"We have to, love, or his sacrifice will be wasted."

"I won't go," Amy said flatly. "You know how good I am at throwing things. I think I can hit the trolls from here."

Catherine stared at her daughter's face. There was a warrior light in Amy's eyes. She had never looked more like her father. And it was certainly true that her tomboy daughter had demonstrated a fine throwing arm when playing cricket.

As a mother, Catherine would do anything to preserve her child. Yet honor and loyalty mattered, too. A fatalistic calm descended on her. If they left without doing whatever they could for Michael, neither of them would be able to forgive herself. "Then let's gather some stones."

There was no shortage of rocks on Skoal. They collected a pile, then watched tensely as the duel continued. Catherine laid a warning hand on her daughter's arm. "If Michael is… is killed, we must run to the right, down this hill. There are enough bushes to cover us. With luck, Haldoran will think we followed the road."

Amy hefted one of the stones in her hand. "But if the colonel wins, we're ready for the trolls."

Catherine gave an anguished cry when Michael fell and his sword shattered. As the two men wrestled, there was a horrifying moment when it looked as if both would go over the edge. Then suddenly Haldoran was hurtling downward,tumbling through the air until he crashed into the pitiless, wave-tossed rocks below.

There was a moment of absolute stillness, in which the only sound was the eternal wind and the crying gulls. Then Amy wound up and threw. Her stone flew swift and true to slam into the cheek of Doyle, who was on the verge of shooting. The man bellowed and his rifle jerked, the ball kicking up dirt a yard away from Michael.

Catherine hurled her own stone. It bounced once, then hit the knee of another troll who was leveling his gun at Michael. Though the impact wasn't great, it was enough to spoil the fellow's aim. Michael crouched and began a laborious retreat toward Great Skoal, staying low to keep out of the path of the missiles.

The thundering wheels of a fast-moving vehicle sounded behind Catherine. Who on earth would be coming to Little Skoal at this hour, and at such a speed? She glanced over her shoulder and saw a wagon with half a dozen men careening toward the Neck. Then she looked back to see if Michael had reached safety.

The barrage of rocks had baffled and confused the three wounded men to the point where they were no longer a threat. Tougher and more determined, Doyle had dropped to the ground behind a large rock. The only thing visible from Catherine's position was his rifle barrel, which was swinging toward Michael. Dear God, after surviving so much, Michael couldn't be killed now, he couldn't.

The wagon stopped and a shot rang out, the report rolling across the hills. Doyle's rifle jerked. Then his body rolled out from behind the boulder, blood pouring from his skull.

A deep voice shouted, "If you others want to live to see another dawn, throw down your weapons!"

Almost beyond shock, Catherine looked up to see Davin Penrose standing in the wagon. A curl of smoke rose from the rifle in his hands. She had not realized how commanding the constable could be. How much like their mutual grandfather.

"Thank God," she whispered. "Oh, thank God." Shakily she stood and walked from the shrubbery, Amy beside her. "Michael?"

He lurched to his feet and walked the last steps from the Neck to Great Skoal. In spite of being damp, rumpled, and unshaven, he was the most beautiful sight imaginable. She embraced him, tears of relief in her eyes. He was alive. Alive.

"We did it." He hugged her back for a moment, then released her. "We took on the Napoleon of Skoal and won."

"Not we. You." She tilted her head back. There was so much she wanted to say that she didn't know where to begin.

The moment to speak ended when their rescuers approached. Most of the Skoalans went to collect Haldoran's remaining men, but Davin and another man came to the battered band of fugitives. The second fellow, a tall, fashionably dressed stranger, said, "What happened to your arm, Michael?"

Bemused, Michael looked down at a crimson-drenched sleeve. "Haldoran cut deeper than I thought when he slashed my jersey. His blade was so sharp I didn't notice." His brows came together. "What the devil are you doing here, Stephen?"

Stephen. Catherine studied him with interest. With that name and face, he had to be Michael's brother.

The duke said, "Your rather cryptic note made me decide to see what was happening here." He regarded the bloody sleeve uneasily. "Shouldn't you do something about that?"

"If you'll contribute your cravat, I'll bandage it," Catherine said to the duke.

