He wasn't a very appealing man in appearance. He was of medium size, judging by the fact that Gabriel towered over him. He was at least twice her husband's age, too, for he had thick strands of gray streaked through his brown hair. He had deep lines around the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. Like his daughter, he had brown eyes. His nose was his most prominent feature, however. It was quite large, and hawklike. It was fortunate Clare hadn't inherited that feature from her father.

Gabriel walked over to stand next to Johanna. The window was directly behind them. The furs had been tied back, and a faint breeze brushed her back.

"Good day, Father."

Laird MacKay finally recovered from his initial surprise. He walked over to the side of the bed, reached down, and took hold of his daughter's hand.

"Clare, what have you done to yourself?"

The caring was there in his voice, but Johanna thought the question obscene. She saw red. She walked over to put herself between father and daughter. The laird let go of Clare's hand and backed up a space. He caught the look of fury on Johanna's face and backed further away.

"What did Clare do, you ask? Do you honestly believe she inflicted those marks upon herself?"

The laird's eyes widened. He took another step back, obviously trying to get away from Johanna's anger. It washed over him like boiling water.

"Nay, I don't think she did," he replied.

"Robert MacInnes and his father are responsible… and you, Laird MacKay," she announced. "Aye, you are also responsible."

Clare's father turned to Gabriel. "Who is this woman?" he shouted.

Gabriel walked over to stand closer to Johanna. "She is my wife," he announced, his voice hard. "And you will not raise your voice in front of her."

"She isn't from around here." Laird MacKay made the comment in a much softer tone of voice.

"She's from England."

"Are English daughters allowed to speak to their elders in such a disrespectful tone of voice, I'm wondering?"

Gabriel turned to Johanna. He thought she was probably dying to answer MacKay's question.

"She will speak for herself," he said.

Johanna kept her gaze on MacKay. "Most English daughters are encouraged to voice their opinions," she said. "Their fathers, you see, love and cherish them. They protect them, too, unlike some lairds who would put alliances before their daughters' safety and happiness."

MacKay's face turned red. Johanna knew she was provoking his temper. She couldn't seem to care. "Do you love your daughter?" she asked.

"Of course," the laird replied. "I cherish the lass, too."

Johanna nodded. "Do you realize, sir, your daughter almost died?"

The laird shook his head. "I didn't realize," he admitted.

Father MacKechnie cleared his throat to gain his audience. "Perhaps I should explain exactly how Clare came to us."

He waited for the laird's nod and then proceeded to describe the circumstances of Clare's arrival. He told how she'd been stripped naked and then wrapped in a burlap bag. The priest didn't leave any details out of the telling and even included the fact that Robert MacInnes had spit on the lass.

"He was set to give her a good kick," Father MacKechnie added. "Lady Johanna's arrow stopped him."

Clare's father stood with his hands clasped behind his back while he listened to the priest recount the chilling tale. His face didn't show any outward reaction to what he was hearing. His eyes, however, told another story. They were watery with unshed tears.

"The MacInnes clan will pay for their sins against my daughter," MacKay announced, his voice shaking with rage. "I speak of war, MacBain, not alliances. I was told by your first-in-command you are also after vengeance. What is your reason?"

"Robert MacInnes dared to take his knife in his hand and would have hurled it at my wife if I hadn't stopped him."

Johanna hadn't realized her husband planned to war against the MacInnes clan. The fury she heard in his voice as he explained his reason for wanting vengeance made her stomach queasy.

"But he didn't touch your wife," Laird MacKay snapped.

"What are you getting at, MacKay?"

"Robert belongs to me," the laird replied. "It's my right to avenge my daughter."

Gabriel was hard-pressed to agree. "I must consider this," he muttered.

Laird MacKay nodded. He turned his attention back to his daughter. Johanna blocked his view. The laird stepped to the side so he could see Clare.

"I believed you exaggerated your circumstances. I knew you didn't want to marry Robert, and I foolishly thought in time you would learn to get along with him. It never entered my mind that the MacInnes men would treat you with such brutality. Their insult is unforgivable… and so is mine, lass. I should have listened to you. MacBain's woman is right. I, too, am responsible."

"Oh, Papa," Clare whispered. "I'm sorry. I shamed you with my…" Her sobs prevented her from going on. Johanna hurried to hand Clare a linen cloth.

"Stop that now," her father ordered. "I do not wish to see you weep."

"I'm sorry," Clare said again. "I cannot seem to stop."

The laird shook his head. "You should have made me listen to you when you came running home, daughter, instead of disgracing yourself with a MacBain. Getting yourself with child wasn't the answer. Now you'll give me the bastard's name and I'll settle my grievances with him."

"Begging your pardon for interrupting," Johanna said, "but I thought Clare came home to you after the first beating. Isn't that fact?"

"There were no bruises," the laird replied. "I thought she made the tale up to gain my sympathy. I'm a man who admits he's wrong when he is," he added with a nod.

Father MacKechnie was pleased to hear the laird's confession. "It's a fair start," he remarked.

"Give me the name of the man, Clare."

"Father, I'm sorry you're disappointed in me. You mustn't blame the MacBains, for this was fully my sin."

"I'm wanting the name, daughter."

Johanna didn't care for the laird's harsh tone of voice. She moved to put herself between father and daughter.

Gabriel saw the expression on her face and immediately reached out to take hold of her arm. Laird MacKay also realized what Johanna was doing.

"Do you think to protect my daughter from me?" he asked. He sounded astonished.

Johanna didn't answer his question. She tried to turn his attention.

"I have misjudged you, sir, for I now realize you do love your daughter. Clare needs rest now. She took several blows to the head, and she's very weak. Why, even now she's struggling to keep her eyes open."

She prayed Clare would take the hint. She nodded to the laird to emphasize her lie, then moved aside so he could see his daughter.

Clare had caught onto the plan. Her eyes were closed, and she looked as though she'd already fallen asleep. Johanna lowered her voice when she said, "Do you see, Laird? She needs rest if she is ever going to recover. 'Tis the truth she could still die."

"I was wanting to take her back home with me," the laird whispered back.

"She's getting excellent care here, Laird," Father MacKechnie announced. "Your daughter doesn't appear to be strong enough to go anywhere. Best leave her be. She's under Laird MacBain's protection. She can't have better than that."

"She does have better," Gabriel interjected. "She has my wife's protection as well."

Laird MacKay found his first smile. "I can see that she does."

"Perhaps we should go downstairs to discuss this worrisome topic," Father MacKechnie suggested. "The matter of who fathered her child can wait, can't it?"

"The man will wed my daughter. I'm wanting your assurance. MacBain."

Gabriel frowned. "I put the question to each…"

Johanna interrupted. "He asked some of his soldiers," she blurted out. "But not all of them, of course. There are… so many, and some haven't returned from… duties. Isn't that right, husband?"