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she some sort of witch? His gaze slid over her soft cheek and full mouth, and the way her lashes lay long and dark against her pale skin. Aye, maybe she was a witch, for as he stared he felt his ghostly self begin to ache for her in a manner that was all too mortal.
    And then he saw a tear roll down her cheek, followed by another.
    She was crying while she worked, and her lips were moving. Talking to herself? Or, could it be, singing, to try and lift her spirits? Whatever it was, it wasn’t working.
    She was not so hard-hearted after all, he realized. She was hurting. And alone. Maclean was stunned to think that there was a fellow creature in this strange new world who suffered.
    Instinctively he stepped forward and splayed his hand against the glass, as if to touch her, to give comfort to her.
    And just like that he was inside the cottage, inside the warm comfortable room, with the darkness behind him.

Four
     
    Bella slid the vegetables into the pan. They would cook up nicely into a stir fry and…well, she was the sort of woman who always felt ravenously hungry when she was stressed.
    She lifted her chin. Too bad what Brian would think about that. She wouldn’t allow him to destroy her, even though there was a little voice in her head, the voice that belonged to her mother, telling her that what he said was true. Her mother, as thin as a whippet and perfectly turned out in her Chanel suit, could demolish her daughter’s shaky self-esteem with a single glance. She was never unkind, she didn’t need to be, but she couldn’t hide her disappointment that her daughter wasn’t as perfect as she would have liked. She left when Bella was six and now Brian was going, too.
    Back to Edinburgh . Back to his own world among his own people; people who appreciated his wit and charm. Unlike her, who saw his other side. Hamish and Georgiana would sympathize with him, shaking their heads, smug in the certainty that they were right and she was a lost cause. Well, let them!
    It’s over.
    Brian and Bella’s Story had ended and now Bella had to write a new one, called Bella on Her Own. The prospect left her daunted and uncertain, but she told herself that being alone was better than listening to Brian belittle her. Loneliness was like an old friend, one she was comfortable with.
    Then why wouldn’t the tears stop?
    The food in the cooking pan spat and a burning droplet touched her skin. Shocked, she gasped and stepped back, holding her wrist. Swearing under her breath, she turned toward the sink, ready to run cold water over the small burn.
    And that was when she saw it.
    The ghost.
    In a split second, out of the corner of her eye, between one heartbeat and another. He must have been standing behind her so that as she turned he was to her left. He was a big man. Taller than her, taller than Brian, so tall he had to bend his head to stand beneath the low ceiling of the kitchen. He wore a plaid of mostly green and blue that was fastened about his hips and swept over one shoulder in the traditional way, and a black velvet jacket with silver buttons over a loose white shirt. Dark hair hung in wet swaths about his head, brushing his shoulders. His face was intensely masculine, domineering, and very handsome. But it was his eyes that riveted her attention. They were pale blue, the same color as this evening’s sky, and they were looking straight at her.
    One moment he was standing in her kitchen and the next…
    He was gone.
    Bella cried out and fell against the sink, holding herself up. Dear God, what was that? The room was empty. Her head swung back and forth—yes, definitely empty. And silent. The quiet was like a sound in itself. Rationally Bella knew she was alone, that Brian was on the road to Edinburgh, that outside her window this land was deserted and had been for centuries.
    Was he a ghost? Shocked as she was, the man had looked oddly familiar…those pale eyes in that fiercely beautiful face. She knew him, she knew him—
    Smoke