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The guard licked his lips and squinted through his good eye. "The rogue was grievously wounded when we left him."

"But not dead."

"Jackdaw battled him."

"And you did not assist?" Winbourne growled.

"I was to return here—"

"He will give himself up for her!" Isobel interrupted.

Winbourne turned toward her. "What's that?"

"If you do not harm her, Laird Ramsay will give himself up for her."

"He is dead," Anora argued. "I know it."

The baron stared at her for a moment then smiled. "So he yet lives and you would give your life for him."

"Nay," Anora rasped, but Isobel spoke simultaneously.

"If you keep her safe until his arrival, you will have him."

Winbourne turned toward her, his expression bright. "So you have seen the wisdom of my plan?"

"Aye," she said and swallowed her bile. "But you cannot kill her yet."

Silence lay like poison on the camp before the baron spoke again.

"Very well. Finn, tie the lady yonder so that her husband will see her when—"

"I tell you he is dead by now!" interrupted the guard, but Winbourne turned to Anora, boring his gaze into hers.

"Nay," he said finally. "He is not dead, but he soon shall be."

He gave orders rapidly. In minutes, Anora was tied to a tree. Isobel was positioned nearby. The night fell over them like a dark tide as Winbourne sent his guards into the woods.

Minutes dragged by like hours. Terror grated at Isobel. The night seemed to darken. Fatigue wore at her, but suddenly a scream broke the silence.

Isobel jerked. Footsteps whipped through the darkness. Winbourne wrenched his sword from its sheath as a guard galloped into camp, dropped his sword from bloody fingers, and toppled slowly to the ground.

It was Roy, but his eyes were glazed and his hands lifeless.

"Finn!" Winbourne commanded, and the brigand smiled as he pressed his sword to Anora's throat. "MacGowan!" called the baron. "If you do not want to see her dead, you will come in unarmed."

Not a sound answered him. Seconds sliced away.

"Very well then," Winbourne yelled and glancing toward Finn, raised his arm.

"Halt!" shouted a voice.

Isobel held her breath as a wraith-like figure stepped from the shadows.

Winbourne smiled. "So you have—" His words stopped as he squinted into the darkness. Firelight glinted off the other's golden hair. "You're not her husband."

Gilmour MacGowan smiled grimly. His bandage was gone, and his hands were empty. "And lucky you are that I am not," he said, still approaching the fire. "For me brother is not so forgiving as meself."

"What the devil are you doing here?"

"Let the women go, Grier."

"Guards!" he yelled.

A brigand leapt from the shadows. Moonlight glimmered off his sword as it sliced toward Gilmour.

Isobel screamed. Mour ducked and came up with Roy's sword in his hand. He swung and the guard shrieked. In one fluid motion, Gilmour turned toward Winbourne.

Winbourne stood frozen. "She'll die!" he warned.

Finn grasped his sword in both hands in preparation, but a sound whistled through the darkness and suddenly Finn was stumbling backward. His weapon fell to the earth as he raised his hands uselessly to the Maiden's blade in his throat.

A shadow stepped from the blackness.

"Ramsay!" Anora moaned and he came, knife held before him in a bloody fist.

Riders leapt from the darkness. Gilmour swiped and ducked. Isobel screamed in fear. Ramsay sliced through Anora's bonds, dragging her into the darkness, and Gilmour was alone, fighting off the brigands who streamed toward him. He was surrounded now, but suddenly a cry tore through the night.

The earth trembled beneath thundering hooves and a score of horsemen leapt into the fray.

"Brother!" Lachlan yelled, and suddenly the tide was turned.

The brigands fell aside as the men of Evermyst rained down upon them. Through the melee, Isobel saw Winbourne fly toward her. In an instant, she felt his hand in her hair and a second later she saw Gilmour.

"One step closer, MacGowan and she dies." The words hissed by her ear, and she felt the tip of his blade press into her neck.

"Let her go." Gilmour's voice was low and steady. "Let her go, Winbourne and you'll not die this day."

The knife left her throat for a moment. Her hands burst free. But her hair was wrapped hard and fast in his fingers, and pain pricked her neck again as she was pulled backward.

"Drop your sword!" Winbourne hissed, "or she'll die this instant."

Gilmour stopped. Winbourne pressed the blade more aggressively to her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, but even so, she knew the moment Gilmour dropped his weapon.

