Her father came to her and closed his fingers around her arms. His dark sable eyes were warm on hers. “And you believe him, Daughter?”

  “Aye, Father, I do.”

  He let her go and his gaze cooled. “Then you are a fool.” He turned his back to her. “He is a killer for hire. He is no better than the one who killed your mother.”

  “He does not kill women.”

  “But he would kill me!” her father shouted at her. “And for something I did not do!”

  Rose shook her head and went to him. “No. He will not kill you, Father. You are innocent.”

  “And did he say my innocence mattered to him?”

  “Aye,” she promised.

  Finally, he sighed and offered her a seat at the table. “Come. Eat. Forgive me for my outburst.” He waited for her to sit and then reclined next to her. “Now, tell me everything you have learned about him, Daughter. What is his weakness?”

  She let her eyes dart to Captain Harper. Tristan had let him live rather than let her remain in the forest alone.

  It was she. She was his weakness.

  And judging by the way her father was looking at her, he knew it.

  What he didn’t know was that Tristan was her weakness. She would betray him for no one. Not even her father.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Let him go and none of you will die.”

  Tristan was a little surprised at Jones’ threat and the quiet assurance with which he delivered it. The earl’s guard looked fit. Tristan was surprised. It might concern him later, but right now, he was grateful for it.

  He waited a few moments for his captor’s reply, torn about whether or not to slip one of his daggers from his belt and shove it into the thief’s throat behind him. Any other time, Tristan could have taken on all five of them, but his arm was sore from his healing wound. Still, he could kill two or three while Jones took the rest.

  He didn’t want to give away his fighting skill to the soldier. Let Jones think Tristan needed his protection. Let him think Tristan was helpless.

  But the cold blade against Tristan’s throat was getting concerning.

  “Ye are in no position to make threats,” the thief shouted back.

  The blade pressed against Tristan’s throat with more pressure.

  Jones moved with lightning quickness, hurling his knife through the air. It landed in the thief’s hand between his knuckles—a few mere inches from Tristan’s throat.

  The man screamed. Tristan opened his eyes, scowled at Jones then reached up. He yanked the thief’s blade from his bloody hand and jammed it into his belly.

  Turning, he gutted his captor and flung the dripping blade into another thief coming toward him.

  He reached his horse and mounted, ready to run—as any helpless soul would do. But he didn’t want to run. He wanted to fight. He watched Jones take on the rest of the thieves.

  The guard ripped his claymore from its sheath and produced a shorter dagger in the other hand. Tristan was curious to see how he fought. A moment later, he was impressed by what he saw. Jones was a skilled fighter, quick on his feet and even quicker with his blades. He rolled on the ground and came up swinging. His blows were thunderous, coming up and then down on the two thieves and killing them quickly. The fifth and final thief ran for his life. Jones let him go.

  He turned from where he was standing, both of his blades glistening with blood. He looked at Tristan in his saddle and tilted his head at an angle. “You knew where to cut and your throw was excellent.”

  Tristan shrugged and then rubbed his shoulder to work out a kink. “Sometimes one must be able to protect the flock from wolves.”

  Jones laughed softly, and then mounted his horse and led the way to Dumfries.

  “Killing has a way of sobering a man up.” Tristan said, catching up with him.

  “Aye,” the guard agreed. “We will have to get drunk together again.”

  Tristan nodded. “After seeing you fight, I feel safer out here if MacPherson shows up.”

  “I practice every day.”

  “Ah, the earl keeps his men to a strict routine then.”

  Jones shook his head. “Not at all. Most are idle nowadays. I choose not to be. You understand?”

  “Aye,” Tristan said.

  So, it was just Jones who would give him trouble. He had to hurry up and mend. Every moment that he was away from Rose grated on his nerves more.

  He had to stay detached and not grow fond of Jones or anyone else he would likely have to kill. Jones wouldn’t stand around while Tristan revealed who he was and possibly went after the earl.

  Sadly, Tristan might have to kill him. But first, he had to recover and find out for certain if Rose had been taken home. He wasn’t sure how he would do it, and then he thought of his uncle’s tale. Aye, King Arthur would help.

  They rode on with Tristan filling the afternoon with tales of the noble king and his knights.

  They reached the gates of Callanach Castle a few moments before the sun set over the western mountain range.

  “Well, Jones, this is where we part ways.” Tristan didn’t expect to be invited inside. As a matter of fact, he didn’t want to go inside. He’d be a fool if he put himself at the mercy of the earl’s guards on the other side of the gates. He would find out about Rose and then go to the nearest inn to recover. “I do have one favor to ask though.”

  “What is it?” Jones asked.

  He laughed at himself and shook his head. “I am a romantic at heart. If the woman you were searching for is safe inside, have her step out into the lookout tower. ’Twill give me something to think about when I get back home.”

  Jones laughed and then agreed. Tristan decided he’d gone out of his mind over this lass. He was in trouble. She had him rethinking everything, including how he earned his coin.

