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“Oh, they will remain in the family? Whose?”

“Ours.”

“Ours.” Angus scoffed. “And what if I die, just like yer two husbands before? What happens to my land then?”

“The islands go to clan Ross, of course.” She stood up and walked to the other side of the room.

She thumbed one of the swords along its edge, gasped, and drew her thumb into her mouth.

Laomann fidgeted in his seat. “Clan Ross?” He drummed his fingers briefly, then covered his mouth with his hand as though stopping himself from speaking. “Those islands belonged to our mother, and they were her tocher,” he said with his hand still over his mouth.

“And they will be tocher for our daughter.” Hiding her thumb in her fist, Euphemia leisurely walked to Angus and stopped before him.

With her stomach flipping, Rogene watched a playful, flirtatious expression flourish on Euphemia’s face as she looked up at Angus, standing so close, her breasts almost brushed his chest.

“Or son,” she added.

He held her gaze. “Those islands will go to our daughter or son,” he said slowly, “but as part of the Mackenzie lands.”

Hyear… Rogene wrote. Hearing Euphemia’s teeth screech, Rogene glanced at her quickly, and her pen did an uneven lurch. Damn it! She didn’t remember reading how they would agree in the end, but this didn’t sound like a great start. She knew she was just an observer, but she secretly rooted for Angus.

The Earl of Ross waved his hand. “Frankly, sister, I dinna understand why ye insist so much on having these small islands. The Earldom of Ross is many folds bigger.”

Without touching her, Angus walked towards Rogene. As he approached, he locked his eyes with her.

“Speaking of the Earldom of Ross…” He turned to Euphemia. “Dinna ye have land, my lady?”

She pursed her lips like a duck’s bill and put her hands on the back of the giant, wooden chair. “Aye. ’Tis so.”

“’Tis customary that the bride brings lands with her to the marriage. And the groom offers a monetary retribution. ’Tis what we want. Land.”

She looked around with her eyebrows raised. “Monetary retribution?” She scoffed. “Ye dinna have enough, Lord Angus, quite frankly. Ye couldna even pay full tribute, and we all ken that a bride of my status and wealth would normally nae marry a small landowner like yerself. Ye have already been unable to pay yer full tribute.”

Swallowing, Rogene looked up at Angus, who stood by her side. Even under his beard, she saw his jaw muscles working. “By God’s blood, Lady Euphemia, we need to find a solution, or this marriage wilna take place.”

Somehow, they would, Rogene knew, though her heart drummed against her rib cage. Paul Mackenzie would be born. She hadn’t seen their marriage contract, but she did remember seeing the registration of the marriage, which had been held in Dornie church. Next year, Paul would be born and registered in Dornie, too.

Everyone stilled. Rogene froze with her pen and heard a drop of ink fall onto the parchment with a soft plop.

“Lord Angus,” Euphemia said. “Cursing like that, profaning God’s body like that… Oh, ye’re a bad lad, are ye nae? Tell ye what, I do have a proposition that ye may find acceptable.”

She walked to him and took him by the shoulder, leading him into the corner of the room and away from everyone. She stood on her toes and whispered something in his ear. By the way she brushed up and down his right biceps, Rogene could guess what she was proposing, and she hated every bit of it. She looked at William, who stared at the table with an expression of “Oh boy, here we go again.” Laomann sat with his mouth covered with his hand and fingered a small indent in the table, a deep frown on his brow. Rogene hated that her heart beat so quickly, and her stomach squeezed so painfully from the jealousy and hatred she felt towards Euphemia.

She was just an observer, she reminded herself. She wasn’t even sure if her being here might have some sort of drastic butterfly effect and change everything. She shouldn’t involve herself emotionally. Not to mention wishing that Angus wasn’t marrying a woman like Euphemia. Any woman, actually.

She took the penknife and started scrubbing away the blotch she’d made.

Finally, Lady Euphemia stepped away from Angus and studied him expectantly. “What do ye say, Lord Angus? If ye agree, ye may keep yer islands, and I will put part of my lands at yer disposal.”

Angus stared at her as one stares at a snake, and something lightened up in Rogene’s chest, knowing that he wasn’t impressed by this beautiful, strong, but clearly evil woman.

“I see that these negotiations are leading nowhere,” he said. “Lords and Ladies, I do suggest we stop for now and come back to the table tomorrow.” He looked at Euphemia. “I think we all need to have a clear head, as ’tis dangerous nae to be thinking with it.”

He walked out of the room, his heavy footsteps pounding against the staircase as he descended. Lady Euphemia turned to look at her brother. And for the first time, Rogene realized that not only was this woman evil.

She was also very dangerous.

Because on her tense face and in her chilly eyes, the pain of rejection mixed with the power of a deadly storm.