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Lord McCallum shook his head. “If she loves the Campbell lad…”

“That’s of no consequence, McCallum. What matters is what my son wants, and James wants Shona. Don’t ye, lad?”

James stared at Shona, resignation in his eyes. Then he opened his mouth to speak.

“No, he doesn’t!” Shona said. “He loves another.”

Laird McTavish’s eyes glowered with raw fury. “He what ?”

“He loves another!”

“Who told ye that, lass?”

“I…” Shona glanced at Clara. “I just heard it.”

“Aye, I’ll wager ye did,” Lord McTavish said, and he strode toward Clara. “I might have known, ye little slut! Not satisfied with tainting my family with yer whore’s blood, ye seek to ruin my heir’s marriage. It was a bad day for the clan when ye snared my son. It’s time I taught ye a lesson!”

Clara leaped back, lost her balance, and fell to the floor.

“Aye, that’s where ye should be,” Lord McTavish said. “Crawling in the dirt like yer whore of a mother!”

He fisted his hands. Clara raised her arms to protect herself, but the blow never came. Two hands pulled him back, and Clara glanced up to see her husband, his face red with rage.

“Don’t touch her, Da!” he cried. “She’s my wife.”

“She should be beaten raw, like any disobedient, meddlesome woman.”

“ I’m her husband,” Murdo said. “If anyone has the right to beat her, it’s me.”

Clara’s gut twisted at her husband’s words.

“You’d what ?” she said. “And you think I’m the savage?”

“No, lass, I didn’t mean—”

“Do ye lack the stomach for it?” the laird taunted him. “I thought yer brother a weakling, but ye’ve been like a lassie with no ballocks since that slut came!”

Whispers rippled through the company.

“Do ye like what ye see?” Lord McTavish said, casting his gaze over the guests. “The destruction of the McTavish clan by the viper in our midst who spreads her favors all over the place? Get thee gone, the lot of ye!” The whispering increased, and he let out a roar. “I said, leave ! I’ll not have—”

He broke off, bending over in a fit of coughing, and James ran toward him.

“Let me help ye, Da.”

“Get away from me, ye weak fool!”

Murdo reached for Clara, and she flinched. “Take my hand, lass.”

She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. Then he addressed the guests.

“The festivities are over. Duncan, Elspeth, would ye see our guests out?”

“Well!” Lady McCallum said, as the company began to disperse. “I’ve never been so insulted in all my—”

“Stop yer griping, woman,” Lord McCallum said. “If it weren’t for yer meddling, I’d never have agreed to the match. Look what’s come of it.”

“It’s not my meddling,” she said, pointing toward Clara. “It’s that Sassenach.”

“She’s not our concern. It’s our Shona we should be thinking of.” He turned to Lord McTavish and extended his hand. “I trust there’s no bad blood between our families.”

“I don’t blame ye, McCallum,” the laird snarled. “I blame her .”

He lunged toward Clara, and Murdo blocked his path.

“I told ye, Da, my wife’s mine to deal with.”

“See that ye do.”

“I’ll do what’s right, Da,” Murdo said, and Clara shivered at the determination in his voice.

“I trust ye’ll—” Lord McTavish broke off with another fit of coughing, and droplets of spittle and blood misted the air. “I-I’m…” he began, then let out a gasp and clawed at his throat.

“Here, Da, ye need rest,” Murdo said.

“But yer wife…”

“I’ll deal with her later.”

Murdo glanced at Clara, then helped his father out of the hall, as the rest of the guests dispersed.

Shona slipped her hand into Clara’s, her eyes wet with tears.

“Thank ye,” she whispered. “I couldn’t have borne it here. Not with him .” She gestured toward the retreating laird. “I’ve heard… things about him. I’m glad of what I did. I only wish that ye’d done the same and married another.”

“So do I,” Clara said.

“You witch !” a voice said, and Clara cursed as she saw James standing nearby. “Ye wish ye’d married elsewhere? I wish ye’d married elsewhere. Ye’ve brought nothing but shame on the McTavishes. If my brother won’t punish ye, then I’ll—”

“No, James,” a quiet voice said, and Duncan appeared at his side. “Striking the lass won’t serve any purpose. What’s done is done. Go help yer brother with the laird. He needs ye.”

“Come along, Shona,” Lady McCallum said. “Ye’ve nothing to gain from speaking to that Sassenach.”

Shona squeezed Clara’s hand then followed her parents out of the hall, leaving Clara alone with Duncan.

She curled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her palms to suppress the sob swelling in her throat.

The ghillie placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Och, lass, what were ye thinking ?”

