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returning home for months. Not that she would have any reason to return, other than to make Broc’s life a living hell. ’Twas not a bad idea, that, except clearly she was not wanted here by anyone. Anger warred with hurt and a painful sense that she’d been abandoned amid this horde of men. Not for the first time she wished she had a sister, a mother, even an aunt nearby. She needed an ally.
    She picked up a round, white-flecked rock and let the frost on it melt against her anger-heated skin. Damn them all, brothers, father, everyone, she thought as she aimed at one of the icy rocks far out in the loch. She let her stone fly, hitting her target hard enough to shatter the ice covering.
    “Is it safe to join you, or are you likely to pelt me next?”
    She turned and glared at Ailig. His sandy hair fell in scraggly waves about his serious face, and his eyes were such a pale shade of gray they sometimes looked silver, as they did now. He wore a faded blue plaid over bare legs, though he had donned his low leather boots in deference to the cold.
    This youngest brother, just two years older than her own nineteen years, was the bravest of them all. Though Broc delighted in causing her anger, Ailig was the only one who ever dared approach her when she was already angry.
    “Are you?” he asked.
    “What? Oh, going to pelt you?” She shook her head and turned back to the loch. “You are safe enough, though there are plenty of rocks to hand should I have need.”
    “Warning taken. I thought you might need this.” He draped a cloak over her shoulders.
    Ailig’s calm voice contrasted with Broc’s condescending tone as sharply as the sky contrasted with the mountain peak. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and let him comfort her as he used to do when they were children, telling her stories of his stays in Edinburgh to take her mind from the badgering of her elder brothers. But she had long ago sworn not to show weakness to any of them again, not even to Ailig. She pulled her cloak tightly about her and turned her attention back to the loch.
    “The snow is further down the mountain this morning,” he said. “’Twon’t be long before it fills the glen.”
    “’Tis why this is happening now, is it not? Winter is upon us, but not quite?”
    Ailig nodded. “No doubt.” He rested his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. “I would not have kept such news from you had I known.”
    Catriona shrugged, unable to speak lest she give in to that softness she kept buried deep inside her, safe from hurt. Broc’s blusterings and taunts never threatened her control like this brother’s gentle caring did. She had not cried since her twelfth summer, yet Ailig’s simple gesture brought tears that clogged her throat. But she would not allow them to fall. She leaned her head on his shoulder, accepting the comfort she would not ask for.
    “What will you do?” he asked after a moment.
    Anger swamped her again. Catriona took a deep breath and stepped out of Ailig’s embrace. She drew the cold air into her lungs and wrapped her anger back around her like a heavy cloak.
    “I will not marry Dogface MacDonell. There is no advantage there for me, nor for the clan. Indeed, the only advantage is to Broc, who will rid himself of the thistle in his shoe, and to the MacDonells, who will gain the advantage of our strength and reputation.”
    “Aye, I see it the same.”
    “Then why is Father allowing this?”
    Ailig shrugged then tossed a few stones into the water. After a moment he turned to her. “I think Father tires of Broc’s complaints and the constant rows between you. You refused to choose a husband for yourself—”
    “None were—”
    “I know, but you have given him little choice. He must marry you to anyone he can convince to take you before it becomes Broc’s responsibility at midsummer.”
    Catriona winced. “So I am to be punished for speaking my mind. Do you truly believe this should be my