"Ah but I see a pair of crutches."

Alina's face clouded.

"Lachlan made them."

"Does that make a difference?"

"Mither said he is a traitor."

"I do not believe that," she said.

"I dinna, either, but mither--"

"I think Lachlan is an honorable man, and he made those crutches just for you." 'More honorable than his brother.'

Alina looked torn between belief and doubt.

"Things are not always as they seem," Felicia said. 'Could that be true now with Lachlan? And why was she the only one to question his desertion?' "You know now that I am a Campbell. Does that change the way you feel about me?"

"Oh no, milady."

"Then should you not hear from Lachlan before judging him?"

Alina considered that and nodded, her eyes clearing.

"Now will you try your crutches?"

As an answer, Alina reached out for the crutches and stood, balancing herself slowly. Her face paled with the strain, but she held on and took several hops to the window. She rested against the edge and looked out.

Felicia joined her. Her gaze went to the men training below.

She directed Alina's attention toward the sea visible from their room. It looked so inviting to her. She understood Rory's fascination with it. The sea called to her as well.

Alina shivered. "It looks cold," she said.

"Ah, but think of all the places it takes you," Felicia said.

"Where would you go?" Alina said. "If you could go anyplace?"

"I think to India."

"I want to stay here," Alina said seriously.

"Why?"

"My mither and brother. And da."

"That is a very good reason."

"They came to see me today."

"They did?"

"Aye. The new laird brought them in," Alina said happily. "Da is guarding the walls," she added proudly.

Alina's father was a farmer and herder. He should not be guarding walls. But pride reflected in Alina's face. The pride of the Macleans.

Felicia had noted that the sentries had been doubled. "You must be very proud of him," Felicia said.

Alina nodded. "I am," she said. "And Alex ... and John." She flushed.

"John?"

"He came here a few days ago after I did. He confronted the Campbells when they tried to take our cattle." Adoration was in her voice.

How had that escaped her? But then she had been preoccupied lately. "Has he been to see you?"

"Aye," Alina said shyly. Felicia smiled inwardly. She had been besotted with her cousin when she was a child, but then he had become more like a brother. As she had grown older, a deep friendship had replaced any romantic notion.

"What will you do, milady, if your uncle comes?" Alina suddenly asked.

"I have little choice in the matter," she replied.

"If you did? Would you leave us?"

'If she had a choice ?'

She did not. She had discovered that in the past few weeks. Her uncle had given her no choice. Rory had given her no choice. Even Jamie, whom she had trusted, had given her no choice.

"Would you like to learn to read?" she asked, trying to turn the conversation elsewhere.

"Oh, aye, milady. I have always wanted to learn, but the priest says there is no need to teach girls." She gazed up, her eyes lighting. "Ye know how?"

"My cousin made sure I learned."

"Is he--"

"He is the Campbell your laird captured."

Alina frowned as if uncertain how to respond to that.

Felicia understood. The Campbells had raided her village and killed several people. Felicia's cousin was the son of Angus Campbell. Alina had been able to exclude her from the taint of Campbell blood, probably because she was aware that women had few choices, but she wasn't sure that should cover Felicia's cousin as well.

"He was not among those who raided your village," Felicia said.

Alina nodded reluctantly. "Ye really will try to teach me to read?"

"We can start right now," Felicia said, eager to have her mind turned to something, and someone, other than the laird.

"How?"

"Right now you should learn letters. I will say them all, and you say them after me. Then I shall show you how they look."

Alina rose from the window seat and used the crutches to return to her bed. She sat on the side, her face tipped to one side, her expression full of anticipation.

"First, there is 'A'," Felicia started.

"A," echoed Alina.

"Then 'B' and 'C'."

An hour later, Alina had memorized the first half of the letters. She was quick and eager.

"I will try to find something to write on, and a quill," Felicia said.

The only person she knew might have the materials was Douglas. She knew from the kitchen gossip that he was spending most of his time in the armory now.

She left Alina repeating the letters and walked quickly down the steps to the armory. As she expected, Douglas was there. As she had not expected, so was Rory.

