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Soon. Soon. Those strong arms would crush me to him and those lips would fasten over mine and I would revel in his warmth, his weight, the virile smell of his body. I would catch my fingers up in that thick, silken brown hair and moan beneath him as ...

The coach seemed to explode beneath me. I was thrown against the window as the shrill, shrieking noise of splintering wood filled the air. In that same instant I heard Ogilvy yell and the horses neigh in panic, and I was slammed onto the ceiling, banged to the floor, knocking my head against the side of the door just before it flew open and flew away and windows shattered and wood crumpled up like paper in the hand of a savage giant. The same giant picked the coach up and tossed it into the air and it rolled over and over and I was flung in every direction like a rag doll, banging, slamming, hurled finally into a black void pierced with pain.

Thick, heavy blackness, layers and layers smothering me but never smothering the pain. I struggled against it and firm hands held me down and I couldn't move. The black grew darker, darker, black so black it was a solid entity holding me captive, heavy, pressing down on me ...

I saw the slave block in Carolina and Derek Hawke and Jeff Rawlins, and Derek was driving me to his plantation and then I was on the Natchez Trace with Jeff, Derek had brutally cast me aside, and Jeff was tearing up my Article of Indenture and we were dancing together at Rawlins'

Place in New Orleans, music swirling, chandeliers glittering in the candlelight. . . I was wearing a golden gown and Derek came in and then he and Jeff were holding pistols, firing at each other, and I moaned and shook my head violently ... No, no, no, I couldn't go through that again, I couldn't endure the pain of Jeff's death ... Those same firm hands continued to hold me down, and far, far away, on the other side of the void, I heard a gentle voice speaking to me, words I could barely hear, couldn't understand.

The blackness began to melt, liquid now, and I was floating and the sharp, savage pain had dissolved into a throbbing ache, my whole body aching as Helmut Schnieder laughed and locked me up in Roseclay as the flames leaped and I knew I was going to be burned alive

... Helmut laughing, laughing, then crying out as Jack and Derek arrived ... New Orleans again, Derek moody, sullen, telling me we would be married as soon as we reached England and Jeremy there in the courtyard with moonlight gilding the bougainvillaea and the fountain splashing quietly as he held me in his arms ... "Love me, Marietta," he murmured and my lashes were wet with tears ... "I do," I whispered. "I do. Oh, Jeremy, I do. You must know that."

I cringed as the pirate ship loomed on the horizon, sharp against the black as Em and Corrie and I were herded onto boats along with the other girls, moving over a black, black sea that engulfed us ... I was drowning, drowning, desperately trying to swim to the surface, but something restrained

me, held me down firmly, speaking to me again from the other side of the void . . . Nicholas Lyon, Red Nick, holding me down, his harsh, handsome face over mine, those cold blue eyes ablaze with anger and love, that heavy copper red wave slanting across his brow ... "I'll do anything you ask," I pleaded, "only don't kill Corrie. I will never try to escape again, I promise, I promise." ... Corrie wielding a pair of scissors as his hands squeezed my throat, choking the life out of me as the island blazed ...

Nicholas on the floor, the scissors sticking out of him, blood pouring.

"Thank God!" I cried. "Oh, thank God!"

Jeremy holding me in his arms, soothing me, his hand stroking my brow and brushing the damp locks from my cheek. If only I could see him clearly through the mist ...

Misty black, no longer liquid, soft black clouds that swirled all around me, carrying me along with them, the ache dull now, no longer throbbing, not really unpleasant

... Jeremy teasing me as we moved through the swampland and holding me tight after the Karankawa attack, Corrie dead, tears spilling over my lashes again, and then we were moving over the fields and the cottonwood trees rustled in the breeze and the Texas sky was filled with stars that blazed silver-blue ... He loved me. How could I ever have doubted it? Oh, Jeremy, please forgive me, forgive me ... He was in the courtyard of the inn and I was climbing into the coach to go back to Derek and that look in Jeremy's eyes was too painful to behold. How could I have hurt you so much? How could I? I love you. I love you.

Forgive me, my darling Jeremy. Forgive me.

