Wearing a borrowed gown of yellow silk, Mary gave herself a once-over in the mirror before heading to the dining hall to break her fast. Though taller, Miss Barbara loaned Mary two sets of clothes until the tailor could pay a visit. The gowns and shifts were a very close fit, though they had to pad the slippers with lamb’s wool. Nonetheless, Mary felt a bit out of sorts. Her kirtles and arisaids were always made of wool—very practical and necessary for the Highlands. In winter they helped stave off the bitter cold. Even then icy winters on the Isle of Skye could pierce through the woolen weave like a thousand knives.

She turned in place and watched her skirts billow. The silk rustled with her every move—made her ever so aware of how expensive the gown must be. She turned again and regarded her image in the mirror. Goodness, she looked so stylish she doubted anyone in Castleton would recognize her.

Though modern and grand, the guest chamber was a bit smaller than her chamber at Dunscaith Castle. They burnt coal rather than peat, which seemed to keep the room warmer, but the best thing was the feather mattress she’d slept upon. Had it not been for the chambermaid coming in to light the fire and lay out her clothes, Mary might have opted to sleep all day. After her ordeal, a night spent sleeping in sublime comfort had been exactly what she needed.

However, once awake and laced into her stays by Hattie, the efficient chambermaid who must haul buckets of water all day long to develop muscles large enough to corset Mary within an inch of her life, her growling stomach won out and she headed toward the smell of good cooking. Scarcely able to breathe, Mary wondered where she’d put any food whatsoever, but by the growling, she had to try.

“Miss Mary, how lovely to see you this morn,” said Mr. Kerr as soon as she entered the hall, lavishly appointed with tapestries depicting pastoral scenes. The groomsman pulled out a chair and gestured toward it.

“Good morrow.” At first Mary didn’t recognize Sir Donald. Wearing a velvet doublet and a flaxen colored periwig that curled down past his shoulders, he was seated at the head of the table reading some sort of missive with a great deal of writing on both sides. Even more perplexing, the table had been prepared as if they were to eat a five-course meal, not a simple bowl of porridge and a few rashers of bacon.

Mary thanked Mr. Kerr and took her seat.

Sir Donald looked up. “Ah Miss Mary,” he said as if she were merely an acquaintance come to call. “Did you sleep well?”

“Indeed, I slept like a bairn on your feather mattress—could have stayed there all day.” She reached for a scone and buttered it.

Mr. Kerr presented her with a platter piled with food. “Blood pudding and eggs?”

Nodding, she pointed. “And I’ll eat two of those fat sausages as well thank you.”

Sir Donald, who had resumed his reading, peered over the parchment.

She tried to look pleasant, though she wondered who on earth the man at the head of the table was. His entire demeanor seemed nothing like the Baronet of Sleat who had ridden double with her through the rugged Highlands and who’d seemed as comfortable as a lad sailing a galley with bare feet.

“Where is Miss Barbara?” she asked.

“My sister hasn’t arisen as of yet,” he mumbled, reverting his gaze to his reading. “You’ll find Barbara is more of a night owl. And she rarely takes the morning meal—says it always adds inches to her waistline.”

Mary gulped down her mouthful of sausage and egg and studied the title of Sir Donald’s document. The Oxford Gazette. “Why, pray tell, are you reading that rubbish?”

He folded the parchment and slapped it on the table. “’Tis full of information and the best way to beat your enemies is to ken what they’re up to.”

“Hmm,” she snorted and took a drink of watered wine. “Is that why you’re dressing like them? I think I prefer you without the pompous wig.”

He patted the gauche curls. “But ’tis the style and what is expected from a man of my station.”

“Well I don’t care for it. I prefer not to put on airs and wear what is comfortable—what I’ve always worn.”

“Aye? Though I daresay the frock you’re wearing now is becoming.” He sighed. “But when you’re in a war, the one for the cause that are in at this very moment, sometimes it is imperative to behave as is expected rather than as one pleases.”

Mary nudged her egg with her knife. “I suppose.”

“’Tis why I asked Barbara to work with you on etiquette.”

Jolting upright, Mary gaped. How dare he? She leveled her knife at him, a bit of egg flying across the table. “You think I am unmannerly?”

“Ladies, especially those who are first daughters of chieftains, do not go about pulling stoppers out of powder horns with their teeth and firing muskets.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nor do they head off to borrow eggs afore dawn.”

Mary’s stomach churned. “Are you saying my abduction was my fault?”

He eyed her—and without amusement as if he’d never felt a shred of fondness for her. “I’m saying a young lassie doesn’t set out alone—ever.”

“But we’ve never had outlaws and highwaymen around Dunscaith Castle. It has always been safe to wander about.”

“You believe so? But what of the dragoons? I understand Lieutenant MacLeod had been stationed near Teangue for two years.”

“The army is supposed to support and protect the citizens, not kidnap them and force them into marriage.”

“Now you ken differently, do you not?”

She banged her knife beside her plate. “Is that what you think of me? I’m some sort of fool who has no common sense?”

