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By Pamela Clare


An Excerpt

Brighid held tightly to Aidan's chilly hand and hurried down the rutted road behind Ruaidhri. She couldn't wait until they were safely home again and sitting in front of a warm fire with Fionn.

Ruaidhri was in a rage, but all she could feel was overwhelming relief. She knew she'd come horribly close to losing her brother. It was almost too good to be true, given the young earl's liking for cruelty. He was worse than his father.

She was so relieved Ruaidhri was safe she didn't know whether to hug the life out of him or slap him soundly. He'd let his tongue get the best of him again and had almost paid the price. The Sasanach earl would surely have had him beaten—perhaps even hanged—had the other Sasanach not intervened. She had watched as the strange, fair-haired Englishman had argued with the earl, though she hadn't been able to hear their words. Both men had been angry.

She didn't want to think about the other Sasanach lord, the one with the fine gray horse. She'd been taken aback when she'd looked up to find him staring at her with his sea-green eyes. Her breath had stopped. His gaze had seemed to pierce her, to slide beneath her skin. No man had ever looked at her that way before. He sat tall and proud on a beautiful gray stallion, dressed in his fine, warm clothes. But he was different from the other lords she'd seen. He wore no hat, no silly wig, his fair curls ruffled from his riding. And his face was bronzed like that of a man who worked the fields or spent his life at sea. She'd found herself staring back at him, and she'd been furious with herself.

Why had he stayed the earl's hand?

"Ruaidhri, slow down!" She glanced down at Aidan, who was fair running beside her. "We can't keep up."

"Ruaidhri stopped, glanced back, then froze, his eyes wide. "Run! Into the trees!"

Brighid whirled about, saw riders in the distance. They were the earl's men, and they were riding hard up the ribbon of road. A thin stand of trees ran along the north side of the road, but it was a good fifty paces away up a steep hill.

Ruaidhri scooped Aidan up and dashed uphill toward the dark line of forest.

Brighid lifted her skirts and ran after them as fast as she could. She could hear the approaching thunder of hooves.

Had the riders seen them? And if they had been seen, would it matter? Just because these men worked for the earl didn't mean they were after Ruaidhri. The earl had set him free. But Brighid knew better than to trust English promises.

Her heart hammered in her breast. Harder she ran until trees surrounded her.

Ruaidhri had hidden behind a low hedge of gorse, Aidan in his arms.

Brighid fell flat on the cold earth beside them, tucked her red skirts in.

Aidan's eyes were round with terror. Brighid stroked his cheek. The boy laid his head trustingly on Ruaidhri's shoulder. Their heavy breathing mingled, slowed.

The hooves drew near.

She watched as Ruaidhri held a finger to his lips, his signal to Aidan not to make a sound. Her brother's gaze met hers, and she saw the fury that boiled inside him—and the fear he tried valiantly to hide. She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed, feigning a calm she did not feel. He might be on the verge of manhood, but he was still her little brother.

A group of four Sasanach rode into view on the road below. They slowed their mounts until they rode at a walk. The man in the lead reined his horse to a stop.

"They've disappeared," he shouted back to the other men. "I swear I saw them walking along this stretch."

"I saw them, too."

Brighid watched, her heart in her throat, as the men scanned the horizon, then turned their eyes toward the trees.

One of the men laughed, a low hissing sound. "I think it's time for another hunt. We'll flush them out like bloody pheasants."

The four riders turned their horses off the road and started slowly up the hill. The man in the lead drew his pistol, cocked it.

Panic pulsed in her veins. There was no way they could avoid being discovered. The gorse grew low to the ground and sheltered them only on one side. As soon as the riders reached the trees, the three of them would be sitting targets.

Her gaze darted to Ruaidhri's, and her fear grew stronger. She could tell he was plotting something. His hand slipped to the waistline of his breeches and grasped the hilt of a dagger. She swallowed hard. She knew what she must do.

Ruaidhri had just closed his fingers around the hilt of the dagger, when, to his horror, Brighid spoke—in English.

"Please. Don't shoot." Her voice quavered. Slowly, she stood.

Ruaidhri cursed under his breath, released the dagger. What was she doing?

The Sasanach were startled, but only for a moment.

"Oh, we would never shoot a lady," said one.

"Not one as pretty as you," said another.

The men laughed.

Ruaidhri heard the lust in the men's voices, slowly stood. It was him they wanted. If they got him, they'd leave his sister alone.

Aidan leapt up, wrapped his arms around Brighid's waist.

"What did I say? Flushed out like pheasants."

Cruel laughter filled the air.

"Why are you followin' us? The earl showed mercy and released my brother."

The man who seemed to be the leader of the group rode over to Brighid and began to dismount. "He didn't send us to fetch your brother, poppet."

The realization hit Ruaidhri like a blow to the stomach. They were here for Brighid.

In a flash, the dagger was in his hand. He pulled Brighid behind him, barked at Aidan to lie flat on the ground. "You'll not be takin' her."

For a moment there was silence. Then he heard the metallic clicks of three more pistols being cocked. He looked about. All were aimed at him.

"The rapparee thinks he's a cat with nine lives." The leader smiled, revealing a row of rotted teeth. "You've already used up one today, boy. Are you sure you want to use another?"

Rage. Desperation. Helplessness. Raw emotion surged through Ruaidhri until he thought he would explode. He was outnumbered. They had pistols.

But Brighid was his sister. He loved her. It was his job to protect her. "You can't be takin' her!"

The nearest man lifted his pistol, aimed it at Ruaidhri's chest.

"No!" Brighid broke free from Ruaidhri's protective grasp, shielded him with her body. She turned to face Ruaidhri, cupped his cheek in her palm. Her gaze met his, her eyes a mirror for the turmoil within him. Her face was pale. She peeled the knife from his fingers, dropped it on the ground, turned to face the Sasanach.

The Sasanach leader wasted no time. He reached out, pulled her to him.

"Brighid!" Aidan cried out, ran forward, would have been kicked by the Sasanach's cruel boot had Ruaidhri not pulled him back.

The child's desperate tears tore at Ruaidhri's gut. They reminded him of another time years ago, another act of English cruelty. "Tell the whoreson you call a lord he's dead if he touches her! May God curse all English!"

"No one's going to harm a hair on her pretty head." The Sasanach who had Brighid mounted on his horse, pulled her roughly into the saddle in front of him. "The lord simply wishes to have a word with her."

Ruaidhri didn't believe that for a minute.

Brighid's gaze met his once more before the Sasanach spurred his horse down the hill, taking her with him.

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