunt, she got to her feet and took a couple of halting steps towards her horse.

Ian sprang up, putting a hand beneath her elbow. ‘Ach, lass, will your pride no let me help you?’

She lowered her head, until all he could see was the top of her dark green velvet bonnet and the silk primroses adorning its green ribbon. ‘It seems I have no choice,’ she said in a low defeated voice. ‘I cannot ride any more today.’

The anguish in the admission knocked the wind from his lungs. Damn it to hell. ‘This is all my fault. I should never have let the dog off the leash.’

Her head shot up. Dark brown eyes, soft as velvet, met his. ‘The fault is mine. I should not have left the track.’

‘Well, it looks as if there is only one answer to our dilemma.’ He put an arm around her shoulders and one carefully beneath her knees and scooped her up.

She gasped. ‘Put me down. I will not let you carry me all the way to Dunross.’

‘I don’t intend to,’ he said, looking down into those soul-deep brown eyes and feeling as if he might drown. This was not a reaction he should be having, not to this woman.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed her horse’s bridle. The dog followed closely at his heels like the best-trained dog in Scotland. Naturally.

‘Then where are we going?’

For no apparent reason the fear in her voice caused him a pang in his chest, though he was damned if he’d let her see it. ‘To find a less objectionable mode of transport.’

At that she laughed. It was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud and he couldn’t keep from smiling, just a little.

Chapter Three

Selina held herself stiffly, trying to maintain some sort of distance between her and his chest. Impossible, when she was in his arms. Strong arms wrapped around her back and under her knees. The steady beat of his heart vibrated against her ribs. A feeling of being safe made her want to slide her arm around his neck and rest her head against his brawny shoulder.

Safe? With him? Had she banged her head when she fell?

The Gilvrys were wild and unruly. The last time she had seen him he’d ganged up on her with his brothers, calling her Sassenach and thief. And he now was their leader. A man who would do anything to be rid of her father from land he considered his. While she could not refuse his help, she must not trust his motives.

At the bottom of the hill they came across a winding cart track. His steps lengthened as he followed the deep wheel ruts round a sweeping corner to where a long narrow loch glistened like beaten steel in the weak sun. Beside it lay a collection of rough stone buildings.

The old water mill. It looked different—not so derelict—and the pagoda-looking chimney at one end looked new. ‘I didn’t think you Gilvrys worked the mill any more.’

‘My father didn’t. I do.’

‘And added a chimney?’

‘Aye.’

Talk about taciturn. ‘Why does the mill need a chimney?’

He hesitated, his expression becoming carefully neutral. ‘To keep the miller warm in the winter.’

A lie. Though it sounded logical enough. What did it matter that he didn’t care to tell her the truth? She didn’t care what the Gilvrys did with their old falling-down mill.

He carried her into the barn and set her down on a hay bale. Immediately, she felt the loss of the strength around her body, and his seductive warmth, whereas he looked glad to be rid of her. Had she not a smidgeon of pride?

Apparently some part of her did not. The childish naïve part that had admired him from the first moment she saw him. The part of her she’d long ago buried.

Silently, he tied Topaz to a post, while Gilly curled up at her feet.

Her thigh wasn’t hurting nearly as much as before. She’d given it a jolt and the bones that had knit badly had decided to protest the rough treatment. But even though the ache had subsided, she doubted she had the strength to manage her horse. She would have to settle for his alternative mode of transport.

The only occupant of the barn was a small dun-coloured pony, which he led from its stall and proceeded to hitch to a flat-bedded wagon.

‘Your chariot awaits, my lady,’ he said wryly.

She rose to her feet, but he gave her no chance to walk, simply scooping her up and depositing her on some empty sacks he’d laid across the bare boards.

He was unbelievably strong, so unlike most of the gentlemen of the ton who defined themselves by their clothes, not their manly attributes. So unlike the elegant Dunstan.

Oh, now that really was being disloyal.

She shifted until her back was supported against the wooden boards along the side. The smell of barley wafted up. A sweet dusty smell.

He frowned. ‘There are no blankets, but I can give you my coat.’

No. She would not go home wrapped in his coat. It was bad enough she had to suffer his help. Wasn’t it?

‘This will do.’ She picked up a couple of the sacks and covered her legs with one and put the other around her shoulders. She flashed a smile and fluttered her lashes in parody. ‘How do I look?’

‘Like a tinker’s wife,’ he said, a twinkle appearing in the depths of his eyes, making him look more attractive than ever. A twinkle she knew better than to trust.

She kept her voice light and breathy, her smile bright. ‘The first stare of tinker fashion, though, surely?’

The corner of his mouth tipped up as if it wanted to smile more than was seemly. ‘Top of the trees, my lady.’

Something about his bantering tone made her feel warm and her smile softened.

They grinned at each other the way they had on those long-ago summer afternoons, before he had turned his back on her so cruelly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her heart lurched. Her breath caught. Many men had looked at her with heat since her come out. Not once in that time had her heart tumbled over in such a ridiculous fashion. She broke hearts. Men did not touch hers. Ever. That was the way to get hurt.

And besides, she was as good as betrothed to a very worthy man who was utterly besotted.

She turned her face away. ‘We should go.’

‘Aye. I’ll tie your horse on behind.’

She swallowed against the feeling of loss as he walked away, trying to blot out her stupid reactions to his smile by thinking about Father and his reaction when he learned she’d been carted home by a man he despised. Father would not be pleased.

Horse dealt with, Ian leapt easily into the driver’s seat with such agility, he made her feel more clumsy and awkward than she usually did these days.

He half turned in the seat, one foot resting against the footboard, his plaid falling away to reveal his knee and the start of a firm muscled calf dusted with dark hair before it disappeared in his sock. So very male. So very intriguing. So very out of bounds. She forced her gaze away.

‘The track is rough,’ he said. ‘I will take it as easy as I can.’

‘I’m not an invalid.’

‘I never said you were.’ He clicked his tongue and the pony started walking. Gilly jumped up over the side of the cart and landed beside her. He lay against her legs.

‘Off,’ Ian said.

The dog flattened his ears, but didn’t move.

‘Leave him,’ Selina said. ‘He’s keeping me warm.’

‘Lucky him,’ he muttered.

Her jaw dropped. Had he really said what she thought she heard? Or was he being sarcastic? He was staring morosely at the road ahead.

‘What happened to your leg?’ he asked. ‘I saw you walking at the ball.’

So much for her efforts to glide smoothly. ‘My carriage tipped over and fell on me.’

He winced. ‘I hope the idiot driver was suitably punished.’

‘I was. I broke my leg.’

His cheekbones flushed red. ‘Oh. I didna’ mean—’

‘The accident was my fault. I was driving too fast and not looking where I was going.’ Thinking about her recent male conquest if the truth be told. ‘I was lucky I was the only one hurt by my stupidity. It doesn’t hurt much any more, but the bones didn’t set quite right.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He sounded sorry. But then once he’d sounded as if he liked her, until his brothers caught them together.

Sassenach. Thief. The taunts danced in her head. The war between the Scots and the English might be over, but their families would battle until no one remained to swing a verbal sword.

The track had joined the main road where the jolts were less and their pace improved. Soon they were driving through Dunross village where a group of ragged boys were kicking a pig’s bladder back and forth across the lane. When they saw the cart, they came running over. ‘Laird, Laird,’ one of the boys shouted, then said something in Gaelic.

Ian replied in the same language. He half turned to her. ‘They want me to play with them.’

One of them spotted her in the cart and his eyes rounded in his grimy face. He pointed at her and yelled something. The boys all sniggered.

Ian grinned and replied, clearly in the negative.

She squared her shoulders, set her face in untroubled calm while inside she curled in a tight ball. ‘What did he say?’

Ian laughed. ‘Boys. They have one-track minds. They want to know if you are my woman. I told them, no, that you are a lady and to be treated with respect.’

She relaxed, looking back and seeing the boys had returned to their game. ‘Shouldn’t the children be in school?’

‘Aye.’

Could he not say more than one word at a time? ‘You call yourself Laird—why do you not convince their families to give them an education?’

He glanced back at her, his brows lowered, his eyes hard. ‘They call me Laird, because that is what I am. The nearest school is fifteen miles hence.’

‘Why not start a school in the village?’

‘Where?’ He sounded frustrated.

She subsided into silence. Father should be the one to open a school. He owned almost everything except the old mill and the Gilvrys’ farmland.

‘I will speak to my father about setting up a school. Perhaps in the church hall.’

Now he looked surprised, and heaven help her, pleased. ‘It would be a grand thing for the families hereabouts,’ he said. ‘There are children up in the glens who would come, too, when they weren’t needed for chores. It would give them a future.’

She cast him a sly smile. ‘And keep them out of mischief.’

He chuckled. ‘Perhaps, my lady. Me and my brothers got up to all sorts of mischief, despite having a tutor. But it is true that we had less time to get into trouble.’

A feeling of warmth stole through her, the feeling they had begun to talk like friends again, rather than enemies. She liked the way it felt.

As they approached the tavern in the centre of the village a youngish man sweeping the cobbles doffed his hat at their approach. He grinned at Ian. ‘Good day to you, Laird.’

Ian acknowledged the greeting with a nod.

Then the man’s gaze fell on Selina and all traces of good humour disappeared from his ruddy face. He spat on the ground. ‘That’s Albright’s get. You should be dropping her in the nearest peat bog and letting her drown, not driving her around the countryside. It would serve Albright well to see what it is like to lose something.’

‘Enough, Willy Gair,’ Ian said. ‘You know that is not the Highland way of it.’

The young man glared at him. ‘Highlanders look after their ane, not the English who have no business here. You are a traitor to your clan, Ian Gilvry, if you have aught to do with them up at the keep.’ He started towards them, giving Selina a look filled with such hatred that her mouth dried and her heart picked up speed.

‘I’ll speak to you later, Willy,’ Ian said grimly and urged the pony into a trot.

She bit her lip. Nothing had changed over the years. ‘Why is he so angry?’

‘He was evicted last month,’ Ian said flatly. ‘His family had been crofters on Dunross land for generations. When he couldn’t pay the rent, he had to leave. He is one of the lucky ones. His brother-in-law owns the inn and is able to give him a little work and a roof over his head.’

‘Father said nothing about evictions.’

His expression said how would she know what her father did.

‘Why would he?’

‘Sheep.’

Another one-word answer that was as clear as mud. Clearly he wasn’t going to say more. Well, she would just have to ask her father.

‘Almost there,’ Ian announced.

Beyond him, Dunross Keep jutted up into the blue sky.

The last time he’d carried her home he’d been nothing but a gangly boy, but to her he’d seemed like a knight in shining armour, and she his lady. Childish romantic nonsense.

He turned his head slightly, still looking ahead. ‘Angus McIver is heading this way on foot.’

She winced. ‘I said I’d be back in an hour.’ She raised herself up and peered over his shoulder. A severe-looking Angus with a knobby walking stick was striding towards them. She waved.

Ian’s lips pressed tight. He drew the cart up when he came abreast of the big Scot.

‘My Lady. Laird.’ Angus touched the bonnet perched on his head. ‘Thank ye for bringing the lassie home.’

Selina let go a breath. No yelling. No harsh words. A simple grim politeness, but then the Highlanders were known for their impeccable manners. Some of them.

Jaw set, Ian nodded. ‘I’ll drive her in.’

‘Best not. I’ll take her and the horse in through the gate.’

‘Angus,’ she gasped.

‘I’ve no wish to enter the keep,’ Ian said harshly. He clicked his tongue and the horse moved onwards. ‘Not while it belongs to another.’

The whip of his words caught her on the raw. She was wrong about him. He resented her just as much as he always had.

And there was something she’d been putting off saying. She’d forgotten until just now. She’d have to hurry if she didn’t want Angus to overhear.

‘I never thanked you for calling your brother Andrew home after I wrote to you.’

He stiffened, his face turning granite hard.

‘My friend, she is happily married now. It … it all turned out for the best.’

‘Did it now?’

‘It was good of you.’ His granite expression made it hard to continue. ‘I just wanted to thank you.’

His lips twisted into a bitter line. ‘And one good turn deserves another. You’ll no mention the changes at the mill to your father.’ The cart lurched to a halt beside the stone arch.

Her stomach dipped. It was hardly the kind of response to her thanks she’d expected. He was waiting for her answer. She straightened her shoulders. ‘No. I won’t say a thing.’

Then Angus was there, reaching into the back of the wagon to help her down.

The dog lifted his lip and growled low in his throat.

Selina laughed, albeit the sound a little brittle, but true to form, and Angus noticed nothing. ‘You’ll have to get past my protector, Mr McIver.’

Angus glanced up at Ian. How odd. She’d meant the dog.

‘Gilly,’ Ian growled. ‘Down.’

The dog put its ears down and thumped its tail, sending up a puff of dust. Angus lifted her down.

‘Can ye walk, lass?’ He handed her his stick. A solid, gnarled length of hawthorn.

She gave him a grateful smile. ‘This will certainly help.’

The old Scot untied Topaz, grasped him by the bridle. Together they walked towards the gate

At the sound of the cart pulling away, she glanced back and met Ian’s dark gaze. He nodded, a slight movement of his head, yet it seemed to say I trust you not to betray me.

And she wouldn’t. She never had.

Her heart was pounding as if she had run a mile, when really she had only walked the few steps from the manse. It was excitement causing her heart to beat faster, not the fear of seeing Ian again. Or the prospect of seeing his pleasure at the news she brought.

Dry-mouthed, she knocked on the door of his house. One of the few not owned by her father. Some long time ago, Ian’s grandfather had married well, giving the family the house, some land and the mill, according to her father. And they’d been a thorn in the side of every Albright since.

If they would just work together … Perhaps they could now, if Ian’s pride would let him accept her offer. Half-afraid she might turn and run, she knocked again. Breath held, she listened to the sound of footsteps on the other side.

The door swung back and Ian stared at her, his mouth dropping open. He was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. His throat was bare, where he had not donned a cravat. He looked thoroughly rakish and disreputable. Inside she winced. Clearly, she should have warned him of her intended visit.

He rubbed at his chin with an ink-stained thumb as he clearly tried to recover from his surprise. ‘Lady Selina?’ He glanced over his shoulder, then stepped outside to join her on the front step, pulling the door almost closed behind him, as if he did not want whoever was inside to know she was there.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. A bright smile formed on her lips. It always did when she was nervous. She nodded regally. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Gilvry.’

The wary look on his face remained. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I have something to show you.’

‘What sort of something?’

Always suspicious. She pulled the key from her reticule. ‘This.’

‘Who is it, Ian?’ a woman’s voice called from inside the house.

‘No one, Ma,’ he called back. ‘Wait here a moment,’ he said to Selina. He shot back inside and closed the door.

He definitely didn’t want whoever was inside to know who had called. Most likely she was his mother. The minister had told her and Chrissie that Mrs Gilvry had been ill for some time. Selina walked down the short garden path to the lane. She didn’t want her presence to cause him any embarrassment. Nor did she want to be caught on his front step by one of his younger brothers.

A few moments passed before he joined her, properly dressed in his coat with a belcher knotted at his throat.

‘I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,’ he said politely.

‘Not at all.’

‘What is this about?’

The way he said ‘about’ made her toes curl in her sensible half-boots. ‘It is a surprise.’

‘A pleasant one, I hope?’

She cast him a glance from under the brim of her chip-straw bonnet. ‘I believe even you will think so.’

They walked in silence for a few minutes, towards the manse, then she turned onto a narrow lane with stone walls on either side that led around the back of the church.

Excitement bubbled up in her chest again. He had to be pleased. He could not turn down this gift of hers. Well, hers and Chrissie’s. They had plotted it all out for two days, talking and explaining, until Father had thrown his hands in the air and told them to do just as they pleased, because they were going to anyway, with or without his permission.

Chrissie had happily left to her the duty of telling the Laird of their intention.

She stopped at a gap in the wall. The track to the ancient building before them was overgrown with weeds.

‘The tithe barn?’ he said. ‘Is this your surprise?’

‘Yes.’ She picked up her pace and instead of going in by the double-wooden barn doors, she made her way to a small door at the far end, carefully avoiding thistles and stinging nettles, some of which grew as high as her shoulders. She unlocked the door and threw it wide open, revealing a dusty empty room with a counting desk and a set of wooden shelves with pigeon holes against one wall.

‘It hasn’t been used for years,’ she said.

