 
This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, certain characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Behind the Mask: Volume I of the Horstberg Saga

Smashwords Edition

Published by White Star Press

P.O. Box 353

American Fork, Utah 84003

Copyright © 2013 by Anita Stansfield  
Mask painting copyright © 2013 Anna C. Stansfield

Cover and ebook design by ePubMasters

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for supporting the author's rights.

ISBN: 978-1-939203-35-9

Printed in the United States of America

Year of first printing: 2013

When You're Hiding For Your Life, What Do You Live For?

Abbi has the gift of dreams. But her uncanny ability to see glimpses of the future has no apparent purpose or meaning until a dream leads her to a man on the brink of despair and destruction.

Cameron is a man without a name and without a country, framed for a crime he didn't commit. Long ago forced into exile and believed dead, the passing of years have defaced him of all hope.

The country of Horstberg suffers beneath the weight of tyranny, and only Cameron holds the secret that could see her ruler undone and restore the people to peace and prosperity. While revolution brews and whispers of treason threaten all that is dear to Abbi, she remains unaware of her own ability to answer a nation's prayers.

Trusting only her heart and the power of her dreams, Abbi gives all that she has to lead Cameron back into a civilized world, where love is real and freedom comes only in facing what hides behind the mask.
To Karl and Deann . . . for believing in me.
Preface

Throughout much of the nineteenth century, the duchies of Bavaria captured a certain magic akin to the medieval era, in a time not so far distant from our own. Amidst splendid mountains and lush valleys, tiny countries were governed by the royal families residing in magnificent castles that stand today as glorious tributes to this magical age. And one of the greatest was Horstberg.
Chapter One

GIFT OF DREAMS

Bavaria--1813

"The foal will be a stallion," Abbi told Georg while he assisted the laboring mare. He tossed her a brief, startled glance, making her wonder if it might have been better to keep the thought to herself.

For many years Georg Heinrich had been the stablemaster on her grandfather's estate. Though much older than her fifteen years, they had always been close, like a brother and sister. If Abbi trusted anyone with the deepest secrets of her heart, it was Georg.

"And how do you know that?" he asked with a gentle laugh.

"I had a dream," she said, "and it had the same quality to it as the night I dreamed my mother was going to die."

Again Georg looked at her, his eyes more intense. "You dreamed she would die?"

"Yes," she said, a trifle nervous. She'd never told anyone since her grandfather had denounced the dream's validity many years earlier. "And it happened just as I saw it--the way she fell off the horse, and then she didn't move."

"That's incredible."

"Is it?" Abbi brushed aside a straying mass of unruly red curls in order to see him better.

Georg nodded and turned his attention back to his work, but she sensed his genuine interest. "Tell me about this dream . . . about the foal."

"I saw myself riding a stallion the color of fire. I don't know where we were going, but it seemed he would take me to great riches."

"This horse is going to make you rich?" Georg chuckled and used a clean forearm to separate his mussed blond hair from the sweat on his face. "You're already the richest girl I know."

"Not like that, silly." She lay back in the soft straw and gazed toward the stable window where she could see the sun barely peering over familiar mountain peaks. "It was more . . . that he would lead me to great . . . happiness; to some . . . purpose."

Georg said nothing more as it became evident the foal was coming now. Abbi had observed the birth of horses many times, always insisting that Georg come and get her, no matter what time of night or day it might be. Still, her heart quickened and her hands trembled as she observed Georg's devoted care in helping the mare deliver safely. Abbi always felt anxious in observing the process, hoping that all would go well. But this horse was special. Her grandfather had already told her that the foal would be her very own, and she'd had a special feeling about it that had only been enhanced by her recent dream.

Sunlight tumbled through the open stable doorway the very moment that Blaze emerged into the world. Georg suggested they name him Blaze, since his fine, red coat was near the color of Abbi's hair. "The color of fire," he said impishly.

"You were right," he observed as he washed up and put on his shirt. With a little smirk he added, "I can't wait to see where he'll take you."

"Are you making fun of me?" she demanded.

"No, Abbi." He squatted beside her where she sat in the straw, admiring the new little foal. "You obviously have a gift. The gift of dreams." He said it as if it were magical. "I can't help being curious to see how that gift might lead you to your destiny . . . like Joseph of Egypt."

"Who?" she asked, afraid for reasons she couldn't explain.

He laughed and stood, pulling his braces up over his shoulders. "It's in the Bible, Abbi; Genesis to be exact. Read it. I've got to go. I'm late."

Abbi watched Georg mount his horse and ride away. She turned her full attention to Blaze, but her mind hovered with the things Georg had said. A _gift?_ She'd never considered that her dreams might actually be a _gift_. While she studied the new foal, watching him come to life beneath his mother's ardent attention, Georg's words stirred something to life within her that she'd never felt before.

Abbi had never been one to fill her head with fantasies and pointless musings. But on rare occasions, images and emotions had intruded upon her sleep that were somehow prophetic. When in her fifth year she had dreamed of her mother's death before it happened, her attempts to tell her grandfather about it had been passed off as silly and impertinent. Since that time Abbi had done her best to push the matter out of her mind and convince herself that he was right. Through her growing years, Abbi had often had dreams. Some were shadows of the past; most were crazy montages of the present. But at times she would see a glimpse of something in her sleep that would come to pass at some subsequent moment. Abbi couldn't deny that she had within her the ability to see impressions of the future. Until today she'd never dared admit it aloud because her grandfather's disregard had led her to believe that this ability was only strange, perhaps even something to be ashamed of. But now a sensation deep within led her to believe otherwise. Her spirit felt awakened with something warm and rich, prompting her to believe that what Georg had said was true. And she couldn't help wondering where Blaze, her dream horse, would lead her.

Cameron slammed the bedroom door and hurried down the stairs, haphazardly pushing his hands through his damp, dark hair in lieu of a comb. By the time he had the horse saddled, he'd almost managed to erase the ugly episode with Gwendolyn from his mind, but he felt a little sick to realize that such encounters with his wife were steadily becoming more frequent. A quick reckoning of the state of his life lured him toward the brink of despair, forcing him to realize there was little he truly enjoyed. But emerging from the stable at a full gallop, he was calmed by the serenity of a warm morning. He forced all else to leave his mind as he concentrated on his destination. For this one hour a day, he could just be himself.

It was early to be at the pub, but he had kept the appointment six days a week for many years now, and the lack of crowds made this time of day appealing. The innkeeper greeted Cameron with a familiar wave as he moved to the usual corner table. Sitting down, he realized he'd not only left without combing his hair, but he hadn't shaved or even buttoned his waistcoat. He determined that he didn't care and left it hanging open over his cream-colored shirt.

"Georg not here yet?" he asked as two tankards of beer were set in front of him.

"Haven't seen him." Boris grinned, showing crooked teeth between his plump lips. "But knowin' Georg, he'll be here any minute."

Cameron took a sip and pushed his drink aside, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt before he started tapping his fingers on the table. Georg was the only person he could really talk to, and he felt impatient to clear his head.

"Hey, Boris," he called, and the innkeeper turned. "Heard any more gossip about that ogre who rules this wretched place?"

Boris grinned again. "Nothin' worth repeatin'."

"Too bad," he replied. "I was hoping he . . ."

Cameron stopped when the door came open and they were no longer alone. Hoping it was Georg, Cameron sighed as a young boy handed a folded paper to Boris. Only a moment later Georg burst through the door and breathlessly sat down to his waiting beer.

"You're late," Cameron said sternly.

Georg caught the underlying humor and chuckled. "It'll keep you humble. Besides, I have a good excuse."

Cameron gave a disinterested grunt and took a swallow of his drink.

"A foal was born this morning," Georg added.

Cameron did his best to show interest, but his mind was elsewhere. "Do you remember," he began with purpose, "what I told you about my plans to--" Interrupted again, Cameron wondered what kind of day this was going to be.

"It's for you, sir." Boris handed the message he'd just received to Cameron.

"Thank you." Cameron took the paper and unfolded it absently.

Georg saw something significant change in Cameron's eyes as he read the message and then crumpled the paper and threw it to the table.

"I have to go," he said and rushed from the pub, leaving Georg a little dazed. From the window he saw the mare thundering away, and he couldn't resist the urge to uncrumple the note and read it. _You must meet me at once. I'll be waiting upstairs. I need to speak with you on a matter of great importance. All my love, Gwen._

Something about the wording of the note didn't ring true in Georg's mind. It wasn't like Cameron's wife to be so openly affectionate--or eager to see him. Uneasiness twitched at the back of his neck as he stuffed the note into his pocket and moved toward the door.

"Put it on my bill, Boris," he called as he hurried out, riding the same direction Cameron had gone.

Georg had always been a man to trust his instincts, and he hated what they were telling him as he entered Cameron's front door without knocking. He ran down the hallway and up the stairs, consumed with dread. His heart began to pound as he cautiously moved toward the bedroom, where he could hear some kind of commotion. Coming to the open doorway, his eye was first drawn to Gwen's body on the floor, a bloodied knife lying close by. He looked up to meet Cameron's gaze, and a part of him died. His friend's eyes were stunned, his expression helpless as his wrists were bound in front of him by two officers of the Guard. Georg couldn't miss the blood on Cameron's hands, nor the silent desperation that pleaded for help. They exchanged no words as the Guard led him away, but Georg knew the significance of what rested on his shoulders.

Sheer exhaustion finally forced Abbi away from her day-long admiration of the wobbly legged foal and up to bed. But even then she was not free from thoughts of him. She knew Blaze would be the stallion she had always dreamed of, and she longed for the day when she could ride him.

Abbi contemplated digging out the family Bible and reading about Joseph, as Georg had suggested, but she was simply too tired. Just this side of sleep, she was startled by an urgent knock at her door.

"Who is it?" she called, knowing it was well past midnight.

The door opened then closed again. Abbi felt moonlight on her face and knew she was clearly visible, which left her at a stark disadvantage when she could only see the shadow of a man moving toward the bed. Her heart beat wildly as she came fully awake, retracting toward the headboard, holding the sheets tightly in her fists. She was about to scream when she heard an imperative whisper. "Abbi."

"Father!" She relaxed with an audible sigh. "What are you doing here?"

"Abbi," he repeated, going to his knees beside the bed. As he leaned into the column of moonlight, she caught the weary look of his eyes and the distressed lines in his face. "You must listen carefully," he muttered, "to everything I say. There is no room for question. Do you understand?"

Abbi nodded. He took her hands one at a time and pressed them tightly around what felt like a thick letter.

"You keep this," he whispered. "Don't open it unless something happens to me. If you don't see me again before the seventeenth of September, one month from today, I want you to meet me in the park at ten o'clock that morning. Come alone. If I'm not there, you come straight home and open this, then show the papers to the proper authorities. When you read them you'll understand. You'll know what to do. But under no circumstances do you open it if I'm still alive. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she replied. "But Father, I . . . what if . . . what do you mean if you're still alive? How can--"

"You mustn't ask questions, Princess. And you must never tell anyone about this."

"How can I meet you if I--"

"Just don't say anything about these documents. Keep them hidden. Tell no one. Lives are at stake."

Abbi felt frightened. She wanted to protest that she was only fifteen. She could not be trusted with lives--especially her own father's.

Eerily calm, he reached out to touch the little black pearl hanging on a chain around Abbi's neck. It was small and oddly shaped, but it meant a great deal to Abbi and she never took it off.

"You still wear it," he said, his voice tender.

"Always," she whispered and put her hand over his while he fondled the pearl.

"Do you remember what I told you when I gave it to you?"

"Of course," she said.

"Don't you _ever_ forget it, Abbi. Whatever happens to me, never forget what I told you."

"I promise," she said, and he eased away, letting the pearl fall back against her skin.

"Abbi," his voice lowered and she heard it tremble, "I know I've not been the kind of father you deserve. But Papa has raised you well. You're a good girl. Though I may not show it often, you _are_ a princess to me--so much like your mother. Perhaps if she had lived, we could have . . ." His voice trailed off, but Abbi caught the tone of regret that crept through his unmistakable fear.

"I pray that I will see you before the seventeenth," he said, coming to his feet. "With any luck it will all be over before then."

Abbi wanted to ask what he meant exactly, but she knew he wouldn't tell her.

"Good-bye, Abbi," he murmured, moving toward the door.

"Be careful," was all she could think to say, and then he was gone.

Abbi didn't know how long she sat in her bed, gripping the papers while urgent phrases echoed through her mind. _If I'm still alive . . . Tell no one . . . Lives are at stake._

Finding the motivation to see what she held, Abbi lit a lamp and studied the papers in her hand. They were thick and sealed up tightly, without so much as a scribble of anything written on the outside. Recalling again her father's urgency, Abbi felt a cold tremor rush over her. Unnerved by the sensation, she opened a bureau drawer and stuffed the documents beneath her nightclothes, praying as her father had that they would see each other before the seventeenth.

Cameron heard himself gasp as he came awake. It took a moment to become oriented to his surroundings before he decided that the horrid images of his dreams were preferable to the reality of his present circumstances. He swung his legs over the edge of the cot and set his feet on the floor, catching a glimpse of the bloodstains on his shirt, a stark reminder of the reason for his nightmares. He groaned and pressed his hands through his hair before he focused his attention on the outline of bars shadowed in a distorted square on the floor. He looked up at the high, tiny window--the only source of light in the room--and he wondered what had happened to life on the other side of these walls. While he tried to convince himself that this would soon be over, that his innocence would be proven, a rancid smoldering in his stomach led him to believe otherwise.

Two sets of footsteps in the hallway preceded the noisy turning of a key in the lock. Cameron came to his feet, hardly daring to breathe as he wondered if this visit should be anticipated or dreaded. He settled firmly on the latter when Nikolaus du Woernig entered the room with Lieutenant Wurtzur at his side. They both looked smug, triumphant, and thoroughly pleased. Cameron had absolutely no doubt that this encounter wouldn't be in his favor.

"His Grace wishes to have a word with you," Wurtzur said snidely, gesturing to Nikolaus. He moved behind Cameron, binding his wrists together before Cameron could even think of protesting.

Nikolaus let out an evil laugh, clearly enjoying himself. Cameron had always hated that laugh. He bit his tongue against saying the words that came to mind, while his anger churned into a palpable sickness.

"Isn't this quaint," Nikolaus said, looking Cameron over carefully as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Who'd have thought that you, of all people, would do something so low? I know your marriage was less than pleasant, Cam, but did you have to kill her?"

Cameron's face tightened and he strained against the ropes that bound his wrists. "And when might I expect a trial?"

Nikolaus gave a scoffing laugh. "A trial? It really doesn't matter _when_ , now does it? Any trial would be irrelevant when you are so obviously guilty. Now, if you will excuse me, I have ducal business to attend to."

"You filthy . . ." Cameron couldn't finish the intended insult. The only fitting words that came to mind were so vile that he hardly dared utter them. Nikolaus just laughed and left the room. "You'll never get away with this," Cameron shouted.

"I already have," Nikolaus called back as the sound of his footsteps became distant.

Cameron was attempting to digest what this meant when a fist landed in his belly. Another immediately followed, connecting with his face. Wurtzur's delighted laugh bordered on maniacal while Cameron pretended to be hurt worse than he was. He managed to kick Wurtzur good and hard, square in the chest, but it only took a moment for him to recover and retaliate with more fury than Cameron could ever hope to counteract with his hands tied.

"You're a real brave man," Cameron muttered as he spit blood. "Do you always tie a man up before you challenge him to a duel?"

