And Wolfe was revealed for the man he really was; he had been born for this wild land rather than for the brocade and satin of civilization. Jessica understood that as surely as she understood that she loved Wolfe for what he was, that she had always loved him, and she always would.

The realization stunned her, sinking past layers of exhaustion to the raw emotion beneath.

«They didn’t see us,» Wolfe said. «Too busy drinking and playing cards. Jericho will have them picked cleaner than a hound’s tooth before breakfast.»

«Good at cards, huh?» Rafe asked.

«He’ll do until you sit down with the Devil himself.»

Wolfe took the lead once more, followed by Two-Spot and the pack horses.Rafe waited until they were a hundred yards ahead before he let his horse follow. He had kept Jessica’s carbine, and he rode with it across his saddle, listening for any sounds from behind.

Exhaustion reclaimed Jessica’s body in a numbing gray tide. She slumped in the saddle. Staring at nothing, she endured the endless trail as it became steeper and rougher. Along the left, asnowmantled slope dropped away a few feet from the trail. Jessica didn’t notice. She was running on reflex alone, able to stay upright in the saddle but nothing more.

When Two-Step hit an icy patch and went down to his knees, she grabbed instinctively for the saddle horn, but it was too late. She was already pitching forward, beyond the reach of the curving, off-center horn. Two-Step lunged to the right, trying to regain his own balance. The sudden motion completed Jessica’s undoing. She hurtled from the sidesaddle onto the snow-covered slope and began rolling down in a flurry of skirts and flailing limbs.

The startled cry Jessica had given when her horse first went to its knees was the only warning Wolfe got. He turned sharply in the saddle just in time to see Jessica thrown head first down the slope. By the time he spun his horse on its hocks and reached Two-Spot, Jessica’s tumbling fall had been stopped by a thicket of alder. Recklessly, Wolfe spurred his horse down the slope to the place where Jessica lay without moving.

«Jessi!»

Wolfe’s cry echoed, but there was no answer. He leaped from the saddle and ran the last few feet to Jessica, skidding to his knees beside her.

«Jessi? Are you all right?» he asked urgently.

She didn’t answer.

«Talk to me, elf,» Wolfe said, pushing snow away from Jessica’s face with fingers that showed a fine trembling. «It wasn’t that bad a fall. The snow is soft and deep, there weren’t any rocks.Jessi …»

Gentle fingers brushed snow from eyebrows and eyelashes that were like a shadow of fire, rich mahogany. They looked very dark against skin that was almost as pale as snow.

«You can’t be hurt, little one. God help me, you can’t. Damn it, Jessi.Wakeup.»

Jessica groaned and tried to sit up. She got part way, only to be yanked flat by her braids, which were wedged beneath her own body. Too dazed to understand, she tried to sit up again, only to be brought up short once more.

Wolfe caught her before she could be yanked back down by her braids for a third time.

«Slow down, Jessi. Your hair has you on a short leash again.»

«Wolfe?» she asked raggedly. «Is it really you?»

Aquamarine eyes focused on Wolfe, and cool fingers caressed the dark planes of his cheek.

«Yes, elf. It’s really me.»

The knowledge that Jessica was truly all right went through Wolfe like a cascade of champagne, making him feel lightheaded, almost dizzy. The memory of the other time Jessica had been trapped by her own long hair made amusement shimmer in Wolfe. He smiled widely as he helped her sit up.

«Sometimes, you’re like a kite with a long red tail that gets tangled in everything and hauls you up short.»

As Wolfe pulled Jessica’s hair free, memories and relief coursed through him. He began laughing softly and he brushed snow from her.

The sound of Wolfe’s amusement cleared Jessica’s mind like a brisk slap across her face. She tried to push away from him, but couldn’t. Despite the laughter that kept shaking Wolfe, he hauled her to her feet as casually as he would have lifted a saddle.

For Jessica, it was the final insult. Fear, anger, hurt, exhaustion, and humiliation exploded into flaming rage. She didn’t stop to think, didn’t consider, didn’t hesitate, didn’t do one thing but grab for the hunting knife Wolfe wore sheathed at his belt. The action was so unexpected that she had the knife clear of the leather before he realized it. His hand closed around her wrist with the speed of a striking snake.

«What do you think you’re doing?» Wolfe demanded.

Jessica’s mouth curled into what could only be described as a snarl. She yanked and twisted her wrist but couldn’t get free.

«Jessi! What the hell…? Did that fall knock out what little sense you had?»

Breath shuddered through Jessica. She was exhausted, frightened, cold, and pain twisted through her right ankle with every movement; but most of all, she was violently angry at the viscount’s savage, the man who took pleasure only in her failures.

«Let go of me.»

The naked fury in Jessica’s voice wiped all trace of laughter from Wolfe’s eyes and voice.

«Not until you tell me what you’re going to do with that knife,» he said.

For the space of three long breaths, Jessica looked at Wolfe without answering. Finally she glanced down at the knife in her hand as though surprised to find it. When she looked back at Wolfe, there was nothing of warmth or softness in her eyes.

«My hair,» she said flatly.

«What?»

«I’m going to cut my bloody hair.»

Black eyebrows lifted. «I think not. At the rate you’re going, you’d probably cut your own throat by mistake.»

Or cut his, and not by mistake.

But neither of them said it aloud as Wolfe pried the knife from Jessica’s fingers with an easy strength that heaped more fuel on the fires of her fury.

«You bastard,» she hissed.

He smiled thinly. «True fact, your ladyship.»