‘A tithe of nothing is nothing,’ Ian said. ‘The vicar takes his due from the collection plate. What is it you wanted me to see?’

‘Wouldn’t this make the most perfect place to hold a school for the local children?’

His eyes widened. ‘Are you telling me the vicar agreed we could use this building for a school?’

‘The barn is on Father’s land.’ She bit her lip. She should not have mentioned who owned the land. ‘He has agreed it can be used for a school.’

He stepped inside and turned in a circle, glancing up at the roof and staring at walls, much as she had done the previous day. He swung around to face her. He didn’t look particularly pleased, but nor did he look annoyed.

‘You don’t think it would work?’ she asked, fighting her disappointment with a smile.

‘It is a fine room. We could build trestle tables, find some stools.’

‘There are funds set aside by Lady Albright for a teacher. We could send to Edinburgh. What to do you think? Will you support the idea?’ she asked. ‘The clan members won’t send their children if you speak against it.’

He stared at her. ‘Why this concern now? We don’t need your charity.’

His suspicions were like a blade sliding between her ribs. ‘Would you prefer the children to run wild, with no chance for an education?’

He stepped closer, too close, looking down at her, his eyes flaring hot. Anger, she thought. Then wasn’t so sure. The blue in his gaze was so intense, the heat so bright with his body only inches from hers, it crashed against her cool skin. Her heart banged against her ribs, the sound loud in her ears. Breathing became difficult, as if the only air in the room belonged to him.

The strangest sense that he was going to kiss her tugged at her, drawing her closer; she could swear her body was leaning into his with a wild kind of longing.

He jerked back. She could have sworn she gasped at the shock of it, yet her ears heard no sound. It was all in her imagination, the connection, the physical pull.

‘It won’t make them think any better of your father,’ he said, his voice harsher than usual, his breathing less steady than before.

She shrugged, feigning indifference to the obviously dismissive words. ‘I didn’t expect it would.’

‘Niall will teach them. Two mornings a week.’

Did this mean he supported the idea, after all? ‘He can apply to the vicar with respect to his pay.’

‘He will not require payment.’

Apparently, his pride would not permit Albright money to be spent, but he would begrudgingly accept the loan of the building.

‘Are you sure Niall would be willing to work for no pay?’

‘The children will not come to a stranger. And they need someone who speaks the Gaelic.’

‘The children would obey you.’

A small smile curved on his lips. ‘Aye.’ He brushed by her and out of the door. He stopped and looked back. ‘Thank your father for the use of the barn. I’ll have Will Gair set to making some tables and trestles. Him, your father can pay.’

No wonder he looked so pleased with himself. He had found a way for Father to right what he saw as a wrong. ‘You are welcome, Mr Gilvry.’

His cheeks flushed a little red. ‘Thank you, Lady Selina.’ He strode away.

A proud man, but even so she had managed him quite nicely. And so what if he took it upon himself to provide the teacher and charge her father

for the furniture? The children would have their schooling.

That was all that mattered. A feeling of satisfaction filled her. A sense of a job well done, despite his reaction. Perhaps the people of Dunross would recognise her father’s generosity, even if their Laird would not.

And as for thinking he was going to kiss her, well … that was all in her imagination. More likely, he had wanted to tell her to go to hell, but had put the welfare of his people ahead of his own preferences.

Two days later, a fine drizzle hung over the hilly landscape like mist. It was almost as if the clouds, having brushed against the heather-clad hills, wanted to linger. There was no thinking about setting foot out of doors, not even in the carriage, so Selina stretched out on the sofa in the drawing room with a book to while away the hours until supper.

The drawing-room door opened and Chrissie bounced in. ‘You will never guess who is here.’

Selina put down her book. ‘Who?’

‘Lieutenant Dunstan.’

Her heart took an unpleasant dive. She hadn’t expected him quite so soon. But the sooner the better, surely?

‘Is he here to see me?’

‘He is with your father in his study.’ Chrissie clasped her hands together. ‘I am sure he is here to propose.’

Good news—then why did she feel a kind of panic? She wanted this. It had been all her idea. A new beginning after her accident. ‘Did Father send for me?’

Chrissie frowned. ‘No. But I am sure he will want to see you when they have concluded their business.’

Chrissie was as anxious for the marriage as Selina was herself. She hadn’t said anything, but she and Selina had occasionally disagreed on household matters. Until Father had finally told Selina it was no longer her concern.

It had been a painful truth.

She swung her feet to the ground and set her book aside. She patted her hair and smoothed her skirts, a pomona-green muslin. ‘Should I change, do you think?’

‘You look lovely,’ Chrissie said with a smile. ‘You always do.’

‘Thank you.’ Before her accident, she had taken her appearance for granted. More recently, she had felt unsure. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her steps as even as possible.

The antechamber to the study was empty. Mr Brunelle, her father’s secretary, must be inside with her father, taking notes, recording agreements. Should she knock and go in, or wait for them to come out?

As she dithered, the door to the study opened. She pinned a smile on her face.

‘Lady Selina!’ The lieutenant sounded surprised.

She glanced at her father.

He frowned. ‘Did you want something, daughter?’

Blast. It seemed she wasn’t expected, or wanted, which meant they had not been discussing the betrothal after all. A feeling of relief swept through her, even as she realised they were waiting for some sort of explanation.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks as her mind raced. ‘I heard Lieutenant Dunstan was here and came to bid him welcome.’ She hoped she didn’t sound too feeble. ‘To ask him to take tea with Lady Albright and me in the drawing room.’

Dunstan’s face lit up. ‘Very kind of you, Lady Selina, I must say. I fear I cannot take advantage on this occasion. I have urgent business in the neighbourhood and came to discuss it with your father as local magistrate.’

‘Trouble?’ she asked.

‘Selina,’ her father said in a warning tone.

‘Smugglers,’ Dunstan said at exactly the same moment.

‘Oh, my goodness, are there really such villains abroad around here?’ she said with a hand to her throat and a gasp. She gave him a glance that said in her mind he was a hero.

‘Don’t worry, Lady Selina, my regiment won’t let them escape us, I can assure you. You have nothing to fear.’ The paternalistic tone made her grit her teeth. But he was only trying to soothe the feminine nerves she had put on display and there was nothing in his manner she should resent.

She fluttered her lashes. ‘I am so glad you are in charge, then.’

He bowed, took her hand and kissed it. ‘Until we meet again.’

His touch left her cold, calm, uninvolved. No wild flutters invading her body—just as she preferred.

‘Lieutenant Dunstan is engaged to us for dinner next week, Selina,’ her father said. ‘There will be lots of time for chatter then.’

Next week. Her future would be settled next week. The delay felt like a reprieve from the hangman’s noose, when she should be impatient for it to start.

‘I will look forward to it,’ she said, giving him her most brilliant of smiles and watching him blush with a sense of foreboding. Had she made a mistake in this man? Was he weaker than she had thought? She wanted him malleable, it was true, but not spineless.

It was too late for second thoughts. Too late to change her mind. She had made her choice and must abide by it, or be deemed beyond the pale.

Dunstan turned back to Father. ‘This will be the end of them, I promise you. I bid you good afternoon, Lord Albright.’

With a sharp bow, he strode from the room, his spurs jingling with each booted step on the stone stairs leading down to the hall below.

‘The end of whom?’ Selina asked.

Her father waved her question aside. ‘You sounded over-anxious. You have done well to catch a man from such an important family. We don’t want to scare him off.’

‘Scare him off? I hardly think so,’ she drawled, hiding her hurt.

‘Two jilted suitors are enough to make any man think twice.’

It seemed the ton had a long memory. ‘I will be more circumspect next time he calls, Papa,’ she said, dipping a curtsy.

‘Good.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘If this thing goes well tonight, I believe I will have a buyer for Dunross, too.’

She gasped. ‘You are going to sell Dunross?’

‘Dunstan has no need of a keep in the wilds of Scotland. You don’t want to live here. With the proceeds, he can buy a country house close to his parents in Sussex and a house in town, just as you wanted.’

For some reason, she never thought Dunross would be sold. It was her dowry. She thought it would be settled on one of their children.

She frowned. ‘What does success catching the smugglers have to do with selling Dunross Keep?’

‘Ian Gilvry has been nothing but a thorn in my side and a deterrent to any serious purchaser. With him gone, we should get a good price.’

Her blood ran cold. All she could do was stare.

‘Well?’ her father said.

‘I … Nothing. I really should go back to Chrissie and tell her we are not expecting the lieutenant for tea.’

‘Never mind. I will join you instead.’

Blast. Now she needed to let the housekeeper know to deliver a tray to the drawing room, when what she wanted to do was be alone to think.

Chapter Four

Selina thumped at her pillow, sure someone had put rocks in it instead of feathers. She tossed onto her back. If Dunstan’s plans came to fruition, Ian would find himself behind bars, or worse. The fool. How could he risk his life with so many relying on him?

The cottages in the village were in terrible shape—certainly much worse than when she’d left seven years ago. The children playing in the street hadn’t just been ragged and dirty, they’d been painfully thin. The people were slowly starving. He should be helping them sell their crops, not seeking wealth from criminal activities.

Potatoes and barley were the only crops suited to the poor soil in the Highlands. And they used the barley to make whisky instead of bread. It was one of the reasons her father despised them so—their preference for hard spirits over food.

The Highlanders swore by their whisky, attributing healing properties to the malted liquor. They even gave it to babies.

And it wasn’t only illiterate crofters who held fast to the old ideas. The nobles did it, too. A school, education, would bring them into the nineteenth century, but it wouldn’t get off the ground if Ian ended up deported or worse. Didn’t he realise that, by taking risks with his own life for a few barrels of brandy, he was risking their futures?

Or was he smuggling in order to put food in their bellies? Because her father cared not one whit for the people on this land.

Her blood ran cold. She didn’t want to believe it, but her father was completely ruthless when it came to money and power. It was what had made him so successful.

He’d be delighted to see the Gilvrys out of his way.

The memory of Ian’s strong arms around her shoulders, beneath her thighs, haunted her as if she was still some besotted schoolgirl. Only worse, because other sensations tormented her too, little pulses of desire she couldn’t seem to control.

And the way he had looked at her in the tithe barn had only made them worse.

Hot and bothered, she slid out of the bed and walked to the mullioned window. Clear. The rain clouds gone. Stars twinkled teasingly.

The perfect night for smuggling.

The perfect night for a trap.

She gazed in the direction of the village. Was it her imagination, or could she see men leading strings of ponies across the heather between here and the village?

Imagination. It was too dark to make out anything except the dark shape of the distant hills against the sky.

Was Ian out there? About to be caught in the hated Revenue men’s net? She should have gone to warn him this afternoon, instead of telling herself it was none of her business. She owed him more than a thank you for helping Alice. And even if Dunross’s people hated her, she had this strange feeling of responsibility. Dunross Keep might be her dowry, but Ian Gilvry was their laird. She would never be able to live with herself if she didn’t at least try to warn him.

A clock struck eleven. What had felt like hours was only a single turn of the hour hand. It might not be too late to tell them. It wasn’t as if everyone didn’t turn a blind eye to smuggling.

Good Lord, her own father had a cellar full of smuggled wines in London. As long as those responsible didn’t hurt anyone along the way, smuggling, while a crime in the eyes of the law, was seen as more of a game.

A game Ian should have avoided with her father in residence at the keep.

Hands shaking with the need for haste, she sorted through the clothes in her press. Stays. How would she lace her stays without her maid? She lifted up a gaudy skirt she’d worn to a masquerade in Lisbon. She’d played the part of a Portuguese dancer. Somewhere she had a peasant blouse and an overbodice, which laced up the front.

But if she wanted to ride Topaz, she would need breeches, because she’d have to ride astride. She dug out a pair she’d worn on her childhood adventures when Father had left her with servants and hadn’t cared what she did most of the time. Tonight she would wear them under her petticoats.

Anyone seeing her, such as the Revenue men for example, would take her for one of the village girls in such attire.

As long as she didn’t run into Dunstan.

Her stomach rolled in a most unpleasant way. If she was caught, it would be the end of all her hopes for a good marriage.

She would just have to make sure he didn’t see her. She was only going to the village and back. He would be waiting on the shore for the smugglers. Hopefully in vain.

She finished dressing swiftly, throwing an old woollen cloak around her shoulders and hurrying downstairs in bare feet, carrying her shoes. She put them on at the side door and went out to the stables.

Blast. A light shone from a window above the stalls where Angus lived. He’d hear her and stop her if she tried to take Topaz.

Then she’d walk. The gate, of course, was locked and barred. Anyone would think they were at war, the way they locked up the keep at night.

There was another way out. The old sally port—an escape route for if the keep was ever besieged. Long ago it had been her route to freedom and a few secret meetings with Ian.

Hopefully no one had blocked it up in the meantime. She took the stairs down to the ancient undercroft. In medieval times the kitchen was located here; nowadays the space was used for storage.

The next flight of stairs was barely wide enough for her feet and twisted in tight circles. She wished she’d thought to bring a lantern. Damp and musty-smelling air filled her lungs and tainted her tongue as she felt her way down in the dark until she reached the door at the bottom.

The last time she’d been down here she’d hidden the key up on the lintel. She groped around and shuddered at the clingy touch of spider webs. Her fingers touched a metal object. She grinned. It seemed her old way out remained undiscovered.

The key turned easily in the lock and she slipped it in her pocket and entered the tunnel, a dank place, smelling of earth, dug into the hillside. It came out among a pile of rocks some distance from the keep.

Once outside, the air was fresh and even felt warm compared to the dank chill below ground. As she hurried down the hill to the village, the stars gave her just enough light to avoid the worst of the ruts and it wasn’t many minutes before she was standing outside Ian’s house.

A light in both ground-floor windows gave her hope she was in time. She banged on the door.

From inside she heard the sound of coughing, but no one came to the door.

She banged again.

‘Come in,’ a woman’s voice called out and the coughing started again. Mrs Gilvry. Did that mean Ian had left already?

What should she say? Accuse this woman’s son of being a criminal? No doubt that would be well received. Perhaps she should just leave.

‘Come in,’ the voice called again, stronger this time.

She could hardly leave the woman wondering who had knocked on her door and fearing for her safety. She pressed the latch and the door swung open.

‘In here,’ the voice said through an open door on her right.

Selina entered the chamber, expecting a drawing room, and instead found a large four-poster bed containing a pallid-faced woman with greying hair tucked beneath a plain cap propped up against a pile of pillows.

‘Mrs Gilvry?’

‘Aye.’ Pale fingers tightened on the sheets under her chin. A pair of eyes the colour of spring grass regarded her gravely. Andrew and Logan had inherited those eyes. Ian must take after his father. ‘And who is it who comes calling in the dead of night?’ Her voice was wheezy, breathless.

‘Selina Albright. I am looking for your son, Ian. Is he home?’

The woman’s eyes widened. ‘Ian, is it? And what would Albright’s daughter be doing looking for him at this time of night? Hasn’t your family done enough to our people?’

The sins of the fathers were still being visited upon the children. ‘I need to give him a message.’

The green eyes sharpened. ‘Is there trouble?’

Selina nodded. ‘The Revenue men are out tonight.’

The woman in the bed twisted her thin hands together. ‘I told him not to go.’

‘Ian?’

‘No, Logan. My youngest. He was supposed to stay with me, but he couldna’ resist. He followed his brothers not more than a half-hour ago. He’ll no listen to me any more. Am I to lose all of my sons?’

Selina’s heart ached for the torture she heard in the woman’s voice. ‘Do you know where they went? I … I could warn them.’

The woman looked at her with suspicion in her gaze. ‘Why would you do that?’

She shrugged. ‘Ian is a friend.’ It was true, if not quite reflecting the nuance of their relationship. An uneasy friendship.

The woman turned her head upon the pillow, staring at the fire, her mouth a thin straight line. Then she turned back to Selina. ‘It goes against the grain to trust an Albright. If you play me false, I will curse you for all of my days, however few they are.’

Selina recoiled at the bitterness in the woman’s eyes. ‘Tell me where they are.’

‘Balnaen Cove.’

The name tore at a scar she thought long ago healed, yet was now raw and fresh. Ian had taken her there once, the last time they’d met. They’d shared a kiss, a moment full of magic and dizzying sensations and walked the sand hand in hand, until his brothers had come across them. Then he’d heaped scorn on her head.

She forced herself not to think of that day, but the task at hand. The cove was at least three miles from the village. She would not reach it by midnight. ‘Do you have a horse?’

