“Have you ever seen a more dapper gentleman?” Lilas said with a sigh, resting her elbows in a crenel notch atop Dunscaith Castle’s bailey.

Leaning on the stone wall beside her sister, Mary smirked. “I’m not exactly sure that’s the right word.” True, she’d never seen a man who dressed in such well-appointed finery, but Sir Donald MacDonald’s frame was large and solid, not dapper.

“What word would you use?” Lilas asked.

“Hmm…” If she said handsome or divine, her sisters would never let her live it down. “He’s stately.”

Lilas snorted. “You are entirely dull.”

“I like him,” said Florence.

“Oh?” Mary arched an eyebrow at her youngest sister. “Why, pray tell?”

“Because he stood up to Balfour MacLeod last eve.” The twelve-year-old made an angry face, looking like a gargoyle. “I’d like to see the lieutenant receive his comeuppance one day. He always lurks about the castle acting like he’s the most important man on the Isle of Skye.”

“He thinks he is,” said Mary.

Florence shook her finger. “I don’t like the way he leers at you, either. Honestly, he looks like a hungry dog ready to pounce.”

Mary shuddered. “He is a dog.” She probably disliked the lieutenant more than her sisters did.

“A rabid dog,” added Lilas. Her hips swayed in place as Sir Donald removed his waistcoat and took a sizable stone from the groomsman. “But Sir Donald MacDonald is dreamy.”

Heavens, Lilas lives in a world of fantasy.

Still, Mary’s tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth as the baronet took his place for the stone put. All three sisters leaned through the crenel. Goodness, the baronet posed a sight dressed in his Highland garb, the folds of his kilt swishing against the backs of his muscular legs.

In two steps, Sir Donald hefted the stone with a deep bellow that resonated all the way up to the lasses at the top of the wall-walk.

Florence clapped her hands. “Farthest yet.”

“See? Dreaaaaamy.” Lilas harrumphed at Mary. “I have no idea why he turned his attentions to you during the entire feast last eve.”

Mary crossed her eyes and groaned. “Oh please, father made me sit beside the poor man.”

Tugging Mary’s sleeve, Florence giggled. “Because he wants you to marry him.”

Lilas crossed her arms and glared at their youngest sister. “Pardon me?” She pursed her lips, flushing apple red.

Clearly the lass is smitten.

Well, Mary wanted none of it. “Sir Donald has come for the games and that is all. Heavens, a man such as the Baronet of Sleat would have no interest in any of us. He resides in a townhouse in Glasgow, for goodness sakes. Men like that attend the opera and keep company with all manner of dignitaries.”

“Aye, but Glasgow?” Lilas swayed to and fro. “Imagine the dancing, the music, the society, gowns of silk.”

“And delicious food,” said Florence. Thank heavens Florence had her feet firmly on the ground.

Mary held up her palms and focused on the elder of the two. “I suggest you set your sights on a clan chieftain a wee bit closer to home.”

Lilas threw her shoulders back. “I beg your pardon, the Baronet of Sleat owns lands in Trotternish, right here on the Isle of Skye.”

How could Mary reason with the unreasonable? “Och, you are but a silly imp.”

“I ken what I want in this life.”

“I’m happy to hear one of us is so certain about the future.” Mary moved to the next crenel. Goodness gracious, Sir Donald removed his shirt. Her knees turned to boneless mollusks. Mouth dry, she gaped at the undulating muscles bared for all to see. He didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat anywhere—if only she were closer, surely the distance was playing tricks on her eyes.

“It appears there’s been a tie for the stone put,” said Florence.

Lilas clapped. “I hope the baronet wins.”

Mary pursed her lips. Merciful fairies, her sister’s foolish display of adoration was maddening. And why did the man have to remove his shirt? Could he not throw a blasted rock as far with it on? No man should be thusly appointed with banded muscles rippling across his back and chest. It was scandalous.

“Oh my,” Lilas’ voice resonated from the other crenel.

Unable to pull her gaze away, Mary’s mouth dropped open. Sir Donald heaved the stone, sending it soaring until it landed with a thud.

“No one will be able to beat that,” said Lilas.

Coll MacDonell, Chieftain of Clan MacDonell of Keppoch, stepped up to the line, removing his shirt as well. Unbelievable. He was built like the hindquarter of a hackney horse.

“Are all Highland chieftains made of iron?” asked Florence.

“I have died and gone to heaven,” Lilas blubbered from her place on the wall-walk. “I’m certain of it.”

