"Ramsey," said the man. He looked at the man next to him. "Sim lost his brother."

Sorrow filled Rory. And memories.

"I cannot bring back the dead," he said, "but we will replace your cattle. There will be no rent due this year. I will see that you have enough food for the winter." 'So much for the cattle he had taken just days ago.'

"If ye are still here," Sim muttered.

Another man moved toward him in an obvious attempt to silence him.

Rory held up his hand to stop him. "He has the right," he said.

"We ha' been asking for help," Ramsey said angrily. "We are herders here. And farmers. We are no' warriors."

"You are certain the raiders were Campbells?"

"Aye. One wore the Campbell crest. They said they were looking for someone. They did not say who."

"A woman?"

The man shrugged. "They did not say."

It had to be the Cameron lass. She was, after all, the betrothed of the young Campbell. The enthusiasm of his men on his behalf had caused this. He'd never had these problems with his crew aboard ship. They had known discipline, had realized what he wanted and obeyed instantly.

He had been away too long. They all remembered the lad he had been, the young man who had been so in love with his wife that he had neglected all else. And because the man he was now was a stranger to them, he had not yet earned their respect.

He must do that before they would follow his lead.

He had been convinced that the future of the Macleans lay with forging a truce with the Campbells. But now looking at the ruined village and the despairing villagers, he wondered whether that was possible. They and other Maclean clansmen would expect retribution.

'More bloodshed. More widows and orphaned children.'

He hadn't wanted this. God in heaven, he did not want this.

"Our wounded?" Ramsey asked.

"I will send them back with my men. We have a healer at the keep."

"Two of our lads are missing. They were tending some sheep."

"I and one other man will stay and search. We can cover more ground on horseback," Rory said.

The crofter looked disbelieving, then he touched his forehead. "Thank ye, my lord."

"You will not be left to fend for yourself again," Rory vowed. "From this day, you will have protection."

Skepticism showed in some faces. He could not blame them. They had every right to feel abandoned.

Rory would have a word with Douglas on his return. The man should have taken more responsibility. Then he sighed. That assessment was unfair. He and Patrick had left the clan of their own free will. Neither could have foreseen their father's death, but they had left a void in leadership. Douglas, a distant cousin and steward, had no real authority, and Lachlan apparently had chosen not to take it.

He had to set things right before he left again. A flicker of apprehension swept through him. How could he leave now? Or even in the near future? Too many people depended on him. Yet how could he stay where grief shadowed every step?

How could he be of any use when he doubted himself, when he was haunted by ghosts and curses?

For a few moments he had forgotten ...

He saw to it that litters were prepared and attached to the horses. Those not badly wounded were assigned to ride with some of his men. He watched as they departed.

"Let us find your missing lads," he told Ramsey.

Felicia rose with the sun and went to the window.

The dawn was cloudless. It would be a glorious day.

She did not want a glorious day.

Lachlan had told her last night they would leave at early morn. She would have to pretend an illness she did not feel. A relapse.

'Back to the fireplace.'

But how many times would that sham work? Still, she pushed several stones in the embers and waited impatiently for them to warm again.

When she dared wait no longer, she wrapped them in cloth and crept back to the bed. She put them to her cheeks. When she heard a knock, she quickly moved the rocks near her feet, replaced the covering, and huddled in the bed, hoping to look ill.

Another knock. She tensed as the door opened.

Moira entered with a breakfast tray and stopped suddenly as she saw Felicia. "Oh milady. The fever is back."

Felicia tried to look ill. Very, very ill. "My fault," she said. "I did over much yesterday."

"Lachlan has already broke fast. He and an escort are waiting."

"I do not think I can travel today. I feel light-headed."

Moira looked quite pleased at the news. "I will tell him and bring ye some porridge."

Moira's porridge was quite terrible, but a price well worth paying if she could earn herself a few more hours. Perhaps without the lord in residence, it would be easier to escape the keep.

'The lord'. Rory. Rory Maclean.

