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Rhiannon dropped her gaze to the gray woolen blanket that covered Violet from shoulder to toes. She could hear the whistle of the driver as he inspected the front wheels, could feel the beat of her own heart beneath the warmth of her own blanket. She raised her gaze to the mottled gray and white sky overhead, took a deep breath, and pulled the little girl to her. Swiftly, she wrapped a second blanket around them both and she waited — waited for the refusal that was sure to come.

  Instead, another powerful shiver wracked the child's body; and then, she nestled against Rhiannon's side. She sighed, closed her eyes, and if Rhiannon wasn't mistaken, drifted off to sleep.

  Warm tears sprang to Rhiannon's eyes. Such simple acceptance had never happened to her before. Rhiannon tightened the blanket around their two bodies, cocooning their heat. She held her body rigid, not knowing what else to do, and unwilling to do anything that might make Violet move away.

  Strange emotions tumbled through her. Joy and gratitude mixed with her ever-present fear of yet another rejection. "It's going to be all right, Violet," she whispered over the girl's head. She wasn't even sure if Violet heard her. But that didn't matter. The words were spoken more as a comfort for herself.

  The driver finished his inspection and settled himself in the driver's seat. "Hang on," he warned. "This is going to be a steep descent."

  As if obeying their master, the horses jerked forward, heading down the incline with sure and steady feet.

  Rhiannon nodded, then closed her eyes as they started down the incline. Even as she kept repeating the words that they would be all right, a sense of doom nagged at her — a sensation she'd been unable to shake since her father's death. As unsettled as she felt now, she was certain the real trial of her acceptability would begin the moment she and Violet arrived at Lee Castle. Violet would be welcome, but what of her?

  To that end, she opened her eyes and started rehearsing what she would say, how she would present herself. Perhaps she did not need to reveal who she truly was. Could she assume her mother's maiden name? Would they be more likely to accept her if she did?

  So lost was she in thought that she startled when they were abruptly jerked to the left, then the right as the horse cart careened from one side of the path to the other.

  Violet stiffened and turned to face Rhiannon, her eyes huge in her pale face. Still she remained silent, but Rhiannon read the plea in her gaze.

  "I beg your pardon," Rhiannon called to the driver. "Could we please slow down?" Cool wind whipped past Rhiannon's cheeks as the horse cart continued to gain speed.

  "Sir, please slow down." Rhiannon released her hold on Violet to slide forward on the wooden seat. She tapped him on the shoulder.

  No response.

  She shook him gently.

  His body slumped sideways. His eyes stared vacantly back at Rhiannon.

  Rhiannon gasped. Her throat locked with terror. An arrow protruded from his chest. He was dead.

  The horse cart hit another bump, throwing Rhiannon hard against the left side of the cart. Violet shrieked. In the same instant, the reins slipped from the driver's hand, then disappeared over the front of the carriage to dangle freely just above the ground behind the horses' feet.

  The horses responded to the lack of restraint, picking up the pace to an even more dangerous speed. They had to slow down or they'd crash and she and Violet would likely be crushed to death.

  Rhiannon's heart thundered in her chest. She clutched the wooden cart with white-knuckled force as she surveyed the ridge for whoever had killed their driver.

  A lone horseman perched on the trail on the opposite side of the ridge, his long bow raised. A moment later, an arrow quivered in the wood above Rhiannon's hand. She threw herself back into the seat and quickly pulled Violet down into her lap.

  "Violet, I need you to lie on the floorboards." Rhiannon didn't give the girl a chance to respond. She thrust the softly sobbing child out of view beneath the simple seat.

  The cart careened from one side of the steep path to the other. The horses tossed their heads, their terrified cries mirroring Rhiannon's panic.

  She forced her thoughts to clear and her nerves to steady. She had to stop the cart. She pushed out of the rear seat and tried to make herself as small a target as possible as she made her way to the driver's perch.

  The cart slammed into the dirt wall on the left, knocking her back. Rhiannon's heart plunged and she began muttering frantic prayers beneath her breath as she once again began making her way to the front of the cart.

