Incredibly, she thought she saw the merest hint of laughter in Jamie’s one good eye. In that instant, she knew she had to defend the man she loved, even though he had betrayed her, and hoping for the element of surprise, she lunged at Dunnigan with her knife raised high.

A hard slap across the mouth sent her flying backward. There was an anguished grunt as Jamie’s foot wreaked vengeance on Dunnigan for the blow, and then Bliss’s head struck the hard, frost-laced road and the world receded into a darkness shot through with silver sparks.

As her vision cleared, she saw a dog hurl itself at Dunnigan, snarling like a wolf from hell. The brigands scattered as their leader struggled against the furious beast, screaming for help.

The bleating sound was all around Bliss. She sat up, dazed, and looked about her in bewilderment. She was surrounded by woolly, fretful sheep. And dear lord, how her head ached—

A white-haired man with a coarse, bushy beard was crouched amid the sea of confused animals, a shepherd’s staff in his hand. If he’d been wearing a velvet cloak, he would have looked rather a lot like Father Christmas. “Dog!” he commanded sharply. “That’s enough!”

The animal stepped back, allowing Dunnigan to scramble to his horse and escape.

“Jamie?” the old man was saying. “Jamie boy, can you hear me, lad? It’s Cutter.”

Bliss scrambled to her feet and waded through the sheep. “Is he—is he dead?” she choked out.

The elderly shepherd shook his head. “No, but he’s hurt bad. Help me get him into the wagon, lass—we’ve got to take him someplace warm and see to him proper.”

Jamie was lying still on the ground, and despite the fact that he’d virtually thrown her to the wolves, Bliss was moved to true despair by the sight. She sank to her knees beside him, heedless of the sheep and the man who called himself Cutter.

The beggar’s badge lay in the bloody hair that matted Jamie’s chest, catching the wintry glint of the sun, and he stirred when Bliss touched his battered face. “Oh, Jamie,” she whispered in an anguish as great, in some ways, as his. “Why? Why would anyone want to do this to you?”

Jamie opened his eyes then, tried to speak, and failed. Gently, his fingers caressed Bliss’s swollen cheek.

“You’re going to have to walk if you can, boy,” Cutter told him with a stern sort of affection. “You’re too big for me and the lass to carry.”

The hint of a rueful smile touched Jamie’s mouth. “Aye,” he croaked out. “Just ’elp me up, me friend. I can make it as far as the wagon.”

“And that’s all I’m asking of you, mate,” Cutter assured him. With Bliss’s help, he hoisted Jamie to his feet.

The strangled cry Jamie gave at the resultant pain made tears sting Bliss’s eyes, but she fought them back. This was no time for sniveling; Jamie needed her.

Getting their moaning, half-conscious burden into the back of the wagon was a hellish task for both Cutter and Bliss, seeming to take forever. By the time he was settled, Bliss was wet with perspiration and breathing in short, desperate gasps.