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Douglas’s status and wealth than she would about being forced to live in border country under the arrogant man’s thumb. But Mary Kate was not just any girl, and she was convinced that she would hate being married to a man who would insist upon treating her as his chattel.
    Once she had reached her bedchamber, she flung herself down upon her bed and began racking her brain for a way out of the betrothal. However, by the time she finally fell asleep, none had occurred to her, except the slight possibility of appealing to Douglas’s better nature if, indeed, he actually possessed a better nature.
    When she joined her father to break their fast the following morning, though her demeanor was not cheerful and her greeting was subdued, there was nothing else that he could condemn in her appearance. Her hair had been brushed smoothly off her brow and confined in a delicate lace caul, and her indigo gown was cut in the latest style, sporting wide cuffs and a belled skirt, all lavishly embroidered with crimson and yellow roses on twining, leafy green stems.
    “Good morrow tae ye, lassie,” Duncan said heartily. “’Tis a muckle fine day, and gin me nose tells me true, we’ve an excellent repast a-coming. I’ll wager you’re even more ravenous than what I am m’self.”
    Her reply was noncommittal, and she made no effort to further the conversation. Duncan allowed the silence to continue while the housemaid served their meal but regarded his daughter thoughtfully when, her expression still glum, she only picked at her oatmeal and ignored altogether the baconned herring he served to her with his own hands.
    “Eat, lass. Ye mun keep up your strength. I’ve nae wish tae see ye swoon wi’ hunger at Sir Adam’s feet.”
    His words brought an unwelcome memory, and she bit her lip, avoiding his eye. “I’ll not faint,” she said at last, smearing marmalade on her muffin and nibbling it to please him.
    “Mary Kate,” he said then, warily, “I trow ye’ll no shame me by behaving in an unseemly fashion.”
    “No, sir.” She smiled at him, a glint of irony in her eyes. “I doubt it would serve any good purpose.”
    “Ha’ ye come tae your senses, forby?”
    “If you like to call it that. I doubt Sir Adam will agree to withdraw his suit, and so—”
    “Och, ye’ll niver ask such a thing o’ the mon! ’Tis an honor he does ye, an honor tae the whole o’ Clan Chattan. Would ye then disgrace the name o’ MacPherson wi’ your foolish maundering?” He glared at her fiercely. “Ye’ll obey me, lass, or by the rood, I’ll make ye wish ye’d niver been born. D’ye mark me, Mary Kate?”
    “Aye.” She sighed. “But I cannot like the idea of marrying a man who will expect me to submit to his every decree in the manner I’ve been given to understand a borderer expects his wife to submit. It is not in my nature to behave even as meekly as my Aunt Critchfield behaves.”
    Duncan’s brown eyes twinkled suddenly. “In troth, ye’ve little o’ your Aunt Critchfield in ye, lassie. But consider, gin ye will, what Critchfield’s life would be like had he married my sister instead o’ your dear mother’s.”
    The vision leapt to Mary Kate’s eye of her uncle as she had seen him that last night at Critchfield, sprawled drunkenly in front of his giant fireplace throwing dice with his cronies. Into that same vision stormed the slim, wiry figure of her father’s indomitable sister. Aunt Aberfoyle bowed before no man. Indeed, she would have had Critchfield on his feet and sober before the cat could lick its ear. Mary Kate’s spirits lightened considerably, and she looked across the table at her father with a smile twitching upon her lips. “You put the matter into perspective, sir,” she said, adding thoughtfully, “My future is still in my own hands, is it not? If I must wed the man, then by heaven, I promise you I will teach him that a highland lady is chattel to no man. He must learn to coat his commands with