The Heart Queen by PATRICIA POTTER Page A

Certainly not...” Her voice broke off. She needed to trust someone. But she had trusted him with her heart and he had shattered it. If she could not trust him with the most precious thing she had, how could she trust him with what belonged to her son?
    “Janet?”
    She winced at the sound of her name on his lips. Too many memories. “I will never trust you again,” she said. “I made that mistake once. I canna do it again.”
    His lips tightened, but he did not defend himself. “I will look for someone to help you manage the estate,” he said after a moment’s silence, “but I will make it clear that you make the decisions. By necessity, I will be required to stay here occasionally. Cumberland wants accountings from me, and I donna want any problems with your brother-in-law. I will try no‘ to be in your way.”
    “And what do you expect in return?”
    He took a step backward as if she’d hit him. Then he smiled, but only one side of his lips turned up in an expression both wry and vulnerable.
    Vulnerable as a snake. She had to remember that.
    “Have you told Reginald?”
    “Aye, he was not happy.”
    “He has threatened to press ... charges against me.”
    “Not unless he wishes to be cut off altogether,” Neil said, “and he and his family told to leave. I will make that clear.”
    She leaned against a wall. He could be ruthless. And she still did not know what he wanted, what he expected. She recalled Neil’s words, that Cumberland thought he had an interest in her. The implication was, of course, marriage.
    Not again. She would never marry again. She would never put herself at the mercy of a man. And he had made it clear years ago he had no interest in her.
    Except now she may have something he wanted. More land? A wife that met Cumberland’s approval? A mistress?
    “I have no choice?”
    “Nay,” he said.
    She closed her eyes. She had leaped from the pot into the fireplace. How could she have been so foolish? Somehow she should have found a way to outwit Reginald. She did not think she could outwit this man with the cool, cautious eyes, the man she no longer recognized.
    “How long do you plan to stay?”
    “Until Reginald understands his position and you have the help you will be needing.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “You mean someone who will report to you.”
    He shrugged. “As I rode here, I could see the land has been neglected.”
    “Do you propose to help the people who live here or clear the land?” she asked.
    “As I said, the decision will be yours.”
    “And if I wish to try to run Lochaene myself?”
    His eyes appraised her. “Do you think you could?”
    “Aye,” she said. “Better than my husband.”
    “From what I’ve seen, that would not require much skill,” he said dryly.
    She bristled. “I do not remember Braemoor as being much better.”
    He regarded her steadily. “I did not realize you noticed.”
    “Because my attention was elsewhere?” she said. “You flatter yourself, my lord.”
    He leaned against a wall, his legs crossing. “In any event,” he said, “you are right. Braemoor was in need of improvement. I am making changes.”
    “Evicting your tenants?”
    “Culloden ended the old system,” he said. “Too many lands have been forfeited and changed hands. The old traditional obligations of clanship no longer exist. Not at Braemoor. Not here. Not anywhere in Scotland. ‘Tis better for many to go to the new lands in America.”
    “So sayeth a man who owns a good part of Scotland,” she said. “You do not care if they starve in the process.”
    “My lands are none of your concern,” he said, his eyes darkening. “You should be worrying about your own.”
    “They are not mine. They are my son’s, and I want him to care about the people whose families have lived here for centuries.”
    “A noble goal,” he said, “though probably impractical.”
    She wanted to hit him. He sounded superior and supercilious. Everything she attributed to his