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speeds they were moving, his expertise was far greater than hers. It rankled. She was good at very few things, but until today, she had met no one better on a horse.
    All of her life she had been riding up and down these hills and rarely could a man keep up with her in fear of their horse losing its footing. There were holes and hidden patches of thick muck that could instantly stop a horse traveling too fast. And yet, the huge giant and his friends seemed to be gifted with foresight. They mysteriously found the few passes that remained traversable during the wet spring weather and knew how to avoid the enticing traps of grass-covered sludge.
    The idea the dictatorial Scot and his companions could navigate terrain she knew far more intimately galled her enormously.
    Ellenor glanced at the western sky. The sun was partially hidden behind some thin clouds and maybe one or two hours from setting—more than enough time to cross the peak and enter the Lowlands of Scotland. Damn him , she cursed silently. They would be sleeping on Scottish soil, and Ellenor had no doubt the uamhlach would gloat.
    Even now, the silent triumph sparkling in the cave dweller’s eyes was maddening. Smile all you want, blue eyes, but tonight, all the laughter will be mine , Ellenor promised herself. The man may have interrupted her plans but that didn’t mean she couldn’t resurrect them.
    Two weeks ago, she had finally snuck away enough coin to buy her way into an Irish nunnery, far away from the baron, her sister, and anyone else who had ever known her. She had just been waiting for news of an arriving ship. Unfortunately, everything she needed was still at Durchent Hall. It would be a long trek back, but she could do it. Then she would disappear and, hopefully, start to forget.
    The horse weaved unexpectedly and Ellenor felt herself slipping. Suddenly, a big arm pulled her close and cradled her to keep her from falling. An overwhelming sense of security came over her. She was bound and furious about being taken somewhere without her consent, but in that instant, she also felt protected. Something she had not felt since her father had died.
    Ellenor glanced back at the large Scot and blatantly assessed him. Two thin plaits of his dark brown hair were braided along his scalp just above his ears. Both hung loose among the rich shoulder-length mass left free after he used the leather strip that had been holding it back to bind her wrists. A long white scar starting at his chin looked old and deep and terrible. His mouth was hard, set in a permanent scowl, and Ellenor tried to envision him smiling. She couldn’t do it. With high cheekbones, an arrogant nose, and an inflexible jaw covered with the growth of a day-old beard, his face matched the rest of him, cold and unforgiving. There was no softness about him anywhere. Just raw, controlled power.
    He should have terrified her. So why did he, of all people, make her feel safe? Even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer.
    He hated her.
    His eyes were the brightest blue Ellenor had ever seen, but their brilliance held no warmth. Only pain reflected back, hurt and a type hollowness one had to recognize in one’s self to see in others. Something had happened to this man. Something unmentionable. Something that had changed the very core of who he was. As a result, he despised her and all that she represented.
    That was the reason she felt safe in his arms. Her tenuous trust in the Scottish warrior, however, did not extend to his comrades.
    His brown-haired companion had been silently boring holes in her head their whole ride north. Ellenor didn’t care and held no sympathy for him or his sore groin. He should never have grabbed her. The one with wild red hair had also been stealing glances, although his looks were not one of lust, but of pity. She stank and looked unmanageable. Both states of repulsiveness had been by design, and both served a purpose. They kept men like them away.
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