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Clara peered inside the fireplace. “I swear this is bigger than the pantry at home.”

Murdo followed her to the fireplace, Buck trotting at his heel. “It has to be, to heat a room of this size,” he said. “It can get very drafty, but we keep warm. That is when Buck here isn’t soaking up all the heat from the fire.”

“Clever boy,” Clara said. Her eyes gleamed with moisture, then she approached the window. Buck followed, his claws clacking on the stone floor. “The view’s wonderful,” she said.

“It’s glorious at sunset,” Murdo said. “When the sun dips behind the horizon, the trees light up as if they’ve burst into flame, the tips glowing gold and red. Each day the view is different. I could spend a lifetime enjoying it.”

She climbed onto the window seat, then placed her elbows on the windowsill and rested her chin on her hands, smiling, and the deerhound settled beside her.

“Clara, my love,” the duchess said, “we’re Mr. McTavish’s guests and he’s showing us round. There’s plenty of time to admire the view later.”

“I don’t mind, Yer Grace,” Murdo said. “After all, Clara isn’t a guest—this is her future home.”

Clara turned, and his heart lifted at the love in her eyes.

The duchess crossed the floor to a stag’s head mounted on the wall. “Did you shoot that?”

“Aye,” Murdo said. “He was my first.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. Deer hunting requires patience and an understanding of the deer and the land he occupies. Duncan knows the hills better than anyone—he did the stalking. I merely had the privilege of delivering the final shot.”

“Duncan?”

“Our ghillie.”

“Ah, the man who’s with your brother today.”

“Aye.”

“Clara will want to explore the land hereabouts. I trust you’ll not confine her to the house, magnificent as it is.”

The duchess’s voice had a hard edge. Murdo glanced toward the subject of their conversation, but she was occupied by the view and the dog beside her, who was giving her the wide-eyed, pleading gaze he bestowed on kind souls when he wanted a tidbit.

“You will look after my daughter, won’t you?” the duchess said.

“Of course, Yer Grace.”

She caught his wrist and held it in a surprisingly strong grip. “I mean it, Mr. McTavish. She may be wild and hardy, but she has a sensitive heart. The dog, for instance…” She shook her head. “My Clara has known suffering. Not only physical suffering, but heartbreak.”

Murdo tempered the spike of jealousy. “She loved someone?”

“Not in the way you mean.” The duchess nodded toward the deerhound. “When she was a child, Clara befriended a dog. She was forced to watch as the creature was beaten to death. She blamed herself and suffered greatly for it.”

Murdo’s gut twisted with horror. “Were ye there?”

The duchess shook her head. “It happened during the years we were apart—when I didn’t even know Clara was alive.”

“Perhaps that’s why Buck’s taken to her,” Murdo said. “He recognizes a kindred spirit. And ye say she endured physical suffering? Was she beaten?”

The duchess nodded. “I saw you looking at her arm when we dined at the inn last night—perhaps you noticed the scar.”

He could hardly deny it—the ugly red mark on Clara’s upper arm, partially concealed by her sleeve. When Clara caught him staring, she blushed and drew her shawl around her shoulders.

“In the shape of a circle,” he said.

“It’s a brand,” the duchess replied. “I bear the same mark myself.”

“Devil’s ballocks!”

“Hush!” she admonished him.

Clara glanced over her shoulder. Buck pricked his ears up, then settled once more as Clara continued to caress his pelt.

“What happened?” Murdo whispered.

“It’s not for me to say, Mr. McTavish. Clara will tell you in her own time. But I want your assurance that you’ll treat her with kindness and compassion.”

“Do ye doubt it?”

“Granted, you seem a little better than most young men.”

“Coming from you , Duchess, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She smiled. “I’m not known for flattery. I prefer to speak the truth.”

“I ken that,” he said. “It’s where Clara gets her frankness from—and I love her for it. I cannot bear deceit. I’d rather my Clara scratch at me like a wildcat when she’s angry than make a pretense at happiness.”

“Clara will never flatter. But you’ll not find a more loyal soul. And if she does come to trust you, she’ll trust completely. After a lifetime of having her faith broken, my daughter’s trust is the greatest gift she can give.”

“Will she grow to trust me?”

“Perhaps she already does, Mr. McTavish. After all, she took you to her hideout in the Roman wall.”

