CHAPTER 3

Her father sat before the fire, smiling with pleasure as she read to him.

John MacSween was proud that he had taught his daughter to read, though he had to keep her ability a well-guarded secret. None of the other MacSween women were permitted to learn this skill. This was not done out of some nefarious desire to purposely deprive or control them. The MacSweens simply saw no need for women to read, since it was only men who drafted and received important messages, treaties, and agreements. Why would a young girl waste precious hours deciphering scratches on a page when she could be doing something useful, like gutting fish, combing wool, or plucking feathers? But Gwendolyn’s father had originally come from a clan farther south, and their ways had not been as traditional as those of the MacSweens. He had taught his wife to read and write, and then he had passed the same skills on to his daughter. Gwendolyn had learned them clandestinely, at night, within the safety of their small cottage. Her father did not want to give the MacSweens yet another reason to fear and ostracize his beloved child.

“When I am gone, you will still have your friends in books and stories, my sweet Gwen,” he told her.

Gwendolyn looked up from her book and frowned. “Wherever you go, Papa, I am going with you.”

A sad smile shadowed her father’s gentle face. And then he began to fade.

Cold seeped through Gwendolyn. She curled up even more and struggled to keep her father in his chair. But his image had vanished. Shivering, she inched backward, searching for the comforting wall of heat that had enveloped her all night.

It was gone.

Feeling lost, she opened her eyes. Her father was dead, she realized numbly. There would be no more nights of reading to him before a fire or listening to the glorious tales he loved to tell her.

MacDunn and his warriors were already up and preparing for the day’s journey. Brodick was cooking a simple meal of fresh oakcakes and fish over a small fire, while MacDunn, Ned, and Cameron were tending to their horses. Gwendolyn sat up and rubbed her bare arms. Isabella, she noticed, was still comfortably ensconced beneath Brodick’s extra plaid, sound asleep.

“Good morning, m’lady,” Cameron called cheerfully. “ ’Tis a fine day, is it not? I must confess, my head feels remarkably well this morning, thanks to your spirit friends.”

“That is good,” she murmured.

“Will you have some oatcake and fish this morning? The fish was just caught by Ned, and is sure to be sweet.”

Gwendolyn shook her head. The pain of missing her father had destroyed her appetite. “I am not hungry.”

“You will eat,” MacDunn commanded, not looking at her as he adjusted the girth of his saddle.

“I am not hungry,” Gwendolyn insisted stubbornly.

“Your body requires nourishment,” he argued. “You ate nothing yesterday, and I’d wager that during your time in the dungeon, you ate little, if at all. You are thin and weak.” He critically eyed her up and down.

“I am not weak,” she protested. In truth, since the death of her father just four days ago, she had become a little thin.

“A better nourished woman would not have felt the cold so severely last night. You will be lucky if you are not burning with fever by midday, and dead by tomorrow morning.”

Gwendolyn stared at him blankly. What was this bizarre preoccupation with her health? “I have no intention of getting a fever—”

“Your life now belongs to me,” he interrupted. “And I have decided you will eat.”

She was about to point out that her life most certainly did not belong to him or anyone else when Brodick cautiously approached her with some food.

“Do try some, m’lady,” he invited. “Even if you are not hungry now, it will be several hours before we stop again to eat.”

The aroma of the freshly grilled fish stirred the emptiness in her stomach. “Perhaps I will have just a little,” she conceded. “But I am not doing it because you ordered me to, MacDunn.”

MacDunn shrugged his enormous shoulders. “As long as you eat, I don’t give a damn.”

“I’m hungry,” announced Isabella sleepily, stretching her arms over her head.

“Good morning, Bella,” called Brodick. “Did you sleep well?”

“Certainly not,” she informed him coldly. “I’m bruised all over from lying on the hard ground, and this filthy, coarse plaid has scratched my skin to pieces. I couldn’t sleep at all.”

“You appeared to be resting well enough last night after MacDunn showed you his wound,” observed Cameron teasingly.

“Oh!” Isabella exclaimed. “That was absolutely horrid. However could you expect me to fix such a thing?”

