"O, I forbid ye, maidens a',
that wear gold in your hair,
To come or go by Carterhaugh,
for young Tamlane is there."
'Twas not Robert Burns's legendary elfin knight who greeted Amarantha upon her arrival at her folklorist uncle's Cornish mansion, but the dark and wild-haired Tamlane Adair. The Scotsman's languorous movements enthralled her, and the rumors of his nighttime rides across Bodmin Moor only heightened the virile man's mystery. His voice was like satin or silk, sliding over her, clothing her in blissful delirium. Listening, she could almost forget the anguish that had driven her from London, the Jacobite rebellion that had cost her so much. In Tamlane's green eyes, Amarantha could not help but see the danger of the Cornish coast ... and in his arms, its wonderful promise.
"There's none that goes by Carterhaugh,
but maun leave him a wad;
either gold rings or green mantles...
or else their maidenhead."