“How do you know about that?”

“My husband loved going there when he was a boy—pretending to be a savage living off the land until the responsibility of the dukedom required him to cast such things aside. Cornelius and Nathaniel had little interest in it, so Harcourt was delighted when he learned Clara had discovered it. She never spoke about it, and we respected her need for privacy. Of course, she must have known that Harcourt made sure she had everything she needed, firewood and such. But it was her little kingdom. She never let anyone visit. Until you.” She turned her gaze on him.

“It was at that moment that I realized that if any man could make my daughter happy, it was you.”

Murdo’s heart swelled with pride.

“Of course,” she added, “that doesn’t give you the right to restrict her freedom.”

“It’s for precisely that reason, Yer Grace, that I admire you, almost as much as I love yer daughter.”

“What’s all this, brother?” a familiar voice said. “I hadn’t expected yer betrothed to be old enough to be yer ma.”

James and Duncan stood in the doorway.

The duchess withdrew her hand and frowned.

Clara turned from the window, her body stiff with apprehension, and Buck let out a low growl.

“Master Murdo, it’s good to see ye home,” the ghillie said.

“Thank ye, Duncan,” Murdo said, frowning at his brother. “At least someone knows how not to insult our guests at first meeting. Miss Martingale, come meet my brother.”

Clara slipped off the seat and approached Murdo. He drew her close, as if to protect her from his brother’s disapproving gaze.

“James, this is the Duchess of Pittchester,” Murdo said, gesturing to Clara’s mother. “And this,” he added, lifting Clara’s hand to his lips, “is my betrothed, Miss Clara Martingale.”

James stared, unmoving. Duncan nudged him and he stepped forward.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Clara said, offering her hand. “Murdo’s said much about you.”

“Really?” A flicker of fear gleamed in James’s eyes as he stared at Clara’s hand, making no move to take it. At length, her arm began to tremble.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said.

“Afraid!” James scoffed. “What the ballocks have I to be afraid of from a lass ? Murdo, ye should keep yer woman in check.”

“Mr. McTavish, I—” Clara began.

“Will ye not tell the lass to be silent?” James sneered. “I’ll not be wanting to hear a woman’s nagging in my home.”

Duncan caught his sleeve. “James,” he said softly. The two exchanged a glance, and Duncan shook his head.

At length, James sighed. “I suppose Da’s told ye where he’s been today,” he said.

“Joan said he’s with the McCallum,” Murdo replied. “He’s still there.”

“Fuck,” James muttered.

The duchess’s eyes widened.

“Brother,” Murdo growled.

A gong sounded in the hallway, and James let out another curse. Shortly after, Joan appeared.

“Master James, I thought I heard ye! Hurry and tidy yerself up—supper’s ready.”

James turned to the ghillie. “Get yerself gone, Duncan.”

The ghillie frowned, a flicker of hurt in his eyes, then he nodded. “Aye, Master James.” He bowed to Clara and her mother. “Yer Grace, Miss Martingale, a pleasure to meet ye.”

“Don’t ye be going anywhere , Duncan,” Joan said. “Ignore Master James—he’s like a stag with a sore belly today. Come into the kitchen. Morag’s got a bite of stew for ye.”

“Duncan,” Murdo called, as the ghillie turned to leave, “would ye show the duchess and Miss Martingale about the estate during her stay? There’s none who know the land hereabouts better than ye.”

“Aye, Master Murdo, I will.”

“You’re very kind,” the duchess said. “Mr. McTavish has been telling me all about the stag. I’m sure my daughter would love to hear about it.”

“Oh yes,” Clara said. “I want to learn everything about life here.”

“Duncan’s not got time to waste showing ladies about,” James said.

“Master James, ye’re not too old to take the strap,” Joan said. “Be off with ye and clean yerself up—our guests don’t want to eat their supper with that stench on ye. Duncan, get yerself to the kitchen before I take a strap to ye also.”

The ghillie exited the chamber followed by James.

Clara stared after them, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. Then she took Murdo’s arm and he led her out of the hall.

“Don’t mind James,” he said. “He doesn’t take well to strangers.”

“Like your dog?”

He nodded.

But James would take a great deal more persuasion than Buck to warm to Clara.