Davina had known from the start that breeding horses would be a long-term process. She bought five more mares and one more stallion and soon had five happy and healthy pregnant mares in the paddock. "Will it be safe to leave the stallions with the foals?" Davina asked Mungo one day. "Should we separate them when they're born?"

Mungo looked at her somewhat pityingly. "Naw, Mistress," he replied, "the boys will only fight when the girls are in season, an' she willnae let him near her until she's ready. The girls aye knaw whit's whit, just like human beings. When the babies are born the daddies is very protective."

Davina laughed. She was beginning to like Mungo more and more. Just then, Una came into the stables. Davina saw Mungo's eyes widening and wished that the world was not so unfair. They would have made a beautiful couple, but of course, the time was not right, and she could never imagine anyone taking her father's place. Apart from that, a groom and a lady would never be tolerated in polite society unless their names were Shona and Lachlan McGregor. They seemed to have broken all the rules and gotten away with it. For everyone else it simply wasn't done and, although the Andersons were not slaves to convention, there were some lines that could not be crossed.

Una smiled politely at Mungo and wished him good morning before turning to her own horse, Bettie. She was going riding with one of her friends, and Davina took this to be a good sign. She was becoming interested in the world again.

"What a grand lady," Mungo observed as they watched her riding out of the paddock. "Very brave." His blue eyes gleamed with appreciation, but he hastily looked away as he saw Davina watching him.

"She is," Davina sighed, "and very angry."

Lorina Shaw was a meticulous housekeeper. She hated anything to be out of place and the thought of dirt anywhere in her spotlessly clean domain was the stuff of nightmares. So, when she went into her breakfast room and smelled garlic, she looked around, puzzled, then sniffed the room like a bloodhound, looking for the offensive odor.

The breakfast room was one of the places in the house that she rarely visited, preferring to have her first meal of the day brought to her room every morning. Today, however, she was going over the house with a fine-toothed comb, sniffing out dust, spiders' webs, mouse droppings, and anything else that would spoil her carefully crafted illusion of domestic perfection. She sniffed around until she found the source of the stench in a small bottle with a stopper under the table. It had been a vial of perfume, but it certainly did not smell of perfume now. It smelled of garlic. Probably no-one else had noticed it, but Lorina had always had a nose like a bloodhound.

Probably the most offensive smell in the entire history of mankind, she thought. She held it between two fingers at arms' length and gave it to a housemaid. She took it to one of the kitchen staff who carefully rinsed it out and polished it. However, no matter how much they scrubbed it they could not get rid of the smell and the gray stain inside it. Glass was still relatively rare and quite expensive, so Lorina kept it and stored her sewing needles in it.

The day of the wedding was glorious. There was, for once, a clear blue sky and the temperature had climbed by a few degrees. The guests had shed their thick winter furs and there was a general air of carefree festivity about Lyle's house. They had gathered there before wending their way to St. Ninian's, the church in the village, where Father Anthony was going to perform the service. Lyle came up to them as the service was about to begin.

"How are you, milady?" he asked Una. There was a note of concern in his voice.

"Fine, Lyle," she replied, smiling sadly. "It is the old story, I have good days and bad days."

Lyle looked at her with sympathy. "Time heals, milady." He smiled and walked away to wait for the bridal couple.

In her gold dress, Maura looked regal, and Grant's face was a study in delight as he saw her. The congregation saw him whisper something to her just before Father Anthony started speaking. She blushed but smiled at him and the service began. It was brief but moving and as the bride and groom walked out of the chapel amid many cheers and congratulations, Davina could see that they were hardly looking at anyone else but each other.

Now she was wildly angry. This had all been denied her and still, she did not know why. It was not fair. It was just not fair. She clenched her teeth and pinned on a happy face as Maura and Grant passed them, then went outside by herself to calm down. She felt like screaming, smashing something, even hitting someone. She had never felt so furious.

Athol had seen her leaving and went out behind her. She was striding across the garden on the way to the dry, stone wall that separated it from the pasture land beyond. By her agitated movements, he could see that something had angered or shocked her and he ran after her, grabbing her arm. She spun around and he was astonished to see that her face was contorted with rage.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, but Athol had taken hold of her other wrist. "Let me go!"

"When you calm down." His voice was quiet and soothing, the kind of tone used to calm down a fretful horse. She beat her fists against his chest again and again, but he stood firm. His grip was too tight for her to break free and eventually she realized that he was too strong for her and stopped struggling. He let her go but held onto her elbow. There was a wooden bench beside the stone wall and he sat down, then gently pulled her down to sit beside him. Then he waited. She was trembling, but she was calming down. At last, he spoke.

