“The lad needs my horse,” Cain said, looking up at her, his face grim.

“Do not touch me,” she said, glancing about before kicking her leg over. She dropped to the pebbled dirt in a crouch and stood, hands fisted and raised.

He considered her stance and then turned away to stride toward a large structure, signaling to several of his men who carried a body wrapped in plaid. She swallowed, lowering her arms. His father.

Everyone stared at the body and not at her. Did Cain Sinclair think her coward enough to follow after him without being forced? Fool. Without further thought, she took several steps backward and turned, walking briskly back the way they had ridden. The portcullis was still raised. She would grab Gilla and flee.

“Ella Sutherland.” The deep voice from behind shot dread through her, kicking her heart into a gallop. She leaped into a run, but no less than six Sinclair warriors slid themselves before the open portcullis, swords drawn. If she continued to run at them, would they slice her through, saving her from torture and rape? Immediate death could be her way out, but the thought of Jamie’s worried face flashed through her mind, slowing her steps until she stopped before the wall of warriors and swords. Some frowned; others looked amused.

“Ella Sutherland,” Cain repeated from right behind her as she inhaled and exhaled quickly from her run. “Ye are not a guest here to decide when ye leave. We have business in the great hall.”

Business? She swallowed down the fear nearly choking her as her heart hammered at her breastbone. Would all four Sinclair horsemen take their vengeance out on her? She turned slowly on her boots, finding her voice. “You think I will walk obediently toward torment and execution?”

His lips pursed as if in thought for a moment, lips that she remembered were deceptively pleasant to kiss. “I plan to wed ye, not kill ye.”

Stomach knotted, she forced herself to breathe fully, summoning the anger to beat back her fear. She met his eyes with fire in her own. “Same thing.”

He smiled broadly, the action at odds with the blue woad and blood marks still splattered across his face and the coolness in his blue eyes. “Ye are a prisoner without choice in the matter of your life, and I have decided your fate, which does not include death.”

She glanced about the perimeter. Certainly there was a blade sitting about that she could fall upon. Her heart pumped like the hard beat of a bird’s wings as she contemplated her end.