Highland Warrior. Hannah Howell

fighting to ignore how strangely bereft she felt when he released her hand. “I refused him. Although I did so most kindly, he took offense. He hunts me, and each time he has caught me, he marks me. These were the first.” She lightly touched the scar on her right cheek. “He has caught me three other times. He says he intends to make me unmarriagable, to force me to accept him if only because none other will have me.”

      “Who?”

      “That can be of no interest to ye.”

      Ewan decided not to argue that just yet. “Then why were ye out riding alone?”

      “Constant confinement, e’en if ’tis for one’s own safety, can make a person act foolishly.”

      He nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. The fact that he could never go anywhere alone because they were surrounded by enemies often made him feel the same. One did not need high walls to feel confined. Ewan also wondered if one reason she was being such a complacent hostage was because she had come to her senses and realized the danger she had put herself in. She was now safely behind high walls again and well guarded.

      “I think ye must tell me who this enemy is,” he said, watching her closely. “He could follow ye here.”

      “Since I dinnae ken where here is, I dinnae think he will be able to find me.”

      “He trails ye, hunts ye. It isnae impossible for him to trail ye to our gates.”

      Fiona calmly finished her porridge as she thought over the matter. Only her family knew about her troubles with Menzies. Even if Ewan could find a kinsman of Menzies to speak to, she doubted many of Ranald’s clan would know what he was doing to her or would admit it if they did. Since Menzies had caught her at times when she had thought herself safe, it was indeed possible that he could find her at Scarglas. The MacFingals did not need another trouble kicking at their gates. It would also be to her advantage to tell Ewan, for he would guard her against that threat. She just wished he would not be doing so only to protect her value as a hostage, but hastily shook aside the odd pang that knowledge caused her.

      “His name is Sir Ranald Menzies,” she finally said. “He rides with six men.” She almost smiled when Ewan grunted in reply, for he reminded her very strongly of her brothers for a moment.

      “So, this fool thinks to make ye worthless as a bride for any other,” said Fingal, then scowled at her. “Has he bedded ye then?”

      “Da!” Ewan and Gregor protested together.

      “What!? Tis a reasonable question. Tis a sure way to make her unweddable to another. Mon wants his wife untouched. Ye should have a virgin for a bride, Ewan.”

      “She isnae my bride,” Ewan nearly shouted, “but a hostage for ransom.”

      It was foolish to be hurt by his adamant refusal of her as a bride, Fiona thought. He was simply telling the truth. She had not come to Scarglas as a bride, but as a hostage. Even so, she mused, he did not have to be so angered, even appalled, by the suggestion.

      She only half listened as Ewan and his father argued. As she finished her porridge and reached for an apple, she looked around the great hall. Many of the men in it bore a strong resemblance to Sir Fingal, and those who did were Ewan’s age or younger. The old fool was clearly trying to breed his own army. Fiona suspected the older men were all ones who had found their way to Scarglas and stayed, or remained after the previous laird died.

      It was an impressive great hall with a massive fireplace at each end. Tapestries and weapons decorated the walls. The laird’s table had carved oak chairs, while the other men sat on sturdy benches. The hall was also surprisingly clean, she realized. Whoever ran the household did so with an iron hand. Women and boys moved quietly amongst the tables, refilling jugs and taking away empty plates. Either Sir Fingal had money or the previous laird had. Deilcladach had only recently begun to enjoy some of the refinements she saw here. It would not be a bad place to live if it was not so besieged by enemies, she decided, and then her thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the argument between the MacFingals.

      “Weel, if ye dinnae want the lass,” snapped Sir Fingal, “Gregor can wed her. Time he wed and started a family.”

      “I have two sons,” said Gregor, “and I will choose my own wife.”

      “And I will choose my own husband,” said Fiona, glaring at Sir Fingal.

      “Dinnae be daft,” said Sir Fingal. “Tis a mon’s place to choose a mate for the lasses in his family.”

      “Nay in mine, it isnae. And ye arenae my kinsmon so ’tisnae your concern.”

      “Ye are under my rule now, lass.”

      Fiona snorted. “I dinnae think so. Now”—she stood up—“if ye will excuse me, I believe I will return to see how Simon is faring.”

      Ewan signaled to his brother Nathan, who quickly fell into step beside Fiona as she left the hall. He glanced at Gregor and was pleased to see that his brother was as amused as he was. Their father looked stunned. Ewan suspected it was the first time any woman had faced him squarely and denied him. Even his last wife had been cowed and submissive right up until the night she had run off. Despite all the trouble it was going to cause him to have Fiona around, Ewan knew he would enjoy watching a female stand up to his father. He would just make sure she did not pay too dearly for that.

      “That lass was raised with too light a hand on the reins,” Sir Fingal said.

      It made Ewan wince to hear his father say something he himself had said. He was dismayed to think he had unknowingly accepted some of his father’s attititudes into his heart and mind. Although he found some consolation in the fact that he did not fault Fiona for her strengths, Ewan swore to himself that he would try much harder to turn aside the lessons his father tried to teach him.

      “She is right,” Ewan said. “Ye arenae her kinsmon and have no right to pick a husband for her. She isnae here for that. She is here to be ransomed and fill our empty coffers.”

      “She might have a fine dower. That could do as weel as a ransom.”

      “Nay. She is to be ransomed.”

      “Dinnae ken why ye are being so obstinate. Ye need a wife and show no sign of getting one. With your face, it willnae be easy to woo a lass, either. Why not take one who fell into your grasp?”

      “Da, leave it be,” said Gregor. “Marrying her off to one of us could anger her clan and we dinnae need any more enemies.”

      Sir Fingal snorted. “And ye dinnae think holding the lass for ransom will irritate her clan?”

      “Tis an accepted practice. I suspicion they now ken that she rode off alone and willnae blame us for taking advantage of how she fell into our grasp.”

      “Humph. Tis a sad waste of a young lass. She is bonnie enough despite the scars, and I think ye are right to say she is weelborn. Dinnae get many of that sort about this place.”

      “Leave it be, Da,” Ewan said wearily, echoing Gregor’s words. “Leave her be. Tis clear she isnae going to willingly fall in with your plans. None of us wants an unwilling bride.”

      His father glared and muttered, but said no more. Ewan had the strong feeling the man had not changed his mind, however. Now, along with everything else he had to watch out for, he was going to have to guard against his father’s plots to marry him off to Fiona. Or worse, marry her off to one of his brothers. Watching Fiona given to another, knowing that man shared her bed, would surely rouse the beast within him. It stirred to life at the mere thought of such a circumstance.

      “I will warn the others of Father’s plots,” said Gregor as soon as their father had left the hall.

      “Good.” Ewan sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. “A woman as strong as Fiona is must come from a strong clan. As ye said, we dinnae need any more enemies.”

      “Have ye e’er heard of this Sir Ranald Menzies?”