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  "Ye ken, of course, 'tis only thanks to a Maxwell—may the devil roast the lot of 'em in hell for all eternity!—that a Douglas could find himself in a scrape such as this. I swear there's not been a moment's rest for our poor, weary clan since those detestable Maxwells stole that ugly auld nag near on twa centuries ago!"

  "Och! lass, ye dinny ken what ye're talking aboot. That horse was a prime specimen. 'Twas not auld, not ugly, and certainly not a nag. 'Twas a maun fine example of its breed, well worth fighting o'er. Our ancestors were right to want the beastie back at all costs."

  "Dinny be such a simpleton, Cousin." Ella shook her head, gave forth a sigh of exaggerated impatience at the same time she sent Connor an indignant glance from the corner of her eye. "'Tis our great-aunt Ailean I be referring to," she explained with forced patience, "not the fine beast lifted from Bracklenaer on the same midnight raid. The horse was recovered quickly enough. Nay, whilst the theft of the beastie may have started the feud, 'twas Ailean who kindled the grudge between Douglas and Maxwell by choosing to stay and marry into the hated clan."

  "Had she a choice?" Connor shook his head and frowned. "If so, I dinny see it. Oh, aye, she could have returned to Bracklenaer, but e'en if she did, how many Douglases do ye think would have wanted to take to wife a lass so obviously soiled by a Maxwell? Nae self-respecting one, I'll tell ye that for nothing. Nae doubt the safety of the bairn that Lachlann Maxwell had already planted in her belly weighed heavily on her mind, and her decision to stay at Caerlaverock."

  "Mayhap, but nae matter what the reason, I still think 'twas a foolhardy decision. One that, in its thoughtlessness, has caused her Douglas descendants—us!-—enormous trouble and hardship e'er since!"

  "Ella—"

  "She was ne'er happy at Caerlaverock," a third voice interceded. "I dinny ken if that be any consolation to ye, but 'tis true."

  Ella and Connor jerked their attention to the door, and the direction from which the voice had come. A window was embedded in the upper portion of the thick oak panel. The "window," such as it was, consisted of a small, lopsided square. The barred opening wasn't even large enough for Ella to shimmy through...

  The shadows clinging to the window and the narrow hallway that lay just outside of it were complete.

  "Who's there?" Connor demanded as he shoved himself to his feet. He took a step forward, positioning himself protectively between Ella and the door.

  There was a beat of hesitation, and then the voice asked in an almost timid pitch, "Are ye The Black Douglas?"

  Ella came up close behind Connor and whispered in his ear, "From the sounds, 'tis naught but a bairn."

  He nodded, having already determined as much himself. He guessed the intruder's age to be between seven and nine years.

  "Did ye hear me? I asked if ye be The Black Douglas." This time there wasn't a thread of timidity in the voice.

  A layer of solid oak and handful of strong iron bars went a long way toward fostering false courage, Connor thought as he glared at both. "Aye," he growled finally, "'tis what they call me, howe'er I'm not, nor have I e'er been or claimed to be, The Black Douglas. I'm but a descendant poorly nicknamed. Who be asking?"

  An excited giggle drifted through the window, ricocheting throughout the cell. The high, sharp pitch made Connor wince as it reverberated off the bare stone walls. "Gordie said he'd done it, ye ken, but I dinny believe him. Yet here's proof! Imagine, the notorious Black Douglas safely locked away in Caerlaverock's dungeon." The boy paused long enough to giggle again; the sound was stifled, as though he'd muffled it with his hand at the last second. "Och! but is this not a fine day for the Maxwell!"

  Notorious, Connor thought, and gritted his teeth. How had one godforsaken exploit credited him with such a following? Not for the first time did he wish The Devil, Alasdair Gray, had remained unmarried; now there was a man whose reputation was earned by many deeds!

  Connor, who'd let his gaze wander to a shadowy corner of the cell, the one where noises that sounded unpleasantly like small claws—rats?—scratching upon hard stone emanated, now re-focused his attention on the door. Rather, he shifted his concentration to the boy standing in the murky hallway just outside of it.

  A scowl etched deep creases between Connor's eyebrows. Could he turn this unexpected visit to his own advantage? 'Twas rumored a Douglas could be quite charming when he put his mind to the task. Given the proper circumstances, they could even go so far as to smoothly apply that charm in the direction of a hated Maxwell...

