Charming the Shrew Read Online Free PDF

brother, but she knew he would not recognize it for what it was; he was too dense, too concerned with his torment of her to see it.
    “Should be Da who tells you—”
    “’Twould be a pity if you lost the rest of your hair. ’Tis the only thing the lasses like about you.”
    He blanched.
    She cocked an eyebrow at him in perfect imitation of his favorite expression when he had her in a corner.
    “Very well, I shall tell you,” he growled, “but you will do naught to make my hair fall out.”
    Catriona nodded. She had had no hand in his loss so far, so ’twas an easy promise to make.
    “’Tis a MacDonell lad who has agreed to take you.” His voice was nonchalant, as if he spoke of the weather, but the malice was back in his eyes.
    Catriona felt the blood drain from her cheeks, and she was suddenly cold to her bones. “Nay, ’tis not…”
    At Broc’s huge grin and quick nod her knees went weak, but she knew better than to allow him to see how horribly his news struck her. She pushed past him, almost daring him to grab her so she could react as she had as a child, all fists and feet, flailing away at his tenderest spot. But ’twas a long time since she could get away with such behavior. Frustration shook her, and she raced for her father’s chamber as Broc chased her down the corridor.
    “Father!” she yelled as she neared the chief’s chambers.
    Ignoring the closed door, she shoved it open and strode straight for the slight, gray man sitting behind a table, squinting at a parchment filled with tiny marks.
    “Broc must cease baiting me or I will not be held responsible if he can no longer father an heir.”
    Without looking up, Neill MacLeod answered her. “Wheesht, Triona, I am figuring.”
    Catriona huffed, but stood her ground. ’Twas not unusual to be ignored by her father.
    “Broc says I’m to be married off to that dog-faced son-of-a-MacDonell.”
    Her father continued to ignore her as he silently mouthed the numbers he was laboriously adding up.
    “Father!”
    Still he mouthed the numbers.
    It was ever so with him, attending to the minutiae of inventories, the petty squabbles of the clan. Never did he give her the same level of attention. In desperation, she picked up the inkwell he was absently reaching toward with his quill and held it out of his reach.
    “Triona! Damn it, girl! Now I’ve forgotten the number I need to write down.”
    “Seven hundred thirty-one.” She held the ink for him to dip his quill into, then waited while he slowly wrote the number. When he was done writing and before he could start adding more numbers, she said, “Broc says you will marry me to Dogface MacDonell.”
    Broc chuckled behind her. “His name is Duff MacDonell, and he is their chief. ’Tis a good match for you, Triona.”
    She swung round to face him only to find three more brothers ranged behind him. Callum, Gowan, and Jamie tended to travel in a pack. They were stair-stepped in height, hair ranging from a rusty brown to nearly as black as Broc’s, and their expressions were always that of placid sheep, which was how Catriona tended to think of them. Now they were a step behind Broc, as usual. Only Ailig, the youngest son and her occasional ally against the others, was not present. This, too, was no surprise, as his way of dealing with their eldest sibling was mostly to avoid him.
    “I was not speaking to you,” she said, glaring at Broc with contempt. She went around the table, the better able to command her father’s attention.
    “You ken I will not marry him. I’ll not bend to the likes of Dogface MacDonell!”
    “Nor anyone, it would seem, daughter.”
    “Bending serves no purpose. You bend to no one. My brothers do not. Why should I?”
    “There is bending and there is choosing. You have done neither. You do not bend to my will, yet neither do you choose a husband. What am I to do with such a willful child?”
    “I am not willful.” She chose to ignore the raised eyebrows of every man