Justine Cole - The Copeland Bride

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.

A moment later she heard the shot.

Closing her eyes, she began to tremble as once again, she saw Greeley's face exploding over her. Later, when Quinn walked out of the trees, she felt as if she did not know him-a dangerous, bearded stranger, his eyes shadowed by the night, a rifle dangling from one hand, the reins of the horses from the other.

"Did you have to kill him?" she asked listlessly.

He tied the horses to a branch and walked over to his saddlebags. "What did you expect me to do?"

"We could have taken him back. Let him stand trial."

Pulling out a cheroot, he cupped his hands around the tip and lit it before he looked at her. "So he could escape from jail before they got around to hanging him? Is that what you wanted?"

Silently she stared back through the trees and then she shook her head.

"Mount up," he said. "There's a clearing a couple of miles from here where we can make camp for the rest of the night."

Later, as he fashioned a shelter for her from pine branches, she asked him how he had found her. He responded brusquely, saying only that he had returned to Televea to learn she had been kidnapped and had been tracking her ever since.

The winter sun was well up in the sky when she awakened the next morning. Despite everything that had happened, she had slept well. Even Greeley's face did not haunt her deep, dreamless sleep. Now she propped herself up on one elbow and looked at Quinn crouched by the fire, a tin cup in his hand. He had shaved since he had awakened, and his hair was still damp from washing. She drank in the lean line of his jaw, the bold flare of his nostrils, the eyes, deep and unfathomable. He was fierce and splendid. A feeling of happiness and something like peace spread through her at the sight of him so near.

He looked over and smiled. "Afraid I'm fresh out of tea and scones. You're stuck with coffee this morning."

Her mouth curved in response. "Coffee's fine."

He brought her a steaming cup, his smile abruptly disappearing when his fingers brushed against hers. He pulled away quickly and went back to his place by the fire. Her brief happiness in the morning disappeared. "You should have awakened me," she said stiffly. "It must be ten o'clock by now."

"You needed to sleep." He jerked his head toward the trees behind him. "There's a creek back there where you can wash. Dainty put a clean change of clothes for you in my saddlebags."

She set her coffee down and, without looking at him, gathered the clothes and made her way to the creek. As she washed she barely noticed the sting of the cold water on her flesh. She dressed quickly in the fawn riding habit that Dainty had packed and then, more slowly, returned to their camp.

Quinn was saddling Pathkiller. Although he had his back to her, he heard her approach. "We'll take it easy today," he said. "There's an inn about five hours ride from here where we can spend the night."

The question could no longer remain unasked. "Why did you go back to Televea, Quinn?"

For an instant his hands seemed to falter on the girth strap, and then he finished tightening it. "We'll stop every hour so you can rest. I know the owner of the inn. It's a clean place and the food is good."

She touched the silver disk around her neck. "Tell me why, Quinn. I have to know why you returned."

He brushed past her toward the other saddle that lay on the ground. "We'll talk about this later, Noelle. After we're back at Televea."

If he had struck her, he could not have made his feelings more clear. The tears that had been steadily rising in her throat threatened to strangle her. With a low sob, she turned and fled into the trees, running mindlessly, numbed by her pain and her great sense of loss. She did not hear the footsteps racing after her, was barely conscious of his hands on her shoulders snatching her to him, of the roughness of his jacket against her cheek.

"Highness, don't cry. Please don't cry," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't let me hurt you any more than I already have."

She clenched her fists and pressed them against his chest. "Why didn't you send me away long ago instead of torturing me so?" she sobbed. "Is this your revenge? Making me fall in love with you and then tossing me away? Is this what your hatred of me has led you to?"

"Hatred?" He pushed her back from him and gave her shoulders a shake. "My God, you're the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I love you more than I love my own life!"

"Then why did you leave me?" she cried, barely comprehending the declaration she had waited so long to hear.

"For God's sake, what was I going to say to you?" His lips curled brutally, and his next words were laden with mockery. "My dear wife, even though I took a whip to you in the stable and raped you, you must understand that I really love you!"

"Yes!" she screamed. "Yes! That's exactly what you were supposed to say!"

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and, with a savage curse, turned away from her. "Don't you understand? Even if you could forgive me, I could never forgive myself."

Her tears were falling freely now. "Then why did you go back to Televea?"

For a long time he said nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and once again under control. "I went back because I had to see you one last time and make sure you were all right." He stared off into the distance. "Marry Wolf Brandt, Noelle. When he says he loves you, you'll be able to believe him."

Noelle stood without moving. There was a terrible resignation about Quinn, a slump to his shoulders she had never seen before. Suddenly she realized it was not he who had his revenge, but she. She had finally done what she'd sworn to do so long ago. She had finally defeated him. How many times she had prayed to see him humbled. Now it had happened-and all she could think of was how awful it was and how much she loved him. There was nothing else-no satisfaction, no feeling of vindication, nothing but an overwhelming urge to erase that awful resignation.

"I'm not going to listen to any more of your ridiculous self-pity!" she exclaimed, slashing at her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her hand. "You did a terrible thing to me. We've both done terrible things. But that's all in the past now. We have the rest of our lives. And if you think I'm going to marry Wolf, you're quite mistaken. I'm not a piece of property to be passed from one man to another. You're my husband, Quinn Copeland. Mine!"