Regency Proposal

Chapter Two

Ian joined his clansmen clustered around the piper in the shadows of the gate leading out of the courtyard to the kitchens. His breathing had slowed, but his blood still ran hot—battle fever aroused by the music. There had been a time when he danced for the pure joy of it. Now he felt like little more than a performing bear on a chain performing for these Sassenachs. He swallowed the anger. It had pleased Carrick and the coin would bring much-needed relief to his people. Lord Carrick could easily have spent his money on entertainment elsewhere.

He emptied the prize purse into his palm, first paying the piper his due, then dividing the spoils equally. ‘Well done, lads.’

‘What is that?’ Logan, his youngest brother, asked, gesturing to the other pouch Carrick had slipped into Ian’s palm.

‘You’ve sharp eyes, young Logan,’ Ian grumbled. ‘Carrick wants us to make another run to France.’

‘I thought we had all the salt we need,’ Niall said, glancing up from the pamphlet he’d been reading by the light of the torch.

‘He wants brandy,’ Ian said. ‘He will have used up most of his supply by the end of this ball.’

‘Brandy is asking for trouble,’ Niall said. ‘It is bad enough running the whisky over the border to England.

Ian quelled him with a glance. ‘How could I refuse after all he has done for us? Besides, his money will help pay for this autumn’s barley.’

Niall shook his head. ‘Admit it, you like the danger.’

Did he? Long ago, he’d wanted to be a soldier, but when his father died, he’d shouldered the duties of Laird without a second thought. It was his responsibility.

Straying from that duty had never resulted in anything but trouble, for him or his family. And smuggling was a necessary evil. Part of the job, if he wanted the clan to survive. And he did, desperately. It was all he thought of, day and night.

‘What say we go down to the tavern and celebrate?’ Tammy McNab said, jingling the coin in his hand.

Ian jabbed at Tammy’s shoulder. ‘Would you spend your money on drink when your babes are hungry?’

A red-haired man of twenty-five who already had three children to his name, Tammy hung his head. ‘Just thought to have a wee bit of fun.’

‘Why pay for it, when Carrick has food and drink for you all in the servants’ hall?’ Ian said.

Tammy cheered instantly. ‘You’ll be coming too, Laird?’

Ian shook his head. ‘I’ve a ship’s captain to meet now I have this new errand. Enjoy yourself on Lord Carrick’s coin. You’ve earned it.’

The men moved off towards the servants’ entrance in the low-slung thatched buildings abutting the castle. Ian turned to leave by the drawbridge. Logan caught his shoulder. ‘Did you see who was watching? The Albrights. I’d recognise Lady Selina anywhere.’

Because she was just so damned lovely. Even lovelier as a woman than she had been as a child of sixteen. And just as much trouble as she had been then, too.

‘I met her inside.’ He curled his lip. ‘I asked her to dance as Carrick ordered. She refused me.’ He hadn’t known whether to be glad or insulted.

During the sword dance, he had felt the intensity of her gaze. Had lost himself in her beauty in the final bars, drawing strength from her shining eyes and parted lips. He’d gone back in time, dancing for the girl who had roamed freely among the heather that long-ago summer. He’d been enchanted by her pretty face and spirit, until he came to his senses and remembered just whose daughter she was.

Something he’d do well to remember now, too. Selina Albright had caused his family nothing but trouble. And he, like a fool, had helped.

‘I’m no surprised she wouldna dance with you, Ian.’

He stiffened. ‘Aye. Albrights have always been a touch above the Gilvry clan.’

‘She might think so, but I doubt she can dance, not with that limp.’

Stunned by a sudden stab of dismay, Ian whipped his head around. His eyes narrowed as he watched the progress of the dark beauty in the white gown as she crossed the terrace on her father’s arm, the hesitation in her step cruelly obvious in the torchlight.

She had refused him for a reason different from the one he’d assumed. He felt an odd surge of relief.

He turned and pushed Logan after the others. He called Niall back and lowered his voice. ‘Keep an eye on young Logan. He’s developing an eye for the ladies and Carrick has too many of them in his kitchen.’

Niall sighed. ‘You are as bad as our mother, always worrying about the lad. You’ll make him worse.’

‘Our mother has lost one son.’ Because he’d let his fondness for a pretty face overrule good sense. ‘I don’t plan to let her lose another.’

‘Then perhaps you should think twice about smuggling.’

