Chapter One West March, England, 1542,60 years later... The litter, piled high with pillows and blankets, creaked and swayed as the horses made their way inexorably west to Lochnith and Fayth Graham's betrothed, Lord Ashton Carlisle. It was late September and the weather was mild; even so, Fayth sweat, stifled by the closed curtains of her litter. But they shielded her from the sight of the heavily armed guard surrounding her. The guards were more than protection. They ensured she'd not escape her fate.Fayth leaned back against the pillows, loosening the laces of her bodice, untying the throat of the linen shift and spreading it wide. But that brought no relief. The air was thick. The stench of unwashed men and horse sweat permeated the heavy brocaded curtains. She was accustomed to the smell, if not to the elaborate garments her brother dressed her in. Since she was a bairn she'd dressed as a lad to train with her father and brother. And when she wore gowns, she favored simplicity -- and no stays. The tightly laced wooden busks choked her and limited her range of movement. They scraped the healing stripes across her back, courtesy of her oldest brother, Ridley. He'd tried to flog her into agreeing to wed Carlisle. As of the present, he'd still not obtained her acquiescence. But apparently it no longer mattered.Unable to bear another moment of inaction, Fayth parted the curtains slightly and peered through. A wall of armor-clad muscle and horseflesh surrounded her. Yet that did not deter her. Shemustescape. The alternative -- marriage to a cruel old man -- was unthinkable.Mona had warned her what her life would be like if she wasn't able to extricate herself from this marriage. Fayth shook her head, angry, frustrated, refusing to accept her fate, even as she moved toward it. This was not how her life was supposed to be! Before Papa died there had been love, joy, friendship, family. Now there was nothing in its place. Fayth squeezed her eyes shut, pushing the memories away. Nothing would be gained by dwelling on what could not be changed...for now. But there was still hope...there was always hope.Behind her eyelids new images spun.Fire eating through tapestry and flowers, blood spilling, bodies twisting in agony.Fayth's head jerked, as if to flick away the visions like an insect, but they gripped her. She didn't want to remember what she'd done -- the pain and horror she'd caused.Caroline screamed and screamed. Arms imprisoned Fayth, stifling, suffocating. Fayth fought his embrace, struggled for air as he squeezed. But he was too strong for her.Enough. Jaw clenched with new resolve, she pushed the errant memories away and peered through the slit in the brocade. The guard beside her was preoccupied, his helm-covered head at an anxious tilt, scanning the surrounding trees. Fayth's gaze tipped upward. Sunlight streamed through the branches like shafts of gold. They were in a forest, in Scotland. The West March was covered with forests and bogs, so she couldn't be sure exactly where they were or how much farther until Lord Carlisle's castle of Lochnith. She searched the trees, looking for a means of quick escape. A glimpse of something in the trees above caught her eye. A glint of metal? Or her imagination, weaving her desperate hope for rescue into fanciful visions? She strained her eyes, but could discern nothing.She parted the curtains further, easing her head out. There were men before and behind the litter, but no one paid overmuch attention to her. Fayth wished fervently for a pair of breeches and a tunic. A cap to pull low over her hair and eyes. But alas, she would make do with gem encrusted velvet and ribbons.She would have to be fast, there was no room for hesitation or misstep. Someone shouted at the head of the cavalcade. The guard beside her tapped his horse's side and the horse stepped it up a bit, prancing forward a