"Why are you doing this?" the Campbell asked suddenly.

"Why not?" Lachlan said carelessly.

"You know that your clan will consider you a traitor?"

"You could be labeled that as well," Lachlan said. "You are working with Macleans. Or," he added quietly, "are you?"

The question hung in the air between them.

"You question my honor?" the Campbell said.

"I do not know your definition of honor."

"Or I yours."

"We can argue the question until next year, but now we must leave. We will go directly to the stable. The horses should be saddled. You will say nothing. Just follow me and try not to look comfortable on the horse."

The Campbell gave him a brief nod.

Lachlan looked outside. A streak of gold crossed the distant sky. The first glow of sunrise.

He gave the Campbell a set of saddlebags, then picked up another. He grabbed his lute that leaned against the wall. Then he headed for the door and opened it. No one was outside. He gestured for the Campbell to follow him.

He smelled the odor of food cooking. His stomach churned.

The Campbell had been only too accurate when he'd asked if Lachlan was aware of the consequences of his actions today. Lachlan was only too aware, and the knowledge was like a dead weight in his stomach. Yet he felt that this one act might atone for the past. If peace were possible...

They strode quickly past the great hall, ignoring the throngs of people making their way there. Some looked at them curiously, but they all cleared a path. Then they reached the stables. The horses were, as ordered, saddled. Lachlan took the swiftest horse, leaving the Campbell to a slower one. He had no intention of being left behind.

They walked their horses to the gate, and Lachlan raised his hand to the sentries. Lachlan just prayed they would open quickly. It would not be long before the guard would be found, before the alarm was raised.

The gates opened, and the two men rode through them and beyond. Lachlan turned only long enough to watch the gates close again.

The Campbell had escaped. And with him, Lachlan Maclean. Traitor.

Rory watched Lachlan and Campbell depart through the gates. He did not realize he'd held his breath until they were through.

He continued to watch as the sun crept upward. A hour passed, perhaps more. The bailey below filled with his clansmen.

Then someone pounded on the door.

He opened it. Douglas, his face white, stood there.

"The Campbell," he said. "He is gone."

"He cannot be gone," Rory replied. "There is no way to leave Inverleith without my knowing about it."

"A man was sent to relieve the guard at the Campbell's chamber. No one was there, and he went inside. The guard was asleep on the bed. We have searched the keep. He is not here."

"No one could have left."

"Lachlan went through the gates at daybreak. He had someone with him. We think it might have been Campbell."

"Not Lachlan," Rory said.

"The man was tall. He wore our plaid and a helmet, but no one can explain who he is. And the guard at the Campbell's room..."

"Continue," Rory said when Douglas faltered.

"He said Lachlan gave him a glass of wine last night and he became dizzy almost immediately. He believes there was something in the wine."

It was time to tell Douglas. "Come in," he said. He closed the door firmly behind Douglas.

Douglas turned a puzzled gaze on him.

"Lachlan did it on my orders," he said.

Douglas stared at him, anger stirring in his eyes.

"We do not need another Campbell as a hostage. We 'do' need one to set a trap that could benefit all of us."

"I do not ken your meaning."

Rory explained the plan, then added, "Lachlan was willing to jeopardize his reputation, his position with the family, even his life."

Douglas did not say anything.

"I have not asked questions since I have been back," Rory said. "I know something happened while I was gone. I have been waiting for Lachlan or you to tell me, but now I think it will have to be you."

" Tis a wee late, is it not?" Douglas said with obvious resentment that he was not informed earlier of what Rory intended to do.

"It had to appear real," Rory said. "I needed your anger."

"I do not know that you can completely trust Lachlan," Douglas said reluctantly.

"Why?" Rory demanded. "I realized that there was a hesitancy to follow Lachlan but I believed it was because he had not taken hold here."

"That is not all of it. After you and Patrick left, your father was determined to make a warrior of him.

But Lachlan, well, he has always been more of a dreamer. You know he considered the priesthood?"

"I know. Father forbade it."

"Aye. Instead he tried to change Lachlan. He took him to raid Campbell cattle. Four of us went, but your father insisted that he and Lachlan ride ahead. They ran into armed men. One came at Lachlan and he hesitated to use his sword. Your father took a blow meant for him."

Douglas lowered his head. "Archibald and I were not far behind. We heard shouts and raced ahead. There was a battle. We killed two and two others got away.

"Lachlan was on the ground, holding your father's head. He told us what happened. He blamed himself. Your father died five days later.

