“Memsahib, please let me explain.”

He had a point. Juliana closed her mouth and motioned for him to proceed.

Except that he didn’t proceed. Mahindar stood still, his fingers curling again, his distress plain.

Juliana said, “I assure you that whatever you tell me will not leave this room. If you don’t wish me to tell even Mr. McBride, I will not.”

Mahindar sighed. “I wish to be mistaken about this. I very much wish it. I like him—he is so very eager even if he is clumsy sometimes. But he took a large plate of ham and six naan Channan had just pulled from the oven, and ran out the back door. He thought himself stealthy, and he was, because only my mother saw him. My mother, she told me.”

Juliana had to smile. “If you are speaking of Hamish, perhaps he was simply hungry. He has been working hard.”

Mahindar shook his head. “No, memsahib. He’d already eaten well. He wrapped these up and vanished with them, then came back soon after, trying to look innocent.”

Hamish? Juliana wouldn’t have thought it of him. Hamish had told her he lived with his mother, sister, and uncle on a small farm, his father having died a few years ago. Juliana hadn’t heard that the McIver family was especially poor, but times could be difficult in the Highlands. Farming didn’t pay what it used to, sheep were usually owned by the large landholders, and many crofters continued to stream to the factories in Glasgow and the north of England to find steady wages.

“Thank you, Mahindar,” Juliana said. “I will speak to Hamish and sort this out.” She put the lid on her inkpot and set aside her pen and her lists. “You need say nothing of this to him or Mr. McBride.”

Mahindar looked both relieved and unhappy at the same time. “I do like the boy. He puts me in mind of myself as a youth. So eager to please, and I know that I was not always pleasing.”

“I will take it up with him. You go and rest now. You’ve done so much today.”

He looked surprised. “No, indeed, there is much more to be done. Much more. Thank you, memsahib.”

Juliana waited until Mahindar had gone then went in search of Hamish.

“Juliana.”

Elliot’s voice rumbled through the narrow passage between main hall and kitchen as she walked there to look for Hamish. A moment later, Elliot was next to Juliana, pushing her up against the wall.

He curved his body over hers, warmth surrounding her. Instead of speaking to her, perhaps asking where she was going, Elliot put his fist beneath her chin, tilted her head back, and kissed her.

He crushed Juliana back against the wall, trapping her with his strength, and scraped his tongue between her lips. His mouth stole, commanded, left her breathless.

As abruptly as the kiss had begun, Elliot eased it to its end. He looked down at her a moment, then he released her, dropped a kiss to the corner of her mouth, and faded away down the hall without saying a word. His kilt moved against his backside, the hem swinging with his stride.

Juliana remained against the wall, knees weak, her hands pressing the cold stone to keep herself upright as she watched him go.

She was still struggling for breath when Hamish himself came down the passage at his usual half run.

“Hamish.” She made herself stand up straight. “Hamish, stop.”

Hamish halted obediently, panting from his exuberant pace. “Yes, m’lady? Something I can do for you?” He sounded happy, not guilt stricken at all.

Juliana groped for a way to broach the subject tactfully but decided that asking straight out was best. “What do you know about some ham and bread that’s gone missing?”

Hamish regarded her in surprise. There wasn’t much light here, but Juliana could see by it that his blue eyes were guileless. “Nothing’s gone missing, m’lady.”

“I’m afraid you were seen walking out with a large plate of ham and fresh-baked naan.” She gave him a little smile. “Or was Komal mistaken, and the goat ate them?”

Hamish looked even more baffled. “Not the goat. She’s tethered in the kitchen garden, and I carried that food well away from her. No, I don’t think the goat got any of it.”

Juliana blinked at him. “So you admit that you took it?”

“Aye.” Hamish seemed unworried.

“And what did you do with it?”

“Took it around to the footbridge path, to the hill above my great-aunt’s cottage. Ye go around from the castle and cut left before the road reaches the river…” He pointed with his muscular arm down the passage in the general direction of Mrs. Rossmoran’s cottage.

He was describing the path Elliot and Juliana had taken to walk back home yesterday afternoon. “You were taking the food to Mrs. Rossmoran? You ought to have asked me—I would have had a basket made up.”

Hamish looked baffled again. “It wasn’t for me great-auntie. I left it on the path, like he told me to.”

“Like who told you to?”

“Himself.”

Juliana stared. “Let me make sure I understand you, Hamish. Mr. McBride told you to take this food out to the path and leave it there? What for?”

Hamish gave her a shrug that said the ways of lairds were unfathomable to him. “Don’t know. Me grandmum used to leave bowls of milk out for the wee folk. So they wouldn’t steal nothing else if ye did, ye understand. The bowls were always empty in the morning.”

“No doubt,” Juliana said. “But a platter of ham and a pile of buttered Indian bread are a bit different from bowls of milk.”

“Aye.” Hamish’s brows drew down again. “But I didn’t ask. The laird’s business is none of mine.”

“Never mind, Hamish,” Juliana said. “I will take care of it. But if Mr. McBride asks you to leave food out for the wee folk again, do come and tell me.”

“He asked me not to, m’lady. Wouldn’t have now, except ye pried it out of me.”

“Nevertheless, you will.”

Hamish met her gaze, weighing obedience to the laird against obedience to the lady. He heaved a sigh. “Yes, m’lady.”

“Good. Thank you, Hamish.”

Hamish’s grin widened. He touched his forehead in a rough salute, turned, and galloped on toward the kitchen.

Juliana tamped down her misgivings and went in search of Elliot.



Uncle McGregor had all but dragged Elliot into the old billiards room at the end of the wing of the ground floor. Several billiards tables reposed here, only one of which was uncovered. The others were cloaked in huge dust sheets with accompanying layers of dust.

“While your wife is busy worrying about the ballroom and the reception rooms, let’s not forget the refuge for the husbands, eh?” McGregor said. “When she has her grand fête, the put-upon clansmen will need a place to retreat.”

Elliot opened cupboards in search of the cue sticks. He knew from the tedious balls he’d attended with his regiment that most husbands had no interest in gatherings that the ladies so loved, let alone any interest in dancing with their own wives. The gentlemen sought escape in cards and billiards, as McGregor said.

Poor bastards. The last thing Elliot wanted was escape from Juliana. He’d dance with her as much as she wanted. He felt whole and strong in her arms—why would he bypass any chance to have that? When he’d seen her in the passage earlier, he hadn’t been able to resist stopping to steal a kiss. Why say an inane Good afternoon. How are you? when a heady kiss was so much more satisfying? The fact that Elliot could kiss Juliana any time he wished was a thing worth celebrating.

“Many’s the night I whiled away the time in here, with my university mates,” McGregor was saying, a wistful note in his voice. “I hated McPherson then, wouldn’t let him in the door. Funny, he’s the only one left now. Only one who stood by me when my lady passed on and the money ran out…”

Elliot found a wooden box of billiard balls along with the cues and carried them to the table. “My old mates are either dead or have buried themselves in the regiment, never to emerge.”

“Aye.” McGregor shook his head while he took balls from the box and rolled them onto the table. “When we’re young, we think it will last forever.”

Elliot wasn’t ready to become moody and nostalgic yet. He wanted many more years with Juliana before it was time to reminisce in the billiards room with the next generation.

Juliana walking in, her eyes bright, her cheek smudged with dust, was one of those things he planned to reminisce about.

“Mr. McBride,” she said. “May I speak to you?”

Mr. McBride. So formal. Elliot thought about the billiards table behind him, pictured seating Juliana on its edge, her skirts up around her thighs. She could call him Mr. McBride all she liked while she smiled at him with desire in her eyes.