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"Too many," Alistair replied succinctly.

The concealing mist was ripped away and they were in the open. Deirdre watched the lead riders halt and point, and then they were cantering down the hillside, the others following.

"Back," Alistair ordered, wheeling his horse around. "Get back to Ravenspur. Come on, harper," he added impatiently as Ronan hesitated, staring at the approaching force. "Or we'll go without you."

Ronan turned his horse and clapped heels to its side. He was a good rider—in Donegal, every child who could find or steal a horse rode like the devil himself—and Deirdre was just behind him. Maeve stirred and began to cry and Deirdre held her fast as with the other hand she slapped the reins, urging the horse forward.

They swept across the drawbridge just ahead of the pursuit. There was no time to have it raised before the Maxwells were upon it. Alistair leaped from his horse and helped Deirdre to dismount. "Inside," he said. "Find Jemmy. Guard!" she heard him cry as she handed Maeve to Ronan. "Guard, to me! Lower the portcullis!"

Deirdre ran into the shelter of the manor, crying out a warning to the startled guard within the door as she flashed by.

She ran through the empty hall and pelted up the stairway, hardly noticing the sharp stitch in her side. When she reached Jemmy's door, she found Sir Conal on his feet.

"Wake him!" she cried.

But Jemmy, all the gods be thanked, was already awake. He opened the door and stepped out, naked to the waist. The bandage on his shoulder was very white against his skin.

"I see the Maxwells have come to call," he said with a lift of one dark brow. "They picked a damned inconvenient hour. Don't fear, Lady Maxwell, the main force is still beyond the portcullis. My lady," he added, offering his arm to Alyson as she walked out of their chamber. "Shall we go to greet them?"

Alyson was rosy with sleep, and she yawned and passed a hand over her auburn hair, tumbled in glorious disarray over her chamber robe.

"Of course, my lord," she said with a rueful shake of her head, as though the Maxwells were guilty of nothing more than lack of manners. Oh, they are well matched, Deirdre thought with a sharp stab of envy as they exchanged a very private smile. "But I think we should dress first."

"Perhaps it would be best if you wait here, Lady Maxwell," Jemmy added kindly. "There may be words exchanged that would disturb you."

"Oh, no. Maeve is down there—"

"As you like. But stay close. Conal," he added casually. "Would you be so kind as to attend me?"

"Aye," the red-haired knight said. He put his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. A boy with sleepy eyes popped his head around the corner. "Get Donal," Conal ordered. "Tell him to bring the others to the hall. Now."

The boy nodded once and vanished. Conal drew his sword and set his shoulders.

"Whenever you are ready, my lord, I'm at your back."

When Deirdre descended the stairs she found a dozen Maxwell warriors standing in the center of the hall. Alistair stood at the bottom of the stairway, sword in hand. Ronan sat in the shadows with Maeve upon his knee. The child was yawning hugely and staring about wide-eyed.

"Kinnon," Jemmy said as he and Alyson reached the bottom of the steps. "I give you greeting. Would you care to break your fast?"

Maxwell's heir looked nervously behind him, seeming relieved to see a cloaked and hooded warrior looming over his shoulder.

"Nay, Jemmy—though I thank ye," Kinnon added quickly, his small eyes darting nervously about the room. A scant dozen of his men had made it through before the portcullis fell, trapping the rest outside. Two dozen Kirallen men-at-arms surrounded them.

Jemmy followed his gaze and smiled genially. "Then perhaps you would tell me what brings you here at such an hour."

Kinnon licked his lips and darted a sideways glance at Deirdre. "Well, Jemmy, 'tis like this. Ye see—'tis a long tale, and perhaps it would be best told—"

"Oh, enough of this!" an impatient voice growled and the hooded man shoved Kinnon aside. Deirdre's mouth went dry. I should have stayed upstairs, she thought numbly. I should have kept running when I had the chance.

And then the man pushed back his hood.

Deirdre's knees refused to hold her and she sat down hard on the bottom step. Ronan rose to his feet, tense and wary, and drew a long knife from his belt. There was not a sound to be heard until Maeve, who had been playing contentedly with a bright clasp Ronan had given her, looked up. When the child saw the man thus revealed, she gave a scream that ripped through the silent hall.

"No! No! Mam!"

Then Deirdre could move again. "'Tis all right," she said, going swiftly across the room and picking up her child. "I am here."

"No!" Maeve sobbed. "Make him go!"