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K atie whirled around, extending her arms as if that would protect Lyall from the man blocking their escape. The man whose study they had trespassed upon.

Why did ye have to come here, Lyall? Why did ye nae stay home, where I could watch over ye, stop ye from doin’ somethin’ so daft?

She had seen Hector Kaysen, the Laird of Clan MacKimmon, from a distance many times, considering her older brother’s former position as his man-at-arms, but this was the first time she was seeing him properly. Up close.

A formidable warrior, he filled the doorway with his towering height and muscular breadth, leaning against the jamb with a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

Possessed of the sort of face that didn’t seem prone to smiling, he made no exception for the two Blake siblings.

His full lips curled with displeasure, his slate gray eyes as cold as their stony coloring.

A shame, really, because he wasn’t unpleasant to behold.

Quite the opposite. He was as handsome a man as Katie had ever seen, with carved cheekbones and a sharp jaw, full lips that might have warmed his face if he had but smiled at her, and silky hair of the darkest brown that fell in tousled waves around his angular face, softening it somewhat.

But that softening was sharpened again by the silvery shine of scars: one that cut through his eyebrow at a diagonal, one across the bridge of an otherwise perfect nose, one in the hollow of a sculpted cheekbone, another in the notch of his chin, and several more—smaller—that told the story of the battles he had fought.

Do I explain, or do I run?

Katie stood frozen with indecision.

Would either matter?

The Laird pushed off the doorframe, not spilling a drop of his drink, and slowly walked toward the desk. Almost the prowl of a wolf toying with its prey.

He stopped a few paces away from Katie, setting the glass down on the edge of the desk. “Did ye nae hear me, lass?” he growled. “Run.”

She stared up into eyes that seemed to look right through her. “But… how are we to… when ye are…?”

She couldn’t dart past him. He’d catch her in an instant. And she wouldn’t be the one to run ahead of Lyall, either. She needed to know that her last remaining brother was safe before she thought about herself.

“Scurry out however ye came in,” the Laird replied, his face devoid of mercy. So, it surprised her when he added in that low, throaty voice, “I’ll give ye a ten-second lead.”

She blinked. “If I could just explain, I?—”

“One,” he began drily. “Two… Three…”

She knew she should be afraid, knew she should be halfway out of the door already, but her gaze didn’t falter, fixed on those icy gray eyes.

Courage rose where it should have failed. After all, it had been weeks since the news of Johnson’s crimes had reached the clan—if the Laird had really wanted to harm her and her family, he would have done it already.

What manner of Laird would he be if he didnae allow a lass to defend herself and a heartbroken boy of five-and-ten?

She opened her mouth to attempt an explanation again, but before a single word left her lips, her body jolted abruptly.

It whipped the words away, her arm juddering in its socket as Lyall tugged on her hand, sprinting off ahead of her.

He gripped her hand so tightly that she had no choice but to follow after him if she wanted her arm to stay attached to the rest of her body.

For though he was still a boy in her mind, her younger brother had more strength than she had bargained for.

As she passed the Laird, Katie thought she saw a flash of something in those cold gray eyes—the glint of a hound looking forward to a chase.

Explain meself? Aye, ‘cause he has every reason to listen.

She couldn’t believe she had almost stayed as she hurried after her brother, barreling over the threshold of the study and into the hallway beyond.

What on earth was I thinkin’?

“Dinnae slow down!” Lyall shouted back over his shoulder. “Keep up with me. I’ll get us to where it’s safe. I ken a place.”

She would have responded if her heart wasn’t in her throat, fearing the thumping sound of a pursuit behind her. It hadn’t begun yet, but perhaps ten seconds hadn’t passed.

“Nae home,” she managed to croak, gripping her brother’s hand as hard as he was gripping hers.

Lyall nodded, fixing his attention straight ahead.

They raced through the maze of hallways and passages and corridors, every way-marker that Katie had memorized proving hopeless at such a frenzied speed. But Lyall seemed to know the right paths, having spent more time in the castle than she ever had.

It was all going too well, no footsteps pursuing, no one standing in their path, when a trio of soldiers came out of a room, laughing. Their eyes darted toward the running siblings, narrowing with suspicion.

“Halt!” one of them commanded.

“Watch yerself!” barked another as Lyall tore past, dragging his sister with him.

