He dug in his spurs and put this place, his deception, and his father, behind him. They'd been riding for nearly an hour when Eliot called for him to stop. He drew rein and scanned the forest around them. The air was heavy and chill from the recent rains. The mist of his breath blossomed around him.

"They're following us," Laine said.

"I ken." But Eliot didn't look overly concerned.

"Should we try to lose them?"

Eliot said nothing, but he was listening, his head c.o.c.ked slightly. The snapping of twigs and branches, and the crunch of leaves followed them.

"They're not really trying to hide it, either," Laine said, puzzled by this behavior.

"Aye... they're no stupid. They're making sure I'm no playing them false."

Laine frowned slightly at Eliot's reference to himself, as if Laine hadn't been party to the whole farce.

"Well?" Laine said, becoming annoyed. "Shall we try to lose them, or-he lowered his voice-"ambush them? Then we can return to Red Alex with prisoners."

Eliot nodded and waved at Laine to follow him. He dismounted, leading his horse into a thick cl.u.s.ter of trees and bracken. When they were hidden in the foliage, Laine turned to peer through the leaves. The sounds had stopped, but no one appeared.

Laine shook his head, confused. "What are they waiting for?" When Eliot didn't answer, Laine turned his head to look at him and caught the blade of a dirk coming at him. He flung himself backward and the blade caught his neck, puncturing, but not slicing. Laine made a strangled scream, slapping his hand over the wound and struggling to back away from Eliot.

Blood oozed thickly between his fingers as he slid partly down the tree. Eliot stood over him, the dirk clutched in his fist, stained with Laine's blood. Laine had never liked Eliot, but hadn't thought him capable of such an act. He was cousin to Red Alex, had grown up with the Annan Maxwells. Laine couldn't grasp this traitorous act and stared at Eliot in disbelief, gasping for air.

"Now I'll gi' ye yer first, and last, lesson on the nature of men." Eliot took a step forward. "Trust no one."

After the monastery, Laine should have learned that lesson by now. He edged around the tree, putting a bush and several jagged boulders between himself and Eliot. The one-armed man merely laughed.

"Ye still underestimate me, laddie. Ye canna get away. If I left ye now, ye'd die from that neck. Let me do ye one kindness, to repay ye for yer misplaced trust. Come here and let me end it quick."

The betrayal nearly choked Laine. He tried to speak, but to his horror nothing came out but a strange gurgling. The pain was sharp, burning, as if the knife were still there, blocking his words.

Eliot circled the stones, stalking Laine. "Lord Graham knew ye'd be a problem and suggested I get rid of ye. I wanted to be finished wi' ye right there in camp but Lord Graham wouldna hear of it. Carlisle's too important to him, it seems."

Laine wanted to cry. As if his father cared! His father likely would have wielded the knife himself, if asked.

"And then there was Mr. Wesley. He didn't want ta kill ye either. Lord Graham thought it best if I handled it."

Laine shook his head, mouthing, Why? His mind couldn't wrap around it. Eliot loved Alex, as they all did. How could he do this?

"Why? For Gealach, of course. Lord Graham will make me warden of it if I get him the la.s.s."

Laine shook his head, wanting to scream, Fool! He's using you! He'll never give you anything. He wants you to kill me away from camp so the blame cannot be pinned on him. You are naught more than a tool and a scapegoat. But all that came out was a wheezing sound. Laine began to feel a spark of hope, even as his limbs grew weak and heavy. He could still breathe. Laine backed away, wanting to run, but his vision clouded and he knew he'd never make it if he turned his back on Eliot. He must conserve his strength. He must be clever.

Eliot c.o.c.ked his head to the side. "Why do ye shake yer head at me? Ye dinna believe it? Well, I wondered that meself, but if he tries to cozen me, he's playing wi' the wrong man. I'll slit his gullet as easily as I did yers." His smile was a white slash in his ebony beard. "Methinks he knew this. That's why he chose me, because I could be trusted, if compensated properly."

Something hit Laine's calves and he fell backward, over a stone and into a bush. The branches tore at his arms and clothes and the burning wound in his neck.

G.o.d help me, he prayed, as the world darkened and Eliot's shadow fell over him. But he knew it for a fool's prayer. G.o.d had abandoned him long ago.

0="13"13.

ALEX COULDN'T HIDE his relief when Gealach was finally sighted in the distance. His fever was no worse and as he'd gotten little rest, he thought that was probably a good sign. His shoulder hurt like h.e.l.l, but it was clean, with no trace of corruption. Alex hoped he was finally on the mend.

Their injured states had doubled the travel time to Gealach and they were all weary of their own stench. Fayth had said little to him since he'd kissed her two days ago and then took responsibility for her lover's death. There was no help for it. He was responsible for his men's actions, even if some of them were harder to manage than others.