«Twice a bastard,» she corrected. «Once by birth and again by choice. You work me like a scullery maid, belittle my best efforts to be a wife, and then you laugh at my pain when I’m thrown from my horse because I’m so tired I can’t stay awake in the sidesaddle any longer. You are a bastard.»

Wolfe’s face became expressionless. «Say the word and you’re free. You know the word, your ladyship. Say it!»

A stillness came over Jessica, a drawing in of strength and will that tightened her features until they looked like finely drawn wire.

«Husband.»

The word was a hiss and Jessica’s smile was colder than snow itself.

«That’s the problem,» Wolfe said in a clipped voice. «I’m your husband but you aren’t my wife.»

«I have a solution. Go to Hell. You’ll find all the suffering there so amusing you’ll split your sides laughing and die on the spot. Then you’ll be free of me, husband.Andnot before.»

Jessica turned away and began clawing back up the steep slope. As Wolfe watched, a faint smile that had little to do with amusement curved his mouth. Unbridled fury fairly radiated from every line of Jessica’s body. He had seen her in many moods, but never like this. The delicate little aristocrat had a temper to match the glorious fire hidden in her hair.

Wolfe couldn’t help wondering if she would ever come to a man’s bed with a fraction of the passion she just had shown in rage. The thought of being the man to draw that primitive sensuality from Jessica brought a swift, elemental reaction from Wolfe’s body that shocked him.

Cursing his masculine vulnerability to a girl who wished him in Hell, Wolfe looked away from Jessica until the hard rush of urgency subsided into an uncomfortable ache. He expected little more in the way of ease. A state of semi-arousal had become so much a part of him when Jessica was nearby that he no longer thought such discomfort unusual.

Wolfe looked back up the slope just in time to see Jessica stumble. At first he thought that her clumsiness came from anger. Then he watched her struggle to her feet, take two steps, and nearly go down again. Something was wrong with her right leg.

«Hold on, Jessi,» Wolfe called. «I’ll help you.»

Jessica didn’t even bother to look back over her shoulder. Nor did she pause in her awkward attempts to get up the steep slope.

With a muttered word, Wolfe sheathed his knife and vaulted into the saddle. He spurred the big mare up the slope. Without bothering to rein in, Wolfe bent over and scooped Jessica up on the way by, holding her firmly against his thigh. When the mare reached the top of the slope, he reined in.

«Sit astride in front of me,» Wolfe said in a clipped voice.

As he spoke, he lifted Jessica over the mare’s chocolate brown mane. The divided riding skirt finally sorted itself out into right and left sides allowing her to sit astride in the big saddle. The intimacy of the arrangement registered instantly on Wolfe’s body, making hot talons of need sink into him. His breath thickened over the kind of words he had never in his life used in a woman’s presence and didn’t want to begin using now.

«Stay put,» he said tightly.

Jessica didn’t answer, but she didn’t try to dismount, either. Wolfe slid off on the right side in a single flowing movement. His hands went to the small, booted foot that poked from thesnowclotted folds of cloth.

«Where does it hurt?»

Jessica glanced at Wolfe. She didn’t have to look far. Even sitting on horseback, she had very little height on him. She hadn’t his strength, either. She had nothing but the certainty that she would rather die than go back to being a bright marker on the gaming table of aristocratic marriages.

She would rather die than live as her mother had.

Memory and nightmare twisted suddenly, sending a shudder through Jessica. Before the tremor had passed, Jessica understood that she had one other certainty, as well: Wolfe would never accept this marriage; he would only become more cruel in his efforts to drive her away.

You will rue the day you forced me into marriage. There are worse things than being caressed by a savage. You shall learn each one of them.

Now, too late, Jessica believed Wolfe. Now, too late, she knew there was nothing left to stand between her and the wind.

«Where does it hurt?» Wolfe repeated impatiently.

«It doesn’t.»

Wolfe’s head snapped up. He had never heard that tone from Jessica before, a sound as unemotional and unmusical as stone. Her eyes were the same way. Opaque.

«I saw you limping.»

«It doesn’t matter.»

The flare of temper in Wolfe’s eyes was replaced by uneasiness.

«Jessi?»

Lost in the echoes of her terrifying discovery, Jessica neither heard nor answered Wolfe’s low query. He hesitated, then began probing the soft leather of Jessica’s boot with fingers that were gentle and firm at the same time. He thought she flinched when he pressed deeply against her ankle, but it was difficult to be certain.

«Can you ride?» Wolfe asked, stepping back.

«I’m riding.»

There was no mockery in Jessica’s words, merely a statement of fact. At the moment, she was riding a horse.

«Jessi, what’s wrong?»

She looked past Wolfe, through him, seeing only the emptiness of the wind, hearing only its low, triumphant cry.

With swift almost vicious movements, Wolfe took up the right stirrup of his saddle. He couldn’t get it short enough for Jessica’s slender foot to reach.

«Bloody hell,» he muttered.

If Jessica heard, she said nothing.

A gust of wind brought the sound of a horse cantering closer. Wolfe glanced up, sawRafe’s big bay coming into sight, and went back to letting the stirrup down to its former length.

The trailRafe was following told its own story. A horse going to its knees, a ragged swath cut by Jessica’s body, and the deep gouges where Wolfe’s big mare had plunged down the slope. Jessica’s bloodless face and Wolfe’s flattened mouth told more of the story, but not enough.

«Is she hurt?» Rafe asked.

«Her right ankle is sore, but it’s her pride that took the worst beating.»

Rafelooked at Jessica. She didn’t notice him. Nor did she seem to notice anything else. There was a quality about the stillness of her body that madeRafe’s eyes narrow. He had seen men who looked like that, men pushed to their limits by pain or starvation or war.