Will rode slowly around Shieldag Castle’s grounds, watching the house and the road beyond. The rocky hills were trackless, and he guided the horse with care to avoid holes that could break his mount’s leg or even kill it.

He saw no one else about. The narrow road they’d traversed, which Macdonald had no doubt improved at his own expense, was the only way in or out of the glen. A hardy clansman could hike over the hills on his own, but food, drink, and luxuries would have to come by that road.

This place could be cut off at a moment’s notice—probably was in bad snow or rain. A man could be trapped here, or he could defend it against all comers. Macdonald had chosen well. If the British had been defeated, the Bonnie Prince’s father now on the throne, Macdonald could easily have holed up here until he made his fellow Scotsman believe he’d really been on their side.

But the Jacobites had been defeated, and now Macdonald had blocked himself off from Highlanders seeking vengeance.

Not that he’d remain secluded for long. Macdonald was a schemer, always had been. The plan to have Alison McNab marry his brother Horace, who’d died this past year, had been Clennan’s. Alison’s father had possessed plenty of lands, cattle, and money, plus she’d have brought the loyalty of many McNabs with her.

Clennan had been livid when Alison had met Will’s father and decided to elope with him. It had been a love match, the two of them besotted. Alison’s father had forgiven them, but Clennan Macdonald never had. He’d encouraged his entire clan to hate the Mackenzies.

Will studied the massive house below him. Palladian style, as so many manors were these days, every wealthy man wanting to replicate an Italian palace. Mal would know exactly what date the pile had been built and exactly what each feature was called.

He saw Bhreac, small and far away, lounging against the wheel of the coach in the drive outside the house. No worries that any would recognize him—though Bhreac traveled extensively, he’d stayed well away from the Highlands during the Uprising. Playing both sides of the fence, as usual.

Will also spied a tall man striding over the hills, coming straight for Will. He’d not seen anyone exit the house, but now the man climbed over the rocks, steps quick and sure, as though he’d been born and bred here.

Will was off the horse before the man reached him. The intruder was tall and lanky, with a shock of graying red hair, and light blue eyes in a long face.

The man halted in front of Will, studying him in silence. Tears beaded on his lashes as he reached a shaky hand to cup Will’s face.

“God save you, lad,” he said hoarsely, and then dragged Will into a hard embrace.

Will closed his eyes as he returned the embrace, remembering this man’s strength from his days as a toddler. His long-fingered hands had steadied Will’s steps and stopped him from plunging down the sheer hill on which Kilmorgan Castle was built.

“Naughton,” Will whispered, unexpected joy rushing through him. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Naughton, the tall, thin retainer who’d been with the Mackenzies since before any of the brothers had been born, straightened. Tears wet his cheeks and a gust of wind tugged his hair.

“I knew your brothers and dad were well in France, but you …” Naughton’s grip on Will’s shoulders was as strong as ever. “None knew whether ye be alive or dead.”

Will patted Naughton’s shaking hands. “You know I always come back. But you didn’t answer me, man. What are ye doing at the home of Clennan Macdonald, of all people?”

Naughton released Will and stepped back. “Not serving him. I’d never … I remember when your mum threw over his brother. Clennan came after her with clansmen and pistols, the bastard. His Grace had more loyal men and a legal marriage, but Clennan vowed revenge. I’m here to see he don’t take it.”

“Why? What is he planning?”

Naughton looked regretful. “I’m not sure entirely. He’s a close one. He don’t remember me, probably never noticed me with your dad—he ignores servants. But he has his eye on Kilmorgan. It’s lying fallow, avoided by most. Some say there’s a curse on the place. The British are trying to sell it.”

“Sell it?” Will balled his hands as fury and fear washed over him.

Will had known the land had probably already been taken from them. Whenever the line of a family died out, no more heirs to be had, the title and lands reverted to the crown. Now that Scotland and England, in theory, were one, that crown was British. Kilmorgan had been a dukedom for four hundred years—Will imagined King Geordie’s men salivating at the prospect of a lucrative landholding falling into their laps. Sometimes the land was given to another favored courtier; sometimes it was sold to an up-and-coming man like Sir Harmon.

“Bloody bastards,” Will continued. “Macdonald is trying to purchase it, is he?”

