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local vet. He swept on towards the door, without noticing Isobel frantical y signal ing in return.

‘I think Isobel’s trying to catch your attention,’ Riona told him. ‘Maybe she needs a lift. I could go with the doctor...’

‘Uh-huh, forget it,’ he dismissed, marching her towards his BMW. ‘Isobel has her own transport, and, even if she didn’t, I don’t think she’d be short of a man to take her home... So be a good girl, stop arguing, and just get in,’ he added, as they reached his car and he opened the passenger door for her.

Riona felt mutinous at his ‘good girl’ and wondered what he’d do if she took to her heels instead. She looked around for a bolt-hole.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’ He read her perfectly. ‘Unless, of course, you’d like to be dragged back, caveman style.’

‘You’d not dare!’ she retorted angrily.

He smiled. ‘Try me.’

Riona was tempted, almost certain he must be bluffing. It would be more embarrassing for him—the new laird seen accosting a local girl outside the

vil age hal . That was assuming, of course, that Cameron Adams ever got embarrassed.

He continued to smile down at her until Riona decided he would dare, and got into the car.

He quickly climbed into the other side and switched on the engine. Then, before driving off, he turned to say, ‘Your safety-belt—put it on.’

It was definitely an order, not a suggestion.

Riona muttered rebel iously, ‘Why? Am I going to need it?’ remembering how fast he drove.

He ignored the comment and repeated, ‘Put it on!’

Riona, who had simply forgotten the belt, took exception, not to it, but to his tone. She decided she would do up the belt in her own sweet time.

But it seemed Cameron Adams wasn’t prepared to wait that long, as he leaned over her to grasp the strap and, drawing it across her front, locked it into position. In doing so, the back of his hand brushed against her breast. While Riona felt almost panicked by the contact, he didn’t seem to notice, and calmly turned back to grip the wheel and set the car in motion.

Riona seethed in silence. She had never met anyone so arrogant. Who did he think he was?

She asked herself the question and answered it in the same breath. He was the laird—and what in heaven’s name was she doing arguing with him?

Did she want to be thrown off her croft, after trying so hard to keep it going for the past two years?

She’d lived there almost her whole life. Her parents, both music teachers, had died in a car accident when she was two, and her grandparents had

taken her home to live with them. She was ten when her granny had died, and then it had just been her and her grandpa. Later she’d had the chance of a place at music col ege in Edinburgh, but she’d chosen to stay with him instead. He’d been in his mid-seventies by then, and growing frail. She’d nursed him through a series of debilitating strokes until a final one had brought release for him. She had not considered it release for herself. Six months on, she stil missed the old man who’d brought her up and cared for her in his own tough, uncompromising way.

‘So where was Jo tonight?’ The American’s drawl brought her back to the present.

‘Jo?’ She didn’t understand.

‘You know—the boyfriend,’ he helped her out.

That
Jo, Riona groaned inwardly, recal ing the lie she’d told.

‘Doesn’t he like dancing?’ the man pursued.

‘Eh—no,’ Riona could say with some vestige of truth. Col ies didn’t tend to go in for dancing.

‘Two left feet, has he?’ the American drawled on. ‘Or should I say four?’

Four? It was a second before Riona caught on. He knew!

‘Who told you?’

‘Dr Macnab... After some confusion, not to mention amusement, on the doctor’s side, I realised Jo was more into rounding up sheep than dancing.’

‘Oh,’ Riona muttered faintly.

‘Oh?’
he echoed this rather inadequate explanation.

Remembering who he was, she felt obliged to add, ‘I suppose I should apologise.’

‘Not if it’s going to kil you,’ he said at her forced admission. ‘An explanation wil do. Like why you let me believe you were shacked up with some guy.’

‘I didn’t!’ Riona protested, quickly forgetting who he was. ‘You asked if I lived alone. I mentioned Jo and your imagination fil ed in the rest.’

‘You could have told me differently,’ he pointed out.

‘Oh, yes. That would have been very clever. Tel ing a complete stranger I lived in a lonely crofthouse al on my own,’ she retorted angrily, then,

seeing they’d come to her turn-off, snapped, ‘You can let me off here.’

‘I can, but I’m not going to,’ was his answer, as he turned up the hil track and drove right to the door of the croft.

