Alex laughed softly and shook his head.

He found her protestations amusing! She wanted to get up and hit him just to prove how strong she still was, but he was right. She was too weak. She didn't think she could stand without a.s.sistance. d.a.m.n it! It burned to be so dependent on someone else, particularly when that someone else was her betrothed's murderer, a fact that kept slipping her mind for some reason.

"Come, you must eat something to regain your strength. We have a journey ahead of us."

He fetched a sack and returned to sit beside her. He removed a bundle that upon unwrapping revealed dried meat and an oatcake. He held the meat to her lips as if he planned to feed her. She jerked her head back and almost toppled over when her vision clouded. His hand was there, on her back. His face swam into focus. When he tried to feed her again, she s.n.a.t.c.hed the meat from his fingers.

"I can feed myself!" He held his hands up, as if to show he meant no harm, and lay the oatcake on her knee. Fayth inspected the meat critically before taking a bite. He left her, disappearing into trees.

"Good riddance," she muttered. But when he didn't return immediately, a sense of panic began to invade. What if he didn't come back? What if he decided to leave her here to rot?

So what if he did? She tried to convince herself that it didn't matter, that she could fend for herself. She'd wounded her arm, for Christ's sake! But it only took an attempt to stand to prove how helpless she was. She needed him, at least until she got her strength back. As she recovered, she would determine if Red Alex had any idea where his brother, Sir Patrick, was. Then she would escape and find Mona. She would not be reckless this time. She would consider every possible outcome of her actions and choose the wisest course. She would give no one reason to call her reckless or stupid.

Having a plan of action gave her some comfort. She continued scanning the surrounding forest until she sighted Red Alex, returning with Skelley. Only then was she able to settle down to eat and rest.

Alex struggled to get comfortable on the hard ground. He'd slept on it often enough, wounded even, but still preferred a bed. His shoulder ached where Fayth had shot him. It had seemed fine at first, but he felt the poison now, the fever, creeping into his limbs. Making his body ache. But it wasn't bad yet, and it might not be. He'd battled the fever before and often enough it barely interfered with his doings. It was Fayth he was concerned with. If the fever took her, she wouldn't have the strength to fight it.

He didn't want to worry about the woman sleeping an arm's length away from him. She was responsible for countless problems, had a nasty temper, loathed him, and yet still, even now that she was firmly in his possession-she was going nowhere with that arm-he could not rest. It was concern for Patrick, he told himself. Patrick had been missing for a month now. His trail, if Alex could even find it, was growing cold. He'd sent a messenger to his other brother, Robert, to discover if he'd learned anything new. Robert's reply would be waiting at Gealach when he arrived. Alex had in his possession a clue to Patrick's whereabouts, but as long as the Grahams remained a threat to his lands, he could not pursue it.

Fog rose from the ground around them. Skelley sneezed in the distance. Alex wondered how long they could keep up the charade that Fayth was a boy and didn't know why he cared. As a female she'd be a distraction to the men, as she already was to him. And he did not like the idea of others being distracted by her. Some speculation had already arisen at his decision to tend "Hugh" personally-alone. He'd merely stated it was because the boy was family. The other men, excepting Skelley and Eliot, had been satisfied with that. Skelley knew better. Though Alex trusted Skelley, this was a secret he was unwilling to share. He'd had to share it with Davie, but that was out of necessity. They'd had to remove her shirt to tend the wound. But Davie never spoke. The truth was safe with him. As for Eliot... well, nothing much satisfied that man.

Alex heard the crunch of footsteps and tensed. Eliot emerged from the fog, as if he knew Alex was pondering the particular problem that was Eliot.

"Get yer rest, man," Eliot said. "I'll watch him till morning."

Alex shook his head. "Nay."

"I ken why ye're doing this," Eliot said, hand braced on hip.

"Why am I doing this?"

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Alex! I shot him in the arm, no the chest or back." Eliot pointed an angry finger at the sleeping form. "That is not Patrick's son. I dinna ken what he wants, but he's too pretty to be a Maxwell."

Alex only stared back, refusing to be drawn into this again. He'd already given Eliot such a tongue-lashing for shooting Fayth-and giving orders for others to fire upon her-that he was astounded the man would seek him out again so soon.

Eliot sighed. "This isna aboot the lad, is it? It was an accident, before. The Graham was a murderer and a b.l.o.o.d.y cheat, besides-he had it coming. No great loss."

"I'm sure the Grahams beg to differ," Alex ground out, his gaze darting to Fayth, glad she was still asleep.

"Ye're vexed because of the ransom. I said I'd-"

"Eliot, I am finished discussing this with you."

Eliot's face grew dark. He hated being dismissed by anyone and yet Alex had taken to doing just that far too frequently of late, as the man frustrated him beyond reason. He knew something must give soon, but now was not the time.

