However the reek of male sweat clinging to the wool robbed her of breath and she was relieved when he lifted it off her head after a league or two. “I demand you tell me where you’re taking me,” she panted. “Ye’ll find out soon enough,” the other rider yelled. “Dinna worry about Joseph,” her captor rasped with a chuckle. “He’s mad ye broke his nose.” “Why has my uncle sent you?” she asked, peering into the darkness. Night riding was perilous. These men must be familiar with the road. “We’ll stop shortly in Dail Cheith,” he replied. “Then on the morrow we’ll complete our journey, and yer questions will be answered.” It was a relief they wouldn’t be careening along in the pitch black for much longer, and the man who seemed to be the superior of the two was polite. Dail Cheith Castle belonged to James Douglas, Earl of Morton. Lexi didn’t know if Douglas was one of her uncle’s cronies, but mayhap if she could get word to him— “Here we be,” her captor said, reining to a halt.
