Silver Flame

Chapter 1

Stirlingshire, Scotland, 1386

“I told ye it would be unwise to answer that wench’s invitation,” Sine Catriona Brodie complained, clinging to her seat as Farthing Magnus raced their cart down the road, away from a keep that held an amorous lady and a hotly jealous husband.

“So ye were in the right of it this time. How did ye ken it?”

“With every smile she sent ye ere ye crept off to her chambers, her husband’s countenance grew blacker.”

“I must remember to watch the husband as weel as the wife.”

“Wisdom that is late in arriving is better than no wisdom at all.”

Farthing laughed. “How verra wise.”

“So I thought when I heard it. I dinnae believe they follow us.”

Easing the furious gait of their horse, Farthing peered behind them. “Nay, it seems not, but we shall travel on. He could yet turn his fury our way. I should like to get to the fair still hale and whole.”

“Doesnae it trouble ye that the lady may be beaten?” Sine Catriona straightened her cowl, hastily tucking a few stray silvery curls back beneath its folds.

“She was an adulteress.” He grinned when she gave him a look of disgust.

“Did it ne’er occur to ye to save her from her sins by refusing what she offered?” she asked.

“Why should I go hungry when I ken that the meal will just be offered elsewhere?”

“Lecherous dog. Ye didnae even have time to tie all your points. Your chausses sag.”

“At least I wasnae sent afleeing with my arse bared to the wind and moon.”

“That day may yet arrive. Your ardor may yet send you to hell.”

“As ye age, ye grow more pious,” Farthing drawled.

“I hope to save your soul.”

“My soul is past redemption, Catriona. I will ne’er see heaven, but I am resigned.” He gave a heavy sigh.

She made a soft, derisive noise. “If ye are so resigned, why do ye still visit the priests to confess and attempt penance?”

“Drive the cart.” He thrust the reins into her small, delicate hands. “I must rest,” he murmured, and bent to fix his hose.

After tidying his clothes he slouched in his seat, tugged his hat over his face, and wrapped his cloak about himself. Maintaining the air of one nearly asleep, he eyed Sine Catriona from beneath his lowered hat brim. It was a neverending puzzle to him that he did not lust after her.

In the six years they had traveled together she had grown from a lovely girl to a breathtakingly beautiful young woman, ripe for love and marriage. She had a deep, low voice that brought the glint of desire into a man’s eyes. Huge violet eyes dominated her small, oval face, and were encircled by raven lashes so thick and long that many suspected some artifice had been employed on them. Her figure was slender yet had all the curves any man could crave. The crowning glory to her beauty was her hair, its silver-white waves tumbling from her head to her knees. It always seemed a pity to him that she had to keep it hidden, tucked away for fear it would lead her treacherous mother to her. Everything about Sine Catriona was desirable. She exuded an innocent, subtle, and unpracticed sensuality that drew men to her like wasps to hot, sweet cider. Farthing could recognize all of that, yet felt no hint of passion for her.

The only answer to the puzzle was that she had become as close to him as his nearest kin. Despite the fact that he was just ten years her senior, at times he felt as if she was his child. He supposed some of that feeling arose because he had watched her make that almost magical change from child to woman.

Yet again he felt guilty that he had not, could not, help her regain what her murderous kin had stolen from her. He had not even been able to stop Arabel and Malise Brodie from declaring Sine Catriona and the twins dead. They had feigned an elaborate burial and taken hold of all the money, the lands, and the title. What was more, he felt troubled over how he had taught his charges to live—by theft and trickery. Yet, what choice had he? Those were the talents by which he made his own living.

What she needed was a warrior with a force of skilled, armed men at his command. She had said so while still a child and she had been right. She needed a knight who would not cower in his boots before the evil power of the Brodies, one with the coin, power, and force to battle them and win. She especially needed a knight with the wit to believe in the evil of the Brodies and avoid falling victim to their seductive ways. Farthing knew that, for all his cleverness and skill, he was not that man. Nor could he produce such a knight, though they had searched the border region for years, hoping to come upon the right man for the task. He sighed.

