"No, cold. So cold. But the gun, you can't let him-"

"Shut up, both of you," Kipworth hissed. "You have five seconds to tell me where the folio is hidden. Otherwise, I start shooting-and this time it won't be at the snow."

MacLeod stared at the man before him. "In the stables," he said flatly.

At the same instant, Hope wobbled to her feet. "In the kitchen," she rasped.

"Very neat of you. You're both so honorable that you turn my stomach." Three bullets drilled past MacLeod's face. "Stop wasting my time, or I'll do a hell of a lot more than this." The next one tore through MacLeod's shoulder.

He moved only imperceptibly. The pain was nothing compared to his last wound, the searing thrust of a Persian scimitar edged with Chinese poison.

"Very impressive, MacLeod. Maybe this will change your mind." Kipworth lowered his gun. "A shattered kneecap will cripple you for life. Let's see how you like that, Braveheart."

"Stop," Hope called hoarsely. "The book isn't worth his pain. I'll tell you where it is."

"Tell him nothing," MacLeod ordered. "Trust me, my heart."

"Trust me," Kipworth mimicked. "Very touching. Now, put down the bow," he snarled. "Otherwise my next bullet goes through Ms. O'Hara's pretty little cheek. All that scarring and blood loss would be such a shame."

MacLeod's eyes narrowed to slits. "I will see that you die slowly for this."

Kipworth laughed, gesturing with the gun. "One of us will. Now, put down the bow, and remember, I'm a very nervous man. If you move too fast, I might shoot something." He swung around, aiming the weapon over the slope, where Hope stood silhouetted in the flare of his flashlight. "Like her."

MacLeod barely noticed the blood oozing thickly over his chest. His only thought was to stop Kipworth before he could hurt Hope. He slipped the polished curve of wood from his shoulder, then sank slowly to one knee. "Will this place be satisfactory?"

Hope gasped as light struck him. "Ronan, your shoulder. There's b-blood everywhere."

"It's nothing."

Kipworth gestured sharply. "Sorry to interrupt this tearful reunion, but I have work to finish and an appointment to keep. Drop the bow, MacLeod. Then kick it away from you."

MacLeod shrugged. "As you like." He placed his quiver carefully on the ground, waiting for the best moment to lunge at Kipworth. Death was what the traitor planned. He would never let them live after they turned over the priceless folio.

If all else failed, MacLeod would take the bullet meant for Hope.

As wind hissed over the slope, sweeping snow into a thick curtain of white, Kipworth brushed wildly at his eyes. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Within the flying snow a gray shape appeared, racing out of the night. In one powerful movement he leaped, striking Kipworth's arm.

"Damned cat." Wyndgate's accomplice twisted blindly, kicking at the snow. "Get out of my way."

The cat crouched, snarling. Rising, MacLeod moved closer.

"Tonight everyone's a hero, even the bloody cat," Kipworth hissed. "Don't come any closer, MacLeod. Remember, all I need is one of you alive."

Lace fluttered above the slope. "I'm afraid you've greatly miscalculated, my friend."

Kipworth glared into the darkness. "Who said that?"

Eyes agleam, the Draycott ghost took shape on the snowy slope. "What say you, MacLeod of Glenbrae? Shall I knock him flat or blind him?"

"Who was that?" Scowling, Kipworth scanned the snowbank. "Come out where I can see you."

"The man appears to be nervous," Adrian said thoughtfully. "It would be but a second's work for me to disarm him."

"No," MacLeod whispered. "It will put the woman in grave danger."

Hope watched MacLeod's lips move as he spoke to thin air. Was he hallucinating, disoriented from the cold and his blood loss? Or was he simply trying to distract Kipworth? Either way, she prayed his scheme would work. She knew he would go after Kipworth at his first chance. Unarmed, he would take the bullet meant for her.

The folio wasn't worth his life.

"Ronan, let him have the book."

"Well, well, she loves you above the book. Lucky man." Kipworth stumbled over the drifting snow.

