A satisfied sigh rumbled in Mary’s chest as she smoothed her hand over the bed linens. She could think of nothing more rapturous than spending this day abed and in Sir Donald’s arms.

Feeling nothing but cool cloth, her sleepy eyes peeked open.

Mayhap I need to reach a bit farther.

But Sir Donald’s warm body wasn’t there either. She sat up and surveyed her empty chamber. The last thing she’d remembered, she’d fallen asleep spooned against his body, toasty warm as his arm draped around her waist and cuddled her.

Mary dropped back to the pillows and stretched her arms over her head. Though slightly disappointed not to wake to his bonny face, she knew Sir Donald would want an early start.

She closed her eyes and prayed all would go well for him this morrow. It simply had to. Most of the merchants in Glasgow would have been affected by the fire. And Sir Donald had saved his galley. Surely he would be able to renegotiate his terms.

Yes. He would weather this setback like any true Highlander.

And Mary would stand beside him doing everything she could to see to his success. Together, they would become the talk of Glasgow—mayhap eventually live in a grand manse like the Duke of Gordon’s. Donald had been cynical about his state of affairs last night, but this morning Mary could imagine a silver lining in last night’s dark clouds of smoke.

Her body felt like it was floating as she made her way to the bowl and ewer. As usual, Hattie must have been listening for her footsteps. No sooner had she washed her face and cleaned her teeth when the chambermaid came through the servant’s entrance. The same passageway Mary had used last eve.

Had Hattie been aware of that, too?

“Good morrow, Miss Mary,” Hattie said, picking up the tongs and adding a lump of coal to the fire.

Mary toweled off her face. “’Tis a wonderful morning, is it not?”

The chambermaid straightened and regarded her with a pinch to her brows. “I beg your pardon? Half the Glasgow waterfront succumbed to fire last eve and you’re bright as a peony in sunshine?”

Mary slapped the cloth on the table. “I do not believe my positivity is your concern.” Goodness, the maidservant had been growing more and more disrespectful with her offhanded comments and this one could not be allowed to slip.

The woman curtseyed. “Apologies. I must be overly distraught with the master’s state of affairs.”

Mary sighed. Perhaps she’d acted a bit too jovial. “I’m well aware of the gravity of Sir Donald’s situation. But I’m an optimist. We aren’t the only people affected by the fire, and if I were able to place a wager, I would bet on Sir Donald’s ability to overcome in the face of adversity.”

Hattie held up Mary’s stays and shook her head. “I wish I had an ounce of your confidence, miss. But I fear we’ll all see lean times ahead.”

“That we may.”

“But you shan’t worry. You’ll be able to return to your kin up north.”

Holding her stays against her ribcage, Mary turned away—more to hide the ire heating her face than for Hattie to tie her into the contraption. She hadn’t thought about returning to Dunscaith Castle in sennights. Surely Sir Donald would want her to stay. Especially after last eve. The glorious evening they’d spent in a cocoon of pleasure.

Wouldn’t he?

Blast the chambermaid for planting doubt into her thoughts.

Mary couldn’t dress fast enough and patter down to break her fast. She strode into the dining hall with a smile in place. She’d show Sir Donald that this was a new day—one they could face together and meet this setback head-on.

Stepping through the French doors, Mary’s face fell.

“Good morrow, Miss Mary,” said Sir Coll, standing with a bow.

Sir Kennan followed suit. “Ah, Miss Mary, I was wondering when you’d venture below stairs.”

Barbara regarded her over her shoulder. “Goodness, I cannot believe I awoke before you, Mary.”

She glanced to the mantel clock. At eight in the morning, Miss Barbara was usually still abed.

“And the baronet?” Mary asked, again searching the room, seeking the one face she wanted to see. “Has he already broken his fast?”

Sir Kennan grasped her hand and kissed it. “He and William have already left for the waterfront.” He grinned and then winced, gingerly touching his jaw with the tips of his fingers.

“Dear Lord,” said Mary, peering at a purple bruise swelling beneath his fingertips. “Whatever happened to you?”