MacDunn shrugged. “After all those grisly threats of yours, I would have thought you would have enjoyed plunging a needle in me.”

“Don’t think about it anymore,” soothed Brodick, bringing her a cloth filled with food.

Isabella wrinkled her nose. “This smells burned.”

“I am sorry,” he apologized. “It is all there is.”

On learning that, she greedily began to devour it. “You had best ride fast today,” she said between mouthfuls. “Robert is certain to come after you again. He will not rest until I am safely returned to my father.”

“At the moment, Robert is somewhat outnumbered,” said MacDunn. “Unless your father makes a decision to send out more men, I do not think we will enjoy the pleasure of Robert’s company today.”

“Then tomorrow he will come,” Isabella predicted. “And when he does, he will tie your limbs to two fine horses and send them galloping in opposite directions, tearing you apart and dragging your ragged, bloody remains across the Highlands.”

Cameron laughed. “By God, I’m actually going to miss her threats.”

“I’m not,” Alex muttered, hoisting himself onto his horse. “It’s time to go. Ned, you will take the witch behind you today. You’re both light, so your mount should be able to keep a good speed.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, he assured himself, watching as Gwendolyn climbed up behind Ned. He thought she looked slightly surprised, but Ned gave no indication that he found this order peculiar. In truth, Alex could not bear another moment of feeling her soft, slim form pressing against him. He had lain awake the entire night, keeping her warm in the shelter of his body. He had thought the act would be nothing, that he would simply lie next to her and fall asleep. Instead he was acutely aware of every breath she drew, of every small turn and shift and sigh of her delicately feminine body, which was far too fine and fragile to withstand the harsh rigors of life in the Highlands. He had sensed her tension and so he had feigned sleep, knowing she did not trust him to keep his word not to ravish her. And long before light began to filter through the feathery spires of the pines above them, he had questioned his ability to honor his oath. Somehow, this pale wisp of a girl had managed to kindle a heat and need in him that he had never thought to experience again. His flesh had felt as if it were afire, and his loins had hardened until they ached.

And he was appalled.

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” announced Isabella, untroubled by the fact that everyone was mounted and ready to go. “I haven’t finished my breakfast, and after that I will need a few moments to wash in the stream.” She began to nibble at a second oatcake.

Brodick urged his horse over to her. “Alas, sweet Bella, this is where I must bid you farewell.” He bent down, scooped up his plaid from her shoulders, and folded it behind his saddle.

She regarded him in disbelief. “You’re leaving me?”

“I gave your father my word that I would release you in the morning,” Alex reminded her. “Although your father did not heed my conditions, I intend to keep my part of the bargain. You have ample food and water, and you should keep the fire burning. Robert has been released from his bonds, so when he wakens shortly in these woods he will find you. You can either ride home with him or wait until more of your father’s men come to retrieve you.”

“But I must go with you,” she protested. “Since my father didn’t honor your conditions, you must take me with you.”

Brodick glanced questioningly at Alex.

“She is of no use to us,” Alex said bluntly. “And I have done enough to incur the MacSweens’ wrath without also permanently stealing their laird’s daughter. She stays here.” He turned his horse and began to ride away.

“No!” exclaimed Isabella, rising to stand before Brodick. “You cannot just abandon me here. You cannot!”

“Forgive me, m’lady,” Brodick apologized. “It was not meant to be.”

“You cannot leave me!”

“Farewell, sweet Bella,” he crooned. “I’ll not forget you.” He tilted his head in a bow, then turned his mount and rode away, followed by Cameron and Ned.

“This isn’t over!” Isabella raged. “I’ll make sure my father’s warriors hunt you down and crush every bone in your body, you vile abductor of helpless women! Then they’ll carve out your eyes and mince them into paste…”

“Poor lass, I think you’ve gone and broken her heart,” said Cameron as Isabella’s gruesome ravings continued.

“…and grind your organs into mush…”

“If that’s what she’s like when her heart is broken, I’d not want to see her angry,” reflected Ned.

“…you scurvy, rotten, fulsome bastard!”

“She’ll get over it,” Brodick assured them.

