For the dozenth time that day, Helena caught herself staring at the empty floor in front of the hearth. She had no idea how long she’d been lost in her own musings, but the toes on her bare foot dangling over the side of the cot had grown cold.

She hastily shoved her foot into the stocking she held poised in front of her toes, silently chastising herself for losing track of her thoughts yet again.

Though several days had passed since the night Logan had woken her and they’d shared a kiss, she could not untangle the knot of emotions balled in her chest.

Aye, when she thought of that kiss, tender at first, then scalding hot, her lips tingled and her skin grew warm and tight. Without speaking a word, Logan had communicated so much. In his kiss, she could feel all the longing, the strength, and even a hint of the sadness that swirled behind his iron-gray eyes.

He was a man tormented by demons, a man who carried the heavy weight of responsibility for the past. But she also sensed that he was a man of fierce yearning—for the undeniable heat between them, for honor, and for a life freed from the past’s sorrows.

Yet thoughts of Logan and the connection they’d shared in the darkened hut weren’t the only memories haunting her this morning.

She’d had a vision.

She cringed to think of what Logan had seen. Adam had witnessed one of her visions before, and he said she’d seemed possessed by the Devil, her eyes wide and empty, her head thrashing and her body taut.

It was no wonder that her father and brother feared she’d be accused of witchcraft if anyone learned about her curse. But what she looked like during one of her visions was the least of her worries—far more frightening was what she’d seen.

Logan. And Mairin.

The blue haze surrounding them had obscured most of the other details, but she could not mistake Logan’s strong, proud features or Mairin’s wide gray eyes.

Sometimes the visions came to her fully formed, as if she were remembering something that had already happened. It had been that way when she’d seen Adam fall on the battlefield beyond Craigmoor’s walls.

But other times, she only got snippets, fleeting images, and more often than not, a sense of foreboding. Helena’s very first vision—of her mother’s death—had been like that. At first she’d only seen her mother’s face, twisted in pain, through the eerie blue gloom.

When she told her father about the “nightmare,” he’d soothed her but told her not to worry.

In the days afterward, the vision had returned each night, growing stronger and more distinct. Soon she saw her mother lying abed, a fever flushing her skin and making her toss restlessly.

Within a sennight, her mother was dead. And Helena, a girl of only eight, had witnessed it not once, but over and over again in the terrifying nights leading up to her mother’s illness.

She had no way of knowing what would emerge around Logan and Mairin from the blue mist, but the mere thought of seeing harm befall either one of them had tormented her these last several days.

Helena dragged in a breath to chase away the lingering shadows in her mind. Today was important. She needed to focus, not lose herself in the darkness of her visions.

She hurriedly yanked up her other stocking, then rose and retrieved her boots next to the hut’s door. Though she treaded carefully, the blisters and gouges on her feet were all but completely healed. Her legs were still a bit wobbly from disuse, but it was a relief rather than a struggle to use them again.

It was time she left the hut. But she was not fleeing in the dead of night, as she had at Craigmoor, nor did she plan on going alone.

Though her stomach pinched with sudden nerves, she crossed the small main room to Mairin’s chamber.

Helena rapped softly on the wooden door. “It’s me, Mairin. May I come in?”

There was a long silence.

“Aye.” When Mairin’s soft voice reached her through the door, Helena let out a breath.

She eased the door open and left it ajar behind her so that some of the cheery light coming in through the hut’s window would reach the chamber’s dim interior.

Helena had never ventured inside Mairin’s room, for it felt like too bold an invasion so early in their delicate relationship. When she’d glimpsed Logan comforting Mairin after her nightmare, the single candle hadn’t illuminated much of the chamber.

Now that she was inside, Helena had to bite her lower lip to hold in a gasp.

The chamber was small and sparsely furnished. Other than the cot, only a wooden trunk much like Logan’s occupied the space. There were no windows, and the tightly sealed wattle and daub siding and thatched roof let in no light.

Had Mairin been spending almost all of her time in this dark, cramped room, silent and alone?

Helena’s mind skittered back to what Logan had said about finding her in a root cellar. Why, after being freed, would Mairin re-create the conditions of her captivity? It seemed that although she had physically escaped, some part of Mairin was still stuck in that terrible darkness.

Which was exactly why Helena was here.

Mairin sat on the edge of her cot in the same dress she’d worn for the evening meal the night before. She blinked those wide gray eyes at the light streaming in through the door behind Helena.

