One of his hands sought a better grasp on her and found her breast. He cursed, then he dragged her farther into the alley. She knew she could not move, or scream. He had meant what he said.

"You were far too interested in me," he whispered. "Who are you?"

"Felicia!"

She heard Rory's voice, and her captor's arm tightened around her.

"Felicia," he whispered. "An uncommon name." The point of his dagger touched and cut her skin. "You would not be Felicia Campbell."

She started to say something, and the dagger cut deeper. "Do not speak," he said in a whisper. "Nod."

She did not move. She felt blood running down her neck. A burning pain.

More shouts. Sounds of men running.

He pushed her behind a pile of refuse and forced her down, planting his body on top of her. His dark clothes faded into the darkness.

The smell was suffocating, a combination of the garbage and the rich perfume he wore. His weight crushed her, and she felt him becoming aroused.

Light shone down the alley, but she doubted anyone could see them. She could not yell. Not with the knife at her throat. Morneith had committed treason. He would not hesitate to kill her to protect himself. Her name was called again, but the sound was fainter. The search party was moving away from her.

Morneith rolled off of her, but the dagger point did not leave her neck.

"You 'are' Felicia Campbell. My intended wife. How kind of you to come to me." He pulled her to her feet, the dagger still at her throat.

"You are a traitor," she said. "They will find you."

"Ah, but now I have a hostage."

"I am nothing compared to treason. Do you think my life would keep the king from taking you?"

"The king will have to find me first. And I do think young Campbell cares for your life. If I can leave Edinburgh, I have armies ..."

She could not let that happen. "My cousin cares about his king above all."

"We will see, will we not. Tell me, Felicia," he said. "How did you happen to be dressed as a guttersnipe?"

"To trap you," she said viciously.

"Ah, you like a fight. I enjoy women who fight. I like breaking them. Not as much as a lad, but--you would make it easy to pretend."

She opened her mouth to scream, and his hand clasped over it. He had to move the dagger as he did, and she saw her chance. He was slightly off balance, and too confident. She twisted suddenly and kneed him in the crotch with all her strength. He groaned and let go so suddenly she fell, and she screamed as he did. The dagger fell with her.

She rolled away from him as he tried to straighten.

She saw the dagger at the same time he did, but she was faster. She reached for it just as he lunged for her, a spate of curses tumbling from his mouth. She felt his large body pin her down again.

Feet running. Her name echoed in the alley.

Morneith tried to grab her around the neck, but suddenly his body rolled off her, and she was able to grasp the dagger.

She turned. Rory was on Morneith, his hands beating his face, pummeling his chest.

She screamed again, and more men came running.

Rory stood up. Morneith lay bleeding, a sob coming from his mouth.

Rory turned and looked toward the newcomers.

And then she saw Morneith take a second dagger from inside his coat and start to rise. Rory's back was to him.

"Rory?"

He turned. It would be too late. A dagger was in her hand. She thrust it into Morneith's back.

He turned, looked at her with astonishment, then fell.

And Rory's arms closed around her.

Rory's heart beat frantically as he held her. Dear Mother in Heaven, but he had come close to losing her.

He had rushed after Felicia but had been delayed when a lout--probably someone with Morneith--tripped him, then started a loud argument, which drew more people. He had finally been able to break free and rush after Felicia.

Several men had rushed to a cart down the street, and he started in that direction, when he'd heard a scuffle and a scream in the ally that ran alongside the tavern. He'd turned and peered into the darkened alley. With eyes trained to see in the dark, he'd seen the two forms against the wall and the dagger at Felicia's throat. He saw the threat, but he could not attack Morneith as long as he had the dagger to Felicia's throat. And then, unbelievably she had managed to unman him, which gave Rory the opportunity he needed ...

He felt the blood running down from her neck. He released her and tore off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it gently around the wound, then he held her tight. He never wanted to let her go.

But he knew he had to. She had almost died. Because of him. Because he had brought her with him. It had not all been, as he had claimed, to keep her safe. Part of it had been his need for her, his desire to have her with him.

And it had almost cost her life.

He released her. "Thank God you are alive," he said. "It is my--"

"Nay," she said.

He was startled at her vehemence. "Nay?"

"You will not blame yourself."

He was silent, not quite sure what she meant.

"It was my decision to come to Edinburgh, to the tavern tonight. It was my decision to go after Jamie. You cannot take responsibility for the entire world. You were not responsible for your wife's death in childbirth, or Anne's illness."

"You cannot--" he started to say, but then they were suddenly surrounded by armed men, one holding a torch.

Two of them grabbed Rory. He did not fight them.

"Nay!" she said.

"Lady Felicia," said the apparent leader. "Are ye ... ?"

"I am not badly hurt. And let him go. He just saved my life from that..." She looked down at Morneith's body. Her voice sounded stricken.

