"Gavynn ... please! Doona' leave me!"

His brother was at full-out screaming, although it was mostly muted. Gavynn didn't look. There wasn't any way to change it. The night was sending blocks of stone to pepper the sodden ground about them. It was due to luck that only more mud-tainted water hit Gavynn. He pulled at the woman, transferring his hand to a slender wrist, squeezing with intent. It wasn't necessary. She wasn't fighting. She was helping.

Once they reached the hill at the back of Castle Dillbin, she was the one pulling at him, forcing him up the steep sides and on to the moor; leading him to the largest horse ... and then heralding his weakness by standing docilely at his side.

Everyone felt like they were watching for him to somehow get astride his stallion, Crusader, force the wench up there with him, and do it without succumbing to the chasm of faintness opening in front of him.

"He needs assist?"

One of the hired men asked it. There was a thump as someone silenced him. The remark was ill-advised. Gavynn slit his eyes. Concentrated. Willed away the effects of a night of work, getting hit by a chunk of masonry, and then forced to run uphill with little ability to gain breath. He refused to submit to anything as defenceless as a swoon. He was laird of Clan MacEuann. He hadn't gained that through weakness. Gavynn pulled in short huffs of air and watched the wash of blur turn into horsehair again.

"Well, that horse is a handful to mount. And hell to ride."

"I've got it in hand, lads." Gavynn still held to the saddle.

"What of the woman?"

"Her, too," Gavynn answered.

"How do you ken she's hell to ride?"

One of the mercenaries joshed it. The woman at Gavynn's side stiffened. "I'll answer that slur on ... the morrow. With fists. Now mount!"

Hurt thumped through his chest, but nothing felt broken. Bruised. Pained. But not broken. As was just and right. He'd be hell-bound before he let a Sassenach castle kill him. He turned to the wench. She was watching him with an unblinking gaze. As if she knew he was staying upright by willpower. That was disconcerting.

"Can you ride?" He lowered his voice to ask it.

She tilted her head back a bit, allowing night-cast light to caress and mould her features. Showing off beauty. There was worse than eyes that seemed to look deep into a man. Even in a rain-filled night he knew how much worse. This wench was bonny enough to cause argument and dissent. If Gavynn was too weak to stop it.

He set his jaw. Looked her over dispassionately. She had use: Iain's release. For that she had to remain unmolested and safe. And he had to guarantee it.

"Well?"

Brielle nodded. Something about him clogged her throat, taking air she needed to speak. That was strange. Unfamiliar. Unfair. And unacceptable.

It wasn't lack of knowledge. She'd been around men. Lots of men. Sometimes dressed in costly fabrics, smelling of lye soap and spirits. Sometimes covered in armour and leather and reeking of sweat and other odours she'd rather not decipher. And other times she'd administered to men who'd been clothed in nothing but fear, pain and blood while they trembled, groaned and sometimes died.

But she'd never been near a man like this.

She started with his size. He was immense. The top of her head reached mid-chest. She added in his strength. He was fit. Brawny. Seemingly immune to pain. He should be suffering. She'd seen the boulder lifted off him. No man could've endured that and be standing barking orders and glaring at her. He'd be dead.

For the first time she tasted uncertainty and fear. This was a real Highlander. Not a spineless youth like Iain. This was a man fitting the tales. She'd heard them. Everyone had. From the moment she'd left civilization to reside in Scotland, she'd been regaled with tales of prowess, strength, endurance, regardless of the odds. She'd shivered when she was younger, and then disbelieved. And grown cynical. She'd thought them fables. Lore dreamt in fertile minds, conjured to frighten. Demons. Barbarians. Brielle couldn't stop the goose flesh running her body. She didn't even try.

"Well? Can you or canna' you?"

"What?" she mouthed.

"Mount."

Low snickers came from the horde about them. Brielle didn't move her gaze from his. "Cup your hand," she requested.

"Why?"

"Have you never mounted a woman before?"

