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of arrogant triumph. Perhaps she had imagined it. She fervently hoped so.
    Slowly, she returned his smile. His hand reached out. Blue dye on his wrist glistened in the torchlight, a vivid reminder of the bond. Wrong or not, there had to be a way to make this marriage union work. And the way would have to begin with her.
    With her instincts blaring their warning, she surrendered her hand to him. He did not squeeze it hard, as she had half expected him to, and her inner alarms fell silent. Together, Gyan and Urien faced the crowd, and the feast began.

Chapter 6
     

    T HOUGH BOTH WARRIORS were clearly feeling the aftereffects of the betrothal feast, Urien and Per met the next morning on the practice field.
    Gyan watched the friendly competition amid the dozen or so clansmen and future clansmen-by-law awake enough to brave the forenoon sun. She felt fine; only four cups of wine had found the path to her lips last night. As she observed the faces around her, the occasional grimaces and squinting, red-rimmed eyes told her the others had not been so judicious.
    Per, she noted, was not moving well. His timing seemed off. He let too many chances slip by without taking full advantage. Urien’s footwork was better, but his attacks lacked the force she knew he could muster. If she were fighting, both men would have felt the point of her blade today. Since Gyan had retired from the feast early, she had no idea who had issued the challenge. She doubted whether Urien or Per could remember, either.
    As the bout progressed, she remained the only silent observer. Anyone who noticed kept it to himself. Glancing around, she wondered whether others shared her belief that the contest would have been better fought later in the day. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying it, but she was ready to find something more interesting to do, like counting rocks on the ground.
    A shadow loomed beside hers. It wasn’t hard to guess the owner. “Good morning, Father.” Her gaze did not leave the field. Urien was pressing an attack. “Been up long?”
    “Too long.” Ogryvan snorted. “I’ve been discussing details with Dumarec. He plans to leave at first light tomorrow.”
    That commanded her attention. She tilted her face to meet his eyes and was grieved by the fatigue she found. Retiring for the night at a reasonable hour was a suggestion she and Cynda had been making to him for years. This time, she let it rest.
    “And?”
    “Urien approached him for permission to winter here.” She arched both eyebrows but made no comment. Silence seemed the safer course. Ogryvan continued, “Dumarec refused him.”
    As she returned to studying the action on the field, she let out a breath. Her private misgivings had not taken flight with the dawn. Yet her destiny was decided, along with Urien’s and that of two clans. Perhaps even two nations. Nothing could stop the wheels of a wagon that size.
    The best she could do to keep the doubts at bay was to maintain an air of normalcy. “They are tiring already.” She didn’t try to hide her disdain.
    “After you left the feast, they tried to outdrink each other.” Ogryvan’s chuckle rumbled like distant thunder. “Don’t ask me who won. I didn’t stay long enough to find out.”
    “Well, that’s good to hear, Father.” She greeted this news with a thin smile. “For a change.”
    But his report about her brother and her betrothed spawned a generous dose of reproach. Small wonder they were moving like slugs. Men could be such idiots.
    On the field, Per was faltering against Urien’s advance.
    “Did you and Dumarec discuss my journey to Maun?”
    “Of course. He offered a ship to take you there from the Seat of Móran, Dùn At.” Gyan glanced at Ogryvan, eyes narrowed. “But I thought you would prefer to ride to Dùn Lùth Lhugh with Per and the other warriors, and take ship to Maun from there.”
    A burst of claps and cheers from the Argyll contingent drew Gyan’s attention back to the field. Per’s