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‘What?’ Riona couldn’t believe the nerve of him.

He went on obliviously, ‘Wel , if you want my opinion, he needs his head examined... his eyesight, too.’

Once more he admired her beauty, his gaze warm and approving, but any compliment was lost on Riona.

Gritting her teeth, she retorted, ‘Actual y, this may come as a surprise to you, Mr...’

‘Cameron,’ he supplied.

‘Mr Cameron, but—’ she tried to continue.

He cut in again. ‘No, Cameron’s my first name.’

‘Mr Whatever-your-name is, then!’ Riona snapped in exasperation. ‘The point is I
don’t
want your opinion. I’l probably never want your opinion. In fact, I can’t think of anyone’s opinion I’d want less!’ she declared on a strident note and jerked her arm free.

‘Thank you for the lift,’ she added gruffly, and got out of the car before he could stop her. He climbed out, too, but remained on the driver’s side, returning her slightly alarmed look with a smile. The smile suggested he hadn’t taken offence. Riona thought that was a great pity. She glowered back at him, and he drawled, ‘Say, has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look when you’re mad...? Because if they have, I’m afraid they were lying,’ he declared in amused tones. ‘That incredibly sexy mouth goes into a thin, grumpy line. And your eyes, wel , they go from a green reminiscent of—’

‘This is absurd!’ Riona final y interrupted the running commentary. ‘Look, I’m grateful for the lift, but it doesn’t give you discussion rights on my private life or my appearance. So if you don’t mind...?’

She looked from him to the track down the hil , and waited for him to take the hint.

He did eventual y, concluding, ‘I guess that means I’m not being invited in for coffee.’

‘Astute as wel as sensitive,’ Riona muttered under her breath.

He caught it and laughed. ‘Wel , never mind, I’l take a raincheck.’

Then, while Riona was stil working on a reply, he gave a half-salute with his hand and climbed back into the car. She watched as he drove down the track, faster than he should, and found herself almost wishing an accident on him. Not a big accident. Just one where he and his flash car ended up in the ditch.

It was hardly a nice thing to imagine, but Riona didn’t feel very nice at that moment. Grumpy, indeed! And what about the conclusions he’d leapt to?

Not only did he have her living with some man, but he’d also decided she was desperate for marriage.

That his conclusions were ridiculous didn’t matter. It was his sheer presumption that maddened her. She thought of al the clever things she might

have said and hadn’t, and for a moment hoped they
would
meet again. Then she shook her head at the possibility. In a couple of days the American would have ‘done’ Invergair and be on his way, further north to Gairloch, or back down south to some posh hotel. No tourist ever stayed long in their area.

She’d been wrong, of course. Cameron Adams hadn’t just passed through. He had been there a month in al — just long enough to change her life

forever.

The next time she’d seen him was that night at the ceilidh in the vil age hal . It was a weekly event in the summer, a mixture of song, dancing and recitation that brought crofters from al over the peninsula of Invergair.

Riona had to attend the ceilidh because, when her grandfather had fal en il , she’d taken his place playing piano in the band, the other members being two local fishermen on fiddle and accordion. Their repertoire consisted solely of dancing reels, but she’d never been a musical snob. She was needed to play, and play she did.

She’d just finished a Dashing White Sergeant and had come off stage for a break, when she spotted the American. She could hardly fail to, as he

bore down on her, al owing no chance of escape.

‘I’ve just spent the last half-hour looking for you,’ he said without preamble.

Riona matched his directness with a flat ‘Real y. Why?’

He laughed in response. She wondered if he ever took offence—and, if so, how she could possibly give it.

He went on obliviously, ‘I didn’t notice the piano player. As a rule, they don’t tend to be so beautiful.’

Riona ignored the compliment, but couldn’t ignore his eyes. They slid from her face to the dress she wore. A simple bodiced dress in white cotton, it left her arms and shoulders bare and kept her cool in the warm, crowded hal . It also hinted at the first swel of her breasts, a fact that she hadn’t real y noticed until the American’s gaze lingered there.

Riona had always found her figure an embarrassment. She didn’t mind being tal —at five nine, she was tal er than many Highland males. And, in her

usual clothes of baggy jerseys and jeans, it hardly mattered what her figure was like. She just wished that, when she wore feminine clothes, her curves were less pronounced, less suggestive. It seemed a joke of nature when, in character, she wasn’t the ‘sexy type’ at al .

