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She hid her face against his shoulder.

"How did you know about Brodie?" she asked. "What you said to him—earlier in the hall—how could you have known those things?"

"It didn't take the Sight for that! 'Tis the fear every man carries, that he's not man enough for his woman. In Brodie's case, I suppose it was well-founded. And did he blame you for his failure?"

The question was asked so matter-of-factly that Deirdre did not even feel ashamed. She simply nodded.

"And this? Did he do this?"

Alistair kissed the scar beneath her brow and she fisted her hands in his hair, holding him against her as quick tears stung her eyes.

"That was the first," she said, trying to control her shaking voice. "Later he learned not to mark me."

"He will never hurt you again. I swear it."

"Don't swear," she said quickly. "'Tis bad luck."

"I dinna need luck," Alistair answered, raising his head. His eyes were flat and hard as disks of silver.

"You mustn't say such a thing!" she said, a little frightened. "Anything could happen— You cannot know—"

"Oh, but I do. Brodie Maxwell has hurt you for the last time. I swear it by St. Andrew and the Blessed Virgin. Tomorrow Brodie Maxwell dies."

CHAPTER 36

Deirdre yawned and stretched, deliciously aware of every muscle of her body in a way she had never experienced before. Her eyes still closed, she reached toward the other side of the bed and found only chill emptiness. Sitting up, she pushed the tangled hair back from her face.

"Alistair?"

Finn lay curled by the door, but save for the dog the chamber was empty. Rising quickly, Deirdre ran to the window and looked out, searching for a glimpse of golden hair among the crowd gathered in the courtyard below. Finding none, she dressed quickly and ran down the winding steps into the hall.

The morning meal finished, servants moved among the long trestles, emptying the last of the porridge and bread into buckets. Deirdre grabbed a heel of bread and went out into the courtyard.

"Malcolm!" she cried, spotting the boy across the yard, talking with Haddon Darnley. "Where is Alistair?"

He shrugged. "I haven't seen him."

"I did, earlier," Haddon put in. "He rode out this morning."

Jemmy and Alyson joined them. "Where is Alistair?" Jemmy asked. "I thought he was with you, lady."

"No," Deirdre said. "Haddon said he rode out earlier."

"He'd best hurry back," Jemmy said. "We'll be leaving in an hour. It will take nearly that long for him to get armed and ready."

"He was armed," Haddon said. "I saw his mail as he went by."

Deirdre's stomach knotted. Where had Alistair gone all alone? Why hadn't he waited for the rest of them?

"He may have wanted an early start." Jemmy spoke easily, but Deirdre saw the worried glance he exchanged with Alyson.

"You don't suppose he—well, ran away, do you?" Haddon asked and Malcolm shrugged.

"Of course not," Deirdre snapped. "Malcolm, how could you even think such a thing? You know him better than that!"

"Do I?" Malcolm said, his casual façade crumbling as his eyes filled with tears. "I thought I did, but..." He blinked and swallowed hard. "Maybe he did run. I hope he did. I hope he never comes back here again!"

"So do I," Haddon said, putting a comforting hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Begging your pardon, Lady Maxwell, but you can't expect any of us to feel differently."