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After his visit to Moira, Niall could not get her out of his mind. Ever since they had first met, thoughts of her had occupied many of his waking hours, but now he found that she was becoming an obsession. However, since she had told him exactly what she thought of him, he was almost crushed.

Was this how he appeared to Moira? To everyone? A great, fearful brute? He knew his stature was intimidating to some people, but he had never considered himself a brute, and certainly not terrifying.

No one had ever been so cruel to him, but then he had brought it on himself by asking her opinion, and she had given it to him honestly, so the blame rested entirely on him. However, that did not make it hurt any less.

Moira Jamieson was the only woman he had ever met who completely bewitched him, and yet he had a niggling, uneasy feeling about her. His mind could not trust her, but his body definitely wanted to. Every time he saw her slim, shapely form, the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless became almost impossible to resist.

Yet, he could not fall in love with her; she had made it perfectly clear that his advances were not welcome, and she had never done anything to deserve his affection. He had tried to be kind to her, but at every attempt he made she backed away and rebuffed him. Perhaps she saw him the same way as she had seen the other men in her life—selfish bullies.

The only kind words she had said to him were “thank you” when he had rescued her, and that set him to wondering why he had followed her the night before. He had had no idea at the time, but now it occurred to him that he might have had some kind of premonition.

Damn her! he thought as he left his study. What is she doing to me?

Niall threw himself into his work around the castle and the estate, but also his training in martial skills because it was the best way he could think to work off his excess aggression and frustration.

He went out to the courtyard to meet Finn, who was waiting for him so that they could have a good man-to-man bare knuckle boxing match. They began to fight, but Niall could not concentrate. His blows kept missing their target, but Finn’s found theirs all too often. Before long, Niall was dazed and bleeding from a cut on his arm. It was not serious, but it stopped the fight.

Finn looked at Niall with a concerned frown. “Niall, ye are no’ yourself today,” he remarked. “Whatever is the matter?”

Niall sighed as Sandie bound up his wound. He knew he could speak in front of her with confidence; her mind was full of other people’s secrets, and she had never been known to betray any of them. She was utterly dependable.

“It’s Moira Jamieson,” he replied. “I cannot figure out how she thinks. She believes I am like her father and her betrothed—men who brutalised and trapped her. Apparently I am possessive and cruel, but I cannot bear to believe someone would think of me that way.” He ran his hand through his hair in a familiar gesture of agitation.

Finn stared at him, frowning for a moment. He had seen Niall, who was one of his best friends, upset before, but not like this. At first, he was alarmed, then he realised that it was a typical man’s infatuation with a beautiful woman. He had fallen victim to something like this himself once or twice, but he doubted that Niall had ever done so. His view of women was well-balanced; in his opinion, they were equal to men, with one delightful difference. To say that he was possessive was ludicrous.

He laughed at the ridiculous suggestion. “No, that is no’ you at a’ Niall,” he replied. “I have known ye since ye were twelve years old, an’ I never knew ye tae be like anythin’ like that.” He moved so that he was standing in front of Niall. “I think ye are a wee bit besotted wi’ the lassie. She is bonny, there’s nae doubt about it, but ye dinnae know her well at a’, an’ I can tell she doesnae know you if that is what she thinks o’ ye. I think ye should pull yourself together. Ye know that ye are expected tae marry soon. McNicholl is bringin’ his niece tae meet ye, an’ ye must clear your head o’ every woman but her. Moira will be gone soon, an’ ye will soon forget her.”

Niall pretended to think for a moment, then pasted on a smile and nodded. “You are right,” he agreed. “I have probably just had my head turned by a pretty face.”

Yet as he made his way to his chamber to change into clean clothes and bathe, his mind was still full of Moira. As he saw it, he had two choices. He could simply bow to the wishes of the clan and marry the woman they had suggested, or get to know Moira better.

