They were sorely outnumbered, and although Alaric would pit the McCabe soldiers against anyone, anytime, and be assured of the outcome, his only choice was to call a retreat lest they all be slaughtered. There was simply no way to win against six-to-one odds.

He yelled for his men to get to their horses. Then he dispatched the man in front of him and struggled to reach his own mount. Blood poured from his side. The acrid scent rose in the chill and filled his nostrils. Already his vision had dimmed, and he knew if he didn’t get himself on his horse, he was done for.

He whistled and his horse bolted forward just as another warrior made his charge at Alaric. Weakening fast from the loss of blood, he fought without the discipline Ewan had instilled in him. He took chances. He was reckless. He was fighting for his life.

With a roar, Alaric’s opponent lunged forward. Gripping his sword in both hands, Alaric swung. He sliced through his attacker’s neck and completely decapitated him.

Alaric didn’t waste a single moment savoring the victory. There was another attacker bearing down on him. With the last of his strength, he threw himself on his horse and gave the command to run.

He could make out the outline of bodies as his horse thundered away, and with a sinking feeling, Alaric knew that they weren’t the enemy. He’d lost most, if not all, of his soldiers in the attack.

“Home,” he commanded hoarsely.

He gripped his side and tried valiantly to remain conscious, but with each jostle as the horse flew across the terrain, Alaric’s vision dimmed.

His last conscious thought was that he had to get home to warn Ewan. He just hoped to hell there hadn’t been an attack on the McCabe holding as well.

CHAPTER 2

Keeley McDonald was up before dawn to tend her fire and ready herself for the day. She was midway between the wood pile behind her cottage and her cottage door when it occurred to her how ridiculous it was to imagine that she had a day filled with duties and activities.

She stopped as she came around the corner of her cottage and stared down into the valley that stretched to the distant crest several miles away. Smoke from the McDonald keep and the cottages immediately surrounding it rose like a whisper and floated lazily toward the sky.

How fitting that she should be afforded a prime view of the one place she was never welcome. Her home. Her clan. No more. They’d turned their backs on her. They didn’t acknowledge her as kin. She was an outcast.

Was this her punishment? To be relegated to a cottage where she was forever reminded of her birthplace, close enough to see but barred from returning?

She supposed she should be grateful to have any place at all. It could be worse. She could have been forced from her home with no place to go and no recourse but to earn her way in life on her back.

Her lips grew thin and her upper lip curled into a snarl.

It was a trial to her good nature to dwell on such matters. It only made her bitter and angry. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t change the past. Her only regret was that she hadn’t been able to seek justice against the bastard McDonald for all he’d done. And his wife. She’d known the truth. Keeley had seen it in her eyes, but the mistress of the keep had punished Keeley for her husband’s sins.

Catriona McDonald had passed on four years ago, and yet Rionna hadn’t sent for Keeley. Her oldest and dearest childhood friend hadn’t come for her. Hadn’t summoned her home. And Rionna, of all people, knew the truth.

Keeley sighed. It was stupid to stand here and dwell on past hurts and dashed hopes. It was stupid to have ever had the hope that when Rionna’s mother died, Keeley might have been welcomed back into the clan.

The huff of a horse whirled Keeley around, and she dropped the armful of wood with a clatter. The horse clopped into view and came to a stop beside Keeley. Sweat gleamed from the horse’s neck and there was a wildness in its eyes that suggested it had suffered a fright.

But Keeley’s eyes were riveted to the warrior slumped over in the saddle and to the blood that dripped steadily onto the ground.

Before she could react, the man fell off the horse with a heavy thump. Keeley winced. Jesu, but that had to hurt.

The horse danced to the side, leaving the sprawled warrior at Keeley’s feet. Keeley dropped down, pulling at his tunic as she sought the source of all the blood. There was a huge rend in the material at his side and when she pushed aside the tatters, she gasped.

There was a cut that ran from his hip to just underneath his arm. The flesh was flayed open and the wound was at least an inch deep. Thankfully it wasn’t deeper, for surely it would have been a mortal blow.

It would certainly need needle and thread and a lot of praying that he didn’t succumb to a fever.