  Wood creaked and splintered, no longer able to support the frantic pace. The horses, further panicked by the sound, pulled hard to the right. The right rear wheel slipped over the edge of the trail. The cart dipped crazily to the side.

  As Rhiannon glanced over her shoulder to assess the damage, she saw a man on horseback racing down the path after them. His dark hair whipped around his face, a face set with determination.

  Would he help them or finish the archer's job?

  As Rhiannon was torn between stopping their wild ride and protecting Violet, the horseman maneuvered between the cart and the dirt wall. He grasped the harness of the horse on the left, and brought the cart to a jerky stop.

  The horses whimpered and their sides heaved as they pranced in place. "Well done, my beauties," the man said to the beasts. As the horses quieted, he gently stroked the long, sleek neck of the mare beside him before he released first one horse, then the other from their harness.

  That task complete, his gaze shifted. Ice-blue eyes commanded her attention. "Are you well?"

  Jolted by the unexpected concern in his eyes, Rhiannon sat absolutely still. The man did not have the sinister look of a murderer, nor did he have the rugged, hungry look of a thief. Instead, he carried himself like a nobleman.

  Rhiannon stared at the stranger for what seemed like half an eternity. Dark hair framed his face and fell to his shoulders — shoulders that were broad and sculpted beneath a finely tailored linen shirt.

  A whistle followed by a sharp thwack ripped Rhiannon's attention from the stranger to the arrow imbedded in the seat beside her.

  "Get down," the stranger commanded as he leapt from his horse and was at her side in a heartbeat. He grasped her hand.

  "Nay," Rhiannon cried, pulling out of his grasp.

  "You careless fool," he thundered, gripping her by the shoulders this time.

  She wrestled free. Then scooping Violet into her arms, she thrust the little girl at the man. "Take her."

  He accepted the bundle of arms and legs, then crouched to place her safely on the ground behind the cart.

  While he did, Rhiannon stood and jumped down before the archer could get another shot at her.

  Why would anyone be after her? Even as the thought formed, she already knew the reason. She was a Ruthven. A bad seed. One of which her countrymen had no doubt finally decided to rid themselves.

  An arrow whizzed past her head. Rhiannon shrieked and ducked.

  "Back here," the stranger commanded. Before she could take a step, he was beside her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, then guided her to the back of the cart.

  Rhiannon could only follow his lead, so overwhelmed was she by the feeling of safety that his arms around her brought. Was that how Violet had felt earlier?

  "Stay down," he commanded, as he cradled her in his arms. Rhiannon could see the archer from between the wheels of the cart. The dark rider drew another bow.

  "There is nowhere for us to go." Rhiannon's breath hitched in her chest, from the stranger's nearness or from fear she did not stop to examine.

  "Don't give up so easily, my sweet," he whispered beside her ear. She felt the warm caress of his breath against her skin. He smelled of musk and mint. He tucked the top of her head beneath his chin, and she felt small but safe cradled in his arms.

  The archer aimed to strike, then lowered his weapon at the sound of a dozen or more horses racing toward them.

  "My warriors," the stranger explained as h
e turned her in his arms. He smiled.

  The archer put his heels to his horse's flanks and vanished over the lip of the ridge, the stranger's men in pursuit. "'Tis not every day one finds a maiden in distress." His smile deepened the roguish cleft that divided his chin.

  And even though he smiled, a glance into his light eyes warned her that he was not a man who followed any rules other than those of his own making. There was something raw and primitive about him. Something reckless and sinful that made her heart pound and sent her blood singing through her veins.

  "My services are yours to command, milady. How may I be of help?"

  The pile of blankets flipped back. Violet emerged. "Uncle Camden?"

  Any warmth she'd imagined in the stranger's eyes vanished as his gaze shifted between herself and the young girl. "Violet?"

  He pulled away from Rhiannon to embrace the child. "You're safe." His tone was raw.

  His gaze flicked back to Rhiannon. He said nothing. He stared. Hard. Only the square ridge of his jaw betrayed the control it was taking to keep his anger in check. "How, milady, do you happen to have possession of my lost niece?"

