"No?"

"'Tis the heritage of the Clan MacLellan. The family you've never known. The history and the lineage—'tis as rich and colorful as any tapestry you could imagine."

"I suppose it is. But I'll be inheriting more than that, won't I, Ian?"

"Aye, there's the money as well. And some of the holdings, I would imagine. I only know in general the plans your great aunt made for you. My father handled the details."

"Yes, but that's not what I meant. I was speaking about the um…the curse."

He jerked the wheel in unison with his head. The car veered as he gaped at her, and then he quickly righted it again, clearly shaken.

"So you know about the curse, then?" she asked him.

"Of course I do. It's surprised I am that you know of it."

She shook her head. "I know very little. I have only my mother's dying words, begging my father to warn me about it, and a letter from my dearly departed great aunt Iris, begging my mother not to marry and bring the curse upon herself."

His lips thinned. It was the first time she'd seen him not wearing a smile. "I dinna believe in curses," he said.

"But you know about this one. More than I do, at least."

"Well, now, that would depend on how much you know, Kira."

She shrugged, turned her gaze inward. "I take it that every MacLellan woman who gets married is destined to die at the hands of her husband, in one way or another." Lifting her gaze, letting it roam over his cheek, and battling the way her insides clenched with raw desire as she did, she said, "Is that about the gist of it?"

"There's much more to it, or so they say. But as I said, I dinna believe in it."