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remarkable an occupation than circumnavigator. By the time they pulled into the courtyard of The Reiver’s Rest, night had fallen and she had practiced nearly every feminine wile Douglas had ever heard of, and even some he hadn’t. Despite his best efforts to both bore and ignore her, she’d worked, and then worked more in attempt to charm him.
    Which left him with one very disquieting thought:
    Why?
    Why would this well-to-do, not to mention lovely English lass work so very hard and so very long simply to catch the eye of a poor Scottish farmer? She certainly must have her pick of any number of fine English lads more suitable to her background. Why then did she seem so interested in him?
    Whatever her reasons, they couldn’t be good. So when they finally stopped before the door of the inn, Douglas couldn’t get out of the carriage fast enough.
    He bowed his head to the two ladies after helping them down from the carriage. “My ladies, it has been a pleasure.”
    He turned then, ready to depart, but that voice, that same sweet voice that had just filled the past hour called, “Mr. MacKinnon, I— we would be most remiss if we didn’t at least offer you a meal for your trouble.”
    “Oh, that isna necessary, my lady,” he said. “I will—”
    “Nonsense. You must be starving.” She linked an arm through his before he could open his mouth to refuse. “Surely a strong, healthy man like yourself must have quite an appetite, especially after working so hard to help us with our carriage. You simply must allow us to get you some supper.” She smiled up at him and blinked beneath the brim of her hat. “I insist upon it.”
    Douglas decided that the lass must be quite used to insisting upon any number of things. More out of curiosity than anything else, he allowed himself to be led toward the front door of the thatched-roof inn.
    Inside, the beamed ceiling was low, so low that it nearly grazed Douglas’s head as he ducked through the doorway. A lazy veil of smoke from both the stone hearth in the corner and the clay pipes of the patrons huddled about the tables hovered just above their heads. Every pair of eyes in the place turned upon them when they came in, no doubt wondering what a shabby character like himself could be doing in the company of two finely dressed young ladies. But after a moment or two, the others returned their attentions to their tankards andpipes, and Douglas found an empty table in the far corner.
    He seated the ladies, then made for the taproom, where he sought out the proprietor of the place, a man named Turnbull whom Douglas knew well.
    “What’re you aboot, MacKinnon?” said the older man. He rubbed his beard-grizzled chin slowly as he narrowed his eyes on the two ladies across the room. “Two lasses you ’ave, and my guess is they’re Sassenach lasses, too. I’ll no’ be having any skullduggery ’neath my roof. This is no’ a house of ill repute.”
    Douglas scowled. “Dinna be jumpin’ to conclusions, Turnbull. They were stranded. Their carriage had broken a wheel and I helped to set it to rights is all. Now they’re just wanting to buy my supper for it. So be a good man and fetch us a few bowls of your wife’s mutton stew. I’ll eat it quickly and be off to my bed afore you know it.”
    The innkeeper eyed Douglas skeptically. “Jus’ you make certain when you’re aff to tha’ bed, you’re alone in it, MacKinnon. There’s Sassenach patrols all aboot these parts since the Jacobites were routed up at Culloden just lookin’ for a reason to take another Scot’s life. Ye’re a good mon, MacKinnon. I’d hate to see you be a dead good mon.”
    Across the room, Isabella eyed the other patrons of the inn with dismay. She’d never seen such a motley assortment of humanity in her life, and she sat at the edge of her chair, feet planted tightly together beneath her, refusing even to remove her cloak.
    Elizabeth, however, quickly made herself comfortable, removing her hat,