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LENGTH: Full Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy

Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2004
ISBN 1-58608-376-7
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Rating: Contains graphic sexual content.

"Five Angels! This book was brilliant. I LOVED IT. The whole Highland warrior type books are my favorite and this one was just awesome. I found myself crazy about Brodie. He just has that cocky, sexy, pig headed attitude. Ms Neal brings him to life and what a life she has created. Brodie, is up there high on my favorite male character list. This was a page- turner and now one of my favorites. All the characters in this story are brought to life, the description of the scenery is spell binding and if you close your eyes, you can see it. Go get this book, it is definitely worth it." Fallen Angels Reviews

"SEDUCING BRODIE MCKAY is a true delight to read. The writing style of Ms. Neal is refreshing, and the story line unique in that Lorna is willing to go against the moral and cultural norms of her generation to achieve her goal. If you are seeking a well-written story with heart, whose characters grow and develop before your very eyes into exceptional individuals because of their love, be sure not to miss this engaging story." Edith Morrison, Romance Reviews Today

"Four and 1/2 Hearts! Blending romance and mystery, Seducing Brodie MacKay is a captivating tale. Ms. Neal immediately draws the reader into the lives of this charming cast of characters, making you feel apart of the suspense and passion of the tale. The well-crafted plot makes this a remarkably entertaining and touching story. Brodie is a magnificent hero and the chemistry between him and Lorna is wonderful. Ms. Neal's delightful characters, superb dialogue, and heartfelt scenes make this book a must read." The Romance Studio

Seducing Brodie MacKay

by

Fiona Neal

© copyright January 2004, Carolyn Rickenbaker

Cover art by Eliza Black, © January 2004

New Concepts Publishing

www.newconceptspublishing.com

Prologue

Scotland

1701

"My lady, his lordship will clap us in irons if he discovers you've come here this night!" Lantern in hand, Seamus MacKay, the old schoolmaster, stood in the doorway of the cottage, the howling autumn wind tousling his snowy locks and tugging at his pleated plaid.

Lorna Countess of Kirkmoor squared her shoulders. "I would never put you in danger, Seamus. My husband is asleep and never wakes during the night." She failed to add that the elderly earl induced his nightly slumber with many drams of whisky. "But even if he were awake, I should have devised some way to make sure Brodie MacKay gets the help he needs. How is he, Seamus?"

The huge man shook his head. "He fares poorly, my lady. I've tried, but I doubt my clumsy attempts did any good. He needs the barber-surgeon, but Niall is still far off in the hills at Ellen MacKay's croft, tending the burns she received from a cooking fire."

"I heard." Lorna held her green velvet cape against the persistent pull of the cold gusts. "I hope the woman survives." She glanced at the basket over her arm. "I've brought some remedies, which Niall left with me when he treated one of my men-at-arms. I think they will help."

"God bless you for courage, my lady." A sole tear tickling down the man's cheek, he moved aside, allowing her to enter. "Brodie is like a grandson to me."

The poignant words touching her heart, Lorna stepped into Brodie's one-room cottage as Seamus quietly barred the door against the blustery night.

The fragrant peat fire filled the room with its distinctive scent and cast a rosy glow on the whitewashed walls.

Grateful for the warmth after her long walk through Kirkmoor Wood, Lorna proceeded to the bed against the wall.

The tall, handsome blacksmith lay on his stomach, his face turned toward her, one powerful arm dangling over the side of the bed.

Still holding the lantern, Seamus diffidently shuffled over the flagstone floor and approached the bed. "I've wrapped some heated stones and put them around him, my lady, because he cannot tolerate a quilt or bed rug on his injuries."

"'Tis quite understandable." Lorna cringed and stifled a gasp as she assessed the damaged to Brodie's muscular back. The wide lacerations crisscrossing his flesh had resulted from the public flogging Colin MacKay, Lord Kirkmoor, had inflicted, for no apparent reason, earlier that day.

"My lady," the abused man whispered, his moss green eyes glazed with pain.

"Hush, Brodie. Save your strength." Blinking away her tears, Lorna set down the basket on the stool by the bed. With the utmost care, she brushed his tangled auburn mane from his forehead and put her hand to his brow.

Relief flooded through her. So far, he had not developed a fever. Still, she guarded against too much optimism. The angry gashes could fester, and he could die.

