The boy skulked back into the room with his head hung low. Despite the tousled black mop of hair and the streaks of dirt on his clothing, the child was clearly a handsome one. Lily bit her lip when she saw how much John was the image of his father. And a total hell-raiser at that, struggling through that difficult age when he was no longer a young child, yet not fully an adolescent either.

“Aye, sir?” John was clearly trying as hard as he could to sound innocent.

“You ’re filthy. ”

Seeing his chance, the boy spun to escape, mumbling, “Sorry, sir, I ’ll just go now and clean myself ”— “Och, I’ve not given you leave!” Ewen was barely masking his frustration.

“Aye, Da, may I leave?”

“No. You’ll meet your new governess.” Ewen gestured to Lily, and his son’s eyes lit up. Cocking an eyebrow, the child smiled a challenge to her, and suddenly his utter resemblance to Ewen annoyed her.

“Pleased, ma’am. ” John nodded his head, not once losing the raffish smile. Lily got a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. The kid looked like a starving man eyeing a plate of meat. She shuddered to think what indignities the former nannies had suffered at his hands.

Surely, she thought, controlling this handsome child couldn’t be as hard as managing a team of disgruntled Silicon Valley artists. Thinking the best approach would be to take the upper hand from the start, Lily proclaimed in the most commanding voice she could muster, “Your father is right. You are filthy. Please go wash up now. ”

She was quite pleased, congratulating herself that no boy would ever be a match for her twenty-first-century determination.

The boy, looking unimpressed, turned to his father and announced in an exaggeratedly thick brogue, “I didn’t ken her meaning, Da. ”

Apprehension gnawed at her, and Lily realized she would prefer disgruntled to unruly any day.

“Well …you’re going to have to try, aye? ” Ewen turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the room. “And, Lily’s right, go wash yourself. You look like the stable boy. ”

With that, Lily was left alone with John.

Ewen felt a momentary pang of guilt at the beating he was giving poor Hamish. Normally a well -suited sparring partner, the youngster was getting the workout of his life. He let his guard down for a moment to brush a sweaty lock of long brown hair out of his eyes and the laird made him pay with a particularly violent slap of his sword to the torso.

“Och, sorry lad. I’d not intended to let at you so hard. ” Coughing, Hamish replied, “Nay, nay, you needn ’t say sorry, Lochiel sir, ’tis me who’s the sorry one. It’s my honor to spar with the laird. The devil take me, I don ’t know what’s the problem with my arm. ”

“Your arm is sound, lad, the problem is between my ears. Though you might want to keep that cow ’s lick out of your eyes. You can ’t hit that what you can’t see. Once again then, eh?”

The laird had at Hamish once again, this time moderating his attack. The intention was to practice with the lad, not kill him. Hamish was a talented swordsman, but once Ewen set his mind to dueling, it was a rare man who could best him. There was no reason the poor boy had to suffer the full, unmitigated blows of real combat just because Ewen ’s own preoccupied mind kept drifting. No matter how hard he tried, though, Ewen just couldn ’t get his mind off of that troublesome woman.

He didn’t know what he was thinking, embracing her so in the hallway. He caught Lily before she tumbled down the dark stairs and his cursed male instincts took over. Holding her so close had awakened a need, primal and urgent, that had slumbered for a long time now.

Damn her but she was different. Lily spoke to him in a way that no one else would. She seemed unimpressed with his title. While others under his care treated him with almost unthinking obedience and loyalty, Lily challenged him. She had a mind as bright as the sun, and he found himself wondering throughout his day what she would think of one thing and another. He had to earn this woman’s respect as she demanded acceptable explanations and reasons for the way he did things in his household. And he had to admit, for the first time in years he was finding himself circumspect about everything from how he raised his son to whether or not Kat was happy in his employ.

He had been able to restrain himself, though. He ’d pretended he hadn ’t noticed the enticing cut of a Scots dress on her body, that he hadn’t marked the flush in her cheeks and the sparkle in those intelligent eyes.

He had even been able to pretend that he didn ’t respond to the smell of her. He cursed himself for being no better than a feral dog, attuned as he was to her scent, a mingling of lavender from Kat’s homemade soap and her woman’s musk that always flirted on the edge of his senses to drive him to distraction.

But when he caught her on the stairs, all reason finally fled. She was so soft in his arms he couldn ’t resist daring that desire. Seeing what it would feel like. Whether she would respond.

