Why had he not told her what they had planned?

It did not matter that her cousin agreed with him. He had learned how reckless she could be, how determined.

But that had not been the only reason. He'd been reluctant to share any part of himself or to trust anyone other than himself. He had lost too much. And that raid years ago had made him feel unworthy. He'd often felt that the death of his child and wives were retribution for his past deeds and not a result of the curse at all. He felt he deserved to be alone. He did not want responsibility for anyone but himself.

Indifference, he'd told himself, was better than pain. Loneliness better than loss. He'd had to trust--at least to some extent--James Campbell and Douglas, because he needed their assistance, but he had readily decided not to tell her. Not only, he realized, because he feared she might do something hasty, but because he had kept his own counsel these past ten years, and it was a habit he found difficult, if not impossible, to break.

He should have told her, given her some hope that she could avoid both marriage and any harm to his clan. He should have trusted her judgment.

In trying to protect her, he had put her in even more peril.

She was willing to sacrifice herself to avoid any harm or blame coming to his clan. He was humbled by it.

And terrified. If Morneith thought himself in peril, particularly from James Campbell, there was no telling what he might do.

He wished he knew what was happening with Campbell and his brother. It had been nearly a fortnight since they had left. He had expected a message, something. He knew, of course, that Lachlan had arrived in Edinburgh and had reached his first mate. Lachlan had sent a note with the ship, saying he and James Campbell had arrived. Then nothing.

He had welcomed the arrival of the ship. It meant he could send Felicia to safety while her cousin convinced her uncle that the marriage was an extremely poor idea, that he might be giving his niece to a traitor. And if anything went wrong, she would be safe. If Inverleith was besieged, he would offer personal combat or give up himself for trial.

He had not thought she would refuse to go. It was yet another condemnation of him. He tried now to imagine where she would go. Dunstaffnage was the most logical destination.

But her uncle was in Edinburgh, as was Morneith, or they had been. Would she possibly head there?

His gut told him she would. He did not know why. He certainly had not foreseen her reaction to a passage to France. Douglas and Archibald would search the ground between Inverleith and Dunstaffnage. He would go to Edinburgh.

He quickly mounted the stairs to his chamber and packed a few articles of clothing in his saddlebags. It would be at least several weeks, perhaps a month or more, before a major attack could be mounted by the Campbells. Raids, yes, but all his clansmen were inside Inverleith.

He would travel to Edinburgh. He had to let James Campbell and Lachlan know what had happened. He could send a messenger, but he wearied of letting others do what he felt he should do himself. He did not like the idea of others risking their lives for his decisions. He hated not knowing what was happening. He felt like a blind man in a maze.

And now he was faced with all bad choices. He was trying to protect Felicia. Felicia was trying to protect him. Lachlan was trying to protect all of them. And James Campbell? Who knew what he was doing, or even on what side he was playing?

They might all end in disaster because of poor choices on his part.

Could he live with the knowledge that he was responsible for even more deaths? More hardships for the clan he had come to help?

He had stopped praying when Anne died.

He started again now.

Felicia felt numb as she rode away from the place she wanted to be.

The numbness kept despair at bay. She would not allow herself to think of what she was doing, or where she was going.

She only knew she wanted to remain at Inverleith. For the first time since her parents had died, she felt as if she had found a real home. And it was where she had fallen in love.

And now she knew that Rory Maclean loved her as well. He had not wanted it. He had denied it. But he had been willing to risk his life for her. She could do no less.

She knew someone would be coming after her. Mayhap not him, but certainly his men. He would feel responsible. She did not want him to feel responsible. She made her own decisions.

She would simply have to outwit them.

Knowing the gelding was the sturdier mount, she released the mare, then rode hard, stopping only long enough to rest the gelding and decide how to continue.

Taking stock of both her knowledge and belongings, she considered her choices.

Jamie had been captured on the road leading here, but he had been on the road. She knew from hearing talk that Macleans had often slipped over the border without being detected.