Wurtzur laughed and forced Cameron to his knees before he kicked him hard in the belly and launched a final fist at his face. Consumed with unspeakable pain, Cameron collapsed on the cold floor and groaned.

"When I get out of here, you're going to regret this," Cameron muttered, seeing only Wurtzur's boots move toward the door of the cell.

"You'll never get out of here alive," Wurtzur retorted before the door slammed and Cameron was left alone to try and accept the reality that his life was over. At best, only a matter of days stood between him and a firing squad.

Georg had to use bribery to see Cameron alone in his cell. He entered and held the lantern high enough to see the evidence on Cameron's face that he'd endured a beating. The way he groaned as he sat up supported Georg's belief that this was far worse than he'd wanted to imagine.

Cameron gazed at the man standing in the room until his foggy brain realized it was Georg. "How did you get in here?" he asked and touched the dried blood on his lip. He knew for a fact that other prisoners were given sufficient water to clean up once in a while. But _those_ prisoners hadn't likely received a pointless beating from Nikolaus du Woernig's favorite thug. _Those_ prisoners didn't hold any threat to all that Nikolaus prized so dearly.

"My life savings," Georg answered, only mildly facetious. "Now, don't waste your strength. Tell me what happened."

"Nikolaus came . . . with Wurtzur." His resignation didn't begin to express his deepest fears. Looking up at his friend he added firmly, "I'm not going to get a fair trial, Georg--if I get one at all. It's over for me."

"Not if I have my way," Georg insisted.

Cameron snapped at him. "You're not in charge here and neither am I." He groaned and hung his head. "Heaven help me, Georg. What have I done?"

"You haven't _done_ anything. Which is one of many reasons we've got to get you out of here."

Cameron felt a little panicked at the implication. "Don't do something stupid and land yourself in here, too. A fat lot of good that would do us."

"You should know me better than that." A key turned in the lock and he added quickly, in a whisper, "I'll see you soon, I promise."

Georg paused to look long and hard into Cameron's eyes before leaving the cell. He hoped that Cameron knew he would stop at nothing to see this disaster undone. Georg knew Cameron was innocent because he knew him so well. But his own knowledge couldn't change the evidence that was about to destroy an innocent man's life unless something was done, and soon. There was only one choice as far as Georg could see, and God willing, it would succeed.

During the next few days Georg was able to contact certain people who were willing to help him, and he had to believe prayers were being answered. His belief that God had to be on their side was the only reason he had to hope that this was going to work.

Cameron was lying on the cold bunk as he had been for days now, looking hopelessly into the darkness above him. He wondered if they were just going to let him rot, or if they wanted him to heal enough to stand up straight when they shot him. He was hoping for the latter when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. A key turned begrudgingly in the lock and Cameron came to his feet, surprised to see two officers of the Guard and a priest wearing a hooded robe.

"What is this?" Cameron asked. "Last rites?"

No one responded. The officers took his arms firmly, and they followed the hooded figure down the hallway and out of the keep. Cameron was forced onto a horse, then told to follow the priest, who was already leaving the castle gate. His heart beat hard as the officers slipped unobtrusively back inside, and he knew this was far from any standard procedure. But he did as he'd been told, hoping this was an answer to his prayers. Catching up to his leader, he heard Georg's voice come soberly from beneath the robe. "Just keep riding. When we hit the bottom of the hill and you hear the signal, jump into the river."

"What?" he protested.

"You're not in the keep anymore, Cameron, so shut up and be grateful. And do what you're told."

"You always had the brains." Cameron had to chuckle. "What do I do once I'm in the river? Isn't it a little cold to go swimming?"

"Just float downstream a little and I'll catch up with you."

"Just _float?"_ Cameron asked skeptically, not liking the sound of this plan in the least.

"Leave the rest to me. Just listen for the signal," he said as they approached the bridge at the bottom of the hill.

"What signal?" Cameron had to ask just before a gunshot rang out in the stillness of the night. He realized he was being shot at.

"That's it!" Georg said. "Jump, you fool!" he added before galloping away.

Cameron had little choice but to do as he'd been told. He barely missed the bridge on his way down and wondered what other obstacles might be lurking in the darkness. The fall plunged him deeply into water that was so cold he felt certain the shock would stop his heart. No amount of summer air ever warmed water that came from a high mountain source. He came up gasping for breath and heard more gunfire, which prompted him to go back under. Following Georg's order to _just float_ didn't prove terribly difficult when the current was far too wild to possibly attempt swimming. He focused on simply getting an occasional gulp of air that might keep him breathing. He was beginning to think that death by firing squad might be preferable to drowning when he heard Georg give a whistle that he recognized as one of their childhood signals. A minute later he felt the current slowing, and he knew exactly where he was. He and Georg had often played here on summer days in their youth, when lying in the hot sun had pleasantly compensated for swimming in the cold water. He swam toward shore and caught sight of Georg on the bank. His shivering prevented him from expressing gratitude for the strong hands that helped him out of the water. Georg just ushered him into a cluster of trees and provided him with a change of clothes. But it quickly became evident that Cameron was too cold to do anything at all. Unable to speak due to violent shivering, he was grateful when Georg picked up on the problem.

"Good heavens," he muttered and frantically opened the buttons of Cameron's shirt. "We've got to get you out of these wet clothes before you freeze to death." Their eyes met, and Cameron knew that their thoughts had been drawn to the same memory. When they had been children, Georg had once ended up in the river at a time of year when the water was far too cold, and the results had been almost disastrous. But because of that experience Georg knew exactly what to do, and within minutes he had Cameron warmed up enough to believe that he might actually recover.

Pulling on a pair of dry breeches with only minor difficulty, Cameron finally managed to speak through chattering teeth. "What's . . . going to happen to . . . those men who were supposed to . . . keep me locked up?"

"If they beat each other up enough, it'll look like you fought your way out."

Cameron groaned at the thought, wondering why anyone would make such sacrifices for him. "Now what?" he asked, still shivering. "The entire force will be out looking for me. They'll catch up with me sooner or later. I can't run forever."

"You don't have to run," Georg said. "They think you're dead."

_"What?"_ he demanded, pausing in his effort to button his shirt with icy fingers.

"You were shot, and your body went down the river."

"Oh, that's just great!" Cameron's sarcasm was intense.

"Just be glad your life is in my hands and not theirs," Georg said as Cameron pulled on his boots. "Like you said, a fair trial just isn't going to happen under the circumstances."

Cameron sighed and swallowed hard, attempting to digest what this meant to his future. "All right," he ventured, "if my life is in your hands, then tell me where I go now."

"There's only one place you _can_ go," Georg said, and Cameron wished he could see his expression. But if it hadn't been such a dark night, they probably couldn't have pulled this off.

"You can't be serious," Cameron said, perceiving the implication. "It'll never work."

"It'll buy us time, Cam. That's the best we can do for now."

"They'll find me eventually and--"

"Not necessarily. Think about it. You told me yourself that no one beyond you or me knows that place exists. At least no one still living. I just need to figure out who did this to you and why, and then--"

"And what if you can't?" Cameron snapped.

"I'm giving you the best I could come up with," Georg said with nothing but compassion. "Better this than a firing squad."

"I'm sorry," Cameron returned. "I am grateful to you, Georg. It's just so . . ."

"I understand," Georg said gently and Cameron made no response. What could the man possibly say? He was being banished from everything that mattered to him, and his only compensation was the gratitude he felt for at least being alive. "I didn't kill her," Cameron said, feeling the need to voice it.

"You don't have to tell me that." Georg glanced down and sighed. "I know you didn't kill her." Feeling the urgency of time passing, he went on quickly. The officers scouring the woods couldn't be too far away. "I've left enough supplies to last for several weeks. I'll leave more if it becomes necessary. Everything is there that you could possibly need. We'll keep in touch the way we always have when you've been there."

Cameron blew out a long breath. "I knew that would come in handy someday." He chuckled in an effort to lighten the mood, but Georg only bowed his head and Cameron swallowed again, trying to grasp what his life might be like from this day forward.

"I also managed to get some of your things that I knew you would want." Georg smiled. "Keepsakes, you might say."

"How did you manage that?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You're amazing as always, Georg," Cameron said, astounded freshly by his friend's cunning and perception. "How can I thank you?" he added quietly, reaching out to grip Georg's forearm firmly.

"Just take care of yourself and be patient. We'll find a way."

"Thank you, Georg," Cameron said and his voice trembled. "I owe you my life."

"Now we're even," Georg answered.

The two men embraced, then Cameron mounted the waiting horse and rode further into the forest.

Throughout the following days Abbi spent a great deal of time with Blaze, but she found her thoughts preoccupied with the documents hidden in her drawer. More than once she almost opened them, wanting so badly to know what they contained. But lives were at stake, and she was determined to heed her father's instructions in every respect. Even Elsa, who was more a friend to her than a personal maid, did not share Abbi's knowledge in this matter.

Abbi tried to imagine what could have possibly happened to make her father do something so bizarre. Trying to comprehend what it meant, she contemplated all she knew of him, and realized it was little. Since his wife's death more than ten years earlier, Gerhard Albrecht had shown little interest in his daughter's life. Abbi had been raised by her grandfather, who spoke of his son, Gerhard, grudgingly and with contempt when he mentioned him at all. Abbi had no idea what her father did to make a living; she only knew he had been disowned. She felt no real emotion for her father, simply because she hardly knew him. To her he was little more than a visitor, who rarely visited except on occasional holidays. Her only tender feelings for him were connected to the imperfect black pearl he'd given her soon after her mother's death. The gift she wore around her neck was the only tangible connection she had to her father, but her sentiment was tied more into the symbolism he'd shared with her concerning the gift, rather than its being given to her by a man she hardly knew. But now he was in some kind of trouble, and Abbi felt afraid for him. As the seventeenth of the month drew closer, she began to watch for him at every turn. When the specified morning came and she hadn't seen him, Abbi had to resign herself to carrying out her father's assignment.

"I believe I'll go into town this morning," she said cautiously to her grandfather.

From the other end of the dining table Josef Albrecht looked up from his breakfast. "Alone?" he asked.

"You've let me do that before. You know I'll be careful and--"

"Meeting that father of yours, I presume."

Abbi was surprised. She wondered how he knew, but didn't dare ask. "Yes," she stated.

"I don't know what kind of trouble that boy of mine has gotten himself into this time, but mind that you don't get too caught up in it."

"I'll be careful, Papa."

"I know you will, Princess," he conceded. "Just mind how you go now. If you're not back by noon, I'm sending Georg after you."

"Yes, Papa." She smiled warmly and he returned the gesture, but she didn't miss the concern in his eyes.

Abbi rode quickly in order to arrive by ten. She wondered what to expect, and felt an ominous fear that he wouldn't be there. As much as she wanted to know what was in that sealed packet of papers, the thought of having to open it according to his instructions frightened her. She was relieved to find her father waiting on a particular bench. He rose to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, but his smile couldn't hide the fact that he was nervous.

"You're safe," Abbi said. "I'm so glad."

Gerhard looked into her eyes, and Abbi's relief waned. Despair washed over his expression, making her heart beat faster.

"You must come again next month," he said. "Every month. It's the only thing keeping me alive, Abbi. I didn't know it would turn out this way. I'm trapped in this predicament. There's nothing else I can do. Promise me you'll come."

Abbi hesitated, remembering Papa's advice. "I'll come," she promised, and the fear in her father's eyes lessened slightly.

"I must go," he said, glancing one direction then another. Abbi's eyes followed his glance, and she realized they weren't alone. Standing some distance away were two uniformed officers of the Guard. Their presence unnerved Abbi, but her father murmured his good-byes and left with them. Abbi's ignorance left her frustrated, but she fought to push the episode out of her mind as she rode for home, knowing there was nothing more she could do.

Abbi's monthly visits to the park quickly became a habit. Gerhard never stayed more than a few minutes, since his uniformed escorts were always eager to leave. During each visit, she exchanged small talk with her father and a kiss as they parted, but they never mentioned the documents or his circumstances.

Gradually Abbi's concern over her father's situation became lost in the trivialities of everyday life. With Papa's instruction and Georg's help, she carefully trained Blaze into his maturity, gaining a deeper bond with the animal than she'd ever felt with any other. As always, her life was monopolized by her passion for horses, and little existed beyond her secluded world.

Three winters passed while Abbi learned the story of Joseph from the Bible by heart, loving the way it validated the dreams she'd had. But as time passed and Blaze grew, Abbi ceased having dreams of any importance. In fact, the dream that had predicted Blaze's birth was the last she'd had that was anything beyond nonsense. She began to doubt her _gift,_ as Georg had called it, until a morning in late June when she dreamed that her grandfather had left her and she awoke to the news that he had passed away in the night.

Dealing with Papa's death was by far the most difficult thing she'd ever faced. Even losing her mother hadn't seemed this hard, perhaps because Abbi had been so young. She'd missed her mother, yes, but Papa had been there at the time to love her and take care of her, and she'd hardly understood death. But this, this was like tearing some tangible piece of her spirit away. In spite of his occasional gruffness and severely practical nature, Josef Albrecht had been a part of Abbi's everyday existence for most of her life. He'd soothed her hurts and been her strength. He'd taught her to be steadfast and competent. And now he was gone.

Less than a month after Papa's death, Abbi woke from a dream that left her bound to her sheets, staring into the darkness above her, cold with sweat, her heart pounding. Never had she dreamed anything so clearly. Never had she felt so completely consumed with an emotion too intense to describe. Never had anything been impressed upon her mind with such impact.

As daylight crept into the room, Abbi lay unmoving, attempting to understand the dream. She had seen a series of landmarks, as if she'd been given directions to lead her to some kind of dwelling in the forest. A lodge of sorts, made of logs. And when she arrived and knocked at the door, a man had answered. His hair was dark and his features vague, but the simple words he'd spoken to her were very clear. _Please don't leave me. I need you_. Over and over, the memory of the dream raced through her mind. The vision she had seen was clear and undeniable, but the images paled in comparison to the way they made her feel. The more she thought about it, the more compelled she felt to follow this esoteric vision.

Skipping breakfast, Abbi dressed quickly and rushed out to the stable. Since Georg was busy elsewhere, she saddled Blaze herself and rode him at a full gallop toward the covered bridge. She often rode here and beyond, since it was the gateway to the foothills that she loved to roam on horseback, but now it took on a whole new meaning. The covered bridge had been the first landmark to appear in her dream. She crossed the bridge and rode beyond it onto the mountain's bench, her heart racing as she came with little trouble to a clearing where a tree had fallen. She had known this would be here, even though she'd never come this way before.

Abbi guided Blaze over the dead trunk and through some thick foliage, where a trail appeared, just as she had expected. Her speed gained momentum in direct proportion to the pounding of her heart. She knew exactly where she was going, and she knew what she would find. But _why?_

The trail was narrow, barely existing at all between closely rooted pines. But she pressed forward without hesitation. Never had her heart responded so zealously. Never had her spirit felt more alive. Never had she been so determined to overcome whatever obstacle might be put in her path. The trail seemed to go on forever. Then Abbi gasped as a huge, brilliant meadow opened up before her, entirely surrounded by thick pines, except for an ominous rock ridge that rose against the uphill side. _Just as she had seen it_. The rock wall rose steep and high, covered with thick foliage that ran into deep forest at both ends. Along the top of the ridge Abbi could see thick clusters of trees, oak and beech, where hundreds of crows lighted, cawing in chorus. Abbi knew there was a way to get to the top of the ridge, but after galloping the entire length several times, she began to question her dream. She could see no way up, and she couldn't recall any specific memory to guide her.