  "Your niece?" Rhiannon straightened beneath his punishing gaze. "I am but her escort, milord. And her appointed nursemaid."

  "Appointed by whom?"

  "Mother Agnes of Taturn Abbey."

  He narrowed his gaze. "Violet, does she speak the truth?"

  Rhiannon tensed. The girl could disagree, and Rhiannon would be punished. She flinched away from the pair. Was he the kind of man to take a lash to her back as her own brothers had, or would he lock her in a dark dungeon instead? Should she run, and take her chances alone?

  Rhiannon sat back on her heels, ready to sprint when Violet threw herself into her arms, clinging to her and nearly knocking her over.

  "She saved me from the bad man. And she's my friend."

  Rhiannon returned the girl's hug with stiff arms. She hadn't expected that response. Violet hadn't said a word to her since they'd left the abbey.

  "I see," the stranger said, the anger clearing from his gaze. His gaze moved back to Violet. He ruffled the chaotic mess Violet's golden curls had become. "You are a brave girl." He lifted the child away from Rhiannon and into his arms, then whistled for his horse. The beast promptly reported to his master's side. "Hold on tight," he cooed to Violet as he set her atop the animal. "We will ride the rest of the way to Lee Castle on horseback."

  The stranger stopped beside the horse cart, and passed his hand over the driver's face, closing his eyes. "Why, milady, would someone be trying to kill you?"

  Rhiannon stood. She swallowed hard. How could she possibly explain to this man who she was, who her family was, without him also judging her the way everyone else in her life had? The name of Ruthven closed people's minds.

  Honesty was a virtue. Mother Agnes would disapprove of any lies. "I'm not at all certain he was after me."

  The stranger frowned once more, and she could see the doubt in his eyes. "Hmmm," he responded. He stepped away from the horse cart to one of the horses that had pulled the vehicle. "Do you ride?"

  "Aye." She'd spent much of her childhood on the back of a horse, riding the woods near their home, alone. It was the one thing her father never reprimanded her for. He'd even seemed pleased that she had as much, if not more, skill with the beasts as her brothers.

  The stranger brought one of the horses to her side. Before he could offer her a hand up, she swung easily onto the horse's bare back.

  He said nothing, but a hint of admiration shone in his eyes. Then he turned away, busying himself with securing the body of their driver to the back of the third horse. He had just completed the task when hoofbeats echoed at the top of the ridge.

  His men had returned.

  The stranger mounted his horse behind Violet, then secured the reins of the other horse to his saddle. They held their position until a tall, elegant man rode up beside Violet and the stranger. "Lord Lockhart," he greeted with a nod. "We lost the archer when he fled into the woods."

  Lord Lockhart nodded. His gaze held a shuttered watchfulness as he studied Rhiannon. His intense scrutiny sent a shiver of fear down her spine. "The man won't return anytime soon. Besides, we have the prize he was after."

  "What prize?" the slim man asked. He shifted uneasily on his horse when his gaze lit upon the driver's body, and then he stared at Rhiannon.

  Lord Lockhart ignored the question clearly written on his friend's face about who she was. He playfully jostled his niece's hair. "Orrin, do you remember Lady Violet?"

  Orrin's eyes went wide. "Your niece? She's grown since I saw her last. Praise the saints. But how?"

  "She is safe. That is all that matters." Lord Lockhart wrapped his arms around his niece and nudged his horse forward, sparing Rhiannon not so much as a glance. "Let us return home. Once there, we can explore the issue more fully."

  "Agreed," Orrin replied. He positioned his horse next to Rhiannon's on the trail, then signaled the men to fall in behind them.

  As both men ignored her, Rhiannon did the only thing she could do, sit quietly by and follow where they led. As the moments ticked by, the terror of her ordeal along with the biting cold seeped through what remained of Rhiannon's defenses. She started to shake uncontrollably. No matter how hard she tried to force her limbs to still, she could not stop the shudders that wracked her body. She'd almost been killed, and now she was powerless and in limbo again.