The two men held on to Rory, and he did not try to get loose. She had nearly died, and then she had killed a man. Even if he had been a monster, Rory knew she must have some guilt, regret. Regardless of what she had said, he felt responsible for it all.

"I am sorry, my lady. We have orders," the leader of the men said. "I will have to take him to your uncle."

He saw her tense. "Nay," she said again.

But he knew it was useless. A favorite of the king had been killed. Rory had kidnapped the Campbell's niece and had held his son. They were not going to let him go.

And Felicia's wounds needed attention. "Go with them," he said in a harsh voice.

She got that stubborn look again.

"Please," he added, unable to mask the desperation in his voice.

She stared at him in the light of the torch. Then she nodded in recognition of her own helplessness. "I will talk to Jamie."

Rory thought it would do little good, but he wanted her away. He nodded as if he thought it would make everything right.

Before any of the Campbell men could react, she took the few steps separating them and stood on tiptoes. She kissed him, making a public announcement to everyone there.

Then he was hustled off.

*Chapter 30*

Bandaged and dressed in a gown her uncle had somehow found, Felicia was summoned to her uncle's room. Had she not been, she had planned to confront him on her own terms. She had to know what was happening to Rory.

She had mentally prepared a heated defense of him. He had exposed a traitor. He had saved her life. The king and her uncle should reward him, not imprison him.

Her uncle regarded her as if she were a strange being from a faraway country, as if he could not believe she was a Campbell.

"You are a disobedient child."

She thrust her chin up. "I am not a child, Uncle." She knew she probably had looked like one when, hours earlier, she had first entered the Campbell rooms with her shorn hair and lad's clothes. He had taken one look at her and demanded that she dress as befitted her station.

She had started to argue, demanding to know what he was going to do with Rory, when Jamie entered. He looked unsteady, and blood covered the left side of his blond hair.

She ran over to him. "They have taken Rory."

"I know," he said, sitting down wearily next to his father.

The interruption did not halt her uncle's tirade.

"Nay. You are not a child, and that is the problem." He shook his head as if he were at a complete loss as to what to do with her. "You have been compromised," he finally said. "You have traveled with the Maclean with no chaperons. You have stayed alone with him."

Then he had ordered her from the room. She had obediently changed clothes and waited, praying that Jamie could weave a certain magic.

Now she was back, and her uncle was no less fierce. James, standing at her side, winked at her.

Her uncle glared at her. "Jamie tells me there is naught to do but marry him."

She was stunned. Her uncle advocating a marriage with a Maclean. She looked over at Jamie.

"He does not want me," she said.

Her uncle roared with displeasure. "Of course he wants you. Jamie says he loves you. He was ready to defy the king for you. I will have the scamp's head if he does not wed you after destroying your good name."

Jamie 'had' woven magic.

And yet he would have to weave more in order to convince Rory to wed her.

Her silence obviously annoyed Campbell. "I will speak with him myself," he said, his voice terse with annoyance. "A Maclean, my God. Could you not find anyone else to foist yourself upon?" Jamie had obviously told him that her abduction was really no abduction at all.

"No," she said. "And I will not force him into an unwanted marriage. Just," she added defiantly, "as I would not be forced into one."

Baffled, Angus Campbell stared at her. She knew he was not used to being defied. And now both she and Jamie, his son, had done exactly that. He obviously did not know how to proceed.

He blustered. "Whether you like it or not, I will have a word with the Maclean. You are dismissed."

His face was red, and she feared he might have an attack.

"I will not," she said. "Do as you like, Uncle, and so will I. You can never force me to agree to something he does not want." She left, her small triumph overshadowed by a great hole in her heart. She wanted Rory more than life itself, but she would not force him into something he felt was wrong. And she knew how deeply he felt that he might have in some way been responsible for the deaths of two women he loved, and how he feared, above all, to be responsible for yet another.

Rory paced the small cold cell in Edinburgh Castle. Now he knew how Jamie had felt, and he suffered regret at having held him in a cell. He prayed that Jamie had survived this night's disaster, and that Felicia's wounds were slight. Even slight, though, there was danger of infection.

Since meeting Felicia, he had found himself praying quite often.

He saw a light approaching through the window in the iron door and stood. He had no idea as to what might come. All he knew was that he had made a terrible mess of everything. Lachlan was wounded, as was Jamie, and Felicia... God only knew what her fate would be.

The door creaked open.

Jamie stood in the flickering light.

There was something quite ironic about the situation.

Jamie stepped inside with a torch and placed it in a sconce. He regarded Rory for a long moment. He looked wan, and Rory saw the large bump on the back of his head.

"Do you love my cousin?" he asked bluntly.

No comment could have surprised Rory more. "Aye," he said, refusing to lie to Jamie.