Seamus switched the heavy lantern to his other hand. "As soon as I brought him home, I bathed his wounds with warm water mixed with an elixir of herbs I had on hand. I also gave him a dram of whisky to alleviate the discomfort, but that was hours ago, and we do not have a drop left."

She turned to the old schoolmaster. "You did the right thing, Seamus. I brought an infusion of willow bark laced with laudanum. 'Twill ease his suffering and lull him to sleep. But you must use it sparingly. Niall told me the drug often upsets the stomach. He also said that some patients begin to crave the drug if they drink it too frequently."

Lorna returned her attention to the suffering man. "Would you like some now, Brodie?"

"Aye." His voice emerged in a hiss of torment. "I'll do anything to stop this misery."

Lorna lifted a spoon from her basket.

"My lady," the schoolmaster said. "May I make a suggestion?"

She turned to the old man. "Certainly."

"'Tis painful for Brodie to sit up and awkward for him to eat or drink anything while lying on his stomach. If we had some reeds, he could sip medicines and liquids through them without having to move."

"Do you have some available, Seamus?"

He nodded. "Yesterday, the thatcher delivered a supply to repair the roof before winter sets in. Brodie stored them in the shed. I should have gotten them earlier, but I felt uneasy, leaving him alone."

"By all means, bring them."

"Aye, my lady." Toting the lantern, the schoolmaster left.

As the door slammed, Brodie grasped her hand and pressed his parched lips to its back. The lingering kiss amounted to more than an act of courtly obeisance, and Lorna's body suffused with the heat of desire.

Ashamed of the sensation, she suppressed it and gently withdrew her hand. She had no right to respond this way.

Hurt, vulnerable, and daft with pain, Brodie couldn't be held responsible for his actions. No matter how unhappy she was in her marriage, Lorna had no intention of ever violating her vows.

Still, the longing Brodie inspired had ignited like a torch the moment they met, months ago, when his green-fire gaze captured hers. Afraid the attraction would inevitably lead them astray, she had avoided Brodie -- until now.

"Moran taing for coming, my lady."

"You're welcome, Brodie. "'Tis the least I could do after the way his lordship treated you."

"Lord Kirkmoor is cruel to everyone," he rasped out.

"But he singles you out. Why?"

He frowned. "You don't know, my lady?"

Was he hinting that Colin sensed the unrequited passion that sparked between Brodie and her? Uncomfortable with that notion, Lorna changed the subject.

"You've suffered long enough, Brodie. I'm going to dose you." Uncorking the medicine bottle, Lorna carefully poured the liquid into the spoon and put it to his lips.

He swallowed, shuddered, and grimaced, revealing his white even teeth. "Och!"

"I'm sorry Brodie." Pulling a napkin from the basket, she dabbed his lips, then set the cloth down. "But you'll soon feel better," she reassured him, placing the spoon atop the linen.

"I hope so." Brodie sighed deeply.

After re-corking the bottle, she took the jar from her basket and opened it. "This salve of bee balm will take the sting from your wounds."

"Aye," he answered, closing his eyes.

Lorna moved to the washstand, cleansing and drying her hands. Taking a small cloth from her basket, she dipped it into the ointment and gently began anointing the raw stripes marring Brodie's back. Her heart broke, and she suppressed her tears each time he gasped from the pain.

After wiping the unguent from her fingers, she put the lid on the jar. "I'll leave the remedies in the basket for Seamus to use until you are well."

"I am much obliged to you, my lady. I feel better already."

Lorna swallowed a sob. "Good."

Brodie reached for her hand again, kissing its palm this time. Lorna closed her eyes and bit her lower lip as spasms of wanton pleasure throbbed through her. Summoning all her willpower, she again slipped her hand from his.

Suddenly, the door swung opened. The wind sent a swirl of brilliant autumn leaves scratching across the floor as Seamus entered, carrying a small bunch of reeds beneath his arm and the lantern in his hand.

"I apologize for taking so long, my lady, but I took the opportunity to feed Brodie's draft horses." He kicked the door shut then rested his burdens on the large battered table in front of the hearth.

"On the contrary, you have perfect timing, Seamus. I've just finished the treatment." Lorna walked to the schoolmaster and pressed a coin in his large hand. "When the barber-surgeon returns, see that Brodie gets all the treatment he needs."

