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scheme was the final seal on his popularity.

It was Riona who ended up trying to preach a little caution, and, though Cameron Adams tolerated her efforts, the women didn’t want to know.

‘The world’s changing, Riona, lass, and we have to move with the times,’ she was told by Aggie Stewart, the oldest of the knitters at seventy-four.

After that, she gave up, and limited herself to informing him how to get to each croft and providing an introduction to its inhabitant.

By the late afternoon, they’d seen about six ladies in al . It was just a fraction of the number of women capable of professional knitting in the area, but Riona felt it was enough. They were bound to relay his ideas to the rest and she told him so as they arrived back at her crofthouse.

‘Possibly,’ he conceded, ‘but, having visited a few, I reckon I’m obliged to visit them al . Otherwise I’m going to have some offended ladies on my hands.’

Riona saw his point but said, ‘Wel , I can’t help. I have too much to do round the croft.’

‘No problem. I’l let you have Rob again,’ he responded. ‘You can give him a list of what’s to be done, and, if he has any time over, he can do some repairs round the place.’

‘No, thanks,’ she refused ungraciously. ‘I can do my own repairs.’

‘Can you?’ he chal enged mildly and glanced round her back yard. The sheds were dilapidated, a door hanging from one hinge. The hen-run, now

unoccupied, was more holes than fencing, and the dry stone wal was almost rubble in places.

When his eyes returned to her, Riona muttered tightly, ‘I’m doing my best,’ and made to climb out of the Land Rover.

He caught her arm. ‘Hey, I wasn’t saying otherwise. It’s just too much for you, a girl on her own.’

If his manner was sympathetic, Riona was too strung up to notice. ‘I can manage,’ she snapped back, ‘so if you’re thinking of reclaiming the croft

that way, you can think again.’

‘What?’ He was clearly taken aback by this outburst. In fact, the finest of actors couldn’t have feigned his surprise.

Riona knew then she was being unfair and unreasonable, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wasn’t able to behave rational y when he was around.

She sent him a look that was a mixture of appeal and accusation, before wresting her arm free and jumping down from the Land Rover. Jo, the col ie dog, jumped down too, but headed for the hil s for his evening prowl.

Cameron caught Riona up at the house and dragged her round to face him. ‘What is it with you? Do you real y believe I’m out to evict you?’ he

demanded, angry now.

‘I...’ Riona’s eyes went to his and any protest died on her lips. Whatever he wanted from her, it wasn’t this mean little crofthouse on the hil .

They stared at each other for an endless moment, and she wanted to take back al the bad things she’d said. But no words came and final y he gave

up on her, making some exasperated sound as he released his grip on her arm and wheeled round.

She watched him jump back into the Land Rover and slam hard the door and drive away without a backward glance. Tears sprang to her eyes, but

she dashed them away. She had caused their quarrel. She had wanted him to leave her alone. So why should she cry about it?

CHAPTER THREE

AND why should she feel a surge of happiness when she saw the Land Rover reappear at the bottom of the hil early next day? It wasn’t logical, but

she didn’t wait around too long analysing her emotions before tearing downstairs and out into the yard to greet him. She stopped short when she saw Rob Mackay with him.

Rob acknowledged her, ‘Aye, aye,’ but Cameron virtual y ignored her, before the two walked round to the back of the Land Rover and began lifting

out wood and wire-meshing and a col ection of tools. It seemed she was going to have repairs done whether she liked it or not.

When they’d finished unloading, Rob started mending the shed door while Cameron crossed to where she stood in the doorway. Jo wagged his tail,

betraying the pleasure Riona was too proud to show. Cameron patted the dog’s head, but his expression remained cool as he confronted Riona. He handed her a buff-coloured envelope.

‘What is it?’ Riona’s happiness had evaporated.

‘Don’t worry. It’s not an eviction notice,’ he responded heavily and pushed it into her hand. ‘Read it careful y, before signing it.’

He turned away and Riona thought he was leaving, but instead he walked over to the dry stone wal and, to her astonishment, began to dismantle a

section that badly needed rebuilding.

