The dog only became increasingly agitated and started to howl. Fayth staggered away, abandoning the dog. It was clear her wound, though in her arm, was affecting her whole body. She felt slow, weighed down. Every step jarred her arm so badly she bit her tongue. Lights burst behind her eyes. A metallic taste filled her mouth.

The blood still streamed down her arm, leaving a trail behind her. Biddy followed, whining and barking. It was hopeless, she'd never escape.

She tried to yell, "Go away!" but it came out in a tortured breath. She clenched her teeth and pressed forward. It was an arrow wound to her arm, d.a.m.n it! Not to her head, or heart, or belly-or even her leg! A minor wound that would not hamper a man, would not hamper Red Alex.

She heard shouting and another whistle. Biddy went wild, yipping and chasing her tail. Fayth forced herself to run. She felt heavy and lumbering, but kept at it. Biddy's barks stopped and the voices grew faint. Hope began to grow, giving her a spurt of strength. She chanced a look over her shoulder, seeing nothing but trees. Then her foot tangled in a root, turning painfully, and she was falling.

The ground smacked into her jaw and she bit her tongue again. She landed on her arm, twisting the arrow until she felt the skin tear. She tried to scream, but only moaned pitiably. Her eyes were open, yet she could see nothing but blinding light. She trembled uncontrollably. Her lips moved in a silent prayer. Oh please, Lord, just this once, let me faint.

0="7"7.

LADY ANNE IRVINE, youngest daughter of the earl of Dornock, was a bundle of nerves and doubts as she waited to meet her betrothed. She'd been so happy just a few short days ago. She'd exchanged portraits with Lord Ridley Graham and been well pleased with her intended's appearance. He had written her lovely letters, proclaiming her beauty and his impatience to wed her.

But since the visit from the woman disguised as a boy, Lady Anne had been filled with nothing but misgivings. Part of her was convinced that the girl must have been a spurned lover, out to have her revenge on Lord Graham. But mostly, she remembered the earnestness and sincerity in the woman's face.

Anne had spoken to her father about it but he dismissed the woman's visit. He said it was probably a kinsman of either the Irvines or the Grahams, intent on keeping the feud alive.

Perhaps.

But Anne, though young, was not a fool. Her father knew this, and so gave her leave to break the betrothal with Lord Graham if, after meeting him, she found him not to her liking. Anne had written him straightaway, telling him she wished to meet him before they agreed to wed. As she expected, an answer had been quickly forthcoming. He was most distressed, as he'd thought the marriage was already agreed upon. He promised to leave Lord Carlisle's stronghold of Lochnith immediately and would arrive at Dornock soon, to set her mind at ease.

His desire to satisfy her was a point in his favor, Anne had to admit, but at the same time, she was wary. Peering into the looking gla.s.s, she plucked at the yellow ribbons in her hair and adjusted her bodice.

There was a scratch at the door and then her maid entered. "Lord Graham has arrived."

Anne wrung her hands, searching the room as if for an escape. "Did Father send you to fetch me?"

Her maid shook her head. "Nay, but he sends his man up."

"Good." Anne began to calm. "Tell them I am in the gardens. Have them join me there."

She hurried from the room. This would give her the opportunity to observe Lord Graham before they met. In the garden, she slipped through the bushes and waited.

After an interminable amount of time, she spotted her father, short and squat, looking like a stuffed hen in his silk and velvet coat and feathered cap. Beside him walked a tall man, dressed in elaborate finery. His golden brown beard was well groomed, his legs, encased in tight hose, were long and muscular. He chatted amiably with her father. His gestures were wide and confident, his laugh full and pleasant.

Anne chewed her lip, trying to decide what to do. He was more handsome than the miniature he'd sent her. And yet, something raised the hair on her neck and arms.

"May I ask what you're watching?"

Anne nearly screamed and whirled, her hand pressed to her bosom. A young man stood before her. How he'd found her, she didn't know, as this path was hidden from sight.

He was about five years older than she and of average height-taller than herself by nearly a head. He wore no hat. Dark curls framed his head like a cap. His eyes were large and brown, a fine brown beard hugged his jaw, almost covering a ragged scar on his cheek. She found herself transfixed by it, wondering what had caused such a wound. His jaw tightened and a gloved hand went self-consciously to the scar before falling away just as suddenly, as if trying to convince himself he had nothing to be ashamed of.

His gaze moved over her, taking in everything, and yet not offending. "You're not a servant. May I ask again what you were watching?"

Anne realized she still clutched her chest as if her heart had failed. She dropped her hand and began working at the finger of her glove nervously. "I am Lady Anne Irvine and I was hoping to catch a glimpse of my betrothed before I met him."

Something sparked in his eyes. Humor? He moved closer. She held her breath, heat climbing her chest, and then he went past her. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to recapture her wits. She turned to find him peering through the break in the branches.

When he turned back, his expression was somber. "Did you get your glimpse, my lady?"

She nodded.

He was so straight, so serious. He seemed coiled, ready to spring on a foe at any moment. A strength emanated from him that she found fascinating.

"And did the glimpse please you?"

"He is... comely."

He raised a brow, noting her hesitation.

Anne shrugged. "But what does a pretty face tell you? Nothing, except it masks the truth better."

"What is the truth?"

Anne's cheeks colored. She didn't even know this man. Why was she saying these things to him? She started to back away, but he reached for her. His hands closed into a fist before touching her and drew away. But it was enough to stop her. She looked back at him.

"I should go... they'll be looking for me."

He stepped back, putting his hands behind his back. "Of course... I'm sorry."

She knew she should leave immediately. But his eyes held her. She couldn't look away. She saw sorrow and darkness there. But there was warmth, too, simmering below the surface.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

Before he could answer, she heard her father. "Anne! Where are ye, la.s.sie? Come out!" And then to someone else, "She knows all the little trails. Designed the gardens herself."

The man looked around their little clearing with new interest. "This is your doing?"

Anne nodded.

"It is the finest garden I've seen. I was drawn to it immediately-I had the urge to hide myself within, as if it were another world, a fairy kingdom-"

"Aye! That is just what it is!" Anne said, clapping her hands, thrilled that he'd understood her intention so well. "I come here oft, to forget things... for a little while."

He c.o.c.ked his head slightly. "And what must a fine lady like you retreat from?"

Why did she keep saying these things to him? She shook her head, shy suddenly. She knew she should go but couldn't leave without knowing who this man was and if she'd have the opportunity to speak with him again.

"What is your name, sir?"

"Wesley."

She repeated his name, smiling slightly.

He stepped forward, his hand reaching for her neck, hovering over the pendant she wore. She lowered her chin, but could not look away from his face for long.

"It's lovely," he said, pulling his hand away quickly.