by Justine Cole
"You're wrong!" she cried. "He detests me."
"No, my darling. At the moment, he detests only himself. To him, loving is a weakness to be conquered. Quinn can tolerate weakness in others, but never in himself. My sister understands this about him. In many ways, she understands him better than you."
"And she'll be here to comfort him when he returns," Noelle snapped.
"No, she will not. Come sit down next to me, my darling. I am about to do something noble, and it will be easier for me if you're close by."
She looked at him quizzically and then did as he asked.
"I have not been entirely honest with you, partly from loyalty to my sister and partly from my own selfishness because I wanted you for myself. But now I think it is only fair to tell you that Quinn did not send for Anna and that they have not slept together since she arrived."
"I don't believe you. Anna told me herself that—"
"She lied to you." Wolf caught Noelle's hand and held it tight. "I am taking Anna away with me. We leave for Savannah tomorrow and then for France next week. I promise you, you will not have to worry about my sister again."
Noelle looked at him incredulously, trying to take in what he was saying. "Why are you doing this? She will hate you."
"Even my sister must someday bow to the inevitable, and I will not permit her to destroy herself any longer. When she is no longer angry, she will realize I am right. Anna is a realist, you see, and she already knows that Quinn loves you." He stood and gazed down at her. "I must go now."
Not trusting herself to speak, Noelle held out her hand, and he brushed it with his lips. "Auf Wiedersehen. Good-bye, my beautiful swan."
Later that evening. Dainty clucked her tongue in disapproval as she set a basket of eggs on the kitchen table ready for tomorrow morning's breakfast. "I don't like it one bit, Miz Copeland. A man's supposed to be with his wife, not galavantin' all over God's creation."
"It's not for you to like or dislike, Dainty Jones, and I'm sure you've xxx eavesdropped enough in this household to understand why Mr. Copeland is needed in Washington. Now, I'm going to bed!" Noelle stalked from the kitchen, banging the door behind her.
Dainty shook her head sadly as she took a last swipe at the table with her dishtowel. That young 'un needs some tendin' to, she thought to herself. And ain't no cook in the world can give it. No siree. it's her husband she needs!
When Noelle reached her room, she pulled a small valise from the back of her wardrobe and resolutely placed it on the bed. She would go to Savannah now—tonight. Later she would send for the rest of her things. The longer she put off leaving Televea, the more difficult it would be for her. Wolf was wrong. Quinn didn't love her. He had raped her, hadn't he? A man did not rape a woman he loved.
She packed the valise quickly, not giving herself time to think or to feel. When she was done, she fastened the straps and started toward the door to call for Nathan. But as she passed the fireplace something caught her eye.
There on the mantelpiece near the spot where she had found Quinn's note lay the disk of beaten silver that he always wore around his neck, the disk that had once been Amanda's. Slowly she picked it up and cradled it in the palm of her hand. The metal was cold. Tears she had refused to give into all day now began to fall freely. She knew how much this necklace meant to Quinn, and yet he had left it for her. Was it possible that he did love her? Or was this merely his way of telling her how sorry he was?
Long after the house was quiet and the servants were asleep, Noelle was still awake. She sat in her bedroom, fully dressed, the necklace lying in her lap. Finally she picked it up and slipped it around her neck. As she tucked it inside her dress the siiver disk slid down between her breasts, where the metal nestled, warm and comfortable.
Slowly she walked to the bed and unfastened the straps of her valise. For the past three years of her life, all the good and all the bad were tied to one man. If she left now, she would never be at peace with herself because she would never know the truth. When she returned to England, it must be with the certain knowledge that Quinn did not love her.
She had nearly finished unpacking when she heard a pounding at the front door. Uneasily she glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. Who could be calling at this hour? As she hurried down the stairs she met Nathan coming from the back of the house, hastily pushing his arms into the sleeves of an old robe. He reached the door before her and opened it.
Noelle had never seen the small, wiry man who stood on the other side nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I gotta see Mr. Copeland right away!" the man exclaimed.
Quickly Noelle pushed Nathan aside. "I'm Mrs. Copeland. Tell me what's wrong."
