The infuriating woman gave him her back again.

He eyed the supple arch of her back, the lovely hips, the longs legs moving in restless tempo to the music beneath her soft white gown. She tossed her head and laughed at something her companion said.

Abashed, he studied her companion. A foot taller than she, the man was lean and well muscled. They obviously shared a close relationship, leaning their heads close and laughing. Duncan’s hands fisted at his sides.

What did a man say to that? Yes, but now that I’ve seen you, I doona wish anyone else? All that was merely practice, preparing me for you? He doubted that would be effective with this woman. She’d only laugh at him again.

Seething, he tapped her companion on the shoulder. “Pardon me, but are you her lover?”

“Who the hell are you?”

The redhead placed a soothing hand on her companion’s arm, ignoring the look of fury Duncan directed at her fingers. “This is Duncan Douglas, Tally.”

“Ah.” Her companion smirked. “And as any blackguard worth his salt, confronted with the insurmountable challenge of your beauty, he must conquer you, eh, Beth?”

They shared an intimate glance. “I’m afraid so.”

“Who are the two of you?” Duncan demanded. Never had he been so mocked, never had he felt so … so … insignificant. Unimportant.

“We are friends of Renaud de Vichiers, one of your Templars,” she replied easily. “We were on our way to Edinburgh when we heard Renaud was at Castle Brodie. I am Elizabeth … MacBreide.” She gestured with an elegant, slim hand. “And this is my brother, Tally.”

“MacBreide of Shallotan?”

“Near there,” Tally replied evasively.

“Your brother,” Duncan observed aloud, as the significance of their relationship sunk in. He was not her lover. He wouldn’t have to kill him.

“And protector,” Tally added dryly. “Do not think to attempt to seduce my sister, Duncan Douglas. We heard of your exploits shortly after arriving, and Beth said she saw you dallying with one of the maids.”

Duncan cringed inwardly. He had indeed tupped less than privately early this morn. So, she had noticed him—and how long had she watched?

“Chasing her about in the bailey, then up onto the parapet,” Elizabeth added, without the slightest blush. “The maids here cannot say enough about you. Even as far as the taverns in Inverness we’d heard of the wild and irreverent Douglas brother. They say there isn’t a fair maid you haven’t tumbled.”

Words that would have made him preen with masculine pleasure on any other tongue made him wince, coming from her absurdly full lips. It was all too obvious what she thought of him. There was nothing he could say in his own defense; she plainly did not care for casual tupping, and he’d never concealed the fact that he relished it. There were certain rooms he’d entered in his life that had held a dozen different women he’d tupped. Never before had that fact bothered him.

Retreat and reform into a fresh attack, he advised himself, then charge again when she least expects it. By God, this was battle, and if the front line couldn’t be breached, he would find a way to circumvent her outlying guards and penetrate her flank. That he’d blown the first attack didn’t mean he’d lost the war.

He raised her hand and kissed the air above it. “Elizabeth, Tally, welcome to Brodie,” he said coolly before turning away.

As he moved off into the crowd, he walked tall, concealing the uncomfortable sensation of slinking away from a resounding set-down. As he wove through the dancers, Duncan muttered darkly to himself. How dare she criticize him for being a good lover, an enthusiastic man? He was considerate with his wenches, he was patient, always ensuring their pleasure. How dare she belittle him for his … frequency. Leftovers, indeed!

Scowling, he headed for the courtyard, the glorious night now fractured by her disdain.

* * *

Armand watched the lord and lady with growing frustration. He’d been impatiently following her for days now, and not once had he been able to catch her alone. The laird was at her side constantly.

He must capture her tonight, or he would never make it to the arranged meeting place with James Comyn on time. He’d completed searching the castle, all but the laird’s chambers, into which there was no entrance without the key. He’d even climbed to the roof, only to encounter a dozen forbidding guards, at which point he’d pretended to have sought the gloaming to meditate closer to God. There would be no scaling the wall to the laird’s room, for the castle was too carefully observed. But surely she had a key, and once he snared her, he would spare time to search their private bedchambers before leaving. He needed those weapons.