"What has upset you, Davina?" he asked gently. "I know a lot of people cry at weddings, but not like this!"

"I'm not crying!" She turned to face him. Her cheeks were dry, but her eyes were blazing with anger.

"I do not know what to say to comfort you." He shrugged helplessly. "Tell me."

It took a few more minutes, but eventually, she began to talk. "It is not fair," she said grimly, "I could have been doing that. I could have - should have - had my father on my arm giving me away to a man I loved. And all those lairds in there think I'm a whore! They think I have a child somewhere! Why is all this happening to me—to us?"

There were tears in her eyes now, but they were tears of rage. He took her arm and walked with her around the corner of the church where they could not be seen. Then put his arms gently around her and laid his cheek on her hair, while she broke down and wept against his shoulder. He stood patiently waiting for her to finish, then, when her sobbing had stopped, he tilted her face up to his.

"I love you, Davina," he whispered, "I know you do not want to be with me, but I had to tell you anyway. Marry me. I cannot make you love me if you do not want it. I just want you to be near me."

"If I say 'yes' now, it may not be for the right reasons…" Her voice was unsure, but she sounded desperate to be convinced.

"You have said that before," he reminded her, "I will not force you to make love with me. I will not even make you share a bed with me, although God knows I want to. Just be near me. And in time, who knows? You may just grow to love me."

"I may," she murmured, thinking. "Are you sure this is what you want, Athol? There are much prettier girls out there."

He looked at her, perplexed, for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Davina, why do you think you are ugly?" he asked.

"I'm so fat," she replied, looking away from him.

"You were never fat, just a little plump," he said and smiled, "but that was not what I meant. I have always thought you had a lovely face and a gentle heart. I was just too full of my own concerns to see it. And I was distracted by more exotic beauties while the woman of my dreams was right under my nose. I do not know what changed, but I think you and Lyle had something to do with it. Davina, give me an answer. Please."

She took a deep breath. "My answer is yes, Athol," she replied, but she was frowning. "Only on the terms you mentioned and out of respect for my father I would like to keep it very quiet."

"Of course." He was smiling so widely he thought his face would crack. "When?" he asked.

"When the mourning period is over," she said quietly, "two more months."

"So be it," he said gently.

"Do not tell anyone yet except our families and Lyle please," she pleaded, "I want to get used to the idea myself first."

"Of course not," he whispered, gathering her further into his embrace. Despite all her doubts, and she still had many, it was comforting to be in the arms of a strong, dependable man.

"God, I am so happy!" He breathed, then he laughed. "Do you like the name 'Davina Murray?'"

"Yes, I think it is lovely." She felt as though she could stand there all day and not move, but Athol was too restless.

"Can we tell your mother right now?" he asked happily, "and mine? And my father? And Lyle? You don't have to wait until you get used to it before you tell them, surely?" He was looking down into her face with such a boyishly silly expression that she laughed.

"I suppose not." She shook her head and smoothed down her dress. "I am ready."

They were all shocked but in the best possible way. Not one of the two families nor Lyle and Mary had a discouraging word to say to them. Una embraced her daughter joyfully.

"It is not too soon?" Davina asked anxiously.

"No." Una kissed her. "Your father would have wanted it this way, I promise."

Lyle came over and kissed her too. "Thank God," he said fervently, "I thought it would never happen."

Davina laughed. "Why not?"

"Because between you and me, Davina." He drew her aside and lowered his voice. "He was too much in love with himself to love anyone else. But I think when he saw you again it made him start to think. He thinks a little slowly, but he gets there eventually! And maybe we can take some of the credit too for giving him a stern lecture now and then. Mary and I are so happy." His eyes shone with love as he smiled at his betrothed, and she smiled back.

"A good example, you mean?" Davina smiled. "Definitely, Lyle. The best."

"What about your betrothal ceremony?" Mary asked and Davina thought how beautiful love had made her. Lyle was as fair as a Viking warrior, but Mary was a Celt, small with black hair and dark blue eyes.

"I don't want one," Davina replied firmly.

"Maybe just for us?" Una suggested hopefully.

Davina shook her head. To her complete surprise, Athol said nothing. The truth was he was so afraid that she would change her mind that he was not going to say anything to upset her. Anyway, betrothal ceremonies had always been a waste of time in his opinion. He thought about the promise he had made. I will not force you to make love with me. I will not even make you share a bed with me. He would never force her but he hoped that the promise he had made would be easier to keep than it had sounded at the time he had made it. He watched her talking to Lyle. Her face was calmer, thank God. She turned and saw him watching her and they looked at each other for a long moment. Then she smiled.