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the tiny sacristy, where two benches, a small table, and a pitcher of ale awaited them.
    Ross perched on the edge of the bench while MacKay poured ale into two mugs. He held one out to Ross. Ross accepted it but didn’t drink until MacKay sampled it first. Only then did he take a generous swallow. MacKay sat down opposite Ross and inhaled deeply.
    Ross glanced about him. “It seems you’ve laid the groundwork for this meeting, MacKay Now tell me why I am here. What could two blood enemies have to say to each other?”
    “We could pledge peace,” MacKay ventured. “We have the power to stop the feud so that our children and our children’s children willna die for our ancestors’s ins.”
    Ross nearly dropped his mug. “You want to end the feud? Why should I believe you?”
    The hint of sadness that dimmed MacKay’s eyes intrigued Ross. “I had five braw sons, MacKenna, and now I have three. And I came near to losing my only daughter. I doona want to lose another bairn. Are you so bloodthirsty that you would see all my bairns fall beneath a MacKenna’s sword?”
    Ross shook his head. He was of the same opinion as MacKay. “I lost my father, a beloved brother, a cousin, and countless kinsmen. Still, I canna believe you want to end the feud. What assurances do I have that you willna take up the sword against me when I least expect it?”
    “What I am about to propose will demonstrate my good faith.”
    Ross leaned forward. “What exactly are you proposing?”
    “I want to unite our clans, and the union must be one that our allies will honor.”
    “Unite our clans?” Ross narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”
    “Naught but a marriage can bring our clans together and end the feud.”
    Ross drank deeply from his mug and wiped away the remaining foam on his sleeve. “I have no sister, nor any cousin of an age to wed one of your sons.”
    MacKay banged down his mug. “Are you dense, man? I’m offering my wee lass Gillian to you.”
    “Wee lass? That sword-wielding, flame-haired hellion who challenged me on the battlefield? Nay, thank you. I’d sooner wed a wildcat.”
    “Aye, Gillian can be a handful, but I believe a berserker can tame a hellion. It must be you. No one else will do.”
    “Do you have another kinswoman you can offer?” Ross asked hopefully.
    “None but my lass Gillian can unite our clans.”
    “Does she agree to this mad scheme of yours?”
    “I am her father; she will do as I say.”
    Ross laughed. “Your daughter hates me. She demonstrated that on the battlefield. Besides, canna believe you are giving up on Ravenscraig. Our clans have fought over those lands for generations.”
    “Your first son with Gillian will settle both our claims to the land. My grandson—your son—will inherit Ravenscraig Tower. Now do you ken why Gillian must wed you and not another MacKay?”
    Though Ross understood, he was not convinced. He recalled Gillian’s gem-green gaze piercing him. He had felt her hatred; his skin still burned with it. She would have hacked him to pieces had she the skill or strength to do so, and then she would have spit on his dead body
    “I ken that all your hopes of a MacKay owning Ravenscraig rest on Gillian giving me an heir.” Ross chortled. “If I am any judge of women, doubt she will let me bed her without a fight.” And what a fight that would be!
    MacKay cocked a shaggy eyebrow. “I wager you are up to the challenge.”
    Ross thought long and hard about the proposition MacKay had laid on the table. Like MacKay, he had long wanted to end the feuding. He cringed at the thought of his future children dying at the end of a MacKay sword. But marrying that flame-haired wildcat would bring him more grief than any man wanted. Still, the logic of MacKay’s proposal appealed to him.
    MacKay must have realized Ross was giving his idea careful thought, for he plunged on. “The wedding should take place soon. Friday is a propitious day for weddings, so shall we say