"Did I say she was impure? It was her very purity that attracted us. Not only a devout widow, but beautiful as well. How could we not have her that night?"

At that Court had to glance up. Llorente's face was twisted with fury, his hand shaking just as Pascal intended. Court faced the Rechazado with an irritated look. "Be quick about this, man. I doona have all night."

Finally, he gurgled blood, and his knife hand drooped. Court strode up, knocked the knife down, and without slowing, he twisted the man's neck until it broke. Below the window, he collected the rifle, taking time only to load it with one bullet. He ratcheted his arms up, and set his shoulders.

Court drew a bead on Pascal and fired.

Pascal fired and fell.

Immediately sounding from inside: "God damn it, MacCarrick!" Then more weakly: "You got me shot…."

"Stop your caterwauling," Court snapped. "Your sister's was as bad as this, and it dinna stop her from glaring at me with hatred for even a second. She never shed a single tear."

Truth was that Llorente's wound was a wee bit worse. The bullet had torn past his side leaving a sizable gash. Court himself had collected a good-sized shard of glass, and since it was wedged into his calf, sitting seemed much preferable to walking, even if he had to do it with Llorente. Hugh had found the two of them propped up against separate walls, drinking whisky and sniping at each other. He'd sent Liam to fetch a physician, then stood guard as they waited.

"She really dinna cry?" Hugh asked as he pressed his shirt to the ragged slashes on his face caused by the splintering rock. Though successful, Hugh had returned, shaking his head and mumbling, "Slate. Who knew?"

Court sounded proud when he said, "Bravest lass I've ever known." Of course he was proud, but he didn't get to be. She wasn't his any longer. His head fell back against the wall, and he stared at the ceiling.

"God damn it, Court"—Hugh kicked his good leg—"I'll no' tell you again to keep pressure on your shoulder."

"How could you do that?" Llorente bit out the question for the fifteenth time. "Make him shoot me?"

"I figured my aim was better than his. Looks about right to me."

"He bloody shot me!"

"If you had killed the others we would no' be in this situation."

"That one had a gaping hole in his stomach. How did he live through that?" Llorente set his bottle down as if he'd just comprehended something. "You've now done everything you bloody could to wreck my life."

Court swigged, then said, "I swear to you, man, Anna is no' the one who should wear skirts in this family."

Finally, Llorente appeared furious.

"Hugh, tell him what Pascal would've done if I had no' shot."

"He would've pulled the trigger soon. He was baiting you, and his aim would've been colder."

"Did you hear what he said about Olivia?" Llorente's words were a touch slurred.

"Aye," Court admitted.

"I'd wondered about her loyalties, could never quite see why she'd do this to her father." He added to himself, "She'd been loyal all along to her mother," then frowned. "Think I love her." He winced when he tried to move.

Court shook his head at Llorente's wound. That one truly needed to get sewn.

He could hear Niall and the others yelling and laughing in the distance as the shots became fewer and fewer. They were going to tear apart this place tonight looking for Pascal's stash of goods and coin.

Court figured they liked playing the heroes because they'd decided almost to a man to restore everything to its rightful owners before Andorra's typically harsh winter came to these people. Lucrative bounties made it easy to be a hero, he supposed.

"I'm going to contact Ethan now," Llorente said. "Ask him to send them home with escorts."

"What for?"

"Your brother said to leave it to him—not to you—when the time came. Now that we've won, is there any reason I shouldn't be bringing my sister and Olivia here?"

Both Llorente and Hugh waited for his answer. "No. No reason no' to. Ethan will make sure they're safe."

"You'll ride before then?"

Court felt a muscle in his cheek twitch.

Each hour that had passed on the way home was agony, but at least during the trip Annalia had stopped throwing up everything she ate. With every mile closer in that coach, she and Olivia had bickered, even after Olivia had said, "As far as spoiled heiresses go, you're not too bad," and Annalia had responded, "As far as conniving witches go, I've met worse." But truly, if they hadn't bickered, what else would there have been to do?

And though Olivia seemed unaffected by the news of her father's death, Annalia had kept her occupied in any event. "I keep replaying the scene we'll have when we ride into the courtyard," Annalia had told her. "I'll rush to MacCarrick. Aleix will push you into the lake. It will be perfect."

"Keep up your teasing. I don't care," Olivia had responded. "But after I tell Aleix how nasty you've been to me, what incentive will he have to be civil to your unsuitable mate?"

She'd had a point, but fortunately she suspected Olivia wouldn't tell Aleix anything.

And now, today, they were finally here. When the coach stopped and Ethan's guards deemed it safe to clear room, Annalia tumbled out and ran to the house. She tripped in breathless and hugged Aleix, who'd come to greet them.

He smiled down at her and then at Olivia when she entered. A peculiar smile for Olivia. A loving smile? She'd never really seen them together. Oh, Olivia did not just blush?

Annalia waved her hand in front of him. "Where's MacCarrick?"

He faced her, his expression turning grave. "Annalia, he's…well, he's ridden from here. He went north, I believe."

A wheezing sound passed her lips as she sank down onto an ottoman. "I don't understand. Why would he do that? Didn't he know we were returning?"

Olivia walked up behind her. "Did he say anything?"

"He wished Annalia well."

"Wished me well?" Her voice was strident. She hadn't stopped throwing up. She believed she would right now.

"He's not exactly a man of many words, as you know. Annalia, he and I decided it was for the best. He wasn't the right man for you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You and he decided? The two of you decided my future? Coach-and-six!" she cried as she shot to her feet. "You…You coach-and-sixed me!"

He looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. She felt the blood leaving her face, and her legs buckled, forcing her right back down.

Aleix rushed to her and grabbed her shoulders. "What's wrong with you? What did he do?"

She dimly saw a hand snake from behind her to slap his sharply until he released her.

"Annalia, this is for the best. He's from a completely foreign culture and doesn't have wealth to keep you as you should live. And I don't know if he told you or not, but he can't father children."

She stared up at him, tears welling. "I beg to differ."

"Court, are you all right?" Hugh asked with a snap of his fingers.

"Huh? Why?"

"If your horse had no' sidestepped, that limb back there would've taken your head."

Court jerked around for a look. He'd never seen it. He'd been lost in thought wondering where she was right now, what she was doing, and knowing she was happier than he was. She had to be. He faced front again, surprised they'd already arrived at the drive for Groot's—though he shouldn't be surprised. They'd made good time since Hugh had led them off the main road to follow a shorter horse trail. Hugh hadn't taken any chances that Court might pass Annalia on her journey home.

"I was thinkin' about her," Court muttered. "Miss her."

"Aye, I know."

"I miss her so bad it's like…"