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The McKenna scratched his head. “Why not?”

Inadvertently, Davina’s eyes flew to James, worried about what he might have told his family about their past relationship. But his expression was shuttered, giving her no clues.

With difficulty, she managed to find her tongue again. “My reasons fer remaining unwed are my own and have naught to do with ye, milord.”

For an instant Davina fretted that her words had insulted him, but instead of appearing angry, the laird smiled at her. “I knew there was a bit of fire and boldness inside ye, lass. ’Tis good to see it fer myself.”

Davina felt a smile form on her lips. “Though it makes no sense, I feel glad to have pleased ye.”

“Then ye can please me even more by agreeing to marry one of my sons.”

“Ye are wrong to think I was nearly kidnapped.” She hesitated, then spoke from the heart. “But, if that were true, am I to be rescued from one man only to be given to another?”

“We willnaegiveye to any man,” Lady Aileen insisted. “The choice will be yers.”

The McKenna nodded his head enthusiastically. “Malcolm and James will court ye, properly and respectfully.”

James cleared his throat loudly. “I’ve already said that my brother alone will have the privilege of courting Lady Davina. ’Twill make her choice much easier.”

Too surprised to hide her dismay, she allowed a small gasp to escape her lips. James would not court her? Her cheeks reddened. “My uncle wouldn’t approve,” Davina said.

“He willnae object to an alliance with the McKenna clan,” the laird said. “Especially when he sees how happy ye are at the match.”

Davina could feel the edges of panic starting to invade. The McKenna was like a hungry dog refusing to give up a bone. She looked to Aileen for support, but the older woman smiled with approval. Malcolm was also smiling pleasantly and James, well, there was a flicker in his eyes that was impossible to read.

“I cannae marry without my uncle’s approval.”

“I’ll deal with yer uncle when the time comes,” the McKenna insisted. “All ye have to do is make a decision.”

“And if I refuse?” she dared to ask.

Though he didn’t move a muscle, Davina could feel the laird tense. “We have nearly sixty eligible men in the clan who would be honored to have ye as their wife. If ye refuse my sons, there are others to woo ye. Mark my words. Before the last of the Christmas greenery is taken down from the great hall, ye’ll be a McKenna bride.”

The brigand swore as the icy wind howled, cutting through the worn wool cloak he wore. ’Twas ripped in spots, patched in others, but it was his best garment, taken last year from a corpse after a knife fight. He was not anxious to report another failure, yet the two hours he’d been kept waiting were starting to anger him.

A rustling noise drew his attention, and the brigand moved, turning toward the sound. His breath caught in surprise when a familiar hooded, cloaked figure presented itself in front of him. The brigand shivered again, wondering at the seemingly mystical powers that were always swirling around his mysterious employer.

“Where is Lady Davina?”

The brigand hung his head. “We dinnae get her.”

The cloaked figure scowled and looked at him in disgust. “Why not?”

The brigand cleared his dry throat. “There were too many experienced fighters guarding her.”

A withering silence answered him. He could see the fabric of the cloak trembling in anger. Nervously, he continued. “Several of my men were hurt, two badly.”

The gloved hand flashed in front of him. “And why would any of that be my concern? Ye were hired to steal her away and leave her somewhere near, so she could be easily found by her kin.”

He swallowed. “Ye dinnae tell me that the McKennas would be riding as escort, led by Malcolm McKenna himself, nor that there would be so many men protecting her.”

“And ye dinnae tell me that ye were a buffoon! Ye took my coin and said that ye’d have no trouble doing as I bid because ye were such a skilled fighter.”

The insult stung, all the more because it held some truth. Frustrated, the brigand wrenched a nearby branch so hard it snapped off the tree. “The odds were uneven.”

“Ye should have planned better.”

“I could have been better prepared if I had more coin,” the brigand retorted, his voice rising. “Ye paid me a pittance of what ye promised.”