“What is it?”

Helena drew in a breath, calling forth the words she’d carefully plotted out in preparation for this important occasion.

“Now that my feet are healed, I am eager to see more of my surroundings,” she began. “But I must admit, I am a bit nervous to venture outside the hut. I don’t know what to expect in the rest of the camp, and besides Lillian, I imagine that the others are…less than pleased to have an Englishwoman in their midst.”

Now came the most delicate part. Neither she nor Logan had told Mairin of their plan for Helena to serve as her companion. Logan felt that it would upset her. Helena didn’t like misleading Mairin, but she justified it by telling herself that she was not doing aught she didn’t want to—she genuinely wished to spend time with Mairin and get to know her, and if that helped the girl, all the better.

“I…I wondered if you might do me a great favor. Would you come with me? Show me around a bit? I’m sure I won’t be as afraid with you by my side.”

That was true, but Helena also hoped that Mairin wouldn’t be quite so scared to leave the dark refuge of her chamber and get some fresh air and sunshine if she went with Helena.

Mairin stared up at her for a long moment, her eyes unreadable. At last, she sighed softly and rose. “Aye, verra well.”

Helena pressed her lips together to keep from grinning. Adopting Mairin’s unaffected air, she stepped aside so that the younger woman could pass her.

Mairin didn’t bother changing her dress or plaiting her hair. Instead, she wordlessly crossed the hut’s main room and stepped into her boots. In silence, they donned their cloaks, for although the sun was bright this morning, the air that had rushed in earlier when Logan had left for his training had been sharp with cold.

Outside, they had to squint against the brilliant sun streaming through the pine boughs overhead. From the little she’d seen of a Highland autumn, this sunny day was a precious rarity.

Mairin strode to the stream where Logan had spoken with Helena several days past.

“This is where everyone in the camp gets their water,” Mairin said. The stream curled behind Logan’s hut, then continued on, winding its way southeasterly.

Helena peered a ways off through the trees. “Are those the other huts?”

“Aye. We’ll pass them soon enough.”

“Your hut is separate from the others,” Helena observed.

“Logan picked it when we arrived two months past,” Mairin commented, keeping her eyes on the forest. “I think he feared that my nightmares would disturb the others if we were too close.”

The girl glanced sideways at Helena, her eyes guarded.

“Or mayhap he wanted to give you space,” Helena said gently. “Sometimes it can take a while to get used to the presence of others.”

For the briefest moment, Mairin flashed a small but grateful smile at Helena before turning away. Even though Mairin wasn’t looking at her anymore, Helena couldn’t help but smile back.

Mairin began trudging through the woods toward the back side of the huts. They looked much like Logan’s—the wattle and daub siding had been whitewashed, thatched rooves topped each building, and none was much larger than Logan’s two-room hut.

As they walked, Helena counted nine huts, including Logan’s. “How many people live here?” she asked, trying to remember the names Logan had mentioned when she’d first arrived.

“There is Lillian and Kirk MacLeod,” Mairin replied, pointing to the nearest hut. “And Angus MacLeod, a distant uncle of Kirk’s.” She pointed to the smallest of all the structures.

“What about this one?” Helena nodded toward another little cottage.

“No one lives there.”

Helena turned to Mairin, lifting her brows in a question.

“Will Sinclair stays there,” Mairin went on, pointing to a different hut. “And Niall Beaumore over there. Ansel Sutherland has a wife and two wee bairns in the village outside Roslin Castle, so he usually returns there when training is done for the day, but occasionally when the weather is foul or the drills run late, he spends the night in that hut.”

Helena followed Mairin’s finger. “That leaves three uninhabited.”

“Aye. There are others in the Bodyguard Corps. Sometimes they pass through and need a place to stay, either for a night or for a few days.”

Helena couldn’t help but be impressed at the girl’s wealth of knowledge about the camp’s inhabitants, especially considering the fact that Mairin spent almost all of her time in her chamber. “You have gleaned much in the last two months,” she said.

Mairin shrugged, though by the softening of the younger woman’s lips, Helena knew her praise had found a mark. “Logan has told me a few things. And Lillian. Mostly, I watch and listen.”

Though she downplayed it, Helena realized that Mairin must be more than a bit perceptive and astute. She must be quite gifted at gathering and assessing information—like Logan.