“I believe so. But the British don’t want a Scotsman to have that land, unless there’s no choice, so they’re slow to grant it to him. They’d prefer to put in an Englishman to keep an eye on the country north of Inverness. They’re building a great fort there, and they don’t want Jacobite Highlanders too near. Fear they’ll blow it up or some such.”

Will nodded. He’d heard about Fort George, on the point where Moray Firth spilled into the sea. The post would be massive, if the plans he’d seen were anything to go by. The Black Watch, Scottish troops who watched over the Scots, would man it.

“They don’t want a scheming Highlander living across the firth,” Will said, understanding. “Wise of them. Macdonald likes getting his own way, though.”

“Aye, but he’d need a lot of money to have it. They’ll not give all that land away, even if no Englishman so far wants it. Too remote, too dangerous.” Naughton sighed. “Too full of ghosts.”

The ghosts were there, yes, Will thought with sadness. So much laughter and life—gone.

Will paced as he thought. “I wager Macdonald wants to walk where the lady who defied him trod. To gloat. The hell he will, Naughton. I’ll not let him.”

“I agree, my lord, but what can you do? Your dad and brothers are far away. You’re dead—if ye forgive me being blunt.”

“Yes, but being dead gives me a slight advantage.” Will rubbed his chin as ideas formed.

Naughton looked him over, taking in the uniform, brows rising. “Are ye trying to be the wraith of a downed British soldier?”

“Not quite. I’m staying out of sight, blending in, while …” Will glared at the distant house. “I couldn’t go inside, for obvious reasons. So I sent a man I hope is a friend and the woman I love most in my life to do my work for me.”

“You mean Mrs. Oswald?” Naughton asked at once.

“Did you see her? Is she all right?”

Naughton shook his head. “No, but ye’d never speak of another woman so.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

To his annoyance, Naughton sent him a knowing smile. “Ye have a way with the lassies, my lord, but usually only as means to an end. Not with her. I saw how ye were with her when ye brought her to Kilmorgan long ago. I don’t imagine anything’s changed.”

“It hasn’t.” Will clamped his mouth closed before he said too much. The trouble with Naughton was that he knew everything about the Mackenzies, sometimes before they knew it themselves.

“Why aren’t you in France with my father?” Will countered.

Naughton shrugged. “Someone’s got to look after Kilmorgan. I never took up arms, and none paid much attention to me. I lived there, in the distillery, until I learned Macdonald was nosing about after the land.”

The distillery had been a house on the Kilmorgan grounds in the 1600s, a home away from the more grim castle. After the castle was modernized and made more comfortable, the house had been turned into a distillery for the new, licensed whisky business. Will and his brothers and father had moved into the distillery last year after British troops had burned the castle and reduced it to rubble.

“Hmm.” Will’s thoughts churned furiously. “You were wise to find out what Macdonald was up to. As to where he’s getting the money, I have some idea.” He shot Naughton a sudden grin. “How would you like to help me take it all away from him and have Kilmorgan back for ourselves?”

Captain Ellis and Josette stared at Macdonald in trepidation while Macdonald’s amusement grew.

“Did he not know you were an artist’s model?” Macdonald asked Josette, jerking his chin at Captain Ellis. “For a Mackenzie, no less?”

Captain Ellis shot a glance at Josette, waiting for a cue, but Macdonald was watching her too closely for her to give one.

“Of course he knew,” she said hastily. “That is how Sir William met me. What of it?”

“Were you Alec Mackenzie’s lover?”

“No.” Josette’s word rang with truth. She and Alec had been friends, nothing more. He’d been preoccupied with painting, and Josette had met Will …

“No?” Macdonald didn’t believe her, but Josette had no intention of arguing with him.

“We do keep my ... er ... past ... from Sir William’s acquaintance,” Josette went on, striving to look chagrined. “It would be too scandalous. Please, please say nothing to Sir Harmon.”

Josette did not like the glint in Mr. Macdonald’s eye. She’d assessed that Macdonald was the sort to use knowledge like this to his advantage—whether to have a hold over “Sir William,” or to coerce Josette into things she’d rather not think about, she didn’t know. Both, most like.

Macdonald studied the two of them sharply, but Josette saw him assume their uneasiness came from the secret of Josette’s modeling days. He took on a look of smug contempt.

“She spends many a penny, does she?” he asked Captain Ellis.

“I’m afraid so.” Captain Ellis made a helpless gesture. “But so do I. Hence our need for funds.”