She felt only anger as the American’s eyes reflected his thoughts, and she snapped, ‘Perhaps I can have my dress back when you’ve finished.’

‘What?’ Distracted from their private fantasy, his eyes travel ed back to her face, and he gave her one of his slow smiles. ‘I guess I was being

obvious.’

‘Painful y,’ she agreed, and tried to walk past him.

He moved to block her path. ‘So can I buy you a drink?’

‘No, thank you,’ she said, politeness forced. ‘I don’t drink.’

‘You’re kidding.’ His face expressed genuine surprise. ‘Next to bagpipe playing and caber-tossing, I thought drinking was the national pastime in

Scotland.’

Not sure if this was meant to be a joke or what, Riona scowled in response.

She countered, ‘So why did you come if you have such a low opinion of the place?’

‘On the contrary—’ he shook his head ‘—I think it’s a wonderful country. Drunk or sober, no one can rival the Scots for their generosity of spirit. It makes you quite forget their occasional bloody-mindedness,’ he said on a wry note.

Again he was probably joking, but Riona wasn’t laughing. ‘Do you know what I like about you Americans?’ she ral ied.

‘No, what?’ He actual y smiled.

‘Your stunning diplomacy,’ she answered with deadpan sarcasm, then smiled, too—before walking away.

She was intercepted again, but this time by Dr Macnab. ‘Wel , good evening, lass,’ he greeted her, then added, ‘I see you’ve met him.’

‘Who?’

‘The American.’

‘Oh, him.’ Riona pul ed a face.

‘You didn’t like him?’ The doctor frowned.

‘Not so you’d notice,’ she shrugged back. ‘I just hope the new laird isn’t like him.’

The Doctor’s frown changed to a look of puzzlement, before he sighed, ‘I’m rather afraid he is, lass.’

It took Riona a moment to catch on. They’d been waiting months for the new laird’s arrival, ever since Sir Hector had final y pegged out at ninety-

five. They’d heard he was an American, a C H Adams from Boston, and that was about it. They’d worked out for themselves that he wasn’t too interested in his inheritance, having failed to materialise to claim it in person.

‘You don’t mean...’ Riona prayed she’d misunderstood.

She hadn’t, as the doctor went on, ‘Aye, that’s the man himself. Sir Hector’s great-nephew.’

‘Oh, God!’ Riona closed her eyes in despair. She had just cut dead the man who owned the cottage in which she lived and the croft she worked.

‘What’s wrong?’ the doctor asked.

‘Nothing real y.’ Riona grimaced. ‘I was just rather insulting to him.’

‘Dearie me,’ Dr Macnab exclaimed in his mild way. ‘That’s not like you. He must have said something to prompt it.’

Riona nodded, before pointing out, ‘But that hardly matters. He’s laird and I’m just a lowly tenant... least, I
was.’

‘Ach, lass,’ the doctor chided, ‘he’s no going to turf you out for a few hasty words. In fact, he’s probably laughed them off already. I’m told he’s got a fine sense of humour.’

Riona gave an unladylike snort. Fine wasn’t the word she’d have used—more like warped.

‘Who told you that?’ she asked.

‘Mrs Ross.’ The doctor named his housekeeper. ‘Her sister’s girl, Morag, helps with the cleaning up at the House.’

The House was Invergair Hal , the seat of the Munro family. It wasn’t quite a castle, but it did boast a turret or two and was fairly imposing in size.

‘Anyway, Morag thinks he’s very charming,’ Dr Macnab continued.

‘Yes, wel ...’ Riona wasn’t too impressed with Morag Mackinnon’s opinion. A nice enough girl, her head was easily turned by a good-looking male,

and Riona supposed Cameron Adams was that.

She glanced round the hal and located him without difficulty. Over six feet, he was the tal est man there. His dark handsome head was inclined in

conversation with Isobel Fraser, the secretary to the estate and Invergair’s resident vamp. At thirty-three, she’d already seen off two husbands in the divorce courts.

‘Isobel seems to like him, too,’ Dr Macnab chuckled. ‘Perhaps she’s measuring him up for number three.’

‘She’s welcome,’ Riona replied tartly.

‘Ach, you wouldna wish Isobel on him,’ the doctor said, stil with gentle humour. ‘A bonny lass she may be, but she has a hard heart.’