‘There’s one in the stables. Take it if you must,’ Mrs Gilvry croaked. ‘But ‘tis no a friendly horse and there’s no one to help.’

Of course it wasn’t. Nothing about the Gilvrys was friendly or helpful.

‘I’ll manage.’

‘Go through the kitchen and out of the back door.’

The directions took her straight to the stable where a lantern flickered above the door. She took it inside with her and found three empty stalls and one full of a large black stallion. It shifted uneasily as she entered.

A small shadow came out of the gloom, wagging its plumed tail. ‘You,’ she said, staring at her nemesis of a dog. ‘I might have guessed you’d be along to cause trouble.’

She hung the lantern on a beam, found a bridle and bit and took them into the stall. The horse showed her the whites of its eyes. Not a good sign. Nor were the bared teeth.

‘Easy,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not here to hurt you.’ She patted its cheek and ran a hand down its wither. The blasted dog came wandering in. Troublesome creature. The dog sat at her feet and leant up against her leg.

The stallion eyed it, then lowered its head. Nose to nose, the creatures greeted each other.

The stallion calmed.

She patted the dog’s head. ‘Well, now, is this some sort of formal introduction to your friend?’ It seemed so, for while the dog sat grinning, the great black horse allowed her to put on a bridle. But would he accept her on his back? Or was she just wasting time here? She might have walked a good way along the road by now.

No time for a saddle. Nor could she do it by herself. A blanket she found over a rail would have to do. Riding a horse bareback? She wasn’t even sure she could. But she had to try. She led the stallion out to the mounting block in the yard and lunged onto its back, one hand gripping the reins, the other grasping the long black mane before it could object. It shifted, but didn’t bolt.

The dog barked encouragement and shot out of the courtyard and into the lane. The horse followed.

She kept the stallion at a trot. She daren’t go any faster through the village in case she attracted unwanted attention. The dog ran alongside.

The bouncing made her teeth clack together and jarred her spine. As they passed the last cottage, she urged the horse into a gentle canter. Its long stride smoothed out and she felt a lot less like a sack of potatoes. Perhaps she really could make three miles without falling off.

At the crossroads she hesitated. The right fork led to the path along the cliffs and a long gentle slope down to the cove. Straight ahead and she’d have to cut across country. The way down to the beach there was difficult and steep. It was quicker.

Nose to the ground, the dog dashed straight ahead. The horse followed. It seemed as though her decision was made. Shorter and quicker was better.

She let the stallion have his head and concentrated on retaining her balance and watching out for danger. After ten minutes or so, the dog veered off towards the sea. If there was a path, she couldn’t see it, but she urged the horse to follow and in no time at all, she could hear the steady roar and crash of surf. Salt coated her lips and she licked it away, inhaling the tang of seaweed. ‘Tangle’, the locals called that smell.

If she remembered correctly, the rest of the way was rocky. Dangerous to a horse. She brought the animal to a halt and slid down. Her bottom was sore, but her injured leg easily held her weight. Riding astride, even bareback, was apparently easier on her leg than a ladies’ saddle.

‘Where are they, boy?’ she asked the dog, looking around warily. One thing she did not want to do was run into the Revenue men or, worse yet, Dunstan’s company of militia.

The dog set off at a trot. She followed, leading the horse. Would she be in time?

The dog circled her as if to assure her everything was all right. Or was he, in the nature of his breed, trying to herd her in the direction he wanted her to go?

Stumbling on the rough ground, Selina followed Gilly, hoping he would lead her to his master and not on a rabbit hunt.

A dark rift in the rocks where a small burn ran in a gully down to the sea told her she had remembered correctly. She’d climbed down beside the stream to the beach on one of her forbidden explorations.

A sound behind her. Cracking of twigs. She whirled around, hand to her heart.

A large figure loomed out of the low brush off to her left, an outline against the empty sea and starry sky. It lumbered towards her.

‘Hold,’ a male voice whispered loudly.

Why hadn’t the dog warned her? Friend or foe? Could she take a chance?

She turned to flee.

The man threw himself at her legs and flung her down.

Pain. Her shoulder wrenched. Her cheek scratched by heather. She cried out.

He cursed.

A hand came over her mouth. Heart racing wildly, she kicked out. Missed. Kicked again.

A brawny arm lifted and set her squarely on her feet. ‘Hist, now,’ he said in a low murmur. Scottish, she thought.

‘Silence, man,’ someone whispered from not far away. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘Ah,’ her captor said. ‘It seems I have caught myself a spy.’

Chapter Five

The taste of salt was strong in the back of Ian’s throat. He stared into the dark, catching the occasional glimmer of foam-crested waves. The steady crash and hiss of waves breaking on sand and the louder roar of water pounding the rocks filled his ears.

But his mind kept wandering. Hell. He had almost kissed Selina back in the tithe barn. The urge to taste her full lips, to feel her body pressed against his, to explore her soft curves with his hands had run hot in his blood. And if he wasn’t mistaken in the way those lips parted and her gaze had softened, she would have let him, too.

The attraction between them had not diminished over time. Indeed, if he wasn’t badly mistaken, it had increased exponentially. Damn it all, he had betrayed his family for her once. He would not do it again.

To be so distracted at such a time as this was insane. He forced his mind back to the job at hand. This last run of brandy would give him the money he needed to buy all the copper required for the still.

Everything was ready for the boat. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

He glanced at the man standing at the very edge of the promontory with a lantern at the ready. ‘Any sign of her?’

Gordy, the signalman, shook his head. ‘Nought.’

Ian grimaced. Time was wasting. He narrowed his eyes to look back across the rocks and the strip of beach into the gully where the men and ponies awaited the signal. They would come out on to the open beach only when the boat was almost aground. Well versed in their respective tasks, they would unload a boat and have the goods travelling back up on to the cliffs in less than ten minutes.

He scanned the cliff tops. No sign of his guards. And nor should there be. But they were there, ready to warn of intruders. He smiled grimly. As usual they’d outwitted the gaugers. Everything was going according to plan. Except the damned boat was late.

Hairs stirred on the back of his neck. The sensation had nothing to do with the stiff breeze hurling itself off the waves. He tried to shake off the feeling all was not well. Over the years, he’d learned to trust his instincts. Why would he ignore them now?

He glanced out to sea. Still no light from the ship. ‘I’m going up top to take a look around.’

Gordy nodded without turning, then stiffened, pointing. ‘There!’ he whispered. He fumbled with the lantern cover. ‘The light dipped beneath the waves, but … yes, there she is.’ Ian, too, could see the faint twinkle far out on the water.

Gordy flashed four times. Two flashes came back.

‘That’s them,’ Ian said. ‘Guide them in, lad. Any trouble, flash two long and two short, out there and up towards the cliffs, as well.’

‘I ken my job, Laird.’

Ian slapped him on the shoulder. ‘That you do, lad. Just reminding myself. I’ll let the men know we’ve sighted the ship.’ Then he’d climb the cliff to check on his guards.

He clambered across the rocks guarding each side of the small bay, keeping to the shadow. Once in the gully, out of the light of the stars and sheltered from the offshore breeze, he smelled the ponies. Manure and the smell of hardworking horse. And hardworking men. A familiar pungent smell. It had surrounded him most of his life. That and the danger. But the joy had gone out of it since Andrew had gone. His brother had loved the adventure of it.

This would be the last run. There was enough money in the coffers to buy the new still. A still that would be legal anywhere else in Britain but here in the Highlands.

‘Tammy,’ he called in a low voice. The man rose up from a rock. ‘She’s coming in.’

‘Aye,’ Tammy said. He nudged the man beside him. ‘Pass the word.’

‘I’ll be back down before she lands.’ Ian walked past the line of horses and men. Men he had trusted with his life more than once. Good men, who trusted him and who’d lose their homes if they didn’t bring this off safely. One or two of them muttered greetings as he passed.

At the end of the line, he passed a slight figure holding the bridle of an ass. Ian frowned. That made nine men. He’d thought there were eight. Was this the source of the troubled feeling he’d had out on the point? The man had a cap pulled down over his eyes and was trying to hide on the other side of his wee beast. Another thing that wasn’t right. They used ponies because they were more docile.

Ian reached over the animal and grabbed the man by the collar. A familiar face grinned up at him.

‘What the hell? Damn it, Logan, you are supposed to be caring for our mother.’

His brother shrugged him off. ‘It is a woman’s job,’ he said sullenly.

Ian closed his eyes in silent prayer for patience. ‘You know what Mother will do if anything happens to you. Make sure you stay out of trouble.’

‘She knows where I am. I’m no child to be left at home. You were out here at eighteen and I’m near twenty.’

‘That was different.’ In those days there hadn’t been anyone else to go. The clan had relied on him and Andrew to help them get through the winter. But for all his slight stature, Logan was right, he was old enough. And another pair of hands wouldn’t hurt.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But if the gaugers come, you are to run. I’m relying on you not to get caught. You’ll need to warn the village.’

Logan grinned, his teeth a quick white flash in the dark. ‘Aye. I’ll run like the wind. You can count on me.’

Ian knew he could. And if he tried to protect him, Logan would rebel and go his own way as Andrew had. ‘See you keep that damned beastie quiet.’

A dog whined. It jumped up at Logan, who pushed him down.

‘What in the devil’s name is Gilly doing here?’ Ian asked.

‘I dinna ken. I locked him in with Beau. He must have escaped.’

‘Carelessness,’ Ian said. ‘Keep the damn animal quiet.’

Logan glowered and made a grab for the dog. It darted out of reach.

The man next in line chuckled.

Ian smothered a cursed and left his brother to it.

The prickles on his neck had not subsided. If anything, they were worse. He climbed the steep path up the wall of the gully instead of following the track beside the burn tumbling down to the sea.

As he raised his head over the brow, a whiff of pipe smoke tickled his nostrils. ‘Damn it, man. Put that out. It can be seen for miles.’

Davey had brawn, but no brain. He knocked the bowl on his heel and stamped on the embers. “Tis all right for them down in the gully. The wind’s damn cold up here, Laird.’

‘It’ll be hot in hell if you get yourself shot.’ Ian swept his gaze around the surrounding countryside. ‘Hear anything?’

Davey gave a smug laugh. ‘Aye, I heard something, all right. At first I thought it was a rabbit. I walked back along the path a ways.’

‘And?’

‘I caught a lass creeping up on us. Ranald has her.’

What had been a faint unease across his skin was now a full-fledged alert in his gut. ‘A woman?’

‘A Sassenach by her voice.’

This really wasn’t good. ‘Stay here and keep a sharp look-out.’

‘Aye, Laird.’

Ian strode along the stream bank, until he came to the place where it disappeared underground. ‘Ranald?’

The burly innkeeper rose up out of the heather. ‘Here.’

‘Davey said you caught a wench spying.’

‘Aye, Laird, I have her tied up over there beside the horse.’

Definitely not good. And yet something lightened inside him. It was the oddest sensation. Shoving it aside, he strode to the cluster of rocks indicated by Ranald. He held up his lamp and looked into a pair of very angry brown eyes.

‘Lady Selina. I might have known.’ He knelt beside her and undid her gag.

‘Your man is an idiot,’ she hissed. ‘I told them I had a message for you. I told them to fetch you, but they wouldn’t listen.’

He pulled out his knife and sawed at the ropes around her wrists. ‘What message?’ He started on her ankles, keeping his gaze fixed on the job and not letting them stray to her shapely calf. Or at least, not much.

‘The Revenue men know about tonight. They have set a trap. You have to leave here right away.’

So, his instincts had not played him false, curse it. If they left without the goods, it would be another year before he could set his plans in motion. And Lord Carrick would not be best pleased. ‘How do you know this?’ He cut through the last of the rope and helped her to her feet. God, she was small. The top of her head barely came to his shoulder.

She rubbed at her wrists. ‘Never mind that. You have to go. Now.’

‘Where are they waiting for us?’

‘Surprisingly enough, they didn’t give me any details.’

The sarcasm in her voice made him want to laugh. ‘How did you get here?’ And then he saw for himself. Beau. And no saddle in sight. ‘You rode bareback?’

‘I couldn’t saddle him myself.’

He shook his head. It seemed there was still something of the spirited girl inside the sophisticated woman.

She pulled her cloak around her. ‘I’ll go now.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I said not.’ Gaugers weren’t above firing their muskets at shadows, let alone at a fleeing horse. ‘Ranald,’ he called softly.

The innkeeper appeared like magic. Obviously, he’d been standing close by, listening. ‘Keep her here. I’ll go warn the men on the beach and return to take her home. And, Ranald, not a word of this to anyone, understand?’ Ranald nodded.

Ian glanced at the stubborn set of Lady Selina’s jaw. ‘Whatever you do, keep her here.’

What they needed now was some sort of diversion.

Selina glared at Ranald. ‘I told you he would want to hear my message.’

The man mumbled something under his breath, then covered his lantern. Selina blinked furiously to adjust her vision to the gloom. She should leave. She could be home in bed before anyone noticed her departure, her conscience clear.

What Ian did on his own account was his concern. But if she was caught aiding them Father would be mortified. And furious. If Dunstan discovered she’d warned the smugglers, after he’d let fall information about his mission in her presence, he’d call off their betrothal. If nothing else, a man expected loyalty from his wife. And that meant she’d have to start looking for a suitable husband all over again. Unless the scandal ruined her completely. It probably would.

But she’d known the risks when she set out. And she would do it all over again if required, because she was honour bound to help him as he had helped her when she’d asked. Not to mention that she did not like the thought of him being sent to prison.

Only now she needed to go home. She rubbed her cold hands together and looked at the horse and then at Ranald. ‘Let me go. I’ll return the horse in the morning.’

‘Ye’ll stay put,’ the burly man said. ‘The Laird said so.’

‘The Laird is an idiot.’

‘Take one step and I’ll tie you up again.’ The tone of voice made it clear he meant it. She huffed out a breath. Men. They always wanted to rule the roost.

The minutes lengthened. She watched Ranald, waiting for him to lose interest, to give her a chance to slip away. At any moment the Revenue men could be upon them, or, worse yet, Dunstan and his militia.

That really would be her undoing.

The sound of booted feet on rocks brought her head around. Men. Coming up from the shore at a run, leading a couple of ponies with muffled hooves and ladderlike carriers on their backs. Empty carriers. They guided the beasts to the path along the cliff top towards the village. What on earth were they doing?

Another pony emerged from the gully. This one was laden with tuns and turned away from the village and disappeared into the dark. Blast the man. He had taken absolutely no notice of her warning and was continuing as if nothing was wrong. She was a fool to have thought she could help.

A shout rang out on the headland in the direction the first two ponies had gone. A flash. A loud bang. Clearly a shot. Then more flashes and bangs, getting closer.

They were shooting at the men he’d sent along the headland. Someone was going to get killed. Was Ian mad?

The train of loaded ponies continued on, one after another, while she bit her knuckles to stop from giving voice to her fears. The men leading the ponies passed by at a run, heads down and faces covered with mufflers. Then there were no more. Like ghosts, they had disappeared.

Where was Ian? She peered into the gloom, moving closer to the rocky path.

Shouts came from farther along the cliffs. The sound of men fighting hand to hand. Ranald muttered a curse, clearly impatient to be gone. Could Ian have somehow slipped past her to join in the fray now that the smugglers had departed with their booty?

Another figure emerged from the path up from the beach, cursing and swearing as he pulled on the leading rein of a resisting animal. It squealed indignantly. Its handler threw an arm over its nose to muffle the sound. The ass snorted a protest.

Selina understood just how it felt.

Then the damn thing surged forwards as if terrified. The man holding it cursed again. A flash of white at the animal’s heels told Selina all she needed to know. ‘Gilly,’ she whispered.

The handler halted the ass and stared at her. ‘Lady Selina?’

‘Logan Gilvry. Another idiot. Where is Ian?’

He shook his head. ‘He’ll be up shortly. He’s helping the boat to shove off. Giving us a chance to get clear.’

‘Then go,’ she said.

‘Aye. Gilly, set him on.’

The dog nipped at the ass’s back hoof. It jerked forwards and set off at an awkward run with Logan at its head and Gilly close behind.

The sounds along the cliff had ceased. The smugglers—a decoy, she guessed—must have run for it. No doubt the Revenue men and the militia would soon realise they’d been tricked and make their way along here.

She had to leave before they caught her.

Ranald also hopped from one foot to the other, looking worried.

‘Go,’ she said.

‘The Laird said I was to watch you. Here.’

