"I'll leave if it would help," Ian offered.

Meredith glanced at the door. "No, damn them. I'm a Macrae, but I refuse to get involved in this ridiculous clan war."

She saw a glint of humor in his eyes. "If ye're a Macrae in these parts, ye'll have little choice."

"Then maybe I'd better just go home." She took her seat and reached for her wine glass, but his hand covered hers and enveloped it in its warmth and strength.

"Or stay and try to put an end to it."

Meredith looked up at him in surprise, wondering if he could feel her pulse racing. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Ian did not reply immediately, but his fingers caressed her hand, and his eyes probed hers. "I'm talking about giving up certain… plans… and picking up where your uncle left off in the peacemaking process."

What plans was he talking about? Her plans to return home? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought that he wanted her to stay. "Do you think anyone would listen to an outsider?" she asked, finding the idea of being a peacemaker between the clans appealing. And finding her suspicions of Ian Sinclair melting away. He couldn't be the beast her kinsmen believed him to be. His expression was sincere, his eyes guileless.

"I think you could be very convincing. But it wouldn't he easy. Your kinsmen are a stubborn lot."

"And yours aren't?" Meredith grinned and withdrew her hand at last, not because she took offense at his comment about her relatives but rather because holding hands with him made her feel a little too vulnerable.

They returned to the interrupted meal that was now nearly cold and ate without talking for a few minutes. Then Ian asked, "What is it about Corridan that makes you think you want to stay here? It's a rough place, almost uncivilized in some respects."

"That's its appeal." Meredith busied herself removing their empty plates. "I love the very wildness of the place. I like this rustic cabin. I like the simple ways of the people." She seized the opportunity and added pointedly, "I like the fact that it's not spoiled by tourists and commercialism."

She saw a frown cross his brow, but it vanished as swiftly as it appeared. "I thought Americans worshiped tourism," he said, and she heard an unpleasant sharpness in his voice. Had he thought she might condone such a plan as he had in mind for promoting tourism in Corridan?

"Some do, I suppose. But I don't. I can't bear to visit some of the tourist towns near where I live. They've turned into nothing but streets lined with souvenir shops selling rubber tomahawks and moccasins made in China."

Ian stood and went to stir the fire. "I'd hate to think what tourism would do to Corridan. Those kinds of shops would be selling little plastic replicas of Duneagen Castle. Or fake brass letter openers with the castle on top."

Meredith heard the bitterness in his tone and couldn't believe he was pretending. If this man planned to clear the village to make way for tourism, he was certainly putting on a convincing act to cover his scheme. Perhaps he was not Angus Stewart's employer after all. But if not, who was?

She joined him in front of the fire. "Tourism would ruin this place, Ian. Don't… don't ever let that happen."

He moved closer and touched her cheek, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. How she hoped he wasn't working with Stewart.

"It'll not happen as long as I have a say in what goes on around here. But there may be others with different ideas." He looked deeply into her eyes, his expression troubled. What was he implying?

She didn't have time to ask, for slowly, resolutely, he lowered his head until his lips met hers, and when they touched in the most tender of kisses, she forgot all about tourism and clan feuds. His arms enfolded her and drew her against him, and she leaned into the breadth of his chest, closing her eyes to all but the moment. The warmth and strength of his embrace filled some deep emptiness within her, a loneliness she had successfully ignored until now, and she opened her lips to him. His kiss deepened, replacing tenderness with a heightened passion that only whetted her appetite for more.

Then as suddenly as it began, it was over. Ian released her and stood back, holding her away from him. "Why did you let me do that?" he whispered hoarsely.

She couldn't reply, as raw emotion seized her breath and tightened her throat. She hadn't let him do anything. Had she? He had simply taken what he wanted. She found her voice at last. "I think you had better leave now."

The chimes of the clock in the hall rang Westminster style, keeping Tan fully aware in fifteen-minute increments of the night that was escaping him. He tossed on (he bed, hammered his fist into the pillow, and cursed himself for ever having called on Meredith Wentworth. Because now there was no escaping her. She was under his skin like a thistle, and try as he might, he didn't seem to be able to go back to the time before the kiss. Or to return to objectivity about her. She was everywhere. In his mind, in his senses, in his very soul, it would seem.

And yet, he mustn't be naive. She had talked a good line about not wanting tourism to spoil the area, but it could have been just that-a line.

Sometime past two A.M., sleep finally claimed him, but it was a sleep filled with unfriendly dreams about a beautiful but deceitful woman who made love to him while behind his back arranging for his demise. He awoke exhausted and filled with renewed determination to discover who was behind the threats brought by Angus Stewart.

"Has Britton called yet?" It was only eight o'clock on * Monday morning, but Ian could wait no longer and telephoned his office.

"It's early," his secretary reminded him.

Ian didn't give a damn how early it was. He realized he'd only given his barrister a few days to investigate Angus Stewart's claims, but he wanted answers. If Meredith Wentworth was in any way connected to the scheme proposed by Stewart, he must know it immediately. Before he let any more of his heart slip away.

'Tm going to Aberdeen," he said, making an impulsive decision. "Would you please place a call to Britton's office and see if he can have lunch with me? I should be there by noon. One o'clock at the latest."