“Just make sure you don’t swoon and fall from the bailey.” Mary clutched her hands to her chest while she watched Sir Donald take his shirt from his valet and pull it over his head. A long exhale slipped through her lips. Heaven forbid he spend the remainder of the afternoon half-naked. Lilas would have swooned and fallen to her death for certain.

Fortunately, one more day and the gathering would be over. In all likelihood everything would return to normal, except her father would be disappointed Mary hadn’t made a braw chieftain fall in love with her. She straightened and brushed off her hands. “I’d best go see to Da’s care.”

“When there are games to be watched?” Lilas moved a hand to her hip. “Goodness, Mary, why are you always so serious?”

“Aye,” Florence agreed. “Let Mrs. Watt look after him. He seems to like her.”

“Mrs. Watt?” Knitting her eyebrows, Mary huffed. “What does she ken about taking care of Da’s needs?”

Florence shrugged. “Not sure, but she’s been spending more time in the library with him.”

Mary’s wee sister could be a snoop. “And how do you ken this?”

“Because I hide in the window embrasure and read…” Florence cringed like she expected a rebuke.

Mary gave her a stern frown. “You mustn’t loiter about when our father is entertaining guests.”

“Eew,” said Lilas. “You’re disgusting, Florence.”

“But I always read in the window embrasure.”

Mary started toward the stairwell. “Well, you had best find some other place to read—like your chamber. There’s plenty of light there.”

***

Mary hastened through the passageway to her father’s chamber where he’d said he could watch the games from his window embrasure. Immobile, he spent his days either on the second floor in his solar or bedchamber and the men would carry him below stairs for each evening meal.

After knocking with her usual single rap, Mary opened the door. “Da, are you ready—?” Her jaw practically dropped open wide enough to hit the floor. Never in her life had she been assaulted with a scene so scandalous.

Da propped in the bed beside Mrs. Watt, both of their shoulders bare—a-and they were sipping sherry—at this hour.

Setting his glass on the bedside table, father tugged the bedclothes higher, thank goodness. “Don’t just stand there like you’re daft,” he chided as if it were a daily occurrence for him to be abed, bare-shouldered, with a woman.

Slipping downward, Mrs. Watt all but disappeared.

Mary dropped her gaze to the floorboards. “Forgive me.”

“Go on now—close the door, lassie.” From the way Da grumbled, it sounded like he blamed her for the awkward situation.

Mary’s stomach twisted in a knot—so did her shoulders—two painful, incredibly mortified knots. “W-when would you like me to return for your massages?”

Da took up his sherry and held it aloft in toast. “Mrs. Watt is assuming my care. Haste ye down to the games and smile at the chieftains. I want you to make a good impression on at least one of them. Time is growing short.”

Drawing her hand over her eyes, Mary curtseyed. “Yes, Father.”

“Now off with you.”

Mary didn’t need to be told again. She let the door slam and dashed for the stairwell.

Mrs. Watt is taking over Da’s care? What on earth does that mean? Merciful fairies, it appeared like she was planning to take over a great deal more than that. A harlot in Da’s bed! An evil, wicked, wanton harlot!

Tears welled in her eyes while she raced down the wheeled stairwell. No wonder her father had been overly anxious to marry her off. He’d already found a replacement—someone who provided services Mary never could. Worse, Da replaced her before she’d even been courted, let alone betrothed. No wonder he’d pushed her so.

I’ve done everything to see to it this gathering is perfect—to make my father proud, and what does he do before the games are over? How dare he behave this scandalously when so many guests are about?

Gulping, she tried to swallow back the burning in her throat. Not only was her father’s behavior inconsiderate, he put her in a position to be completely humiliated. There was a clock on the mantel. He owned a pocket watch. Da knew she would be there for his mid-morning massage. She was never late. Never.

And why on earth didn’t he bother to ask Mrs. Watt to lock the door? Did he want Mary to be shocked—scarred for the rest of her days?

How dare he do that to me?

Tears stung her eyes as she dashed through the great hall and out the front gate.

“Good morrow, Miss Mary,” someone called from a group of clansmen.

“G-morrow,” she croaked, trying to sound cheerful. Through bleary eyes, her gaze darted side-to-side, then ahead, looking for an escape. Curses, of all the days for the hall to be filled with clanspeople, it had to be today.

Tugging her arisaid around her shoulders, Mary held her head high as she slowed her pace and strode past her clansmen.

Fyfe walked in step beside her. “Are you unwell, Miss Mary?”

“I simply need a brisk walk and some Highland air.” She tried to smile. “Please, leave me be.”

“As you wish.”

