For Colvin Price, the Earl of Forshee, never came.

CHAPTER TWO:

Jon’s Leering

Lia wrestled with her emotions, even though she had determined in advance to master them. The Bearden Muir was different, yet the same – oppressive, haunting, thick with memories that could not be banished or tamped down. Standing over Jon Hunter’s grave, she fought down the urge to sob, to scream, the desire to undo everything she had done so long ago. It was a year since his death, a year since that awful Whitsunday fair. A year wearing hunter boots, hunter leathers, dealing in a hunter’s errands. She bit her lip, willing the memories to dull, the emotions to fade. Jon had died because of her.

Leaves and brush choked the small glen where she and Colvin had buried him beneath a pile of rocks. Had he died at the Abbey, his bones would have been