Gillian had been given a place at the head table beside her father, so she could survey the strong, doughty Highlanders who wished to marry her, and they could survey her. She could barely eat with so many people watching her.
“Davy MacKenzie seems like a pleasant fellow,” her father said as she crumbled a piece of bread in nervous fingers.
She glanced at Davy and blushed when he grinned at her and winked. “Laird MacKenzie was very kind to me, and to all the injured men in my tail at Kinfell,” she replied carefully.
“Then is he the one ye love?”
She looked at the wee pile of crumbs before her. “No, Papa.”
Her father’s gaze fell on the fine figure of Cormag Robertson, his red hair glowing in the candlelight, his blue eyes keen upon Gillian. “Then is it the Robertson?”
“He was kind enough to give a dozen men, including himself, to escort me to my wedding, but no, he isn’t the one.”
“Then what about Padraig Grant, eh? He’s handsome enough, surely, to please any lass.” The laird in question was busy flirting with Meggie. Gillian shook her head.
“Then who, lass? Ye don’t know anyone else.”
She raised her chin and looked around. Callum caught her eye and smiled a trifle sadly.
“Nay—it isn’t Callum, is it?” her father said. “How long has—”
She put her hand on his arm. “Nay, Papa. Callum is like a brother to me. I love him, but not . . .”
“Not the way a woman loves a man,” her father finished for her. “Are ye sure ye know what love is, Gilly? You’ve had a sheltered life—at least until ye left to be wed.”
She met her father’s eyes. “Aye, Papa. I know what love is, and I know what I want.”
He scanned her face. “Ye could save me a great deal of trouble if ye’d just tell me who ye do want, Gilly. Then perhaps I could help.”
Tears stung her eyes. “He hasn’t come yet, Papa.”
Donal MacLeod looked around his overflowing hall with a scowl. “How many more men are ye expecting?” he asked. “Did ye charm all of Scotland?”
She blushed and said nothing.
Her father frowned. “Did he say he would come? Who is he? I couldaskhim to come. Or insist.”
“It’s his choice, Papa.”
He put his hand under her chin. “Can ye whisper his name to me, lass?”
But before she could say anything more, the door opened.
John Erly walked into the room.
For a moment Gillian stared, hardly daring to believe it. “He’s here,” she whispered. She half rose from her seat, but her father clamped his hand on her wrist.
John crossed to stand before her father, but his eyes were on her.
“You’re the bloody Sassenach from Carraig Brigh,” her father said. “Did Alasdair Og Sinclair have the audacity to send ye here?”
“Dair didn’t send me,” John said.
“Then ye shouldn’t have come.” Her father reached for his dirk and started to rise from his seat.
Gillian gripped the fist that held the weapon. “Papa, no—he’s here for me!”
He turned to her. A look of pure horror dawned in his eyes.
“Nay.”
She managed a wobbly smile. “Aye, Papa. John Erly is the man I love.”