“Aye,” agreed Cameron, laughing. “They always do.”

         

The air was aromatic with the sun-washed scent of damp earth and the tangy fragrance of heather that burst in purple puffs around them. But Gwendolyn was far too absorbed in considering her situation as they galloped through the meadows and woods to derive pleasure from her surroundings. Every mile took her farther away from Robert and the stone, and so with every mile her resolve to escape grew.

She was certain MacDunn intended to use her to either strike an enemy or fatten his coffers, or perhaps both. Although she had been fortunate in proving her supernatural powers with her little “spell” last night, she had no hope of faking someone’s death or making riches suddenly appear. The moment she failed to do so, MacDunn would realize he had been duped and his rage would be awesome. After he finished punishing her, he would give her back to Robert in order to prevent war. She would be imprisoned and burned, and Robert’s treachery would go without retribution.

She could not allow that to happen.

“The horses need to rest,” MacDunn suddenly announced. “We will stay here by this stream awhile.”

Gwendolyn wearily let go of Ned. Although MacDunn had said no MacSweens would come after them today, he had led his warriors like a man possessed. It was clear he was most anxious to return home with his prize. Her arms were stiff and her backside aching as she slid off Ned’s horse, only to collapse in a startled heap on the ground.

“Are you ill?” MacDunn asked, racing toward her. He dropped to one knee and laid his rough hand upon her brow. “Do you feel feverish?”

“I am fine, MacDunn. My legs are stiff from being on that horse too long, that is all. I am not accustomed to riding such a long distance.”

His hand moved from her forehead to each cheek, as if he did not quite believe her. When he finally decided that her temperature was acceptable, he regarded her sternly. “You should have said something if you were finding the ride too difficult.”

She did not know what to make of that. After all, she was his prisoner, and had assumed her comfort was irrelevant. “You are obviously in a great hurry and—”

“Your well-being is of paramount importance to me,” MacDunn interrupted. “In the future, you will tell me when you are feeling ill or overly tired. Is that clear?”

She reminded herself that his anxiety sprang from greed rather than a genuine interest in her health. He had told her she was useless to him if she fell ill. Nevertheless, his touch was infinitely gentle as he wrapped his arms around her and helped her to her feet.

“You must walk a little, to get the blood moving in your legs,” he instructed, leading her across the grass. “Better?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered, unsettled by the feel of his hard body supporting her. “I’m fine now, MacDunn.” She broke free from him to walk on her own.

He watched her a moment, as if to be sure. Then he turned and led his horse to the stream. Cameron and Ned followed with the other horses.

“Has he always been this preoccupied with illness?” Gwendolyn asked, moving to where Brodick was laying out some food.

“No,” he admitted. “But that was before he learned how formidable an enemy illness can be.”

“Was he sick?” Gwendolyn was unable to imagine MacDunn weak from disease.

Brodick shook his head. “MacDunn has always enjoyed excellent health.”

“Then who was sick?”

“It is not my place to tell you about MacDunn, Gwendolyn. Whatever he wants you to know, he will tell you.”

She didn’t care, she reminded herself. MacDunn’s problems were of no interest to her. Her only concern was escaping. And with MacDunn, Cameron, and Ned down by the stream, this was probably her best opportunity. They had stopped at the edge of a thick forest. If she could lose herself in there, she would be able to find someplace to hide. She raised her arms in a casual stretch, sighed, then began to wander nonchalantly toward the woods.

“Where are you going?” Brodick demanded.

“I require a few minutes of privacy,” Gwendolyn called over her shoulder.

“You must wait until MacDunn returns. He would not want you going off on your own.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot wait,” replied Gwendolyn, still walking. “Don’t worry, Brodick, I won’t go far.” With that she slipped into the woods and quickly disappeared behind a tree.

She glanced back to see if Brodick would follow her. He stared in her direction a moment, as if debating whether or not to go after her. Then he lowered his head and continued to unpack food from his saddlebag.

