"Brave girl. Stay where you are and I'll come get you."

"How can you do that?" Catherine asked, her throat tight.

Michael unlashed the rope. "I'll go up that tree on the corner. From there, I can throw a loop of rope over that stone thing under the roof and swing to Amy's ledge. Then I'll bring us down." He undid the sword and laid it on the ground.

She stared upward, barely able to see Amy, much less the "stone thing." There was a special horror in having Amy so close, yet in such danger. She said tightly, "Be careful."

He touched her shoulder for a moment. "I always am." Then he went to the tree and began climbing.

Catherine watched her daughter, so frightened she could scarcely breathe. Though Michael had made the rescue sound easy, she knew how perilous it would be. The rope might break, the stone thing might fail, someone might see them.

The two people she loved most were at risk, and all she could do was pray.

A strange cry brought Haldoran from his sleep. Not a gull, or any other form of local wildlife. He rose and went to his window. It was dawn. Time to get up, breakfast, and return to Bone. He looked forward to the day's hunt.

He saw a movement from the corner of his eye and turned to look more closely. What the devil?

A dark shape swooped recklessly across the wall, halting about halfway to the ground. Kenyon! And that was Catherine on the ground, the pale oval of her face tilted upward. Damnation. Not only had the pair of them somehow escaped Bone, but they had the audacity to come to Ragnarok.

The slowly increasing light enabled him to see that there was a second, small figure beside Kenyon. Amy. It looked like the brat had been trying to escape. She was as untrustworthy as her mother. Now he'd have to dispose of her as well.

Swiftly he turned and pulled his bell. He was already half dressed when Doyle appeared sleepily. "Get the other men up and dressed, and have them bring their weapons to the front hall now" he barked. "It's time to move in for the kill."

As Michael landed on the ledge by Amy, he said in a conversational tone, "What happened?"

"I made a rope of sheets and it broke." She wiped her smudged face with the back of her hand. "I managed to jump to this ledge, but I couldn't go either up or down."

"Have you been here long?"

"Forever!" Her voice quivered. "Last night Lord Haldoran told me Mama was dead, so, I decided I must escape to find out if he was telling the truth."

The bastard. Michael muttered an oath that he should not have used in the presence of a child. Haldoran must be in the house, which made their situation even more perilous. Concealing his concern, he said calmly, "As you can see, he was lying."

"I could kill him for what he said!" There was nothing childlike in her voice.

"I'll do my best to kill him for you."

As he tested the line, she asked, "Why are you with Mama?"

Michael thought quickly to come up with an edited form of the truth. "Your mother was nervous about visiting Skoal. Since we're friends, she asked me to come with her."

Amy accepted that without comment.

He continued, "The fastest way down is for you to ride piggyback. It will be scary. Can you do it?"

She nodded vigorously. "Whatever it takes to get down!"

With a smile, he turned and crouched so she could mount. Though her slim body was icy cold, she wrapped her arms and legs around him tightly. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

He stepped from the ledge, Amy clinging like a monkey. The wind whipped at them, making the rope sway, and Amy's weight drastically unbalanced him. The slow descent became a test of pure strength, a resource that was in perilously short supply after days of virtually nonstop exertion. One hand at a time. Then another. Keep it smooth so Amy won't be jarred off. By the time his feet touched the ground, his palms were raw and his arms shaking with strain.

"Mama!" Amy jumped free and hurled herself into her weeping mother's arms.

Michael leaned against the wall and drew deep, shuddering breaths as he watched their reunion. What would it be like to experience such tender mutual love? He hoped Amy realized how lucky she was. It looked as if she did,

He turned and picked up his sword. "Time to be going. Haldoran is here, so we must get away without being seen."

"Yes, sir, Colonel." A wide grin on her face, Amy turned to him, her hand in her mother's. Catherine's face was glowing.

Even Michael allowed himself to feel hopeful as he led his charges away from the house. In a few more minutes, they would be safe. Only a few more minutes…

Chapter 39

Though the sun was rising and objects were clearly visible, Michael didn't try to keep his small party behind cover. Speed was more important than stealth. After they crossed the Neck to Great Skoal, they would be able to disappear into the scrubby bushes, but until then they were vulnerable. He carried the sword in his hand, hoping it wouldn't be needed.

When the sound of crashing waves indicated that they were close to the Neck, he said, "Amy, did you come this way when Haldoran brought you to his house?"

She made a face. "The Neck. It's narrow and scary. I'm glad it's light enough to see the way across."

"Then you know to be careful."

"I will." She tightened her clasp on her mother's hand. "I don't like heights."

Catherine chuckled. "I'm afraid I don't, either, my love."

"Then it's fortunate you won't be crossing," a lazy voice drawled. There was sudden movement in the bushes on both sides of the track. Five men stepped onto the road, swaggering with the confidence of well-armed bullies. Haldoran and Doyle were on the left while the other three convicts stood directly in front of the fugitives, blocking the way to the Neck.

Knowing he had only an instant to act, Michael leaped at the convicts in front of him. His first sword stroke slashed the trigger hand of the man whose jaw he'd broken in their earlier encounter. Without pausing, he spun and stabbed the second convict in the shoulder. As the fellow reeled backward, Michael jerked his blade free and swung on the third convict, chopping deeply into the fellow's thigh. As his victim crumpled to the ground with a howl, Michael yelled, "Run!"