‘The soldiers could arrive at any moment. I’ll ride and warn Laird Gilvry, while you follow your men. Help me up on the horse and then you can leave.’

Ranald scratched his head. ‘You’ll go to him?’

She nodded.

‘All reet, my lady, but I am trusting you to keep your word.’ He tossed her up on the big stallion’s back and led the horse to the top of the pathway. ‘Watch your step. It is verra steep.’ He touched his forelock and took off after the others.

She urged the stallion down the rugged slope and hoped to goodness the animal wouldn’t stumble as she let him have his head. Miracle of miracles, the horse seemed to know his way down the rock-strewn path. Ian must have ridden him down this way in the past.

It was a small lonely patch of beach along a rocky shore, known to few but the locals. Or that’s how Ian had described it that long-ago day. A place where they could be alone. She realised now that he had been ashamed to be seen with her.

At the bottom of the incline she found Ian walking up the beach towards her; behind him a rowboat was steadily pulling out to sea. He glared at her as she drew up beside him.

‘What the hell are you doing here? I’ll have Ranald’s—’

‘Hush. The Revenue men are close behind me.’

He frowned. ‘They followed you? Damn it. What game are you playing?’

‘They didn’t follow me. They know exactly where they are going and they will be here any moment. While they come down this way, we can ride up the path on the other side.’

He pressed his lips together. ‘Aye. Hang on tight, then.’

She grasped the stallion’s mane. Ian took a few steps at a run, then leapt up behind her. Impressive.

The sound of men in heavy boots echoed off the gully walls along with curses as they slipped and slid on the tricky path.

‘Time we were gone.’ He leaned forwards and they were off.

The feel of his hard thighs cradling her buttocks was positively indecent. So was his arm around her waist. But locked in that strong embrace, she felt perfectly safe, when she should be feeling terrified.

A cry went up behind them. The Revenue men must have heard the beat of the horse’s hooves on the sand. It also meant they weren’t far behind, but a man on foot was no match for this horse, even carrying two riders.

She set the horse’s head towards the zigzagging path at the other end of the cove. A gentler climb up to the headland. They were halfway there, when a stream of men poured onto the beach from that direction.

‘A pincer movement,’ Ian yelled. ‘That’s how they meant to catch us.’ He yanked the horse’s head around. The beast turned in a circle while Ian scanned the cliffs and the men coming at them at a run from both sides at once.

‘Look’s like we’ve only one option,’ he yelled. ‘Keep your head down.’ He set the horse running at the sea.

Her mouth dried. Her heart thundered. What could he be thinking? They’d drown. From horseback, the sand looked very far away. Too far to jump off. At this speed there was nothing she could do but hang on.

The wind whipped her hair out of its pins and it flew wild in her eyes. She leaned low over the horse’s neck so Ian could see where they were going.

Where were they going?

Surf splashed up around them. Ian didn’t slow the horse’s pace. The water hit her face like icy needles and soaked her legs through the clinging fabric of her skirts and then the wool fabric of her knee breeches all the way to her waist. She gasped.

A howl of dismay went up from the men running after them.

‘Load.’ The terrifying shout came from the behind them. They were going to shoot!

The horse tried to turn back as its feet lost contact with solid ground.

Ian slid from its back into the water. ‘Come on, Beau,’ Ian yelled. ‘It’s all right, lad.’ The horse’s ears pointed forwards, its body low in the water, its breathing fast and laboured.

A volley from the beach kicked up spurts of water all around them. Selina closed her eyes, waiting for the pain. Nothing.

‘Hang on,’ Ian shouted. ‘We are nigh out of range.’ He struck out strongly, with the horse trailing behind. Laying along the stallion’s back, her skirts a tangle around her legs, Selina clung to the horse’s neck for dear life. Waves hit her in the face with a salt-laden slap, making her gasp and blink to clear her stinging eyes. It was impossible that this horse could swim very far.

Another volley. Selina glanced over her shoulder to see the waterspouts a few feet behind and, if her eyes weren’t deceiving her, the men were already waist-deep in the sea. Surely they didn’t stand a chance of hitting them now. She prayed she was right and concentrated on holding on to the pitching beast.

Ian slowed and swam alongside. ‘Come on, old fellow, you can do it.’ He directed the horse to swim parallel to the shore, heading south.

How Ian kept swimming in such chilly water she didn’t know. Her hands and legs were numb, her teeth chattering. She tried to remember how far it was to the next beach and wondered if they would get there before they drowned. Or perished from cold.

It might be better to drown than be caught with a known smuggler. Father would never forgive her and even the placid Dunstan would never marry her.

When she’d finally found the perfect man and plucked up the courage to take the matrimonial plunge, she’d ended up up to her neck in the sea instead.

She just had to make it home without anyone finding out.

Chapter Six

The cold seeped into Ian’s bones. He wanted to turn over on his back and float as what little heat he generated from motion was leached away by the chill of the sea. With an effort he glanced over at Beau and his passenger. The lass had heart and no mistake, but it was clear she’d not last long. And the horse was snorting and blowing hard, starting to tire.

He peered through the spray at the top of each wave, searching the shore, seeing only the faint phosphorous glow of sea breaking on rocks. There. A dark patch. He veered towards it, praying there were no watching eyes up on the cliff.

Unlikely. It would take those on the beach too long to make the climb, and surely they’d be more interested in chasing the contraband.

It had seemed like eons before he felt sand under his feet and heard the gentle hush of surf on sand. Not that there was much of a beach. A sliver, only revealed at low tide. But it was enough. The horse passed him, eager to be clear of the water, and pranced up onto the dry ground like a colt, while Lady Selina clung on for dear life.

Ian dragged his weary legs through the surf, weighed down by his kilt and grabbed at the bridle. ‘All right,’ he soothed, patting the sodden neck. ‘You did it, old fellow.’

He reached up for the girl. She fell into his arms a dead weight. Dear God, don’t say she was hit. He didn’t think the shots came anywhere close. ‘Selina. Are you injured?’

‘J-just c-c-cold.’ Her teeth clattered together.

He had the answer for that, if she could hold on long enough. ‘Can you walk?’

‘C-c-can’t feel my legs.’

Oh, hell, what had he been thinking? It was all right for him to swim in the ocean, he’d been brought up on it, swimming in the cold lochs in the hills when there was nowhere to bathe, but this delicate creature wasn’t used to such hardship.

He swept her up in his arms.

‘No. You must be tired.’

‘Aye.’ He was. But he was used to battling on, no matter how exhausted. Hardship was a fact of life in the Highlands.

He staggered up the narrow beach, clicking his tongue for the horse to follow. Rocks jutted out from the cliffs, forming a natural inlet invisible from the overhanging cliff top. From the sea at high tide, one needed a boat, but right now, the entrance to the cave was a gentle slope into the dark. A cave wrought by seawater and an ancient underground river.

He ducked inside.

The sound of the waves became a muffled roar—a bit like listening to a shell up against your ear.

The fragile body in his arms vibrated. Shivers. He was feeling chilled himself, but out of the wind it wasn’t so bad.

Beau shook himself, water drops flying. He obviously approved of the dry and followed Ian willingly.

The incline got steeper, rockier. The horse’s hooves slipped here and there, but the animal kept close behind, trusting. God, the whole clan had trusted him to bring this off tonight. And now he was stuck here with no idea what was happening.

If not for the girl, he’d probably be dead. And now she lay lifeless in his arms, her dark hair hanging like seaweed over his arms, her body cold and suddenly still. He should have called the whole thing off the moment he saw her. Got the men away. Ignored the boat.

Either that or given himself up instead of plunging into the sea. Please God, he could get her warm and dry before she succumbed to the cold.

The cave was black as pitch and freezing, but he knew it as well as he knew his own bedchamber in the dark. His senses told him when the passage opened into the cave proper. That and the light touch of air rushing by his cheek. He set the fragile female in his arms down on the sand. She struggled to a sitting position and he felt relief flood through him at the sound of another round of clattering teeth.

‘Wait there,’ he said and felt his way to the corner where he found several oilcloth-wrapped parcels.

It wasn’t long before he had candles lit, tinder and peat laid out for a fire and blankets spread on the floor. He lit the kindling from a candle and nursed the fire to life, gently blowing on the embers until flames flared up and beat back some of the darkness.

‘W-w-what is this p-p-place?’ Her voice was an echoing whisper.

Thank God, she was alert enough to talk. ‘‘Tis an old cave used by fisherman.’ He kept his voice matter of fact. No point in letting her know how much he had feared for her. He strode to her side. ‘Sit by the fire. There are more blankets. We’ll get you out of these wet clothes.’

He helped her to her feet. Made to pick her up.

‘I can walk,’ she said. She staggered a few steps, but, unable to stand the sight of her weakness, he picked her up and carried her to the warmth of the fire.

‘I’m cold too, lass. I’ve no wish to be waiting a week for you to get yourself by the warmth.’

He put her down on the blankets and handed her another. ‘Put that around you and take off your wet things.’

He turned his back, more and more aware of the sodden cloth clinging to his legs and dripping onto the floor. He grabbed Beau by the bridle and led him to an iron manger some enterprising ancestor had attached to the rock wall. There were oats and hay in a sack, waiting for just such an occasion as this: a need to hide from the authorities or to save a fisherman caught out in a storm.

It hadn’t been used for a good long while, as far as he knew, but one of the local fishermen had the job of keeping it stocked in case of a wreck.

After emptying the hay into the manger, he used the sack to rub the horse down, then went farther up the tunnel on the landward side, to the rain barrel. The water was peaty-tasting, but clean and fresh. He filled a small pan for the horse and a couple of leather flasks.

Busy work, because all he could think of was her slipping out of her clothes, baring her lush body. He gritted his teeth. He was not the adolescent he’d been that long-ago summer, fancying himself in love with a girl he should have nothing to do with. None the less, the images were certainly warming his blood. And that wasn’t such a bad thing.

By the time he got back, Lady Selina’s clothes lay near the fire and the blanket was wrapped tightly around her delicious curves. She looked beautiful. Pale, her lips a little blue, strands of damp hair curling around her face, sticking to her skin. A legend come to life.

He grinned. ‘You look like a selkie.’

‘A sea witch? I feel more like a bit of jetsam washed up on the shore.’ The brave smile on her lips as she dragged her fingers through her hair caught at his heart.

‘Are you warmer?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘What about you? Shouldn’t you …?’ Her words trailed off and she looked away, embarrassed.

Noble lasses like her didn’t think about men taking their clothes off. Indeed, they probably didn’t think a man had anything beneath his clothes. Clothes made the man, if the strutting peacocks in Edinburgh were to be believed.

Well, he wasn’t going to stand here and drip to save her sensibilities. ‘Aye. There’s a spare kilt here, but nothing fit for a lady to wear. You’ll have to dry your clothes before we leave.’

He grabbed the supplies put there for men prevented from landing their fishing boats at the quay during a storm. Or smugglers forced to flee the long arm of the gaugers.

He moved out of the light of the fire, wrapped a blanket around him and stripped off to his coat and shirt, using another blanket as a towel.

When he turned back she was eyeing him from beneath lowered lashes. She probably didn’t realise the light from the fire, while distorting her features with flickering shadows, did not hide her expression of interest.

Heat travelled up his neck to his face.

Blushing like a lad. Surely not?

‘What the hell did you think you were doing, coming down to the beach?’ he said, his voice gruffer than he intended. ‘What you did was brave, but foolhardy.’ There, that was less ungrateful if still grudging.

‘You are a fool, Ian Gilvry,’ she said scornfully. ‘All that danger for brandy.’

Stung, he glared at her. ‘The brandy pays for other things.’

She gazed at him blankly.

He shrugged. What would a privileged lass like her know or care about the hardships his people faced? All her father cared about was the hunting and the grouse. ‘As soon as your clothes are dry I’ll get you home.’

Her gaze wandered to his horse. ‘I have never seen a horse swim that way.’

‘I lost a horse in a river once. He went in at a ford and got confused. I swore I would never lose another horse to the water.’

She rested her chin on her knees. ‘I can see why. They become like friends …’ She hesitated. ‘Your mother gave me permission to ride him.’

‘Did she know who you were?’ He sat down beside her on the blanket. The fire’s warmth was painful to his icy skin.

‘Yes.’

That did surprise him. His mother had always been opposed to everything English—it was a point of honour. If she ever learned Ian had sent Drew off to America at the behest of Albright’s daughter, she would never forgive him.

He’d done it for the memories of a short time when he’d felt happy and carefree, when he’d forgotten his duties and responsibilities. Very selfish reasons wrapped around youthful dreams and wishes. Reality in the shape of his brothers’ shock at seeing them together had brought him back to earth, but he’d never stopped feeling guilty for the hurt look on her face at his rejection and cruel words spoken in parting. That guilt had sent Drew to his death. He would not let her influence him against his family again. But she had made up for it in part, at least, with tonight’s warning.

‘Thank you for coming tonight. Without your warning we would have been caught. I wish you had not come down to the beach, though. I would have handled it.’

She sighed. ‘I thought the Revenue men would follow the goods and we could ride up the path on the other side.’

He was surprised by the resignation in her voice. ‘How did you know of their plans?’

‘Through my father. I should have sought you out earlier in the day.’ She sighed. ‘I was almost too late.’ She shook her head. ‘Why risk lives for a few tuns of brandy? How will the women and children survive without their men?’

She was lecturing him? After all her father had done to destroy their way of life? ‘They can’t live on fresh air.’

‘Well, they can’t live on brandy.’

‘You are a Sassenach. What do you know about what my people need?’

She flinched and he felt like a brute. His rough direct ways did not suit a drawing-room miss. Not that she’d seemed much like a lady riding bareback to his rescue.

‘It brings money to purchase what they can live on,’ he explained. More than that, though—it was an investment in the future.

After a few moments’ silence, she turned to face him. ‘Do you think we were recognised?’

He shook his head. ‘They were too far away.’

She breathed a sigh of relief. That small little breath, that mark of gladness, sparked warmth in his chest. Foolish warmth. She was the daughter of his clan’s worst enemy. He’d do well to keep that in mind.

But she had risked a great deal tonight and he would not have her suffering for it. ‘The sooner we get you back to the keep, the better,’ he said, ‘before you are missed. Hold up your clothes to the fire so they will dry.’

She did as he bid and they both sat toasting her clothes, watching the steam rise from them to mingle with the smoke from the fire.

‘Why do your people try to turn back the clocks? Bonnie Prince Charlie is never returning.’

She understood nothing. ‘My people were here long before the English. Yes, they need to move with the times, but not give up who they are, their traditions or their homeland. All the great landowners are turning their land over to sheep. Or using it for sport. They are leaving nothing for the clan members. If you take away their livelihood, then they need other work to replace it. Instead of that, they are being left destitute, labouring in the kelp fields or smuggling whisky. Hundreds of them have shipped off to America. Soon there will be no Highlanders left.’

She frowned. ‘Don’t the crofters earn enough to pay their rents?’

‘The rents keep going up.’ He combed his fingers through his almost-dry hair as he sought for a way to explain without giving away his plans. ‘The old ways, such as crofting, are no longer viable, but I believe other ways can be found to keep the people here. In Scotland. But the English, men like your father, pass laws that make it impossible for us to earn a living. Those are what need to be changed.’

Her silence said she wasn’t convinced. Hell, he was barely convinced himself that changing the law would make a difference. Yet some men were making a go of it, but they were men who owned their estates, who had the power to decide the best way to proceed. If Albright decided to clear his lands, in the end there was little Ian could do about it.

‘Must we swim back?’ she asked.

At last a question he could answer with confidence. ‘No. The cave has a back door. Or a front door, depending on your point of view.’

‘Then we should go. I cannot be found missing from my bed when the maid comes to light the fire.’ She shivered.

Instinctively, his arm went around her. He touched her cheek. The skin was warm and alive beneath his fingers, her mouth so deliciously inviting. Her back was frigid beneath his arm. No wonder she had shivered.

‘We have to get you fully dry first.’

‘I am much warmer than I was.’

‘Aye, but not warm enough.’ He lifted her easily and set her between his legs, so her back was against the warmth of his body, her round little bottom nestled between his thighs. He almost groaned with the pleasure as his body hardened and he prayed she could not feel it through the blanket. He forced himself to ignore the delightful sensation and instead focused on the feel of her cold back permeating through her blanket and his. He pulled her close up against his chest.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Body heat. The closer we sit together, the warmer we will both be. Something I learned on cold nights when out on the hunt with the men of the clan.’