Macdonald rose and rested his wide hands on the top of the desk. “And what do I get in return? For keeping your sordid secret and loaning you cash?”

Captain Ellis widened his eyes. “Your money back with interest?”

Macdonald snorted a laugh. “Not good enough. Sir Harmon told me you travel much, and are in the position to observe many things. I think him too sanguine—you are probably too absorbed in yourself to have knowledge I could use, but I’ll take the chance. Our proposal is this—I will lend you money for your investments. You put the money into the businesses I tell you to, never mind what Sir Harmon said, so you won’t lose all of it. Then you and your pretty wife go to the houses I tell you to and talk to people. I know Sir Harmon has explained this contingency to you, and that you are willing to follow it. Then you return to Sir Harmon and tell him what these people have discussed. I believe he indicated the sorts of things he wants to know.”

Josette had half-feared he’d demand payment in form of her person, in which case she’d have had to take up the fine bronze horse statuette on his desk and bash him with it. But all he wanted was for them to spy. Interesting.

Captain Ellis feigned consideration, then he shrugged, exactly as Will might do. “It seems so little to ask. Gives us a place to stay wherever we go, doesn’t it, Lady Jacobs?”

“Very convenient,” Josette agreed, sending Macdonald a smile.

Macdonald studied them, his opinion apparent. Fools, he thought them, but gullible and easy to manipulate. Exactly as Will had predicted.

Macdonald drained his cup in one swallow, told them to enjoy more whisky while he fetched the funds, and departed the room without looking back.

Josette spied another rather large footman in the next room, who scowled at them then closed the door for his master. She heard him take a stance near the door, standing guard.

Captain Ellis sipped his whisky without speaking, and Josette kept to her seat, setting her glass on the table beside her.

Sir William and Anna, to remain in character, would chatter to fill the silence, happily speculating on how they’d spend the money. Captain Ellis said nothing, probably knowing he could not be convincing.

Josette thought it significant that Mr. Macdonald had left to run the errand himself, instead of sending a servant. Nor did he want his two visitors tagging along. Some secrets, it seemed, he did not entrust to others.

She hoped he was doing nothing more than fetching the funds he spoke of. There were too many other things he could be getting up to out of their sight—summoning soldiers, questioning Bhreac. What if he caught sight of Will?

No, Will had ways of making himself invisible. As much as she worried about him, Josette knew Will was the most capable man alive at … well, remaining alive.

Before her fears could escalate, the guarding footman opened the door, and Mr. Macdonald came back in, a small box held in both hands.

“Leave us,” he told the footman in a warning voice. The footman did not respond, but after he closed the door, Josette heard his footsteps retreating.

Macdonald sat down at the desk and thunked the small casket to its surface. He didn’t open it.

“What I’m about to hand you is the equivalent of five hundred gold sovereigns.” He gave Captain Ellis a stern look. “But to use it as such, you’ll have to take it to my man of business in London. He will make an account for you and invest the sum of five hundred as I instruct him. You will not simply take the money and spend it, thinking yourself clever, because I will know if you do. Do you understand?”

Captain Ellis nodded. Josette did as well.

“When you’ve visited my friends on the list that is also inside this box, you will make the journey to Scotland again and stay with Sir Harmon. You will tell him everything you have learned, and I will visit you there. You are never to return to Shieldag Castle.”

“I understand, sir,” Captain Ellis said with the right amount of eagerness. “Thank you, sir.”

Macdonald regarded him with poorly concealed derision. He glanced at Josette, and a sly expression came over his face.

“I will give this to you to carry, young woman,” he said. “You like pretty trinkets, I think. You’ll guard this with your ... virtue, won’t you?”

Josette managed a light laugh and made herself not flinch in disquiet. Macdonald rose—Josette and Captain Ellis got to their feet as well—and he handed Josette the casket.

It was heavy. The compact box, about six inches long and four high and wide, was made of inlaid exotic woods and had a brass catch with a stout lock.

“Where is the key?” Josette asked, examining the lock.

“My man of business has it,” Macdonald said. “Take it to him, and he’ll open it up for you.”

“Oh, I see.” Josette gave another laugh. “So we won’t spend it between here and there.”

Macdonald laid a hand on the casket as she held it, weighing it down. “I told you, lass. I’d know.”

“Of course.” She tittered again. “We’ll be good, Mr. Macdonald.”

