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As she stepped forward, Glennie’s gaze raked down over Moira, and her lip curled in something that looked like disgust.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her eyes blazing with anger.

“I am Moira Jamieson,” Moira replied in a disinterested tone. She had no intention of conversing with anyone in the McPhee family—she simply wanted to disappear as quickly as possible.

However, Glennie whipped round to confront Ritchie, who took a step backwards as her fierce green eyes met his. “So this is what you are doing behind my back,” she snapped, poking a finger into his chest. “Sneaking around having secret trysts with other women!”

“I wasnae daein’ any such thing,” Ritchie protested angrily. “That lassie was here already. She was pettin’ the horse an’ I wondered what she was daein’. I thought she might be tryin’ tae steal it. You always think the worst o’ me!”

Glennie gave him a fearsome glare before Moira turned around and ran out of the stables into the courtyard. Glennie was furious with Ritchie, but even angrier with the woman he had been speaking to, since it was quite obvious that he was taken with her.

Moira could not move very fast, since she was still limping and her leg was beginning to hurt again, so it was an easy thing for Glennie to catch her up. She laid a heavy hand on Moira’s shoulder and spun her around, almost causing her to fall.

Glennie held her up, however, and kept Moira in place by gripping her upper arms tightly. She studied her adversary for a moment; she was looking at one of the most delicately beautiful women she had ever seen, and the sight of her made Glennie even more jealous.

She had never had to compete for Ritchie’s affections before. Now this woman, who was probably a newly hired kitchen or laundry maid, had information about her that could endanger her relationship with the only man she had ever loved. She would not stand for it.

“Listen to me,” she hissed. “If you breathe a word to the Laird about me and Ritchie, I will have you fired instantly, and I will spread the word to every other family around here that you are not to be trusted. And be warned, I never make promises I do not keep! Do you understand?”

Moira sighed, then laughed. “I do,” she replied. “And I might be terrified of that prospect if I actually worked here, but I do not. Besides, I have absolutely no interest in Ritchie, and I am happy to keep your relationship a secret for as long as I am here. I take it you are the Laird’s sister?”

Glennie was looking down at Moira, feeling a little foolish at having jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Yes, I am Glennie McPhee,” she said, then she looked at Moira curiously. She could see why any man would find her attractive, since Moira almost looked like a creature from a fairy tale.

“Why are you here?” Glennie asked suspiciously.

“I was attacked by bandits, and the Laird’s guards came to my aid. They rescued me, brought me back to the castle, treated my wounds and probably saved my life.”

Moira decided that she might have misjudged the other woman’s motives. She was clearly a person of some status; her dress, although somewhat the worse for wear, was well-made and looked expensive, and she was wearing gold earrings and a gold heart-shaped pendant. Clearly, she was a woman of substance.

“I’m sorry,” Glennie said quietly. “I’m afraid I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I just love Ritchie very much.”

Moira smiled. “I understand,” she said. “There is no harm done, and I am happy to keep your secret.”

“Come to dinner with my brother and me,” Glennie suggested. “It’s the least I can offer after this. We are having venison tonight.”

Moira’s mouth watered. She loved venison, and it was a very long time since she had eaten it. “I would love to,” she said, smiling, although her plans had been ruined, and she would have to wait another day to escape. Still, the venison was a tiny consolation, and one more day was not long to wait,

“Good,” Glennie patted her on the shoulder. “Now, excuse me. I must go and change.”

Moira’s eyes followed Glennie for a moment, then she went on her way. Now that Moira had found her horse, she could carry out her plan of escape. It should be easy enough to leave, she thought; after all, she was not a prisoner. No, she was not imprisoned, but she was lost.

Moira had not intended to turn back to her room, so she had not made a mental note of her route. She was so busy concentrating on this that she ended up straying into the courtyard, where she saw the Laird and a guard, engaged in some more combat practice. However, this time they were not fighting with swords, but with their hands in a bare-fisted match which seemed would not end until one of them was lying on the floor.

Both men were naked to the waist, however, and Moira was mesmerised by them. Sandie had told her what the Captain of the Guard looked like. Now, she was seeing for herself. He was a wiry but strong man, and although he was a few inches shorter than the Laird, he was still holding his own.

However, Moira was astonished by Niall McPhee’s sheer size. Without clothes, he looked even bigger, and his clenched fists resembled clubs. She shuddered, thinking of her father and her husband. Neither of them was particularly tall or well-built, but they had both managed to do her body a great deal of damage, as evidenced by the scars she bore all over her torso and legs.

Both had been very clever, though, having kept their blows from landing on any part of her that was visible. Moira had always been obliged to wear high-necked dresses to keep her injuries hidden.

Nevertheless, despite her apprehension, Moira could not help but admire the physique of the beautiful man before her, his broad shoulders, narrow hips, flat stomach and powerful muscles. He also sported quite a few scars though, some of them quite large, especially those on his arms, which looked like sword slashes. He must have been a fierce warrior!

Every part of his masculinity called out to her femininity, and Moira felt herself fighting against her weakness, even though what she was feeling was healthy and natural.

If only my life had been different, she thought, I might have been happily married to a good man. I might have been happy now, not fleeing a murder charge…

She stood looking at the two fighters but not really seeing them because she was immersed in her thoughts. However, her attention was wrenched back to them when a loud cheer erupted, and she saw Niall lying on the ground, having just been knocked over by his captain.

He was laughing and had his hands raised in the air, and as Moira watched, Niall got to his feet, laughing. “My turn next time, Finn!” he announced as he looked around at his audience. There was no animosity in his tone. In fact, it looked as though the two men had been playing a game.

Suddenly ,Niall caught Moira’s eye, and although she tried to turn and walk away, he called her name and came to stand in front of her.

