After years of companionship, she knew her friend well. Fingertapping always preceded outbursts of foolishness. Nonsensical ramblings that made sense to none save Rhona herself.

"I have the answer!" Rhona cried then, clapping her hands together. A triumphant smile lit her pretty face. "Simply pretend to wed the man your sister sends."

Caterine's brows shot heavenward. "Pretend?"

"Aye." Her friend beamed at her, obviously waiting for Caterine to comprehend the brilliance of such a scheme. But Caterine comprehended naught.

Naught save her growing aggravation with Rhona's persistent beseeching.

Pushing to her feet, she carried Leo across the rush-strewn floor and set him upon his sheepskin bed near the hearth. "I fear you do not understand. I will not plead Linnet's aid nor will I enter into marriage again. Not even a false one," she said, meeting Rhona's exuberance with what she hoped sounded like firm resistance.

Firm and unbending.

Above all, unbending.

"But doing so is your best chance to rid yourself of Sir Hugh," Rhona wheedled. "Have you forgotten he vowed to obtain an order from his king forcing you to acquiesce lest you do not agree to the marriage by Michaelmas?" Rhona lifted her hands in supplication. "My lady, the feast of Michaelmas is long past."

"For truth?" Caterine plucked at an imagined speck of lint on her sleeve. "Since our stores have grown too meager to allow us to celebrate St. Michael's holy day, I hadn't noticed its passing. Nor do I care what Edward III declares I should do. Yet is this land held for young David of Scotland."

"Lady, please," Rhona entreated. "You have no other choice."

Stung to fury, Catherine clenched her hands to tight fists. Beyond the shuttered windows thunder sounded, the low rumblings echoing the churning bitterness deep inside her.

Rhona erred. She did have choices.

But, as so oft in her life, none appealed.

She'd e'er lived under a man's rule. Even now, newly widowed of an elderly but not unkind husband, a time when, at long last, she'd hoped to find some semblance of peace.

Peace and solitude.

Unbidden, Sir Hugh de la Hogue's thick-jowled face rose before her, his swinish eyes gleaming with satisfaction, the sound of his heavy breathing giving voice to his lecherous nature.

Caterine shuddered. The mere thought of the Sassunach's bejeweled fingers touching her made her skin crawl with distaste and sent bile rising thick in her throat.

"Lady, you've grown pale." Rhona's troubled voice shattered the loathsome image. "Shall I fetch the leech?"

"Nay, I am well," Catherine lied, flat-voiced.

Her dark eyes flooded with concern, Rhona rushed forward to grasp Caterine's hands. "Oh, lady, you must relent. The MacKenzie men are able and valiant. Your sister's husband is a fair man, he will send you the most stalwart warrior in his garrison."

Rhona released Caterine's hands and resumed her pacing. "Do you recall when he and your sister came for a visit some years ago? My faith, but the castle women were all aflutter did he but glance-"

"There is more to a man than the width of his shoulders and the charm of his smile," Caterine broke into her friend's prattle. "I will not deny my sister's husband is pleasing to the eye and possessed of a goodly character, but I warn you, Duncan MacKenzie is nowise a man by which to measure others. One such as he is a rare find. My sister is much blessed to have him."

For a scant moment, Rhona appeared duly chastised, but soon babbled on, her face aglow with renewed wonderment. "On my oath, more than his bonny looks impressed me. Ne'er will I forget how he unseated Dunlaidir's finest at the joust yet had the good grace to allow your late husband to best him."

Rhona aimed a keen-eyed stare at Caterine. "Aye, Laird MacKenzie is a just man. He will choose you a stout-armed warrior of great martial prowess, a man of honor to protect you."

A man of honor.

Caterine swallowed the sharp retort dancing dangerously near the tip of her tongue. She of all women had little reason to believe such a paragon existed. Though she'd seen many sides of the men who'd shared her life thus far, honor was one attribute most of them had sorely lacked.

Only her late husband had possessed a portion thereof.

A meager portion.

She folded her arms. "And you think this fabled and mighty Highlander, this man of honor, will lay aside his morals and agree to pose as my third husband?"

Rhona ceased her pacing and began tapping a finger against her lips. After a moment, the finger stilled and she smiled. "'Tis for honor's sake he will agree. What man of compassion, of worth, could refuse a gentlewoman in need?"