Silence greeted this ominous challenge. Colin drew Tabitha toward a break in the bushes. "We'd best make sure they're not killing each other. As you well know, Arjon and Lyssandra have never borne any great fondness toward one another."

Colin's jaw dropped as they emerged from the tunnel of bracken to find his best friend and his fiancee locked in a pa.s.sionate embrace. A bored-looking horse stood a few feet away, lazily swishing his tail.

Tabitha nudged Colin. "Just think what they might be doing if they were fond of each other."

At the sound of her voice, Arjon and Lyssandra broke away from their kiss with a guilty start. Lyssandra's creamy cheeks were flushed with rose, her eyes luminous. Tabitha knew the look only too well. Her own face had probably mirrored it only minutes before. She bit back a smile as she noted the way Lyssandra squared her delicate chin and boldly met their gazes, the way Arjon's arm moved to shield his lady fair.

"Ah, here's your betrothed now," he said. "You may challenge me to a joust if you wish, Ravenshaw, but I must have her."

Edging even closer to Arjon, Lyssandra blinked prettily at Colin, who still hadn't recovered from his daze. " Twas never my intention to break your heart, sir. But now that I've finally found my true love, I can only pray that you'll find the courage to press on."

Arjon narrowed his eyes at his friend, struggling to send a frantic message, but Colin was not receiving. He might have stood frozen there forever with his mouth hanging open if Tabitha hadn't jabbed him in the side.

He coughed, then cleared his throat as if to strangle back a disbelieving laugh. Only Tabitha was near enough to see the sparkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. " 'Twill be a lonely struggle, la.s.s, but I suppose my shattered heart will mend. In time. Lots of time," he added gruffly. He strode across the clearing and pumped Arjon's hand.

"Congratulations, my friend. You've won one of the fairest hearts in all of Scotland." Arjon grimaced as he gave the bones an extra squeeze. "If you ever break it, you'll answer to me."

The Norman s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand back and clapped it over his own heart. "Have no fear! My heartbreaking days are over. I never realized it until I held her squirming in my arms while she tried to bite me and I had to kiss her to m.u.f.fle her shrieks, but I was only biding my time until the brat grew into a woman."

Lyssandra fluttered her eyelashes at him. "All the woman you'll ever need."

"My precise sentiments," replied Arjon, all but cooing.

Tabitha rolled her eyes. "I thought the two of you despised each other."

"What choice did I have?" Arjon asked. "I might have yearned for Lyssa in my most secret heart, but I knew she belonged to Colin and could never be mine."

"So he labored diligently to make me hate him a" putting spiders in my bed, using my dolls for archery practice, calling me dreadful names."

Arjon pressed a fervent kiss to her knuckles. "Consider them endearments, my adorable little shrew."

It was Colin's turn to roll his eyes. "What are the two of you doing out here?"

"Looking for you," Arjon replied. He exchanged a glance with Lyssandra. "It seems Brisbane and the MacDuff are in league. They have been for quite some time."

Colin's face went deathly still. "How long?"

There was no way for Arjon to soften the blow. "Since before the siege. Lyssa overheard her father and Brisbane's man discussing their plans to be rid of you and divide your holdings among themselves. The MacDuff had already signed a betrothal contract, giving Lyssa into Roger's hands."

Lyssandra placed her hand on Colin's arm. "I knew naught of his treachery, Colin, I swear it. I pray you'll believe me."

Tabitha had never loved him more than she did at that moment when he gently covered Lyssandra's hand with his own, even managing a strained smile. "Of course, I believe you. 'Tis you who were wronged even more than I. Your father's betrayal must have cut you to the heart."

She nodded, brushing a tear from her cheek. "He said the most vile things."

Arjon gathered her into his arms, the tenderness in his touch a.s.suring Tabitha that his conversion to monogamy was sincere. "If I hadn't intercepted her in the corridor outside her father's solar, the foolhardy la.s.s would have ridden out all by herself to warn you about the MacDuff's a.s.sa.s.sins."

