Brice would carry the sight of her in his heart always. Standing there at the top of the hill, the castle walls to her back, wearing her blue silk. The most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, even from a distance.

Would that he could fool himself into believing her life would be a happy one, or even a long one.

“We’re better off leaving now, at any rate,” Fergus announced, trying to lighten the mood around him. That was normally a task taken up by Brice, but he did not have the strength for it just then.

“Why do ye say that?” Rodric asked.

“The sooner we leave, the sooner we return home. I would enjoy resting a short while.”

“Aye, and ye deserve it more than any of us, after nearly losing an arm.”

“Och, it wasn’t nearly so serious as that,” Fergus snorted. “Though I would not mind overmuch if ye were to tell tales of my bravery. Particularly while in the presence of a comely lass.”

Three of them laughed.

Brice did not.

There was a heaviness in him, something terrible enough to make him question whether he would ever be the same. If there would ever be a day when he did not awaken with her face at the forefront of his thoughts. If he would ever stop questioning what was happening to her, how she was faring as a countess. Whether she was at least content with her lot in life, perhaps with a few wee bairns to take her mind off her troubles.

She had changed him, no question.

“I’ve made a decision,” Rodric announced with a glance in Brice’s direction. “With the silver from Remington, we have more than enough to keep ourselves comfortable for a while. I believe it would be best to winter with Padraig and the rest. I was stubborn. I apologize.”

This managed to work its way through even Brice’s dark mood. “Truly, now? What changed your mind?” he asked.

“I’ve had time to think about it, is all. It isn’t charity to accept an offer from a brother. It is good sense. Especially when my wife is expecting.”

“Her name is Caitlin, isn’t it?” Fergus snorted, raising his wounded arm as a defense when Rodric glared his way. “Ye would not hit a man you only just called a hero, would ye?”

“I don’t believe I called ye any such thing,” Rodric smirked.

Even Brice had to chuckle along with them.

Life would return to its natural state. They would go on as they had, spend a long winter at the Anderson house, then take to the road again in the spring. All would be well.

It was for the best, leaving Alana behind. That was the job they’d been paid for.

The woods thickened around them, casting them in semi-darkness. It was peaceful there, quiet, the only sounds those of the animals scurrying through the brush and their voices.

It was almost possible to believe they were already back in Scotland, back where they belonged. Would that it were true.

The more ground he could place between himself and Remington, the better. At least he would never have to set eyes on the brute again.

Hooves pounded the road behind them, causing the four of them to split off to either side in anticipation of what was to come. “Who might that be?” Quinn asked as they waited.

“Whoever it is, they’re in a terrible rush,” Fergus observed just before the horse came into view.

A brown mare with a white star on its forehead.

“Oh, gods,” Brice muttered, bringing his gelding about in hopes of stopping the creature. It was riderless, merely running at full speed through the woods. If anything, it would kill itself before long.

The mare reared, hooves pawing the air before it landed on all fours again. Brice held up both hands, hoping his familiar scent would help calm the beast, while taking pains to calm his horse at the same time.

“What does this mean?” Rodric asked, though none of them could possibly find an answer.

The mare calmed herself, breathing heavily. “Something spooked her,” Fergus murmured, stroking the already sweat-soaked animal. Then, “What is this?” He slid his fingers beneath the pommel and came back with a ragged strip of blue silk.

The same shade of blue Alana had been wearing.

Brice’s blood turned to ice.

“She ran away,” he whispered.

“Oh, for the love of all that’s holy,” Rodric muttered. “Does she truly mean to kill herself?”

“Possibly,” Brice replied, though he was hardly paying attention. “Something spooked the mare while Alana was riding. She fell from it. She may have been hurt.”

“It will be nothing compared to what happens when Remington finds her,” Quinn observed.

Brice shot him a filthy glare.

Quinn held up both hands in defense. “Come now. Ye think we were all sleeping when you returned this morning? We heard what you two were on about. He’s a beast, not fit to marry anyone, much less a nice lass such as herself.”

“I would run if I were her,” Fergus agreed.

Brice locked eyes with Rodric, asking a silent question. Should they? And if they found her, what would they do?

Many more hooves shook the ground, signaling the coming approach of a team of horses. He had to think quickly.

“Get the mare off the road,” he decided, tossing his reins to Quinn before dismounting and leading the horse into the shadow of an alder, where he tied the reins off to a branch within moments of the arrival of four of Remington’s guards

He recognized the leader, the same blonde-haired lad. He must have been the captain of the guards, always taking the lead.

“Have you seen her?” he asked without preamble.

Brice returned to the road, hands tugging at the waist of his trousers as though he’d just been relieving himself. “What’s the trouble?” he asked as he took the reins from Quinn.

“Earl Remington sent us out to look for his bride,” the lad snapped. Gone was the bright, cheerful demeanor, replaced by cold disgust. “She seems to have run away.”

Brice exchanged looks with his friends, shrugging. “We’ve just been on our way from the castle.”

“She did not ride past you?” one of the other men asked.

“Nay, I’m certain we’d have noticed,” Rodric replied, frowning and stroking his chin. “It does seem strange, does it not?”

“She may well have cut through the woods and come around us,” Quinn offered. “After all, if she ran into one of you or even one of us, her plan would’ve been ruined.”

“That’s so,” the captain agreed with a sneer. “The earl is terribly vexed—the guests are waiting. He wishes for none of this to reach their understanding.”

“I would feel the same way,” Brice lamented, shaking his head. “She’s a slippery one, that lass. Tried to give us the slip once twice along the way, in fact.”

The men brought their horses about, prepared to continue on. “If you see her, make haste in returning her. Earl Remington will make it worth your effort.”

“You can be assured of it,” Brice said, waving as the four anxious guards continued at a high rate of speed away from them. Only when they were truly alone again did Brice mount his gelding, looking both ways down the road.

“What do ye plan to do?” Rodric asked.

“Find her, of course,” he replied. “If they didna see her on the road, we know she did not fall there. She must be in the woods, somewhere. You three go ahead. I will take this on myself.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Fergus replied.

“Ye cannot stop me,” Brice argued.

“I don’t believe any of us are wanting to stop ye,” Quinn assured him with a grin. “We’re going with ye.”

“Aye. Do ye think none of us knows what the lass means to ye?” Rodric snickered. “Besides, she’s a Scottish lass. She’s one of ours.”

Brice’s heart swelled with pride. “It’s a dangerous thing. What if he finds out?”

“What of it?” Rodric shrugged. “And he will not. This is hardly the first time we’ve found ourselves in a tight spot.”

And so, rather than continuing down the road and through the earldom, the four of them left the road and began walking the horses through the forest with Brice leading the mare by the reins.

“Alana?” Brice called, albeit quietly so as not to arouse the attention of any stragglers to the search party. “Alana? Where are ye, lass?”