She leaned back and hummed her approval. The sound struck low in his gut. His arousal swelled painfully. He forced himself to breathe and to think. This woman was not for him.

She laughed a little.

‘What?’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘I’m thinking about a bunch of men snuggled together.’

‘Not pleasant, believe me. Men stink after days in the hills. But it saved us from freezing to death or returning empty-handed.’

‘The clan always protects its members.’

‘Aye.’

‘One of them gave you away tonight.’

‘Possibly.’ A traitor in their midst. The thought gave him a cold feeling in his gut. It would have to be addressed, though. As soon as the hue and cry died down. ‘You didn’t hear who spilled the beans?’

‘No.’

Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy, would it?

He rubbed her finely boned arms with his hands, taking care not to hurt her. Heat blossomed beneath his palms.

‘That feels good.’ She sighed.

He wanted to do more than warm her arms. He wanted to take her with him to the stars and back. A boy’s long-ago dream. It was no more right today than it had been then.

The sooner he got her home, the sooner he could be rid of temptation. It would lead to nothing but trouble for all of them.

The thought of her leaving made the fire seem to blaze less brightly and the cave seem more cavernous and empty. Not since Drew’s departure had he enjoyed one of these night-time adventures, he realised, or shared his worries about the future.

How much more disloyal could he be to his brother’s memory? Probably a whole lot more when it came to this woman, unless he was careful.

He was always careful. Always in control. Tonight was no different.

Chapter Seven

Selina let the blessed warmth of Ian’s body at her back and the heat of the fire in front gather her up and set her adrift. The feel of his arms around her made her feel safe, protected from the world beyond their cave.

Men usually made her nervous. They had to be watched and judged and kept at a distance. If you let them get too close, they found a way to hurt you.

Ian had taught her that lesson when she was an impressionable schoolgirl. How could she forget that about him now?

Or was it the schoolgirl who had once more taken over her mind and her body reminding her of those old foolish longings?

Certainly not. She knew what this was, what it had always been: forbidden desire. A fragile woman always brought out a male’s urge to protect. And thus she held the upper hand, as long as she didn’t allow herself to be drawn under its spell. Under those conditions, there was nothing wrong with a little bit of mutual lust. Provided it didn’t go too far.

A lady had to be careful of her reputation, especially if she hoped to marry.

Then why this pervasive sense of well-being wrapped in his arms when tonight she had risked everything?

She turned her face up, looking at his hard square jaw covered in stubble. Her gaze traced the shadow of his cheek and the carved cheekbone. And the longing inside her seemed to increase with the expansion and contraction of his ribs at her back. A silent sigh, yet she felt it with every bone in her body.

‘I never forgave myself for what I said to you, that day at the beach,’ he murmured low in her ear. ‘Children are cruel, but I was old enough to know better. I had an overabundance of pride in those days.’

Surprised, she twisted in his arms to better see his expression, to assure herself he wasn’t mocking.

Indeed, his lips did smile, but it was a lovely generous smile, youthful, touched by regret, his eyes gleaming with firelight.

Her insides drew tight, pulsed with a sensation that made her eyelids droop and her body soften.

Looking down at her, he inhaled a swift breath. The glimmer in his eyes burst into searing flames.

The air crackled and warmed. All around them heat conspired to make them short of breath and wordless. His arms tightened around her body, his head dipped until his mouth was close enough to brush her lips. The soft caress of each exhale tickled her lips, the scent of him, salt and sea air, and something very male filled her senses.

‘It seems we are destined to rescue each other from time to time,’ she said on a breathless laugh. Though it must never happen again.

Without thought, she put her arms around his neck, tipped her head and kissed his cheek, much as she had as a girl. ‘I’m glad I reached you in time.’

A groan broke in his throat. ‘Me, too.’ His hand came to her jaw, cradling her chin, angling her head the better to kiss her back.

His lips firmed over hers, testing and teasing. His lips parted and his tongue licked her bottom lip. Thrills ran amok in her body, making her gasp with shock at the pleasure of such an intimate touch.

Heavenly sensations coursed through her veins and turned her bones liquid.

His parted lips matched hers and, open-mouthed, their lips melded and moved in a harmony she hadn’t expected. Tentatively, she tried a taste of her own. Their tongues met and danced and played, at first gently, carefully, and then with wild fervour.

Dizzy, breathing hard, she lay in his arms. The magic of his kiss took her out of her body. Whereas she’d been floating before, now she was flying, soaring, released from the chains of the world.

Inside she trembled.

Never in her adult life had she lost her sense of self so utterly as now, as if some part of them had fused and become something different altogether. It exhilarated. And terrified.

Fear made her struggle.

He drew back, breathing hard, looking into her face with a jaw of granite, with eyes the colour of midnight, hot and demanding.

‘We must not,’ he said, gravel-voiced.

‘No,’ she agreed, gazing up at his hard expression. Yet longing was there, in the way his gaze devoured her face, in the way his hands trembled where they touched her cheek, light and gentle as a butterfly. Forbidden wanting. Or was it only her fevered blood making her wish it?

She closed her eyes against such traitorous thoughts. She’d made her choice.

When she opened her eyes she saw anger in his. Perhaps even revulsion. Yet it did not seem so much directed at her as directed at himself as he stood up, leaving her cold and bereft.

‘You must be warm by now,’ Ian said, matter of factly.

Warm? She was burning. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ There, didn’t she sound equally calm? Equally unaffected?

‘Here.’ He handed over her skirts and her bodice. ‘These are dry.’ He frowned when her breeches fell to the floor.

‘For riding,’ she said defensively. ‘What about you?’ She glanced at the blanket he had wrapped around his waist and then at the still-steaming mass of his kilt. It would take hours to dry. A small shiver ran down her back at the thought of hours of temptation in this cave.

‘There are spare clothes here.’ He picked up one of the packages and unwrapped it.

Fascinated, she watched him. ‘You would spare your maidenly blushes if you will look away now, Lady Selina.’ The mockery was back in his voice. Maidenly blushes. After that kiss he no doubt suspected they were nothing more than a front.

Her cheeks hotter than the fires of hell, she whipped her face away and fluffed the billowing fabric of her skirts. Yet for all her good intentions, she could not help but cast a glance from the corner of her eye as he let the blanket fall silently to the floor.

At the edge of the firelight the gleam of his skin was like marble. The image of wide sculpted shoulders tapering to lean waist and firm flanks, the swell of firm lean buttocks and strong thighs seared her vision. Her body clenched at his sheer beauty.

So large and so male. Lithe and perfectly formed. Athletic and sure in his movements as he bent to adjust the cloth. So opposite to her small stature and rounded curves and the awkwardness of her halting gait.

The silhouette of his erection made her gasp. Had he heard and guessed she was watching? If so, he gave no sign. She ducked her head and busied herself with her clothes. Swallowing against the dryness in her mouth, she kept her gaze fixed on her task.

The fire was hot and the light cotton fabric dried quickly. She concentrated on holding her breeches out to the flames. She glanced up when he returned bare-chested. Another delicious clench of her insides. He picked up his shirt and held it to the warmth. The trousers were on the tight side and too short and made his thighs look huge. Not that she was measuring. She wasn’t. But a woman would have to be blind not to notice how strong his legs were and that his feet were large, just like his … She forced the thought to be gone.

But never would she forget the image of his body, the way he looked in profile. Different. Glorious.

‘Time for you to dress now,’ he said, ‘if we are to get you home before dawn.’

She jumped at the sound of his voice. He was right. They really should not linger. ‘Turn your back while I dress.’

An eyebrow flickered up—no doubt she had sounded too harsh, but he walked away, went to his horse with clearly no interest in spying on her.

So they’d kissed. A moment of passion after a wild escape. Whatever had happened between them had been the result of shock. Mutual comfort. Nothing more.

She pulled her hair back from her face; it felt matted and still damp, but she didn’t care. She made a rough plait to hold it, then dressed beneath her blanket, not because she feared he would look, but to ward off some of the chill of the cave. Dressed, she turned back to find him rubbing the horse down with the blanket he had discarded earlier.

She picked up her shawl, still saturated from the sea, and folded it up. A blanket would make a better cloak and be warmer, though heaven knew what her maid was going to say. She wrapped it around her shoulders and tied it behind her waist as peasant girls did, then gathered up his kilt, folding it to give her hands something to do while she waited for him.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked, leading the horse towards her.

She nodded. It was a lie. A knot formed in her stomach. The thought of returning home made her feel the way an escaped prisoner must feel about the return to prison. A prison of her own making. Which didn’t make a bit of sense, not when she was about to marry the man she had chosen for herself. She held out his kilt. ‘You will want this.’

He used one of the ropes to tie it, then rested it across the horse’s withers. ‘We’ll mount up outside.’ He picked up a bucket and emptied it on the fire. Choking smoke filled the cave.

Selina coughed and rubbed at her streaming eyes. ‘You idiot. Couldn’t you wait until we had left?’

He chuckled. The next moment, he was behind her, lifting her onto the horse. ‘We need to make haste, now.’ He jerked on the bridle and led the big black into the tunnel, holding a torch up so they could see ahead of them. They climbed upwards through the narrow space. Sometimes, when the surf was quiet, she could hear running water—what was left of the stream that had carved its way through the rock and out to the sea, no doubt. And then they were out in the cold night air.

He doused the torch, tossed it over the cliff and continued leading the horse, back towards the road.

She clung on to the stallion’s mane and prayed they would make it home in time.

A good few yards from the keep’s entrance, Selina directed him across country. ‘There is an outcropping of rock on the back side of the hill,’ she murmured quietly.

‘I know it.’ Why had he never suspected it might hide an entrance? As lads, his brothers would have been delighted. The thought of the trouble they might have caused made him shudder.

They needed to hurry. Dawn was already changing the eastern sky from black to grey. Beau shied as a figure rose out of the heather. Ian jerked the horse to a stand.

‘Angus,’ Selina cried.

‘Shh,’ Angus hissed. ‘What by all that is holy are you thinking, Ian Gilvry?’

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

Ian had a sinking feeling in his gut. Who else knew to expect Lady Selina?

Angus shot a glance up at the keep. ‘Do you think I don’t know every nook and cranny of my master’s house, my lady? So it is true.’

‘What are you insinuating, Mr McIver?’

Never had Ian heard her sound so haughty. So much like the stuck-up noblewoman Andrew had described on his return from London.

‘What is happening, Angus?’ Ian asked, jumping clear of Beau.

‘That young lady has been missed from her bed and her fiancé is crying foul, that is what is happening.’

‘Fiancé?’ His gut slipped sideways. He glared up at Lady Selina. Had she been playing some sort of game with him back there in the cave, the sort of flirtation engaged in by ladies of the ton, according to what Andrew had told him?

‘Nothing has been formally announced,’ she said, sounding defensive. She slipped down off the horse and stood at his side.

‘It may not be official,’ Angus said, ‘but he is verra angry. Threatening to ruin your reputation and that of your father. Interfering in official business makes you an accomplice under the law.’

‘He can’t know for certain,’ she said heatedly. ‘No one saw me.’

Ian had the feeling she had her fingers crossed when she said the last. ‘Did someone see her?’

‘I’m no privy to that information. I do know that young Dunstan is beside himself with anger. No doubt he expected a bit of glory out of tonight’s affair. Instead …’

She winced. ‘Father knows I knew what was planned for tonight and he thinks I betrayed him.’

‘Well, you did, didn’t you?’ Angus muttered, his deep voice turning into a low growl of frustration. ‘Lady Albright is in tears, speaking of ruin and disgrace. Your father …’ He shook his head.

Ian stiffened, but for all the anger he felt, he had to acknowledge that if word of her escapade got out Lady Selina would be ruined. Helping a Gilvry escape the gaugers would not be seen as heroic by her people. They also might ponder why she had helped him, and not to her credit.

‘I’ll just have to face the music,’ Lady Selina said in a small breathless voice. ‘It is no one’s business what I was doing tonight and so I will tell him. Father will forgive me, eventually.’

‘I advise against such a step,’ Angus said, his voice as dry as dust. ‘That young man won’t be satisfied until you admit where you were tonight and give evidence against the Laird. If he persuades your father he is right, you’ll have a hard task standing up to them.’

Ian’s fists clenched at the thought of her being bullied.

‘And once they have what they want,’ McIver continued, ‘the Laird will be convicted.’

‘But what else can I do?’ she said.

He gave her a sharp look. ‘According to that maid of yours, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone off on a whim in the middle of the night. All you have to do is disappear for a while and turn up somewhere else safe and sound.’

‘So Mary has been gossiping, has she?’ she said icily.

‘Mary is worried out of her wits that she will get the blame.’

Lady Selina’s shoulders sagged. She shook her head. ‘Surely, Father would not blame a servant for my actions? Besides, he knows I don’t do that sort of thing any more.’

‘Who’s to say what maggot gets into a woman’s head?’ Angus said. ‘There has to be somewhere you could go, some friend you could visit who could vouch for your whereabouts?’

She turned to Ian, her face full of worry. ‘There is Alice. Lady Hawkhurst as she is now. Hawkhurst is a formidable man. He might be able to convince them I left before all this occurred. Father would listen to him.’

‘You’ll have to be careful,’ McIver warned. ‘They’ll be searching the glens for you both by morning.’

Ian stared at McIver. ‘Are you proposing I escort her there?’

‘Aye. Unless you have a better idea.’

A curse sprang to his lips; he swallowed it. ‘Perhaps if you bat your beautiful eyes at them, Lady Selina, and tell them you were out for a walk, they’ll believe you.’

‘I’m willing to give it a try,’ she said with a defiant little toss of her head.

‘Laird, if I might have a word with you in private?’ Angus said. He looked up at Lady Selina. ‘Clan business, you ken, my lady.’

‘I suppose you are afraid I will tell them your secrets,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m not so poor spirited. However, speak privately if you must.’ She walked a few steps away.

Ian drew closer to Angus. ‘What is it, man? More bad news?’

‘It depends on your point of view.’ Angus gripped his arm hard. ‘I ought to beat you to within an inch of your life for involving her in your doings.’

Anger rising in his craw, Ian stepped toe to toe with the man. McIver was big, but Ian was taller and fitter. He clenched his fists and pitched his voice low. ‘Speak your piece, man.’

‘Marry the lass.’

The words hit him like a punch to the jaw. Words would not form for a moment or two. More shocking yet was the deep sense of longing filling his chest, as if some hitherto-unrecognised hope had been forced to the surface. No doubt the wrong part of his anatomy doing the thinking. ‘Are you mad? She’s Albright’s daughter.’

The child of his family’s enemy. That was why he’d driven her off all those years ago, when he realised he was in danger of losing himself in her velvet-brown eyes. When he’d felt the stirrings in his blood and in his heart—and seen his brothers’ horror.

Albright would never have countenanced their friendship, let alone anything closer.

And Andrew. Andrew would haunt his every moment if he did such a thing. If not for Selina’s request, and his lingering guilt at the way he had treated her, Drew would still be alive. Instead, he’d forced his brother to leave London and his pursuit of the heiress, his answer to the clan’s financial troubles, who just happened to be Selina’s good friend. Not only that, Ian had shipped the furious Andrew off to America, where he’d been killed. How could he marry a woman who had twisted him around her little finger to the detriment of his brother? He certainly didn’t deserve the surge of happiness the thought of it brought him. ‘You are out of your mind.’

‘I’m being practical, laddie. Marry her and even if they badger her until kingdom come, her word is no good in a court of law.’

‘I don’t believe Lady Selina would give evidence against me.’

‘She might do her best to hold out, but she’s made a complete fool of that young Sassenach. Let her go in there now and you might as well go in, too, with a noose draped around your neck. It’ll be the end for the folks around here. With you gone there will be nothing to stop them from clearing the land. As I said, Dunstan is threatening retribution against her and against her father. Who do you think she will choose, once you are hiding out in the hills?’ His grey brows drew together. ‘Think about it, Gilvry. No matter what happens, she is ruined. I just can’t see her letting her father be implicated, too.’

Damn it to hell. It was too hard a choice for any daughter to make. She owed Ian nothing and her father everything. But marriage? ‘There must be another way.’

Angus looked grim. ‘Your brother Andrew cut a swathe through the lasses in every glen from here to Edinburgh, but you are the Laird and she is a lady. Have you no honour?’

Resentment at the distaste in the other man’s tone fired his temper. ‘I haven’t touched the lass.’ He flushed red as he recalled their kiss and was glad of the poor light. But it was only a kiss. ‘I didn’t ask her to follow me tonight.’

