He studied the circle of hills warily. "It's worth a try, but let's not linger. It would be easy to be trapped down here."

They walked down the slope to the village. Several dozen houses were scattered along the single street. All were plain stone ovals roofed with turf. The roofs had long since collapsed, and many of the walls as well. Weeds and flowers grew within the confines of what were once homes. Catherine tried to imagine what it would have been like to live here. "The houses are very primitive-looking."

"They're similar to the blackhouses in the Scottish Hebrides. I visited one once. A peat fire was built in the center of the house, with the smoke wandering out a hole in the middle of the roof. A layer of smoke that would choke a horse hung three or four feet above the floor." He made a face. "Not a good place for an asthmatic."

Something moved on the right. Michael spun to confront it, the open pocketknife appearing in his hand as if by magic.

A sheep trotted out from between two collapsed houses, its jaw moving placidly. Michael relaxed and put the knife away. "That beast is lucky we haven't time to build a fire. Roast mutton would taste very good now."

"Will you settle for apples? The orchard is in good shape. The Skoalans who tend the sheep must also prune the apple trees."

"Mutton roasted with apples," Michael murmured. "Rabbit stewed with apples. Fish baked with apples."

Ignoring his whimsy, she led the way to the orchard. Even a humble apple would taste like ambrosia now.

Fuming inwardly, Haldoran made his way westward across Bone. Doyle walked stolidly on a parallel course two hundred yards away. The convict was city-bred, not a real hunter, but he was fast at reloading his master's guns, and he was a good shot if by some chance a second gun would be needed.

Haldoran's gaze roved back and forth across the island. Though intuition confirmed that he had been right to abandon the hill region, he had yet to find signs of his prey. He should have brought hounds. He would later, if necessary.

Though he didn't doubt the ultimate result, the island was large enough that the hunt could take a long time. The damned resilient grass made it almost impossible to follow tracks. And on top of that, it looked as if a storm was coming.

His temper was not improved by the knowledge that he'd been a fool to let himself be baited into agreeing to this hunt. With the laird critically ill and Catherine vanished, it wouldn't do for the laird's closest male relative to be gone from Skoal for too long. He had left a note at the castle saying that his cousin had disappeared and he'd gone to search for her, but that excuse wouldn't hold up indefinitely.

Yet even though this hunt was unwise, he couldn't really regret doing it. He had always wanted a chance to track human game, and Kenyon was a wily quarry. As for Catherine-she would have to die, of course, but with luck he would have time to enjoy her lavish charms first. Doyle would also appreciate the chance to ravish a lady after his master was finished. The thought was almost as appealing as the prospect of killing Kenyon.

He found the first clear traces of the fugitives in the fairy wood. Crushed bluebells showed that two people had halted for a time. Knowing that they couldn't be far away, he pressed forward eagerly.

The old village was ahead. If they were there, it would be easy to corner them in the little valley. Anyone attempting to flee would be exposed on the bare, grassy flanks of the hills. And with a specially designed rifle like his, the entire valley was within effective shooting range.

He motioned for Doyle to join him. Together they breasted the hill. He made no attempt to hide their approach; he liked the idea of his quarry running in terror.

He paused at the top and studied the valley floor. Then he gave a sigh of voluptuous pleasure. "Eureka."

Barely visible among the orchard trees, the fugitives were eating apples. Fools. He could kill them both from where he stood. But that would be too easy. Too quick.

Raising his rifle, he cocked the hammer and took aim. "Let's watch them run before I finish them off." Smiling, he squeezed the trigger.

The apples were good. Even better was watching Catherine's unabashed enjoyment as she finished her second apple. Michael felt an ache of protective tenderness when she licked a drop of apple juice from her lips. She was the gamest woman he had ever known, doing what had to be done without complaint and never reproaching him for having precipitated this disaster by returning to Skoal.

She swallowed her last bite. "Since it might not be wise to come back here, let's take some apples with us."

"A good idea." He stepped away from Catherine. As he stretched up for more fruit, a shot rang out. The rifle ball slammed into the tree trunk between them.

