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  The cold night air blew into her face, and she breathed deeply of it. She lifted her eyes toward Heaven. She knew the Lord could not forgive her for what she did, but then neither could she forgive herself for what had happened. “Good-bye, my brothers,” she whispered to the wind. “Good-bye, my Brian.”

  She crossed herself, put her hands across her breasts, and jumped to the stones below.

  The animals of the Chatworth estate sensed something wrong before the people did. The dogs began to bark; the horses became restless in their stalls.

  Brian, upset and unable to sleep, threw on a robe and made his way outside. “What is it?” he asked a stableboy who was running past him.

  “A woman threw herself from a top-floor window,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve got to find Lord Roger.”

  Brian’s heart stopped at the boy’s words. It had to be one of the women who was held captive. Please let it be the woman he didn’t know, Bronwyn, he prayed. But even as he thought the words, he knew who lay dead.

  He walked calmly toward the side of the house that contained the window to Mary’s room. He pushed through the crowd of servants peering down at the body.

  “She’s been raped,” a woman said quietly. “Look at the blood on her!”

  “It’s just like when Lord Edmund was alive. And here I thought the younger one was going to be better.”

  “Get out of here!” Brian shouted. It made him sick that they felt free to look at his beloved Mary. “Did you hear me? Get out of here!”

  The servants weren’t used to taking orders from Brian, but they recognized the tone of authority when they heard it. They turned quickly and left to hide in the dark corners and stare at Brian and this woman they’d never seen before.

  Brian gently smoothed Mary’s clothes. He straightened her neck from its unnatural angle. He wanted to carry her into the house and even made a few attempts, but he wasn’t strong enough. Even his weakness seemed to feed the anger rising in him. The servants assumed Roger had raped her, but Brian didn’t believe them. One of the guards! he thought.

  As he stood he began to imagine tortures for the man, as if it would help bring his Mary back.

  As if in a trance, he walked up the stairs to Mary’s room. The guards started to hinder him, but they stepped back when they saw Brian’s face. He pushed open the door to Mary’s room.

  He stared for some moments at Roger’s form, dead asleep, snoring, as he lay in Mary’s bed. He didn’t seem to have any thoughts, only a feeling that ran through him. He seemed to grow and strengthen with each passing moment.

  With great calmness he turned and took a pitcher of cold water from a table. He poured it over Roger’s head.

  Roger groaned and looked up. “Brian,” he said groggily with a faint smile. “I was dreaming of you.”

  “Get up!” Brian said in a deadly voice.

  Roger became alert. He was war-trained and knew how to control his senses when he felt there was danger. “What has happened? Is Elizabeth—” He broke off as he sat up and realized where he was. “Where is the Montgomery woman?”

  Brian’s face didn’t change from its look of steel. “She lies dead on the stones below.”

  A flicker went across Roger’s face. “I wanted to prove what kind of woman she was. I wanted to show you—”

  Brian’s low voice cut him off. “Where is Stephen Montgomery’s wife?”

  “Brian, you must listen to me,” Roger pleaded.

  “Listen!” Brian gasped. “Did you listen to Mary’s screams? I know she was a timid woman and I’ll wager she screamed a lot. Did you enjoy it?”

  “Brian…”

  “Cease! You have said your last words to me. I am going to find this other woman you hold, and we are leaving here.” His eyes narrowed. “If I ever see you again, I will kill you!”

  Roger fell backward as if he’d been struck. He watched numbly as Brian left the room. He looked at the blood on the sheet beside him and thought of the woman lying dead below. What had he done?

  It didn’t take Brian long to find Bronwyn. He knew she’d be in the room where Edmund once kept his women. Again the guards outside the door didn’t challenge him. The undercurrent of the night’s tragedy was being felt even through the walls.

  Bronwyn was awake and standing ready when Brian entered her room. “What has happened?” she asked quietly of the hard-looking young man before her.

  “I am Brian Chatworth,” he said, “and I am taking you to your family. Are you ready?”

  “My sister-in-law is also being held prisoner. I won’t go without her.”

  Brian clenched his jaw. “My brother has raped your sister, and she has killed herself.”

  He said the words flatly, as if they meant nothing to him, but Bronwyn sensed something deeper. Mary, she thought, sweet, dear, gentle Mary! “We cannot leave her here. I must take her back to her brothers.”

  “You need not worry about Mary. I will take care of her.”

  Something about the way he said “Mary” told Bronwyn a lot. “I am ready,” she said quietly and followed as he left the room.

  Once they were outside in the cold night air, Brian turned to her. “I will arrange for a guard to accompany you. They will take you wherever you want. Or you may return with me to the Montgomery castle.”

  It didn’t take Bronwyn long to make a decision. She’d had a month to think about it while she was confined in the room alone. She had to make peace with the MacGregors before she could see Stephen again. She had to prove that her love was worthy of him. “I must return to Scotland, and I want no English guards. I will travel more easily alone.”

  Brian didn’t argue with her. His own misery and hate occupied all of his thoughts. He nodded curtly. “You may have a horse and whatever provisions you need.” He turned to leave but she caught his arm.

  “You will care for Mary?”

  “With my life,” he said from deep within him, “and I will revenge her death also.” He walked away.

  Bronwyn frowned as she thought how Mary would hate any talk of revenge. Suddenly she looked about her and realized her freedom for the first time. She must go as quickly as possible, before more violence erupted in this place. She had much work to do. Perhaps the saving of lives, even Scot’s lives, would please Mary’s ghost. She turned toward the stables.

  Chapter Nineteen

  BRONWYN LEANED HER HEAD AGAINST THE WARM SIDE OF the cow as she milked it. She was glad she’d come to Kirsty’s parents’ cottage instead of returning to Larenston. Kirsty and Donald had taken little Rory Stephen and returned north to their home. Bronwyn turned back to her horse and started to mount when Harben caught her arm.

  “Ye’ll stay with us, lass, until ye’ve met with the MacGregor. That is, if ye still want to.”

  She looked from Harben to Nesta and back again. “How long have you known?”

  “Donald told me after ye left. I always suspected something, though. Ye don’t talk like an ordinary woman. Ye have more…”

  “Self-confidence?” Bronwyn asked hopefully.

  Harben snorted. “More like as it’s more insolence.” He stared at her. “The MacGregor will like ye.” His eyes went to her expanding stomach. “I see that man of yers enjoyed my home brew.”

  She laughed at him.

  Harben led the way into his little cottage. “One thing I don’t understand. I can see that you’re the MacArran, but I can’t see that that man of yours is an Englishman. I’d rather believe in a MacArran than an Englishman.”

  They went into the cottage, laughing, Nesta smiling at both of them. It was Nesta who kept the farm going and saw that Bronwyn and Harben worked while they argued.

  It had taken a few days to arrange a meeting with the MacGregor. He agreed to tell no one and to bring no men with him, just as Bronwyn did. The next morning, at dawn, in the mist of the moors, they would meet.

  She pulled harder on the cow and brushed at a stray strand of hair that bothered her. She finished the