As High as the Heavens by Kathleen Morgan

blustering
bravado at times, he wasn't-and had never been-that
kind of man.
    At the realization, a fierce sense of possession, of resolve, flooded him. Being the man he was and the woman
he sensed her to be, he would-he must-have Heather
Gordon as wife, or not at all.
    Even as Duncan took up the idea and examined it like
some finely wrought sword for possible flaws, his father's
words earlier today-when he had joked with his sire
about fate-came back to him. Mayhap, Malcolm had
said, it'll send ye a lass to love who won't love ye.
    With an effort Duncan wrenched his thoughts from
what now seemed a prophetically disturbing prediction.
He was being an addle-brained lad to moon over Heather
Gordon like this. And more than foolish to cherish any
hope of taking her as a wife.
    To distract himself from his increasingly unnerving
preoccupation with the blonde beauty, Duncan turned to
Janet. At the moment, however, the girl was chattering
with her mother, who sat on her other side. Casually,
Duncan scanned the table. His gaze careened into that
of Robert Gordon.
    To his surprise, the man had been watching him closely.
Watching him watch Heather. Duncan went still, every
muscle tensing for attack. His thoughts about Heather had been far from chivalrous, and surely another manespecially the father of the woman in question-would
sense that and be enraged. He'd have done the same, he
admitted grudgingly, in a similar situation.

    But, as Duncan held Robert Gordon's gaze, the older
man quickly masked his thoughts and turned to Angus.
Without another glance in Duncan's direction, or further indication he had even noticed the heated looks the
younger man had sent his daughter, much less cared,
Robert proceeded to engage his brother-in-law in conversation.
    Duncan frowned. What was the man about, so casually
to ignore another man's bold appraisal of his daughter at
table? There was no doubt he had seen Duncan's brazen
glances. In that moment their gazes had locked, Duncan
had felt like a deer being stalked by a hunter. But why?
And for what purpose?
    He leveled another look at Heather, his eyes narrowing. Perhaps the answer lay with her. Did she play some
clever game with him-a game for which her father had
earlier given his leave?
    Try as he might, Duncan was unable to catch her attention. Almost as if she didn't dare make visual contact,
Heather assiduously avoided meeting his gaze. But did
the effort spring from a maiden's shyness, he wondered,
or from a guilty conscience?
    He wouldn't know, couldn't know, until she-and perhaps her father-chose to play their hands. Somehow,
Duncan thought, glancing back at Robert Gordon and
deciding he didn't like the man, he doubted he'd have
long to wait.

    After the sweets were served, Angus rose and called
for a private meeting with Duncan, Malcolm, Robert,
and Heather. They adjourned once more to the library,
where they took their place in the various chairs and a
settle placed near the fire. After the laird's wife had refilled the goblets of claret some of the men had brought
with them from supper, she adjourned, closing the door
firmly behind her. For several minutes, all seemed to
content themselves with sipping their claret or gazing
into the fire. Duncan, though, sensed a rising tensionand a subject hanging heavy in the air that none really
wished to broach.
    "Well, there's no sense skirting about the reason I called
this meeting by first spending the requisite time in inane
conversational gambits," Robert Gordon finally began,
leaping into the verbal fray without further preamble.
He glanced at his daughter who sat beside him, smiled,
then continued on. "I had Angus call for ye, Duncan,
because the queen has need of ye."
    Duncan went still. This wasn't what he had expected,
though he had expected something of great importance.
    "The queen?" he repeated, stalling for time in which
to gather his wits back about him. "Queen Mary?"
    "Aye, one