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  it only put them closer together. Brigham reached out to trace the line of her jaw.

  "I could let you go, Rena. It wouldn't change what's between us."

  "There can be nothing between us."

  "Stubborn." He nipped her lower lip. "Willful." Then he traced the ache with his tongue. "Beautiful."

  "I'm none of those things." She lifted a hand, thinking to push him away, but somehow she was clutching his jacket.

  "You're all of them." He bit gently at her jaw, making her eyes widen in confused desire. His lips curved at her reaction. She would be a joy in bed. Slowly, almost leisurely, he shifted to nibble her earlobe.

  "Don't."

  "I've waited for days to have five minutes alone with you and do just this." He dipped his tongue into her ear so that both pleasure and heat rippled through her. "There is nothing more I want than to make love with you, Serena. Every inch of you."

  "I can't. You can't."

  "You can," he murmured. "We will." He teased her lips apart with his. For a moment she luxuriated in it, the feel of his lips on hers. The rightness of it. But it couldn't be right. It would never be right. "Please, stop. It's wrong for you to speak that way to me. It's wrong to—I can't think."

  "Don't think." Suddenly he gripped her by the shoulders so that they were again face-to-face. "Feel. Just feel. And show me." Her head was spinning, with longings, with warnings. With a moan, she dragged his mouth to hers. It was wrong. It was madness. But she couldn't resist. When he touched her, she wanted only for him to go on touching her. When he kissed her, she felt she might die from the pleasure of it. To be wanted like this was its own kind of torment. She could feel his desire for her in the way his fingers gripped, in the way his mouth devoured. With each passing second she could feel her will drain until she knew there would come a time when she would give everything to him.

  He covered her heart with his hand, aroused to desperation by its pounding. For him. Unable to resist, he traced his fingers over her curves, trailing his lips down her throat, then up again, to find her lips warmed and waiting for his.

  "My God, Serena, how I want you." His breath ragged, he pushed her away to stare at her flushed face. "Can you understand?"

  "Aye." Her hand was shaking as she lifted it to her throat. "I need time to think."

  "We need time to talk." Very carefully he released her, only just realizing how hard his fingers had dug into her arms. He heard the sound of approaching horses and swore. "Every time I'm alone with you I end up kissing you. We won't get any talking done this way. I need you to understand how I feel, and what I want for us."

  She thought she did. And to her shame, and her excitement, she knew she was close to agreeing. He wanted her, and she would be his lover. It would be the most precious moment of her life. And then he would offer to make an arrangement. As his mistress, she would be well provided for, well housed, well clothed, well attended. And miserable. If she found the strength to refuse him, she would retain her pride, and she would be even more miserable.

  "There's no need to talk. I understand." She rose to brush off her skirts. "I simply need time to think about it." He took her hand, knowing they had only moments to be alone. "Do you love me?" She closed her eyes, wishing she could hate him for asking what he must already know. "That isn't the only question to be answered, Brigham."

  He dropped her hand and stepped back, his eyes cold again. "We're back to that, are we? I'm English, and no matter what you may feel for me, no matter what we can bring to each other, you won't forget it."

  "Can't," she corrected, and wanted to weep. "No, I can't forget who you are, what you are, any more than I can forget who and what I am. I need time to see if I can live with what you want from me."

  "Very well." He inclined his head. "You'll have time. But remember this, Serena. I won't beg you."

  Chapter Eight

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  It's going to be a beautiful ball." Maggie balanced on the rang of a ladder and polished the topmost corner of a mirror. The servants, under Fiona's eagle eye, were turning the house inside out. Family was expected to do no less. "Everything will be perfect, Rena. You'll see. The music, the lights—"

  "And Coll," Serena added, rubbing her cloth over the arm of a chair.

  "Especially Coll." Smiling, Maggie looked down over her shoulder. "He's already asked me for the first dance."

  "That comes as no surprise."

  "He was so sweet when he asked," Maggie murmured, peering closer to the mirror to give her face a careful study. She was terrified that the long, sunny rides she had indulged in would bring out freckles that Coll would despise. "I wanted to tell him there was no one else I wanted to dance with at all, but I knew that would make him go red and stutter."

  "I don't remember ever hearing Coll stutter until you came to visit."

  "I know." Maggie bit her lip in delight. "Isn't it wonderful?"

  A sarcastic response faded from her mind when Serena looked up at Maggie's beaming face. "Aye. He's fallen in love with you, and I've no doubt it's the finest thing that has ever happened to him."

  "Not just because you're my friend?" Maggie asked anxiously.

  "No, because he looks happier whenever you're in the room."

  Maggie felt tears sting her eyes, then blinked them away. She didn't want them red and puffy if Coll happened in. She was still floating in the fantasy that her love should see her as nothing less than perfect.

