There was nothing remotely loverlike in the statement. She wondered what was in his mind.

The laird sighed. "Harwell was right-I didn't want to leave Skoal to a single woman. However, now that I've met you, I know you'll take good care of the island." He smiled sourly. "Besides, I've no other choice, now that Clive is dead. I was never comfortable with the idea of him as laird. I should have listened to my instincts." He looked at Amy. "Someday you might be the Lady of Skoal, if your mother doesn't have a son. You'll need that stubbornness then."

Catherine gasped, stunned that her grandfather was willing to make her his heir in spite of all that had happened. Even if Michael didn't want her, she and Amy would have independence, a comfortable income, an honorable position in the world.

She looked out the window at the wild, windswept beauty of the island. Lady of Skoal. She had lied and deceived to achieve this goal, yet her victory tasted like ashes. It was time to make amends. Other widows managed to care for their children without inheriting an island, and she could do the same.

She looked at her grandfather again. "Haldoran told me that Davin is Harald's son. That's true, isn't it?"

Dead silence dropped over the room and Davin's face went rigid. The laird took a deep breath. "Yes, it's true. It's an open secret on the island."

"Then you do have another choice." She moistened her dry lips. "Davin should be the next laird. He knows and loves every inch of the island. It is he who is the true heir to the ancient traditions of Skoal. It would be wrong for me to take that away from him." She looked at her daughter. "I think Amy would agree with me." Amy gave a silent nod.

Her grandfather's fists clenched on the counterpane. "I considered him, but dammit, Davin is a bastard."

"You take great pride in the island's Viking past, Lord Skoal," Michael said unexpectedly. "The customs of the Northmen were different from those of Southern Europe. William the Conqueror was of Nordic stock. His parents weren't married, which is why he was also called William the Bastard. Yet he was a great warrior and king." His eyes narrowed. "Why should the twenty-seventh Laird of Skoal refrain from doing what he knows is right because of petty English customs?"

Catherine silently applauded. Michael was living proof that dubious parentage was no measure of a man's worth.

The duke added, "It might even be possible to arrange for Mr. Penrose to receive the title. The Prince Regent owes me a favor or two."

The laird drummed his fingers on the bed as the silence stretched. Finally he gave a rasping chuckle. "Maybe you're right. Very well, Davin it is. He's already bred sons to follow him, and I won't have to worry about whether he'll decide to move to some more fashionable place."

Davin gasped. His face was ashen, and in his eyes was the expression of a man being offered what he had never dared hope for. "I've never asked or expected anything of you, my lord, not even acknowledgment of my blood."

"I know. That's one reason I have such respect for you," the laird said gruffly. "You've served me and the island faithfully, with never a word of complaint or self-pity. When the time comes, you'll make a good laird, but you need to work on your temper. It won't do to be too reasonable."

Catherine gave a choke of laughter. "I'm sure you've never had to worry about that, Grandfather."

He glared at her. "I'll have no impertinence from you, miss. You've behaved disgracefully, and the only way to right things is to marry Kenyon."

Her levity vanished and her gaze went to Michael. His face showed no reaction to the laird's outrageous statement. "It's been only three months since Colin's death," she said uncertainly. "It would be most improper to consider remarriage."

"Marrying too soon is less scandalous than what you've been doing," her grandfather snapped. "Kenyon?"

"Naturally I am willing to do my duty," Michael said expressionlessly. "However, I don't know if Catherine or her daughter would accept such an arrangement."

"She'll consent-she's a good example of why a woman needs a husband to keep her in line. If you can command a regiment, I suppose you can manage her, at least most of the time. Catherine, are you going to balk like a mule or behave as a decent woman ought?"

She bit her lip. This was all wrong-yet it was also what she desperately wanted. Perhaps it would be best to agree to a betrothal now. It could always be ended. She glanced at her daughter. "Are you willing to have Michael as your stepfather?"

"If you don't marry someone, beasts like Lord Haldoran will keep trying to abduct you." Amy studied Michael critically, then grinned. "I'd choose you over anyone except Uncle Charles, and of course he's married to Aunt Anne. You'll do."

"I'm very flattered," Michael said gravely.

