"And leave behind the greatest treasure in all of Scotland?"

Fayth straightened, looking behind her. Skelley and Davie rowed them away from Gealach in a long boat. They were heading straight out to sea, to avoid being smashed against the rocks. Gealach stood sentinel on the cliff above. On the beach Grahams were just arriving, nocking their arrows and firing. But the arrows fell short. Fayth looked around and saw three more long boats, filled with Alex's men and servants, all rowing away.

"I don't understand. Ridley still has Gealach. Did you get the treasure out, at least?"

Alex caught her chin, turning her to look at him. "Aye, la.s.s, the only one that matters."

Understanding was slow to dawn on her, but when it did, her eyes widened. "Me?"

He nodded. "If ye'll have me, I'll make this one thing official. I haven't much to offer... though I'm sure I'll manage some-"

Fayth threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She winced, her lips stinging, and pulled away. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his mouth to her temple. "I love ye, Fayth, and Gealach means nothing without you."

Tears gathered in Fayth's eyes. "I love you. And we'll get Gealach back. If it's the last thing I do, I'll make Ridley pay-"

Alex laughed shortly, pressing his fingers gently against her lips. "Enough of vengeance, for now. I've a brother to find and a new stepmother, as well. And there's a war coming."

Fayth's heart fluttered in her chest with new fear. Alex would rally to the king and they would be apart again. She might lose him in battle. She pulled away from him. "How did we get away? Ridley had hundreds of men. You were alone in the hall."

"Wesley helped us."

Fayth's mouth dropped opened. "Wesley?"

Alex nodded. "Aye, it seems he's had a change of heart."

Fayth looked back to the tower, new worry growing in her heart. "Oh, Wesley..."

"Shh, la.s.s. He's a fighter, like you. He'll be fine."

His lips were against her skin again, pressing reverent kisses to her forehead and temple, the only part of her body not battered and bruised. His hands trailed over her back. Fayth closed her eyes, her heart swelling with love and hope. She would wed him and they would never be torn asunder. She would have his children and they would get Gealach back. She vowed it to herself.

She smiled, imagining their sons and daughters, roaming the tunnels beneath, and she and Alex, on the roof, gazing up at the moon.

0="EPILOGUE"EPILOGUE.

HAND-IN-HAND, Alex and Fayth wandered around the curious group of standing stones, stopping to inspect each one in minute detail. They finally stopped before an oblong stone with a hole in the center, through which they could stare straight up the west coast of the Scottish highlands.

"This is it," Alex said, running a hand through his hair.

"What does it mean? It doesn't bear the markings that were on the bead."

They no longer had the bead, but Alex claimed to have memorized its shape and markings.

He shook his head, releasing her hand to circle the stone. He scuffed his booted toe over the ground in front of the stone, but it was undisturbed. He planted his hands on his hips and stared around at the group of stones again, as if they held the answer.

"d.a.m.n," he said. "I thought I'd come here and the answer would be clear. But if you saw Mona near the firth, they've certainly already been here and gone."

Fayth came around the stone, sliding her arm around her husband's back. He'd been most distressed when Fayth told him she hadn't noticed a large blond man with Mona. She'd tried to a.s.sure him it meant nothing; she'd caught but a glimpse of her stepmother at the tavern. Ridley had said Sir Patrick was still Mona's traveling companion and Ridley certainly appeared to know a great deal more than she'd expected.

Fayth pulled Alex back around to the opening and pointed through it. "Maybe it's simply a marker, telling them to go that way? She had a whole necklace of these beads. Perhaps they were a map of sorts."

This had also distressed Alex when she'd told him. He'd thought the bead a lone landmark. But if there were scores of them they'd never be able to track down his brother. In the week since they'd escaped Gealach and Ridley, they'd sailed to Ireland, married, and sailed straight for the Highlands, to this group of stones Alex was desperate to seek out. Their next stop was Annancreag-and Caroline.