Lorna desperately wanted to care for Brodie herself, but if her husband discovered she had, he would kill them both.

She walked to the door, and Seamus followed.

"I'm worried about you traveling all the way back to castle with no escort. 'Tis such a long trek through Kirkmoor Wood."

"Thank you, but I shall be fine. Good night, Seamus."

"Oidhche mhath, my lady."

Lorna exited the cozy thatched cottage. Only when the old schoolmaster shut the door behind her did she give vent to her clamoring tears.

Chapter One

1702

Stripped to the waist, a leather apron protecting his plaid, Brodie gripped the newly forged scythe between the jaws of a huge pair of tongs. Lifting the tool from the anvil, he plunged it into the barrel of water. The hot metal caused the liquid to gurgle and bubble as a hissing cloud of steam rose.

"You were conspicuously absent from the funeral, lad."

Brodie peered through the vapor.

Standing at the door of the workshop, his large body almost filling the frame, Seamus smiled mischievously. Clay pipe in hand, the schoolmaster entered, his old brogues scuffing across the dirt floor as he made his way to the anvil.

"Surely, no one really expected me to attend." Brodie moved to the nearby workbench and set down the implements.

"Nay." The old man shook his head, and the forge's flames transformed his white hair into a coppery halo. "But it casts the shadow of suspicion over you."

Brodie frowned. "Suspicion? For what?"

"For murdering Lord Kirkmoor."

"Murder?" Brodie's stomach muscles tightened. "I thought Colin fell from his horse and broke his neck."

"Aye," Seamus nodded. "That's what it looked like, but Lachlann MacKay has his doubts."

"Why? As captain of the guards, he's the one who did the investigation and said he found no evidence of foul play."

"Aye, but just because he didn't find any clues at the time, doesn't mean that none exist. The mare his lordship rode that day was old and known for her docile nature. Under the circumstances, 'tis hard to believe an expert horseman like Lord Kirkmoor would be thrown from his saddle to his eternal reward?"

"To his eternal damnation, you mean." Picking up a large damp towel from the table, Brodie began wiping the sweat and grime from his body. "And the way Colin rode while he was drunk, I'm surprised he didn't break his neck sooner."

"He didn't have the smell of whisky on him when the stable boy found him." Seamus puffed on his pipe.

"But why accuse me? Half the population of the Highlands wanted him dead, including most of the chieftains of the neighboring clans. Rich and poor hated him."

"No one is pointing the finger at you, lad, but you can't deny you had a strong motive. For obvious reasons, you'd be the prime suspect." Walking to the table, Seamus pulled out an old chair and sat.

"But as things stand now, I wouldn't gain from his death. The person who will really benefit is Ewan MacKay." Brodie hung the soiled cloth on a wall peg.

"Aye." Seamus blew a smoke ring. "He's Lord Kirkmoor now, God help us."

Brodie clenched his fists. "The man's a pig."

"But he can't be a suspect, lad. Ewan is still on his plantation in Barbados. Word won't get across the ocean for three months."

"Well, Lord Sutherland has good reason for wanting Colin out of the way, but unless Lachlann has some real evidence, he can't assume someone committed murder, whether that person attended his lordship's funeral or has a thousand motives." Brodie sat opposite his old friend. "And for all propriety the rest of the clan observes, I guarantee no one will mourn the old tyrant's death."

"I agree. Not even Lady Kirkmoor shed a tear."

The mere reference to Lorna made Brodie hot. Though months had elapsed since she nursed him, he could still feel the deft touch of her fingers on his flesh. The fragrance of her perfume would linger in his memory. At night, the glow of her violet eyes and shine of her raven hair haunted his dreams.

Soon, though, she would go to Invermara, her dower lands, because she and Colin had failed to provide an heir. The prospect of never seeing her again left Brodie bereft.

"Of course, her ladyship may have as strong a motive as anyone for wanting Colin dead." Seamus leaned on the table. The servants say he abused her, but I can't imagine her doing anything violent."

"Nor can I," Brodie answered.

"If Lady Kirkmoor knew the truth, she would allow you to search the castle for the evidence you need," Seamus remarked.