‘Now who’s worrying too much?’ Ian snatched the paper from Niall’s hand. ‘You can read this later.’

‘Give it back,’ Niall said, his voice dangerously low.

Ian tossed it to him with a grin. ‘Keep it in your pocket, then, and concentrate on what is going on around you for once.’

Niall grimaced, his eyes turning serious. ‘Make this trip to France the last one, brother, or we’ll all find ourselves at the end of a rope.’

Ian clapped his brother on the shoulder with a confidence that seemed to stick in the back of his throat. ‘It will be fine.’

Against his will, he looked back at the terrace, his gaze seeking the girl whose eyes spoke to him in unexpected ways. She was gone. Just as well. He had work to do.

Topaz needed no urging to canter. Selina guided her off the road and across open ground, exhilarated by the speed and the edge of chill on the breeze against her cheeks. At last she could breathe. And on horseback she could forget her incapacity.

The scent of heather filled her nostrils. Sweet, like the honey they made from the bees in this part of the country, yet earthy, too. She filled her gaze with the beauty of hills of smoky purple. Wild, unforgiving terrain, but so grand it made your heart ache.

She’d forgotten how easily the child in her had fallen in love with this place the first time she had seen it. Forgotten deliberately. Remembering only brought back the pain of loneliness and betrayal. Something she would never suffer again.

She smiled at herself. Such maudlin thoughts had no place in her mind on such a glorious day. Live for the now, plan for the future and let the past belong to the devil. Lord knew there were enough mistakes in her past well worth forgetting.

Thirty minutes later she was wishing she’d stayed on the track. After months of inactivity, her muscles were complaining at being forced to keep her steady in the saddle when as a girl she’d ridden the rough terrain astride, without effort. Riding astride was not an option for the woman she’d become. She rubbed at her thigh with a grimace at the reminder she was lucky to be riding at all. Lucky she hadn’t killed herself or someone else. She slowed the animal to a walk and turned him around.

A black-and-white collie flashed out of the heather. Barking, it snapped at Topaz’s heels. The horse reared. Off balance, Selina clung to his mane.

The animal landed with a thud on its forefeet, jolting her again. ‘Steady, boy,’ she cried out, fighting with the reins as he tossed his head and spun around, trying to watch the dog. He kicked out with a back hoof. Dislodged by the jolt, Selina had no choice but to free her foot and let herself slide to the ground.

She landed on her rump with a groan. ‘Blasted dog,’ she yelled. She stared up at the wild-eyed Topaz. Dash it. She’d never be able to mount him again. She’d have to lead him home. Her first chance to ride in months had ended in disaster.

She stretched out an arm to catch Topaz’s reins. ‘It’s all right, boy,’ she said softly. The nervous gelding tossed its head and pranced farther away.

Double blast.

Her thigh throbbed a protest. Surely she hadn’t broken it again? The thought made her stomach roil. No. She hadn’t heard that horrid snapping sound and it was her rear end that was bruised, and her pride, not her leg. Breathe. Calm down. All she had to do was get up and catch Topaz. It was a long walk home, but she could do it.

She forced herself to her knees.

‘Lady Selina! Is that you?’

Inwardly, she groaned. Of all the bad luck—it would have to be that well-remembered deep voice she heard. She looked up.

Kilted and wild-looking, his black hair ruffled by the breeze, Ian Gilvry looked completely at home among the heather-clad hills as he strode towards her. He always had.

To a girl of sixteen, he’d seemed heroic and romantic. Especially since the first time they met he’d carried her home and then kissed her, a shy fumbling thing when he set her down at the gate. Utterly besotted, she’d plotted every which way to meet up with him again. And again.

In her innocence, she’d assumed he liked her.

‘Are you hurt?’ he said when he came close, concern showing on his face, a large suntanned hand reaching out to pull her to her feet.

She ignored it and sank back down into the springy heather, primly covering her feet with her riding habit. ‘I’m fine.’

He drew back, putting his hands on lean hips, his head tilted. ‘You fell off your horse?’

She glanced at Topaz, who was now happily cropping at the grass just out of reach. ‘I dismounted rather more quickly than I expected. The horse was terrified of your dog.’

The smile on his finely drawn lips broadened. ‘What, an excellent horsewoman such as yourself put to grass by a wee dog?’

‘The dog should be leashed. The horse could have been injured and that would have cost you a pretty penny.’ What was she doing? She had no wish to enter into verbal sparring with the man. She should just get up and walk away.

