Leana joined the girls and their uncle in the dining hall for supper. Captain MacArron was nowhere in sight. Standing by the table with her hands on her hips, Mrs. Taylor tut-tutted over their lateness as Isla helped her serve the meal.

“Wait for Da,” Bridget said, hugging the cloth doll Leana and Isla had sewn for her. Their creation wasn’t quite complete. Its embroidered face needed a bit more detail, while its muslin head bore not so much as a wisp of yarn hair, and its butter-yellow calico dress remained entirely unadorned. The child had not wanted to wait, preferring to hold the doll now, even in its imperfect state. Very soon, Leana would stitch some eyebrows and a proper mouth onto the doll’s bland little face, Isla would thread yarn hair through its bare head, and together, they would set about making miniature clothes. Leana glanced down at the frayed cuffs on her gray dress—the gown had seen far better days, and she only possessed one more in her traveling case. In all likelihood, the homemade doll would soon have a better wardrobe than she did.

“If Captain MacArron does not care to join us, he can eat his supper cold,” Mrs. Taylor said without any trace of humor.

“Is that so?” MacArron strolled into the chamber, his eyes narrowing as they met his cook’s dour gaze.

“It seems you got here in the nick of time,” she snipped.

“Ye’ve made venison stew. How thoughtful of ye to cook my favorite dish.” MacArron’s smile appeared to melt the cook’s frosty demeanor.

“Aye, heaven’s angels couldna conjure such a savory aroma. Are ye trying to tempt me?” Mr. Howell offered a craggy-faced smile as he sauntered in with Mr. McKown at his side.

Mrs. Taylor gave him a not-quite-sincere scowl. “Might I tempt ye to leave? I’d cook ye whatever ye want in exchange for yer promise to go.”

Rory laughed, and his gaze settled on Bridget and her new doll. “Why, we’ve got another guest. I hope ye made enough to feed the new addition, Mrs. Taylor?”

Bridget proudly displayed their creation. “Her name is Daisy. She’s going to have pretty dresses with ribbons and bows. Isla promised she’d make them.”

Rory cocked a brow. “I’d say the poor wee thing needs some hair…or at least a bonnet…before ye worry about new clothes.”

In reply, the child pulled a face and stuck out her tongue, drawing a hearty laugh from her father.

“Bridget, that is not how a young lady behaves,” Leana admonished in a firm, gentle voice. She shot MacArron a glare. “Such conduct is not to be rewarded.”

He plastered on a look of misunderstanding. Captain James MacArron might have been a masterful pirate, but he was not a convincing actor. Not at all. He held out his hands. “I dinna see a bauble or toy for the lass… no suitable reward.”

“Captain MacArron, I’m confident you take my meaning. If the girls are to be raised as fine young ladies, they must be held to expectations of acceptable behavior.”

“Fine young ladies?” He arched his brows. “Dinna tell me ye’ve got a stick up yer…skirts like the others.”

“A stick. Up my…” She heaved a sigh. “I suppose I should be grateful you censored your language in front of your daughters.”

“That sounds funny, Da.” Bridget said, meeting his eyes. “That’s not what ye said about Miss Crump. Ye said she had a stick up her—”

“Bridget…you should not say such things.” With an effort, Leana kept her tone very even and her expression stern, even as Rory and the others made no attempt to hold back their laughter.

She sighed to herself. She was going to have her work cut out for her as long as these land-bound pirates felt free to speak like men at sea around the girls.

Bridget jutted out her jaw. “But Da said it.”

“That doesna matter,” MacArron said, his voice gentle. “Miss Fraser is right. Ye should not speak of such things. And in truth, neither should I when a lady is present.”

Leana blinked. Then she blinked again. Surely, she had not heard correctly.

She met his still-arrogant gaze. The earth seemed to tilt just a bit, as if it had slipped ever so slightly askew on its axis.

Had the Devil of the Highlands actually admitted he’d been wrong?

And to her, no less?

He seemed to read her thoughts. “Yes, Miss Fraser, I stand corrected. You may mark this as the first—and the last time—you will hear those words.”

She smiled. “Well, I must say, this is a momentous occasion. I shall have to make a recollection of it in my diary.”

Nodding his acknowledgement, he settled into the chair at the head of the table. His brother and the others took their seats, and within a matter of minutes, they were involved in eating their meal. MacArron engaged his daughters in what seemed a pleasant conversation.

Until the moment when Isla inquired about the visitor who’d arrived in a shiny ebony carriage bearing a most impressive crest.

MacArron stared down at his fork, seeming at a loss for words. When he lifted his gaze, his expression had gone dark, as if she’d poked an unseen wound.