Abbi finally returned home, disheartened and exhausted. She analyzed the dream over and over, wondering what she might have missed. She slept soundly that night and woke with no recollection of dreaming, but she went without breakfast again and headed up the mountain trail. This time Blaze went almost by his own will, as if he knew the way. When they arrived at the meadow, Abbi examined the rock wall closely. And while she had no recollection from her dream of finding a way through, she _knew_ there was a way, and she was determined to discover it. With some time and persistence, a passageway covered by thick foliage finally appeared under her questing fingers. Abbi ignored the deep scratches on her hands as she fought to push the deep thicket aside, revealing an opening in the rock wall. It was barely wide enough for a horse to pass through and rose steeply on both sides, as if the rock had been split open by the finger of God.

"Oh, help," Abbi muttered, unsettled and uncertain. She took a deep, sustaining breath and began climbing on foot through the narrow opening, certain Blaze would hover close until she returned. The climb was mildly difficult, but it only took a few minutes before she emerged onto a plateau in a thick patch of aspen trees. She was still standing there attempting to gather her thoughts when Blaze emerged from the ridge, snorting at her as if to say that she had a lot of nerve in thinking he would stay behind. Abbi mounted the eager stallion and galloped higher up the mountain a short distance, weaving in and out of trees. She was surprised at how quickly she came to a clearing where a mountain lodge appeared. For a long moment she just stared at it, stunned by how accurately she had seen it in her sleep. She scanned the area, finding no sign of life beyond a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney and an immaculate little vegetable garden near the small stable.

Abbi dismounted and left Blaze's reins hanging freely, compelled by a force she didn't understand and couldn't ignore. She went to the door of the lodge, pausing to look around her. Taking a deep breath, she knocked as loudly as she could manage on the heavy door. Heart pounding, she waited for this faceless man she had seen in her dream to answer. And then what? The possibilities terrified her. When there was no answer, she knocked again. And again.

Glancing around, Abbi wondered what to do. The feelings that had brought her this far would not allow her to turn around and go home now. Attempting to follow her instincts, she drew all her courage and tried the door handle. It opened so easily that she gasped. Holding her breath, she peered inside, calling in a shaky voice, "Is anybody home?"

When no answer came she stepped tentatively inside, wondering who lived here--and why. She had barely taken in the common room in which she stood when the door slammed behind her. She turned and jumped, letting out a throaty scream. She found herself looking into the faces of two very large dogs, one yellow, one black. They growled and she froze until a sharp command broke the air. "Back!"

The dogs retreated hesitantly, and Abbi's eyes were drawn to a man leaning against the door who was anything but what she'd expected. His bearded face and long, dark hair gave him the appearance of some kind of primeval hermit, but they did nothing to hide the blatant anger in his eyes. His voice was gruff as he asked, "Didn't your mother ever tell you about Goldilocks?"

Abbi was so taken aback by the question that it took her a moment to come up with a suitable answer. "My mother died when I was very young. I barely remember her."

"Oh, that explains it." His flippant manner contradicted the hovering anger in his eyes.

"Explains what?" she squeaked, wondering what she had gotten herself into. Perhaps her dream had come from some horrible, evil source that would lead her to downfall and destruction.

"Growing up without a mother would perhaps explain your being so ignorant and foolish. When Goldilocks went uninvited into a strange house in the woods, she got herself into a great deal of trouble."

He walked toward her and she backed away, step for step, attempting to keep up the conversation as she did. "What happened?"

"It depends on which version you've heard. When my mother told it, Goldilocks ran away and never came back. My father said the bears ate her for breakfast, since she'd eaten their porridge."

Abbi gasped again as she backed into a wall and found no retreat. He took another step toward her, and she pressed herself as tightly against the wall as she could.

"What are you doing here?" he growled in a voice so angry that Abbi felt certain she would never get out of here alive. For long, grueling moments she attempted to come up with an answer that would make sense. "I asked you a question!" he snapped.

She winced. "Perhaps I should just follow Goldilocks' example and leave before . . ." She attempted to worm past him, but he grabbed her arm and pressed her back against the wall. He took a step closer to prevent her from moving. She became fully aware of how tall he was when she found herself facing the well-worn shirt that covered his chest.

"You're not going anywhere," he snarled. She could feel his hot breath against her face.

Abbi drew courage enough to look up into his eyes, and for a moment she became lost in their blue chasm, as if she might have found something deeper and more sensitive than the man she saw before her. The sharpness of her breathing intensified as a clear memory of her dream catapulted into her mind. _Please don't leave me. I need you_. The faceless man in her dream had said it with conviction. Abbi's heart softened, wondering what kind of hurt might be hiding within this wretched man who was trying to frighten her. The compelling quality of her dream came back to her, and she knew with all her soul that she was supposed to be here, that he _did_ need her. She was attempting to come up with a way to tell him what she was feeling when the fury in his eyes deepened so hard and fast that she sucked in her breath.

"You're not going anywhere," he repeated, "until you tell me how you got here."

"On a horse," she said.

He sighed with disgust. "I know that," he growled. "This horse of yours is outside flirting with my mares. I want to know what you're doing here, and how you found me."

"I . . . I . . . just . . ." She scrambled for words to explain, certain that he'd never believe the truth.

"Just what?" he demanded.

"I just . . . happened upon it, and--"

"That's a lie! This place is far too well hidden to _happen_ upon it. Did somebody tell you how to get here? Who was it?" He gave her a moment to answer but she didn't. Then he shouted, "Tell me, girl! How did you find me?"

"If I told the truth you'd never believe me!" she shouted back.

"What makes you think so?"

"Because it's so ridiculous I have trouble believing it myself. I don't know what I'm doing here! I'd rather be home eating breakfast, if you must know."

He took a step back, as if her honesty and willingness to talk made him relax a little. "Tell me the truth," he demanded. "All of it!"

"Fine!" She imitated his curt tone. Realizing her knees were weak, she asked, "May I sit down?"

He motioned toward one of two chairs at the sides of a little table and she eagerly took one. Looking up at him towering above her, she wished that he'd sit down as well, but it became evident he wasn't going to.

While she tried to gather words to begin, he barked impatiently, "The truth! Now!"

Abbi cleared her throat. It sounded ridiculously loud. "Well, you see," she began with trepidation, "I had a dream, and . . ." His eyes widened dubiously and she felt certain that continuing would be pointless. But she'd already jumped into this; she had to keep swimming. "It's not the first time I've dreamed things before they happened, but . . . well, I had a dream about my mother's death before she died--and the same with my grandfather, too. And there have been a few other odd things that haven't meant much one way or the other. I have a friend who says it's a gift. I don't know about that, but . . . well--"

"Get on with it!" he growled.

"I had a dream that showed me how to get here!" she shouted, certain he was going to either laugh or hit her. Or both. Silence prevailed long enough for Abbi to gain the courage to look up at him. His expression was inscrutable. Again she heard echoes from her dream. _Please don't leave me. I need you._

Cameron sat down across from this fiery-haired girl and attempted to take in what she'd said. She looked barely old enough to be called a woman; her calico dress and unruly hair reminded him more of a defiant schoolgirl. Her slight frame and small stature enhanced the childlike look of her, while her eyes revealed something wise beyond her age. She was the first human being he'd laid eyes on in nearly three years. But that wasn't nearly so unnerving as the reality that he had been found in a place where he'd always felt certain he could _never_ be found. A part of him wanted to keep her here. He wanted to talk to her, laugh with her, if only to feel like a part of the human race again. But something bigger and deeper screamed danger--for her as well as for himself. Clearly, she had to leave; there was no question about that. But not until he knew exactly where he stood.

"Tell me about this dream," he said.

Abbi felt some relief at his gentler tone of voice. She sighed and glanced down at her fidgeting hands as she set them on the table in an attempt to keep them still. "It was . . . the night before last. I woke up feeling . . . unlike I've ever felt. I . . . saw the covered bridge, and . . . the fallen tree." She saw him take a sharp breath and sit up a little straighter. "And . . . the trail . . . that led to the meadow. I rode up yesterday, but I couldn't find a way through the ridge. I came back this morning, knowing there had to be an opening. It took me a long time to find it, and it wasn't easy to get past the thicket, but . . ."

Abbi held her breath as he reached across the table and took her hands, turning them over in his to reveal many deep scratches, crusted with traces of dried blood. "So I see," he said, his gaze returning to meet hers and his hands easing away. "And that's all?" he asked with only a hint of skepticism.

"No," she said and his eyebrows went up. "I saw the lodge, and . . ."

"And?" he pressed.

"And I knew there would be a man here." She debated whether or not to tell him what the man in her dream had said, but instinctively she knew it would more likely make him discredit what she'd told him. "That's all," she said firmly. "I don't know why I'm here. I only know I felt compelled to come."

"Did you tell anyone about your dream . . . or your coming here, or--"

"No, I've said nothing to no one."

Cameron couldn't think of one good reason to believe her. But he did--perhaps because there really was no other logical explanation. Her story was too absurd to be something she'd made up. Or perhaps it was the intensity he'd seen in her eyes as she'd told him. Whatever it was, he had little choice but to believe her. He could only pray that it was the truth, and that his whereabouts would not be discovered by anyone else.

Abbi was thinking that she might be able to ask what he was doing here, when he stood abruptly and turned his back to her. She wanted to ask if there was something he needed, if she could help him in some way. But before the words came, he turned toward her, saying, "You need to go--now!"

"But I . . ."

He took hold of her arm and dragged her toward the door. "I want you to get on that horse of yours and ride out of here as fast as you can. Don't say a word to anyone--not _anyone_ --about me or what you found here!" He hauled her out the door and took her shoulders into his hands. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"Forget it ever happened. And don't you ever come back. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"There are no buts!" he shouted in her face, and she understood the source of his anger now. He was afraid. "If anyone ever finds me here because of you, I will hunt you down and eat you alive. Do you hear what I'm saying? Your knowledge could put us both in a great deal of danger." His voice lowered and his eyes narrowed. "Lives are at stake."

Abbi knew it was only coincidence that her father had said that very thing to her nearly three years ago. But hearing it put that way distracted her thoughts enough that she couldn't come up with any feasible protest.

The anger heightened in him again and he nearly shook her. "Swear to me. Swear that you'll never tell a soul, that you'll never come back through that ridge." She hesitated and he shook her again. "Swear it!"

"But I . . ."

"Swear it!" he repeated so harshly that Abbi couldn't hold back a swell of tears. He looked startled by them, but his countenance didn't soften even slightly.

"But you need me," she said with a cracked voice.

Cameron's heart began to pound as her words took hold with such force that it frightened him. Who was she to stand before him like some kind of prophetess, seeing into his soul, telling him of his needs? Still, how could he not be tempted to give in to her plea? He _did_ need her. Didn't he? Perhaps he could let her stay, just for a while. Maybe he could ask her to come back occasionally, just for company. But fear ruled that out; it was too risky. There was too much at stake. Far better that he put an abrupt halt to this here and now.

"I need you to go," he said firmly, but Abbi caught a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. "Swear to me, girl, or I'll--"

"All right!" she insisted, unable to bear his anger. "I swear."

Cameron looked into her brilliant green eyes once more, wanting to emblazon them into his memory, then he practically lifted her onto the horse's back. He handed her the reins, hating the way her expression pleaded with him. But for what? What could her coming here possibly mean? While he found it impossible not to believe her story, he was too afraid of its ramifications to completely trust her--or himself.

"I don't even know your name," she said, looking down at him.

"It's better that you don't." He slapped the horse before he had a chance to rethink what he was doing.

Abbi galloped a short distance into the trees, then she turned back to look at him until he shouted, "Go!"

Cameron watched her disappear and stood frozen for several minutes. He felt weak and completely drained of any motivation to even go on living, let alone take a step. Then a thought occurred to him that pumped a sudden rush of blood through his body. He ran as fast as he could manage toward the top of the ridge, wanting to be certain she'd made it safely through, aching to catch just one more glimpse of her. He'd only stood there a moment when he saw her gallop across the meadow and disappear into the forest. The weakness he'd felt returned tenfold, and he collapsed to his knees. He was such a fool! He'd existed nearly three years in this hellish solitary exile, and now he'd just sent away the first glimmer of anything good. He reasoned that sending her away had been the right thing to do, for her safety as well as his. But a part of him knew that some deep, indescribable fear had fueled his insistence that she go--and it had nothing to do with physical safety.

"God forgive me," he murmured, though it was difficult for him to understand what he'd done wrong. No matter how many times he looked back through his life, searching for some misdeed that might have warranted his being where he was now, he could come up with nothing. And now he felt more lonely than he had in months. He wondered how he could ever possibly make it through another winter alone.
Chapter Two

THE INVASION

Through the next few weeks, Abbi thought of little beyond her encounter with the man on the mountain. She wondered about his name and why he was there. In spite of the fear he'd instilled in her, she ached to go back, to learn more about him, to _help_ him--if such a thing were even feasible. She knew it was impossible to help someone who didn't want to be helped, but what other purpose could there have been for her dream? Still, she kept her promise to him. She avoided riding anywhere near the trail that led to the mountain lodge, and she told no one about her dream, or her encounter.

While Abbi spent much of her time attempting to find reason in this situation, she was surprised to learn that arrangements had been made for her care, according to her grandfather's will--arrangements that no one had bothered to tell her about until Georg brought it up in the stable, early on a morning in August.

"I won't do it!" Abbi insisted. "It's absurd. He should have known better than that."

"A man's will is law, Abbi," Georg stated. "You have no choice."

"It's ridiculous," she muttered.

Georg smiled as he threw a saddle over Blaze's back.

"This is not funny!" she insisted. "Papa has let me take care of myself for years. So why, now that he's gone, do I have to be subjected to a couple of bothersome aunts?"

"He loved you very much. I'm certain he just wanted to know you'd be taken care of. Perhaps he thought the feminine influence wouldn't hurt."

"Are you implying something, Georg?"

"Me?" He smiled impishly and bent to tighten the strap beneath the horse's belly.

"Besides," she justified, "I have your mother."

Georg laughed. "She's the housekeeper, Abbi. I doubt she's the kind of influence a young lady of your birth should have."

"Nonsense," Abbi insisted. "I've never wanted for anything. Papa raised me well."

"He was a good man, Abbi, despite his brashness at times." Georg glanced toward the ground.

"You miss him," Abbi said quietly.

"I suppose we all do."

Abbi took Georg's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She could see the sadness in his eyes and knew that he too had loved her grandfather very much. Josef had always treated Georg more like part of the family than a servant, just as he had Georg's mother, Marta.

"He did raise you well, Abbi." Georg checked to make certain the saddle was secure. "Don't let anyone try to tell you otherwise. But as far as his last wishes being carried out, you might as well get used to the idea." He leaned over the saddle and looked directly at her. "Your grandfather is gone now. You can hardly protest. But it won't be so bad. Once you turn twenty-one or marry, your aunts can go back to England."

"But that's still three years away," Abbi said in dismay.

"Most young ladies would marry before then," Georg said and Abbi gave him a sidelong glance. "What's the matter?" He chuckled. "Don't you want to get married?"

"I've hardly thought about it."

"For heaven's sake, Abbi. You're eighteen. You can't spend your whole life with horses."

"You ought to talk," she shot back. "A man approaching thirty who spends every bit as much time with horses as I do."

Abbi scrutinized him briefly, wondering why he hadn't married. He was handsome enough, lean and taller than average, with blond hair that was more fluffy than curly. His features were chiseled, contrasting with eyes of gentle green. And his smile was brilliant, always leaving a remarkable impression on any who saw it as he proved when he laughed at her remark. "It's my job. Besides, I didn't just inherit an estate."

