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force than necessary to halt the men behind him while he came closer to the fire. “We had nigh given up hope.”
    “Milord,” she said with the barest of curtsies.
    He swung down, swept off his hat and fanned the snow at her feet into a white whirl as he made his bow. “The others were for turning back an hour ago, but I would not have it. You would be found, so I told them, found safe and well.” His eyes were tense at the corners, as if he had doubts about the last.
    The smile she gave him was brief. “As you see, though for the last I am indebted to Henry’s Scots guest. I believe you are acquainted with Ross Dunbar?”
    Contempt flickered over Trilborn’s face as he nodded in Ross’s direction. “I would ask how he came here before us, but he has ever had the devil’s luck.”
    She could have allowed it to be assumed that the Scotsman had come upon her only that morn. Common sense dictated the polite lie. Her conscience would not allow it.
    “The good fortune was mine in this instance,” she said in clear tones. “Had he not been here, I might have been taken by forest outlaws or died from the cold during the night.”
    The men who had pulled up behind Trilborn exchanged glances, muttering among themselves. The earl stiffened and his hand went to the hilt of his sword, which swung from its scabbard worn low on one hip. “He has been here with you all this time?”
    “Of a certainty,” she answered in disdain. She would not be affected by the suspicion she could see being levied against her. No, not at all.
    “You might have done better, I should think, to take your chances with the outlaws.”
    “Sir!”
    Ross moved with negligent, muscular grace to take a stance at her side. “What he means to say, Lady Catherine,” he drawled, “is that he would have preferred it. No gentleman enjoys knowing that his enemy has been overnight in company with his lady.”
    The glance Cate shot the Scotsman was scathing. “I am not his lady, nor am I likely to be.”
    “Through no fault of his own, I’ll be bound,” Ross replied for her alone. “Don’t tell me here’s another man you would save from the curse of the Graces?”
    “Have you no idea who this man is?” Trilborn demanded, slapping his hat against his well-hosed lower leg. “His family has been the scourge of the Scots march that borders Trilborn lands for a hundred years or more, Scots vermin who dare to abduct Trilborn women, steal away Trilborn villeins, Trilborn cattle.”
    “Aye, and can nay persuade them to go back home again,” Ross said, grim humor lacing his exaggerated Scots burr.
    Trilborn clenched his hand on his sword hilt as if he meant to draw it. The Scotsman merely swung out his arm, showing his sword already in his fist, its tip resting on the ground, while half its length was revealed from behind the skirt of his plaid.
    “Your grandsire kidnapped my grandmother,” Trilborn declared in a growl.
    “Indeed he did, to ransom ten young girls your own grandsire carried off after burning their village.”
    “He put his bastard get in her belly.” Trilborn shook his hat at Ross.
    “That he did, as he found her winsome and easy tolove. He’d not have given her up except for the pleas of his people, who longed to see their girl children. Yet he kept her until the child was born so your grandsire could not kill the babe. And a good thing it was, too, for he certainly killed its mother when she was returned.” Ross glanced at Cate. “My own grandmother had died years before, you know. My grandfather so regretted giving up the Trilborn lady, mourned her death so deeply, that he never took another woman.”
    “Certainly not another Trilborn,” the English lord declared.
    Ross snorted in hard contempt. “Nay, though two Dunbar wives were then kidnapped in retaliation and returned in such desperate shape that one drowned herself and the other entered a convent.”
    “What of the child?” Cate asked, because she could not help