The trip to Grant was barely underway when Mary’s father glanced aside at the warriors riding escort with them and in a low voice told her she would soon have to plan a wedding.

“What?” Her heart immediately soared at the news and she straightened in the saddle. Had Cameron spoken to her father without telling her? He’d given her no hint he planned such a thing. Or had he? She closed her eyes as the image rose in her mind of Cameron standing before her in the tub, completely unembarrassed—even unconcerned—about her seeing his nudity and his arousal. She’d never forget that image. And never wanted to. He was a beautiful man, and when he regained his strength, he’d be even more attractive. She didn’t know how she would resist him. He’d been right—she’d liked looking at him. Too much. And she wanted to touch him. Not the way a healer did, but the way a lover might. She twisted the reins in her hand, and her mount twitched its ears.

The wedding her father spoke of could be hers.

She turned to question him and reality set in. He wasn’t looking at her. He was smiling, as if imagining they were already at Grant. Or he was up to something. Mary knew her father well enough to suspect he probably had a very different match in mind for her. He’d warned her to spend less time caring for Cameron. He’d acted quickly to prevent their relationship going any further by corresponding with the Sutherland laird. And he’d warned her to keep her distance, as if he knew her interest in Cameron had grown into something beyond healing.

“Why so suddenly?” Her fist tightened on the reins. “Surely ye canna mean to try to marry me off, as ye did Annie and Catherine. And to a Grant I’ve never met. Who will take my place helping ye?”

Her father gave her a sly glance from the corner of his eye. “I’m no’ thinking about ye. This wedding will be mine.”

This time she did rein to a halt. Shock held her silent for a moment, then she burst out, “Yers! After all these years? Is that what this trip is about?” Her father’s mount was less eager to stop. It carried on a few lengths while she scolded him. “Ye didn’t mention an agreement when ye showed me the letter. Not one hint. So why tell me before we reach Grant?”

He waved their escort on ahead. “Because I knew ye might be upset by my marriage,” he said as he turned his mount to face her, “and would argue about holding a wedding at Rose.” He shrugged. “I have no’ made a betrothal offer, but if this visit goes as I intend, I will make one before we depart.”

Mary took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “How soon do ye expect a wedding to take place? There will be much to do to ready the keep for the wedding of the laird.”

“I’ll leave that to ye and to my future bride.”

Of course he would. “And what do ye plan for me when ye have wed?” She might as well get that answer while he was in a good mood, enjoying his surprise.

“Married elsewhere,” he smirked, “because I’ll get a son.”

Her father’s words should not have shocked her, but they did. Despite wanting exactly what he’d described, she found they cut. Mary threw up her hands, hurt and confused about her future—and his. Her father was daft. Lady Mhairi Grant was close to his age, surely past her childbearing years.

“Whatever ye say, Da.” She wouldn’t argue with him. There were too many ears to hear if their voices rose. And while disagreements between a laird and his heir were inevitable, as were disagreements between James Rose and any of his daughters, Mary didn’t wish to make this one quite so public within the clan.

He lifted his chin and kicked his mount into motion, making Mary struggle to catch up. When she did, he frowned at her. “The clan comes to you for most things, I ken that. But dinna plan to succeed me with that Sutherland invalid. I see how ye look when ye speak of him. Ye have spent so much time with him, ye have begun to imagine a future with him, though I canna see why.”

Insulted for Cameron, Mary’s ire rose. “He’s no’ an invalid. And I speak of him only as someone under my care.” She swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. Aye, she’d thought of him that way for weeks, until he’d started to feel better and his personality had come to the forefront instead of his fever-induced ravings and pain-filled irritation.

Her father might be mistaken about Cameron, yet he seemed deluded about the Grant woman. If her father wanted to marry, and if Lady Grant could make him happy, so be it. But if he wanted to believe that woman could give him a son, well, nothing Mary could say would dissuade him.

