“Ye heard what I did to my first husband.” She deliberately looked at his crotch. “Are ye no afraid I’ll cut it off?”

*  *  *

Alex threw his head back and laughed. “I do like your spark, Glynis.”

If he could keep things light and easy between them, all would be well—or, at least, well enough. He was determined to raise his daughter in a home without the fights and screaming that he grew up with. From his parents, he’d learned that one strong emotion led too easily to another, that love could turn to hate. And hate lasted far longer.

Magnus Clanranald had made the same mistake that Alex’s father had, embarrassing his wife by being brazen about his other women. There was no need for that. A good husband was sensitive to his wife’s feelings. If Alex could not control his urges, then he’d keep his affairs brief and out of Glynis’s sight.

“I’d always respect ye.” Alex looked into the fire and spoke to her from his heart. “I promise I would never embarrass ye. I would always be discreet.”

Both his parents had told him countless times that it was not in his blood to be content with one woman. But at the moment, at least, all his urges involved Glynis. He would not be satisfied until he had her a hundred different ways. By the saints, he wanted this woman as he’d never wanted another. The last four days and nights had nearly killed him.

He turned, intent on dragging her off into the bushes at last. But he stopped short when he saw that the fire burning in her eyes was not the sort he had been hoping for.

“Oouu!” The sound she emitted as she sprang to her feet made him glad there was no crockery about for her to throw at him. Apparently, promising to be discreet had been the wrong thing to say. He stood up and considered how best to soothe her.

“What woman,” she said, planting her fists on her hips, “could say nay to having such a considerate husband?”

“I don’t want to lie to ye,” he said. “I’ve never tried to be faithful, so I don’t know if I can.”

“Ye are a born romantic, Alexander Bàn MacDonald.”

Good lord, did hardheaded Glynis MacNeil expect love? He’d had no notion she harbored such hopes.

“I thought your first marriage would have cured ye of unreasonable expectations,” he said—and knew at once he had made another a mistake.

“So, I am the unreasonable one?” Her eyes were narrow slits like a wildcat’s ready to strike. “And yet, ye would expect me to mother your daughter, manage your household, and be your bedmate for as long as ye like. And then, when ye tire of having me in your bed, I’m to stand aside while ye have one ‘discreet’ affair after another with every willing woman in the Western Isles?”

Alex shifted from foot to foot. He did not sleep with every willing woman, but it seemed best not to mention that just now.

“And because ye are such a handsome, charming man,” she said, spreading her hands out, “I would, of course, agree to this arrangement.”

“Ye are a sensible woman,” he said, though he was having serious doubts about this. “Ye have to marry someone, and I’m no worse than most.”

Not much worse, anyway.

“Besides,” he added, “ye already went to bed with me, so we ought to marry.”

“I presume,” she continued, as though he had not spoken, “that I could have affairs as well, so long as I was discreet.”

“Nay.” The word was out of his mouth before he thought it. He would have to kill any man who touched his wife, but he thought better of telling her this. “Suppose ye became pregnant? I’d need to know that the child was mine.”

“Setting aside the fact that I’m verra likely barren,” she said. “You’re saying it would be well and good for me to raise your children by other women, but no the other way around.”

“Aye.” That was the way of the world. Why did she make it sound as if he had invented it? “But I only have the one child.”

“So far.” She folded her arms. “I appreciate that ye blessed me with your kind offer, but I will not marry another philanderer. If I am forced to take another husband, I’ll wed a steady, serious man I can rely on.”

He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.

“You, Alexander Bàn MacDonald,” she said, poking her finger into his chest, “are the verra last man in all of the Highlands I would want for a husband.”

*  *  *

Sorcha opened her eyes to blackness, and fear rushed through her. When she heard the soft breathing of the women on either side of her, she knew she was not back in the room with the big mice. Still, she wanted to see the stars to be sure.

Taking care not to wake Glynis and Bessie, she crawled out of the tent on her hands and knees. Across the cold campfire, her father sat alone in the dark. He was no more than a black shape, but she knew it was him. And he was sad.

The grass made her feet wet as she walked around the campfire to him.

“Ye couldn’t sleep either?” he asked in a soft voice when she crawled into his lap.

She nodded against his chest and pointed up at the stars.

“A wish?” He always seemed to understand her. She felt him chuckle, and he said, “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

Together they found the brightest star so he could make his wish.