Riona stood for a moment, watching as he shifted stone boulders almost effortlessly, and wondered once again what he did in his other life back in

America. Talking to the doctor, he sounded like an educated man with sophisticated ideas and an executive air. Labouring in her back yard, he could pass for a construction site worker who wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty. Which was the real Cameron Adams?

Whichever, he was now the laird and, as such, far out of her reach. If Riona needed a reminder of the fact, it was in her hand—in the shape of a

buff-coloured envelope. She carried it inside and, sitting down at the kitchen table, turned it over and over in her hand. The easygoing Cameron of yesterday hadn’t given her this; her landlord had. He’d tried to be friendly, and she’d been churlish in response. Whatever was in the envelope, she very probably deserved it.

She was wrong. She didn’t. She twice read the document inside, looking for a catch and finding none. It was an agreement, offering her lifetime

tenancy of the croft, rent to remain currently static, future increases to be limited to inflation rate and unaffected by any improvements the estate might make to the property. It was on a standard form with handwritten additions witnessed by Agatha Mackenzie and Morag Mackinnon, housekeeper and housemaid

at Invergair Hal . It gave her total security and cost her nothing and was more generous than she had any right to expect after her surly behaviour.

It was some time before she went out to him. She rehearsed a speech of gratitude and apology, but it became a confused mess in her head the

instant she came near him.

He didn’t notice her at first. He was working steadily, stripped down to the waist in the bright June sunshine. He was tanned an even brown,

suggesting he was accustomed to working outside.

Riona stopped short, her eyes drawn to his broad, muscular back and the rivulets of sweat running down it. Her breath caught and she wondered if a

man could be described as beautiful. If he could, Cameron Adams was.

He must have sensed her presence. He straightened and turned suddenly, and she blushed, as if guilty of something.

He nodded towards the envelope in her hand. ‘Have you signed it?’

‘I—er—no, it’s al right,’ she garbled out. ‘There’s no need. I was being sil y... yesterday, I mean. I realise you don’t want to evict me.’

‘You do?’ He sounded suspicious at her almost humble tone.

She nodded. ‘I suppose I was just being...wel , as you say—hard to get along with,’ she admitted, pul ing a face.

He raised a surprised brow at what was clearly intended as an apology, then conceded generously, ‘I don’t know, maybe it was my fault, too. When

I get an idea, I tend to expect other people to go along with it. I guess I’m not used to hard-headed Scots girls with minds of their own.’

A smile made the last a compliment, and Riona smiled back, but it was an automatic response. Their eyes conveyed more as they met and held and

admitted the reality of their feelings.

It was a physical thing, not a simple pul of attraction, but a great big wrench. The way he looked at her made her stomach knot and her heart race and her head light, and instinctively she wanted to fight with him al over again. She wanted to fight with him because it seemed by far the safest thing to do.

‘So this time I’m asking,’ he said, eyes stil holding hers, ‘wil you please come along and introduce me to the other ladies this afternoon?’

He made it easy for her. She just had to say no. Say no and he wouldn’t bother her again.

‘I...yes, OK,’ she said in a rush, suddenly tired of being sane and sensible and safe.

He didn’t hide his satisfaction. He’d got his way, as he probably had a thousand times before with other women he left breathless in his wake.

‘Actual y, no, when I think—’ she tried to back out of it.

He wouldn’t let her. ‘Uh-huh! Don’t think. Much better go with your instincts.’

‘I...’ Riona opened her mouth to argue, but couldn’t think of an excuse that wouldn’t sound lame.

And he continued quickly, ‘Wel , I’d better finish the job I’ve started.’ He indicated the section of wal he was rebuilding.

To Riona, what he’d already done looked impressive. ‘Is that what you do for a living? Actual building, I mean?’

The question seemed to amuse him, as he said, ‘There’s not much cal for dry stone wal s in downtown Boston, but yes, you could say I’m in the

same line of work.’

‘As a foreman?’ Riona was almost positive he wasn’t an ordinary labourer.

‘Of sorts,’ he confirmed. ‘Why? Were you hoping for something grander?’

‘No, of course not!’ Riona denied sharply. ‘It doesn’t matter to me what you do. Why should it?’

