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second time. I know them for what they are now.”
    “All women are not the same, Garrick. Your mother is different. I have never known a kinder or more giving woman.”
    Garrick’s features softened. “My mother is the only exception. But come enough of this. Today, our last night, I intend to drink a barrel of ale—and you, my friend, will have to carry me back to the ship when I am through.”

B renna sat in the center of her large bed polishing her sword with the care given a prized possession, which indeed her sword was. Finely crafted and honed just for her, the weapon was lightweight but razor sharp. It was a gift from her father on the day she celebrated her tenth year. Her name was inscribed on the silver handle, surrounded by rubies and bright sapphires the size of plump peas. Brenna cherished this sword more than any of her possessions, if for no other reason than because it was a symbol of her father’s pride in her achievements.
    She held it up now against her forehead, her thoughts gloomy. Would her female body imprison her in her husband’s land? Would she ever be able to wield this sword again, to fight for what was her own as any man would? Or would she be expected to act the wife in every way, never to use her skills again, to be a woman and do only what a woman should?
    Curse men and their set ways! She would not be treated thus. To be undermined and ruled, nay! She would not be acquiescent. She was Brenna Carmarham, not some simpering, cowering maid!
    Fuming indignantly, Brenna did not hear her aunt enter her chamber and quietly close the door. Linnet stared at her niece with tired, heartsick eyes.
    She had nursed her own husband through months of suffering, each day sapping more of her strength. When he died, a part of her did too, for she loved him dearly. Now she had been doing the same for her brother Angus. Lord in Heaven, please: no more death.
    Brenna gave a start when she perceived the haggard figure out of the corner of her eye. She turned to Linnet, hardly recognizing her. Her hair was unkempt and her gown soiled, but it was actually her face which was so disturbingly different. It was powder white, her lips were taut, and there were dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes.
    Brenna got off the bed and led her aunt to the long gold couch beneath the window. “Linnet, you have been crying. ’Tis not like you,” she said worriedly. “What is wrong?”
    “Oh, Brenna, lass. Your life is changing so much. ’Tis not right to have it all happen at one time.”
    Brenna smiled weakly. “You have been crying for me, Aunt? You need not.”
    “Nay, love, not for you, though I will surely. ’Tis your father, Brenna. Angus is dead.”
    Brenna drew back, her face a sickly white. “How could you jest about this?” she accused harshly. “’Tis not so!”
    “Brenna,” Linnet sighed, and reached out to caress her niece’s cheek. “I would not lie to you. Angus died but an hour past.”
    Brenna shook her head slowly, denying the words. “He was not so ill. He cannot die!”
    “Angus had the same illness as my husband, but at least he did not suffer overmuch.”
    Brenna’s eyes were the size of saucers, and filled with horror. “You knew he would die?”
    “Yea, I did.”
    “In God’s name, why did you not tell me? Why did you let me go on believing he would be well again?”

    “’Twas his wish, Brenna. He forbade me to tell anyone, especially you. He did not want to see you weeping by his side. Angus never could tolerate tears, and ’twas enough that he put up with mine.”
    Tears now sprang to Brenna’s eyes. They were altogether unknown to her, for she had never shed them before. “But I should have been the one to nurse him. Instead, I went on my way as if naught was amiss.”
    “He did not want you grieving overmuch, Brenna. And you would have if you had known. This way you will mourn for a while, then you will put it behind you. Your forthcoming marriage will help