“I dinnae think your knight was at the keep we just fled,” he said at last.

“Nay. How foolish I was all those years ago.”

“Only six,” he whispered.

She ignored the soft interruption. “I was foolish to think I but needed to find a strong knight, one who would help us simply because our cause is just. There appear to be few who have what I need.”

“Mayhaps there are simply too many just causes and ye must wait your turn. Dinnae give up yet.”

“Nay, I will continue to search. Howbeit, at times I begin to think I shall be old and bent ere I find him. Ah, but by then the twins will have become men and can fight to gain what is rightfully theirs.”

“Aye, the three of us could easily carve up your enemy.”

She laughed softly, then after a long silence asked, “Am I to drive all night with no one to talk to?”

“Ye talk and I shall grunt at all the appropriate moments.”

“’Tis plain ye spent all your charm upon that wench we just fled, Farthing Magnus.”

“I still possess charm aplenty. I merely need to rest. My charm isnae at its most glorious when I am weary.”

“Farthing?” She looked his way but saw little, her dark companion well bundled up in his equally dark clothes. “Is it fun?”

“Is what fun?”

“Swiving.”

“And where did ye come by that word, my sweet Catriona?”

“From you, my lusty conjurer.”

“Ah, I must be more careful in my speech.”

“Weel? Is it fun?”

“Aye, ’tis fun or I wouldnae risk so much to indulge myself. I ken nothing of how it fares for women, but to a mon, even the most fleeting and the lightest can be fun. I speak now of only the idle tussle, not the mating of true lovers.”

“Love makes it better, does it?”

“Glorious, child. ’Tis love and passion beautifully entwined. ’Tis ferocity yet tenderness. ’Tis all emotion thrown together in the headiest of mixtures. ’Tisnae just what lurks between the legs that is involved, but the heart, the soul, and even the mind. There is naught to compare. ’Tis glory, ’tis paradise, ’tis the Land of Cockaigne, the sweet paradise upon earth.”

“That is what I shall have,” she vowed as she stared down the night-shadowed road.

“Aye,” he agreed in a soft voice, “I do believe ye will. One such as ye can have no less .”

Gamel Logan sat eating in the great hall of Duncoille keep, trying to avoid his stepmother’s eyes. But she was too keen.

“Where are ye hieing to?” she asked him.

“A fair in Dunkennley but a day or so ride from here.” Gamel kissed her smooth cheek.

“A fair? To wenching, ye mean,” Edina muttered, and began to break her fast. She was a tiny, voluptuous woman beloved by everyone in the Logan clan.

Gamel just smiled. As he ate and conversed with his father and half brothers, he waited for his stepmother to say what was on her mind. Since his burly father was unusually quiet, he suspected that what troubled Edina had already been thoroughly discussed with her husband. When Gamel finished his meal, he sensed Edina was ready to speak. He wondered idly if she had thought to save his digestion.

“Ye are eight and twenty now, Gamel.” Edina frowned, then nervously worried her full bottom lip with her teeth. “Ye are a belted knight kenned far and wide for possessing a handsome purse. Hasnae it come time for ye to seek a bride?”

“I have been looking for years.”

Before Edina could respond, the children’s nurse bustled into the great hall, explaining that the youngest Logan had taken a tumble and Edina’s presence was needed. Gamel grinned as Edina grumbled with exasperation and left. He looked to his father to finish what Edina had been struggling to tell him.

“Have ye sought out another possible bride then, Father?” he asked.

William Logan grimaced slightly. “Aye. No promises were made, just a meeting arranged. In a week’s time young Margot Delacrosse will arrive with her kin. They will stay a while.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “What will be, will be. Dinnae ye want a wife and children? But tell us so and we will leave ye be.”

“I want a wife and a brood of children. I want what ye have, Father,” Gamel added in a quiet voice.

“I have been most fortunate.”

Gamel ran a hand through his auburn hair. “’Tis hard to put into words all that I seek in a woman. I want one who can both enflame and comfort, one I can speak with about anything—even of my fears. I can only keep saying that I seek what ye have found.”

