Jamisson had not been seen here for five years. He lived in London, which was a week’s journey by ship, two weeks by stagecoach. He had once been a penny-pinching Edinburgh chandler, people said, selling candles and gin from a corner shop, and no more honest than he had to be. Then a relative died young and childless, and George had inherited the castle and the mines. On that foundation he had built a business empire that stretched to such unimaginably distant places as Barbados and Virginia. And he was now starchily respectable: a baronet, a magistrate, and alderman of Wapping, responsible for law and order along London’s waterfront.

He was obviously paying a visit to his Scottish estate, accompanied by family and guests.

“Well, that’s that,” Esther said with relief.

“What do you mean?” said Mack, although he could guess.

“You won’t be able to read out your letter now.”

“Why not?”

“Malachi McAsh, don’t be a damn fool!” she exclaimed. “Not in front of the laird himself!”

“On the contrary,” he said stubbornly. “This makes it all the better.”

2

LIZZIE HALLIM REFUSED TO GO TO CHURCH IN THE carriage. It was a silly idea. The road from Jamisson Castle was a rutted, potholed track, its muddy ridges frozen as hard as rock. The ride would be frightfully bumpy, the carriage would have to go at walking pace, and the passengers would arrive cold and bruised and probably late. She insisted on riding to church.

Such unladylike behavior made her mother despair. “How will you ever get a husband if you always act like a man?” Lady Hallim said.

“I can get a husband whenever I like,” Lizzie replied. It was true: men fell in love with her all the time. “The problem is finding one I can put up with for more than half an hour.”

“The problem is finding one that doesn’t scare easily,” her mother muttered.

Lizzie laughed. They were both right. Men fell in love with her at first sight, then found out what she was like and backed off hurriedly. Her comments had scandalized Edinburgh society for years. At her first ball, talking to a trio of old dowagers, she had remarked that the high sheriff had a fat backside, and her reputation had never recovered. Last year Mother had taken her to London in the spring and “launched” her into English society. It had been a disaster. Lizzie had talked too loud, laughed too much and openly mocked the elaborate manners and tight clothes of the dandified young men who tried to court her.

“It’s because you grew up without a man in the house,” her mother added. “It’s made you too independent.” With that she got into the carriage.

Lizzie walked across the flinty front of Jamisson Castle, heading for the stables on the east side. Her father had died when she was three, so she hardly remembered him. When she asked what killed him her mother said vaguely: “Liver.” He had left them penniless. For years Mother had scraped by, mortgaging more and more of the Hallim estate, waiting for Lizzie to grow up and marry a wealthy man who would solve all their problems. Now Lizzie was twenty years old and it was time to fulfill her destiny.

That was undoubtedly why the Jamisson family were visiting their Scottish property again after all these years, and why their principal houseguests were their neighbors, Lizzie and her mother, who lived only ten miles away. The pretext for the party was the twenty-first birthday of the younger son, Jay; but the real reason was that they wanted Lizzie to marry the older son, Robert.

Mother was in favor, as Robert was the heir to a great fortune. Sir George was in favor because he wanted to add the Hallim estate to the Jamisson family’s land. Robert seemed to be in favor, to judge by the way he had been paying attention to her ever since they arrived; although it was always hard to know what was in Robert’s heart.

She saw him standing in the stable yard, waiting for the horses to be saddled. He resembled the portrait of his mother that hung in the castle hall—a grave, plain woman with fine hair and light eyes and a determined look about the mouth. There was nothing wrong with him: he was not especially ugly, neither thin nor fat, nor did he smell bad or drink too much or dress effeminately. He was a great catch, Lizzie told herself, and if he proposed marriage she would probably accept. She was not in love with him, but she knew her duty.

She decided to banter with him a little. “It really is most inconsiderate of you to live in London,” she said.

“Inconsiderate?” He frowned. “Why?”

“You leave us without neighbors.” Still he looked puzzled. It seemed he did not have much of a sense of humor. She explained: “With you away there isn’t another soul between here and Edinburgh.”

A voice behind her said: “Apart from a hundred families of coal miners and several villages of crofters.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, turning. The man who had spoken was a stranger to her. With her usual directness she said: “Anyway, who are you?”

“Jay Jamisson,” he said with a bow. “Robert’s cleverer brother. How could you forget?”

“Oh!” She had heard he had arrived late last night, but she had not recognized him. Five years ago he had been several inches shorter, with pimples on his forehead and a few soft blond hairs on his chin. He was handsomer now. But he had not been clever then and she doubted if he had changed in that respect. “I remember you,” she said. “I recognize the conceit.”

He grinned. “If only I’d had your example of humility and self-effacement to copy, Miss Hallim.”

Robert said: “Hullo, Jay. Welcome to Castle Jamisson.”

Jay looked suddenly sulky. “Drop the proprietorial air, Robert. You may be the elder son but you haven’t inherited the place yet.”

Lizzie intervened, saying: “Congratulations on your twenty-first birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Is it today?”

“Yes.”

Robert said impatiently: “Are you going to ride to church with us?”

Lizzie saw hatred in Jay’s eyes, but his voice was neutral. “Yes. I’ve told them to saddle a horse for me.”

“We’d better get going.” Robert turned toward the stable and raised his voice. “Hurry up in there!”

“All set, sir,” a groom called from within, and a moment later three horses were led out: a sturdy black pony, a light bay mare, and a gray gelding.

Jay said: “I suppose these beasts have been hired from some Edinburgh horse-dealer.” His tone was critical, but he went to the gelding and patted its neck, letting it nuzzle his blue riding-coat. Lizzie saw that he was comfortable with horses and fond of them.

She mounted the black pony, riding sidesaddle, and trotted out of the yard. The brothers followed, Jay on the gelding and Robert on the mare. The wind blew sleet into Lizzie’s eyes. Snow underfoot made the road treacherous, for it hid potholes a foot or more deep that caused the horses to stumble. Lizzie said: “Let’s ride through the woods. It will be sheltered, and the ground is not so uneven.” Without waiting for agreement she turned her horse off the road and into the ancient forest.

Underneath the tall pines the forest floor was clear of bushes. Streamlets and marshy patches were frozen hard, and the ground was dusted white. Lizzie urged her pony into a canter. After a moment the gray horse passed her. She glanced up and saw a challenging grin on Jay’s face: he wanted to race. She gave a whoop and kicked the pony, who sprang forward eagerly.

They dashed through the trees, ducking under low boughs, jumping over fallen trunks, and splashing heedlessly through streams. Jay’s horse was bigger and would have been faster in a gallop, but the pony’s short legs and light frame were better adapted to this terrain, and gradually Lizzie pulled ahead. When she could no longer hear Jay’s horse she slowed down and came to a standstill in a clearing.