In a short period of time, she had acquired an education that was vastly superior to that which most women acquired over the course of a lifetime. He knew of only one other female with such intellectual scope, and, in Noelle's remarkable education, he detected the fine hand of Constance Peale.

He frowned and shifted in the straw. It had been somehow easier to think of his wife as an unscrupulous pickpocket than as a beautiful woman whose intelligence would do credit to a man.

After four days of lessons, Quinn declared that Noelle was ready for a longer excursion and they set off after breakfast. Noelle tucked her hair under the boy's cap she had found and unaware of Quinn's assessing gaze, swung a slender leg expertly across the saddle.

They set out across the moor, through stretches of bracken and gorse, across shallow becks strewn with water-smoothed rocks. Noelle, the child of London's crowded slums, reveled in the untenanted vastness of it. Throughout the morning, she found herself laughing, partly from the sheer joy of being outside on Chestnut's back but, just as often, from a story Quinn told or a joke he made. Once again she found herself letting down her guard and responding to his charm.

Toward noon, they came upon the ruins of an abandoned abbey. Their voices were hollow echoes as they dismounted and companionably explored the crumbling stones that, three hundred years before, had housed the pious enemies of Henry VIII.

Noelle stared at the one remaining upright wall with its six perfect Gothic arches empty against the sky. Captive to the mood of the place, she took off her cap and absentmindedly shook out her hair. As Quinn watched the honey strands catch the sunlight his resolve to have her on his own terms became indurate. He came up behind her. "You can almost hear the priests petitioning God for Anne Boleyn's damnation, can't you?"

"They were doomed anyway, I think. She was just the catalyst. Henry's pride wouldn't allow him to be subject to anyone, not even a pope." The breeze picked up the ends of her hair as she turned to him and added quietly, "But then, you understand all that better than I, don't you?"

He laughed, softening the hard line of his mouth. Since he had left London, he had not bothered to shave, and the beard which now covered his jaw made him look more the pirate than ever. She was once again struck by how ruggedly handsome he was.

"Poor Highness," he said softly. "Are you afraid I'll have you beheaded?" Eyes shimmering with desire that he made no effort to conceal, he picked up a silken curl and held it between his fingers.

It was as if a current ran from his hand along the strands of hair and into her mind, paralyzing it. She could not summon the will to pull her eyes from his. He brought up his palm and rested it possessively on her cheek, gently outlining the fine bone with a work-hardened fingertip. Slowly his hand moved, igniting whatever it touched-setting fire to the delicate line of her jaw, the slim column of her throat, and the little hollow at its base, warming the nape of her neck as he caught it in his caress. The delicious heat held her prisoner, and she offered no resistance when he pulled her toward him and lowered his hungry mouth to hers. Tremulously her lips opened and she received his tongue. The heat of him engulfed her. Fastening her arms around his shoulders, she surrendered to the power of his kiss.

Quinn triumphed in the nectar of her mouth and the surrendering softness of the supple body pressing into him. She was returning his fire with her own. Then, with a gentle pressure on her shoulders, he pulled away from her and brushed the hair back from her delicate face with his fingers.

"Let's finish our ride," he said softly.

Noelle's eyes clouded in confusion. Finally she stammered, "I -I'd like to ride by myself for a while."

Quinn hesitated. He did not like the idea of her riding alone. Although she was proving to be an exceptional horsewoman, she was still inexperienced. However, she was not a woman to be kept on a tight rein, so, with some misgivings, he acquiesced.

"Keep that line of cliffs in front of you and don't stay out too long. The mists come up fast."

Noelle nodded and mounted Chestnut, her vision blurred with unshed tears. Tapping the sides of her boots lightly into the mare's flanks, she left the abbey and her husband behind her.

Her mind and body were in turmoil as she flew across the hard earth. It seemed she didn't know herself at all anymore. The panic that clawed away at her at the very thought of a man's embrace was still as much a part of her as the air she breathed, but Quinn seemed capable of lulling that fear in her, of making her blood surge through her veins like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

Why was it this man alone who was capable of making her forget all reason-a man so savage, so dangerous that every instinct warned her he would destroy her? The emptiness around her offered no answer to her agonizing questions.