"At times I wish I hadn't."

"It's not so bad," he smiled, helping her into the saddle. "I'll always be here to help."

Abbi smiled down at him, appreciating his friendship as always. "You know," she said wistfully, brushing her hand through the stallion's mane, "Blaze will be three years old this month."

Abbi saw a shadow pass over Georg's face.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Funny how time flies."

Blaze pawed impatiently at the soft earth beneath his hooves, but Abbi held him back, searching in Georg's eyes for the cause of his distress. "Georg?" she asked with concern, but he looked up with a forced smile.

"You be careful now," he said and slapped the horse to send him galloping. "And don't go too far!" he called after her.

With no deviation, Blaze galloped a well-beaten path toward the covered bridge until Abbi stopped to turn and look back at her home. The big house stood tall and stately against a magnificent background of mountains, surrounded by a blanket of green on every side. It was still difficult for Abbi to comprehend that this was all hers now, but then Papa had not been gone long. His absence still tugged at her painfully. It was now necessary for her to see that the tenant farmers' needs were met and that everything ran smoothly. Of course, Mr. Logen had been Papa's overseer for many years. He was a good man and Abbi knew he would see that everything was taken care of. Still, she had to meet with him regularly and try to stay abreast of all that was happening. Just the reality that it all belonged to her now was unnerving.

Blaze turned impatiently and thundered over the covered bridge, hesitating at the fork in the road as if to ask what kind of mood she might be in. One direction led into town, passing by many farms and homes. The other went toward the foothills, which she had avoided for the most part these last few weeks. Needing peace and solace, Abbi opted to head into the hills. She'd always had a unique fascination with the Bavarian countryside, and never tired of riding the same places over and over. This fair valley of Horstberg was not only home, it felt like a part of her. She couldn't comprehend living, or even going, anywhere else. Her explorations never ceased to put her mind at ease, and whatever trouble might have ailed her fell temporarily away to the rhythm of Blaze's galloping hooves and the gentle rush of wind against her face. Even now the thought of having two bothersome ladies come to act as her chaperones didn't seem quite so wretched.

By the time she returned from a lengthy ride with Blaze, Abbi felt considerably better. She knew Georg was right: Papa's wishes would be carried out whether she wanted them or not. It was only a matter of time before her mother's aunts arrived from England to take care of her. They had no doubt been more than willing to comply with Papa's request, since a healthy trust had been set aside for their efforts. Nevertheless, Abbi told herself, she was mistress of this estate, chaperoning aunts or not.

The following week brought that dreaded seventeen on the calendar. Abbi felt particularly gloomy as she once again concluded the brief monthly visit with her father. It had been three years ago today that he'd appeared with his mysterious instructions. How could she forget, since it had been the day Blaze was born? As always, seeing her father made Abbi wonder over the situation, but the conclusions were the same, and she fought to push them away by loitering in the market square the better part of the day.

Abbi arrived home to be greeted with news that the fearsome invasion had come sooner than expected. Leaving Blaze with Georg, she entered the house through a side door in an effort not to be seen before she had a chance to freshen up.

Marta met her in the hallway, looking concerned. "Miss Abbi," she said, "your aunts have arrived and they're waiting for you in the drawing room to have . . ." She wrinkled her nose. "They say it's time for tea."

Marta seemed displeased already. Like herself, Abbi knew the housekeeper didn't want their comfortable arrangement upset by outsiders.

"I'll hurry upstairs to freshen up. You hold them off for ten minutes."

"Very good," she replied. "Oh, and Miss Abbi?"

"Yes, Marta?"

She whispered cautiously, "I do hope you aren't going to let things change too much around here."

"I'll certainly do my best," Abbi assured her. But Marta didn't seem convinced, which made Abbi wonder exactly what these ladies were like.

Beyond the fact that they were her mother's aunts, Abbi knew little about them. Salina, the younger of the two, had never married, while Ramona had been married briefly, but later in life. Neither had ever borne children. The two were apparently inseparable, and even through Ramona's brief marriage, Salina had lived nearby. The sisters had first come to Horstberg when their favorite niece, LeeAnna, had married Gerhard Albrecht. They had visited LeeAnna frequently, and together had developed a passion for the culture as well as a fluency with the language. During a visit soon after Abbi's mother died, Ramona had met and married a local man who had been a widower for some years. He'd died four years later, after which Ramona had returned to England with his name and a good portion of his money, leaving her two stepchildren behind since they were old enough to be on their own. Abbi doubted the sisters had been back since, except for one visit some years ago. She had a vague recollection of them stopping by one afternoon to see how their niece's daughter was coming along; but it had been years, and she had no distinct memory of either of them.

Abbi's attempt to freshen up before facing the invasion proved futile. Approaching the stairs, she was met by a slightly plump, middle-aged woman who nearly collided with her.

"You must be Abbi," she chirped, squinting carefully. Before Abbi could respond, she was led by the hand into the drawing room. "Look, Ramona," she squealed, "here she is at last. Can you believe it? She has her mother's hair."

"Indeed." The woman who was apparently Ramona sat holding a teacup. "But her mother at least wore it up like a lady."

"I've been riding," Abbi apologized, "and didn't have a chance to freshen up." She regretted her words as soon as she'd uttered them. There was no reason to justify her appearance to anyone. Abbi had never worn her hair up a day in her life, and she had no intention of starting now.

Hoping to get off to a better start, she crossed the room and took Ramona's hand. "You must be Aunt Ramona."

"Yes," the woman said with a smile. Beyond their identical hair color, which was a dark auburn streaked with gray, the two sisters looked nothing alike. Ramona was thin with a long face, and her sister Salina, who was still holding Abbi's hand, was shorter and bore no apparent resemblance to her whatsoever.

"And this is my sister, Salina Eddington," Ramona stated.

"I'm so very pleased to meet you." Salina sat cheerfully on the sofa and pulled Abbi down next to her. "It was so exciting to get the news. I mean we were certainly sorry to hear of Josef's death, but the opportunity to come to Bavaria. Oh, it's wonderful! We've always loved it here and have talked of coming back. Thankfully we've kept up the language between the two of us. Somewhat of a hobby, I suppose. We were so impatient to get here, and certainly pleased that we arrived in time for tea. Weren't you pleased, Ramona?"

"Pleased. Yes, pleased," her sister said without expression.

"I've been looking forward to seeing you again." Salina pushed a teacup into Abbi's hand, which she simply held, pretending to sip. Abbi detested tea. "You've grown into such a beauty," Salina continued. "You've got your mother's hair exactly, I believe. Although she never did, uh . . . wear it quite like that, the dark red color is the same. And those green eyes. It's unreal how you've got your mother's eyes. Isn't it unreal, Ramona?"

"Yes, unreal." Ramona gazed at Abbi with overt interest. "She's certainly built like her mother; so petite and . . . well, yes that's the word, petite. But I believe her features very much belong to her father."

"I can certainly see Gerhard in the face." Salina squinted at Abbi as if she couldn't quite see. "But she has her mother's complexion."

Abbi felt uncomfortable being scrutinized, knowing she looked far from her best. But she just smiled politely, pretending to drink her tea.

"Riding," Ramona said. "You say you've been riding?"

At last Abbi could be a part of the conversation instead of the subject. "Yes, I ride often. It's my favorite pastime."

"But surely you wear a habit to ride." Ramona looked down her long nose with disapproval.

Abbi reminded herself not to apologize. "I rarely wear a habit," she said with conviction. "I ride often enough that I would be living in a riding habit. I generally ride in whatever I happen to be wearing."

"I assume your dress is conservative because of your mourning?" Ramona questioned, glaring at Abbi's simple gray frock with a touch of black piping as its only adornment. "It certainly is conservative."

"The color is dark because of mourning, but I prefer conservative clothing. It suits my lifestyle."

"I see. Yes, I see," Ramona said as if she didn't at all approve of a lifestyle that allowed a young lady to dress so casually.

After another scrutinizing stare Ramona commented, "I didn't realize fashion was so outdated in Germany, or perhaps Horstberg is just so remote that the latest styles are, well . . . I just didn't realize."

Apparently oblivious to Ramona's implication toward Abbi, Salina interjected, "But the ladies we saw in town certainly appeared every bit as fashionable as those in England."

Abbi glanced down at her dress. Like most of the clothes she owned, it had been custom-made according to her preferences. The cut of the bodice certainly was fashionable, as was the high waist. She felt certain Ramona's indirect criticism was in reference to the yards of fabric gathered into the waistline, which allowed her room to straddle a horse comfortably without being immodest. From what Abbi had observed in town, most ladies wore skirts so straight it was difficult to know how they could even manage to walk in them.

Abbi glanced back up at her aunts, reminding herself that she had not been directly criticized, and she should not take offense simply from subtle implications. She no sooner thought it than Ramona added, "Our first order of business must be to get you into town, my dear Abbi, and procure you a fashionable and appropriate wardrobe." She shook her head slightly. "We must get you into town."

Abbi fought the urge to get angry. There was nothing subtle about that. "I have a perfectly adequate wardrobe," she insisted. "Thank you, anyway."

Salina cleared her throat as if the irritating noise might ease the thickening tension. "Well," she said, and Abbi hoped she would change the topic of conversation, "Ramona was thrilled to have an opportunity to come here, because she hasn't seen her stepson since he came to England nearly three years ago. Has it really been that long, sister?"

"Three years, yes, nearly three years. Well now, let me see," she paused thoughtfully, "I guess he came soon after the funeral, but he did stay a few weeks. He certainly needed the time away. Yes, it's been three years."

"And it was right after that when he came to his current position," Salina said more to her sister. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, that's right," Ramona agreed.

"We must notify Lance at once that we've arrived so we can see him. He is such a nice young man."

"Indeed," Ramona smiled. "Yes, indeed. Perhaps you might like him, Abbi my dear. He is nice looking--and unmarried. I'll look forward to introducing the two of you. Yes, he is nice looking."

"That would be fine," Abbi lied. She didn't care. Perhaps a desire to meet available men would come eventually, but she was content for now with the life she had.

"You must excuse me," Abbi added, setting her full teacup down as she stood. "There are some things I need to attend to. It was very nice seeing both of you, and I'm certain we'll have plenty of time to get further acquainted."

"Plenty of time. Yes, plenty of time." Ramona smiled up at Abbi as if her previous criticism had not taken place.

"Now don't mind us," Salina said, squinting again. "That dear housekeeper of yours . . . what was her name? Oh yes, Marta. Dear Marta. Sweet woman. She's already shown us our rooms. We'll acquaint ourselves. You just go about your business, my dear, and you'll hardly know we're here."

Abbi knew their presence would hardly go unnoticed, but she smiled. "I'll see you at dinner, then."

Motivated by a desperate need for fresh air, Abbi returned to the stables. Knowing Georg had gone into town, she saddled Blaze herself and set out, needing the solace that riding offered--even if she wasn't wearing a habit, she thought wryly.

"What do you think of your aunts?" Elsa asked while she brushed through Abbi's hair.

"I'd rather not say," she replied tersely. They'd been at the estate less than a week, and already Abbi felt stifled by their presence. Going into town with them to order new clothes had been one of the worst experiences of her life.

Elsa's reflection in the mirror disclosed a knowing smile. Abbi appreciated, as always, the understanding they shared. Elsa was a pretty girl, slim with fine features, and not much older than Abbi. She was faithful and competent as a lady's maid, but more than anything Abbi appreciated her companionship.

"I hope you don't mind my saying," Elsa continued, "but the house has a different mood already."

"I don't mind," Abbi said, "because I have to agree. But we'll do our best to be polite and keep friction to a minimum. I would rather put up with a few inconveniences than have them making life more difficult for me. You do understand."

"Of course," Elsa replied. "You know what's best, Miss Abbi. They seem nice enough. I only fear they've tried to bring England with them."

Abbi laughed. "I daresay you're right. Suddenly tea is a ritual around here. I hate tea."

Elsa shuddered, mocking a wave of nausea, and Abbi laughed.

"It's not so bad having them here, I suppose," Abbi conceded. "There are moments when I actually like them, as long as I keep to my duties and do a great deal of riding."

Elsa giggled. "I've noticed you're not too concerned if you miss tea time."

"Not in the least," Abbi agreed and they laughed together.

The following day Ramona informed Abbi at breakfast that she had received a message from her stepson, stating that he would come to dinner and bring a friend along. Salina chirped with excitement while Ramona's pleasure was evident. Abbi felt indifferent to the whole affair until Ramona insisted that she present herself as a lady for the occasion.

"Are you implying," Abbi snapped, "that I am not a lady?"

"I'm certain," Ramona glared down her long nose, "that you are capable of being a lady. It's no fault of yours that you weren't raised with the proper influence."

"There is nothing wrong with the influence I was raised with," Abbi persisted boldly. "I can be as much of a lady as anyone else."

"Well," Ramona continued with satisfaction, "I'm glad you see it that way. Quite glad. Since Lance and his friend are coming for dinner, you won't mind wearing your hair up properly."

Abbi felt cornered. She had meant to prove a point and had been coerced into proving Ramona's instead. Her frustration left her silent and she quickly went to meet with Mr. Logen, grateful for a distraction to push away her anger. But after their meeting was concluded, she couldn't force her indignation out of her head. Abbi knew she couldn't bear living this way until she turned twenty-one. The only other option was to marry.

The prospect of marriage had never been a prominent concern for Abbi. In fact, it had hardly crossed her mind. But surely it couldn't be so difficult to find a husband. And now she'd found a marvelous incentive. Deciding the time had come to start looking for the right man, she took great pains with her appearance.

Elsa was putting the finishing touches on Abbi's hair when Salina came timidly into the room. "Are you nearly ready, dear?"

"I'm ready," Abbi replied. "But if you ask me, I look ridiculous with my hair like this."

Elsa smiled wryly.

"Nonsense," Salina protested, squinting to examine Abbi's hair more closely. "I think it looks lovely. You're just not used to it. Now you must hurry along. Our guests have arrived, and if Ramona's plan succeeds, they may prove to be very special guests indeed."

"What plan?" Abbi demanded.

"I shouldn't say anything," she whispered with a look of conspiracy that indicated she had every intention of divulging all she could get away with. "But Ramona has told me that she hopes you and her stepson will marry."

Elsa let out a surprised gasp.

"Lance?" Abbi laughed. "I've never even met him."

"Oh yes you have, my dear. But it was such a long time ago, I doubt you'd remember. No matter. He is here now and he's brought a friend with him. You must hurry along--and maybe, just maybe, you'll be meeting the man you're to marry." Salina giggled like a child scheming a joke on a playmate. Abbi simply brushed past her and down the stairs. One thing was certain: she would not have anyone choosing a husband for her.

Hesitating at the open doorway of the drawing room, Abbi was able to get a quick glance at these guests before they saw her. Both men were equally tall, and their presence alone had transformed the climate of the room. The darker of the two men was dressed more elegantly than she'd ever seen any man; his clothing was fine and distinguished. He seemed preoccupied with a picture that hung near the fireplace. The light-haired man wore the uniform of the Duke's Guard, although she couldn't recall ever seeing the fine red and black coat so closely before. On one hip he wore a sword, on the other a pistol, like the officers Abbi had seen with her father. He seemed nervous until he became aware of Abbi's presence. As their eyes met, he became totally attentive, while the other man continued to gaze at the picture.

