Wincing, Sheridan resumed her post and pulled the foal out a little to helpthe straining mother until, at last, the foal had been completely expelled.

Sheridan blinked back tears at the precious bundle before her. "Ye have alovely little filly, Wind Dancer."

The mare whickered softly as if understanding her job was complete and shehad succeeded in bringing a new life into the world.

Sheridan grabbed a towel and began vigorously wiping down the foal. Sheknew she had to acclimate mother and baby quickly if she didn't want the marerejecting her offspring.

Sheridan lifted the foal, a difficult task as the foal weighed asubstantial amount. She laid mother and daughter nose to nose, allowing themto breathe in each other's scent. Now Sheridan hoped Wind Dancer wouldn't balkwhen the foal suckled. That was always a chance. But if Sheridan knewNicholas, he had prepared the mare well in advance.

"Magnificent."

Startled, Sheridan glanced over her shoulder to see Nicholas framed in thestall doorway, Narcissus behind him. Some of the dull film had lifted from thehorse's eyes, but Sheridan knew a long road still lay ahead of them.

Narcissus and the other downed horse would have to be walked until theywere out of danger, and there were oil dosings and perhaps a water treatmentthat might be necessary to clear the stallions' congested intestines. But atleast they had one bright spot to lift their spirits.

Sheridan smiled down at the foal and stroked her sleek neck. "Aye, she is afey little thing."

"That she is, but I wasn't talking about the foal."

Sheridan's hand stilled. "Ye weren't?"

"No."

"Then who ..."

"You." Before she had a moment to savor his compliment, he said, "I thoughtI should bring the proud father by to see what his manly prowess has wrought."

A startling image of what Nicholas's manly prowess had wrought caused heatto scorch Sheridan's cheeks in a startling rush, her hand settling on herstomach in a subconscious gesture.

Nicholas chuckled, mistaking her blush. "You do know how Wind Dancer got insuch a condition, don't you? If not, I'd be happy to explain."

His remark made her whole body warm, to her mortification, and she avertedher gaze. "I'll thank ye to keep a civil tongue in yer head."

"I've been sufficiently chastised." The amusement in his voice relievedsome of the tension that had been making Sheridan's heart beat in slow,painful strokes.

"Do you want to name her?"

Sheridan's stunned gaze lifted to his. "Me?"

He nodded, an endearing smile curving up the corners of his lips. "Anythingyou'd like."

She glanced down at the foal, not wanting Nicholas to see the vulnerabilityhis offer had opened inside her.

The foal made its first attempt to rise on shaky limbs, wobbled, and thenplunked down into the hay.

Sheridan remembered the beautiful little buckskin mare she had owned back in Ireland--before she had been forced to leave the horse behind when her family fled for their lives. The pain had never quite healed. Emotion chokedher.

Even after all this time, she still felt the dagger of anguish tear throughher when she'd relinquished the mare's reins to a local farmer and had to walk away.

"Hannah," she murmured, a single tear running down her cheek. "I'd like tocall her Hannah."

"Then Hannah it is."

*Chapter Nineteen*

Damien had always told Nicholas that there were three things a man couldn't see coming: the blade's edge, the wind ... and love.

Nicholas wondered when, exactly, he had fallen in love with Sheridan.

Could it have been when she'd been sitting Indian style on the stall floorhours before, stroking a foal named Hannah, her shirt stained, her skirtrumpled, her hair in a halo of disarray, and a smudge of dirt slanted acrossone porcelain cheek?

Or perhaps it had been the moment he'd glimpsed her on the deck of theship, dancing like a sea nymph, her fiery copper hair flying out, her face litfrom within, a smile of delight riding her sweet lips.

Or had he known in that first glance their souls were entwined before shehad uttered the words?

Nicholas had learned not to doubt anything after Damien, a man supposedlyuntamable, unrepentant, and surely consigned to hell by his peers, hadmarried. If Nicholas had taken away even one lesson from that, it was toexpect the unexpected.

And Sheridan was about as unexpected as they came.

Whether asleep or awake, Sheridan's face haunted him. When she hurt, hehurt. When she was happy, he was happy. When she was angry ... he ducked.

Nicholas hated to admit the truth, even to himself, but Sheridan scared thehell out of him--the pain she could inflict upon him should he get entangled,losing himself in her eyes, baring his soul a little more every day,relinquishing his heart.

His feelings for her were so strong. She could destroy him, just as hismother's betrayal had destroyed his father.

"Ye're lookin' awfully serious. What are ye thinkin' about?"

Sheridan's soft voice washed over Nicholas like a warm summer rain. His gaze lifted. She stood opposite him, holding Eclipse's reins. They had beenwalking the horses for hours. Soon the sun would crest the horizon and timewould tell if the horses would survive.

Perhaps time would also tell him what to do next. He had accused Sheridanonce of running away, but all this time he had been the one running. Now itwas time to stop. No matter his fear, he had to talk things out with her. Hehad to know how she felt.

