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door behind her. Martin stormed back through the hall and closed the library door so hard the stag’s horns mounted above it crashed to the floor.
    “My, my, such a violent family,” Edward purred.
    “Quiet, you old fox,” Brett admonished, a reluctant smile banishing his frown. “Try not to get yourself murdered while I’m gone. I don’t know where I should turn for amusement.. Do what you can to keep this business quiet,” he said to Feathers. “I don’t think Martin will talk, but he’s too great a fool to know where his own best interests lie.” He shook hands with both men and went quickly from the house.
    Memories jostled each other in Kate’s head as the coach sped down the lane, and a sense of loss settled over her. Ryehill was the home of her birth; she had grown to womanhood there and it represented a sense of belonging, a feeling of permanence. The world she was about to enter offered no such haven.
    But Ryehill also held bitter memories, and more recently the twin specters of pain and fear. She was taking a desperate gamble, but it was with a sense of relief that she saw the castle towers disappear behind the trees. Now she could start anew. She didn’t know what the next days would hold, but if this strange man were to be a part of them, she was sure they would hold adventure and excitement. After years of virtual imprisonment, she eagerly looked forward to both.
    “I’ve been up all night and I’m extremely tired,” Brett announced without preamble. “My coachman has instructions to change horses as often as needed and to provide you with food and refreshment. Is there anything you want before I go to sleep?” He stared wearily at Kate, his expression not encouraging.
    “Not at the moment,” she replied, pinpoints of anger showing in her eyes. Really, this man was abominably rude. “I promise not to wake you until the footpads are at the door.”
    “Not even then. There’s a loaded pistol on the wall behind you.”
    “But I’ve hardly ever used firearms before,” she said, startled.
    “It’s quite easy. You just point it and squeeze the trigger.” Without another word, he drew the sheepskin rug over him and leaned back against the thick upholstering of the seats. Within seconds Kate could hear the soft sounds of his even breathing.
    Conceited, thoughtless, and rude though he was, Kate couldn’t stay angry with Brett. Handsome and virile when he was awake, his face assumed an almost cherubic beauty in slumber, an appearance she found incongruous with his brusque, unemotional character. His black hair rose in thick waves from a high, broad forehead, his thick brows and long black lashes giving his eyes an unusual prominence in his face. His nose was finely chiseled, and his lips full and firm. His skin was dark and closely shaved without the mask so common to men with heavy dark hair.
    He had rescued her from Martin, and she would have felt drawn to him had he looked like a troll, but in her eyes he was Prince Charming, and he was even more handsome than in her dreams. She felt like a damsel in distress who had been rescued at the last minute by her knight in shining armor, but it would have been so much nicer if her knight errant had not fallen asleep the minute the rescue was over.
    With a barely perceptible sigh, she shifted her gaze to the desolate and uninviting landscape. The sky was nearly clear of clouds, but a white haze hung in the air and the wind was sharp and bitter, sweeping up hills and down valleys with the swiftness of a diving hawk; it tore its way into the coach and forced Kate to burrow more deeply under her rug. There were no animals or birds to be seen and only an occasional sign of a cottage or a more substantial dwelling. The leafless trees, their naked silhouettes spread against the hostile sky, gave no promise of the spring to come, and the threat of a blizzard hung in the air.
    Let it storm, she thought, trying to drive away the fear that threatened to