"Now, stop talking to yourself and put down that bow. Then get over here where I can see you."

MacLeod sank to one knee in the snow, only inches from his dropped quiver. "I will place it here."

"Of course you will. It's too late for any more heroics, MacLeod." Kipworth laughed raggedly. "I have no more need for you now that Ms. O'Hara has so kindly agreed to tell me where the folio is hidden." His pistol found a new target. "I suggest you choose your next words carefully, because they are going to be your last."

"No." Hope dug at her feet, then flung snow wildly at Kipworth, who cursed, temporarily blinded.

Three muffled shots burst the night's silence, snapping white powder over the slope. Kipworth's next bullet raked across Hope's hand, drawing blood. The ground blurred beneath her feet in a searing wave of pain.

Afterward, she would always wonder if the next moments were dream or delirium.

She heard the cry of a cat as a dark shape soared, striking Kipworth's back. At the same instant Hope could have sworn she saw a man in lace and black velvet glide before her, blocking Kipworth's next wild volley. But who was he?

She looked wildly for MacLeod and saw him on the ground, struggling with Kipworth for the pistol.

"He's yours then, Scotsman." Hope heard the words faintly, as if in a dream. Dear Lord, was she hallucinating from hypothermia? "I shall see to the woman's safety in your stead, though she has done a most impressive job on her own."

Another bullet hissed over the snow. As Hope watched in amazement, the metal oval rocked from side to side, then stopped cold to drift in midair.

"Excellent," came another whisper at her ear. "It appears I still have the touch." Lace seemed to ripple around a man's hand outlined before her in the darkness. Then the bullet twisted sharply, rocketing back toward the man who had just fired it.

Wyndgate's accomplice swore loudly, caught beneath MacLeod in the snow. His gun pitched up and down. "I'll hit her again, I swear it." He cursed as the bullet slammed back down the muzzle and exploded.

The gun went flying from his fingers. "My hand, it's burning-" Kipworth groaned in pain as the cat climbed over his prone shoulders, teeth bared at his face.

"Well done, Gideon. The same for you, Scotsman. Now, let's be done with this loathsome jackal, shall we?"

Hope heard the male voice clearly this time. But it appeared to be coming from the empty space beside her shoulder. "Who are you?" she whispered.

All along the slope, wind rose in angry spirals. White powder blanketed the night as Kipworth was dragged to his feet by a force that Hope could neither see nor feel.

"S-stop," he shouted, flailing wildly at the darkness around him. "L-let me go and I'll forget the folio. I'll forget everything if-"

Abruptly he was hoisted upward, his feet dangling above the ground. Then he flew headfirst into a snowdrift.

MacLeod started after him. "I wasn't done with him yet."

"No more time," the voice answered. "She's frozen through and needs to be tucked in before a roaring fire. You both do. Don't be bloodthirsty, Scotsman. This is no time for that excessive honor of yours."

Hope squeezed her eyes shut. The ground seemed to sway. "R-Ronan."

She felt MacLeod grip her shoulders. "Let me see your hand."

"No need. You came," she said raggedly.

"Always." He cradled her icy cheeks and kissed her fiercely. "Can you walk back? I'll carry you if you can't."

Hope gave a shaky laugh. "I can manage. Just get me away from here."

As she spoke, a motor whined in the darkness and Kipworth lumbered out of the snowbank, his eyes wearing a look of sheer terror. "You can't do this to me." His arms flailed blindly. "G-ghosts don't exist."

Low, diabolical laughter rang through the night, rising to a chilling crescendo as phosphorescent light played over the slope.

"You don't f-frighten me, do you hear?" Kipworth plunged off into the night, trailed by invisible hands that seemed to jerk him from side to side like a rag doll.

Or maybe Hope was simply dreaming.

She rubbed her eyes. "Did I imagine what I just saw?"

"That depends," MacLeod said slowly, "on what you just saw."

The whine of the car motor grew louder as she started to demand a straight answer. Strange, how heavy her arms were and how very cold the world had become. She peered over the hill, watching snow swirl up around her, white and silent.

