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A tall, dark-haired man was seated in one of the chairs on the opposite side, studying a map spread out on the table in front of him. He glanced up when they entered the room.

It had been at least a dozen years since she’d seen him, but she knew him at once.

He had a touch of gray at his temples that hadn’t been there before, and time had worn a few lines into his face, but she’d know his eyes anywhere.

They were a cool, light gray with an unusually dark ring around the irises.

It was Donigan. Those eyes were as distinctive as the MacLeod red hair.

If he was surprised to see two strangers dragged into his presence, one of them with blood running down his neck, she couldn’t see it on his face. His expression didn’t alter in any way, not even so much as a twitch of his eyebrow.

He merely sat back in his chair, and drawled, “Well, what have we here?”

“Found these two creeping about outside.” The man shoved Hamish forward. “This one’s got a mouth on him.”

“That explains the blood.” Donigan considered Hamish for a long moment, then turned his gaze to her. “And this one?”

Her captor grunted. “She says she’s Rory MacLeod’s daughter.”

“Oh? I can’t think what one of Rory’s girls would be doing out here.” Once again, Donigan’s expression didn’t change—the man was a cipher—but the energy around him shifted, and his gaze sharpened. “Which daughter would you be, lass?”

Cat raised her chin. “Catriona. The eldest.”

Slowly, Donigan rose from his chair and took up the lantern sitting on the table. Hamish tensed when he approached her, but Donigan merely held the lantern up to her face.

He gazed down at her for a long time, studying her features one by one, until at last, he lowered the lantern. “Aye, she’s a MacLeod, all right. I’ll be damned. You’re a long way from Dunvegan, girl.”

Cat sucked in a deep breath, her eyes closing, a relief so profound rushing through her that she nearly dropped to her knees.

Thank God.

But then Donigan turned to Hamish, and she tensed once again.

“Who’s this gentleman you’ve brought with you, Catriona?” Donigan studied Hamish with the same careful attention he had her. “He looks like an Englishman. We don’t care much for Englishmen around here.”

“He—he’s my husband, Mr. Donigan. Rory’s son-in-law,” she added, in case it wasn’t obvious.

“Your husband, is he?” A small smile drifted over Donigan’s lips. “How odd. I don’t remember Rory mentioning one of his daughters had married.”

She hadn’t any idea what to say to that, so she said nothing.

“Ah. That’s wise of you, Catriona. If you’ve got nothing to say to help yourself, best to say nothing at all.” Donigan chuckled. “You’re your father’s daughter, I see.”

Was she, indeed? She’d always thought of herself as her mother’s daughter, but perhaps Mr. Donigan was right. Perhaps there was more of Rory in her than she’d ever realized.

After all, she was here, wasn’t she? “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“It’s nearly three hundred miles from Dunvegan to South Ayrshire.” Donigan leaned back against the table behind him. “Unless you and your sisters are no longer at Castle Cairncross?”

“We’re still there.” As far as she knew, at least. There was no telling what may have happened at the castle in the week she and Hamish had been gone.

It was a blessing that Callum and Keir were there—although Sorcha hadn’t seen it that way—but after everything that had happened, she couldn’t rest easy.

“Three hundred miles, then,” Donigan repeated. “Did you come all this way just to see me? I’m flattered, Catriona, but this can’t be merely a social call.”

“Er, no.” She glanced at Hamish, but he tipped his head toward Donigan, as if urging her to go on. “We . . . that is, my husband and I . . . need your help.”

Donigan took his time replying, and the silent moments ticked by until Cat thought she’d scream. But then he straightened and pulled two more chairs away from the table. “Rory was a good friend to me. I’m indebted to him, and I’m a man who pays my debts.”

Cat sucked in a deep breath. It was all right. It was going to be all right.

“Sit down.” Donigan waved them toward the chairs. “Tell me what I can do.”

* * *

Cormac Donigan didn’t look like any smuggler Hamish had ever seen.

If it hadn’t been for the man’s two henchmen—one of whom had come close to opening one of his veins—he would have mistaken Donigan for a gentleman.

“You mean to say, Catriona, that your father returned to Castle Cairncross without any treasure?” Donigan ran a hand over the scruff on his chin. “Rumor had it otherwise. Every smuggler in Carrick was talking about the fortune he made away with. ”

“I’m aware of the rumors.” Cat let out a bitter laugh. “Some of the smugglers you mention have decided to secure that treasure for themselves. More than one lugger has approached the castle by Loch Dunvegan and attempted to land on the shore.”

“Boatloads of smugglers and no treasure?” Donigan shook his head. “I see how that might prove to be a problem. No doubt they all think it’s there. Your father never left a treasure behind. In all the years we worked together, I never knew him to fail to secure his bounty.”

“Do you know where he went this last time? He refused to speak much about it, and he left without a word to my sisters and me about the treasure or about where he was going.”

Donigan raised an eyebrow. “You’re going after the treasure?”

