"What are you talking about? What stick?" the priest asked, thoroughly confused.

She didn't understand why he didn't know what she was talking about. "The church dictates how a husband and wife should behave," she told him. "A submissive wife is a good and holy wife. The church approves beating women and, in fact, recommends such punishment because women will try to rule their husbands if they're not kept submissive."

She paused to take a breath. Discussing the topic was upsetting to her, but she didn't want the priest to see her distress. He might ask her why she was distraught, and then she'd have to confess a dark and surely mortal sin.

"The church frowns on murder, of course. A husband shouldn't beat his wife to death. A stick is preferred over a fist. It should be wooden, not metal, and no more than this long."

She held her hands out to show him the measurement.

"Where did you hear these rules?"

"Bishop Hallwick."

"Not everyone in the church believes…"

"But they're supposed to believe," she interrupted, her agitation apparent now. She was wringing her hands together and trying not to let the priest see how close she was to losing her composure.

"Why is that, lass?"

Why didn't he understand? He was a priest, after all, and should be most familiar with the rules governing women.

"Because women are last in God's love," she whispered.

Father MacKechnie kept his expression contained. He took hold of Johanna's arm and led her down the hallway. He didn't want his laird to come outside and see his wife in such a distressed state.

There was a bench against the wall adjacent to the steps. The priest sat down, then patted the spot next to him. She immediately sat down. Her head was bowed, and she pretended great interest in straightening the pleats of her plaid.

Father MacKechnie waited another minute or two for his mistress to regain her composure before he asked her to explain her last remark.

"How would you know women are last in God's love?"

"The hierarchy," she answered. She repeated from memory what she'd been taught, her head bowed all the while. When she was finished, she still refused to look at the priest.

He leaned back against the wall. "Well, now," he began. "You've given me quite a list to mull over in my mind. Tell me this, Johanna. Do you truly believe dim-witted oxen…"

"It's dull-witted. Father." she interrupted.

He nodded. "All right then," he agreed. "Do you believe dull-witted oxen will have a higher place in heaven than women?"

Father MacKechnie was such a good man. She didn't want to disappoint him. She wasn't going to lie to the priest though, no matter what the consequences.

"No," she whispered. She glanced up to see how her denial affected the priest. He didn't look horrified. She took a breath and then blurted out, "I don't believe any of it. I'm a heretic, Father, and will surely burn in hell."

The priest shook his head. "I don't believe it either," he told her. "It's nonsense made up by frightened men."

She leaned back now. She was clearly astonished by Father MacKechnie's attitude. "But the church's teachings…"

"The teachings are interpreted by men, Johanna. Don't be forgetting that important fact."

He took hold of her hand. "You aren't a heretic," he announced. "And now I want you to listen to what I have to say. There is but one God, Johanna, but two ways of looking at Him. There's the English way and the Highlander's way."

"How are they different?"

"Some of the English pray to a vengeful God," Father MacKechnie explained. "The children are raised to fear Him. They are taught not to sin because of the terrible retaliation in the next life, you see. The Highlanders are different, though certainly no less loved by God. Do you know what the word clan means?"

"Children," she answered.

The priest nodded. "We teach our children to love God, not fear Him. He is compared to a kind, good-hearted father."

"And if a Highlander sins?"

"If he is repentant, he will be forgiven."

She thought about his explanation a long while before she spoke again. "Then I am not damned because I don't believe God loves women least of all?"

The priest smiled. "No, you are not damned," he agreed.

"You have as much value as any man. To tell you the truth, lass, I don't believe God keeps a list or hierarchy."

She was so relieved to hear she wasn't alone in her opinions and that she wasn't a heretic because she refused to believe Bishop Hallwick's dictates, she wanted to weep. "I don't believe God wants women beaten into submission," she whispered. "Still, I don't understand why the church has so many cruel rules against women."

Father MacKechnie let out a sigh. "Frightened men came up with these rules."

"What would they be afraid of, Father?"

"Women, of course. Now don't go repeating this to anyone, Johanna, but there are actually some men of God who believe women are superior. They don't want them to get the upper hand. They believe, too, that women use their bodies to get what they want."

"Some women probably do," Johanna agreed. "But only some."

"Yes," the priest said. "Women are certainly stronger. No one can dispute that fact."

"We aren't stronger," Johanna protested, smiling now for she was certain the priest was jesting with her.

"Yes, you are," Father MacKechnie countered. Her smile proved contagious, and he couldn't help but grin. "Think many men would have more than one child if they were the ones suffering through childbirth?"

Johanna laughed. The priest had painted an outrageous picture.

"Women have been given a harsh lot in this life," Father MacKechnie continued. "Yet they survive and, in fact, find ways to flourish in such a restrictive setting. They certainly have to be more clever than men, lass, to get their voices heard."

The door opened to Clare MacKay's chamber, and Gabriel came out. He turned to pull the door closed behind him.

Both Johanna and Father MacKechnie stood up. "Thank you, Father," she whispered. "You've helped me sort out a difficult problem."

"From the look on your husband's face, I would wager he could use a little help sorting out his problem." He'd whispered his remark, then raised his voice when he turned to his laird. "Did your conference go well, Laird MacBain?"

The scowl on Gabriel's face should have been proof enough to the priest that the conference hadn't gone well. Johanna decided Father MacKechnie was just trying to be diplomatic.

Gabriel shook his head. "She refuses to name the man responsible," he said.

"Perhaps she didn't know his name," Johanna suggested, instinctively coming to Clare MacKay's defense.

"She told me she spent a full night with the soldier, Johanna. Do you honestly believe she didn't bother getting his name?"

"Gabriel, you needn't raise your voice to me."

After giving her husband a good frown, she tried to walk around him so she could go to Clare's room. Her husband grabbed hold of her arm.

"Let her rest," he commanded. "She fell asleep during my questions." He turned his attention to the priest and added, "If her face wasn't distorted from the beating, I would have each one of my men come up here and look at her. Perhaps seeing her would nudge their memory."

"Then you believe a MacBain…"

"No, I don't believe one of my own is responsible," Gabriel said. "My men are honorable."

"Did Clare say it was a MacBain?" Johanna asked.

He shook his head. "She wouldn't answer that question either," he said.

"MacBain, Keith's back from the MacKay holding!"

Calum shouted the announcement from the entryway. Gabriel nodded to the priest, let go of his wife's arm, and went downstairs. He fairly ripped the doors off their hinges and went outside. Calum hurried to keep up with his laird. The doors slammed shut behind the two warriors.