Brodie nodded. "I came close to telling her the night she came to tend me. But she seemed uncomfortable when I hinted at it, so I kept my mouth shut."

"Perhaps you should," Seamus suggested.

Just then, Brodie looked out the window and caught sight of Lorna walking with her younger sister, Rona, at the edge of Kirkmoor Wood by the burn. The sober mourning frock failed to diminish her radiance, and Brodie thought he would die from wanting her. A fantasy began playing out in his imagination, and his manhood hardened.

"Every time I knew you would be going in to the castle, lad, I worried one of the men-at-arms would catch you, and Colin would murder you on the spot," Seamus revealed, interrupting Brodie's erotic reverie.

He turned his attention back the schoolmaster. "With the power of Pit and Gallows, he could have done with impunity."

"He enjoyed humiliating you, lad."

"He did the same to you. You served as the factor here and have a law degree. Why did you stay here, Seamus?"

"I'd already turned sixty when Colin inherited the title and dismissed me. I thought I wouldn't have much longer to live, and I wanted to die among the glens and braes where I'd been born. With my inheritance wisely invested, I didn't need to practice law, so I turned to helping children." The schoolmaster smiled. "I became the dominie here, teaching the poor bairns who have no other chance to get an education. The job has kept me alive and happy for twenty years."

"Thank God, or we all should have grown up ignorant and illiterate."

"But you, lad, you're not yet thirty. You've got your whole life in front of you. With your education, you could give up smithing and make a fortune as a tobacco broker in Glasgow."

"And give up my search? Never! I owe it to myself and my parents to find the evidence I need."

"If it really exists, Brodie. Colin lied as easily as he breathed. That story about proof he repeatedly spouted may have just been the bait he used to keep you a prisoner here without having to put you in the dungeon."

"Maybe so, but he had the arrogance to keep the evidence around. He probably got perverse pleasure, seeing it and knowing he had flouted the law."

"Aye." Seamus exhaled a long plume of smoke. "You have a point."

Brodie leaned forward. "I'll keep looking until I've exhausted every resource or die in the attempt."

"Well, for all our sakes, I hope you find the proof you need before Ewan comes to take possession."

"Before he returns and kills me, you mean."

**

"By all that is holy, I'll find a way to stop him from using her as he used me!"

Her heart thumping, Lorna MacKay paused in the dim corridor in front of the library, wiping her moist palms on the wide skirt of her widow's weeds.

Beyond the arched oaken door, the argument between her father, Sir Angus MacLean and Rona infuriated Lorna. But she would have to cool her temper. Instead of anger, she would need all her wits to dispel the threat hovering over her sister like an ominous storm cloud.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" their father asked. You know we must leave Kirkmoor Castle, and we have nowhere to go. Your marriage will provide a fine home for us, Rona."

Lorna knew that argument. He'd used it to convince her to marry Colin. Lorna had to give him credit. Instead of force, her father appealed to his daughters' sense of duty and family loyalty to get what he wanted. Unfortunately, he had always met with success.

But not this time, father.

"We have a home," Rona insisted. "Lorna wants us to stay with her."

"We cannot impose on her like that, my dear. She will barely make ends meet herself, living on that goat track Lord Kirkmoor settled on her."

Lorna shook her head. Sir Angus had convinced her the estate was adequate when he encouraged her to sign the marriage settlement. But he thought she would have a child, and that would enable them to stay at Kirkmoor Castle indefinitely.

"But Sir Findlay Gunn stays drunk, father," Rona wailed. "And most of his children are older than I am."

"But I've given him my word, child. Would you have me impugn my honor?"

"Nay," Rona answered.

Becoming angrier by the second, Lorna inhaled deeply and gripped the doorknob, bracing herself before she intervened.

"You wouldn't subject me to the hardships of poverty and privation in the autumn of my years, would you?" he asked.

Terrified Rona would submit, Lorna swung open the heavy door and dashed into the huge room. "Enough, sir!" She hurried to Rona who stood in front of the floor to ceiling leaded casement window.

"What is the reason for this dramatic entrance?" The tall dark-haired man stared at Lorna. Though the tone of his voice retained its civility, the look in his gray eyes betrayed his annoyance.

"Father, you will not cajole Rona into an unsuitable match while you bide under my roof."

