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?"