* * *

When they arrived at Grant, Mary had to admit the stronghold was impressive. Larger than the Rose keep and surrounded by wooden palisades topped with spikes, it looked formidable enough to hold off Domnhall and Albany combined. The steward greeted them and showed them to their chambers. Before he left, he advised them the evening meal would be served in an hour. Mary appreciated having a few minutes to rest before meeting new people and being judged as her father’s heir. She spent part of the time exploring her chamber. Spacious and filled with fine French furniture, rich fabrics and a gleaming collection of small porcelain dogs, it was more luxurious than any she’d ever seen. She wondered what Lady Grant, once she became Lady Rose, would do to improve the furnishings at Rose. The tug-of-war between her notoriously tightfisted father and Lady Grant would be interesting to watch—if Mary remained there and her father didn’t immediately arrange a match for her.

With Grant? She glanced around her spacious chamber again. Living here would be comfortable, but with a stranger? The thought made her shudder and she wrapped her arms around herself. Prospects at other Rose allies were no better. Rose was closest with Brodie, but with two sisters already wedded to Brodie men, a marriage there was out of the question. Since he was not favorably disposed toward Cameron, her father seemed intent on wasting the opportunity he represented, even when it brought Sutherland to her father’s aid.

She couldn’t think where else her father coveted an alliance. Until his surprising announcement on the way here, he’d been determined to keep her as his chatelaine. They never discussed her future beyond that duty.

A knock at her door roused her from her worries.

“Milady?” A lass’s voice sounded from the hall.

Mary opened the door to a maidservant who announced, “My Lady Grant sent me to see to ye. I’m to unpack and prepare ye for supper. We must hurry. We haven’t much time.”

“Of course,” Mary said and stepped aside to allow her to enter. “What is yer name?”

“I am called Jean, milady.” She immediately set to work laying out Mary’s dresses. She stowed everything else back in the trunks. “This one seems least crushed,” Jean announced, shaking out Mary’s fine, blue woolen kirtle. “Then I’ll do yer hair.”

Mary agreed and changed from her travel-worn clothes as quickly as she could.

“While ye are with the mistress, I’ll see to yer dresses,” Jean promised and chattered on as she undid Mary’s braid and brushed out her hair.

Mary, unused to such treatment, relaxed and enjoyed the feel of Jean’s ministrations. She was nearly dozing, dreaming about Cameron’s touch on her face, when Jean finished and began twisting her hair into an arrangement Mary had never attempted on her own.

Someone knocked at the door. “Mary, ’tis time,” her father announced as he pushed it open.

“Already?” Her heart thudded in her chest, surprising her. Suddenly nervous about what this meal might bring, she hesitated.

Her father smiled. “Ye look lovely, lass.”

The unexpected compliment added to her nerves. “Thank ye, Da. I’m nearly ready.” Jean nodded and stepped back, allowing Mary to stand. She smoothed her skirt and turned to her father. “Shall we?”

He held out a hand, escorting her from the room and down the steps with uncharacteristic care. Had he, too, been entranced by their more luxurious surroundings?

Lady Grant herself greeted them at the entrance to the great hall. She hadn’t changed much from the way Mary recalled her at Annie's wedding. Petite, with blonde hair going gray, thin features and pale blue eyes, she nonetheless had an air of command about her, assumed, perhaps, when her husband passed away and left her in charge of the clan. Her smile failed to reach her eyes as she chided Mary’s father. “I did no’ ken ye were bringing one of yer daughters. I thought ye had gotten them all safely wedded away by now.”

“Nay, no’ Mary. She is my eldest and serves as my chatelaine,” he replied, then colored. “At least until I marry again. My future wife will take over those duties, of course.”

Mary cringed at his gaffe. Of course Lady Grant would become chatelaine at Rose. And she hated to admit it, but from the look of the Grant keep, they’d be lucky to have her—if Rose could afford her refined tastes.

“Of course. Yer eldest. Yer heir then, too?” Lady Grant gave Mary a speculative glance.

“For now,” was the extent of her father’s reply. Mary stiffened, but let it pass. She dared not make a scene, though she was still annoyed with her father for refusing to tell her the purpose of the trip until after they were on their way. And for not admitting he intended to offer for Lady Grant.

When she saw who waited at the high table as she crossed the hall behind Lady Grant and her father, her belly sank.

“Here we are,” Lady Grant announced as they ascended to the dining platform. “Laird James Rose, here is my son and heir, Kester, and his elder sister, Seona. This is Laird Rose and his eldest daughter and heir, Mary.”

