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tell me aboot it.”
    â€œCat it is, then. Is there anything else ye might have need of while ye’re staying here, Cat?”
    She snorted. “Aye. Some Shakespeare and smoked pork would be dandy. A whetting stone and a silver spoon fer my porridge. But ye’re nae to return, so I reckon I’ll do without.”
    He made a mental note of her requests. Clearly she thought him a poor cotter, more than likely a poacher, and for both their sakes it might be wise not to correct her misapprehension. Not yet, anyway.
    Cat. That was something, anyway. He’d heard of a cat-and-mouse game. This one would evidently be a game of cat and bear. Because whatever she thought she wanted, he wasn’t about to leave her be.

 
    Chapter Three
    â€œBear.”
    Stifling a curse, Munro hefted the sack he carried from one hand to the other and paused on the main stairway landing to let Ranulf catch up to him. “Did ye see it’s raining again?” he asked, before the marquis could begin a topic of conversation. “If this keeps up, I fear we’re in for the devil of a winter. I’m off to see Lachlan and Winnie. Do ye reckon Lach still kens how to hunt after being domestified fer a year?”
    Ranulf lifted an eyebrow. “Firstly, I dunnae think ‘domestified’ is a word. Secondly, I reckon Lach’ll manage. Ye’ve hunted with him before now. I doubt today will find him nae knowing which end of a gun is the dangerous one.”
    â€œAye. I reckon ye’ve the right of it. I’m off, then.”
    â€œYe ken we have a gamekeeper, bràthair. Ye dunnae need to keep the house in meat fer the winter all on yer own.”
    Munro forced a laugh and continued his descent. “The house has more mouths than it used to, these days. I reckon Earcharn could use some help.” In the foyer he shrugged into his heavy sealskin coat and donned a wide-brimmed hat. “Aside from that, I’m nae a domestified—domesticated—lad. I cannae sit aboot the house smiling and cooing over my bride and my wee bairn, because I have nae such things keeping me here.” Cooper, Glengask’s butler, pulled open the front door for him, and he stepped out into the wind-driven rain. “I’ll spend my days out of doors while I can, before the snow comes to stay fer the winter, if ye dunnae mind.”
    The footsteps trailing him stopped in the doorway. Inwardly wincing, Munro squared his shoulders and continued forward. No, he wasn’t clever-tongued like Arran. In fact, he generally made a point of speaking his mind; it made for less confusion later. And no, he wasn’t as half-witted as his family generally assumed, but the impression made things easier on all of them. Even so, if he’d insulted Ranulf this time, it hadn’t been intentional.
    â€œBear.”
    He paused, but didn’t turn around. “Aye?”
    â€œTake Fergus with ye.”
    Relief curved his lips. “Thank ye,” he said, continuing up the slope toward the stable. He whistled, and a moment later the larger of Ranulf’s two deerhounds padded up beside him. “I hope ye behave yerself today, lad. Nae frightening the Cat.” Though truthfully, she hadn’t looked all that frightened.
    The dog wumphed, hopefully in agreement. Running across Ranulf and concocting that damned story about hunting had changed his plans; now that he’d invented a hunting excursion with his brother-in-law, Lord Gray, he would have to follow through with it. Ranulf had an unnerving tendency to detect falsehoods and pursue them until he had the truth. He could stand a word or two with his closest friend, anyway. It had been a while since they’d discussed anything but how old a bairn had to be before he could learn to ride a horse.
    While it likely didn’t matter that a lass had taken up residence at Haldane, Munro knew Ranulf wouldn’t like the idea of a stranger—especially