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experience with horses had been limited to those of the stick variety. The beast seemed large and dangerous and unpredictable to her…much like the man leading them deeper into the forbidding shadows of the forest and farther away from civilization with each of his long, confident strides.
    She scowled at his broad back. Although theirlengthy trek had led them over some wild and rocky terrain, he might have been enjoying an afternoon stroll through the pastoral climes of Hyde Park. Judging from his casual saunter, he could probably walk all night without breaking a sweat—even while leading a horse with both hands bound behind his back. As they scaled a particularly daunting hill that had Pamela clinging to the beast’s shaggy mane for dear life, he even had the temerity to break into a whistle. The cheery notes drifted back to her ears, borne by the brisk wind.
    “What, pray you, is that tune, sir?” she finally called out, hoping to silence him.
    “A wee ditty they call ‘The Maiden and the Highwayman,’” he replied.
    She snorted. “Given your people’s dour dispositions and fondness for the romance of tragedy, I’m sure they pledged their eternal love to each other, then met some gruesome and bloody end.”
    “On the contrary. The highwayman seduced the maiden into his bed only to discover she was a lusty wench who couldn’t get enough of him.” He tossed her a roguish smile over his shoulder. “He robbed her of her maidenhead and she stole his heart.”
    Pamela was thankful her cheeks had already been rubbed raw by the wind so he wouldn’t see her blush. He resumed both his pace and his cheerful whistling, bringing the tune to an end with a trilled flourish.
    Just when she had given up any hope of them ever reaching their destination, the trees began to thin and the wind to roar. They emerged from thesheltering boughs of the pines onto a broad shelf of grassy meadow.
    Pamela gasped, the breath snatched right out of her lungs by the greedy fingers of the wind and the unexpected sight before her. She had served her entire life at the altar of make-believe without ever once imagining that such a place could exist in the real world.
    It was as if the castle before them had risen out of the sea itself, flung heavenward on its island of stone by some mighty pagan god. Moonbeams slanted through the gusting clouds, painting its walls, turrets and towers in a glowing wash of silver. She blinked at the magnificent sight, wondering if she, like Sophie, had somehow dozed off and slipped into a dream.
    But a dream wouldn’t explain the gooseflesh rippling across her skin or the briny scent of the sea in the air. It was no longer just the roar of the wind she was hearing, but also the thunder of the waves hurling themselves against the jagged cliffs surrounding the castle.
    She had expected the highwayman to lead them to some ramshackle barn or perhaps one of the many abandoned crofters’ huts they had passed on their journey. She most certainly hadn’t expected… this .
    Sophie awoke with a start. Her snore deepened to a wheeze as she too caught sight of their destination. “Oh, my!” she whispered. “Perhaps he’s not truly a robber at all, but a king of some sort.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Pamela replied. “Scotlandhasn’t had its own king for two centuries. King George is his liege, just as he is ours.”
    “Then perhaps he’s a prince. A robber prince,” Sophie suggested, the note of awe in her voice undiminished.
    Pamela shifted her troubled gaze from the castle to their host, wishing she hadn’t been the one to point out that there was a regal quality to his bearing.
    As he tugged on the reins to urge the horse forward, she saw the narrow, meandering bridge of land that connected the meadow to the castle for the first time. Far below, the wind whipped the sea into a swirling mass of whitecaps pierced by jutting rocks.
    Letting out a moan, Sophie clutched at Pamela’s waist and buried her