Gamel shook his head before continuing. “Therein lies my difficulty. I suspected that what ye and Edina share is rare, but I didnae ken just how rare. Search though I do, it continues to elude me.”

“Mayhaps ye look too hard, son.”

“Only God can say. Mayhaps I will settle for less one day.” He stood up and smiled at his father. “For now I shall content myself with the pleasures of the flesh. A fair promises many a bonny, willing lass.”

“Aye, and ye were blessed with your mother’s fairness of face and her fine green eyes, so lasses will flock to ye. Go on, but be sure to return in time to meet the lass who journeys to visit with us.”

“I will. No search is done until all stones are turned.” He winked at his father. “I but pray the lass ye invited doesnae look as if she crawled out from beneath one.”

Shaking his head, William chuckled. “I think not. Who goes to the fair with ye?”

“Sir Lesley.”

“Ah, aye—your friend Lesley.”

“Do ye tire of his company?”

“Nay. I like the lad. ’Tis just that he has been here for months. Should he not spend some time at his own family’s keep?”

“He will, but not for a wee while yet. Lesley and his father havenae healed the breach between them.”

“It will ne’er be healed if Lesley continues to hide here.”

“I ken it and so does Lesley. He but needs time to prepare himself.”

“I can understand that. Who else travels with ye?”

“My squire, Blane.”

“No more?”

“I go to a fair, not a battle.”

“Be careful nonetheless.”

“May I go too, Father?” asked Ligulf, William’s slim, fourteen-year-old son.

Raising his gaze to the ceiling, William sighed. “Go, and quickly, ere your mother changes my mind.”

Laughing, Ligulf hurried away with Gamel, who wasted no time in preparing to leave. He knew his father suspected Edina might complain, although she would never try to stop Ligulf. Even she admitted to showing a perilous leniency with her children. His haste was in vain, however, for she stepped out of the keep just as they were about to ride out of the bailey. Gamel hid his grin as she handed them a small pack of what she considered to be necessities for any journey.

Edina looked at the slender Ligulf. “So, ye have decided to travel to the fair with Gamel.”

“Aye, Mama. ’Twill be my first time.”

“I ken it,” she drawled as she turned and started back to where William stood. “Just be verra certain that she is clean and healthy.”

“Mama!”

Gamel joined his companions in laughing heartily as they rode out of the bailey. Ligulf blushed furiously, color flooding his fair skin. The youth’s blushes were only beginning to fade by the time Duncoille was out of sight.

“How did she ken it?” Ligulf asked Gamel, and combed his fingers through his dark blond hair.

“She has been through this before, this change from lad to mon. There was me, then two of our brothers.”

“Aye.” Ligulf finally laughed. “She is too clever by half.”

When they reached the small glen where Gamel had chosen to camp for the night, there was little daylight left. The journey had been pleasant and uneventful, but the crude drover’s trail they had used had left them all weary. Gamel was the first to crest the small wooded rise and see that their campsite had already been taken. He paused, his companions doing likewise, and tried to decide what step to take next. They were still fifteen miles or more from Dunkennley and he had no wish to cover the rest of the rough trail in the dark.

His gaze became fixed upon the maid below who was preparing a meal while two young boys wrestled playfully nearby. There was a sensual grace to her every movement, despite the mundane nature of her work. He had the strongest urge to hurry closer to see her face.

He was just about to give in to that urge when she and the boys were joined by a man on horseback. His mount careened into the small campsite and reared, tumbling him to the ground. Thinking only to help, Gamel started down the small rise. His companions hesitated only briefly before following him.

“Farthing!” cried Sine Catriona as she rushed to his side.

She was only faintly aware of the four armed men who galloped into camp and dismounted. Gripped by fear, she focused all of her attention on Farthing. She knelt and frantically searched for a wound or break upon his tall, lean frame. None of the uninvited company drew his sword or spoke a threat so she continued to ignore them.

“Farthing, speak to me,” she demanded, her voice tense with concern. “I can find no injury. Can ye not answer me?”

Farthing hiccoughed.