  She had no illusions about why someone wanted her dead. But why now? She'd been relatively unprotected for days after her father died, as well as when she'd sought shelter at the abbey.

  Why did whoever wanted her dead wait to strike just when she'd started to believe she had a chance to start over?

  Rhiannon and the others rode through the iron gate of Lee Castle as the sun painted the horizon a deep scarlet. The first of the stars winked overhead and the ground reflected the creeping shadows of dusk.

  Rhiannon's body ached from an untold number of bruises she'd no doubt received when she'd been slammed against the sides of the cart, and her temples throbbed in rhythm with the beat of her heart.

  As they progressed through the bailey toward the keep, Lord Lockhart's mood darkened until it matched the impending nightfall.

  The castle servants streamed from the door, lining up along the bottom of the stair to the keep as if following some ritual of greeting their lord upon his return. It was something that had never happened at her father's country house.

  Lord Lockhart reined to a stop before them and dismounted. An older woman, most likely his chatelaine, stepped up to his horse to receive Violet who had fallen asleep on their journey. "Place her in the nursery, and prepare the room next to it for our other guest."

  The woman assessed Rhiannon without a hint of friendliness in her gray eyes.

  Rhiannon held her head high, refusing to let the woman see how intimidated she was beneath the hard stare. The once fashionable gray traveling gown Rhiannon wore was covered with splatters of mud beneath the wings of a light woolen cape. Her hair was pulled back from her face and protected by a muslin cap trimmed with lace. The small gray hat that used to cover the cap had been lost at some point during the wild journey here.

  Rhiannon dropped her gaze to her hands — her bare, work-roughened hands. She would have worn gloves had she had them, as a proper lady should. But when had she ever been a proper lady? Rhiannon swallowed thickly, certain at any moment the woman would send her away.

  "Thank you, Mistress Faulkner. That will be all," Lord Lockhart's voice broke through the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over those assembled in the courtyard.

  Without speaking a word, the woman nodded, then slipped up the stairs with Violet tucked safely in her arms.

  "Milord," an older man said in a tight voice. He stepped forward from those gathered.

  "Bertie," Lord Lockhart's dark mood faded, and a smile brightened his face. "You are looking much improved. Your injuries worried me when w
e left—"

  "How could you?" the man interrupted.

  Lord Lockhart's frown returned. "Explain yourself, Bertie."

  "How could you bring that woman into this castle in anything but irons?"

  Rhiannon felt her face pale beneath the older man's glare. Her breath stilled in her chest and the world around her wavered.

  "How could you bring a Ruthven into this castle?"

  Chapter Four

  "What do you mean, a Ruthven?" Lord Lockhart erupted.

  Bertie's eyes narrowed as he pointed at Rhiannon. "The lass is a Ruthven. Although she is fair where her kin are mostly dark, you can see it in her eyes, and in her chin. A Ruthven stands before us, by all that is holy."

  Lord Lockhart's light, penetrating gaze shifted to her. "Correct the man if he is wrong," he demanded, striding toward her. He unceremoniously gripped her ankle and yanked her from her horse, imprisoning her in the hook of his arms before she could tumble to the ground.

  Rhiannon caught her breath and stared up at him.

  "Explain yourself." He pulled her against the hard contours of his body. His eyes demanded her full attention, insisted on the truth. She was only dimly aware that the others had closed in around them as though protecting their master from a threat. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. He held her too close, demanded too much.

  "Are you suddenly mute? Or does your silence damn you?" he asked, his voice cracking with anger.

  Rhiannon jerked out of his grasp. She took several halting steps back, creating some distance from him, but she still felt penned in by the others.

  "I am Rhiannon Ruthven."

  Lord Lockhart stared at her for a long, taut moment. Bewilderment flared in the depth of his gaze. "A female Ruthven?"

  Rhiannon straightened beneath his regard. "The last."

  "But a Ruthven nevertheless."

  She tightened her jaw, prepared for the onslaught of insults certain to follow.

  "The abbess knew who you were, and still she entrusted you with Lady Violet's care?" His voice was low and deceptively silky.

  "Not all people judge others by their name alone."