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"Of course not," said Meara and stilled her laughter. "Me apologies," she said. "I see that you have no feelings for Laird Gilmour. After all, as a Fraser lass, you too must follow the prophesy."

"What?"

"The prophesy. Surely you have heard it," Meara scolded. "You cannot blame me for thinking the rogue of the rogues might possess the necessary attributes. Kindness, cunning, power—"

"MacGowan?"

"You think not, lass?"

"Nay," she breathed, her lungs too tight in her chest.

The old woman shrugged, but her eyes were ungodly bright as she watched Bel.

"Mayhap you are right. Still, glad I am that you are back where you belong, and glad that you have brought this news of your sister.

But what shall we do now? Have your gifts given you any idea where we might search for her? "

Isobel scowled, trying to keep up to the old woman's flitting thoughts. "Lachlan searches for her even as we speak, does he not?"

"Aye, he and three score of Evermyst's finest warriors."

"Then there is no more to be done. Leastways, not unless I have some idea where to look. Until then I will remain here, for here is where I feel her the strongest."

"Aye," Meara agreed quietly and rose laboriously to her feet. "Aye, stay here, lassie." Cupping Isobel's cheek, she stared deeply into her eyes. "Here is where you were born to be. It does me old heart good to see your face, even if it be half hidden by rags once again."

Isobel smiled. " 'Tis good to return."

Meara nodded. "Aye. And do not fret, 'twill not be much longer before you can take your rightful place amongst your people.

Mark me words. I too see things," she declared and grinned toothlessly.

"As for this night, I've given instructions to ready Lady Anora's chambers for you.

Go there and await her return. God willing, she will need you soon. "

It was not much later that Isobel made her way down Evermyst's narrow hallways to Anora's chamber.

The door creaked open and she stepped inside.

A single candle had been left to flicker in the sconce beside the door.

Anora's four-poster bed remained as it always had, its broken foot post tilting slightly.

A faded tapestry adorned the far wall and behind that tapestry was a hidden door through which Isobel had traveled more than once.

During the Frasers' trouble with the Munros, Senga had been quite an active ghost. Isobel smiled to herself.

There had been advantages to being Evermyst's shade.

After all, ghosts were basically left alone, while flesh and blood was subject to all sorts of emotional upheaval.

Isobel quickly turned her thoughts aside.

She was not some idle maid to worry over a bonny man's smile; she had come here for a reason.

Shutting her mind to all but Anora, she drew in the memories, feeling the feelings, but there was no danger that she could sense.

Anora was safe. She must be. Isobel stepped farther inside.

'Twas then that she noticed the tub that steamed full of water in the far corner.

Since Anora's wedding, Laird Ramsay had overseen some renovations at Evermyst. The walls had been shored up, a new well had been dug, and the plumbing had been altered so that water could be pumped to every floor.

Tonight, this once, she would take advantage of that improvement, even though she was naught but a servant to the Fraser clan.

Pushing her hood back, Isobel removed her cape then slipped out of her overskirt.

Pulling her chemise over her head, she dropped it to the floor with the rest of her garments.

It felt marvelous to let down her hair, then tilt her head back and ease her fingers across her scalp.

The water felt better yet, rising up her shins, then higher as she sank into the warm depths and leaned back against the smooth wood, reveling in the steam.

All would be well. Anora was safe. Whoever had threatened her had been thwarted.

The sisters would be reunited, and mayhap this time Isobel would stay.

MacGowan had been entirely wrong; she was not afraid of being cherished.

Nor had her unexpected bond with Anora frightened her away.

Neither was she afraid of Gilmour. True, he was handsome, and aye, he possessed a smile that challenged the light of the sun, but he was hardly the first to smile her way, and it was unlikely to send her scurrying for cover.

In fact, she was not averse to admitting that memories of him brought a flush of pleasure.

He had touched her like none other, had made her feel things that she had not felt before.

Reaching for the soap, she dunked it beneath the water and smoothed it over her shoulder.

He had kissed her there, she remembered.

And there. She closed her eyes and ran the bar, sweet with the smell of lavender, across her breasts.

Her nipples peaked, but she doubted that it was because of the draft of cool air that curled through the chambers.

Nay, during her time at Evermyst, she had become accustomed to those eerie currents of air that seemed to come from nowhere.

Evermyst, after all, was haunted. Isobel smiled a little, remembering. It was fear of Senga's ghost that had sent the Munro slithering from this keep. No one need know that Isobel herself could be as ghostly as the next lass when the need arose.

Superstition was for fools and cowards, and she had not survived by being either. Nay, she had survived by her wit, by knowing the truth and using it to her best advantage.

She slipped the scented bar along her collarbone and remembered Gilmour's touch there.

She could admit the truth: it was thoughts of him that made her shiver.

But he had only moved her physically. She did not long for him.

Indeed, she didn't even like him. Regardless how ridiculous Meara thought her suspicions were, she had no proof that it was not he who caused Anora's disappearance, and if that was found to be true, she would hardly be brokenhearted, for he had elicited naught in her but a base response.

Naught but animal instincts, and regardless what the noble class believed, human nature was little changed from animal nature.

Just then her fingers skimmed the silver shell that hung from her neck.

She closed her eyes, remembering how he had looked when he'd handed it to her.

Why had he done that? What did he hope to earn by retrieving it for her? Surely it was not simply out of kindness. If she had learned anything from Dollag, it was to be cautious, to trust no one. And that knowledge had thus far kept her safe.

So he had retrieved the shell in hopes of gaining her trust and gaining her gratitude. After all, he'd made it no secret that he desired her. Skimming the soap downward, she left a frothy trail of white between her breasts, then eased lower, over the dark honey hair and down between her thighs.

He had touched her there, too. Remembering his kisses, she spread her legs the slightest degree and let her head fall back as she slipped her hand lower still.

"Bel."

Isobel slapped her arms across her chest and turned her head to peer frantically into the corner by the door.

Gilmour stood there, his arms crossed against his chest as he stared at her. "I but wondered," he said, his grin flashing in the candlelight, "might you be needing some assistance?"