Tabitha glanced nervously around, every shadow suddenly a menace. "How many are there?"

Arjon rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, his grin cold. "Three less than there were before."

"Make it four," Colin said.

Arjon frowned. "We sent Chauncey this way on Lyssandra's steed. Have you seen him?"

Colin nodded grimly. "Seen him and buried him. He took an arrow meant for Tabitha."

They shared a moment of somber silence mourning the courageous boy before Lyssandra turned her puzzled gaze on Tabitha. "Brisbane's man said his master wanted you alive. He seemed very distressed when my father informed him that you were also to die. 'Twas almost as if he feared for his own life if he failed to bring you back."

Tabitha exchanged a troubled look with Colin. Brisbane's personal attention was certainly not something she cared to attract. "Do you think he might suspecta?"

Colin nodded. " 'Tis a possibility. Roger always was a canny wretch."

He strode to the edge of the clearing and stood with his back to them, hands on hips. Tabitha ached to go to him, but knew he needed some room to absorb all that he'd learned in so short a time.

Arjon was not as comfortable with Colin's brooding silence as she was. "If you're resolved to go after Brisbane, I think it's safe to venture we can no longer rely on the MacDuff for reinforcements."

Colin swung around to face him. "You should take Lyssa and go before the MacDuff realizes you're gone. As far away from here as you dare. This is not your fight."

Arjon grinned. "You know I never could resist a lost cause. How do you think I ended up on Crusade?" He sobered. "If it's your fight, my friend, 'tis mine as well."

"And mine," Lyssandra added, stepping forward.

Colin surveyed them for a long moment before nodding. "This cause may not be as lost as you think. I have one weapon Brisbane can never match."

Tabitha stood rooted to the forest floor as Colin approached. He reached into his tunic and unfurled a delicate chain he'd obviously made a painstaking effort to find and repair while she was napping. She was less mesmerized by the emerald's gleam than by the tender glow in his eyes as he lowered the chain over her head until the amulet came to rest against her heart.

Arjon arched a skeptical eyebrow. "And what would that weapon be?"

Colin grazed her cheek with a kiss as he turned her to face them. "The most beautiful witch in all of Christendom."

Chapter 25.

When Colin and Tabitha came riding into the courtyard at Castle Raven, they were greeted by stunned silence and disbelieving stares. As if the shock of their laird having his arm firmly around the waist of a confessed witch he'd vowed to burn wasn't enough, Colin's betrothed rode on the horse behind them, practically perched in Sir Arjon's lap.

His people stood frozen in dumb astonishment until Jenny squirmed out of her mother's grip and came pelting across the cobblestones. "Lady Tabby! Lady Tabby!" Tabitha slid off the horse just as the little girl flung herself into her arms. "See, Mama," she said, beaming as she pressed her cheek to Tabitha's, "I told you the nice witch would come back!"

Magwyn swaggered forward, hands on hips. "Aye, and a bonny sight she is. For a ghost."

Tabitha's first instinct was to recoil from the woman's withering sarcasm, but she and Colin had agreed that if she was ever to be truly accepted by his people, it would have to be by choice, not decree. She could almost feel the warmth of his love like a hand at her back, gently propelling her forward.

Gripping Jenny's small hand for courage, she faced Magwyn. She could tell from the way the others hung back that this one woman's rejection or acceptance would decide her fate.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not a ghost because your laird decided not to burn me."

"But you are a witch."

"I am." Her bold confession stirred a nervous refrain of murmurs. "But I don't worship Satan and I've never, to my knowledge, used my powers for evil. Nor do I plan to."

Magwyn's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Tabitha would have almost sworn the woman wanted to believe her. But she knew she was battling a lifetime of superst.i.tion and fear. If she'd grown up in a world as dangerous and capricious as theirs, she might have preferred to blame her own bad luck on black cats or evil spirits.

As Magwyn pondered her words, help came from an unexpected quarter. In full princess mode, Lyssandra wiggled out of Arjon's arms and flung herself from the horse.

