* * *
“Can ye hurry with your stitching?” Glynis asked, as she peered out her window. “Their boat is nearly at the sea gate.”
“Your father is going to murder ye for this.” Old Molly’s face was grim, but her needle flew along the seam at Glynis’s waist.
“Better dead than wed again,” Glynis said under her breath.
“This trick will work but once, if it works at all.” Old Molly paused to tie a knot and rethread the needle. “’Tis a losing game you’re playing, lass.”
Glynis crossed her arms. “I won’t let him marry me off again.”
“Your da is just as stubborn as you, and he’s the chieftain.” Old Molly looked up from her sewing to fix her filmy eyes on Glynis. “Not all men are as blackhearted as your first husband.”
“Perhaps not,” Glynis said, though she was far from convinced. “But the MacDonalds of Sleat are known philanderers. I swear on my grandmother’s grave, I’ll no take one of them.”
“Beware of what ye swear, lass,” Old Molly said. “I knew your grandmother well, and I’d hate for ye to cause that good woman to turn in her grave.”
“Ouch!” Glynis yelped when a loud banging caused Old Molly to stick the needle into her side.
“Get yourself down to the hall, Glynis!” her father shouted from the other side of the door. “Our guests are arriving.”
“I’m almost ready, da,” Glynis called out, and sidled over to the door.
“Don’t think ye can fool me with a sweet voice,” he said. “What are ye doing in there?”
Glynis risked opening the door a crack and stuck her face in it. Her father, a big, barrel-chested man, was looking as foul-tempered as his reputation.
“Ye said I should dress so these damned MacDonalds won’t soon forget me,” she said. “That takes a woman time, da.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, but he let it pass. After all these years of living with a wife and daughters, females were still largely a mystery to her father. In this war with him, Glynis was willing to use whatever small advantage she had.
“Their new chieftain didn’t come himself,” he said, in what for him was a low voice. “But it was too much to hope a chieftain would take ye, after the shame ye brought upon yourself. One of these others will have to do.”
Glynis swallowed against the lump in her throat. Having her father blame her for her failed marriage—and believe that she had dishonored her family—hurt more than anything her husband had done to her.
“I did nothing shameful,” she said through clenched teeth. “But I will, if ye force me to take another husband.”
Glynis had a clear right to quit her marriage under the time-honored Highland tradition of trial marriage. Unfortunately, neither her father nor her former husband had taken her decision well.
“Ye were born obstinate as an ox,” her father shouted through the six-inch crack in the door. “But I am your father and your chieftain, and ye will do as I tell ye.”
“What man will want a woman who’s shamed herself?” she hissed at him.
“Ach, men are fools for beauty,” her father said. “Despite what happened, ye are still that.”
Glynis slammed the door shut in his face and threw the bar across it.
“Ye will do as I say, or I’ll throw ye out to starve!” That was all she could make out amidst his long string of curses before his footsteps echoed down the spiral stone staircase.
Glynis blinked hard to keep back the tears. She was done with weeping.
“I should have given ye poison as a wedding gift so ye could come home a widow,” Old Molly said behind her. “I told the chieftain he was wedding ye to a bad man, but he’s no better at listening than his daughter is.”
“Quickly now.” Glynis picked up the small bowl from the side table and held it out to Molly. “It will ruin everything if he loses patience and comes back to drag me downstairs.”
Old Molly heaved a great sigh and dipped her fingers into the red clay paste.
CHAPTER 2
The MacNeil Stronghold, Barra Island
Alex guided the boat to the sea gate of the MacNeil castle, which was built on a rock island a few yards offshore. A short time later, he and Duncan were surrounded by a large group of armed MacNeil warriors who escorted them into the castle’s keep.
“I see we’ve got them scared,” Alex said in a low voice to Duncan.
“We could take them,” Duncan grunted.
“Did ye notice that there are twelve of them?” Alex asked.
“I’m no saying it would be easy.”
Alex laughed, which had the MacNeils all reaching for their swords. He was enjoying himself. Still, he hoped that he and Duncan wouldn’t have to fight their way out. These were Highland warriors, not Englishmen or Lowlanders, and everyone knew MacNeils were mean and devious fighters.
Almost as mean and devious as MacDonalds.
