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Dougall’s head on a pike.”
    Afraig’s eyes popped in shock.
    Bree bowed her head in polite respect. She hadn’t heard of either Ellin or a Dougall before, but Domnall’s obvious pain revealed they were close kin.
    As if reading her mind, Domnall nodded his chin at her and offered the explanation, “Ellin was my wife. Dougall…well, yer brother, my eldest, was struck down in the prime of life. And Catriona…” His voice grew husky with tears. “Aye, my wee Catriona, yer sister. The poor lass died giving birth to a bairn this year past. They both only lived a day.”
    Afraig’s shoulders drooped. “Ye’ve naught but ill tidings.”
    “I’ve no one left.”
    In the oppressive silence that followed, Bree gazed into the flames. She was astonished a man would mourn the loss of a wife and children. If her mother died, Wat would hardly notice, of that she was certain.
    “Aye, ‘tis glad I am to have a daughter, and such a fine, wee, bonny lass.”
    It took Bree several moments to realize Domnall was speaking of her. She caught her breath, meeting his green, twinkling eyes.
    “Are ye sure she’s nae a wee touched, woman?” Domnall drawled lightly. “Can she speak?”
    Afraig chuckled, moving to rest her hand on Domnall’s shoulder as they both smiled at her.
    “She’s a sweet one, Domnall,” she said. “Ye’ll treat her well?”
    “Aye,” the man said, nodding. “She’s the last of my flesh and blood. ‘Twill be right pleasant to have her home, though I’m nae too pleased with the name!” He raised a brow at Afraig. “What were ye thinking, woman, to let her be named that?”
    “’Tis a fine name!” Afraig snorted and then added, “And ye ken well enough why I did so. The clan should never have disowned Bree. Her only crime was love, even if she wasted it on a MacLeod.” Her tone soured at the name.
    “Aye,” Domnall murmured, “I suppose. ‘Tis time they remember her, especially now with the alliance.”
    A shiver rippled through Bree’s spine.
    This stranger, this man, had accepted her as his.
    She was truly leaving.
    Glancing about the kitchen, she began to feel a strange sense of panic. Raph could not have her now. She should be relieved, dancing for joy, but a cold, clammy feeling gripped her heart.
    “Aye, ‘tis a bit daunting for ye, I would think,” Domnall grunted.
    Bree glanced up in amazement that he had read her thoughts.
    “Ye wear yer heart in yer eyes, lass. ’Tis plain to see what is on yer mind,” he said, chuckling, and touched her shoulder in a light gesture of affection.
    As his fingers touched one of her bruises, Bree sucked her breath in pain.
    Her father squinted in suspicion, “What’s this?”
    “Wat!” Afraig spat.
    Again, they spoke hurriedly in Gaelic. Gaelic! Already, she regretted that she had not learned it. Yes, she knew a few words, but not enough if it would soon be all she heard. The kitchen walls seemed to be moving, closing about her. She scarcely noticed the strong, stubby fingers grasping her wrist. Someone lifted her hair from the back of her neck, exposing the cuts of Wat’s belt. Then, Afraig paraded the bruises, old and new, to the man who called himself her father, still speaking in the strange, foreign tongue. Could she ever learn the cadence of the unintelligible syllables?
    Her thoughts were broken as the man began to change. As Afraig spoke, a chilling expression descended upon him like a mask, hard and stony. She hesitated. This man was not one to be crossed. Every line in his body hardened, and as it did, it announced that he was indeed more fearsome than Wat. For when he struck, it would be to kill.
    “I’ll be seeing this Wat,” Domnall said.
    The words shook Bree from her stupor.
    “Aye!” Afraig’s lips split into a wide grin. “When might I introduce ye?”
    “Now!”
    Bree watched as Domnall stalked from the kitchen with Afraig close on his heels. Neither one looked back in her direction. As their footsteps faded,