The pain returned, worse than ever, and I cried out as someone pressed and probed, moving my limbs . . . Demons in the darkness, tormenting me with hands strong and efficient ... "Hold on, luv," Em said firmly. "You're coming to Texas to see me, remember? Any son of a bitch who tries to stop you has me to answer to." ... I saw her pert face, a scattering of light golden tan freckles across her cheekbones, those greenish brown eyes full of wisdom beyond her years, her glossy chestnut curls burnished by firelight ... I could see the firelight through the clouds, burning low there behind the screen, and Em was sitting beside my bed, a book in her hand. The clouds swirled anew, billowing away, a lighter black now, now ash gray, lighter still, evaporating completely as I moaned and lifted heavy lids to gaze at my friend.

Her hair was a rich golden brown, the color of dark honey, neatly brushed in long, sleek waves that fell to her shoulders. But Em ... Em had chestnut locks that tumbled in wild disarray. Her eyes had changed, too, no longer hazel, violet-blue now, beautiful eyes full of secrets. They had an unusual new shape, slightly slanted, almost oriental, thick black lashes long and curling. She had high, sculpted cheekbones and a patrician nose and soft pink lips that curved sadly at the corners. Her violet velvet gown was adorned with delicate silver flowers in applique, a rich, exotic garment with exquisite gray fur at bodice and hem. A heavy cloak of the same fur was draped over the chair behind her in lavish folds that gleamed silver-gray in the light. I stared at her, frowning.

"Em?" I whispered.

The girl put her book aside and smiled at me, a gentle, demure smile, but the lips were still sad, the eyes still full of secrets. She couldn't be more than seventeen years old, and she certainly wasn't English. Italian, perhaps?

French? Those high cheekbones and vaguely slanted eyes brought to mind savage Mongol hordes and barbaric splendor.

Hair shining in the firelight, eyes dark and secretive, she was astonishingly beautiful in her exotic gown, and I wasn't at all sure she wasn't an apparition. I blinked my eyes and tried to sit up. The girl rose, velvet rustling, the fur cloak spilling to the floor in a silver-gray heap.

"You must stay still," she said gently.

She spoke in French, and while her voice was soft and mellifluous, there was an accent I couldn't identify. She sprinkled cologne onto a thin white linen handkerchief and began to bathe my temples and brow. My eyelids grew heavy again, and my body was one solid ache. The girl murmured something I couldn't understand, tenderly brushing a damp coppery red lock from my temple. The room filled with a softly diffused golden haze that gradually turned to gray, and I was floating again, slowly sinking into layers of gray that grew darker, darker, soft and black now, enveloping me.

"-better I think," the lovely voice said. "She's been sleeping."

"Has she said anything?" .

The second voice was deep, guttural. They spoke in French, and the voices seemed to come from a great distance, muted, blurred.

"She keeps calling for someone named Jeremy."

"We've been here five days already. We must move on to London."

"The doctor said she must rest. There are no broken bones, but he isn't certain there are no internal injuries.

We can't just aban-"

I moaned, swimming in darkness, fighting to reach the surface, and after a long, long while I saw a dazzling silver sunburst shimmering high above me. I struggled to reach it, moving up, up, up, sinking again, moaning as swirling black waves claimed me.

I opened my eyes. I sat up, wincing as I did. My head was clear. I was ravenously hungry. Cold silver rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, and I saw the whitewashed walls and the low, beamed ceiling and marble

fireplace and realized I must be in an inn. Shabby but exquisite rugs were scattered over the polished hardwood floor, faded pink and blue flowers against a worn gray background, and a lovely bouquet of blue and purple flowers sat on the bedside table in a thick white bowl. The fire had gone out. The room was chilly. I was wearing a white silk nightgown inset with rows offragile lace, the garment damp, clinging to my body. I had never seen it before.

The door opened. The girl I had dreamed about earlier came into the room, but she was no apparition now. She was quite real, as lovely and exotic as I had dreamed, now wearing a gown of golden brown brocade embroidered with flowers in shimmering gold thread. Bodice; hem and the wrists of the long, tight sleeves were trimmed with glossy golden brown fur. She was carrying a tray, and those lovely eyes widened with surprise when she saw me sitting up.

"Are you feeling better?" she inquired in careful English.

"I-I don't know-"

"I have very little English. Do you speak French?"

I nodded, shivering. The girl frowned.