Wordlessly he unwound the snowy length of linen and gave it to her. For what seemed like the thousandth time, she started to bandage Michael.

He gave a tired smile. "Stephen, allow me to introduce Catherine and Amy Melbourne. Nurse extraordinaire and champion hurler, respectively. That's an amazing arm you have, Amy. Your father would be proud of you."

The girl smiled with pleasure.

Catherine tied off the bandage. "I've never been so happy to see anyone in my life, Davin. How did you know to come here at such a fortunate time?"

"The laird overheard a good deal when he was semiconscious," the constable explained. "Early this morning, he woke up enough to tell me what he thought was going on."

"He's that much better? Thank heaven." Catherine draped an arm around Amy's shoulders.

Davin gave Michael a cool glance. "The laird said you're not Colin Melbourne. If this fellow is your brother, I assume your name is Ashburton."

"I'm Michael Kenyon. Ashburton is Stephen's title."

Davin's expression blanked. "As in the Duke of Ashburton?"

"Yes," the duke admitted. "But you needn't look like that. I scarcely ever bite."

Michael sighed and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. "I'm sorry about the deception, Davin. For what it's worth, the military experience is real. Catherine and I are friends from the army, which is why she asked me to accompany her to Skoal."

Before Catherine could say more, the duke said, "Instead of standing about talking, we should drive these exhausted folk back to the castle before it starts to rain again. The laird will be anxious to know what happened."

"An excellent notion," Michael muttered. He was weaving on his feet. Catherine wanted to go to him, but it was Stephen's hand that steadied his brother and helped him into the wagon.

On the ride back to the castle, Michael lay flat on the planks, his face gray and his eyes closed. Almost equally tired, Catherine sat against the side of the wagon, hugging Amy close. Quietly she told her daughter everything that had happened, including the fact that Haldoran had murdered Colin.

Amy took the news stony-faced. Her only comment was, "I wish I'd killed Lord Haldoran myself." Then she cuddled against her mother for the rest of the trip.

Catherine settled back with a sigh. Against all the odds, they had been spared. Yet underneath her relief was a rueful wish that she didn't have to face her grandfather.

Chapter 40

The laird was propped up against the pillows, looking much like his old self, when the rescued party was ushered in. "So you were in time, Davin. Well done." His gaze went to the duke. "What the devil are you doing here, Ashburton?"

"Just passing by," the duke murmured, amusement in his eyes. "Pretend I'm a fly on the wall."

Taking the duke at his word, the laird listened intently as Kevin gave a terse description of events. When the constable finished, Catherine said hesitantly, "I don't know if I'm welcome here, Grandfather, but I'm glad you're so much improved." She drew Amy forward. "This is your great-granddaughter, Amy."

The laird scowled at the girl. "Wearing breeches like your disgraceful mother. You look like her, too. Are you equally pigheaded?"

Amy raised her chin. "Worse."

"Then I expect we'll get along. Come here, both of you."

Overwhelmed with relief, Catherine went to her grandfather's bedside and kissed him. "I'm truly sorry for deceiving you."

The laird patted her hand awkwardly, then studied Amy's face. After giving a nod of approval, his gaze went to Michael, who was leaning wearily against the wall. "Since you're not Conn Melbourne, who the hell are you?"

"Michael Kenyon, formerly of the 95th Rifles."

"He's also Colonel Kenyon of the 105th," Amy added, wanting to be sure the importance of that wasn't missed.

"And my only brother," the duke volunteered.

The laird's shaggy brows rose before he retorted, "I don't care if he's a bloody major-general. Lord Michael has compromised my granddaughter."

Michael's gaze flicked to Catherine and away. "Yes."

She hated to think that all of the kindness they had shared could be reduced to the damning word "compromised." Coolly she said, "I'm a twenty-eight-year-old widow, not a girl from the schoolroom, Grandfather. Any fault is entirely mine. Mr. Harwell said you wouldn't leave Skoal to a single woman. Since Colin was recently dead, I asked Michael to masquerade as my husband. He was extremely reluctant to enter into such a deception, but I begged him to help. His behavior has always been honorable."

"I was less reluctant than Catherine implies," Michael said dispassionately. "When she saved my life after Waterloo, I gave her carte blanche to ask anything of me."