Her throat dry, Catherine said, "Then… I'm willing if you are."

"That's settled," the laird said. "Both of you come over here and I'll perform the ceremony. Davin, Ashburton, you can stand witness."

Catherine's jaw dropped. "We can't get married without banns or a special license or a vicar!"

Her grandfather gave a wicked smile. "The Laird of Skoal has the power to perform weddings, and considering the mischief you've gotten into, the sooner you two are riveted, the better."

It's too soon! But Michael was leaving his position by the wall to stand by the laird's bed. In a daze, Catherine joined him. In a last effort to stop this madness, she said feebly, "We don't have a ring."

The duke promptly pulled a ring off his little finger and gave it to Michael. "That's easily remedied."

The laird grasped Catherine's icy left hand and Michael's right and began the ceremony. At the end, he joined their hands together. "I now pronounce you man and wife, and may you bear strong sons together."

Amy said under her breath, "That's a silly ceremony. What about daughters?"

Ignoring her, the laird said, "You can kiss the bride now, Kenyon. I don't imagine it's for the first time."

There was a pause that seemed to stretch forever. Then Michael's lips touched Catherine's, cool and passionless. Releasing her hand, he said, "Now that the pressing business is out of the way, I'd like to be excused so I can sleep twelve or fourteen hours."

"Me, too," Catherine said in an unsteady voice.

The laird sighed and leaned back against the pillows. "I need rest also. It's been quite a day. Davin, see that rooms are made up for Amy and Ashburton."

After shaking his brother's hand and offering hearty congratulations, Ashburton embraced Catherine. "Welcome to the family." There was far more warmth in his voice than there had been in Michael's. Turning to Amy, he said, "It looks like we may be the only ones awake soon. Since I'm now an uncle of sorts, shall we further our acquaintance? Perhaps the constable can find someone to give us a tour of Skoal."

"I'd like that," Amy said. "Can we also get my things from Lord Haldoran's house?"

Davin said, "The head groom will be glad to oblige. I'd do it myself, but… but I must tell Glynis what has happened." He swallowed hard. "Thank you, Catherine. I'm still stunned that anyone could be so generous."

"Not generous. Just." She stood on her toes and brushed a light kiss on his cheek. "I hope you'll let us visit. I've grown very fond of the island."

He smiled with a warmth that touched his aqua island eyes. "You will always be welcome on Skoal, and in my home."

Everyone left the laird's chamber in a group. After hugging Amy, Catherine turned and accompanied a silent Michael upstairs to the chamber they had shared. He seemed farther away than when she had been on Skoal and he was on the mainland.

As soon as they entered the room, they separated, Michael going to the window to look out at the soft gray rain and Catherine glancing in the mirror. Lord, she was a wreck, with circles under her eyes and hair rioting from her single braid. No one would think her beautiful now.

Nervously she untied her braid and combed her fingers through the tangled locks. Needing to break the killing silence, she said, "That's all you have to wear, isn't it? You and your brother are about the same size. Do you think he would lend you some clothing?"

"Probably." He opened the window to let in the cool rain-scented air. "I'll have to send a message to Lucien to tell him that everything is all right. Otherwise he'll be down here taking Skoal apart in a few days."

As conversation it wasn't much, but at least he was talking. She looked at her oversized wedding ring. It was a gold signet bearing what must be the Kenyon arms. The duke's seal of approval on the marriage. But what about Michael's? Voice low, she said, "So much has happened in the last few days. It's hard to believe we're actually husband and wife."

Michael's breathing changed to a harsh wheeze that made her blood freeze. She whirled around and found him bent over, one hand clinging to the bedpost and the other pressed to his chest. "Dear God, Michael," she exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

"Mild… asthma attack," he panted. "Just need. Fresh air." He managed the two steps to a window and threw open the casements so he could draw the cool sea air into his lungs.

Catherine poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the washstand and took it to him. "Would you like a drink?"

He emptied the glass in two swallows. After handing it back, he turned and slid to the floor, supported against the wall. His face was gray with strain and the pulse at the base of his throat was beating like a trip-hammer. "I'm fine. Really. But, Christ, the second asthma attack in a week. I'm falling apart."