Free Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: Book #3 by Kelly Jameson

stabbings and silly contests. After the e’ening meal ye’ll be given a tour of the castle, Malcolm, and we’ll see to yer accommodations. I suppose tomorrow ye’ll want to see the grounds. We can ride out to the chapel and the village and along the shores if ye like. There are some vera interesting auld stones and caves near the cove.”
                  “That would be agreeable,” Malcolm said.
                  Inwardly, Sorcha seethed. Of course he would find it agreeable. The laird would go out to survey his new domain on the morn and judge its worth. She felt a pall of despair in her chest as she thought of the days ahead, the deceit she would need to practice, of having to bear Malcolm’s presence until he was finally driven away. How long would it take? She could barely contain her resentment as she retreated to the kitchen and returned with oatcakes.
    “I think a bit of fun would be in order on the morrow,” Malcolm said. “We will ha’e that bow and arrow contest. It will be good sport for the men to watch.”
    Sorcha stared openly at Malcolm, meeting his gaze, aware of his curious, penetrating stare. Malcolm did not look like a mad man. His prominent cheekbones and jawline and a straight nose complemented a well-defined mouth and his amber eyes were framed by dark lashes. Sorcha shifted her gaze to Nessa, whose cheeks were now flushed in the presence of the handsome Highlander.
    Nessa looked as if she’d just remembered she was supposed to be the rude and uncouth Lady Douglas and was being far too polite. She drained the rest of her whisky and made a production of wiping her mouth across the sleeve of her gown. Inwardly, Sorcha winced. It was her favorite gown. The costly fabric had been imported from Paris. But it was a small sacrifice to make, considering what was at stake.
    Malcolm raised his brows in surprise but quickly masked his expression as he brought his goblet to his lips. Nathair, on the other hand, was openly amused by the lady’s ill manners. “Between the outspoken maid and her lady’s lack of decorum, I feel oddly at home here,” he said, “Lady Douglas, ye do remind me of my own sister Dolina. Malcolm, do ye feel at home here?”
    Before he could answer, Sorcha turned and knocked Malcolm’s goblet over, making it look like an accident, the golden liquid spilling across his lap.
    The Lady Douglas stood and made to slap her maid’s face but her arm was caught firmly in Malcolm’s grip.
    “Dunna strike her,” he growled. “’Twas an accident.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “If she’s as clumsy with bow and arrow as she is with a goblet of whisky, it will be a short-lived contest on the morrow.”
    There was laughter from his men but silence fell as a thin, dark-haired man dragged himself from the shadows. His face was sallow, half of it bubbled and scarred as if someone had poured hot oil on his skin. He looked angry with Lady Douglas. He opened his mouth as if to speak but no words came forth.
    “’Tis alright, Gillis,” the maid said softly. “Gillis is my lady’s brother,” she explained. “He was wounded in the battle of Arkinholm and hasna spoken since, nae for many years. He abhors violence. He was the only brother to survive the battle.”
    Gillis placed his slender fingers on Sorcha’s shoulder and glared at the Lady Douglas.
    “Twould seem Gillis has a soft spot for yer maid,” Malcolm said, releasing Lady Douglas’ arm from his grip.
    Gillis stared at Malcolm now, confusion in his eyes.
    Several weeks ago, Sorcha had tried to explain to Gillis why she would pretend to be a maid and why it was necessary for Nessa to pretend to be the Lady Douglas. She did not want to marry the Highlander. She wanted to drive him away. She’d found Gillis in the stables that morning, patiently petting the nose of a horse. He always had treats for them—usually mint, or apples and pears in the summer, if the fruit wasn’t too sour. He appeared to