"Gag her with this," Girard commanded.

Bryson shoved a thick piece of material into her mouth and tied it behind her head.

"No, damn you!" she tried to shout, but it sounded like a moan.

"Bind her hands."

"You said you wouldn't hurt her," Bryson said.

"I said I wouldn't kill her. At least not now. But Kormad will kill your wife and son if you do not obey me. Besides that, you have just murdered five MacGrath guards. What do you think the rest of the MacGraths will do to you if we turn you over to them?"

Angelique emitted muffled shouts as Bryson tied her hands so tightly the thin rope bit into her wrists. Why had she not thought to take out her knife before opening the door?

Lachlan, where are you?

One of the men yanked her to her feet and threw a cloak around her shoulders. Dizziness overwhelmed her and she swayed. Sacrebleu! She had no chance of reaching her knife now. What would they do to her?

Girard poked his head into the corridor, then motioned them forward. Bryson guided Angelique out and along the passage to what must have been the back servants' stairwell. Very narrow. Glancing around, she saw no one about. She tried to scream or yell for help, but the sound only sounded like a loud moan.

"Quiet," Girard growled and shoved her toward the stairwell. Her feet tangling in her skirts, Angelique fell into Bryson, in front of her. He turned, catching her, and hauled her to her feet again, wrenching her shoulder. Mère de Dieu! She was going to die. Girard was finally going to get his revenge.

Stop crying, damn you. Think! But she could hardly see for the tears burning her eyes. She only stayed on her feet in the stairwell because of Bryson holding her up. How would she get out of this? She'd been in worse fixes. Or maybe not.

When they reached the kitchen, Girard waved a pistol before him. The women servants screamed and backed away. Bryson dragged Angelique, stumbling, outside into the snow of the kitchen garden, then around the side of the castle toward the barmkin and stables. The shock of an icy wind buffeting her snatched her breath. A shiver convulsed her body and stiffened her muscles. Bryson shoved her forward, keeping hold of her upper arm.

Where was everyone? She glanced wildly about for a familiar face, for someone who might help her.

They approached Kormad and the rest of the traitorous Drummagans, waiting in a protected corner, their clothes blood-spattered. No! It appeared they'd fought a battle already. How had they escaped? Two MacGrath guards lay on the ground nearby, their blood melting the snow. Nausea arose and icy tears burned her eyes. Mère de Dieu, where is Lachlan?

Kormad's gaze lit on her and he laughed.

Bastard. I will kill you.

"Now we go," Girard said.

Her legs were so stiff she could scarce walk. She stumbled and slipped on the icy cobblestones but Bryson kept her upright. The wind flung her cloak back, chilling her despite the wool dress. Through the blur of tears, she watched a few older MacGrath clansmen and lads scurry back wide-eyed as the force of Drummagans moved toward them.

"MacGrath!" Kormad yelled from behind her.

She twisted, tried to jerk away. A strong hand tightened on her arm, securing her in place as a shield in front of them. The cowards.

Lachlan and his brother appeared in the castle's portal.

No! Go back, away from danger, she wanted to shout. Then she wished Lachlan would kill both Kormad and Girard.

Kormad chuckled. "He looks very surprised."

"You damned bastards, release her now!" Lachlan demanded and drew his sword.

"Why would we be doing that?" Kormad's tone was unnaturally cheerful.

"If you hurt one hair on her head…." Lachlan spoke through clenched teeth. His face was dark and his gaze as sharp as the blade he gripped in his fist. He eased forward.

"Stop there," Girard said. With his only hand, he pressed a cold pistol barrel against her ear.

Shivers shot through her, making her teeth chatter. She clenched them together so hard her jaw ached. Mother Mary, I pray you….

"What do you want?" Lachlan growled.

"I think you ken," Kormad said.

"Release her and take me instead," Lachlan said.

Angelique shook her head. No, no! They would kill Lachlan sooner than they would her.

"I like that plan." Kormad snickered. "All of you MacGraths, lay down your weapons."

Lachlan murmured something to his brother, just behind him, then lay down his sword.

"Any daggers, dirks and pistols, too," Kormad commanded. "Tell your brother to back away and call off the men."

Non, Lachlan, imbecile!

She would rather die than lose him now.

Lachlan held up his hands in surrender and eased a few steps forward. "Release her." A blast of harsh wind carried his sharp words away and flung his hair back from his face.

"Not until you're over here."

When Lachlan drew closer, one of Kormad's men rushed out and grabbed Lachlan. He didn't fight, his eyes riveted on Angelique. "Release her!"

Something in Lachlan's face turned wild, the untamed warrior, and he broke away from the man holding his arms. He launched himself toward Angelique. A blade materialized in his hand, aimed at Girard. The quick movement knocked Girard's pistol aside. It fired in a deafening explosion by her ear. Lachlan landed on top of her on the ground. His hand cushioned her head, and his weight covered her so completely she gasped for breath.

More pistol shots exploded, swords clanged around them, shouts echoed. A battle. Her hearing was distorted, muffled. She tried to see what was happening, but Lachlan's hair curtained her face.

Mère de Dieu, please let him be well.

She screamed through the gag, but the sound emerged as a pathetic groan. Lachlan's body was a dead weight upon her. She prayed with all her might, since that was all she could do.

A moment later, Lachlan rolled off her and she inhaled great gulps of cold air into her burning lungs. But no, someone had rolled him and now dragged her by an ankle. Girard! The bastard. She tilted her head to look at Lachlan again. He simply lay on the ground, eyes closed, the warriors slashing with swords over him. Blood soaked his light hair. Was he shot in the head?

Mère de Dieu. Please, no!

She had to help Lachlan. Her bound hands lay beneath her hips and back, being raked over the cobblestones. The rope loosened. She yanked hard and tried to make her small hands even narrower so she might pull one through the ropes. Girard dragged her into the stables and closed the door against the chaotic noise outside.

Her fingers ached and burned, scraped horribly and near frozen but she didn't care. One hand slid free.

Girard attempted to yank her to her feet, not so easy one-armed, and he was no longer a strong man.

"Get up!" he demanded in French.

Pretending to pass out, she collapsed forward into a crouch. She slipped a hand beneath her skirts and drew the dagger from her calf.

When he pulled at her arm again, she rose and stabbed the blade upwards into his gut with far more force than the last time she'd attempted this move on him. Though her aching hands shook, she shoved the blade deeper.

"Aaahhch!" He staggered away from her, yanked his doublet open, and stared down at his belly where blood bloomed over his white shirt. "You bitch!" He surged toward her.

She scrambled to her feet and backed into the corner of a stall, straw beneath her feet.