Jillian’s hands flew protectively to her bodice. It’s a little late for that, she rued.

“You did not see her getting dressed,” Grimm growled, glancing at Quinn for reassurance.

“No,” Ramsay supplied helpfully, “we saw her undressed. Framed in the window, sun spilling over the most splendid morning gown of rosy skin I’ve ever seen. Face of an angel, creamy thighs, and everything golden in between.”

Mortification steeped Jillian in a furious blush from the crown of her head to her recently viewed breasts. They had seen her; all of her.

“Is that true, Quinn?” Grimm demanded.

Quinn nodded, looking sheepish. “Hell, Grimm, what did you expect me to do? Look away? She’s stunning. I’d long suspected the wee lass would ripen into a lovely woman, but I’d never imagined such exquisite charms. Although Jillian always seemed like a younger sister to me, after I saw her today …” He shook his head and whistled admiringly. “Well, feelings can change.”

“I didn’t know Gibraltar had such a daughter,” Ramsay hastened to add, “or I’d have been sniffing around years ago—”

“She’s not the sniffing around kind. She’s the marrying kind,” Grimm snapped.

“Aye, she is the marrying kind, and the keeping kind, and the bedding kind,” Ramsay said coolly. “The dolts at Caithness may be intimidated by her beauty, but I’m not. A woman like that needs a flesh-and-blood man.”

Quinn shot Ramsay an irritated look and rose to his feet. “Exactly what are you saying, Logan? If any man is going to be speaking for her, it should be me. I’ve known Jillian since she was a child. My message specifically mentioned coming for Jillian, and after seeing her, I intend to do precisely that.”

Ramsay came to his feet slowly, unfolding his massive frame until he stood a good two inches above Quinn’s six-foot-plus frame. “Perhaps the only reason my message wasn’t worded the same way is because St. Clair knew I’d never met her. Regardless, it’s past time I take a wife, and I intend to give the lovely lass an option besides hanging her nightrail—if she ever wears one, although I’m certainly not complaining—beside some common Lowland farmer.”

“Who’s calling who a farmer here? I am a bleeding merchant and worth more than all your paltry skinny-ass, shaggy-haired cows put together.”

“Pah! My skinny-ass cows aren’t where I get my wealth, you Lowland skivvy—”

“Aye, raiding innocent Lowlanders, more likely!” Quinn cut him off. “And what the hell is a skivvy?”

“Not a word a flatlander would know,” Ramsay snapped.

“Gentlemen, please.” Hatchard entered the Greathall, an expression of concern on his face. Having served as chief man-at-arms for twenty years, he could foresee a battle brewing half a county away, and this one was simmering beneath his nose. “There’s no need to get into a brawl over this. Hold your tongues and bide a wee, for I have a message for you from Gibraltar St. Clair. And do sit down.” He gestured to the chairs clustered near the hearth. “It’s been my experience that men who are facing off rarely listen well.”

Ramsay and Quinn continued to glare at each other.

Jillian tensed and nearly poked her head through the spindles of the balustrade. What was her father up to this time? Shrewd, red-haired Hatchard was her father’s most trusted advisor and longtime friend. His vulpine features were an accurate reflection of his cleverness; he was canny and quick as a fox. His long, lean fingers tapped the hilt of his sword as he waited impatiently for the men to obey his command. “Sit,” Hatchard repeated forcefully.

Ramsay and Quinn reluctantly eased back into their chairs.

“I’m pleased to see you’ve all arrived promptly,” Hatchard said in an easier tone. “But, Grimm, why is your horse wandering the bailey?”

Grimm spoke softly. “He doesn’t like to be penned. Is there a problem with that?”

Like man, like horse. Jillian rolled her eyes.

“No, no problem with me. But if he starts eating Jillian’s flowers, you may have a bit of a skirmish on your hands.” Hatchard lowered himself into a vacant chair, amused. “Actually, I suspect you’re going to have a bit of a skirmish on your hands no matter what you do with your horse, Grimm Roderick.” He chuckled. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been too long. Perhaps you could train with my men while you’re here.”

Grimm nodded curtly. “So why has Gibraltar summoned us here, Hatchard?”