“If I am attacked, should I not be able to defend myself?”

  “No one will attack you.”

  Tristan smirked. “I dinna mean to insult ye, Jones, but how much weight does yer word hold over yer captain’s or yer earl’s?”

  Jones lowered his gaze and returned to his seat. “I must tell the captain about tonight.”

  “Of course, but first, tell me aboot him. I’m curious aboot him. Ye dinna have to tell me anythin’ that ye think would hurt him.”

  “I already did, Highlander. I told you that he shot you. You will likely try to kill him.”

  “I will not seek revenge on him.” Tristan tossed his apple core out the window and rubbed his hard belly. “I live, do I not? Unless he tries to kill me again, he has nothin’ to fear from me.”

  “Do you vow it?”

  “Aye, I vow it.”

  “Good,” Jones finally looked relieved. He tossed his apple in the air, caught it, and shoved it into a pouch at his waist. “I shall go then and let you sleep.”

  “Aye, my thanks.”

  “MacPherson,” the soldier stopped and turned to him. “She admonished the captain over you.”

  Tristan raised his raven brows. “Me?”

  “Aye. The captain suggested that you are good at pretending. She let him know that you were genuine with her.”

  Tristan smiled. “I was. Jones?” he said as the soldier reached the door to leave. “Let us discuss a meetin’ between me and the earl and ye there to protect him.”

  Jones grinned and nodded, returning for the discussion.

  When the soldier finally left, Tristan rose from his bed and shoved the small chair beneath the door latch then went back to bed.

  He’d gone soft since meeting Rose. He’d been careless sleeping at an inn. Tonight, it could have got him killed.

  Jones didn’t know him. Why would he believe Tristan’s vow? He was a foolish soldier, easy to manipulate. But he fought well, and Tristan liked him.

  Closing his eyes, he thought about Rose. He smiled in the dark. She’d been bold on his account. She knew he’d been genuine with her. Knowing that made him happy. Knowing she was melancholy did not.

  Did this captain, the one who shot him, make her unhappy? If he did, Tristan couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t kill him, and to hell with his vow.

  He thought about everything Jones had told him about the captain. Why didn’t he kill Tristan when he had the perfect chance? Why had he disobeyed his order? Had he done it for Rose’s sake? If only he would have known who she was earlier, then he would have asked her about the men she lived with.

  He would think on it tomorrow. Now he needed to sleep and get well. Get strong.

  But first he needed to see her.

  The next morning, he dressed and packed his things. He rubbed his grumbling belly and lumbered below stairs for something to eat.

  After a quick meal at the inn, Tristan rode out of the village and headed for the castle.

  He stopped along the way to practice moving his sword. His arm and shoulder were a bit stiff. After a while, he loosened up more and continued on his way.

  When he grew closer to Callanach Castle, he found a place for Perceval and left the horse untied to wait for him. He walked the rest of the way, staring up at the branches above him.

  He found a strong, old oak a few hundred feet from the castle that looked easy enough to climb. Its branches were sturdy and thick. The canopy around it was thick, with branches from other trees. They tangled one another like a delicate net, from one tree to another, close to the castle wall.

  The tower could be a problem. If someone stood watch, they might see him.

  He would have to go higher.

  He exhaled. He could do it. He’d been doing it his whole life. Climbing trees was as natural to him as walking. It was what made him so valuable to King David. He could attack from above, where their enemies least expected him. This time, he wasn’t climbing to scout, or to fight, but simply to watch. He hoped to catch a glimpse or two of her. He missed her face. Her beautiful face.

  It was early autumn so there was still enough foliage on the branches for him to blend in nicely. He climbed the old oak quickly but carefully. No need to fall and break his neck. He took his time and moved through the branches until he came to the thick boughs near the southern wall. He spread his weight along a heavy branch above the tower and over the outer yard. From his position, he could see the inner yard as well. There were some fields for farming, another spacious field where two cows and a goat grazed. Dozens of cottages lay sprayed across the several acres belonging to Thomas Callanach but Tristan knew from Rose’s description of her life, most of the houses were empty, almost everyone sent away. He noticed one other thing and smiled. A small forest inside the walls.

  He scrambled back down the tree and when his boots touched the ground, he took off to the right. What he had seen from the treetops could not be seen any other way. The forest inside the walls of Callanach was the same forest outside the walls. The treetops met in the air! It was his way in!

  The closer he came to that part of the forest, the better he could see the high treetops mingling with the branches of the trees beyond the wall. He quickly found one with branches low enough to begin his climb and high enough to reach the thick tangle. He moved as quickly, while being cautious, as he could.

  It took him a good amount of time to find branches thick enough to climb across. He stopped and had to go back twice. Finally, he came to a place where the boughs were strong enough to hold his weight.

  He spotted Rose down below and almost lost his footing. Slowly, he cautioned himself. He sat between two boughs and looked for her again.

  He found her walking in the opposite direction. She wore dark blue or green hose and boots, with a belted shirt that reached her rounded hips. Her luxurious chestnut locks fell loose over her shoulders and picked up browns and russets and even some bronze strands. He wanted to call to her, but she was too far away.