The man's eyes darted into the hallway behind her. "You get Mr. Copeland, ma'am. I got a horse waitin' for him. There's a fire at the shipyard."
"Dear God, no!" Noelle whispered, and then, sharply, "Nathan! Get as many of the men as you can. I'm going ahead." Not bothering to fetch her cloak, she brushed past the stranger and raced across the porch toward the horses at the bottom of the front steps.
"Wait!" the man cried. "I came for Mr. Copeland!"
"My husband isn't home," she declared as she caught up her skirts and mounted the nearest horse. "Hurry! There's no time to argue." She did not wait to see if he followed her.
As she reached the edge of the pine trees near the main road, her mind was racing. How long ago had the fire started and how far had it spread? There was a new cutter they were getting ready to— Without warning, two horses shot out from the night shadows on either side of her. She jerked back on the reins as they blocked the road. "What do you think you're—"
"Son of a bitch!" a familiar voice exclaimed. "Where's Copeland?" Even before she could make out his features, Noelle knew it was Luke Baker.
Another horse drew up behind her. "He wasn't there, Luke. She took off 'fore I could stop her." It was the stranger who had come for Quinn.
Fear clawed at Noelle as she looked around at the unshaven faces of the three men who surrounded her. There was no fire at the shipyard. It was a trap. Somehow Luke Baker had escaped from prison and come after Quinn.
Bracing herself, she dug her heels into her horse's flanks. But she was too late. Baker had anticipated her movement. He swung out his forearm and caught her painfully around the waist. He jerked her to his own horse just as hers shot out from beneath her. "Now, that wasn't too smart, little lady," he sneered. "You didn't really think I was gonna let you go that easy, did you? Get that horse, Greeley. We got a long way to ride. Looks like we can't get Copeland, but I gotta feelin' she's gonna do jes' fine."
"No!" Noelle clawed at the knotted muscles of his lower arm. "No! Let me go!"
"Shut up!" He jerked hard against her ribs, sending the breath rushing from her body. "You're comin' with us, little lady. When your husband finds out I got you, it'll be better than killin' him like I planned. He.knows me well enough to figure out what I'm gonna do with you."
Noelle's struggles grew more frantic, and Baker landed a sharp, ringing blow on the side of her head. "Fightin' won't do no good," he jeered. "You belong to me and my boys now. And we're gonna treat you real fine."
They traveled the rest of that night and for the next two days keeping off the roads so they wouldn't be spotted, sleeping in snatches. The men were like rodents, she thought, skulking at the perimeters, afraid of open spaces and daylight. Other than a few vulgarities when she went into the bushes to tend to the needs of her body, they did not molest her, but she knew it was only the speed at which they were traveling that protected her.
The second day of riding was even more difficult for her than the first as they drew nearer the mountainous area of northern Georgia. The insides of her thighs were chafed and raw, and her wrists throbbed from the ropes that bound them to the pommel of her saddle. Her hair had come undone and hung in tangles down her back, and her green cashmere dress was ripped at the shoulder. She was also colder than she could ever rem
ember with not even a shawl to protect her from the January chill.
She discovered they were heading west toward St. Louis, and her spirits sank even lower. Images of her knife lying uselessly in a drawer in her bedroom at Televea haunted her. She tried to distract herself by studying the three men and thinking about escape. Of the three, the one called Otis seemed to be the least ominous. He was large and burly, but dull-witted. Greeley, the man who had come looking for Quinn, was barely taller than she, but there was a furtive intelligence about him that made her suspect he was nearly as dangerous as Luke Baker. As for Baker, he terrified her. He seemed somehow less than human. She learned that he had escaped from prison the week before, killing a guard in the process. She tried not to think about what would happen when their pace slowed.
It was barely dark on the second day when they pulled into a clearing surrounded by pines and Baker announced that they would make camp for the night. "By now we lost anybody might of tried to come after us. I think we can take it easy for a while, don't you, boys?" Noelle's stomach lurched as Greeley and Otis hooted out their agreement.