It was half past twelve when he pulled into the parking lot of the law firm. George Britton was waiting for him, but from the look on his face, Ian surmised he did not have good news.

"Let's discuss this whole thing over a pint," Britton suggested gently. •

They walked the short distance to a nearby pub and ordered lunch, then the elderly barrister held up his pint of dark Scottish stout. "Here's luck to you, Ian, And it looks as though you're going to need it. I've done the checking you asked of me, and what Angus Stewart claims appears to be true. Your ancestors stole Dun-eagen Castle from the Macraes." Ian stopped drinking the bitter ale in mid-sip and stared at his longtime legal representative..

"You're joking."

Britton set his pint down again and waved a hand in the air. "Now, don't get all upset. That's not to say you don't have legal ownership of it. Lots of land and properties changed hands that way back then. It could, however, mean a court battle to prove your right to the title and castle, and that takes time and money, not to mention the headache."

Ian groaned. "Who's behind it? Who hired Stewart?"

"Stewart's a lowlife. No self-respecting Scotsman would employ him. He works primarily for foreign interests. Does lots of work for American oil companies." '

"So who hired him?" Ian asked again.

"I can't prove it, but word is around that a consortium of American investors who own a large cruise-line company has eyes on Duneagen Castle and the town of

Corridan. They want to turn it into some sort of resort, a fantasy port of call that will give their rich customers a trip back in time, so to speak, so they can play at being in olden-day Scotland. It sounds like the kind of thing Stewart would get involved in. What's he offered you?"

Cold disappointment knifed through Ian. An American cruise-line company? Did Meredith work for them? She claimed to be the heir of Archibald Macrae, but the arrival of an American in Corridan at this time seemed just too coincidental. His suspicions that she was somehow involved in this development scheme were too strong for even the memory of her kiss to overcome.

Ian answered Britton's question, and the barrister winced. "Sounds like it's time for pre-emptive action."

Ian listened distractedly as George Britton rambled on, assuring him that the court would uphold Sinclair ownership of Duneagen Castle, but his mind was on Meredith Wentworth. Please don't let her be involved in this, his heart pleaded. Don't be a fool, his mind warned.

At last he could stand it no longer. He laid a twenty pound note on the table and stood to go. "Sorry, old chap. I can't wait for lunch. By all means get the ownership thing sorted out with the courts as quickly as possible. And keep an eye on Stewart, won't you? He seems a devious little devil. Call me if you learn anything more about these Americans, too."

Before George Britton could overcome his surprise at his client's sudden departure, Ian was out the door, car keys in hand. Nothing, not even ownership of the castle, was more important to him at the moment than to hear from Meredith's lips that she was not involved in any of this. He only hoped he could tell if she were lying.

Chapter Eight

The grocer was polite but not friendly. The people she passed on the street either barely nodded, stared at her openly, or looked the other way. No one greeted her warmly as they had done previously. Meredith knew she was being shunned. It didn't take long in a little town for word to spread that she'd been seen with the enemy.

She'd thought Robert Macrae was her friend, but she'd quickly learned that even within a clan there were limits. And she'd gone over that limit last night in inviting Ian Sinclair to dinner.,

After her brief and somewhat unpleasant visit to the village to pick up a few supplies, she returned to the cottage and donned her hiking boots, then set out with a sandwich and a bottle of water to climb into the high moors. Maybe up there at the top of the world, the brisk wind would clear her mind, and she could put things into perspective again.

Her mind wouldn't let her wait until she had reached the heights, however. It kept going over and over her dilemma with each step she took: she was a Macrae wanting to be friends with a Sinclair. The clan's treatment of her angered her, for although Ian's visit hadn't been planned, she'd had every intention of using it to find out what he was up to, which would have helped them all. They had been discussing tourism, edging around the subject, when, well… the kiss had gotten in the way. Meredith blushed at the memory but didn't try to chase it away. At the moment, she felt far friendlier toward Ian Sinclair than she did toward her own clansmen.

The fact was, however, she'd missed her chance last night. The opportunity had come and gone for her to ask Ian point-blank for a straight answer about his intentions for the village. She wanted to see him again but had no idea if that would happen. And if she did, what made her think he would tell her the truth if she asked? Her feelings for Ian Sinclair were dangerous, for she was strongly attracted to him, and she was liable to believe him no matter what he told her. It horrified her to think she might truly be consorting with the enemy.

By the time she reached the crest of the moor high above Duneagen Castle, she was miserable and conflicted. She sat on a rock and bit into the sandwich but found it hard to swallow. She considered just packing up and leaving Corridan. Maybe she didn't belong here after all.

She didn't want to go, though, until she knew the fate of her own property, if nothing else. There was little she could do to defend it from the other side of the ocean if Ian tried to remove the villagers. She had to find out what was going on. But how? She had no car. She couldn't just pop over to Aberdeen and check out Angus Stewart. Nor did she have any idea how one went about going through property records in Scotland. Even before last night, Robert Macrae had not wanted her involved, and she was certain he would not welcome her intrusion into village affairs now. It seemed there was only one option. Ian. She must find him again and demand the truth. And be strong enough to handle it if he told her he was behind the plan to evict the villagers. She just couldn't believe it of him, but then, she didn't know him very well.