"How did Red Alex save your life?"

The silence weighed heavy. Fayth thought he wouldn't answer, but finally he said, "Alex knows about the monks... not that Dunfermline was anything at all like Rees Abbey, where I was. He says most of the monks at Dunfermline were good men... but he understood that some of them..." He swallowed hard and met Fayth's steady gaze. "Like Father Rae, aren't very G.o.dly."

"Not G.o.dly?" Fayth was more confused than ever. This was not what she'd expected from a band of outlaws-from Red Alex's band of outlaws. "Who is Father Rae? What did he do?"

When it became clear Laine would say no more about his time at Rees, or Alex rescuing him, Fayth asked, "Does Eliot owe Red Alex his life?" She glanced back at the one-armed man. His eyes were still fixed on her.

Laine gazed at Eliot for a few seconds. "Aye... but it was long afore I came to be with them. Eliot is a Maxwell and kin to Alex. Red Rowan took him in when his father was murdered. By a Graham, of course."

Fayth fought her scowl of irritation. Of course. As if only Grahams went about murdering Maxwells.

"He lost his arm in a hunting accident. He would have lost his life, if not for Alex."

If not for Alex. Fayth found her gaze drawn to Alex again, but she resisted. "Why does Eliot keep staring at me?"

"Red Alex probably set him to guarding you."

Fayth noticed another man loitering nearby, but he wasn't nearly as vigilant.

"He certainly takes his duties seriously."

"We all do, Hugh. We're not merely a band of outlaws. We have a home and we mean to keep it." His head jerked back to the bag.

Fayth studied the lad. He didn't speak in the rough border accent of the others. Though he was certainly a Scot, this speech bore the mark of education. He'd spent a good while at the abbey.

Laine finally pulled dried meat and a loaf of hard bread from the sack. "You'll want to watch out for Eliot, he's not fond of strangers. It took him some time to tolerate me. He can't abide Davie."

"Davie?"

Laine broke the loaf, offering half to Fayth. He pointed across the clearing to a pale-haired man, sitting beneath a tree, grinding something with mortar and pestle. "Aye, Davie's our leech. He's only been with us a few weeks. He doesn't speak and cannot hear."

Fayth accepted the flagon of beer Laine pa.s.sed to her. "If he can't speak or hear, how did he learn to heal?"

"His sister was one of the finest healers on the border. The villagers hated him-thought he was a half-wit. She took care of him after their mother died. But she drowned one day, no one knows how or why, though her husband, an angry man who wanted nothing more than to be rid of the dullard, accused Davie of murdering her. When we came through the village Davie was being tried for murder."

Fayth looked again at Davie, frowning. "How did you convince the villagers he was innocent?"

"We didn't. Red Alex and Skelley sat through a bit of the trial, for it was a public thing, and not much of a trial at all. In the end, took him at sword point." Laine took a bite of his meat and spoke around it. "And so here he is."

Fayth stared for a long time at the fair-haired leech. This was all so troubling. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear any more of these stories. She looked away and noticed several men had joined Eliot and his attention was now on them as they played cards.

Laine gnawed at his bread, following her gaze. "Stay clear of Eliot and you'll do fine, lad." He grinned suddenly and Fayth was relieved for some unfathomable reason that he was no longer annoyed at her. "If you prove yourself worthy, Alex might even let you stay."

Fayth wouldn't be around long enough for that to happen. "Is that what you did? Proved yourself worthy?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

Fayth smiled blandly. "I'm curious about my uncle, is all."

Laine grunted.

"So... what did this Father Rae do that was so bad?"

Laine stopped chewing abruptly, piercing her with a hard stare. "That's none of your business."

Fayth's eyes widened as she suddenly understood. She'd heard stories about the corrupt monks, b.u.g.g.e.ring boys, girls, animals, anything that moved. "Did he-"

"He didn't!" Laine reached beneath the sacks and grabbed his latch. He stood. "I wouldn't go far, if I were you."

He crossed the clearing and came to stand by Eliot, watching the game over the one-armed man's shoulder. Fayth set aside her rock-hard oatcake and chewed on her fingernail, wondering how she had offended the lad. It was clear he didn't want to speak of his time at the abbey, but why? Had the priest really violated him? And Carlisle refused to help him? But Alex had helped, when Laine's own father had abandoned him. Fayth's head hurt from thinking so hard. What did she care? Why did it matter that Alex had helped Laine or Davie? It changed nothing. She wasn't staying. She had to get away and find Mona.