"If ye're worried about yer horses, I think they'll be fine. Ye've doneeverything ye could." Sheridan smiled and nodded toward Hannah. "'Tis awonderful new addition ye have there. The wee lassie is strong and healthy.She'll make a fine mother herself some day."

"As will you."

Nicholas's compliment caught Sheridan off guard, not merely because it wasunexpected, but because it hit too close to home. If she didn't know better,she might think he knew about her condition.

Perhaps now was the time to tell him about their baby, in these quietpredawn hours when the world lay dormant and something warm and strong settledbetween them.

Sheridan knew she couldn't live a lie. Maybe she had known all along shewould tell Nicholas the truth. Her upbringing demanded she do no less.

Yet the image of Lady Beatrice's cold face gnawed at Sheridan. She wantedto know Nicholas, to understand what things had formed him, made him the manhe was.

Perhaps she needed to know what kind of father he'd be. That meant findingout how he had been raised, about his parents, his life. His childhood. Thingshe'd always been reticent to discuss.

"Nicholas?"

"Yes?" His gaze was clearer than Sheridan had ever seen it, as if theclouds had lifted and she could finally see all the way to heaven.

"I'd like to know about yer mother."

A slow frown pulled his eyebrows together. "What about her?" His tone wasslightly brusque and Sheridan hesitated, not wanting to destroy the momentwith a subject he clearly didn't want to discuss. But she had to know.

"What was she like?"

"Why?"

"I saw her portrait and I'm curious about her."

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he started forward withNarcissus, resuming the walking he had stopped to smile sweetly at her.

Sheridan watched him over her shoulder, bidding herself to leave wellenough alone. Yet the change in him worried her. For the sake of their baby,she had to understand his reluctance to speak of his mother. For as long asSheridan had known Nicholas, he had avoided the topic.

"Do ye like yer mother?"

"Does it matter?"

"Aye," Sheridan said, not backing down. "It does."

He turned suddenly, his look hard. "Why?"

"Because ... I think she hurt ye in some way, in a place deep down that yedon't want to acknowledge or examine."

"You know nothing about my mother or my life."

"Aye, ye're right."

Nicholas stood at the opposite end of the stable, still as death and moreimpenetrable than stone. "Look, my mother is not like yours, all right? Shedidn't sing me lullabies or tell me tales about mystical places or tuck me inat night. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I don't want to hear what yer mother isn't. I want to know what yer motheris."

"A bitch." The quietly hissed words had the force of thunder. "There? Areyou satisfied?" He turned his back on her and stroked Narcissus's neck.

"I didn't mean to bring up a hurtful topic."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

"Because I want to understand ye."

He pivoted on his heel. "Why now?" The intensity reflected in his eyesblasted through Sheridan. "If you will recall, you've treated me like a leper.Actually, lepers were treated better."

Sheridan forced her chin up. "And I told ye me temper was fierce."

"You weren't lying."

Sheridan bit back a retort, realizing he was purposely baiting her. "I'llnot allow ye to take yer anger out on me."

"I'm not angry."

"Ye are. Ye're puttin' up yer defenses, treatin' me like I'm the enemy, asye have since the first."

"I'm sorry if you were expecting a skinny dip in paradise and got meinstead."

Sheridan's temper bottlenecked in her throat, then burst forth like a steamkettle. "Oh, but ye are a jackass! What makes ye so righteous? So high andmighty that ye can walk over people at yer whim? Who made ye God? 'Tis aspoiled lad ye are. No more. No less."

Sheridan saw a muscle work in his jaw. He started toward her, stalking herwith the same determination and frightening mien as Hamlet's ghost.Involuntarily, Sheridan moved back. She swallowed when he came to stand beforeher, but she would not be cowed.

She waited, her breath suspended, watching his jaw clench and unclench. Helooked like he wanted to shake her, yell, rant, curse. But he did none ofthose things. Yet when he spoke, his words rocked her.

"Do you care for me, Danny?"

Did she care for him? Did she care if the sun rose and set? Or if she lived to breathe another day? Or that the babe growing in her womb be healthy andhappy?

Aye, she cared. Too much.

But she would no longer plummet to the valley and soar to the peaks on thebasis of Nicholas's whims, more of this and less of that, to seek out thatmagical balance that would make her into exactly what Nicholas wanted.

No, she had found a way back to her true self. And he could love her forwho she was or not love her at all. Either way, she had won. Because she hadrediscovered what she had lost.

Her soul.

"Well, Danny?"

He wanted an answer, and she had several to give. Her mind clamored thatthis was her chance, her opportunity to level him with cruel words, fling hisvulnerability back in his face and pick up the scattered pieces of her pride.

But she couldn't.

Nicholas wrapped her hands gently around her upper arms. "Do you love meeven a bit?"

A bit? What was a bit? More than the moon, the sun, or the stars? More thanshe loved Ireland? Her family? Herself?

Aye, then she loved him more than a bit.

"Does it matter?" she asked.

"More than anything."

She glanced down at the hay-strewn floor. "Ye know how I feel."

He pressed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. "Do I?"