"Ah, Lance." Ramona appeared from behind Abbi and swept past to take the light-haired man's hand as they exchanged a casual kiss. "You remember Abbi, don't you?"

"I do indeed," Lance said with a deep, melodious voice, stepping forward to kiss Abbi's hand. "But you have changed. Why, you've grown up very beautifully."

"I'm sorry I don't remember you," Abbi said softly, feeling more intrigued by the other man who was still preoccupied with that picture, which she thought was a rather ugly depiction of a farmhouse. Then he turned and met her eyes with a shameless gaze, and she sensed that his preoccupation had simply been an effort to be coy.

"Why, Lance, where are your manners?" he asked casually.

"Ah yes," Lance said with light sarcasm. "Your presence is so powerful I almost forgot you were here."

"I'll have your head for that," the man retorted with a smirk, not taking his eyes from Abbi.

Lance casually introduced the three ladies, then said, "May I present my dearest friend, Nikolaus du Woernig."

With that, Nikolaus stepped forward and announced, just before he kissed Abbi's hand, "The Duke of Horstberg."

Abbi's aunts curtsied deeply on either side of her, but she chose to simply face the duke, sensing an arrogance about him that challenged her. Still, she had to admit he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. The dark coat and brocade waistcoat he wore set off his muscular build smartly and enhanced his straight, dark hair. His eyes bored into her without shame, but Abbi smiled as she stared back at him, liking him despite his intrepid manner.

"Calm yourself, Nik," Lance said. "I saw her first."

"I believe dinner is ready," Salina interrupted with awe in her voice, clearly a result of their royal visitor.

"Yes," Ramona added, sounding subtly nervous. Abbi wondered if she had known the duke would be Lance's guest. "I believe dinner is ready, Your Grace." She nodded toward Nikolaus. "Let's all move to the dining room. Dinner is ready." Abbi followed her aunts while their guests fell in step with her, each taking an arm.

With Abbi seated between the two men, each trying to regale her with tales of heroism, the meal passed by too quickly. Unaccustomed to male attention, Abbi was beside herself with pleasure. Papa had never made an effort to give Abbi a social life, but until now she had never realized her seclusion. Now she knew how it felt to be admired, and she relished their attention. She had never considered herself very pretty, but the way these two were acting toward her, she felt like some kind of goddess.

Abbi's aunts were equally taken in by the conversation and seemed to be having the time of their lives. Despite Horstberg being a small country, they couldn't help knowing that Nikolaus du Woernig, as its ruler, was an extremely important man. And they treated him with no less respect and admiration than they would the King of England.

When dinner was through and Ramona had Lance busy telling her about his experiences as Captain of the Guard, Nikolaus took Abbi by the arm and led her quietly back to the drawing room. He motioned for her to sit down, seating himself much closer than necessary.

"Tell me," he said directly, "would you by chance be related to Gerhard Albrecht?"

Abbi glanced sharply toward him, wondering what this man might know about her father. "I am his daughter."

"Ah." He leaned back, scrutinizing her as if they'd just met all over again. Abbi wondered if her relationship to Gerhard Albrecht would affect his opinion of her. "And I daresay," he went on, "that you don't see him much these days."

"Why do you say that?"

"I hear he's not been around the last few years. Got himself into some sticky trouble with the law."

Abbi said nothing. She wondered if it was simply coincidence that her father was accompanied monthly by officers of the Duke's Guard, and this man was the duke. A hard look came briefly to Nikolaus's eyes, but he smiled it away and she wondered if her fear had made her imagine it.

"Abbi, my sweet," he said as if the previous conversation had not transpired, "how often have you been told what a beauty you are?"

"Does my grandfather count?" she asked, her intrigue for Nikolaus settling a little deeper.

"Hardly," he replied, apparently pleased.

"Then this is the first."

"Come now," he said with a devilish grin, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Can I really be so lucky as to come upon first love?"

"Is that what you call this?"

"I do indeed. I intend to make it known here and now that I want you for my very own."

Abbi couldn't believe the Duke of Horstberg was saying such things to her. Not knowing how to respond, she remained silent, wanting him to go on, hoping the night would never end.

"How would you feel about that, my sweet?" he asked.

"It's hard to say," she said. "It's been such a short time and . . ."

Not waiting for her to finish, Nikolaus pressed his lips to hers with a warm kiss. Abbi couldn't believe that her first kiss was from the duke. She couldn't help but enjoy it.

"And your kiss is sweet, too," he whispered, pulling back.

Flushed and flustered, Abbi searched for small talk. "So," she said, moving away slightly, "your family name is du Woernig. It doesn't sound German, really."

"The Woernig is German," he stated, disinterested in the topic. "The prefix comes from Norman ancestors. It was some odd marriage way back, with some great royal merger. Dull story. Say you'll be mine, Abbi."

"Wouldn't it be bad manners to refuse the duke?" she said, trying to remain noncommittal.

"Indeed." He smiled and kissed her again, stirring something in Abbi that she didn't understand. But she felt her hands moving around his neck, lingering in his soft, dark hair.

From somewhere in the room Abbi heard a deep voice say something indiscernible. She thought that being caught in a kiss should be embarrassing, but Nikolaus continued, as if being the duke allowed him to do anything he wanted.

Abbi was surprised to feel a hand take hers from behind Nikolaus's head and pull her reluctantly from his grasp.

"Now, Nik," Lance said with forced amusement, "I think you've overwhelmed her enough for one night. Look elsewhere for a distraction, dear friend. I've got plans for this one."

Abbi was led from the room while Nikolaus leaned back and sighed triumphantly.

"I must apologize for his behavior," Lance said with barely concealed annoyance as they walked out into the evening air. "At times his position makes him a little overbearing."

Still overwhelmed by Nikolaus's boldness, Abbi paid little attention to the comment.

"I'd like to talk with you, if I could," Lance continued.

"What is it?" Not wanting to be rude, she forced herself to be attentive.

As Lance removed his coat and put it around her shoulders, Abbi noticed that he too was handsome, yet in a much different way. Though his build was much like Nikolaus, his face was meeker. Lance's pale hair had a soft wave to it, and his blue eyes were less bold. In truth, she found it difficult to imagine him as Captain of the Guard if not for the uniform and the dignified way he wore it. Beneath the coat he'd removed he wore a tight-fighting, high-collared white shirt, with dark braces over his shoulders.

"I didn't want to bring this up tonight," he said without expression, and Abbi sensed he was having some difficulty mustering up the courage to speak, "but my friend's advances have left me little choice."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean that if I don't make a claim on you now, I might not get one." He paused and looked skyward. "My stepmother has made it clear how delighted she would be if . . ." He cleared his throat. ". . . If you and I were to marry, and I . . . what I'm trying to say is that I don't think it's such a bad idea, and rather than going on pretenses, I wanted to tell you straight out that I'm interested in the possibility, and would hope you'd consider it."

"Lance," Abbi almost giggled at the thought of two marriage proposals in one night, "it's so soon. I barely know you."

"I'm aware of that," he replied. "I'm not suggesting we marry tomorrow. I only ask that you keep me in mind. I simply wanted to verbalize the situation. Knowing what Ramona is up to, I didn't want any uneasiness between us. She means well, but she can be a bit . . . zealous."

"Yes," Abbi laughed softly, "I know what you mean." Still preoccupied with Nikolaus's kiss, she added, "Let's give it time."

Lance seemed pleased with her answer, and Abbi had to admit that she appreciated his straightforward manner--though she already felt her heart being lost elsewhere, and she hoped it would not be long until she had the opportunity to see Nikolaus du Woernig again.

That night Abbi dreamed of the man on the mountain. It wasn't clear and distinct like the dream that had led her to him, but rather filled with vague images of his face, his voice, his presence--and how they had affected her. She woke feeling just as she had following that first dream: so overcome with indescribable emotion that she could hardly move. She'd barely thought about him the last few weeks, when thoughts of him had seemed so fruitless. But now he had intruded upon her awakening feelings for Nikolaus du Woernig. And she resented it.

Through the following days, her thoughts were constantly invaded by this man on the mountain whom she knew nothing about. She searched for distraction in any way possible without success--until an invitation arrived from Lance, asking that she attend a social with him to be held at Castle Horstberg. Getting caught up in the preparations for her first social event, Abbi forced thoughts of the mysterious man out of her head. She reminded herself that he was nothing more than some ill-tempered recluse. And tomorrow evening she would be dancing with the Duke of Horstberg.
Chapter Three

THE CAPTAIN AND THE DUKE

Abbi had a perfect view of Castle Horstberg from an upper window of Albrecht House. As long as she could remember, she had admired the imposing edifice, perched on a lofty hill at the far side of the valley. She had often stopped to admire the castle, but never had she imagined the magnificent structure rising before her now.

"Oh Lance," she gasped, nearly leaning out the carriage window as it wound carefully up the hillside, "it's magnificent. Nikolaus really lives here?"

"He really does," Lance replied dryly.

"But you do too, of course," she said, trying to remember herself and remain polite.

"Yes," he said. "When we get into the courtyard you'll see that the barracks for the Guard are to the right, behind the keep, which is where my offices are, but I live in an apartment in the complex to the left at the far end of the courtyard."

"I can't believe how long it's taken us to get here," she added. "It's so massive. I suppose I always thought it was closer."

"It is big," Lance muttered.

"I do appreciate your asking me along," she said warmly. "It's so exciting for me."

"It's only a little social, Abbi." He smiled. "Though I am pleased to have you with me."

Abbi turned again to the window, not wanting to betray that it was more her anticipation of seeing Nikolaus again that had compelled her to accept Lance's invitation. This was far more than _a little social_ for her. She'd never been to _any_ social before. To think that her first opportunity would be so grand!

Abbi had been terribly nervous when the invitation first arrived. But Georg had given her some quick dancing lessons in the stable. Elsa had dug out the perfect jade hair combs that had been a gift to Abbi from her grandfather on her sixteenth birthday. Ramona had taken her straight to the dressmakers and helped her pick out a green silk gown that her aunts had declared went well with her coloring. Abbi couldn't deny that they'd been right. She felt absolutely dazzling in it, even though she'd stubbornly refused to wear her hair up. But when she was ready to leave, Salina had told Abbi that she looked beautiful. Ramona finally gave in and agreed, albeit grudgingly.

The carriage rumbled through the huge gate of Castle Horstberg and Abbi held her breath. Hearing the horses' hooves echoing on the stone courtyard, Abbi wondered how many citizens of Horstberg had the rare opportunity to visit the home of their ruler.

Lance helped her step down from the carriage. She couldn't deny that he looked terribly handsome in that uniform, which was a more elegant version of the one she'd seen him wear previously. The ever-present sword and pistol were absent, and she concluded they didn't go well with dancing. They entered an enormous hallway with two staircases circling upward on opposite sides of the room, and a large balcony between them that looked over the great hall where they stood. After her cloak had been taken by a servant, they were led through a monstrous wooden door, down a stone hallway, and into a room larger than any one room Abbi had ever seen in her life.

There were several people standing about, drinking champagne and chatting, many of whom Lance seemed to know. But Abbi couldn't see Nikolaus anywhere. She was introduced around the small crowd, noting the glamorous fashions and the many men in uniform. A servant handed her a glass of champagne, but she had barely taken a sip when Nikolaus appeared at the top of an enormous staircase that descended into the room. He was dressed in a uniform far more elaborate than Lance's, its front covered with an immense amount of regalia. A red robe hung from his shoulders, brushing the floor with many yards of lush fabric, and a conservative gold crown circled his head. It was barely as wide as a hair ribbon, but its contrast to his dark hair was striking. He looked even more handsome than she'd remembered, but she was more struck by the evidence of his position and power when the room became eerily still and all eyes turned toward him. Even the music stopped. The duke hesitated at the top of the stairway, seeming impatient until two young ladies appeared and took his arms, descending with him.

"Who are they?" Abbi whispered in Lance's ear.

He looked surprised that she didn't know. "His sisters. That's Helena on the right, the blonde. She's the older of the two. And the other, the dark one, is Madeleine."

Abbi watched the du Woernig sisters with interest, intrigued with them to the point that she became briefly oblivious to Nikolaus.

"They look nothing alike," Abbi commented to Lance as the music began again.

He laughed softly. "No, they never have. Madeleine looks very much like her father, and Helena her mother. That's the way it is with siblings, I suppose."

"They're very beautiful," Abbi added, wondering if every young woman felt so in awe of the princesses of Horstberg when given the privilege to be in the same room with them. Then she realized that Nikolaus was approaching, his sisters still at his sides.

"Abbi, my sweet," he said. She felt Lance go tense and wondered how good their friendship really was. "I'm so glad you came." He took Abbi's hand to kiss it, and his touch made her tingle. "You must meet my sisters, the Princesses du Woernig."

Nikolaus smiled coyly at one and then the other. "You don't mind if I keep it simple, do you, girls? I hate formality."

"Of course not," the elder one smiled up at him. "We're all friends here."

"This is Lena," Nikolaus said, indicating the one Lance had called Helena. "And Magda." He motioned elaborately toward Madeleine. "Dear little sisters of the duke," he said with a touch of arrogance, "I'd like you to meet Miss Abbi Albrecht."

"It is a pleasure." Lena spoke first, nodding slightly.

"A pleasure indeed," Magda said. "And Lance," she added, bending forward to kiss his cheek, "it's been a long time since you've come here to be social. It's only business that occupies you these days. You should not make yourself so scarce."

"Yes, it has been a long time," Lance replied. "I don't believe I've been in this room since Gwen died."

"I'm glad you're here now," Lena said, kissing his other cheek.

"Don't make such a fuss over him, girls," Nikolaus said affectionately. "He may be my best friend, but I don't want him moving in."

They all laughed together, and Abbi decided that she liked the duke's sisters. There was a genuine kindness in their manner that was readily apparent, and they lacked their brother's arrogance.

"Tell us, Abbi," Magda said, ushering Abbi away from the men, "how is it that you became acquainted with Lance?"

"He is my great aunt's stepson," Abbi replied.

"How convenient," Lena said. "Then you must have known each other for years."

"Actually no," Abbi said. "My aunt has just recently come from England, where she returned to live after her husband's death, and I only met Lance last week."

"Really?" Magda said. "We've known him for so long, I don't believe I can remember when we _did_ meet him. Do you remember, Lena?"

"No I don't," her sister replied. "He and Nik must have been friends before we were ever born."

"I believe you're right." Magda turned again to Abbi. "Nikolaus did say your name was Albrecht, didn't he?"

"That's right."

"Then you must be heiress to the Albrecht estate since . . . is it your grandfather that passed away recently? I believe I heard Nikolaus mentioning it."

"Yes in both cases," Abbi replied.

"You must carry a great deal of responsibility, then," Lena said.

"I suppose I do, although I have very good help."

"You know," Magda said impishly, "you and I will have to search for a husband together." She giggled. "Lena's betrothed to a Prussian prince, but I intend to choose my own husband. If Mother were alive I'm certain she'd object, but I'm not going to let my hand in marriage be dealt with politics."

"It's not as bad as all that," Lena defended. "My marriage will not be so bad, and if it will help Horstberg politically at the same time, there's no harm in it."

"Just the same," Magda said, "I shall marry for love. Don't you agree, Abbi?"

"I haven't thought much about marriage," Abbi replied, appreciating that her grandfather had not tried to find a match for her. "But I do feel that love in marriage is the most important thing."

"Indeed!" Nikolaus intruded upon them with a sly grin. "Abbi, my sweet, you mustn't let my sisters bore you with their girlish talk."

