“Lord Ian,” Colin acknowledged, as Ian drew alongside. “I trust that you found good hunting at the rear of the pack?”

“Quite satisfactory,” Ian replied, flashing him a disarming smile.

He shifted his weight slightly, then faltered momentarily as the right stirrup-leather gave way.

“Damn!” he swore, as he caught his balance. “That just about finishes the hunt for me!”

He pulled up slowly to let the hunt ride on by, bending to retrieve the stirrup still hooked on the toe of his boot, and contained a satisfied smile as Colin also reined back and returned to join him. When all the riders had passed, Ian dismounted to inspect the saddle, as Colin watched with concern.

“Well, that ties it!” Ian fretted, fingering the broken strap. “I told that pig of a groom to replace this leather three days ago. I don’t suppose you have a spare, Colin?”

“I might,” Colin said as he dismounted.

As Colin rummaged through his saddlebags, Ian gazed furtively across the meadow. The timing had been perfect. Even now, the pack was pulling up in the center of the meadow, the scent lost again.

Any second now . . .

THE whippers-in were trying valiantly to bring the hounds under control, and Brion slapped his riding crop against his boot in mild vexation.

“Ewan, your pups have done it again!” he said, peering ahead. “Kelson, ride up ahead and try to see what’s happened, will you? They can’t have lost the scent in the middle of an open field. Ewan, you stay.”

As Kelson rode off, Ewan stood in his stirrups to get a better look, then sat back, muttering. In the midst of all the milling hounds and riders, it was impossible to distinguish anything at this distance, and the fiery old warrior was obviously on the verge of a tirade.

“The blasted beasties’ve gone mad!” he growled. “Just wait till I get my hands on—”

“Now, Ewan, don’t get overwrought,” Brion interjected smoothly. “It’s obvious we just aren’t destined to—oh!”

Brion broke off in mid-sentence and stiffened, the gray eyes going wide with astonishment and fear. “Oh, my God!” he managed to whisper, eyes closing as he doubled up with pain. Riding crop and reins slipped from numb fingers as he clutched at his chest and slumped forward in the saddle, stifling a moan.

“Sire!” Ewan cried.

As Brion toppled and slid from the saddle, Ewan and Rogier grabbed simultaneously for his arms and somehow managed to ease him to the ground between them. Others nearby dismounted and rushed to his aid. From somewhere, Prince Nigel appeared to wordlessly cradle his stricken brother’s head in his lap.

As Rogier and Ewan knelt anxiously on his left, Brion was wracked by yet another wave of blinding pain, and he called out weakly, “Kelson!”