If Catherine had not loved him already, his statement would have won her heart. But it would be better to change the subject. "I know nothing about the Penrose family. Will you tell me about my relatives?"
Her grandfather looked suddenly tired. "Your grandmother died two years ago. She was a Devonshire girl, daughter of Lord Traynor, but she took to the island as if she were born here. My older son, Harald…"
He stopped and swallowed, the movement of his Adam's apple visible in his thin throat. "Last autumn, he and his wife and only son were sailing. He knew the currents and shoals as well as any fishermen, but a squall came up and blew the boat onto the rocks. They drowned within sight of the island."
She drew her breath in sharply. "I'm so sorry. I wish I'd had the chance to know them."
"Why? Their deaths put you in line for a fortune." His gruffness was belied by the gleam of tears in his eyes.
No wonder her grandfather's health had declined, when he had lost his whole family in such a short period of time. Gently she said, "I would rather have kinfolk than money."
"Then you're a damned fool."
Michael said pleasantly, "Do you try to antagonize everyone, Lord Skoal, or only relatives?"
The laird's face reddened. "I see that you are impudent as well as irresponsible."
"Like my wife, I do not enjoy hearing insults to those I care about," Michael retorted. "Catherine is the most selfless, caring person I've ever known. Even if you are incapable of love, she deserves your courtesy and respect."
"You're a prickly pair." The old man's tone was sharp, but he did not seem displeased.
Tired of verbal fencing, Catherine got to her feet. "We've been traveling for two days. For me, at least, a chance to rest and refresh myself would do wonders for my temper."
"I've ordered dinner for eight-thirty. I want you to meet the important people on the island, including your cousin Clive." The laird gave an edged smile. "I'm sure you're anxious to meet the competition."
"I'll look forward to it." She was surprised that the laird had the strength to sit at a table. Perhaps he was invigorated by the prospect of new people to hector.
"Until later, Grandfather." She and Michael left the room.
Mrs. Tregaron was waiting patiently in the corridor. "Would you like to go to your room now?"
Michael glanced at Catherine, his expression opaque. "Two adjoining rooms would be preferable. I'm a restless sleeper, and I dislike disturbing my wife."
Mrs. Tregaron looked worried again. "The laird believes husbands and wives should sleep together. He says separate bedrooms are unnatural."
Catherine shared Michael's feelings, but dared not protest too strongly. If they had campaigned together on the Peninsula, they would be used to tight quarters. She gave her pretend husband a reassuring smile. "It will be all right, my dear. I don't mind being disturbed if it's by you."
Relieved, Mrs. Tregaron led the way along the corridor and up a winding stairway. Over her shoulder, she said, "Your room is on the next floor, but if you follow these stairs to the top, you'll reach the battlements. The view is quite lovely."
They followed her down another hall until she opened the door to a large bedroom with chestnut wainscoting and heavy Jacobean furniture. "Your luggage is here already. Since you brought no servants, I'll assign a maid to you, Mrs. Melbourne. It is the house custom to gather in the small salon before dinner. I'll send someone to show you the way a few minutes before eight-thirty. Is there anything else you would like?"
"A bath would be heavenly."
"I'll send hot water up directly."
"I'd like a key for the room." Michael gave Catherine a melting look. "My wife and I don't like our privacy to be interrupted unexpectedly."
Looking happily scandalized, the housekeeper said, "We don't use keys much on the island, but I'll try to find one."
As soon as Mrs. Tregaron left, Catherine sank into a chair. "My grandfather obviously doesn't believe in giving people a chance to rest before important encounters. What do you think of him?"
Michael shrugged. "A tyrant, partially redeemed by occasional flashes of humor and fairness." He prowled across the room to the window, his body taut and powerful. "He reminds me of the Duke of Ashburton, though not so cold, I think."
"I think that under the acid tongue, he's lonely."
"Not surprising, since he's probably bullied or alienated everyone he ever met. Power brings out the worst in many men," Michael said dryly. "If his heir hadn't died, he would never have summoned you here. He would have gone to his grave estranged from his only granddaughter."
"Perhaps, but I still feel sorry for him." She pulled the pins from her hair and rubbed her tired temples. "It must be dreadful to be so weak after a lifetime of strength and power."
"You're more generous than he deserves." Michael smiled affectionately. "Saint Catherine still."
Her gaze dropped and her relief was replaced by unease. How the devil were they going to share a room and a bed?
By confronting the issue head-on. "It's strange," she said honestly. "I was raised with the army. I've been surrounded by men all my life, and married for a dozen years. Yet I feel horribly awkward now."
Michael's mouth quirked upward. "These are hardly normal circumstances-it would be surprising if we didn't feel strange. I'll sleep on the floor. Locking the door will prevent any chambermaids from discovering our guilty secret. We'll manage."
"I don't want you to be uncomfortable." Catherine glanced uneasily at the huge canopied bed. "Surely the bed is large enough for two people."
"I'd be far more uncomfortable in the bed." His gaze went over her, then slid away. "My intentions are honorable, but I'm only human, Catherine."
She winced. She didn't want him to desire her; the situation was too complicated already. "The floor it is, then." Trying to put more emotional distance between them, she went on, "By the way, I've been curious. According to Anne Mowbry, the newspaper society notes implied that you came to London in search of a wife. Have you had any luck?"
She wondered if he would mention the girl in the park, but he was too much a gentleman to discuss a lady behind her back. Coolly he said, "I'm a little surprised Anne reads such rubbish."
Catherine smiled and tossed his words back at him. "She's only human-and so am I. Women are always interested in matchmaking. But you must hate knowing that strangers are speculating about your private affairs."
"Indeed." He scanned the bedchamber. "At least there's a screen around the hip bath in the corner. It will offer some privacy for bathing and dressing. And this won't be for long. If the two of us continue speaking our minds, the laird will toss us out in a day or two."
She laughed. "That would simplify matters, but I don't think it will happen. He seems to enjoy being challenged."
"So he does." Michael gave her a level glance. "Though your grandfather is frail, he doesn't appear to be at death's door, as the solicitor implied. It won't be possible to maintain this masquerade indefinitely, you know. If you inherit and want to bring Colin here, you'll have to do some lively lying."
Not as much as Michael thought; she would merely tell the truth, that Colin had died suddenly. But it was true that the perils of her deception loomed much larger now that she was on the island. "That might not happen. My grandfather seems to prefer my cousin. I wonder what the mysterious Clive is like? Mr. Harwell said nothing critical, but I had the sense that he wasn't enthusiastic about the fellow."
A knock heralded two maids with coppers of steaming water. Michael let them in, then said, "I think I'll go up to the battlements for some fresh air. I'll be back in half an hour or so. That will leave enough time for me to bathe before dinner."