The Grant heir, who looked to be about twelve years old, nodded to them, then looked away, apparently already bored with the niceties. Seona Grant looked like a younger version of her mother. Dark blonde hair coiled about her head, framing a high forehead and pale blue eyes. Thin lips and a long nose kept her from being beautiful, though prominent cheekbones made her face striking enough, Mary supposed. Then, as Mary’s father bent over her hand, she simpered, revealing her true age. She couldn’t be any older than Mary’s youngest sister, Catherine.

Mary bit back a groan. A young heir and his older sister. Would Lady Grant bring them to Rose as well? Who would hold Grant for young Kester? Nay, that would never do. Lady Grant would not leave her son behind. Which meant what? Who would her father choose to marry? Did Lady Grant have a sister or cousin they’d yet to meet?

Lady Grant had them seated, Seona between Mary and her father, the lady and her son on his other side. After the meal was served, her father fell into conversation with Lady Grant. As far as Mary could see, Kester sprawled and picked at his food, only perking up when a pretty serving maid came near him. Mary was left to draw out the reticent Seona.

“Yer home is lovely,” Mary began, hoping a compliment would get a conversation started.

“Ye can lay that at my mother’s feet,” Seona sniffed. “She has a taste for the finer things.”

“And ye dinna?”

“Fine furnishings are well and good, but I prefer fine things I can wear—clothes and jewels. Compare my dress to yers, for example.”

Mary swallowed, at a loss for how to respond to such rudeness. She opted to take the high road. “Yers is lovely. Mine, sadly, is somewhat the worse for having been packed away while we traveled.”

Seona sniffed and looked Mary up and down. “Ye would never be accepted at court in a muslin shift. Ye must wear silks, and jewels such as mine.” She laid a hand at her throat, where pearls glinted.

Mary had no pearls. If her mother ever possessed them, Father had sold them to keep the Rose coffers full or to get the clan through hard times when crops failed or the fishermen were less than successful.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mary replied and turned her attention back to her meal.

“No’ that ye are ever likely to be sent to court,” Seona added.

Mary closed her eyes and thought about the likely consequences if she stabbed the haughty lass with her eating knife. Nay, that would never do. But she couldn’t help considering it. While Mary contemplated murder, Lady Grant captured her daughter’s attention and drew her into conversation with Mary’s father. Mary sighed in relief. She had a few moments to eat in peace. Like the surroundings at Grant, the meal was sumptuous and to Mary’s taste, excessive. Who needed so many courses? They were not at Court, and most Highland clans could ill afford to waste anything, food included. Her father’s new wife would have to adjust.

She glanced around, studying the people in the great hall. If her father wed a relative of Lady Grant’s, would the woman try to match her up with one of the men here? None of them appealed to her, though she knew better than to make assumptions based solely on looks. Some Rose men with the least attractive appearance were also some of the best at what they did, or the friendliest, and would likely make some lass wonderful husbands—if they had not already done so. No doubt, the same could be said for the men she saw at Grant. Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t be here long enough to become acquainted with anyone.

And besides, Cameron Sutherland waited for her at Rose. He’d promised to remain until she got back. And Cameron swore he kept his promises. Given what Catherine had told her about him and what she’d learned in their time together, Mary believed him.

A match with Grant would be out of the question from her father’s perspective, anyway. If he married a Grant, he would not need his daughter to wed into the clan, as well. He’d already been clear with Catherine about his reluctance to waste another daughter on Brodie after Annie married the laird, Iain. Catherine had managed to wed Kenneth Brodie anyway. In her father’s mind, the same restriction would apply to clan Grant. Which left Mary right where she’d been when she arrived at Grant. Unable to foresee her future—and whether it included Cameron.

* * *

The next morning, her father stopped by her door on his way down to break his fast. “We are finished here,” he announced. “We’ll be leaving soon, so make certain ye have packed all yer belongings.”

“So soon? What about yer betrothal plans, Da? Have ye…”

“Come down as soon as ye are ready,” he said, interrupting her, and then closed the door.

