"There's intelligence," Quarry said slowly. "And then there are other things. But perhaps you're too young to have seen hate and despair at close range. There's been a deal of it in Scotland, these last ten years." He tilted his head, surveying the new commander of Ardsmuir from his vantage point of fifteen years' seniority. Major Grey was young, no more than twenty-six, and with a fair-complexioned face and girlish lashes that made him look still younger than his years. To compound the problem, he was an inch or two shorter than the average, and fine-boned, as well. He drew himself up straight. "I am aware of such things, Colonel," he said evenly. Quarry was a younger son of good family, like himself, but still his superior in rank; he must keep his temper. Quarry's bright hazel gaze rested on him in speculation. "I daresay."