His eyes, as blue as the sky above his head, narrowed. ‘Gill is still in training. I apologise if he upset your animal.’

Her jaw dropped. Gilvrys didn’t apologise to Albrights. It was a point of honour.

‘Apology accepted.’ She stared off into the distance, willing him to leave.

‘Allow me help you back on your horse,’ he said, his voice no more than a murmur.

Kind. Full of pity. Like everyone else. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

A year ago, it would have been easy to leap to her feet and let him toss her up in the saddle. Right now, getting back on that horse and trying to control him with her aching muscles was out of the question. She should not have ridden so far.

She gave him her brightest smile and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes glaze a little. ‘I think I will stay here and enjoy the scenery for a while. No need to trouble yourself.’

Dark brows drew down. He muttered something under his breath in Gaelic. A curse, no doubt. She felt like cursing, too.

‘Then I bid you good day, Lady Selina. Come, Gilly.’ He gave her a stiff little bow and strode up the hill.

The dog lay down at her side.

‘Go,’ she said and gave it a push.

It stared at her with soft brown, laughing eyes.

Ian whistled without looking back. The dog remained where it was.

With a heavy sigh, Ian turned, walked back, pulling a rope from his jacket pocket. ‘Once more I must apologise for my dog’s bad manners.’ He looped the knotted rope over the animal’s head and gave a sharp tug.

The dog pulled back with a whine. It pushed its nose under her hand where it rested on her thigh.

‘Go,’ she said, desperate for them both to be gone, so she could limp home with a shred of her pride intact.

His blue eyes suddenly sharpened. ‘Can you get up?’

He knew. Of course he did. He’d seen her at the Carricks’ ball. ‘I’m not ready to leave. Why don’t you and your dog just go away?’ She certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of watching her hobble after her horse.

Ian stared down at the petite dark-eyed beauty sitting at his feet in the heather and didn’t believe a word coming out of her mouth. The tautness around her mouth spoke of pain and more than a dash of humiliation.

‘I’ll go when I’ve seen you safely home.’ He stuck out his hand to help her up.

She gave an impatient sigh, placed her small hand in his and he tugged. The quick indrawn breath of pain as she rose caused a painful twinge low in his gut. Damn stubborn female. He gently lowered her back down and crouched down beside her. ‘I knew you were hurt.’

He glanced down at where her riding habit had rucked up over her ankles, showing a pair of sturdy riding boots. ‘Is it your leg?’

Her cheeks flushed red. ‘Partly, if you must know. But mostly it is because this is the first time I have ridden in a very long time. I stayed out too long. I am sure I will be fine in a little while, but I thank you for your concern, Mr Gilvry.’

Once he’d been plain Ian and she’d been a hoyden who one summer had roamed the hills around Dunross and fought a running battle with his younger brothers, the Gilvrys and the Albrights being mortal enemies.

He’d been away at his Uncle Carrick’s most of that summer. He’d returned home for a few days before he went back to school in Edinburgh and met her by accident late one summer afternoon. He hadn’t known who she was at first, and he’d come to her rescue when she twisted her ankle in a rabbit hole and carried her home.

Along with her pretty face and burgeoning womanhood, he’d found her joie de vivre and her artless chatter captivating. She’d treated him like a man, not a boy, and there had been hero worship in those warm brown eyes—a welcome change from schoolbooks and lessons in stewardship.

They’d met several times after that, until they’d been discovered at Balnaen Cove by his brothers. That had not gone well.

‘So it seems I must carry you home again,’ he said, wondering if she also remembered, then wanted to kick himself as shadows darkened her sherry-brown eyes. Of course she remembered. But no doubt she remembered his harsh words, too.

Like a fool, he’d tried to make up for his cruelty, the next time she asked for help, even though years had passed. Too soft-hearted, his grandfather had always said. Drew had paid the price for that bit of softness. Well, he wasn’t soft-hearted any more. Too many people relied on him now.

But nor could he in all conscience leave her here. He reached for her again.

‘It wouldn’t be seemly,’ she said, batting his hand away. ‘I can manage perfectly well by myself. I just need a moment or two.’

The lass always did have spirit to the backbone. And now she was utterly lovely. She looked like a feast for a starving man laid out in the heather.

He shook his head at himself. He did not have the time or the inclination for romping in the heather. He’d always left that to Drew. And because of Ian’s weakness over this female, Drew was no more.

