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had saved him from certain death. He untangled himself with grim determination.
    He rose empty-handed, covered with small scratches, those large paws of his once more clenched into fists. Never once did he take his accusing gaze from her, and she edged backwards as if faced with a wild animal.
    “There you are.” Wyatt’s familiar voice called out.
    Brighid whirled, never so glad to see anyone in her life, barely resisting the urge to throw herself at him.
    “Is there a problem?” Wyatt’s voice lowered in challenge when he halted the horses and surveyed the scene. His attention settled on Brin, and he smiled even as his eyes bled to gray.
    Brin retrieved the axe, never allowing his attention waver from Brighid. “She tried to kill me.”
    “What?” Wyatt looked incredulous. “Her hands are tied, she’s unarmed, and twenty feet away from you.” Wyatt gave the big man a once-over, raising a brow. “You’re the one hefting the axe.”
    “I know what happened.” Brin straightened to his full height, his voice uncompromising.
    Wyatt paused, his eyes sweeping the scene again. “Exactly how did she try to murder you?”
    “She made the tree topple, almost crushing me under its weight.” Brin’s expression never wavered.
    “The tree you’ve been chopping fell, and you blame her?” With a snort of disbelief, Wyatt dismounted and approached Brighid, escorting her to his horse. “Come.”
    “I made only a handful of swings, not enough to bring it down,” Brin protested, aiming the axe at Brighid. “The witch waved her arms and it collapsed.”
    Wyatt sighed in exasperation. He marched over to the splintered tree and reached down into the trunk. With one touch, the brittle trunk crumbled like dust. “The wood is rotten. Isn’t that why you decided to chop it down in the first place?”
    Brin was slow to reply, contemplating the question as if expecting a trap. “Aye.”
    “Those swings weakened it. The weight of the tree alone was enough to topple it.” Wyatt made it all sound so logical. He winked as he strode toward her, the action so quick and out of place that she thought she might have imagined it. His continual defense baffled her, and she stared at him in complete bemusement.
    Until she saw Brin.
    She stiffened, uncomfortable under his intense regard. The two of them knew what really happened, even if it had been an accident. Nothing Wyatt could say would alter the truth.
    “You should have let her die at the stake. Mark my words, she’ll bring you nothing but trouble.” The big man turned and disappeared into the trees without waiting for a reply.
    “Superstitious fool.” Wyatt shook his head ruefully, dismissing the incident.
    Brighid swallowed hard, not expecting the casual dismissal. The weight of her secret pressed down on her and with it, the shame of her inability to control her gifts. She traced the symbols on her staff, avoiding his gaze.
    “He’s right. You should release me before anyone else gets hurt.” Her heart wrenched at the thought of Wyatt being harmed.
    Wyatt laughed and tossed her into the saddle. “You’re no witch.”
    She took a deep breath and blurted out the truth. “Not a witch, a Druid.”
    His laughter turned into a cough when he saw she was serious. “A what?”
    Brighid refused to wilt under his regard, pride forcing her shoulders back. “I was raised as a Druid.”
    “Raised?” He stretched out the word, as if unsure he wanted to hear the reply.
    She nodded at the fallen tree. “I did that.”
    Wyatt laughed in genuine amusement, and she wanted to smack him.
    “The tree was rotten. It would have fallen on its own.”
    “You—”
    “Enough.” He stalked to the waiting horse, settling himself in the saddle. With one hand, Wyatt gathered their reins and led the horses through the trees on a path only he could discern.
    “But—”
    “We’ll discuss it further when we reach the house. Our main priority is to get you somewhere safe. This incident is