McIver sighed. ‘But she did. Will you let her suffer for trying to help? You are not the man I thought, if you do not do the right thing.’

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus, to see his way clear. He needed time to think. Time to plan. ‘I will take her to her friend, but that is all I will do.’

McIver shook his head as if disappointed. ‘Think on what I have said, lad. In the meantime, travel as far as you can from here before it is light. You’ll find a welcome in the glens until you get far enough south. Do not dally. There will be a price on your head by morning.’

Reeling with the conflicting thoughts in his head, Ian returned to Selina with McIver on his heels.

‘Well?’ she said.

Ian gave her a rueful grin. ‘I will take you to your friend.’

She turned to McIver. ‘Are you sure this is the only way?’

Angus nodded. ‘Go with Gilvry or your help will have been for nothing.’ He plucked a saddlebag off the rocks where they’d first seen him. ‘There’s water in here, oats and supplies, some coin. Enough to see you on your way. Get a message to your brother, Laird, when you have things in hand.’ He emphasised the last word with a hard look.

Ian didn’t like McIver’s glibness. He seemed to have thought everything out, as if he had some purpose of his own. But he couldn’t see any alternative.

Certainly not marriage.

He looked up. Dawn was reaching into the sky and he could see Selina’s features more clearly and the anxiety in her eyes.

‘We need to go. Now,’ he said.

Wearily, she nodded her agreement and let him throw her up on Beau. She clung there looking down at him with worry and trust.

If anything, it made him feel worse. Somehow he had to find a way out of this mess. For them both. He mounted before her and looked down at Angus. ‘Tell Niall I will send word.’

He turned Beau around and dug in his heels.

Chapter Eight

Selina had no choice but to cling to the firm waist of the man before her as he turned across country. A dull ache filled her chest. In trying to help Ian, she’d ruined her own future. If only she’d stayed in London, none of this would have happened.

And Ian would have been caught.

It was all the fault of that stupid man Ranald. If he would have just taken her warning to Ian, she could have gone home and no one would have been the wiser.

She looked back over her shoulder at the keep, its outline already distinguishable against the sky. Was she now doing the right thing in going with Ian?

While her heart had said ‘yes’, which was why she hadn’t given them too much of an argument, her head thought it a huge mistake. She had learned a long time ago not to listen to her heart. A cold feeling sank into the pit of her stomach as she realised she was putting her faith in a man she barely knew and had absolutely no reason to trust.

But if Dunstan was threatening to charge her with complicity in smuggling, she needed an alibi. Someone who could vouch for her presence elsewhere.

Alice had been the only person she could think of. But her husband, Hawkhurst, might well not approve. Selina had always had the feeling he didn’t like her very much.

They travelled west, away from the sea and the keep. After an hour or so, Ian slowed the horse to a walk. The beast’s head hung low, foam white around the bit.

He threw one leg over the horse’s withers and jumped down. He lifted her off. ‘We’ll walk for a while.’

She rubbed at her thigh, easing the stiffness that always beset her after sitting for too long. It felt good to be off the horse and on her feet. The doctors had advised lots of walking to strengthen the muscles in her leg, though nothing would cure the hesitation in her step. She was lucky Dunstan hadn’t cared that she was no longer a diamond of the first water, no longer the perfect pocket Venus, but then money solved many problems.

‘Where are we headed first?’ she asked.

He grinned and grabbed the bridle. ‘Into the glens. Where the Scots always go when plagued by the English.’

She matched his pace. ‘That I know. But where?’

‘There is a place I know where we can spend the night, if we can reach it before nightfall. It is a long hard walk, so save what you can of your breath.’

She stumbled on a rock hidden in the heather.

He caught her arm before she fell. ‘Be careful. I always forget what a little bit of a thing you are.’

‘I’ll try to be taller.’ She took bigger steps.

He laughed. ‘You are a surprising woman, Lady Selina. Any other lady of my acquaintance would be twisting her hands together and bemoaning her fate.’

‘If hand-wringing would do me any good, be assured I would put it to good use.’

He glanced over his shoulder. ‘We are far enough from Dunross that we can slow our pace, I think.’

‘I’m not an invalid. I am perfectly capable of walking.’

‘I see that.’

Still she couldn’t help but be aware that he had adjusted his stride to match hers. She decided there was no point in saying anything. It clearly wouldn’t do any good. He saw her as crippled, no matter what she said.

After what felt like hours, with the sound of the curlews and the wind the only noises, he stopped by a stream. ‘We will let the horse drink and then ride for a while.’

She tried not to sigh with relief at not having to walk as she sank down and she scooped up water in her hands and enjoyed the cold trickle down her parched throat.

He drank, too, once he had seen to the horse, then crouched down beside her. ‘It would be better, if we meet anyone, if you do not give your real name.’

A pang tightened her chest. Of course he would not want it known he was in her company. She smiled brightly. ‘Who shall I be? Mary Queen of Scots?’

He frowned. ‘The cousin of a friend, on her way to her family. I don’t suppose you speak any Gaelic.’

‘A word or two, but I can speak with a Scottish burr,’ she said in broadest Scots.

He nodded. ‘Och, I remember you doing that before. It was days before I realised you were English.’

‘I’m like a chameleon,’ she said with a laugh that was a little more brittle than she intended. ‘I fit in with my surroundings.’

It wasn’t true. She fit in London. Not here.

‘We can say you have been away to school in England and lost the Gaelic. Come, we must keep moving.’

‘How long do you think it will be before they give up looking for us?’

He shrugged. ‘For you? Until you send them word you are safe, I assume.’ He bent and laced his fingers together beside Beau.

‘And you?’ she asked as he tossed her up.

‘With no evidence, there will be no point in them looking.’

Once more she found herself clinging to Ian’s waist, thoughts churning around in her head.

She just wished she could be sure she was doing the right thing running away with Ian instead of seeking out her father and denying it all. Unfortunately, that kind of blatant lying was not her forte.

If only she could think of a logical explanation for being gone in the middle of the night. Something that would not leave them suspecting her of betraying what should have been a confidence, though no one had specifically asked her not to speak of it.

Unfortunately McIver was right—the smugglers’ escape and her disappearance were just too much of a coincidence. She wasn’t even sure that Hawkhurst could, if he even would, give her the alibi she needed.

On the other hand, no one but the smugglers had seen her.

She stared at Ian’s back. One of his own men had betrayed him; if that person had seen her, it wouldn’t matter what kind of alibi she had, there would be a witness against her.

Was that why McIver had drawn Ian aside? Did he know who had betrayed them to the Revenue men?

She bit her lip. Perhaps it was better not to know. The thought gave her a horrid churning feeling in her stomach. Surely Ian wouldn’t … Smugglers were known to be exceedingly dangerous if crossed.

Oh, dear. Had she gone from the frying pan into the fire? She could not, would not, believe Ian would do her any harm. He was simply trying to help her escape the consequences of her folly, because she had helped him. Nothing more.

‘Do you have any idea who gave you away?’

His back stiffened. ‘I have been thinking about it, to no avail.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘No doubt he was forced to it by circumstance.’

‘What do you mean?’

His shoulders rose and fell. ‘Who knows what people keep hidden? It could be debt. Or illness. Or fear of being turned out. There are many ways to make a man betray his loyalty.’

And it depended on where you stood as to what was or was not deemed loyal. ‘Which means we can’t trust anyone in your clan.’

He didn’t answer for a long while. ‘Let us put it this way. There are people I know I can trust and people I am not sure of.’

‘What about me?’ She winced. Did she have to ask? How could he possibly trust an Albright. A Sassenach.

‘I trust you.’ He sounded almost surprised. ‘But I have to be honest, I also believe your first loyalty is to your father.’

She could not deny it, though Father might not exactly see it that way at this moment.

They kept moving all day, sometimes riding, sometimes walking, the hills becoming higher and steeper with every passing hour. They travelled in silence, saving their breath for travelling. And always she felt his urgency, though he never gave a sign he thought she was holding him back. He didn’t have to—she knew she was. Often she had the feeling he only stopped because she needed to rest.

The farther away from Dunross they got, the more she began to fear that her running away was not the right answer. Surely she could have bluffed her way out of the mess. Batting her beautiful eyes, as Ian had said.

He thought her eyes beautiful. When he had said it, she had been too worried to let the words sink in. Now strangely, they made her feel warm inside.

On foot once more, she lifted her gaze and became aware of her surroundings. It was all so wild and beautiful. Misty hills stretched in every direction, their outlines softened by heather and scarred by the odd outcrop of ancient granite. She’d been enchanted by it all that long-ago summer when her father had brought her here after her mother had died. He’d been desolate and had wanted to return to the place where he had spent his honeymoon. Then he’d run off to Inverness—for business reasons, he’d said—leaving her to mourn alone.

Later, he’d admitted that she reminded him too much of her mother and he just couldn’t bear it, but at the time she’d felt abandoned. By them both.

Sixteen and utterly lonely, she’d been ripe to fall in love with the first handsome young man who came her way. Naturally it had to be the worst possible person. Had Ian actually suggested she run away with him then, she would have said ‘yes’ in a heartbeat.

He’d been a knight in shining armour the day he carried her back to the keep in his arms. He’d made her feel soft and feminine. A rush of longing for that feeling filled the empty place in her heart she’d refused to acknowledge.

She shouldn’t be noticing now when they had so many more important things to think about.

‘Do you think we will make it to this place you know of by nightfall?’

He glanced up at the sky. ‘Yes. It is not more than a mile or two now. You’ve done very well for a Sassenach lass. Far better than I expected.’

Praise indeed, though she could have done without the reminder that she was English. Even so, she found herself smiling. He grinned back. How odd to feel happy in such peculiar circumstances.

‘How long do you think it will take to reach Hawkhurst from there?’

‘Once we cross the border and pick up a stagecoach, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.’

They crested the rise of a hill and, as nothing but hills stretched before them, the enormity of the distance they would have to travel became real.

‘What will you do, after?’

He shrugged. ‘Come back and continue on as before.’

‘More smuggling, I suppose. Until they finally catch you.’

He shot her a look that was both devil-may-care and world weary. ‘They won’t. And what else can we do until the law punishing us for supporting the true king is changed—the one separating the Highlands from the rest of Scotland and making it impossible to survive?’

Such bitterness. ‘Can the law be changed?’

‘Who will take our part in Westminster?’

Not her father. He had no interest in his Scottish estate, except for sport and a means to political advantage. ‘Lord Carrick?’

‘He does what he can, but Carrick is one voice among many. Highlanders are not popular with the English aristocracy.’

‘It shouldn’t be a matter of what is popular. The laws should be fair.’

He grinned at her. ‘So they should. But since they are not, then we deal with them our own way.’

There was more than a smidgeon of pride in the way he spoke. Clearly it would irk a man like Ian to be begging for help. But if he had brought his case to her father, might he not have tried to assist?

She stopped and looked at him. ‘Did you ask my father?’

‘Albright? Ye jest.’

The bitterness and scorn in his voice cut like a knife.

A shot rang out, the sound bouncing off the hills.

Ian jerked and clutched his arm with a cry, then spun around. He grabbed her arm and drew her down to the ground. ‘Keep your head low.’

‘They were shooting at us.’ The shock of it left her dizzy.

‘Aye.’ He got up on his knees and looked down the hill they’d so recently walked up. He cursed. ‘Soldiers. It won’t be long before they are upon us.’

Crouched low, he ran the few steps to the stallion, whipped the blanket from the animal’s back, rolled it up and tied it lengthways along the horse’s back.

‘What are you doing?’

He shot her an impatient glance, then began talking in a low voice into Beau’s flickering ear. To her shock, he whacked the horse hard on its rump. It took off at a gallop.

Lying flat in the heather, she stared after the horse in dismay. ‘Why did you do that?’

Crouching low, he picked up the saddlebag and reached out to take her hand. ‘Buying time. Keep your head down until we get over the brow of the hill.’

And then they were running, at first at a crouch, then, once they had crested the rise and were going downhill, at full tilt.

Her heart thumped against her ribs. Her breath came in short little gasps. She skittered along after him, trying to keep her head down, imagining at any moment a bullet slamming into her back, all the while wanting to lie flat on the ground and put her hands over her head. She sensed she wasn’t going fast enough for Ian. Breath rattled in and out of her lungs. Her legs, already tired, felt as heavy as lead. She really could not go any farther.

She let go of his hand and sank into the heather, gasping for breath. ‘Go. Leave me here.’

The look he gave her from beneath his brows was fierce and uncompromising. Before she realised what he was about he swept her up in his arms and tossed her over his shoulder. He took off, in an awkward jolting run.

With each step his shoulder dug into her belly and pushed the air out of her chest. The blood rushed to her head where she hung over his back.

She didn’t know which was worse, the pain under her ribs, or her difficult breathing, but she bore it in silence, glad he hadn’t abandoned her to save his own skin. He didn’t seem to even notice her weight. He was as lithe and sure-footed as one of the deer that roamed these hills, but after a while even his breathing became harsh and laboured.

They crested two more hills and then he stopped. ‘Get your head down.’ He threw himself flat and she did the same, lying on her back, trying to catch her breath.

‘If I tell you to run, head for the burn at the bottom,’ he instructed, his voice a rough rasp. In a crablike crawl, he went to the top of the rise behind them and once more lay flat, looking out. She tried to listen, but all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears. She kept her gaze fixed on Ian, ready to run should he give her the signal. Or at least try to run. She wasn’t sure she could take another step.

He sauntered back to her with a grin on his face. He actually looked as if he was enjoying himself. She wanted to shake him. She pushed to her feet. ‘I assume they took the bait?’

‘They did that.’ His grin widened. ‘If we are lucky, Beau will beat them back to Dunross.’

She couldn’t help an answering grin.

His expression turned serious. ‘We are not out of the woods yet. They no doubt have a glass and, if they realise there is no rider, then they will circle back. We must hurry.’

‘Hurry where?’

He grinned. His blue eyes danced. ‘Over there.’

This time he directed her across the hillside, rather than down. He seemed to be searching the ground, for what she couldn’t imagine. There was nothing here.

He dropped to his knees and parted the heather around a large boulder. ‘Ah, here it is.’ He pulled aside what had looked like twisted clumps of dead heather on solid ground, but was really more like a thatch covering a deep scoop in the side of the hill.

‘In you go.’

A quick breath of fresh air and she crawled in. A strange smell filled her nostrils. Peat smoke and something else. Trusting he knew what he was about, she turned around and waited.

He followed, pulling the undergrowth back in place. It wasn’t completely dark inside. As her eyes adjusted, she realised they were in some sort of earthen room and that daylight came in through chinks in a roof made of brush.

The space, a sort of earthen cave, contained a couple of stools, a rotten straw pallet in one corner and a rusted metal object standing on the remains of a fire. A twisted piece of metal hung down beside its chimney. ‘What is this place?’

He drew her close and placed a finger to her lips. ‘Listen.’

Over the thud of her heart, she heard a different kind of thud. Horses. The sound vibrated up through her feet. They sounded very close. Would they trample over what was a very flimsy roof and end up falling in on top of them? The sound of her breathing and her heartbeat filled her ears.

She could only imagine what was happening outside. Without thinking, she drew close to his large protective form. Strong arms went around her, holding her firmly. She snuggled closer, listening to the strong steady beat of his heart instead of the sound of nearby horses, drawing strength and courage from his warmth and his closeness, wanting to burrow deeper every time they came so close she could hear the laboured breathing of the horses.

Slowly the sounds receded.

‘Whoever is in charge has a brain,’ Ian murmured into her hair. ‘I’m thinking the rest of the group followed Beau, but he sent a couple this way just to be sure. No doubt they will be back the moment they discover they were tricked.’

‘How comforting,’ she said, easing away from him. It seemed to her that he was reluctant to let her go, as if he had drawn some comfort from having her in his arms.

What an imagination she had. The sooner they left here the better.

She patted her hair, smoothing her skirts, hoping she did not look as if she had just huddled against him like a frightened child.

He hissed in a sharp breath. One of pain.

She recalled his jerk and the cry right after the shot. ‘Did they hit you?’

She felt sick. Nauseous. Her father wouldn’t have ordered him shot. He wouldn’t.

‘A scratch. The ball was spent.’

Her knees went weak. ‘I should look at it.’

‘It is fine.’

She wanted to believe him. ‘Perhaps I should look at it just to be sure? It’s too dark in here to see anything. We should go outside.’

