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family. Tis enough. The mourning period should not interfere with a marriage, not for a sister.”
    Adrian lifted one ebony brow, outwardly showing polite disinterest as he unsheathed his own weapon. “Forgive me; I haven’t the time for your games just now, Burke. I must return home to see if my dear Tara has shown some improvement.”
    Burke’s jaw dropped. He sat forward, carefully weighing every word Dillon had just uttered. “What’s this, now? Ye’ve recovered some poor waif from the wreckage?”  
    Adrian moved in for the final thrust with a sardonic smile. “Yes, Harlan. My fiancée was on that vessel.”
    “Fiancée?” Sheriff Burke sputtered as the ale he had just taken clogged his throat.
    “You do recall my mentioning an attachment I had to a certain young lady?”
    Burke sobered, obviously stunned by the reality of the bride.
    “Oh, she is real, my friend. Mick Gilamuir brought her to me early this morning, along with the news of the wreck.” Adrian choked out the words with emotion. “I am as yet nourishing hope that her father survived. I shouldn’t dare to bring such horrific news of his demise to my love as she lies recovering from her own injuries.”
    Burke took another swig of his ale, his expression grim. “And what am I to tell my girl, she was expecting you to declare yourself, Lord Dillon.” The grotesque little man snarled as he bolted from his seat, his carefully laid plans disintegrating before his eyes.
    “Why should she expect a declaration from me?  I’ve not courted her, nor have I sought out her company. We’ve met by chance alone, amid ample spectators at various social gatherings.” Dillon rose from his chair. “Perhaps her father simply suffers from an overactive imagination.”
    “You’d best come out, Sir.” Mick stood in the doorway as Adrian was taking his leave. “I think we may have found Mr. MacNeill.”
    “Tara’s father?”Adrian allowed his voice to rise with emotion. “Is he alive?”
    “No. You’d best come identify him, Sir.”
    Burke sprinted to the door, his button black eyes wary, as if sensing the charade being played out for his benefit. “What does he look like?” He persisted, pushing his protruding paunch into Dillon’s frame as he looked up at his with accusation.
    “Tall.” Adrian insisted, “Taller than most men . . . taller than I.” He spread his arms out to emphasize his own athletic frame. He looked over the short sheriff’s head to Mick, who frowned and shook his head negatively.
    “Let’s go see.” Burke insisted. Mick shrugged as Burke charged on ahead, anxious to see proof of the fiancée, be it her own corpse or that of her father.
    Mick closed the gap between himself and his lord as the sheriff vacated the small sitting room. “The man we just found was average size. Well, dressed, looked to be a businessman. I thought that would work well enough. We’re running out of candidates, with a priest, a cabin boy, a black slave, five women, and various crew members being accounted for. Why are you making this father of hers out to be some kind of giant?”
    “Short, tall, fat, thin, what difference does it make? He doesn’t exist.” Adrian replied. “All that matters is that Burke believes my bride is real.”  
    “My lord, since you said the man was tall, tell Burke this one is not him. We’ll say the man is missing. That happens with shipwrecks. Bodies wash up days or weeks later.” Mick advised him as they hurried ahead of the Sheriff. “We don’t need a body to prove ourselves. You have the woman in your possession, that’s proof enough.”

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
    Annie hummed as she worked the needle through the heavy woolen cloth. Her husband was out at the nets for the day and the children were at the hedge school. Soda bread was baking on the hearth, its pungent scent mingling with the sweet smoke of the peat fire. She had finished her chores, save tending the stranger Ian found on the far shores