THIRTY-SIX
Rhona didn't return to the house until she knew they'd sailed away. Her eyes were probably red from crying, but no one would notice if she kept her head down. If her father asked, she could say they were tears of grief for Doireann.
She entered the Great Hall, expecting to find it empty.
Of course, it wasn't.
Lord Lewis lifted his cup to her. "My son tells me you are a witch, Lady Rhona. We haven't had one here on the isles in many years. We may need your help to drive off the Albans if it comes to war."
Father slammed his cup down. "No, man, you may send your sons to war, but leave my daughter be. Women protect their homes, with force if need be, but they do not go to war. We need her here at home."
"You're holding her here, just like you did to Brigid. I don't know wh
