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  She breathed a sigh of relief. The “detective” could have been legitimate, and could also have been one of Parrish’s men rechecking Kris’s story. Kristian had pulled it off, protected by his computer wonk persona. No one meeting him would think him involved in anything beyond bytes and programs.

  “Where are you?” he asked again.

  “It’s safer for you if you don’t know.”

  “Yeah, well, so what?” He sounded older than before, tougher and more assured. “I know you didn’t do it, so if you need help, all you have to do is ask.”

  His unquestioning faith hit her so hard that it was a moment before she could speak past the knot that formed in her throat.

  “You’ll be breaking the law if you help me.” She felt compelled to warn him, because her conscience was still nagging at her for calling.

  “I know,” he said calmly. “I broke the law by not telling them everything I knew about that night, and I broke the law when I got into the bank’s computers so you could get your money out. What’s one more felony between friends?”

  She took a deep breath. “All right. Is there any way you can get into the Foundation’s computer system without setting off any alarms?”

  “Sure,” he said, completely confident. “I told you, there’s always a back door. All I have to do is find it. But if it’s a closed system, I’ll have to go on-site to get in. Any problem there?”

  Grace took a deep breath, trying to remember what she’d seen of the computer system the times she’d been in the Foundation’s offices, which actually hadn’t been that often. “I think it’s a closed system.”

  “Are we going to do some midnight breaking and entering?” He sounded eager; Kris was a true hacker, willing to go to any lengths to perform his illegal art.

  “No.” Harmony hadn’t given her any advice on getting into a secured professional building without setting off its alarm system, but she had given her some pointers about hiding in plain sight. “We’ll go in during the day, as part of the maintenance crew. I don’t know how we’ll get onto the floor without being seen, but we’ll think of something.”

  “I keep telling you,” Kris said. “There’s always a back door.”

  Chapter 14

  WHEN NIALL RODE IN FROM PATROL, SIM MET HIM WITH A worried expression. “Artair and Tearlach havena returned from hunting,” he reported.

  Niall looked at the darkening sky. The short winter day was fading fast, and the lowering gray clouds promised more snow. The wind whipped at his hair, blowing it across his face, and impatiently he tossed it back as he jumped from the horse.

  “Bring Cinnteach,” he ordered. The gelding was as steady as his name, and had the stamina of two horses.

  “Done.” Sim nodded to a stable lad approaching with the big bay. “I’ve had the other lads make ready, should ye want them also.”

  “Only you and Iver,” Niall said. The two men were Creag Dhu’s best archers, save himself. Perhaps he was foolhardy to take only two with him, but he was always mindful of leaving the castle well protected. Winter had cooled the Hay’s raging blood feud with Creag Dhu; over a month had passed without attack. Still, Artair and Tearlach were both accomplished hunters, and could read the weather well; if naught was amiss, they would have returned by now.

  Artair and Tearlach had gone out with the dawn, intent on a fiadh, a deer, whose tracks they had cut in the snow twice before, but the wily beast had escaped each time. Tearlach had slowed with age but was still the castle’s best tracker. Artair had a gift for silence, Tearlach one for patience; they worked well together. Niall suspected Artair liked to hunt in winter because the wild, empty, snow-dusted mountains somehow reminded him of a cathedral, vaulted and holy. Creag Dhu had a chapel but no priest, for holy men sought safer duty than being confessor to wild renegades, and the chapel had long stood empty. Niall preferred no reminder of the Church or God, but Artair deeply felt the absence and sought his sanctuary in nature. He had thought it safe enough to replenish the castle’s larder.

  Niall rode out again five minutes later, having taken only enough time to wolf down a bit of bread and meat, and drink a cup of hot ale. The cold snapped at his face, but he was warm enough in wool and fur.

  They rode in a slow circle about the castle, picking up Artair’s and Tearlach’s tracks where they went into the wood. The tracks were plain enough in the snow, and were easily followed.

  Niall’s head lifted, his nostrils flaring and his mouth grim as he surveyed the stark black and white wood. The snow deadened sound, so that they were surrounded by a silence unbroken except by the noise of their own passing, and that was slight enough. He sensed trouble, and there was a prickling between his shoulder blades.

  “Ware,” he said softly, and Sim and Iver moved apart from him, spreading out so that an ambush would be less likely to trap all three of them, and also that they might better use the cover available to them.

  The day’s patrolling had not revealed the tracks of either man or Highland pony coming onto Creag Dhu land, but if the Hay were determined enough, and sly enough, he could have sent in his men a day or more before the snow, and had them wait for their best opportunity. Given a small cave, Highlanders could easily survive the cold and snow in relative comfort. Hiding their mounts would be more difficult, and not even the Hay was stupid enough to send out his men afoot. They would also need running water.

  “If any Hays are aboot, they’ll be hard by the burn.” He kept his voice low, but pitched it so both Sim and Iver could hear. They both nodded, their eyes moving restlessly, not pausing on any detail for more than a split second.

  But Niall didn’t sense any presence in the wood, despite his feeling of danger. He knew well when someone watched him, for he’d felt it often enough these past months. At times the eyes on him belonged to a Hay; other times, he knew it was she, the woman, the spirit. He didn’t know why she watched or what she wanted, but ofttimes he could feel her gaze on him as he fought, feel her anxiety at his danger and her relief when he emerged victorious, and unscathed. Be damned if that wasn’t less unsettling than sensing her near while he was abed with, and most like atop, a warm, willing woman. He was growing more and more irritable with her; if he ever got his hands on the wench, he’d be tempted to throttle her.

  She watched him at the most inconvenient times, but now he rode through the darkening wood alone. Snowflakes swirled downward, brushing his face with their icy kiss. He could barely make out the tracks in the snow.

  Cinnteach’s ears pricked forward, and Niall held up a warning hand, slowing their approach. Naught moved before them, but the wind brought a scent, faint and unmistakable. Sim’s mount shifted restlessly, tossing his head.

  Niall dismounted, his right hand closing around the hilt of his sword. His acute senses felt the sudden brush of a gaze upon him, as definite as a touch, and he whirled to the side just as his ears caught the singing whisper of an arrow and sharp metal bit into his left shoulder with solid force.

  He went down on his knee behind cover of a large tree. Looking around, he saw both Sim and Iver also behind cover, their faces grim as they watched him. He signaled that he was all right and motioned for them to change positions, moving out and forward to catch the intruders between them.

  His shoulder burned like seven hells, but he had taken the precaution of wearing a silk undertunic, something he insisted all his men do. An arrow couldn’t pierce silk, something all Templars knew. The most damage from an arrow didn’t occur on entry, but when it was removed. If one was wearing silk, the fabric went into the wound and twisted around the arrowhead, preventing debris from entering the wound and causing infection, and also allowing the arrow to be safely removed by covering the barbs.

  He reached inside his shirt, grasped the silk around the arrow, and jerked. The weapon popped free of his flesh, though not without effort. He ground his teeth against the pain; silk might lessen the severity of an arrow wound, but he reflected that it still wasn’t pleasant. Fr