And Helen refused to leave the Highlands without him. To do so would only prove his cynical prediction. Instead, she would wear him down with her persistence. Time would show him that she intended to stay.

Holding her beloved dog, Helen took a deep breath of crisp autumn air. Yes. Time alone might unlock the bars around her husband's heart.

Helen spent the rest of the day in brisk activity. Guided by Flora, she toured the house, room by room, assessing the antique linens in the cabinets and making lists of items to be purchased in Edinburgh. She would need drapery patterns and paint samples, furniture catalogs and upholstery swatches. It wasn't until mid-afternoon, when the housekeeper went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, that Helen came upon the closed door.

The one room Alex had forbidden her to enter.

She meant to walk away, to allow him his juvenile secrets, at least for the moment. But a muffled, whining voice issued from inside the chamber.

Frowning, she pressed her ear to the door, but could not make out the words beyond that the speaker was a man. Every now and then, she heard her husband's deep voice in reply. His tone had a patient, gentle quality, almost like a parent soothing a hurt child.

Was this Alex's office? Was he placating a disgruntled tenant?

Her fingers touched the brass door handle, but she resisted the impulse to enter. Men didn't care for women to interfere in matters of business. She intended to win her husband over, not irritate him. There would be time enough later to satisfy her curiosity.

Turning, she started down the passageway. An agonized howl came from the closed room. The sound sent prickles down Helen's spine.

Instinctively she responded to the cry of pain. She raced to the door and wrenched it open, lifting her skirts as she hastened inside.

She found herself in a long, spacious chamber lined by shelves full of apothecary jars and life-sized drawings of skeletons and anatomical forms. The tall windows let in the sunshine. In contrast to the starkness elsewhere in the house, this room contained a comfortable clutter of medicine cabinets, an examining table, and several cots. And Helen could not have been more surprised to discover a sorcerer's cave.

In the center of the room, Alex bent over a man who was stretched out in a leather chair with his white-knuckled hands gripping the arms. A wooden table held a host of metal instruments along with linen bandages and various bottles and jars. Alex straightened, holding a wooden drill-like implement with a wicked-looking hook on the end.

Alarmed, she hurried forward. "Dear God, what is going on?"

Alex pivoted on his heel and glared. "I told you not to come in here."

'T heard a scream." She peered past him and recognized Dougal, the village blacksmith, a sheepish look on his puffy, bristled cheeks. "What are you doing to that poor man?"

"That puir man had two rotten teeth. I removed them." Alex laid the implement on the table and snatched up a wad of cloth. Over his shoulder, he snapped, "Now go awa', you're intruding here."

Helen folded her arms and stayed put.-She watched as Alex finished with the blacksmith, packing the afflicted area with gauze, instructing him to eat only soft foods until the morrow, and admonishing him to use a cleansing powder daily lest he lose more teeth.

After the man departed, she stared at Alex, recalling his skill in caring for Abbott's broken ankle. Abruptly it all made sense. "You're a physician."

He strode to a washstand and soaped his hands. "I trained in Edinburgh. So that my people wouldna suffer from lack of proper care."

"You might have told me." Frustration simmered inside her, but it was overshadowed by sudden comprehension. "You brought Meg in here last night. Did she have a medical complaint?"

"A burn on her abdomen. I thought it wise to have a look."

"In the midst of your wedding celebration?"

A ruddy flush entered his cheeks as he dried his hands on a linen towel. In the late afternoon sunlight, his face had a rough beauty like the craggy mountains beyond the windows. "Our wedding wasna cause for celebration," he said bluntly. "You ken that as well as I."

A tart retort soured her tongue. But she reminded herself that taming him would take patience and persistence. She would not let him draw her into an endless war where they did nothing but fire shots at each other.

"If ever you need an assistant," she said, "I'd be happy to help."

"You'd swoon at the first drop of blood."

She gazed steadily at him. "You're mistaken. After Papa and I survived an earthquake in Turkey last year, I helped care for the wounded."

Alex cocked a skeptical brow. "Did you pat the injured on the hand?"

"Believe what you will. But your clansmen are my people now, too. And they were kind enough to welcome me yesterday-unlike you."

Before he could do more than grimace, a knock sounded.

"Go awa' with you now," Alex snapped to Helen as he crossed the room and opened a door that led directly outside.

In rushed a wild-eyed woman carrying a wailing child. It was Jessie, the little girl who had stared in awe at Helen outside the kirk. Helen's heart lurched. Blood matted the girl's fair hair and trickled down her delicate face.

Alex carried the girl to the examining table. "Here now, lassie. Let me have a look. I willna hurt you."

Using a cloth, he blotted the blood to expose a deep, jagged cut along her hairline. Her mother hovered close, sobbing, "She was playin' in the glen an' slipped on the rocks. Will she die?"

"She'll be fine. But the wound needs stitching." Alex hunkered down to Jessie's level. "You must lie very still, lassie. 'Twill only be a few pricks and we'll be done."

Jessie battered him with her fists. "Go awa'! Dinna hurt me!"

"Jessie!" Her mother helplessly wrung her hands. "Ye must listen to the laird an' do as he says."

Jessie only cried louder and thrashed harder.

Helen took firm hold of the girl's dainty shoulders. "Sshh. Let me tell you a story, Jessie. It's about a beautiful, brave princess who found herself the prisoner of a wicked beast. But you must be quiet now if you wish to hear all the adventures she had."

