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death.
    “Your blood for those slain at your word, Seer. Prepare for death.” The attacker shifted, rising up as though preparing to plunge the blade with more weight behind it. “Open your eyes, and see who brings your death.”
    There was not time to explain the futility of it, and part of him wished he could look on the face of the one who would release him from the torment in which he lived. But knowing the horror that would be seen there, Connor clenched his eyes closed more tightly.
    “Open them, pig,” the order came again, whispered gruffly.
    The dagger slit the skin at his neck as if to force him to obey. The voice was definitely a woman’s; he could hear it now, even though she tried to hide it in the hoarse whisper she used. By God, they stooped to using women now. Was he so valuable to Diarmid and his enemies so desperate that they would draw a woman into their plans?
    When he did not open his eyes, she did not delay, burying her blade into his chest. The searing pain of the dagger slicing through ribs and muscles wracked his body. He did open his eyes then, stunned at the feeling of his blood gushing out and soaking through his tunic and cloak. As he lost consciousness, he tried to see her face and let her see his.
    The shrill scream pierced his stupor, but did not rouse him completely. She pulled the dagger from his chest, and still she screamed. Some part of him knew the horror she’d seen in his eyes and knew it was the source of her torment. Her cries drew attention from outside, and Connor was aware of the struggle as her weight disappeared from his chest and Ranald’s concerned voice whispered to him to close his eyes.
    Darkness followed then, with all manner of sounds filling it. Connor knew he was losing his battle to stay awake, but the questions about this woman and her involvement plagued him even this close to death. If he did not die, he wanted to know the truth. When he could, he forced the words out, giving Ranald one final order.
    “I want her alive,” he gasped, shocked at the amount of pain just speaking caused. “She is mine.”

Chapter Four
    T he first two times he attempted it, he could see nothing, for the cloth placed by Ranald blocked his sight, as well as the view of anyone who would look upon him. The third time, the blindfold was gone, and a dull light broke into the darkness. Ranald spoke to him.
    “Will I live?” Connor asked, as he felt Ranald’s hand beneath his head, lifting it so he could sip at the cup now at his mouth. He tried to reach the place on his chest that burned and ached, but his hands would not obey him.
    “You may, my lord. ’Twas a near thing though.”
    “The girl? Where is she?” The cup was tilted, and he was forced to drink and wait on Ranald’s answer. “I asked where she is, Ranald.”
    His servant moved away for a moment, and Connor tried to pull himself up on his bed. Waves of pain stopped him from trying it a second time.
    “They are holding her nearby, my lord,” he finally answered. “Though I confess I do not understand why you are even concerned over the bitch. She tried to kill you!”
    “Ranald? Is she alive?” He had a bad feeling about this.
    “Perhaps, though in the five days since she attacked you she may have died. I have not seen her in that time.”
    Five days had passed? “Get her now,” he ordered in as strong a voice as he could muster. “Now.”
    “Lord Diarmid has other plans, my lord.”
    The damn servant began walking away, intent on disobeying his orders and on letting the girl die. He knew Diarmid’s methods and knew the men who would carry them out, and even with his attacker being a woman, they would show no mercy in their quest for information.
    Though his liege, lord, and host, Lord Diarmid did not have the right to take her life while he still lived and ordered otherwise. Not while he needed to know the reason for the attack. And her identity.
    Gathering his strength, Connor rolled to his side and