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The entire world had vanished. She and Maeve stood on the edge of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by an impenetrable wall of mist. A panicked cry rose to her lips, but she bit it back, mindful that the Maxwells could be anywhere and sound traveled in the fog. Heart pounding, palms sweating, Deirdre forced her mind to work. This could not last forever. She must be patient, that was all, and it would clear.

A light breeze ruffled her damp brow. The mist parted and a shaft of sunlight shot through its depths. Deirdre stared, too surprised to move, her mouth falling open in astonishment. Not thirty paces away, a man was seated on a rock, the sunlight falling squarely upon him. He lifted his head and turned to her. She just had time to see the spun gold of his hair, to note the surprise in his cool gray eyes, before the mist swirled over him again, hiding Alistair Kirallen from her sight.

CHAPTER 12

Alistair lifted the two sticks on which the rabbit was suspended and planted them beside the fire. The flesh was crisp but not burnt, he noticed. So he could not have been gone for more than a few minutes.

Just long enough to lose his mind.

He shook his head and sank down beside the fire. Was Deirdre Maxwell going to haunt him forever, then, popping in and out of sight like some demon in a pageant? Was he to spend the rest of his life chasing a will-o'-the wisp as he had just done, scrambling over rough stones and bracken to search vainly for any trace of her?

Well, why not? he thought bleakly. It isn't as though I have anything better to do!

He dropped his head into his hands with a groan, then straightened, his gaze going to the thicket to his right. A horse was approaching down the road beyond. The Maxwells again, he told himself. It must be. All day the wood had been crawling with them, riding to the hunt. So far he had managed to avoid them. Now he sighed, hoping the rider would simply pass him by, though he knew it wouldn't happen.

As the hoofbeats slowed and finally stopped, he glanced at his sword, propped behind him against the tree. Then he shook his head, instead loosening the dagger in its sheathe. It should be enough. He sat back, legs crossed, hands lightly resting on the earth beside him. It was a deceptively relaxed pose, for the slightest pressure on the outside of his feet would bring him upright in an instant.

The thicket rustled but he pretended not to notice. Let the stranger have a look at him. With luck, whoever it was would go away again and leave him to his meal. As the seconds passed it was almost irresistibly tempting to turn his head and glimpse whoever stood concealed. Go or stay, he thought impatiently. But don't stand there all night gawping.

"Alistair Kirallen?"

The words were hardly more than a whisper, but he was on his feet before the first syllable was complete, the dagger in his hand.

"Who is there?" he called sharply. "Show yourself."

A small cloaked figure stepped from the trees.

"Deirdre?" Alistair whispered, then blinked hard. When he opened his eyes again, she was still there, looking at him uncertainly. "You're really here! But how—"

"Oh, Alistair!" she cried, her voice shaking. "It is you! I thought—before—"

"Aye, it's me," he said. He was not mad, after all. She was truly here, standing in the flesh before him. He wanted to laugh out loud, catch her in his arms and kiss her until both of them were breathless...

"Mam!"

For the first time Alistair noticed that Deirdre was not alone. An enchanting sprite of two or three stood just beside her, hands fisted in Deirdre's skirt. She took one look at Alistair and began to cry, turning to clutch her mother's knees.

"This is Maeve, my daughter. She is afraid of men," Deirdre said apologetically, caressing the child's curls. "Hush, now, Maeve, he isn't going to hurt you," she added to the child, then looked at Alistair with the question in her eyes.

"Of course I'm not," he said gruffly, annoyed that she thought it necessary to ask. "What happened? Are ye lost?"

"No. Well, yes, perhaps a little—"

"A little? Lady, ye are a full day's ride from Cranston Keep."

"A day?" she repeated, putting one hand against a tree trunk and leaning upon it as though suddenly exhausted. "Is that all? I've been riding since dawn yesterday."

"Sit down," Alistair ordered. "Here, by the fire. Have ye eaten?"

Deirdre sank down on the grass, one arm wrapped protectively around her daughter. The little girl gave Alistair a wary glance and moved to stand behind her mother.

"Not since yesterday. I thought I had enough to see us to Annan—but then we were surprised—and I left the bag—"

Alistair seized on the one word she had spoken that seemed to make the slightest sense. "Annan? Lady, you are nowhere near Annan. What are ye doing out here all alone in the first place? Has Maxwell lost his wits, letting you travel—"

He broke off as the baby's chin began to quiver and she buried her face in her mother's shoulder with a little sob.

"Later," Deirdre said. "Please."