“Have you not heard?” Lachlan raised his brows. “Grant has given her the White Room.”

Enrick looked from the men in the bailey to Grant. “Nay, you did not.”

Grant let out his breath. “You know the trouble the MacNeill brothers faced when American she-wolves invaded their castle, aye?” He looked back at the MacNeill men, waved at Ian, and headed to the tower stairs to join the men below. “Besides,” he said, clomping down the centuries-old stone steps, “she won’t last that long. Once she sees all those sharp swords and dirks, and all that fighting and mayhem, she’ll turn around and leave, realizing she really didn’t want to stay here after all. I’ve made reservations for her at a nice bed and breakfast two hours from here.”

“Surely not for a year.” Enrick snorted.

“Nay, for two weeks.”

“Duncan MacNeill warned me the lasses from America can be as stubborn as us. So we might have a real fight on our hands. Especially since this means she could lose her inheritance to her cousins. How are you going to keep up the ruse that we are unruly barbarians for a year and a day?” Enrick asked.

“She won’t last more than a day or two,” Grant assured him. “And from what I have gathered, her cousins are betas, so they would be easily swayed. If they inherit the properties, everything will go as planned.”

“Are you sure you want her to stay in the White Room?” Enrick asked.

“The chamber is one of the nicest rooms we have at the keep. It overlooks the sea and has a delightful view of the gardens. I’m just trying to be hospitable. Besides, her grandmother wished it. Who am I to go against the woman who had a heart of gold?” Grant said, thinking fondly of Neda Playfair and saddened that she had never met the granddaughter she would have doted on if she’d had the chance.

Enrick grunted. “And if Colleen doesn’t want to stay there? You know the bad blood that existed between Colleen’s grandmother and her father. If he poisoned Colleen against Neda, then she might not want to stay in the room for that reason alone. Not to mention the accommodations are rather…lacking.”

“No other rooms are available. She can stay in the village, then. One of the men can escort her there,” Grant said.

He was determined to keep the castle running as smoothly as always—his way. He didn’t like change. He guessed it was because Neda, who had essentially raised him and his brothers, loved to change things—from reorganizing to adding new stuff and getting rid of old things. He loved constancy in his life. Most of all, he didn’t like the idea of an outsider coming in and telling him how best to do his job when the person didn’t have a clue about the operations.

Enrick frowned. “How are you going to make the two adjoining chambers that are free for guests to use suddenly unavailable?”

“Lachlan is having them painted as we speak. The furniture is all moved out, and paint fumes are ghastly for our sensitive sense of smell.” Grant smiled a little.

Lachlan bowed his head a bit. “As his lairdship wished.”

“I still think you’re going to extremes on this,” Enrick said. “You could have waited until you saw her. Maybe she’s not anything like her father. You could have given her a chance.”

“If she was only going to be here for a few days, we’d treat her with kindness and hospitality, agree to everything she said, and then send her on her way. Afterward, we would conduct business the way we’ve always done. End of story. But she’s not going to reside here for only a few days. So we need to find a way to cut her stay short,” Grant said, determined to get the upper hand with the lass right away. “You remember how it was with Theodore, do you not? We didn’t think we’d ever last through his stay.”

They exited the tower and greeted Ian, leader of both his gray wolf pack and the MacNeill clan, and several of his clansmen. “Where are your brothers?” Grant asked, surprised that they wouldn’t be here. They all loved a good skirmish.

They were all great fighters, and Grant’s brothers had looked forward to taking on Ian’s in a mock battle. When it came to swordsmanship, Ian, the oldest, really had no match, except for Grant. As it should be. Pack leader against pack leader. Clan leader against clan leader.

“My mother had some activity planned and needed their help. My wife actually was pushing me out the door to come here with some of our men to help you,” Ian said, wearing a blue-and-green kilt of the more muted, ancient variety. He smiled, his dark brown eyes lighting up with amusement. “So where is the lass?”

“On her way. We checked with the airline and rental car agency, so unless she’s had unforeseen trouble, she should be here soon. We’ll conduct the fight in the inner bailey as soon as she arrives. Or…start it, actually, as she drives up the road.” Grant motioned to the wall walk where two lookouts were posted. “They’ll warn us well beforehand. Then after the practice fight, we’ll have a feast in the great hall. I’ve set it up so that she can see what it was like to eat in yonder castle during medieval times.”

“Us all sweaty and oily, and I take it you mean to have her sitting between some of the hulking brutes during the meal?” Ian asked, sounding amused.

“Aye. Roasted boar—the whole thing, apple in mouth and all—no silverware, a bard telling bawdy jokes, the dogs underfoot.” Grant smiled. “Good thing we took some of those pups of yours off your hands a couple of years back. They’re unruly and love new guests. She won’t know what hit her.”