A good Gilvry would leave her here and let Albright have the worry of a missing child, but a true Highland gentleman would never leave a woman in distress. Not even his worst enemy’s daughter. He glowered. ‘You know I can’t leave you here. And nor can I let you walk home in pain.’

‘I will manage, thank you.’

He put his hands on his hips and grinned at her. ‘Then climb aboard your flea-ridden nag and ride away.’

‘When I’m ready,’ she muttered.

Ian sank cross-legged beside her. The faint scent of roses filled his nostrils. Roses and heather. Never had he inhaled such a heady combination, although he suspected it was more to do with her than the perfume of the surrounding vegetation.

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘And I will sit here until you do. Or until you come to your senses.’

She rolled away from him onto her knees, presenting a view of her curvaceous bottom that sent a jolt of lust to his groin. Thank God for his plaid and his sporran or she’d be thinking him no better than an animal.

Gilly ran around her and licked her chin. She pushed him away, struggling with her skirts and the dog. With a small grunt, she got to her feet and took a couple of halting steps towards her horse.

Ian sprang up, putting a hand beneath her elbow. ‘Ach, lass, will your pride no let me help you?’

She lowered her head, until all he could see was the top of her dark green velvet bonnet and the silk primroses adorning its green ribbon. ‘It seems I have no choice,’ she said in a low defeated voice. ‘I cannot ride any more today.’

The anguish in the admission knocked the wind from his lungs. Damn it to hell. ‘This is all my fault. I should never have let the dog off the leash.’

Her head shot up. Dark brown eyes, soft as velvet, met his. ‘The fault is mine. I should not have left the track.’

‘Well, it looks as if there is only one answer to our dilemma.’ He put an arm around her shoulders and one carefully beneath her knees and scooped her up.

She gasped. ‘Put me down. I will not let you carry me all the way to Dunross.’

‘I don’t intend to,’ he said, looking down into those soul-deep brown eyes and feeling as if he might drown. This was not a reaction he should be having, not to this woman.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed her horse’s bridle. The dog followed closely at his heels like the best-trained dog in Scotland. Naturally.

‘Then where are we going?’

For no apparent reason the fear in her voice caused him a pang in his chest, though he was damned if he’d let her see it. ‘To find a less objectionable mode of transport.’

At that she laughed. It was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud and he couldn’t keep from smiling, just a little.

Chapter Three

Selina held herself stiffly, trying to maintain some sort of distance between her and his chest. Impossible, when she was in his arms. Strong arms wrapped around her back and under her knees. The steady beat of his heart vibrated against her ribs. A feeling of being safe made her want to slide her arm around his neck and rest her head against his brawny shoulder.

Safe? With him? Had she banged her head when she fell?

The Gilvrys were wild and unruly. The last time she had seen him he’d ganged up on her with his brothers, calling her Sassenach and thief. And he now was their leader. A man who would do anything to be rid of her father from land he considered his. While she could not refuse his help, she must not trust his motives.

At the bottom of the hill they came across a winding cart track. His steps lengthened as he followed the deep wheel ruts round a sweeping corner to where a long narrow loch glistened like beaten steel in the weak sun. Beside it lay a collection of rough stone buildings.

The old water mill. It looked different—not so derelict—and the pagoda-looking chimney at one end looked new. ‘I didn’t think you Gilvrys worked the mill any more.’

‘My father didn’t. I do.’

‘And added a chimney?’

‘Aye.’

Talk about taciturn. ‘Why does the mill need a chimney?’

He hesitated, his expression becoming carefully neutral. ‘To keep the miller warm in the winter.’

A lie. Though it sounded logical enough. What did it matter that he didn’t care to tell her the truth? She didn’t care what the Gilvrys did with their old falling-down mill.

He carried her into the barn and set her down on a hay bale. Immediately, she felt the loss of the strength around her body, and his seductive warmth, whereas he looked glad to be rid of her. Had she not a smidgeon of pride?

Apparently some part of her did not. The childish naïve part that had admired him from the first moment she saw him. The part of her she’d long ago buried.

Silently, he tied Topaz to a post, while Gilly curled up at her feet.

Her thigh wasn’t hurting nearly as much as before. She’d given it a jolt and the bones that had knit badly had decided to protest the rough treatment. But even though the ache had subsided, she doubted she had the strength to manage her horse. She would have to settle for his alternative mode of transport.

