"I know. Who would have imagined he'd go before me, being so much younger, but there it is," Charles Sinclair said. "So you'll just have to trust me. I have so many plans ... Nearly five years is it not, before you turn thirty and gain control?"

Cameron clenched his jaw. When both his uncles had been in charge he'd had paid scant attention to estate finances. Uncle Ian was a Fraser and his love for the estate and its people ran bone deep in him, as it did in Cameron. But now Uncle Ian was dead and the remaining trustee, Uncle Charles, could do as he pleased. And what he pleased was, in Cameron's view, entirely frivolous.

"If those roofs aren't fixed, come winter, people will freeze." Cameron clenched his fists. "Do you want the death of women and bairns on your conscience?"

Charles Sinclair returned to the perusal of silk swatches. "Your conscience is too delicate, dear boy. Peasants are hardy folk. Now, look at this design I drew for-"

"You'll not spend a shilling more of my inheritance!"

His uncle glanced up. "Dear boy, how do you propose stopping me?"

"Marriage!" The word burst from Cameron's mouth, shocking himself as well as his uncle. He'd had no intention of marrying, not for years to come, but now he saw it was his only solution. Under the rules of his father's will the trust would conclude on Cameron's thirtieth birthday or his wedding day whichever came first.

"Marriage? With whom, pray? You've not attended a society event in years."

It was true. Cameron preferred hunting and fishing to dancing and up to now, he'd avoided the marriage mart of Inverness like the plague. As a result he couldn't think of a single likely female. And since half the women on the estate were related to him, officially or unofficially Grandad had been quite a lad he had to look further afield.

Cameron's fists clenched in frustration.

His uncle chuckled. "Dear boy, marriages take time to arrange. Your grandfather and mine negotiated for months over my dear sister's marriage to your father, and as your trustee, naturally I will handle any such negotiations on your behalf. And by then you will have a home worthy of a bride." He patted his designs.

"No negotiations will be necessary," Cameron snapped. "I'll marry the first eligible woman I find." He turned on his heel and stormed from the room, nearly cannoning into his two cousins, Jimmy and Donald, waiting outside. Distant cousins, orphaned and raised on the estate, they were like brothers to Cameron.

"What did he-" Donald began.

"Meet you at the stables in fifteen minutes," Cameron snapped. "I'm off to Inverness to find a bride."

Two.

They galloped through the village, scattering squawking hens and setting dogs barking. "Marry the first eligible woman you find? You canna be serious!" Donald shouted over the sound of galloping hooves.

"Ye're crazy, mon," Jimmy agreed. "If ye must marry, at least choose the lass wi' care and caution."

"I've no choice," Cameron flung back. "The longer I leave it the more my uncle squanders what little money we have. He's already ordered silk hangings from Paris costing a fortune. The sooner I'm wed, the sooner I can cancel the order. And stop any more."

Rain set in, a thin, relentless drizzle. After half an hour of it Jimmy edged his horse alongside Cameron. "Ach, Cameron this rain is freezin' me to death. Let's go back. We'll find a solution to your woes tomorrow, when we're no' such sodden miseries."

"You go back if you want to, I'm for Inverness. I swore I'd marry this day and so I will." Cameron bent his head against the rain and rode on.

"He swore to his uncle he'd marry," Jimmy told his brother glumly. He pulled out a flask, took a swig of whisky and passed it across.

Donald drank from it. "He'll no go back on his word, then. You know Cameron."

"Aye, pigheaded a Fraser to the bone." Jimmy drank another dram of whisky and the two brothers rode gloomily on in their cousin's wake.

Cameron took no notice. He was used to his cousin's complaints. They'd stick with him, he knew. He was glad of it. Another few hours to Inverness, and then to find a bride. The whole idea was somewhat ... daunting.

He'd never given marriage much thought. He liked women well enough, but marriage was a serious business, the sort of thing a man considered in his thirties. But he couldn't let his uncle squander any more of his inheritance.

Cameron's mother and her brother, though of pure Scots blood, had been born and raised in France. Their grandparents were exiles who'd fled with the Prince after the disaster of Culloden. Raised in Parisian luxury, fed on romantic, impossible dreams of Scottish glory, they'd both found Scottish reality, and the poverty that resulted from the effects of war, sorely disappointing.

Cameron's mother had died of an ague when he was a wee lad, but her brother, who'd initially come for the wedding, had stayed on, never marrying, seemingly harmless. Cameron's father had tolerated him, and Cameron was inclined to do that same. Blood was blood, after all.

Though to name him as trustee ... Who would have expected Uncle Ian to sicken and die of a chill, such a big, hale man.

But if, after nearly thirty years of sponging off the Frasers, Charles Sinclair thought he could now turn a Scottish castle into a mini Versailles, he had another think coming.

They reached the bog at the southern edge of the estate. A narrow raised road had been built across in ages past. At the end of the causeway was the wooden bridge that would take him on to the Inverness road.