Hamish tensed. If Donigan had a mind to beat them to it—and really, what was to stop him from seeing his henchmen finish what they’d started—they may not yet be out of danger.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you might suppose. We don’t care about the money, but we’ll never have any peace at Castle Cairncross until that treasure is found. Can you tell us anything about it?”

“I’m afraid not, lass. If I knew, I’d tell you. Rory’s always had his secrets, but not like this time. He never breathed a word about it, not to any of us.”

“Oh.” Cat slumped in her chair.

“There was something different about that treasure,” Donigan went on. “I can’t say what, though. Like I said, he didn’t confide in me this time. But I’ll tell you this. He never came this way. Not to Ballantrae, or to South Ayrshire. If he had, I’d have known of it.”

Wonderful. That only left the rest of Scotland, then.

“Does this coin mean anything to you, Mr. Donigan?” Hamish reached into his coat pocket and handed one of the Louis d’Or ten-pieces to Donigan.

Donigan studied it, turning it this way and that. “No. I’ve never seen one like it before, but there’s those that say there were coins like that in the monies Louis XV of France sent to Bonnie Prince Charlie, back in seventeen forty-six.”

“There are those that say that, yes.” Hamish braced his hands on the table and leaned closer, looking Donigan in the eyes. “What do you say?”

“I say that money was never found. It was lost up Lochaber way, near the Sound of Arisaig. It might be that it’s still there, hidden in a cave somewhere. But I’ll tell you this. If there was ever a man who could find the lost Jacobean gold, it was Rory MacLeod.”

“But you never heard of any rumors to that effect?”

“No, but Rory was a sly one, and patient, too. It could be he found something up there years ago and hid it in one of the caves thereabouts.” Donigan slid the coin back across the table toward Hamish. “There’s nothing a smuggler likes more than a cave.”

Hamish had had the same thought when he’d first seen the coin, but it was pure speculation.

But then all of this was pure speculation. No matter which way they went, they could be heading in the wrong direction. Lochaber was a two-days’ ride east from Girvan, while Dunvegan was directly west from here.

It would add four days to their journey. That was quite a way to go on a wild goose chase. If there’d been something in Rory’s papers indicating he’d gone toward Lochaber, it would have been worth the extra time, but there’d been nothing at all that pointed in that direction.

But that was the trouble. There’d been nothing that had pointed in any direction. Or if there had been, they hadn’t been able to decipher it.

“What of this drawing, Mr. Donigan? Does this look at all familiar to you?” Catriona offered Donigan a wrinkled slip of paper with a rough drawing on it.

Hamish glanced at it. It was the dagger, the one that had appeared multiple times in Rory’s papers. He’d drawn it over and over, sometimes with the ring around it, and other times without.

It meant nothing to him or to Cat, but he could see at once that Donigan recognized it by the way he suddenly straightened in his chair.

“That’s Clan Mackay’s crest. Bad enough drawing of it—Rory was no artist—but that’s it, all right.” Donigan traced the drawing with one finger, then handed the paper back to Cat. “An upraised arm, with the hand holding the dagger aloft, with a clansman’s belt surrounding it.”

“Yes, of course! I see it now. It is a remarkably bad drawing, but there’s no mistaking it.” She peered down at the paper, then handed it to Hamish. “Do you recall Clan Mackay’s motto, Mr. Donigan?”

“ Manu Forti . With a strong hand. A warlike clan, Clan Mackay. Your father didn’t have any love for the Mackays. He said they betrayed the Scots by taking George II’s side against the Jacobites.”

“I remember.” Cat smiled, but there was sadness in it. “Where is Clan Mackay’s seat?”

“Castle Varrich, in Strathnaver, up north in Tongue, but it’s a ruin now. The clan chief removed to Tongue House some years ago.” Donigan glanced from Hamish to Cat. “If you mean to go up there, you take care, lass. You don’t want to make an enemy of Clan Mackay.”

“Of course not,” Cat murmured.

Hamish smothered a snort. He knew her too well to accept that meek reply. He could already see the wheels turning in her head.

“I’ve had my housekeeper prepare a bedchamber for you. You don’t want to be wandering around out there this late at night.” Donigan gave Hamish a bloodthirsty grin. “You never know what kind of blackguard you might run into.”

“A bedchamber?” Cat’s head jerked up. “You’re very kind, Mr. Donigan, but we don’t need—”

“Yes, you do, lass. There’s a ship loaded with tea and rum foundering in Ballantrae Bay as we speak. She’s going to wreck, and every blackguard hereabouts is down on the shore now, waiting for it to happen. You don’t want to be anywhere near there tonight.”

“Oh. Well, in that case . . .”

She glanced at Hamish, and he grinned back at her. “Is something wrong, mo ghaol ?” He shouldn’t tease her, but it was her own fault for blushing so charmingly. “Your cheeks are as red as Papaver rhoeas .”

Red poppies.

“No. Of course not. Why would there be?” She turned back to Donigan, swallowing. “We’re, ah, happy to accept your hospitality, Mr. Donigan.”

She didn’t add, because we have no other choice , but she may as well have.

“Come along then, leannan .” Hamish rose to his feet and held his hand out to her. “Let’s go to bed.”