But why did he even want to do that? He knew how she felt about him—or thought he did. Why did he want to change her mind? Perhaps he was just being vain, and did not want a beautiful woman to think badly of him.

Niall sighed as he climbed out of his bath. He knew he should concentrate on the work of running the estate rather than brooding over a situation over which he had little control. Granted, he could refuse to marry the clan’s choice for him, but where would that leave him? He still needed a bride to produce an heir, and it was clear that Moira Jamieson did not want to be that woman.

He heaved another sigh, then went to his study, and by sheer force of will, began to bury himself in his accounts. He succeeded in banishing Moira from his mind for some hours, during which time he talked over financial matters and some tenants’ affairs with his steward.

Having determined the best course of action for dealing with them, they arranged to go out that afternoon to meet with some of them and settle the outstanding matters. The last thing Niall wanted was discontent amongst those who worked on his estate. He had enough to deal with already!

He had always been surprised to find that his tenants had such a high regard for him, but his steward, Bruce Watson, had told him that it was because he had no favourites and always treated them fairly. This had pleased Niall to no end, and he was greeted with great friendliness by all of them. However, he was puzzled.

When he asked Bruce, who was slightly older than him, why this was, he chuckled. “People can tell who likes them,” he answered. “Wait till ye have children, M’Laird, an’ ye will soon see.”

Children. Niall had succeeded in keeping his thoughts free of Moira Jamieson for a few hours, only to have them wrenched back to her again. Even in his elevated position as a Laird, he had rarely given much thought to having children, so why was he doing so now?

Because of her, he realised. Because he had to figure out his feelings for Moira, and for the first time ever, the word “love” jumped into his mind.

“Children?” He laughed. “I cannot imagine myself with children, Bruce.”

“I have six, M’Laird,” Bruce told him, “an’ they are the joy o’ my life. Ye will find the same thing when ye are a father yourself.” His face beamed with happiness, and for a moment Niall envied him sorely.

He tried to imagine himself with children, tried to see a picture of himself holding a tiny baby in his arms, play-fighting with a little boy of seven or eight and having a boxing match with an adolescent with a bad attitude!

And daughters. They were a whole different story, no doubt. Soft, fragile, easily hurt, needing a mother to show them how to be a woman. And who would that woman be?

The one face that swam into his consciousness at once was Moira Jamieson, and suddenly, he was not in the least surprised. Despite himself, Niall was edging towards a conclusion that he dared not name.

When he was left alone in his study and downed a large shot of whisky. It was not something he usually did, but today he was much more agitated than usual and needed something to calm him down. He stood by the window for a long time watching the guards below him practising their swordplay, archery, and boxing. He was in charge of all these men, but the weight of that duty had never felt heavier than it did now.

His marriage was coming to meet him, not like some celebration of joy, but more akin to a looming threat. He had never met his intended and would have very little time to decide whether he would love her or loathe her.

And what would happen if he hated her? Was there a procedure for annulling the marriage? Niall looked at the whisky bottle again. He was sorely tempted to pour himself another glass, but he had seen too many other men take that long-tempting road to hell.

Perhaps he should ask someone who understood and who better than another woman?

It was early afternoon, and at this time of day the usual place to find his sister was in her favourite small parlour near the stable eating a light lunch. Niall always laughed at the thought of the miniscule amount of food Glennie ate. He could have eaten ten times that amount and still had room to spare!

When he opened the parlour door Glennie looked up and smiled at him. “Have you come to join me, brother?” she asked. “Because I will have to order a wagon full of food to accommodate you.”

Niall laughed. He loved engaging with Glennie this way because not only was she his little sister, but his best friend, and they could talk to each other about anything. Now, however, he had something more important than food to discuss.

“I need to talk to you,” he said heavily, frowning. “There is something strange going on, and it is puzzling me.”

Glennie suddenly looked scared. She dropped her gaze to her food and poured herself some wine. “Would you like some?” she asked, keeping her eyes on her glass.

