“I’m not certain. I can’t possibly be certain! But I must make a decision here and now, and, Arran, I choose you.”

His gaze moved over her face. He suddenly pulled her forward and kissed her hard on the lips. “I will spend every day of my life making sure you donna regret it.” He let her go. “We move now.”

Margot twisted about. “Knox!”

Her brother was there in a moment. “I will do what I can to clear the Mackenzie name,” he assured her. “You have my word. Now let me have your word that you will write often.”

She couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing Knox again. She loved him so much, and to leave him behind, perhaps forever, was the cruelest pain.

Knox sensed it. He grabbed her, hugged her as tightly as he could across the horses. His heart was beating wildly, too; she could feel it through his coat. “Nothing is forever, Margot. Have faith.” He kissed her cheek and let her go, then turned his horse about and rode away.

“Come, mo gradh,” Arran said. He reached for her bridle and urged her horse forward. On they rode, into darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

IT TOOK DAYS before they were deep enough into Scotland that Arran felt safe. It was hard traveling—with no money, they were forced to make mean camps and hunt for food.

Margot had explained to him that she’d given his entire purse to the man who had held him captive. Arran had privately winced—it was quite a lot of money. But he would never say so to her, because Margot had saved his fool life.

She tried to force the emerald he’d given her on the occasion of their wedding into his hand. “Sell it!” she urged him. “Feed these men, these horses.”

“Aye, if it comes to that,” he said, pressing it back into her hand. “But we lads know a wee bit about surviving.”

It was Margot he fretted about. She’d thought to don the trews beneath her gown so that she could ride with some ease. But she was quite evidently exhausted, completely spent by what they’d endured. Even more alarming, she seemed devoid of any emotion. Each day that passed, her spirit became flatter, her words fewer. Arran was not a man who understood women well...but what he knew told him that when a woman didn’t speak, something was very wrong.

The return to Scotland was made interminably long by the fact they were riding as opposed to sailing, across heather and hills rarely traveled by man. The only bright spot was that Dermid began to improve. With a bit of rabbit meat in his belly, he slowly began to find some strength.