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chuckle. He gave a low chuckle, unsure why he did. He wagered it must have been because he didn’t want her to laugh alone. “Sad, many people dinna travel this far.” That was when he saw her eyes. A stormy blue that added stubbornness to her and intrigued him more. He reached to grab his bridle, but instead rested his hand on the horse’s back.
    He pointed behind him. “I hae set up a croft near ’ere so I shall be aroond ’ere.”
    “Ye’re the Grants. I hae heard aboot ye.”
    He spared a glance at his plaid. “I ha’e joined the MacKenzies. I am Oran.”
    “Alastronia,” she replied, her tongue rolling each letter. “Umm, yer animal is wanderin’ away again.”
    He tore his gaze from her bright face. “I must get him. Perhaps, I shall see ye on the morrow.”
    “Perhaps.”
    Oran was never a dreamer. He knew his situation—he had nothing to offer her, along with his shaky standing in this clan. Him chasing her would surely end with him rejected and pained, but he had fallen in love.
     
    * * * *
     
    Brenna lingered outside the stable. Thankfully, Caelen hadn’t overheard her and Oran, though he had spotted them. He had stared at her, never taking his gaze from them. From the sharp angle of his body, his curiosity was roused.
    He must have of learned about her father desiring to dissolve their marriage. Her father had sent messengers to Laird MacKenzie. She wondered if he knew the exact details. She knew the reason for this marriage and she must see to the betterment of the Grants while gaining her place among the MacKenzies. With the council and with the laird’s impending passing, she might not accomplish her task. Her father would petition the king for the sheriffdom. King Alexander III was not the one who consented to the marriage. His father had. There was a chance he might have a different perspective to this union. Her father would have to prove blood relations between her and Caelen. Though there wasn’t, that didn’t mean any couldn’t be found.
    Brenna scanned the courtyard, passed her gaze over the Great Hall’s stairs, and then swung them back. Neacal stood in the shadows of the doorway’s arches. He was one of the shortest men in the clan, but had a stocky build. His dark, wavy hair added height to him. When she first arrived, she hadn’t thought about him after introductions were performed, but now he had caught her attention. He lingered in the same spot. From the distance, she couldn’t see if his eyes were on her but she knew they were.
    Brenna flinched when Caelen rested his hand on her shoulder. Her hand flew to her heart. His icy blue gaze ran over her, peering deeply. She peeked back at Neacal. He had vanished. Trailing alongside Caelen, she used the scant distance to push her worries away.
    The torchlight flicked across the great hall and shined on the servants setting up the trestle tables. Between their conversations and the thump of the tables, Brenna started to develop a pounding behind her eyes.
    “My lady,” Finian said. He darted around the commotion. “We maun speak wit ye…alone.”
    “You will not speak to my wife without me present.” Caelen offered his arm.
    She slipped her own through his and smiled up at him. As he had written in his messages, he was by her side and shall be the husband he vowed in his heartfelt writing. Aye, behind his warrior exterior was the heart of a romantic.
    Caelen whispered in a servant’s ear on his way forward. The servants scurried out. The three men sat before the hearth, the chairs turned outward. Firelight danced over Finian’s bare head. Gilroy looked like he was chewing on his beard. His healing charm peeked between the frizzy mess. Tavish aimed his black eyes on her. His thick, black brows pinched down and matched his mouth. The truth was, Brenna didn’t like the man. He forgot himself and his position.
    “There was na need to escort yer wife.”
    She watched Tavish’s mouth and the way it curled when he spoke, as