She seized Tabitha's other hand and stamped her dainty foot. "Whatever her temperament might be, Lady Tabitha is my friend. And if any one of you dares to speak ill of her, they'll answer to me!"

Arjon applauded. "Huzzah, my sweet!"

Colin's people shuffled their feet and avoided each other's eyes as if shamed by the girl's pa.s.sionate defense. All except for Arjon's blond doxy, who'd been glaring daggers at Lyssandra while the rest of them gaped at Tabitha.

"That one must be a witch, too," she said in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard back on Broadway. "I think we should burn the both of them."

"Hush, Nessa," Magwyn said sharply. "You've no right to sharpen your claws on Sir Arjon's lady when you've already lured one of Iselda's sons into your bed since he's been gone."

The girl subsided with a sulky pout while Iselda rolled her eyes and one of the more strapping boys blushed to the roots of his hair.

Despite her defense of Lyssandra, Magwyn's expression remained so unrelenting that Tabitha feared the worst. "Come here, Jenny." Shooting Tabitha an uncertain glance, the little girl obeyed her mother. Although Magwyn's jaw was rigid, she stroked the little girl's cropped curls with a gentleness that bordered on reverence. "Whatever you may be, you gave my daughter back her smile, her voice, even her life. Perhaps what you speak is the truth. Perhaps it matters naught what power a woman possesses, but only how she chooses to wield it."

"Well spoken, Magwyn," Colin said, slipping off the horse to rest his hands on Tabitha's shoulders. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

Tabitha's heart swelled with happiness as they gathered around to shyly welcome her back into their fold, a.s.suring her that Lucy had been well tended in her absence and giving Wee Blythe into Colin's eager hands.

But her happiness faltered when she saw a woman with a careworn face craning her neck to see over the heads of the others. "Where's my lad? Has anyone seen my lad?"

This was the moment Tabitha knew Colin had been dreading. Sobering, he handed the baby to Auld Nana before taking the woman's chapped hands in his own.

He gazed down into her face, his expression indescribably tender. "I'm sorry, Gunna, but Chauncey's dead, another victim of Brisbane's treachery. He died a hero, sacrificing his life to save an innocent woman."

The woman collapsed in Colin's arms, m.u.f.fling her broken wail against his shoulder. It was only then that Tabitha became aware of the ring of sullen young faces lurking at the fringes of the crowd. She would have sworn they'd only been boys when she and Colin left, but now their narrowed eyes held the determined glint of men.

The one with the longest hair and meanest eyes stepped forward. "How many more, my laird?" he demanded. "How many more of our own will die before we strike back?"

Colin's hands were gentle against the woman's heaving shoulders, but his eyes glittered like the sharpest of diamonds as he uttered the one word they'd all been waiting to hear.

"None."

Lord Brisbane woke up smiling.

He'd done so with increasing frequency since dispatching Iago to the MacDuff's castle. His sleep had been warmed by visions of a certain self-righteous knight being roasted on one of Satan's spits. Last night's dream, in which a swarm of little red imps had scampered around Colin, poking him with their tiny pitchforks until he screamed like a woman, had been particularly entertaining.

Roger was still chuckling when he swept aside the hangings of his luxuriant four-poster and climbed down from the bed. His cheerful demeanor earned him an apprehensive look from the flock of servants who huddled in the corner, just waiting to do their master's bidding.

A stooped old fellow rushed over with a bra.s.s pot, and Roger relieved himself with a hearty sigh of satisfaction, caring little that he splashed p.i.s.s on the poor man's feet.

While the wretch was emptying the pot down the privy hole, Roger stretched out his arms, allowing his servants to drape him in one of the elegant robes he preferred. Although the floor-length garment was customarily worn over a linen shirt, Roger preferred the rich caress of velvet directly against his skin. He stood like a marble statue while they shaved him, coiffed his sleek blond hair, and perfumed his throat with lemon cologne imported from Sicily.

