"Is that better now?"

"Yes, but my head is going to fall off next, that or split open. That would be a mess. I wish you could make it all stop. I don't like this at all."

"I don't blame you. Just lie still and listen to me. You don't have to think or anything else, just listen and don't move. That's right. Just breathe slowly, lightly. Good. Now, when I brought Tempest down, I turned to see Small Bess corkscrew in midair, then you flying over her head. What happened? Did she slip?

How did she manage to throw you? If you wish, if you feel like it, you can talk now."

My eyes flew open as memory flooded back. I tried to sit up, but he held me down.

"No, don't move. What's the matter?"

"Oh, God, there is something very wrong, John. Small Bess was maddened, frantic, and I couldn't calm her. Please, go see to her."

"In a moment. First, can you move your legs?"

I could. I didn't want to, but I could and I did, because I knew he'd keep after me until I proved that I could.

He was running his hands over my ribs, then my arms. I allowed it. I had no choice. Also, to my surprise, I still wasn't terrified to my toes, and he was the same as he'd always been?too big, too strong, and too dangerous. You could just look at him and know he was dangerous. And he had held me close and safe against him.

"All right, I'll check her now," he said. He eased me down on the ground and pulled off his riding jacket. He folded it and gently eased it under my head. "If you move, I won't be pleased with you."

"Prepare to be pleased with me, then," I whispered, and he smiled. .

Some minutes later, he pulled me again gently into his arms. He began rocking me very slowly, very gently.

"How is she?"

"I don't think we will have to put her down. Rucker is very good with injuries, as is my valet, Boynton. Her right foreleg appears badly sprained. And there are some bad cuts on her back. We'll see."

"I can help," I said. "I spent many hours in the stable at Deerfield Hall learning how to care for the horses. Oh, God, I can't allow her to be put down.

It must have been my fault. I must have done something?"

He spoke slowly, his voice measured. "It wasn't your fault. Be quiet now."

I tried to focus on his face until it was clear to me. He looked grim. He also looked furious.

"No," I said. "I didn't cram her, did I, John?"

"No, of course not. You're much too good a rider." He drew a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was utterly emotionless. "I told you there are some bad cuts on her back. Well, I discovered this under her saddle."

In his hand he held a large, circular band of wire. Attached to the wire were long barbs, bent downward. The barbs were covered with blood, Small Bess's blood.

I just lay there and gaped at that horrible thing he carefully held in his hand.

"No, that isn't possible, it just isn't. Who would do such a thing?"

"Someone placed this beneath her saddle. That someone knew it would madden her.

Every time you shifted in the saddle, every time you tightened your legs, the barbs dug into her back. When you readied for her to jump, Small Bess had to be in great pain, and that's why she tried as hard as she could to get you off her back. I would like to know who this someone was. I want to kill him."

"I get to kill him first, the damnable bastard. Trying to hurt me is one thing, but doing this to my horse, my God, I will shoot the person who did this."

His arms tightened, as if in surprise. Then he grinned down at me. "We will have to see about that," he said, then grew quiet for a moment. "You know, Andy, if I had been the one riding her, the barbs would have gone in very deeply, probably all the way. Since you are much smaller, it took longer and it took more movement from you. But it happened. She was enraged, maddened by the time you jumped. The pain must have been very bad indeed."

I swallowed. "If I hadn't gone over her head, she would have fallen on me."

"Very probably."

My father's letter was clear in my mind. I said, turning my face into his shirt, breathing in his warm scent, "A warning, yet another warning to me. That someone who did this could never be certain that it would end up with me dead. The same thing with the old woman and that damned knife of yours telling me that I would pay for all of it, whatever that means. Warnings, both of them. But why?"

"I don't know. But now I'm really mad, and I fully intend to find out. The first thing is for you to go back to London, to your grandfather's house."

It sounded like a fine plan to me. It sounded smart, logical. It sounded safe.

It sounded like entering a nunnery and locking big iron doors behind me. Nothing could hurt me there. But, there would never be any answers. Worse, perhaps I would never be safe, even hidden in my nunnery. I said, my voice miserable, "No, I can't leave. Don't you see? If I leave, then we will never know who is doing this and why. Perhaps even if I did leave, this unknown person would still want to hurt me and would come after me. John, no, don't argue with me. You know I'm right. I won't be safe until I find out who is doing this to me. Listen, I'm not unprotected. I bought a derringer from Mr. Forrester. I know how to shoot it. I'm not a complete idiot. It's fastened to a strap around my thigh."

His arms tensed, then slowly eased again. I hadn't convinced him. But that made sense, he was a man. "Everything you said is true, but there is still a very big problem. We won't know where the next threat will come from."

"I will try not to be alone anymore. I have my derringer. I know how to shoot.

Give me a villain, and I'll put a hole through him. Normally George is with me.

George makes a lot of noise. He is good protection."

