Kat turned and crossed to the back door of the cottage. If there was any chance that mud or dirt was clinging to her boots, she always entered through the kitchen. As she stopped outside the open door to scrape her feet, Kat heard voices from inside.

“I seed him meself, I did!” said a woman in a breathless voice. Kat recognized Fat Mary, a kitchen maid from Kilkairn. As round as a barrel, there was no mistaking her rough voice. “He’s as beautiful as Lucifer, all black hair and blue eyes.”

“Is he tall?” asked another woman. That sounded like Lucy, who came from the village to help Annie with the cooking.

“Tall he is,” Fat Mary agreed with so much enthusiasm that Kat found a scowl upon her face. “He has a fine arse, too.”

Arse? How on earth could Mary know that? Kat leaned closer to the open door and tried to peek around the corner.

“Och now, how do ye know aboot the man’s arse?” Annie asked, her voice sharp.

God bless Annie, Kat decided with rising satisfaction. The housekeeper never stood for any nonsense.

“Why, I walked into his room to stoke the fire and there he was, lying on the counterpane, sound asleep and as bare-arsed as the day he was borned.”

Kat took a hasty step forward, then caught herself. St. John had arrived in the middle of the night, and Kat herself had been there when he’d awakened, so it was highly unlikely Mary knew anything more than the man’s fully clothed appearance. Mary was lying; she had to be. But Kat knew that bursting into the room, ringing with indignation, would only draw undue attention to herself.

In the time Kat had known her, Fat Mary had launched and sailed several hot air balloons’ worth of gossip. None of them landing anywhere near the truth. But if Fat Mary started such a rumor about Malcolm’s new guest, every single maid in the countryside soon would be making excuses to visit Kilkairn in an effort to glimpse the handsome stranger. For some reason, Kat found that very annoying.

Lifting her chin, she walked into the kitchen and looked directly at Fat Mary. “I was at the castle this very morning, and you did not light the fires in any of the bedchambers.”

Fat Mary flushed. She was a large, fleshy woman with pale, stringy hair and watery gray eyes. “I did the guest chamber!”

“Oh?”

“Yes. That’s when I seed him, whilst I was lighting the fire.”

Kat lifted her brows. “Which chamber did you say St. John was sleeping in?”

“Which—” Mary shifted uneasily. “I don’t remember, exactly—perhaps ’twas the green one.”

Lucy frowned. “But ye tol’ me on the way here that he was in the gold room and—”