He snorted. "A bat. Most definitely."

She smiled and lay her head back down, turning her face away from him. She said nothing for a long time and he thought she'd gone to sleep. He was just thinking about trying to rest again, when she asked, "Is my arm... ruined?"

"What mean you?"

"You know what I mean. Think you it will corrupt? Will the scar be ugly?"

Alex paused, uncertain how to answer her question. It was not in his nature to be dishonest and yet women were so very vain. He didn't want to deal with a weeping female. But this was Fayth Graham, no ordinary female and not p.r.o.ne to fits of tears.

"You will certainly have a large scar... as for corruption, we can only wait and see. Sometimes it happens right away, sometimes it happens later."

Her head jerked in a nod. "And if it does?"

"Well... if it does, surely you know what must occur."

She gave a thick laugh that sounded choked. "I guess everyone can call me Armless Hugh, then."

Alex didn't know what to say. He reached out to touch her, then quickly withdrew his hand, annoyed with himself. He lay on his back, resting his hands behind his head. He inhaled sharply as the movement pulled on his wound, the pain radiating through his chest and shoulder. He stilled until it subsided, staring into the gloom, resisting the urge to say something more, to offer some comfort.

"What does Gealach mean?"

He started at her soft voice, but answered, "Moon."

"How odd."

"I thought so, too, until I saw it one night, from a distance. The stone the tower is built from is pale and seems to absorb the moon's light. It glows, almost as if it were made from moonstone."

She sighed softly and a whispered word drifted to him, "Beautiful."

"There is a story that says the tower was built by an Irish prince in order to find his way back to his love."

He fell silent, waiting to see if she would ask to hear more. She was quiet and Alex felt a pang of disappointment. He shouldn't be doing this anyway, talking such foolishness with her. He liked her far too much already.

"Yes?" came the hesitant word.

Alex smiled. "The prince was sailing to Scotland, to visit his uncle, the king of Galloway-"

"The king of Galloway? That must have been a very long time ago, indeed."

"Aye, indeed. Anyway, the prince's ship was struck by a storm-"

"Did the prince have a name?"

"Huh?" Alex raised his head to look at her, but she still faced away.

"His name? Surely he was the prince of something and had a name, at that."

"It's just a tale, Fayth."

"Still, he must have a name."

Alex sighed. "Prince... Shanahan, aye? That's a good Irish name. And he was prince of all Eire. Now, may I proceed?"

"Yes."

"Now, a storm struck Prince Shanahan's ship and everyone perished save the prince. He was washed up on the Mull of Galloway. A young maid found him and brought him home. She nursed him back to health and they fell in love. But he was the prince, after all, and must marry a princess, not a commoner. So he built her a tower, from the most beautiful stone he could find, right there on the coast. He promised to come to her once a year."

Fayth snorted. "Stupid girl."

Alex quirked an eyebrow, amused. "After a year had pa.s.sed, Prince Shanahan could not wait to return to his love. He'd married the ugly Irish girl his father chose for him but he thought of nothing but his Scottish la.s.s."

"What was her name?"

"Umm... Firtha."

"No, I don't like that."

"Bonny, then?"

"Very well."

"So the prince set sail for his Bonny, bringing her great riches to prove his love and devotion."

Fayth snorted again.

"Unfortunately, a thick fog descended and he lost his way. Poor Bonny thought he had abandoned her, that he found another. So she cast herself from the battlements to the rocks below. But on the sea, the fog finally cleared and lo! The moon shone on the tower, making it glow like a beacon. He sailed into the secret cove and unloaded his treasure. But then he learned of his beloved's demise and joined her, throwing himself into the sea."

"I don't like that story."

"Aye, well... The villagers say their spirits haunt the beaches, forever seeking each other, and the treasure has never been found, though many have searched."

"Have you looked?" Fayth asked.

"Ah... a bit, aye."

Yet another snort. She was most unladylike in her derision.

Alex scanned the sky. He'd been able to see the moon earlier, but the fog obscured it now. He remembered when he'd held her by the burn and had seen the moon shining in her eyes. He wondered what she was thinking. Did she think about the story or something else? About her own lost love? He didn't know why he should care. He tried very hard not to care. His eyes burned from the fever, so he closed them, resolving to think on her no more.

0="9"9.

SHOUTING SLOWLY PENETRATED the haze of sleep. Fayth's entire body throbbed. It began in her arm, a deep, angry pulsing, and engulfed the rest of her body. The shouting grew louder. Her head was stuffed with straw. She couldn't think, couldn't understand what was happening. Couldn't even remember where she was, or why.

She heard Ridley's voice and panicked, trying desperately to wake, to rise and run, but found movement impossible. He'd found her. She'd never escape him. But then arms were around her, lifting her. And the voice, soothing her. Yes, she knew this man and it wasn't Ridley. Though he claimed he was trying to be gentle, she was jolted about and cried out several times.

She tried to open her eyes, but they burned terribly. "What's happening?" she asked. Her voice sounded far away and she wondered if she'd even spoken aloud.

They were moving. She was on a horse. Her hand curled, but held no reins. The arms were still around her.

"Grahams and Carlisles are nearby. My scouts sighted them. We must move."