"An English lass," Marach muttered, joining the conversation with a sorrowful shake of the head. Ross chuckled, but shrugged mildly as they approached the gates of Waverly. "A lass is a lass." "And an English lass is an English lass," Gilly said grimly as they rode over the bridge across the moat. "I've yet to meet an English lass who did no' look down her nose at us 'heathen Scots.' They're all spoiled rotten." "Hmm," Ross said with a sigh. "Well, we shall ha'e to hope this one is no' spoiled." "Hope away, me friend," Gilly said with a grimace. "But prepare yerself for a fishwife o' a bride who'll make yer life a nightmare." Ross"