To Desire a Highlander by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

should be savored, each succulent taste celebrated to the fullest. Do you no’ agree?”
    Gillian didn’t answer.
    She knew he wasn’t referring to the venison.
    “You are observant,” she owned, meeting his gaze. Then, summoning every ounce of steel she possessed, she took a long, slow sip of wine. “I truly have lost my appetite. It could be something here doesn’t agree with me.”
    Donell smiled wickedly. “All the more reason for you to eat. A good meal will replenish you.” He took a large bite of venison, chewing appreciatively. “My hunger has increased since arriving here. Indeed, I am ravenous.” His eyes gleamed, his gaze roaming over her. “I doubt I can get enough.”
    Gillian looked at him pointedly. “Then do not let me keep you from your meal, sir.”
    “Donell.”
    “As you wish, Sir Donell.”
    To her annoyance, he laughed. “I am well-pleased with Lady Gillian’s spirit,” he declared, turning to her father. “In the Manx prison these last years, the only woman I saw was the toothless crone who brought me meals of moldy bread and soured ale.
    “Your daughter, MacGuire, is a refreshing change.” He punched her father’s arm, good-naturedly, and then went back to his meal, cutting another generous piece of roasted meat. “Lady Gillian is as welcome as this venison after the sparse rot I endured in my lonely cell.”
    Some of his men chuckled, but the red-bearded giant, Conn of the Strong Arm, frowned. “Enough, my friend,” he said, an odd note in his voice. “Have done, and let’s no’ speak of troubled times.”
    “Indeed!” Donell raised his ale cup to his helmsman.
    “You do not look as if you’ve subsisted on such a foul and meager diet.” Gillian smiled sweetly at him.
    At the end of the table, her brother Gowan cleared his throat. “I’ve heard the lords of Mann work their captives hard,” he said, ever the peacemaker. “There are tales of men treated like slaves, forced to row ships without sleep, split trees and rock, and even fight bears for the nobles’ nightly entertainments. Nae doubt, Donell—”
    “So it was, my friend.” Donell glanced at his own men, each one except the helmsman nodding agreement. “I ought to thank the bastards.” He leaned back, slapped his flat, mail-covered abdomen. “Ne’er in all my days have I been in such form!”
    “That is certainly true.” Gillian took another sip of her wine, watching him carefully.
    He didn’t look anything like the ogre she remembered.
    If her father had better eyesight, he’d agree.
    She kept her cup against her lips, no longer drinking. She did observe Donell across the rim, not trusting him farther than the cloth-covered width of the table. “Some might say you are a changed man.”
    “So I am! Be that as it may, my wish to wed you is stronger than ever. By the gods, I’d hasten our nuptials!” He glanced at her father. “ ’Tis now spring. What say you we marry at Castle Sway by summer’s end? That will allow your family to plan the ceremony and a proper feasting. Guests from afar can make the journey.”
    “That would please me.” Relief sluiced Gillian. If all went as she hoped, she’d be well rid of him long before then.
    Turning to her father, she plied her most gracious tone. “Lady Lorna would welcome such a date.” Her stepmother would appreciate Gillian’s plans more. “She’d have ample time for preparations, and I’d be gone before the birth of her first child. My rooms are close enough to yours to make a fine nursery.
    “Summer’s end it is.” She lifted her cup to Donell, her smile even genuine.
    The slow upward curve of his own lips said he saw through her. “Your eagerness flatters me, my lady.” He reached across the table, knocking his cup to hers. “After all this time, I wouldnae want a greater delay.”
    “I’ve a better proposal!” Her father stood, slapped a hand on the table. “I say this poor man has waited too long already. Seeing as he’s