Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kept kissing him, all the while feeling like a tree with loving branches enveloping a needy boy-turned-man who’d come to sit among her leaves and admire her.

Which made no sense, but for some reason, she felt as if she’d known him for a lifetime—and that this branchy-tree feeling she had when she was kissing him was natural.

Perfectly natural.

Like the eddies on the burn. And the snap of grass drying in the sun. And the sigh of the wind brushing the mountainside.

I must be dreaming, Daisy thought.

I’m a hussy, she realized.

And rather liked the idea.


A few weak-kneed moments later, the viscount released her.

“I can think again now,” he said. “And the first thing I’m thinking is that we will never do that again.”

“Right.” She felt vastly disappointed and concerned that perhaps she was a very bad kisser. But he was good to remind her they shouldn’t. They couldn’t risk it.

“At least not anywhere your stepmother and stepsisters can see,” Lord Lumley continued. “I wouldn’t dare put your Hester and Joe in peril.”

“No. Never.” She felt vaguely hopeful again. And guilty. Nothing could ever imperil Joe and Hester.

“So have no fear,” the viscount said. “Next time, we’ll be completely secluded, so you can enjoy yourself.”

Her head was still spinning, and her lips were tingling. “But I did enjoy myself.”

“Not as much as you could,” he said.

“There will be no next time,” she reminded him, because she did have fear—those fears about Hester and Joe. And the other fear, the one the Furies had taunted her with last night. But she was also angry that things had gotten to this point—that her stepfamily had made her so afraid that she couldn’t live without worrying about people she loved.

“What strategy will you employ with Mr. Beebs to get him to agree to our using the Keep?” asked the viscount.

Not only had he completely changed the subject, he appeared to be thinking clearly, while she was still blinking, trying to forget the feel of his hand caressing her back and his lips teasing her own.

“Mr. Beebs doesn’t mix with the neighborhood,” she said, “but it appears he has a fondness for Cassandra. Perhaps he’ll say yes for that reason alone.”

But inside, she was thinking that the viscount’s lips had done magic, had cast her under a spell in which she couldn’t concentrate on anything but getting another kiss.

“Then Cassandra should ask him,” he said.

“Ask him what?”

“If we can borrow the Keep.” Lord Lumley squinted at her. “Are you listening?”

“Of course.” Daisy blushed and gave a nervous shrug. “I wouldn’t recommend that. Cassandra’s so rude, Mr. Beebs might catch on she doesn’t like him. No, I think I’d better. Let’s go. Right away.” She began the walk to the Keep, hugging herself as she stumbled along, wondering if their idea was so preposterous that Mr. Beebs would laugh it off or call the constable.

But she was also thinking about how she’d kissed the viscount.

Three times now.

Lord Lumley joined her with all their fishing gear and the bag of trout. “If Mr. Beebs says yes, we’ll have to make a plan.”

Her hand swung close to his side, the side with the trout. But she was thinking about how she’d seen that hole in the back of his breeches the day before and how sad it was that he wasn’t wearing the same pair any longer.

“Mr. Beebs has a skeleton staff at the Keep,” she managed to say. “But we’ll need extra maids, cooks, and footmen.”

“Will the men from the village be willing to lead a hunt and pull together a small Highland games?”

“I hope so.” Daisy was actually a bit worried about that. “They don’t get along the way they used to. All the village’s problems used to be resolved during the games and the hunt. Now differences simmer.”

“Is it the same with the women?”

“Yes. They’ve become quite catty, mainly because their husbands are testy with each other. But we’ll need them, as well, to do the cooking for the hunt and the games.”

“What about the ceilidh?”

“We’ll need everyone to dance. And we must have fiddlers and pipers.”

They were halfway to the Keep now.

The viscount’s nearness was still affecting her.

“Even if only half of the anglers come back to Glen Dewey,” he said, “we could make your four hundred pounds. They were rich. They spent vast sums freely. They were also fascinated by the idea of kilts and clans and all the things that Sir Walter Raleigh writes about. I must admit, I am, too. If I had access to my usual wealth, I’d be the first to jump at the chance to stay at the Keep and play Highland warrior.”

