"The pleasure was mine. Society on the island is often rather flat." Clive sighed with what seemed to be genuine regret. "Unfortunately, tomorrow I'm going to London for a few days. I hope you're still here when I return."

"Do hurry back," Catherine said with a bright, false smile. The longer he stayed away, the happier she would be.

They collected their horses and set off along the track toward Great Skoal. She held her tongue until they were walking their horses across the Neck. Then she said icily, "Why the devil did you allow that to happen?"

"Allow? One doesn't have a choice when attacked by a man with a saber."

She gave him an exasperated glance. "You could have ended it sooner. You're a better swordsman than Haldoran, but you pretended otherwise."

"You guessed that? I'm not as good an actor as I thought." Michael's mouth curved in a humorless smile. "Your cousin is skilled with weapons, but he is an amateur, not a professional. Unfortunately, he does not like to lose. After I made the mistake of outshooting him, he was bound and determined to prove he could best me at something. The sooner I let him win, the sooner we could go."

"Letting him preserve his pride could have resulted in you being badly injured," she snapped.

His brows rose. "I think this is the first time I've seen you angry. I didn't know saints could lose their tempers."

"I never claimed to be a saint, and I have no patience with a man who blithely allows himself to be used as a pincushion."

"There was no danger of that." He gave her a slow, intimate smile. "You're being unreasonable. I rather like it."

The tenderness in his eyes disarmed her temper. He was right; she was overreacting to the incident. If she wasn't careful, she might realize how deeply her feelings were engaged.

She released her breath in a slow exhalation. "I couldn't bear it if you were hurt while helping me. I feel guilty enough about enlisting you in this mad scheme of mine."

"Don't waste your time on guilt," Michael said with a hint of bitterness. "It doesn't accomplish a damned thing."

They had reached the end of the causeway. He linked his hands together to help her into her saddle.

When she was back on her horse, Catherine said gravely, "Be careful around Haldoran. He's a strange man. I must be grateful for the way he helped us in Brussels, but I can't like him."

"I'm not fond of him myself. I've met similar would-be heroes in the army. They rarely lasted long." Michael mounted his horse. "You needn't worry that your cousin will provoke me into a fight. There's no one like an old soldier when it comes to avoiding unnecessary battles."

She smiled, her fears allayed.

Unfortunately, his own were not. During that impromptu duel, he had sensed that Haldoran would not have minded causing a lethal "accident." But why would the other man want to kill?

It could be from sheer bloody-mindedness, of which Haldoran had more than his share. But there might be another motive. Michael had noticed a hungry possessiveness in Clive's eyes when he gazed at his beautiful cousin. Could desire have created a secret wish to see Catherine's alleged husband dead? Perhaps.

One thing was sure: Haldoran should be watched carefully.

When Catherine and Michael went into the castle, they came across the butler with a tea tray. Guessing it was for her grandfather, Catherine said, "Olson, may I visit the laird now?"

"I shall inquire," the butler said grandly.

After he left, Michael said, "Shall I go with you, or should I leave you to the lions while I take a bath before dinner?"

She considered. "It might be better if I go alone. I suspect that an old rooster like my grandfather feels the need to crow and proclaim himself king of the hill if there's another male around."

"A trait that runs in Penrose men."

"I've never seen you do that kind of posturing."

He gave her a wicked smile. "I don't have to."

She laughed, but after he left, she realized it was not really a joke. Michael had the quiet confidence that didn't need to prove anything to anyone.

Or did he? Remembering how he had looked when telling her of his father's recent death, she realized that his confidence lay in physical skills, at which he was a master. In the murkier areas of the emotions, he was less sure. She found the knowledge that he was vulnerable oddly endearing.

Soon Olson returned. "His lordship will see you, ma'am."

She followed him through the house to a sitting room that adjoined the laird's bedchamber. The butler gestured toward the French doors. Through the gauzy curtains, the outline of a wheelchair was visible. "His lordship is outside."