In ancient times the bog had proved a useful barrier. The estate lay on a promontory, defended on two sides by water, and on the third by mountains. The narrow, easily defended causeway was the only way to cross the treacherous, muddy land of the promontory, and the bridge over the burn that the bog slowly drained into gave the only access to it. History had lost count of the number of times Frasers had burned the bridge to keep out invaders.

But those times were long past. The current bridge had been built when his grandfather was a boy. It was time to drain the bog and build a sturdy stone bridge, Cameron thought. His father had planned to do it but he'd died.

God grant Cameron would soon have the power to begin the necessary work. All he needed was a wife. It wouldn't take him long, surely, in a town the size of Inverness.

His spirits lifting, he urged his horse along the causeway, galloping into the rain.

A herd of sheep suddenly appeared, ghostly in the misty drizzle, bunched thick along the causeway, blocking the road. Cameron hauled his horse to a standstill. It snorted and moved restlessly, misliking the situation.

The sheep eyed Cameron suspiciously and backed away, but "Get on there!" a voice shouted from behind the herd. "You on the horses, stand still and let the sheep through!"

Cameron squinted into the rain. Dimly he could see a boy in a too-big coat and hat, waving a crook. A dog barked and the sheep bunched and milled and baaaed uncertainly, crowding to the very edge of the causeway.

Behind him Jimmy and Donald's horses plunged to a halt. "Get those beasties out of the way," Jimmy shouted.

"Dinna shout at them, ye fool," the boy snapped. "They're stupid beasts and are like to panic. And if any get into the bog ..."

Jimmy, being well into the contents of his flask, was inclined to argue gentlemen on horseback took precedence over sheep but Cameron held up his hand. "Stay still," he ordered.

The dog barked again and suddenly the first sheep darted past Cameron. The milling herd followed, streaming around and past the men on horseback like a living river, baaing madly, their long sodden woollen skirts swinging frantically as they fled along the causeway. Two little black-faced lambs, however, plunged off the causeway and floundered in the muddy bog. Their mother followed.

"Damn ye tae hell, ye fool beasties!" the boy swore and followed them into the bog with a splash. He grabbed the first lamb and set it back on its feet. It stood, bleating plaintively. The boy then began to heave at the mother, both of them floundering in the mud. Jimmy and Donald watched the show from horseback, grinning.

Cameron barely noticed. The rain had eased and he could see the bridge, a few dozen yards away. Or what remained of the bridge. It was impassable, smashed to pieces, looking more like a scattering of giant toothpicks than a bridge.

It must have happened during the great storm. Rage slowly filled him. His uncle must have known. And he'd done nothing. This was as bad, or worse than the roofs needing repairs. The bridge gave the estate direct access to the Inverness road.

Uncle Charles, however, only cared about access to France, and that was by boat, not road.

Cameron stared at the devastation. He'd have to return the way he'd come, and leave by the westerly border. Hours more travel and they'd still be on the estate.

"Give it up, Cam." His cousin Donald touched his arm. "We've no choice but to turn back now. It'll be dark before we even get home."

"I'll no' go home wi' my tail between my legs," Cameron muttered, though in truth he could see no other alternative. "And I'll not leave the estate in my uncle's hands a day longer than I must."

"There's naught you can do wi' the bridge in that state, though, is there?" Donald said reasonably. "Ye canna cross it, ye must go back."

"Dammit, I can see that!" Thwarted and furious, Cameron glared at the bridge. Hearing laughter behind him, he turned to see his cousin Jimmy swigging whisky and chuckling at the spectacle of the boy still trying to drag his wretched sheep from the bog. The large, ungainly animal was plunging deeper into the bog, struggling desperately, as if the lad were trying to drown it instead of saving it. From where Cameron stood, the sheep was winning. Both lad and beast were black mud to the eyebrows. And on the far side of the struggle the remaining small lamb was sinking fast.

"Make yourself useful, will ye Jimmy? Give the lad a hand."

"And get my new boots filled with black mud?" Jimmy snorted. "Not likely."

Cameron glanced at Donald, who shrugged and made no move. The lad fell for the third time. The tiny lamb struggled to keep its head above the muddy water.

Cameron swore, swung off his horse and waded in. He scooped the lamb out first and set it on its feet beside its twin. Then he hauled the boy out, shoving him close to the bank. "Jimmy! Pull him out."

Jimmy dismounted, gingerly took the boy's dirty hands and dragged him on to the solid causeway. Cameron waded back in and tried to fetch the mother sheep. The stupid thing bucked and fought, and in seconds Cameron himself was black with bog mud.

His cousins watched from the bank, passing the flask back and forth, making bets and roaring with laughter.

But Cameron was strong and big and angry. He wrapped his arms around the sheep's middle and heaved, almost throwing the filthy beast on to the bank, causing his cousins to leap back like ladies to avoid the mud. The sheep shook itself, bleated and trotted indignantly away, followed by the lambs.

