disdain with which the British treated the Scots, Lachlan was also used to being obeyed.

It would be foolish for him to harbor any hopes he could have amiable relationships with any of his vassals, but he had at least expected civility. Most certainly, obedience. He needed it. He needed them all to comply with his demands if he was to finish his business before the Grim Reaper paid his call.

Why Dunnet's reaction stuck in his craw was a mystery, but it did. He couldn't shake his indignation. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that Lachlan had actually liked the surly Scot. He'd exuded an air of calm confidence, of sensible logic, the innate power of a leader. He was, perhaps, the kind of man Lachlansection of the castle started crumbling.

Dougal met him at the door to his rooms with a scowl. "Where have you been?" he growled. Dougal had a tendency to growl, so Lachlan ignored that and focused on the question.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Again?" His lips twisted. "Did you no' take your medicine?"

"I did. It only makes it worse."

"Ah." Dougal's expression made clear he understood. But then, he would. Dougal knew all Lachlan's secrets. His cousin, though several times removed, he'd been Lachlan's companion since they were boys. Now that they were grown, he served as factor. Though lately, he'd acted as Lachlan's secretary as well, because the man they'd brought with them from London had spent one night in the haunted castle and scurried back to England in a tizzy when