I whispered to my mother that if I were forced to marry the snot-nosed little thug, I'd do as Brigid of Kildare had done when pressed to marry--thrust her finger into her eye, pullin' it from the socket till it dangled from her cheek. Marriage, I thought. Me, a married woman. Impossible! And wife of a chieftain at that, for the truth was, my intended was tanaist of the O'Flaherty clan. This meant that--as tradition dictated--when the current O'Flaherty chieftain died an election would be held by the septs for the title.