Charming the Shrew Read Online Free PDF Page B

in the room. “I simply will not be sacrificed.”
    “We are not sacrificing you.”
    “Nay,” Broc said under his breath, but still loud enough for her to hear, “we are gladly giving you away.” One of the sheep snorted.
    Triona gripped the inkwell tightly, fighting the urge to hurl it at Broc’s smug face. Instead she slammed it down on the table, then belatedly remembered the stopper wasn’t in it. Ink fountained up and she reached out and caught most of it in her cupped hands before it could do more than splatter the parchment full of numbers.
    “Triona!” Her father whisked the parchment out of danger. Her brothers chuckled. She glared at them as ink dripped from between her clenched fingers, splattering on the now empty tabletop.
    “What’s so funny?” Her brother Ailig, youngest but for her, entered the chamber, pushing past the sheep. He took one step into the room and seemed to immediately grasp what had happened. He grabbed a rag from a table near the door and set it where Catriona could let the rest of the ink run into it.
    “Nice catch.” He smiled at her, but the smile stopped short of his eyes and his voice sounded weary.
    This was her favorite brother, indeed the only one she liked, fair-haired and unlike the others as much in manner as in appearance.
    “Who’s done what to whom this time?” Ailig looked first at Catriona, then at Broc and the other brothers still ranged behind him.
    “You have not told Ailig?” She directed this to her father. “Were you afraid he would tell me?”
    “Nay. Broc has spoken out of turn,” Neill said, sending a stern look at his eldest. “We were to announce the betrothal at the evening meal.”
    Shock coursed through her for the second time this morning.
    “You were not going to tell me until you announced this before the entire clan?” She wiped her hands on her gown, leaving long black streaks of ink on the amber fabric. Neill studied the parchment he held safely in his hands.
    “I will not marry him,” she said, as much to herself as to anyone else in the chamber. She turned to her father, her gown gripped in her ink-stained fists. “If you make me, I’ll…I’ll…I’ll stab him in his sleep. Then you’ll have trouble on your hands!”
    “Triona—” Her father reached out, but she evaded him and fled the room. Broc’s self-satisfied chuckle followed her down the empty corridor.

    C ATRIONA STORMED THROUGH the bailey to the main gate, scattering children and chickens ahead of her. As she left the castle’s confines, the magnificent vista of Loch Assynt opened up before her in all its early winter glory. The snow-clad peaks of Quinag rising on the opposite shore were reflected in the loch’s mirrored surface. As she neared the rocky beach, she slowed her steps. Ice clung to the verge and spread thickly upon those rocks that poked up from the dark, watery depths.
    A breeze, gentle for December but still cold, tugged at her ruined gown. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had stopped long enough to retrieve her cloak before venturing outside. Winter was upon them, and she realized the timing of this ill-fated attempt to marry her off could not have been better planned. Soon the snows would reach down the slopes of the bens and into the glens. Everyone in the Highlands would hunker down for the winter. They would wait out the long, dark months until the coming of gentler weather when the thaw would begin. Only then would anyone venture far from their own safe homes.
    She gazed up at Quinag. The crystal blue sky set against the white peak created a stark, glittering contrast. She loved this view, this peaceful spot, where she need not be on her guard against her brothers’ constant enmity.
    Surely this marriage was Broc’s plan. He was the one who most wished to rid himself of her. What better way to accomplish that than to marry her off just as winter was about to cut them off from the wider world? She’d have no hope of