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the maid had revealed a Campbell alliance before it was finalized, but at this moment she felt more annoyed that Arran would likely leave now. “That is Thursday,” she said succinctly, her gaze on his face. “It has nothing to do with today.”
    Arran sent a glance between her and Crawford, then squared his shoulders. “Well, then. Let’s find ye a hat, lass.”
    It meant something that he’d elected to remain rather than run off to tell Lord Glengask that the Campbells and MacAllisters were negotiating an alliance—because he had definitely realized that something of the kind was afoot. She could see it in his eyes. But he had stayed, and she liked that. Blinking, she turned to the rack of bonnets.
    She spied one she liked almost immediately, a straw hat with a narrow brim and a flourish of yellow silk daisies with green silk leaves. Instead of selecting it, though, she made a show of trying on a dozen different unsuitable chapeaux.
    â€œSo are ye avoiding that hat because ye wish me to discover it,” Arran finally asked, indicating the one she’d been trying not to look at, “or because ye cannae think of another way to keep me aboot this morning?”
    He certainly wasn’t at all timid about speaking his mind. “You went to the trouble of finding me. I thought it impolite to give the impression that your assistance wasn’t appreciated.”
    With an amused snort he took the hat down from its peg and handed it to her. “Then I suppose I feel appreciated.”
    Trying on the hat, Mary faced the large mirror that stood in the corner. At the edge of the reflection she caught him gazing at her. For a long moment they simply … looked.
    For heaven’s sake he was handsome, with that unruly black hair that badly needed a trim, light blue eyes that couldn’t quite disguise the sharp intelligence behind them, and that mouth that seemed to want to smile far more often than she’d thought possible for a MacLawry. Her cousin Charles Calder had once accused the MacLawry brothers of strutting about like the last Highland princes. They were that, she supposed, admitting to herself what no other Campbell ever would.
    After all, the MacLawrys had the largest property in the Highlands. And where most of the other clans, hers included, had been forced to sell off their land, turn out their own cotters, and exchange their people for Cheviot sheep, the MacLawrys had resisted. They’d paid for that stubbornness, as well, with the death of Arran’s own father, schoolhouses burned down, and of course the hostilities between them and the surrounding clans. Her grandfather had called the MacLawry lads “arrogant, stubborn rogues” who would rather spill blood than admit to being wrong.
    â€œHave ye ever been to the Highlands, lass?” he asked abruptly, blinking and then turning away from her reflection.
    â€œOf course I have. I spent a fortnight there, spring before last.” She’d wanted to stay longer, but her family had deemed it too dangerous. Pulling off the hat and rather annoyed at her own contrary line of thought, she handed the thing over to Crawford and fixed her hair.
    â€œBut ye were raised English.”
    She couldn’t tell if he meant to imply that she wasn’t truly Scottish, or if he was genuinely curious. But she didn’t like it, regardless. “I was raised outside of Scotland,” she said slowly, “because my parents and my grandfather were concerned over my safety. Because Alkirk is but fifteen miles from Glengask.”
    â€œSo the Campbell feared the devil MacLawrys would harm ye?” he returned, stepping around to block her path.
    Mary met his gaze. “I grew up hearing frightful tales about you and your kin. One of my cousins once told me that you captured the son of one of our chieftains, and you roasted and ate him.”
    His sensuous mouth twitched. “Nae. He was too