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known, had also fallen victim of an enchantment.
    Or a curse, depending on how one looked at it.
    A notorious wencher, Hardwick was bound by a traveling minstrel's spell to spend eternity pleasing women yet nevermore to attain his own release. For the minor slight of refusing a night's lodging to the wandering bard, the sennachie reversed their roles, binding Alex's friend to roam the earth, doomed to satisfy a different woman every night for all eternity.
    Alex's lips twitched and his vexation began to ebb. At least he need only guard his bed, keeping it free of MacDougalls. Even MacDougalls who roused unwanted urgings in him and stirred his deepest senses. An existence such as his friend must endure did not bear contemplation.
    "Be that the latest MacDougall?" Hardwick changed the subject, his glance on the bed.
    "So it would seem," Alex confirmed, careful not to let his gaze dip to the thrusting evidence of Hardwick's affliction. "And a pricklier female ne'er walked the earth."
    "Indeed?" Hardwick's eyes glinted with interest. "Shall I soften her disposition for you? The task would be a pleasure."
    "No doubt." Alex frowned, his expression darkening even more upon following the other's gaze.
    Saints, he'd forgotten the wench's exposed bosom!
    A lush feast for manly eyes, her breasts rose and fell with the rhythm of her sleep, their rounded swells beckoning.
    "Leave her be, Seagrave. She deserves no such attention."
    Hardwick took a step toward the bed. "Ah, but her loveliness begs to be—"
    "Ignored!" Alex shot to his feet and used the tip of his sword to flick the coverlet into place.
    But not before Hardwick burst out in broad, raucous laughter.
    "So that is the way of it," he hooted, scarce containing himself.
    Refusing to be baited, Alex returned to the chair. "Nay, that is not the way of it," he denied, slapping his blade back across his knees. "Beshrew me for caring, but I only meant to shield you. I strongly suspect—"
    "Shield me?" Hardwick's jaw dropped. "And from such a sweetmeat?"
    "I strongly suspect she is of the fey," Alex finished with a glare.
    Truth be told, he was certain of it.
    But his friend only grinned and folded his arms. "Your sour countenance doesn't fool me."
    "Be that as it may," Alex said, returning his stare to the slumbering wench, "you would be wise to think for once with your head rather than your—"
    "My tarse?" Hardwick laughed. "If my poor, accursed condition makes you uncomfortable, then I shall leave you to seek my pleasure elsewhere. But one question before I go: Why did you cover the maid's breasts?"
    Alex flashed a hot glance at him, but the other knight was already gone. Melted into the air before Alex's irritation could scorch him. Only his laughter remained, echoing in the darkness until the last of Hardwick's chuckles faded to silence and Alex was alone once more.
    Alone with the MacDougall witch-woman.
    A spell-casting enchantress whose dark tricks sent shivers clear through his marrow.
    So why had he covered her breasts?
    And why did he sit here still, watching her sleep, rather than return to the relative peace of Dimbleby's back room and his own empty bed?
    The answer came in one last disembodied chuckle, floating to him from the shadows near the door.
    An answer so unappealing, he would almost rather change curses with his mirth-filled friend.
    Almost.
    He'd simply have to do everything in his power to ensure that he never had to make such a choice.
----
    Chapter 3

     
    Oban.
    The long train journey from London behind her, Mara stood in the middle of the waterfront promenade of the West Highland capital and took a deep breath of Scotland, and then another and another. Clean, cold air, rain fresh and brisk, smelling slightly of the sea and proving everything her father had ever said about even the air of Scotland being different.
    Special.
    He'd sworn it would be so, and now that she was here, a scant month after her fateful dinner with Percival Combe at London's posh Wig