  He waited while the heavy gate was opened, and Jones stepped inside. He scanned the surrounding area, taking note of trees and overlapping branches. He could climb up and see over the gate—see what she was doing. If he fell in his weakened condition, he would die. Oh well! What was life without some risks?

  He looked up at the torchlit tower and thought about his decision to let her know he was here. She cared for him, despite who he was. He knew she did. She would want to know he was alive. Mayhap, she could prepare her father.

  He waited while the sun went down, until she appeared surrounded by torchlight, like a dream come to life. She looked down at him. Could she see him? She lifted her hands to her heart. He did the same, and then he turned his horse away and rode into the darkness.

  She meant too much to him. He could tell by how utterly relieved he was to see her. She was safe! It was all that mattered. He could breathe and recover—and be with her again.

  But, oh, what kind of pitiful sot was he? If his men ever saw him like this—he shook his head, willing it not to happen. He didn’t recognize himself. Who was he? He didn’t care. He only cared that she was well.

  He had to get inside, and he would. But first, he would rest and dream about a fair maiden locked away in a tower, with only him to save her.

  And save her, he would.

  Rose clung to the railing in the tower and looked out over the side to watch him leave.

  When Jones had come home and told her to go to the lookout tower, she never imagined she would see Tristan below. But it was him! He was alive! Handsome and dark with blazing eyes. She was so happy to see him she didn’t realize the danger it presented. The truth of it all settled on her now though—especially when she turned to see Captain Harper coming to stand next to her.

  “Who was it?” he asked. Then, when she didn’t answer, he added, “I see.”

  “He left,” Rose told him. When she turned to look at him, he was gone. She saw him hurrying back inside the castle and followed him. What was he doing? Was he going to tell her father?

  They met Jones on his way up on the second landing. “Did you see him?” he asked Rose with a smile.

  The captain pushed her out of the way and grabbed Jones by the collar. “What did you tell him? What did he say?”

  “What do you mean what did I tell him? Why would I tell him anything? He is a shepherd from the western hills. He has a romantic heart and he asked to see—”

  “He is Tristan MacPherson!” the captain said through clenched teeth.

  “No!” Poor Jones looked completely stunned and horrified. “He is Geraint Ward, a shep—he could not even fight!” Jones continued to argue. “I had to save him from some thieves.”

  “Of course he could not fight,” Captain Harper growled. “I shot him with an arrow not very long ago and the wound became infected. He is still healing. Where did he go? What did he tell you?”

  Jones seemed to be still reeling from being duped by the outlaw. The captain had to give him a shake to get him to listen. “Tell me everything he said.”

  “He spoke about shepherding his flock and being lonely in the winter…or…I do not remember.”

  “How could you not remember?” the captain demanded.

  “He had whisky and…”

  Captain Harper gave him an incredulous look. “He got you drunk.”

  “No!”

  “What did you tell him about the earl?”

  Jones looked as if he might lose consciousness. “Nothing. He did not ask about the earl. He asked about…her. I told him nothing!” he hastened to assure the captain. “I told him we were searching for Tris—him and he asked how we knew he was near. He asked me what the earl had done about it and I told him—” he stopped and grew a sickly shade of green. “Captain, I…I told him you shot him.”

  The captain took a step back. His jaw was clenched. Rose had never seen him so furious. He looked at her and she quickly tried to give him a reassuring smile. In truth, she had no idea what Tristan would do about it.

  “Jones, I should throw you out, but MacPherson did not become who he is by being dull-minded. He is clever. There are tales of him finding ways into the most fortified strongholds and killing his intended victim and anyone else who got in his way.” He turned and looked at Rose with sadness coloring his eyes deeper blue. “He is intelligent and good at pretending.”

  She blinked and startled just a little as if he’d struck her. “Captain Harper, I am not dull-minded either.” Her words had more snap in them than anyone was used to hearing from her.

  The captain looked at his boots.

  “He did not see me lying among the dead and dying and think in his mind that must be Rose Callanach, the lass everyone thinks died six years ago. I will carry her away from the bones beneath her and lay her on the clean grass.” As she spoke, her eyes burned with tears. “I doubt he told himself if she lives, I will pretend to be kind and thoughtful, valiant and generous, until she brings me to her father. He may have pretended with everyone else, Captain, but with me, he was genuine. I refuse to allow you to make me think otherwise.”

  She turned to leave and saw her father standing by the solar door. She hadn’t heard it open. How much had he heard? His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes were sharp on her.

  He stepped to the side of the door and motioned her into the solar. “Come, let us share words.”

  She went, drawing her strength from the new life she’d experienced since she woke up wrapped in Tristan’s Highland plaid. She sat in a chair by the window and looked out.

  “Harper wants me to run and hide.”

  “Only guilty men do that,” she replied softly. Silence reigned for a moment before her father spoke again.

  “You love him.”

  She looked at him and nodded, knowing it would hurt him. But she had to tell him the truth. She had to keep them both safe.

  “I do not pretend to understand what he saved you from, Rose, my darling. But I think you are confusing love with gratefulness.”

