Ramsey cut him off. "You were needed at home," he snapped. "No one saw them leave?" he asked then. Incredulous, he shook his head. "How was it possible for them to get away without anyone seeing them?"

Gideon didn't have any answers. Brodick swung onto his stallion's back. "We're wasting time," he muttered. "I'll search the west. Gideon, take soldiers and search the east, and Ramsey, you go north."

"There's no reason to go north," Ramsey argued. "If they went out alone, they wouldn't have gone into the wilderness. Bridgid knows better."

Two scared young MacPherson soldiers waited on their horses near the base of the valley. They watched Gideon lead a band of soldiers down the hill and then head east.

"You tell Laird Buchanan," Alan whispered.

Ker shook his head. "You tell him. I don't want him to break my nose again. I'll tell Ramsey."

Brodick and Black Robert took the lead, followed by Dylan, Liam, and Aaron. They had just crossed the grassy plain when they heard a shout. Dylan turned back when he saw the MacPherson soldier chasing them, but the others continued on.

Alan's freckled face was bloodred, more from fear than exertion as he blurted out his important news. "Proster… he followed the ladies, and they went north."

Dylan whistled and within seconds Brodick and the others surrounded the boy.

"Proster followed my wife?"

The steely gaze of the laird so unnerved the soldier, he could barely get the words out. "He saw your wife and Bridgid KirkConnell riding north."

"Were there any soldiers with them?" Aaron demanded.

"No, they went out alone, and that's why Proster followed them. He said he was going to bring them back… that it wasn't safe…"

"Then why the hell didn't he bring them back?" Liam demanded.

"I don't know," Alan stammered. "Something must have happened to delay them. Ker and I were going to look for them, but then Gideon arrived, and on his heels, you and Ramsey returned."

"If you aren't telling us the truth, I swear I'll flay you alive," Black Robert threatened.

"As God is my witness, I'm telling you the truth. I swear it on my mother's grave. My friend… Ker… he went to tell Ramsey to go north."

"Bring him with us," Brodick ordered. Goading his stallion into a gallop, he raced toward the forest. He kept telling himself not to panic, but it didn't do any good. My God, what was she thinking to ride out into the wilderness without protection? One boy protecting two women? Something had happened all right, or Proster would have brought them back by now.

For the first time in his life, Brodick prayed. Dear God, let her be all right. I need her.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Gillian had had enough. She simply couldn't go on, and it was too dangerous anyway, as darkness was fast approaching and the gray mist was getting thicker. They had stopped beside a creek, and she was about to tell Proster that with or without his help she was going to get rid of the arrow, but then she heard a rumbling in the distance. Within seconds the ground beneath her began to tremble.

Proster grabbed his sword as Bridgid frantically reached for her bow and arrows. Gillian pulled her dagger from her belt and moved closer to Bridgid.

"Get ready," Proster called, grimacing over the tremor he heard in his voice.

"Maybe it's Ker and Alan." Bridgid whispered the hope out loud.

"Too many horses," Proster said as he nudged his horse forward to put himself in front of the women.

Seconds later, Brodick emerged from the mist. He saw the three of them and pulled hard on the reins. The sight of his wife, apparently safe and sound, filled him with such relief, his knees almost buckled when he leapt to the ground.

His soldiers followed. They, too, dismounted and headed straight for Proster. They boy was shaking so violently it looked as though he was waving at them with his sword. But he didn't back down or run. As terrified as he was, he held his ground, willing to risk his life for the women.

"Put your sword away, boy," Dylan commanded.

Brodick rushed to his wife. "Gillian, you are all right?"

He expected a quick yes, and then he was going to give her hell. Didn't the woman understand how much she meant to him? How dare she take such a risk? By God, he would demand that she beg his forgiveness for putting him through such torture. And it would be a month of Sundays before he forgave her.

She was so overwhelmed with relief and joy that Brodick had found her, she didn't care that he was furious. "No, I'm not all right, but Brodick, I'm so happy to see you."

Proster, his hands still trembling, after three attempts had finally gotten his sword back into its sheath. He had just swung one leg over and was jumping off his horse when Brodick reached for his wife. The soldier lunged at the laird and shouted, "Don't touch her."

Brodick reacted with amazing speed. Proster's feet hadn't even touched the ground before he was thrown backward with such force he landed on his backside in the grass.

"What the hell's the matter with him?" Brodick demanded as he turned back to his wife.

Dylan grabbed the crazed soldier by the scruff of his neck and hauled him to his feet. Then he began to shake him. "You dare to give my laird orders?" he roared.

"She's pinned to the saddle," Proster shouted. "An arrow-"

As soon as the words registered, Dylan let go of the soldier. Brodick had already noticed the arrow and had moved to the right side of the horses to get a closer look.

Gillian put her hand against Brodick's cheek. "I'm so happy to see you," she whispered.

"And I'm happy to see you," he whispered back. "Now let me see what you've done to yourself," he ordered gruffly.

Her spine stiffened. "I didn't do anything," she cried out. "Except try to get away. If it weren't for Proster, Bridgid and I would have been killed."

Suddenly the three of them were talking at the same time as each tried to explain what had happened.

"They were Sinclairs," Proster announced.

"They weren't trying to kill me," Bridgid said. "They were after Gillian."

"They would have killed you too," Gillian countered.

"Proster killed one of them," Bridgid told Brodick then.

"Their names were Durston and Faudron," Proster said.

Brodick was taken aback when he heard the name of one of Ramsey's most valued commanders. "Faudron tried to kill you?"

"Yes," Bridgid answered for Gillian. "He and Durston were waiting for us."

"It was an ambush," Gillian said.

"I killed Durston," Proster boasted.

"What about Faudron? Did he get away?" Brodick asked.

"Nay," Proster answered. "Your wife killed him."

Brodick's gaze flew to Gillian.

"I had to," she whispered.

"One arrow, Laird, that went through his forehead. Her aim was true."

Brodick was trying to wedge his hand beneath Gillian's thigh so that he could get a proper grip on the arrow, but when he saw her flinch, he pulled his hand back.

"Proster tried to get the arrow out, but he couldn't," she told him.

The soldier began to move away from the commander, but Dylan grabbed him by the neck again.

Exasperated, Gillian called out, "Dylan, please let go of him."

Brodick took Gillian's dagger, lifted her plaid, and then slit her underskirts all the way up to the top of her thigh. The soldiers crowded around their laird to watch what he was doing and Gillian, trying to maintain some semblance of modesty and decorum, hastily tugged the plaid down over her leg.

"This isn't the time for shyness," Brodick told her.

She knew he was upset. "It isn't as bad as it looks."

"Could have fooled me," he countered.

"She might wish to sleep through this, Laird," Robert suggested.

"You're going to wait until she falls asleep?" Bridgid asked. She'd pushed her way through the men so that she could take hold of Gillian's hand.