He ran across the grounds where the smoke was thinner. He took a few deep breaths and then ran for the flames and thick smoke of the burning castle.

  He was stopped before he reached the doors by two crazed-looking men and a bronze hilt to the temple.

  “No! Oh, no!” the earl screamed and raced his horse through the open gates of Callanach Castle.

  Jonathon Jones kept his horse at a steady pace close to him, his heart battering against his bones. No, this couldn’t be!

  They had seen the smoke from the road three villages away. With their hearts melted within them, they had raced home on their steeds to find the castle and all its grounds, burning.

  Jones slowed his mount when he saw Cavanaugh’s dead and half-burned body beneath the tower, a blackened arrow through his chest.

  The earl’s cries tore his attention away from his good friend.

  The older man had dismounted before the gaping, burned out hole where the castle doors were this morning and wailed. “Rose! Oh, my Rose! Oh, no! How did he get in? All these years I tried to protect you from him! You cannot be in the fire!”

  Jones thought the earl would go mad with grief.

  There was nothing left inside. Everything was burned and black.

  Jones tried to comfort him, but he continued to weep and scream his daughter’s name while staring horrified at the castle.

  At first, Jones didn’t hear the deeper, agonized voice calling out to Rose from beyond the smoke, but whoever it was grew closer.

  By the time Jones recognized Tristan MacPherson, it was too late. The earl butted him in the head with the hilt of his sword then kneeled on the ground next to him and grabbed him by the throat. “Where is my daughter? My daughter?”

  But MacPherson was unresponsive.

  What in the blazes was the Highlander doing here at the castle when they were supposed to meet at the inn? Had MacPherson duped him again? MacPherson had wanted them to meet on more neutral ground, like an inn. With him there to stop any bloodshed, he might be able to save lives. But MacPherson hadn’t been there. Because he was here. How had he gotten through the gates? Did he do this?

  “My lord,” Jones stopped the earl. “You knocked him out. He can tell you nothing.”

  But the earl didn’t hear. He kept on shaking and pulling at MacPherson to wake him up.

  Jones tried again. He’d never seen the earl so hysterical. He wished the captain was here. Was he dead? Burning to ashes somewhere inside the castle with Rose and…his wife? Mary! Watley! The others!

  “Lord, I need to make a search.” He didn’t wait for the earl’s approval but ran into the smoke toward the small village. He prayed for Mary on the way and thanked God his wife had listened to him and left with the other wives.

  Mary had refused to leave her husband. Did she die with him?

  He couldn’t see because of the smoke and the tears in his eyes. But he made it to the captain’s house and waved the smoke from his eyes to see the front door kicked in. MacPherson?

  He stepped over the splintered wood and went through the small house, but he could not find her.

  Then more than likely, she was inside the burning castle with her husband.

  He left the house heartbroken and angry and ran to Watley’s cottage next.

  Empty.

  Where were they all?

  By the time he made it back to the earl and MacPherson, the earl was no longer there. Jones jumped over MacPherson’s still lifeless body and ran toward the castle’s dark entrance. “My lord!” he shouted.

  “Here I am!” the earl called back. “Come quickly, Jones!”

  Jones ran around the perimeter of the castle and tried to look around, but his eyes stung. He called out again and the earl answered. Jones followed the sound of his voice and found him bending to the wall.

  “Lord?” Jones grew closer. He saw leather slippers. A woman’s feet. The earl’s daughter?

  “’Tis Harper’s wife, Mary!” the earl told him. His dark eyes shone in the cloudy air. “She woke for a moment and I asked her if my Rose had been burned in the flames. She shook her head, Jones! She shook her head no! We must wake her. I must know where my Rose is.”

  Had MacPherson saved Mary? Was it Tristan who lit the whole place on fire? If he did, what was he still doing here? Jones’ belly twisted into a knot. He rubbed it.

  “Lord, this proves MacPherson had nothing to do with this.”