He didn't say anything to that, but I knew that, like Grandfather, he was probably just holding silent until he came up with arguments. "Do you feel well enough to return home now?"

"Yes."

I watched him shrug back into his riding jacket and place the barbed circle of wire into his pocket.

"Try to hold on to me." He lifted me in his arms and held me high. I was clutching his shirt, my face pressed against his neck. He carried me to Tempest, who was eating some lovely goose grass some fifteen feet away.

"Hang on, Andy. Once we get on his back, I'm going to seat you in front of me."

"I can do it."

"Good girl." I don't know how he managed it, but he got both of us up on Tempest's back. He eased me in front of him. The pain was so ghastly that I couldn't keep still even with my fist stuffed into my mouth.

"All right," he said close to my cheek. "It's all right. Just breathe slowly, lightly. That's it. I'll hold you, and we'll go very slowly." He simply eased me crossways on the saddle, pulled me close to his chest, and managed Tempest's reins with one hand. "Hold onto me as best you can. Keep your eyes shut. It should help with any dizziness. If you need to vomit again, tell me. Try not to worry about Small Bess. I'll send Rucker out to get her as soon as we return."

"I'm glad I was with you," I said into his neck. "I fear my derringer wouldn't have been much help this time. I would have just expired there by the daffodils."

"I know you, Andy. You would have managed something."

"Do you really mean that or are you just trying to make me feel better?"

He leaned down and kissed my forehead, then he cursed. "I'm sorry about that. It won't happen again. Forget I did that, all right?"

But I wouldn't. His mouth felt nice and warm against my skin.

"Yes, I meant what I said. You have grit, Andy, and a brain. You would have managed something. Now, what do you want to tell my uncle?"

I thought of my father's letter, safely locked away in my Italianate letter box.

I had said nothing to Lawrence about that. I hadn't said anything to anyone. Why?

Because anyone could be the someone who was doing this. The only thing was, I couldn't think of a single reason for anyone, particularly my husband, to want to harm me. I had never done anything to him or to anyone else living in this house. Lawrence hadn't even known me. He hadn't had to marry me once he had met me. He had not been forced to return to Grandfather's house after that first condolence visit. It made no sense. I said, "No, I don't want anyone to know anything. Let the person who is responsible just wonder what we know or don't know about any of this."

"I agree. What then? A rabbit hole?"

"It will be obvious to Rucker and anyone else who bothers to look that those deep cuts on Small Bess's back had nothing to do with stumbling into any damned rabbit hole."

"I will tell Rucker the truth. He will take care of her himself. I will also tell him to keep it all mum. Rucker is a good man. This is going to make him very angry. I know he will keep quiet. The only person who will know the truth is the one who placed the barbed wire beneath the saddle."

"I don't like it," I said, and pressed my face into his shoulder.

"Your vanity is showing. I won't let anyone believe you're incompetent. No, I will tell everyone it was a very deep, utterly unavoidable rabbit hole that yawned right up in front of you, no possibility to avoid it. Even if everyone believes you bungled things, I will continue to defend you."

I wanted to punch him, but I couldn't even make a decent fist.

I heard him chuckle, felt his arms tighten around me.

He had to stop Tempest one time for me to be sick again, something he handled well, I suppose. I felt so rotten I really didn't care.

There were too many people, all of them hovering over me, all of them talking, all of them with an opinion, and if I'd had the will, I would have told them to all to go to the devil. As it was, John eased me down on a very soft settee. I kept my eyes closed and weaved in and out of the ether.

It was Thomas's beautiful soothing voice that I finally recognized, and I didn't want to kill him, which meant I just might be feeling a bit better.

"Here, Uncle Lawrence, place this wet cloth on her forehead. Amelia always places a wet cloth on my forehead when I have one of my headaches."

The wet cloth felt wonderful. "Thank you," I managed to get out.

"Just lie still, Andy," my husband said. I felt his warm breath against my ear.

I smelled something else, brandy, and it was soothing and familiar and I breathed in deeply.

"I am all right, Lawrence, truly, just give me a moment longer."

Then Amelia had to stick her oar in. "Uncle Lawrence, I think you should fetch Dr. Boulder."

"I don't want a bloody doctor anywhere near me, Amelia," I said. "Mind your own business." I heard John laugh.

"Just let her lie there in peace for a while," he said.

"All right," I heard my husband say, "but I don't like it. I would feel better if Cuthbert looked her over."

"Not until I'm dead," I said. I managed to open my eyes and look up into Lawrence's face. "You are my husband. You are supposed to care about me. Don't torture me. Don't let this Cuthbert fellow near me."

"Very well," he said, and I heard the amusement in his voice as I floated into the ether once again. It was warm there, the voices all vague and blurred, the pain tamped down.

