Warily she eyed the hard wooden seat of the chair and quietly refused.
"Not hungry?" he asked innocently as he saw her small hand steal unobtrusively to her abused backside.
She shook her head. "Perhaps later."
Reaching for the loaf of bread on the table, he tore off two chunks and placed a large piece of fish between the slices. He rose from the table unexpectedly and came to her, steering her toward the door. "Come on."
She nibbled on the sandwich while they walked along a path that ran off from one side of the cottage. He chatted easily, as if nothing had ever happened between them, telling her how he had found the cottage and of the old woman who maintained it for him. Despite herself, she listened, amazed that this charming man who was conversing so entertainingly was the same one who had tried to ravish her.
Just as she finished the last bite of her meal, she saw a lake ahead, so small that its far edge was easily visible. It lay even with the plane of the moor, its surface gray and smooth, reflecting the darkening sky and a lone twisted tree growing near its shore.
"Ravensdale Tarn," Quinn told her. "Those are gulls' nests in the rushes on the edge."
"It's beautiful. So still. I didn't know there were lakes on the moors."
"There aren't many. This is one of the most dangerous because it's so deep, and you can't see it until you're right on top of it. At night or when it's misty, the lake is completely invisible. A lot of sheep have been drowned in this water. Even a few men."
Noelle looked at him sharply. Was this his way of warning her not to try to run away from him? But his expression told her nothing, and she eased herself down onto the spongy turf.
Drawing her knees under her chin, she spoke quietly. "I have something I want to tell you." Each word crept painfully out of her solemnly set mouth. "I have decided I'm ready to become your wife." There, she had said it. There was no backing off now.
But he seemed not to have heard her. He only stared out across the fiat expanse of water, his forearm resting against the twisted tree trunk, and watched as a gull circled the edge of the lake before gracefully landing near its nest.
Finally he turned to her dispassionately. "What's that supposed to mean-'become my wife'?"
Damn him! He wasn't going to make this easy for her!
"It means that, for the present, I am prepared to…to fulfill all of my obligations."
"Are you, now?" he mocked, returning his attention to the lake.
"Yes," she declared, with a toss of her honey mane. "I'm no coward, Quinn Copeland, despite what happened today. And I intend to prove it to you."
His voice was steeped in sarcasm. "And am I supposed to be grateful for this act of bravery on your part?"
Whatever else he was ready to say was cut short by the sound of a man's voice calling faintly in the distance.
"Come on, Highness. I have a surprise for you."
An old man was unloading Quinn's heavy saddle and another smaller one from the back of a wooden cart that stood near the cottage. Tied behind the cart were two horses-Pathkiller, Quinn's magnificent stallion, and a small chestnut mare. Noelle stopped where she was and took in the beautiful animal. As if aware she was under inspection, the mare turned her head toward Noelle and returned the appraisal with warm, liquid eyes. Then, satisfied with what she saw, she pricked up her ears in friendly salute.
As a child, Noelle had sometimes collected a few pennies by standing on the curb and holding horses for the gentry, but other than that, her contact with animals had been unpleasantly limited to rats or the vicious stray dogs that roamed in packs through the alleys of London. Now she fell hopelessly in love with the beautiful animal that stood in front of her.
The horse whinnied softly, as if impatient for her to come near, and Noelle closed the distance between them. Tentatively she reached up and slid a hand down the mare's warm, silky nose, enchanted with the intelligence she perceived in the animal's expression. As if in response, the mare gave Noelle's shoulder a gentle nudge.
She was so captivated by the horse that she didn't notice Quinn coming up behind her.
"It looks like you've made a friend."
Noelle stroked the dark chestnut mane. "What's her name?"
"That's up to you. She's yours."
Thunderstruck, she stared at him.
He turned to untie the horses. "Don't worry. I'm not expecting gratitude. I won't have a wife who can't ride."
She was torn between the desire to fling the unsolicited gift in his face and the knowledge that she couldn't bring herself to part with this beautiful horse. Then the cart clattered its way down the lane.
With the reins of both animals in his hand, Quinn watched the warring emotions so clearly raging on Noelle's face.
"I'll have to shoot her if you don't take her. Nobody else would be stupid enough to buy that bag of bones."
"Shoot her!" Noelle choked. "Are you blind? She's the most beautiful-" The devils dancing mischievously in his eyes stopped her before she went further. She planted her hands on her slim hips and gave him a withering glare.
"Not only is your sense of humor misplaced, it is decidedly macabre."
"Whatever you say, Highness." He grinned. "Now, let's get these horses bedded down."
They led the animals to the tiny stone stable behind the cottage, where Quinn put them into separate stalls, each of which held a bale of straw. He showed her how to rub down the chestnut and then went to tend Pathkiller.
Noelle listened uneasily as the ferocious stallion kicked an iron hoof against the thin wooden partition that divided the stalls. The stallion was a magnificent animal, but she couldn't imagine going into a stall alone with him.
"Give her some oats before you leave," Quinn called over to her. "Tomorrow you're going to have your first riding lesson."
So he was going to teach her to ride. A throb of excitement shot through her at the thought of sitting on the back of this beautiful horse.
"I'm going to call you Chestnut Lady," she whispered as she rested her cheek against the animal's sleek neck, "and I'll learn to ride you like the wind."
A scene of quiet domesticity greeted Quinn when he entered the cottage that night after having checked the horses. The lamps were glowing warmly, and a crackling fire cast cozy pumpkin-colored shadows about the room. At the center of the tranquil scene was Noelle, laboriously sewing on the buttons that Quinn had ripped from her shirt that morning. The ends of her hair, still damp from the quick bath she had taken while he was in the stable, curled over the modest bodice of the flannel nightgown she had found in the chest. She looked like little more than a child with her bare feet tucked under the folds of the voluminous nightgown and her forehead knitted in concentration.
Only the slight trembling in her fingers gave away her agitation. So, Quinn thought, she's planning to go through with it. He jerked his coat off and flung it over the back of a chair.
The last button secured, Noelle reluctantly set aside the shirt and, keeping her eyes averted from Quinn, drained the half-empty wineglass sitting next to her. It was her fourth glass, and she was feeling definitely light-headed. Still, she needed whatever courage the bottle could offer if she were to keep her resolve. The wine was young and raw, and as it slid down her throat she shivered. Looking for something else to do, she spotted a plate that had fallen over on the shelf and straightened it, almost knocking another over in the process. Afterward she folded her shirt, returned the needle and thread to the chest where she had found them, and then brushed her hair. When her scalp was tingling from the force of the brush and her hair crackling around her head, she finally stopped and meticulously secured it in a long, loose braid.