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"But—"

"Go, Dougal," Jemmy said softly. "Just take your men and go. Now."

Deirdre watched, hardly daring to breathe, as Dougal and his men rode off. When they were gone Alistair looked up at Jemmy.

"My thanks for that," he said. "I'd lief as not have died at Maxwell's hands."

Jemmy turned to his men. "Ride back and see that Maxwell finds his way home again," he ordered sharply. "All but Donal and Conal."

The men wheeled their horses and galloped after Maxwell, not without some regretful looks over their shoulders. Two young red-haired knights pulled their horses to either side of Jemmy's.

"Well, Jemmy?" Alistair asked. "I suppose it's too much to hope you'll let me go upon my way?"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that."

"Wait!"

Deirdre ran out from the shelter of the trees, tripping on the sodden hem of her skirt to fall hard upon her knees.

"Please," she cried. "You can't—please—it wasn't his fault at all, he was but trying to help me—"

"Oh, Christ," Alistair muttered, thrusting his weapon into the soft dirt and coming to help her to her feet. "For God's sake, Deirdre, you should have been long gone—"

"I couldn't," she said, and all at once the days of fear and hiding caught up to her as tears of exhaustion spilled over to stream down her cheeks. "I wouldn't run off an leave you. They meant to kill you—I was about to come out, truly, Alistair, but then—then—"

Some of the anger died from his eyes and he brushed the tears from her face. "Whisht, now, don't cry."

Maeve struggled to sit up. "Star," she croaked, holding out her arms.

"I'm right here, sweeting," he said, taking the child from Deirdre. He put her over his shoulder and turned to Jemmy.

"The Maxwell lady, I presume," Jemmy said.

"And her daughter." Alistair sighed.

"He didn't lie," Deirdre said, the words stumbling over one another in her desperate haste to make Jemmy Kirallen understand. "Not really. He didn't steal us, my lord, we left on our own, that's the truth of it. Brodie did promise—my father made him—but the Maxwell wouldn't listen—and—and he said he would keep my child," her voice broke on a sob but she hurried on, "So I had to run off, my lord, I had to take her home. Alistair but met us in the wood—he helped us out of kindness—and now—now Maeve is sick, and then the Maxwells came and—"

She began to cry with frustration, knowing her words made no sense at all but too tired to begin again.

"Donal, Conal," Jemmy ordered. "Please escort Lady Maxwell and her daughter back to Ravenspur. I would rather no one knows of our visitors quite yet," he added and the two young men nodded their understanding. "Take her directly to my lady's bower and explain what's happened. Lady Maxwell," he added gently to Deirdre. "Go with them. My lady will know what to do for your daughter. As for the rest—we'll sort it all out later, when you have had a chance to rest."

"But," Deirdre said. "What of—"

"Go," Alistair said firmly. "And you too, Finn," he added to the dog who stood before him, teeth bared and hackles raised.

A light rain began to fall and Alistair watched Deirdre and the child ride off through a shimmer of moisture. Deirdre turned once and lifted her hand, and from somewhere he summoned the strength to smile as he returned the wave. The sound of the horses faded into silence, broken only by the patter of rain upon the leaves. And finally he and Jemmy were alone.

CHAPTER 18

Alistair stared down at his sword. It stood point down in the damp earth at his feet, raindrops sliding off its shining surface. He could pick it up and fight for his life, but the last time he and Jemmy had matched blades, it ended with Alistair disarmed and the point of Jemmy's sword against his throat. Of course, he thought dispassionately, Jemmy had surprised him. There was a good chance things would go differently today. But though he tried to summon his old anger against Jemmy, he felt nothing but a chill distaste at the thought of killing his foster brother, no matter how little he might like him.

Of course Jemmy would have no such scruples. Why should he? Jemmy, after all, was merely carrying out his father's orders. They had both heard the laird pronounce Alistair's banishment. "If ye are found on Kirallen lands, any man may slay ye out of hand." Well, here he was, and here was Jemmy, and there seemed little doubt of what would happen next.

Alistair knew he should feel something—fear seemed the appropriate response of a man who was staring into the face of his own death. But now that the moment had come, he seemed to have used up every emotion save regret.

The rain continued to fall and finally he raised his head to find Jemmy staring at some point in the far distance, apparently lost in his own thoughts. He looked ill, Alistair noticed for the first time. The skin stretched taut over his high sharp cheekbones held a grayish tinge and his long dark eyes were shadowed. One hand was absently rubbing his shoulder as though it pained him.

"Come on, man, what are ye waiting for?" Alistair said roughly. "Let's get on with it."