Alex had been directing the men to break up camp. They would be leaving soon. He would probably make her ride with him and she would have no opportunity to escape.

No one seemed to be paying attention, so Fayth stood idly and wandered toward the trees. She stopped at a birch and leaned against it, as if that had been her destination all along. Laine turned away from the game, but he hadn't spotted her yet, though she saw by his sudden alertness that he noticed she was no longer where he'd left her. Fayth pushed away from the tree and walked quickly into the woods.

"Hugh!" Laine shouted.

Fayth glanced over her shoulder and saw that two men had started after her, one of them Eliot. She hesitated, noting their size. They were large men, bulky with muscle. Their thighs were swollen with it. But she was small and light and fast. She could outrun them.

She sprinted into the forest, dodging trees and branches and brambles, not looking back. An arrow whizzed past her leg, almost causing her to trip. She caught herself, then pain seared through her arm, sending her sprawling forward into a tree. She looked down, horrified to see a bloodied arrowhead and gore-streaked shaft protruding from her upper arm. At least they hit my arm and not my leg.

She kept running, gripping her elbow to hold her arm tight against her side. The pain was sharp, burning, but she kept going, even when she no longer heard them crashing through the forest after her. Her vision was beginning to cloud when she finally stopped.

There was a roaring in her ears. Air sawed in and out of her lungs and her arm-it was fire-molten lead, dragging her down. She leaned against a tree, trying to catch her breath. She stared upward, at the sunlight streaming through the canopy of branches and leaves, dazzling her eyes. Something dripped nearby. Fayth couldn't remember the last time it rained. Her hands felt sticky. She raised one hand in front of her face and stared uncomprehendingly at the red glove she wore. Her stomach lurched. Blood. So much blood.

When she no longer labored for air, she examined her arm, ripping the sleeve off to expose the wound. The arrow had gone straight through. She reached around, felt the fletching bristling out of the back of her arm. Blood streamed down, splattering onto the leaves beneath her. The dripping. The ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet and her stomach heaved again. She slid to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. Had the bone snapped? She couldn't tell, couldn't move her arm.

She stared down at her hand, lying open on her thigh, and willed herself to make a fist. The fingers curled and tightened in a weak grip. Relieved, she closed her eyes, meaning only to rest for a moment.

She woke to something wet lapping at her cheeks. She stared blearily at the furry face filling her vision. One brown eye, one winter blue. Biddy. The dog sat beside her, panting, its tail swishing noisily through the blanket of leaves.

"Biddy..." Fayth said, her voice cracking and weak. Where had the dog come from? Fayth raised her good hand to pat the dog's head. When she returned her hand to support her hurt arm, she noted that the ragged flesh around the wound was red and swollen.

Biddy closed her mouth and whined softly. She began to wash Fayth's face again. Blood from Fayth's hands streaked the dog's coat.

"How did you find me?" Her arm throbbed dully. It felt as if a weight stone were tied to her shoulder, pulling her arm off.

Biddy barked several times. Fayth turned her face away, trying to shush the dog, but was too weak to be effective. She had to get up, get moving again, or they would find her. She frowned, momentarily uncertain from whom she was running... Ridley? Red Alex? Both? She shook herself, recalling the men at the Dragon's Lair, her lie, and being confronted with Red Alex.

The last was all the impetus she needed. She rose to her knees, cradling her wounded arm tight. Her mouth was so dry. She needed to find a stream-to drink and clean the wound. Slowly, she rose to her feet, feeling like an old woman.

She turned in a circle, swaying all the while, trying to decide which way to go. The forest swirled around her, a bright whirlwind of green and gold and brown. She closed her eyes, shuddering violently.

A sharp whistle sounded to her right. Fayth jerked toward the sound, eyes snapping open, and stumbled. She caught herself on a tree, b.u.mping her wounded arm against the trunk. Blinding pain sliced through her arm. Fayth's mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out, only a desperate sobbing.

Biddy was hysterical. The dog danced about, yipping and barking excitedly.

"No, no!" Fayth said. "Quiet!"