Ainsley raised her teacup in salute. “Bravo, Juliana. May Mr. Barclay’s wedding bed be filled to the brim with bedbugs.”

“Ainsley,” Rona said, though it was apparent she agreed. “For shame.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Barclay is the one who should be ashamed,” Ainsley said. “How lucky that Elliot turned up to save the day.”

“Not luck,” Elliot rumbled. “Mahindar and whiskey.”

“Then thank heavens for Mahindar and whiskey,” Ainsley said.

“My point is that everything has turned out for the best,” Juliana broke in. “Elliot and I live here now. Pity us if you like, but there it is.”

The two ladies blinked again. Ainsley and Rona had come rushing out here, like fairy godmothers to Cinderella, to rescue the fair maiden, only to find the fair maiden sitting before them, her back straight, primly telling them to go away. Juliana faced his sister and sister-in-law like a terrier confronting bloodhounds, and the bloodhounds weren’t quite certain what to do.

Elliot stood up. He didn’t want to, because he liked the warmth of Juliana against him, but this circle of femininity had gone on long enough.

“Fetch your husbands,” he said, “and either stay for a proper visit or scuttle back home. I will remain here, Juliana with me.”

Ainsley gave him a look of exasperation, while Rona merely raised her brows.

Elliot saw from their expressions that their next strategy would have been to bring Patrick and Cameron in on the matter. Elliot isn’t well, they’d say, and shouldn’t be left up here on his own. Do talk to him.

“But only if Patrick and Cam want to play billiards, shoot, or drink. I don’t need to be mollycoddled by the men of the family either.”

“Did you want us to leave on the moment, dear brother?” Ainsley asked. “I haven’t finished my tea.”

Elliot growled. The windows had been opened to let in the breeze, but he could feel nothing of it. The indoors sometimes pressed in on him, and it started to press in on him now.

They could never understand—and Elliot couldn’t make them understand—the little piece of darkness that gnawed away in the back of his brain and never went away. It had started while he was buried underground, in a place where time was nothing, where hunger and thirst were the only indication he was still alive. In a place where the strongest of men became raving lunatics, the darkness crouched, waiting to drag him back down to it.

I am not there. I am here.

Mahindar had taught him to say that when the darkness started to come. Elliot repeated it silently now, his jaw clenched, while the three ladies stared at him in consternation.

He had to leave. Now.

Elliot realized he still held his untouched teacup. He thrust it at Juliana, who took it quickly, before he strode out of the room.

He knew the ladies would put their heads together after he was gone and discuss what had just happened. Juliana’s defense of him warmed him a little—she’d been eager to go back to Edinburgh with Ainsley, but she’d changed her intent the moment she’d realized that Elliot wasn’t ready for her absence.

Elliot knew, logically, that they couldn’t stay at Castle McGregor forever, but he could make decisions about that later. Much later.

For now, he only wanted to walk.

As Elliot entered the kitchen, Hamish jerked up from where he was pumping water into the sink, blue eyes widening. Mahindar was busily going through the pantry, making disparaging noises, and Channan sat quietly at the table, cutting up vegetables and plopping them into a bowl.

“Rest easy, Hamish, lad,” Elliot said. “I don’t have any knives. But I want a gun.”

Any other time, he might laugh at the way Hamish first relaxed then went ramrod straight with fear again. But he didn’t have the patience.

Mahindar backed out of the pantry. “Memsahib took it from Sahib McGregor and had me lock it away,” he said.

“Then unlock it.” To Hamish’s continued stare, Elliot went on, “For rabbit, or game birds. There’s not much to eat, and my brother and brother-in-law might be joining us for supper.”

“Supper for six?” Mahindar rubbed his bearded chin as he always did when agitated. “That is much to ask, sahib.”

“Send to the pub for the meal then.” Elliot waited, and Mahindar hurried to a cupboard, unlocked it, and lifted out the shotgun and a box of shells. Elliot tucked shells into his sporran, checked the barrels and mechanism, laid the unloaded gun over his arm, and walked out the back door.

No one followed him, thank God. The wind was brisk, the sun high, clouds gathering above the towering mountains. Rain would come later, but not now. Wild country was what he needed. To be alone in it, what he wanted.

A small, muddy figure darted at him as he passed the garden gate. “Come!” Priti held up dirty hands to him, an eager smile on her face.

Something inside Elliot untwisted, and the darkness receded a little, snarling in frustration.

He reached down and scooped up the little girl, settling her on his shoulder, keeping her well away from the gun.

Priti balanced herself without worry, happily holding on to Elliot as they started up the path to the hills.

This child had never known fear. Elliot swore with everything within him that she never would.



