Don sat on the edge of his pallet and hung his head. In the past fortnight he hadn’t had a proper bath and his skin prickled with sweat. Naturally, they hadn’t allowed him to use a razor. He ran his fingers over his beard—scraggly, no doubt. Fortunately, the itching from the growth had subsided.

He studied his filthy fingernails with disgust. Aye, they’d given him a gentleman’s cell, but wouldn’t allow him cutlery with which to eat—and no grooming utensils whatsoever.

If only Miss Mary would have sailed with the galley, she wouldn’t have to see him in such a disgraceful state. But God bless her, she’d stayed to give her statement. Mr. Oliphant had said that with her testimony, he was sure once Colonel Hill’s missive arrived, all charges would be dropped.

Then it would take every ounce of restraint in Don’s body not to seek out Balfour MacLeod and dirk him in the dead of night. He’d had plenty of time to plan his revenge—think about all the satisfaction he’d gain from seeing the life flee from that bastard’s eyes. But the Baronet of Sleat was no fool. Everyone knew he’d sided with the Jacobites in the Battle of Killiecrankie. Everyone knew he’d been born at Duntulm Castle, the once great stronghold of his ancestors, the Lords of the Isles. He’d been born to be a Jacobite, a supporter believing in Catholicism and the God given right of the Stuart’s claim to the throne. Any action he took against the lieutenant would be seen as an act of treason. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream about the pox-ridden maggot’s demise.

The lock to his door clicked. Don looked up with a flutter in his stomach. The brightest parts of his day were the moments when Mary came to call. He lumbered to his feet.

“Sir Donald.” The lass used a formal address in front of the guard. Holding a basket between her hands, she moved inside and sat on the single wooden chair in the chamber. “I trust you are well?”

Sliding his foot forward, he performed a polite bow. “As well as can be expected, miss.” He always gave the same reply.

With a boom, the guard closed the door, though continued to watch them through the barred viewing panel. The swine. Don stood a respectable distance from Mary, fighting every fiber in his body screaming for him to gather her in his arms and smother her with kisses. To feel her soft breasts pressed against him and hold her close for dear life. Damn the magistrate and the King’s Army for taking MacLeod’s side and ruining Don’s reputation.

Mary smiled and removed the cloth from her basket, the ice around his heart always melted when she smiled. “I brought you a cake.” She glanced at it with a wee snort. “It should still please your palette, though our friendly guardsman poked his finger in the middle to ensure I didn’t conceal anything inside.”

“Ever so fastidious of him.” Don picked up the morsel and shoved the whole thing in his gob. Good heavens, his mouth watered. “Mm. ’Tis delicious.”

“Miss Barbara and I asked the cook to show us how to bake it.” She laughed. “You should have seen the pair of us covered with flour.”

“I would have enjoyed that.” Don would have enjoyed doing anything outside the four walls of his miserable cell.

She smoothed a hand over her skirts. “The missive from the colonel should arrive any day and this all will be over.”

He nodded, regarding her hopeful eyes. Such a stunning shade of blue, he would never tire of staring into them. Don had almost given up hope that the colonel would support him. Once a man donned a red coat, he tended to be tarnished by the devil, but Mary’s confidence had a way of infusing him with hope.

“And all has been safe at the townhouse?” Don asked, not wanting to trouble her with the mention of the lieutenant.

“Aye.” She offered another smile—one that lit up the cell like sunshine. “Mr. Oliphant learned that Lieutenant MacLeod has been posted to Dumbarton Castle whilst awaiting the trial.”

Don glanced at the guard. At least he’d turned his back. “’Tis less than twenty miles away. Do not grow overconfident.”

“Not to worry. William has it in hand.” That was code for: “William has an army of Jacobite loyalists guarding the house.”

“’Tis good to hear.” He locked his gaze with hers. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you whilst you’re a guest in my home.” He hoped she realized that was code for: “I love you.”

Maintaining her smile, Mary touched her fan to her heart. Indeed, she understood his meaning. Being in such close proximity to her and yet unable to touch her made a dark void fill his chest. “Mary, I—”

“Time’s up,” brayed the guard.

Standing, she grasped his hand. “I shall think of something wonderful to bring you on the morrow.”

“I should like that very much.” He kissed the back of her hand.

With a knowing wink, she moved her fan handle to her lips. Aye, he wanted to kiss her there, too. “Soon,” he said as he took her to the door then listened to her footsteps fade as they pattered down the passageway.

***

When Mary walked into the townhouse entrance hall, an eerie awareness made the back of her neck prickle. To her utter shock, Fyfe, a guard from Dunscaith Castle stepped from the drawing room. “Miss Mary, ’tis ever so good to see you.”

“Come in here, so I can see my daughter for myself.”

Dear Lord, her father had come to Glasgow? Mary hastened into the drawing room. “Da? Is all well?”

“I should be asking you the same,” he said from the chair by the hearth—the very one Mr. Oliphant had used a fortnight past. “News arrived the Baronet of Sleat has been incarcerated in the Tolbooth.”

“Aye. ’Tis awful.” Drawing a hand to her forehead, Mary’s mind raced. “Lieutenant MacLeod forced his way into my chamber, and then blamed the fire on Sir Donald, and accused him of murder, and—”

“William has apprised me of all that has transpired.” Da waved a dismissive hand. “And to be quite honest, I am irked that you refused to sail home to your family when Sir Donald commanded afore they led him to the Tolbooth.”

The prickles on Mary’s nape turned to a raging fire. “I beg your pardon? You must know I am the only witness who could testify to the lieutenant’s trickery.”

“You’ve given your statement.”

“Aye.” Mary glanced from her father to Fyfe. “B-but a missive should arrive from Colonel Hill of Fort William any day now, and then I’ll be needed for the hearing.”

“The only place you are needed is Dunscaith Castle.”

“I am needed here and—”

Da slammed his fist on his armrest. “Do not take an insolent tone with me. There’s nothing more you can do. Do you realize how scandalous this appears? You’re sleeping beneath the roof of an incarcerated man—visiting him every day—taking him cakes and Lord knows what else.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, Da. Don’t make me leave until Sir Donald’s name is cleared.”

“Has he spoken for you?” Da reached for his crutches. “I ken he has not because I have not received a request from him to court you. As your father, I forbid you to see the baronet again.”

“But he—”

“My word is final.” He motioned for Fyfe to help him to stand. “I have a coach waiting. I’ll allow you five minutes to collect your things and then we are sailing home.”

“I cannot.” Mary stood dumbfounded, tears streaming from her eyes. If she told her father Don had asked her to marry him, it would only make him more incensed. “Please, Da.”

“If you have nothing to collect, then we can leave this instant.”

Mary thought of all the things she’d gathered since she’d been in Glasgow. Don had paid for everything, even the clothes she now wore. It would take ages to pack the lovely gowns, the gloves the corsets and petticoats.

A tear streaked from her eye and threatened to drip from her nose. “I have nothing.”

Through bleary eyes, she regarded the faces of the guardsmen she’d known all her life, and the ones she’d come to know in the past two months. She had nowhere to run. William and Barbara stood in the entrance hall wringing their hands.

Barbara moved forward and kissed her. “I still want to visit.”

Mary choked back a sob. “You’re always welcome.”

“As you are here. Any time,” said William, kissing the back of her hand.

She curtseyed, pressing a calming hand to her chest. “Please give Sir Donald my apologies. I didn’t want to leave this way.”

“Come, Mary.” Da passed with his crutches tapping the floorboards. “I’m anxious to set sail whilst we have a southern wind.”