Mary stared at the heavy oak, frowning. He hadn’t answered her questions about his betrothal plans. At that thought, Mary’s belly filled with buzzing bees. Maybe, since he’d spent more time with the lady and her family, he’d changed his mind about picking a bride at Grant. Which might leave him free to pick a husband from Grant for her.

She shook herself, not liking the thought one bit, and, with a silent apology to Jean, went to work repacking everything the lass had so carefully laid out. Where was she when Mary most needed her? Da would be eager to leave and would not be pleased if Mary delayed him.

At least they were leaving for Rose this morning. She laid aside the dress she had folded and crossed her arms, trying to contain the longing filling her. Eager to return to Cameron, she told herself she was simply worried about him. She didn’t miss him. Or want him. Though she did.

Stop it!

She had to focus on getting her father away from Grant before she did something to embarrass him like murdering Lady Grant’s daughter. With the image in her mind of being on her horse headed back to Rose and to Cameron, she hurried through the rest of her packing.

Downstairs, Mary entered the great hall, her belly sour with dread. If the meal went at all as yesterday’s had gone, she’d be stuck trying to draw conversation out of Seona Grant again, and she had already exhausted her supply of small talk, not to mention her tolerance for being disparaged. Her father hadn’t helped. He’d focused all of his attention on the lass’s mother and barely glanced Seona’s way.

Her father, Lady Grant and her heir were already at table. And so was Seona, on her father’s other side, as usual. She saw no sign of any other Grant lass who might be a prospective bride. Perhaps there would be no betrothal and they had wasted the trip.

Mary nearly groaned aloud as her father noticed her entry and broke off the spirited conversation he seemed to be having with Lady Grant. She frowned as he indicated for Mary to sit next to the sour-faced Seona. Only for a little while, Mary promised herself, and then they’d be on their way. Given the glazed look on Seona’s face, the lass was barely awake and wouldn’t utter a word. Mary could tolerate her silence long enough to get through one last meal.

“Good morrow,” she offered as she took her seat. She would be polite, even if Seona wasn’t.

Seona shook her head and went back to staring at the trencher before her, hands clasped in her lap. Her rigid posture gave Mary pause. Was something wrong? The lass seemed upset—and unhappy. Perhaps she’d been told their parents would wed after all and disapproved of whatever arrangements Lady Grant intended to make for her brother and her. She might have heard how Mary’s father had treated betrothals for her younger sisters. Seona would have reason to fear how he’d control her marriage prospects

Mary suddenly felt pity for Seona. If she had a beau here at Grant, chances were strong Father would never allow her to wed the lad. Mary debated whether to warn her, but decided this was not the place or time. Seona would find out soon enough.

The smell of food restored Mary’s appetite. She had barely taken a bite of her own breakfast when her father stood and took Lady Grant’s hand on one side and Seona’s on the other. Seona gasped and paled, making Mary glad she hadn’t warned her what her future might be like. She took Seona’s other hand and whispered, “’Twill be well,” even though she hated that she probably lied.

Seona shook her head as Mary’s father lifted her hand and pulled her to her feet.

The shimmer of tears in the girl’s eyes shocked Mary. Yet her mother, who now stood on the other side, wore a wide smile.

Confused, Mary frowned. Did Seona oppose the idea of her mother being wed again? She’d been widowed for years, as had Mary’s father. The lady would be a good companion for her father, and an experienced chatelaine, which would free Mary to pursue her own life, if her father didn’t immediately betroth her to a stranger.

James Rose waited until everyone in the hall noticed he and the Grant women were on their feet, and ceased speaking. Then he cleared his throat.

Before he could say anything, Lady Grant announced, “Laird Rose has some happy news to share with ye.” Then she turned to him and prompted, “James…”

He nodded, but Mary thought he looked a trifle annoyed that Lady Grant had exerted her role as head of the clan and took control of the room before he had a chance to. Well. She would be an interesting partner for him. Another woman to stand up to his demands, as his younger daughters had done. Mary smiled to herself. He should be used to headstrong women. He’d married one in France and raised three equally determined daughters.

“Lady Grant and I,” he began, then glanced aside until she nodded for him to continue. “Lady Grant and I are pleased to announce a betrothal between clan Grant and clan Rose.”