‘No reason.’ He ignored her disgruntled look and smiled to himself before ending the conversation with, ‘So I’l see you later.’

It wasn’t a question but a statement, as he turned back to the wal and continued the task in hand. Realising she’d been dismissed, Riona headed

towards the croft-house, then changed her mind and, whistling the col ie, took to the hil s. She climbed as far as her main flock of sheep and moved them to an adjoining field to graze. It didn’t take her long. At sixteen, Jo was getting old, but he was stil an excel ent sheep-dog. Trained by her grandfather, he needed the minimum of instruction.

Riona, however, was in no hurry to return to the croft, and sat down on one of the large stones that were scattered across the hil side. From that

vantage-point she could see her yard. Cameron Adams had abandoned his wal -building temporarily to help Rob erect new fencing round the chicken-run.

She was too far away to hear what they were saying, but clearly they were at ease with each other. It seemed the new laird didn’t expect the deference Sir Hector had always demanded of his estate workers.

But he was stil laird, Riona reminded herself of the fact. He might just be a construction worker in the United States. He might have had as limited an education as herself. He might come from as humble a background. But in Scotland his lairdship put him in a social category way above her own.

She might tel herself that she was as good as Cameron Adams any day of the week. She might even believe it. But that wouldn’t make any

difference. She was never going to be regarded as suitable.

Suitable for what? Riona’s lips twisted as she recognised the very absurdity of her thoughts. Cameron wasn’t worrying about whether she was

‘suitable’ or not. He’d probably never even considered that. He was simply attracted to her on a sexual level. She knew that. She wasn’t a fool, and besides, he’d made it obvious.

And herself? Riona questioned as she gazed back down the hil at him. Stil stripped to the waist, he had returned to reconstructing the wal . Even at a distance she felt the power of his attraction, and her body stirred with unfamiliar desire. He worked effortlessly, with strong, easy movements. He would make love the same way. Riona knew enough to know that, but then she wasn’t quite the innocent he imagined.

Her thoughts went once more to Fergus and their brief relationship. She had known him since childhood. They had gone to the same school, although

he had been a couple of classes ahead of her. Red-headed and good-looking, he had been popular with the girls and had known it. Riona had been one of the few to resist his charm, which was probably why he kept pursuing her in between other romances.

He had eventual y gone away to the Navy, but had returned, at Christmas-time, for six weeks’ leave. Riona, torn between running the croft and

nursing her ailing grandfather, had been oblivious of the festive season. When Fergus had appeared to offer a hand, it had seemed a godsend. If she had been less tired or less sad— for her grandfather was dying slowly before her eyes— Riona would have asked herself what Fergus wanted in return.

Her grandfather had died a month after Christmas. She had got through the funeral somehow, but her grief had been terrible. Salvation had come

through work. January snowstorms had hit a couple of days later and the sheep had to be rescued from the hil . Fergus had worked by her side through three exhausting days, the last days of his leave.

It had hardly been a romantic setting, dragging buried, sometimes dead sheep out of thigh-high drifts of snow, but it had both weakened and

heightened emotions. Bitterly cold, desperately unhappy, she had turned to Fergus, seeking love, comfort, a cure for grief.

She didn’t blame Fergus for taking advantage. She was the one who had deceived herself by cal ing her dependence on him love. She was the one

who had wanted to believe, however briefly, in Fergus’s claims of undying devotion, rather than remind herself of al the other girls who had doubtless heard the same words from him.

And afterwards, when intimacy had destroyed even that il usion of love, she had felt too low to object to Fergus’s subsequent attitude. No ‘I love

you’s then. Instead she had glimpsed the old Fergus, visibly preening himself and openly boasting that he’d always known he’d get her one day. She’d said nothing, wil ing him gone. He’d promised to write, and she’d been relieved he hadn’t. She just wanted to forget how weak and foolish she’d been.

Perhaps she’d forgotten too wel —for there she was again, accepting another man’s help round the croft and wondering what the cost was going to

be. She looked down at Cameron Adams once more and forced herself to face facts. He wasn’t spending a morning mending a dry stone dike for the good of his health. He wasn’t offering a new tenancy agreement because he hoped to be declared Landlord of the Year.