"Damnation!" Cursing himself viciously for watching Catherine instead of the hills, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the middle of the orchard. The foliage would shield them from the view of anyone above. "They'll probably come down after us, so we'll have to retreat through the village."

There was fear in her eyes, but her voice was steady when she asked, "Won't they see us if we try to leave the valley? The hills offer no cover at all."

"You're right. Though it's risky, I think the best plan is to hide in one of the collapsed houses. I noticed a likely spot earlier. With luck they'll think we managed to get out of the valley without them seeing."

Moving like shadows, they slipped through the orchard toward the village. When they reached the edge of the trees, Michael motioned for Catherine to stay while he moved forward and scanned the hillside from which the shot had come. If the hunters had separated and one waited above with a rifle, Michael would be an easy target. But both men were descending into the valley. He caught a quick glimpse just before they disappeared behind the trees. The fugitives had at most four or five minutes before the hunters finished searching the orchard and came after them.

He beckoned for Catherine to follow him. The building he had noted earlier was in the middle of the village. One wall had collapsed, leaving the other ends of the rafters supported by the back wall. Vines grew profusely over the beams to create a natural curtain.

Catherine regarded the tentlike shape doubtfully, clearly thinking that it was an obvious hiding place. He indicated the opposite side of the wall. There was a mat of vines there also, but it was so close to the ground that there didn't appear to be space to hide below. Earlier, however, he had noticed that the earth under the vines was depressed, perhaps from the collapse of an old root cellar. There should be enough room for them.

He raised the vines to reveal the little hollow below. Catherine crouched and started to crawl into the hole backward. A small creature exploded from the hole and raced away, scaring the devil out of both of them. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Then she continued backing into the space and flattened down on her stomach. He did the same, arranging the grass and vines to look undisturbed.

The hollow was damp and earth-scented, and tendrils snagged his clothing and hair, but there was, barely, enough space for two people to lie side by side. He settled against Catherine and put an arm over her shoulders. Not only did that save space, but he welcomed the opportunity to hold her. Though the earth was chilly against his belly, she was warm. Tiny gaps in the vines allowed them to see out a little. By this time they were both so earth-colored that they should be invisible from outside.

After ten interminable minutes, the hunters came down the street. The first the fugitives knew was when Doyle growled, "Where could the bastards have gone?"

"They haven't left the valley or we would have seen," Haldoran said coolly. "And they aren't in the orchard, because we just searched there. Ergo, they must be hiding here in the old village." He raised his voice. "I know you can hear me, Catherine. Come out now and I'll spare you and release Amy."

Catherine's shoulders tensed under Michael's arm. For an instant, he thought she was going to stand up and accept her cousin's offer. He couldn't blame her if she did; if Haldoran could be trusted, she would be better off surrendering than staying in this wicked hunt.

If Haldoran could be trusted. Michael would put more faith in a rabid dog.

But Catherine did not try to rise. He turned his head a fraction and saw that her face was rigid with fury. If she had a gun, Haldoran would be a dead man.

The hunters approached with soft, rustling steps. Through the gaps in the vines, Michael glimpsed boots coming to a halt. "You just don't learn, do you, darling cousin?" Haldoran drawled. "Doyle, shoot in there. It's one of the few places large enough to hide two people."

A rifle discharged and the ball smashed into the other side of the stone wall, mere inches away. Debris spattered down on the fugitives.

If both hunters had fired, Michael would have risked an assault in the hope that he could bring them both down in the moments before they could reload. But Haldoran was too canny. Only one gun was discharged, and from the sounds, it was immediately reloaded. Then a rifle barrel prodded the vines on the other side of the wall, the metal scraping against the stone.

Within the circle of his arm, Catherine was trembling. He tightened his hold. Moving with absolute silence, she turned her head a little and rested her forehead against his jaw. He felt the quick beat of her pulse under cool, smooth skin. He closed his eyes, aching for what they had so briefly shared, and for what might have been. It was hard to imagine a future.