She had to stop thinking of him.

Nothing was more impossible. There was no future with him. But he remained in her thoughts, as welcome--and as impossible to dismiss--as an enemy army at the gates.

She still remembered how her body felt next to his, the heady exchange of kisses, both gentle and demanding.

God's love. He was a Maclean. She was a Campbell. He had raided her people. Her people had just raided his, and he had gone to do only God knew what.

He said he wanted peace, but how could there be peace after the latest raid and what was sure to be retaliation? Was he killing Campbells now? Men that she knew? Men who had watched her spar with Jamie? She could still hear their shouts of encouragement as she'd lifted the heavy sword.

Moira still regarded her with a worried look. "I will tell Lachlan."

She disappeared out the door, and Felicia quickly placed the stones close to her cheeks again. The stones were cooling, but she hoped they were hot enough to redden her cheeks. Then she shoved them back under the covering as the door opened.

Lachlan strolled in. He was dressed for riding with a warm fur mantle covering most of body. He wore long hose and soft boots.

"Lady Janet," he said. "Moira told me the distressing news." He leaned down and touched one of her cheeks.

Something like amusement flickered in his eyes, and she wondered if he sensed her deception.

"I am sorry to ruin your plans," she said in as weak a voice as she could feign.

"Ah but it is your welfare that concerns me," he said. "I know you must be anxious to return home. Your family must be most distressed. In truth, I thought we might have visitors by now."

'Could he possibly know what she was about? But no. How could he?'

"My mother and father are not at home. They are at the court in Edinburgh," she said.

"Still there must be someone concerned about your absence," he said with annoying persistence. "We should send a rider to your home and tell them you are safe."

"Nay!" she said before she could stop herself.

"And why not?"

She frantically searched for a reason and finally came up with one. She finally came up with a half truth. "They wish me to marry someone I do not wish to marry."

"The Campbell?"

"Aye," she said reluctantly, mentally asking God to forgive the lie. A day. Mayhap two. That was all she needed.

He looked thoughtful. "You cannot remain missing forever."

"Nay, but if he thought I had been abducted--"

"Your reputation would be ruined, and he would not want you," he completed.

"Aye," she said as she watched him carefully.

"You wish to use my brother?"

"I was the one who was taken," she reminded him.

"And you wish to take advantage of it. Have you thought what the Campbells might do if they thought we abducted you? The Campbells and Camerons together?"

"You 'did' abduct me," she said reasonably.

"Aye. Unfortunately, my brother refuses to make it right. He could marry you, and all would be solved."

"Would I have naught to say in this?"

She saw a gleam in his eyes.

"I have seen how you look at him and how he looks at you."

"He looks at me in no special way. He had made it clear he wants no marriage. He certainly does not want me."

"Then you are blind, my lady."

"I believe what he says."

"And if you did not?"

"I am but a pawn," she said. "My desires have no value. But I do not wish to marry anyone. I want..."

He waited.

She had almost blurted out the words. She wanted to get to London to see what help Jamie could offer. She could not be the bride of a Maclean even if he did want her. He most certainly would not if he knew who she was. He would despise her. He no doubt felt her family was responsible for every tragedy that had beset him.

"A woman seldom has the choice of loving. Decisions are made for her."

He searched her face. "I want my brother to love again. He was a different man then."

"And you. Have you ever loved?" she asked, suddenly curious.

"I am of no matter," he said.

He was avoiding the subject, and that made her wonder. She wanted to learn more about all the Macleans.

They were not the barbarians she had been told, and had believed. Of course, they might well turn into such if they learned her true identity.

"You were a lad when Lord Rory left?"

"Aye."

"And the older son?"

"Patrick?"

"Aye. How long has he been gone?"

"More than three years."

"You do not believe he will return?"

"Rory does."

"But you do not?"

"If he were a prisoner somewhere, ransom would be asked," he said. His expression changed, his brown eyes darkening. "Are you concerned that Rory will not inherit?"