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girl.
    “You’re to come to the hall, miss,” she said, staring down at the floor.
    Iseabal stood, wrapping the blanket tightly around her. “I’m to be shown again?” she asked, resigned.
    For two years men had visited Fernleigh on all matter of business. Iseabal had been paraded before them like a ewe at auction, her virtues extolled and her bride price announced to any who would listen.
    The majority of the men her father deemed wealthy enough to afford a Drummond daughter were in their middle years. Their faces had marked them as older; their wealth had indicated their success in business. In too many cases they’d spoken of dead wives and scores of children needing a nurse, mother, and maid.
    The girl smiled kindly as if understanding the apprehension behind Iseabal’s question. But her words did nothing to ease Iseabal’s mind. “Your father bids you to dress in your finest garments, miss, because your new husband awaits.”
     
    An oath trembled on Alisdair’s lips, but he held it back. He’d bartered all over the world, knew the value of a bland expression, an air of restraint. But hiding his emotions had never been as difficult as now.
    “I’ve no wish for a wife,” he said curtly. “Only ownership to land that is mine.”
    “Then wait until the courts decree it yours,” Drummond said, looking beyond Alisdair. He raised his hand, wiggling his fingers in an impatient beckoning gesture.
    Alisdair glanced over his shoulder. There, standing in the doorway, was the woman he’d seen in the ruins. Her black hair fell loose to her waist, acting as a frame for her pale face. Her lips, tightened in a grim look of purpose, fell open at the sight of him, then just as quickly closed again. Herhands, clenched together at her sides, loosened, then gripped the material of her blue-and-red-striped petticoat. Her short jacket, buttoned to her neck, seemed immobile for a moment, as if she’d taken a breath and held it to test her ability at such a task. A second later she breathed again, her breasts pressing against the material to prove she was not a statue but a living person caught suspended in a moment of surprise.
    They shared startled looks before each glanced away.
    “My daughter,” Drummond said, although it was hardly necessary. She looked the image of her mother.
    She didn’t move or acknowledge the halfhearted introduction, only stared at the floor as if the worn stones were fascinating to behold.
    “Iseabal,” her mother said, summoning the younger woman with a gesture of her hand.
    Alisdair watched as she made her way across the room. Iseabal. The name suited her. Forcing himself to look away, Alisdair faced Drummond again.
    “I’ll not bargain with you, MacRae. You’ll take the land and the girl for the price I gave you. But if you haven’t the money, then it’s no matter to me. I’ll be the same as I am now.”
    Suddenly, Alisdair understood that Drummond would be just as satisfied if he left empty-handed.
    “I’ll take the land,” Alisdair said crisply. “I’ve no use for a wife.”
    “She’s healthy and she’s docile enough,” Drummond said, as if describing a horse. “I’ve no doubt she’ll breed well, being heartier than her mother.”
    He snapped his fingers in summons and Iseabal made herway to her father’s side. Drummond grabbed her petticoat, pulling her closer.
    “She’s got good teeth,” he said, reaching up to grip her jaw and force her mouth open. “She had the pox as a child and won’t get it again. She’s got a good figure with enough padding that a man won’t be stuck on bones, but not so much that you’d suffocate.”
    Iseabal’s eyes fluttered shut even as her face began to flush.
    Alisdair stood, pushing the bench back. “Enough, Drummond,” he said, disgusted with the other man’s crude display of his daughter. “I’ve only come for MacRae land.”
    “They come together, MacRae, for the price I stated. Without one, you’ll never have the