Judith raced upstairs. She changed into her full riding skirts, tied her hair behind her neck with a ribbon, and then went running back down the stairs.
Patrick wasn't happy to find out she was going. She understood his reason and therefore didn't have hurt feelings.
"Frances Catherine will be fine until we get back," she promised. "Helen will look in on her, won't you, Helen?"
The housekeeper quickly nodded. Patrick still wasn't convinced. Graham had to give him several good nudges to get him moving toward the stables.
It was a glorious morning. Judith took her heavy cloak along, but there really wasn't any need for the extra protection. The wind was mild, the sun bright, and the scenery every bit as breathtaking as Frances Catherine had said it would be.
They didn't reach the base of the falls, though. The Dunbars attacked before they could get there.
There wasn't any warning. Graham led the way through the thick, misty green forest. Judith was right behind him, and Patrick took up the rear. Their guard was down for the simple reason they were still well inside Maitland land.
They were suddenly surrounded by at least twenty warriors who had their swords drawn, ready. They weren't wearing the Maitland colors, but Judith was too surprised by their sudden appearance to be frightened.
"You're on our land," Graham bellowed, his fury beyond anything Judith had ever witnessed before. "You'll leave now, Dunbars, before you breach our truce."
The warriors didn't respond to his command. They were like statues now. Judith didn't think any of them even blinked.
A fair number were staring at her. She raised her chin and stared back. She wasn't about to let the enemy intimidate her. She wasn't going to let them know how worried she was, either.
She heard the sound of horses coming toward them just as Patrick nudged his mount forward. He moved to Judith's right side. He was so close to her, his leg rubbed against hers.
He was trying to protect her. She knew he would give his life to keep her safe. She said a quick prayer to her Maker that that noble act wouldn't be necessary.
No one moved until the crash of horses sounded in front of them, breaking through the thicket. Several of the Dunbar warriors turned to look then.
Five more men appeared. They were wearing plaids too, but they weren't the same colors as the Dunbars. Judith didn't know what that meant. Patrick did. He let out a low expletive.
She turned to look at him. "Who are they?" she whispered.
"Maclean soldiers."
Judith's eyes widened. She turned back to look at the men. The leader moved his mount closer. Judith kept her attention directed on him. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn't imagine what it was. The warrior was tall, broad-shouldered, and had dark blond hair and intense blue eyes.
Graham broke the silence. "You're in league with the Dunbars, then."
It was a statement, not a question, but the Maclean warrior answered him.
"Your laird tried to prevent the alliance. He might have succeeded, too, if he hadn't had to battle you, old man, and the others who run your clan. Who is this woman?"
Neither Graham nor Patrick answered.
The Maclean warrior motioned to the men surrounding them. Patrick and Graham didn't have time to reach for their weapons, had they been foolish enough to try. The Dunbars' swords were now pointed at their necks. The warriors waited for the Maclean leader to give them their next instruction.
"I ask you again," he said to Graham. "Who is this woman? She looks familiar to me."
Graham shook his head. Judith's heart started pounding. "I will speak for myself," she called out.
Patrick put his hand on her knee and squeezed. He was letting her know he didn't want her to tell them anything.
The leader nudged his mount close to her left side. He stared at Patrick a long minute, then turned his gaze to Judith. "Then speak," he arrogantly commanded.
"Tell me who you are and I'll answer your questions," she commanded.
Patrick's hold on her knee became painful.
"My name is Douglas Maclean," he answered.
"Are you commander over these men or just the most outspoken?"
He ignored the insult. "I'm the laird's son," he said. "Now tell me who-"
He stopped his demand when he noticed the radical change that came over the beautiful woman. The color had left her face. She almost fell off her horse, and didn't even seem to notice. He reached over and grabbed hold of her arm.
She was daring to shake her head at him. "You cannot be his son."
The vehemence in his voice confused him. "The hell I can't," he replied.
She refused to believe him. A thought popped into her mind. Her father must have been married once before. Yes, that was it, she told herself. Douglas looked several years older than she… "Who was your mother?" she demanded.
"Why are you asking me such questions?"
"Answer me."
The fury in her voice surprised him. "And if I do answer you, will you then tell me who you are?"
"Yes," she promised.
He nodded. "Very well," he said, his voice mild once again. "My mother was an English bitch. Her accent was very like your own. That much I remember. Now tell me who you are," he demanded again.
She was desperately trying to keep her wits about her. "How old are you?"
He told her, then painfully squeezed her arm.
Judith thought she was going to be sick. Douglas was five years older than she, and his eyes, dear God, his eyes were the same color as her own. Was his hair the exact shade, too? No, no, she told herself. Hers was much lighter.
She had to take a deep breath to keep herself from gagging. She slumped to the side of her saddle, close to Patrick's side.
Dear God, it was true. Douglas was her brother.
Patrick tried to put his arm around her. Douglas jerked her toward him, then lifted her from her mount and settled her in front of him.
"What the hell's wrong with her?" he asked.
No one answered him. Douglas growled in frustration. He still didn't know who the woman belonged to, but he recognized Patrick, all right.
"The Maitland laird will come after his brother," he told his men. "We'll be ready to give him a proper greeting. Bring them to my father's holding," he ordered with a nod toward Graham and Patrick.
The length of time it took to get to the Maclean keep was shortened considerably because they were able to ride directly there, across Dunbar land. Patrick memorized every detail on the way for future use.
Judith didn't pay any attention to where they were going. She kept her eyes tightly closed while she tried to sort out this god-awful situation in her mind.
She wanted to weep with shame over her mother's treachery. How could she abandon her child? Judith was so sickened inside, she could barely concentrate on anything but keeping her stomach settled.
As they rode, she wondered how Douglas would react if she threw up all over him.
She finally opened her eyes. He noticed. "Did the Maclean name scare you into a faint?"
"I didn't faint," she snapped. "I want to ride my own mount."
"I want you to stay here," he replied. "You're very beautiful," he added almost as an afterthought. "I might decide to let you warm my bed."
"That's disgusting."
She hadn't meant to blurt out her thought, but she couldn't keep it inside. Douglas took exception to the appalled look on her face. He took hold of her chin and forced her face up to his.
Good God, was he going to kiss her? "I'm going to be sick," she stammered out.
He hastily let go of her.
She took several deep breaths to convince him she really was having difficulty, then relaxed. "I'm better now," she lied.