Sorcha didn’t need to make one. Hers had been granted when her father found her.

CHAPTER 27

By the saints, Glynis MacNeil was a stubborn woman. In the week since Alex suggested they marry, she had not spoken to him except when absolutely necessary.

Worse, she spent far too much time riding beside D’Arcy. They were in front of him and Sorcha now, engaged in a lively conversation that involved hand motions as much as words. It appeared that she was teaching D’Arcy Gaelic. Still, Glynis had kept her promise to care for Sorcha on the trip. Every night, she sat by the fire with his daughter in her lap and then slept with her—instead of him.

Alex usually let women come to him, but he was not above seducing Glynis to persuade her to wed him. It should not be difficult—he could tell she wanted him. He was always catching her eyes on him, because he was always looking at her as well. Unfortunately, the opportunities to seduce her while riding out in the open with twenty men and his daughter were few, so Alex was biding his time until they reached the Campbell stronghold.

In the meantime, he was wooing her with his stories around the campfire. Glynis was a constant surprise, for beneath that sober, sensible demeanor was a lass with a weakness for a good tale. Alex hoped her weakness would extend to the storyteller.

“That castle ye see across this loch is Inveraray Castle, the seat of the Campbell clan,” Alex said, pointing it out for Sorcha. Sometimes now he spoke to her only in Gaelic, and she would tap on his arm to let him know when she did not understand. “We’ll reach it tomorrow.”

Glynis slowed her horse to ride beside them.

“The Campbells are a powerful clan, and this is just one of their castles,” Alex continued. “The Campbell chieftain can raise hundreds of warriors.”

He glanced at Glynis’s stiff form and decided that a wee bit of jealousy might help his cause. “Glynis, do ye think I should look for a wife among the Campbells? Nothing would please my chieftain more.”

“Nor mine.” She gave him a look that would slice through granite. “I suspect a chieftain’s daughter would appeal to those land-grabbing Campbells.”

“If ye wish to catch a man, I suggest ye work on your charm,” Alex said. “Men like sweet, agreeable women.”

Sorcha tapped on his arm, but he shook his head. This was not a conversation for a child.

“Is that what ye will tell your daughter?” Glynis asked. “That she must be sweet and agreeable?”

“If I wanted her to wed, I would,” he lied.

“Hmmph.”

Sorcha was tapping furiously on his arm. Finally, he tore his gaze away from the infuriating woman riding beside him to look at his daughter.

“Why are we arguing, is that what ye want to know?” he asked Sorcha. When she nodded, he said, “Because Mistress Glynis is stubborn as a mule and can’t see what is good for her.”

He repeated it in three languages to be sure Glynis did not miss his meaning.

*  *  *

Sorcha had fallen asleep with her head in Glynis’s lap long ago, and Bessie was yawning beside her, while the men took turns telling stories. Glynis had steeled herself against Alex attempting to get her alone on this, their last night before reaching Inveraray Castle, but he appeared in no hurry to leave the main campfire.

She should rouse Sorcha and Bessie and go off to bed, but she was enjoying the tales. If she were truthful, she was only waiting to hear Alex. No one could tell a story like he did—and it gave her an excuse to watch him.

When at last it was Alex’s turn, Glynis smiled in anticipation.

“Since we are about to visit the Campbells, I’ll tell ye the true story about how the Campbell chieftain’s brother became the Thane of Cawdor.”

Alex stretched out his legs, settling himself for a long tale. As he told it, his voice carried around the circle, drawing them in and warming Glynis as much as the fire.

“Seventeen years ago, the last Thane of Cawdor died, leaving no heir but a wee red-haired babe. Her name was Muriel, and she was the last of her line, the sole heiress to the ancient seat of Cawdor.

“Chieftains from all over the Highlands started scheming, each set on making a match between young Muriel and his son—for whatever man the wee lass wed would become the next Thane of Cawdor. The lass was but a babe, so they had plenty of time to work their plans, or so they thought.

“But all that land and wealth in the hands of one wee lass proved too great a temptation to the Campbells. One day, when wee Muriel was four years old, her nursemaid took her outside Cawdor Castle to enjoy the fine weather. And that’s when a party of Campbells, who had been waiting for just such an opportunity, burst out of the woods and stole her away.”