The moment the car stopped, Riona scrambled out with a perfunctory, ‘Thanks for the lift.’

But he climbed out, too, coming round to her side of the car. ‘You’re right about it being lonely up here. I’l see you inside, check you have no

intruders.’

‘There’s no need.’ She wanted him gone. He made her more nervous than any potential intruder.

He sensed it, saying, ‘Relax, this isn’t move one in a grand seduction plan. Even assuming I like my women hard to get along with—which I don’t—

you’re far too young for me.’

In theory Riona should have been relieved at this announcement. In practice, she was stung into replying, ‘Or maybe you’re just too old for me.’

But if she’d wanted to offend him, she didn’t succeed. He gave a short laugh before drawling, ‘Strike that “hard to get along with”; make it “damn

nigh impossible”.’ Then he grabbed hold of her arm and steered her towards the door of her cottage.

He breathed down her neck while she unlocked the door and didn’t give her a chance to shut it on him. Resigned, she led the way through the smal

front hal to the living-room, switching on lights as she went.

She turned to find him surveying the room with an expression of disbelief on his face. Riona understood wel enough. Poverty was reflected in the

threadbare furniture and carpets, the shabbiness of her home, but she refused to be ashamed of it.

She tilted her head and dared him to comment.

Instead he said simply, ‘If you’d like to make us a cup of coffee, I promise not to take it as an invitation.’

‘To what?’ she asked rather foolishly.

He smiled at her naiveté. ‘To outstay my welcome, let’s say.’

Riona continued to frown. As far as she was concerned, he already had.

‘I only have tea,’ she said ungraciously.

‘That’l do.’ He shrugged in reply.

Left with no choice, Riona went through to the kitchen at the back, where her grandfather’s col ie greeted her with much tail-wagging before taking an alert stance as the American appeared behind her.

If he’d thought the living-room bad, Riona knew he’d find the kitchen worse. The linoleum was peeling, the table and chairs rickety, and the cooking range large, ugly and ancient.

He looked round with a critical eye, but again refrained from commenting, nodding towards the col ie instead.

‘Jo, I presume.’ He bent to offer the col ie a hand to sniff.

‘Yes, but he doesn’t much take to strangers,’ she responded, as the col ie backed away to his basket in the corner.

‘Like dog, like mistress,’ the American drawled in an undertone intended to be heard.

Riona refused to justify herself. No, she didn’t like strangers. Not over-familiar ones, at any rate, she thought, as he leaned his considerable length against her granny’s old dresser.

‘Jo’s my grandfather’s dog, actual y,’ she replied cool y.

‘Your grandfather,’ he echoed. ‘Yes, Dr Macnab said he’d died recently.’

Busy with the tea things, Riona gave a brief nod that discouraged further interest in her private life.

Or would have done, if Cameron Adams hadn’t been so thick-skinned. ‘It must be difficult, running this place on your own,’ he continued, oblivious.

‘I manage,’ she countered, wondering what he was getting at. Perhaps it wasn’t just casual conversation. ‘I won’t fal behind in my rent, Mr Adams, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

‘Cameron,’
he insisted, ‘and no, I wasn’t worrying about your rent. From what I’ve seen of the accounts, I doubt it’s worth worrying about,’ he added with a short laugh.

Riona did not laugh back. What did he mean? Did he consider the rents too low? She could barely pay the present amount.

Her face revealed her thoughts, as Cameron Adams drawled, ‘Relax, kid. Whatever you pay for this place, it’s probably too much.’

He cast a disparaging glance round the kitchen.

Riona was caught between reactions: relief there’d be no rent rise versus anger at the insult to her home.

Powerless to argue, she confined herself to asking how he liked his tea, before placing it unceremoniously on the dresser beside him. She didn’t invite him to sit, and didn’t sit herself, instead taking a stance by the sink, as far from him as possible. Being a smal kitchen, it wasn’t very far, and she felt overly conscious of him.

He stared back at her, without any attempt to pretend he was doing otherwise, and she dropped her eyes to the worn linoleum.

‘Does the boyfriend help?’ he suddenly asked.

‘What?’ She looked at him blankly.

He repeated, ‘The boyfriend. Does he help with the croft?’

She narrowed her eyes. How much did he know of her life?

‘Who says I have a boyfriend?’

