The glass formed a picture of a large stag on a bluff, antlers pointed toward the sun as he stood proudly surveying the rolling grasses and forest below him. There was something about the combination of colors, the line of the bluff, and the stag’s proud head that drew the eye and kept it. “It’s beautiful.”

“She’s a master of the craft. There are twenty-six such windows at Kilkairn; old arrow awls used to fire on attackers in the early years of the castle.”

“Ah, the charm of an older residence.”

“Indeed. They used to have wood shutters over them and let in far too much cold before Kat began replacing them. I’ll have to show them all to you one day.” Malcolm dropped the curtain, and he and Devon returned to their chairs.

Devon absently took a drink of brandy. Kat Macdonald was a complex woman, and he was only beginning to realize how much. “Do you think your sister is happy living in the woods?”

“No one is happy alone.”

“She’s not alone.”

Malcolm’s face creased into a sudden smile. “Och, you met her merry lads.”

“Merry? They looked as if they wished to kill me.” The next time Devon went to the cottage, he’d arm himself with a cudgel, just in case.

“Well, they’re merry when you’re not about. I’ve seen them myself and they don’t mind me in the least. ’Tis to strangers that they’re so forbidding.”

“I suppose they’re better protection than a pack of wild dogs.”

“Aye. That they are.” Malcolm took a drink of his brandy. “You know, if I was to mount a campaign to win over Kat, the first thing I’d do is gain the approval of her lads. Though she rules them with a velvet glove, they are a strong-willed lot and make no bones about telling her what they think.”

Devon looked into his own brandy, the light of the fire reflected in the amber depths. There was something in what Malcolm was saying. Not that Devon wished to “win” Kat over. That sounded far too much like wooing and not enough like seducing.

“And then,” Malcolm continued, as if unaware that anyone else was in the room, “then I’d work on Annie.”

“Annie?”

“Kat’s housekeeper.” Malcolm glanced about the library, a wistful look on his face. “I tried to steal her away, for she’s a stern hand on the household and keeps it neat as a pin, but she’s loyal unto death to Kat.”

“You tried to steal your sister’s housekeeper?”

“I was desperate. I still am.” Malcolm gestured to their brandy glasses. “You see these? I had to wash them myself. There wasn’t a servant to be found anywhere.”

Devon grinned. “I daresay it was good for you.”