Braden tightened his grip on his sword and on the dagger he held in the other hand. The smirk on Niall's all-too-perfect face was too much to bear. But before this day ended, Braden would see that smile erased.

For ever.

Niall jerked his horse to a halt almost directly across from Braden. Niall was tall and blessed with exceptional looks that made women do all sorts of things to gain his attention.

But he had a heart as evil as the devil.

Braden knew Niall couldn't see him in the thick grass and plentiful boulders. Yet, the way Niall's eyes searched the mountainsides, it seemed he was looking for something.

"Come out, come out wherever you are, Braden MacAlister," Niall taunted.

Braden stiffened. There was no way Niall could have discovered his plans. Braden trusted his men explicably. None of them would have betrayed him.

Braden didn't move. His men stayed as motionless as he. Braden didn't have long to wait before Niall lifted a hand to one of the guards near the wagon.

The door at the back of the wagon opened, the squeak was loud but soon drowned out by a startled cry.

"They have women," Rory whispered as he leaned next to Braden.

Braden couldn't see who was taken from the wagon as the guard pushed the prisoner through the throng of horses and men. With a shove, the prisoner stumbled and fell to her knees in a whirl of lavender skirt, her hair as black as midnight.

Niall jumped from his mount and grabbed the woman by the hair. Her hands instantly went to his to try and lessen the pain. She hurried to climb to her feet.

"I would see you now, Braden. Show yourself or I kill the wench," Niall bellowed.

The mist had moved away from Niall and his men, as if it knew the black depths of their hearts and wanted no part of it.

Braden had no choice but to help the woman. Too many innocents had already died. He wouldn't have her death on his soul, wouldn't add the weight of another blameless life to his already considerable burden.

"Be ready," Braden murmured to Rory.

Braden sheathed his sword, but kept his dagger ready in his left hand, the blade tucked against his forearm. He leapt atop the boulder he'd been hiding behind and glared down at the man who dared to call himself a Scot, much less a Highlander.

Jean was on the tip of her toes, trying to keep her hair from being yanked from her scalp. She had known no good would come from Niall MacDougall's visit to her clan. What she hadn't foreseen was him taking women and children as prisoners to force her clansmen to his service.

Niall had at first managed to lure a number of women to his side with his easy smile and handsomeness. But those women had learned quickly enough that a face and body as eye-catching as Niall's couldn't hide his evil for long.

Jean's gaze searched the mountainside as Niall called for Braden MacAlister. Braden's name had been whispered about the land for over a year now. Each time his name was repeated, each time he struck out to kill Niall, belief in him grew. Swelled. Expanded.

Braden was their last hope.

Many called him a ghost because of the way he moved from one place to the next with nary a sound, leaving no trace. Jean had hoped she might get to see the mighty Highlander. But she would have preferred it not to be while the tip of a sword was pressed into the small of her back.

"He will come for you," Niall whispered in her ear. "It's not in him to let an innocent die."

"Unlike you."

It was out of her mouth before she could think better of it. Then again, she had no illusions. Niall planned to kill her no matter what Braden did or didn't do.

He chuckled. "Aye. Not like me."

Jean jerked against his grasp, but his fingers wouldn't loosen their hold of her hair. Tears stung her eyes from the pain, and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

Blood filled her mouth, the metallic taste making her gag. She was about to kick Niall when a man suddenly appeared atop a boulder to her left.

He stood like an ancient god of old with mist swirling around him, clinging to his bare chest and legs corded with sinew. Coiled violence emanated from him.

Braden MacAlister wore no shirt, only his kilt of red, green and blue. She drank in the sight of bronze skin over sculpted muscles. His shoulders were wide and thick. His arms hung casually at his side. He stood with his legs apart, his feet encased in boots up to his knees.

But it was the blue paint on his face, neck and chest that robbed her of breath.

He had marked himself, just as the ancient Celts had done so many years ago. Seeing Braden, with his eyes fixed on Niall and his dark, wavy locks falling about his face, proved that he was the ghost whispered about over the tables of Scotland.

"Ah, Braden," Niall said. "I told the wench you wouldna let her die."

Jean knew she needed to get away. It didn't take a warrior to see that a battle was brewing. And she had no desire to be caught in the middle of it.

"Let the woman go."

Braden's demand was softly spoken, but his words were laced with steel.

Niall merely laughed. "For a price."

"Name it."

"Your head."

Jean sucked in a breath. Her life meant nothing, but the freedom of their people meant everything. "Nay," she said.

Braden's gaze shifted to her. Their eyes locked, and she shook her head, praying he didn't give himself over to Niall and his men.

The blade at her back pierced her skin. It was so unexpected that she couldn't hold back her cry.

"Say more, you stupid bitch, and I'll see you skewered on my blade," Niall spat.

A war cry tore from Braden's lips and he launched himself at Niall. Men poured from the mountain, their faces covered in the same blue paint as Braden.

Chaos erupted. Swords were drawn and war cries deafened her ears.

Niall jerked her against him, using her body as a shield. Two of his guards moved to protect him, swords and shields at the ready.

Jean couldn't take her gaze off Braden. It was as if time slowed as he sailed through the air. His deep-set eyes were locked on the guards who blocked him from Niall.

Braden's left arm came up and around. She saw the blade the instant the guard on her right did. The man tried to duck, but Braden was too quick. With lightning speed he sliced the guard's neck.

When Braden landed, he spun and unsheathed his sword in one fluid movement. His weapon was up in time to block the second guard's attack.

The clang of swords, cries of pain and of death surrounded Jean. She knew she couldn't sit back and wait to be saved. If she wanted to get away from Niall, she'd have to do it herself.

