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  Elizabeth also reacted without thinking. For a few moments, her guard had been down, but with men behind her, beside her, she’d remained nervous. Her senses did not register the reason for Stephen’s abrupt attack but only knew that once again a man was threatening her.

  She panicked. Not just a small uproar, but Elizabeth let out a scream that startled the already nervous horses. And she didn’t stop with one scream, but she began clawing and kicking like a caged wild animal.

  Stephen, stunned by her reaction, tried to catch her shoulders. “Elizabeth,” he shouted into her terrified face.

  Miles had been struck on the shoulder and back by falling stones, knocking him to his knees. The moment he heard Elizabeth’s screams he went to her.

  “Goddamn you!” he bellowed at his brother. “I told you not to touch her.” With a hard push he shoved Stephen away, tried to catch Elizabeth.

  “Quiet!” he commanded.

  Elizabeth was still in a frenzy, scratching Miles, trying to tear away from him.

  He caught her shoulders, gave her a sharp shake. “Elizabeth,” he said patiently, loudly. “You are safe. Do you hear me? Safe.” It took another shake before she turned eyes to his—eyes such as Miles had never seen before, frightened, terrified, helpless eyes. For a moment they looked at each other and Miles used all his strength of character to will her into peacefulness. “You are safe now, my love. You’ll always be safe with me.”

  Her body began trembling and he pulled her into his arms, held her close to him, stroked her hair. When he glanced at Stephen standing near them, he said, “Leave a horse. We’ll follow later.”

  Elizabeth was hardly aware of the funeral-quiet procession passing them. Her fear had made her weak and all she could do was lean against Miles for support, while he stroked her cheek, her neck, her arm. After many minutes, she pulled away from him.

  “I have made an ass of myself,” she said with such despair that Miles smiled at her.

  “Stephen didn’t understand when I told him not to touch you. I’m sure he thought it was mere jealousy.”

  “You are not jealous?” she asked, pulling away, trying to change the subject.

  “Perhaps. But your fears are more important than my jealousy.”

  “My fears, as you call them, are none of your concern.” She succeeded in pulling completely away from him.

  “Elizabeth.” His voice was pleading, very low. “Don’t keep all this inside you. I’ve told you I’m a good listener. Talk to me. Tell me what has made you so afraid.”

  She caught the rock wall with her hands behind her. The solid mass felt good, gave her a feeling of reality. “Why have you sent the others away?”

  A flicker of anger crossed his eyes. “So I’d have no witnesses when I ravished you. Why else?” When he saw that she wasn’t sure he was being sarcastic, he threw up his hands in despair. “Come on, let’s go to Larenston.” He grabbed her arm much too hard. “You know what you need, Elizabeth? You need someone to make love to you, to show you that your fear is much worse than the reality.”

  “I’ve had many volunteers for the task,” she hissed at him.

  “From what I’ve seen, you’ve known only rapists—not lovers.”

  With that, he practically tossed her into the saddle and mounted behind her.

  Chapter 8

  ELIZABETH PUT HER HAND TO HER FOREHEAD AND OPENED her eyes slowly. The big room where she lay upon the bed was empty, dark. It had been many hours since she and Miles had ridden into the fortress of Clan MacArran. It was an ancient place, set on the edge of a cliff like some giant eagle using its talons to hold on. Some woman who looked as old as the castle handed Elizabeth a hot drink laced with herbs, and when the woman’s back was turned, Elizabeth dumped the drink into the rushes behind a bench. Elizabeth had a knowledge of herbs and she had a good guess as to what the drink contained.

  The gnarled little woman, whom Bronwyn called Morag, watched Elizabeth with sharp eyes and after a few moments Elizabeth feigned sleepiness and lay upon the bed

  “She needs the rest,” Bronwyn said over her. “I’ve never seen anyone go insane quite as she did when Stephen pulled her from under the falling rocks. It was as if demons had suddenly entered her body.”

  Morag gave a little snort. “Ye fought Stephen long and hard when ye first met him.”

  “It wasn’t the same,” Bronwyn insisted. “Miles calmed her but only after a long time of shaking her. Did you know she broke Sir Guy’s toes?”

  “And I heard the two of ye quarreled,” Morag snapped.

  Bronwyn straightened defensively. “She dares to defend Roger Chatworth to me. After what he has done—”

  “He’s her brother!” Morag spat. “Ye would expect her to be loyal yet ye seem to think she should see your way at once. Bronwyn, there is more than one way of things in the world.” She bent and spread a large blue and green plaid over Elizabeth’s quiet form. “Let’s leave her in peace. A messenger has come from Stephen’s eldest brother.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Bronwyn said, angry at being treated as a child and more angry because she deserved the treatment.

  Elizabeth lay perfectly still after the door had closed, listening for anyone’s breathing. Sometimes men had pretended they’d left a room but in truth they were actually only hiding in dark corners. When she was sure she was alone, she turned over and cautiously opened her eyes. She was indeed alone.

  She sprang from the bed and went to the window. It was just growing dark outside, the moonlight beginning to silver the steep walls of the gray stone castle. Now was the time to escape, now before a routine was set, before all the MacArrans were informed she was a prisoner.

  As she watched, on the ground below, four men walked past, their bodies sheathed in plaids. With a smile, Elizabeth began to form a plan. A quick, silent search of the room revealed a chest of men’s clothes. She pulled up the silk skirt of her gown, tied it about her waist, then pulled on a voluminous men’s shirt and slipped into heavy wool socks. For just a second, she looked down at her knees, blinked at the idea of appearing in public so very bare—nude almost. There were no shoes so she had to make do with her own soft shoes, her toes tightly jammed with the added bulk of the socks. Rolling the plaid about her so it formed a short skirt and could be tossed across a shoulder took several attempts, and she was sure she still didn’t have it right when she tied a belt about her waist. It was much too long to buckle.

  With her breath held, she cautiously opened the door, praying that as yet no guard had been posted outside her door. Her luck held and she slipped through a narrow opening and out into the dim hall. She’d memorized the way out of the castle when Miles had led her to the room and now, as she paused to get her bearings, she listened for sounds.

  Far away, to her left and below, she could hear voices. Slowly, melting into the wall, she glided down the stairs toward the main exit. Just as she was moving past the room where people were gathered, she heard the name Chatworth. She glanced toward the door to the outside but at the same time she wanted information. With no more noise than a shadow, she moved to where she could hear.

  Stephen was speaking. “Damn both of you, Miles!” Anger permeated his voice. “Gavin has no more sense than you do. The two of you are helping Chatworth accomplish what he wants. He’s coming close to destroying our family.”

  Miles remained silent.

  Bronwyn put her hand on Miles’s arm. “Please release her. Lady Elizabeth can return to England with an armed guard and when Gavin hears she’s released, he’ll let Roger Chatworth go.”

  Still Miles did not speak.

  “Goddamn you!” Stephen bellowed. “Answer us!”

  Miles’s eyes ignited. “I will not release Elizabeth. What Gavin does with Roger Chatworth is my brother’s business. Elizabeth is mine.”

  “If you weren’t my brother—” Stephen began.

  “If I weren’t your brother, what I did would have no effect on you.” Miles was quite