Every second was precious. Gwendolyn gathered her skirts in her hands and began to swiftly thread her way deep into the woods. She tried to step lightly over the carpet of pine needles and twigs, conscious of each snap and rustle as she raced from her captors. It would be only moments before Brodick decided she had been gone too long. She needed to cover as much distance as possible before the warriors came after her. Her heart pounded and her breath was reduced to shallow, desperate gasps. Still she ran, heedless of the branches clawing at her face, farther and farther into the quiet green sanctuary of the woods. She was well ahead of them now. The forest was so dense and dark, surely they would not be able to find her here.

“Gwendolyn! Where are you?” Brodick called, not sounding nearly as far away as she would have liked.

She did not pause, though her chest felt as if it were being squeezed of air.

“Gwendolyn!” called MacDunn, his voice harsh, “come out here at once!”

Exhaustion forced her to pause a moment and lean against a tree, greedily gasping for breath. They would never find her now, for the woods were far too large, and they could not possibly know which direction she had taken. Still, there were four of them, which meant they could cover virtually every direction. The sound of branches breaking and twigs snapping told her they had begun their search. She glanced around wildly, looking for a place to hide. There was nothing but the endless, narrow columns of trees. She debated trying to climb one of them, but feared she lacked the strength and agility to get sufficiently high, and might only reveal her whereabouts in the process.

“Come, now, m’lady,” called Cameron, affecting a reasonable tone. “You cannot be thinking of spending the night alone in these woods.”

She picked up her skirts and began to run again, encouraged by the fact that his voice was muffled. Obviously they were going in the wrong direction. Her breathing grew labored once more, and her heart began to pound against her chest. Still she ran, focusing on her need to escape, to free herself from MacDunn and his selfish desires, and to find Robert and bury a dirk deep into his heart.

The ground began to rumble beneath her. She ran even faster, but now she could hear branches cracking, heralding the advance of a rider. Despair overwhelmed her. Realizing she had been caught, she stopped and turned.

MacDunn was thundering toward her, an arrow taut against the string of his bow. Rage had hardened his features into a terrible mask. Gwendolyn stared at him in horror, her heart frozen. Instead of lowering his weapon as he drew close, he aimed it straight at her.

In that moment, she realized he was truly mad.

She opened her mouth to scream as he released his arrow, but all that came out was a strangled whimper. A hideous shriek of pain shattered the air.

Confused, Gwendolyn looked behind her.

An enormous wild boar lay upon the ground with an arrow protruding from its side. Blood poured from its wound as the heavy creature struggled to get up. Another arrow sliced the air beside her and plunged cleanly into the poor beast, killing it. Gwendolyn stared at it in shock. The animal would have killed her, she realized numbly.

Slowly, she turned to face MacDunn.

He swung down from his horse and stalked toward her.

“Do you have any idea how close you just came to death?” he demanded softly.

“MacDunn, I—”

He grabbed her by her slim, bare shoulders, needing to touch her, to be sure she was still whole and well.

“You would have been killed,” he bit out harshly. “That boar would have knocked you to the ground and trampled you until every bone in your body was crushed.”

His grip was punishing, but she dared not complain. She did not want to provoke his rage even more than she already had.

“And I would have been powerless to save you, Gwendolyn,” he continued fiercely. “Had I arrived but a moment later, there would have been nothing I could do.”

This, perhaps, was what alarmed Alex the most. He had vowed to protect her, yet her own folly had placed her directly in death’s path. And now she stood, trembling yet defiant. He wanted to shake her, he wanted to frighten her, he wanted to make her understand that she could not trifle with her life in this way.

And so he lowered his head and captured her lips in his.

Gwendolyn stood paralyzed as MacDunn’s mouth slanted over hers. She had never been kissed before, for no one in her clan would have dared dally with the girl marked from childhood as a witch. But even in her innocence she could feel the unleashed fury in the way his lips ground against hers. A flame burst to life in the pit of her stomach, and her blood quickened, making her feel flushed and strange. MacDunn’s tongue swept demandingly along the soft crease of her lips, and the sensation was so exquisite Gwendolyn opened her mouth slightly. He instantly plunged inside, hungrily exploring. Gwendolyn leaned into his muscular frame and locked her arms around his neck, clinging to him as she urgently returned his kiss. He growled and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her even closer, kissing her even harder, until there was nothing but the solid wall of MacDunn wrapped around her and the incredible fire that raged between them. Power seemed to emanate from him as his hands roamed down her back, cupping her hips and pulling her firmly into the hardness of his arousal. Pleasure washed through her as she pressed against him, and a soft little cry escaped her throat.