She knew all the roads and passes were being watched by Macleans. She had gone through the forests, avoiding the roads. She had come close to sentries but avoided them by going through the woods. Branches cut her arms and brushed the sides of her gelding. But the small cuts seemed not to bother him, and were only a small irritation to her.

Her grief was of far greater matter. It was smothering and made bearable only by the knowledge that she was finally doing the right thing for everyone. Her future meant little compared to Rory's and that of those who had befriended her, even after learning of her deception and her heritage.

She had debated over whether she should go by the Cameron keep, but she feared they might attempt to keep her there. Or that Rory might believe she would go there. Instead, she would go to Edinburgh. She would marry as her uncle wished, and Rory and the Macleans would be safe.

But she had so little to help her on the journey. Everything had happened so suddenly, and she'd seen only an opportunity to escape, to save the people she cared about, both Macleans and Campbells.

She had no coin. She had only the clothes she was wearing and her mount. A stolen one, at that.

Her heart clinched as she thought of Jamie. She could not help but feel betrayed by him. Or had he gone to Dunstaffnage to raise an army to rescue her? Or pay a ransom? Why had he said nothing to her? Left a message?

What would he do if she went to Dunstaffnage? Would he take vengeance on the clan who had captured him and held her? She did not think so, but then she would never have believed him capable of violating his word, his parole.

She finally decided her best opportunity to end what could be renewed hostilities--and more deaths--between the clans was to reach her uncle. She would go to Edinburgh. She would plead with her uncle not to take any action. She would insist that all the blame for what had happened was hers and agree to the marriage he'd planned for her.

But getting to Edinburgh presented problems. She knew a lady alone on a fine horse would be an invitation to brigands. And she would need food, and warmth at night.

Her assets? Her short hair. Her slender build. Her rich clothes. The stolen horse.

She could barter her garments and horse for a lad's clothes and a less fine mount. She would see that the Macleans were reimbursed. She had a few jewels still at Inverleith.

Settled on a plan now, she started again. Using the position of the sun to guide her, she plunged on into the woods and toward the hills that bordered Maclean land. She wished she could wait until night to pass the sentries, but she knew Rory would not be far behind, and she had no wish to tarry after dark, without fire, in a forest that had wild boars and wolves. She would just have to be careful. Very, very careful.

Lachlan sat back and watched as Jamie Campbell entered the tavern. As he had on his few appearances, Jamie took a bench backing the wall where he could see all who entered.

The barmaid immediately took a tankard of ale to him and hovered around him suggestively. Lachlan doubted any coin was necessary for a tumble.

Jamie gave her a good-natured grin and a pat on the backside, but then dismissed her and drank from his tankard, his gaze still on the door. Only a flicker in his eyes acknowledged Lachlan.

Lachlan picked up his lute and started singing, but there was no appreciative audience tonight. The few patrons glared at him, instead. He shrugged and went outside. He knew Jamie would follow in several minutes. The last time they'd met they planned a way to detect whether or not Jamie was being followed.

Lachlan went up to his room above the butcher shop. It was small and held little more than a narrow, hard bed and some hooks for his clothes. He looked out the sooty window, and waited.

He watched Jamie finally leave and go down the street. One man who had loitered down the street straightened and started to follow him. Another man joined him.

Lachlan left his room, leaving the lute behind. He was wearing trews and a leather jerkin over a shirt. A dirk was inside his jerkin. He knew how to use it. He was not sure whether he could or not. There would be no need if the two men did not attack the Campbell.

Yet he did not like the looks of the two. Jamie had told him he thought he was being followed and had taken precautions several nights earlier to lose whoever it might be. They had planned then that Lachlan would linger behind to see whether the watchers remained before meeting with him.

Jamie's presence meant he had news. The looks of those following Campbell worried Lachlan. One held something resembling a club.

