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inside him, she pressed her fingers harder onto his arm. ‘The sooner that despicable man is punished, the sooner we can give these poor people their houses back, or start building new ones.’ Her lips quivered. ‘I saw what he was capable of this morning. He stood aside while his gang burned houses down. Two women died because of him.’
    Glancing down, she withdrew her hand from his arm.
    He sighed, dragged his fingers through his hair but didn’t say anything. It would be useless. Rose clearly still didn’t believe Morven was only following McRae’s orders.
    â€˜What’s more, I want to be the one telling Cameron about Malika,’ she added. ‘Even though they didn’t exactly get along, I know he’ll be eager to start an enquiry.’
    â€˜I doubt he’ll be that bothered by the death of a dancing girl,’ he snorted.
    She looked straight at him, her eyes shining like gems and her golden curls a halo of sunshine in the light of the fire.
    â€˜That proves you don’t know him. He is a good man. I wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t.’
    â€˜A good man?’
    He felt angry suddenly, so angry he wanted to break something – McRae’s neck preferably.
    He forced a deep breath in. What did he care if Rose was wrong about McRae? A few weeks of married life would soon dispel her illusions. McRae couldn’t live without his whoring, drinking and gambling clubs. Rose wasn’t the first, and wouldn’t be the last, to be fooled by his charming façade. The man was a debauched, wicked, thrill-seeking cad.
    Then again, who was he to talk? He may not share McRae’s predilection for prostitutes and card tables. He may not turn tenants away from their homes in the dead of winter, but his heart and soul were just as black. The nightmares which haunted him were stark reminders of his past actions, and his illness was no doubt the product of his tormented and feverish brain. Didn’t his grandfather predict that he would end up mad like his mother, or drinking with the devil like his father – whoever he was?
    He got up so abruptly the feet of the chair scraped the floor.
    â€˜Enough talking, it’s time to rest. Drink up, finish your food and go to bed.’
    He pulled his plaid out of his bag and handed it to her. ‘Take this. It will keep you warm.’
    He knelt in front of the hearth to add more wood onto the grate.
    Her footsteps pattered on the floor, her skirt rustled softly behind him and brushed against his back. He breathed in her fragrance and closed his eyes. All he wanted to do right now was to hold her in his arms, brush her hair aside and bury his face in the curve of her neck to taste the softness of her skin and her unique, sunny and feminine scent.
    He took hold of a thick stick and poked at the fire.
    â€˜I didn’t think it was possible, but I swear you’re even more bad-tempered than my brother, and that’s not an easy feat,’ she started in an angry voice. ‘I will eat and drink when I please, and go to bed when I’m tired. I am sick of you ordering me about as if I were silly, naive and irresponsible. You may not have noticed, Lord McGunn. I am not a child but a grown woman.’
    Hell, of course he had noticed. He stabbed at the fire with his stick. She was the woman who made him smile and dream of sunshine and summer days – the woman who aroused his most primitive instincts. She was also the woman he would never have because she was McRae’s.
    He tightened his grip on the stick, turned round and rose to his feet.
    â€˜But you are silly, naive and irresponsible,’ he started, coldly. ‘So let’s be very clear, sweetheart . I don’t care a jolt about your spoilt brat antics. You’re not on your Algerian estate here, ordering your servants about and cracking your whip to scare them off. I’m in charge, which means you’ll you do what the