“I must consider this further.” Iain cut off further discussion. He’d heard more than enough for one day. “We will speak again later.” At the fear on Jillian’s face he added, “Do not worry, lass. I know you speak the truth.”

“Laird?”

“Aye?”

“I do not want to make trouble for you. If you think it best for me to return, I will. But if that be the case, mayhap you will consider letting me escape. I would rather face the hills than those men.”

So the girl was not the callous woman of the world she claimed to be. He shook his head. “I will not return you to your kinsmen, nor will I send you out alone. Both are sure death.” Or worse.

The lass started to rise, but Jillian reached for her hand. “You risked your life for mine when I was a stranger. If ever there is anything I can do to repay you, I swear to do it.”

She squeezed Jillian’s hand. “Put it out of your mind and rest. I will return later.”

Jillian didn’t release her. “Tell me, mistress, what is your name?”

The lass’s head pivoted in Iain’s direction, and he flashed a broad smile.

She gave him a look meant to wither him on the spot and faced Jillian again. “I have no name.”

Jillian’s mouth dropped open in surprise and Iain bit back a laugh.

“You see,” she went on, “I…have amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Jillian’s eyes widened. “What a terrible fate.”

“A distressing fate, indeed,” she agreed.

Iain nodded. “I am gratified to understand the problem. I had begun to doubt my ability to woo a fair maiden.”

“Nay, Laird,” put in Jillian. The grave look on her face made it nearly impossible for Iain to maintain a serious expression. When she continued with, “You cannot believe such a thing. What woman would not be proud to have your attention?” The candid question nearly undid him. She looked back to his captive. “’Tis the truth, is it not, mistress?”

Christ, Iain thought, what sweet justice.

“I cannot answer such a question,” she replied in a voice that, in Iain’s judgment, betrayed a hint of feminine pride. She took a step in the direction of the door, and he slid in front of her.

“Aye, love, but you can.”

She came to an abrupt halt, her skirts swirling around her. “Have a care, my lord.”

“I have a care, sweeting.” He gave her a wicked smile. “But I think you should oblige our guest by answering her question.”

“Oh.” She formed the word in such a manner that he knew she was thinking more of how she would like to answer his question. Instead, she said, “I am sure many women find your attentions desirable.” “And you?” Iain asked.

“You know how I feel,” she snapped.

“There are moments when I believe I do,” he said.

“Moments such as last night?”

Her eyes widened. “How can you speak so? We are not alone, sir. Faith, but you are mad.”

“Aye, sweet, I am mad, but it is you who are making me that way. Now, be a good lass and answer the question.”

“I feel certain, my lord”—she ground out the title—“that you have never doubted the effect you

have on women.”

Hope surged through him and he reached out to caress her cheek. “I was not sure about you lass, until now.”

Her mouth parted in a gasp, and he realized his mistake in letting on that he’d caught the meaning she may not have even realized existed behind her words.

Her eyes narrowed. “I believe you are toying with me.”

“I have never toyed with you, and you know it.” His head was beginning to ache.

“Nay? Even now you tease Jillian and I. Imagine, believing you doubted…”

“Doubted what?” Despite his better judgment, he persisted. “Your feelings for me?”

Iain would never forget the storm that gathered in her eyes at that moment. The only thing undecided was whether or not she was more furious with him or herself. In the end, her remedy came in the form of a hasty retreat, and Iain was forced to allow it.

* * *

That afternoon, Iain watched from an archer’s slit in the north tower as a murmur coursed through the Robertson ranks when they were informed Kevin Robertson was not allowed to accompany his laird into Fauldun Castle.

“You are positive no others hide nearby?” Iain addressed Thomas, but kept his attention on the twelve riders outside the gates.

“Our scouts detected none.”

Iain studied the men. “Their tempers are as dark as the clouds.”

“They have had time to bring it to a fine simmer.”

“Much like those of our own people.” When Iain had crossed the courtyard to the battlements to get a look at the Robertsons, a large group of MacPhersons had already gathered. “Open the gates after I’m below.”

Once allowed into the MacPherson stronghold with his men, David Robertson made no move to dismount and demanded the return of the criminal in much the same way his kinsman had.

“She will not be returned until I have heard the case,” Iain said, not bothering to tell them he’d already sent word to the brother Jillian belatedly admitted having.

The Robertson’s eyes narrowed. “You make a grave error in judgment.”

Iain smiled without humor. “Is that how William will see things?”

David’s hand flew to his scabbard, bringing with it a chorus of MacPherson steel drawn from surrounding sheaths. Not one MacPherson warrior relaxed his stance even when David’s hand grudgingly fell from his weapon.

David sneered. “Iain MacPherson thinks to approach William, leader of the entire Robertson clan, with such a petty matter? He will say the same; this is not your business.”

Iain shrugged. His kilt snapped in the wind as if begging David to try his mood. “So your kinsmen informed me.” Iain crossed his arms over his chest. “If you believe me incapable of standing by my word, then do what you will. But remember, I am not a forgiving man.”

David nodded. “And I am not a man to forget.”

