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snow white linen was crimson with his blood.
    Looking about her at the surrounding groves of pine as she rinsed out the kerchief in the icy stream, Laura considered her next move.
    She’d delivered the blow, certain that the man must be in the service of vile Sir Arthur Courtney...or another of the English king’s deputy lieutenants. Certainly, the Tudor coin he had been tossing around when he first dragged her out of the market square had hinted as much.
    But now, looking at the insensible creature lying beside her--vulnerable and injured--Laura began to have misgivings about her earlier assumptions.
    What had he said? she thought. He had somehow been under the impression that she needed to be rescued. But rescued from whom, she wondered? And then, his final words before...well, before passing out. Laura was sure he’d said the words "message" and "sister"!
    It was conceivable that Catherine or even Adrianne had indeed hired this man to bring her a message. It was also conceivable that, seeing her in the company of those Sinclair warriors, the man thought that she needed help. Suddenly, Laura began to feel a bit queasy.
    He’d said he was a Ross. Looking at the red and black weave of his tartan, she’d learned enough about the Sinclairs’ rival clan to recognize it. The Ross clan controlled huge tracts of land to the south and west of Fearnoch. And from what she’d gathered from the Sinclairs, the two clans had been feuding over the lands to the north of Fearnoch Firth since the dark days of the Viking marauders. Quickly, she untied the scabbard of his sword from his belt and laid it aside with the man’s dirk.
    Suddenly, everything made sense. As far as her two sisters knew, she had gone not to the Convent of St. Agnes, but to a little convent connected with the Shrine of St. Duthac, just to the south in the village of Tain.
    South of Fearnoch Firth.
    South...in Ross lands.
    The revelation made her feel no better.
    Laura quickly bent down and soaked the kerchief again in the cold, clear water. As she gently cleaned the wound, she chided herself for her error. It was only natural that her sisters would contact someone from the Ross clan. And it was also natural, given the animosity between the Ross clan and the Sinclairs, that this man would think she was being held against her will.
    “Why couldn’t you explain this to me before?” She knelt over the unconscious warrior. “‘Twould serve you right if I just left you here to freeze...treating me as you did!”
    But Laura knew she couldn’t do that. In all probability, no one would be passing through this thickly wooded glen until spring. And though the blood had stopped flowing from one of the two wounds and the man’s color was improving, she had no way of knowing how long he’d be unconscious. If the cold didn’t kill him, some wild animal would certainly drag him off.
    Glancing over her shoulder, Laura saw his horse standing quietly and watching her curiously. “You won’t let me leave him here, will you?”
    The handsome steed snorted and pawed the ground.
    “Very well! Then come and help me.” Stretching one hand out toward the animal, she quietly waited until, after a moment of hesitation, the horse moved across the gravel and came right to her--rubbing his muzzle in her open hand. Taking hold of his reins, Laura got to her feet and, for assurance, tied the animal to a tree branch hanging down from the steep embankment above the rocky ledge. Two large leather bags hung across the steed’s flank, and she turned her attention to the bags’ contents.
    “We can’t take him back to your own people,” she said, pulling a plain gray blanket from one of the bags. The horse tossed his head and snorted in response.
    Laura frowned. “No matter what you say, we cannot do that. I have no knowledge of the roads leading to the south. I have no idea how far ‘tis to Tain. And besides, even if I left it to you to take us there--and we made the trip