"No, Papa didn't want me to bother with it," Jamie answered. "Beak, what are you thinking? You've got that mean look in your eyes all of a sudden."

"I'm thinking your papa's up to something," Beak admitted. "Something shameful.

I've known your papa a mite longer than you have, girl. Remember who trailed after your mama when she wed the baron. I was wise to your father's ways afore you could walk. Now I'm telling you your papa's up to something."

"Papa accepted me as his own," Jamie said. "Mama always told me it didn't matter spit to him that he wasn't my blood father. Please don't forget that kindness, Beak. Papa's a good man."

"Aye, he treated you fair by calling you daughter, but that don't change the facts none."

At that moment the groom, Emmett, came strolling back into the stables. Jamie, knowing the groom's habit of listening in on others' conversations, immediately switched to Gaelic so their talk would continue to be private. "Your loyalty is suspect," she whispered, shaking her head.

"Spit! I'm loyal to you. No one else gives a holler about your future. Now, quit looking so disgruntled and tell this old man when my fellow Scotsmen will be arriving."

Jamie knew Beak was deliberately edging the conversation away from her father and was thankful. "One week's time, Beak. I must stay hidden away like a prisoner while they're here. Papa thinks it would be for the better if they don't see me, though I don't understand why. It's going to be difficult, too, what with my duties to be seen to each day. Who will do the hunting for our supper? How long do you think they'll be staying, Beak? Most likely a week, don't you suppose? I'll have to salt more pork if-"

"I hope they stay a month," Beak interrupted. "You'll get a needed rest," he predicted. "Jamie, I've said it afore and I'll be saying it again. You're digging yourself into an early grave, working from sunup to sunset. I worry about you, lass. I can still remember the young days, afore your mama took ill, God rest her soul. You were no bigger than a gnat, but a hell-raiser all the same. Remember that time I had to climb up the outside of the tower to fetch you down? You screamed my name over and over, you did. And me afeared of heights so shamefully I puked up my supper as soon as I got you down? You'd tied a flimsy rope betwixt the two towers, thinking you could walk across real nimble like."

Jamie smiled over the memory. "I remember you swatted my backside. I couldn't sit down for two days."

"But you denied to your papa that I struck you, didn't you, Jamie, guessing I'd get into trouble?"

"You would have gotten into trouble," Jamie announced.

Beak laughed. "So you got yourself another good swat from your mama. She wouldn't have punished you none if she'd known I'd already seen to your discipline."

"You saved me from sure death that time," Jamie admitted.

"I've saved you more than once and that's the truth of it."

"It was a long time ago," Jamie reminded him, her smile gentle. "I'm all grown up now. I've many responsibilities. Even Andrew understands the way of it, Beak.

Why can't you?"

He wasn't about to touch that hot poker. Beak knew he'd hurt her feelings if he told her what he really thought about her Andrew. Although he'd only had the misfortune of meeting Baron Fancy Figure Andrew once, it had been quite enough for him to judge the man's spineless character. Andrew's mind was as tight as his britches. All he had time to think about was himself. God's truth, every time Beak thought about his precious Jamie saddled with such a weakling, his stomach turned sour.

"You're needing a strong man, lass. Aside from me, of course, I don't rightly know if you've ever met up with any real men. And you've still got a wee streak of wildness inside you. You're wanting to be free, whether you realize it or not."

"You're exaggerating, Beak. I'm not wild, not anymore."

"Think I haven't seen you standing on your mare's back while she races through the south meadow, Jamie? I'm sorry I ever taught you that trick. You dare the devil every once in a while, don't you?"

"Beak, you've been watching me?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on you."

Jamie let out a soft sigh, then turned the topic back to the Scotsmen. Beak let her have her way. He hoped that by listening to her talk out her worries, he was in some small measure easing her burden.

When she took her leave to return to her tasks, Beak's mind was reeling with new possibilities.

Baron Jamison was weaving a deception, all right; Beak would have staked his life on it. Well, he wasn't going to let his lord get away with it.

Beak determined to become Jamie's savior. First, however, he'd have to measure these Scots. If one turned out to be a true God-fearing, woman-caring man, then Beak vowed he'd find a way to take the lord aside and tell him Baron Jamison didn't have three daughters; he had four.

Aye, Beak would try to save Jamie from her sorry fate.

God willing, he'd set her free.

The priest, Murdock, has just told us that Alec Kincaid will be coming home with an English bride. There are scowls aplenty, but they aren't because our laird has remarried. Nay, the anger is because his bride is English. Alec simply obeys the order of his king, others say in his defense. Still others wonder aloud how their laird can stomach the task.

God, I hope he falls in love with her. 'Tis too much to ask my Maker now, for Alec is as set against the English as the rest of us.

Still… it would make the kill so much sweeter.

Alec Kincaid was in a hurry to get home. He'd honored King Edgar's request and stayed in London for nearly a month's time, studying the ways of the English court system and learning all he could about England's unpredictable king. In truth, Alec had little liking for the duty. He found the English barons a pretentious lot, their ladies dull-witted and painfully weak-spirited, and their leader, Henry, a little too soft in most of his decisions. Alec always gave a man his due, however, and therefore grudgingly admitted there had been a time or two when he'd been downright impressed with King Henry's spurts of brutality. He had given swift punishment to those foolish barons who'd been proved guilty of treason.

Although Alec hadn't complained about the duty, he was still thankful it was done. As laird over his own large clan of followers, he felt his many responsibilities pressing down on him. His domain in the rugged Highlands was probably in chaos now, what with the Campbells and the MacDonalds at it again, and God only knew what other problems he'd find waiting on his doorstep.

Now there was a further delay. Damn if he didn't have to stop along the way to get married.

Alec considered his marriage to the unknown Englishwoman a minor inconvenience, nothing more. He would wed the woman to please King Edgar. She would do the same by order from King Henry, of course, for that was the way of things in these advanced days, since the two leaders had formed a tenuous bond with each other.

Henry had specifically requested that Alec Kincaid be one of the lairds ordered to take an English bride. Both Alec and Edgar knew why Henry had made that special request. It was an undisputed fact that the Kincaid, though one of the youngest lairds in all of Scotland, was a power to be reckoned with. He was chieftain over approximately eight hundred fierce warriors by last year's count, but that number would be doubled if he called up his trusted allies.

The Kincaid's skill in battle was a whispered legend in England, a shouted boast in the Highlands.

Henry also knew that Alec didn't particularly like the English. He mentioned to Edgar his hope that the marriage would soften the powerful laird's attitude.