He wanted to look his very best. For this was the day all of his dreams would come true.

He'd already had his garrison throw open the bailey gates in welcome. At any time now his emissary would come riding through those gates at the head of the processional the MacDuff would have provided to escort his spoiled daughter to the arms of her eager bridegroom.

The MacDuff would never suspect it was not his mewling brat Roger awaited with such gleeful antic.i.p.ation, but the woman who would travel with her. The woman who had realized the one ambition that had always eluded him a" corrupting Colin's soul.

His only regret was that he was to be denied the pleasure of gloating over his friend's fall from grace. He'd decided it would be best to arrange Colin's death before the pious fool had the opportunity to drop to his knees and beg his Lord's pardon for slaking his carnal desires with a witch. Roger rolled his eyes. It would be just like G.o.d in his sniveling mercy and compa.s.sion to forgive him. If he were G.o.d, he would never forgive anyone anything. It was too much fun holding a grudge.

When his servants were done grooming him, they staggered over with an enormous mirror and held it up in front of him so he could admire his reflection from all angles. Ignoring their grunts of exertion, he stroked his smooth chin, thinking how delightful it was going to be to have his very own witch. Once he'd planted an heir in the belly of the MacDuff's daughter, he'd have the witch cast some deadly spell on his bl.u.s.tering father-in-law. Then, murmuring his sympathy all the while, he would step in and claim the MacDuff's land as well as Colin's, crowning himself ruler of a vast empire that would stretch from northern England to southern Scotland.

He fluffed up his bangs. "'Twas a pity Regan was dead. She would have made a most regal queen.

He was still preening when the old fellow who had emptied the chamber pot tapped him on the shoulder. "My lord?"

"Mmmmm?" he murmured.

The man cast the balcony window a shaken glance. "There's someone comin'."

Roger bared his teeth in a smile, admiring their ivory gleam. "Of course, there's someone coming. 'Twould be Iago, coming to grant all of my fondest desires."

The fellow cleared his throat. "I don't think this would be Master Iago, my lord."

Roger frowned, then smoothed the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes with his thumbs. "You're not paid to think."

"I'm not paid at all, sir, but I still don't think this would be Master Iago."

Roger whirled around, planning to box the insolent wretch's ears, but a distant sound stilled his hand in midmotion.

He c.o.c.ked his head to the side, trying to identify the elusive strains. "What the h.e.l.la?"

They were slowly swelling in volume, drawing Roger toward the balcony. When he saw what was marching through the gates of his bailey wall, he had to brace his hands against the stone railing to keep from tumbling off the balcony.

Pouring into his courtyard was the most motley, ragtag band of invaders he had ever seen. Some were horsed, but most marched on foot, tattered rags their only armor. Stooped, white-haired old men marched next to fresh-faced lads, and most astonishing of all, there were women! Wild-eyed harpies and withered crones armed just like their male comrades with long-handled scythes, rusty knives, and blunt clubs.

A ma.s.sive woman hugged an iron cauldron in the crook of her arm, banging on its hollow bottom to keep time with the stirring melody of their song. It was one of those rousing Crusade anthems, deliberately composed to incite some devout warrior with visions of sainthood into offering up his life for a hopeless cause.

Roger dug his fingernails into the cas.e.m.e.nt, seized by outrage.

How dare these wretched peasants march through his open gates and spoil his fine mood? How dare they make his courtyard ring with music?

But when he saw the man riding to the head of their pathetic processional, he knew exactly how they dared.

The magnificent ebony stallion pranced forward, the man seated on his back looking as if he were lord not only of the horse, but of all he would ever survey. Clenched in his gauntleted fist was a staff bearing the Ravenshaw standard. He reached the front of their ranks just as the song soared to its majestic climax, the silver raven on its bed of black silk rippling proudly in the wind.

Silence reigned until Brisbane spat out, "Christ, Colin, you've more lives than a cat."

"I should hope so, Roger, given your disturbing fondness for trying to murder me."