  She walked toward what looked like a well-built barn or a stable and disappeared inside. A little while later, she pushed the wide door open, disappeared again, and then came back on her horse. She straddled her saddle and leaned a bit forward and a little to the right, and then, with a flick of her reins, she took off.

  Tristan watched her with her hair flapping like a pennant behind her as she rode her horse around the huge perimeter of the castle. He smiled looking at her. He couldn’t help himself, though his heart ached to be with her.

  How had he let this happen?

  Looking at her, her sweetly upturned face to the sun, he asked himself how he could have ever stopped it.

  He loved her. Almost instinctively, he shook his head, rejecting the responsibilities of a lass in his life. Already he was giving up his reputation, his word, his livelihood for her. Living the life of a husband was no longer abhorrent to him. In fact, the thought of being her husband and the father of her babes was rather pleasant.

  But his smile faded as it dawned on him where she was going.

  Nowhere. She rode around in giant circle, and all around her was a wall. This was where she grew up, alone and caged for her protection. The first time she’d ventured out, she gotten the damned plague! He wanted to push open the gates and let her out, let her free. But first, he had to discover who was trying to kill her and her family. Was anyone truly out to kill the earl all these years, lighting his home on fire, lighting his carriage on fire? Or were the two incidents completely separate?

  She finally slowed her horse and dismounted to walk the animal down.

  Tristan repositioned himself on the branch. He looked around. He wanted to climb down and touch her, hold her. But how would he get back up into the trees? Was he ready yet to face her father? Aye, with Jones, not with the captain and two other men. He had to be patient and return to his horse. She was safe here—except if her enemy knew how to climb trees.

  He wanted to call to her when she returned her horse to the stable and headed back for the castle. He found himself longing for her to look at him. To smile at him. Rose.

  But she would not be happy to see him here. She was afraid for her father. She didn’t trust Tristan. Why should she? She’d seen him kill twelve men. She’d seen him murder Governor Walters and his guard. Why should she trust him to curb his bloodlust and stop killing now?

  He remained silent and watched her disappear through the doorway.

  He would do it for her. He would do anything for her.

  He turned to move on the branch. He put too much weight down. He was distracted by her. The branch cracked.

  “No,” he breathed. And fell.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Neill de Caleone was born to Eunice, the Callanach’s seamstress—among other things in the servants’ quarters outside the manor house of the Earl of Dumfries, Thomas Callanach.

  When Neill was seventeen, he burned the house down.

  He’d been unaware at the time that Rose, the earl’s wee daughter was still inside. He’d heard her screams and rushed into the flames, burning one side of his face. He found her alone and carried her out to safety—to where her father waited.

  After the fire, Dumfries let Neill visit her in her temporary sickbed in the first home of her uncle, Richard Callanach.

  Her legs had been severely burned. Her pain was too intense, so she was given medicine to make her sleep. She had a physician at her bedside day and night.

  And Neill had been there as well, watching over her.

  She had been a beautiful child, gentle in nature, with thick, chestnut waves spreading outward over her pillow, a stark contrast against her pale white skin. She had opened her eyes once while he stood watch over her bed. He smiled at her. She began to smile back but she cried out in agony instead. The physician was there to put her back to sleep.

  He left soon after and traveled to Wales and France, but her large, dark eyes had haunted him for the next six years, no matter where he traveled. He wanted to be away from her so that she could not veer him from his path.

  When he returned at the age of twenty-three, Neill joined her father’s guard and was immediately made second-in-command under Captain William Harper. Harper had been friendly to him and was very protective of Rose. Neill liked him for it. He’d known Harper for six years before the gates of the castle had been shut to him. He knew Harper was the only man beyond the walls who sorrowed over his absence.

  His exile came after the death of the earl’s wife and a young servant girl, called Jonetta. A girl who sometimes played with Rose. Neill knew the earl’s wife, Christina Callanach, was on her way to Lockerbie to visit her family. On the way, he’d stopped the carriage and after killing the drivers, he looked inside to make certain Rose was not inside, for he loved Rose with all his heart.

  When he saw that she was not one of the two screaming females, he killed them despite the earl’s wife recognizing him and thinking he was there to save them. He burned them and watched for an hour, then he went and drank until he passed out.

  When he’d returned to the castle the next day, the gates had been shut to him. He had been exiled, sent away, and forgotten.

  He left Dumfries and worked at gathering a small army. He would come back and take over Callanach Castle and kill everyone in it, save for Rose.

  Now, he waited on his horse with twenty of his men around him for the gates of Callanach Castle to open. His heart beat rapidly against his bones. He wanted to go in, he ached to go through those gates and step inside again. What would the earl say when he saw him? What about Rose? She knew nothing of what he had done. Neill didn’t want to tell her. Still, he was excited to see her again. He would keep the truth away from her lest she hate him.

  He smiled as an autumn breeze swept over him and brought with it the scents of pine and rotting leaves.

  Soon, he would be inside, thanks to an old friend who lived here and kept eyes on Rose for him.

  Soon, they would be reunited. He couldn’t wait.