Sine Catriona gaped at the prone man, then started to giggle. She was not sure whether it was from relief or a sense of the absurd. As the smirk on Farthing’s flushed face grew wider, her laughter increased. She fleetingly noted that her laughter was echoed by the strangers who had so recently joined them.

“Ye wretch!” she scolded. “Ye vile fool! I thought ye were dead or broken asunder.”

“Nay.” Farthing struggled to sit up, hindered slightly by his tangled black cloak. “I have been celebrating.”

“S’truth? ’Tis a fact I ne’er would have guessed for myself,” she said with her hands on her hips.

Struggling to fix his obsidian gaze on the four men behind her, he asked, “Who be they?”

“’Tis a fine time to be asking.” She picked up his black hat and handed it to one of the twins, Barre, to put away. “I dinnae ken. If they were a danger to us, ’tis quite dead we would be by now.” She turned to look at the four men. “If ye meant to offer help ye can see that your kindness was wasted.” She frowned briefly at Farthing. “Howbeit, he may soon be in dire need of aid, for I begin to think that doing him an injury would weel please me.”

Gamel felt a constriction in his chest as he gazed into her lovely, wide blue eyes. “We meant to offer a hand,” he said, struggling to speak. “We had also planned to camp here for the night.”

“There is plenty of room.”

“Thank ye, mistress. Allow me to present myself and my companions. I am Sir Gamel and these are my brother, Ligulf, my squire, Blane, and my good friend, Sir Lesley.”

Nodding her head, she replied, “Catriona, Beldane, Barre, and Farthing Magnus. Ye are welcome to share this place with us. There is food to spare. See to your mounts while I see to this fool.” She began to help Farthing to stand up.

By the time they were all settled around the fire Gamel felt more composed. He could not, however, stop watching her. She had the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. Her voice sent his thoughts winging straight to the bedchamber. The way she moved made his loins ache. He wanted her, faster and with more ferocity than he had ever wanted a woman before. He could not cease wondering if she was the one he had searched for so long and hard.

Then his heart clenched in his chest. She was already claimed by the man, Farthing, whose name she had so calmly linked with her own. She and her man had offered the hospitality of their fire and food. To make any attempt to satisfy his want would be an insult he could not inflict even if it took every ounce of willpower he could muster not to. He sat wondering what color her hair was, wishing she would shed that all-encompassing headdress.

Only once did he look at Farthing Magnus. That man sat struggling to regain some sobriety, yet watching him closely. The look in Farthing’s black eyes told Gamel the man could read his desire and saw it as a threat.

Carefully pronouncing each word, Farthing told Sine Catriona, “I was celebrating.”

“So ye have told us. Celebrating what?”

“A number of things. ’Tis hard to recall now.”

She laughed softly. “Ye ken that ye have no head for drink.”

“S’truth.” Farthing ran a hand through his thick raven-black hair. “Howbeit, I couldnae let those dogs know it.”

“Oh, aye, of course not. And of course they didnae see how cup-shotten ye were.”

“I think they may have guessed.” His fine mouth curving downward as he frowned, he added, “Could be why they offered to bind me atop my horse so I wouldnae tumble off.”

As soon as everyone stopped laughing, Ligulf asked, “Do ye travel to the fair?”

“Aye,” replied Sine Catriona. “This mon swaying before ye is Farthing Magnus, master conjurer. Howbeit, he will be unable to perform any of his craft tonight. ’Tis doubtful he could even relieve himself without fumbling,” she muttered.

“That I can do, impertinent wench, and will do immediately—if the lads will but lead me to the bushes.”

As Dane and Ree helped Farthing to his feet, Ree grumbled, “’Tis verra likely we shall have to fix his aim as weel.”

Sine Catriona could not help but join in the laughter. But hers was short-lived, choked off when her eyes met Gamel’s. She fought to break free of the man’s gaze. There was such desire in his rich green eyes that it frightened her, especially when she felt something within her respond strongly and swiftly to it. She was intensely aware of every tall, lean inch of him. The moment Farthing returned to sprawl at her side, she huddled closer to him. She watched Sir Gamel’s fine long-fingered hands clench tightly when Farthing threw his arm about her shoulders.

