To Desire a Highlander by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Page A

endured so much, I’m accepting his original offer!”
    Gillian blinked. She didn’t have any idea what her father meant.
    She did know his levity boded ill.
    His face had split in the grin he wore whenever someone stumbled into a trap he’d laid for him. Cunning as he was, few then escaped.
    Donell clearly recognized the danger, his smile no longer reaching his eyes. For a moment, he looked perplexed. On another day, in a different world, Gillian might have felt sorry for him. As things stood, she knew her father’s scheming would affect her in a worse way.
    “You are a good man.” Donell’s face cleared as her father stooped to pull a worn leather sack from beneaththe table. “I wouldnae have thought you’d remember, or be so generous.”
    “You erred, eh?” Mungo tossed him a grin, even winking.
    Gillian watched her father intently. She didn’t care for the great ceremony he made of plunking the bag on the table, untying its strings with a flourish.
    She felt cold, almost light-headed. “What’s in there?”
    “What we need!” Her father thrust his arm into the old leather bag, retrieving a silver-and-jewel-rimmed mead horn that he waved over his head. Gillian knew the famed drinking vessel, and it answered all of her questions. It also iced the blood in her veins.
    “The Horn of Bliss,” she said unnecessarily, feeling herself blanch.
    “To be sure!” Her father grinned. “A good thing I thought to bring it along.”
    Gillian stared at him, at the mead horn, as the meaning of his words sank in. She still held a handful of honeyed nuts, but dropped them now, letting them fall onto her plate. Several slid into her lap, then rolled to the floor. She couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe. The horn’s silvered rim gleamed in the torchlight. Its sheen taunted her, trapping her in a disaster she couldn’t believe was happening.
    The Horn of Bliss changed everything.
    “A fine piece.” Donell eyed it appreciatively. “Worth a king’s ransom.”
    “ ’Tis priceless, aye!” Mungo nodded, looking proud and benevolent. “Old as stone, it is, or so some say. The horn has been passed down through MacGuire chieftains for o’er five hundred years, perhaps longer. A great Viking warlord gave it to one of my forebears in exchangefor his youngest and most beautiful daughter. The poor man had—”
    “His own gains at heart,” Gillian cut in with her opinion of her ancestor’s motive.
    She stood, scarce hearing her voice for the roaring in her ears. From somewhere distant, she thought she caught her brothers’ protestations, the mumblings of Donell’s men, and poor Skog’s barking.
    She couldn’t tell for sure because the hall had dimmed before her. The walls and tables and torches blurred, swimming together as the floor tilted beneath her feet. One of her father’s men was approaching, a large jug in his hand. He stopped beside Mungo, deftly pouring rich, golden mead into the Horn of Bliss, Clan MacGuire’s most sacred heirloom. According to legend, the relic would ensure carnal bliss and many children to every man who partook from it. Drinking from it would seal a handfast. But would Donell remember such after so much time away?
    MacGuire chieftains saw the Horn of Bliss as a secret weapon, believing its power guaranteed such alliances went as wished, with a wedding after the pair’s year and a day of couplings.
    Gillian didn’t want to breed with Donell.
    Not this night, and for sure not for such an interminable length of time.
    “Wait!” She darted around the table, intending to snatch the horn. “Don’t touch it!” She lunged, reaching out. “Don’t let him give it to you.”
    But she was too late.
    Already, her father was presenting the relic to Donell, grinning broadly as her unsuspecting betrothed lifted thehorn to his lips, tipping back the silver rim and drinking deep of the mead within.
    Gillian stared at him in horror, watching as he unwittingly sealed their handfast. Whatever