The only occupant of the barn was a small dun-coloured pony, which he led from its stall and proceeded to hitch to a flat-bedded wagon.

‘Your chariot awaits, my lady,’ he said wryly.

She rose to her feet, but he gave her no chance to walk, simply scooping her up and depositing her on some empty sacks he’d laid across the bare boards.

He was unbelievably strong, so unlike most of the gentlemen of the ton who defined themselves by their clothes, not their manly attributes. So unlike the elegant Dunstan.

Oh, now that really was being disloyal.

She shifted until her back was supported against the wooden boards along the side. The smell of barley wafted up. A sweet dusty smell.

He frowned. ‘There are no blankets, but I can give you my coat.’

No. She would not go home wrapped in his coat. It was bad enough she had to suffer his help. Wasn’t it?

‘This will do.’ She picked up a couple of the sacks and covered her legs with one and put the other around her shoulders. She flashed a smile and fluttered her lashes in parody. ‘How do I look?’

‘Like a tinker’s wife,’ he said, a twinkle appearing in the depths of his eyes, making him look more attractive than ever. A twinkle she knew better than to trust.

She kept her voice light and breathy, her smile bright. ‘The first stare of tinker fashion, though, surely?’

The corner of his mouth tipped up as if it wanted to smile more than was seemly. ‘Top of the trees, my lady.’

Something about his bantering tone made her feel warm and her smile softened.

They grinned at each other the way they had on those long-ago summer afternoons, before he had turned his back on her so cruelly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her heart lurched. Her breath caught. Many men had looked at her with heat since her come out. Not once in that time had her heart tumbled over in such a ridiculous fashion. She broke hearts. Men did not touch hers. Ever. That was the way to get hurt.

And besides, she was as good as betrothed to a very worthy man who was utterly besotted.

She turned her face away. ‘We should go.’

‘Aye. I’ll tie your horse on behind.’

She swallowed against the feeling of loss as he walked away, trying to blot out her stupid reactions to his smile by thinking about Father and his reaction when he learned she’d been carted home by a man he despised. Father would not be pleased.

Horse dealt with, Ian leapt easily into the driver’s seat with such agility, he made her feel more clumsy and awkward than she usually did these days.

He half turned in the seat, one foot resting against the footboard, his plaid falling away to reveal his knee and the start of a firm muscled calf dusted with dark hair before it disappeared in his sock. So very male. So very intriguing. So very out of bounds. She forced her gaze away.

‘The track is rough,’ he said. ‘I will take it as easy as I can.’

‘I’m not an invalid.’

‘I never said you were.’ He clicked his tongue and the pony started walking. Gilly jumped up over the side of the cart and landed beside her. He lay against her legs.

‘Off,’ Ian said.

The dog flattened his ears, but didn’t move.

‘Leave him,’ Selina said. ‘He’s keeping me warm.’

‘Lucky him,’ he muttered.

Her jaw dropped. Had he really said what she thought she heard? Or was he being sarcastic? He was staring morosely at the road ahead.

‘What happened to your leg?’ he asked. ‘I saw you walking at the ball.’

So much for her efforts to glide smoothly. ‘My carriage tipped over and fell on me.’

He winced. ‘I hope the idiot driver was suitably punished.’

‘I was. I broke my leg.’

His cheekbones flushed red. ‘Oh. I didna’ mean—’

‘The accident was my fault. I was driving too fast and not looking where I was going.’ Thinking about her recent male conquest if the truth be told. ‘I was lucky I was the only one hurt by my stupidity. It doesn’t hurt much any more, but the bones didn’t set quite right.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He sounded sorry. But then once he’d sounded as if he liked her, until his brothers caught them together.

Sassenach. Thief. The taunts danced in her head. The war between the Scots and the English might be over, but their families would battle until no one remained to swing a verbal sword.

The track had joined the main road where the jolts were less and their pace improved. Soon they were driving through Dunross village where a group of ragged boys were kicking a pig’s bladder back and forth across the lane. When they saw the cart, they came running over. ‘Laird, Laird,’ one of the boys shouted, then said something in Gaelic.

Ian replied in the same language. He half turned to her. ‘They want me to play with them.’

One of them spotted her in the cart and his eyes rounded in his grimy face. He pointed at her and yelled something. The boys all sniggered.

Ian grinned and replied, clearly in the negative.

