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EBEN FOLLOWED THE GIRL’S TRAIL till darkness prevented him from going any further. Then, he unsaddled Cadence and sat, using an old oak as a backrest and watched the animal graze. He remembered Raven saying tartly that she could forage for food, and he wondered if she’d planned her escape all along? She must have been laughing at him all the while, playing upon his lust for her body, then scheming to kill him. It was unconscionable behavior, and though she should have been ashamed, he doubted she had an ounce of conscience in her whole luscious self.

Although he wasn’t hungry, he forced himself to eat some of the jerked venison he’d carried with him from the Shining Mountains. Besides providing much needed energy, chewing the leathery meat gave him something to occupy his time. All night long he sat, seething with impatience to be gone. As the first gray fingers of a false dawn crept across the sky, he saddled the mare and picked up Raven’s trail where he’d left off the night before.

She cut a wide swath of trampled grass and broken twigs. It was nearly noon when he stopped at the very spot where she had camped the night before. Dismounting, he hunkered down, examining the small nest she’d made. Given the ill-bred and contemptible nature of the beast she was riding, it was a miracle she’d made it this far without mishap.

The urge to hurry was almost overwhelming. As ornery as Willow happened to be, he was also fast, and if given his head, could outstrip Cadence in a dead heat. The mare’s foreleg was healing nicely, but he didn’t dare push her beyond her limits and risk a permanent injury. He deliberately kept her at an even, steady pace, knowing that Raven travelled faster than he dared, but certain he would overtake her eventually.

On the second night, he slept, waking just before dawn. He broke camp and by the time the sun had fully risen, he was a mile and half to the northeast and hot on the trail of his runaway ward. What he didn’t know was that at that very

moment, his quarry was alone, on foot, and just twenty miles away.

THE SCURRYING RAVEN HAD HEARD that first night had turned out to be a family of brigands in raccoon-skin guise. The furry little thieves had stolen into her camp and devoured every last morsel of her provisions while she slept.

She’d awoken, a few hours after dawn, soaked by the dew and utterly famished, only to discover that she would have to hunt for her breakfast. An hour’s diligent search yielded nothing more than a handful of acorns the squirrels had somehow overlooked. The meat was hard and bitter as gall, but she ate it anyway, washing it down with cold water from a nearby brook.

All that day, she scanned the woods and fields through which they travelled, hoping to spy a berry thicket where she could satisfy her gnawing hunger. It was almost dark when at last her hope was fulfilled. High along a spiny ridge of earth thick brambles sprawled, clinging to places less tenacious vegetation would have scorned.

The fruit had been severely battered by the recent storm, and most had moldered in the heat. Raven ate them anyway, reaching far into the tangle to pluck the fat overripe blackberries, popping them into her mouth. Eager to satisfy the gnawing ache in her stomach, she pushed even farther into the thicket. Briars caught at her dress, snagging the worn fabric, scratching her bare arms and drawing bright beads of blood.

She gasped aloud at the abuse she suffered for an insufficient meal, complaining softly to herself and wishing she were back home again. Even the hated company of the arrogant Eben St. Claire was preferable to this.

Just beyond her outstretched hand, the berry bushes rattled ominously, and a pair of bear cubs tumbled out almost at her feet. Alarmed, she backed away, but they saw her and, scrambling away and up a nearby tree, bleating like a pair of baby goats.

As the cubs kept up their frightened cries, Raven hurried to extract herself from the thorny embrace of the blackberry

brambles. The cubs were here, which meant that the mother bear was not far away, and that was dangerous. Unnerved by the thought, Raven gave one maddened plunge and was free of the vines.

She grabbed for the stallion’s reins, but he shied nervously, snorting in alarm and giving a high-pitched whinny. She had no time for foolishness. They had to get away, and now. Her fingers caught the very end of the leathers, but she couldn’t hold them as the animal bucked and reared and made a headlong dash back down the steep grade, all of her belongings looped around his neck—and Raven’s last hope went with him.

In the next second, the sow bear rumbled out of the brush and ran rolling down the hill, six-hundred pounds of maternal outrage barreling down on Raven’s hapless, terrified form.