"We did not tell any of the other clansmen. They would believe Lachlan a coward, and he was all we had. Patrick was gone. You were at sea. But Lachlan could never take his place. Guilt racked him. The clan saw it and felt they could not depend on him. I am ashamed to say I did nothing to counter it." He paused. "I was angry. I suppose I still am. I cared about your father."

Rory shook his head. He wished he had asked sooner. He wished he had known what Lachlan had been suffering. But he had been contemptuous of the condition of Inverleith, and he had resented being called away from the sea. Then Felicia appeared and turned his life upside down.

"Father tried to make him into something he was not, could not be," he said. "And Lachlan paid the price for Patrick's and my freedom." Regret pierced him. He had fled Inverleith and had never looked back.

Douglas looked skeptical. "I do not know what he will do now," he said.

"He captured James Campbell," Rory reminded him.

"Aye," Douglas said. But Rory heard the doubt lingering in his voice.

"He is a Maclean," Rory said. "He would not have offered to go had he not believed he could do whatever was necessary.

"In any event, it is done," Rory continued, "and I trust him." He paused, then added, "it is important, though, that everyone, including Archibald, believe he helped James Campbell escape.

"I want you to do everything you would have done had Lachlan truly helped the Campbell escape."

Douglas nodded.

"Someone had to know in the event something happened to me," Rory said. "I have also written out an explanation that I wish you to keep."

"As you wish, my lord."

"It is still Rory."

"Nay," Douglas said. "No longer."

Despite Douglas's doubts about Lachlan, it was clear that he had now transferred his total loyalty to Rory.

Rory hadn't wanted it, still did not want it, but now he had no choice. His distraction in the past had nearly resulted in the destruction of the clan, and most certainly that of his brother.

"Patrick is the rightful laird."

"Nay, it is time that we admit Patrick will not return. You must take your place. Especially now. The clan needs to know they have a leader who will stay."

Rory knew Douglas was right. They would not fight for someone who appeared for a few weeks, then intended to leave. He needed their loyalty.

"I am not prepared to agree Patrick will not return," he said slowly. "But if he does not, I will stay."

Douglas nodded. "I will tell them."

"Search Inverleith again," he said, hardening his voice as he saw two clansmen approach. "Every room, every closet, every possible hiding place," he added. "And send out patrols to the passes and roads."

The men left with Douglas.

Rory closed the door and leaned against it, his stomach churning. It was done. But what in God's name might he have done to his brother?

Felicia watched the activity beneath her. She had slept little this night, and the few moments she had she dreamt of Rory Maclean. He approached her, coming closer and closer, and she would open her arms to him. Then he simply disappeared like a puff of smoke.

She'd finally risen from the bed and lit a candle. She tried to shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. The more she recalled the time she had spent with Rory, the more she had been filled with a foreboding. She'd sensed the tension, even a certain desperation in him as he'd kissed and held her, then built a barrier between them, avoiding even a glance, on the return.

The door opened, and two large Macleans entered. She had seen them before at the table in the great hall. They had been jubilant then about her abduction. Now they frowned at her.

She knew instantly that something was very wrong. She pulled her night robe tight around her.

"Have you seen the Campbell?" one asked, his voice harsh.

"Nay, not since yesterday."

They searched her room. It did not take long. There was not that much to search.

She was bewildered. "Jamie? Where is my cousin?"

"He is missing," one of the men said curtly.

He would not have left her here alone. Not without some word. She knew it. Deep in her heart, she knew it.

Had Rory Maclean done something to him? Did the fact she rode out with Rory last night have something to do with it? Jamie might well have seen it. He would not have held his tongue. She felt cold. Cold and even more alone than she had felt before she came here.

Surely Jamie would have left a message if he'd escaped. Perhaps with Lachlan.

"I would like to see Lachlan," she said.

The Maclean's mouth thinned. "He left at dawn."

Anger was visible in his eyes. He left without another word, shutting the door firmly behind him.

She opened the door and was stopped by a guard who stood there.

"I would like to see the laird," she said.

"He is busy."

"Will you tell him I wish to see him?"

"Aye, when we can."

He shut the door, and she went to the window. The gates were closed, and men were hurrying throughout the bailey, looking everywhere.

Where was Jamie? He had given his parole. He would not violate it. He had come for her. She could not believe he would leave without her, even if he thought she might prefer to stay. It had been apparent earlier that he did not trust the Macleans.

And now?

The door opened, and Robina entered. Distress was written all over her face. "Milady," she said. "Lord Rory sent me to look after ye."