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would
know that voice anywhere.
    The hiss of swords being unsheathed
pierced the air. No! She refused to simply go willingly.
    “You!” Froste bellowed. “Let the
woman go and come here.”
    Relief rushed through Marion as the
captain released her. The second he did, she cut her eyes at Neil. He caught
her gaze and nodded in understanding as she looked from him to the stairs that
led down to the water. The birlinn they were to take was somewhere below them,
and their only chance was to reach it.
    “Turn around, woman,” Froste
commanded.
    Marion swallowed the fear rising in
her throat. If she turned around, he’d know for certain it was her, and even if
she did escape, she knew he’d come after her. They had to chance it.
    Now, she
mouthed to Neil before she took off in blind desperation. Shouts broke out
behind her, but she reached the stairs, nearly tumbling down them in her haste.
When her feet hit the bottom step, she turned to ask Neil which way it was to
the birlinn. The question died on her lips. She was alone, and above her,
Neil’s scream of agony filled the night.
    Marion’s heart pounded in terror,
knowing she had to go back and help him. She could not leave him to Froste’s
mercy, for the man had none, but maybe, just possibly, he’d grant it this once,
as a wedding present to her. She’d only taken two steps up when Froste himself
loomed at the top of the stairs, his angular face lit by the torch he held. He
stared down at her for a long time before he closed the distance between them
and jerked her to his chest. His hand went to her chin in a painful, iron grip. He turned
her face to the left and the right before yanking it back toward his gaze.
    “I’m sorry, Marion,” he offered in
pitiless voice. “I’m simply surprised to
see you have risen from the dead. I’ve just come from your father’s and he had
informed me that you had drowned. What have you to say for yourself?”
    Marion tried to beat back the panic
rising in her chest. If Neil had not been captured, she’d try to stab Froste
and flee, yet she had to think of Angus’s cousin. “I was taken,” she said,
tears of fright coming to her eyes. “That man up there, the Scot, was going to
bring me home to Father.”
    A smirk came to Froste’s lips.
“Odd. The captain claims you were trying to flee England with the Scot. Come,
let us cut out the man’s tongue for disparaging you.”
    Froste eyed the dagger she still
clutched in her hand. “Sheathe your weapon, my dear. I’d hate for you to cut
yourself trying to use it.”
    With little choice at the moment
but to obey and fearful if she didn’t he’d take the blade from her, she
sheathed it as he dragged her up the stairs. When they reached the top, she gasped
at the sight of Neil swaying on his feet, clutching the left side of his head.
Blood streamed from beneath his fingers. He saw her and paled further. “I’m
sorry, lass,” he murmured, right before he fell to his knees and then face
forward onto the ground.
    She moved to go to him but was
pulled swiftly backward into Froste. “Leave him,” he ordered.
    “What did you do?” she
cried out .
    “I cut off the man’s ear. He’s a
thief, and that is the consequence. He was trying to steal from me.”
    “What do you think he was trying to
steal from you?” she demanded, her fury making her spit the words.
    “Why, you, of course. You are
mine.”
    She stared at Neil’s still form and
prayed the man was alive. “He was trying to help me!”
    “Yes,” Froste bit out. “Escape
England.”
    “No, I told you—”
    “Ah, yes,” Froste interrupted as he
spun her around to face him. “You claim the captain is lying. Well, then
forgive me for my error,” he offered in a cold tone as he gripped her by the
arm and dragged her over to the captain, who stood silently looking fearful.
    “What are you going to do?” she
demanded, digging in her heels uselessly.
    Froste stared at her, indifferent.
“The captain is a