The Copeland Bride

Chapter Thirty-seven

"Noelle, forgive me for calling so early in the morning. I had to see you."

She felt a stab of guilt as she walked into the drawing room. The last time she had seen Wolf, he was lying unconscious on the floor. But not until minutes ago, when Grace had told her he was downstairs, had she spared him a moment's thought.

He took a step toward her, and she saw the swollen purple bruise. "Oh, Wolf, your jaw!"

"It is nothing. You are the one I am concerned about. Are you all right?"

She drew a tremulous breath. "No, I-I'm afraid I'm not." Her hand shook as she held out Quinn's letter. "Read this."

Wolf took it from her and carried it over to the window. He skimmed the page and then went back to the beginning and read it through again, more carefully. When he was done, he looked at Noelle, standing like a marble statue next to the fireplace, and saw how pale she was, how painfully fragile in her misery.

Walking over to her, he handed back the letter. "Is the thought of never seeing him again so horrible to you?"

"Oh, Wolf, I can't hide from it anymore. I love him."

"Does he know?"

"I told him last night, but he didn't believe me."

"Do you want this divorce?"

"I don't know what I want anymore. Last night I wanted to kill him. Then I wanted to die. This morning, I…" Her words trailed off. She made a series of small, tight pleats in the letter and then thrust it deep in her pocket. "He raped me, Wolf. But now there's no rage left inside me, only sadness and bitterness. Somehow I can't get rid of the notion that it was himself he was punishing, not me."

"Do as he says, Noelle. Get your divorce and marry me. I will give you the life you deserve."

"How could I do that to you!" she cried. "You're not a man to settle for second best, and one day you'd grow bitter."

Brandt had known that this would be her answer. Still, he would make one last effort before he gave up the dream of having her. Cupping her chin in his hand, he kissed her gently. "I am willing to take that risk, my darling."

"But I'm not," she said softly. "I care too much for you to hurt you like that."

Wolf trailed a finger down her cheek and then walked resignedly over to one of the lemon-yellow settees. "He loves you, you know."

"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 remember 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 comprehend 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.

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!"

Slowly he turned. She took a step toward him and, instinctively, he reached out. Then his arm fell back to his side. "It's not that simple."

"Yes it is." She closed the rest of the distance between them and, reaching up, cupped his cheek with her hand. "There's only one thing that's important, Quinn. Whether or not you love me."

He turned his head and pressed his lips to the palm of the hand that caressed him. "You know I do. But-"

"Shhh," she whispered, her eyes shining with the depth of her love for this splendid, stubborn man. "It's enough, my darling." Her breath caught in her throat as she saw some of the awful bleakness begin to lift from his face.

"And what if I fail you again?" he asked.

"You probably will." She smiled. "And I'll fail you. We're both imperfect creatures with too much pride. We'll have to learn to trust each other. It won't be easy."

His voice was choked with emotion as he muttered, "You're the damndest woman."

And then she was in his arms, caught in an embrace so full of love that everything else ceased to exist for them. They were alone in the world, two lovers joined at last.

Together, they moved to the shelter of the pine boughs where they shed their clothing and lay together beneath the warm blankets. Slowly they began moving their hands and then their mouths, searching out smooth curves and moist hollows, hardness and softness.

The cold January morning ceased to exist for them as they gave everything to each other-their bodies, their thoughts, their very breath. Climbing… passions racing rampant… they soared together until they were one.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Their child was born the following October. Whether he was conceived in rape or in the golden moments of their slow journey back to Televea, neither of them knew, but they both suspected that the violent night in the stable, which had changed everything for them, had also brought them their son. At Noelle's insistence, they named him Christopher Simon, combining Quinn's middle name with his father's first. Christopher had Quinn's black hair and high cheekbones and his mother's topaz eyes. He was a lively, sparkling child, and they gloried in him.

Quinn traveled to Washington with Wasidan to plead the Cherokee cause, but to no avail. The removal of the Indians to the west went ahead as planned, and four thousand died in less than a year, nearly a quarter of the tribe. Disease, famine, exposure, and heartbreak killed them. Among the Cherokee, the awful journey from their ancestral home to the new land of Oklahoma came to be known as nunna-da-ul-tsun-yi, the trail on which they cried.

