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woke up in time for a meal. Which meal doesnae matter much, aye?”
    There was no argument to be made to that so Bridget watched Sir Cathal rise from his seat to bow to her as Mora led her to a seat on his left. He did not look like a madman, Bridget thought as she took her seat. He was too handsome for any woman’s peace of mind, calm, and clear-eyed. As she filled her plate with tender lamb, turnips, bread, and cheese, she wondered if there was any way to gently inquire if she had heard him correctly last night. Since Mora had confirmed her rather uncertain memory of that conversation, Bridget was sure Cathal had mentioned marriage. It needed to be discussed, but she was unable to think of a clever way to broach the subject and to discuss it calmly.
    She glanced around the great hall as she began to eat. There were not that many people in it. About half a dozen people who bore a distinct resemblance to Sir Cathal watched her closely as they ate. The ones serving looked as if they were related to Mora. Bridget did not think she had ever seen such a clear difference between those who served and those who were waited upon. In her clan there was only one real distinction between the laird’s close kin and ones like Mora, but it was not one so easily detected.
    Just as she gathered enough courage to begin a conversation with Sir Cathal, two people who immediately grasped her full attention strode into the great hall. A tall, slim man and a slender woman made their way to the laird’s table, watching her as intently as she watched them. The woman was strikingly beautiful with gleaming black hair and milk white skin, her bright golden eyes glinting with emotions Bridget could not guess at. The man’s hair was a duller black, enlivened by a few streaks of white. There was a similarity in his features to Sir Cathal’s, but the lines of his face were far harsher, almost threatening. The look he gave her from his too dark eyes sent a chill down her spine.
    “Scymynd, Edmee,” murmured Sir Cathal as the couple stopped by his chair. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence? Ye rarely join us in the great hall.”
    “We have come to meet your guest,” replied Scymynd.
    Cathal introduced Scymynd and Edmee to Bridget. Although Bridget’s replies were calmly said and very polite, Cathal detected a tension in her, as if she sensed a threat was near. He could not blame her. He sensed one as well. Scymynd was the leader of the Purebloods and had made his dislike of Cathal’s plan all too plain in the last few months. It was not a good sign that Scymynd would venture into the upper keep to meet Bridget. When he felt Edmee’s long, cold fingers stroke his neck, Cathal knew all too well what game she intended to play. He fought the urge to use his power as their laird to send them away. Rebellion was brewing in the caves the Purebloods called home, and he would not aid it by insulting the two most prominent members of that group. However, he would not allow them to intimidate Bridget.
    “Are ye to join us for the meal, then?” he asked.
    “Nay.” Scymynd glanced at the food upon the table, grimaced faintly with distaste, then looked at Jankyn who sat at Cathal’s right. “Tis nay to my taste. I am surprised to see ye partaking of it.”
    Jankyn smeared thick brown honey on a chunk of bread. “I have an adventurous palate.”
    “So do I,” murmured Edmee as she ran her fingers through Cathal’s hair.
    Bridget was surprised to find herself feeling annoyed by the way the woman touched Cathal. Even more so by the way Cathal allowed it. Edmee was behaving in such an openly lustful, sensuous way, Bridget was amazed she was not blushing at the sight. It did make her think, however, that Cathal’s talk of marriage had been some odd jest and nothing more. That, she suspected, was at the root of her annoyance. She did not like being teased. A little voice in her head told her she was lying to herself. Bridget sternly gagged