Truly? Mary watched, fascinated, while the hall echoed with a rumble of voices. He had their attention now. Here it comes, she thought and schooled her features to polite interest. Why had her father not told her his plans before he told the gathered Grant clan members?

“The documents were signed this morning. I am happy to inform ye,” he continued with a glance toward Seona and Mary, “Lady Grant has agreed to betroth…”

He stopped and cleared his throat, making Mary tense. He should be happy, yet suddenly, he looked nervous, his gaze shifting around the room, lingering on her, then settling on Lady Grant.

“…Has agreed to betroth her daughter Seona to me.”

Mary couldn’t help it. Her mouth fell open. She looked from her father to the lass standing between them and back to her father again. On his other side, Lady Grant wore a smug smile, as did her son, who smirked at his sister. He must be happy to have his older sister out of his way, though the Grant succession stayed in the male line. Her absence, however, left him the sole object of his mother’s attention and under her control until he reached an age to take over the clan. Mary wondered if he’d considered that in his eagerness to see his sister wed to an older man.

“The wedding will take place at Rose in a fortnight,” her father added, as Seona collapsed into her chair, pulling her hand from his.

If Mary hadn’t already been seated, she would have collapsed into hers, too. As it was, the gasps of the assembled Grants in the hall rolled over hers, and covered the soft whimpers Seona uttered.

Mary sat, frozen, while the noise died down, wishing for some of Annie’s optimism or Catherine’s brashness. Something that would let her react to her father’s announcement with anything other than shock and dismay. Seona was the same age as her youngest sister, nearly nineteen, to her father’s forty-two summers.

“I’m pleased my daughter will be instrumental in strengthening the ties between Grant and clan Rose,” Lady Grant added, smiling at her people. Then she turned to Mary’s father. “I look forward to being received at Rose in a fortnight for the nuptials.” Her smile quickly turned to a frown as she regarded her daughter, now seated, pale and shaking, her hands clasped together on the tabletop and her head bowed over them as if in prayer. “Seona,” she hissed. “Stand up.”

The girl tried, but her knees would not support her. Mary put a hand under her arm and whispered to her, “Ye can do it. I’ll help ye,” then lifted. Seona must feel humiliated. Her new betrothed simply turned to frown at her. Far be it from him to add his support. Mary returned his frown with a glare, heedless of how it might appear to the gathered Grants.

Seona made it to her feet, but it was a near thing. Clapping and cheers suddenly filled the hall, and she looked up in surprise, pink staining her ashen cheeks.

Mary noted one well-built lad slam down his tankard. His table companion gripped his shoulder, but he knocked the man’s hand away, jumped to his feet and bolted from the hall. She glanced at Seona. Her gaze was on the hallway where the man had disappeared, her brow and lips pinched with pain. So Seona did have a lad she cared for. Or one who cared for her.

This was awful. She’d been through similar upsets with her sisters and hated the prospect of another. Her father made Iain choose among the three of them then denied his choice. He’d also made three ill-advised matches for her youngest sister, Catherine, who loved the Brodie lad her father had refused. Each time she’d seen the misery on Catherine’s face, she’d wanted to scream at their father. Not that screaming would have done any good. Not then, not now. As bad as what he’d done to Annie and Catherine had been, this was so much worse. How could he even think of taking a young lass like Seona to wife?

She shuddered. Of course, he wanted a male heir. His daughters were grown and gone, except for Mary, and with Catherine’s departure last month, his thoughts must have turned with urgency to his legacy. Her father was smiling benignly at the gathered Grants, as if nothing were amiss. While she still felt sorry for Seona, she found the idea of a male heir suited her fine.

Mary patted Seona’s hand, trying to soothe the lass. How embarrassed would she be if she fainted dead away in front of her entire clan? Her pallor told Mary it could happen.

But Seona as chatelaine? Surely the girl was as ill-prepared for that responsibility as she probably was for motherhood. She’d already said she didn’t care about the things around her—just her clothes and jewels. How would she care for a clan, a keep and her own bairn? Mary knew full well on whom James Rose would lay the responsibility to see her readied for all of those.

Mary’s hand froze over Seona’s as she realized her tenure at Rose was far from over.