"Sir Findlay is hardly an unsuitable match, and may I remind you that 'tis no longer your roof?" he countered smoothly. "You are the dowager countess. Had you performed your duty, Rona and I would not find ourselves in this predicament."

As usual, he faulted her for all their troubles. This time, though, the mantle of blame did not belong on her shoulders.

"Our situation is desperate." Hands behind his back, yellow and black plaid flaring as he turned, her father began to pace the length of floor. "But Sir Findlay has offered a perfect solution to all our problems, and the man is so smitten he can't wait to marry you, Rona. Why, he's so eager he approached me after Lord Kirkmoor's burial yesterday!"

Rona burst into tears, and Lorna's resolve stiffened.

Just because her father had gambled away his fortune, he had no right to barter another daughter, body and soul, for security in his old age.

Besides, Rona loved Geordie MacKay. She had no idea how she would accomplish it, but Lorna suddenly vowed the two would wed.

Lorna took a lace-edged handkerchief from the slit in her skirt and dabbed the tears from Rona's azure eyes. "Calm yourself, dearest. Everything will be all right."

Sir Angus nodded enthusiastically. "'Twill if we take advantage of this golden opportunity. In time, you'll learn to love Sir Findlay, child. A pot of water put over a flame soon comes to a boil."

He used that old adage on me.

Standing in front of her sister, Lorna glared at him. "Rona stays here with me, father."

He came to an abrupt halt, his face flushing above the jabot of lace cascading from this throat. "And what happens when Ewan MacKay claims his title?"

"He may never inherit Kirkmoor."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I am carrying Colin's child," Lorna lied, patting her stomach.

His jaw slackened, and he gasped. "You're sure?"

Lorna's heart raced into a wild gallop, but she dared not back down now. "Aye."

"Why didn't you share this news with us before? The solicitor already posted a letter to Ewan yesterday."

Lorna boldly held his gaze and prevaricated again. "I didn't think he'd send a message so quickly and without consulting me."

Rona stepped from behind her, surprise in her large eyes. "Then I may stay here with you, Lorna?"

"That is for me to decide." Sir Angus hooked his thumbs in his belt. "I'm still your father."

"I need Rona. She can marry Sir Findlay after my bairn is born."

Horror flickered over Rona's oval face.

Lorna squeezed her sister's hand, signaling her to play along with the ruse. "Besides, Sir Findlay knows we'll observe a proper period of mourning for Lord Kirkmoor."

Pensively stroking his chin, her father walked to one of the carved chairs flanking the hearth and sat on the pomegranate brocade seat. "I suppose 'twould be unseemly to celebrate a wedding so soon after his lordship's death."

Lorna and Rona moved to the Jacobean loveseat facing the fireplace and settled on the scarlet velvet upholstery.

"I suppose you do need your family around you." He nodded. "And I'll see to your every need, for we want a healthy heir."

That would never do. If she were to help Rona elope with Geordie, she must persuade her father to leave Kirkmoor Castle.

Lorna leaned forward. "But you hate our Scottish winters, father. I couldn't bear to see you suffer through another one."

"Where would I go? I have no funds. I'm dependent on the good fortune of my daughters for my livelihood."

"I have some money at my disposal." She didn't. In fact, she would have to resort to chicanery to get it. "And as to your destination, you mention Majorca often enough."

"Majorca?" His eyes widened as his voice caressed the word.

"Aye," Rona interjected. "You're always talking about wanting to see the almond trees there in blossom again."

The enticement had the effect Lorna desired, for a smile of anticipation spread over his lined face. "Aye, 'tis quite a sight, and I love the mild climate and fine wines, my lady."

My lady, indeed. His sudden courtesy would have been amusing had it not been so pathetically obsequious. However, he now thought she could be the mother of Kirkmoor's heir--if she had a son. Then Lorna would enjoy full rights and privileges to administer the estate until the child came of age. Power, or at least the illusion of it, had earned her his immediate respect.

And now, father, I'm sure you'll want to prepare for your voyage." Lorna slipped her handkerchief in her pocket. "'Tis a long coach ride to the coast."

"Aye, my lady. And I'd like to leave this afternoon. If the good weather holds, I can be in Whitten Head by nightfall and on the high seas on the morning tide." Standing, he bowed and hurried from the room, leaving the door Ajar.

