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"My father made an agreement with Brodie. I was to have widow's rights, some gold, some land, but I don't care about that now. I only want to take Maeve home."

"Was the agreement written?"

Deirdre nodded. "My father showed it to me so I might know. If we'd had a son, it would have been different, he would have had to stay. Brodie insisted upon that. He never thought to mention what might happen to a daughter. But—" she added, forestalling his next question. "I cannot say what became of the agreement. If the Maxwell found it, no doubt it's ashes, though Father does have a copy."

"There's no time to get word to your father," Jemmy said, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "Without that agreement, my lady, Maxwell is in the right to ask for your return."

Alyson nodded reluctantly, though her face was wrenched with pity. "Deirdre, I wish there was something we could do to help you."

Jemmy continued to tap his fingers, frowning. "A bit more time and mayhap we could think of something. But with them so close—still, even if he takes you back today, I can get word to your father. He'll come for you."

"Sure and he will," Deirdre said, trying to smile.

"But it will do no good if Maxwell has you married off again," Alistair pointed out, speaking Deirdre's own fears aloud.

"Well, then, I'll have to see he doesn't," Deirdre said with a courage she was far from feeling. "I thank you for your courtesy, my lord, my lady. I'll go get Maeve ready."

"Wait."

She stopped, halfway out of her seat, and looked at Alistair.

"If you were wedded, they could not take you back again."

"Aye, well, if I was, that might be true," Deirdre said. "But—"

"A betrothal will do," Alistair went on, staring down at his clenched hands.

"Yes," Jemmy said. "That might serve."

"But—"

"I'd do it," Alistair said. "If it would be of any help."

"I—well—" Deirdre stammered, completely confused. Did he really mean it?

"I think it's a very sensible suggestion," Lady Alyson said.

"Then—if you're quite sure, Alistair—" Deirdre said.

"Aye," he answered in a strange choked voice. "I'm sure."

She wished he would look at her, just once, so she could be certain he meant what he was saying. But what exactly was he saying? Was this a trick or an honest offer for her hand? She couldn't really marry him, of course, it was completely out of the question. Or was it? She couldn't think for the sudden pounding of her heart.

"And of course it could be broken later," Jemmy added thoughtfully.

He can look higher than that whey-faced strumpet. Was that what Jemmy thought? What they all thought? But what did Alistair think?

Oh, if only he would look at her, she was sure she could read the truth of it in his eyes! But he kept his head bent as he waited for her answer.

"All I ask is to take Maeve home again," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "And if this is the way—then yes, Sir Alistair. I thank you."

Then, at last, he did look at her, but his expression told her nothing. "Of course, my lady," he said formally. "That is what we all want. Isn't it?"

And with the question still hanging in the air, he went to fetch the priest.

"Ah, Christ, Jemmy," Kinnon Maxwell said, running one hand through his thinning hair. "This is a proper mess. My father will not take it well."

"Aye, Kinnon, I know," Jemmy said sympathetically. "But what are we to do? It is all signed and witnessed, if you care to look..."