“Ye have two fine sons, sir,” Gamel remarked.

“Ah.” Farthing smiled at the twins. “Not my lads, although I often think of them as so. They are Catriona’s half brothers.”

“We are bastards, sir, ” Dane piped up. “So is Farthing.”

Giving a small bow of his head, Gamel drawled, “There are many of us about.”

Sine Catriona inwardly sighed, her heart sinking as disappointment set in. She had briefly wondered if he could be the knight she had been searching for. He looked strong, capable. However, as a bastard, he would not command a troop of men no matter what his position in his father’s household, not if there were other legitimate sons. Bastards did not often have the strength or the power she needed so badly. If they had, Farthing could have helped her long ago, for his natural father was a wealthy and powerful laird.

A small part of her was glad of Gamel’s lack of suitability. She feared what might flare between them if they were together for very long. Passion was a complication she simply could not afford.

“Your name is an odd one,” Gamel said, looking inquisitively at Farthing.

“’Twas my mother’s choice. She said it was what it cost my father to make me.” Farthing smiled faintly at the shock the men could not fully conceal. “The sting of that eased many years ago.” He yawned, then said, “To bed, my sweet Catriona. Ye as weel, lads. To your blankets,” he ordered the twins, then looked at Gamel. “Ye, kind sirs, are most welcome to sit by the fire as long as ye wish. Ye willnae disturb us.”

“Nay,” Gamel replied. “We will bed down now as weel. We must rise at dawn. If we start out too late we will be forced to spend yet another night in the wood. I hope ye sleep with your sword at your side.”

“Aye, I do,” Farthing said. “These woods are rife with thieves who would cut your throat just to ease their theft of your purse.”

It was not easy but Sine Catriona hid a smile. For a thief like Farthing to speak so disparagingly of thieves was a little amusing. However, she knew that Farthing’s words were heartfelt. He had only scorn for those who could not or would not lighten a purse without hurting the owner. Farthing considered them the worst of all thieves.

She spread their blankets out close to the fire. One brief, sharp glance from Farthing had told her that tonight they would share a blanket. Farthing had obviously seen the look in Sir Gamel’s eyes. Now he would let the man know that she was not free for the taking. It was the simplest of all their ploys. However, she had never found so great a need to use it before.

That fire in the man’s eyes called out to her. It was not simply lust. Sir Gamel looked as if he thought she was his, as if he thought she would and should understand. What troubled her was that a large part of her saw nothing strange in that.

Keeping her back to the men, she took off her headdress, freeing her hair so that she could brush it out. Sleeping in the coverchief would cause more suspicion than the unusual color of her hair. Carefully she slipped out of the short-sleeved brown dress she wore over her linen chemise, then quickly got beneath the blanket. A moment later Farthing, wearing only his hose and shirt, crawled in beside her. She closed her eyes, struggling to feel safe and calm as he tucked her up against him spoon style.

“’Tis a bad night for me to be cup-shotten, though it does begin to fade,” he whispered.

“’Tis rare that ye overimbibe. Ye need no heady wines to help ye enjoy life. Besides, how could ye ken that we would have visitors?”

“And such visitors. The mon stares our way as if I am the trespasser. ’Tis an odd look, more than lust, I see that clearly enough. Dearling, dinnae flinch or act startled. I am going to place my hand upon your breast.”

“Why?” she asked even as she watched his rather beautiful dark hand cup her breast.

“’Tis a sign all men can read.”

Daring a peek at Sir Gamel, she gasped softly. The glance he sent their way was deadly. She had seen that look before—in the eyes of jealous husbands. Turning sharply into Farthing’s arms, she put her back toward the disturbing man. She wondered fleetingly if they had allowed a madman into their midst only to discover that she did not like the idea that those searing gazes might arise from lunacy.

“I swear, Farthing, he looks ready to run ye through.”

“Aye, he does. Dinnae worry. He is far too polite to do so.”

“This is a poor time for jests.”

“Mayhaps. Settle here.” He arranged her comfortably against his chest. “I am going to rest my hand upon your sweet tail now.”

