With a start, she realized that this wasn’t the first time he’d called her Marina. “I didn’t give you permission to use my Christian name,” she said stiffly, knowing she sounded like a fool.

“Och, Signorina Lucchetti is such a mouthful for a poor, ignorant Highlander.”

“He’ll get used to it,” she said, grappling with what she’d learned about him. “At least one of your friends must have married a girl with something to say for herself. Not every woman in Scotland is a doormat. I refuse to believe it.”

He shook his head. “My neighbors’ wives all ken their place. My two closest friends are yet to marry. One’s Laird of Glen Lyon down on the coast near Oban, and the other’s Laird of Invertavey a little north of here.”

“And do they also resist the concept of a woman who can think for herself?”

“Perhaps they’re not quite as convinced as I am. Actually I can bring an exception to mind, now you mention it. Hamish at Glen Lyon has a dragon of a mamma who writes books and sets the wee Sassenach gentlemen in Parliament jumping. She’s a terrifying monster. Ye wouldnae want to be like her, Marina. She’s unnatural.”

Marina choked back a laugh at the theatrical dread he injected into his description. “And what about the Laird of Inver…”

“Tavey.”

“Yes. Him. What about his mother?”

“Och, she was a wild one. I never met her. She ran away with a soldier when Diarmid was sixteen. She died of a fever in Jamaica a year later.”

“Oh, how sad.”

“Aye. And an example of what happens when a man’s not master in his own house.”

She supposed the Mackinnon would look at it that way. “I like the sound of Hamish’s mother.”

He sighed. “Aye, I thought you might. You’re sisters under the skin.”

“Do I terrify you, too, Mackinnon?” She rather liked the idea.

“Aye, you’re the stuff o

f nightmares.”

She laughed. “In that case, are you sure you don’t want to send me on my way?”

He turned his pony up the hill, following a track she couldn’t see. “Och, a man has to face his fears if he wants to prove his courage.”

“Very commendable,” she said drily.

They climbed higher. She’d been so fascinated—and horrified—by the conversation, she’d hardly paid attention to her surroundings. Which was absurd, given her sole reason for being in Scotland was to find suitable scenes to paint.

The hills rose ahead of them, stretching into the blue sky. A pretty haze of purplish pink covered them. Heather, she knew. And a brown and green patchwork of bracken. After yesterday’s rain, the colors were sharp and clear.

A waterfall tumbled over the escarpment above. She glanced back, surprised to see how far they’d climbed. Below, the castle looked like an illustration from a fairy story. In the distance, islands floated in the sparkling blue sea.

Coming north, she’d seen many pretty scenes, but this was the loveliest yet. Perhaps painting here rather than on Skye might prove a smart move.

At least for her art.

Her fingers weren’t tingling to paint yet, although the shapes of the landscape sank into her mind and started to create patterns. Instead, she couldn’t help going over her discussion with the Mackinnon.

What must it have been like to take over as master of Achnasheen at such an absurdly young age? At nine, she’d been playing with dolls, although her lifelong obsession with painting was already stirring. The Mackinnon had not only been master of the estate, but a pillar of strength for his mother and sisters, who sounded like a spineless trio.

Marina was so lost in her brown study, she didn’t realize the Mackinnon had reined in on a wide ledge to let her catch up to him. “I’m worried. You’re not usually so quiet.”

“You haven’t seen me at work yet,” she retorted.

“Do you truly feel I’ve tricked you into staying, and you can’t get away? I’d hate that to be the case.”

Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical
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