Jessie took a few hiccupping breaths. Her stiff muscles relaxed slightly under Helen's soothing massage. She gazed up wide-eyed, her face streaked with tears. "W-what was her name?"

"Her name was Helen, just like me. She traveled all over the world with her father, the king, and they visited many strange and wonderful places. Like the ancient pyramids of Egypt and the bazaars of Baghdad. Once, she even fed the monkeys on the Rock of Gibraltar."

"How did the princess get caught by the beast?" Jessie asked. She didn't seem to notice that Alex was carefully cleansing her oozing wound.

"Well, one day while they were visiting the strangest and most wonderful land of all, her father was called back to his kingdom. But Princess Helen was so eager to explore the lovely countryside that she decided to go on without him, though people warned her the mountains were enchanted, and that a fearsome beast lived there. Princesses, you see, are not easily frightened away by fearsome beasts. No matter how loudly they roar." v Helen saw Alex's lips compress, though his attention was focused on the curved needle which he plucked from the tray of implements. Seeing that he was about to suture the wound, she hastily continued. "One sunny morning, Princess Helen set out to explore the mountains. But by the afternoon, when she ventured deep into the forest, an icy wind began to blow and snow fell so thickly she feared she might freeze to death. Just then, she came -upon a beautiful castle with lights twinkling in every window. When she knocked, the door opened by magic. She called out, but no one came. So she hastened toward a warm fire crackling on the hearth and a table laden with a fine feast of hot soup and cake and sugar plums.

"After the princess had enjoyed the most delicious meal of her life, a noise came from the shadows. She saw him then-the beast. He was big and fierce-looking, as shaggy as a bear. He said that eating his food had cast an enchantment over her and now she belonged to him forever."

Jessie had her thumb in her mouth, sucking hard while Alex finished the few stitches and knotted the end. From the black look he sent Helen, she knew he understood that the feast was their two idyllic nights together.

"The princess was afraid at first, but though the beast growled and snarled, he never, ever hurt her. As the days passed she saw kindness in him. And she learned he had once been a handsome prince until an evil witch had hexed him. Only a love pure and true could break the spell." Helen lowered her voice to a husky murmur. "The princess was determined to love the beast. She was the one woman who could heal his heart."

Alex uttered a low, derisive sound. But his hands were gentle as he applied a clean linen bandage with sticking plaster.

Jessie pulled her thumb out of her mouth. "Did the princess ever turn the beast back into a prince?"

Smiling, Helen rubbed the child's small back and ignored a fierce glance from Alex. "Of course, she did, darling. No matter how difficult the task, princesses always accomplish what they set out to do."

Over the next fortnight, his wife was a constant presence and a source of endless irritation. Alex did his best to drive her away, though when it came to bodily tossing her out of his office, he found he couldn't do it. So he raged and snapped, willing her to take the hint and leave him alone.

But nothing he said seemed to discourage her, and after a time, he noticed all the little ways in which she changed his life. She assumed the role of an adept assistant, brisk and cheerful with the natural ability to calm his patients. She rolled bandages, handed him instruments, and gave sympathy to the fearful. On busy days, she brought him a hot lunch on a tray. Somehow she found out all his likes and dislikes-no doubt by gossiping with Flora-and made certain he had bannocks and blackberry jam for his breakfast, cock-a-leekie soup or smoked haddock with his dinner, along with a glass of his favorite ale. On cold, dark days, when the mist came down from the mountains, she brought him piping hot tea with shortbread.

He tried escaping the house, calling on patients. But as often as not, he would encounter his wife in the glen on her rounds to visit the crofters. She delivered broth to the sick and blankets to those in need. Often she simply sat down for a chat, getting to know each and every one of his people.

Her people now, too, she had said.

He seethed with rage at the way she was deceiving them into thinking she truly cared. He wanted to warn them that Lady Helen was only playing at being the laird's wife. When she tired of living her princess-and-the-beast fairy tale, she would go scuttling back to civilized England.

But he gritted his teeth and said nothing. Time would prove him right. He was the MacBrut. He could outwait one paltry female.

If lust didn't kill him first.

She never mentioned their two nights together. Yet with every swish of her silk dress or whiff of her sultry scent, she teased him. With every smile, every casual brush of their hands, she reminded him that she was his for the taking. He could lock the doors and have her right there on the cot in his office. He could go to her chamber at night and lose himself in the sweetest pleasure he had ever known. She was his wife, after all.

But coupling held the risk of pregnancy. He could not condemn another child-his child-to a mother's abandonment.

By the time three weeks had passed, he existed in a purgatory of perpetual arousal. Need for her made him irritable and edgy. So did his need to know she had not conceived. By his calculation, she should begin her monthly flow any day now.

One morning, she entered his office looking pale and fragile. It was on the tip of his tongue to inquire about her health when Jamie came knocking on the door. A horse had kicked him. While Alex cleansed the bloody hoof mark on the stableman's shoulder, Helen stood close by to hand him a linen compress, then the basilicum ointment to treat the wound.

He and Jamie exchanged a bit of banter, but she didn't join in as usual. Perhaps she had started her courses. The thought cheered Alex. Women- were often peevish around that time, weren't they?

When he held out his hand for the bandage, she didn't give it to him. He shot her a frown, only to see her swaying on her feet. Her face was milk-white, her hand pressed to her mouth.

The signs of illness jolted him. Even as he took a step toward her, she uttered a little sigh and crumpled into his arms.