"I was rather enjoying myself," Abbi replied.

"Yes, brother," Magda said in teasing anger, "so don't go stealing her away from us now."

"I'll only bother her for a dance." He smiled and swept Abbi into a lively step, holding her extremely close. She was grateful for Georg's dance instructions, which she now realized had been fairly competent.

"Have you considered my proposition?" Nikolaus asked, penetrating her with a bold gaze.

"Perhaps you should refresh my memory," Abbi teased.

"I want you," he whispered close to her face. "Slip away with me now. We won't be missed."

Abbi's heart went wild. She sensed something wicked in Nikolaus's offer, but his presence brought out her adventurous nature, making her want to accept.

"Say you'll be mine," he persisted.

Abbi's common sense dominated. She knew more time was necessary for her to make a commitment, whether or not it was to Nikolaus. "I think we should discuss this when we've had the opportunity to know each other better," she said.

He chuckled. "So, you're a cautious one. Very well, give it some time. But don't forget how much I want you. I'll not be happy until you are mine."

"Yes, Your Grace." She laughed, and Nikolaus caught her up tightly against him, whirling her around the floor until she became breathless and dizzy. She was barely aware of Lance observing them, looking less than pleased, but she was having far too much fun to care.

After two more dances, Abbi reminded herself to be polite and slipped away from Nikolaus's grasp to be with Lance. They danced a few sets before sharing some refreshments. Abbi hadn't yet finished her punch when Nikolaus stepped in between her and Lance and swept her toward the dance floor without warning or permission. He whirled her breathlessly once again, then slowed their rhythm as he brought his mouth close to her ear. "Is this your first visit to Castle Horstberg?"

"Yes, it is."

"Would you like to see more of it?" He lifted his brows.

"Oh, I would," Abbi replied with enthusiasm.

Needing no more inducement, Nikolaus skillfully steered her from the ballroom, and Abbi found herself alone with him while the sounds emanating from the crowd became muffled and distant. She thoroughly enjoyed her brief tour of the castle, though most of it was not well lit and she had to depend on Nikolaus's familiarity with his home to guide them. Again she was astounded by its size and grandeur, certain she could get lost in the countless hallways and stairwells. Nikolaus told her this was only the main section, where the royal family lived, social events took place, and the ducal offices were located. Surrounding the courtyard were servants' apartments, barracks for the Guard, an armory, the keep, stables, and other things she couldn't recall. Castle Horstberg was like a village within itself and every facet that Abbi discovered left her more intrigued.

With more enthusiasm than Nikolaus had displayed so far, he threw open a door with a great deal of aplomb and motioned her inside. Abbi glanced around, noting the room was spacious and elegant, with a masculine tone. A window beckoned her to look out to the courtyard, lit up with torches for the night's festivities. Noting a high moon that illuminated the valley below, Abbi caught her breath at the view.

"You like my humble home," Nikolaus said. It was not a question.

Laughing at the incongruity of his statement, Abbi turned toward him. "The view is lovely."

Nikolaus smiled proudly. "Is this how you pictured where the Duke of Horstberg slept?"

"No," she replied, surveying the room, "but I might have guessed from the lavish decor. It certainly suits your personality."

"What _did_ you picture?" he asked, missing the trace of irony in her tone.

"I didn't picture anything," she replied honestly. "I didn't even know what you looked like until you came to dinner last week."

"You mean you've never seen me?" he asked in astonishment.

"Not that I recall."

"You jest!" he said, clearly deflated.

"No, I'm quite serious. Until recently I knew absolutely nothing about you. The duke was as remote as if he lived in a different world."

Catching a glimpse of herself in the largest mirror she'd ever seen, Abbi felt the truth of her statement settle in. Except for the fiery hair that hung down her back, she felt no resemblance to this woman in green silk. In her heart she was the sheltered girl whose usual attire was calico.

"You are not very flattering," he remarked.

"I daresay you don't need me to flatter you."

"It wouldn't hurt." He moved toward her, and Abbi caught her breath to realize she was in his arms.

"Abbi, my sweet," he whispered close to her ear, and the sensation made her tingle.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Abbi moved out of his embrace. "Perhaps we should return to the ballroom. Lance might wonder--"

"Lance takes orders from me. I thought you were enjoying my little tour."

"Oh, I am very much. But he brought me this evening, and--"

"Tell me," Nikolaus said, tilting his head at such an angle that his hair looked black in the dim light, "have you a romantic interest in Lance?"

"I scarcely know him, though my aunt wishes for us to marry."

"Is that what you want?"

"I shall marry whom I choose," she replied adamantly, hoping to convey that she found Nikolaus far more intriguing.

"Good girl," he applauded and his arms came around her again, accompanied by a kiss both warm and strong while his palms pressed into her back, urging her closer. "I want you," he said close to her face. "Say you'll be mine, Abbi, my sweet."

Abbi quivered from excitement and chose to ignore what her instincts were telling her, concentrating instead on the sensations that had been aroused by his ardent kiss. Urged on by her response, Nikolaus deftly swept her up into his arms. She felt the combs fall from her hair, and amid the spinning sensation in her head, she found herself lying on the huge bed. He kissed her repeatedly with an intensity that was both intriguing and frightening. While his lips moved over her throat, the instincts she'd been suppressing became all at once alert, and she panicked, wondering how she'd gotten into this situation. She attempted to squirm away, but he held her tighter and kissed her harder. Behaving as if this were nothing but a game, Nikolaus ignored her protests and became even more persistent. Holding her face in his hands, he placed a bruising kiss on her mouth while Abbi struggled with all her strength to break free. But Nikolaus was far stronger.

"Nikolaus, please . . . don't!" she managed to cry out between the repeated assaults on her lips.

Pinning her hands against the bed, he pulled back to look at her, clearly dismayed by her lack of enthusiasm. "Abbi," he began softly, "my sweet, I--"

"Get off," she protested and he did so reluctantly. She jumped to her feet on one side of the bed, and he stood resolutely on the other.

"What _is_ the matter, Abbi?" he asked, baffled.

"Take me back to the ballroom," she demanded, adjusting her skirts.

"But Abbi, I . . ."

"Take me back now."

Something in his eyes left her decidedly uneasy as he gave her a hard stare before moving toward the door. Then he stopped and looked down. She watched him bend over to pick up the combs that had fallen out of her hair. As he did, the crown fell from his head and hit the stone floor with a startling clang. Abbi quickly picked it up, fondling it for just a moment, noting that it was only a simple gold band with minimal adornment.

"You mustn't lose this." She forced a light tone, attempting to ease the tension.

He snatched it from her and she took the combs from him. "No," he said with a terseness that increased her uneasiness, "I mustn't lose this."

"Perhaps you should have the size adjusted so it fits better," she teased, attempting to ignore her own aggravation as she turned toward the mirror to smooth her hair. He stood by her side and carefully put the crown back on his head, putting more effort into checking his appearance than Abbi did her own. Her thick curls required little attention and she quickly put the combs in place and moved toward the door. Nikolaus could do little more than accompany her back to the ballroom. He made an attempt at light conversation, following her example to behave as though nothing were wrong. She wanted to feel angry, but more than anything she was annoyed at her own naiveté. The joy of the evening had left her, and she longed for the safety of home.

"Abbi," Lance called when he caught sight of her. She wondered by his flushed expression if he was angry or just worried over her absence. "Where have you been?" he asked. "I was about to send the Guard searching."

"Now, Lance," Nikolaus said with barely masked condescension, "there's no need to let your position go to your head. I was merely taking Miss Albrecht on a tour of the castle."

"You might have said something," Lance added, slightly more calm.

Abbi was saved from any further attention to the situation when the duke's sisters caught sight of her and came over to join them. Nikolaus unobtrusively moved away. Abbi wasn't spared totally, however, as Lena said, "I intend to give Nik a good scolding for skirting you off when Magda and I were just getting acquainted with you."

"He was kind enough to give me a tour of the castle," Abbi explained, proud of her composure. But she couldn't help noticing the glance that passed between the sisters.

"I'm sure we will have more opportunities in the future," Magda insisted.

Abbi found their company refreshing after the appalling behavior of their brother, but the strain of the evening was beginning to tell on her. Noticing that some of the guests were leaving, she asked Lance to take her home. Overhearing Abbi's request, Lena called for someone to bring around the captain's carriage.

"Promise you'll come and visit us soon," Lena said warmly. "It gets so dull around here, and we have to make up for all the years we should have known you."

"And remember, Lance," Magda added, "to tell Ramona hello for us."

"I will," Lance promised and a few minutes later his carriage was announced. He helped Abbi inside and sat across from her, remaining completely silent until they were nearly to the house.

"Abbi," he said, sounding concerned, "I must apologize for Nikolaus's behavior."

_"Must_ you?" she countered, realizing this wasn't the first time he'd said as much. "I don't see that Nikolaus's behavior is any reflection on you, whether it warrants apology or not."

Lance looked a little startled, then he smiled and said, "You are a very wise young woman, Abbi."

She made a scoffing noise. "Wise, no," she said, but she couldn't bring herself to admit that naive and foolish would be more accurate.

Following more silence Lance added, "I hope you had an enjoyable evening--and I hope that Nikolaus didn't say or do anything to upset you."

Abbi willed her expression to hide the truth, if only for the sake of avoiding her own humiliation. Her tone was even as she said, "I'm fine, thank you." Excluding those few minutes with Nikolaus that had gone sour, it had been an enjoyable evening. She added firmly, "I _did_ enjoy myself. Thank you for including me. You're very kind."

He smiled as the carriage came to a halt. Still absorbed with her anger toward Nikolaus, Abbi felt irritated when Lance hesitated expectantly at the door of the house. She was almost expecting to have to ward off some kind of advance from him as well, but he only took her hand and kissed it.

"I'll be leaving the country for a few weeks," he said. "Maneuvers with the Guard, you see."

"I'll see you when you return," Abbi said in a conscious effort to be polite.

"I'll look forward to it."

She went inside, engulfed with a wave of confusion. Rushing to the refuge of her room, Abbi willed herself not to slam the door and alert her aunts that she had returned. They would no doubt be anxious to hear about her evening, and the thought of having to talk about it tonight would be intolerable.

Scornfully, she pulled the jade combs from her hair and threw them to the dressing table. She nearly tore the gown in her efforts to remove it, thinking that only hours earlier it had held the promise of excitement and adventure. Now it only meant the memory of Nikolaus attempting to have his way with her, and she threw it with contempt to the bottom of the wardrobe. Elsa entered the room just as Abbi sat in front of the mirror and began to brush through her hair.

"I could have helped you out of your dress," Elsa said cheerfully, but her expression darkened when she saw the wad of green silk on the wardrobe floor. Her concern was evident as she picked up the gown to shake it out.

"I wonder if it isn't a waste of effort," Abbi said tersely, "or if I even have what it takes to be any part of society."

"I take it things didn't go well."

"I guess you could put it that way. But only because I'm a naive fool who--"

"Don't even say it, Miss Abbi." Elsa put her hands on her slim hips. "If anything, you're too good for them."

"You're sweet, Elsa." Abbi's tone turned wistful. "But all the way home I could only think how much I miss Papa. He was often criticized for the way he raised me, but I was always happy. I didn't realize until tonight just how naive I am. Perhaps the aunts are right. Perhaps Papa did me a disservice in keeping me so sheltered."

"I'm sure your grandfather meant well, Miss."

"My aunts are certainly making up for lost time."

"You'd not have met the captain and the duke if not for them," Elsa offered in a positive voice. But Abbi felt her face go warm at the mention of Nikolaus. She wasn't ready to discuss that yet--not even with Elsa.

"You look tired, Miss," Elsa said. "You change into your nightgown and I'll get you a glass of warm milk."

Abbi smiled her thanks, and once alone, her mind drifted back to the incident with Nikolaus. She felt hot with shame to recall their encounter, and wondered if his only motive in offering to give her a tour of the castle was to get her alone and take advantage of her. Common sense told her there was a better way. Did Nikolaus suppose that being the duke gave him the right to treat a woman as though she were already his? And yet the memory of his kiss made her feel weak with longing in spite of his appalling behavior. The contradictions within herself were perhaps most disconcerting of all.

Nikolaus was undoubtedly handsome and charming. And though Abbi had been raised with an indifference to social distinction, if she were honest she had to admit that it was flattering to be courted by the Duke of Horstberg. But duke or not, he would have to court her properly or not at all.

Lance, on the other hand, had been straightforward about his intentions. His offer certainly seemed honorable, but to Abbi it held no intrigue. Could it be her feelings for Nikolaus that stood in the way? She felt as if her mind would burst at the confusion. If only Papa had prepared her for such things!

Determined not to dwell on it any further, Abbi was grateful to have Elsa return with her milk. "This should help you relax," Elsa said, "and if I may say, Miss, please don't worry. Things do have a way of working themselves out."

"I'm sure you're right, Elsa."

"Is there anything more I can get you before I go to bed?"

"No, thank you," Abbi replied distantly.

Elsa went to leave and then turned back. "Oh, I almost forgot. I found some odd papers of some sort among your grandfather's things that you asked me to go through, and I wasn't sure what to do with them. They aren't marked or anything, so I left them on your bureau."

"Thank you. I'll take a look at them."

When Elsa was gone, Abbi turned her attention to the mysterious papers. She idly picked the packet up from the bureau and a formless ache seeped into her. She pulled open a drawer and pushed aside her nightclothes to reveal an identical packet of documents. Holding one in each hand, they no doubt looked and weighed exactly the same. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even given a thought to these, but now she realized that her father had apparently given an identical packet of documents to Papa. She wondered why such a precaution might have been necessary. But as always, speculating over the circumstances only left her frustrated by her ignorance. Putting both packets together, Abbi wondered if the day would ever come when it might be necessary to carry out her father's instructions.

Closing the drawer, Abbi rubbed her arms to soothe a chilling tingle. She recalled her father saying that lives were at stake. And now Abbi could almost feel some unseen power pleading for her assistance on their behalf--whoever they might be. Her father, of course. But who else? And why? She could easily imagine some distant voice asking her if she knew the significance of what was written on these documents that she held in her possession.

Abbi crawled into bed, forcing thoughts of her father away. She could do no more to help him than she was already doing. And she knew well enough that feelings of helplessness prompted discouragement. With no warning, her thoughts were drawn to the man on the mountain, but thinking of him only discouraged her further. Just as with her father, she felt somehow that she was in a position to help him, but her hands were tied. She had promised him that she would never go back there, just as she'd promised her father that she would heed his instructions to the letter. It was as tempting to open those documents and see what they held as it was to ride back up through that mountain ridge and demand of this strange man his reasons for haunting her. But what could she possibly do to help some mountain hermit who wanted nothing to do with her? Even _if_ it were in her power to help him, he'd made it clear that he wouldn't let her. How could she ever forget his anger as he'd insisted that she had to stay away? _Lives are at stake,_ he'd said.

"Oh, help," Abbi muttered and rolled deeper into her bed, as if it might ease the chills that consumed her as she recalled the man on the mountain saying the exact words she'd heard from her father. _Lives are at stake_. Surely it was a coincidence. Wasn't it?

Exhausted, Abbi finally slept. But her dreams were invaded by the mysterious documents, leaving her with a feeling that they held some threat for Nikolaus du Woernig, and a formless hope for the man on the mountain. She found peace only in her certainty that such a dream was simply a montage of her own feelings that had found release in her sleep.

Abbi woke late and hurried out to the stable to find Georg just returning from town.

"How was your evening at the castle?" he asked.