She squared her shoulders, set her face in untroubled calm while inside she curled in a tight ball. ‘What did he say?’

Ian laughed. ‘Boys. They have one-track minds. They want to know if you are my woman. I told them, no, that you are a lady and to be treated with respect.’

She relaxed, looking back and seeing the boys had returned to their game. ‘Shouldn’t the children be in school?’

‘Aye.’

Could he not say more than one word at a time? ‘You call yourself Laird—why do you not convince their families to give them an education?’

He glanced back at her, his brows lowered, his eyes hard. ‘They call me Laird, because that is what I am. The nearest school is fifteen miles hence.’

‘Why not start a school in the village?’

‘Where?’ He sounded frustrated.

She subsided into silence. Father should be the one to open a school. He owned almost everything except the old mill and the Gilvrys’ farmland.

‘I will speak to my father about setting up a school. Perhaps in the church hall.’

Now he looked surprised, and heaven help her, pleased. ‘It would be a grand thing for the families hereabouts,’ he said. ‘There are children up in the glens who would come, too, when they weren’t needed for chores. It would give them a future.’

She cast him a sly smile. ‘And keep them out of mischief.’

He chuckled. ‘Perhaps, my lady. Me and my brothers got up to all sorts of mischief, despite having a tutor. But it is true that we had less time to get into trouble.’

A feeling of warmth stole through her, the feeling they had begun to talk like friends again, rather than enemies. She liked the way it felt.

As they approached the tavern in the centre of the village a youngish man sweeping the cobbles doffed his hat at their approach. He grinned at Ian. ‘Good day to you, Laird.’

Ian acknowledged the greeting with a nod.

Then the man’s gaze fell on Selina and all traces of good humour disappeared from his ruddy face. He spat on the ground. ‘That’s Albright’s get. You should be dropping her in the nearest peat bog and letting her drown, not driving her around the countryside. It would serve Albright well to see what it is like to lose something.’

‘Enough, Willy Gair,’ Ian said. ‘You know that is not the Highland way of it.’

The young man glared at him. ‘Highlanders look after their ane, not the English who have no business here. You are a traitor to your clan, Ian Gilvry, if you have aught to do with them up at the keep.’ He started towards them, giving Selina a look filled with such hatred that her mouth dried and her heart picked up speed.

‘I’ll speak to you later, Willy,’ Ian said grimly and urged the pony into a trot.

She bit her lip. Nothing had changed over the years. ‘Why is he so angry?’

‘He was evicted last month,’ Ian said flatly. ‘His family had been crofters on Dunross land for generations. When he couldn’t pay the rent, he had to leave. He is one of the lucky ones. His brother-in-law owns the inn and is able to give him a little work and a roof over his head.’

‘Father said nothing about evictions.’

His expression said how would she know what her father did.

‘Why would he?’

‘Sheep.’

Another one-word answer that was as clear as mud. Clearly he wasn’t going to say more. Well, she would just have to ask her father.

‘Almost there,’ Ian announced.

Beyond him, Dunross Keep jutted up into the blue sky.

The last time he’d carried her home he’d been nothing but a gangly boy, but to her he’d seemed like a knight in shining armour, and she his lady. Childish romantic nonsense.

He turned his head slightly, still looking ahead. ‘Angus McIver is heading this way on foot.’

She winced. ‘I said I’d be back in an hour.’ She raised herself up and peered over his shoulder. A severe-looking Angus with a knobby walking stick was striding towards them. She waved.

Ian’s lips pressed tight. He drew the cart up when he came abreast of the big Scot.

‘My Lady. Laird.’ Angus touched the bonnet perched on his head. ‘Thank ye for bringing the lassie home.’

Selina let go a breath. No yelling. No harsh words. A simple grim politeness, but then the Highlanders were known for their impeccable manners. Some of them.

Jaw set, Ian nodded. ‘I’ll drive her in.’

‘Best not. I’ll take her and the horse in through the gate.’

‘Angus,’ she gasped.

‘I’ve no wish to enter the keep,’ Ian said harshly. He clicked his tongue and the horse moved onwards. ‘Not while it belongs to another.’

The whip of his words caught her on the raw. She was wrong about him. He resented her just as much as he always had.

And there was something she’d been putting off saying. She’d forgotten until just now. She’d have to hurry if she didn’t want Angus to overhear.

‘I never thanked you for calling your brother Andrew home after I wrote to you.’

He stiffened, his face turning granite hard.