“Another sign?”

“Aye.”

“Is it wise to goad him so?”

“He must be shown that there is naught for him here.”

“S’truth, I dinnae understand this.”

“I ken it, dearling. Go to sleep.”

“Do ye have your sword at the ready?”

“Why, Catriona, I didnae realize ye felt that way about me.”

She pinched him hard enough to make him grunt. “I speak of the one ye stick in men, knave.”

“Ah, that sword. Aye, ’tis in reach. Sleep, lovely. Just pretend those green eyes of his arenae boring into your back.”

“’Tis far easier said than done. I shall be checking closely for holes there in the morning,” she muttered, but tried to relax, to welcome sleep’s hold.

Gamel had been unable to tear his gaze from Catriona since the moment she had unbound her hair. He ached to wrap himself in the thick silvery waves that hung nearly to her knees. His need was so strong, so fierce, that he shook with it. All he could think of was that some madness had seized him.

When Farthing’s dark hand had covered her high, full, linen-shrouded breast, Gamel had reached for his sword. The sight had seared his brain, twisted his innards, until he was near to bellowing like some enraged bull. When she had turned in Farthing’s embrace it had helped little, then he had been forced to watch the man’s hand tangle in her lush hair while his other hand slid down to cup her lovely derriere beneath the blanket. Their soft whispers threatened to drive him mad with envy. Gritting his teeth, he finally forced himself to turn his back on them only to meet Ligulf’s concerned gaze.

“What troubles ye, Gamel?”

His soft laugh was shaky. “Simply that I burn to run a sword through that mon, a mon who does no more than bed down with his woman.”

“She is fair,” Ligulf murmured, frowning in obvious confusion.

“Aye, she is. Go to sleep. There is no understanding this lunacy.” Gamel closed his eyes and fought to grasp the soothing oblivion of sleep.

Sine Catriona was confused when she suddenly found herself awake. It was not yet dawn and all appeared quiet. Without moving from Farthing’s light hold, she looked around her. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of a stealthy movement in the shadows at the edge of camp. Struggling to maintain the air of one still asleep, she worked to covertly wake Farthing. With every muscle tensed, she found it difficult to feign the languid motions of one asleep.

“Thieves creep our way, Farthing,” she whispered.

“Curse it. I had prayed for a quiet night,” he muttered as he slid his hand toward his sword. “Turn on your side. When I give the cry, rush to the twins and have your dagger at the ready.”

Still struggling to act like one asleep but restless, she turned again. Seeing the shadows edging toward them, she decided they must have bedded down in a large nest of cutthroats. The treacherous vagabonds had been unable to resist temptation.

Even though they were creeping up on a sleeping camp, the presence of five men should have deterred them. The thieves were either desperate or numerous enough to feel secure even if a battle developed. Neither circumstance boded well for her or her companions.

Unable to resist, she stared across the waning fire at Sir Gamel, only to find him staring at her. She carefully mouthed Thieves , praying that the ones creeping toward the camp did not see her. To her intense relief she did not have to repeat the risky gesture. Sir Gamel’s subtle movements told her he had understood. Now there would be at least one other full grown man armed and ready.

“Now!” Farthing called, and she bolted.

She was nearly at the twins’ sides as Farthing and Gamel leapt to their feet, their swords readied to greet the rush of the cutthroats. Their cries and those of their foes quickly roused the others. Sine Catriona was amazed at how speedily Sir Gamel’s companions came alert and joined the battle.

“Up that tree,” she ordered the two drowsy boys.

“But…” Dane began to protest while he helped Ree onto the lowest branch.

“Nay. Up the tree. Quickly.”

The moment the twins were safely out of reach she took up a defensive stance at the base of the trunk, unsheathing her dagger and holding it at the ready. It was not the best of weapons, but it would cause any attacker to hesitate. She fought to keep herself alert for any threat to herself or the twins, struggled against becoming too fascinated by the battle raging around her.

It was a fierce fight. The thieves had the advantage of larger numbers, but she found some ease for her fears in the display of skill shown by her allies. It far surpassed that of the outlaws. Within moments she detected a definite waning of enthusiasm amongst the band of rogues as their ranks were ruthlessly culled.

