“That there is a darkness around you that worries her—”

“Such a fortuitous choice of words. A darkness. Which, conveniently, could be anything that comes to pass. A bad stomach from a pork pie, a wee cut in a sword fight. Doona you see how vague that is? You should be ashamed of yourself, a man of learning, the senior Keltar no less.”

They glared at each other.

“Stubborn, ungrateful, and bad-tempered,” Silvan snapped.

“Conniving, interfering, and bristly-haired,” Drustan shot back.

“Disrespectful and impotent,” Silvan thrust neatly.

“I am not! I am perfectly virile—”

“Well, you certainly couldn’t prove that by your seed, which—if it’s being scattered—isn’t taking root.”

“I take precautionary measures,” Drustan thundered.

“Well, stop. You’ve a score and ten, and I’ve double that. Think you I’ll be livin’ forever? At this point, I’d welcome a bastard. And you can rest assured that should the lass turn out to be pregnant, I’ll be calling the bairn MacKeltar.”

They scowled at each other, then Silvan suddenly flushed, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond Drustan’s shoulder.

Drustan froze, as he felt a new presence in the room. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

He spun around slowly, and time seemed to stop when he saw her. His breath slammed to a halt in his chest, and he positively sizzled beneath the heat of her stare.

Christ, Drustan thought, staring into eyes that were stormy and lovely as the fierce Scottish sea, she’s wee, and vulnerable-looking, and utterly beautiful. No wonder she’s got Da and Nell in such a fankle.

She was a walking siren song, humming with mating heat. One hand was on the elegant marble banister of the stair, the other hand pressed to her abdomen, as if pondering the possibility that she might be pregnant.

Would that he had taken her maidenhead, but he hadn’t—he’d not taken any woman’s maidenhead—and furthermore he would never have left her wandering about outside afterward.

Nay, he thought, staring at her, he would have kept this woman tucked securely in his bed, in his arms, warm and slippery from his loving. And loving. And more loving. She did some witchy thing to his blood.

Silver-blond hair fell in a straight sheen past her shoulders and halfway down her back. She had strange, fringed lenths of hair over her forehead that she puffed from her eyes with a soft exhalation of breath, which made her lower lip look even poutier. Small of stature, but with curves that could make a grown man weak at the knees—and indeed his had turned to water—she was wearing a gown of his favorite color that did lovely things to her breasts. It was sheer enough to reveal her nipples, cut low enough to frame her curves in timeless temptation. Her cheekbones were high, her nose straight, her eyebrows winged upward at the outer edges, and her eyes…

Christ, the way she was staring at him was enough to make his skin steam.

She was staring as if she knew him intimately. He doubted he’d ever seen such an intense and unashamed look of desire in a woman’s eyes.

And, of course, his ever-astute father didn’t miss it.

“Now, tell me again you doona know her, lad,” Silvan said wryly. “For of a certain she seems to know you.”

Drustan shook his head, bewildered. He felt a fool, standing and staring, but try as he might he could not drag his gaze away from hers. Her eyes turned gently imploring, as if she was hoping for something from him or trying to communicate a silent message. Where had such a wee beauty come from? And why was she having such a profound effect upon him? Granted, she was lovely, but he’d known many lovely women. His betrotheds had been some of the most beautiful women in the Highlands.

Yet none had ever made him feel quite so virile and hungry and intensely possessive.

Such stirrings did not bode well for his plans of impending marital bliss.

After an interminable silence, he spread his hands, confused. “I vow, I’ve never seen her before in my life, Da.”

Silvan crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Drustan. “Then why is she staring at you like that? And if you didn’t bed her last night, how do you explain the condition she arrived in?”

“Oh, my,” the lass sputtered then. “You think he—oh. I hadn’t considered that.” She heaved a huge sigh and pinched her lower lip, staring at them.

About time she spoke up to clear his name, he thought, waiting.

“Well?” Silvan encouraged. “Did he tup you last eve?”