“Apologies,” Katie muttered back to them, her lungs burning with the exertion.

Veering sharply to the left, Lyall quickened his pace along a narrow hallway with a bright light shining at the end. The chilly whip of the late-morning air wafted down to greet them as if trying to guide them safely out into the wider world.

“Keep goin’!” Lyall shouted as they careened through the open door together, stumbling out into a beautiful courtyard.

A few bonny maids going about their daily work yelped in alarm at the sudden intrusion. Yelps that turned into yells and pointed fingers as the three guards burst out into the sunlight, their hands tight around the pommels of their broadswords.

“This way!” Lyall pulled Katie toward the rear of the courtyard, through a small wooden gate that led into breathtaking gardens.

The seasons had just begun to shift from winter to spring, and the blooms and bushes and trees had risen to the occasion. New buds sprouted on shrubs and hedges, snowdrops turning the green lawns into a sea of white, while the first inkling of coming fruit showed on the trees.

But Katie had no time to admire the beauty, barely keeping her balance as Lyall continued to drag her along. He yanked her around a bed of primrose and dog violets, hauling her past a moss-patched statue, putting faith in her as he leaped over a small brook that babbled through the greenery.

“Halt there!” one of the soldiers barked, the clatter of swords and the huff of angry men following in Katie’s wake.

“Stop where ye are!” demanded another.

“Stand still, and ye might live!” the third soldier threatened, but his words had the opposite effect.

Katie and Lyall hurried on across an open glade, surrounded by that merrily babbling brook, where a single pear tree sprawled its crooked limbs. It was flowering, and it would look extraordinarily beautiful when it was covered in those frothy white blooms that would eventually become ripe pears.

Rounding the trunk, Katie noticed three neatly arranged white stones. Their presence puzzled her, standing out so strangely against the green grass. Too deliberate to have no meaning.

“Will ye hurry up!” Lyall snapped, leaping over the brook a second time.

Katie just about managed the jump, though she landed awkwardly. A sharp pain splintered up from her ankle, her teeth clenching against the sensation as she forced herself onward. She wouldn’t be the reason that her younger brother was caught, even if it cost her a broken bone.

“Stop!” one of the soldiers bellowed, somewhere behind, getting closer.

At the same moment, an unusual sound carried on the wind, so unexpected that Katie wondered if she was imagining things.

A deep voice cut through the panic, commanding, “Leave them.”

She twisted her head over her shoulder. The soldiers had skidded to a halt on the opposite side of that odd, pear tree island, cut off by the winding path of the brook. Standing just a few paces behind them, shaded by the bough of a hawthorn that would soon shed its blossoms, was Laird MacKimmon.

His gray eyes followed Katie, but he made no move to continue the chase.

Has he given up?

She would not believe it until she was safe in her cottage, cooking eggs with butter, pretending that the entirely awful morning hadn’t happened at all.

But, of course, they did not dare to retreat to that cottage yet.

Bonnie will be fine, she told herself, her heart clenching with guilt. She kens nae to come home until she’s fetched.

The youngest Blake sibling had been the one to confirm that Lyall had snuck out of the cottage after the miller had insisted that he had seen their brother on the hill up to the castle.

Before leaving to hunt Lyall down, Katie had sent Bonnie to Mrs. Shanley—the seamstress Katie had often worked for, and a steadfast friend of the Blakes.

Aye, she’ll stay safe and sound with Mrs. Shanley ‘til we can get back to her.

Katie had to believe that was true, praying that Bonnie’s enormous mastiff, Pipkin, wouldn’t suddenly decide to scent out the older siblings.

He had a good nose for danger, fiercely protective of Bonnie and her siblings.

If he could smell Katie’s fear all the way from the village, he would not hesitate to investigate, dragging Bonnie into this mess too.

They hared on through darker, wilder gardens that were not as well-tended as those they had just left. Ancient yew trees whispered to one another, sending out their roots to trip the pair, while overgrown briars and yellow flowering gorse did their very best to block the exit.

“Over there!” Lyall wheezed. “There’s a gate!”

Katie squinted, seeing the rusty iron bars protruding out of mossy earth. Tangled hedgerows, sharp with thorns, flanked the gate on either side like a natural wall, and as they ran toward it, she prayed it wasn’t locked.

Is that why the Laird said to leave us be, because he kenned we wouldnae be able to get far?