“Shite,” Mungo growled behind Corinne.

He’d halted their horses in a clump of trees at the top of a rise overlooking the valley where the river forked. In the distance, Corinne could see two horses riding hard northward, where Mungo had laid a trail and then doubled back through the wide, slow river.

And another two riders headed east. Right toward where they hid in the trees.

Corinne’s heart soared. Even from this distance, she could see the blue and green Mackenzie plaid flashing beneath the men’s cloaks. They were coming after her. And they must have found her messages, for they weren’t duped by Mungo’s false tracks.

“How could they ken to ride east?” Gellis hissed, her gaze fixed on the riders. She rounded on Corinne. “Ye did something, didnae ye, ye little bitch! Ye’ve put us all in danger, and Laird MacVale as well.”

She lashed out at Corinne, her fingers curled into claws, but Mungo caught her wrist.

“Stop wasting time,” he snapped.

“We should finish her,” Gellis retorted, twisting her hand away. “Leave her body here. We are still on MacDonnell land, and—”

“If I have to tell ye again no’ to interfere, I’ll cut yer tongue from your mouth, whore,” Mungo said. “Ye overstep yerself. It isnae yer place to make decisions.”

“And it is yers?” Gellis breathed frostily. “Just because the Laird made ye a few promises and gave ye a wee taste of power doesnae mean ye are—”

Mungo hit Gellis across the face, nearly sending her toppling out of the saddle.

“Ye need to learn yer place,” he said. “For I ken mine.” He shifted behind Corinne, glancing once more in the distance at the approaching riders. “This is Laird MacVale’s decision to make, no’ ours. He can do with the English bitch as he likes—and those two Mackenzies as well. We best no’ keep him waiting at the border.”

Without acknowledging Gellis again, he urged his horse into motion, leaving the lady’s maid to scramble to right herself and hurry after them.

 

*   *   *   *

 

Though the trees surrounding them looked the same to Corinne, Mungo must have been able to see an imperceptible difference. He brought his fingers to his lips and whistled. In the distance, an answering whistle sounded.

Corinne clutched the pommel frantically as Mungo kicked his horse into a gallop over the slippery snow. Ahead, a clearing appeared—a clearing filled with half a dozen mounted men.

“What took ye so long?” the man at the front of the group snapped testily as Mungo and Gellis’s horses approached. But when his dark, cold eyes landed on Corinne, his annoyance turned to rage.

“Why the bloody hell did ye bring her to me?” he roared at Mungo. “Ye were supposed to make it look like the MacDonnells killed her, no’ leave a trail right to my lands!”

Corinne felt her eyes go wide on the large, broad-chested man wearing a brown and green plaid beneath his cloak. He must be Laird MacVale himself.

Mungo reined in a few paces away, with Gellis lingering at the edge of the group.

“They didnae take the bait,” Mungo replied tersely. “Two Mackenzies followed us east.”

“What?” the Laird hissed. He huffed a frosty breath, dragging a hand across his silver-slashed black hair, visibly trying to regain control.

This close, Corinne could see every weathered line of the Laird’s hard-set face. Unease slithered up her spine and pricked at the nape of her neck. There was something… disconcertingly familiar about the Laird.

His downturned mouth was a firm line across his face. A shadow of dark stubble covered his angular jaw. Though his eyes were nigh black, they were a similar shape as…

Nay. Corinne swayed in the saddle as the world seemed to tilt on its side. Nay, it couldn’t be.

Laird MacVale’s voice, deep and rough, dragged her from her spinning thoughts.

“How could they have kenned to ride east?” he demanded, staring hard at Mungo.

“She may have done something, my love,” Gellis interjected from the fringes.

“Dinnae deign to be so familiar with me, woman,” the Laird snapped.

Gellis blinked, her brown eyes filling with tears. “I-I am sorry, Laird.”

Laird MacVale swiveled to Corinne, fixing her with a look.

“What am I to do with her?”

“I wasnae sure, Laird,” Mungo said. “But if naught else, ye can use her to lay a trap for the approaching Mackenzies.”

Laird MacVale’s dark eyes sparked at that. “Now ye are thinking like a Laird, Mungo.”

“Nay!” Corinne cried, unable to hold back any longer. For a fleeting moment, she’d believed that fate had turned in her favor. Her messages had reached the Mackenzies pursuing her. Help was on the way.

Her hopes shattered to a thousand pieces as a slow smile broke over Laird MacVale’s face.

“Oh aye,” he said. “She’ll make excellent bait.”

 

*   *   *   *

 

When Reid and Alain had discovered the tracks at the top of the rise overlooking the river valley, they urged their horses as fast as they dared over the snowy ground. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble creating a trail to the north, doubling back, and circling to the top of the ridge. And the fact that the tracks led due east, the shortest distance to the MacVale border, only confirmed Corinne’s message.

Reid fought to control his emotions, but the rage boiling inside him at what the MacVales were about—kidnapping Corinne, framing the MacDonnells, attempting to incite a war—left him nigh blinded.

He told himself over and over as they rode that Corinne was alive, that her bravery and courage would keep her strong. And that she’d maintained her wits enough in an undoubtedly terrifying situation to send him not one, but two messages. He could only pray that he had half her strength and level-headedness when he caught up to her kidnappers.

Strength, aye. But, he amended, no amount of praying would keep him calm when he faced her abductors.

Ahead, something caught his eye in a small clearing between the trees. Was it a stump? He stared hard. Nay, it was a crouched figure—a figure who was lifting her flame-red head.

“Corinne!” He kicked his horse faster for another dozen paces, but then he flung himself from the animal’s back and scrambled across the remaining distance.

“Reid!” she cried, reaching for him. “It’s a—”

Behind him, Alain’s pained bellow cut her off. Reid turned to find his friend sliding from his horse, an arrow protruding from his chest.

The clearing was suddenly swarming with men, swords drawn and descending on Reid. He counted six as he lurched to his feet, yanking his sword from its sheath. Another man appeared from the woods with a drawn arrow poised in his bow.

Reid placed himself between Corinne and the archer, but the others with swords circled them, closing in.

Corinne’s scream behind him had him whirling, sword raised. But what he saw froze him in his tracks.

A giant of a man had dragged Corinne to her feet, a dagger held at her throat.

“Drop yer sword,” a commanding voice boomed from the trees. A man stepped forward, his dark head tilted as he assessed Reid.

When Reid didn’t move, the man nodded toward the giant holding Corinne. The giant pressed the blade into her skin, making her cry out.

Desperation clawing at him, Reid released the sword. It fell with a muted thump in the snow.

“The Laird of the Mackenzies himself has come after his English bride,” the dark-headed man said, approaching slowly. “I am impressed—by yer foolishness if naught else. On yer knees.”

Grudgingly, Reid bent a knee and knelt down.

“Bind him,” the man commanded one of his warriors. Reid’s hands were roughly pulled behind him and tied with coarse rope. All the while, he kept his gaze fixed on the apparent leader.

“Ye MacVales,” Reid ground out. “All ye do is steal, dinnae ye? Steal MacDonnell sheep, steal from the King’s cause by refusing to join him, and now ye steal my wife.”

The leader came to a halt in front of Reid, looming over him. The man tipped his gray-tinged head as if considering Reid’s words, but his dark eyes glittered with venom.

“Come now, Laird,” he said softly. “Is that any way to speak to yer father?”