Suddenly there loomed before her the biggest, hairiest man she had ever seen. He was so ugly, so filthy, that he did not need the sword he held to look fearsome, nor the leer that revealed his rotting teeth. Against such a man her dagger was only a toy. Nevertheless, she held her ground, wielding her weapon with every intention of using it if she was forced to do so. She knew from the look on his repulsive face that killing her was not, at the moment, foremost in his mind.

He drew nearer, backing her up against the tree trunk. Just as she tensed to make a desperate strike, the twins dropped from the tree and landed on the man. She watched in horror as, with a deafening bellow, he flung the two small boys aside. They sprawled upon the ground and did not rise in the brief moment she could spare to look their way.

“Mine,” he said as he reached for her.

Sine Catriona barely eluded his large grasp with a move that held as much luck as skill. “Nay, swine. Never yours.”

“Aye, wench—mine.”

Unnerved by the stalking giant, Sine Catriona threw her dagger. Her usually excellent aim was off due to her increasing fear. Instead of burying itself deep in his heart as she had intended it to do, the dagger landed in the fleshy part of one massive upper arm. He gave out a thundering cry and lunged for her. She suspected her scream was just as loud when he grabbed her and tucked her beneath one thick arm.

The robbers had begun to retreat, leaving Gamel a moment in which to catch his breath. He immediately looked to see where Catriona had gone. Upon espying her difficulty, he raced toward her with little thought for strategy or his own safety.

“Put her down,” Gamel demanded the moment he confronted the huge outlaw.

“She is my prize.”

“Your friends have deserted you. Do ye mean to fight your way free—alone?”

The outlaw put his sword against the back of Sine Catriona’s neck. “Cut me and she dies,” he snapped.

Gamel froze, then covertly glanced toward his other men. Although they were now able to turn their attention to helping Catriona, they halted their advance. For an agonizingly long moment no one moved. Gamel was certain his heart and breath had both ceased. Even the twins, rousing from unconsciousness, lay still and wide-eyed. Gamel tried desperately to come up with some solution, but none was forthcoming.

Sine Catriona ceased her frantic struggles the instant the cold steel of the sword touched her vulnerable nape. On the morrow she would be eighteen. Even what the rank giant intended for her once he got her alone suddenly did not seem as horrible as death. Rape was vicious and degrading. She knew she would carry the scars all her life, but she would be alive. One misstep now and she lost all chance for a future. As she hung in his grasp like an empty sack, she fought to think of a way to save herself.

Finally, in sheer desperation, she balled one hand into a small fist and struck the outlaw in the groin with all her strength. The outlaw howled, dropped her, and clutched his abused privates, but he had no time to pamper his injury. Farthing launched an immediate and lethal attack which the rogue struggled to fend off. Sine Catriona cried out softly in surprise when Gamel scooped her up with one arm, yanking her out of danger.

“He is good,” Gamel murmured, watching Farthing fight and holding Catriona close to his side. “He has been weel trained.”

“Aye, by his natural father. Shouldnae ye aid him?” she asked.

Sir Lesley stepped up to them and shook his head. “To dart in now would do more ill than good, mistress. Too distracting.” He nodded toward the pair so tightly locked in battle. “Blane and Ligulf flank the brute. They will move quickly if the battle veers the piker’s way. ’Twill not, though. The outlaw has more strength than your mon but far less skill, and ’tis skill that will win out.”

When Sine Catriona tried to move from Gamel’s side his hold on her tightened, subtly but firmly, and she relented. Nevertheless, it set both her mind and insides awhirl to be held so near to his tall, lean body. She barely reached the pit of his arm. Her cheek was pressed against his smooth, hard chest, which had been left exposed by his unlaced shirt. A fine tremor began to ripple through her. She knew it was not in response to her near escape or the violence of the night. Such trauma was, sadly, no stranger to her. Her trembling was caused by the man who held her as if she belonged to him. More alarming was that she felt as if she did.

