*** *** *** A Prussian prince was one of the houseguests that year, and he arrived in splendor with his entourage a few afternoons later. Hart had invited him, first because the man was a longtime friend, and second, because Hart was still uneasy about how Germany was building up industry, including arms manufacturing. His princely friend was in the position to know many things, and Hart intended to use his visit to learn those things and pass them on to those who could act on the knowledge.

Hart stood with Prince Georg in the long upstairs gallery, which was filled with paintings of dour Mackenzie ancestors, interspersed with bright landscapes by Mac or his portraits of Mackenzie dogs past and present. The two men indulged in cigars as they looked out the long windows at the thin layer of pristine snow covering the Mackenzie lands, trees on distant hills outlined in silver.

The conversation had turned to Hart delicately probing for information about an armaments factory, when Beth rushed toward them in a swirl of rust-colored poplin.

"Hart, there you are. I need to speak with you." She passed the two gentlemen but looked back, her eyes wide, when Hart didn't move. "Urgently. I beg your pardon, Your Highness."

Georg smiled--the handsome, blond prince always had an eye for the ladies.

Beth continued walking at a rapid pace toward Hart's private wing. " Quite urgently," she said over her shoulder.

Hart let out a breath. "I need to follow her." He laid his cigar into a bowl on a carved Louis XV table.

"My apologies."

"Not at all." Georg's smile indicated he knew damn well that Hart had brought him here to mine him for information. "Perhaps I will take a stroll in your lovely garden."

"If you prefer a warmer activity, an early dinner is being laid on in the dining room. I'll return as soon as I'm able."

"Of course." Georg chuckled. " Les femmes, eh?" He always used French when speaking about women.

Hart started after Beth down the gallery. His sister-in-law kept a swift pace, and Hart was striding fast by the time he reached the entrance to his wing of the house.

Beth made for Eleanor's bedchamber and walked in without knocking. Hart entered the chamber to see his wife sitting up in bed, a writing desk on the mattress next to her, a sheaf of papers surrounding her.

Menus, Hart saw when he approached. And seating plans, and lists, so many lists.

Next year, Hart would rent a cottage in the middle of the Highlands for himself, Eleanor, and their new baby, and spend Christmas and New Year's in glorious privacy. No parties, no weeks of planning, no dining room full of too damned many people.

A futile dream, he knew. The entire staff of Kilmorgan Castle would follow them into the remote Highlands, never believing that Hart and Eleanor could look after themselves. Considering events of the past, they were probably right.

"No change?" Eleanor asked Beth.

Two pairs of blue eyes turned to Hart, one dark blue, Eleanor's cornflower. A double assault.

"Beth." Hart kept his voice gentle. "I have cabinet ministers and the Admiralty waiting for my report on armaments in Prussia."

"Not to worry," Eleanor said, before Beth could speak. "You rushing off after Beth over some domestic trouble will disarm Prince Georg admirably. He will relax and tell you everything. But I assure you, this is not a trivial matter. Beth came to me at once, which was the sensible thing to do. And, no, this is not about the cold supper for Boxing Day, although of course, I would value your opinion, as always, although . . ."

"Eleanor," Hart said sharply. Sometimes the only way to stop his wife was to talk over her. "Now that you two have brought me here, please let Beth tell me why."

Eleanor blinked. "Well, of course. Do carry on. Beth is frightfully worried about Ian."

"I think I upset him very much when I broke the bowl," Beth said, diving in before Eleanor could speak again. "He seemed all right for a few days, but now he's locked himself into one of the chambers in our wing and refuses to come out. He went in yesterday evening, came to bed very late, and then got up and went right back inside. He's not come out to eat, he'll not let anyone leave him food, he won't unlock the door. Curry says he used to do this sometimes, before I met him."

Alarm rose in Hart. Ian had on occasion locked himself away from his brothers and the world that bewildered him too much. He'd resist all attempts to make him come out, or even speak, although, he'd at least let Curry leave a tray of food outside the door. Even then, he wouldn't open the door until the hall was completely empty.

Hart tried to remain calm, logical. "All the doors in your wing have the same locks now. A key from any other door will open it."

Beth gave him an exasperated look. "This is Ian. He will have thought of that. He's bolted it from the inside."

Hart's alarm threatened to become panic. "Damnation."

"I'm sorry, Hart." Beth's eyes were red-rimmed. "I'm afraid I might have sent him into one of his muddles."

Ian hadn't had a breakdown for a long time. When he'd first come home from the asylum, he often degenerated into panicked tantrums, or he'd spend days without speaking to anyone. His body had been present, but his mind had not. Watching Ian stare straight ahead, refusing to look at Hart or respond to his words, had been heartbreaking.

The incidents had dwindled as Ian grew used to living at home and being around his brothers. They'd all but stopped after he'd met Beth, and they'd ceased altogether after he and Beth had moved into Ian's private house not far from here. The birth of Ian's children had relaxed him still more, a tension Ian had carried for so long easing away.

But Hart had never understood what had made Ian fly into his frustrated rages. Beth might be right, as much as Hart wanted her to be wrong.

Hart went to Eleanor and leaned to give her a brief embrace. She kissed his cheek, her scent and warmth lending him strength.

"Show me where he is," Hart said to Beth. "And send for Ainsley."


* * * * *

Chapter Eight

Ian heard the knocking on the door, but as though from far away. He was on his hands and knees behind a desk, working on a tricky bit. His fingers were steady as he set each object into place.