Two car lights flared. "My head...I don't think I can..." Hope saw the dark outline of Nicholas Draycott's Land Rover loom over the snow, then blur before her eyes. "M-maybe you will have to carry me," she whispered.

The last thing she felt was MacLeod's arms closing hard around her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

DAWN STREAKED THE eastern cliff as Hope paced anxiously in the corridor outside Ronan's room. Even bundled in double layers of heavy woolens, she still felt cold. But her mind was sharp, entirely focused on the man beyond the closed door, the man who had insisted on carrying her through the snow to Nicholas Draycott's car.

The drive back to Glenbrae House remained a blur to Hope. She had slipped in and out of consciousness. All she remembered clearly was Ronan's hands. Ronan's warmth. Ronan's ragged Gaelic words of endearment.

The Wishwells had been waiting when the Land Rover finally reached the house, and with them was an elderly doctor who had been visiting Archibald Brown. Hope never questioned what had brought her neighbors to Glenbrae House. She had been too busy worrying about the man she loved.

"What's taking the doctor so long?"

Gabrielle put a hand on her shoulder. "Your Scotsman is tough, Hope. He'll be fine."

"Will he?" Hope whispered. "There was blood everywhere, Gabrielle. But he kept walking and baiting Kipworth. He was trying to draw his attention away from me." She choked at the memory of Ronan's blood staining the white snow as the two men struggled wildly for the pistol. "It's my fault," she said raggedly. "It was me Kipworth wanted, not Ronan." Hope slid one hand onto the door and let her head sink against the cold wood. "He wanted something I had. A very precious book. Only I didn't know I had it, not until it was too late."

"Stop this," Gabrielle said tightly. "You can't possibly blame yourself for what Kipworth did."

"I have to. If not for me, right now Ronan would be out in the stable feeding that great horse or stealing slices out of your fudge." Hope's voice broke. "And if he doesn't...make it-"

"Don't talk like that."

"I have to, Gabrielle. After all this time, after all the people I've lost, I found a hero one night during a storm. And now I might lose him." She made a broken sound and her fingers clenched white on the door frame.

"Your hero will be back stealing my fudge in a week," Gabrielle said, though her own voice was husky with tears. "And he'll be arguing with you sooner than that."

"I'd gladly let him win," Hope whispered. "I'd never disagree with him ever again, if only..." Her hands locked at her middle. "What's taking so long?"

"There are tests to be done. An examination."

"The doctor would tell me if...if Ronan weren't going to..." Hope swallowed hard, swaying.

"Sit down before you fall down," Gabrielle ordered. "Let the doctor do his work. He's very experienced, according to Archibald Brown."

"You're right," Hope said. "I have to believe. I won't let him die. He doesn't have the slightest chance of getting away from me ever again."

With a creak, the door opened. Instantly Hope spun around, her hands clenched. An elderly man in worn tweeds strode out, rubbing his neck.

"Doctor, how is he?"

"Strangest white blood count I've yet to see. And I could swear the braw lad had ne'er glimpsed the sight of a needle before."

"Will he-" Hope took a breath. "Doctor, is he going to-"

He rubbed his jaw, frowning. "Ms. O'Hara?"

Hope nodded blindly, expecting the worst.

"Five minutes, and na a second more, lass. Puir man's lost a deal of blood and needs his rest."

The words seemed to echo hollowly as if from a great distance. "Rest? You mean he's not going to -"

"Die?" The doctor patted her arm. "Ach, good Lord, no. The man is as strong as an ox, provided he stays off his feet and under those blankets. He seemed intent on ripping out his IV and charging off in search of you if I didn't promise to send you in immediately."

Hope brushed at her wet cheeks and pushed open the door, then froze.

MacLeod lay in bed, framed by the glow of a table lamp. He was too pale, his features tight with pain he would be far too stubborn to admit.

His eyes opened as Hope sank into the chair beside the bed and took his hand gently in hers.