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the sun shone brightly through the four windows, the gentle heat of a late spring day did not have the strength to warm the lingering chill of an unusually persistent winter, and the smoky smell of peat from the enormous fireplace situated behind the dais filled her nose.
    Caitrina’s gaze immediately sought out her father, trying to gauge his temper. Seated at the high table, he looked resplendent in his fine silk doublet. She couldn’t see his plate from here, but she hoped he’d followed the healer’s advice about staying away from the rich French foods that her mother had introduced him to long ago. He’d been experiencing pains in his chest lately, and Caitrina was worried.
    She was just about to step into the room when she felt a familiar presence behind her.
    “I think you forgot your crown.”
    She turned to find herself looking into the laughing blue eyes of her brother Niall. Lifting her chin, she feigned obtuseness, quite used to her brothers’ teasing. “I don’t know what you mean.”
    He did a quick once-over of her gown and made a soft whistling sound of amazement. “My, my, would you look at that. One might think you were on your way to Whitehall to tarry with the damned English.” He shook his head. “But have care; Queen Anne might not wish for a rival.”
    “Oh, shut up, Niall,” she said with a sisterly shove.
    He laughed and caught her up in his strong embrace, lifting her feet off the ground and spinning her around. “Ah, Caitrina, lass, you’re a bonny sight.”
    She giggled. “Put me down, you overbearing oaf!”
    “Overbearing oaf?” he said, spinning her again.
    She was laughing and out of breath by the time her feet finally touched the ground. Not to mention dizzy. He had to hold her upright for a few moments until she steadied herself. Unable to help herself, she asked, “Niall?”
    “Yes, puss.”
    “Is there anything wrong with my nose?”
    His brows wrinkled as he studied her face. “Why do you ask?”
    She hid the flush that crept up her cheeks. “I thought it looked a little crooked.”
    He grinned. “Isn’t it supposed to be?”
    Seeing the laughter in his gaze, she hit him again. “Wretch. I don’t know why I bother asking you anything serious.”
    He took her nose between his fingers and gave it a little wiggle. “There is nothing wrong with your nose. Now,” he said, turning his gaze back into the hall, “whose unfortunate heart will be served up on a platter tonight?” He pointed to a handsome young man seated near the door. “Young MacDonald over there, or perhaps a Graham”—his finger moved around the room—“or maybe it shall be a Murray.”
    She pushed him away, unable to prevent herself from smiling. “You know I have no interest in any of them.”
    Niall arched his brow, eyes twinkling. “Well, dressed like that, they’ll be interested in you.”
    Caitrina didn’t give one whit about that, but unconsciously her gaze shifted back into the room, searching for her unknown rescuer. She glanced again at the high table, seeing her father seated at the dais with Malcolm on his left. On his right was her empty seat, and next to that … Her breath caught. It was him, seated in a place of honor at the high table. So she’d been right in guessing that he was a man of wealth and position.
    “Niall”—she fought to control the breathlessness that had suddenly crept into her voice—“who’s that man next to Father?”
    Niall’s face darkened, all signs of humor fled. “James Campbell,” he spat.
    A strangled sound caught in her throat, and the blood drained from her face.
A Campbell.
Her fingers instinctively went to her lips in horror.
Dear God, she’d kissed a Campbell.
    She didn’t know what was worse—realizing that she’d kissed the devil’s spawn …
    Or that she’d liked it.
    Jamie’s presence had not gone unnoticed among the revelers. But despite the general chill of his reception, he was enjoying himself. The Lamont’s pipers