  "Remember years ago when we promised each other we'd be sisters one day?"

  "Of course. You would marry Coll and I would marry whichever of your cousins I—" With the cloth dangling from her fingers, Serena looked up. "Oh, Maggie, never say Coll has made an offer?"

  "Not yet." Maggie tucked a loose curl back in her cap. For a moment she got the stubborn line between her brows her father would have recognized very well. "But he will. Rena, it can't just be wishful thinking. I love him so much."

  "Are you certain?" Rising, Serena crossed over to lay a hand on Maggie's skirt. "We were only children when we talked that way. I know you had your heart set on him, but you're not a child anymore, and Coll's a man."

  "It is different." With a sigh, Maggie rubbed at a spot on the mirror. "When we were children I would think of him as a prince."

  "Coll?" Serena couldn't prevent a sisterly snort.

  "He was so tall and bonny. I imagined him fighting duels over me, sweeping me up on his horse and carrying me off." Laughing a little, she stepped down a rung. "But now, these past few weeks, being around him has made me see him in a whole new way. He's a steady man, dependable, gentle, even shy in his way. Oh, I know he has a temper and can be reckless, but that's the part that makes him exciting, as well as steady. He's not a prince, Rena, and I love him more than I ever knew I could."

  "Has he kissed you?" Serena asked, thinking that Brigham was more like Maggie's childhood vision of Coll. The earl of Ashburn was a man for duels and carrying off.

  "No." Maggie pouted for a moment over it, knowing it was wrong to wish he had just once taken command of her. "I think he was about to once, but Malcolm came in." Maggie fluttered her hands. "Do you think it's wrong for me to want him to?"

  "No." Serena's answer was flat and honest, but Maggie was dreaming and didn't notice the tone.

  "I miss my mother more now than when she died," Maggie mused. "Not being able to talk to her about all of this. To ask her if being with my father ever made her feel as though her heart had turned upside down. Tell me the truth, Serena, do you really think he loves me?"

  "I've never seen him act so stupid around anyone else. Stammering, going around dreamy eyed and slack mouthed. Whenever he looks at you he either goes pale or colors up."

  "Truly?" Maggie clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, but the man's slow. I'll go mad soon if he doesn't stop looking and take."

  "Maggie!" Though her laughter was scandalized, Serena gave her friend a careful study. "You wouldn't, well, agree to more than a kiss?"
/>
  "I don't know." Her color was high as she stepped down another rung. "The only thing I'm sure of is, if he doesn't declare himself soon, I'll take matters into my own hands."

  Fascinated, Serena tilted her head. "How?"

  "I—" Maggie stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps. Her heart fluttered once, making her certain it was Coll even before he swung into the room. On impulse, she let her foot slip off the rung and gasped in alarm as she tumbled the last few feet toward the polished floor.

  Serena reached out, but Coll took the distance in a leap and caught Maggie around the waist He had only a fleeting sensation of how tiny she was before he was swamped with concern.

  "There now, lassie, have you hurt yourself?"

  "How clumsy of me," she managed over the lump in her throat as she stared up into his wide, rugged face. If Serena had asked her now if she would agree to more than a kiss, her answer would have been yes, a hundred times yes.

  "Nonsense." Overwhelmed by tenderness, he held her gently. "A little slip of a girl like you shouldn't be climbing ladders." Suddenly afraid he might bruise her with his big, clumsy hands, he started to set her down. Drastic desires called for drastic measures, Maggie thought, and she let out a muffled cry as her foot touched the ground. Instantly she was gathered in Coll's arms again. She nearly swooned in earnest when she felt the rapid beat of his heart against hers.

  "You have hurt yourself? Shall I call Gwen?"

  "Oh, no! If I could just sit for a moment…" She fluttered her lashes and was rewarded when Coll swept her up and carried her to a chair. It took him only six steps, but he had never felt more of a man.

  "You're a bit pale, Maggie. A little water should help." He was up and striding out before she could think of an excuse to keep him.

  "How badly does it hurt?" Serena had already knelt by her feet. "Oh, Maggie, it would be so unfair if you couldn't dance tomorrow."

  "I'll dance. And I'll dance with Coll."

  "But if you've sprained your ankle—"

  "There's not a thing wrong with my ankle. Don't be silly." To prove it, she sprang up and did a quick, laughing dance step.

  "Why, Margaret MacDonald, You lied to him."

  "No such thing." She sat again, careful to arrange her skirts in their most flattering folds. "He assumed I'd hurt myself, I never said so. Oh, Rena, how is my hair? It must be a mess."

  "You fell on purpose."

  "Aye." Maggie's face glowed with triumph. "And it worked."