She had her cool tone back. The one that usually meant immediate obedience. This time it got jeers and laughter. Her face went hot as she assigned meaning. Then she had large hands gripped around her waist as he tossed her on to the span of horse. On her belly.

Brielle hadn't time to gasp before he was mounted, an arm about her midsection, plastering her to him with an iron grasp. He wasn't even breathing hard while her heart felt lodged in her throat, choking off the scream.

He clicked his tongue and the horse moved. That gave her another bit of information about Highlanders. They knew horses. That could put leagues between her and safety. A flicker of worry started. Brielle swallowed before she got more impressions to deal with. The feel of him made her head spin. This much proximity to any man was alien. Odd. Foreign.

They hadn't ridden long before something changed. It might've been the slight groan attached to each breath he made. It might've been the feather touch of air across her forehead and on to her nose. It could've been the heavy thud of heartbeat emanating from where her ear pressed, creating sensations she'd never felt before. And wouldn't have believed.

The totality of it got worse as they reached treeline and started ducking and dodging. He seemed to possess a second sense, swaying, bending and dipping to avoid rain-blurred obstacles before they were seen. Brielle tried ignoring the arms about her, muscle flexing everywhere, even in the hard thighs that pinned her legs together. She felt sensitive. Alert. Aware. Alive with a tingle that just kept coming. She had to change it. Brielle moved her head slightly, the only range of movement he left her, to put whispered words against his neck.

"You shouldn't be riding," she whispered. "You're injured."

He grunted but didn't deny it.

"Loose me. I won't escape," she added.

"Doona' fash. 'Tis ... little."

His words gapped with a catch of breath. Brielle stirred and the hand at her cheek pushed, smashing her to him.

"I ... I'm versed in nursing." She tried again, biting her lower lip this time. She only did that when beset. Worried. "The longer you wait ... the worse it may get. Loose me, and I'll see to it."

She got a grunt. This wasn't easy. The man was dense. Immune.

"Why not?" She said it louder, with a cross tone.

"I canna' protect you"

"Protect me? From ... what?"

"A man does na' claim what he canna' hold, Lass. We reach Feegan's Roost ... you can nurse me there. Or kill me off. Until then, cease ... this argue."

"I'm not" Brielle stopped. Anything she said could be perceived as arguing.

A slight sniff that could be his amusement touched her eyelashes. It was instantly followed by a tremor all through him.

"You'll never make this Feegan's place," she informed him.

"I need rest, Lass. Less ... woman-words."

"Men." The word held her disgust. And got a few snorts of laughter from about them.

He settled somehow, forming a cocoon about her that contained a steady, thick heartbeat at the core. Brielle shifted, but little moved. She debated struggling. Kicking. Twisting. If only he didn't make such a comfortable berth; kilt-covered thighs about hers; a chest formed for snuggling into; a rocking motion of the horse beneath them. All of it combined to close her eyes and relax into him ... and sleep.

Two.

The woman smelt clean. Fresh. Wondrous. Her form felt good in his arms, too. Almost like she belonged; swaying slightly with every step from Crusader ... taking them further from Iain. Gavynn stopped the thought. It heightened the dull ache pumping through his chest.

"You're in pain?"

Her quick breath cursed him, brushing at his chin with sweetness.

"You should be dead. I saw the stone that hit you."

He grunted slightly; tightened the arm about her chest, crushing full breasts against his arm. He thoroughly enjoyed it, before the lass pestered him with words again.

"You needn't hide it. I told you. I've ... nursing skill."

Gavynn looked heavenwards, gaining a raindrop for his trouble. She didn't obey the slightest thing. Her presence caused trouble. Hired men weren't easy to control when filled with bloodlust. They obeyed a strong leader. One who could keep and protect a captive he claimed. The lass might be versed in nursing, but she knew nothing about warring men.

"I doona' need nursing."