Abbi didn't even want to answer the question as she recalled how Nikolaus's brashness had destroyed what should have been the social event of a lifetime.

"Well?" he insisted when she said nothing. "How was it?"

"It was awful," she replied, and he blinked in surprise.

"Is Lance really so bad?" Georg asked with a little smirk.

"Oh, Lance was a perfect gentleman," Abbi said. "It was Nikolaus du Woernig who . . ." Georg lifted his brows in surprise. "Oh, never mind. It's not worth discussing."

"Come now, Abbi," Georg chuckled, leading his horse to a stall to remove the saddle. "I can't help wondering what His Grace might have done to stir such contempt."

"I'd rather not talk about it," she stated in a tone that she hoped would put an end to the conversation.

"Well," he said lightly, "our beloved duke can often be a . . . I shouldn't say." His subtle sarcasm turned to something hard.

"Why not?" Abbi asked, curious to know Georg's opinion.

"It's treason to even speak against him," Georg said, "and I'm certain he'd love to see me executed, given half a chance." Abbi felt startled by such a comment but he smiled and quickly added, "So, your evening at Castle Horstberg was a total loss?"

"Not really, I suppose." She sauntered over to Blaze and nuzzled against his neck. "I did get to see the castle. It is magnificent."

"So I've heard."

"And I met the duke's sisters. They're really very nice--nothing like Nikolaus," she added tersely. "They actually invited me back."

"Magda and Lena?" he asked, and Abbi felt surprised.

"You know them?" she questioned.

"Abbi," he nearly laughed, "everyone knows the princesses' names. It's common knowledge."

His statement brought a recently discovered reality to light, and Abbi felt disheartened. "Everyone knows," she said with a trace of bitterness. "Everyone except me. It seems I don't know anything."

Georg gently put his arm around her. "You know all you need to for now. The world out there is not so great."

"I suppose I can depend on your knowledge." She smiled up at him.

"Forever." He smiled in return.

Abbi was grateful as always for the way Georg looked out for her, and she wondered what she would ever do without him. While he saddled Blaze, her mind was drawn back to the second set of documents Elsa had discovered.

"Now what's on your mind?" Georg asked, startling her from her thoughts.

Not surprised by his perception, Abbi inquired, "Do you know why Papa disowned my father?"

Again Georg lifted his brows in surprise. "What brought this up?"

"I was just wondering."

"I assumed you knew."

"No one ever told me. I suppose I just took the situation for granted, but . . ."

"There isn't much to tell. As far as I understand it, Gerhard gambled a little; nothing serious. But Josef simply considered him too frivolous and had bailed him out one too many times. I suppose it was a combination of Josef not wanting to risk the estate, and the idea that if Gerhard were on his own it might teach him some responsibility. At least that's what my mother told me."

"So, it had nothing to do with _my_ mother?"

"Heavens, no. Josef loved your mother. She was like a daughter to him. I believe he took it nearly as hard as your father when she was killed. You know how he kept the old piano in the winter parlor tuned all these years--as if he almost expected her to come back and play."

"Yes, I remember," Abbi replied thoughtfully as she mounted Blaze. "Do you know anything about the situation my father is in now?"

Georg's eyes became strangely alert while Abbi waited for a reply. After a long silence he said abruptly, "I'm afraid not. I doubt there is much to tell."

Abbi had to wonder from his response if there was something he hadn't told her. "You know that he . . ."

"That he what?" he asked when she faltered.

"Nothing." She laughed tensely in an effort to cover her near slip. Though she couldn't imagine what harm there would be in telling Georg about the documents, her father's urgency in the matter came back to her and she felt it best not to mention them.

"What?" he pressed, but she was spared from having to answer when a pigeon flew through the loft window, lighting on a perch near the cote of birds Georg had always kept.

"I don't believe you've ever told me why you keep pigeons, Georg."

"Well," he said easily, "they don't eat as much as horses."

"One of them's out."

"He won't go far."

"How do you know?"

"They're homing pigeons. They always come back."

"Interesting," Abbi said, only momentarily fascinated as she pushed Blaze toward the wide doors. She waved to Georg, who answered with a relaxed salute just before she broke into a gallop and headed toward the covered bridge.

Since the day Abbi had sworn to never return to the mountain lodge, she hadn't ridden anywhere near the trail that led to it. But now her thoughts were more focused on the mysterious man she'd met that day, and she felt drawn to the fallen tree and beyond, up the trail through the thick pines. She recalled that he'd only made her promise not to climb through the rock wall up to the ridge. Now the thought of returning to the meadow below the ridge gave her a formless thrill. Feeling the same surge of emotion that had pushed her up the forest trail the first time, she moved Blaze at a brisk pace. Each stretch of the forest looked much the same as the last, but she was overcome with exhilaration as the trees suddenly moved behind and the meadow opened up.

Blaze broke into a gallop, and Abbi relished the wind in her hair. She could feel the rise in elevation by the cooler air, and the leaves were already turning colors and beginning to fall, unlike in the valley where the seasons were not so harsh.

Blaze slowed down and took on the circumference of the huge meadow several times, then Abbi heeled him into a gallop to ride the length of the rock wall one last time. The stallion stopped midway and began pawing at the ground with determination. Disturbed by his behavior, Abbi fought with the reins to move him back toward the forest, but Blaze continued his game, as if he were fighting the barrier of rock. An uneasiness came over Abbi. She'd never seen this kind of behavior in Blaze before. Sensing that he was frustrated by his inability to go up the path to the ridge, she realized that she felt much the same way.

Abbi was finally able to settle Blaze and guide him toward the forest. She trotted hesitantly across the meadow, unable to rid herself of an uncanny feeling that she was being watched. Just before entering the forest she halted Blaze and turned her head, carefully scanning the top of the ridge. But she saw nothing, no one. Had knowing that someone lived up there simply sparked her imagination? Or could he possibly be watching her from the trees? Telling herself that she mustn't let her imagination run wild, she stirred Blaze on and started down the forest trail, forcing herself to remember that she'd sworn to stay away.

A few days later, Georg came to Abbi's room with a package that had just arrived for her.

"Thank you," she said with enthusiasm, setting it on the bed to tear it open while he leaned in the doorway of her room, obviously curious.

"I take it you were expecting this," he said.

"A long time ago." She laughed as the sketchbooks and special pencils came into view.

"What is it?" he asked, moving closer.

"Do you remember some years back when I had that governess who insisted I learn some drawing techniques?"

"I remember. You spent quite a lot of time at it for a while."

"She told me I had some talent. Maybe I do. I don't know, but . . . well, I've had the desire to work at it. They didn't have any suitable drawing materials in town, but one of the merchants knew of some in a catalog and ordered these for me."

"They're very nice," Georg said. "So, what exactly do you intend to draw?"

"Nothing in particular. But perhaps it will fill some empty hours."

She really meant that part of her motivation was the hope that it might help fill some of the time she would have normally spent with her grandfather. She'd found her aunts poor replacements for his company, and the evening hours had dragged since Papa's death. Georg gave her a sad smile and she felt certain he'd guessed her thoughts.

While Georg idly examined her new pencils, Abbi's mind recounted images she'd been longing to put on paper. There were places she had been led to in her dreams--which constituted the other portion of her motivation. She was surprised at the tangible ache she felt as her mind wandered habitually to the man she'd met on the mountain. She became so absorbed with her thoughts that she was startled when Georg said, "Abbi, what is it? You look as if . . ."

"What?" she asked, perhaps fearing he might lure her thoughts into the open. She pondered her promise to keep the mountain lodge and its solitary resident a secret, and she hoped that Georg's perception wouldn't outwit her honest nature. Gazing into his expectant eyes, the ache of turmoil that she was trying to avoid surfaced fully. She was haunted by her dreams and the memories of where they had led her, and yet she felt utterly helpless to do anything about it.

"Abbi?" Georg chuckled tensely. "What's wrong?"

She turned abruptly away, wondering how she might discuss her concerns with Georg and not let him in on her secret. A thought that had occurred to her a number of times in recent weeks gave her the perfect diversion.

"Do you believe in God, Georg?" she asked.

He looked so astonished that she wondered if the question was somehow ridiculous. "Of course I do," he said.

"I know you go to church and all, but . . . I mean . . . do you _really_ believe in God?"

"Yes, Abbi, I do," he said with conviction and sat down in the chair near the bed to face her. "Why . . . this interest, all of a sudden?"

"Well," she shuffled her toe over the floor, "you know Papa never took me to church. I seem to recall going with my mother before she died, but the memories are so obscure. And lately, I . . . well . . ." She struggled to find the words to explain. "You know that story in the Bible . . . about Joseph and his coat of many colors?"

"Yes."

"You told me to read it years ago. Do you remember?"

"Of course I do. You have the gift of dreams, like Joseph." Abbi felt warmed to hear him say it like that, especially when it hadn't come up even once since he'd first mentioned it.

"Do you think Joseph's dreams came true because he trusted in God, no matter how horrible his life became?"

Georg thought about it. "Yes, I believe that has a lot to do with it. I'm certain he got discouraged, but he never lost faith--at least that's the way it seems from what little of the story is in the Bible."

"So, if I needed God's help with something, is it enough to have faith, and to trust in God?"

Georg looked deeply at her. "Forgive me, Abbi, but . . . is something wrong?"

"No," she said, looking away, "I just . . . want to know what I need to do to get God's help with something . . . generally speaking."

"Well," Georg tilted his head, "it's difficult to sum up in a few minutes everything I've learned about God through a lifetime. But I guess it comes down to faith and prayer."

Abbi's interest peeked. "Do you pray, Georg?"

"Yes, I do."

"How do you do it? I mean, is there some formal way that you have to learn so you won't offend Him, or--"

"I'm certain there are many different ways of praying, and many different beliefs. I suspect that all religions have some truth. But for me, it's always felt right to simply . . . talk to Him. Sometimes it's just directing my thoughts toward Him while I'm working. Sometimes I kneel to pray. Sometimes I do it silently. Sometimes aloud. For me, it's just . . . conversation. You thank Him for what He's given you, and ask for what you need. Then you try to listen."

"Listen for what?"

"It's hard to explain, but . . . I think God speaks to us through our feelings. Or maybe you could call it instinct, or conscience. It's as if He inspires our minds and touches our hearts. And somehow we just know that it's from Him. I guess you have to experience the feeling to understand it."

"You mean . . . if I prayed about something and . . . I just felt really good about it . . . then maybe that's God trying to tell me the answer?"

"I think so. He's given each of us a brain, and I think He expects us to use it. That's my personal opinion, anyway."

Abbi became lost in thought until Georg nudged her. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course," she insisted. "I just . . ."

"What?" he pressed.

In a reverent voice, Abbi answered, "I had a dream . . . earlier this summer. I know I'm supposed to do something related to it, but . . . I can't talk about it. I made a promise that I wouldn't."

"A promise to whom?" he asked.

"The person I dreamed about," she said. Then she laughed softly. "It's just a silly thing, Georg. Don't worry about it. Thank you for your advice."

"I hope it helps," he said. "Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you." She smiled and he left to see to his work.

That evening, Abbi sat down to sketch the mountain ridge that stood between her and this strange man who haunted her thoughts during the day and her dreams at night. For several days she worked on the drawing in between her other activities, putting great detail into the trees lining the top of the ridge and the foliage covering much of the rock wall. She did some rough sketches of the covered bridge, the fallen tree, and even the mountain lodge. But she spent most of her time on the drawing of the ridge, always careful to work on it only when she was alone. She kept her drawing materials hidden beneath her bed.

While Abbi drew, she contemplated the things Georg had told her about prayer and faith. She began asking God to help her know what she was supposed to do with these dreams and the feelings stirred by them. She didn't get any obvious answers, but she concluded that it had taken many years for Joseph in the Bible to understand his dreams. Therefore, she simply needed to be patient and trust in God and His timing. In the meantime, she prayed for the man on the mountain--that whatever his circumstances might be, God would watch out for him.
Chapter Four

LOST

As autumn deepened in Bavaria, Abbi wondered occasionally what the Duke of Horstberg might be doing. She wondered if she would ever see him again, or if the events of their last encounter had put an end to his interest in her. She couldn't deny her own attraction to Nikolaus and hoped she was not furthering her own naiveté to believe that in spite of what had happened between them, he felt something for her as well. The fact that she hadn't heard from him left her questioning his character, but she had to consider the possibility that he might be with Lance, who was still out of the country on some military assignment. But perhaps their absence was best. She had no desire to entangle her feelings for Nikolaus with matters she had no understanding of, and she had even less desire to entertain Lance while he considered Ramona's desire for them to marry.

Abbi's thoughts of the captain and the duke became less prominent as dreams once again invaded her sleep. They came in short bursts of images and words that haunted her through her waking hours, leaving her frustrated and uneasy. While she could not break her promise to the man on the mountain, she became preoccupied with a new habit of riding Blaze up through the forest. The distance from home was significant, and they were always gone for hours. She was resigned to never go back through that ridge, but she gleaned an abstract comfort from hovering in the meadow, and it became her favorite place to go.

As Ramona's constant harping had done little good in changing Abbi's habits and appearance, she finally seemed content to back off, at least for the time being. But Ramona plainly believed that when Lance returned, he and Abbi would marry, and surely this would have a settling influence on her. Indifferent to Ramona's plans, Abbi rode to the meadow every day, where she galloped wildly and laughed aloud as the wind whipped through her tangled hair. Each time she abruptly pulled Blaze to a halt he would rear up and whinny as she'd trained him to do, simply for the thrill. And then there were moments when he would stand perfectly still and she would bend forward in the saddle and wrap her arms around his neck, resting her head in his mane. Blaze seemed to understand Abbi's moods and answer them, and she couldn't deny the unity between them that had only deepened each day since his birth. He understood her best of all in the ritual they shared of galloping back and forth along the foliage-covered rock wall, where Blaze would willfully stop to paw at the ground. Abbi was disturbed by his stubbornness that steadily worsened each day, mostly because she understood it. She had perfect empathy for his determination, but the animal had no understanding of Abbi's promise to a man she knew nothing about. It became increasingly difficult to keep that promise when his face invaded her sleep and haunted her thoughts. On occasion, when she felt invisible eyes observing her antics with Blaze in the meadow, she began to question her own sanity.

On one of those days, Abbi pondered the situation and nuzzled her face into Blaze's mane. She let her arms hang freely while the horse remained still for countless minutes. She had to admit that she actually felt angry over how this man and her dreams of him had created such turmoil within her. For a moment, she felt so angry that she was intensely tempted to ignore his edict and face him with her own. She wanted to demand to know his reasons for upsetting her life and being so difficult. Her eyes roved toward where she knew the opening in the ridge was hidden, and her heart pounded to consider that it would only take five minutes and some minimal effort to be at his door. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. His anger frightened her. Then too, she also had to consider the possibility that her fear of his anger was perhaps some feeble attempt to mask her fear of other things. What might actually be required of her if she were to answer this beckoning call that haunted her night and day?

When her thoughts became as disturbing as they were consuming, she sat up in the saddle and pressed Blaze toward the forest. She was startled by the way he ignored her command of the reins and came to an abrupt halt before entering the trees. He snorted and took a step back. She dug her heels in to move him forward, but he resisted and took another step back. Abbi knew Blaze was as well trained as a horse could possibly be. He knew what he was supposed to do, and he knew he was expected to heed her commands. She felt furious with him as her anger over the entire situation took hold. She dismounted and stood to face him, staring him down while she told him exactly what she thought of this ridiculous game he was playing. When she'd finished her tirade, Blaze took a step back and snorted as if he were a defiant child. Abbi sat down in the grass and cried until Blaze nudged her with his nose as if to apologize.