She tried to just back slowly away, but the vines caught at her clothing and hair, the thorns sinking deep into her skin.

With the startling clarity of a nightmare, the huge animal rose on hind legs and towered over her, its head swinging side to side in a rage-induced dance. Mouth torn open to reveal long yellow canine teeth, capable of tearing flesh from bones, the animal advanced on her even as she cringed back.

Instinctively, Raven stepped back, and back again, then her heel caught on a root and she sprawled in the leaves. At her side was a precipice, a steep descent down a rocky cliff face eight feet high. It was a dangerous height. If she landed awkwardly, she could break bones, and surely she would die here—yet a death that came in an instant was preferable to being torn apart and devoured by a bear. Her choices limited, Raven used the momentum of her backward tumble and rolled over the edge and into empty air.

She fell hard, knocking the air from her lungs, and lay in the thick bed of leaves, waiting to die. Above her, the bear had ceased its bellowing and stood, huffing above where she lay.

Raven kept silent and still, and soon it turned and waddled away.

After a little while, Raven turned her head and opened her eyes. The bear was gone, and though she was scratched and badly shaken, nothing appeared to be broken. She turned her face into the leaves once more and cried.

“SOMETHING ISN’T RIGHT, HERE,” EBEN said quietly

to himself. He was squatting on his heels by a frequently traveled game trail used by animal and man alike and, he was certain, by one very lovely and very rebellious female quite recently. There was no mistaking Willow’s hoof-prints. The left shoe bore a mark of Eben’s own design: three deep grooves filed into the ends of the shoe. Horse thieves were rampant, even in these modern times, and the mark would help him to identify the animal should he be stolen.

Eben touched a finger to the print and his brow furrowed in a deep frown. It was the depth of the imprint that puzzled him. It was almost as if the stud was riderless. Yet, from that conclusion another question arose: where was Raven?

Turning slightly, he squinted back down the path he’d so recently taken. Was this some sort of ruse she’d used to throw him off the scent? Or was she really out there now, lost and alone, perhaps hurt, and unable to even cry out for help? “It will eat away at me until I know for sure.”

A single fluid motion and he was back on his feet. There was one way to find out. He’d have to double back and have a second look.

This time, he went more slowly, scanning every inch of forest loam for the tiniest clue. An hour later, his efforts were rewarded, and he found the spot where girl and horse parted company.

The entire tale was told in a bizarre tapestry of dislodged dirt and leaves, a scrap of cream-colored calico and a few long dark hairs still affixed to a blackberry bramble.

Eben plucked the prize and smoothed it between his fingers. It was spotted with blood—Raven’s blood. He closed his eyes and fought down a wave of anxiety. She’d been picking berries when the beast startled her. He knelt and measured the paw print against his hand. It was a very large

bear and must have scared her half to death. He saw her slipper prints just a few feet away. The heels had been dug into the soft loam, and he saw her in his mind’s eye, rocking back in sheer terror as the beast loomed up and over her. From there, he followed her tumbling descent into the dirt and down the steep cliff face.

The bottom of the ravine was layered deeply with a decade’s worth of fallen leaves. Bending, he dislodged the deep cover, making sure she was not hidden there, broken, bleeding. There was nothing—no visible sign of blood, and she had walked away. She might not be mortally injured, but she was wandering alone, somewhere out there, doubtless terrified.

Staring off to the northeast, Eben ground his teeth in frustration. He’d never met a woman as headstrong, as filled with stubbornness and determination as Raven. And he’d never met one that so wrung his heart with this violent urge to protect her.

BY LATE AFTERNOON THE FOLLOWING day, the full

weight of Raven’s predicament sat heavily upon her slim, straight shoulders. Without the horse she was at the mercy of the land, and the land, she understood, could be ruthless.

The night before, she had found a glade with underbrush on three sides and a very small open space in its center. The underbrush provided a protection of sorts, and she’d curled in close, her back against the living wall, covered with her cloak, and tried to sleep, but the day’s ordeal would not permit it.

She’d shivered with cold most of the night, starting fully awake and frightened at the smallest noise.