  The earl set his eyes on him. They burned like embers. “Who said anything about MacPherson? Why do you mention him now?”

  Did his eyes just dart to the other side of the castle where MacPherson was?

  Jones bolted just as the earl took off running toward the Highlander. They turned the corner at the same time and skidded to a halt together. MacPherson was gone.

  “I should kill you,” the earl said on a low growl beside him. “You knew it was him all along.” He turned to look at Jones. “How? How do you know him? Were you bringing me to him so he could kill me? Have you betrayed—”

  “No, Lord. Never. I met him on the road home. He told me he was a shepherd and told me he was called Geraint Ward. When I returned home and discovered I had been fooled, I went in search of him to kill him.” Here he stopped. His lord would ask him why he hadn’t killed the murderer when he had the chance?

  “I found out, instead, that he loves Rose very much and has no interest in killing you anymore.”

  “He fooled you and you believed him twice!”

  “Nae,” said another male voice behind them. They both spun around to see MacPherson standing alone near the tower. “I didna fool him the second time. If I wanted to kill ye, ye would be dead by now. I came this mornin’ to have a glance or two at yer daughter. I fell from a high branch in a tree and wasna awake fer any of this. I awoke to the fire. Screamin’…”

  Jones noted MacPherson’s emerald green eyes taking on a distant, hooded look, as if he were pulling at an elusive memory and losing it. “I found a woman. She said Rose and William had been taken away.”

  “That was Mary,” Jones volunteered. “She’s the captain’s wife. He’ll be glad you saved her. Come. She is this way. We must wake her and find out what she saw.”

  “Jones!” the earl barked. “Why do you not invite him in for—” He stopped as if remembering there was nothing to go into and turned to look over his shoulder at the castle. His second home with possibly his daughter inside. A whimpering sound escaped his lips before he returned his gaze to MacPherson’s. “If my Rose is dead…if you have killed her—” He held up his palm to stop the Highlander from cutting him off. “Then please, kill me also. I give up my life.”

  MacPherson shook his head and then closed his eyes and held his head, which likely ached from the earl’s hilt. “I didna kill her. But I will find her.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Why should I keep the truth from ye?” MacPherson countered. “Ye just handed yer life over to me. If I wanted ye dead, he—” he pointed to Jones, “–couldna stop me, even though my head is poundin’,” he emphasized with a gleaming, deadly glare.

  “So,” Jones answered, “you no longer want the earl dead? And to be clear, you are in bad shape. I could stop you.”

  MacPherson offered him a quick smirk that dared him to try. The Highlander was either a mad fool or chillingly confident with good reason. “I came here to kill him if he is guilty.”

  “Who made you my judge?” the earl asked acidly.

  “Yer daughter. I came as yer executioner.”

  The earl’s eyes filled with tears again. “I did not kill my wife…although,” he choked on a cry, “it feels like the wrath of God is upon me.” He stopped for a moment and pulled himself together. “The one who did this did the same to my wife, and now he has my daughter. If you want me to believe that you love her, vow to me you will kill whoever is responsible for this.”

  “I vow it,” MacPherson didn’t hesitate to reply.

  The earl broke away without another word and ran to Mary.

  Jones followed, with MacPherson limping close behind.

  “She is awake!” the earl shouted, though the two behind him could see for themselves.

  “Mary! Mary!” the earl cried. “What happened here? Who did this?”

  The captain’s wife coughed into her hand and then looked up at MacPherson. “I thought for certain I was going to die. You saved me.”

  They all looked at him and he scowled at his boots.

  “Mary, where is my Rose?” the earl pleaded.

  “Men came. Mr. Watley let them in. I did not know what to do. The castle felt so far away, and they were spilling in. A man with golden hair, ’twas very light and long, stood in the courtyard I ran into my home and watched from the window when he came out later. Rose and William were with him, being held against their wills by soldiers. William began yelling and trying to run to me but the man hit him over the head. Another man struck Rose. He died for it a moment later and the first man carried her and William to the horses. I smelled the smoke after that.”