“Not at all—’tis just that you didn’t have the benefit of spending time with your mother at a tender age when all young lassies need an older, wiser woman to guide them. You were forced to become the lady of the castle at the age of twelve.” Reaching out, he patted her hand as if she were a child. “Spend some time with my sister. The two of you seem amenable. And by all means, Barbara could use a companion.”

Och, this man can muddle my mind like no other I’ve ever met. “Companion? But I thought you planned to send me home at your earliest opportunity.”

“I shall pen a missive to your father and let him know you are safe and enjoying the company of my sister. Besides, in Glasgow you are well away from the lieutenant’s clutches and where I can keep an eye on you.”

Suddenly not hungry, Mary stared at her plate. Sir Donald intended to keep an eye on her while his sister imparted the wonders of modern etiquette? Who was this pompous baboon sitting at the head of the table? Did he think he could run her life? Of all the arrogance. Yes, she probably could benefit from Barbara’s tutelage, but she wasn’t about to let on that Sir Donald’s idea had an iota of merit. If he didn’t like her as she was, she wouldn’t do anything to change for his sake. Curses to him. He’d used his good looks and charm to reel her in—to make her think he actually cared. And like a mindless imp she’d played right into his hand.

She pushed back her chair. “I would prefer to return to Dunscaith Castle immediately.”

The baronet furrowed his brow beneath his ridiculous periwig. “To be kidnapped again?”

She clenched her fists and stood. “Whether or not you believe me, I can look after myself. Now I ken the lieutenant is a threat, I’ll strengthen the guard.”

Rushing for the door, Mary berated herself. She’d never forget Sir Donald’s scowl when he saw her in the bath last eve. Shouldn’t a man at least look embarrassed when presented with a naked maid in a tub of water? When they were alone in the wood, his heated stare had made gooseflesh rise across her skin. Clearly, she’d embarrassed him in front of his sister. Clearly, he didn’t think she was good enough for him.

And why in heaven’s name did he have to barge into her chamber wearing nothing but a wee cloth around his hips? Goodness gracious, no man should be thus endowed—especially a pompous, wig-wearing baronet like Sir Donald. Good Lord, he even had bands of muscle in his chest that had rippled all the way down his abdomen. Worse, she’d been made breathless by a wee line of tawny hair trailing from his naval down beneath his drying cloth.

His body was nothing but sinful.

Mary stomped up the stairs. He wanted her to learn manners? The baronet had best learn some as well.

A man who barrels into a woman’s chamber without a stitch of clothing? And then pretends to be aloof, standing all but naked in front of his sister and the daughter of a chieftain? He should be as rife with embarrassment as I am.

***

As Mary stormed out of the hall, Don resisted the urge to comb his fingers through his hair—ah, periwig. He hated wearing bloody wigs as much as Miss Mary apparently hated their appearance. But men’s wigs served a purpose. Aside from being fashionable, they were a part of a gentleman’s costume—along with his attire, a well-groomed periwig set him apart from commoners. Not that Don gave a lick about his station in life, but his buyers did. He was able to negotiate and gain alliances because of his status and he used it not only to his advantage, but to the advantage of the cause.

He straightened his cravat. It would serve Miss Mary well to grow accustomed to the lines of society.

Mr. Kerr entered from the servant’s door. “Whatever did you say to the young lady?”

Don reached for his cider. “I suggested she learn some etiquette from Miss Barbara whilst she’s staying with us.”

“Reeeeeally?” Mr. Kerr said as if he knew Mary would have such an adverse reaction. “Honestly, I find her Highland charm refreshing.”

“Aye—for a lass who plans to remain on the Isle of Skye all her life.”

“Don’t tell me…are, are you planning to marry the lass?”

Don gave his valet a stern frown. “Of course not. God’s bones, I try to help a maid learn the ways of society in the Lowlands and suddenly everyone thinks I’m bloody smitten.”

“I beg your pardon, sir.” Mr. Kerr reached for Don’s plate. “Shall I order your coach?”

“Thank you. I’ve business on the waterfront. Thank heavens. It seems I’m completely ineffective at talking sense into Miss Mary—mayhap you and Miss Barbara will have more success.”

“What sense is that, sir?”

“She needs to stay here. There’s a deranged lieutenant up north who wants nothing but to enslave her as his wife.”

“I’ve never quite heard holy matrimony described as slavery.”

“Aside from stealing my galley, the idiot kidnapped her right from under our noses—intended to force her to marry him. I’ve dispatched a missive to Fort William requesting the man’s dismissal. Until I’m satisfied he will no longer be a threat to Miss Mary, she is safer here.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Kerr said with an amused grin.

Don stood and tugged down his doublet. “You are aware her father is a cripple?”

“No. Such news had escaped me.”

“Exactly.” He made his point. “Miss Mary is not safe at Castleton. There is no one there who can protect her from that red-coated swine.”

“Of course, sir.” Arms laden with dishes, Mr. Kerr paused at the servant’s door. “If it is any consolation, I’m happy to hear the lass will be staying with us for a time. I do like her spirit.”