He felt somewhat embarrassed, since he was bare-chested and sweating, and this beautiful woman, who was still a virtual stranger to him, was seeing him at his worst in this dirty, dishevelled state. However, he could not tear himself away from her; she was lovely, and quite unlike any woman he had met before.

Niall looked down at her slightly parted lips. He had kissed many women, and he longed to kiss this one because he had a feeling that it would be a sensual experience the likes of which he had never felt before.

Not only was Moira fascinatingly beautiful, but there was an aura about her that was almost ethereal, as if she did not quite belong on earth. Niall knew he was being fanciful, but he had seen the way the other men looked at Moira, and it seemed they all felt the same.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently. “Are you still in pain?”

“Much better, My Laird,” she replied. “My leg is still a little sore, but nowhere near as bad as it was when you rescued me. I am so grateful to you. Your healer is a wonderful lady and I could not have asked for better care.”

“I am glad to have been able to help,” he replied. “Now, I need you to answer a few questions for me. Come with me.”

Niall collected his shirt and put it on, then led her up a tall staircase and into a room that could only have been his study. It was a very masculine room that had an enormous desk and was lined with books on two walls. There were no paintings on the walls, and the rugs on the floor were made of plain brown wool.

Everything was as plain and utilitarian as it could be. Moira felt a little disappointed, but she supposed that since most of the work of running the Baltyre estate was done here, there should be as few distractions as possible.

He poured two glasses of wine, then handed one to Moira. She sipped it slowly, since she was not at all fond of it, but was too polite to say so.

Niall noticed Moira’s hesitation and asked, “Is the wine not to your liking?”

Moira shook her head. “It’s not this wine,” she answered, “but wine in general. I have seen too many people’s lives ruined by it.”

“What would you like then?” he asked.

Moira looked genuinely distressed, and he had no wish to upset her further, since he needed to speak to her quite urgently.

Moira hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, “A glass of milk, please.” She knew that Niall would likely think her very stupid, but she wanted to be completely sober and sensible when she made her escape.

If Niall was surprised, he did not show it, but sent for the milk at once. While they were waiting for it to arrive, he walked over to the window and looked out at the storm, which was gathering in the distance.

He closed the shutters and went to stoke the fire so that he would not have to speak to Moira, since he was still trying to think of the right words to say to her. For some reason, she made him feel as shy as a schoolboy again, and it was a feeling he was not accustomed to at all.

The milk was brought, and Niall sat down opposite Moira again, then gazed at her steadily. She blushed and looked away from him, wishing she could turn and run away. What did he want?

“Tell me the name of your betrothed, lass,” he said, as if he had read her mind. “Is he following you? Trying to get you to go back to him?”

Although Moira had expected the question, she could still not think of an answer. She had thought of making up a name, but then realised that he might be asking so that he could capture him, and that would set him off on a wild goose chase. As well as that, he might imprison her and send her back to Brody McDonnell.

Men were all the same, in her experience. She must not let him lull her into a false sense of security. After all, he had only just met her, so why would he try to save her? She meant nothing to him.

“Why do you want to know?” Moira asked. “I do not wish to talk about him, My Laird. I told your councillor the same thing. I want to forget that he ever existed.”

Niall had been looking closely at her while she was speaking. She felt he could detect her hesitation; something about what Moira was saying that did not ring true.

“I do not tolerate liars,” he said, an edge of menace in his deep voice. “I can see that you are dressed well, and the jewellery you are wearing is not cheap. Are you a noblewoman or a thief?”

“No, I am neither,” she replied at once, trying to keep her voice steady. “I told you the truth. I am running away, and I cannot bear to think of the beast who calls himself my betrothed. I will be gone as soon as I can, then you will be rid of me, and it will be as if this never happened.”

“Not quite,” Niall replied. “You see, I sent my men out to look for the bandits who attacked you. There are a dozen of them, and they have been in the dungeon for three days with no contact from any of us but the guards who deliver their food. I think they should have softened up enough to be interrogated by now.

What I would like to know is: are these your fiancé’s men? If they are, I want to speak to him, and twenty of my best men will join in the conversation. They will never set foot on my land again.”

He waited for a moment, watching Moira closely.

“I would rather end this conversation here, My Laird. Don’t make it any harder for me,” she said, then forced tears into her eyes.

Moira had simply not been able to stand any more of Niall McPhee’s persistent interrogation. He was only confirming what she already knew—he was just like all the rest. She knew that there must be good men out there somewhere, but she had never been fortunate enough to meet one.

Niall said nothing more, but watched silently as she rose and rushed out of the room.

She decided to put Laird McPhee’s suspicions out of her mind, for she had other more important matters to think about, such as where she was going to go next, and what would she do to earn a living? Her coin would not last forever, and she had no wish to be a homeless beggar, or worse still, a woman of the streets. As well as that, she knew Brody McDonnell, her brother-in-law, would already have sent men out to look for her.

If he caught her, her life would be a living hell.

Niall felt wretched. Was he a heartless beast who had just made a suffering woman’s predicament even worse? He decided to leave things as they were for the moment and give her a couple of days to finish healing, then leave. The last thing he wanted to do was stir up trouble with the other landowners around him if she was in a relationship with any of them.

Yet, Niall could not wrench Moira Jamieson out of his thoughts. Every time he looked at her, his body stirred, and he became aroused in a way that he could not remember experiencing before. He was not innocent; he knew he was attractive to women, and had taken advantage of that many times—in fact, he was a very experienced lover.

However, this woman baffled him. She was beautiful, yes, and what man would not find her appealing? Yet, there was something else, something he could not put his finger on, and he knew it was going to torment him till he found the answer because she had lit a fire in him that could not be quenched.