Alex sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "It's over."

"Aye, but I know ye dinna believe me." He jerked his head at Fayth's sleeping form. "Christ, Alex, he's but a bairn. Ye think I'd hurt him?"

Aye. Alex didn't know why he didn't trust Eliot with Fayth. After all, thus far Eliot had only brutalized sworn enemies of the Maxwells. But these days, Eliot made him uneasy and it saddened him. Alex wished he understood what had soured his friend.

"Just the same," Alex said, "I'll watch over him."

Eliot stalked away and Alex's shoulder slumped in relief. At least Eliot didn't suspect Hugh was a woman and a Graham, at that. Jack Graham, and several other prisoners, had been killed on Eliot's watch. Alex allowed his prisoners relative freedom of the keep. Gaming and whoring tended to escalate into fighting. Alex understood this. Only it happened a bit too often when Eliot was in charge. After the last incident-when several prisoners were brutally murdered in what Alex refused to believe was the mere accident Eliot claimed-Alex had punished him. He'd gotten off easy, as most men would be expelled or killed. But Alex let him stay, hoping for change. He'd stopped giving Eliot authority. But rather than forcing Eliot to reign in his temper and try to prove himself worthy, Eliot bitterly resented it.

Alex closed his eyes, trying to ignore the deep throbbing in his shoulder. He planned to depart this clearing tomorrow. If Ridley were looking for Fayth, then they must keep moving. Gealach was two days' ride, but with an invalid it might take as much as a sennight.

After a moment Alex sat up and leaned toward her, to check her color. When he'd found her yesterday, she'd been lying in a puddle of blood. Her skin, dusky and pink normally, had been nearly gray, her lips tinged blue. He'd been angry with her for running, frustrated that she kept slipping from his grasp. And more than a little disgusted with himself for groping her before. She probably ran because she feared he would rape her, despite her bravado and bold insults. He'd taken her to keep Gealach, not ravish her. And yet it would be a lie to say he hadn't contemplated it. Contemplate, h.e.l.l-he'd imagined having her naked beneath him for weeks. Lain awake wishing to G.o.d he was alone so he could relieve himself. He was thirty, not some untried, beardless lad. This was what she had reduced him to.

But when he'd seen the blood, all that had faded. His sole concern became staunching her wound. He'd thought her dead or at the very least in that realm of unconsciousness where one was oblivious to the world around them, the deep sleep that some never woke from. But no, she'd opened her eyes, pinned him with a glare, and insisted she was fine. He smiled at the memory.

His smile faded as he acknowledged that her wound complicated things further. And he could not keep her. He would give her to Carlisle if the old man cooperated. If not, Alex would eventually return her to Ridley. And she did not want either of them. She had preferred to let Red Alex kidnap her than stay and face her fate.

He inhaled the damp air, and sighed, wondering again why this woman had such a hold on him. His gaze was drawn to her, as it was so often. In sleep, she was an angel. She'd not regained her color, but it was no longer grayish. Her lips were pale, but pink. Yes, she would recover so long as the wound did not corrupt. Alex poked at the bandage, looking for signs of seepage.

She swore, her jaw tightening as she clenched her teeth, holding in any other moans of pain-signs of weakness. After a moment she opened her eyes, turning her head to look at him.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Not long."

Her eyes drifted shut again. "Then why are you bothering me?"

"I'll be waking you every few hours, at least tonight. Davie said we must not let you sleep too long." Well, the leech hadn't exactly said it. He'd gestured at the moon, tracing a track across the sky, then pretended to shake Fayth awake. Alex a.s.sumed he was indicating the pa.s.sage of time and saying she should be wakened periodically. He'd tried to verify this with Skelley, who had been watching the show with his tongue working busily at the gaps in his teeth, but the older man only shook his head, bewildered.

"Davie...?" she said.

"Aye, our healer."

"Oh yes." She sighed again, but her eyes opened, staring blankly before her. "What will you do with me?"

It disconcerted him that he'd just been contemplating that very subject. He was not ready to discuss it with her. "It depends on Carlisle. You know that."

"No."

"You would rather stay with me?"

She darted him a dark look.

"I'm confused then, because I can see few other alternatives for a woman alone."

"Yes, I'm sure you see very little."

Alex smothered his smile. She was most contentious. "Why all this trouble to escape Carlisle? It's a woman's lot to wed. Your sister went to the altar readily enough, and she had misgivings. But she knew her place."

"Caroline's place was in a nunnery. She spent her entire life preparing to be a nun. You have no idea what her place is. Or mine!" He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn't finished. "And as for your place, it's the gallows, with the other outlaws and murderers, waiting to hang!"

"I might say the same about you since you're responsible for the death of many Maxwells."