Morning arrived, and she began to walk. If she headed toward the rising sun, there was a chance that she would come across a cabin or farm, and she would pass the time by looking for something to eat along the way. But the day wore away, and she found nothing. The stream she was crossing was the first of any size she had come across, and the first of many she would encounter on her journey to the east.

It had ceased to matter to her that the frontiersman might find her. At least he would give her something to eat. All day long she searched, but it seemed the hordes of hungry squirrels had eaten every single nut and acorn, and as for the berries— though she hadn’t come upon any more—she was a little leery of berries. She went to sleep hungry each night and dreamt of home.

Cold water lapping just beneath her waist reminded her that autumn was not far away. The mornings were already chilly and blanketed with mist, redolent of September. Soon the mountain-fed streams would grow icy cold, and without the horse, Raven would be forced to swim or ford them on foot.

As she waded, her skirts were tucked up to free her legs, and to keep her from being dragged under by the swift current. Her soft deerskin slippers, unsuited to all of this walking, were held high in one hand. Nearly worn out, they were among her only possessions, besides her mother’s locket, still around her neck. Everything she’d owned, including Henri’s gold, had been lost when the stallion bolted.

With the water tugging at her ragged clothes and her toes feeling out the slippery, slime-covered rocks for the safest footing, Raven thought about the man she’d left behind. Was he searching for her, even now? Or was he glad that she was gone? One less responsibility for him to shoulder? She certainly hadn’t been very cooperative, and she’d insulted him at every turn. She supposed that she could understand if he cut his losses and simply rode away.

That she’d accused him of being a fortune hunter who coveted her worldly possessions was a heavy irony. She’d wanted her freedom. She’d longed to be rid of his unwanted presence, to be away from his unfeeling remarks and criticisms. Now, she had all of that, and it was worth less than nothing. In fact, at this moment she would welcome the sight of him, so long as he shot her a fat buck or a turkey to roast and fill her aching stomach.

But he didn’t arrive to save her, and there was no great surge of joy at being free. She might be free and unhampered by some arrogant fool of a man, but she was also ravenous,

and more than a little lonely. Her pride pinched as she was forced to admit that the one man she had professed to hate the most was the one she longed most to see. Had he come striding though the creek toward her right now, ready to threaten and scold, she would have thrown herself into his arms.

But Eben St. Claire did not materialize.

Raven, feeling dejected, sat down on a rock at the water’s edge and started the long process of wringing out her sodden skirts. “This is all your fault, m’sieur!” she said, needing to hear the sound of a human voice, even if it was her own. “If you had not been so hot to marry me off to a stranger, then none of this would have happened!” She snorted her derision. “And just what manner of man would you have chosen for me? Someone with a great bulbous nose and warts on his hands, someone ancient and gout-ridden, no doubt! As long as he had two coins in his pocket, you would no doubt consider him suitable!”

Across the river, Eben stood silently watching. He’d barely believed his good fortune when he’d come into the open and spied the solitary, ragged figure wading across the creek. He suppressed the urge to call out to her, aware that she would likely take to her heels again.

She left the rock and bent near the water’s edge, grubbing for roots in the shallows. Several were easily plucked from soft mud, but there was one that she was obviously bent upon having that proved more solidly rooted than the rest. With a determination he found admirable, she pulled and she yanked, her grunts carrying clearly across the water. Finally, the root broke free and a startled Raven sat down abruptly in the icy flow.

Raven, unaware that she was being observed, came up sputtering in furious French. From a little distance came the sound of laughter, clear, rich, and masculine. It was totally unexpected, and very, very welcome.

He had the most infuriating habit of catching her at her worst, making her feel foolish and vulnerable. What pride she

had left was considerably deflated. She pushed the wet strands of her tangled hair out of her eyes and cast him a dull glare. “Well, will you stand there guffawing while I waste away? Go and shoot me a deer! A very big deer, because I am very hungry!”

“Will you stay where you are? If you disappear again, I won’t be happy.”

“I surrender, m’sieur! Feed me, and I am yours.”

She watched him sketch a shallow bow and disappear into the forest, calling back over his shoulder. “A big deer with antlers to hang above the lintel of mademoiselle’s new residence.”

“You can’t eat antlers, and I don’t have a lintel.” And she sat back down on the rock to wait.