  “Father, I’m grateful to him for all he has done for me, but I do not believe I am confusing it with love. I think of him every moment that I am awake, and I dream of him when I sleep. I want to be with him for the remainder of my days, however long or short they may be. He looks at me and I…” She couldn’t tell him that he looked at her and she felt more at home than she had ever felt here at the castle. It was no fault of her father’s. He had always been loving and kind—save when he fell into his moods but that did not happen often. Still, her home was a cold, desolate place.

  “I believe he loves me as well. I believe he will not hurt you for my sake.”

  He sat next to her and smiled. “He is a wise man, Rose. How could anyone not love you, Daughter?”

  “You would be surprised, Father.”

  He pulled his chair closer and took her hands in his. “Who? Do you mean my brother? Is that why he left you? Tell me everything.”

  Rose shook her head. “Uncle Richard left me and the men because we were infected. He did the right thing for his family and everyone around them.”

  Her father stared at her for a moment and then nodded. “Then who?”

  “It does not matter.”

  “It surely does!”

  “Father, what will you tell Tristan about that night?”

  She asked in order to change the topic. There weren’t many people left in Callanach. She didn’t want to see anyone else go.

  “The truth, of course.”

  Rose knew the story. He’d had to repeat it hundreds of times. “Why didn’t she take me with her?” Rose asked. “She took me with her everywhere. Why did she go alone with Jonetta?”

  Her father shook his head. “She requested Jonetta. I did not question it. Should I have?”

  Rose thought about it and then sighed. “I do not know. Will you just promise me not to have the men attack when he comes?”

  “You are certain he will come?”

  Ah, then, he hadn’t heard everything back there in the hall. He didn’t know. “Father,” she said and looked out the window again. “He is already here.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tristan came awake in silence. He moved his hand slowly and reached for a knife under his pillow.

  He was too late. He felt the cold edge of a blade at his throat and Jones’ voice at his ear.

  “Leave it, MacPherson.”

  Tristan opened his eyes and waited for them to adjust in the dark. “Are ye one of them who doesna like her then?”

  “No,” Jones defended.

  “Then why would ye kill someone she loves? All I am interested in is her,” he promised.

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  “Oh, so if I told ye the truth, ye wouldna have fought me?”

  The soldier remained quiet for a moment and then finally moved his knife away from Tristan’s neck.

  Tristan closed his eyes again and breathed while Jones lit the candle on the table by the bed.

  “How did you find me?”

  The soldier shrugged. “I know you are wounded and would not go far.”

  Damn it! He didn’t usually sleep at inns, but he had become spoiled by sleeping at Nel’s. He wanted a bed, and this is what it cost him.

  “You fooled me well,” Jones grumbled. “You do not even speak the same way.”

  “I have been doin’ this a long time,” Tristan told him, sitting up. He slept in his knee length breeches and nothing else. He reached for his léine. No need to let Jones see the extent of his wound. “I have learned how to get what I need.” He liked this soldier. Spending time with him wasn’t unpleasant—and he had saved Tristan’s life. “’Tis nothin’ against ye. I had to know if she was all right.”

  “But I told you things about my captain. I lost his trust. I came here tonight to kill you for that.”

  Tristan looked away from his tormented expression in the candlelight. “I understand. I was once a soldier and I know how important that trust is between brothers.”

  “Aye,” Jones said miserably. “And now, I have found you and I still have not killed you. He will never trust me again.”

  “Well, he had his opportunity and failed to kill me.”

  “Aye. That is what is so odd. The captain never fails. His aim is perfect, yet he was aiming for your heart and missed.” Jones laughed, though he still looked miserable. “You must have a very dedicated guardian angel.”

  Tristan was certain he did, but he remembered being shot. He’d been speaking with Rose, facing the direction from where the arrow came. The captain had a perfect shot of his heart, if that was where he was aiming. Where Tristan had been hit instead was harmless, if not for the infection.

  “Does your captain have a wife?”

  Jones nodded and told him her name. “Do you think he did not kill you for Rose’s sake? Because he loves her? He does. As a brother loves his baby sister. But it would have to be more than that to make him deliberately disobey Dumfries.”

  Tristan didn’t know. Right now, he didn’t care. He’d been dreaming of her again. Her smile—which she usually covered with her fingers, the alluring slant of her large, dark eyes, like a playful invitation to get to know her more and more.

  “How is she?”

  “Always kind, melancholy mostly.” Jones gave him a frank look. “You are truly lost to her then.”

  Tristan sighed, reaching for his water basin. “So it would seem.” Why the hell was he speaking to Jones about his heart? He hardly even knew the man. Mayhap that was why it was easier.

  He washed his hands and then reached for his saddlebag.

  “Last night, she was very angry,” Jones told him. “She boldly admonished the cap—” he snapped his lips together.

  “Aboot what?” Tristan asked him and then tossed him an apple.

  “No, I cannot say.” Jones slid out of his chair. “You make me forget whom I am speaking to. You are our enemy.”

  “Not necessarily. I intend to speak to the earl, not kill him.” He took a bite of his apple and shook his head at himself. He must be mad.

  “Then why not do it now?” Jones asked. “Why wait until you are well?”