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She remembered the way he'd looked at her when she rode up. There had been more than shock and sorrow in his eyes. There had been blame. And she knew that she had earned it.

It is my fault, she thought, groping her way blindly back to the bed. Whatever I touch, I spoil. If only she had not shown her fear so plainly, Alistair would never have been driven to such desperate measures to protect her. Now he was to pay for her weakness. Because of her, he had lost all claim to honor. Tomorrow he would lose his life.

If he hated her for that, it was no more than she did herself.

CHAPTER 39

There was a sort of desperate calm that came after all the tears were shed. Deirdre bathed her aching eyes and plaited her hair, dressed and walked down the stairway just in time to see the first light seeping over the trees. The courtyard was empty, the manor dark behind her. The light grew and still she stood, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, simply waiting for this wretched day to begin so she could move through each moment until it ended.

She heard the morning come, the clatter of the bucket going down into the well, the creak and groan of the rope as it was lifted. A cock crowed. The portcullis was raised with a rattle of loose chain. The servants spoke to one another in sleepy voices as they began the morning's work.

Just another day at Ravenspur. When it was done the sun would set and tomorrow it would rise again on the same scene. But the next time the sun rose, Alistair would be dead, hanged by the neck as any murderer must be.

"Mistress?"

Deirdre turned slowly toward a bent old man who smiled and touched his cap. "I am looking for Sir Alistair Kirallen."

"Then it is well you came today," Deirdre answered, hearing her own voice coming from a great distance. "Tomorrow would have been too late."

The man looked at her strangely, then nodded. "Aye, well, then I'd best be off."

"He cannot see you," she said. "Not today."

"Oh." The man frowned and scratched his nose. "Well. Perhaps then I'd best see the laird."

"He is in the chapel," Deirdre said.

"I wouldna want to interrupt his prayers," the man said, frowning.

"You won't do that. He's dead."

The man stepped back, looking at her warily. Deirdre didn't blame him. She supposed she did sound mad.

"What is your business with Sir Alistair?" she asked. "Perhaps I can direct you."

"He ordered this," the man said cautiously. "I promised I'd see to it at once."

Deirdre stared at the bit of silver in the man's weathered palm, her eyes filling as she saw the sapphire set in the twisted band.

"A ring with a blue stone," she whispered.

"Aye, that's just what he said he wanted, blue to match a lady's eyes."

"'Tis mine."

He stepped back a pace, his fist closing over the ring. "And who might you be?"

"Deirdre Maxwell."

"Oh! Aye, 'twas the name he said. Here, then, lady..."

She slipped the ring on her finger and stared at it. "He remembered. When did he speak for this?"

"Yesterday. Said he was in a hurry for it, so I—"

"Yesterday?" she interrupted. "What time yesterday?"

"'Twas fairly early when he come in," he said. "He took his time about the business and left a bit ere noon. Said he had an appointment he could not miss."