As High as the Heavens by Kathleen Morgan Page A

one of their kists."
    "Ye mean, impose on Duncan Mackenzie's generosity,"
her maid, with a twinkle in her eyes, corrected her. "It's
his room, his kists, I'd wager."
    Heather sighed in exasperation. "Och, aye." She managed a shamefaced smile. "I suppose I'll need to remember that from here on out."
    "It's always said ye draw more flies with honey than
with vinegar."
    "Och, and won't the Highlander like being compared
to a fly?" Heather laughed. "Well, now that I think on
it, he is rather a pest and most vexing at times, just like
ay.
    "And then at other times," Beth offered snidely, "he's
most charming, not to mention verra braw and bonny."
    Irritation welled in Heather. Whose side was Beth
on-hers or Duncan's?
    "Mayhap in yer mind. I can't say I care much for him
myself."
    Her maid laughed. "And sure, the moon-eyed looks
ye cast him when ye think none are watching arise from
yer utter disgust. Of course, of course. How could I be
so slow-witted, and me, knowing ye so well?"

    "Beth, hish!" Heather's glance swung to the open
door. Fortunately, no one seemed to be standing nearby.
"Someone-my father even-might overhear and take
yer words to heart."
    "And do ye seriously imagine ye've managed to hide
yer infatuation with this Duncan Mackenzie from even
yer father, much less from the man himself?"
    Heather's mouth went dry. Her face flamed red. "I-I'm
not infatuated with Duncan Mackenzie. I just find him
... well, verra different."
    "Och, and that he is," Beth chuckled, "when ye put
him up against the kind of men ye've known until now.
Of the nobility, I mean. My Tavish is a fine piece of man
flesh himself, if I do say so."
    With a despairing sigh, Heather walked to the chair
before the window. She sat and clasped her hands in her
lap. A few weak sunbeams pierced the oil paper panes,
flooding the spot with light and setting her many rings
to glinting brightly.
    "Och, Beth. What am I to do?" she moaned. "What
am I to do?"
    "About what, my lady?" The maid quietly closed the
bedchamber door, then joined her mistress at the window. "Ye've done naught wrong."
    "Haven't I?" Heather blinked back tears of humiliation. "I've barely met the man and already I'm all but
panting with lust after him. Then, in the next moment,
I'm flying in his face, hurling insults at him, all but begging for a fight."
    She lowered her head and buried her face in her hands. "Och, what's the matter with me, Beth? I've never been
so petty or mean-spirited before."

    "It's simple, my lady." Beth squatted before her and
laid a hand on Heather's knee. "Ye're attracted to the
lad, and he to ye. Why, the passions ye stir, one in the
other, are strong enough to feel each time ye're both in
the same room."
    Heather lifted her head and gazed at her maid in horror. "Don't say such a thing. Don't even think it! He's not
the man for me. He's not!"
    "Why, because he's a commoner and beneath ye?"
    "Of course. Ye know it's impossible. . ."
    At the recollection that Duncan Mackenzie was, in
truth, no more a commoner than she, Heather's voice
faded. The realization caught her up short.
    Though Duncan couldn't be told the truth about his
noble heritage until Mary was rescued, there was nothing to preclude his knowing afterwards. Then there'd be
nothing to preclude her permitting-her father's consent
notwithstanding-Duncan's subsequent courtship, if he
truly was as attracted to her as she was to him. Yet even
the remotest consideration of such events transpiring
filled Heather with terror.
    If she must wed someday, she wished to wed a man
she didn't love. It was the only way to prevent the same
tragic fates both her mother and sister had suffered. If
she never gave her heart to her husband, she'd never
crave what she might well never have-his love and devotion. It was her duty to wed and bear children to carry
on the Gordon lineage, especially now that she was the only surviving child and heir. That much she would do
and do so