Baker pulled her from her horse and tossed her down on the edge of the campsite, first making certain her wrists and ankles were tied securely. Before long, the men had built a fire and begun drinking.
She did not know how long she lay there, her cheek pressed against the frozen ground, her body screaming in agony from the tight ropes. They finished one bottle after another, bragging drunkenly about the money they were going to make in the spring, robbing the trappers who were on their way to St. Louis to sell their furs. She tried to ease the pressure on her wrists and ankles by shifting her weight.
"What's the matter, purty lady? Those ropes cuttin' into you?" Baker took a swig from a bottle Greeley passed to him and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Don't you worry none. Won't be long before I untie you. Then you gonna be able to stretch all you want."
Noelle tried to shut out their obscene laughter.
"What're we waitin' for, Boss?" Otis staggered to his feet. "Let's strip her and see what we got!"
Baker lashed out with his foot and kicked him viciously in the side of his leg. "Siddown! You don't do nothin' until I tell you. She's mine! You better understand that from the start. You'll git your turn, but not until I say."
"You bein' a little rough on Otis, ain't you, Boss?" Greeley looked over at Noelle, and she shuddered at the menace in his eyes. "Can't hardly blame him for wantin' a piece of that. Mighty anxious myself. For the past two days she's been lookin' down her nose at us. Treatin' Otis an' me like dirt. Actin' like she's too good for you, Luke."
Fear prickled along her spine as Noelle saw that Greeley's words had found their mark. Baker pushed his huge body up from the side of the campfire and lumbered toward her. His hand crushed her arm as he yanked her to her feet and dragged her over to the campfire.
"Greeley is right, purty lady. I think it's time you made up to us for bein' so unfriendly."
Noelle struggled against him, cursing the ropes that shackled her ankles and kept her arms pinioned behind her. "You disgust me!" she hissed. "You're worse than animals. All of you!"
"Looks like you need to learn some manners," he snarled.
Greeley grinned. "I'll just bet you're gonna teach her some, ain't you, Boss?"
Baker's thick lips curled back over his teeth. He pulled her against his chest and, snaking his arm around her, began opening the bodice of her cashmere dress with sadistic slowness. She felt his fingers unfastening each button until the garment fell down to her waist and only her chemise protected her flesh. Then, with the men cheering him on, he slipped his hand inside and began to fondle her.
"No!" She jerked her head to the side and sank her teeth deep into his arm.
With a yelp of pain, he grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back. Viciously he slapped her across the face, drawing blood where her tooth cut into her bottom lip. Before she could recover, he yanked her back until her shoulders slammed into his chest and split open her chemise. The silver disk hanging around her neck glittered in the firelight as her breasts tumbled out, completely exposed to their hungry eyes.
"Will you look at them," Otis gaped.
"Purtiest sight I seen in a long time." Slowly Greeley uncoiled his wiry body from in front of the fire and approached her, his eyes challenging Baker to stop him. But Baker held her tight and said nothing.
When Greeley was in front of her, he reached out. All the instincts that had helped her survive the streets of London came alive. She heard the wind in the pines, noticed the patches of dark hair growing on the back of his thin hand. Then he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and brutally twisted it. She gasped with pain.
Baker grunted in her ear, "You like it, doncha, bitch! You like what ol' Greeley is doin' to you. Women always like a little pain. Makes 'em hot for it, don't it, Greeley?"
"Why don't we find out."
"Let's just do that. Cut her loose."
Greeley freed her wrists. As the ropes fell off she made herself stand quietly while she tried to move her fingers. Greeley crouched down in front of her and slipped the knife between her ankles. He sawed back and forth until the rope split. At that moment Noelle made her move. With a sudden lunge she dashed toward the horses. Even if they killed her, she had to make the attempt.
"Get her!"
Baker was the first one on her, then Greeley. She fought them desperately, but they quickly overpowered her and dragged her back to the fire.
"Hold her shoulders," Baker snarled. "Otis, get her legs! I'm gonna teach this bitch a lesson she'll never forget."
