When he did come to ask Calla to dance, Guthrie said, “Nay, Baird. Leave the lass alone. She’s already said she wants nothing more to do with you, and she’s already found a replacement.”

She looked up at Guthrie, but he wasn’t taking his words back.

Baird smiled a little at Guthrie, then said to Calla, “You thought I was controlling. He won’t even allow you to decline a dance on your own behalf, if you wish it.”

“He said exactly what I would have told you if I’d gotten to it first. So no, I won’t dance with you.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Baird said.

Guthrie made a move toward Baird but stopped short before he threw the man out of the ballroom, while Calla tightened her hand on Guthrie’s arm. She smiled sweetly at Baird, then pulled Guthrie away.

Guthrie ground his teeth. “You know how much it bothers me that I can’t do anything about him. If we were not here, among all these people…”

Calla sighed. “Forget him. I’m with you and I’m not interested in dancing with anyone else tonight.” She held him tight against her soft body.

In that instant, he felt the anger seep out and realized just how good she was for him.

Calla was certain that if she had been dancing with Baird and Guthrie had tried to butt in, Baird would have been furious. But instead of doing something about it himself, he would have had one of his brothers take Guthrie to task. She’d been worried that Guthrie would continue to be angry about it, but when he acted as though all he cared about was her and dancing with her the rest of the night, she loved him for it.

At one point, she saw Ivy watching Baird and wondered why the woman hadn’t had him thrown out. Maybe she was afraid to make a scene in her home. Her parents might have said to leave the situation alone unless Baird and his kin caused trouble.

She noticed that Oran disappeared for a time, and then so did Guthrie’s brothers. When the party was winding down and Calla’s feet were hurting enough that she was ready to call it a night, they said their good-byes to their host and hostesses, and then headed out to the car.

Duncan was standing next to it, arms folded and looking fierce.

Her feet hurt so much that she was walking slower than normal. Guthrie glanced down at her. “Are you all right, lass?”

“If I could, I’d take off my heels and…”

He didn’t hesitate to scoop her up in his arms and carry her the rest of the way to the car. She chuckled. “I should have said something before this.”

“Aye, you should have.”

“I didn’t want you to say anything about how I made you dance with me all night long and how it was my fault that I didn’t stop when my feet began to hurt.”

He kissed her cheek. “Lass, any way that I can hold you close is welcome.”

“You know,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, “you keep talking like that and—”

He grinned at her.

She let out her breath. “I just think we should be cautious about committing to anything too quickly.”

“Aye,” he said and held her tighter.

She really didn’t believe he agreed with her, but she adored the way he carried her out to the car, kept her tucked in his arms, which warmed her in the cold breeze, and agreed so sweetly.

“Were you guarding the vehicle?” she asked Duncan as Guthrie pushed all her skirts into the car and then got in next to her.

“Aye, lass. We took turns.”

“Because of Baird?” she asked.

In the backseat, Guthrie put his arm around her and pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Aye. We didn’t want to find that they had moved our car or slashed the tires or anything,” Duncan said. “Again.”

Calla was happily tired and glad to have been with Guthrie and his kin at the ball. They had so much to do tomorrow, and they’d been working such long hours, getting ready for the big weekend of festivities, that she fell asleep on the trip home. She woke the next morning, buried under the covers, sleeping in her underwear in the guest chambers with her beautiful gown spread out over a chair.

After she dressed in her long Stewart plaid skirt and sweater, she hurried to join the others who were preparing to open for the big day. Argent Castle was abuzz with excitement. The weather had warmed up to fifty degrees, and the weekend tour and gift-selling bazaar was open for business.

Heather and Julia were giving tours of the castle. Duncan and some of the teens were offering swordsmanship lessons for young and old alike, though the swords were only practice ones the kids used in training and play.

As much as Ian didn’t like opening the castle to strangers, Calla noticed him smiling and could tell he enjoyed seeing his people so happy, all dressed in their plaids, some of the ones tending craft and food booths sporting Santa hats. Calla’s red-and-green Stewart plaid stood out among all the blue-and-green MacNeill kilts, but she was having a ball.

Ethan and his brothers were providing hayrides in faux Santa’s sleighs—the red wagons decorated in battery-operated sparkling lights—to the pastureland to visit the Highland cattle.

Tables were set up for eating or for the kids to create paper crafts. Some were gluing paper clothes to a Scottish bagpiper boy, choosing from a kilt, jacket, tam-o’-shanter Scottish cap, boots, and bagpipe. Other kids could color their own tartans or create cotton-ball lambs on a paper plate. Some of the clanswomen helped children create reindeer like the ones that ranged freely in the Cairngorm Mountains, the children’s painted handprints used to print antlers atop brown paper cutouts.