She noticed his movement and cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘I was wondering, M’lady… what ye are named?’ ‘Mhari. Mhari Anne Montrose MacGregor, ...aughter to Challum MacGregor and heir to this pile of rocks you are sitting in.’ Her mood had darkened along with her expression, the last being said with anger. ‘Forgive me.’ Her mood softened. ‘It was none of your doing.’ Mhari appeared to take a deep breath. ‘I was one of the first to be murdered that night. Murdered in my sleep. When I… awoke, it was. " The significance of this woman plainlyassuming that I was experiencing an ordinary female condition justhit me. Then, a second later, the realization of what I wasexperiencing hit me harder. Try walking down the aisle of feminine products at the drugstore.There are more than most men would imagine. It was after work. Ifelt tired, aching. But I was exhilarated. I browsed over thedifferent packages, rubbing shoulders with other women, exchangingglances. "Are we all menstruating?," I. More

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