Rona embraced her. "If you had not come, I don't know what I should have done."

Lorna drew away and sat back. "I merely distracted him."

"And protected me. Ever since mother died, you've always shielded me." Rona's eyes misted. "You could have supported yourself as a governess and gotten away from father."

"I promised mother I would take care of you. I couldn't bear to leave and let father marry you off to some blackguard."

"So, you gave up your independence and married one, instead, to provide for father and me."

Lorna shrugged. "At first, Colin seemed so charming and kind. In spite of our age difference, I thought I could learn to love him, and he promised to give you a good dowry."

"But the scoundrel reneged and treated you abominably."

"Let's not dwell on the past, Rona. The marriage is over. Now, I have more freedom than I ever dreamed possible."

And no matter how attracted I am to a man, I'll never forfeit my independence to marry again.

Rona looked timidly at her. "I heard that his lordship was murdered."

"Fanciful rumors." Lorna dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "No matter how skilled a rider Colin was, accidents do happen."

Suddenly, she heard her father's voice, echoing in the hall. "Tormod, I'm going to be a grandfather."

"Congratulations, my lord," the major domo answered, his voice ringing with jubilation. "Now, her ladyship can stay at least until she has the bairn. Let's hope for a wee lad, so she may stay forever."

Mo creach! She had been so intent on helping Rona, she had forgotten her father would blurt out the news to everyone. Why hadn't she made the funds she promised him contingent upon his silence? Within the hour, the whole clan would know.

Well, when her father arrived in Majorca, Lorna would write and inform him of her unfortunate miscarriage. She would also tell the clan the same lie.

Sadly, she had no means to relieve their plight, for Seamus told her that the new heir was as cruel as Colin. Unless a miracle prevented him from coming, Ewan MacKay would arrive from his plantation in Barbados to claim his inheritance.

"When is the bairn due, Lorna?"

The fabrication already weighing on her conscience, Lorna debated about telling her sister the truth. However, the joy lighting Rona's eyes dissuaded her. "Uh, in June."

"I'm so happy we're staying." Rona giggled and clasped her hands together.

Lorna smiled. "Now, you'll be able to stay with Geordie."

Rona blushed and gazed at the floor. "But he and I will never be able to wed. He is so poor, and father . . . ."

"Don't give up hope," Lorna urged. Geordie is hardworking and well educated. Given a wee opportunity, he'll make his fortune."

Rona looked up. "Oh, Lorna, do you think we have a chance?"

"Of course. Why do you think I bribed father to leave?"

"You're wonderful." Rona stood and pirouetted around the room, her black skirts billowing like sails in a high wind.

"But you mustn't breathe a word to anyone, Rona, not even Geordie, or my plan may fail."

Her expression suddenly serious, Rona froze. "I won't. I promise."

Lorna intended to proceed with the utmost caution. If the rejection hurt his pride enough, Sir Findlay Gunn could very well declare war on the MacKays of Kirkmoor. Furthermore, he enjoyed a good relationship with the powerful Lord of Sutherland, their mutual neighbor to the south, whom he could enlist as an ally. If they persuaded the Sinclairs to join them, the MacKays would find themselves surrounded by enemies.

A chill skipped down Lorna's back. In her eagerness to help Rona, had she unleashed a force that would destroy them all?

**

The flickering candle caused the figures to blur on the ledger page, prompting Lorna to lean against the high-backed chair and rub her tired eyes. She had been perusing the account books for hours, but the more she examined them, the more discouraged she became. Colin's extravagance had wreaked havoc on the estate's capital. Why had he preferred to exploit Kirkmoor for his pleasures rather than develop its potential?

The large bank draft she had given her father for his journey worsened the situation, but she had to entice him to leave. Otherwise, helping Rona and Geordie would have proven close to impossible.

Lorna sat up and turned the ledger page, staring at the other substantial amount she drafted for Rona's dowry. Until the men could drive the cattle to market, she would have to economize drastically.

Worse, when Ewan MacKay arrived, he would demand to know why his uncle had given her family such large sums of money. After all, Colin had been miserly with everyone but himself.

Luckily, Lorna had prepared a strategy. She would shrug and say that Colin kept her ignorant of his business affairs. That, at least, was the truth. To cover her crime, though, she had antedated the forged entries to the day before her husband died.

