She paused in the doorway leading to the courtyard and sucked in her breath at the sight of so many warriors, all engaged in sparring, swordplay, and archery. There were hundreds, and the sounds of their fighting nearly deafened her.

Holding her hands to her ears, she descended into the courtyard and warily skirted the perimeter looking for the laird. She stopped when a snowflake drifted by her nose and she looked up to see that it was indeed snowing. She hadn’t even noticed, so intent was she on finding the laird.

Shivering, she hunched her shoulders forward and resumed her search.

When she rounded the side of the wall of men, she came face-to-face with the laird and his brother, both of whom stood surveying their men’s progress.

Caelen’s scowl was instantaneous, but the laird wasn’t far behind once he caught sight of her.

“Is something amiss?” the laird demanded. “How does Alaric fare?”

“Alaric is well. His wound is healing and his fever has abated. I didn’t come to speak to you of Alaric.”

“I’m busy,” the laird said shortly. “Whatever it is can wait.”

He turned his back on her dismissively and Keeley’s blood boiled.

“Nay, Laird. It will not wait.” She stamped her foot for emphasis and made sure her voice could be heard above the din.

The laird stiffened and then turned slowly back to stare at her. Around them, activity ceased. Swords were lowered as the men stopped to look at Keeley.

“What did you say?” he asked in a dangerously low voice.

Caelen stared at her in disbelief and then looked to his brother as if confirming that she’d dared argue with the laird.

She raised her chin, refusing to back down. Even if her knees were quaking abysmally. “I said it won’t wait.”

“Is that so? Tell me then. What’s so important that you would interrupt my men in training? You have all our attention now. Don’t be timid.”

“I’ve never been accused of being timid,” she said dryly. “And what is important is that I know of your plans for me. You’ve taken me from my home to care for your brother and you expect that I attend Lady McCabe at her time. I refuse to be treated as a prisoner. I would know my place in your clan.”

Ewan McCabe arched one eyebrow as he continued to stare at her. “Have you been treated with anything but respect thus far? I assure you, I don’t give my prisoners their own chamber nor do I give them leave to make requests of my serving staff. I have a dungeon where my prisoners are made welcome.”