Fortunately, the guard did her bidding and allowed her pass through the gate alone. Once she crested the hill where the onlookers could no longer see, Mary broke into a run. She headed straight for the big sycamore—her place of solace when she was a young lass. Decorum had forced her to stop climbing trees after her fifteenth year, but today she would make an exception.

The giant tree sprawled with hundreds of welcoming green arms. ’Twas like returning to an old friend.

“You haven’t changed much in the past six years,” Mary said, placing her foot in the knot and hoisting herself up to the first branch. Hiking up her skirts above her knees, her entire body trembled with ire while she climbed until she was high enough not to be seen by passersby. She was so upset, her legs could hardly pull her up.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and her nose ran, but upward she went. No one need see her in such an overwrought state.

Finally high enough not to be noticed, she perched on good-sized branch and leaned her back against the tree’s thick trunk. Mary closed her eyes and took in a deep, stuttering breath. Burying her face in the crook of her arm, she allowed the tears to come. Sobs wracked her body. Good gracious, Da usually consulted with her about everything. Ever since his accident, she’d kept the books, managed the servants, planned the menus, ordered the stores, and most of all, taken care of him. Yes, he had a groom who dressed him and tended to his bathing, but when it came to ministering to his health, Mary handled it alone in consultation with Doctor Murray.

When had he begun entertaining Mrs. Watt? Yes, they were both widowed—perhaps of similar age, but why hadn’t Da told Mary about the woman’s new role sooner? Did he want her to find out by walking in on them…in a bed…with bare shoulders? Lord only knew what they were wearing beneath the bedclothes.

Good heavens.

Mary cringed, trying to erase the image from her mind. How on earth was she supposed to return to the castle and carry on as if nothing had happened?

“No excuses,” a deep voice said while muffled footsteps scuffed through the grass. “We need the shipment in Glasgow in a fortnight.”

Craning her neck to peer through the foliage, Sir Donald, looking very serious, led a slightly smaller man beneath the tree.

“Bless it, brother, you’re asking for the impossible,” said the shorter one.

The baronet’s brother? Is it William?

“I daresay I am entirely serious. You should be as well. Too much is riding on this—not just for our clan, but for the cause. Do you ken how many hours I’ve put into the transaction with the Americans? The contacts I’ve made? The glasses of sherry I’ve poured?”

“But you don’t even like sherry.”

“Precisely. Now hightail your arse to Trotternish and demand double shifts if you must. The damned Williamite Government will not push us out this time.” The baronet planted his fists on his hips, totally unaware of Mary directly above them.

She slid forward on her branch, taking in every word. Goodness, is that why Sir Donald was residing in Glasgow? She’d assumed he preferred the city life over the archaic Duntulm Castle where he was born. But rumors were he was a snob—ignored his kin. She leaned further forward.

“I’ll go straight away, but the clan kens you’re here.” William spread his hands wide. “They expect to see you as soon as these games are over.”

“I’ll be there,” the baronet said, his voice deep with sincerity. “And you can tell them the same.”

William started off.

“Wait.” Sir Donald grasped his shoulder, then clasped him arm to arm. “I’m trusting you, brother.”

“You will not be disappointed.”

With a sigh, Mary rested her chin on her hand. Sir Donald seemed so in control of his life—so filled with purpose. Not that Mary’s life didn’t have purpose. She was just too isolated and sheltered. Yet she’d had to take on a great deal of responsibility at a very young age when her mother died giving birth to Rabbie. Her father’s coffers might even be a bit healthier if she’d had an elder brother like the baronet. She couldn’t imagine herself going to Glasgow and starting up trade for the clan.

The branch beneath her cracked.

Mary’s heart flew to her throat.

Before she could move, the limb dropped from beneath her. With a squeal, she flung her arms out, grasping at branches and leaves. Something scraped her palm, breaking her fall. Stretching her feet downward, toes hit ground, her ankle twisted, sending her crashing to her backside.

Cringing, she clutched her sore hand against her stomach. “Ow.”

“Miss Mary?” The exasperation in Sir Donald’s voice made her out to be a snoop.

She curled into a heap and groaned.

Nothing like falling out of a tree to win a baronet’s affections. If Da hears about this, Mrs. Watt might be moving into my chamber as well as taking over his care.

Hissing, she held up her palm and blew on it. Hells bells, the darned thing was bleeding—worse, the baronet hadn’t moved. She glanced up. “Why on earth did you pick my tree for your conversation with your brother?”

“Forgive me. I had no idea this tree was taken.” Sir Donald kneeled beside her, removing a kerchief from his top pocket. “Are you injured?”

