He nodded wearily. "The Campbells raided one of our villages. We stole our cattle back. And they raided again. Something has been started that cannot be stopped." He paused, then said softly, "I had hoped ..."

"Hoped what?"

"To bring peace, but now I think it was a foolish aim. How do you stop a century of hatred?" His eyes were full of pain, and failure.

"I want to go back," she said.

"Not until I know you will be safe," he said.

"I will be," she lied.

"I've sent someone to the Camerons," he said.

"Yes, you told me," she said, aware that he did not know that was one reason she had to flee.

She stood. She knew immediately it was a mistake. She had meant to avoid him these last few hours.

She had meant not to think about Rory Maclean and what might have been.

'Nothing might have been'. If she hadn't run away, and if Archibald hadn't tried to take matters into his own hands, she would not have met him. She would never have known the way a heart could swell, and her body could tingle, and blood could run warm and sweet.

She might never have known the jolt that rocked her each time she was in his presence.

Was this love?

'It could not be'. People did not find themselves in love in a week. Yet he was everything she thought noble in a man. Strong. Courageous. Yet also concerned for the weak. Loyal to his people. Committed to peace.

How would he view a liar?

But the now familiar current passed between them, sweeping them up in its pull. She saw it in his eyes, even as she felt its intensity.

She reached out to touch his cheek. "You no longer look like an outlaw," she said.

He smiled crookedly, the dimple in his chin deepening. "Looks can be deceiving."

"Not always," she said.

Sorcery. Nothing else could account for the way her body moved toward him, into his, or the way she rested her head on his shoulder.

His hand caressed her face and moved to the back of her neck. Her mind cried no, but her body wouldn't heed the warning. It was too caught up in all the exquisite feelings he evoked in her.

"Janet," he whispered.

The softly spoken word, much like an endearment, brought her back to reality.

She jerked free with such force that she stumbled, and his hand steadied her. His face was filled with bafflement.

She knew he wanted an explanation, but she was saved by a knock on the door.

He stared at her for a moment, then strode to the door and opened it.

Lachlan stood there. His gaze went from his brother to Felicia, then back again.

"Rory," he said. "You are needed downstairs."

"What is it?"

Lachlan shrugged. "A decision must be made."

She watched the two brothers silently communicate, then Rory nodded.

"I must go," he told her.

Before she could ask a question, he left.

Something of import had happened. Had Lachlan discovered who she really was?

Her heart hammered in her chest. Whatever had happened, she had the very bad feeling that it bode no good for her.

Rory looked at the prisoner.

Jamie Campbell sat on the dirt floor of a croft. His hands were tied behind him, and his legs bound in front of him.

Rory knew that he must be in pain from the position. But all he saw was anger.

"You are Jamie Campbell," he said. He had never seen Campbell, though he lived but thirty miles away. The two clans had nothing to do with each other, other than the raids they inflicted on one another. If Lachlan had not recognized him...

"Aye."

"What were you doing on Maclean land?"

Campbell was silent. The Macleans who stood on either side of him moved in a threatening gesture.

"No," Rory said.

Campbell looked surprised. He raised an eyebrow in question, and Rory found himself admiring the man.

"Leave us," he told the two men with him.

They hesitated, then filed out the door. Only Lachlan remained.

Rory stooped down and cut the ropes on his prisoner's ankles.

Jamie Campbell stretched them, then looked at his captor warily. "Whom do I have the ... pleasure of addressing?"

Rory could not help but grin at the impudence.

"Rory Maclean."

"I did not know you had returned."

Rory shrugged. "You did not answer my question. Why are you on Maclean properties?" He looked at the Cameron crest, and the plaid with distinctive Cameron dyes. "And in Cameron plaid?"

He knew why. Campbell was looking for his betrothed. What he didn't know is why an emissary from the Camerons had not approached him.

But how much did Campbell know?

Campbell shifted. "Would you cut these ropes around my wrists? They are ... annoying."

"Considering that several of my kinsmen were killed recently, I find it hard to sympathize."

"I had nothing to do with that."

"You can discuss that with the two outside. One lost a brother." Rory tilted his head, regarding his prisoner blandly. "You have the space of a breath to tell me why you are here."

The Campbell hesitated.

"I am not fond of spies," Rory said.

For the first time, uncertainty flashed across his prisoner's face. He was obviously weighing every word he said.

At last he shrugged as if finally making a decision. "My cousin is missing. I have been searching for her. Nothing more. Do you think I would attack Inverleith by myself?"

Rory tensed. Of all the answers, that was the one least expected. "Your cousin?"

"Felicia. She has been missing more than a week now." It was obvious that the man was not lying. There was no reason to do so. Why would anyone want a woman when they had taken the Campbell heir?

Rory struggled to keep his emotions concealed. Yet he felt as if he had just been struck by lightning.

Suddenly everything started to come clear. The lass had not wanted to be returned to the Camerons. He realized now that she had made one excuse after another not to be returned to them.

Because she was not one.

'Felicia Campbell.'

But why ... ?

Perhaps she had thought the Macleans would do her harm if they discovered her true identity. It was the Macleans, after all, that had taken her, believing her to be Janet.

He recalled the lies. All of them. He also remembered the kisses. Had she tolerated them, waiting only to escape? 'Had they been lies as well?'

White hot anger filled him.

He tried to reason with it. She had not asked to be abducted by Archibald. She'd had every reason to fear for her life.

But surely after the first few days she should have realized he would not harm a woman. Even a Campbell. The lack of trust was like a dagger thrust.

And now he had a second prisoner, one even more unwanted than the first.

"You know where she is," Jamie Campbell said suddenly.

"Aye, she is safe."

Campbell breathed audibly. Then he looked up again, as if having a sudden thought. "You did not know ..."

"Who she was? Nay, not until now. I thought she was your betrothed, Janet Cameron."

Jamie Campbell closed his eyes, obviously aware of what he had said, that he had given the Macleans another weapon.

"Unlike the Campbells, I do not make war on women," Rory said.

"No? That is not what I have heard," Campbell said mockingly.

Rory's mind went back to the raid more than a decade ago. The screams. The madness.

"Your cousin will not be harmed," he said. "I cannot say the same about you."

He walked out then, into the mist that had returned, and turned to Lachlan, who followed him. "Say nothing about Janet Cameron or Felicia Campbell," he said.

Lachlan regarded him curiously. "Aye," he said and stood, waiting for the next order.

Rory hesitated as he tried to absorb what he had just been told, and the repercussions. He had known that something was wrong, that the lass should have been insistent about being returned to her family. He recalled every lie, every evasion.

He should have known earlier that all was not as it seemed. If the Cameron lass had been missing this long, the Camerons should have been at his gates, asking for his help in the search. Yet he had been mesmerized by the lass, intrigued by the mystery, and entranced by her efforts on behalf of his people.

But why had she been reluctant to let him take her to the Camerons? Once there, she would no longer have to fear him once he discovered who she really was. The Camerons would protect her.

So why had she not leaped at the opportunity?

Could the Campbell be lying?

Rory considered himself a good judge of character. He had to be that. When he selected a crew, he knew they would be together as long as nine months to a year and their lives would depend on the character and abilities of each one of them.

He'd measured the man in the croft. He instinctively believed him.

That, alone, startled him. Believe a Campbell?

He ran over his alternatives.

He kept going back to why Janet--no, Felicia--had not wanted to return home.

But that would come from the lass.

Then he would test the words of each against one another.

He would discover who was lying and why.