"Follow us and she's as good as dead, MacGowan," Winbourne said, and suddenly she was being dragged through the woods.

She hung back, digging in her heels, but he crashed his fist against her skull.

Fire exploded in her head. She reeled as he lifted her into his arms. They jolted through the darkness.

She tried to struggle, but her limbs were weak, the world was hazy, and suddenly it was swaying.

A boat. They were back on a boat.

"Nay!" Isobel cried and struggled for the gunnel, gripping the edge with clawed fingers. Winbourne struck her again. She reeled sideways, but heard a roar of fury, and saw Gilmour launch from the shore. He struck Winbourne's shoulder, and they toppled into the black waters.

"MacGowan!" Isobel wrenched upright, but they had already sunk out of sight.

The water boiled white and rabid. A knife streaked above the waves and she screamed as the men broke the surface.

Winbourne stabbed at Mour but MacGowan caught the other's wrist, immobilizing it inches from his chest, and then they were under again, scrapping and flailing.

Gripping the gunnel, Isobel tried to peer into the depths, but she could see nothing. Muffled cries echoed from the camp, but not a sound was heard from the water.

Terror drowned Isobel. She could wait no longer.

Drawing a deep breath, she dived beneath the waves.

Water closed over her head. Blackness greeted her, but there was something to her right.

She streamed toward it. Fabric met her fingers, but the body was limp.

With a lung bursting effort, she pedaled toward the surface.

"MacGowan! MacGowan!" she sobbed and turned the body over.

The baron ofWinbourne lay limp on the water's surface.

Sobbing, she turned, her gaze skimming the water. Nothing. She took a deep breath, but in that instant Winbourne's arm streaked around her neck.

She screamed, but the sound was warbled for she was already sinking beneath the waves. Lungs burning, she jabbed him with her elbow. Pain sliced her arm, but of a sudden he was ripped away from her. She spun around and there was Gilmour.

Winbourne raised his hand. The blade flashed in the moonlight. Screaming, Isobel slammed her fist against his skull. The knife veered sideways and in that second, Gilmour caught it and drove it downward. There was a gasping hiss of agony, and then Winbourne sank slowly beneath the waves.

Isobel watched him go. It took her a moment to realize that Gilmour had gone down with him.

Screaming his name, she launched forward and dragged him back up to the surface. He was like lead in her hands, but she pulled him toward shore.

"MacGowan!" she rasped. "MacGowan!"

He didn't answer, but lolled in the water.

Tears streamed hot and unnoticed down her cheeks. "Nay!" she screamed, but he did not move. "You cannot die now, Mour! You cannot die."

The world seemed utterly silent. Then, "Why... is that... Bel?"

The words were barely audible, forced from lips that were all but immobile.

"MacGowan?" she rasped.

He coughed, breathing hard. "Why... can't I... die now?"

"You're alive," she breathed and he lifted one hand weakly to her cheek.

"I would have been... true to you, Isobel. That... I swear." Letting his hand fall into the water, he dropped his head to the side.

"Nay! Nay! MacGowan!" she wailed, and wrapping her arm about him, pulled him up against her body. "You cannot die! You cannot. Not now that I know the truth."

"What... truth?" he whispered and she cupped a shaking palm against his cheek.

Her voice quavered. "You are powerful and peaceable, and cunning and kind."

His eyes opened slowly and he winced. "But am I..." He coughed. "Beloved?"

Panic filled her, the panic of a lifetime alone. And as she hesitated, he slipped quietly beneath the waves.

"Aye!" she cried and sobbing, dragged him back up. "Aye! You are beloved."

"Then..." He coughed again. "You will marry me?"

She trembled. How could she bear to love and lose? How could she touch, then live out her days without it? How—

Gilmour sighed and slumped into the water.

"I'll marry you!" she shrieked and pulled his head up. But his eyes remained closed.

"MacGowan, wake up!" she sobbed.

Nothing, not the slightest movement, nor a breath of air.

"MacGowan! You cannot die, now," she whispered, "for you owe me a wedding night."

He moaned and opened his eyes slowly. "Did you say wedding night, lass?"

"Aye," she said, sobbing and laughing all at once as she pressed him toward the shore.

"Very well, then. One wedding night... for the Lady Bel," he said, and crawling onto dry land, promptly passed out.