Quinn grieved for his people, and his wife comforted him. Their love for each other was healing. Slowly the loneliness and sense of isolation that had been so much a part of both their lives dissolved. Only the subject of Simon stood between them-Noelle pressing Quinn to reconcile with his father, and Quinn steadfastly refusing.

By the summer following Christopher's birth, Quinn's American clipper was finally on the stocks. Its keel had been laid, its frame fitted, and even though the exposed ribs were not yet ready to be planked, Quinn's daring new shape was already evident.

That summer, they frequently went to the pond in the woods behind Televea, sometimes alone, sometimes taking nine-month- old Christopher and splashing with him in the cold, clear water.

"Come on, Highness. Get in here before I pull you in!"

When it was just the two of them, she would step naked into the water and swim to him, a flash of silver in the still pond. But when Christopher was along, she contented herself with slipping off her shoes and stockings, hiking up her skirts, and wading in. As her toes sank into the mud at the edge of the pond, she inevitably thought back to those long-ago days as a mudlark, digging her feet in the banks of the Thames for pieces of coal. How far she had come.

When Christopher was with them, she loved sitting on the bank and watching as he and Quinn played naked in the water. Christopher, full of courage and squealing with delight, splashed furiously with his chubby arms and legs, confident that if the water came too near his nose, a strong set of arms would catch him up and hug him close. When he had played long enough, he arched back from his father's glistening, sun-bronzed chest and reached out for softer comfort.

"All right, my friend," Quinn would chuckle, stepping from the water and handing Christopher over to his mother, "I know what you want, and I can't say I blame you."

While she put Christopher to her breast, Quinn would slip on his pants and then sprawl beside her. With their bare feet, sun- darkened skin, and wet, tumbling hair, they looked more like a family of gypsies than the Copelands of Cape Crosse.

They returned home from the pond one July afternoon with Christopher asleep on his father's shoulder. "It was a perfect day, wasn't it, darling?" Noelle said, bestowing Quinn with the shattering smile he'd so often envied others for receiving. Then she kissed him. Christopher awakened and protested. Setting him on the grass to play, they resumed their pleasant pastime, not hearing the carriage until it was nearly up to the house. Noelle reluctantly pulled away from her husband and stepped toward the front of the drive. "Who on earth can this be?"

The carriage drew to a halt, and a groom jumped down to open the door. Noelle saw a small, embroidered slipper emerge, then the hem of a rose-colored gown and then Constance Peale Copeland herself. Her bouncing auburn curls were as thick and lustrous as ever, her emerald-green eyes as sparkling.

"My darling, darling girl!" Flying into Noelle's arms, she brought the familiar fragrance of violets with her.

"Constance!" As she hugged her, Noelle saw Simon step down from the carriage. Constance gave her another squeeze and then, chattering all the while, swept on to Quinn.

Noelle looked up into Simon's blue eyes. He had not aged at all in the past two and a half years. If anything, he seemed more youthful.

"Hello, Noelle."

She sensed him holding back and remembered the strain between them those last months in London. It all seemed so foolish now. If it weren't for this man, she would have nothing. He was the only father she would ever know, and she loved him.

She stretched out her arms. "Oh, Simon, I'm so glad to see you!"

He swept her up then, pulling her feet off the ground and hugging her until she had to gasp for breath. He finally relinquished her with a kiss and went on to greet his son.

Quinn was turned away from her, so Noelle could not read his expression, but she could tell by the rigid set of his back that nothing had changed.

The moment between the two men did not last long, for Simon spotted Christopher sitting on the grass, a dandelion clutched in his grimy fist.

"Will you look at this, Constance," he exclaimed. "Will you just look at this!"

"Oh, my dear, he's perfect!"

For Simon, the dream was complete. And Christopher, as if he sensed the importance of the occasion, ignored everyone except his grandfather. He held out the dandelion and, solemnly, Simon accepted it; then, kneeling down on the grass, he hugged the child to him.

Christopher soon had enough of that and, accustomed to the delights of his father's pockets, began investigating his grandfather's. It was not long before he held Simon's gold pocket watch.

Noelle turned to her husband, and her smile froze on her lips. He was standing off to the side, once again a stranger in his own family.

She went to him at once. "Quinn?"

It was as if she didn't exist. Staring at his father and Christopher, Quinn's eyes were bleak and hard, and she could read his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud. His father had triumphed after all.

Abruptly he turned to leave.

