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"Wretched hound," she said with something approaching affection as she woke her daughter. At least he had kept Maeve warm. Which was more than she or Alistair had been.

They gathered their things and went on again. By midmorning Deirdre was plastered with mud and stumbling with exhaustion. Alistair looked no better. His eyes were rimmed with red and his jaw downed with golden stubble. Yet he was smiling as he strode along, and once or twice whistled a cheerful tune. Maeve dozed in his arms; she had taken to insisting that he carry her and refused to ride the horse. Germain trailed along after them, head hanging, Finn padding along happily beside him.

"Where are we?" Deirdre said when they stopped to rest beside a clear swift burn.

"At this rate, four or five days out of Annan. We'll have to stop this afternoon, though, and see what we can catch."

Deirdre nodded. She knew well enough their food was running dangerously low. And perhaps they could all have a wash and dry their damp clothes by a fire. "Then let's get on," she said.

Alistair stood and pulled her to her feet. When his hands closed over hers, she felt the heat rise to her face. He hadn't touched her since that night—her face burned as she thought of it, the way she'd lain in his arms. She must have been mad to forget herself that way. Shameless, she had been, forgetting everything but the dizzying rush of her own desire.

She should be grateful he had stopped it when he had. She knew that. But she wasn't. It must be as Brodie had so often said, that there was some terrible lack in her, a coldness that killed a man's desire.

"Deirdre," he said slowly, her hands still clasped in his. "I have been thinking about the other night—"

"No," she said, her voice a choked whisper. "It doesn't matter."

"—and I think I will come with ye as far as Donegal."

"What?" she said, confused, then realized he had not been talking about that night at all. "Oh. Will you?"

"I find skulking in the forest is no' so pleasant in the rain," he said with a smile. "I imagine it will be even worse when the snow comes."

She smiled in return, feeling as though the sun had just come out again. "That's fine, Alistair," she said warmly. "Just fine. You won't be sorry, I'm sure of it. It's very beautiful in Donegal, and—"

She clamped her lips shut against the tide of words, feeling an utter fool. He released her hands and bent to pick up the saddlebag.

"Well, after all I've heard about it, I'd like to see the place!"

"Come, my love," Deirdre said to Maeve, nervously straightening her coif. "Time to be going on. And I want you to ride Germain for a bit. I think he's lonely."

Maeve got to her feet and stood, her head hanging. "No," she said. "Star."

"Sir Alistair is weary," Deirdre said. "Mind me now and get up on the horse."

Maeve shook her head. "Won't."

Deirdre stopped Alistair with a gesture and knelt before her daughter. "That is enough," she said severely. "This is no time for your whims and fancies."

Maeve raised her head and looked at Deirdre with fever-bright eyes. Her cheeks were flushed a brilliant red. "Hurts," she said. "Hurts, Mam."

"Where exactly does it hurt, sweeting?" she asked, touching her knuckles to Maeve's brow.

Maeve put one hand to her throat. "Here. All over."

"I'll make a fire," Alistair said.

"Aye," Deirdre said, running one hand distractedly across Maeve's hair. "Let me think—willow bark will ease her."

"I think I saw some back—"

Finn growled deep in his throat and Deirdre turned with a start of terror. But the dog was looking back into the forest, the hair standing out stiffly on the ruff of his neck.

Then Deirdre heard it for herself, the sound of horses moving through the trees. Her eyes met Alistair's as they waited to see which way the riders would go. A hound bayed and then another in the unmistakable sound of dogs who had caught their quarry's scent.

"This is what ye do now," Alistair said. He spoke in a voice she'd never heard before; crisp, authoritative. "Take Maeve and get into the water. They canna track ye there. I wish ye could take Germain, but I need him."

As he spoke, he tossed the bag of provisions to Deirdre, then turned and flipped open the saddlebags. "Walk upstream until ye reach a waterfall, then—are ye listening, Deirdre?"