It was almost dark when Eben returned. He had a knack for blending into the forest that she could not help but admire.

When he stood motionless, it was difficult for the untrained eye to spot him—and when he moved, it was with an uncanny grace, almost as if every movement he made was carefully thought out before his muscles executed it. He made no noise when he approached, even through the creek. It was Cadence who alerted her to their return, and set her mouth to watering, for slung across the saddle was a small whitetail deer.

Eben eyed her critically as he approached, noting her haggard appearance. She was wet and thoroughly bedraggled, yet her eyes shone like jet, and for a moment he was almost convinced that she was actually glad to see him.

“If you fetch some kindling, I’ll take care of the rest.” He took the doe and a short length of rope and made a small precise cut between the hamstring and the bone. Threading the rope through, he hoisted the carcass into a tree with its head hanging down and tied a neat slipknot to hold it.

Raven surveyed his handiwork and put her nose in the air. “You fetch the kindling, and I’ll take care of the rest.” She was adept at food preparation, and knew precisely which cuts to

make first. “Your knife, m’sieur.” She held out her hand, waiting.

Eben looked at her, then at her hand. “Raven, don’t even try to finish what you started back at the cabin. You only get one chance at murder with me—just one—and it will take a stronger arm than you possess to kill me.”

Her eyes went wide. “Is that what you think? That I meant to kill you?”

“Aye, if not by poison, then by suffocation. When I awoke it was hotter than hell in that airless coffin you call home.”

Raven shrugged. “Think it if you like, but I did not want you dead. I only wanted to escape.”

“And where did that get you? Half starved, thoroughly worn out, nearly killed by a bear, and right back where you started from. With me.”

“I nearly succeeded,” she insisted. Some of her pride was returning now that the promise of food was certain.

“Aye,” he agreed. “You almost succeeded in killing yourself. What the hell were you thinking? You could have died out here alone, with no one the wiser, or even worse! For Christ’s sake, Raven! Didn’t Henry ever warn you about men?”

Her brows lowered and her lips compressed into a tight little smile. “I am learning, m’sieur.”

“You have an odd way of measuring success,” he said. “You stole my horse and lost him, damn it, and the coin you left was not enough to cover his worth. You may repay me out of your share of the gold, however. Where is it, by the way?”

“I might have guessed that it would be my gold that would most concern you!”

“Our gold,” he stubbornly insisted. “You lost it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I lost it! Now that it’s gone, I suppose I can expect no help from you. It was the only reason you agreed to this silly

bargain in the first place. Now that Papa is gone, you won’t hold to the agreement.”

Eben sucked in air and sought patience. “Well, I suppose there’s no help for it now.” He glanced at Raven and groaned. Her dark eyes were unnaturally bright, and as he watched, horrified, they puddled up, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I knew you were untrustworthy the moment I laid eyes on you!” she said.

“Lower your voice, wench. It isn’t exactly wise to announce our presence.”

“Oh, what do you care? Perhaps some filthy, vermin- ridden man will come along and take me off your hands! It’s all you want, anyway, to be rid of me! You would not have come after me at all, except for the prospect of an easy fortune!”

Eben sighed. And to think he’d been relieved to see her whole and unharmed an hour ago! She hadn’t changed! In fact, she was more volatile emotionally than ever, ranting and raving and maligning his good nature. He should do as she suggested and find someone willing to have her, whether she was cooperative or not. He didn’t need so much bother when he had a plan to better himself. He didn’t need her!

“Raven, speak softly, or so help me I’ll gag you.” “And you would, too! You hateful brute!”

He held tight to his temper and took several deep breaths before he tried again, but his voice was strained. “I made the bargain in good faith to a man who was obviously dying. A desperate man who swore his daughter was sweet-tempered and dutiful. He lied to me—but even that I can understand.

Had he told me what you were really like, I wouldn’t have given you a second look, let alone agreed to this Hell I’m now in.” And here he paused to catch hold of his darker emotions again. “It is a bargain I made, however, and being a man of my word, I will keep it. Gold, or no gold, I am stuck with you, and will strive mightily to make the best of it.”

With that, he went into the woods, leaving Raven alone with her raging emotions.