Two hours of practice had resulted in a signature that bore enough resemblance to her husband's to pass inspection--at least she hoped it would. She hated breaking the law, but she could see no other alternative at the moment.

When she settled at Invermarra and began making the estate show a profit, she planned to repay the funds anonymously.

Lorna stood and yawned. Though aching with exhaustion, she knew sleep would elude her unless she found a way to relax. She had done too much today. She cringed, remembering that Rona barely escaped becoming betrothed to Sir Findlay Gunn.

Picking up the brass candleholder, she left the study and made her way down the dark corridor toward the library, cupping her hand around the flame to protect it from extinguishing in the drafty passageway.

Lorna entered the chamber and shivered. A fire was still glowing in the hearth. So, why did the room seem so cold? Perhaps a small diamond shaped pane in the leaded casement had fallen out. She'd report it to Tormod after she found some reading material.

Pulling her shawl closer, she went to the corner of the chamber and held the candle high, scanning the shelves for a book of poetry. Suddenly, a strong draft puffed out her beacon.

Drat! She turned, intending to summon Tormod. Instead, she froze in terror.

Silhouetted against the backdrop of moonlight, a figure stepped over the windowsill and entered the room with the silent agility of a cat.

Lorna stifled a gasp and crouched in the corner, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Obviously, the prowler had eluded her men-at-arms and scaled the wall, using the thick limbs of the ancient ivy as a ladder.

Cloaked in darkness, she watched the huge man stride across the room. Ever so quietly, Lorna stepped out of her shoes. Staying within the shadows bordering the room, she hardly breathed as she tiptoed to the desk in the opposite corner. Lord Kirkmoor had always kept a small Italian snaphance pistol in the desk drawer, loaded with powder and ball.

With so many enemies, perhaps Colin feared a surprise attack. Whatever his reasons for hiding the weapon, at this moment, she thanked God he had the forethought to do so. Now, could she get to the desk without her taffeta skirt rustling and alerting the prowler of her presence?

Lorna held her breath as she slowly eased open the drawer. She withdrew the gun, pointing it at the man who was now walking toward the hearth. She stood still as he took a candle from his sporran and stooped to ignite it in the radiant embers.

His perfect profile and powerful body limned in the meager light, Lorna immediately recognized Brodie MacKay. Fury replaced her fear, and she smothered an indignant cry. How dare he invade her home like a thieving fox after she had risked Colin's wrath to tend his wounds!

All this time, she had believed Brodie was an honorable man. Worse, she had desired him with every fiber of her body. Well, she would make him pay for his treachery.

As Brodie walked to the book table and placed his candle in the holder, Lorna moved out of the shadows and took aim.

"Cease and desist at once, sir, or I will blow a hole through your traitorous hide."

As he turned toward her, the firelight glowed off his long auburn hair, turning it to a blazing nimbus.

"I thought I smelled heather." Seemingly impervious to the danger, he answered as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Spare me your observations." She moved closer to him, the muzzle of her gun pointed at his heart. "And who is the accomplice who left the window ajar and the fire blazing?"

He remained silent, an implacable expression on his handsome face. Evidently, he refused to implicate anyone else.

"Never mind. I have my suspicions." Brigit MacKay, one of the housemaids, was probably the culprit. Lorna had heard the girl rhapsodizing about Brodie.

Though furious with him, Lorna had to admit he cut quite a figure. Approximately six feet, four inches tall, with massive shoulders, lean hips, flat stomach, and long sinewy legs, Brodie's body bulged with huge muscles.

Lorna moved closer and glared at him. "I won't ask you why you're here. Obviously, you planned to rob me."

He stared back defiantly. "A man cannot rob what already belongs to him."

"Nothing here belongs to you." She put both hands to the gun now, trying to steady her wavering aim.

"Something does, my lady, unless my uncle perjured himself."

"Perjured himself about what?"

He raked his fingers through his shimmering locks. "Actually, he lied about almost everything."

"Your logic is flawed. If this so-called uncle of yours prevaricated about everything, why should you believe him about this matter?"

"He lied about almost everything, but he had the power and influence to get away with this crime."

"Stop speaking in riddles, Brodie MacKay. Who is your uncle, and what property of yours is supposedly here?"