“He represents a man who wished to do business with me. I’ve no interest in his offer,” he said finally.

Isla’s eyes glimmered with what looked like excitement. “I hoped he might want ye to go to London.”

The captain frowned. “Why would ye think such a thing?”

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I was walking down the corridor…past yer study.”

MacArron’s frown turned hard. “Ye know better than to be listenin’ to other people’s conversations.”

“I wasn’t, Da. Honest, I wasn’t tryin’. I couldn’t help but hear him. He was loud, and then quiet again.”

Holding her gaze, he gave his head a stern shake. “Dinna trouble yerself with what he wanted. I’ve no wish to speak of it.”

Isla’s shoulders lifted and fell in a little shrug. She speared a bite of potato and popped it into her mouth.

“When will ye take me to London, Da?” she said. “I want to go so very badly.”

His brows drew together as he met her hopeful face. “When ye’re old enough.”

“And when will I be old enough?” Isla persisted.

Rory cocked his head. “What does a lass as young as ye know about such a place? ’Tis a place where the sky is so clouded from the factories, ye can scarcely catch yer breath.”

“Mum told me all about it. She missed the city…she wanted to go back.”

“Enough, Isla,” MacArron said, his voice gruff. “Yer mother made a fine home here.”

“I hate it here. It’s damp and dull and there are no other children. Mum hated it too.” Isla’s lower lip trembled. “And now, she’s gone.”

A muscle ticked in the captain’s jaw, as though he searched for the right words. Leana turned to the girl and reached out to her, covering her small hand with her own. “You’re missing your mum. It’s only natural. I do understand.”

“No, you don’t.” A cold anger beyond the girl’s years infused Isla’s words. “You don’t know what’s here. This castle is haunted. Didn’t ye know?”

“Haunted?” Leana replied gently. “Ghosts aren’t real, dear. It’s only a trick of the imagination.”

“You dinna think so?” the girl challenged.

“That’s enough, lass,” MacArron said. “Ye know how I feel about such nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense,” Isla protested. “There is a ghost in this place.”

Bridget gave a frightened little squeal and nestled closer to Leana. “Please, Da, make her stop.”

“Enough, Isla.” MacArron’s voice held a firm edge. “Dinna fill Bridget’s head with foolish notions.”

“Ye dinna believe me? It’s real, I tell ye. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” the girl went on, her attention fixed on Leana. A note of fear marked her high-pitched young voice.

Leana slowly shook her head. “Phantoms do not exist. When I was a girl about your age, I learned our thoughts can fool us at times. Old houses make peculiar noises. The floorboards creak and groan. There’s nothing to fear.”

“Ye’re wrong.” A single tear streamed down the child’s face, and she swiped it away. “I have seen a ghost. One night…in my mum’s room. It killed her.”

A cry of long-held grief wracked her small body. Isla shoved at the table and pushed her chair away. As the child rushed to the door, Leana leapt to her feet to go to her, but MacArron gently caught his daughter in his arms before she could bolt from the room.

“I’ve got her,” he said calmly as the others looked on, stunned. “Watch over Bridget.”

Tears streamed down the child’s face as her small fists pounded her father’s shoulders and chest.

“It’ll be all right, lass.” MacArron’s voice had gone low, smooth tones meant to soothe and comfort. Ignoring the rain of blows, he enfolded her in his arms and held her close as she sobbed against him, wetting the linen fabric of his shirt.

Leana drew Bridget nearer, holding the wee girl to her chest. Bridget sniffled, the distress in her eyes seeming to be the product of confusion rather than fright.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Taylor said, rushing back into the room. “Not again.”

Isla continued to weep, even as her hands stilled. Easing his hold, MacArron took a step back and crouched low, a look of tenderness on his features. Transfixed by the sight of the powerful man nurturing the distraught young girl, Leana watched the captain brush away a few of his daughter’s tears with the pads of his fingers. Gently, she stroked Bridget’s hair, soothing the bairn’s distress.

When he turned to Leana, the warm emotion she’d seen him display was gone. In its place, a hard resolve had set his jaw in a taut line.

“She needs to take to her bed, Miss Fraser. I trust you’ll see to it.”

The abrupt change in his demeanor startled her, but Leana made an effort to conceal her surprise. Still holding Bridget close to reassure her, she met his gaze.

“Of course. I’ll see to it the girls are tucked in.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Miss Fraser.”

His measured steps tapping a rhythm against the polished wood planks, he marched to the door. His hand went to the latch, and slowly, he turned back to Leana.

“This house is haunted. Isla is right about that. But the specters do not live within these walls. They live in our minds.”