“Ye don’t look overly surprised to see me, m’lady.” Allistair was grinning as he eased to his feet. Reaching down, he pulled her up to stand as well.

“Mayhap that is because I am not terribly surprised.”

His smiled slipped slightly, but he got no chance to question her, for Greenweld stormed into the clearing just then, his bald head shining in the sunlight and his florid face eager. That eagerness fled, replaced by fury, when he recognized Iliana.

Her captor came charging out of the cave just then and ran straight into the path of his lord’s rage. Catching the man by the back of the neck, he dug his fingers into the tender flesh there and shook him violently. “What is this? I told you to bring Lady Wildwood, not her whelp!”

“Mother was not available,” Iliana said with feigned sweetness when the man’s mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out. “He had to make do with me.”

She had expected her words to anger Greenweld; ’twas why she said them. Still, it took her by surprise when he suddenly released his man and swiftly closed the distance between them. Iliana took an instinctive step backward as he approached, but she was not quick enough to avoid the blow he gave her. He used enough force to send her stumbling backward to the ground again.

“I shall take no sass off of you, brat! Do not make the mistake of thinking I will.”

Iliana drew a hand across her mouth, grimacing at the blood staining her fingers when she took it away, then got slowly to her feet once more. Facing him again, she shrugged with false bravado. “And you shall have neither Dunbar nor my mother. Do not you make the mistake of thinking you will.”

He drew his fist back again and Iliana prepared to dodge the blow this time, but Allistair tugged her roughly to his side and out of reach before either could finish their action. “Let her be. She is my problem. Treat Lady Wildwood as you will, but Lady Dunbar is mine.”

Greenweld glared at the Scot for his interference, then wheeled away and applied his fist to his man instead, slamming it into his jaw and sending him stumbling backwards to the ground. Bending down, he grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and jerked him back to his feet, giving him a shake as he roared, “You were to open the passage yesterday.”

“I tried,” the man blurted quickly, forestalling the fist that was rushing toward his face again. “Really, I did, my lord. It was his directions.” He pointed a shaking finger accusingly at Allistair.

“I told ye ’twas the darkest stone to the left of the fireplace, Hugh,” Duncan’s cousin muttered with open disgust.

“They are all dark. They are soot-stained.”