Traitor or Temptress. Helen Dickson

signed an oath of allegiance before the start of ’92, submitting himself and his dependents to King William and his indemnity.’

      ‘Robert swore that oath in shame and bitterness in the presence of the Sheriffs at Inveraray, where my father will hang if he is caught. It is no secret that Robert is prepared to work towards a second Stewart restoration. For the most part he keeps his thoughts to himself, but his hatred of being ruled by an alien Protestant southern government is shared by many West Highland clans who, as you will be aware, form a hard core of implacable, obstinate dissent and remain loyal to the Stewart cause.’

      Having removed most of his beard, Lorne paused to gaze at the face that was beginning to emerge. She saw arrogance in the jut of her captor’s jaw, and an indomitable pride and strength etched in every finely moulded feature. She was also beginning to sense a powerful charisma that had nothing to do with his handsome looks and powerful physique, or that mocking smile of his and brilliant flashing eyes.

      Unbidden, another face floated before her eyes, a face so like this one, but without the arrogance and hard-bitten edge of experience and age. It was the face of his brother David, with features so fair and so perfect. She realised that David would have looked like the boy Iain had once been. Tears misted her eyes and a hard lump appeared in her throat.

      ‘What is it?’ Iain asked warily, seeing her distress and suspecting the reason for it.

      She swallowed down the lump in her throat and whispered, ‘You—you look like—’

      Iain’s features tightened and he stiffened, embracing her in a glance that was ice cold. ‘Don’t say it,’ he warned quietly.

      Heeding the warning note in his voice, Lorne lowered her gaze and, resigning herself with a little sigh, continued with her task in thoughtful silence. Unwilling to let her stop talking and in an attempt to relieve the awkward moment, with his eyes fixed compellingly on her sweet, downcast face, Iain asked, ‘Did you enjoy living with your grandmother?’

      She nodded, glad that he was no longer angry with her for reminding him of his brother. The mood of conviviality between them was a relief and she welcomed it. ‘I love her dearly. It may surprise you to know that my grandmother is Scottish by birth. Her family lived in Leith—but they’re all dead now. When my grandfather came to Edinburgh during the Civil War, he met and married her and took her to live at Astley Priory—his home near York.’

      ‘And your mother? How did she come to meet Edgar McBryde?’

      ‘When she came to Scotland with my grandmother on a rare visit to her family. She met my father in Edinburgh.’

      Iain shifted his position to make himself more comfortable on the rock, his arms still folded around her in what had almost become an intimate embrace. ‘When this is over, will you ever forgive me for kidnapping you, Lorne McBryde?’

      His question was so unexpected that Lorne searched for something to say. After a moment she shook her head, her hair rippling down her back like water from a pump, and she slanted him a smile so wide it was like the sun rising over the Scottish mountains. ‘Well,’ she said, trying to sound severe despite the mirth shimmering in her eyes. ‘I might forgive you for kidnapping me, because I understand why you are doing it, you see—but it’s a hanging offence to make me shave you.’

      Iain laughed out loud at that, and the unexpected charm of his white smile that followed did treacherous things to Lorne’s heart. She was glad to discover he had a sense of humour.

      ‘Then I may repeat the offence by asking you to shave me again tomorrow—and each day after that while you remain at Norwood. Now—continue telling me how your parents met.’ Iain was amazed by his own curiosity to know everything about her, and sublimely content to let her beauty feed his gaze, creating within his being a sweet, hungering ache.

      ‘They were attracted to each other from the start, but my grandparents were against them forming any attachment. They did everything they could to keep them apart, but my mother was determined to have her way.’ Lorne smiled wistfully. ‘For all his blusterings, my father loved her deeply, and he was quietly proud of the way she would stand up to him and speak her mind. I recall him telling me how stubborn she could be—that she was as hot-headed as any man, and that she had a temper that could make a mountain tremble.’

      ‘She must have been a rare jewel, your mother.’

      Lorne met his gaze, seeing his eyes were warm and smiling. ‘Yes, she was, although I don’t remember her very well.’

      ‘And she had traits that have been inherited by her daughter.’

      ‘It looks that way, I suppose. Anyway, she was set on marrying my father and in the end my grandparents gave in—but it broke their hearts. They never saw her again—or Robert and James. When my mother died I was three years old. Determined to abide by my mother’s wishes, my father made sure my education was taken care of and that I was taught English, although for most of the time I was virtually ignored and left to do very much as I pleased. If I had been a boy, it would have been different,’ she said in a matter-of-fact way, having accepted the truth of this at an early age.

      About to attack the tuft of hair growing around the cut on his cheek, which she had left until last, she said, ‘After—after what happened—when my father was outlawed, as I have already told you I was sent to live with my grandmother.’

      ‘And now? Is there a reason for your return?’

      She nodded, growing cold on being reminded of what awaited her at Drumgow.

      Iain’s brows drew together into a slight frown as he looked at her, seeing her eyes were tinged with sadness. ‘Is it so very terrible?’ he asked gently.

      ‘It is to me,’ she replied quietly. ‘It is Robert’s wish for me to marry one of his neighbours.’

      ‘I see.’ His expression sombre, Iain considered her for a space, then asked, ‘And is this prospective bridegroom known to you?’

      ‘Yes—and to you, too, I believe. It is Duncan Galbraith.’

      There was a moment’s silence as Iain digested this news and then he looked deep into her eyes. ‘So that’s the way of things. And do I detect a reluctance on your part?’

      She nodded, seeing something in his eyes akin to compassion. ‘Because I was so far away I was unable to participate in the betrothal negotiations. With my father’s permission Robert proceeded without me. Duncan is Laird of Kinlochalen now. His older brothers were killed in a skirmish with a rival clan. Both Robert and Duncan welcome a union between our families and are eager for the wedding to take place as soon as I arrive at Drumgow.’

      ‘What I see in your eyes tells me that the bride is not so eager to sacrifice herself on the altar of matrimony merely to unite two ancient bloodlines. Why don’t you want to marry Duncan Galbraith?’

      Lorne’s eyes fell from his. ‘I have my reasons. I am not obliged to share them with you,’ she answered quietly, wondering what his reaction would be if she told him that it was Duncan who had betrayed the whereabouts of Iain’s brother that day to Ewan Galbraith, and that because of it she had sworn an oath never to speak to Duncan again for as long as she lived. She could never forgive him, but nor could she convey the knowledge of what he had done to Iain Monroe either.

      ‘I don’t want to marry him—and I will beg my brothers’ understanding, but I fear my protests will be to no avail against Robert’s determination—and my father’s, if, as you say, he has returned to Scotland. In fact, I strongly suspect that it is my father who is behind it.’

      Iain gave the proud young woman within the circle of his arms a long, assessing look. By kidnapping her he had inadvertently, but effectively, ruined all her chances of acquiring a decent husband in her grandmother’s genteel world—unless the scandal her liaison with Rupert Ogleby had caused had already put paid to that—but his instinct told him that these things would not concern Duncan Galbraith.

      She was the precious property of Edgar McBryde, and—if