Jamie walked rapidly, and the two men increased their pace as well. Two men staggered out in front of Jamie, but Lachlan knew instantly they were not drunk. Jamie was now hemmed in by two men in front and two in back.

Lachlan sidled into the shadows as one of the men who had just materialized looked around.

He heard a curse. Then a scuffle. He took out his dirk and approached. Jamie was encircled, but he had his own dirk out. The Campbell ducked a blow from the club, but the attackers surrounded him.

Lachlan shouted to distract them. The four turned toward him, and Jamie took the opportunity to slice open the arm of one, then turn and kick a second man in the groin, sending him down to the ground in agony. One of the attackers turned back to Jamie, and the man with the club moved toward Lachlan.

He did not hesitate this time. Jamie Campbell's life was at stake, as well as Felicia's.

As his opponent raised the club, Lachlan moved quickly aside and thrust the dirk into the man's chest. He felt it go into bone, and the man jerked, then fell, the dirk still in his chest.

He turned around. The attacker Jamie had kneed was getting up painfully, taking a dirk from a sheath under trousers. Jamie was turned away, trading blows with the third man. He could not see the weapon the man was preparing to throw.

Lachlan threw himself at the man, deflecting the throw. The edge of the dirk caught his arm, and Lachlan was aware he'd been sliced. His arm went numb, but he knew the pain would surface. Blood spewed out. The attacker raised the knife again. Lachlan could not raise his left arm. He said a quick prayer, but then the man dropped the knife and fell, Jamie's dirk stuck in his back.

Jamie knelt beside Lachlan, tore off a piece of his shirt, and tied it above the long, bleeding cut.

"I have to get you to a physician," he said. Then he paused. "My thanks," he said simply.

Lachlan felt light-headed. He tried to stand but could not.

Jamie caught him under his right shoulder. "I am taking you to the castle. There is a physician there."

Pain broke through the shock. Waves of agony ran through Lachlan, and they deepened with every movement. "Your father?"

"You just saved his heir, my friend. I do not think he will turn you away."

Lachlan hesitated. "You ... had something to tell me?"

"Not now," Jamie said. "Just lean on me."

Lachlan took a step, then another. It was as if lead had been added to his feet. Each foot became heavier and heavier.

Then his legs stopped working altogether, and the world went black.

Felicia feared she might fall off the horse. She caught herself napping, which was not a good thing. Her mount was a spirited gelding, not a gentle mare, and it had a habit of taking small sidesteps when startled. The last thing she needed was to fall and lose her mount.

She had ridden through the day and part of the night. Once she had heard hoofbeats and moved deeper into the forest, dismounting and holding her hand over the horse's mouth to keep him from neighing. Then dark fell and she feared moving around.

She had meant to be away from the forest before nightfall, but the journey had been far more difficult and slower than she'd thought. The forest turned completely black. Clouds eclipsed the stars and moon, and she had no idea which direction to take. She knew only too well that she might well just go in circles, endangering both of them.

And so she sat on a log, unwilling to lie down or let go of the horse's rein.

It was a fearful few hours. She flinched at every sound, and there were far too many for comfort. The hoot of an owl, the scurrying of a night creature, the frightened neigh of her horse. It seemed every few minutes, there was a new rustling nearby. She imagined all kinds of beasts waiting to devour her and her horse.

She had never been cowardly, but that was when she could face the danger. And now she was haunted by a sense of helplessness and grief for what had been and what would never be again.

As the blackness gradually lightened and turned gray, she ran her hand down her horse's neck, then used the log to mount. She looked to the east where the first glimmers of the sunrise showed her the direction she wanted to take.

Her gown and cloak were damp from last night's fog, and her arms were marked with red welts. A shiver ran through her. It was going to be a very long day after an even longer night.

Rory had ridden through most of the night. He knew the paths, and he used a torch to show the way. He passed several groups of searchers. None had found anything.