  Disgusted, Serena sat back on her heels. "That's nothing but a trick, and a demeaning one at that."

  "It's not a trick, or only a small one, and there's nothing demeaning about it." She touched a hand to her cheek where Coll's beard had tickled her. "It was simply a way to make him feel as though I needed tending. A man doesn't fall in love with a woman who's a packhorse, you know. If it makes him feel good to think of me as a bit helpless and fragile, what's the harm?" Serena chewed over that one, remembering the time Brigham had raised his sword for her when he'd thought she had been attacked If she had acted a little more… fragile… With a shake of her head, she told herself that was for Maggie, not for her.

  "None, I suppose."

  "When a man's shy, he needs a bit of a push. There, he's coming back." She gripped Serena's hands and squeezed. "If you could leave us alone for just a little while."

  "I will, but… It almost seems as though he hasn't a chance."

  Her smile spread. "I hope not."

  "Here now." Coll knelt beside her and offered a cup. "Drink a little."

  "Perhaps I'll go fetch Gwen," Serena said as she rose. Neither Maggie nor Coll spared her a glance. "And perhaps I won't," she murmured, and left them alone.

  Coll took Maggie's hand in his. It seemed so soft, so tiny. He felt like a bear hulking over a dove. "Are you in much pain, Maggie?"

  "No, it's nothing." She looked at him from under her lashes, amazed to find herself as stricken with shyness as he. "You don't need to fuss, Coll."

  Looking at her, he was reminded of one of the beautiful porcelain dolls he had seen in Italy. His need to touch ha was as great as his fear that he would bruise her. "I was afraid I wouldn't be quick enough to catch you."

  "So was I." Daringly, she laid her hand on his. "Do you remember, years ago, I fell in the forest and tore my dress?"

  "Aye." He had to swallow. "I laughed at you. You must have hated me."

  "No, I could never hate you." Her fingers curled into his. "I must have been a dreadful nuisance." She drew together her courage and looked up. "Am I still?"

  "No." His throat was dry as dust. "You're the most beautiful woman in Scotland, and I—" Now his throat was not only dry but seemed to have swollen to twice its size, and his collar threatened to strangle him.

  "And you?" Maggie prompted.

  "I should find Gwen."

  She nearly screamed with frustration. "I don't need Gwen, Coll. Can't you—don't you see?" He did, the moment he braced himself to look into those dark blue eyes. He was thunderstruck for a moment, then terrified, and then he was lifting her out of the chair and into his arms. "You'll marry me, Maggie?"

  "I've waited all my life for you to ask." She tilted her face up for his kiss.

  "Coll!" Fiona stepped into the room. Her voice was ripe with warning and disapproval. "Is this how you treat a young female guest in our home?"

  "Aye." He laughed and carried Maggie forward. "When she's agreed to be my wife."

  "I see." She looked from one to the other. "I won't pretend I'm surprised, but—I think you'd best refrain from carrying Maggie around until after the wedding."

  "Mother—"

  "Set the lass down."

  Stiff with annoyance, he complied. Maggie gripped her hands together, then relaxed when Fiona opened her arms. "Welcome to the family, Maggie. I can only be grateful my son is finally showing good sense."

  She still couldn't believe it. As she finished up the morning milking, Serena thought over Maggie's breathless announcement. Coll was getting married.

  "What do you think of that?" she asked the placid cow as milk squirted into the pail. No one was supposed to know yet, of course. Fiona had insisted that Coll approach MacDonald with an offer first, as was proper, but Maggie hadn't been able to hold the news inside. In fact, Serena's eyes were gritty this morning because Maggie hadn't let her sleep until it had been nearly time to rise again.

  There was little doubt that when MacDonald arrived later that day with many of the other guests he would agree to the betrothal. Maggie was nearly delirious at the thought of announcing the engagement at the ball that night. Ready to dance out of her shoes, Serena thought as she squeezed and pulled the last of the milk from the bored cow. Then there was Coll, strutting around Eke a rooster with two tails. With a shake of her head, Serena set the milking stool aside and lifted her two pails: Of course she was happy for them. As long as she could remember, Maggie had dreamed of marrying Coll. She would be a good and loving wife to him, calming his more radical impulses, indulging the harmless ones. She would be content to spin, ply her needle and raise a brood of raucous children. And Coll, like their father, would be devoted to his family. For herself, she had reaffirmed her decision never to marry. She would make a poor wife. It wasn't that she minded the work, or that she wouldn't dearly love to have children of her own, but she hadn't the patience or the biddable nature to sit and wait, to nod and obey. In any case, how often did anyone find a mate to both love and respect? She supposed she'd been spoiled by being a part of her parents' marriage. Settling for less would make her feel like a failure.