She felt the cold air on her thighs as he pushed up her skirt and split open her undergarments. They were all over her now. Greeley, pinioning her arms above her head with one hand and groping at her breasts with the other; Otis, his lips hanging slack with lust, spreading her legs.
Baker opened his trousers. Horrified, she watched him lower himself onto her, felt his ugly swollen sex push itself against the inside of her thigh, felt it travel upward . . .
A shot rang out, and Otis fell forward across one of her legs. Abruptly Greeley released the pressure on her wrists just as Baker spun off her, yanking up his trousers while he groped on the ground for his gun.
"Get up, you son of a bitch! I want to see your face when I kill you." Quinn stepped out of the trees, the grim set of his jaw as deadly as the rifle he was pointing toward the men.
Noelle kicked Otis's dead body off her leg and struggled to her feet. Just then Greeley shoved the heel of his hand into her back and sent her sprawling. For one brief second Quinn was distracted. It was all the time Baker needed. He dove at Quinn's legs, and the two of them crashed to the ground, Quinn's rifle slipping from his hands.
From the corner of her eye, Noelle saw Greeley leap toward Baker's pistol. She threw herself at his back. He grunted with the surprise of her attack and tried to dislodge her, but she clung to him, fighting as she'd never fought before, biting and kicking, reaching her fingers around to gouge at his eyes. Finally he shook her off and spun around, his hand clenched in a fist. She stepped back, but it was too late; his blow caught her in the shoulder. She staggered, and then righted herself just as he drew back his arm again. Viciously she brought her knee up and smashed it into his groin. He doubled over, catching her leg as he fell and sending her to the ground.
She saw the pisto—cold, deadly metal just beyond her grasp —and stretched for it and clutched the butt in her hand. As Greeley charged her, she brought it up and fired it directly at him. His face exploded.
She cried out as pieces of it—bits of bone, raw, red tissue —rained down on her naked breasts and arms. And then his faceless body slumped to the ground at her side. She sprang to her feet and stared down with horror at the crimson gore splattered over her bare skin. She could feel it running down her neck, her cheek, splashing off her onto the ground.
Stunned, she lifted her head, barely able to compr
ehend that Quinn was engaged in a fight every bit as desperate as hers had been, for his own hands were empty while his opponent's held a knife. There were bloody slashes on the Sleeves of his buckskin jacket and across his chest where the deadly blade had already found its mark.
She watched the men slowly circle. Baker was clearly the larger, every bit as tall as Quinn but much heavier. He began taunting him, calling him a half-breed and urging him to attack. But Quinn waited, weaving his body back and forth, never taking his eyes off his opponent.
Suddenly Baker lunged. With the speed of a panther, Quinn sidestepped; at the same time he smashed his arm down on Baker's hand. The knife slipped to the ground. Not giving the man a chance to recover, he brought up his fist and pounded it into Baker's chest.
The man staggered, but he didn't fall. Instead, with an agility surprising for one so heavy, he lifted his foot and jabbed it deep into Quinn's abdomen. Quinn doubled over.
Baker seized the moment and brought his hands up, ready to hammer them down on the back of Quinn's neck. Just then Quinn straightened and slammed his fist into Baker's jaw. The huge man reeled. Quinn caught him and began punching him, landing one punishing blow after another. There was a crunch, and Baker's cheekbone crumbled beneath Quinn's murderous fist. Unable to move, Noelle watched as coldly, and with deadly purpose, Quinn beat the man who had tried to rape her until he collapsed into unconsciousness.
Quinn's breathing was labored and uneven when he finally looked over at her. She stood motionless, her hair streaming wild. What was left of her dress hung low on her hips, exposing her waist and the top of her belly. The rest of her was naked and blood-spattered.
Unsteadily Quinn bent over to pick up her torn chemise. Then he went to her and, without a word, began dabbing at her face and body with it, cleansing off the gore. When he was done, he led her into the forest to the place where Pathkiller was pawing restlessly at the ground. From his saddlebags he drew out one of his own garments, a worn buckskin jacket much like the one he was wearing, and handed it to her. She pulled together what was left of her dress and then put the jacket on over the top. When she looked up, Quinn had disappeared.