You have more love-affairs in a year than I have horses in my stables."" So says King George IV to the dark Duke of Stathnarn, that Scotsman-about-London who claims ""I have no heart."" When Duke's hateful dad dies, making Duke the Chieftain of Clan McNarn, he has to leave the London scene for Narn Castle (""one of the most outstanding and certainly the most magnificent castles in the whole of the Highlands""), only to find that his no-good nephew is being held prisoner by a rival clan. The price for the kid's release: marriage between the rival chieftain's daughter and Duke. Oy? Aye. Duke is aghast. So is lovely, Scots-libber Clola, the latest of the Cartland three-dot debs: ""But, Father, I cannot. . . marry like that. It is. . . wrong."" The marriage goes on, however, and ignored Clole is miserable till the ghost of Morag, 3rd Countess of Stathnarn, 1488-1548 (better known as the Grey Lady), comes from the ""World beyond"" to cheer her up. Inspired, Clola soon enchants Duke by playing her harp, rescuing the nitwit nephew, surviving the poisons of an old crone, and saving Duke's life. Full steam and full ellipses ahead to the deflower bower and Scottish nationalism: ""Oh, my wonderful. . . magnificent husband. Our country needs you so. . . desperately. There is so much to. . . do."" Historical note: apparently only the lowest classes of Scotland speak any manner of regional dialect; the gentry speak. . . exactly. . . like. . . this.