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The Laird's Forbidden Lady
Ann Lethbridge


KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE…Ian Gilvry, Laird of Dunross, is as rough and wild as the Highland heather. Yet the return of Sassenach Selina and her family to claim his land ignites hatred and passion in equal measure. BUT YOUR ENEMIES EVEN CLOSER! Lady Selina is torn between family loyalty and wanton need for Ian. Tricked into marriage, she finds the Laird fulfils her every burning desire. But Ian is a man bound by duty. Can Selina be sure that his heart belongs not only to his clan…but also to the woman he has made his wife?‘Her characters are…full of naughty delight.’ – RT Book Reviews on More Than a Mistress










‘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. 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 they 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.




AUTHOR NOTE


You first met Selina in CAPTURED FOR THE CAPTAIN’S PLEASURE. Selina was so different from Alice I found their friendship intriguing and I wanted to find out more. I didn’t expect to discover that, like me, Selina had spent part of her youth in the Scottish Highlands. Despite everything she told herself, she could never quite forget the place—or the young man who caught her youthful fancy. Ian is as rugged as his country and equally hard to get to know. I hope you find their story as much fun to read as it was to write.

It seems that Scotland has fought against the odds over the centuries, and the Regency was no different as the clearances continued. Illegal whisky stills and smuggling were a matter of survival for many—and aren’t we glad they persevered? Dunross and its people are figments of my imagination, but they are drawn from history and I hope you enjoy your visit. If you would like to visit me, you can find me online and at my website: www.annlethbridge.com. Drop me a note—I would love to hear from you.




About the Author


ANN LETHBRIDGE has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet, or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines, and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel, it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.

Ann grew up roaming England with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.

Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles. If you would like to know more about Ann and her research, or to contact her, visit her website at www.annlethbridge.com. She loves to hear from readers.

Previous novels by this author: THE RAKE’S INHERITED COURTESAN** (#ulink_377206e6-e6df-5b1c-9db1-591fcbbd797f) WICKED RAKE, DEFIANT MISTRESS CAPTURED FOR THE CAPTAIN’S PLEASURE THE GOVERNESS AND THE EARL (part of Mills & Boon New Voices … anthology) THE GAMEKEEPER’S LADY* (#ulink_377206e6-e6df-5b1c-9db1-591fcbbd797f) MORE THAN A MISTRESS* (#ulink_377206e6-e6df-5b1c-9db1-591fcbbd797f) LADY ROSABELLA’S RUSE** (#ulink_377206e6-e6df-5b1c-9db1-591fcbbd797f)

And in Mills & Boon


HistoricalUndone!eBooks:

THE RAKE’S INTIMATE ENCOUNTER

THE LAIRD AND THE WANTON WIDOW

ONE NIGHT AS A COURTESAN

UNMASKING LADY INNOCENT

DELICIOUSLY DEBAUCHED BY THE RAKE

A RAKE FOR CHRISTMAS

And in Mills & Boon


Historical eBooks: PRINCESS CHARLOTTE’S CHOICE (part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages anthology)

* (#ulink_6b81cfdb-0880-5e8e-88fe-c8e89a13046c)linked by character ** (#ulink_6b81cfdb-0880-5e8e-88fe-c8e89a13046c)linked by character

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk


The Laird’s

Forbidden Lady



Ann Lethbridge






























www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Lots of people are involved in getting a story

on to the shelves or up online, 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.




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