Niall shook his head. “I have just had a glass of whisky,” he told her. “You know I never mix those two.”

As he looked at her, he had a strange feeling that Glennie was hiding something from him, but decided he would discuss it with her later. Normally, Glennie would have smiled at this, since it brought back a funny memory of Niall being so drunk he passed out and had the hangover from hell when he woke up. However, now she concentrated on her food and continued to avoid his eyes.

“I wanted to ask you about Moira,” he said as he sat down. “I need to know more about her.”

Glennie frowned. “Why?” she asked.

“She worries me,” he replied. “She has told us a story about going to stay with an aunt in Aberdeen, but to be honest, Glennie, I don’t believe her, I don’t think she has anywhere to go after she leaves here.”

“Then let her stay, as I asked you to before,” Glennie replied. “It seems like the best solution.”

“And what if her family comes to find her?” he asked. “We have no idea who her betrothed is. He might be a powerful Laird, and send an army to attack us. I have done enough fighting to last me a lifetime, Glennie. I want no more.”

Glennie relaxed as she realised that her brother had not found out about her relationship with Ritchie, as she was sure he had. However, it reminded her to be extra careful in future. She knew what Niall’s reaction would be if he found out that the mistress of Baltyre Castle was having a romantic relationship with a stable hand!

“Has she told you anything about her past?” he asked, frowning deeply.

Glennie shook her head. “I know as much as you do, Niall,” she answered. “But I can tell you what I think of her. To me, she seems like a good, but troubled person. She finds it very difficult to trust people, especially men. I think she deserves a chance to be trusted and loved because it doesn’t seem like her family cares for her if her father wants to marry her to a brute. I like her very much, or I would not have asked you to let her stay.” She stood up, then took his hand and led him back to the table, where she looked deeply into his eyes.

“Does she ever ask about me?” Niall asked, but this time it was he who looked embarrassed, and he dropped his gaze to his hands, which he was clenching and unclenching on the table.

Glennie put her hands on top of his to still them.

“No, she has never asked about you, Niall,” she answered. “We rarely talked about you except in passing if your name cropped up when we were discussing something else.”

All of a sudden, Niall felt a sinking sense of disappointment, and he was not quite sure why. It was deeply confusing, since his feelings for Moira were a mixture of carnal attraction, pity, occasional annoyance and distrust, but there was something else there too.

He felt protective and occasionally very tender towards her. Was this love? He had absolutely nothing to measure his emotions against. The only person in his life he could say that he loved was Glennie, and that was, of course, not the same thing at all.

She studied him for another moment, then asked, “Why are you so curious, Niall?” her tone was concerned. “Do you have feelings for her?”

Niall could have kicked himself for asking the question at all; his thoughts and emotions were probably written all over his face, and he and Glennie were so attuned that they could read each other like books.

He sighed. “I really don’t know how I feel about her, or how she feels about me,” he replied. “She irritates me with the defiance she shows, but I pity her for all she has been through, and—I probably should not say this to my sister—but I find her very attractive in a physical way.”

Glennie laughed. “Why not? You are just like every other man, Niall.” She picked up her brother’s hand and squeezed it, then smiled at him. “And if you like, I can talk to Moira and find out how she feels about you.”

Niall felt his heart swell with hope, and he smiled at his sister. “Thank you, Glennie, but please be careful she doesn’t find out what you are doing.”

“I will be as subtle as possible,” Glennie answered. “She will never know what my mission is.”

“What would I do without you?” Niall asked as he bent down to kiss Glennie’s forehead.

Glennie cast her eyes heavenwards. “I have no idea,” she answered, as they both burst out laughing.

In truth, Niall felt much better now that he had left the matter in Glennie’s capable hands, and he managed to cope with the rest of the day without any further difficulties.

That night, he had the most restful night he had experienced for a long time. He knew that his problem was not yet solved, but he felt that the solution was on its way.