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smaller man.
    Gripped by a growing hysteria, she began to screech. She clawed and kicked with every ounce of her strength, and then the hands let go.
    The men melted back.
    Leaping awkwardly to her feet, she headed once more for the door. However, this time, she collided with the same muscled stomach, and then an equally muscled pair of arms deftly lifted her upright by the shoulders and held her captive with uncommon ease.
    Once again, Ruan’s smoldering eyes met hers.
    Not stopping to think, she drew up her knee and struck him fully in the groin. He dropped her and doubled over. Dimly, she heard shrieks of hooting laughter. She stumbled back and tripped on the hem of her dress.
    Ruan lunged. His eyes widening in alarm as he grabbed her wrist to yank her roughly into his arms.
    She screamed again and half choked on a sob.
    “I’m trying to save ye, lass!” His deep voice arose sharply above hers. “Surely, ye don’t want to be roasted?”
    As if on cue, the logs in the fireplace behind her collapsed with a loud crash and sent a shower of sparks into the room. However, the fact she’d nearly fallen into the roaring flames seemed of little consequence compared to the dark stranger now scowling down at her.
    It was simply too much.
    Deep, horrible sobs caught hold of her as she pounded his broad chest with her fists.
    Muttering a curse, he let her go. He fell back several paces, and she again headed for the door.
    This time, she ran straight into the arms of a grey-haired woman.
    “Afraig!” she gasped in hysterical relief.
    Lurching forward, she threw her arms about the woman, only to realize belatedly it was not Afraig after all. The woman hugged her all the same. As Ruan exploded into a heated torrent of Gaelic, the woman slipped her arm about her waist.
    “I’m Isobel, lass,” she said, drawing her through the door. “Ye seem dead on yer feet, love. Let’s leave the men to shout on their own.”
    Isobel led her away as the room broke into a riot of voices. Ruan’s and Domnall’s rose above the rest.
    The woman led Bree up the narrow, steep stairs of a tower and into a small, sparsely furnished chamber. It contained a bed, a large wooden chest, and nothing else. A warm fire crackled on the hearth and the floor was strewn with fresh rushes.
    “Ach, lass, they’ve nae done ye right,” Isobel muttered, clucking a little.
    Several youths appeared, lugging a large wooden tub. With much effort, they squeezed it between the bed and fireplace and disappeared, only to return a short time later with buckets of hot water.
    “Aye,” Isobel said as she smiled, bobbing her head. “A nice warm bath will do ye good.”
    The woman’s kindness was her undoing, and Bree burst into a fresh bout of tears.
    “Ye’ll be safe now, lass,” Isobel crooned and enveloped her into a warm, bosomy embrace. “Ye’ve naught to fret over. There are none better than my Ruan.”
    The tears dried instantly and suspicion set in. This woman was Ruan’s ally, not hers. How could she possibly think she was safe? Bree clenched her teeth. She’d just wed a stranger and the fact she hadn’t known, that her father had spoken her vows, apparently didn’t matter to these inhabitants of Dunvegan.
    Isobel patted her hair and then stepped back, surveying Bree’s dress with a critical eye, “Ach, that will nae do. I’ll be finding ye something decent. I’ll send a bite, but ye’d best bathe whilst the water is hot.”
    With a sympathetic smile, she shooed the gaping lads out and then followed them to close the door behind her with a firm click.
    For several long minutes, Bree remained standing beside the tub, sniveling, before the realization struck her that she was alone. She made her decision in an instant. She’d leave. Anything would be better than remaining where her fate was certain.
    Darting to the door, she peered cautiously up and down the narrow twisting stairs and craned her head each direction for any hint of sound. Upon