"He doesn't know I brought my son's body here. He thinks I've gone up north."

"Then why did he attack?"

"Your raids against Hugh's borders must have provoked him," she cried out. "Stay and fight."

"Why do you care what happens? Your precious son is dead," he scoffed. "And a dead man cannot become laird over the MacAlisters. You've already lost everything."

The outer doors were being rammed open now. The pounding noise reverberating through the hall was as terrifying to MacNare as the encroaching fire. Murky gray smoke, slithering in from under the door, was already coiling up about his feet.

"Help me fill these bags," he shouted. "Hurry, they'll be inside soon."

A resounding crash told him the barricade had been breached. They were coming for him now. He heard the pounding of their booted feet against the stone floor outside his door, getting closer and closer and closer…

His hands shook so, he dropped the last bag, whimpered with regret over the spilled gold he didn't have time to collect, snatched up his sword, and ran to his escape route.

Euphemia threw herself in front of the passage. "Don't be a fool," she screamed. "Neither Alec nor Connor know the Buchanans have joined with my clan. In two days, they'll come down through the mountain passage, and attack the MacAlister fortress. You can still have your share if you stay and fight. Kill Connor for me now, or I swear I'll lead him to you."

Four warriors stood outside the entrance, listening to Euphemia's desperate pleas, and it wasn't until Alec had heard their plan that he knew the man he had called ally, the bastard Buchanan, was in league against him.

Connor reached for the door. Alec shoved him aside and thrust his shoulder against the obstacle. The bolt weakened with the first push, broke in half with the second.

He stepped back, waited until Connor had drawn his father's bloody sword from his scabbard, and then put his hand on his shoulder. "Show him as much compassion as he and the others showed your father."

Quinlan and Crispin, their weapons ready, would guard their laird when he entered the hall. Alec would protect their backs, while his army protected him.

"Get out of my way," MacNare screeched at Euphemia from within.

She refused to move. MacNare still thought he had time to make his escape. He stepped back, lifted his sword, and shoved it into her middle just as Connor walked into the chamber.

He showed no reaction to his stepmother's bloodcurdling scream and watched without emotion as MacNare ripped the sword out of her and shoved her aside. Euphemia doubled over before collapsing to the floor.

MacNare didn't realize Connor was in the hall with him. He kicked Euphemia out of his way while he frantically searched for the panel that concealed his exit.

"Going somewhere?" Connor asked.

MacNare whirled around. "You had no right to attack me, MacAlister. No right at all. Kincaid will hear of this."

"I'm part of this, you fool," Alec bellowed in rage.

MacNare's face turned white. He looked as though he were seeing Death himself walking toward him.

"I wasn't there. I had no part in your father's death, MacAlister. I was just a boy, like you were. Yes, just a boy."

"You were over twenty years old," Alec shouted back. "You were there, all right, wearing the Kaerns' plaid, you bastard. Donald MacAlister was my friend."

He nudged Connor in his back. "The sight of such refuse is foul to me. End it."

"I'll kill you first," MacNare boasted. He leapt forward, crouched down, and hurled his sword at Connor. He would have made his mark if Connor hadn't deflected the weapon with his father's sword.

"Help me, Connor," Euphemia cried out, writhing about in agony.

Connor didn't acknowledge her.

MacNare jumped up to run toward the hidden passage. As he was turning, he heard the whistle of the sword slicing through the air and dodged to his right. Connor had anticipated his reaction. Donald MacAlister's blade thrust through the center of MacNare's neck, continued on, and lodged into the wall behind. MacNare was lifted by the impact, thrown back from its force, and pinned to the passage door. It opened and began to sway back and forth.

The only sound heard was the squeaking of the panel and the low gurgling of MacNare's death rattle.

"Please help me, son," Euphemia called out again. "Have mercy on your mother."

None of the warriors acknowledged her. Crispin asked Connor if he wanted him to get his father's weapon, but his laird shook his head.

"It's where my father wanted it to be. Leave it."

"Connor," Euphemia screamed. "Please… please…" Without a backward glance, Connor walked out of the hall, his stepmother's screams slowly fading away.

Chapter 18

Connor had made his choice. When Brenna was given her husband's message, she was overwhelmed with defeat. He had gone to Euphemia. There was little hope for a future together now, as he was clearly locked in his past, and nothing she could do would ever change that.

As soon as she saw her reaction, Jamie was sorry she'd told her. Brenna had been rapidly recovering from her injuries until she was told Connor's whereabouts. She became withdrawn then, and even though Jamie tried to get her to tell her why, she refused to say a word.

The mere mention of Connor agitated her. After trying for three full days to get Brenna to tell her what was wrong, Jamie decided she would have to wait until their husbands returned to find out what the problem was.

Time healed Brenna's body. Her appearance underwent a dramatic change in a very short while. The swelling was nearly gone from her face and shoulders; the bruises had already begun to fade, and her arm was healing nicely.

On the fourth day of her confinement, Brenna was up and dressed. Jamie looked in on her after the noon meal was served, and was pleased to see her sitting in a chair next to the window.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked.

"Much better," Brenna told her. She tried to sound cheerful, but knew she'd failed when Jamie hurried to her side and put her hand on her forehead.

"There isn't any fever," Brenna said. "I'm fine now, really."

"You're healing quickly, but we both know your heart is still aching. I have a surprise that should make you smile though. Father Sinclair has been insistent on speaking with you. If he had told me earlier that he'd spoken to your mother, I would have let him come up," she added with a laugh. "He didn't think to mention that fact until a few minutes ago."

Brenna was overjoyed. "He's here, really here?"

"Ah, finally a smile," Jamie said. "He's been here since yesterday evening. He sat with you several hours last night, but you slept through it. Shall I show him in?"

"Yes, please."

Brenna jumped to her feet the second Father Sinclair entered the chamber. "I'm so happy to see you," she cried out.

"Be happy sitting down," Jamie ordered, hovering over her patient like a mother hen.

Brenna did as she was instructed, waited until the priest had moved a second chair over to the window to face her, and then said, "Was your journey successful?"

"All is well," Father assured her with a nod.

Brenna was afraid to believe him. She clasped hold of Jamie's hand and held tight. "You're certain?"

In answer, he held up her medallion and put it in her other hand. "I'm certain."

She burst into tears.

"This isn't good news?" Jamie asked. "Are you in pain? Tell me what's wrong, please."

"She's overcome with happiness," Father said.

"Yes, I'm happy," Brenna stammered out.

"I had no idea she'd lost her medallion."

"Oh, it was never lost," the priest said.