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care in fitting that piece to my needs.”
    Owen laughed. “Do you think me a fool?” He arched an eyebrow.
    “I would never, my lord,” Cate mocked, feigning a breathless sigh. The raven called to her once more, signaling the time for action.
    “You aim to humor me, Cate?” Owen seemed taken aback by her bold tongue.
    “Oh, I aim to do much more than that.” Cate dug her heels into the belly of her mount. It jerked forward at the sudden change of command, severing the tether keeping her horse in stride with Owen’s. He reached for the rope, but it slid through his fingers as Cate barreled through the group of unsuspecting guards. Shadows on the ridge overlooking the road transformed into rows of men, armed only with what they could carry. They bore no armor except what they wore on their backs, but were willing to fight for her freedom. She recognized many faces and prayed for their safety. Her village couldn’t withstand the losses.
    With swords held high as she sped along the passage, the men let out a vicious battle cry. Wallace, standing tall and proud in his MacKenzie tartan kilt, cawed a raven’s cry from the top of a boulder jetting out from the ridge overlooking the road. Cate’s spirit soared.
    As she rounded a corner, her jubilance contorted into a horrific demon she had not anticipated. Her men were not alone. Before she could scream out his name in warning, Wallace was attacked from behind. He fell from the rock ledge and quickly vanished from sight as her mount completed the turn.
    Now ahead of the fight, Cate struggled against her restraints, unable to slow the horse. Defenseless and unable to dismount, she pressed her torso against the neck of the horse, tucking her head in close to its mane as arrows spit at her from above. Muscles seized beneath her. The horse shrieked as it kicked its hind legs out, bucking against the danger it sensed behind it. Glancing to the rear, Cate saw an arrow protruding from its hindquarter. Blood streamed from the wound, discoloring the ground as it stomped in wide arcs along the road, attempting to locate its attacker.
    Cate struggled to stay seated. If she were to fall off now, she would be dragged until her arms were ripped from their sockets. Frantic to free herself, she attempted to reach the knots with her fingers. Her endeavors were cut short when a rogue arrow pummeled into the flesh of the beast’s neck. It reared before toppling to the ground in a twist of legs and leather. Pinned and unable to breathe, Cate scrambled to rise as the horse unsuccessfully attempted to regain its footing.
    Not able to withstand its injuries, the horse dropped to its side. Bound to the saddle, she was destined to go down with it. It pulled against the bit, snorting drops of blood in a fine spray as it shook its head violently, tugging Cate side to side with every frenzied movement.
    A swarm of men wearing painted faces and circular shields charged with swords drawn from further up the access road. Behind her, Wallace — alive, thanks be to God — and the others crossed swords with a mix of Owen’s guards and the mysterious attackers from the ridge. Cate connected with Wallace. The fear in her eyes must have been telling, for he shoved against his attacker with a renewed purpose, flinging the man about and knocking the enemy off his feet. Wallace quickly silenced his opponent with his sword. He raced toward Cate.
    Wallace roared her name, dodging a blow as he forced his way closer to her.
    Helpless, she could do nothing but watch as a battle sprang up around her like wildfire. The horse jerked forward, and Cate careened against the saddle. Her view of Wallace disappeared. A darkness clouded her vision and an overwhelming urge to throttle something meandered to the surface.
    Pushing her frustrations aside, she set to work on the rope knots now loosened by the fallen horse. She gripped the rope between her teeth and worked on one end of the well-tied knot while her fingers