“Compliments of our illustrious leader, I’m afraid.”

“Sir Donald hit you?”

“Aye.” Kennan shrugged and held the chair. “’Tis not a good idea to tell Sir Donald all is lost when…well, when all is truly lost.”

Mary sat. “”Tis that grave?”

“We should ken more once he and William return,” said Sir Coll.

Barbara spread jam over her toast. “There is not a cloud in the sky, yet I feel as if a tempest is roiling inside my breast.”

Coll’s gaze dipped to the maid’s ample bosoms, swelling perfectly above her bodice. The admiration in his eyes was unmistakable. And Mary didn’t need to be an experienced courtier to know the Highland laird was smitten.

Mary glanced to Sir Kennan. If he’d stolen a peek like Coll, he didn’t show it. He simply smiled at her and passed the platter of sausages. “Are you hungry?”

Mary selected two and set them on her plate. “Famished.”

“So, what do you two gentlemen have planned for the morning?” Barbara asked, clipping the smallest bit of toast with her teeth.

Sir Coll arched one eyebrow. “Mayhap I could accompany you on a stroll to the park whilst we await your brothers’ return.”

“That would be delightful. I imagine we wouldn’t appear to be overly happy if we stepped out for a bit of air.” Barbara glanced to Mary. “We’d need a chaperone.”

Mary would have rather stayed at the townhouse and awaited news of Sir Donald.

Before she could answer, Sir Kennan placed his hand on her forearm. “Come, Miss Mary. I’ll go, too.”

Glancing down at Sir Kennan’s much-too-familiar hand, she waited until he removed it.

“Yes, two couples would be ideal,” Barbara said.

Brushing off her arm, Mary tried to smile. “As long as we won’t be away long. I’m sure Sir Donald will be anxious when he returns.”

Sir Kennan clapped his hands together. “Splendid.”

Good heavens, Mary certainly hoped the Cameron heir wasn’t flirting.

***

Sitting across the table from Mr. Smith, Don’s cravat nearly choked him. “You mean to tell me the fire provided no setback for you in the slightest?” He ran his fingers around his collar, shooting an exasperated expression to William seated beside him.

“Obviously there have been setbacks, but Glasgow’s merchants have more goods than my ships can hold,” said Smith, his plump jowls jiggling beneath his robust periwig. “Thank God my two galleons are moored in the Firth of Clyde. And mark me, they will be sailing as planned.”

“You honestly believe you’ll replace your entire cargo within a sennight?” William asked.

The merchant scooped a bit of snuff with his fingernail and snorted it. “I reckon so, or very shortly thereafter. And I do need your packing salt—if you can have it to me in a sennight.” Devil’s breath, the gold snuff box on the table probably cost as much as Don’s ship.

“My men are repairing my galley as we speak. We’ll be able to set sail for the salt mine on the morrow. I cannot promise delivery within a sennight, but tack on a couple of days, and we’ll have your salt here. On that I can give my word.”

The man sneezed across the table. “I can allow you seven days. If you need longer, I’m afraid I must take my business elsewhere. My ship will sail in a sennight with or without your packing salt.”

“Your cargo will sour in a fortnight without proper packing,” said William.

“My cargo is my concern. My deadline is fixed.” Smith shook his finger. “There happens to be a line of merchants waiting outside this door and if you cannot supply me what I need, there are plenty others to take your place.”

Don swiped his brow with the heel of his hand. I am ruined. “Very well. We’ll do our best to meet your terms.”

William gasped. “But—”

Slicing his hand through the air, Don stifled his brother’s retort. “What, pray tell, is your offering on future shipments?”

Mr. Smith ran his fingers down his lapels and stood. “I can offer no guarantees.”

Rising to his feet, Don held out his hand. “You can count on the MacDonald Clan. There are no better sailors on the western seaboard of Scotland.”

“So you say.” Mr. Smith took Don’s hand with a limp handshake—one that expressed no faith whatsoever in Don’s ability to deliver. “Next time, might I suggest you store your wares in my warehouse in Newtown?”