He heard sounds of amusement from about them. Somewhere in the rain-filled night, men rode pillion, listening, evaluating. Gavynn frowned. He'd hired the strongest, stoutest men silver could purchase. He needed them to pull down a wall. He hadn't worried over trust.

"But-"

"If you doona' hush, I'll gag you."

"What? Why?"

Gavynn pulled the rein into his mouth, lowered his freed hand to his kilt hem, and started ripping.

"What ... are you doing?"

"Getting your gag," he replied through his teeth.

The lass went stiff and then she went silent. All about could be heard movement, murmurs, jangling of harness. Gavynn waited, while the lass hardly seemed to breathe.

"You'll hush?"

He whispered it and got a nod along his throat. It came with another tremor from her body. He didn't like that. And wondered why.

Feegan's Roost turned out to be a portion of ancient monastery, frozen in jagged chunks of disembodied stone that reached heavenwards. It was shrouded in a thick layer of mist, lit by the glow of a new day. Brielle opened an eye, caught her breath at such beauty and then yawned. Her eyelids felt heavier than usual, her limbs stiff.

The moment Brielle moved to stretch, memory returned, awakening her fully and rapidly. She yanked both eyes open, to a span of male chest glossed by air that sparkled. Blinking didn't change it. Then her vision got peopled with shaggy-looking horses, worse-looking hulks of men, and everywhere they had weaponry. Sharpened spear-tips, arrows, hand-axes and large swords honed to edges that caught light, were speckling the area with glint.

Brielle felt completely out-of-sorts. Damp. Sweaty-warm. Cramped. Her captor was a brute, too. She wriggled, trying to ease the numbing of both legs. She got tighter arms and legs about her. She'd never slept atop a horse before ... nor locked in a man's embrace. She knew why now: misery.

"Let ... me ... go!" Her hiss of voice halted as one of his men spoke up.

"You need assist with that, MacEuann?"

One of the hulks lifted a mud-covered head to grin, his teeth brown against a full beard.

Her captor grunted, and then yelled a name. "Pells?"

"Aye?"

"Get to Reeb. As planned. Rory?"

"My Laird?"

"Send a message to the earl. Tell him I demand my brother's freedom."

Sounds of what could be hilarity and might be argument, filtered through the throng. Brielle subconsciously leaned back into the mass of man holding her, much to her own dismay.

"Tell him I offer a trade! This woman ... for Iain."

"Her?"

"Aye. And a-fore her presence wearies me further. You write that?"

Brielle's eyes went wide as they all looked, grins splitting more beards. She swallowed on the moisture in her mouth, and then again as it got replenished. She didn't know fear had a taste. Bitter. Metallic.

"How do you ken he'll trade? He kept her in his dungeons."

"I would house her there, as well. As punishment for a displeasing tongue. Go. Deliver my message. Use Greggor. He's the best aim. And you! Get a fire going. Set a kettle to boiling. You! See to the horses. And Gleason?"

"My laird?"

"Hunt a stag for roasting. At the verra least, a hare or two. Take as many men as you need. We've a long day ahead. And I, for one, am na' waiting with an empty gullet."

He was trembling by the end of his speech, moving Brielle with his tremors. None of the others noted. She watched as men scurried to do his bidding until there were none left. Brielle wriggled again, fully expecting tighter bands about her.

"You want me to loosen my hold?"

She hunched her shoulder against the puff of whisper; nodded.

"You promise you'll na' run?"

Where was she going to run? She didn't have a weapon, a horse, knowledge of the land, and she was thoroughly exhausted; cramped into immobility. Then there was the threat of so many men ... all looking like they wanted to devour her. This Gavynn was dense.

Brielle tipped her head and suffered the most annoying spate of sensation when she connected with his gaze. He had light green eyes, totally at odds with his hair and brows. He hadn't grown a beard, leaving lips and jaw uncovered. Brielle gulped, her heart dropped to pound heavily from her depths and there was something wrong with her breathing as well.

"I ... need ... a moment." She replied with such a shaky whisper she knew he felt it. And then he frowned.