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tae ride intae battle,” Robbie said, taking exception to her mockery. “Ye'd have tae appoint a captain wi' hard fightin' experience behind him tae lead the men onto the battlefield.”
    “One of you stalwart fellows, I suppose?”
    “No' me,” Jamie said, raising his hands in self-defense.
    “Damned right, no' you,” Robert agreed. “Ye have enough trouble leadin' the way across a moor.”
    Jamie glared. “If ye're referrin' tae last week at Killiecrankie, how was I tae know the ground were thawed?”
    “Thawed? Ye were up tae yer armpits in bog an' squealin' like a stuck pig when we caught up tae ye. Took us two hours tae haul ye out an' two days afore the stink washed off.”
    “Enough.” Eneas's voice cut sharply between the two before addressing Anne. “We didna mean tae spring this on ye so sudden, nor have we come wi' a half-cocked idea. We've asked some o' the lairds what their answer might be if they were given a petition bearin' yer name, an' if it interests ye tae know, we have twenty-seven willin' tae sign already—an' that's no' includin' any man here.”
    Anne did not know what to say. Twenty-seven lairds were ready to break their oath of fealty to their chief, and they were willing to do it on her say-so. Part of her was appalled, certainly. Respect and unquestioning loyalty to the authority of the clan chief was ingrained from birth; what they were suggesting was tantamount to treason within the clan. Another part of her—the part that had reveled in riding the moors with her cousins—was admittedly excited, too, for it meant there were at least twenty-seven lairds who had not laughed her grandfather out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
    “Ye dinna have tae give us yer answer tonight, lass,” Fearchar said. “Sleep on it. Think on it. Watch yer husband dress in his fine scarlet tunic a time or two afore ye make up yer mind.”
    “I don't have to think about it,” Anne said quietly. “The answer is no. What you are asking is … is just not possible. It's utter madness, in fact.”
    “Annie,” Robbie began, “it's f'ae the honor o' the clan.”
    Her gaze cut to her cousin. “Don't you dare try to justify this by telling me it's for the honor of the clan. It may have worked four years ago, but it will not work now.”
    “But Annie—”
    “And do not
but Annie
me.” Her anger flashed in Eneas's direction. “Four years ago you all insisted I marry a man I had never even seen before, a man who had to be threatened and badgered to honor an agreement
he
had neither sought nor wanted. But marry we did, and you justified the threats and badgering by claiming I had an obligation, that the union was for the good of the clan. Well… you may not take your vows and oaths seriously—or perhaps you only take them seriously when they suit your moods and motives—but I do. Angus is my husband. He is also my laird, and I'll not break the vows I made just because it is no longer of any benefit to the Farquharson clan that I keep them. If you want another Joan of Arc, you will have to look elsewhere for someone to ride the white charger.”
    Jamie and Robbie started to retort with arguments in their own defense, but Anne turned her back to the room and no longer listened. In truth, it
had
taken the combined efforts of all three cousins and her grandfather to coax her into going through with the wedding to Angus Moy. The fact it had not turned out to be the hated, dreaded, feared ordeal she had envisioned had nothing to do with her resentment now. They had used her like a pawn once to get what they wanted; she was not about to let them use her again, especially since it was only her name they wanted, and not even her.
    “Dinna let it eat at ye, lass,” MacGillivray murmured, coming up and handing her a newly refilled tankard of ale. “Ye were right to tell them to go to hell. 'Tis a foolish thing they're askin' an' ye're better off stayin' out of it.”
    Anne was tall for a woman,