They continued walking to the far edge of the huts, where a modest barn sat. Inside, Mairin showed Helena the handful of horses and cows the camp boasted. Then they went past a chicken coop to a small fenced patch of grass between the trees where a goat and a pig roamed.

“Helena! Mairin!”

Helena turned to find a smiling Lillian striding toward them, wiping her hands on an apron tied around her waist.

“It is good to see you out and about—both of you,” Lillian said as she came to a halt before them.

After spending nearly a fortnight almost solely in Logan and Mairin’s presence, Lillian’s gentle English accent made Helena’s ears prick. It seemed like ages ago since she’d been surrounded by her fellow countrymen.

“Mairin was kind enough to show me around the camp,” Helena replied.

Lillian’s warm brown eyes swept over the penned animals, the barn, and the huts. “It is a simple life, but that’s just what we wanted when we came here.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Helena noticed that Mairin was edging away from Lillian, but to her relief, she stopped once she was a pace back.

“I must thank you for feeding me so well,” Helena said, reaching out and placing a hand over Lillian’s. “I know Logan is grateful as well.”

A becoming blush rose to Lillian’s fair cheeks and she dipped her head. “No thanks necessary. I like to help where I can, and if that means cooking, so be it. Poor Niall would probably starve if I didn’t bring him a meal from time to time!”

Lillian turned her bright smile on Mairin at the mention of Niall, but Mairin dropped her gaze, letting a curtain of whisky-colored hair fall over her face.

Lillian’s smile faded and her dark brows drew together, as if she realized she’d erred.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to help you sometime,” Helena said quickly. “It would be the least I could do to thank you for all you’ve done.”

With some visible effort, Lillian’s face brightened once more. “Please do—but not to cook. Do you play chess by chance?”

“Nay, but I’ve always wanted to learn.”

Lillian beamed at that. “Wonderful. Come by whenever you’d like—both of you, if you wish.”

With that, Lillian turned and strode back to her hut.

“Come on,” Mairin said before Helena could ask her about her continued discomfort around Lillian. “All that remains to show you is the practice field.”

Helena followed Mairin as she headed south, away from the barn and the loosely clustered huts. As they made their way through the pines, the sounds of men’s grunts and shouts reached them.

Bright sunshine up ahead alerted Helena to the clearing in the trees. Flashes of color—reds, blues, greens, browns, and even some yellow—danced between the boughs. When they reached the edge of the clearing, Helena could only stare.

A half dozen men battled ferociously in the little sun-bathed field. They fought in pairs, locking arms and swiping at legs, plowing shoulders into midsections and slamming to the ground.

The men wore woolen plaids in a variety of colors around their hips. Helena had seen a few men at Craigmoor wearing kilts, but the already-startling look was even more shocking because most of the men in the field had shed their shirts. Despite the brisk air, their chests and backs gleamed with sweat in the sunlight.

Her gaze fell on the sole man wearing breeches in the style of the English—Logan. He, too, had discarded his tunic. He stood locked in hand-to-hand battle with Kirk, the dark-haired warrior Helena hadn’t seen since her first night in the camp. Logan’s brown homespun breeches were mud- and grass-stained. His back, which faced her, was slick with sweat and corded with strength.

To her horror, Kirk’s leg darted out and caught Logan behind the calves, sending him tumbling backward. But as he fell, Logan dragged Kirk with him. Planting a boot on Kirk’s yellow and black kilted thigh, Logan hoisted him up and over his head, throwing Kirk to the ground with a loud thud.

Amazingly, the hard landing didn’t seem to hurt Kirk at all. He scrambled to his feet only a heartbeat behind Logan, and the two men exchanged fierce grins before locking arms once more.

Their combat reminded Helena somewhat of the handful of moves Adam had taught her to defend herself. Yet this didn’t look like practice—it looked like all-out warfare. They fought with all their strength, showing no quarter to each other even though they were compatriots.

A sharp whistle suddenly cut the air, and the savage combat abruptly halted. The men disentangled from their pairs, brushing away mud and clumps of grass from their clothes.

So stunned was Helena, both at the vicious battling she’d just witnessed, and at how quickly the aggression in the air had evaporated, that she didn’t realize at first that all the men had turned to where she stood with Mairin.

One man, of an age with Logan but with dark brown hair and a blue and green kilt belted around his waist, separated himself from the others.

“Well now,” he said, stalking toward Helena. “What do we have here?”