Riona didn’t disagree, muttering instead, ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Cameron Adams, Doctor. He didn’t strike me as the vulnerable type.’

‘Perhaps not,’ the doctor conceded, before relaying, ‘At any rate, he told old Mrs Mackenzie, the housekeeper at the Hal , he wasn’t the marrying

kind.’

‘Real y?’ The news didn’t surprise Riona. She remembered his showing a healthy contempt for the married state the first time they’d met.

Dr Macnab went on to explain, ‘Apparently a Mrs Adams cal ed from America while he was out and Mrs Mackenzie assumed it was his wife. He

laughed at the idea, saying that Mrs Adams was his stepmother, and that acquiring a wife was something he’d so far managed to avoid.’

The doctor smiled, amused by the American’s phrasing, while Riona declared cynical y, ‘I suspect they’ve avoided him—women with any taste, that

is.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ The doctor gazed across to where the American was standing, having attracted another couple of ladies into his circle. ‘He

seems to be charming the birds out of the trees.’

Riona glanced at the American again and made a dismissive sound. True, he appeared to be gaining a fan club, but they were women who would

have fluttered round the new laird if he’d turned out to be the devil himself.

‘I hope he doesn’t expect us al to fawn on him,’ she muttered aloud, refusing to be susceptible to those powerful good looks.

‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ Dr Macnab said more reasonably. ‘At least, I can’t think he’l be any worse than Sir Hector.’

‘Mmm.’ A non-committal sound from Riona. True, Sir Hector had been a terrible old autocrat with a variable temper and an almost feudal attitude to

his tenants, but who knew what his successor was real y like?

Feeling she’d already wasted too much time discussing the American, Riona excused herself and returned to the stage with the rest of the band.

They continued through their repertoire of dance numbers. It was music Riona could have played in her sleep, which was fortunate as her attention kept wandering back to Cameron Adams.

She saw him dancing the Highland schottische with Isobel Fraser. They were both dreadful at it. Isobel was actual y a lowlander from Strathclyde

and normal y considered herself too sophisticated for the weekly ceilidh. It wasn’t hard to guess what had brought her to this one.

When the other two band members suggested playing a slow, romantic air, Riona shook her head and led the music into an eightsome reel. Then, in

an unusual y spiteful mood, she enjoyed watching Isobel try to keep up with the energetic dance. High heels and reels did not go together. The couple eventual y left the floor, mid-dance, and, losing sight of them, Riona assumed they had gone completely.

Only later, when the dance was over and she went in search of a lift from the doctor, did she discover the two men—Dr Macnab and Cameron

Adams—making each other’s acquaintance at a table in the far corner of the hal . She stopped in her tracks and was about to retreat altogether when the older man spotted her.

‘Ah, Riona,’ Dr Macnab hailed her, and she reluctantly approached the table. ‘I was just about to come and look for you. You’l be wanting a lift?’

‘Aye, Doctor, if it’s not too much trouble,’ she said stiltedly, inhibited by the American’s presence.

She didn’t have to look to know his eyes were boring into her. But she looked al the same and immediately regretted it.

‘I’l give you a lift,’ the American said in a tone that suggested refusal wasn’t an option.

Riona’s heart sank. She’d sooner walk the four miles in bare feet.

It was Dr Macnab who answered warmly, ‘That’s good of you, Cameron,’ when Riona remained silent.

‘It’s on my way.’ Cameron Adams dismissed any kindness in the offer, then directed at Riona, ‘Are you ready?’

What could she say? Remembering her first lift with him, she’d no wish to repeat the experience. But he
was
the new laird, while
she
was just one of his tenants.

‘It is good of you,’ she echoed the doctor, ‘but it’s not real y your most direct route. If you go west from the vil age, it’s about five miles to the House. You have to go in a circle to pass my croft and it almost doubles the journey.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ was his only response, as he placed a hand at her elbow, and, with a last, ‘See you around, Doc,’ to the older man, began steering

her towards the door.

The hal was stil busy with people saying goodbye and Riona felt every one of them was staring in their direction. By tomorrow it would be round the vil age— Riona Macleod had left the ceilidh with the new laird. She could imagine what the gossips might conclude from that.

Cameron Adams smiled disarmingly at people they passed and raised a hand in farewel to Isobel Fraser, who was trapped in conversation with the