Ramsay Logan was an inch short of terrifying. Quinn was no longer the stripling son of a Lowland chieftain, but a powerful laird in his own right. And Grimm was the only man not looking at her; he stood gazing intently into the fire. She took advantage of his distraction and studied his profile with greedy eyes.

“Jillian.” Quinn moved forward to greet her.

She forced herself to drag her gaze away from Grimm and concentrate on what Quinn was saying. “Welcome, Quinn.” She pasted a cheerful smile on her lips.

“It’s so good to see you again, lass.” Quinn took her hands in his and smiled down at her. “It’s been years and … och, but the years have been generous to you—you’re breathtaking!”

Jillian blushed and glanced at Grimm, who was paying no heed to the conversation. She stifled the urge to kick him and make him notice that someone thought she was lovely. “You’ve changed yourself, Quinn,” she said brightly. “It’s no wonder I’ve heard your name linked with one beautiful woman after another.”

“And just where would you be hearing that, lass?” Quinn asked softly.

“Caithness isn’t exactly the end of the earth, Quinn. We do get visitors here on occasion.”

“And you’ve asked them about me?” Quinn probed, interested.

Behind him, Ramsay cleared his throat impatiently.

Jillian sneaked another glance at Grimm. “Of course I have. And Da always likes to hear about the lads he fostered,” she added.

“Well, although I wasn’t fostered here, your father did ask me to come. That must count for something,” Ramsay grumbled, trying to jostle Quinn aside. “And if this dolt would recall his manners, perhaps he’d see fit to introduce me to the loveliest woman in all of Scotland.”

Jillian thought she heard Grimm make a choking sound. Her gaze flew to him, but he hadn’t moved a muscle and still appeared oblivious to the conversation.

Quinn snorted. “Not that I don’t agree with his assessment of you, Jillian, but beware this Highlander’s tongue. He’s got quite a reputation with the lasses himself.” Reluctantly he turned to Ramsay. “Jillian, I’d like you to meet—”

“Ramsay Logan,” Ramsay interrupted, thrusting himself forward. “Chieftain of the largest keep in the Highlands and—”

“My ass, you are.” Quinn snorted. “The Logan scarcely has a pot to”—he broke off and cleared his throat—“cook in.”

Ramsay jostled him aside and moved into his place. “Give it up, de Moncreiffe, she’s not interested in a Lowlander.”

“I’m a Lowlander,” Jillian reminded.

“Merely by birth, not by choice, and marriage could correct that.” Ramsay stepped as close to Jillian as he could without actually standing on her toes.

“Lowlanders are the civilized lot of the Scots, Logan. And quit crowding her, you’re going to back her right out of the hall.”

Jillian smiled gratefully at Quinn, then flinched as Grimm finally looked sidewise at her.

“Jillian,” he said quietly, nodding in her general direction before turning back to the fire.

How could he affect her so intensely? All the man had to do was say her name, one word, and Jillian was unable to form a coherent sentence. And there were so many questions she wanted to ask him—years and years of “whys.” Why did you leave me? Why did you hate me? Why couldn’t you adore me like I adore you?

“Why?” Jillian demanded before she knew she’d opened her mouth.

Ramsay and Quinn gazed at her, puzzled, but she only had eyes for Grimm.

She stomped over to the fire and poked Grimm in the shoulder. “Why? Would you just tell me that? For once and for all, why?”

“Why what, Jillian?” Grimm didn’t turn.

She poked him harder. “You know ‘why what.’”

Grimm glanced reluctantly over his shoulder. “Really, Jillian, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re blathering about.” Ice-blue eyes met hers, and for a moment she thought she glimpsed a blatant dare in them. It shocked her to her senses.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Grimm. It’s a simple question. Why have the three of you come to Caithness?” Jillian quickly salvaged the remnants of her pride. They didn’t know she’d overheard her father’s despicable scheme, and she’d soon discover if any of them would be honest with her.

Grimm’s eyes flickered strangely; in another man Jillian might have called it disappointment, but not in his. He scanned her from head to toe, noting the slippers clutched in her hands. When he looked at her bare toes she curled them under her gown, feeling oddly vulnerable, as if she were six again.