“Good heavens!” Gwyneth strode forward. “Rory, you will hurt the little lady. Now, help her up.”

“Pray pardon,” Rory said, reaching his hand down to her.

“My, what a mannerly young sir he is,” said one of the ladies as she dusted off the girl’s skirts. “You are fine, are you not, Millie?”

She nodded emphatically and dragged Rory out for more dancing and horseplay.

“Well, he’s already popular with the lasses.” The short, round woman laughed. “I’m Alice Balfour, Lady Grant.”

“’Tis an honor to meet you, my lady. I am Gwyneth Carswell.”

“Oh, you’re English. ’Tis clear in your speech.”

“Yes.”

“And how did you come to be all the way here, in the Highlands?”

“I was married to a Highlander but am widowed now. At the moment, I am the MacGrath’s housekeeper but I hope to find a position as governess or tutor and go south before winter.”

“Indeed? The long winter nights and deep snows of the Highlands were the hardest thing for me to grow used to. I was born in the Lowlands, you see, some miles from Dunbar.”

Could this be an opportunity? “Would you know anyone in that area who is searching for a governess?”

“My brother just hired someone new for his eldest son, but they have five more, all under seven, one set of twins. I told him to give his poor wife a wee break.” She chuckled. “You’re serious about this, then?”

“Yes, very. Does he live in a peaceful area?”

“Indeed.”

“Laird MacGrath has promised to provide me with a reference.”

“His word is gold. I will send a missive to my brother upon my return home. If you have a letter of reference from Laird MacGrath, I will include that as well.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“The MacGrath’s first wife was my distant cousin, and he is well respected and liked in our family.”

Gwyneth felt like an interloper, even though she herself had asked him if his late wife’s family might be in need of someone.

“Clearly you’re well educated. Are you of noble birth, then?” Alice asked.

Gwyneth usually felt it best not to mention her background, but in this case it might prove helpful. “My father is an English earl.”

Alice’s eyes flew wide. “In truth?”

“Yes, and he provided all of us, including my five sisters and one brother, with proper educations.”

“Goodness, I wish we were in need of a governess. You impress me greatly. Millie is our youngest, and Paula, our eldest.” She smiled toward the twirling couples. “Dancing with the MacGrath as we speak. Oh, wouldn’t they make a lovely pair?” She sighed. “I would give my eye-teeth to have him for a son-in-law.”

Though she did not wish to, Gwyneth turned to follow her gaze. The young Paula, of no more than eighteen years, beamed up at Alasdair. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back. They matched in coloring and her tall height complimented his. He focused on her, to the exclusion of all else, and laughed at something she said.

“I’m thinking he’ll become smitten with her. What do you think?” Alice whispered eagerly. “Look at how he smiles at her.”

“’Tis possible.” Gwyneth looked away. The sight of them hurt her eyes. And her heart. “I thank you for inquiring with your brother. I shall ask Laird MacGrath to write the reference missive before the morrow. Pray pardon me and enjoy the rest of the celebration.”

Lady Alice bid her good evening, and Gwyneth moved toward the shadows to try and soothe her aching heart. Good lord, why had her reaction to seeing Alasdair dancing with the pretty lass struck her so?

Gwyneth couldn’t marry him, so she should want him to find a suitable wife. But some part of her deep inside couldn’t understand the logic of that.

Was it possible that a woman and man could love each other equally and forever? Or was it a fable? The love she’d thought she felt for Southwick years ago was but delusion. Upon much reflection, she’d come to the conclusion that her parents didn’t share love, nor much warmth or fondness.

Of course, Gwyneth had never loved Baigh Shaw. She had come to believe love between a man and a woman didn’t truly exist. Was it a fantasy some poet had dreamed up to mislead people into thinking such lofty love and passion were possible?

The only love that she knew existed between people was that of a parent for a child, and vice versa, along with love between siblings and friends.

But the wondrous emotions that grew and expanded within her for Alasdair were unlike anything she had ever experienced. They near took her breath and her reasoning. She did not trust herself, nor her feelings—which were not warm and comforting, but hot and disturbing. Mayhap the Gaelic words he’d whispered in her ear during their lovemaking had been an incantation that had drawn her under his control. Or mayhap real love could exist between a man and a woman and that’s what she felt for him.

Trying to keep her attention off Alasdair and any female who might be touching him or gazing at him with adoration, she focused on the male clan members who were setting a blaze to a giant cartwheel of straw. Once it was well afire, they rolled it down the hill toward the loch below. When it reached the bottom, still burning, a cheer went up. “A fruitful harvest!”

Did their superstitions know no bounds?

A short time later, a few of the older clan women started rounding up the tired and yawning children.

“’Tis time for stories and bed,” Great Aunt Matilda said.

The children whined and moaned.

“’Haps we will even find some comfits inside.”

The promise of sweets hastened their steps.

“I’ll come with you,” Gwyneth told Matilda, glad for the excuse to avoid watching Alasdair court any more ladies. She helped herd Rory and the other children toward the barmkin and castle.

“You cannot be going in now,” Alasdair said behind her.

Surprised, she stopped and turned.

“You’re not one of the children. And you’re far too lovely to not enjoy a night like this.”

She fought down her unreasonable irritation at him for the attention he’d shown the young lady. “I’ve enjoyed it, but I’m tired.”

“I was hoping for another dance or two, if it would please you.” That wicked gleam in his eye was too charming for her comfort. ’Twas time for her to face reality—nothing could ever exist between them. Nothing but the secret trysts…all in the past.

“As I said, I’m tired, but there is something I wish to speak to you about.”

“Very well.” He watched her with curiosity.

“I’ll return after I make sure Rory is safely inside with the other children.”

He bowed. “I’ll be waiting.”

She expected to find him dancing with another lass when she returned, but he stood alone just outside the barmkin gates.

“I’m glad you came back,” Alasdair murmured.

Glancing around, she noticed that fewer people were present around the bonfires. “Where is everyone?”

“The women are most likely running naked through the heather.” He grinned. “Will you be joining them?”

Naked? Through the heather? “Certainly not!”

He laughed. “Jumping the balefire, then? A wee bit more dangerous, but arguably more effective.”

“Oh, gracious! No.” She stalked toward the barmkin.

He followed. “Are you not wanting to strengthen your fertility?”

No, indeed, she did not want strengthened fertility. Trying to ignore his teasing, she focused on the reason she’d wanted to talk to him. But now that it was time to ask for the letter of recommendation, she hesitated to speak the words that would take her away from him forever.

“’Haps I can do it for you, then,” he said.

“What—”

He smiled like a devil bent on sensual mayhem. No, she didn’t want to know what he’d meant. She turned to go.

He grasped her hand, stopping her. She didn’t even know where she’d been fleeing to. The barmkin was almost empty, though she did see a couple kissing in the shadows.