‘It’s not a secret, is it?’

He smiled at her caginess. She frowned in response.

‘He’s in the Navy, isn’t he?’ he said, as if her memory might need jogging.

Of course she’d realised whom he meant. Fergus Ross. But who had told him? Surely not Dr Hamish?

‘So how serious is it?’ he asked, when she remained silent.

‘I... I...’ His directness was unbelievable. ‘Why do you want to know?’

He shrugged, before saying, ‘I guess I’m interested, after al .’

‘In what?’ Riona genuinely didn’t understand.

‘In you,’ the American replied simply.

He was joking. He had to be, Riona decided, as she gave him a disgruntled look and he flashed her a bril iant smile in return. He was just trying to disconcert her.

‘It’s against my better judgement, of course,’ he continued in the same vein. ‘I mean you’re real y not my type. That’s not to say you aren’t

beautiful. You are.
Very.’

He paused to give her a look that made Riona wish she’d kept her coat on. ‘Do you expect me to be flattered?’

‘Hel , no,’ he said, clearly amused by the conversation, ‘I expect the boys have been queuing up to tel you you’re beautiful for a few years now...I suppose al the practice has helped you perfect that put-down manner of yours.’

‘Why, you...’ Riona searched furiously for a suitable insult to trade, then remembered once more whom she was talking to.

He lifted a dark brow, prompting. ‘Yes?’

‘I... you... this isn’t fair!’ she final y protested.

‘Fair?’ he echoed.

‘You can stand there, saying what you want,’ Riona ran on, ‘and I have to stand here, taking it, because you’re laird, and I’m not.’

‘What?’ He’d obviously not thought of it from that angle, and, when he did, he laughed out loud. ‘How feudal. You think you can’t argue back,

because I’m your landlord. What do you imagine I’m going to do? Throw you out on the street?’

Put like that, it did sound absurd, and Riona went on the defensive. ‘I don’t know. Your great-uncle wasn’t too keen on people disagreeing with him.’

‘So I’ve gathered—’ the American shrugged ‘—but

I’m not Sir Hector. And, despite its attractions, I don’t believe in
droit de seigneur.’

‘What?’ Riona had never heard the phrase.

‘Droit de seigneur?’
he repeated, and, at her clear ignorance, went on to explain, ‘In olden days, I believe the local lord in an area had the right to sleep with vil age maidens the night before they married. Unfortunately the custom’s been out of fashion for a few centuries. However, if you fancy reviving it...’ he suggested with a lascivious smile that definitely made a joke of it.

Riona felt she should be disgusted, but wasn’t. In fact, for a moment she actual y pictured it, two figures entwined on a big four-poster in Invergair Hal . She blushed at the direction her imagination had taken her and looked away from those sharp blue eyes of his.

‘I don’t suppose you’re planning on marrying soon,’ he added with the same undercurrent of laughter.

‘No, I am not!’ Riona declared on an emphatic note.

‘Not serious, then,’ he concluded in reply.

‘About what?’ She was slow to catch up.

‘About Fergus Ross.’ He had brought them ful circle back to the question he’d original y asked.

Riona had answered it, without realising, by denying any marriage plans. The smug look of satisfaction on his face was maddening.

It prompted her to claim, ‘You can be serious without wanting marriage. Maybe I don’t believe in it.’

‘That’s OK. Neither do I.’ He smiled as if they’d just come to some agreement, and straightened his length from the dresser.

He took a step in her direction and Riona found herself backed against the sink. She garbled out, ‘As a matter of fact, Fergus and I do have an

understanding.’

‘Real y.’ He sounded less than interested and took another slow, unhurried step towards her.

Riona told herself not to panic. She told herself he was playing some sort of game. It was just a pity she didn’t know the rules.

When he came to a halt before her, she resorted to an unoriginal, ‘It’s late. I think you should go now.’

‘Probably,’ he surprised her by agreeing, but made no move to leave. Instead he reached out a hand and touched her hair. ‘It’s a beautiful colour. Is it natural or out of a bottle?’

‘I...’ Riona was left gasping at the sheer cheek of the question.

He answered for himself, ‘Natural, I’d say,’ before his hand fel from her hair to her shoulder to lightly caress the skin left bare by her summer

dress.

A breathless note crept into Riona’s voice. ‘I think you should—’