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"He was with you?" she whispered. "All the morning?"

"Aye, he was."

"You must see Lord Jemmy," she cried. "You must tell him! Do you understand me?"

"Aye, lady," he said, backing away. "I'll do that."

"No, wait," she said, following him. "It is important. You cannot know how important—never mind, there's no time to explain it now, I will come with you."

"Dee!"

Deirdre looked around, startled, at the sound of Ronan's voice, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"I'll see him," the silversmith assured her as he hurried off. "Nay, lady," he added over his shoulder, "there's no need to trouble yourself."

"But—"

"Dee!"

She whirled sharply and there was Ronan, just outside the gate, gesturing frantically. "Hurry!"

"Not now, Ronan," she said, keeping one eye on the silversmith. "I must go—"

"Nay, Dee, you will not help him that way. 'Tis too late."

"Too late for what?"

"Sir Alistair. He's gone—they took him out an hour ago, Sir Calder and another man. I think he was dead, Dee, but I'm not sure—"

"Dead? What are you talking about?" For the first time she looked at Ronan. His clothes were rumpled, his hair a wild tangle of leaves and stems, and dried blood masked one side of his face.

"What happened to you?"

"I'll explain on the way. Hurry, Dee, get two horses and meet me out here. I daren't go inside. Later," he said urgently, cutting off her questions. "Do you want to find him or not? They've taken him, do you understand me? Hurry—bring horses—"

She turned and ran without another word.

CHAPTER 4O

"Here," Calder said. "'Tis as good a place as any."

He jerked his horse to a halt beside the ruins of an ancient fortress and turned to the man beside him. "Is he dead?" he asked impatiently.

"I dinna think so," Kinnon Maxwell answered, glancing at the horse he led. Calder reached out and seized a handful of white-gold hair, jerking Alistair's head up.

"He looks it."

"Aye, but he moaned a bit before—"

"Then we'd best make sure."

Kinnon turned his face away as Calder raised his dagger. 'Twas a pity, he thought, that it had to come to this. He'd always rather liked Alistair. Then he shrugged philosophically. A bargain was a bargain, after all, and this one was worth the price. He was just thinking he'd have masses said for Alistair when his horse startled, nearly throwing him.

"What the—" Calder cried, holding up one arm to shield his eyes from a dark winged shape fluttering before his face.

Alistair's horse reared as another of the birds flew almost beneath its hooves, throwing its burden down the stony hillside. As Kinnon tried to get his own mount under control, he saw Alistair roll down the slope and come to rest in a ditch.

"God's blood, what is this? Get off me—" he shouted, flailing wildly as one of the dark-winged shapes dove straight for his eyes. Then there was no more time for words, for his horse, and Calder's and Alistair's as well, all bolted headlong down the road.