Alex continued to taste Gwendolyn as his hands began to explore the narrow path of her back, the satin skin of her shoulders, the delicate cage of her ribs. And then he laid his palm against the lush swell of her breast and groaned, for he could not remember ever touching anything so soft. It had been four years since he had felt the least flicker of desire, and the lust surging through him in that moment was beyond measure. He wanted to take this witch now, here in the forest, to lay her down on a bed of fragrant pine and bury himself deep inside her, to lose himself to her softness and heat, without even taking the time to remove her gown. His desire was staggering, it stripped him of his ability to think, until he was aware of nothing but the blaze devouring him, and the certainty that only this mysterious smoke- and heather-scented woman could slake his need. He could not remember a moment in which he had been so overwhelmingly possessed, not even with Flora, though there had been many a time when he had spread his plaid over a mattress of ferns and pleasured her in the golden warmth of sunlight. But that was a lifetime ago, when she had been fit and glowing with laughter and love, and he had laid his face against the creamy softness of her breasts and vowed with all his heart and soul that he would never love another.

Shame sliced through him, dousing his ardor. He released his hold on Gwendolyn and stepped back, appalled by his behavior.

“Forgive me,” he murmured roughly, not certain whether he was asking for her forgiveness or Flora’s.

Gwendolyn regarded him blankly, bewildered by his abrupt change in manner. A moment ago he had been powerful, aroused, a great laird who was thoroughly in control and who was using that control to spin the same veil of desire over her. Yet now he seemed distant, almost sad. The grim set of his mouth told her he was still angry. But she sensed his fury was no longer directed at her.

“MacDunn!” called Brodick from the distance. “Did you find her?”

“Aye.” Alex didn’t take his eyes off Gwendolyn. “We’re over here. Tell Ned to come and fetch her.”

Gwendolyn was staring at him in confusion. Ripples of sunlight and shadow were playing over her, glossing the tangled mass of her black hair. Her gray eyes were wide and pensive, her cheeks and lips flushed from the heat of his kiss. In that moment, standing amid the green and gold light of the forest, she seemed more mythical creature than flesh-and-blood woman.

“You will abandon this absurd notion of escape,” he commanded tautly, resisting the impulse to lay his hand against her cheek and feel its softness. He turned and moved toward his horse, anxious to have distance between them. “Next time,” he continued, hoisting himself into his saddle, “I may just leave you for either Robert or the wild boars to find.”

With that he galloped away, leaving Gwendolyn alone with the slain boar.

I’m sorry.

He lay back and contemplated the sparkling cape of night, only vaguely aware that the ground was damp and the air unseasonably cold. The physical discomforts of the body had never bothered him much, and tonight he was far too preoccupied to give them any notice whatsoever. Flora’s star was smaller this evening, and the light it cast was sad and flat. At first Alex had had trouble finding it amid all the others. He had wondered if she was so injured by his betrayal that she would not show herself to him at all. If so, he could not blame her. But long after the camp rumbled with the sounds of sleep, he finally found a pale glimmer in a distant corner of the sky. Of course he knew Flora’s spirit did not actually dwell within that shimmering silver orb.

Her soul was all around him, watching over him as he tried his damnedest to live out the rest of his shattered existence without her.

The night his fragile wife finally died, Alex had stumbled blindly into the courtyard and raged at God, cursing him for stealing away the woman who meant more to him than life. He had bellowed at the top of his lungs, waking all of his clan as he vainly tried to purge himself of the pain tearing through him. And through his fury and despair he suddenly noticed a tiny, brilliant star that he was certain had not been there before. He had been so astounded, he went immediately to Morag, the clan seer, and demanded to know the meaning of it. And the wise old woman had assured him it was a sign that Flora was watching over him.

From that evening on, Alex never slept without first searching the sky for Flora’s star.