She reached out for his arm. "Please don't go now," she whispered. "They've only just arrived."

"I'll be back later."

Simon stood up. "You going somewhere, Quinn?"

"To the yard. I have to check on a few things before the men go home."

Simon planted a swift kiss on Christopher's head. "I'll come with you."

"Suit yourself."

Without speaking, the two men walked toward the stables. Constance and Noelle exchanged a long; unhappy look.

"Oh, dear," Constance sighed. "I confess I had hoped things would be improved by now. It was a foolish idea of mine, arriving here unannounced."

"Don't be a peagoose!" Noelle said. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather see. Let me deposit this little ragamuffin in the nursery while you freshen up, and then we'll curl up with a pot of tea and have a nice, long chat."

Constance smiled at her fondly. "I'd like nothing better."

Chapter Thirty-nine

"Damn him!" Quinn seethed as he slammed the bedroom door behind them.

"I take it you're referring to Simon." Noelle sighed wearily.

Dinner had been a catastrophe, and the strain was catching up with her. The fact that Quinn had appeared at all was, she suspected, only a mark of his affection for Constance, for he had treated his father with thinly veiled contempt and turned his full attention to his stepmother. Noelle had tried to compensate for his rudeness by entertaining Simon with stories of his grandson, but she knew by the sadness in his eyes that he saw through her efforts.

"He has no business being here!" Quinn jerked off his coat and threw it down on the bed. "Did you see him out there this afternoon, gloating over Christopher as if he were personally responsible."

Noelle's laugh was bitter. "He was, ducks."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

She was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry. Of course not. I'm just tired, that's all."

He stalked into the dressing room, the chasm between them widening. While he was gone Noelle removed her gown and petticoats and slipped on a gold silk robe. She was sitting in front of her dressing table taking down her hair when he returned, still dressed in his trousers with his white shirt open to the waist.

"I want him out of the house tomorrow."

He was spoiling for a fight. Noelle picked up her hairbrush and began jerking it through her hair. "And Constance? Would you like me to throw her out, too?"

"Just whose side are you on, anyway?"

She gritted her teeth. "I'm on your side."

"It certainly didn't seem that way at dinner tonight."

"What are you implying?"

His eyes raked her with their old arrogance. "You're my wife. I expect your loyalty."

"Loyalty! Why don't you say what you mean? You want me to be as rude to Simon as you are. You don't want loyalty, Quinn. You want obedience!"

"Put it however you like."

She slammed her hairbrush down on the dressing table. "You go to hell!"

In two long strides he was at her, pulling her up from the dressing table by her arms, his fingers biting deep into her flesh. The planes of his face were stark and furious.

"Quinn!"

He froze, horrified by his own anger.

She threw her arms around his neck. "My darling. Oh, my dear, dear darling. I'm so sorry."

He clutched her to his chest, she who was more precious to him than life itself. "Don't. Please don't. It's me. I'm the one. God, I'm sorry. I had so much anger inside me when I came upstairs, I was deliberately goading you into an argument."

Noelle's voice was barely audible. "I love you, Quinn. You're more important to me than anything."

"I've got the devil's own temper, Highness, but I never thought I'd see the day again when I'd turn it on you."

She drew back her head and looked up at him unhappily. "Quinn, I have to tell you something."

"From the expression on your face, I don't think I'm going to like it much."

"No, you're not." Her eyes were deeply troubled. "I love Simon. I can't help it, and I won't pretend with you about it. In a strange way, he and Constance gave birth to me, at least as I am now, and I love them both."

Troubled, Quinn moved away from her and dropped down into one of the wing chairs in front of the fireplace. "I guess I don't understand how you can love him after the way he manipulated you."

"Your father is a human being, Quinn, not a god. He makes mistakes like the rest of us. If you could accept that about him, you might finally be at peace with yourself."

A log fell behind the grate, sending up a shower of sparks. "Go to bed, Highness," he said softly. "I'm going to sit up for a while."

He was still in the chair when he finally heard her deep, even breathing. Staring at the dying flames, Quinn willed his own body to relax, but it was no use. He wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. Maybe a drink would help. Maybe two.

As he stepped down into the front hallway, he saw a dim band of light glowing from beneath the closed door of the drawing room. So, he wasn't the only one who was finding sleep difficult. He hesitated only a moment before he went in.

