Devon blinked at the amount of food that was eventually set before him. “I am overwhelmed.” He supposed he could get used to the drafty halls, damp beds, and cobweb-strewn corners if his sojourn at Kilkairn Castle promised food like this. “I don’t believe I’ve seen a more lovely sight.”

Malcolm resumed his seat and beamed affably. “Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. Fiona has the ordering of dinner, so I have to—” He broke off at Devon’s expression. “Never mind that. Just eat and enjoy.” He glanced over at the elderly footman and then said in a loud voice that was a hair from a yell, “Ketron, could you inform Lady Strathmore we have a guest?”

The footman turned from the sideboard and put his hand to his ear. “Eh?”

Malcolm muttered under his breath and then repeated his request, even more loudly.

“Aye, my lord,” the old man said. He straightened his shoulders, then lifted his foot. He shuffled more than walked, and it took him forever just to reach the door.

The second he passed through, Malcolm pulled his plate closer and reclaimed his fork. “So, how are those brothers of yours?”

“Chase just wed. Brandon returned just a few months ago from his honeymoon, and Anthony and Anna are talking about having even more children.”

“Chase just wed? And Brandon as well? Saints, but it sounds as if the whole lot of you have gone daft.” Malcolm eyed Devon up and down. “You don’t have that bloody ring, do you?”

Devon nodded once.

“Blast! I knew it.”

“Why does it matter?”

Malcolm drew back a little, his eyes wide. “Because it means that your goose is cooked, my friend.”

“It means no such thing,” Devon said much more firmly than he meant to.

A crack of laughter met this. “How do you plan on escaping?”

“By staying busy.” Devon shifted in his chair, his shin hitting the leg of the table right where his morning visitor had kicked him. He winced.

Malcolm’s brows lowered with concern. “The table has odd-placed legs.”

“It isn’t that. I merely struck a previous injury. A bruise caused by a rather spirited mare.”

“A mare?”

“Yes. One with very intriguing green eyes.” It was somewhat odd, but every time Devon thought about the sassy maid, he smiled.

Malcolm grinned in return. “Oh ho! An armful, was she?”

“And then some.” Devon rubbed his shin once more. “She wears pointed boots, too. Apparently she took something I said in an unfavorable light and delivered a kick worthy of my new gelding.”

“What did you say to cause such a reaction?”

“Nothing that I can think of. I merely told her she had to pay a toll to leave my room. A kiss. Inexplicably, she took offense.”

“Och, you found a spirited one!” Malcolm spread some marmalade on a piece of toasted bread. “Where did you meet this maid? At a tavern along the way?”