“See that you are.” He pressed the box, driving it against her chest. He didn’t touch her himself, but the pressure from his hand through the box made Josette feel slightly sick.

Captain Ellis gave him a bow, as though he noticed nothing, but Josette sensed his tension. They needed to leave before Captain Ellis exploded.

Fortunately Macdonald lifted his hand away and made a motion for them to depart. Josette curtsied, hoping her smile was fatuous enough. Captain Ellis bowed to Macdonald then gestured Josette to precede him, and she swept from the room.

Macdonald followed them out, his steps echoing heavily behind them.

“It’s a lovely house,” Josette said. She tried not to look at Alec’s painting as they passed it, but she couldn’t help herself. Macdonald saw, and chuckled.

“How did you manage to find that picture, Mr. Macdonald?” she asked, as though merely curious.

“Jacobites,” Macdonald answered with a grunt. “Mackenzie’s father was Duke of Kilmorgan, as you no doubt know. They took up arms against the king and were slaughtered to a man at Culloden Field. Their home, what’s left of it, was open for the crows to pick over. I rescued several paintings from the rubble, one by Rubens, if you can believe it. They’d fled when the castle burned, and left it all to rot. Traitors and idiots, the lot of them.”

His voice filled with so much venom that Josette glanced back at him. Macdonald’s face was brick red, cords standing out on his neck. A portrait of rage.

When he caught Josette’s eye on him, he softened his tone. “Aren’t you glad I rescued the painting for you, lass? I have half a mind to give it to you, as you’re so pretty. But no, I believe I’ll keep it. To remind me of you.”

His leer was unmistakable. Even a fop like Sir William would be incensed.

“I say, sir,” Captain Ellis began, exactly like an outraged but uncertain husband.

Macdonald laughed. “I am joking of course. When you pay me back my money, I’ll turn it over to you, Sir William. Of course you’ll want your wife in your own bedroom.”

Captain Ellis hesitated, as though ready to seize one of the many weapons hanging on the walls and run the man through. Josette sent him a warning look, and Captain Ellis subsided, if his face remained stiff.

Somehow, they made it all the way down the stairs to the ground floor without murder being done. Josette clutched the box to her bosom and hurried with Captain Ellis toward the coach Bhreac had pulled under the portico.

The sullen footman was there to lay down a step for them, but Mr. Macdonald handed Josette into the coach himself. She did not at all like the feel of his hand through her glove—hard strength and ruthlessness.

Captain Ellis sent him a frown, and Macdonald bowed to them both, his enjoyment huge.

Captain Ellis ascended into the coach, and Macdonald slammed the door for them, nearly catching Ellis’s foot. Bhreac started the carriage and they rolled out through the arch to open air, the sky shrouded in gray.

Captain Ellis at least waited until they’d passed the gate—opened by another attendant—and were a mile along the road before he pulled off his hat and threw it to the floor.

“Of all the disgusting, boorish, cruel vulgarians I have met in my life, he is the master of all!” Fury darkened the captain’s face and made his eyes glitter. “I will call him out for all the things he said to you—I might even let him pick up a sword before I kill him.”

“You are kind,” Josette began, but Captain Ellis cut her off.

“It is not kindness, lady, but common decency. You are the friend of a family I hold in the highest regard, and I’ll not let a brutish lout like Macdonald insult you. I’ll wager he picked through the ruins of Castle Kilmorgan like a rat, pouncing on the choicest bits. The fact that a man like him is trusted by the crown while the Mackenzies are reviled is coarse injustice. It must stop.”

Josette, her hand on the box of gold next to her, waited while he vented. She recognized a man whose principles had been thoroughly trampled upon.

If he hadn’t had to play the part of Sir William Jacobs, ridiculous dandy desperate for money, she knew Captain Ellis would have told Mr. Macdonald exactly what he thought, challenged him, and possibly been killed for his pains.

“You are indeed kind,” Josette repeated when he finished. “And a good man. Mr. Macdonald will be punished in time—which is why we came here today. To discover what he is plotting with Sir Harmon and what they know about the French gold, if anything.” The weight of the casket by her side hinted they knew plenty.

Captain Ellis’s mouth was a bitter line. “I know, but I have no patience with the Mackenzie hole-in-corner methods. I would rather face a man straight on and explain to him why I am killing him.”

“You might have the chance. Ah, we are stopping—and there is Will.”