With a sigh, Alex slid his arm around Fayth's shoulders and turned her back toward the track leading to the village. Seeing they were leaving, Biddy heaved herself to her feet, limping along beside them down the hill. Skelley had found her in the tunnels, badly wounded, barely able to walk. The dog had found the rumored spring beneath the tower and had lain beside it, lapping at the cool water to stay alive. Davie had tended her wounds and she was healing fine, though she looked dreadful, with linens wrapped thickly around her ribs and right leg.

This far north the air was turning chill with coming winter. Fayth remembered Gealach with a pang of longing. On the Rhins the weather would still be mild. Though they suffered from frequent and heavy rains-more so than the rest of Scotland-the cold was slow to come and quick to leave.

Fayth glanced at her husband. He gazed up at the sky. The moon was still out, though it was full daylight, a faint white globe in the horizon.

"They're fine." Fayth squeezed her husband's arm rea.s.suringly. "If Patrick is anything at all like his brothers, Ridley doesn't stand a chance."

Alex stopped and turned her toward him, hands on her shoulders. "And if Ridley is anything at all like his sisters, we're all in trouble."

Before Fayth could muster a sufficient rejoinder, he silenced her with a kiss.

POCKET BOOKS.

PROUDLY PRESENTS.

0="Preview of Captured by Your Kiss"

CAPTURED BY YOUR KISS.

JEN HOLLING.

Available from Pocket Books

A Preview of Captured by Your Kiss....

PROLOGUE.

West March, England, 1531

MONA MUSGRAVE GAZED out over the crowd on unforgiving faces, her lips threatening to quiver with the strength of her terror. She stiffened them, refusing to weep or beg. She'd done enough of that already. If she were to die, she'd die with dignity.

Her hands were bound tightly behind her back, the hemp rope coa.r.s.e against her throat. They'd dragged her to the gallows on a litter full of holes; her gown was torn and her arms and thighs chaffed raw from the ground. The drying juice of rotten vegetables and fruit matted her hair to the sides of her face and stained her clothes. A fiddle and a flute played a wild reel that made her head spin. Children danced to the tune, singing The witch is dead! The witch is swinging by her neck!

Even now, moments from the end, the villagers hissed at her, called her a witch and a murderess. They believed a dead man over her, these people she'd cared for, healed, helped. Her chin quivered again and she clenched her jaw against it, her vision burning and blurring.

The priest bellowed prayers at her, the slap, slap of the back of his hand against his open palm punctuating his sermon on the dangers of the devil and how women are so much more susceptible to his wiles. The boards creaked beside her as the executioner stepped forward to kick the stool from beneath her feet.

A bright blob swayed and jiggled before Mona's eyes, distorted by her tears. She blinked rapidly, sending tears cascading down her cheeks, but clearing her vision. It was Arlana Musgrave, a white witch and the rumored keeper of the Clachan Fala-the Blood Stone of legend.

Mona inhaled sharply. The priest fell silent with a final slap. The fiddler stopped on a screeching note. Parents hushed their children's singing. The crowd turned away from the spectacle of Mona to view Arlana with awe. They parted to allow her fat pony to pa.s.s, bearing its enormous burden.

No one knew what Musgrave grayne Arlana sprung from. Many people in this area bore the same surname and had no blood attachments, so this was not unusual. Mona had not seen the white witch since she was a child and had never spoken to her. Arlana looked no different than she had a decade ago.

Hugely fat, her bulk was draped in bright, rich cloth. Yellows, reds, greens, painted with odd shapes and symbols. Silver chains and colorful beads draped her thick neck, bangles clinked on her wrists. Her gray hair hung loose down her back, flowing wildly over her shoulders and mingling with the pony's mane. Her face was beautiful. Round and pale as a moon and for all her many years-no one knew exactly how old she was-she had not a wrinkle. Her blue eyes were penetrating and bright, framed by long black lashes.

Her pony, its sides heaving and lathered with sweat, stopped before the gallows.