She pushed her horse on, too absorbed in her misery to notice the plunge in temperature or the ominously darkening sky. Just as the cold, blanketing mist enveloped her, she snapped her head up and remembered, too late. Quinn's warning. She tugged on the reins, and horse and rider came to a stop in the swirling gray opaqueness.

Noelle looked around her, desperately trying to get her bearings. It seemed as if the cliffs had been on her right, or had she changed direction without being aware of it? Which way should she go now?

Sensing her rider's uncertainty, Chestnut laid back her ears and sidestepped nervously, the billowing clouds from her nostrils mingling with the misty swirls.

"Easy, girl. Easy. Let's try this way."

They set off, Noelle hunched over Chestnut's neck as they chiseled their way deeper into the mist. A freezing drizzle began to fall, and she prodded the reluctant mare on. The rain brought its own dangers, but perhaps it would clear away the mist so she could check her direction.

Before long the drizzle had soaked through her jacket and breeches to her skin, and she was shivering with the cold. Her fingers grasping the reins were stiff and numb, and she tried to flex them to restore their feeling. Desperately she peered into the thick, blanketing mist, but she could barely see Chestnut's nose, much less the cottage.

Then, with a blinding flash of lightning, the skies opened, and a driving rain assaulted them. Terrified by the noise, the mare threw her head down, jerking the reins from Noelle's stiff fingers. Frantically she grasped the wet mane just as a second bolt of lightning split the heavens. The gentle mare, stricken with terror, reared, pawing the rain-lashed air with slashing hooves, and then bolted with Noelle clinging desperately to her back.

The rain stung her cheeks with its force. Her wet hair slapped across her eyes as she futilely clawed for the reins. Then, in the blue phosphorescence of another jagged thunderbolt, Noelle saw, to her horror, that their blind groping had taken them to the very banks of Ravensdale Tarn. She barely had time to grab a breath before she was catapulted into the deep waters.

The slamming impact tore her from the mare's back, and the frigid water closed over her head. Wildly, she thrashed her arms, desperately clawing through the water's weight for the surface. Her head broke through, and she glimpsed her horse in front of her. With a heroic effort, she flailed at the water. Her frozen fingers brushed against Chestnut's leg but slipped off as the mare pulled away, instinctively swimming for the shoreline.

Again and again, the relentless waters towed her under. Arms numb with cold, she fought the inky blackness until she had no strength left. Then, as she surfaced for the last time, she gulped the air too greedily and, instead, sucked in the poisonous water.

A curious lassitude possessed her as the wall of water sealed itself for the last time over her head, and she plummeted down into the bowels of the tarn. As if in a fantasy, her body was no longer hers. She sensed her hair floating around her head like a corona around the sun. While her lungs burned, her body lost its weight.

She accepted the inevitability of death.

Something hard slammed into her ribs… jerked against her… hurting… angry… Pulling at her. Forcing her up. Breaking through into the cleansing air. Into the sanctified, life-giving air.

She was dragged to the bank of the tarn and held while her body rejected the water it had swallowed. Then she sank into unconsciousness.

Chapter Twenty-four

She was lying naked on her stomach. Everything was soft and safe. Hot, orange flames flickered on the other side of her eyelids. Bit by bit, part by part, an encompassing warmth was stealing the ice from her body.

Something soft, like a towel, slid along her naked spine. Up. Down. Along her arms, shoulders, down her spine again, across her hips, caressing each smooth buttock, stroking her long, slender legs.

So soft, so warm. The icy core inside her began to thaw as warm, warmer, each limb absorbed the delicious soft stroking.

Then, warm flesh, warmer than hers, cupped her shoulders and gently turned her so that her front was offered up. The textured softness brushed her face, her neck, then her chest. It circled the globes of her breasts, touched her nipples, then moved onto her flat stomach, kneading it with softness. Again, the warmer flesh touched her, this time on her thighs, moving one limb a fraction apart from the other so the softness could caress her thighs, knees, calves, every toe.

In her delicious warm languor, she lifted up one arm and then the other, delighting in their lightness, the way they responded to her wishes. She stretched them out above her head, arching her back like a contented cat in the hot summer sun.