Chapter 47

All right, so she shouldn't have leapt for the door. Firstly, as choices went, it was not one destined to lead her to where she needed to be. But panic had flared, so why make herself unhappier byquestioning why she'd done it?

So now? Talk to a man with crockery shards crunching beneath his boots about Arland? About Morven too? A man who'd just turned and swept the contents of the McDunnagh kitchen onto the floor?

Gravy splatteredthe walls—indeed the wonder was it hadn't splattered her--the silver dishes had stotted and rolled, some beneath the bed, which if she'd just gotten into might have prevented them, whiskey and cherry wine fumes rose from what pooled on the floor.

As for the plum cake Ulla had probably labored all day to make, or maybe it was Ewen McDunnagh, it was in as many pieces as the plate it had sat on.

Talking was not a wise decision.

"Do you know I used to go about this glen, with a black wolf pelt on my shoulder?"