Aleksander listened to this girl’s fragmented speech to the best of his ability, concerned with how disoriented she was. How could she not know where she came from or what happened to her? Perhaps she had been kidnapped? Drugged? His mind began to sink into the worst possible scenarios.

He frowned when she mentioned her injury, his gaze searching her form for any sign of it. From the way she favored her weight on one leg, he assumed it was a leg or ankle injury, perhaps not too bad considering he saw no blood and she was still coherent.

Caitriona… He knew that name. The hairs on Aleksander’s neck stood on end as his gaze followed the movement of her hands along the chain of her necklace…and a very familiar pendant attached to it…

Two other riders approached on horseback as the prince gaped at the woman, the horses kicking up dust as they halted, the accompanying dogs picking up a fuss of barks, snarls and whines, much like Alaksander’s dogs had.

The prince ignored them as though they weren’t even there, his gaze transfixed in shock on the girl. “Caitriona,” he murmured below the noise of restless animals and their humans. He approached her cautiously, his eyes drinking in every detail of her—her hair, the features of her face, the birthmark on her shoulder…

“Oi, Sander, where’d ya go? The boar’s the other way,” one of the nobleman said, a portly fellow that exuded confidence from the proud way he sat on his horse and grinned.

“There’s a girl, Peter,” the other man mumbled, lanky and sullen with a hood over his head.
“Just some peasant girl. A boar’s more exciting.”

“Not according to the dogs. Not according to the prince.”

One by one, they dismounted.

Aleksander seemed not to care. “Princess Caitriona?” He stopped directly in front of her, so close he could scoop her up in his arms, tempted to do just that. From here, there was no mistaking the birthmark. 

“Is she alright?” Peter asked, peering around Aleksander.

“I think…I think I [i]know[/i] you,” Aleksander remarked to Caitriona at the same time. 

“Who is she?” the other nobleman asked.

Aleksander continued to ignore them. “That birthmark, that necklace… I’ve seen paintings, been told stories.” 

“Is he even listening to us?” Peter grumbled.

“I think you’re…you’re my betrothed…”