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great hall. Unlike her sire, Keane had not lost his wits, his mind sharpas ever even if his sword arm lacked the strength to take over the keep himself.
    The counselor appeared now, striding through the corridor with his irregular gait from an old battle wound. His white hair stood on end, shorn close to his head. He carried a knife at his hip even though it had been many years since he’d ridden off to war. He knew more about what had happened at Domhnaill five years ago than most, but he did not know about Edwina’s child. Except for a midwife and her servant who had witnessed the birth, everyone else privy to little Leah’s presence believed the girl an orphaned noble child left at Cristiana’s door. A resemblance among clans and villages was not unusual, with many a laird spreading bastard children among his lands.
    “Good eve, sir.” She hastened to greet the advisor, drawing him aside and quickly explaining the meeting she’d arranged between Duncan and her father. “So if you could just remind the laird of his hatred of the Culcanons right before the meeting, I believe it will help our cause to send Duncan and his men packing.”
    The gnarled old knight folded his arms and cupped his jaw. Then shook his head furiously.
    “Nay. ’Tis the last thing we want.” He peered to ward the great hall to ensure their privacy, then leaned closer to speak. “I know you girls broke off your marriage contracts after a quarrel with the young men, but do you think it wise to savor your spite forso long when Duncan is the most celebrated knight in the kingdom? What Domhnaill needs is a man like Duncan as laird.”
    For a moment, Cristiana wondered if Keane had succumbed to whatever wasting sickness her father had, for his words made no sense. But the shrewdness was still there in his lively blue eyes.
    “Never.” She did not need to explain herself. Still, something like cold fear gelled in her veins. “It is a family matter of the utmost delicacy, sir, but I cannot allow that.”
    More guests were arriving to sup as the vigorous chatter of some of the villagers mingled with the more refined cadence of the noble families’ conversations. The scent of roast fowl and fish permeated the stone halls and beckoned revelers from all round.
    “I may be an old man, missy, but I assure you, I can take a guess at what kinds of delicate matters go on that would offend a lady. I never thought it was right to break a contract the first time, but your father always had a soft heart for you girls. Now, I’m not saying you should marry the man. I’m just saying he would be the best possible choice for a successor.”
    When she started to argue, he backed up a step, that uneven gait of his biting her conscience as he hobbled backward.
    “No sense getting up in arms,” he protested, tugging on his tunic and smoothing it. “Just think about what’s best for Domhnaill. Your da always did.”
    “Keane—” But she would have had to chase him to keep talking. The counselor hastened toward the hall.
    “Look around at our other options this eve,” he called over his shoulder as he kept on stumping along. “You’ll see I’m right.”
    Frustration twisted her insides. They were nowhere near done with this conversation. True, she had not discovered a strong prospect to lead Domhnaill among her guests. That did not mean she would settle for arrogant Duncan, who’d maneuvered his way into staying here with the cunning of a serpent. Just be cause a man had the sword prowess of a champion did not mean he deserved any part of her homeland.
    “Do you appear this angry at every feast in your hall, Lady Cristiana?”
    The unwelcome question came from just above her left shoulder, where Duncan suddenly stood. He had appeared from nowhere as she wove through the crowd toward her seat on the dais.
    The man moved with the stealth of a hunter.
    “Only when I must host arrogant, demanding men over the holidays,” she assured him, wishing his