Simon was sprawled in a chair with his back to the door and a half-empty glass dangling from one hand. He had positioned himself in the exact center of the room, where his view of the portrait that hung over the fireplace was unrestricted.

Quinn watched him silently. Simon was wearing a faded paisley robe that had been a Christmas gift from Amanda. God, it had to be more than twenty years ago. Funny he should still remember that robe; even funnier that Simon had kept it. He walked over to a carved Venetian chest that held an assortment of bottles and poured himself a stiff measure of whiskey. Then again, maybe it wasn't so funny.

Simon lifted his glass to the portrait and, without once looking at Quinn, said, "She was a beautiful woman, your mother. Not in the conventional sense, maybe, but in the ways that counted."

Quinn lowered himself to the sofa and stretched his long legs out in front of him, sipping from his drink as if he were alone in the room.

In one motion, Simon drained his own glass and stood up to refill it. "The strange thing is, having a legal marriage didn't really matter to her. Your mother wasn't much for convention. Oh, she went to church on Sunday, but that was only because I insisted. The institutions of religion didn't interest her." He corked the bottle and wandered back to his chair. "She married me in her heart the day I bought her from Carter Slade, and she never again thought of me as anything but her husband. She used to laugh at me when I brought it up. Damn woman. She never did understand what a coward I was."

"Why, Simon?" Quinn's voice was flat. "Why didn't you marry her when you should have?"

"Prejudice." The word, finally spoken, hung between them in the quiet room. "Blind, stupid prejudice. There was one little part of me that didn't want a wife with Indian blood. Isn't that the goddamnedest, saddest thing you ever heard in your life? One drop of your mother's blood was worth more than all of mine put together."

For the first time since Amanda's death the tight knot of hatred inside Quinn eased. Perhaps it was Simon's honesty. Noelle's words came back to him as clearly as if she were standing at his shoulder. "Your father is a human being, Quinn, not a god. He makes mistakes like the rest of us."

Simon went on talking, keeping his eyes on the portrait. "Of course, when you were born, I realized how stupid I'd been. But that was a little late, wasn't it? Even if I had taken Amanda far away from Cape Crosse to be married, there was always the chance someone would have found out. God forbid that people should discover the truth about Simon Copeland; that his only son was a bastard and his wife-not his wife at all. I decided it was more expedient-now there's a word I've always liked-it was more expedient to do nothing, and so that's what I did-nothing."

Quinn leaned forward, all trace of indolence gone from his posture. He had to ask his father why he had finally married her at the end when she was dying. But before he could even frame the question, Quinn knew the answer as surely as if he had looked into his own heart. Simon hadn't been able to bear the thought that Amanda would die without ever having been his wife.

The room was quiet as each man occupied himself with his own thoughts. It was Quinn who finally broke the silence. "I hope Christopher's not going to be as hard on me as I've been on you."

"Oh, no you don't, my boy!" Simon exclaimed, somehow afraid of the curious weakness that was coming over him at his son's words. "Don't you start getting soft on me. Your hatred is the one thing I've always been able to count on. Too many changes aren't good for a man of my age."

Quinn laughed. Whether it was from the whiskey or Simon's words, he didn't know, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Finally he sobered, knowing there was something more he must say. "I've been wrong, Simon. It was wrong of me to sit in judgment on you all these years."

Simon felt a deep happiness well up inside him. He took a sip from his drink and cleared his throat. "That ship you're building, son. You've sure got yourself a winner there. How many knots you figure she'll do?"

The conversation moved on to important things.

The next morning Noelle and Constance met in the hallway.

"Do you know where…?"

"Did Quinn…?"

They saw the anxiety in each other's eyes.

"Oh, dear," Constance finally managed, tightening her lacy green wrapper around her waist. "You don't think…?"

Without another word they rushed down the stairs. Noelle's gold silk robe fluttered around her ankles as she flew into the front hallway. Quinn had been in such a dangerous mood last night, there was no accounting for what might have happened.

"Perhaps Dainty has seen them."

They were on their way to the kitchen when Noelle noticed that the door of the drawing room was ajar. She tugged on Constance's arm, and together they went in.