  * * *

  Gabrielle shifted upon the hard, narrow bench. Linking her fingers together, she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and rested her hands atop the table in Caerlaverock's great hall. She doubted the gesture looked as casual as she intended for it to. Her insides were churning and, beneath the table where no one could see, her knees trembled against each other. Anxiety twisted in her stomach, gnawing at her from the inside out.

  An untended fire smoldered lamely in the stone hearth to her left. Gabrielle felt none of its meager heat; the half dozen accusing stares, five from the men seated upon the bench opposite her, chilled her to the bone.

  She recognized only Gordie Maxwell and his brother Roy. The eldest among them—she guessed his age to be at least two score older than both Maxwells—sat between the two brothers. The man's cheekbones, sharply carved above the line of his full red-gray beard, combined with his narrow forehead, weather-creased brow, and short, stocky, solidly built frame stamped him a Maxwell.

  There was never a doubt in Gabrielle's mind as to the older man's identity. Johnny Maxwell. Father of Gordie and Roy. Laird of Clan Maxwell. Owner of Caerlaverock. Who else could he be?

  The remaining two men seated across from her were strangers; she gave them only a brief glance before forcing her attention back to Johnny Maxwell. At least her physical attention rested on the Maxwell. Mentally, she was having a most difficult time concentrating on anyone besides the sixth man in the hall.

  He stood next to the hearth, one broad shoulder resting negligently against the harshly chiseled stone. Gabrielle was very much aware of when the sixth man's hands moved from hanging limply at his sides to behind his back.

  In two long strides he cleared the distance between them, moving to stand towering over the head of the table. He was close enough that, were she to move her elbow only a few inches to the side, it would graze the rock-hard side of his kilted thigh.

  A chill skated down Gabrielle's spine. She need not glance up to know the sixth man was staring at her, and staring hard. She could feel his gaze, and the feel of it was as troubling as it was confusing. Stubbornly, she refused to glance away from Johnny Maxwell, even though her attention wanted badly to stray.

  She'd looked directly at him only once since the two guards standing just outside the door had led her into the great hall. Even now, she thought she could still feel those odd, hot and cold shock waves rippling through her.

  The man was tall and broad, with shaggy black hair that reached past the broad shelf of his shoulders and cold, piercing gray eyes. His cheekbones were sharp and well defined, his jaw hard and square. His lips were thin and sensuously carved. If one looked closely, one could detect a tiny dimple in the center of his stubble-dusted chin. Down to even that small detail, he was an exact duplicate of Connor Douglas.

  A duplicate, Gabrielle reminded herself forcefully. A nerve-shatteringly accurate one, aye, but an imitation all the same.

  The man, she soon realized, had to be Colin Douglas, Connor's twin. It was he who finally broke what was swiftly becoming a thick, tension-riddled silence. Not in words, but in deed.

  From the sporran hanging at his waist, Colin took out a sheepskin pouch. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the pouch onto the table, where it landed with a rattle and clank directly in front of Johnny Maxwell. A few coins spilled out of the loosely tied opening.

  Johnny Maxwell licked his parched lips and quickly plucked up the stray silver disks. He tucked them back into the p
ouch, then, with a sharp tug on the leather laces, tied it securely shut. "By all that's holy, I swear if there be so maun as a pence missing, mon—" His tone brooked no nonsense as he enclosed the pouch in his big fist.

  "'Tis all there, as we agreed," Colin interrupted. To Gabrielle's ear, his tone sounded too low, too even to be anything but offended at the insinuation he was trying to cheat his rival by a single coin. Oh, aye, he was a Douglas all right "Count it yerself if ye dinny believe me. But be quick aboot it. I've a bride to whisk back to Gaelside a'fore this day is o'er."

  He looked like Connor, but he did not sound like him. Colin's voice was a pitch higher, and a good deal rougher; the timbre of it scratched down Gabrielle's spine like fingernails scraping slowly down a slab of slate.

  Her heart skipped a heavy beat, then thudded to vibrant life. The echo of it, pounding loudly in her ears, sounded like repeating claps of thunder. She would have swallowed hard, maybe even have attempted to speak a protest, but she found she suddenly hadn't enough moisture left in her mouth for either. Flexing her fingers, she tightened them around each other until her knuckles were white and ached from the strain of her grip. It was either that or let these men see how badly her hands had begun to shake.

