Hero in the Highlands by Suzanne Enoch Page A

actual old ghosties went for a walk about the master bedchamber, she had no objection at all. It was a popular room for the spooks, after all. As she’d told the duke, there were several old Maxwells who had no reason to want a Sassenach back in the castle and claiming it for himself.
    For the past twenty years Uncle Hamish, as both a clan chieftain and a local aristocrat, had been the closest they had to someone of the new Lattimer’s rank—though Gabriel Forrester seemed closer to a groom than a duke, truth be told. Never in her wildest imaginings had she thought the major who’d jumped into the mudhole to rescue her, whether she’d required assistance or not, would be the new Duke of Lattimer. If he hadn’t been in a uniform, she would even have enjoyed his attention. If he hadn’t been wearing anything at all, she would have appreciated him even more.
    Fiona clenched her jaw. That was enough of that, damn it all . She didn’t appreciate him. She wanted him gone. Getting rid of him now wouldn’t be as simple as misdirecting him or even convincing him that his presence was both unnecessary and unwise. The man had a piece of paper proving that he had the right to be at Lattimer and to claim it for himself. Further, he had the right to see all of them—those who’d been living and working on this land for generations—gone, if he chose to do so.
    An English soldier, for God’s sake. His ilk had been hated and feared in the Highlands for better than four hundred years before the battle at Culloden. While he was far too young to have fought on that field, he hadn’t come to Scotland simply to view the scenery. He’d come because he had questions about the property’s finances. Questions she’d stupidly refused to answer. She might have lied and kept him away for a time, if she’d known they’d found an heir for the property, if she’d known that heir was Major Gabriel Forrester. But now he was here, and he no doubt wanted to know how much money he could shake out of Lattimer. Nor would he be the only Sassenach ever to bleed the Highlands to pay for a luxurious life in the soft south.
    For a moment she considered going back into the storage room and pulling some more of the strings, after all. Something was bound to frighten him. She’d like nothing better than to see him fleeing shirtless into the night—and only because shirtless meant he’d panicked. Not because he looked fit and muscular and she hadn’t minded at all taking a gander at him, scars and all. No, that would be ridiculous. Her, thinking carnal thoughts about a Sassenach simply because he thought them about her.
    As she’d said, they needed to make certain that this duke would leave of his own accord and, just as importantly, never wish to return. His arrival had set the household—and the countryside—on its ear, and yes, that seemed to be her fault. She’d decided not to let a nose-in-the-air solicitor order her about, and apparently that had consequences. She should have known better, but no one had bothered to be concerned about Lattimer until the old duke’s death had revealed that his own solicitors hadn’t done their jobs. Her lack of cooperation, though, meant that no one had felt it necessary to inform her either that a new duke had been found, or that he was heading north for a visit.
    First thing in the morning she needed to go speak with Oscar Ritchie. The head groom at least knew of Major Forrester, which was more than she or anyone else she’d encountered could claim. The more information she had, the easier it would be to form a strategy to be rid of the new duke before he could make things worse than they already were. Before he could kiss her again and she forgot how much she was supposed to dislike him.
    Finally she shut herself inside her own bedchamber and sank into the chair set before the fireplace. The room sat only four