His gentle touch threatened to breach her defenses.

“I-I thought I was doing the right thing, Duncan,” she said, her voice wavering.

“What ye did was wrong.”

“How so?” she said. “I saw three unhappy souls who each want to be with the one they love. What’s wrong about wanting to be with the one you love?

Isn’t it a greater sin to force lovers apart, make them miserable?

And for what? For honor? How old is Shona McCallum?

Sixteen? Where’s the honor in forcing her to marry a man she can never love, and who’ll never love her? As for James…”

She met the ghillie’s gaze.

“I didn’t only do it for Shona,” she said. “I did it for you—you’re my only friend here.”

“Och, lass, Murdo cares for ye also, even if ye refuse to see it.”

“You’re the only one who understands me—an outsider, a misfit…”

She caught her breath on a sob, and the ghillie drew her into his arms.

“Daft lass,” he whispered. “Ye may have had good intentions, but ye’ll find that honor is something the McTavish clan values. You see, it’s—”

“Oh, I know ,” she said with a huff. “‘Strength and honor’ is the family motto. The Mountain of Honor is an ever-present monolith looking over the castle. You say that your lives are governed by honor, but none of you understand its true meaning.”

“What do ye think honor is, lass?”

“It’s doing what you know to be right, not what furthers your family name or the purity of the ancestral line. Honor isn’t obeying the orders dictated by a parent, or a husband. Sometimes disobeying is the honorable thing to do.”

“And ye’d know all about that,” a deep voice said.

Clara’s stomach fluttered in apprehension as the ghillie stiffened and withdrew his arms.

Murdo stood in the doorway, his eyes dark with anger.

“H-husband, I was just—”

He raised his hand. “I know what ye were just doing. I’m here to ask ye to come to bed.”

How dare he show anger after what he’d done! And how dare he order her to his bed as if she were nothing more than a body to service his needs?

She folded her arms. “No. I’m in no mood for a beating.”

His expression hardened and he crossed the hall, his boots clomping on the floor.

“ What did ye say?”

“You heard,” she snarled. “If you’re going to beat me, then do it here, in front of Duncan, not behind the bedchamber door like a sniveling coward!”

“Lass, surely ye didn’t think I—”

“Just go!” she cried. “I’d rather sleep in the kitchen with Buck. I’d rather sleep anywhere than with you !”

He opened his mouth to respond, then gave a sigh and shook his head.

“As ye wish.”

He turned and exited the hallway, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls until they faded into silence.

“Och, lass,” Duncan said, “surely ye didn’t think Master Murdo would beat ye? I’ve known him since he were a lad, and he’d never hurt a soul.”

“Is that right?”

“He’s loyal to his da, that’s all, as is his brother. Loyalty to the clan is etched into his bones. But he’d never hit ye. Surely ye ken that?”

“B-but he said…”

“I heard what he said. But did ye not think what might have happened had he said nothing? The laird would have taken a whip to ye, and to Master Murdo also, for disobedience. The clan—every man, woman, and child—is loyal to the laird.”

“Even if the laird is wrong?”

He nodded. “’Tis our way, lass. Ye should know—yer father’s a duke, is he not?”

“Papa Harcourt would never lay a hand on me,” Clara said. “No matter how badly I behaved.” She smiled at the image of her stepfather’s face, the gentle patience in his eyes when she tested him to the limit of his endurance.

“And why’s that?”

“Because he loves me.”

“Then perhaps ye should ask yerself why Master Murdo would never lay a hand on ye, no matter what ye did.”

She wiped her eyes, and he took her hand.

“Whatever ye may think of him, lass, he needs ye.”

“What about you ?” she said. “What do you need, Duncan? What does James need?”

“There’s nothing to be gained thinking on what can never be.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, then released it.

“Go to yer husband, lass. Ye’ll regret it if ye don’t.”

Then he exited the hall, leaving Clara alone. Shortly after, the servants slipped in to clear the remnants of the celebrations—Joan, Elspeth, and Callum, though Marsaili was nowhere to be seen—and whisper to each other in hushed tones.

Were they whispering about her? Did loyalty to their laird lead them to also believe his claim that she was a slut who dishonored the name of McTavish?

She crossed the floor, nodding in acknowledgment as they stared at her. When she reached the foot of the staircase, she glanced upward. Then, with a sigh, she turned away and made her way to the kitchens.

Ye’ll regret it, lass…

Duncan was right. She did have regrets—regrets that she was foolish enough to have believed Murdo could have made her happy.

Regrets that she had ever believed in the magic of the Lyon’s Den.