  Pursing his lips, Johnny bounced the pouch in his hand, as though he could tell the exact amount it contained merely by hefting it and hearing the muffled jingle as the coins clattered inside. The frown that had drawn his bushy red eyebrows together eased, and a glimmer of respect darkened his eyes. "Ye're many things, Colin Douglas. A scoundrel and a rogue to name but two. Howe'er, a cheat isn't one of them."

  Johnny's glance shifted to Gabrielle and his green eyes narrowed. He stood, then walked around the table, stopping at her side. His hand felt big and hot as he placed it in the crook of her arm and tugged her to her feet.

  Despite her resolve not to, she felt her cheeks suffuse with color when all six men's attention shifted to focus exclusively on her. If she'd ever wondered what the prized goose displayed prominently on fair day felt like, now she knew. Gritting her teeth, she willed strength to flow into knees that felt watery and weak, threatening to buckle out from under her at any second as she stepped over the bench and stood beside Johnny Maxwell.

  "As ye can see," Johnny said to Colin, "a Maxwell is equally as trustworthy. For payment in full, I present to ye the Lady Gabrielle Carelton."

  Gabrielle's gaze locked with Colin's. As she'd expected, his eyes were the same blue-gray shade as his twin's, fringed by a thick, dark sweep of inky lashes.

  There, the similarity began and ended.

  Even at his angriest, Connor's eyes glistened with an inner warmth and lust for life. Colin's gaze, on the other hand, was hard and cold, calculating and devoid of emotion as it swept her from head to toe. A humorless grin tugged at one corner of his mouth, a mouth that looked far too much like his twin's for her peace of mind. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.

  She staggered forward a step when Johnny Maxwell splayed his big palm in the center of her back and nudged her forward. It took supreme effort for Gabrielle to force her knees to lock, thereby avoiding by a mere fraction the embarrassment of falling against the hard, chiseled width of Colin Douglas's chest.

  Colin's gaze shifted dismissively, fixing on a point just past her shoulder. "Are ye sure 'tis the right lass ye're giving me, Johnny? Except for her green eyes and the... er, stockiness of her build, she doesn't look like any Maxwell I've e'er laid eyes on."

  "Aye, and well I ken it," Johnny replied. It grated on her nerves the way the older man sounded so proud of that fact "Howe'er, ye need remember that a goodly dose of Sassenach blood o'er the decades has diluted her fine Maxwell lineage."

  "'Tis the lass Queen Elizabeth sent to wed ye," Gordie Maxwell interjected. "Dinny doubt it, mon."

  Roy nodded his shaggy red head in agreement and added gruffly, "Aye, that she is. With me own twa eyes, I saw her laying naked as the day she was born in yer brother's arms. If that doesn't prove she's Gabrielle Carelton, nothing can."

  A muscle twitched in the base of Colin's jaw. That and the darkening of his stormy gray eyes were his only outward reactions to Roy's admission. It was enough to make Gabrielle shift uneasily. Was her imagination running away with her, or could she really sense a swirl of anger churning just beneath Colin Douglas's outwardly placid surface?

  Without warning, Colin reached out and coiled his fingers around her upper arm. His grip was bitingly tight. Gabrielle gasped sharply and winced. She tried to wrench her arm free, but quickly gave up when she was rewarded by a still tighter squeeze from his thick, powerful fingers.

  "I thank ye for the help, Maxwell," Colin said, and nodded briskly at Johnny Maxwell. "Now that our business is concluded, I bid ye good day."

  That said, Colin turned on his heel and, yanking Gabrielle in step beside him, headed toward the arched stone doorway leading out of the great hall. His bootheels echoed crisply atop the bare stone floor.

  Gabrielle's spirits plummeted with each forced step that led closer to her departure from Caerlaverock. Her thoughts whirlwinded helplessly.

  Connor was being held prisoner somewhere within these thick stone walls; if she allowed herself to be taken away, how could she ever hope to find him and set him free? Not that she stood a chance of being able to accomplish such a feat, she knew. How could she forget what had happened when she attempted much the same thing for Mairghread! Still, at least while she was being held under the same roof, she stood a chance, no matter how slim, of being able to liberate him. Away from Caerlaverock, she could do naught.

