Page 4 of The Lady of Her Highland Clan

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"Alady wi'out a laird?"

The advisor's thin tone rang throughout the castle's main chamber.

Looking at the tiny gray counselor, Fiona Duncan hid a smile.

Everything in this place was gray, from the castle walls to the elders within them. Hiding a sigh, Fiona leaned her dark head toward them and smiled.

At nineteen years old, she was the youngest by far in the chamber. For the last twelve months or so, she had presided over this chamber of old men. But only as the maid of the clan. This time, she was asking for a little more.

Clearing her throat, Fiona spoke bravely. "Aye," she said, fixing her light-green eyes upon them.

The weight of their stare pressed down on her. Suddenly, Fiona felt the castle walls closing in.

It was not the first time. Alone in this room, week after week, with the clan elders had taken its toll.

Heat buzzing in her cheeks, Fiona pushed back her shoulder-length dark-brown hair and faced down the men. Sheer disapproval burned in their faces, as if they shared one expression.

Trying her hardest to ignore them, Fiona pressed on. She knew what she had to say. But it was hard. The doubt in the counselor's face did not need words. They simply did not believe that a woman could run a clan.

"Aye," she said. "That's right. A woman wi'out a man. I wish tae be the lady o' the clan."

Total silence greeted this. The gray counselor clamped his jaw shut.

"I see," he said, in tones of disbelief. He glanced quickly to the rest of the chamber. One or two of the members stifled laughter.

She knew what they were thinking. But Fiona had given up watching and simply shut her eyes. It was easier that way.

"Miss Duncan," said the chief counselor, a thin-lipped elder with a face like a piece of crepe. "Wi' respect..."

Fiona instantly bristled. In her experience, when people spoke of respect, scant respect typically followed.

Closing her eyes, Fiona tried to think what her sister Grace would do. She was so much better at things like this.

"Wi' respect, ye dinnae have very much practice in this field," said the elder diplomatically.

Behind him, a sea of gray shook their heads.

"I mean, a lady wi'out a laird," repeated the counselor, his dirty gray eyes sparkling.

"Ye've got tae remember, miss..." said another.

Fiona instantly turned to look. She did not recognize this one—a slight, stooping white-haired man who struggled to turn toward her. His pale eyes gazed sightlessly through the crowd, trying to find her. Fiona felt a little bad; he was clearly blind.

"...the clan has nae had a woman leader, at least nae one wi'out a husband, an'—" The blind counselor stopped himself dead. Beside him, the head counselor finished for him.

"...one that's barely more than a lassie herself."

Chewing her lip, Fiona pressed her face forward earnestly. "I see," she said icily. Inside, her young heart beat impatiently. Frustration burst all the way through her.

Damn them!

It was not like Fiona to give into tempestuous thoughts, though. Outwardly, her face remained composed. Smiling, she nodded.

Then, the first signs of conciliation. The chief counselor—McTaggart, McTavish...Fiona was still not clear on his name—smiled at her apologetically.

"However," he said, sounding out each vowel separately. "We ha' discussed the matter at length, an' like ye, we do think the clan should have a leader."