When the ladies finished their tea and rose to leave, Juliana said, “I think you should return to Edinburgh. Today, I mean. Without dining with us.”

“Nonsense,” Rona said briskly, but Ainsley, with eyes so like Elliot’s, gave her a nod.

“I think I understand.” Ainsley came to Juliana, took her hands, and kissed her cheek. “He’s my brother, but he’s your husband now, and you need to learn the lay of the land. But if you ever need us, you telegraph. And I promise we will come for a nice long visit once you have settled.” She gave Juliana a grin. “You’ve married into a very large family, and this house, unfortunately for you, is big enough for all of them.”

More kisses, and a stout hug from Rona. “Look after my lad,” she said. “And make certain he looks after you.”

Juliana said a few more reassuring things then walked with her guests out the enormous front door and down the overgrown walk. The two ladies had come on foot, the skies so fair, though Juliana cast a wary glance at the thunderheads on the horizon. The weather could change quickly in the Highlands.

She waved her guests away at the gate then turned alone to her new home, pausing to take it in.

The castle and grounds truly were beautiful. Sunlight touched the pile of house, rendering it golden and hiding the gaps in the stone. Behind the house rose the mountains, liquid light shimmering in their folds, and to the east lay the slice of sparkling sea.

Time to make the place livable. Juliana had kept house for her father since the tender age of eight, when she’d realized that her flibbertigibbet mother, who preferred shopping, gossiping, and dosing herself with laudanum to running a household, would never be able to cope. Juliana had learned much from the butler and housekeeper, who’d become her friends, and after Mrs. St. John’s death when Juliana had been fourteen, Juliana officially ran the household. Gemma married Mr. St. John right after Juliana’s twentieth birthday, but Gemma had been wise enough to let Juliana carry on, never ousting her from doing what she loved.

The McGregor house would be more of a challenge, certainly, than her father’s elegant town house and small manor house near Stirling, but Juliana could do it, she thought. It was all a matter of organizing, and Juliana was most excellent at organizing.

She’d already begun making lists of things they needed to do, subdividing those lists into what must be purchased, what jobs could be left to ordinary laborers, and what jobs would take an expert’s skill, such as the bell system, which was in a complete disarray. To repair it, they’d have to find every rope in every pipe behind the walls and untangle the lot. But no matter—on the list the task went.

Juliana’s bravado flagged slightly as she walked back into the castle’s dusty interior. Hamish had tracked another layer of muddy boot prints in since the day before, but otherwise, all was as it had been yesterday—which meant a chaotic mess.

Because of the broken bell system, Juliana either had to shout for the staff when she needed something or go in search of them. As she reentered the morning room, she decided to do neither this time but carry the tea tray back to the kitchens herself. The empty things weren’t heavy, and Mahindar and his family had so much to do already.

She gathered up the cups and saucers, piling them neatly on the tray. If she fingered Elliot’s cup a little longer than the others, there was no one to see, was there?

When she entered the big kitchen with her tray, she was assailed by pungent aromas of food she couldn’t identify, the scents odd but somehow mouthwatering. A pot simmered on the stove, Mahindar tending it, and Channan sat on her heels next to a large clay pot in the fireplace, poking at something inside.

Hamish was at the sink, scrubbing pots.

“Where is Nandita?” Juliana asked as she set the tea tray on the kitchen table. “Is she all right?”

They’d found her this morning, after a frantic search of the house, hiding in the boiler room. McGregor shooting off the gun had frightened Nandita badly—she’d been certain that soldiers had come to take them away. Channan and Mahindar had to talk to her for a long time before she’d come out again.

“She is with my mother,” Mahindar said. “She will be well.”

Juliana thought of the way Komal scolded Nandita, not to mention the way she’d chased McGregor back to his bedroom, and wondered.

“They are looking after Priti, then?”

Channan looked around from the fireplace. Mahindar shook his head. “No, Priti left with the sahib. He went walking in the hills.”

“With the shotgun.” Hamish didn’t lift his arms from sudsy water, but he cranked his head around for the announcement.

“Oh.” Juliana rolled her lower lip under her teeth. “Is…she all right with him?”

“Yes, indeed, certainly,” Mahindar said without worry. “The sahib always takes care of Priti.”

Juliana relaxed. Elliot did indeed seem to like the child, and she’d seen how gentle he could be with her.

“He is very good to her,” Juliana said. She lifted one of the teacups from the tray, admiring its fineness. Ainsley had been sweet to give them the set.

Mahindar looked surprised. “But that is only natural, memsahib,” he said. “After all, Priti is his daughter.”

Chapter 8