  And what of Ella?

  Gabrielle could not in all good conscience allow the girl to remain a prisoner of the dreaded Maxwell if she could in some way prevent it. Heaven alone knew what these ruffians would do to such a comely lass, especially a girl who was so close a relation to their arch rival, The Black Douglas.

  Sweet Lord, she had to do something, anything, and do it quickly. But what?

  The question had no more entered Gabrielle's mind when they reached the threshold. She wasn't a bit closer to coming up with an answer when she heard a harsh rumble echo out from behind. It was the sound of Johnny Maxwell clearing his throat.

  The guards standing in wait outside the doorway stepped forward, blocking the exit.

  Colin hauled Gabrielle to an abrupt stop.

  The two guards who'd been posted there earlier had been joined by ten more. All had swords drawn, the sharp steel points aimed with deadly precision at various parts of Colin Douglas's anatomy. Gabrielle hadn't a doubt that at Johnny Maxwell's command they would not hesitate to use those weapons to slice both her and Colin Douglas to ribbons.

  Colin let go of her arm and spun around to face his adversary.

  Gabrielle seized the opportunity to take a few shaky steps away from the furious man. She didn't go far—she didn't dare, for she was very much aware of Gordie Maxwell's watchful eye on her—but she was careful to move far enough to the side as to be out of Colin's reach.

  She felt the wall come up against her back, cold, hard stone grinding against her skin even through the tunic, and she sagged against it gratefully. Her knees were shaking so right now that they could not have held her upright for much longer without the support.

  Colin, Gabrielle noticed only now that she was safely out of his reach, seemed ready to explode with fury. His complexion was ruddy, his eyes narrow and spitting hot gray fire as his gaze locked on Johnny Maxwell. If looks could kill, the older man would be sucking in his last breath.

  "What is the meaning of this, Maxwell? Or did ye forget, we had a deal."

  "Aye," Johnny said evenly. "A deal made and met. Och! I can tell from ye expression that ye've forgotten exactly what the deal was." He stroked his gray-streaked beard and shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Let me be reminding ye, lad. I agreed to get ye the Lady Gabrielle in return for a hefty sum of coins. As ye can see—" he hefted a thick, calloused thumb in Gabrielle's direction "�
�get the lass, I did. And that pouch Roy is holding proves ye've upheld yer end and paid dearly for the service. 'Tis where our deal begins and ends. Leaving Caerlaverock... och! well, the matter was ne'er discussed, therefore it can't be part of our deal."

  Everything happened at once.

  Colin made to lunge for Johnny Maxwell.

  The men at the table sprang to their feet, the bench toppling loudly to the floor behind them. Steel hissed against steel as swords were drawn hastily from scabbards. Bootheels scuffed atop stone as they rushed to Johnny's defense.

  They needn't have bothered.

  The guards barring the door were well trained; they reacted instantly. In the blink of an eye, they surrounded Colin, cutting off his access to Johnny as well as any available route of escape.

  The largest of the bunch grunted something in Gaelic. To Gabrielle's untutored ear, the words sounded like gibberish, yet in tone resembled a dare.

  As she watched, the man grinned threateningly and pressed the razor-sharp tip of his blade against the pulse throbbing in the base of Colin Douglas's throat.

  Confused, her gaze volleyed between Johnny Maxwell and Colin Douglas.

  What on earth was going on here?!

  * * *

  "Did ye hear me, lad?" a deep, gruff voice demanded. "I asked what the devil is going on here!"

  Connor pressed his ear against the slats in the oak door, listening intently to what transpired in the corridor outside.

  Curse his rotten luck! In the past half hour, the boy—Simon, the lad had confided was his name, Johnny Maxwell's youngest son—had begun to warm to Connor and answer his questions. In a voice filled with a respect that made Connor more than a wee bit uneasy, the lad started to repeat the latest Border ballad being circulated about The Black Douglas. It was at that point when a guard, judging from the intruder's authoritative tone, had stumbled upon Simon tarrying outside the cell door.

  Close to Connor's side, her head tipped as she also listened, Ella fidgeted nervously.