He grasped her hand ever so gently and dabbed the blood.

Mary watched him, waiting for the pain to come, but his touch grew more soothing with every swirl of the linen. “I don’t think so—at least nothing that won’t come good in a day or two.”

He leaned in for a closer look and blew on her palm. “What, may I ask, were you doing up a tree?”

Gooseflesh skittered up her skin. “You may not ask.”

“Do you climb trees often?” His gaze drifted up and met hers.

Dear Lord, such beautiful eyes should never belong to a man. The gooseflesh proceeded to tingle down Mary’s spine. “Not since the age of fifteen…but…but I needed to think.”

“Isn’t there anywhere less precarious to think?” he asked, still holding her hand and pressing the cloth firmly.

“Not after what I witnessed.” A cry slid past her lips—not at the pressure of the kerchief but at how foolish she looked hiding in a tree at the age of one and twenty.

“I don’t like the sound of that.” His eyes squinted. “Was someone rude to you?”

She shook her head while her stomach clamped into a ball. If only Sir Donald would stop his questioning.

“Discourteous to your sisters?”

“No, nothing like that—’tis far worse.” She bit her bottom lip and winced.

“Worse?” His gaze grew dark like a cloud had passed overhead. “You’d best tell me afore I start an inquisition.”

“Oh, no, please.” Her accursed stomach clamped even harder. “’Tis too dreadful to speak of.”

He shook his fist. “I’ll throw the miscreant in the stocks, I swear.”

“No, no, no.” Now she’d gone and made a mess of things. “Please do not do anything. I-I-I went to my father’s chamber for his morning massage…and…a-a-and. Oh heavens, I cannot say it.” Mary buried her face in her uninjured hand.

He removed the cloth and regarded her palm. “Is your father all right?”

She flung the hand from her face with an enraged gesture. “Oh yes, he’s more than all right.”

Again his penetrating gaze regarded her. “I don’t understand.”

“He’s replacing me with Mrs. Watt. I found them…” Mary’s shoulders wound like a spring, she shook her hands fumbling for the words. “In…in a compromising situation…in-in his bedchamber.”

“Oh.” High color flooded the baronet’s cheeks and he folded the kerchief clean side out, then replaced it in his pocket. “I see. That would be most disturbing.”

“It was. And I hope you can now understand why I needed to spirit away from the castle, if not for but a moment.”

“Apologies, and I interrupted your solace.” He reached for her hand and regarded the cut. It didn’t look so bad now the blood had been cleaned off. “Would you like me to leave you alone for a time?”

Mary bit her bottom lip and looked out to the bay. “No. I’d best be heading back.”

He again blew on her hand and that same tingling sensation rendered her practically senseless. “You’d best put some ointment on this.”

Her mouth dry, she licked her lips while her heart fluttered like a silly butterfly. “I-I think it’s stopped bleeding.”

“And the rest of you?” He grinned. Why on earth did he have to do that?

Now not one, but swarms of butterflies flitted about her insides. “Fine. I believe,” she said, her voice far deeper than she’d ever heard.

“Then may I accompany you back to the gate?” He glanced over his shoulder. “There are many people here who are strangers to Castleton.”

Goodness, the man did have an uncanny allure. “Thank you.”

Dear Lord, why does the only man who makes my heart flutter at his accursed gathering have to be the Baronet of Sleat? He lives in Glasgow for goodness sakes. They ride in coaches there and attend the opera of all things. Sir Donald probably has his pick of any highborn woman for miles.

Grasping her elbow, he helped Mary to her feet. “How is that? Are you steady?”

“I’m fine.” She took a step. Fire burned up her ankle. With the next step, her knee wobbled and she stumbled forward. She would have fallen in a heap if Sir Donald hadn’t tightened his grip on her elbow.

“I beg your pardon, miss, but you are not fine.”

She grimaced. “I think I twisted my ankle in the fall. Give me a moment and it will come good.”

“Then allow me to carry you back to the keep.”

“Oh noooo—”

Heavens, the man swept her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a wee lamb. Then he had the audacity to give her a saucy grin. “Not to worry, Miss Mary, I’ll see you to your chamber in no time.”

She glanced up with a feeble smile. Lord, his lips were but inches away, his scent even more intoxicating than it had been last eve. The arms surrounding her held her ever so securely. Her head inclined toward him as he started off. Then her eyes flashed wide as her body tensed. “What will everyone say? I think perhaps if you set me down, I will be fine.”

Brawny arms tightened around her. “No. I shall see you to the comfort of your chamber where your ankle can be properly examined.”