Cameron's cousins were laughing fit to burst. He'd fix them. "Help me out." He held out his hands, but they laughed and backed away.

"We're no so far gone we'd fall for that old trick," Jimmy chuckled.

"Canny bastards," Cameron muttered as climbed out of the bog, black mud dripping from him. "And if there's no whisky left in that flask, I swear I'll throw you in anyway."

Laughing, Jimmy tossed him the flask. Cameron was about to drain it when he saw how the shepherd lad was shivering in the cold. He thrust it towards the boy, saying, "Here, you need this more than me."

The boy accepted it with a surprised expression and took a quick swig. He shuddered violently as the whisky went down, but managed to gasp out his thanks.

"So, boy," Cameron said. "What's your name?"

His cousins guffawed. The shepherd boy gave a quick grin, a cheeky white slash in a muddy face. "Jeannie Macleay, sir, and thank you for getting the sheep out o' the mud, even if you did panic the beasts in the first place. My uncle would've kilt me if I'd lost her." She tried to wipe the mud off her face with her sleeve and only smeared it more.

"Jeannie?" Cameron stared. The coat she wore was a man's coat, too big for her, rolled up at the sleeves and hanging down almost to her ankles, but though it was hard to tell because of the mud, there was a skirt beneath it. The boots she wore were a man's boots, too big, surely for her feet and the hat crammed on her head was a man's hat.

"Are ye married, Jeannie?" Jimmy asked, suddenly intent.

She frowned. "No," she said cautiously.

"And where were ye born?"

"Stop that!" Cameron snapped, realizing what his cousin was up to.

Jimmy gave him an innocent look. "No harm in asking."

"Drop it, Jimmy," Cameron told his cousin. He was not going to marry some ragamuffin he'd just dragged out of a bog.

"She's the first one you've seen," Jimmy insisted.

"The first what?" the girl demanded.

"He couldna take her anyway," Donald argued. "She's just a wee thing, no' a grown woman."

"Take me where? Nobody's taking me anywhere."

"Stow it you two, the whole idea's ridiculous," Cameron said. His cousins took no notice. There was a bet on and the contents of the flask were obviously well absorbed.

"How old are you, Jeannie lass?" Jimmy asked.

"Nineteen," Jeannie Macleay said, eying each man suspiciously. "But I said, nobody's taking me anywhere." She began to edge away.

Jimmy grabbed her by the arm, careless now of any mud, intent only on his wager. "And where were you born, Jeannie, me dear?"

"I'm no' your dear." She yanked her arm from his grip and hurried away, flinging over her shoulder, "And not that it's any of your business, but I was born on the island of Lewis."

At her words, Jimmy let out a whoop of triumph and punched his brother in the shoulder. "Lewis! She's eligible! You owe me a monkey, Donald!"

"The bet's not won until the deed is done," Donald insisted. "Cameron's yet to wed her."

"He will, he will," Jimmy crowed.

Donald snorted. "It's a crazy notion, and Cameron's no the crazy one here."

Jimmy shook his head. "He gave his word, man, and Cameron never goes back on his word."

The girl followed her sheep, putting as much distance between herself and the men as she could, running swiftly despite the clumsy, man-sized boots. Cameron watched her thoughtfully.

When he'd made his rash statement he had no thought of wedding anyone except a lady born. This bog sprite shepherdess was totally unsuitable.

But he'd never broken his word before. Rashness gave way to serious thought; there might be wives to be had in Inverness ladies but how long would it take to get one to wed him? And how much would his uncle squander in the meantime?

Jimmy grabbed him by the shoulder. "Well, Cammie, will ye wed her or no? There's a bet on."

Cameron swore softly under his breath. The girl was young, unmarried and born outside the estate. What difference would it make anyway who he wed? Women were for running the house and birthing babes and any female could do that. Getting control of his inheritance was what counted. Besides, the little he knew of ladies born was that they were a lot of trouble. They expected a man to dance attendance on them, whereas a lass like this, country bred and down-to-earth ... She floundered in the mud. Very down-to-earth.

"Aye, I'll wed her," he declared.

"Aha-" Jimmy began, then let out a yell. "She's getting away. Don't worry, Cam, I'll get her back for ye." And without warning he jumped on his horse and galloped after the girl.

"Och, the mad fool," Donald began. "Whatever will she think-"

Cameron leapt on his horse and set off after Jimmy.

The girl, seeing Jimmy bearing down on her, screamed defiance at him and ran faster. Jimmy let out a whoop, as if he was running down a hind.

"Leave her be, Jimmy," Cameron roared.

But Jimmy was almost on the girl and oblivious. With a bloodcurdling yell he scooped her up and tossed her over his saddle. She fought and struggled but Jimmy just laughed and smacked her on the backside as he wheeled his horse around and cantered back to Cameron with a triumphant grin.