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she hurried to follow and observe the strange Highlander from a safe distance. Domnall was not a particularly tall man nor apparently a wealthy one. His plaid was well worn and his mustard-colored shirt was stained with mud, but he commanded an undeniable presence. There was a frightening, cold violence about him now as he strode through the village, finally pausing in front of Wat’s cottage. Dusk was falling fast and it was difficult to see, but he apparently had seen well enough.
    As Bree timidly joined them, Domnall turned to her, astonished.
    “This is where ye live, lass?” he asked, tilting his head at the dismal structure. “I’ve seen pigs in less squalor!”
    Bree ducked her head in shame.
    “Tis no fault of yer own, lass!” Domnall grunted, “If I had known, I—”
    The door creaked open.
    Jenet stepped out and squinted at the Highlander. Her mouth fell open.
    “Jenet,” Domnall said at last, licking his dry lips, “why … why didn’t ye send word? Why didn’t ye tell me!?”
    With a shrill, contemptuous laugh, she replied, “Why would you want a girl?”
    Bree swallowed. Surely, her mother didn’t mean it. Then, the soft, rumbling voice of her father astonished her even more.
    “She’s nae just any girl, woman! She is my daughter. I would always want my daughter!” Domnall was clearly outraged.
    Her mother laughed harshly, “Well. You can’t have her now. She’s to be wed.”
    Domnall exploded, delivering obviously uncomplimentary words in Gaelic before noticing Jenet’s confusion. Switching languages, he shouted, “Ye’ll nae be selling my daughter to a lecherous man for a few sheep!”
    The joy lifting Bree’s heart plummeted at her mother’s cold reply.
    “Are you certain she is yours?”
    “I’ve only to look at her to see she’s mine!” Domnall snorted, brushing the possibility aside. “Dare ye deny it, woman?”
    With a pounding heart, Bree searched her mother’s face. Surely, it was true! She wanted it to be true. She wanted to believe this man was kind, that he was going to rescue her, and that she truly was his daughter. It seemed an eternity and then her mother’s lips parted.
    “You may have got her on me, but you’ve no claim on her now. She belongs to her husband!”
    At that moment, Wat chose to appear. He stumbled through the door with a particularly loud belch. His sneering mouth snapped shut as he spied the irate Highlander at his threshold.
    Domnall’s nostrils flared in disgust, “And ye’ll be Wat?”
    Wat nodded, suspiciously.
    “I’ll be having a word with ye,” Domnall grunted, striding past her mother and into the cottage.
    Wat followed, scratching his belly.
    As Jenet moved to join them, the door shut firmly in her face. She stood there, confused, and then whirled on Bree, “What have you done?”
    “Jenet,” Afraig warned, stepping forward and blocking her path. “Leave the lass be!”
    “And you!” Jenet’s anger shifted. “You’ve meddled from the beginning!”
    Afraig stood calmly with folded arms, “Let him take her. Bree is his daughter.”
    “A fact I can never forget!” Jenet snarled, hands clenching into fists. “Domnall and his sweet words that night, before he left…Abandoning me for his precious highlands!”
    “He was drunk. He—” Afraig began.
    A loud crash from within the cottage silenced them both and one muffled cry quickly followed another. Then Domnall’s voice could be heard, “Aye, how does it feel, ye lily-livered, fen-sucking, pox-marked witless son of a maggot?!”
    Strangely, Bree’s heart began to lighten. Never had any dared to speak to Wat so.
    “Aye! And if ye as much as look at my daughter, I’ll behead ye and yer foul breed, ye worm-ridden bag of filth!”
    It was thrilling to hear someone curse Wat. Bree’s lips twitched upwards. She wanted to stay forever and simply listen.
    The rickety door rattled. One shutter popped open.
    Finally, Domnall stepped into the fading sunlight, brushing his