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“I don’t think ye’re a…” He hesitated and gestured toward her. “My da said—”

“I know exactly what your father said about me,” Clara said. “He continues to say it, and there are many here who listen to him.”

He picked up his glass, then, realizing it was empty, set it aside.

“Shall I tell you why I think you’re unhappy?” Clara said. “It’s because you’ve no wish to marry Shona McCallum. Are you in love with another? Someone of whom your father wouldn’t approve?”

“My da…or anyone .”

“ I’d approve,” Clara said. “We cannot help whom we love. All we can do is love them, even if we cannot love them openly.”

His expression hardened. “Are ye playing my brother false?”

She let out a laugh. “You think I love another? Duncan, perhaps?”

He caught his breath, and she shook her head.

“No, James,” she said quietly. “It’s not I who loves Duncan.” She held out her hand. “Like it or not, James, you’re my brother- in-law. I don’t want to see you unhappy. You don’t have to like me, but can we at least agree not to be enemies?”

He stared at her hand, his eyes glistening. Then he took it and sighed.

Footsteps approached, and he withdrew his hand.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” Clara said. “I was looking for Marsaili. Have you seen her?”

He shook his head.

“Murdo’s looking for you,” she said. “Your father wants you to dance with Miss McCallum. I won’t tell them I’ve seen you.” She approached the door.

“Clara,” he said softly.

“Yes?” she said, turning.

“I don’t see ye as my enemy.”

She nodded and exited the study, then collided with a solid form. Her gut twisted as she recognized her father-in-law.

“What are ye doing here?” he growled.

“Nothing, I—”

He pushed past her and opened the door.

“ There ye are, ye useless lad!” he said. “What are ye doing hiding in here like a sniveling wretch? Yer betrothed’s waiting for ye.”

“Yes, Da,” James mumbled.

The laird slapped him on the arm. “Less of yer lip,” he said. “Ye should be thanking me, finding ye a bride. If I left it up to ye, our line would die out.”

“Clara might have a son,” James said.

The laird wrinkled his nose at her. “How can ye be sure it’d be Murdo’s, given that she’s a—” He broke off into a fit of coughing, spittle misting the air, and his face turned a deep shade of red.

Serves you right—I hope you choke.

James’s eyes widened, and he glared at Clara.

Heavens! She’d spoken aloud.

The laird clung to James’s arm, and they returned to the great hall.

Clara followed, cursing herself. She might dislike the old man, but she had no right to wish him into the grave, no matter how much he loathed her. Better to have him live to see her children grow up as McTavishes, knowing that his family line was tainted with her blood.

She placed a hand over her belly. Mama said that she’d know when a baby came—when her courses stopped and her belly grew round. Would she love it as much as Mama loved her?

What pain must her mother have suffered from being parted from her, not knowing whether she lived or died?

Nobody deserved to suffer the loss of a loved one, not even a drunken bully. And however much Clara disliked the laird, he was Murdo and James’s father.

As Clara returned to the great hall, she spotted Shona McCallum standing in a corner, her eyes filled with despair.

James, who looked equally miserable, stood by the fireplace with Murdo and the laird, together with Lord and Lady McCallum.

Duncan stood across the hall, his expression one of broken resignation.

Clara approached Shona.

“Is anything the matter, Miss McCallum?” she said. “You look unhappy.”

A tear slid down Shona’s cheek. “My da says it’s a good match. I’m to be Lady McTavish—my son will be laird and I’ll bring pride to my family.”

Her voice was flat, as if she recited a laundry list.

“Are you pleased?” Clara asked.

“It’s what Ma wants.”

“What about your father? And you—what do you want?”

“A daughter’s duty is to obey her parents,” Shona said, “and a wife’s duty is to obey her husband.”

“So you’ve resigned yourself to a lifetime of obedience?” Clara said.

“Haven’t ye done the same?”

Clara smiled. “I refused to pledge a vow of obedience to my husband.”

“And yer mother? Yer father?”

“My mother wanted me to make the right choice,” Clara said. “Both my mother and stepfather disapproved of my choice—but, in the end, they respected that choice as mine.”

“Then ye’re fortunate, Mrs. McTavish.”

“You must call me Clara if we’re to be sisters.”

Shona flinched, and another tear spilled onto her cheek.

“You don’t want to marry James, do you?” Clara said.

“It’s what Ma wants.”

“And your father?”

“He wants me to marry, but…” Shona hesitated.

“But he’d rather you had a say in the choice of husband?”

Shona nodded, and Clara’s heart ached to see the sorrow in her eyes. She placed a hand on Shona’s arm.

“Do you love another?”

“Murray Campbell,” Shona said. “We danced at the ghillie’s ball last year, and he asked me to wed him. Da liked him well enough, but Ma refused.”

“Why did she refuse?”

