Realizing she was standing in the nude and it was quite cold, she pulled on the scruffy trews and then pulled her favorite tunic over her head. Her boots were old. There was a hole in the heel, but they fit her like a glove and they’d never let her down.

Taking only a few extra moments to plait and secure her hair, she slid her sword into the scabbard and enjoyed the comfort of being herself once more.

Then she turned and strode from her chamber.

To hell with Caelen McCabe. To hell with the lot of them. Her clan might not be the mightiest or the cleverest. They might not have the fighting skills of another clan. But they were hers and she wouldn’t allow them to be spoken poorly of. Her father had done enough of that. Self-righteous bastard.

She slipped silently down the stairs, hoping the men would still be involved in talks. She cocked her head when she reached the base of the stairs and heard the sound of voices echoing through the great hall.

She hurried the opposite way and out one of the side exits into the courtyard.

Soldiers from the various neighboring clans sparred. They jested and laughed. The smell of sweat filtered through her nose, and the sounds of metal banged in her ears, welcome and familiar.

Still, she moved away from the assembled soldiers and made her way through the trees toward the loch.

“Rionna!”

She turned hastily, seeing her father standing in the direction she’d just come from. He was frowning, his arms crossed over his chest. Then he loosened one hand and motioned her to come.

She contemplated ignoring his summons, but ’twas not the time. He was still her laird, albeit for not many days longer. Her new husband would take over the mantle of leadership and, God help her, she didn’t know who she dreaded in the position more.

Her jaw tight, she walked back to her father and stopped a short distance away. “Yes, father?”

“I want to have a word with you. We cannot allow Caelen McCabe to take over the McDonald clan.”

“We have little choice in the matter,” she said carefully. “ ’Tis either ally ourselves with the McCabes or face Duncan Cameron on our own.”

“Nay, ’tis not our only choice.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Think you that you’re a little late to be saying such? You couldn’t have come to me with this solution before I married Caelen McCabe?”

“Silence that mouth of yours before I do,” her father roared. “I am still your laird and, by God, I’ll not tolerate your insolence.”

Rionna stared defiantly at the man she’d lost all respect for over the years. He was a pathetic excuse for a man, even if he was her laird—and her father. She couldn’t help the circumstances of her birth. Would that she could.