She ran her hands anxiously over his taught abdomen. He was a strong warrior, lean and well muscled. There were other scars, one on his belly and one on his shoulder. They were older and didn’t look to have been as severe as his current injury.

How was she to get him into her cottage? She glanced back at her doorway with her bottom lip stuck solidly between her teeth. He was enormous and no match for a lass her size. It would require cunning to solve this dilemma.

She rose and hurried into her cottage. She stripped the linens from her bed and wadded them into her hand. She ran back outside letting the material unfurl in the wind.

It took her a moment to position the sheet just so, and she had to place rocks on the end to keep it from billowing up in the wind. When she was done, she went around to the other side of the warrior and pushed at him to roll him onto the sheet.

It was like pushing a boulder.

She grit her teeth and put more muscle into the effort. He bobbed a bit but remained in his position.

“Wake up and help me!” she demanded in frustration. “I can’t leave you out here in the cold. ’Tis likely to snow today and you’re still bleeding. Have you no care for your life?”

She poked him for emphasis and when he didn’t stir, she smacked his cheek with the flat of her palm.

He stirred and frowned. A growl escaped his lips that nearly sent her back into the safety of her cottage.

Then she scowled and bent closer so he could hear. “You’re a stubborn one, aye, but you’ll find I’m even more so. You won’t be winning this battle, warrior. ’Tis better if you surrender now and help me in my endeavor.”

“Leave off,” he snarled, his eyes never opening. “I’ll not aid you in taking me to hell.”

“ ’Tis hell you’re going to if you don’t stop being difficult. Now move!”

To her surprise he grumbled but rolled as she pushed him.

“I always knew there would be women in hell,” he muttered. “ ’Tis only appropriate that they should be there causing as much difficulty as they do on earth.”

“I’m fair tempted to leave you out here to rot in the cold,” Keeley snapped. “You’re an ungrateful wretch, and your opinions of women are as deplorable as your manners. ’Tis no wonder you find women so repulsive. I’ve no doubt you’ve never been able to get close enough to one to change your opinion.”

To her astonishment, the warrior laughed and then promptly groaned when the action caused him pain. Some of Keeley’s irritation fell away as she saw his face grow ashen and sweat bead his forehead. He was truly in agony and here she sat debating with him.

She shook her head and then gathered the ends of the sheet in her hands and hauled them over her shoulder.

“Give me strength, God,” she prayed. “I’ve no chance of dragging him into my cottage without your aid.”

She pursed her lips, ground her teeth together, and then pulled with all her might. Only to be jerked backward. She nearly toppled to the ground. Her warrior hadn’t budged an inch.

“Well, God never promised you extraordinary strength,” she muttered. “Perhaps he grants only reasonable requests.”

She stared at the problem before her and then glanced at the warrior’s horse who stood in the distance munching on grass.

With a disgruntled sigh she marched toward the horse and gripped the reins. At first he refused to budge, but she planted her feet and coaxed, pulled and begged the monstrous animal to do her bidding.

“Have you no loyalty?” she accused. “Your master is lying on the ground, gravely wounded, and all you can think of is your belly?”

The horse didn’t look impressed with her speech, but finally he clopped toward the fallen warrior. He leaned his snout down to nuzzle against his master’s neck, but Keeley pulled him away.

If she could just secure the ends of the sheet to the horse’s saddle, then he could pull him into the cottage. Not that she wanted a dirty, foul-smelling animal in her home, but at the moment she didn’t see an alternative.

It took her several long minutes before she was satisfied she had a workable plan. After the sheet was secure and she was reasonably sure the warrior wouldn’t roll off the material, she urged the horse in the direction of the cottage.

To her delight it worked! The horse dragged the warrior along the ground. It would take a week to wash the dirt from her bedding, but at least the man was being moved.

The horse clopped into her cottage. There was barely room to maneuver around the animal and the warrior. They filled the tiny interior of her home.

She hastily untied the ends of the sheet and then set about getting the horse to go back the way he’d come. The stubborn horse evidently decided he liked the warmer interior of her cottage. It took half an hour to budge the stubborn beast.