Claimed by the Laird. Nicola Cornick

breach with his wife, who sat in her castle at Cardross telling anyone who would listen what a brute her husband had been to her.

      Except...except that she couldn’t shoot Lachlan, because she had dropped her pistol. She had dropped it when Lucas had kissed her, and until now the memory of that kiss had sent it completely from her mind. She felt a sickening, sinking feeling. Lucas would not have forgotten. She was willing to bet that even now her beautiful engraved brass pistol was in his possession.

      It was one more reason to be rid of him. If he dared show his face at Kilmory tomorrow—and somehow she suspected that Lucas Ross would dare a great deal—she would pack him off back to Edinburgh even if she had to put him in a coach herself.

      Galloway was waiting, watching her. His eyes looked tired. She wanted to send him to his rooms to rest, but she knew he would refuse. There was always more work to do.

      “Any other problems, Galloway?” Christina asked.

      “No, ma’am,” the butler said gratefully.

      Christina nodded. “You are interviewing for the new footman tomorrow,” she said. “I have had word that one of the candidates, Mr. Lucas Ross, is...unsuitable. I would ask that you do not offer him the job.”

      A shade of hauteur came into Galloway’s manner. He stood up a little straighter. “Ma’am?”

      Christina knew she was trespassing. The running of the servant’s hall was entirely the business of Galloway and the housekeeper, Mrs. Parmenter. By interfering she was implying that she thought them incompetent. At this rate Galloway would be the next to resign.

      “I want to make sure that any new staff will fit in here at Kilmory,” she said carefully. “My father grows ever more eccentric, as you know, and I would not want anyone to upset the balance of his health.”

      “His Grace need have nothing to do with a new footman.” Galloway was stiff with outrage at the thought of the duke lowering himself so far. “I am sure that you may trust my judgment in choosing the appropriate candidate, Lady Christina.”

      “Of course,” Christina said, sighing. “I beg your pardon, Galloway.” She knew better than to press the matter now, with Galloway already standing on his dignity. Tomorrow she would make the point again and he would listen.

      “Mr. Bevan requests a meeting tomorrow morning, ma’am,” Galloway said, referring to the duke’s land agent. “He says that there are a number of issues he needs to discuss with you.”

      “I’ll see him at eleven o’clock,” Christina said. “In the study.”

      Galloway nodded. The tension had eased from his face. “Thank you, my lady.” He took her cloak and gloves. “I will fetch the supper tray.”

      The clock on the landing chimed ten-thirty with a delicate sweetness. They kept country hours at Kilmory Castle, with dinner at six. The duke preferred it. The ritual of the supper tray had been enshrined in family tradition since Christina’s childhood, after which everyone retired early. It gave Christina the perfect opportunity for smuggling business when everyone else was abed.

      Christina smoothed the skirts of her velvet gown. She could not go into the drawing room with damp sand on her hem. Gertrude, gimlet eyed and sharp of tongue, would be sure to notice. She should have changed before she went out to meet the gang, but the message had been so urgent that she had not wanted to delay and give the men a chance to do something violent, something they might later regret.

      She shuddered. She hated violence, hated the sudden, vicious cruelty of it and the pleasure men seemed to take in it sometimes. All her life she had been caring for people, nurturing them and protecting them, whether it was her younger siblings or the wider family or what was left of the Forres clan. It was the reason she had become involved with the Kilmory smugglers in the first place. She had seen the ruthless exploitation of the revenue officers, imposing exorbitant taxes on families who were already barely scraping a pittance from their lands. Such exploitation infuriated her, and she had been fired with the need to protect them. No one had listened to her conventional protests; she was a woman and women should not meddle in politics and economics, or so she had been told in the politest possible terms when she had written to the government to complain. She had seen that the case was hopeless and only direct action would succeed and so with her usual practicality she had set about organizing the smugglers into a ruthlessly efficient band who could run rings around the excisemen. It was her fault that occasionally these days they could be a little too ruthless.

      The drawing room door opened and Gertrude swept out. Small and vigorous, Christina’s sister-in-law gave the impression of attacking anything and anyone who had the misfortune to get in her way. Behind her trailed Christina’s niece, Lady Allegra MacMorlan. Allegra, at eighteen, had all the MacMorlan good looks but drooped with boredom and lack of purpose. Gertrude spoke of marrying her daughter off during the Edinburgh winter season. Allegra showed as little interest in that ambition as she did in anything else. Christina wondered what it was Allegra did feel a passion for. She was sure there must be something.

      “There you are!” Gertrude said disagreeably. “You look as though you have been pulled backward through a hedge.” Her sharp gaze traveled over her sister-in-law, itemizing the damage done by the sand, the wind and Lucas’s kisses. “In fact, you look quite absurdly wild, considering that you have only been strolling in the gardens. This is why I never allow Allegra to walk anywhere at all. It is very damaging to the complexion.”

      “Very true,” Christina said. “However, I am far too old to pay any consideration to such matters.”

      “At your age, the damage is already done,” Gertrude agreed. “Now, I have a task for you. You need to sack the second housemaid. She has been making eyes at Lachlan and, given the parlous state of his marriage to Dulcibella, I do not doubt that with the least encouragement he will run off with her.”

      “I’d rather sack Lachlan,” Christina said. “He is a great deal less use than Annie is. Where would I find another housemaid? It is difficult enough to get servants out here in the back of beyond.”

      “You have a most inappropriate sense of humor, Christina,” Gertrude said frostily. “I quite despair of you.”

      “I will speak to Annie,” Christina said with a sigh. “But I am sure that you are mistaken, Gertrude.”

      Gertrude looked contemptuous. “You are as naive as Allegra,” she snapped. “You never see what is going on under your nose.”

      “Apparently not,” Christina agreed smoothly. “Would you excuse me, Gertrude? I need to change out of these clothes before supper.”

      The rattle of the approaching supper tray sent Gertrude back into the drawing room. Allegra slipped away upstairs ahead of Christina, fading into the shadows at the top of the stairs like a wraith. Christina followed her niece more slowly. At the top she paused beside the statue of Hermes that her father had brought back from his Grand Tour. She barely ever noticed it. All the MacMorlan castles were littered with statuary. Her father was a collector in many ways—works of art, academic papers and classical sculpture. Hermes had been a part of the furniture for as long as Christina could remember, and not a part that she particularly admired. She found herself looking at the statue now, though, comparing the cold marble perfection of the high, slanting cheekbones and the sculpted power of the musculature with Lucas Ross’s living, breathing masculinity.

      She felt heat uncurl low in her belly and turned away hastily, aware that Allegra had paused outside her room and was watching her. She was not sure what was showing on her face; hopefully not an expression that her niece would recognize or understand. As the door closed softly behind Allegra, Christina walked slowly past and into her own bedchamber. It looked as old and familiar as ever, yet she felt different, dissatisfied in a way she could not quite pinpoint, as though she was hankering after something she had forgotten she wanted. Once, a long time ago when she was a young girl, she had been wild. Wanton, Gertrude would have called it. No one had known; no one would even believe it to see the staid creature she had become.

      Yet