  She began to cry, and the earl comforted her.

  “How many men were there?” MacPherson asked.

  She shook her head. “From ten to twenty I think.”

  “Long, golden hair.” Jones rubbed the sides of his chin with his thumb and index. “Do you know anyone who fits that description?”

  “No,” the earl cried out and turned and yanked at his hair. “We will never find her.”

  “I can track them,” MacPherson announced and turned to leave. “I have wasted enough time.”

  Jones glanced at the earl to see what he was going to do, and then took off after him. “You are in no condition to hunt for anyone.”

  “I will mend on the way.”

  “I will have to save your life again,” Jones argued.

  “As I recall,” Tristan said succinctly, “I killed as many of those as ye did.”

  Jones laughed at him. “The blow to your head still affects you.”

  “I am coming with you!” the earl called out, catching up.

  MacPherson turned and called to Mary. She smiled gratefully and hurried toward them.

  Jones and the earl had their horses. Mary rode with Dumfries while MacPherson scouted outside the gate for tracks. Finding them, he hurried to get his horse. He returned a short while later and following the tracks of fifteen horses riding in a group, he led them north along the river Nith.

  The sky was overcast. The air was thick with the smell of rain, though nothing had fallen yet.

  Jones knew that when it rained, they would lose the tracks. Everyone else knew it, too, so they rode hard, not stopping or slowing even to leave Mary at one of the villages they passed. She wouldn’t stay behind anyway.

  It wasn’t long though before MacPherson insisted they were being followed.

  They circled around, leaving the earl and Mary within a stand of trees. The earl insisted he could fight but they wanted someone to stay with Mary.

  MacPherson promised he could fight, but Jones heard him swear an oath when he saw six mounted men closing in from the south.

  Damnation, Jones swore with him, when one of the bastards called out that if they wanted to see the earl’s daughter alive again, they should hand over the earl.

  Things happened quickly after that, but one thing that Jones knew he’d never forget was the sound of MacPherson’s voice and the set of his gaze on their enemies. “They have her, or they know who does.”

  “Aye,” Jones answered.

  “Let’s keep two alive. In case one doesna talk.”

  Jones was about to tell him he would take three and leave one to the Highlander when MacPherson reached into his belt with one hand and his boot with the other and pulled two blades free. He threw both before Jones had time to blink. Two riders went down with small hilts protruding from their necks.

  MacPherson didn’t wait for Jones to start fighting but ripped his sword from its sheath and charged forward.

  The first of the four who were left swung his sword at the wounded Highlander and lost an arm for his trouble. MacPherson circled back around and with one mighty swing, separated the man’s head from his shoulders.

  Jones sped into the fray, unwilling to be left out. There were three left. The wounded Highlander wouldn’t leave him one to kill if he didn’t hurry.

  Jones looked off to see where MacPherson was now. He found him bearing down on another assailant and then fighting him for a moment or two. Jones wanted to watch, to marvel at the swift, precise and brutal swings MacPherson used to bring him down, but there were two more who were about to get away.

  MacPherson didn’t look to be a merciful fellow so before he chased down and killed the last two, Jones went after them.

  He should have known that a man who killed for a living knew ways to make living worse than death. It was only a matter of time before the men talked.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They could no longer see or smell the smoke. Instead, a storm scented the air and chilled Rose’s blood. They’d gone into the trees for shelter and Rose found herself looking up while she and the captain were being tethered to the same tree.

  Where was Tristan? The sun would be going down soon. She thought he would have found her by now. She believed that the only thing that would keep him from her was death. Was he dead?

  How long before she was?

  Neill was not only the evilest fiend in Scotland and likely England, but he was also mad to think her uncle had anything—no, everything to do with all the horrors she suffered. She didn’t know what he gained from making up such a tale and she didn’t care. She didn’t believe him.

