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he could well feel compassion for her plight, though he would not risk Jamie’s life by freeing her in a moment of compassion.
    Leaning forward so that his mouth grazed the wet tangle of hair behind her ear, he said softly, “We mean you no harm. Your father has taken my brother prisoner, and we seek to barter you in exchange for him.”
    Another tremor ran through her slight form, and she twisted slightly so that he could see her fragile profile. “You are fool indeed, sir, if you think any act you may inflict upon me will alter my father’s actions. He is not a man to be swayed from his course by sentiment.”
    “Strange words coming from a loving daughter.”
    Her laugh was short and strangled, and he glimpsed the brief quiver of her lower lip before she turned her head away. “Strange, indeed, but ’tis the way of it. I know him. If ’tis to his advantage, he will bargain with you. If it is not—I will rot in whatever prison you make for me before he meets your terms.”
    The horse stumbled in a rut on the narrow, hard track they followed, and Alex brought him upright with a steady hold on the reins. His arm tightened around his captive to keep her seated. It was most likely that she only sought to further her cause by casting doubt on the situation, for no father would refuse to bargain for his daughter’s release. It was not so very much to ask, the exchange of two rebellious Scots for a lovely English flower. No, Warfield would bargain, despite what this maid might say to dissuade Alex from his course.
    “What is your given name, lass?”
    She did not reply for a moment. Then, grudgingly, she muttered, “Lady Catherine.”
    “Catherine….” After a pause, he murmured, “You put me in mind of another Catherine—”
    “And you, sir, put me in mind of a mannerless cur!”
    He laughed softly. “Pull in your claws, little cat.”
    “Do not call me that.”
    “Catherine? Or Cat … or perhaps I should refer to you as her ladyship?”
    “I would prefer you not speak to me at all, but if you must, Lady Catherine will do.”
    “You sing a weary song, Lady Catherine. Be still now, before you unsettle my horse so that we are both thrown onto the hard road.”
    After the first warmth of the day, the capricious fall weather began to change. The clouds scudding overhead were stacked one atop the other and darkened ominously.The wind grew cold again, and the smell of rain was in the brisk currents that whipped the horses’ manes and the men’s loose plaids into flapping banners. Tree limbs bent and swayed, Uttering the narrow track through Kielder Forest with small branches and leaves.
    As daylight faded into gray afternoon, then deep dusk, Catherine huddled miserably in front of the Scot who held her captive in his rough embrace. She’d heard his companion call him Alex. Putting a name to her abductor did not allay her growing fear, nor lessen the dread that she may never see her home again.
    Would her father bargain with this rogue Scot who had dared abduct her from beneath his very nose? Or would the earl consider her abduction the price she must pay for disobeying his edicts and leaving Warfield without an escort? No doubt, he would be inclined to do so, and it was ironic to think that the only thing that might keep him from refusing this Scot’s ultimatum was her upcoming nuptials to Bothwick’s heir.
    That, she mused, would be all that would matter to him. The earl had made it quite plain that he had no use for her save as a pawn for increasing his coffers and position. It still rankled, still hurt that he thought so little of the fact that she was his child. Even her mother did not consider her wishes, but in light of her own circumstances that could be forgiven more easily. Why would a mother have reason to think it should be any different for her daughter than it had been for her?
    A gust of cold, wet wind summoned a shiver from her, and Catherine wished for what must have been the thousandth time