“Because he’s a Campbell . Ma says they’re treacherous—thieves in the night, filthy blackguards who’d stab ye in the heart for a coin. They’re even worse than the English, and—Oh!” She let out a cry. “I didn’t mean…”

“You didn’t mean me ?”

Another tear splashed onto Shona’s cheek.

Clara reached up and wiped it away. “If your mother loves you, then she’d want you to be happy.”

“I’ll not be happy here ,” Shona said. “I don’t want to be a laird’s wife. Murray’s a younger son. He likes the simple life. He wants to farm the land—he already knows how to look after a herd of cattle.”

Clara smiled at the pride in Shona’s voice—pride in the man she loved.

“And you want to be a farmer’s wife?” she said.

“Aye. I don’t want to be lady of a castle, and certainly not here .”

“Then, Shona, you should tell your mother.”

“But Ma would be so angry!”

“And your father?”

The girl glanced across the hall to where her father stood beside Clara’s father-in-law.

As if they sensed they were being watched, both men turned their attention to the two of them.

Clara’s father-in-law gave his usual scowl of contempt, but the McCallum smiled at his daughter with the kind of fatherly affection Clara had never seen growing up—until Papa Harcourt had taught her that children were to be cherished and loved, not sold off like chattel.

“I think your father loves you, Shona,” Clara said. “He’ll understand if you didn’t want to marry James.”

“Ye don’t think James could love me?”

“No,” Clara said. “Like you, he loves another.”

“Then what should I do?”

“Follow your heart before it’s too late. Love is everything.”

Before Shona could respond, Clara’s father-in-law raised his hand and the guests’ chatter faded. Then he moved to the center of the hall, taking James with him.

“Friends!” he cried. “It gives me much pleasure to have ye here tonight to celebrate the festival of Lughnasadh. The land has been bountiful, and I pray it continues to do so until the winter comes upon us, so that we might reap the fruits of our labors.”

A ripple of approval threaded through the company.

“It gives me greater pleasure to announce that I’ve reaped the fruits of my labors and secured a match for my heir!”

A cheer rose, and Shona glanced at Clara, her eyes glazed with panic, while James stood beside his father, his mouth set in a grim line.

“My eldest son, James Alastair Malcolm, will ensure the continuation of the McTavish line with pure Highlander blood. His sons—my grandsons—will rule our clan in the knowledge that they have an ancestry to be proud of. Their blood shall not be tainted. Tonight, before ye all, my son shall pledge his troth to—”

“No!” Shona cried.

The guests drew in a collective breath.

Shona reached for Clara’s hand.

The laird’s expression darkened. “ What did ye say, lass?”

Still clutching Clara’s hand, Shona stepped forward and tilted her chin up.

“I said no. I will not marry James.”

“Daughter!” Lady McCallum said. “Stop playing the simpleton. Forgive her, Lord McTavish—she has a fanciful nature, but she’ll do her duty, even if she needs a little”—she turned her pale gaze to Shona—“marital discipline.”

“But Ma,” Shona said, “I—”

“Silence!” Lady McCallum cried. “Must ye dishonor yer poor mother? And yer father? He wants the match more than I—a union between two fine families.”

“Do ye want the match, Da?” Shona asked, her eyes bright with moisture.

“Of course he does!” Lady McCallum snapped. “Stop playing the fool, and do yer duty.” She extended a ringed hand that glittered with jewels toward her daughter.

Shona released Clara’s hand, approached her mother, then hesitated, as if her heart warred with her duty. Then she shook her head.

“I-I cannot,” she said. “I don’t love him.”

Her mother scoffed. “What has love to do with—”

“Love is everything !” Shona said. “I must follow my heart, before it’s too late.”

“What nonsense is this?” Lady McCallum said. Clara’s stomach fluttered with apprehension as she turned her attention from Shona to her.

“Please, Da,” Shona said. “Don’t make me marry him. I’d be so miserable, I—I’ll run away.”

“Ye ungrateful little mare!” Clara’s father-in-law stepped toward Shona, raising his hand to strike, but Lord McCallum caught his sleeve.

“That’s enough, McTavish,” he said. “Ye’ve no right to take a hand to my daughter.”

Shona burst into tears. “Da!” she wailed. “Forgive me, b-but I can’t marry James McTavish. I love another.”

“Whom?” Lord McCallum asked.

“M-Murray,” Shona said, her lip wobbling.

“Sweet Lord, save me!” Lady McCallum cried. “That Campbell boy? But he…he’s a…” She shook her head. “He’s a Campbell !”

“I love him!” Shona said. “I love him, and I”—she glanced about the hall, her cheeks scarlet—“I’d hate it here!”

“Lord McCallum,” Clara’s father-in-law said, “yer daughter’s taken too much whisky. We needn’t be governed by the whims of a lass barely out of the nursery.”