And respond she did. He could feel it in the loosening of her hips against his legs. In her breath, increasingly deep and slow, in counterpart to the pounding of her heart. She was so open to him and immediately responsive to his touch, their verbal sparring seemed but a shadow of how well- matched they would be physically. He brought them to the brink of temptation, and he was the one to pull them back.

He feared she hated him for it.

“Och, and I hate myself for it too, lass, ” Ewen grumbled to himself.

“Eh, Lochiel, what …was … that you say?” Hamish could barely grunt the words out through his panting.

“Nothing of your concern. ” Ewen threw his practice sword to the dirt. “We’re done today, lad. ”

The laird turned abruptly to go. What he really needed was a dip in the freezing loch, not to kill one of his better young swordsmen.

“And go find someone to cut that bloody hair for you. ”

Chapter 12

The razor hovered midway down his cheek as General George Monk paused to study himself in the mirror. Such a sizeable looking glass was an almost obscene luxury in a military encampment, but he was a big believer in the tenet that distinguished men must maintain their dignity, no matter how savage their circumstances. His eyes shifted to the reflection of the rugged wilderness looming just outside his tent. Yes, the general had indeed found the need for refinements particularly essential when camping amidst the uncivilized Highland natives. Living on the rough Scottish crags and moors, moral certitude challenged by his brutishly ferocious foes—no, there was no better time than the present to have a good, clean shave.

He had enjoyed his verbal jousting with the Cameron. Ewen might be a laird, but Monk considered him no more civilized than an ancient Gael chieftain.

One of the men in his party—the laird ’s surly uncle, he presumed—had managed to take papers from Monk’s tent. Although it was an outdated manuscript, it detailed proposed movements and tactics of the British military and it vexed the general greatly that the brutes had been able to spirit it away somehow. He made a mental note not to underestimate the Camerons again. He would have to keep a closer eye on them when next they met—who knew what tricks beside thievery they were capable of.

The general rubbed his smooth cheek. The flesh there was as soft as it had been when he was a boy. He attributed such a supple complexion to his impeccable grooming habits, helped along by regular use of a milk and rose water concoction, the recipe for which was handed down by his great-grandmother.

He carefully rinsed his blade in a small pewter bowl then rubbed his face vigorously with a linen towel. Stimulating the circulation was key to maintaining healthful skin and keeping the humors in balance. He pouted, admiring his appearance in the glass. It was a nuisance that this Highland laird was not going to be as easily bought as some of his peers. Monk wanted nothing more than to continue his military campaign, perhaps moving farther north to see how much more of this crude and rocky land and its Highland primitives were there to be requisitioned for England. Camping for so long in the bloody mist made him peevish, not to mention the damage it did to some of his finer coats.

If the Cameron wasn’t tempted by the promise of lands or money, perhaps it was time to exert a little more pressure. Make it clearer to him and his people that they were not the true owners of that savage acreage known as Lochaber. He had taken a particular fancy to Inverlochy, a lovely loch -side tract that would afford his men precious timber and fishing, not to mention critical access via Loch Linnhe. The Cameron would rue the day he refused Monk’s generous offers. His spies had recently discovered that Ewen ’s men spoke of the laird as the “Deliverer of the Highland Army. ” Of all the preposterous notions. Rather, the laird would beg for quarter when he discovered the full might of the English army. The only place Clan Cameron would be delivered was into Monk’s waiting hands.

It was becoming aggravatingly clear to the general that he needed to create more permanent holdings for his troops. A much larger fort, more durable lodgings, perhaps even a prison. A massive garrison at Inverlochy would hold the country in awe of British sovereignty as demonstrated by his own visionary leadership.

General Monk admired his profile in the mirror. His gaze shifted back to the trees reflected in the looking glass.

And smiling, he decided that Cameron ’s Lochaber timber would be just the thing to build it.

Chapter 13

Only a month had passed since she’d begun as John’s governess, and already Lily was at her wits ’ end. The mouse that he hid in her sheets on the first night of her new job seemed like a charmingly naughty trick compared to some of the more elaborate pranks John was beginning to mastermind. She was practically nostalgic for that frightened little gray creature that had scurried up her leg. On her last trip to his rooms, John had snuffed out the stairwell’s only torch when she was but a quarter of the way down, leaving her to navigate the steep stairs in pitch darkness with only the feel of the damp stone walls to guide her way. It had taken an hour for her heart to stop pounding after that bit of mischief.