Highland Storms by Christina Courtenay

even more determined than before to find out what had happened to his father’s once-prosperous estate and its surly inhabitants. His estate.
    ‘ We’ll just see who has to take a running jump,’ he muttered. ‘I’d wager it won’t be me.’
     
    Marsaili dragged an unwilling Liath back down to the kitchen. The dog gazed at her with big eyes as if to say she was being mean in not letting him stay with the stranger. But even if she’d wanted to allow it, there would have been no room for both him and Mr Aaron in the tiny room. And if Seton caught Liath anywhere in the house except the kitchen, he’d have a fit.
    A twinge of guilt pierced her and she wondered if they were making a huge mistake in treating a possible government spy with such blatant inhospitality. What if it made him even more determined to find something to charge them with? It wasn’t up to her, however, she left such decisions to Seton. He was in control of estate matters and if he thought this was the best policy to adopt, then so be it. It was his problem, he’d have to deal with any bad consequences.
    She went back to the laundry, but her mind wouldn’t give her any peace. An image of the golden-hued Mr Aaron kept invading her brain and she felt strangely unsettled. There had been something about him that didn’t ring true and she couldn’t work out what it was. He’d been easy-going enough, despite his barbed comments, and she should have been grateful he didn’t give her the kind of hungry looks she was used to receiving. For some reason she wasn’t though. Instead she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something wrong with him.
    Why else had he virtually ignored her?
    Faith, but he was more interested in Liath than in me! It was a sobering thought. Well, perhaps you’ve grown too used to male attention, she told herself. Not everyone was like Seton and there were a few others, like Kirsty’s suitor for example, who also seemed able to resist Marsaili’s charms. Still, even he looked.
    She shook her head at herself. Just forget the man. Tomorrow he’ll be gone and hopefully you’ll never see him again.
    Why did that thought suddenly depress her?
     
    Brice didn’t know whether the housekeeper had expected him to stay in his room for the rest of the afternoon, but it certainly wasn’t his intention. He took matters into his own hands and decided to have a look around. If he was to find out what was going on, he might as well start now, he reasoned.
    He gazed out of his window and was momentarily distracted by the sight of half a dozen young ladies standing in tubs full of washing with their skirts hiked up almost to their hips. Although they were some distance away from him, he had no trouble picking out the housekeeper, whose shapely limbs were working just as hard as anyone else’s. He remembered this strange way of doing the laundry from his visits as a child, but he’d never before realised how enticing a tableau the women made, especially her.
    He blinked and turned away, trying to erase the image from his mind. He had more important things to do than gawp at indecent females.
    First of all, he needed to check on Starke. Since he was familiar with the layout of the house, he was able to use a back door and thereby avoid being seen. On reaching the stables, he found them deserted and apart from his own horse, there were only two others in there. They were small, of the type most common in the Highlands, nothing but ponies really, sturdy and strong. Usually they’d be referred to as garrons , Brice remembered. He and his siblings had often ridden them and he knew they were sure-footed when travelling along difficult tracks, but also used for ploughing. You’d need teams of four for that though. Brice wondered what had happened to the rest?
    As he’d suspected, Starke had been left in a stall, tethered to the wall with only a token handful of hay to munch on and no water. The horse’s coat was still covered in sweat and