She stepped through the doors onto a sunny balcony with a fine view over the island. Her arrival was watched by both her grandfather and a large brown hound. The dog looked rather more friendly. Not bothering with pleasantries, the laird growled, "Here to see if I'm ready to turn up my toes?"

She smiled, less intimidated than she had been at their first meeting. "I'm pleased to see you, too, Grandfather." She settled in a straight-backed chair. "You're looking well today. Naturally I'm devastated by such signs of health, but I shall endeavor to hold up under the disappointment."

His jaw dropped. Then he gave a reluctant smile. "You've a wicked tongue, girl."

She grinned. "Who do you think I inherited that from?"

"A very wicked tongue," he muttered, but there was amusement in his eyes. "What do you think of my island?"

"There's an amazing amount of diversity for an area so small. Meadows, moors, wooded valleys. I was impressed at how nearly self-sufficient the island is."

"And the people?"

She turned her hand palm upward. "The ones I met were rather reserved, but that's only natural."

"As well they should be. Feudalism is a damned fine system, but everything depends on the character of the overlord. They'll want to know you a good deal better before they trust you."

"Speaking of feudalism, I was startled when we passed some men working on the road and Davin said every male over fifteen on the island owes the lord a fortnight of labor a year. I thought that sort of thing was abolished centuries ago."

"Why shouldn't men work to maintain their own roads and harbor?" her grandfather said. "The island's customs originated for good reasons. Only the laird can have a dovecote because pigeons eat the grain in the fields, endangering the crops. I'm also the only one permitted to have a bitch." The hound rose and rested her head on the laird's knee. He ruffled her long ears. "If anyone could have a bitch, the island would be overrun with dogs in no time. You'll understand it all eventually."

She tilted her head to one side. "Are you seriously considering me as your heir, or is your summons merely a game? After all, Clive is male and has known the island all his life. Surely he is the obvious choice."

"Yes, but…" Her grandfather glanced away. "This is not Clive's primary home. He has many other claims on his time. I would rather leave Skoal to someone who will put it first."

It was a good answer. Nonetheless, she sensed that the laird was not entirely comfortable with Lord Haldoran.

Abruptly the laird said, "Tell me about your parents."

She looked at him warily, not sure what he wanted to hear.

He plucked at the blanket that lay over his lap. "I didn't dislike your mother, you know. She was a delightful girl. But I didn't want to see William marry an islander. Skoal is too inbred. It needs regular doses of new blood."

That might explain why he had also opposed Harald's liaison with an island girl. "I can understand the need for new blood in theory, but my parents were very happy together," she said. "My mother loved following the drum. I suppose that's why it never occurred to me to do anything else."

She went on to describe her family's life. Her father's high reputation among his fellow officers and men, her mother's ability to make a home anywhere. How Catherine had learned riding from her father and nursing from her mother; the way both of her parents had loved the sea. Now that Catherine had seen Skoal, she understood why.

Her grandfather listened in silence, his gaze on the horizon. When she stopped speaking, he said, "A pity the boy was so stubborn. He didn't have to leave and never come back."

Having met the laird, she could understand why her father had assumed he would be unwelcome. Tactfully she said, "Their world was each other and the army. I was glad they died at the same time." Her voice broke. "It… it would have been hard for one of them to go on alone."

She blinked back tears, knowing they were grief not only for her parents, but for herself. She had wanted a marriage like her parents'. Indeed, she had assumed she would have it. That expectation made her failure all the more crushing.

Her grandfather cleared his throat. "Your husband isn't what I expected. He seems steady."

"Colin and I were very young when we married. I won't deny that he had a wild streak, but he has never failed in his duty to his family or his men." That was the truth. It was equally true when she went on, "If I were to become your heir, I promise that Colin would bring no harm to Skoal or its people."

"Davin says he had sensible comments about how my land is farmed, and what changes might be good."

"He has an impressive range of knowledge." Unlike Colin, Michael had grown up on a great estate, and apparently he had paid attention to how it was run. Wanting to get away from the subject of her husband, she went on, "Davin pointed out Bone and told its history. Is it really such an unlucky place?"