  Rose drew in a deep breath as she entered the castle. She felt winded, as if she had been the one running instead of her horse. As they had raced across the ground, she wished her horse had wings. She wanted to fly over the walls and be free.

  It was always the same view. Nothing ever changed.

  But now, Tristan was somewhere on the other side. He was alive and he’d asked for her to go to the tower so she could see him, and he could see her. She smiled for the hundredth time thinking about it. Oh, how she missed him. When would she see him again? When he came for her father?

  She entered the great hall and saw Captain Harper sitting alone. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight. There hadn’t been many people in the castle in six years. She’d seen Mr. Cavanaugh in the tower and Mr. Watley practicing behind the kitchen.

  She hadn’t spoken to the captain since last night when he accused her of being fooled by Tristan.

  As she grew nearer, he stood up. She smiled. “What are you doing here this early? Is Mary with you?”

  “No, she is asleep in the cottage,” he told her. “I was hoping to have a word with you about what we are to do about MacPherson.”

  She sat down on a bench at his table. “I’m going to help prove my father is innocent.”

  He nodded but said nothing and sat beside her.

  “Captain, I hope you and Tristan have a chance to—”

  The doors to the great hall burst open and Steven, the stableman, rushed inside, looking around for her father. When he didn’t find him, his frightened gaze fell on the captain.

  “I was bringin’ oot the horses to graze and that is when I saw him!” Steven said, rushing to him.

  “Who?” Captain Harper asked, beginning to rise from his seat again.

  “I do not know him, Captain. He is a stranger.”

  Rose bolted to her feet. It was Tristan. She rushed out of the great hall. Where was her father? She scanned her gaze over the halls as she reached for the front doors. She didn’t see him. She turned around slightly to ask William, opening one of the doors at the same time.

  The captain looked outside over her shoulder and his expression turned to one of horror.

  Rose heard a loud thump behind her. She began to turn to look but the captain was there, stopping her by pulling her close and kicking the door shut.

  “What?” she demanded. “What was it?”

  “Cavanaugh falling from the tower with an arrow in his chest.”

  “No!” Rose cried out. Oh, please no! Why would Tristan attack? She wanted to run outside and scream at him! Why would he? She paled. “Mr. Watley is outside.”

  The captain swore and bolted the door. What was he doing?

  “I cannot risk him getting in here to you,” he exclaimed as if hearing her thoughts.

  She shook her head. “He will not hurt me.”

  “He will try to take you. I cannot let him do that to your father. Especially after he has done this.”

  “Captain…William, please. Let me speak to him.”

  “No. Go to your chambers and stay there until I come for you.”

  “No, I—”

  “You will do as I say, Lady. I beg you.”

  It occurred to her that she could go up to the turret and look out. Perhaps she might see him.

  She did as the captain commanded and went straight to the turret stairs beyond her chamber door. She hurried up the narrow stone stairwell and stepped out onto the narrow parapet unused for the last six years.

  She looked out over the yards and saw a movement where she had seen Mr. Watley practicing. She was about to call out. She wouldn’t let Tristan—her skin went cold as a man with pale hair tied low on his nape stepped into her full view. No! It couldn’t be! Her father had told her that Neill had gone back to Wales and was likely never coming back. But…was that him moving through the yard toward his old cottage?

  Why would Neill kill Mr. Cavanaugh?

  She watched him approach Mr. Watley from behind as her father’s guard turned out of sight.

  No! Rose held her hand over her mouth and nearly flew down the stairs. She jumped over the last four and raced back to the captain.

  “Tis Neill! ’Tis Neill! He just killed Mr. Watley!”

  “Rose—”

  “I went to the turrets,” she told him quickly. “I saw him. His hair has grown longer, but ’twas him. He was moving toward his cottage but then he saw Mr. Watley and he went after him.” She closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from crying. “Where is my father? Where is Mr. Jones? Anyone to help?”

  “Jones took your father to see MacPherson.”

  Her eyes opened wider. “What? No!”

  The captain raised his palm. “If what you told me was the truth and MacPherson is not a savage, then there will be peace.”

  “But why the secrecy?” she demanded quietly? “No! It does not matter now. We are alone?” Her heart battered in her chest when he nodded.

  “I will get my bow and quiver,” she told him and turned to hurry up the stairs.

  He caught her sleeve. “No! I—”

  Something smashed against the font doors. Wood cracked and made Rose’s heart boom in her ears. That wasn’t the sound of one man. What was happening? Who was behind the door? Was it the devil with the fire?

  The door didn’t hold for another hit but crashed open, spewing splinters everywhere.

  The captain stopped on the stairs and turned around to face the assailants. “Go!” he told Rose behind him on the stairs. “Lock yourself in your chamber and go out through the back chamber in the wall! If you can get to my Mary—”

  The man with the yellow hair stepped into the castle. He looked up the stairs at Rose and she almost went to him. The captain’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “Neill,” she gasped out while twenty men filed into her home behind him. “Where have you been?”

  His cool, sapphire gaze warmed as if set ablaze from within. “My sweet Rose, if I told you, you would not believe me, so best I save us both the trouble and tell you only that ’tis good to see you.”