“That’s wonderful to know.” Daisy allowed herself the luxury of imagining him in a kilt for a fleeting second before returning to matters at hand. “But what’s even better is that this will be a boost to Glen Dewey. We need some excitement. And an infusion of money. If Mr. Beebs says yes and the venture goes well, perhaps we can repeat it. The village will take on new life.”

They were at the door of the Keep. She was just about to knock when the massive castle door opened.

It was Mr. Beebs himself, dressed in walking clothes and carrying a pair of opera glasses. He was of medium height and medium build, somewhere in his late thirties, and was distinguished by a high-spirited air and his prematurely snow-white hair, which he wore cut straight across his forehead.

“Oh!” he cried. “I was about to go on a hike.”

Daisy made the introductions.

He apologized right away for employing no butler as no one came to visit. “It’s awfully quiet at the Keep. But it’s a fine family you’re staying with, Lord Lumley, full of lovely ladies.”

Daisy was sorry he didn’t often visit Castle Vandemere because he was really a very nice gentleman.

She smiled back. “Yes, Miss Cassandra is busy today.”

“Is she?” Mr. Beebs squinted at a bird that flew overhead.

“She’s so clever,” said Daisy, hoping he was listening. “She’s … making candles right now.”

Which was a lie.

“She’s awfully clever,” echoed the viscount.

Mr. Beebs cocked his head. “Clever girl.”

A silence came over them, and then Daisy let out a sigh and folded her hands. “We were wondering, Mr. Beebs—”

“Yes?” His curious gray eyes bored into hers.

“We were wondering if—” Daisy bit her lip. How would she put it?

And then she simply laid out everything. Not in any particular order. She noticed Mr. Beebs slowly nodding his head occasionally as if he didn’t quite understand what she was getting at, but eventually, he nodded his head at a faster tempo—much faster—and said, “Right, I see,” over and over.

“Well?” She tried not to hold her breath.

The overseer winced. “I don’t know about that. It’s quite a hefty proposition.”

“But—”

“No, I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery. It won’t work.”

“If we give you a portion of the profits?” Charlie suggested.

Mr. Beebs shook his head. “I don’t need any money.”

Daisy bit her lip. “I’m so sorry to hear this, Mr. Beebs. I—I was looking forward to the men’s dance competition, especially the sword dance. Rumor has it you were once a champion sword dancer yourself, where you grew up, near Aberdeen. Of course, that’s probably a silly story—”

“No.” Mr. Beebs drew in his chin. “I was a champion sword dancer, as a matter of fact. But I haven’t danced in years—”

“What a pity the younger generation won’t have the same opportunity.” Daisy released a wistful sigh and turned to look down the glen at the village. “I’ve never seen a Highland games in Glen Dewey. I suppose I never shall. Neither shall my stepsisters. I know Cassandra, in particular, was looking forward to it.”

When Mr. Beebs cleared his throat, Daisy turned back around with a flare of hope in her heart.

“When would this event take place?” he asked her.

“As soon as we can find people to come.”

“Well, now,” he said gruffly, “perhaps we can work this out, after all.”

Daisy exchanged a secret smile with Charlie.

“I’ve a standing invitation to stay with a bird-watching friend of mine near Edinburgh,” Mr. Beebs explained. “And if I go now, I can combine business with pleasure. Last month I received a letter from one of the magistrates in London who handle the Keep’s affairs. He asked if I’d be in Edinburgh at all this summer—he’s there for several months and would like to discuss estate matters in more detail than letter-writing permits. You see, the Keep’s only recently changed hands, about five years ago.”

“That’s considered recent?” Charlie asked.

“Yes,” said Mr. Beebs, “in terms of longevity of possession. Some of these properties stay in a family for generations.”

“Like Vandemere,” Daisy said.

“Exactly,” Mr. Beebs concurred.

“You appear to have a perfectly lovely reason to vacate the Keep.” Daisy grinned.

Mr. Beebs chuckled. “I suppose it is. So do hold your hunt party here, and enjoy yourselves. I would quite like a bird-watching holiday as it is. I’ll be back in less than two weeks’ time. In fact”—he looked around at the beautiful vista—“I’ll leave right after this walk. There’s a black-throated diver I’d like to find first.” He looked upward at the tops of the trees, then gave a small, elegant bow. “Your servant, Miss Montgomery. Lord Lumley.”

And he began to traipse off.

“Shall we tell Miss Cassandra you said good-bye?” she called after him.