‘Not yet. Not until we are sure they are not coming back. It will be hard for them to return to this exact spot. Since they will expect us to run, we will stay put. We’ll move on in the morning. More carefully.’

‘What of Beau?’

‘He’s used to these hills. He’ll go home.’

‘And if they catch him?’

He shrugged. ‘They will eventually. Either on the hoof or at my house. He was an army horse before I bought him. He’ll probably be happy to rejoin.’

But Ian wasn’t happy. She could hear it in his voice.

She once more looked around the cave. The smell had an underlying musty scent. ‘What is this place?’

His mouth tightened as if he preferred not to say. She stiffened her spine against the hurt of his distrust. ‘It was an illegal whisky still.’

He had trusted her after all. Something inside her softened. She sat down on the stool, looking up at him. ‘How did you know it was here?’

He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the gloom. ‘Just brimming with questions, aren’t you, Lady Selina?’

‘How do you know the soldiers don’t know about this place?’

‘No one does.’ He crouched down and poked around in the fire. ‘It hasn’t been used in years. It was my father’s.’

No wonder he hadn’t wanted to say where they were headed. In a strange way she felt honoured.

‘Is your arm really all right?’

‘It stings like the blazes.’

She winced. ‘You could have been killed.’ Or she might.

‘Aye.’ He picked up the saddlebag and sorted through it, setting out its contents on the floor. ‘Flint. A couple of candles. Oats. Bannocks wrapped in cloth. A flask.’ He shook it and something gurgled inside it.

‘What is it, water?’

He opened the stopper and sniffed. ‘Something better. Whisky.’

She huffed out a breath. ‘Water would be better.’

He chuckled and the sound was warm and low and easy. ‘There’s clean water in the burn, lass.’

‘So now we just sit here and wait for morning,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Do you have somewhere we can go next?’

‘I’ve a friend to the south and east of here. Captain Hugh Monro. He has contacts. He might lend us a horse. Or even a cart.’ He looked at her. ‘The thing is, I am just not sure he would see my side of it. He’s a law-abiding man. I doubt he’d approve of smuggling, no matter the reason behind it. And he is more than a day’s walk away.’

More walking. And worrying about being shot at.

‘We’ll make ourselves as comfortable as we can tonight,’ he said. ‘When it gets dark, I’ll fetch water from the stream. We will eat the bannock and we will soak the oats for the morning.’

‘It sounds most appetising,’ she murmured.

He cracked a laugh. ‘A banquet.’

She rubbed her arms. The warmth she’d gained from walking and running had faded. Chill now seeped into her from the surrounding damp earth. In a while, it would be dark and much colder. ‘Do you think we can light a fire?’

‘If we hadn’t been seen, I’d risk it, but they might come back once they catch Beau.’

They would have to make do without heat, then. They had one blanket between them. Sadly, the other had gone with the horse. Although he did have his kilt, which had dried over the course of the day.

‘Why did your family abandon the still?’

He grimaced. ‘The gaugers get wind of them and destroy them. See, the kettle’s been split with a hammer.’

She stared at the odd-shaped stove. ‘How does it work?’

‘This metal kettle here is a wash still, and when it is heated up over the peat fire, the steam containing the alcohol passes up the chimney and then down the worm, the coiled pipe there, and into a spirit still. All that’s left here is the first part of the process. Father used to prepare the mash in a local farmer’s barn and then bring it up here to turn it into whisky. Good whisky, too. We’ve a dram or two left in our cellars.’

There was pride in his voice. Over illegal whisky. It was a world in which she was a foreigner. The thought made her feel rather dismal.

‘We should eat now, while we can still see.’ He glanced upwards and she became aware of just how much the light had faded.

He unwrapped the bannocks and handed her one. They were surprisingly tasty. Or was she so hungry that anything would have tasted good? There were six altogether. She ate two. When he had wolfed down three of them he eyed the one remaining. ‘Do you want it?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said lightly. ‘I couldn’t eat another bite. You finish it.’

He didn’t speak.

She looked up to see him watching her. It was hard to fathom his expression, his eyes looked so dark. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Why do you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Lie to me in that stupid little voice. Eat the bannock.’

She flashed hot. ‘You need it more than I do.’

‘Right, and I am the kind of man who takes the food out of the mouths of women and children.’ He stood up and bent to rake around in the rubbish in the corner. A grunt of satisfaction told her he’d found what he was looking for. When he stood up, she saw he had an old and bent metal pot in his hand. She couldn’t understand why he looked so pleased.

He must have sensed her puzzlement. ‘I recall using it the last time I was here. If it had been gone, we would have had to use the flask for water.’

‘And thrown out the whisky,’ she said.

‘Never.’

‘You’d rather do without water, than waste the whisky. I should have guessed.’

‘Uisge-beatha, lass. The water of life.’

She watched him leave, a smile on her lips, then tackled the last of the bannocks.

Chapter Nine

By the time he returned with water, their dwelling was pitch black and a chill permeated the air. Perched on the stool, wrapped in her blanket, she really wished they could light a fire. She forced her teeth not to chatter, though stilling her shivers was harder.

The sound of Ian’s breathing filled the small space. She sensed him fumble around, heard the clang of metal on rock and guessed he’d set down the pan of water. ‘I’d forgotten how dark the night can be out here,’ he muttered.

And how cold, she wanted to add. She shivered. ‘Are you sure we can’t light a fire?’

He hesitated, then sighed. ‘It would be a mistake. I think we can light one of the candles, though. Its flame is too small to be seen at any great distance.’

The sound of steel striking against flint only made her think more of warm fires. Yet when the wick caught and the small light flared, putting shadows in the corners of their small den, it did seem a bit warmer.

Then she noticed his grimace and the way he flexed his left hand.

She got up from the stool. It was a rickety old thing and did not sit flat on the ground, but it was all they had. ‘Sit down and let me look at your arm.’

‘Getting a little bossy, aren’t you?’

‘Sit.’

He sat.

She took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps you should take off your jacket, so we can see how bad the wound really is. It won’t help us if you become ill.’

‘Aye, I suppose you are right.’

‘I wish we had some basilica powders.’

Looking surprised, he eased first one arm out of his coat and then, wincing, drew it slowly off the other arm. The fabric was dark with blood.

She gasped. Her stomach rolled. The blood seemed to drain from her head and the small space spun around. His coat had hidden the extent of the wound.

‘Oh, Ian,’ she whispered, ‘you need a doctor.’

‘It is not as bad as it looks,’ he said through gritted teeth as he pulled the fabric away from the wound. He cursed softly.

Throat dry, she swallowed. ‘We should clean it.’

Looking up, he raised a brow. His eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘We?’

She took a deep steadying breath. ‘Me, then. Look, it is bleeding again. Take off your shirt.’

Now he really looked surprised. ‘All right.’ He fumbled at his collar with his good hand.

She brushed his hand away. ‘Let me.’ Standing this close to him, with the light coming down from above making every sinew and bone as sharp and clear as a portrait as each breath expanded and contracted his chest, she could feel his warmth against her skin. Unnerved, she felt her hands tremble. Indeed, her very bones shook with a force she couldn’t quite grasp. When she breathed in to steady herself, it was like breathing in his air, his essence.

A shock jolted through her. How could that be?

It couldn’t. She was being stupid, just as she had been as a girl. In real life, they stood on the opposite sides of a line drawn on a map.

She forced the inappropriate sensations aside. The man was hurt and patiently waiting without complaint with his chin raised for her to undo the darned knot.

It came free and she cast the cloth aside and went to work on the buttons. Undressing a man—never in her life had she done anything so daring.

The collar fell open with each button she freed from its mooring, slowly revealing the hollow of his strong throat, his collar bones, a wedge of chest lightly furred with dark crisp curls that brushed against her knuckles as she released the final fastening, enticing to her fingertips and her gaze.

Such feelings led in only one direction. Down a path that would do her no good.

She let her hands fall to her side and stepped back. She glanced up to find his gaze fixed on her face. Intense. Heated. He was breathing faster than before.

He also felt desire.

It hung between them, hot and heavy. Terrifying. With effort she made a small gesture with her hand. ‘You should be able to take your shirt off now.’

The fire deep in the blue of his eyes flared, then died.

‘Aye. I can do that.’ He pulled the shirttails free and with his good arm pulled the shirt off over his head, unveiling the body of a Norse god she’d only dared to peek at in the sea cave.

The muscles of his arms were carved and hard, his chest vast and sculpted beneath its smattering of hair. In the face of such magnificence, breathing was nearly out of the question.

But breathe she must. ‘Hold out your arm.’

She knelt close to his knee. He held his arm steady with his other hand, bending his head to look at the wound.

Their foreheads collided.

A nervous giggle escaped her lips. Heat fired her face. The schoolgirl was back. She felt giddy, and not from the sight of his blood.

He grunted. ‘It doesn’t look too bad.’

‘I can’t see.’

He leaned sideways.

A nasty gash scored his arm. Bile rose in her throat.

She swallowed it down. ‘You are right, it seems to be nothing more than a flesh wound.’ She controlled a shudder. ‘I will clean it and bind it.’

Blood from where he’d pulled the shirt free of his skin trickled down to his elbow. She grabbed up the flask. ‘If I recall correctly, this is better than water for a wound.’

‘A terrible waste, lass.’

‘I’ll save you a drop. Give me your knife.’

He eyed her aslant. ‘Why?’

‘Unless you have a nice clean handkerchief, I need some cloth to pad the wound. We will use your stock to hold it in place.’ She looked at his shirt. He’d need to put that on again, bloody sleeve or no. She lifted up her skirt and looked at the hem of her petticoats. The lace of the top one was in tatters after being soaked in seawater, straddling a horse and dragging through heather. Now it would serve to staunch the blood.

He pulled his dirk from his sock and handed it to her, hilt first.

She shook her head. ‘I’ll hold the fabric taut while you cut. I am sure you will do a better job than I.’

An eyebrow shot up and he looked at her rather oddly, but he bent to the task. It felt a little strange with his face so close to her legs, even though he must be able to see little more than her shoes, since there were two more layers of cloth beneath the first petticoat. Portuguese women adored petticoats.

He soon had a long strip cut from around the bottom.

‘Cut it in two,’ she said, ‘and I’ll use one piece as a rag for washing.’

A frown creased his forehead. ‘Where did you learn such skill?’

‘I wouldn’t call it skill. I hate the sight of blood. But my friend, Lady Hawkhurst, convinced me to volunteer at the hospital she funds for injured seamen. I read to them and roll bandages.’ She soaked one of the rags with whisky.

‘So you have no experience in binding wounds and such like?’

‘None at all,’ she said cheerfully, ‘but I have seen it done.’ No point in telling him she’d thrown up in the nearest chamberpot when she’d looked at the wrong moment. Instead, she gritted her teeth and dabbed the cloth at the ragged cut.

He hissed in a breath and she waited for a spewing of swear words.

He remained utterly silent.

Impressed, she continued dabbing. If he could put up with the pain, she could put up with the sight. Although if anything the dizziness of earlier was growing worse. She continued dabbing and wiping until all the dried blood was gone.

The wound looked nasty—ragged edges and fresh welling blood.

Black edged her vision. She felt herself sway. She squeezed her eyes shut, regaining her balance and fighting the sickness.

This wound was nowhere near as bad as the one to her own leg. One brief glimpse of that and she had passed out cold.

Jaw clenched, she tried to remember what Alice had said about the symptoms of spreading infection. Redness? Yellow pus? No sign of anything like that. Yet.

She looked away and drew a deep breath in through her nose. ‘There is not much more I can do, except bind it.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ he said wryly.

Her gaze flew to his face. His mouth was set in lines of pain. She’d been so busy trying not to pass out that she hadn’t thought about how much she must be hurting him, because he hadn’t made a sound.

Because he was strong and she was weak.

‘Hold still,’ she said gruffly. She placed the pad over the wound, then wrapped his neckcloth around it, tying it off with a knot.

He flexed his hand and she watched, fascinated by the way the muscle in his upper arm bulged against the bandage. He did it again. This time something happened to his chest; it seemed to grow firmer and develop more definition. It almost made her forget just how ill she felt, until her gaze fell on his torn and bloody shirt.

The room wavered in and out of focus. Her knees buckled and the shadows leaped out from the corners to take over the room. And she was falling.

‘Selina?’ he asked as though from a great way off.

A strong arm banded around her waist. It pulled her against something warm and hard. She collapsed against it, her stomach heaving as the candle refused to remain in one place.

‘Selina.’

Ian. Ian had hold of her. She closed her eyes and waited for the horrible sensations to pass. Slowly she became aware that she was sitting on his knee, cradled within his arms. He was stroking her back. She opened her eyes and was glad to see that nothing was spinning.

‘Feeling better?’ he murmured, his voice low in her ear, the roll of his ‘r’ a sweet comforting sensation in the pit of her stomach. She always seemed to feel better when he had his arms around her. Too bad he couldn’t keep them there.

‘I’m such a coward,’ she said, trying to sit up, but he held her against his chest and she realised he was rocking gently back and forth.

‘No, you are not. You have been very brave. I promise everything will be all right,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll get you safely to your friend and we will sort it all out.’

She half groaned, half laughed. ‘I’m not worried about that. The sight of blood always makes me feel ill.’

His rocking ceased briefly, then continued. ‘Then I am all the more grateful, lass.’

Oh, that wonderful deep velvety voice, so close to her ear. She was melting, burning up with a fever of longing and desire.

‘You must think me completely useless.’

‘You are braver than anyone I know, because you knew how it would affect you.’

But she hadn’t been thinking. She’d acted on instinct. She never seemed to think straight around him.

A prickle of awareness made her look up at his face. A slight curve to his mouth and the twinkle in his eye caused her heart to clench.

She couldn’t resist the temptation. She reached up and put her hands on his nape and kissed him full on the lips.

He groaned softly.

His lips parted against hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips. It felt delicious. Her spine tingled, her hands cradled his head, feeling the soft curl of his hair between her fingers.

His hand came to her cheek, his fingers shaking with the power of this moment between them. Never had her heart raced so fast or her body grown so warm with such a whisper of touch.

He was a big man, huge in comparison to her, and for him to tremble at the mere touch of her lips was heady indeed.

Many men had desired her over the years, lusted for her and declared their love, but they’d only ever seen what she wanted them to see. The perfect nobleman’s daughter. The diamond of the first water. The impeccable manners. The flirtatious wit. This man knew her weaknesses, and yet he trembled.

The knowledge melted her bones.

She parted her lips and let him into her soul. The kiss wasn’t all one-sided. Oh, no. Her tongue slid wantonly along his, tasting whisky and earthy man, while she inhaled the scent of horse and leather and fresh air tinged with peat smoke. Sensual sensations rippled through her body with every beat of her heart.

She arched against him, pressing her breasts against his hard wall of a chest, wound her arms around his neck and submitted to her hunger.

He growled deep in his throat, shifting beneath her, making her aware of the male part of him that pressed against her thigh through her layers of clothing.

She breathed his scent, revelled in his heat and the feel of hard muscle and sinew beneath her exploring hands.

Breathing hard, he slowly pulled away, looking into her face. Could he see in her face the awe and wonder rioting through her body? Could he feel the heat burning in her belly, in her breasts, flowing through her veins?

Helpless with need, she gazed up, waiting.

‘You’d tempt the devil himself, Lady Selina.’

She didn’t want the devil. She wanted him. She gazed back at him with longing and desire and a sweet softness that made her insides feel open and yearning.

He reached around to catch her hands clinging around his neck and tore them free, holding them fast in his. ‘This must stop,’ he said harshly. He disengaged his hands from hers.

‘Don’t you want me?’ she asked, feeling suddenly bereft, even knowing the question was unfair. She felt his desire, insistent, rampant against her bottom.

‘Not want you?’ he growled. His mouth descended in a punishing kiss, full of ardour and passion and heat. Her mind refused to form a single thought. Her hands, freed from his grip, wandered his broad sculpted chest and floated over his back, measuring the width and strength of him.

Lacking air, they slowly parted, their chests rising and falling in perfect harmony as he nibbled and licked at her lips, her chin, her jaw. He teased the tender place beneath her ear, breathing against her neck. ‘I want you. But if we do this now there will be no going back. We will have to be married.’

The words were like a splash of cold water. Have to be married? Clearly it was not something he wanted, any more than she did. Did she?

He groaned and rose to his feet with her still in his arms. He set her back on the stool, wrapped the blanket around her and cleared the opening to the outside.

