If Donald was suffering from the heat in his full Highland regalia, he did not show it. As he made the final arrangements for the sail with his captain, Margaret guiltily availed herself of the opportunity to admire the picture he presented, the broad plaid draped over his body, the gleaming buckle of the belt that held his tightly pleated kilt in place, the shapely calves, and the tantalising glimpses above his knitted stockings which the gentle breeze granted her. Her cheeks grew hot as her thoughts turned shockingly carnal, and even hotter still when Donald glanced over his shoulder and caught her staring at him. Could he read her mind? She discovered that she was brazen enough to want him to, and had the satisfaction of seeing her desire momentarily reflected before a shout went up that the royal carriages were approaching.

The screw steamer Scarba was too small to accommodate everyone, and so the honour of accompanying Queen Victoria, Princess Beatrice, Baroness Churchill, and the two gentlemen escorts was confined to Donald and the duchess. The plan to sail the full fourteen miles of Loch Arkaig had to be curtailed, for the queen had arrived late and did not wish to endure the return trip back to Inverlochy Castle in the dark.

“But she very much enjoyed her tea on board and admired the scenery,” Mama said later, back at Achnacarry over dinner. “Though Lochiel was disappointed not to be able to show her the most rugged of views at the far end of the loch, Her Majesty was delighted to hear of his connection with Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

Donald rolled his eyes. “And equally delighted with the screeching of young Gordon’s bagpipes from the pier when we returned.”

Margaret giggled. “It’s a treasonable offence, Donald Cameron, not to love the skirl of the pipes.”

He grinned. “I loathe them every bit as much as you do, and you know that fine and well. I remember you saying in one of your letters—” He broke off, remembering too late that they were not alone.

“It’s getting very late,” Camilla said, breaking the pointed silence, though it was not much after nine.

“Aye, I’m very tired,” Susan said, smothering a theatrical yawn.

“All that fresh air out on the loch has made me long for an early night. If you’ll excuse me,” Mama said, getting to her feet and causing a minor stampede as the other two ladies followed her.

Donald heaved a sigh as the dining room door closed. “That’s our skeleton well and truly out of the cupboard.”

“My mother guessed straightaway that we were more than mere acquaintances, though I have told her nothing of our history.”

The mood had changed now that they were alone. Donald twisted his wine-glass, staring down at its almost untouched contents. “Do you ever regret refusing my hand in marriage?”