She stopped in mid-step. She had known he was back, of course, but she had not expected him here. Now she knew that she should have.

"My lord," she said with a slight curtsy, even as she tried to keep her face straight and her tone impersonal.

He looked magnificent. He was wearing a plaid and white linen shirt and soft leather boots. He also wore chain mail and held a helmet in his hand. A shield lay nearby.

He was every inch a warrior.

"My lady," he acknowledged. "I hope you are well."

"As well as a prisoner can be," she said, bitterly hurt by the coolness of his voice.

"You are our guest."

"I think not," she retorted, making an effort to keep her tone as indifferent as his. But her gaze could not leave his.

His eyes darkened, but his facial expression did not change. Then she saw a throbbing of a muscle in his throat. He was not as indifferent as he wanted her to believe.

She forced herself to turn away from him and look at Douglas instead. "I am teaching Alina to read and write. I need paper and a quill and ink."

Douglas glanced at Rory, who nodded.

"Aye, my lady," Douglas said. "I will send them to your chamber later. For now, I am due to work with the laird."

A devil danced in her head. "My thanks," she said and turned and left.

She went up to her room. She would show him that she could take care of herself, that she was not just a woman to be used, then abandoned.

She still had the lad's clothes she meant to use to escape. Would Rory remember them? She doubted it. They looked much like the clothes worn by many clansmen, though they were perhaps a bit richer. But then clothes were often handed down to be given by the church. She would try, anyway.

She put the trews on, then the brogans under her dress. The material was long enough to cover them as long as she did not move too quickly. She would have to glide, at least long enough to reach the armory. She stuffed the shirt inside the trews. Several petticoats covered the bulge.

She closed her door and tried to glide down the hall. She nodded at several servants as she passed them, then kept her head down as she passed the great hall.

Hopefully, there would be no one in the armory. If there was, she would have to give up the prospect of challenge. A moment she badly needed.

The armory was empty. She looked around the room. It was filled with helmets and shields, swords, and even mail. Some looked very old.

She closed the door and in minutes transformed herself from a lass into a youthful soldier. Though she was slight in stature, she was not all that different from a young lad. The mail gave her more bulk, and the helmet covered most of her face.

She looked among the swords and found one that balanced nicely in her hands. Though the broad sword looked thick and clumsy, it was remarkably maneuverable, even for someone of her size and weight.

Felicia left the armory and went out to the training area. She watched as Rory battled Douglas.

Douglas was older, but she knew immediately he was skilled. She studied Rory's movements, just as she had once studied Jamie when he trained.

She had almost bested Jamie only because he had not expected a contest. Rory would not expect a contest either.

Pride drove her now. She was not a possession to be used. She would not sit in a room waiting for men to make decisions for her.

She was only one of a number of clansmen waiting to train. Some held their shields and swords awkwardly. Others plunged against their opponent with more enthusiasm than skill.

Most were watching the duel between their laird and Douglas. Parry and thrust. Plunge forward against a shield, then move backward to avoid a counter blow. Find a weak spot. A moment of carelessness. A vulnerable body part unprotected.

She knew all the tricks. Jamie had been a good teacher.

Douglas found one of those spots, and thrust his sword toward Rory's shoulder. He spun, but Douglas suddenly changed tactics and hit Rory's knees, just below the shield. Rory went down.

In training, it was a defeat.

Rory stood and, as was common, invited another challenger.

She stepped forward.

A man laughed behind her.

Rory Maclean did not laugh. She could not see his eyes behind the helmet and knew hers were just as difficult to read. Before he could think, or consider who might be standing in front of him, she struck.

Surprised, he barely had time to lift his shield to counter the blow. But then he stepped backward, taking her off guard, and his sword went against a shield she barely had time to raise.

He advanced, and she was already off balance, but she took a step backward, moving just in time to avoid another blow.

Through the corner of her eye, she saw a crowd watching.

She was not going to lose.

She knew she had one advantage. He had been fighting Douglas. He was far more tired than she.

But then she had not practiced of late, either.