At last Farthing dealt the death stroke to his opponent. The rogue’s scream cut through the air. She turned her face into Gamel’s smooth, tanned chest and felt him burrow his long fingers into her hair. It felt to her as if here was the haven she had sought for so long, in Gamel’s arms. But the idea terrified her. She could not accept it. She could not do as other maids did and settle down with a man.

Farthing moved toward the pair, touching Sine’s shoulder when he reached her side. “Are ye hurt, dearling?”

“Nay.” The danger she had faced combined with her own overwrought emotions suddenly proved too much for her. “I am going to be ill.” She broke free of Gamel’s hold and raced toward the edge of camp.

“I will see to her,” Gamel said, halting Farthing’s move to follow. “Your boys need aid.” He strode away before Farthing could protest.

As she struggled to get to her feet, Sine Catriona felt a slim, strong arm encircle her shoulders and a damp cloth gently move over her face. She was lifted into Gamel’s arms, set a few feet away, then handed some wine with which to rinse her mouth. It was nice to be cared for, but embarrassing to be seen in this condition by the far-too-disturbing Sir Gamel. She was not sure why she should care, but she wished him to see her as a strong woman.

It was on the tip of her tongue to order him far away from her. However, she knew she would never speak the words. Disturbing though he was, she did not really want him to leave.

He was undeniably fascinating, with his light auburn hair, smooth, softly bronzed skin any woman would envy, and rich jewel-green eyes. His fine features seemed to have been molded by some skilled artisan, and he had somehow escaped the all-too-common scarring and broken facial bones of a warrior.

But it was the heat that glowed in his fine eyes that drew her most powerfully. That look stirred hitherto unknown emotions within her, igniting a responsive heat she was unable to control or, she feared, hide. She dared not think of what he would do if he could sense the feelings that raged within her.

Gamel made no attempt to disguise the desire that gripped him as he studied her. He suddenly knew for certain that this was how his father felt when he looked at Edina: stunned, almost fearful, yet filled with a near-violent need to possess her. A need coupled with a lurking eagerness to kill anyone who thwarted it. He was not surprised to see the unsteadiness of his hand as he reached out to brush the tangled hair from her small oval face. His entire body was trembling.

The disorder of her chemise left the upper swells of her full breasts exposed. One delicately slim shoulder was bared to view also. He could see that the light golden tone of her skin was not from the kiss of the sun, but wholly natural. He was unable to resist touching her, trailing his fingers over her skin. Gamel knew that the shadows and his own body blocked all signs of his impertinence from the others.

“Cease,” she whispered in a raspy voice as he dipped his fingers beneath the edge of her chemise, yet she did not move away.

“All gold,” he murmured. “Gold and silver. I ache for you.”

“Dinnae say such things.”

“I but speak the truth.”

“Some truths should remain silent ones.”

“What I feel must be spoken of.”

“Ye must take your passions elsewhere. I am not free.”

“One day ye shall be, or I will see that ye are, if but for one night only.”

“If ye hurt Farthing, I will come to your bed only to cut your throat,” she snapped, retreating from his touch and standing up, straightening her chemise as she did so. “Aye, cut it from ear to ear, my flame-haired lecher.”

“I willnae kill the mon to possess you. Then I would be as low as the dogs we have just routed. Nay, I willnae shame myself or my family by stooping so low. But I will have ye. Come the chance to hold ye, even for but an hour, and I will seize it,” he vowed as he stood up. “A fire such as this cannae be put out simply because another holds ye now. Ye ken what I speak of. The flame licks at your insides as weel.”

“Nay,” she cried, her voice holding more desperation than conviction, and she fled to Farthing’s side.

As Gamel rejoined his brother, Ligulf whispered, “She belongs to Farthing Magnus.”

“I ken it,” muttered Gamel.

“Then ye must put her from your mind. I like the mon.”

“So do I . Yet so do I hate him for his rightful claim to her. ’Tis a madness that has seized me. But fear not, I shallnae kill the mon over her. Nay, I willnae go that far. I fear, though, that murder is all I will halt at, that there is nothing else, however low or dishonorable, I willnae do to have her.”