Finian couldn’t understand why the earl would know of Lady Harkirk, but from the pieces of conversation he’d overheard, he suspected that Sir Geoffrey must have carried out his threat, accusing her of conspiring against her husband.
A coldness spiraled through him. They were going to find her and bring her back to face the charges.
He couldn’t let that happen. Although he wanted to believe that his brother Brochain had taken both Lady Harkirk and Iliana safely back to Moristerry, he didn’t believe they were any match for trained soldiers on horseback.
The ropes around his wrists chafed his skin, but he’d been working on loosening them since the beginning. It kept his hands occupied, though his mind kept returning to the memory of Alys. She’d been his angel of mercy, saving his precious daughter . . . and him. He remembered her sleep-tousled brown hair and the way her green eyes had softened during lovemaking. Her body had yielded to his, and he’d loved watching her come apart.
He felt the ropes shift against his hands, and it gave him a measure of hope as afternoon drifted into evening. If he could free himself, he could go after them, protecting them from the threat of soldiers. Or if the worst happened, if they somehow found Alys, he’d lay down his life for hers.
You don’t deserve a woman like her,his conscience taunted. After all the mistakes he’d made, there was no hope of redemption. Dreams of escape, of living a life with her, were never going to happen.
His wrists were bleeding, but he felt another slight give in the ropes. Doggedly, he worked on, until the sunlight began to fade. The familiar sound of horses approaching caused him to look up, for fear that one of the search parties had located Alys.
But it wasn’t a search party. She’d come with his kinsman Alan as an escort. A large leather pouch was tied to her horse’s saddle. Her hair was veiled, and she wore a gown he hadn’t seen before. Garbed like a princess, she rode forward, and a sea of guards surrounded her as she approached the waiting earl.
The English lord’s face held satisfaction as he regarded Alys . . . almost as a possession. Finian’s hands clenched into tight fists, and he tore at the ropes behind his back. The earl wouldn’t lay a hand on her.
When she reached the earl, she dismounted, still holding the reins of the horse. “It’s been many years,” she said to the man.
“It has.” He glanced over at the others. “I understand there was a . . . problem with your husband.”
“He died in battle.” Alys’s eyes glittered with anger, but she held her composure. It was all Finian could do to remain still, watching over her.
“That isn’t what I’m told.”
“It’s the truth.” Her voice held a steadiness, and she added, “I came to ransom your prisoner.”
“Let us go in private to discuss the matter.” The earl offered a hand to her. Alys hesitated and looked back at Finian. In her eyes, he saw sadness and resignation. Did she plan to surrender herself for him?
She’d had her freedom and an escape from all of this. Why would she return? He wasn’t worthy of any sacrifice or ransom.
The earl signaled to a man to bring the pouch forward, and from the weight, it seemed that they had found the silver somehow.
Don’t,Finian mouthed, shaking his head. He didn’t want her to give a single coin for his life.
But she sent him a quiet look, one that told him she had no regrets. And when she reached for the earl’s hand, he realized that she was going to offer herself up in exchange.
No. She’s mine.
Finian shredded the remainder of the ropes, tearing himself free. He smashed his fist into a guard, seized a dagger and charged forward. Though he knew it was reckless and might do no good at all, he couldn’t stand by and let her make the sacrifice.
He shielded her, holding the dagger in one hand while he stared hard at the earl. “You’ll not take her, Monterancy. I’ll sheathe my blade in your throat before I’ll let that happen.”
“Do you know who I am?” Arrogance dripped from the nobleman’s tone. “What I could do to you?”
“Do what you want with me. But leave her alone. I’m not worth a drop of her blood.”
The expression on the earl’s face shifted to amusement. “You are right in that.”
“Finian, wait. You don’t understand—” Alys tried to interrupt him, but he silenced her with a hand.
“Take the silver, and let her go,” Finian demanded.
The earl sent a questioning look towards Alys. She stepped forward and took Finian’s hand in hers. Finian tightened his grip on her fingers, searching for a way out. Dozens of soldiers cut them off, and he knew in his heart that their only hope lay in negotiating with the earl.
The English lord crossed his arms, seemingly unconcerned by Finian’s weapon. “When I heard what happened here, I came on King Edward’s orders. A new garrison will be established to enforce the law.”
“The people here are innocent of any wrongdoing,” Alys informed him. “I lived among them for four years. My husband earned this silver by ransoming slaves and killing those who had no one to defend them.”