Only the faintest light penetrated the tightly drawn draperies. The air was close, full of old smoke and stale liquor. Empty bottles lay on their sides on the rug. Quinn's boots leaned against a spindled candlestand; Simon's pipe and a collection of cheroot butts overflowed a fluted candy dish. There were glasses on the floor along with two wooden half models and part of a loaf of bread. The occupants of the room, rumpled and unshaven, were sound asleep.

Simon was lying flat on his back on the settee, his legs dangling over one arm, while Quinn was slouched down into an overstuffed chair, his feet propped up on a table, a half-filled bottle tilting precariously in his lap.

"Faith! No wonder they didn't come to bed. They were in their cups."

"In Georgia, we say they were drunk as skunks." Noelle smiled.

"Do you, my dear? How colorful."

Something warm and joyous began to grow inside Noelle as she surveyed the empty glasses and half models and cheroot butts, all the evidence of easy camaraderie. "Oh, Constance, do you think they've finally set things right between them?"

Constance reached for Noelle's hand, her green eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "Appearances can be deceiving, of course, but it looks hopeful, most hopeful indeed." She gave a tiny, embarrassed sniff. "If a trifle vulgar."

A giggle, as light as air, escaped Noelle. "I don't know if we ought to awaken them. This is the first time I've seen them together in the same room without shouting at each other."

"Mmm. Still, I confess I'm overcome with curiosity." Constance leaned over her husband and touched his shoulder. "Simon?"

There was no movement at all.

She shook him a little harder. "Simon, wake up!"

He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over onto his side.

"You shan't get away that easily, my dear. Open your eyes."

Simon lifted one heavy lid and stared at her. "Go away." He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

Noelle laughed. "Neatly done, Constance."

"Very well, you vexatious girl, if you think you have a better way, I am most anxious to see you demonstrate it." She looked pointedly at Quinn.

"All right. Watch this."

Noelle pulled the bottle from Quinn's lap and set it on the table. Then, kneeling down beside his chair, she began gently stroking his cheek with her hand. "Darling, it's time to wake up."

With his eyes still closed, Quinn pulled her to his chest and began caressing her hair. "Oh, Highness," he whispered seductively.

Quickly Noelle extricated herself, but not before the high color had crept into her cheeks.

"Most edifying." Constance's green eyes twinkled with amusement. "Since we can't seem to rouse them, we should at the very least put some order to this disgraceful room. It smells frightful in here, like a tavern of the most disreputable sort!"

Noelle drew back the draperies and opened the windows. The rush of cool morning air accomplished what the women could not.

Slowly Simon began to stir. "Timezit."

"I beg your pardon, my dear?"

He forced his mouth to work. "What time is it."

"Nearly half past eight." As he pulled himself up into a sitting position, Constance placed her hand on her small hip. "Simon, what could you have been thinking of? Drinking all night. Sleeping in the drawing room. I don't permit myself to imagine what else."

"When I'm feeling better, Connie, remind me to spank you."

Noelle giggled.

Quinn opened his eyes a quarter of an inch. "Don't see what's so funny. Man can't drink in peace in his own house. Come here, Highness."

He reached out an arm for her, but she quickly dodged it. "No thank you. I don't trust you this morning."

"Not so loud," Simon groaned as he threw his forearm across his eyes. "Damned domestic brandy."

"Didn't hear you complaining last night." Quinn rubbed his hand over the dark stubble of his jaw.

"Why you son of a-" Remembering the presence of the ladies, he cut himself off and contented himself with grumbling, "Plies me with liquor. Now he criticizes me for drinking it."

Quinn laughed and then winced from the effort. "Damned brandy," he groaned.

Now it was Simon's turn to laugh.

"Simon! Quinn!" Noelle exclaimed. "Will you please tell us what happened?"

The two men exchanged a brief glance and then Quinn rose, somewhat unsteadily, and propped his arm across Noelle's slim shoulders. "We had good whiskey, bad brandy, and interesting conversation. Now, help me upstairs."

When they reached the doorway, he turned back toward Simon. "After we've had some breakfast, let's see if we can make it to the yard. I've got a problem I'd like your opinion on."

Constance and Noelle found each other's eyes. They would have to wait until later to discover exactly what had taken place in this room last night, but whatever it was, it had been good. Noelle smiled up at Amanda's portrait and clasped her arm more tightly about her husband's waist.

He brushed the top of her hair with his lips and then looked at his father. "Simon?"

"Hmmm?"

"Let's take Christopher with us."