‘Where are you going?’ To her chagrin, panic edged her voice.

‘I’ll be right back.’

‘That wasn’t an answer,’ she said. Too late. He was gone.

Shame at her cowardice roiled in her stomach. Why would he abandon her here? It didn’t make any sense, but the fear was real enough. The fear of being left as her father had abandoned her the year he’d brought her to Dunross. For years, she’d worried that he would forget about her again, when she was at school, when he was away on business. Even now, when she knew the reason why, she hated knowing that people important to you could just walk away. It was better if you did not allow them to become important, then you didn’t have to worry.

And Ian hadn’t left. He sounded as if he was searching through the heather. Hunting?

Then he was back, pushing something ahead of him. The smell of fresh-cut vegetation filled the cave. Fuel for a fire?

But, no, he didn’t go to the hearth. He spread it out in the corner. ‘Give me your blanket,’ he said.

‘Why?’ The thought of losing even the little amount of warmth it provided was unwelcome.

‘We need it to make a bed.’

‘A bed?’

‘Aye. We can’t sleep sitting up. The heather is springy enough that it will do us for one night. With a blanket beneath us and my kilt for a quilt, we’ll be warmer than toast. Drew and I did it all the time as lads.’

A bed. With him, and after her wanton behaviour? She blushed from head to toe. Now was really the time she should object. Somehow the words wouldn’t form. She stood up and handed him the blanket. He laid it across the shrubbery.

‘Lay yourself down,’ he said. His voice was grim and when she peeped at his face, she saw his mouth was set in a stern line.

What was the matter with him? She settled herself down on one side of the makeshift bed, looking up at him.

His hands went to his belt, then glanced at her. He picked up his shirt and drew it over his head. ‘Close your eyes.’

‘A bit late for modesty, isn’t it?’ she asked, stifling the urge to giggle.

He turned away, uttering a sound between a curse and a laugh of his own.

A huff of his breath blew out the candle and a moment or two later came the sound of him unfastening his belt. Her unruly mind travelled right back to the scene in the cave, him standing there dressing. Now he was undressing. She didn’t need a candle to see.

Cursing silently, she tried not to envisage what was taking place.

A moment later, she felt his warmth along her side and the weight of the thick wool of his kilt settle onto her body. It retained some of his warmth.

She’d slept on softer mattresses, been covered by finer linens, but given her state of exhaustion she could not say that any had felt better than this bed of heather.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You are welcome.’

She shivered.

Ian’s arm came around her shoulders and he pulled her towards him, tucking her against him so her head rested on his chest. Instantly, she felt warmed by his heat, by the feel of his hand on her waist. But more than that, she felt safe. Protected.

It felt wonderful.

She snuggled closer. ‘Body heat,’ she said, laughing softly, feeling wicked and a little giddy suddenly from lack of breath. ‘Goodnight,’ she breathed and tipped her face up to kiss his cheek. At least she was sure that was what she had intended, but she found his mouth instead.

He kissed her back, long and deep until her senses swam. He rolled her on her back, plundering her mouth with his tongue, gently cupping her breast, tenderly pressing her legs open with his firm thigh.

She moaned as her feminine centre responded to the pressure. Her hips arched upwards as she accepted Ian’s deepening kiss.

Suddenly, he jerked away as if stung and uttered a curse. He rolled away from her and she could hear the sound of his ragged breathing in the dark.

‘Ian,’ she said tentatively.

‘Go to sleep, little Sassenach. I’ll no be touching you and you’ll no be touching me. Are we agreed?’ It seemed that what to her had been a moment of bliss to him had been … well, something inconvenient.

He lay perfectly still beside her, slowing his breathing, pretending to be asleep, no doubt. Unbelievable. She was lying next to a nearly naked man, out in the wilds of Scotland, a man she found hugely attractive and who had just kissed her senseless, and he was acting as if he was her brother.

Perhaps the idea of making love to a cripple was more than he could stand. It was hard to blame him if that was the case. She had to admit the scars were pretty ugly and the limp was far from alluring. She was lucky Dunstan had been willing to overlook her flaws. Her stomach sank. Dunstan had done it for the money. He was also a nice man. Kind. Sweet.

A thought, crystal clear and dreadful, came out of nowhere. For the first time since they’d left the keep, her mind seemed sharp.

She shoved at his shoulder.

‘What now, lass?’ he mumbled as if he was really asleep.

‘My father will guess I have gone to Alice. I always do.’

‘So?’ Ah, now he sounded more awake.

‘What if he gets to her first?’

‘What if he does?’

‘Then the alibi won’t work.’

Chapter Ten

The next morning, they turned south. As she strode along beside him, she noticed that her leg barely ached at all. The doctors were right—walking was good for her, though they had not envisaged her tramping through the heather for days. Even so, she needed all her concentration not to trip over the clumps of heather and rocky outcroppings.

While they walked, Ian continually scanned the hills, ahead and behind, especially before they crested each hill. Each time he signalled for her to duck down, her heart rose in her throat. He was clearly intending not to be surprised as they had been the day before.

The next hill they crossed brought them to a valley so small it was more like a crevasse. A cottage snuggled against its craggy cliff. A tiny croft with a peat-covered roof neatly held down with a spiderweb of ropes weighted with boulders. Two people conversed outside the front door, an old crone and a ragged child with a basket over her arm. Rust-coloured chickens were picking about in the dirt at their feet.

‘Let’s hope Grannie has a stew pot over the fire,’ Ian said. ‘And whisky on her table.’

Selina’s stomach growled at the thought of hot food. She quickened her pace.

Ian stayed her with a touch to her arm. ‘Wait here. I’ll make sure things are what they seem.’

Whereas she would have charged in and devil take the hindmost. It was a good thing one of them had some sense. Sighing with relief at the chance to rest, she sank down on a rock and watched him stride down the hill.

Such a braw laddie he looked in the sunlight. Her heart lifted at the sight of his broad shoulders and the way his kilt revealed his strong calves and manly knees. He looked at home and very much in command.

The chickens scattered with clucks and squawks at his arrival. The old lady shielded her eyes from the sun. The girl stared up at him with awe.

The old woman beamed, obviously recognising him. She might have been welcoming the Prince Regent, so effusive was she as she gestured for him to enter, bridling like a girl in her eagerness.

The child curtsied.

The charming smile on Ian’s face would make any female bridle. He looked so handsome when he smiled. He glanced in her direction, indicating he had a companion. Once more the woman put a hand up to shield her face. In an instant, her demeanour changed. She waved her arm first in one direction, then in another. An argument seemed to ensue. Selina could hear the old woman’s raised voice, but not the words. She ended her diatribe, waving an admonishing finger in his face.

The child fled.

How very odd. Highlanders were known for their courtesy, especially to travellers, even if it was only a dram of whisky and an oatcake to see them on their way.

To her surprise, the woman disappeared inside the croft and slammed the door. The sound reverberated off the rocks and crags and faded in ever-quieter echoes.

Ian stomped back towards her. As he drew closer, she could see the glower of anger on his face and behind it worry.

She pushed herself to her feet. ‘What happened?’

His mouth flattened to a thin line. ‘The soldiers were here.’

Her heart picked up speed. ‘Looking for us?’

‘Aye. She sent them off with a flea in their ear.’

‘I thought she was going to let you in.’

‘Aye.’

‘Then she realised I was with you.’ The rejection stung.

‘I told her you were my cousin, but, given what the soldiers told her, she refused to believe it.’

‘And because I am an Albright she doesn’t feel the need to offer hospitality.’

‘Her son was transported for poaching on your father’s land.’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘Her son was one of the lucky ones. Tearny shoots first usually.’

Tearny was the land agent. ‘Not on my father’s orders, I can assure you.’

He shrugged. ‘Be that as it may, we have no choice but to go on.’

She glared at him. ‘If Mr Tearny is shooting people on Albright land, he will be punished.’

He cocked his head on one side. ‘All right. You will speak to your father. Let us leave it at that. We will walk many a mile before we find another house where we can request food.’

‘And no doubt they will turn us away, too.’

‘Not everyone is as bitter as Grannie.’

Hopefully not, or it would be a long hungry walk to the mail coach.

He looked off into the distance. ‘I think I will speak to Niall before we go too much farther. Find out what the soldiers are doing. I may have to go to Dunross myself.’

A feeling of panic ran down her spine. ‘You can’t leave me out here.’

‘Laird.’ The high-pitched voice came from behind them. ‘Laird.’

Ian glanced back.

Selina turned right around. It was the girl who’d been at the old lady’s door, hurrying after them, her basket held out to the side as if she feared whatever was in it would break.

‘Wait,’ Selina said to Ian, who seemed inclined to keep walking. ‘Don’t make her run.’

The girl arrived, bright-eyed and panting. Russet curls escaped from beneath the ragged shawl she had pulled over her head and her dark green eyes darted over Ian and Selina in several wide-eyed passes. Her cheeks flushed scarlet.

‘Well,’ Ian said when she didn’t speak, ‘what do you want, Marie Flora McKinly?’

‘Ian, you will scare her. Give her a chance to catch her breath.’

Still the girl didn’t speak. She curled her toes around a stem of heather, watching her foot, peeping up at Ian as if he was some sort of ogre.

Ian said something in Gaelic in a gentler tone.

The child took a deep breath and gabbled away for a minute or two.

He shook his head at the child and again spoke in Gaelic.

The child’s chin went up. Her eyes flashed.

‘What have you said?’ Selina said. ‘Why is she angry?’

Ian muttered a curse. ‘She’s offering us food at her father’s house a couple of miles from here. I don’t want to put them in danger.’

‘There’s only Da, miss,’ the child said in a lovely Scottish brogue. ‘And me and my two brothers. My Da would never forgive me if you didna’ take a dram with him, Laird. He’s been dying for some company and news for weeks. We’ve food in the larder.’

Selina looked at Ian. The child looked at Ian. The frustration on his face was evident. Not only did his people have a duty to him, not to accept an offer of hospitality would be an insult.

‘Very well. We’ll visit with your Da for an hour or two and then be on our way.’

Marie Flora gave a pleased little hop and a skip. ‘This way.’

She started up a hill that seemed steeper than all of the others they’d come across. Instead of heading south, she was going west.

Selina took one look at the miniature mountain and groaned.

‘Do you think you can make it?’ Ian murmured and took her arm to help her. ‘It might be better if we didn’t use your last name with these folks.’

‘Doesn’t she know it?’ She indicated the child.

‘Grannie McLeod guessed immediately, but didn’t speak your name. And nor did I.’

‘McLeod. I remember her, now. She used to live in the village.’

‘Aye, until a year ago when she didna’ pay her rent and was evicted. That was her son’s place. When her son was shipped off, she cursed the Albright name all seven ways to Inverness.’

She flinched. ‘I’m not surprised she was angry.’

‘She’s an evil auld woman. She cursed the factor, too,’ Ian said. ‘He came down with an enormous boil on the end of his nose the day after he barred her door.’

He was teasing her. Had to be. ‘Served him right.’

‘‘Tis no laughing matter. She cursed auld Willie McLaughlin and he died within the week.’

A year ago was when she had had her accident. The thought of the old crone’s curse being responsible sent prickles racing across her shoulders. ‘Superstitious nonsense.’ Yet she shivered.

‘Believe what you will, my lady.’

She huffed out a breath. Now he’d gone all stiff and starchy again. She glanced up ahead and saw they’d reached the top of the rise. Her aching calves and thighs were looking forward to a downhill incline.

In the valley below them, a croft sat beside a small burn, longer and lower than the one they’d just left and as small as a doll’s house. They had a good distance yet to go and Marie Flora was waving at them impatiently.

Worry consumed Ian. Its cold breath licked at his brain, at his gut, deep in his chest.

You abducted Albright’s daughter, Grannie had said, repeating what the soldiers had said. Are you mad? He’ll hang ye and anyone helping you. The old witch had shut the door in his face. A face that probably looked guilty, because while he hadn’t abducted her, he had spent the night with her in his arms. And he would have liked to do a hell of a lot more than that, after their kiss.

The force of what he had felt for this Sassenach girl was quite different to anything he’d ever experienced in his life—and he and Drew had sampled their share of females in their wild youth. Women far more experienced in tempting a man than Lady Selina. Hell, he’d even considered marriage to a warm comfortable widow he’d been seeing for years, until Selina’s letter had arrived and turned his life upside down.

Thank God, he’d had enough control not to ruin her last night.

But she was ruined. Somehow the soldiers knew Lady Selina was with him. Or they suspected it, anyway.

The only way to avoid it was to marry her. Acknowledging the truth was like taking a fist to the gut. He didn’t want to think about it.

The very idea left his head spinning. He couldn’t afford a wife, certainly not one of her calibre, a woman used to nothing but the best. And Albright’s daughter, to boot. But he was beginning to feel as if there might be no other option, just as Angus had suggested.

The cottage at the bottom of the glen drew ever closer. William McKinly was a proud, stiff-necked man. If he would take payment for their lodging instead of seeing it as charity, Ian wouldn’t feel so bad about accepting food and drink. But he wouldn’t and that was that.

Before he realised what she was about, Selina left his side and cut across the side of the hill, heading for a burn. Cursing, he followed, watching as she stood on the bank, looking down at the water. What the hell was she about now?

Did she have any idea how delicious she looked in her wild gypsy skirts, with her dark hair hanging in a tangled mane down her back? She looked like a lass well bedded, that’s what she looked like. Even if she wasn’t.

The constant arousal that he’d been dealing with since she’d kissed him of her own free will and a night spent curled around the softness of her curves, her scent filling his nostrils, hardened to rock.

He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, kiss those lovely lips and plunge into her heat. Know her, the way a man wants to really know a woman. And if he was honest, it seemed it might be only a matter of time before he gave in to the torment of lust.

Well—apparently he’d made the decision. He could only imagine what she was going to say.

‘Don’t fall in,’ he said, reaching her side.

She gave him a mock glare. ‘I’m not that clumsy.’

She wasn’t clumsy at all. She was graceful, even with the small hesitation in her step that appeared when she was tired. Small and delicate like a wee faery. And all he could think about was getting her in his bed. And there was only one way to accomplish it. Marriage.

It seemed that the seed planted by McIver had taken root.

He watched her balance on a rock, crouch and scoop the water in her cupped palms, sipping delicately as water trickled through her fingers. A sylph who had used her magic to capture him. She shook her hands, wiped them on her skirts before jumping clear.

This was the way he’d remembered her as a girl. A free spirit wandering the hills. Sneaking out of the keep to meet him day after day until he’d been thoroughly enchanted. But she wasn’t a sprite. She was the daughter of a powerful man. His enemy. And if the man had hated his family before, this was going to make things worse.

She looked over. Caught his gaze and smiled. ‘It tastes lovely.’

Hellfire and brimstone, he’d been staring like some besotted calfling. ‘If you are done, we’ll get along or McKinly will think we are no coming at all.’

He hadn’t meant to growl, but it was better than grinning at her like an idiot.

The smile left her lips. She climbed up the shallow bank. He turned and walked down the hill, leaving her to make her way as best as she could. It was either that or take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

Tonight. He’d reveal her fate tonight, after dinner.

Marriage to a Sassenach. And an Albright to boot. What the devil would his mother say? And the clan? Damn them all, if they didn’t like it, they would have to put up with it. He was their Laird. They would abide by his decision.

Marie Flora and her father were waiting at the croft door, where the heather had been beaten back by soft springy grass. A small vegetable patch behind the cottage was bare of all but a few turnips.

‘McKinly,’ he said, holding out his hand as he neared the man’s threshold. For once, Selina hung back. Afraid of her reception, no doubt.

‘Laird,’ McKinly said. His hair was copper-coloured. Darker than his daughter’s and shot through with silver. The man was stooped and weathered and could have been anywhere from forty to sixty years old, but Ian knew him to be in his late thirties. Crofting in the Highlands aged a man early.

‘Are you well?’ he asked.

‘Aye. Come in. Come in. Take a dram with me. The lass says you’re in need of sustenance.’ His gaze went to Selina, curiosity shining in his blue eyes.

‘Aye, if you can spare it. My wife here is bone weary.’

Wife. The moment he saw McKinly’s measuring stare he realised there was no honourable alternative. Having said it, he had a sense of accomplishment. She’d got herself into this mess trying to help him for friendship’s sake, or out of some misguided sense of obligation, and a Gilvry always paid his debts. They didn’t ruin innocent females, either.

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