The fact he had her body pulled against his as a sort of cowardly shield only made her despise him more. The blade poking into her back didn't help things either.

But her father had always said she was resourceful.

Jean made a fist and swung it down and back as hard as she could. She knew she connected with Niall's groin by the way air wheezed from his lungs and the dagger dropped from his hand.

She tried to run, but he still had a handful of her hair though he was bent double now, his face red as spittle fell from his lips. He glared at her, fury and the promise of death in his blue eyes.

"Let go," Jean demanded and she clawed at his handsome face.

The malice she saw in Niall's stare almost gave her pause. Almost. Jean's fingers found his eyes and she felt her nails bend backwards sickeningly. She sank her other fingers into his skin, felt the thick texture of blood as it fell from the cuts she dug.

Niall bellowed and released her to cover his eyes. His nostrils flared with anger, deadly intent in his gaze. Jean prepared herself for death.

"You, bitch! How dare you mark my face," he bellowed.

Just when Niall would have stepped towards her, a horse reared, kicking him with its hooves and sending him spinning backwards. The other horses began to dance around, the scent of blood and shouts from the men spooking them.

Jean backed away, careful not to run into any of the men locked in combat. When she looked to where Niall had fallen, she couldn't find him.

She searched everywhere to no avail. He was gone.

Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around her arm. Jean raised her fist, prepared to strike whoever dared to touch her, only to find herself staring into startling blue eyes framed by thick black lashes.

She looked her fill at Braden's square jaw and high forehead, his aquiline nose, and his wide lips. She liked how his lower lip was fuller than the top. She found herself staring at his mouth as she forgot everything but the man holding her.

"Are you hurt?" Braden asked.

Jean shook her head slowly, struck anew at the presence of Braden MacAlister. Blood coated him, but she didn't know if it was his or that of his opponents.

Braden glanced around. "Where is MacDougall?"

"I ... I struck him. The horses reared and kicked him, and then he was gone."

"Shite. He cannot have gone far."

Jean watched and Braden motioned some of his men to follow as he scouted for Niall's trail. Niall's guards, those who had dared to stand against the great Braden MacAlister, had all been killed, their bodies lying still upon the ground.

She swallowed the bile in her throat and lifted her skirts running towards the wagon and the other prisoners. Jean jerked at the lock, hoping to find it open. Unfortunately, the guards hadn't been as stupid as she'd hoped.

"Damn," she murmured and slammed her hand against the wood.

"Is there a problem?"

Jean whirled around at the deep voice to find one of Braden's men, all meaty shoulders and barrel chest. "I cannot unlock the wagon."

The man smiled, showing even white teeth and a twinkle in his dark brown gaze. "Allow me, lass."

Jean stepped aside. As soon as she was out of the way, the man slammed the hilt of his sword against the lock. It busted open spectacularly and the chain fell away.

Braden's man opened the door for the captives, but no one moved. They were petrified with fear. Jean stood beside the Highlander and smiled, calling into the wagon to the terrified women and children.

"It's all right," she told them and she held out her hand. "You can come out now."

In moments, she was surrounded by the rest of Braden's men, helping her encourage the rest of the women and children out of the wagon. Jean found water skins and hurried to pass those around.

One warrior moved to her side. "Why did MacDougall take all of you?"

"To ensure that my clansmen did as he wanted."

"Foul bastard," the man said with a curl of his lip. "What clan, lass?"

"MacKay. I'm Jean MacKay."

"Well, Jean, lass," he said with a friendly smile. "I'm Keith MacAlister, at your service. I'm thinking Braden will want to escort you and the others back to your clan."

Jean let out a sigh of relief, but before she could thank him, a shout drew their attention. She followed Keith to a circle of men who gathered around one of their fallen brothers on the ground. It took only one look at the gaping wound for Jean to nudge the men aside and decide on a course of action.

"Let me tend him," she said as she knelt beside the warrior. The cut on his leg went clean to the bone. Jean licked her lips and glanced over her shoulder at Keith. "I'm going to need water and bandages. And needle and thread."

Keith let out a deep breath, his eyes troubled. "We have no needle and thread here."

"The wound is too deep. I must stop the bleeding."

"Bind Colin's leg for now," said a deep voice to her right. "We must get moving."

Jean jerked her head around to find Braden watching her. Something was stuffed in her hand. Jean had no choice but to turn her attention back to the wounded man. With Keith's help she was able to bind the wound as tightly as she could. It would staunch the blood, but not for long.

She rose as the others lifted Colin into the wagon. Jean looked at the women and children gathered in a tight circle, then to Braden. Someone needed to go along to tend Colin's wound and she knew she could help.

Jean squared her shoulders and walked to Braden. He paused in his conversation with Keith and another man when he caught sight of her.

She waited until the other two warriors walked away before she spoke to Braden.

"I can help Colin. He's going to need to be stitched."

One side of Braden's lips tilted in a small smile. "We've learned to mend each other's wounds."

"I've no doubt, but Colin's wound is to the bone. A fever will most likely set in. You will need someone to watch him."

"Why would you want to help?"

She understood his suspicion, even if she didn't like it. "You and your men are trying to help all of us. You need every man you have for your continued attacks on Niall. You've already got Colin down and several others wounded. Would you leave yet another fighter behind to watch Colin?"

For long, heart-racing moments Braden stared at her, his striking blue eyes made only brighter by the paint still visible on his face. "If, for even a moment, I think you are spying on us ..."

"I'm not," she said before he could finish. "I only want to help."

"So be it, Jean MacKay."