Free Highland Warrior by Hannah Howell

men in it bore a strong resemblance to Sir Fingal, and those who did were Ewan’s age or younger. The old fool was clearly trying to breed his own army. Fiona suspected the older men were all ones who had found their way to Scarglas and stayed, or remained after the previous laird died.
    It was an impressive great hall with a massive fireplace at each end. Tapestries and weapons decorated the walls. The laird’s table had carved oak chairs, while the other men sat on sturdy benches. The hall was also surprisingly clean, she realized. Whoever ran the household did so with an iron hand. Women and boys moved quietly amongst the tables, refilling jugs and taking away empty plates. Either Sir Fingal had money or the previous laird had. Deilcladach had only recently begun to enjoy some of the refinements she saw here. It would not be a bad place to live if it was not so besieged by enemies, she decided, and then her thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the argument between the MacFingals.
    “Weel, if ye dinnae want the lass,” snapped Sir Fingal, “Gregor can wed her. Time he wed and started a family.”
    “I have two sons,” said Gregor, “and I will choose my own wife.”
    “And I will choose my own husband,” said Fiona, glaring at Sir Fingal.
    “Dinnae be daft,” said Sir Fingal. “Tis a mon’s place to choose a mate for the lasses in his family.”
    “Nay in mine, it isnae. And ye arenae my kinsmon so ’tisnae your concern.”
    “Ye are under my rule now, lass.”
    Fiona snorted. “I dinnae think so. Now”—she stood up—“if ye will excuse me, I believe I will return to see how Simon is faring.”
    Ewan signaled to his brother Nathan, who quickly fell into step beside Fiona as she left the hall. He glanced at Gregor and was pleased to see that his brother was as amused as he was. Their father looked stunned. Ewan suspected it was the first time any woman had faced him squarely and denied him. Even his last wife had been cowed and submissive right up until the night she had run off. Despite all the trouble it was going to cause him to have Fiona around, Ewan knew he would enjoy watching a female stand up to his father. He would just make sure she did not pay too dearly for that.
    “That lass was raised with too light a hand on the reins,” Sir Fingal said.
    It made Ewan wince to hear his father say something he himself had said. He was dismayed to think he had unknowingly accepted some of his father’s attititudes into his heart and mind. Although he found some consolation in the fact that he did not fault Fiona for her strengths, Ewan swore to himself that he would try much harder to turn aside the lessons his father tried to teach him.
    “She is right,” Ewan said. “Ye arenae her kinsmon and have no right to pick a husband for her. She isnae here for that. She is here to be ransomed and fill our empty coffers.”
    “She might have a fine dower. That could do as weel as a ransom.”
    “Nay. She is to be ransomed.”
    “Dinnae ken why ye are being so obstinate. Ye need a wife and show no sign of getting one. With your face, it willnae be easy to woo a lass, either. Why not take one who fell into your grasp?”
    “Da, leave it be,” said Gregor. “Marrying her off to one of us could anger her clan and we dinnae need any more enemies.”
    Sir Fingal snorted. “And ye dinnae think holding the lass for ransom will irritate her clan?”
    “Tis an accepted practice. I suspicion they now ken that she rode off alone and willnae blame us for taking advantage of how she fell into our grasp.”
    “Humph. Tis a sad waste of a young lass. She is bonnie enough despite the scars, and I think ye are right to say she is weelborn. Dinnae get many of that sort about this place.”
    “Leave it be, Da,” Ewan said wearily, echoing Gregor’s words. “Leave her be. Tis clear she isnae going to willingly fall in with your plans. None of us wants an unwilling bride.”
    His father glared and muttered, but said