  Her father had sent everyone away and kept anyone new from entering her life since she was fourteen. He’d locked her behind walls to keep her safe.

  And all the while ’twas her uncle—who had visited the castle twice a year and knew she was alive from the beginning? No. It couldn’t be.

  If Neill spoke the truth, she’d been hidden away for nothing. Six years of looking at the walls, longing to leave them, but afraid of who was out there. A monster that breathed fire.

  She shook her head and clenched her jaw, keeping what Neill told her to herself.

  She wanted to tell the captain, but he had done nothing but cry out and attack whoever was closest to him. He’d managed to sit up and smash his head into the head of the man on whose lap he rested. He was caught before he could flee on the horse and beaten. But as soon as another opportunity to hurt one of them had arisen, he seized it, biting part of another man’s cheek off. He had been beaten again.

  She didn’t think telling him about the monster’s lies would do any good right now. She wanted to try to keep him calm since his face was beginning to turn purple and swell.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  Her friend took a deep breath and moved his back against the tree.

  Rose looked up into the canopy of branches. Was Tristan somewhere in them?

  “We are on the outskirts of Thornhill, I think,” her captain told her while looking around at the men who were setting up camp for the night.

  No food was offered to the captain or to Rose. She didn’t want any anyway.

  She remembered Thornhill. It was where Tristan had killed Governor Walters. It felt as if they’d been traveling a sennight and it had only been a day. The captain hadn’t said too much upon his second awakening. His eyes were red and swollen. He looked dismal and filled with sorrow. Just looking at him made Rose want to weep.

  “Mayhap she escaped, Captain,” she said in a quiet, soothing voice.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Aye, ’tis what he deserves.”

  “I’m going to torture him, and—” A tight sob escaped his lips.

  Rose didn’t turn her head to look at him. She knew he was trying not to weep so in front of her. She wanted to tell him it was all right. She’d wept plenty of times in front of him.

  She set her dark gaze on the pale-haired monster biting into a pear several feet away. She wanted Neill dead, too.

  At last the monster had a face and a name. The name of a friend. She hoped the captain was the one to kill him. Not her father. She didn’t want him anywhere near Neill. She hoped he didn’t try to find her!

  “There, there, William,” she whispered on a shaky breath, brokenhearted for him.

  He straightened, as if pulling himself together for her sake.

  One of Neill’s men chose that moment to walk by their tree.

  “You there,” the captain spat out, “where is that filthy piece of rat shyte—”

  The guard came near and backhanded the captain across the cheek.

  “Leave him alone!” Rose warned through clenched teeth.

  “And if I do not?” he grinned and came closer to her.

  She didn’t hesitate but hauled back her leg and kicked him in his nethers. When he doubled over, screeching in agony, the captain kicked him in the face and sent him sprawling, teeth flying.

  Immediately, Neill made his way over, his long sword exposed in his hand, the tip of the blade dragging in the dirt.

  Rose’s belly knotted with fear. What had she done? She had to do something to save the captain!

  “You and your men continue to tempt me to have Tristan MacPherson kill you when he finds us…and he will find us, Neill.”

  “Tristan MacPherson?” one of the men called out. “No one said anything about MacPherson!”

  Neill moved closer to the soldier and put his arm around him. “I ask you, de Anders, is MacPherson worse than me?”

  The man realized his insult too late. He went pale from fear and then from the blood leaving his body when Neill sliced open his belly.

  Rose turned away to keep from seeing, disgusted and horrified. The captain laughed, inviting him to kill even more of his men and make the captain’s task easier.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  Neill stepped away from the captain and drew closer to her. “Why do you believe you can get away with demanding things of me? Do you get away with such insolence with your father? With Tristan? Of course,” he answered his own question with a scowl poorly veiled behind a smile. “That is why your father is still alive. Is it not?”