A whisper rippled through the crowd behind Iain when David Robertson wheeled his horse around. He cracked the reins against his horse’s flank and galloped through the gate followed by his men.

When the gates slammed shut behind the last man, Iain turned back toward the castle. He stopped at seeing his captive among the crowd.

Uncharacteristic bemusement played in her features, but before he could speculate what she might be thinking, Maude stepped beside her and whispered in her ear. Sudden panic replaced her puzzled expression, and her attention flew to his face. He started in her direction as Thomas fell in step beside him.

“Is something wrong?” Thomas asked.

“Look there.” Iain nodded in the direction of the women. “See the look on the lass’s face?”

“It is strange,” Thomas agreed. “But then, they have all been acting strange of late.”

Iain stopped. “Strange?”

“I have wondered for some time what they are plotting.”

“What do you mean, plotting?”

“I have no notion,” Thomas said. “But knowing those clever females, it could be anything.”

“This strangeness does not, per chance, occur when referring to the lass?”

His cousin looked surprised. “I believe it does.”

With Thomas following, Iain set out for the women who were now making their way in a leisurely walk toward the castle. Maude’s voice was the first Iain heard as they approached.

“’Tis what we agreed. You must have faith in us.” The lass shook her head. “It is not a sound notion.

There is enough trouble for the time being.” Iain exchanged a glance with Thomas.

“Nay,” Maude’s voice rose, “I am telling you, Vi—” one of the women coughed loudly.

Looking back, Maude smiled at Iain, who matched step with them.

“What mischief are you up to?” he asked.

Angelic as any angel of heaven, Maude blinked up at him. Iain wondered if he had somehow been mistaken in suspecting her, then his gaze fell on the lass. She looked guilty as sin.

“Have you something to say?” he asked the lass. She lengthened her stride.

“If you have something to say, now is the time.”

“What would Vi—er, she be needing to say?” Maude interjected.

Iain caught sight of Thomas, who had turned his head to the side and was grappling with laughter. With a grunt, Iain refocused on Maude. “Mayhap you would prefer to explain?”

A trace of doubt crept into her eyes. “Nay.”

“Nay, what?”

Maude looked startled. “Nay, Laird.”

They had reached the kitchen door, and Iain stopped and allowed the women to pass ahead of him. The lass slipped ahead of one of the women. Iain reached for her, but almost grabbed the arm of the woman she had cut off. He dropped his hand and stepped aside until they had all gone inside, then braced his hands on either side of the doorframe and waited.

His captive sat at the table and began peeling the onions laying there, while the other women resumed preparations for the evening meal.

When it became obvious he was being ignored, Iain spoke up. “How long do you plan on waiting before answering me?” When no one answered, he added, “You had best beware, my lass. I think you know me capable of drastic measures.”

Her eyes riveted on him. Iain raised a brow, only to be rewarded with a twinge of irritation when her expression turned languid.

“The only thing going on, my lord, is preparations for the evening meal.”

“Nay, lass, there is much more than that going on. For one, you are now adding disobedience to your mounting sins.”

She looked startled. “What in the name of Hades are you talking about?”

Iain strained to hear her words when she began muttering incoherently. At great length, he realized she was not about to quit her personal ravings.

He crossed to the table and caught her wrist, wresting the knife from her fingers. “I said you were to cease working in the kitchen. That, my lass, is what

I meant by disobedience.”

“What other sins do you refer to?” she asked.

“You are hiding something from me.” She blinked, then her eyes narrowed. “Ladies.” The bustle of work came to a halt. “We must confess. The master has found me out. How very clever of you. Tell me, when did the answer come to you?” A dazed sense of reality washed over Iain.

“Was it the day you stole me from the abbey? Or perhaps it was somewhere along the way.” She tapped her lower lip with a forefinger. Iain was just beginning to register the perplexing question when she added, “I know.” Her eyes brightened with a seeming revelation. “It must have been the day we arrived at Fauldun Castle. Do you remember?” She gazed at him with rapt attention.

“Aye, love, I remember it well.”

“Then you agree?”

“Agree with what?”

She gave an encouraging nod of her head. “That was the day you understood.”

“Sweet, I have never understood you. Not now, not then, and I begin to fear I never will.”

“But, my lord,” she said, horrified shock coloring her expression, “I am an open book.”

“On the contrary, you are a closed volume, and even the quick peeks I have glimpsed befuddle me.” Her brows knit. “How distressing.”

“Distressing?”

She nodded. “First I find I have shaken your ability to woo a fair maiden, and now I discover you are at a loss to understand me. Are you ill?” She jumped up and placed a hand across his brow, then drew it away. “Nay. You seem well. I suppose, then, ’tis understandable you have the presence of mind to comprehend I am hiding something from you.” With that, she plopped back in her chair.

It had been years, but Iain recognized the heat of embarrassment that flooded his cheeks. Thomas stood in the doorway, laughter on his face.

Iain faced her and consigned his sanity to oblivion as he felt himself fall into the pools of blue that stared up at him. Christ, would he never cease hearing the crash of waves every time she looked at him? A silent prayer, the first since his mother’s death, went up that his heart would not be dashed against the rocks before he found out.