Free Once Upon a Highland Autumn by Lecia Cornwall

used to running than walking. She went to the fireplace and stood beside it, and studied him from the shadows.
    “Allow me to introduce my younger daughter,” Devorguilla warbled, and he turned to look at the second girl. “This is Alice,” she said, and the girl blushed as she curtsied. She, too, was fashionably dressed, but in green. She was demure and shy, her eyes downcast. Not his type at all, Kit decided—even if he had a type he preferred.
    “Or Alanna, if you wish,” Eleanor said.
    “How did you come to hear of Glen Dorian, my lord?” Lady Margaret/Megan asked.
    He met her eyes from across the room, felt her gaze like a touch. “My great-uncle wrote of it. His journal was recently found at a house I am renovating.” He didn’t mention Mairi’s letter, but the slight narrowing of her eyes suggested she suspected there was more.
    “Happy memories, then,” she said acidly, and he sent her a sharp look, which she returned, steel clashing on steel.
    “You found this journal in Derbyshire?” the countess asked.
    “In Northumbria, my lady.”
    “You have two estates?” she warbled with delight.
    Kit smiled blandly but did not elaborate. Still, he knew the added value of a second home must be ringing like a cash box in the countess’s mind. He cast a sideways look at Lady Margaret/Megan, felt her eyes hard and bright upon him. She did not look away when he met her gaze. “I understand you are here on holiday as well, my lady,” he said.
    She raised her chin, a captivating, swanlike gesture. “My brother is newly married. My sisters and I came away to visit our mother and allow Alec and Caroline to spend their honeymoon alone,” she replied.
    “And are you enjoying your stay at Dundrummie Castle?”
    “Of course,” she said, but he read the opposite in her eyes—wariness and something akin to fear, perhaps. What color were her eyes exactly? She arched one shapely eyebrow disdainfully, and he realized he was staring. He looked at Lady Alice instead. She sat silently beside her mother, her expression curious, but reserved. He knew that look—he was not for her, but intended for her sister. He smiled at her and she blushed like a rose. The Dowager Countess of Glenlorne had graceful daughters. They would have no trouble at all in finding willing husbands—but not him.
    “Dinner is late,” Eleanor said peevishly.
    “I asked Graves to delay the meal a little while,” Devorguilla said. “I thought it might serve as a celebration of sorts after—” She sent Kit a glorious smile and rose to her feet and held out her hand to her eldest daughter.
    Kit felt his chest tighten with sheer dread.
    “I would like to propose—”
    “Oh please do say a toast to his lordship’s health, Devorguilla!” Eleanor interrupted. “You’ve only just met the man.”
    “Marriage,” Devorguilla said, firmly, ignoring her sister-in-law. “Between Lord Rossington and Margaret.” Kit felt the whisky roll in his belly like lava under a mountain. He stumbled to his feet and stared at the countess. She beamed anew, began to come toward him, since Megan had ignored her mother’s outstretched hand and stayed where she was by the fireplace. He could not look at the girl. “The details will have to be finalized with Glenlorne, of course, but tonight—” the countess went on, but Kit wasn’t listening.
    “No!” His cry of horror came out at the same moment as Megan McNabb’s own refusal.
    The countess turned toward her daughter. “Don’t be silly, Margaret. It takes only a single glance to see that you and his lordship are well suited. There is no reason why Alec should object, and a fall wedding would be lovely. If you are willing and his lordship is willing then why should there be an impediment to the match taking place at this very moment?”
    This very moment? Kit heard warning bells, not wedding bells.
    “I am most unwilling,” he said. “I would never marry her !”
    Megan’s gaze turned from her