His thoughts turned to Eliot and Laine. He regretted his inability to go after them. If they were alive, Alex would soon hear from the Grahams with a ransom request. It was possible Ridley would attempt to trade Eliot and Laine for Fayth, but Alex thought not. Laine was Carlisle's son, and though he'd turned his back on the boy, he surely wouldn't use him in such a manner. And Eliot... well, it was doubtful Ridley or Carlisle saw him as being of any value to anyone.

They'd managed to reive a mount for Fayth, a large pony, but it was better than holding her in his arms for hours at a time. His thoughts turned foolish, unable to ignore the soft bottom and slim, lithe back pressed against him. Besides, she'd insisted. Every day she pushed herself harder to recover. It annoyed Davie to no end, as he tried to communicate to her that she needed to be careful. Naturally, she pretended she didn't understand him.

Alex watched Fayth tilt her head to take in the view, the wind blowing dark curls from her face. He could almost feel her little intake of breath and smiled. Gealach had the same effect on him. He raised his eyes from the tangle of dark curls and flushed skin to view his home. They had left behind the soft heathered ground and moss-covered birch and rowans for the rocky uplands that led to the Rhins. He held much of the Rhins and the Machers. His current residence, Gealach, sat atop a sheer cliff face, looking down on the Northern Channel. Seated on the craggy peninsula that extended north and south, Gealach rose above the sea, waves crashing into the dark gray stone she was built on. On a clear day one could see the green hills of Ireland to the west and the Isle of Man to the south. He couldn't look at the tower without recalling the pride in his father's face when he'd learned Alex had captured Gealach. Red Rowan had been so overcome he'd been unable to speak, only grip Alex's shoulders hard and stare into his face, as if truly seeing him for the first time. It had been Alex's finest moment. But on the heels of that memory came that of his mother, watching her husband embrace his son. Her own expression had been desolate, realizing Alex would never be a priest, that he was a fighter, like his father. That none of her sons would ever belong to the Church.

Alex pushed away his mother's disappointment. Without a word spoken among them, they reined in to gaze at the tower. The mist hung over the world like a shroud, obscuring the tower at intervals. The pale stones were darkened with age and wear, but still striking against the stark landscape. Alex sensed no trouble. His banner still flew from the walls, snapping in the gusting sea breeze. He spurred Bear forward, eager to be home.

As they carefully climbed the slope, slick and green with moss, Fayth seemed to sit straighter, throwing off her weariness.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

Alex's chest swelled with pride. "Aye," he said, his voice rough. "And she's mine. I'll not part with her."

Ahead of them several ox-drawn carts labored up the steep path cut into the rock by the comings and goings of the locals. The carts were loaded down with provisions for the inhabitants and supplies of wood and stone for the constant repairs. A villager and his wife led the procession. They waved as Alex and his men pa.s.sed, calling greetings and well-wishes.

Fayth's head turned slightly, as though she wanted to look at Alex, then thought better of it. "There's something I must tell you."

"Aye?" He watched her cautiously, wondering what brought on the sudden truce.

She rode her pony close beside Bear. "There's more to Ridley's plans than merely possessing Gealach. That's only a small part of it."

Why did she tell him this? She thought him a murderer; she saw him as her enemy. And yet, he sensed she was coming to trust him. The knowledge closed like a fist around his heart, since nothing could come of it. As soon as they arrived, he would send a message to Carlisle, relaying his terms. The deed for Fayth. She would hate him then. But what was the alternative? Set her free? So she could be raped or killed? Keep her?

That possibility set his pulse thrumming, but she'd never stay. She'd run away from him as surely as she ran from Ridley and Carlisle. He wanted a willing woman, not a prisoner. No, there was nothing else for him to do. Lying to her about Jack had been the right thing to do. He'd not thought his feelings for her could go beyond l.u.s.t-had never imagined hers could even go that far. It was best if he ended it with her angry and hating him over Jack.

Her voice drew him from his thoughts.

"He has been reinforcing Wesley's band of broken men with his own and sending them on forays across the border to weaken the Scots in preparation for an English invasion."

Alex already knew this. Many English lords had been raiding the west march heavily. Some Scottish lairds were in the pay of the English and purposely stirring up trouble. He even knew Ridley was party to it, though the viper denied any involvement, claiming Wesley operated independently of him. Everyone knew it for a lie, but none of the border clans were strong enough to oppose the Grahams.

"He has been arranging strategic marriages: mine, Caroline's, his own to the earl of Dornock's daughter, and buying up land from clans he raided into poverty."

She paused, chewing at her thumbnail again. He reached over and placed his hand over hers. She started, sending a shock of awareness through his own body. He pushed her hand down, resting it firmly on her thigh. She stared at their joined hands for a long moment before looking up at him. Her eyes never ceased to fill him with longing. Warm amber, shot through with liquid sunlight.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

He removed his hand, sitting straight in the saddle. "Then don't chew your nails."

Her cheeks colored slightly. "Now you sound like Caroline."

"Then I am in good company."