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himself to his feet with the same slow care he had used sitting down. “I’ll take my leave before the house stirs and questions get asked. When I’ve finished, I’ll send word as to when I’ll stop by again, aye?”
    “Thank you.” Brice stood to see Macnab to the door, and he didn’t bother locking it again after the man had gone. Instead he fetched his hat and a light overcoat and headed out into the mist himself.
    Most mornings, Brice wouldn’t be up quite this early, and he would usually call for a horse. But he had no desire to rouse the grooms from their breakfast, so he headed out on foot. He crossed the green where there would later be a football game with some of the neighbors, assuming the rain held off, and rounded the tennis courts that Father had put in for Ella a few years back, when she was—briefly—in love with the sport. Minutes later he stepped to the edge of the property, where they had the best view of the loch below.
    There, a hunkering form rose from the waters, only slightly more mysterious in the fog than it ever looked. Castle Kynn was without question one of the most picturesque places he had ever seen. Built onto one of the many small islands just off the shore of the loch, it had naught but a stone bridge, arched and lovely, to connect it to the mainland. Every time he saw it, Brice imagined clans warring in their various tartans, or ill-fated Highlanders charging in the wake of Bonny Prince Charlie. It seemed a place preserved in time.
    Or perhaps that was just because he had never seen anything but the never-changing stones of its walls. Surely inside it was more modern. They wouldn’t have electricity—power had not yet made its way to Lochaber—and so no telephones either. But other improvements had no doubt been made by the dour-faced earl Brice had only glimpsed a time or two in town.
    “You’re up and about early, darling.”
    He jumped at his mother’s voice, though it had been quiet, and spun with a grin. She wore a stylish black kimono jacket against the chill and a close-fitting hat, both trimmed in the crepe of mourning. But the highest of fashions couldn’t disguise the pain that still shadowed her eyes. He held out an arm to welcome her to his side. “Taking advantage while it isn’t raining. I thought you and Ella would rest until eight or nine this morning after the journey.”
    “Mm.” She leaned into him, her weariness obvious. “I’m afraid the journey left me too sore and achy to rest properly. When I saw you, I thought I would join you on your stroll—only, you seem to have stopped strolling.”
    He rubbed a hand over her silk-clad arm and nodded toward the castle. “Just admiring the view. Have you ever seen the inside?”
    Mother cleared her throat and straightened. “Many, many years ago.”
    “Did they once offer tours? Or was the previous earl not quite so stern?”
    Now his mother sighed. “Lord Lochaber’s father was chief of the clan but not the earl—that came from his mother. I’m afraid the lady passed away when the earl was young, and his father raised him to despise the side of his heritage that came with English ties. Castle Kynn is, of course, the Kinnaird estate. They’ve another home twenty miles away or so that goes with the Lochaber title. So far as I know, the earl never goes there. Most of the time he isn’t even called Lochaber, but ‘the Kinnaird.’ Like a chief of old.”
    That prejudice, Brice supposed, explained why Lord Lochaber never replied to any of their invitations and never issued any of his own. Brice had seen a veritable procession of Highlanders coming and going from the castle every year, but apparently, if one wasn’t of the Clan Kinnaird, one wasn’t fit for Lochaber’s regard.
    Only that didn’t answer the question of how Mother had managed to see the interior. “How did you finagle an invitation, then?” He tipped his head toward the castle again.
    Mother turned up her lips, though it was hardly