Vectors, momentum, resistance, acceleration, velocity--numbers and equations swam in his head, and he spoke softly to himself as he worked.

"The angle should be this, not this. A not B. Damn it."

He dropped one, which could have been a catastrophe, but he knew exactly where to pull another of line. Still cursing under his breath, he set the pieces in place again.

The knocking turned to banging. "Ian, open the door."

The stentorian tones of Hart came rolling through the wood. Ian paid no attention. Hart liked to tell the world what to do, but Ian had learned long ago how to ignore him.

"Ian." The shout turned to a roar.

Another rapid knock. "Come on, guv. You've got us worried something powerful."

Ian took another piece from the box and set it carefully into its place. Why, when a man wanted to retreat and do something useful, something interesting, did the entire family have to bluster their way in?

Ian had learned to follow certain conventions so his brothers wouldn't worry too much about him--leaving a note when he slipped away for a few days to fish, for example, instead of simply disappearing.

Not that Ian was good at explaining or remembering to leave notes, but he'd learned that these things kept his family calm. Ian was a perfectly healthy and strong man, yet Hart could fuss so whenever Ian went for a long walk.

Ian had bolted the door, because if anyone opened it, not only would they ruin the surprise, they'd let the bloody dogs in. That would be a disaster.

"Ian!" Hart's voice rose like battering thunder. "Open the door before I have Bellamy fetch an axe."

"Hart," Ian said, raising his voice and speaking carefully so there'd be no misunderstanding. "Go.

Away."

"Ainsley," he heard Hart rumble.

"I can hardly pick a lock if there is no lock to pick," came Ainsley's crisp, clear tones. The bolt's on the inside. You overestimate my skills."

"Then we go for the axe. Mac, get Bellamy."

"Don't you dare bash a hole into Ian's study door," Beth said. Good girl--she'd put Hart in his place. "It will be weeks before we can get a builder at this time of year, and I refuse to live with a door that is so much firewood."

"Persuasion is doing nothing," Hart said, angry. "Even yours."

"Stop it, both of you," Ainsley broke in. "Let me try."

Ian heard the lock of the door click--they'd have found a key for the main lock, which was why he'd had a bolt installed on his private study long ago. When he did mathematics equations that took his entire concentration, he didn't want a maid, footman, or his brothers invading the room and distracting him.

As they were doing now. A faint scratch, scratch sounded, Ainsley setting to work.

At least they'd stopped banging. Ian opened another parcel and reflected that he needed more, much more. He'd have to send to Inverness, maybe farther. How long for a package to arrive from Edinburgh or Glasgow--in time for him to finish for Christmas?

The voices outside the door lowered to normal tones, and Ian put them out of his head. When he finished for the day, he'd take Beth and the children for a walk, or show Beth how well they were progressing with riding.

"What are you all doing?" Daniel's voice floated over the others. "Disassembling doors now, are we?"

The others explained rapidly, Ian trying to shut out the voices. Daniel was clever--if anyone could get the door open, it was Ian's quick-witted nephew. Daniel had blossomed in the last year, with lightning-

swift thoughts, an ability to think of ten solutions to any problem, and a knack for building strange but useful gadgets. He even talked about heavier-than-air flight, about wind, air mass, and fixed wings. Any machine, from steam to electric to the forays into combustion engines, fascinated Daniel.

"Here, let me try this," Daniel said. Something snicked against the door with a more decisive sound.

"I've found it useful prying back bolts on hotel room doors."

"And why, son, were ye prying back bolts on hotel room doors?" Cameron's growl sounded in heavily accented Scots.

Daniel's answer was innocent. "Oh, university high jinks. Pranks. You know."

Ainsley said, "If it involved ladies, do not tell me."

Daniel snorted a laugh. "Very well, stepmama. Ah, I have it."

The bolt slid back and the door handle moved. Ian was already up and leaping across the room, knowing exactly where to put his feet so he wouldn't ruin what he was building.

He reached the door and slammed his hand against it just as Daniel swung it open.

"No," Ian said. "Stay out."

Daniel's head came around the door, Ainsley's fair one below it. "Good heavens, Ian, what are you doing?" Ainsley asked.

"Let me in," Hart said in a harsh voice.

Ian felt the door give, and he shoved back. "Daniel, keep him out. Don't let Beth see."

"Don't let Beth see what?" came Beth's anxious voice.

Hart brought his fists down on the door and shouldered his way past Daniel. He saw the state of the room and stopped. "What the devil?"

Daniel's quick glance took in everything, and his eyes started to sparkle. Hart's brows came down, his anger not abated. "Come out of there, Ian," Hart said. "You're worrying Beth."

"When I'm finished," Ian said.

Hart started to argue, but Daniel stepped into the room and up his hand. "No, no wait. I think I know what he's doing." He scanned what Ian had set up. "Bloody marvelous."

"What?" Beth asked. "Move, Hart, I want to see."

Daniel whirled, kilt spinning, and spread his arms. "Ian's right. Everyone out, or you'll ruin it. Beth, it's a surprise. You'll like it. I promise."

Hart remained fixed in place. Daniel didn't move, and Ian kept his hand on the door, ready to slam it shut.

"I'll stay and help Ian, Uncle Hart. But you all have to go. And leave him alone. I'll look after him."

Hart's expression was murderous. Ainsley shook her head and withdrew.