“No, no.” Mary placed her palm on his chest. “It would be scandalous if you took me above stairs.”

His lips formed a hard line. “Not if I summon a chambermaid.”

When the thrum of his heart hammered beneath her fingers, she snapped her hand away. “Are you always this overbearing?”

“Always.” He glanced at her while he continued to boldly stride nearer and nearer the castle. “My siblings forever chide me about it.”

“Then ’tis pointless for me to insist you put me down this instant?”

“A complete and utter waste of breath, miss.”

Astonishingly, by the time he’d carried her all the way back to the main gate, the baronet wasn’t even breathing heavily. Was the man hewn of iron?

Fyfe dashed straight for them. “Miss Mary, whatever happened?”

“I fell—”

“We need a chambermaid in Miss Mary’s chamber forthwith.” Sir Donald didn’t miss a step, marching across the great hall with purpose. “See to it she arrives there before I exit the stairwell.”

Fyfe’s brow furrowed. “But first I have to find a chambermaid.”

Sir Donald stopped. “Are you saying you intend to keep me waiting with an injured woman in my arms? Fetch the chambermaid now before I order one of my men to kick you up the backside.”

“Yes, sir.” Fyfe bowed. “Straight away, sir.”

Ducking his head, Sir Donald stepped into the stairwell, his feet resounding loudly.

Mary tried not to laugh. “Everyone in all of Castleton kens you’re taking me above stairs.”

“Aye, but they’re also aware a chambermaid will be right on our heels.” He hesitated at the first landing. “Where am I heading?”

“Up three more flights, down the passageway, first door on the left.”

“Is that all?”

“Sorry.” She placed her hand around his neck for balance. The movement drew them together all the more closely. His breath caressed her forehead like balmy steam. Realizing her folly, she snapped her fingers away. Good Lord, he was warm as a hearth. “You needn’t carry me all the way.”

He glanced down to her face. Long, feathery lashes shuttered his eyes, making him look far too desirous. “I do and I will. Now keep your head and feet tucked in so they don’t graze the walls.”

“Yes, sir.”

A smile spread across his lips for the first time since she’d seen him that day. “That’s better.” He stepped out onto the fourth floor landing. “First on the left?”

Mary pointed. “Aye. Right there.”

“My word,” Lilas squealed from her doorway on the right. “Whatever happened?”

Mary waved her hand. “’Tis merely a twisted ankle.”

Sir Donald kicked open the door. “Drag the chambermaid up here if you must, miss. I see she hasn’t yet arrived.”

“Straight away, sir,” said Lilas—goodness gracious, it must have been the first time Mary’s sister had ever obeyed anyone without giving them a bit of sass first.

“How on earth did you do that?” Mary asked.

He strode inside. “What?”

“Lilas obeyed you without issuing as much as one single objection.”

His deep chuckle rumbled through Mary’s body before he rested her atop the bed. “Not many people question me when I issue them an order.”

She reclined against her feather-soft pillows. “Why do you think that is?”

His jaw twitched. Sir Donald mightn’t outwardly display his emotions, but she’d seen that tic a few times now—a sure indication he wasn’t hewn of iron. His gaze meandered down the length of her body. Mary shivered as if his stare had actually caressed her. “It has always been that way.” Something in his voice changed, grew softer, deeper.

Something else deep inside her melted—a pleasant sensation, but one that left her wanting more. Mary looked him from head to toe, just as he’d done to her. “I think…” Her tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth. “Your size alone would intimidate some…and your station.” And the intensity of your eyes, and the way your mouth forms a bold line when you’re not smiling…not to mention your smile. Yes, your smile could cause any woman to lose her senses.

Sir Donald took her hand between his two warm palms. “My guess is that you are not often questioned at Dunscaith Castle as well.”

“Mm,” Mary said, praying he wouldn’t release her hand too quickly—the comfort of his touch soothed. Besides, this man soon would be on his way and she might never see him again.

He bowed. “Rest whilst I go find out what is taking that chambermaid so long.” His eyes locked with hers for a fleeting moment. A swirling current emanated from those fathomless blues, just like the undertow of the sea. Then one corner of his mouth ticked up. Long, tawny lashes again shuttered his eyes as he stooped lower. Hot breath skimmed the back of her hand.

Mary gasped.

As soft as a feather, he plied her hand with a kiss—not a brief peck, but his eyes closed and a sigh rumbled from his throat, so low, Mary wasn’t certain she’d heard it. When he straightened, a faint grin turned up the corners of his mouth.

He’s toying with me for certain.

“My lady,” he said, turning and heading for the door.