He rested the horse and himself at a sentry post near the clan border. He shared the fire with the sentries along with oatmeal and hard bread. Then he started again at first light.

Felicia would have had to rest as well, for her mount's sake as much as her own. He knew her determination now. She would keep going until she dropped, but she would take care of her horse.

He tried to think as she did.

'Impossible'. No one thought as she did. That provoked an internal smile. He even felt a peculiar twitch in his heart.

It crossed his mind that it was rather frightening that he was starting to think like Felicia. At least he hoped he was.

She was making him daft. She confused him, intrigued him, delighted him. She was imaginative and bold, and the unexpected became the expected with her.

She would have to change clothes. Even Felicia would not risk traveling public roads alone. That meant stopping somewhere. Douglas had told him the ride had caught her by surprise, as intended, and so she'd had no time to prepare. She would have only what she wore, and the horse.

'The horse.'

She would try to sell the animal, or trade it. He was certain of it. And then what? She would probably try to obtain a lad's clothing. With her short hair, she could certainly pass as one. She already had at least twice before.

That meant stopping in a village or at a croft. There could not be that many between here and the road to Edinburgh. He wondered how best to use what little time he had. He could watch the road to Edinburgh, or he could stop at nearby crofts. The problem with watching the road was he might have already missed her. His heart pounded at accelerated speed. If he chose wrongly ... ? If he did not know her as well as he thought he did, she could be killed by thieves or footpads. Even worse, she might make Edinburgh and be given to Morneith. The thought froze his soul. He decided to leave the road and search for crofts where she might trade for what she needed. He only prayed that he was right.

*Chapter 27*

Angus Campbell was abed when Jamie returned with Lachlan.

Jamie had carried the Maclean until he reached the castle, then a servant helped him to his rooms. Angus had a large room down the hall, next to the receiving room with the spyhole. Jamie's was several doors down the corridor.

They were all part of a suite of rooms made available to the king's adviser. The rooms were small, though, cold and not very comfortable. Jamie disliked Edinburgh Castle and rarely stayed there. "Summon the physician," Jamie ordered the servant. "Aye, my lord." "Has the king returned?" "They say on the morrow," the servant said. "A messenger arrived to tell the kitchen to expect the royal party." Was that why he was attacked? He had not thought Morneith would dare. The man was obviously more desperate than he'd believed.

He had not so much as blinked during their meeting.

Jamie knew he should be dead now. Probably would have been without Lachlan's interference. He could take down three, but the fourth presented a problem. Unfortunately he had but two eyes, and none in the back.

He looked down at the still-unconscious Lachlan. Despite the cloth cutting off the bleeding, blood still seeped from the wound. Maclean had lost altogether too much. Lachlan Maclean had been a puzzle. But there was no doubt now as to his courage. 'He would not die for it'. Not if Jamie could prevent it. He looked at the wound. The knife had split his arm open. Nearly the length would require stitches. He got some water from a pitcher on the table and used a towel to wipe away some of the blood. He released the cloth he'd tied tightly above the wound, and blood ran heavy. He quickly tightened it again. Where in the blazes was the surgeon? As if summoned by Jamie's thoughts, a knock came at the door, and a lean, cadaverous-looking man entered and went directly to the bed where Lachlan lay. He regarded the wound, then shook his head. "I should cut the arm off." "Nay," Jamie said. "A wound that extensive will surely become putrefied." "We will wait." "It could kill him." "We will still wait," Jamie said. The least he could do was to give Lachlan the chance to make the decision on his own. The physician shrugged. "I will have to cauterize it then." "Do it while he is still unconscious." The physician took a scalpel from his case and went to the fireplace and placed the knife in the flames. He returned. "Who is he?"

"A man who has just saved my life," Jamie said shortly.

"I will do what I can, but I can promise nothing."

Jamie nodded, a sick feeling deep in his gut. He had underestimated Morneith, and Lachlan Maclean was paying the price. He vowed to make Morneith pay.