  How could she marry anyone, she asked herself as she came out of the cow shed, when she had fallen in love with Brigham? How could she give herself to a man when she would always wonder what it would have been like with another? Knowing she could never be a part of Brigham's life, or he a part of hers, didn't change what was in her heart. Until she could convince herself that the love she had for him was dead, she would remain a
lone.

  It would be harder now, watching Coll and Maggie. Serena balanced herself with the pails as she started down the rise. The sun was struggling to brighten the sky and melt the last of the winter's snow. The path was slick, but manageable for one who had made the trip day after day all her life. She moved without hurry, not for caution's sake but because her mind was elsewhere. No, she wouldn't begrudge them their happiness because she could never have the same. That would be mean-hearted, and she loved them both too much for that. But she had to wonder at the way Maggie had claimed her heart's desire simply by tumbling off a ladder. The way Coll had looked at Maggie! As if she were a piece of precious glass that might shatter at a touch, Serena remembered with a quick shake of her head. How would it be to have a man look at you that way? Of course, it wasn't what she wanted, Serena reminded herself. Still, just once it might be nice.

  She heard the sound of boots ringing on rock and glanced up to see Brigham striding toward the stables. Without giving herself time to think, she changed directions so that they would pass each other. Offering a silent apology for the spilled milk, Serena let out what she hoped was a convincing gasp of alarm and slid to the ground.

  Brigham was beside her instantly, his hands on his hips, his face already darkened by his black mood.

  "Have you hurt yourself?"

  It was more an accusation than a question. Serena bristled, then forced herself to play the part. She wasn't precisely sure how it was done, but Maggie had used her lashes. "I'm not sure. I may have twisted my ankle."

  "What the devil are you doing hauling milk?" Disgusted, he bent down to examine her ankle. The communication that had been brought to him late the previous night was weighing on his mind. But for that, he might have seen the thunder come into her eyes. "Where's Malcolm or that scatterbrained Molly or one of the others?"

  "The milking's not Malcolm's job, and Molly and everyone else are busy preparing for the guests." All thoughts of being fragile and feminine were whisked away. "There's no shame in hauling milk, Lord Ashburn. Perhaps your dainty English ladies wouldn't know a cow's teat from a bull's—"

  "This has nothing to do with my English ladies, as you call them. The paths are slippery and the pails are heavy. So it has to do with you doing more than you're able."

  "More than I'm able?" She knocked his hand away from her ankle. "I'm strong enough to do as much as you and more. And I've never in my life slipped on this path."

  He sat back on his heels and let his gaze sweep over her. "Sturdy as a mule, aren't you, Rena?" That was it. A woman could take only so much. Serena sprang up and emptied the contents of one bucket over his head. It was done before either of them could prevent it. She stood, swinging an empty bucket, while he swallowed a mouthful of very fresh milk.

  "There's a warm milk bath for your soft English skin, my lord."

  She grabbed the other bucket, but before she could toss it in his face, his hands closed over hers on the handles. His grip was very firm, very steady, but there was smoke from a volatile fire in his eyes.

  "I should thrash you for that."

  She tossed her head back and watched with growing satisfaction as milk dripped down his cheeks. "You can try, Sassenach."

  "Serena!"

  The challenging gleam in her eyes turned to one of distress when she heard her father call her name. She braced herself as she waited for him to rash the last few feet toward her.

  "Father." There was nothing to do but hang her head before his glowering eyes and wait for the worst.

  "Have you lost your mind?"

  She signed. Because she was looking at the ground, she didn't notice that Brigham shifted just enough to put himself between Serena and her father's wrath. "My temper, Father."

  "There was a slight accident, Ian," Brigham began. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped milk from his face. "Serena lost her footing while she was carrying the milk."

  "It wasn't an accident." It would not have occurred to Serena to claim it as one and save herself. "I poured the pail of milk on Lord Ashburn deliberately."

  "I had eyes to see that for myself." Ian planted his feet. At that moment, with the sun rising behind his back, his plaid tossed over one shoulder and his face hard as granite, he looked fierce and invincible. "I'll apologize for the miserable behavior of this brat, Brigham, and promise you she'll be dealt with. Into the house, girl."

  "Yes, Father."

  "Please." Brigham put a hand on her shoulder before Serena could make her humiliated retreat. "I can't in good conscience allow Serena to take the full blame. I provoked her, also deliberately. I called you a mule, I believe, did I not, Serena?" Her eyes kindled as she lifted her head. She was careful to lower it again quickly lest her father see she was unrepentant. "Aye."

  "I thought that was it." Brigham wrung out his sodden handkerchief. What Parkins would say to this, Brigham couldn't even surmise.

  "The incident was as unfortunate as the insult, and as regrettable. Ian, I would take it as a favor if you would let the matter drop." Ian said nothing for