Page 73

He kicked open a door and brought her into a small chamber, then sat down with her on the bed—his own bed, she realized dizzily.

"Deirdre, lass, calm yourself," he said urgently. "Ye must calm yourself now and talk to me. Who hurt ye?"

"I—I don't know who he was."

The words came out in a hoarse croak and Alistair took her hand, still clutched about her throat, and held it tightly in his own. His eyes narrowed into ice gray slits as he saw the darkening bruise that lay beneath.

"He—he said—" Deirdre whispered, her teeth chattering from shock and fear. "Tell you—th-that they're watching you."

"Calder is a dead man," Alistair said with a calm that was somehow more terrifying than any shouted threats. "Did he say more?"

Deirdre shook her head. "N-no."

He pulled her against him in a convulsive movement, crushing her hard against his chest. "If I had known—if ever I imagined he'd move so swiftly, I would never have let ye from my sight."

Deirdre pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and beneath her fear a savage joy swept through her heart. Alistair had said he'd kill the man who hurt her. And in saying it he had claimed her as his to protect. Why would he do such a thing if he didn't care for her?

Then his words reached her and she lifted her head. "You knew that he might do this?"

"Not now," Alistair said. "Not yet."

"But you thought I might be in danger?" she insisted in a strained whisper and he nodded reluctantly. "And it's for that you wanted me to go?"

"I—oh, Christ, Deirdre, yes. Ye must go at once."

"No," she rasped.

"Don't be a fool!" he said roughly. "Think of Maeve if ye will not think of yourself. We both know what we saw last Beltane Eve. When I am dead, who will ye have?"

She stared into Alistair's eyes, seeing the fear in their depths. Not fear for himself, but for her. And now she could see beyond the fear to something else, something that lit his eyes from within and made them glow like molten silver. She reached up and traced her fingertips across the stubborn line of his mouth.

"You should have told me," she whispered.

She closed her eyes and sighed as his lips brushed hers, teasing them apart, and with a strangled groan he crushed her against his chest, deepening the kiss. She was flying, she was melting, she was burning for the touch of his lips and as his hands tightened on her waist, they burned through the velvet of her gown.

Slowly he lifted his mouth from hers.

"Ye must go, Deirdre," he said, his lips against her hair.

"Then come with me!" she cried hoarsely, abandoning all pride. "Oh, Alistair, please come away from here!" She bit her lip, searching for the words. "They're all afraid of you, even Malcolm—he said such terrible things, Alistair, I couldn't believe them—I won't believe them—but... Please, just walk away, right now, before something awful happens. Come with me. We could be so happy."

He looked at her with such longing in his eyes that she was certain he'd agree. Then he shook his head.

"I cannot. I must stay and ye must go. Yon harper can see ye home. God knows he's come far enough for the honor." He smiled wryly. "He is a rogue, that one, but 'tis plain he loves ye well. No," he said as she would have spoken, standing and setting her on her feet. "Please, no more. You leave tomorrow."

CHAPTER 31

When dawn came, it was all but invisible for the rain pouring down in sheets.

"I can't take Maeve out in this," Deirdre said, gesturing toward the stable door.

"She's wrapped warm enough," Alistair replied briefly, swinging the saddle over her palfrey. "She'll be fine."

"But—"

"Mount up."

Ronan leaned against the wall, green eyes shining from the shadow of his hood. "Do it, Dee," he said. "Sure, a little rain won't hurt the child."