Fiona’s gaze traveled over Kat, her eyes widening. Poor Katherine had been caught in the sudden storm and was bedraggled and wet. Kat’s habit appeared black and sodden, her hair fell in long strands about her face, a sopping wet scarf trailed water into a puddle behind her. Devon was no better. His breeches were now indecently molded to him, his coat open, his shirt undone. By all accounts, the two should be miserable, but instead, they were laughing.

A pang formed in Fiona’s heart at the sight. They looked so happy, just as she and Malcolm had once been. Her lips quivered at the thought. She had to win the wager with Malcolm. The only thing that could save her marriage was if she could get him away from Kilkairn, back to Edinburgh where they’d been gay and carefree. Once there, she was certain he’d forget about having children, and there’d be no more discord.

Perhaps then he would realize he still loved her, if he did.

Meanwhile, she was going to have to be more underhanded in her methods. She hated that, but it was necessary. Fiona eyed Kat for a long moment, deciding that while the habit looked wondrous on Kat’s generous figure, a ball gown would not be nearly as attractive, with the high waistline and voluminous folds.

Murien was, as usual, quite right. Kat, dressed in a form-fitting habit on a horse, was one thing. Kat in a ballroom was quite another thing altogether. And as much as St. John might enjoy his flirtation, he would not tolerate a companion who could not hold her own in public.

Fiona dropped the curtain just as a voice said in her ear, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Her heart jumped and she fell back, pressing a hand to her pounding heart. “Malcolm! Do not sneak up on me in such a manner! I thought you were St. John’s horrid valet. I vow, but the man frightens me to death.”

Malcolm looked past her to the window. “Hm. Spying on Devon and Kat, were you?”

“No,” she said, her cheeks heating. “I was just here to—to make certain the room was clean.”

Malcolm didn’t look convinced. “What a lovely hostess you are, m’dear. Always worried about the health and welfare of your guests.”

She stiffened. “I do my best, though how anyone can keep a castle clean is beyond me. It’s like scrubbing the earth, all it does is make more mud.”

“How would you know? You’ve never scrubbed a thing in your life.”

“’Tis not my fault. You are the one who brought me here to this horrid damp place.”

“It’s my home, Fiona. I thought we could share that, at least.”