This bleak prediction cast Cait into a doleful, desperate mood, which she hated, and so she railed against Paulo for speaking it. 'What do you know about anything?' she snapped. 'If you were but half so observant as you think yourself, we would have found Alethea long since!'

The knight's face fell, and he looked at her with sad, tired eyes. 'I beg your pardon, my lady, if I have spoken out of place.'

The slender Spaniard appeared so appalled and crestfallen that Cait did not have the heart to remain angry at him. 'It is I who must beg your pardon, Paulo,' she relented, forcing down her emotion. 'You merely speak a truth my heart does not wish to hear.'

'The truth, yes,' he agreed sadly. 'But I would give the world to change it.'

They searched two more days-with no greater success than before-and then Rognvald called for a day of rest. Cait did not like this any better than the icy fact of winter, but she kept her disappointment to herself this time. As luck would have it, their day in camp proved sunny and calm-easily the best weather they had seen since the raid and Alethea's abduction.

The first snow of the season fell that night, and they awoke the next morning to find the ground covered with a fine, even layer of gleaming white, and a fresh blue sun-dazzled sky. As they were getting ready to ride out, Svein and Yngvar discovered new tracks in the snow: a small herd of roe deer had ventured from the wood before dawn. The prospect of fresh meat overwhelmed all other concerns, and the day's search was swiftly abandoned so the men could go hunting. Cait declined to accompany them, forsaking the thrill of the chase for a rest beside the fire. 'Keep the flames burning brightly, my lady,' called Dag. 'We will bring back a fine buck or two for our supper tonight.'

She sat by the fire, gazing at the pale blue Spanish sky. After a while, the supply of firewood began to dwindle, and she decided that if there was going to be any roasting of venison that night she had better gather more. So, taking up the sack and rope the men used, she saddled her horse, and rode some way into the forest where she found a ready supply of dead wood. She filled one sack and dragged it back to camp; seeing the men had not returned, she decided to fetch another.

She enjoyed this humble task-the day was bright and crisp; the snow on the trees and on the high mountain peaks gave everything a glistening sheen-and allowed her mind to drift where it would, losing herself in the aimless flow of her thoughts as she moved among the trees looking for fallen branches that would be easily broken up. She thought about Sydoni waiting at home, worried by their absence-and then remembered that they had originally planned to winter in Cyprus, so those left behind in Caithness were not yet missing them.

Unexpectedly, this thought moved her to prayer. She prayed that Alethea was well, and would be found before the supplies ran out and they were forced to give up the search for the winter. Please, Almighty Father, she prayed, send a sign that you are with us, and that you care.

No sooner had Cait sent up her simple prayer, than the answer came speeding back with the swiftness of an arrow. For she heard a strange jingling sound-like tiny bells high in the air.

Amazed, she looked up quickly. The sound seemed to travel-as if an angel was gliding slowly from east to west over the treetops -but she could see nothing for the close-grown branches. She started forward, following the sound as it drifted overhead and soon found herself standing on the edge of the wood and gazing up into the crisp, blue sun-bright sky at a soaring falcon. As the majestic bird wheeled through the cloudless heavens, she noticed something dangling from its legs-the leather jesses of a trained hunting bird.

The recognition caused Cait's heart to quicken; such a hawk in flight meant a hunter nearby.

Darting back into the forest, she ran to retrieve her mount-only to discover the animal had wandered away; probably it had returned to camp, leaving her to carry her burden by herself. Taking up her half-filled sack of firewood, she began dragging it over the rough ground, scolding herself for failing to adequately secure the horse. The sack was heavy and she laboured with it as she struggled back through the trees.

Upon emerging from the wood, she paused and searched the sky once more, but the hawk was gone. Unaccountably disappointed, she turned and resumed her walk, dragging the sack behind her. The track down to the camp passed by a hillock around which the stream coursed as it wound through the valley. Upon drawing even with this small promontory, she heard the light clinking jingle of the hawk's bells once more and turned towards the sound.

It was not a hawk this time, however, but a great black stallion, his glossy coat shimmering in the sunlight. At the sudden appearance of the beast, Cait stopped in her tracks and jumped back, giving out a small cry of alarm.

Then she saw the man: astride the horse, his head swathed in a shimmering black turban, a richly embroidered black cloak flung back from his shoulders and over the stallion's hindquarters. He saw her in the same instant, and although he gave no outward sign, she saw in the quickness of his keen dark glance that he had not been expecting to encounter anyone in the glen.

That he was a Moor was as obvious as the curly black beard on his face; in aspect and appearance he looked very like the bandits. But where they were sloven and cowardly, the man before her was regal, bold, a man of wealth-his cloak was sewn with silver, and his high-cantled saddle was fine black leather, ornamented with shell-like silver bosses and trimming; the horse's long, thick mane was braided, and each braid interwoven with threads of silver.

Cait stood motionless, holding her breath as the man regarded her with disarming curiosity. Turning away, he lifted his head and raised his arm into the air; he wore a heavy leather gauntlet. He uttered a piercing whistle, which was echoed by a shriek from on high, and an instant later there was a rush and rustle of wings as the falcon swooped down to take its place on its master's fist.

'I give you good greeting, woman,' he said, turning his attention to her once more. His face was fine and handsome, his skin dark and smooth, his limbs slender and graceful.

'God keep you, sir,' Cait replied, releasing the sack of firewood.

She straightened under his scrutiny, resting her hand on the pommel of her sword.

'Forgive me for startling you,' he said, 'but would you mind very much if I asked you why you are encamped upon my land?' His Latin, although heavily accented with a thick Eastern intonation, was spoken with a low, strong voice. The combination produced a sound which reminded Cait of the magician Sinjari, and the thought produced a feeling of recognition which made her bold.

'I beg your pardon, my lord,' she replied courteously. 'If I had imagined this wilderness canyon belonged to anyone, I would never have spent a moment camping here when I might have come to your house and demanded hospitality.'

His smile was a white glint of teeth in the blackness of his beard. 'Indeed! What makes you so certain that this Muslim would honour the request of a Christian?'

'A wise man once told me that among Muhammedans it is considered a sign of true nobility to demonstrate mercy and generosity.'

'Even to enemies?'

'Especially to enemies, sir.'

He laughed, his voice rich and deep. The sound roused the falcon on his hand. The bird shrieked angrily and flapped its wings. 'Hush, Kiri, naughty girl.' He reached into a pouch at his side and produced a ragged strip of red meat which he fed to the hawk. 'Leave us, I wish to talk to this charming lady.' With that, he flung the hawk into the air; the bird disappeared in a rushing flurry of wings and tinkling of silver bells. 'Kiri is a cunning and fearless hunter,' he said admiringly, 'but she is also exceedingly jealous.'