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cover of the woods on the other side.
    Once they were a sight distance from the tree line, the man upended her with a grunt, putting her back onto her feet. Sibyl pushed an already tangled mass of auburn hair away from her face and glared up at him. He didn’t smile, but his eyes danced, clearly amused at her stance—hands on her hips, face upturned—and the words that came tumbling out of her mouth.
    “You bumbling idiot! You could have killed us both!” she snapped. “I didn’t ask for your help. Do you understand me? I don’t want your help! No! Go! Away with you!”
    She shooed him away like an annoying fly but the man didn’t move. He just looked down at her with those devilish blue eyes.
    “Goodbye! Mar sin leibh!” She didn’t know many phrases in Scottish Gaelic, but she had learned a few from Moira. Hello, goodbye, please and thank you. So she said the words, hoping he would understand, and from the look on his face, it was clear he got her meaning. “I’m going! Mar sin leibh! Goodbye!”
    She turned and stalked off, getting as far as the nearest tree before he grabbed her again.
    “Will you stop that?” she cried, pushing at his arms as they encircled her and turned her to him. “No! Chan eil! Chan eil!”
    She repeated the Gaelic word for no, seeing the frown on his face at her protest.
    “Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips, shaking his head.
    “Chan eil,” she objected again, but this time, the word came out in a mere whisper. “No… please…”
    “Tha.” His thumb traced her jawline as he looked down at her, the sunlight dappled across his face and chest. She knew the word— tha . Yes. It meant “yes.” Sibyl felt her breath quicken as the stranger traced her lips with one finger, his gaze falling to her mouth, then to her throat, then further down still, to the way her breasts nearly overflowed the top of her disheveled dress.
    “Tha,” he said again, lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. So blue. His eyes were so blue. “Yes.”
    “You… you speak English?” she whispered, cocking her head at him in wonder. “Who… who are you?”
    A howl from deeper in the forest startled them both and the hair on the back of Sibyl’s neck stood up. Perhaps the animal’s howl was in response to the dogs, because they were barking across the river, sniffing up and down the shoreline, searching for their scent. The men weren’t far behind. They were closing in.
    “The wolf,” she gasped, stepping instinctively closer to the stranger, and he encircled her with one arm, pulling her close against his big frame. She lifted frightened eyes to his, knowing the animal was wounded, that it might attack them, even now. And Alistair’s men were close—too close. “It’s the wolf!”
    “Nuh.” He said the word in English, but his brogue was thick as he met her eyes. “A wulver.”
    “A… wulver.” She swallowed, trembling in his arms, and before she knew it, the stranger once again had her thrown over his shoulder, carrying her deep into the forest, but this time, Sibyl didn’t speak a word of protest.
     
     

Chapter Three
    She bounced around on his shoulder as he made his way deeper into the woods but Sibyl was far less concerned about the bruises she was going to have all over her body than she was about the sound of dogs at their back and the howl of the wolf that grew louder with every step. He was taking her away from one threat, but they were heading straight into another. The stranger, however, didn’t seem very concerned about that.
    Sibyl was starting to get nauseous, traveling upside down, with only a view of the forest floor and her captor’s tartan plaid. She clutched that garment for dear life, amazed at how fast the man could travel, with little sign of exhaustion or even slowing. And then, he stopped. It was so sudden, she clutched at him, afraid of what might have immobilized him so quickly. She couldn’t see around him.
    “Laina.” He said the word, but Sibyl