Catherine and Amy bolted through the gap Michael had created and raced onto the Neck. Not wasting a glance after them, he turned to face his opponents.

The first three men hadn't yet recovered, but Doyle was aiming his rifle, murder in his eyes. As the gun blasted, Haldoran struck the flat of his sword on the barrel, sending the ball harmlessly into the earth. "Don't kill him!" he barked. "I want to do that myself."

He stalked forward, his blade raised and ready. The early morning light gleamed on the superb Saracen weapon he had wielded against Michael once before. "That point goes to you, Kenyon. You attacked as quickly as when I caught you and Catherine in the laird's bedroom. I should have remembered the tactic."

"If you weren't an amateur, you would have." Michael backed onto the Neck, watching the other man like a hawk. The eyes would signal the moment and direction of an attack.

Haldoran scowled. "I wish I could take my time, but I'll have to kill you quickly so we can catch Catherine and her brat."

"You'll have to come through me to get them," Michael said flatly. "That may be harder than you think."

"Oh?" Light-footed and eyes gleaming, Haldoran stepped onto the Neck. "I defeated you before and you weren't exhausted then. I know damned well you were goading me when you claimed later you'd let me win. This time, there will be no question of my victory." He lunged with lightning swiftness.

Warned by the flicker of his opponent's eyes, Michael parried. Fatigue had dulled his reflexes, and he barely managed to block the blow in time.

Haldoran responded with a series of brutally powerful thrusts. The blade glittered Wood red in the rising sun as he slashed forward, nearly breaking through his opponent's guard. As Michael retreated, Haldoran sneered, "That isn't much of a sword. Where did you find it?"

"In a smuggler's cave. It's a standard-issue naval weapon," Michael panted. "A real soldier doesn't need elaborate weapons."

Haldoran struck again. When Michael warded off the blow, he was aided by the gusty wind, which kept his opponent off balance for a moment. Michael took advantage of the brief respite to glance over his shoulder. Catherine and Amy had vanished. Profoundly relieved, he returned his attention to his enemy.

Exhaustion had dulled his wits, his speed, even his desire to survive. The only thing left was the steely core of skill forged in the hardest of schools. Endless drill and more skirmishes and battles than he could remember had taught him to strike, to parry, to lunge, even when his sword seemed too heavy to lift and his muscles trembled with strain.

They fought in grim silence, the ring of their weapons piercing the dark roar of the waves and the occasional cries of gulls. They were both sweating now. Though Haldoran was always on the verge of making a fatal thrust, he never quite succeeded. Somehow Michael's tired arm and leaden feet always managed to parry and withdraw before the other man could strike.

Michael found bleak satisfaction in his modest successes. He would not win this fight. Even if by some miracle he defeated Haldoran, he'd be shot by the waiting convicts. But every moment he endured gave Catherine and Amy more time to escape.

When he fell back another step, Haldoran snarled, "Stand, damn you! Fight like a gentleman, if you know how."

It was an enormous effort to answer, "All I can do is fight like a soldier-to win."

Enraged, Haldoran charged forward. The razor-sharp tip of the Saracen blade grazed Michael's forearm, slicing through the bulky jersey and probing for a vital spot. Hastily Michael retreated-and his right heel landed on open air. The Neck had tightened to its narrowest width, and completing the step would be fatal.

He twisted to the left like an acrobat. The movement saved him from going over the cliff, but he ended sprawling on the edge of the precipice.

Haldoran smiled with vicious satisfaction. "Say your prayers, Kenyon." He stabbed down toward Michael's throat.

Barely in time, Michael raised his sword to block his opponent's blow. The Saracen blade struck the naval sword with a ringing shriek and splintered the inferior metal. Most of the blade spun away, leaving him with a hilt and a ragged steel stub.

His mind accepted that the end had come, but his trained body was incapable of surrender. He grabbed a fistful of pebbles with his left hand and hurled them into his enemy's face. Haldoran swore and fell back, clawing at his eyes. As he did, Michael made a sweeping motion with his left leg. His ankle smashed into the other man's legs.

Haldoran fell sideways. Michael raised himself to his knees and struck his opponent's sword hand with the viciously edged stub of his own weapon, severing the tendons. Haldoran cried out as the sword fell from his grasp. For the first time, his face showed fear. Growling like an animal, he kicked the broken sword from Michael's grasp. Then he dived forward and locked his good hand on Michael's throat.

They began wrestling feverishly, rolling back and forth on the brink of the precipice. But the balance of power had shifted. Berserker wildness surged through Michael, carrying him beyond fatigue and fear to a place where action was all. Relentlessly he forced Haldoran back toward the cliff.

As their locked bodies teetered on the edge, Michael stared into his enemy's eyes, seeing the fear grow. He spat out, "Amateur." Then he broke Haldoran's hold with a violent thrust that propelled the other man toward the edge.

Haldoran grabbed at Michael, for support or to take them both to their deaths, but Michael chopped the other man's wrist with the edge of his hand. Fingers still scrabbling desperately, Haldoran pitched into space. He screamed all the way down, his terror reverberating from the cliffs and hills, until the sound ended with horrifying finality.

It was victory, of a sort. But as Michael lifted his head and saw the gun barrels aimed at him, he knew that the end had finally arrived.

At least he was dying for a reason. Live long, Catherine, and live well