Straightening his sword belt, Don gave the man a questioning look. “Why did you not tell me of this warehouse before?”

Smith shrugged. “’Tis not yet completed—but it shall be before the end of autumn.”

“Stone walls?” William asked.

“Wood, though far away from the riffraff skulking around this pitiful town.” Smith smirked. “What, pray tell, happened to your face?”

Don wondered when that question would arise. At least the rigors of last eve could easily explain a pair of black eyes. “A firefighting incident.” Bowing, Don and his brother took their leave, pushing their way through the sea of merchants who, indeed, had gathered in Mr. Smith’s antechamber.

Once outside, William inclined his head toward Don’s ear. “Are you mad, promising him a delivery in a sennight?”

“We sail on the morrow. It is August—the finest month of the year. We’ve a better chance of making Smith’s deadline now than ever. I expect you to see the repairs completed today. Work the men through the night if necessary.”

“I don’t know. It’ll be tight.”

Don stopped and grasped his brother’s shoulders. “We have no choice. Replace the mast first. That’s the only thing we cannot sail without.”

“Very well. But do not blame me if we don’t make Smith’s ridiculous deadline.”

“Have I ever blamed you for something beyond your control?”

“Plenty of times, just like you blamed Kennan for the fire last eve.”

Don’s face burned as he clenched his fists. He shouldn’t have struck the lad, but he’d been so incensed. And Kennan needed to learn to hold his tongue. “We’ll not fail, brother. Mark me.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” William turned and kicked a stone. “What of Miss Mary?”

Good God, would his brother ever stop asking maddening questions? A chunk of lead sank in Don’s gut. He never should have kept her in Glasgow so long. He’d practically seduced the woman last eve. Practically? He had done everything but take her maidenhead. Damnation, she was turning him into a lecherous debaucher of heiresses. He might have enjoyed a toss with a widow or a wench at the alehouse now and again, but Mary of Castleton needed to be strictly off limits. He couldn’t chance a slip with her again lest he end up forced to marry the lass. “’Tis time to take her back to Dunscaith,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Will there be time?”

“A detour to Castleton will only set us back a few hours at most.” It was the right thing to do.

“I think she’s rather enjoyed her time here,” William said.

“Aye.”

“I also think you’ve enjoyed having her in the guest chamber.”

“She’s a pleasant lass to have about for the most part—and she’s been good company for our sister.”

William guffawed. “You say that as if she were a pet deerhound.”

“How else would you have me speak of her?”

“I’ve seen you steal glimpses of Miss Mary when she wasn’t looking. You like her—in fact, I’ll venture to say you’re in love with her.”

“Don’t be preposterous. I cannot afford to be in love with her.”

“So you’ll take her back to Dunscaith Castle and applaud when her betrothal to some well-to-do, much-older laird is announced?”

Don’s gut twisted tighter than the lock on a strongbox. “I didn’t say that.”

“But still, you’re letting her go?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Don stopped at the corner of Saltmarket and Bridge. “In case you have, let me remind you that our situation is precarious. We must secure our place as a supplier to that vile Mr. Smith, else England will starve out not only us but all of the Highlands. We have pledged our lives and our swords to the cause. Never forget it.”

William executed a pretentious bow. “Forgive me, my lord. With such enthusiasm I have no doubt you’ll soon be declared the revered duke of Jacobinism.”

“Mute your insolent tongue.”

“Pardon me for stating the obvious. If you are hell-bent on breaking the young woman’s heart, then by all means, I’ll not stand in your way.” William started toward the riverfront. “If you’ll excuse me from your pig-headed presence, I have a galley in dire need of repair.”

Don’s blood boiled beneath his skin as he watched his brother cross the road. He ought to teach Willy a lesson, too. God knew the impertinent lout needed a good sparring session. How on earth could Don think of properly courting Mary at a time like this?

Besides, she’d be far better off with someone not so dedicated to the cause. Christ, if the Williamite Party uncovered his ardent loyalty to King James, he could very well be tried and hanged for treason.