"Oh, dear," she exclaimed in French. "The fire has gone out. The room is freezing. You'll catch a chill."

Setting the tray down on the table beside the bowl of flowers, she hurried over to the fireplace. Although she was clearly aristocratic and had undoubtedly been pampered by servants all her life, she lighted the fire with a brisk efficiency, poking the logs until the flames were crackling nicely. I shivered, pulling the linen sheets and heavy lilac counterpane around me, resting my shoulders against the soft pillows.

"Where-where am I?" I asked.

My voice sounded weak and faint. Although my French was fluent, it took a great effort to enunciate the words properly. The girl turned, putting the heavy iron poker aside.

"You're in an inn," she replied. "My uncle and I found you after-just after the accident. We heard the noise of the crash, heard the driver yell. There was a curve in the road, so we couldn't see, and by the time our coach got there the-your coach was demolished and the horses were running wild. They had broken free, and one-one of them-"

The girl hesitated, eyes dark as she remembered. "One ofthem was badly injured," she continued. "My uncle had to shoot it. The other three were unharmed."

"Ogilvy?" I whispered.

"The driver was apparently thrown clear of the wreck age. He-his neck was broken. He is dead. I.,-I'm very sorry, miss."

My eyes were damp. I could feel salty tears. The girl came over to me and took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You must try to-try not to be upset," she said quietly.

"It was my fault. I-I wanted him to hurry. I wanted to-"

I couldn't finish the sentence. The girl squeezed my hand again and then wiped my tears away. I sighed, trying to control the emotions welling up inside.

"You had been thrown out of the coach. You were crumpled up on the road, completely unconscious. Two of our servants put you into our coach, and then we brought you here and summoned a doctor. He examined you carefully and determined that there were no broken bones. He-he wasn't sure there weren't other injuries. He's been returning to check on you every day."

"How-how long have I been here?"

"A week and three days," she replied. "I've been taking care of you, giving you soup and water, changing your bedclothes.

I-my uncle wanted to go on to London, but I felt responsible for you."

"A week-I've been here a week and three days?"

"You've been very, very ill, miss. The doctor made his last call yesterday. There are no internal injuries, he said, there would have been symptoms by this time, but he told us you would need several more days of rest before it would be safe for you to travel."

Jeremy. Jeremy. I had to get to Jeremy. Panic rose and I tried to get out of bed. Scalding waves of pain swept over me. My whole body seemed to shriek in agony. The girl eased me back down onto the pillows, alarmed, and I sobbed as the black clouds enveloped me once more. I heard her speaking to me, her voice a distant murmur, and I felt something warm passing my lips, gliding down my throat. I knew nothing more for a very long time.

The pigeon was cooing loudly, a pleasant, peaceful sound that gradually penetrated the silent darkness. I stirred, and when I opened my eyes I could see him prancing on the window sill outside, pearl gray feathers silver in the early morning light. I knew that it was morning, but I had no idea how many days might have passed.

My body felt stiff and ached all over, but the ache was dull and there was no real pain, not even when I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I stood up. A wave of dizziness besieged me. I gripped the headboard, closing my eyes as a million tiny needles seemed to jab my skin.

The sensation passed. My head cleared. I was weak, but all the clouds had gone and I was fully conscious for the first time. Catching sight of myself in the mirror across the room, I saw that I was wearing another unfamiliar nightgown, pale yellow satin. My face was drawn, my coppery red hair damp with perspiration, and the sapphire blue eyes that gazed back at me were dark and disturbed. Staggering across the room, I found a large white bowl and a pitcher of water behind a worn blue silk screen. I washed my face as the sunlight grew stronger. The pigeon had flown away, but geese were honking in the courtyard below and a cow was lowing in a nearby pasture. As I emptied the last of the water into a bowl, I heard a vehicle of some sort entering the courtyard, harness jangling, wheels crunching noisily over the cobbles.

"You're out of bed," the girl said.

I turned. I hadn't heard her come into the room. She was wearing white this morning, the thin, long-sleeved frock embroidered with delicate blue and violet flowers, a blue satin sash around her slender waist. Although exquisite, the garment was foreign in style, unlike any I had ever seen. Her golden brown hair was neatly brushed, her young face lovely yet disturbed.