I don't know who carried me to my bedchamber, but it was Belinda's face I saw before I fell into a very nice deep sleep with the help of some laudanum from Mrs. Redbreast, that wonderful woman.

When I woke up, it was late afternoon. I lay there, waiting for my body to hurt or not to hurt. To my relief, all I felt was a nagging headache. I slowly got out of my bed. Belinda had undressed me and put me in a nightgown.

I heard a squawk. There was Belinda, seated in a chair near the bed, ready to leap up.

"No, no, my lady, don't move. Your parts, they're not ready to move yet, surely."

"My parts are just fine," I said, and set my feet on the floor. I rose slowly. I was stiff, felt bruised and achy, but otherwise I was all right. "It wasn't a deep rabbit hole," I said, thought of John, and smiled. Despite everything, I smiled.

She was at my side in the next instant. I held up my hand to ward her off. "No, Belinda, I am just fine. I think I should like a very hot bath. It will soak out all my aches and pains." And it would also get rid of her, I thought, then felt guilty. She was worried about me. But I didn't want anyone around me. I watched her walk from the room, looking back at me several times, frowning.

I was afraid. My derringer. I panicked, then reached under my pillow. It was there. Who had put it there? John, I hoped. If it had been Belinda, she would have said something, probably to Lawrence. No, it had to be John. Had he allowed Belinda or anyone else to see it, or had he managed to come into my bedchamber and pull it from under my riding skirt? The thought of him doing that was enough to send me back onto my bed. I sat there holding my derringer, just looking across the room at the windows with the bar holes in the casements. The bars for Caroline because she had been mad.

I don't think I did anything but breathe until Belinda returned with enough buckets of hot water to drown me.

An hour later, with her following on my heels, clucking over me, wringing her hands, I left The Blue Room, dressed in a sturdy old gray gown that was faded from so many washings and some walking boots. I'd worn both a lot at Deerfield Hall, trudging on the moors. I pulled on an equally old velvet cloak and gloves.

The derringer wasn't strapped back against my thigh this time. It was right in my cloak pocket. I could pull it out and fire it in but a moment of time. I could protect myself, and I most assuredly would. My head ached, but I was more angry than hurt now.

Brantley was by the front door. He saw me and became as still as the plaster statue of the naked Greek god that stood in a recessed corner just outside the drawing room.

"I am going for a walk," I said, and my voice was as cold as the air seeping in beneath the great front doors. "I will be fine, Brantley. You are not to worry about me. It was just a rabbit hole, a very big one, but I am not a milksop. I will be just fine. I am just going down by the stream. I like it there." And I waited for him to open the door for me. I wondered if he would immediately find Lawrence and tell him that his idiot wife had gone for a stroll around the grounds.

As I walked across the wide front lawn, I wondered about my decision to remain here, and my future with this house.

It didn't look promising. I shuddered, but not from the cold, although the air was chilly, very still, the late afternoon sky a lead gray. I hadn't particularly noticed before, but the trees now had nothing but naked branches, no more bursts of colorful autumn leaves at all now. Winter had finally come to Yorkshire. I began to shake off the final effects of the laudanum, and my bone-deep fear was ridding me very quickly of my lethargy.

I walked toward the stream, some distance away from the manor, my head down, thinking, thinking. I had told Brantley where I was going. No one would try anything, it would be too risky. Besides, I couldn't think clearly if someone was hanging around me, clucking and carrying on, and driving me mad. And that brought up the best question. Who could I possibly trust?

John, I thought. I had to trust him. There was simply no choice.

I kept thinking, sorting through things, trying to pick things apart, but there was just nothing. Simply nothing.

Except Caroline wanting perhaps to talk to me, however a spirit managed to do that.

And the malignancy in the Black Chamber that was still here, still alive, waiting, waiting. For what?

I reached the stream bank. I pulled my cloak very tightly around me and sat down beneath one of the huge willow trees. I stared out over the narrow ribbon of gray water. The surface was very still, like a smooth gray slate. I didn't know where the ducks were.

I realized now that I had forgotten all about George. He had not been in The Blue Room. I hoped Miss Crislock or Judith had him well in hand. If something were to happen to George, I didn't know what I would do. If I'd had the energy, I would have gone back and fetched him, but I didn't. I felt the willow bark dig into my back.

I was becoming hysterical. Nothing would happen to George. But I knew if it did, I would tear down Devbridge Manor with my bare hands.

I don't know how long I sat there before I heard him say from behind me, "Belinda stopped me in the corridor and wailed about you tottering out of bed, nearly drowning yourself in your bath, and actually leaving. I asked Brantley if he had seen you, and he told me you looked nearly dead and had planned to come down here." He paused a moment, then shrugged. "I came after you." He shrugged again, but I knew him. He was just revving himself up to blast me. It wasn't long in coming. He actually pointed his gloved finger at me and shook it.

"I did not even come close to drowning in my bath."