Forgive me, my love. It meant nothing.

He laced his fingers behind his head and sighed. He had no doubt she believed him. His Flora was the most tender-hearted of women and would never imagine him capable of anything but honesty. Still, his confession did not ease his shame. He had betrayed his beloved wife, and he did not know how to cleanse himself of that unforgivable act.

Four years. It was not so long, really. Barely a drop in the ocean of time, and certainly not long enough to numb his suffering. At first he had been far too enraged with God to continue with his duties as a laird and father. What kind of God would bless him with unfailing strength and good health, while slowly leeching the life out of his innocent wife? Flora had been as lovely as a flower, and as delicate. When Alex met her at the MacLean holding, she had not known he was laird of the MacDunns. A lively, rosy girl with laughing eyes and hair the color of fire, she spurned his arrogant advances with her quick wit and saucy manner. And Alex, who was accustomed to women throwing themselves in his path, was completely enchanted. He courted Flora with a patience and determination he had not known he was capable of. And finally she gifted him with her love. He proudly brought her back to his clan as his bride, and a year later his son was born, making his life complete.

But after David’s birth, Flora lost a child, and then another, each time losing a little more of her color and strength. She began to complain of internal pain and weakness, and could barely find the energy to rise from her bed. Overcome with worry, Alex sent for the finest healers in Scotland, who spared neither effort nor expense as they bled her and purged her and forced her to swallow all manner of foul potions. Poor Flora endured her suffering with courage, though Alex knew she often wept at night when she thought he was sleeping. At times he wondered if his love for her had made him cruel, for surely it was inhumane to make her bear such hideous ministrations. But he clung to the hope that her illness was but a fleeting blot on an otherwise perfect life. Eventually they would find the right treatment and one morning Flora would waken and smile, cured.

Instead his beautiful wife wasted away, until finally she was but a thin, pale wisp of the glowing girl he had so proudly presented to his people.

Her illness lasted for nearly a year. When she realized that she was going to die, her greatest worry was Alex’s unhappiness. Over and over she pleaded with him not to grieve, but to promise her that he would marry again and get on with his life. How can you ask such a thing of me? he had demanded, pressing her slim, cold hand against his cheek. I swear to you I will never love another. He had sworn this oath as a way of binding her to him, of making her see she could not possibly desert him. But one night Flora was finally released from the torment of her treacherous body. Though he knew she was at peace, Alex had felt empty, abandoned. When Flora died, the light in his life was extinguished.

And now God was determined to take his son from him as well.

He could not imagine what terrible sin he had committed to make God want to punish him so viciously. His life had been far from pure, but whatever his sins, he did not think he deserved this additional, unbearable agony. He knew for certain David did not. The lad was scarcely ten and surely was entitled to live a much longer life than that. But David had been blessed with his mother’s bonny features, and plagued with her frailty. Although Alex had done everything he could to shelter his son from the rigors of life in the Highlands, he had failed to protect the lad from the feebleness of his own body. That curse, it seemed, was beyond Alex’s earthly control.

But not, perhaps, beyond the control of the darker forces.

He glanced over at Gwendolyn, who lay huddled on the ground shivering beneath Brodick’s extra plaid. His last hope, faint as it was, was that this witch would be able to save his son. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. She was a condemned murderess, who looked as if a strong gust of wind might blow her away. Yet this was the woman he would entrust David’s life to. He had brought in healers for the lad, who had solemnly purged and prodded and bled him, but David only grew weaker. Since neither God nor science seemed able to help him, Alex decided to turn to witchcraft. If Gwendolyn MacSween could not heal David with her sorcery, then he did not know what more to do.

The thought filled him with despair.

It was Morag who had convinced him to seek out Gwendolyn. There had been stories drifting through these mountains of the MacSween witch for years, bizarre tales of magic and devil worship, which had never particularly interested Alex. But suddenly David’s condition deteriorated, and Alex feared he was dying. He went to Morag and begged her to tell him if anything more could be done for his son. And Morag had told him to find the MacSween witch and bring her to his castle.

At first he had thought he would simply offer to pay the witch for her services. But when he arrived to find she had murdered her father and was sentenced to death, he attempted to buy her, thinking that spineless fool, Laird MacSween, would be only too happy to make a profit from someone else’s misery. What he had not anticipated was her clan’s almost gleeful determination to see her burned. And so he resolved to rescue her, even though he had just four men to fight an entire clan of several hundred.

No wonder people thought he was mad.

He could not forget his shock when she first emerged from the bowels of the MacSween castle. How could this beautiful young woman be the murdering witch of whom her clan spoke with such dread? When they fell upon her with their battering fists, he had been ready to kill every bloody one of them. And then Gwendolyn rose and continued to walk toward her death with solemn, unwavering dignity. In that moment he had forgotten the crimes of which she stood accused, had forgotten even that she was his only hope of seeing his son well again. All he knew was, whatever the cost, he would not permit them to hurt her.

And he had felt the same powerful sensation today.

The terror that had gripped him when he saw that boar charging her was not so peculiar, he assured himself. After all, she was his last hope to cure his son. That was why he had barely been able to breathe as he thundered toward her on his horse. And surely it was blinding rage, not passion, that had caused him to crush her in his arms and kiss her. He had imprisoned her against him and roamed his hands over her delectable body because he wanted to punish her for trying to escape him. And more, he needed her to fear him. With fear, he would be able to control her.

“MacDunn.”

He looked at her through the darkness, surprised that she was awake. She was shivering with cold, which concerned him. “Yes?” he replied, rising to build up the fire.

“How many more days’ journey is it to your lands?”

“Why? Are you planning your next attempt to escape me?”

Gwendolyn shook her head. She had not relinquished the possibility of escape, but she knew MacDunn and his warriors would prevent any opportunity of that. She would have to wait awhile. “I was wondering how far your holding is from the MacSweens.”

“Because you believe they will come after you again?”

She did not answer.

“Laird MacSween seems a reasonable man, Gwendolyn, and he knows I lead a formidable army,” he pointed out, tossing some dry twigs onto the dying embers. “Once he has his precious daughter back, I doubt he will be foolish enough to sacrifice more warriors in a battle over a condemned witch, especially since she was stolen by a madman.”

“You have insulted him,” Gwendolyn argued. “And you have sullied the clan’s honor.”

Alex leaned low and blew onto the coals, coaxing a small flame to life. “I plan to send Laird MacSween a letter formally apologizing for my unseemly behavior while I was his guest, accompanied by a chest of gold. That should adequately restore his tarnished honor, and the gold will more than compensate him for any damages I have caused.”

“Your offering might appease Laird MacSween,” she acknowledged, “but Robert will not be so easily placated.”

“He does seem inordinately anxious to get you back,” observed Alex, tossing a few more sticks onto the fire. “Why is that?”

“I am a witch.” She shrugged. “Robert believes I must be destroyed.”

It was a reasonable answer, but something about it did not sound altogether sincere. Alex found himself recalling Robert’s near obsession with Gwendolyn as he faced Alex in the woods, and his relative lack of interest in Isabella. For some reason Robert was desperate to have Gwendolyn back, and Alex sensed his motives had little to do with upholding justice or restoring his clan’s honor.

“If Robert comes again, I will protect you,” he stated flatly. “As will all the MacDunns.”

“You cannot expect that your people will want to risk their lives for a witch,” she countered.

“My people will do as I tell them,” Alex told her, arranging two huge logs on the fire. A brilliant spire of flames began to lick hungrily at the well-seasoned wood. “Whether you are a witch or a murderess has no bearing on their loyalty to me. Now come here and warm yourself, before you are wracked with fever.” He moved away from the fire and stretched out once more on the ground.

It was only then Gwendolyn realized he had been restoring the flames just for her. She rose and hurried toward the blaze, which was blasting a delicious aura of heat. After warming her bare hands and arms, she curled up beneath Brodick’s extra plaid and wearily closed her eyes. MacDunn was only concerned with her welfare because he wanted to use her, she reminded herself fiercely.

The moment he learned she had no special powers, he would cease to care whether she was cold, or hungry, or dead.