"Oh, go away," she muttered, but he nudged her again. Realizing how long she'd been gone from home, Abbi got back into the saddle and barely had the reins situated before Blaze galloped into the forest and headed for home. "Stubborn beast," she grumbled under her breath and allowed him to take free rein until they had emerged from the forest and the covered bridge was in sight.

"Is something wrong?" Georg asked as he helped her dismount in the stable.

"Not really, why?"

"You look . . . disturbed."

Abbi wanted desperately to tell him what she knew and just how disturbed it made her. But she had been sworn to secrecy. She settled for saying, "Blaze has been acting a little funny--that's all."

"Funny how?" he asked, unfastening the girth.

"There's a high meadow that he's become obsessed with. He goes there practically on his own and doesn't want to leave."

"He's probably just got some odd, wild notion--like his mistress does on occasion." He laughed softly. "Nothing to worry about, I'm sure. There's nothing else wrong?" She shook her head, feeling as if she were lying, and he added, "I hope that's the way you'll feel once you get inside."

"Why?" she demanded, in no mood for any further complication in her life.

He smirked. "You have company."

"Who?" she asked tersely.

"The Duke of Horstberg," he replied with mock grandeur, but Abbi was too startled by thoughts of her visitor to give a response.

In the weeks since she had last seen Nikolaus du Woernig, Abbi had explored many thoughts and emotions related to him, bringing her to the conclusion that she was confused more than anything. Walking toward the house where she knew he was waiting, she felt her indignation toward him mingle with an intense desire to see him. She wasn't certain whether she wanted to give him a piece of her mind, or experience what he had proven capable of doing to her senses when he kissed her.

Coming quietly into the drawing room, Abbi was able to get a glimpse of Nikolaus before he realized she was there. Her heart quickened at the sight of him. The clothes he wore were striking. His sleek hair caught the light as he turned toward her, and his dark eyes bored into her without shame.

"Ah, Abbi, my sweet." He smiled devilishly, then swept across the room to take her into his arms. Without giving her a chance to say anything, he put his mouth over hers with a kiss that heightened her confusion. He pulled away looking pleased with himself, but his expression turned to dismay when he met the scorn in her eyes.

"What _is_ the matter, Abbi?" he asked. "I thought you'd be glad to see me. I've been so busy, but I . . ."

"Your memory serves you poorly, Your Grace," she said.

Nikolaus looked stunned, apparently recalling just now that she had been angry with him when they'd last parted. But he smiled and her heart quickened. "My being caught up in the passion incited by your presence, my dear, is hardly something for you to be angry over." He pulled her closer and brushed his lips over the side of her face. "You can hardly blame me for _that_ when you consider the effect you have on me."

Abbi attempted to defend her anger but knew she didn't sound very convincing as she murmured, "I'm simply not ready for . . . such things."

"That's not what your kisses told me," he whispered. "You can't blame a man for responding to something so pleasurable."

Abbi couldn't help wondering if perhaps she _had_ inadvertently led him to believe such a thing. If so, then what had happened was as much her fault as his. "I didn't mean to," she said and he smiled again, leaving her almost heady.

"I'll forgive you," he said with a playful smirk before kissing her again. Abbi couldn't help responding to something so pleasant, but she was careful not to get carried away. "But you must realize," he said, pulling back only slightly, "now that you've given me a taste, I will not be content until I've had all of you. One day you will be mine." His smile was gentle as he touched her chin with his fingertip, and Abbi's scorn melted in the tingles that ran through her.

"I've missed you," he said. "Come to the castle and . . ."

Abbi heard a deep sigh from behind and turned to see Lance standing in the doorway. She'd forgotten how exquisite he looked in that uniform, and there was something powerful about the way he wore the sword and pistol at his sides. He glared at Nikolaus, and Abbi wondered again about the state of their friendship.

"Come along, Your Grace," Lance said tonelessly, but it was becoming more apparent that he found this competition distasteful. "We're supposed to meet with the advisory committee in half an hour."

"My sisters have been asking to see you," Nikolaus said to Abbi. "Perhaps you might come tomorrow, and we could continue our tour as well and . . ."

"Come along, Nik," Lance insisted. His gaze shifted to Abbi. "I'll see you at supper and we'll catch up. I've missed you."

"I'll see you then," Abbi said. Nikolaus just shrugged as he was ushered out of the room. But she didn't miss the way he winked and smiled at her, leaving her breathless. She was prevented from reveling in the moment when Ramona and Salina sailed into the drawing room with the tea cart.

"Did I hear Lance leave?" Ramona asked, seating herself to pour the tea. "I'm sure I heard him leave."

"Yes." Abbi remained on her feet, hoping for an excuse to get out of the tea-time ritual.

"I talked with Lance for a few minutes," Ramona said more to her sister. "While you were napping we talked a few minutes."

"When did he get back?" Salina chirped.

"It was this morning," Ramona answered. "I suspect he stopped by to see Abbi between duties. The two of them will have more time to catch up tonight at supper. Yes, they can talk at supper."

"Lance certainly seems to be doing much better these days," Salina said. "Although they say nothing's been quite the same since Gwen . . . well, you know." Salina cleared her throat uncomfortably when Abbi noticed Ramona giving her a scolding glance. Whoever Gwen might be, it was obvious Ramona disapproved of talking about her.

Ramona turned toward Abbi, and her expression indicated she had something important on her mind. "Abbi, my dear, how do you like my stepson?" she asked.

"He seems to be a fine man," Abbi replied.

"Do you find him attractive?" Ramona pursued.

"Anyone would be blind not to find him attractive, Aunt Ramona. But you need not pretend. I'm already aware that you hope for us to marry." Salina looked nervous but relaxed when Abbi added, "Lance told me himself."

"I see." Ramona seemed pleased. "Yes, I see. And how do you feel about that?"

"I'll tell you what I told him. I hardly know him. We shall just give the matter some time and see what happens." Abbi hoped Ramona wouldn't harp about this the way she had about Abbi's habits that did not meet her approval.

Ramona smiled. "Just keep in mind that Lance is a good catch. His position as Captain of the Guard is prestigious, so you mustn't take too much time or you might lose him to another. Yes, his position is quite prestigious."

"I suppose there's always that possibility," Abbi said with indifference. "But then," she added, mostly to convey her lack of commitment, "the duke would certainly be a good catch, now wouldn't he?"

The aunts looked at each other in surprise and then at Abbi, apparently stunned into silence. Abbi wondered if it were somehow audacious to admit such a thing. Salina spoke at last. "My dear Abbi, you mustn't set your sights on him. It's well known that he's betrothed to a princess from Kohenswald, and he is only biding his time until she comes of age."

A sick knot formed in the core of Abbi's stomach, but she forced her expression to remain steady as she absorbed this painful reminder of her ignorance and naiveté. "I see," she said, attempting to save face with cool indifference. "I'm certain that when I'm ready to consider marriage the right match will present itself, whether it might be the captain or not. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are some matters I need to attend to."

Abbi left the house quickly as anger crept in to smother her hurt. How she hated Nikolaus du Woernig! She could have forgiven him for his bold advances, had his motives been honorable. Now it was apparent that his intentions had been everything but. How _dare_ he! Was he so arrogant to suppose that he could get away with seducing a considerable heiress of good family, just because there were no male relatives around to protect her? Perhaps that's what Lance had been trying to do in his efforts to keep Nikolaus at bay. His efforts took on a measure of nobility given what she'd just learned. To think that she'd been taken in by the Duke of Horstberg! Her naiveté in believing he wanted to marry her was downright embarrassing. He was surely very much like the devil, charming victims with his subtle lies. Panic engulfed Abbi as she realized how close she had come to falling into his snare. Wondering how many other women Nikolaus had toyed with, she felt tangibly nauseated to think of how he'd kissed her--and how eagerly she had allowed it. Oh, she was such a fool! She understood now why Papa had kept her secluded from the world. At this moment, however wrong it might be, she far preferred his loving protection over the pain and humiliation she was now feeling.

Wondering about the poor little princess who was doomed to spend the rest of her life with the philandering Duke of Horstberg, Abbi hurried toward the stables, pausing only a moment to look across the valley at Castle Horstberg sitting magnificently against the mountain. If not for Lena and Magda, Abbi would have hoped never to return there.

Consumed with anger and humiliation, Abbi mounted Blaze without a saddle. By his own will the stallion echoed across the covered bridge and flew through the narrow path between the trees leading up the mountainside. The climb was steep and hard, but Blaze knew the trail well and galloped at a dangerous pace. The air had a biting chill to it that had not been present earlier in the day, but once they reached the open meadow, the briskness freshened Abbi's senses, making her shattered delusion almost bearable.

Abbi slowed Blaze to an easy canter while she took in her surroundings. No matter how many times she came here, the beauty and serenity never ceased to affect her. But the atmosphere felt different than it had only hours ago. The sky had clouded over, and in her absence the wind had been working hard to dress the scenery for a change of season. Now, on the brink of winter, the oak and beech trees along the plateau ridge stood like skeletons against a gray horizon as the wind blew their few remaining leaves away. That same wind brushed along the ground, pushing before it a vast carpet of crisp leaves. The scent of pine and fir trees rose distinctly through the air.

Abbi wasn't surprised when Blaze broke into a gallop toward the bottom of the ridge. She relished his willfulness as the dead leaves crackled and popped beneath the heavy trod of his hooves. He seemed even more troubled than he had earlier, and it took great effort for Abbi to control him as he played his game below the rock wall. While she wanted to believe that Blaze understood her torment over the situation, she had to conclude that he was probably remembering the mares beyond the ridge that he'd been _flirting with_. Recalling how the bearded man had put it, she laughed softly.

"Sorry, Blaze," Abbi said. "I don't think it's meant to be."

With little warning it started to rain, which didn't seem to discourage the crows that were hovering in the trees above her, but Abbi knew she must return home. The clouds were dark and heavy, and with November approaching she knew the rain was likely to turn to snow. Blaze resisted her efforts to leave the meadow, but he relented more easily than he had earlier, perhaps motivated by the foul weather. By the time they reached the stable, the rain had turned to sleet and Abbi was soaked to the skin.

Georg glared at her as she dismounted. "What are you doing riding in this kind of weather?" he scolded. "I go to the pub and you run off without even a saddle."

"It wasn't storming when I left," Abbi protested, "and I was in a hurry." She smiled gratefully at him, knowing he was only concerned for her welfare.

Georg took Blaze by the reins and motioned Abbi out the door. "Now get yourself into the house," he ordered, "and out of those wet clothes before you freeze to death."

"I hardly think that's possible."

"Don't take it too lightly," Georg said. "It almost happened to me once."

"Really?" Abbi said, her curiosity aroused.

"I'll tell you about it some other time." He smiled. "You get yourself into a hot tub--immediately!"

Abbi returned to her room to find an invitation on her dresser that had been delivered from Castle Horstberg. In spite of Nikolaus's indiscretions, she couldn't help being pleased with the offer to join Helena and Madeleine for a ladies' luncheon the next day. The word _ladies_ had been underlined, as if they'd meant to imply that Nikolaus would be absent. Abbi wondered if his sisters knew what a scoundrel he was. She hurried to prepare for her bath, deciding the luncheon would be a nice diversion.

While soaking in the tub, Abbi reflected over the onset of winter that hovered in the evening air. She felt an undefinable anticipation in the weather, and for some reason it helped push her turbulent thoughts of Nikolaus to a place in her mind where they could easily be ignored.

Abbi slipped into an old calico dress that was predominantly the same green as her eyes, and dug out her sketchbook. Putting some finishing touches on her sketch of the mountain ridge, she liked the way just looking at it brought back the feelings she'd experienced there so many times. A knock came at her door and she set the drawing aside to answer it. Pleased to see Georg, she motioned him into the room, saying, "Did you need something?"

"Just wanted to check and see if you're all right."

"I'm fine," she said, then her heart quickened as his eye moved to the sketchbook on the bed. Before she could get a word out he had picked it up. She felt an inexplicable dread as his expression showed blatant alarm. She attempted to grab it, but he moved it from her reach.

"Abbi," he said breathlessly, looking at her with wide eyes, then gazing at the drawing, "where did you see this place?"

Abbi feared she had unwittingly done something to break her promise, and she silently prayed for help in not betraying what she knew. "I saw it in a dream," she said.

Georg froze, his eyes set on her, his expression so incredulous that Abbi almost felt as if the world had stopped. Her heart began to pound. Her emotions were torn between honoring her promise and sharing with Georg the full extent of her dreams and feelings. She felt sure she could trust him. But then, she knew little of his life beyond the work he did on the estate. How could she be certain?

Abbi was startled when Georg nearly staggered to the chair and sank into it, apparently feeling weakened. He looked at her as if she'd sprouted a halo or something before his eyes were drawn back to the picture in his hands. Afraid of what she might have revealed, Abbi grabbed the drawing book from Georg and slammed it closed. "It's nothing," she said firmly.

"If you saw it in a dream, it certainly is _something,"_ he insisted. When she said nothing more, he added, "Have you been to this place? Have you--"

"I really don't want to talk about it, Georg," she said. "Please . . . I need some time alone."

Georg looked searchingly into her eyes before he left, reluctant and concerned. Abbi stuffed her drawing book under the bed and impulsively knelt down to pray, although she ended up just battling thoughts back and forth more than actually talking to God. She finally got up off her knees, feeling the need to apologize to Georg. She hadn't broken her promise to the man on the mountain, nor would she, but it was important to maintain her friendship with Georg, and she'd been abrupt with him.

Abbi grabbed her cloak and hurried out the side door. It was snowing heavily now, and the wind had increased to a biting velocity. Abbi pushed open the heavy stable door, anxious to escape the storm. It only took a moment to see that Georg wasn't there. Then she noticed the broken stall and Blaze running freely in the stable. Before she had a chance to wonder how he'd managed to do such a thing, he bolted past her into the storm.

"Blaze, no!" she cried, running after him. But she could see nothing but snow. Blaze was gone. She had no doubt where the stallion was headed. She'd almost been waiting for him to do it. But why tonight of all nights?

Hurling herself onto the back of a sturdy mare, Abbi pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and rode toward the mountain. The trail was clogged with snow but the trees offered some degree of buffering from the storm. She pushed the mare mercilessly, hoping to avoid a calamity for them both. But her mind was frantic. She had to find Blaze. There was no way to comprehend how much that horse meant to her. And if he went up through the ridge . . . She couldn't even think about that. Surely the animal wouldn't be capable of breaking through the foliage on his own. Would he? Could she go back on her promise for the sake of getting Blaze back? With any luck she'd catch up to him before he got that far.

The storm worsened as Abbi gained altitude. Emerging from the protection of the forest into the open meadow, she was assaulted with wind and snow unlike anything she'd ever encountered. The breadth of the meadow that could normally be crossed in a minute took several, but at the foot of the ridge she found no Blaze. It was impossible to see tracks due to the snow and wind, but she soon discovered a gap of broken foliage. Blaze _had_ found his way through, and she had no choice but to go after him. In her attempt to dismount she slipped and fell, buffeted by wind that made it difficult to stand. Before she found her footing, the startled mare bolted back toward the trail. Abbi stood with difficulty and brushed the snow from her clothes as much as possible. She told herself everything would be fine. She could ride Blaze home when she found him. But her feet and hands were turning numb from cold, and the rest of her was painfully freezing. She'd never felt such fear.

Groping through the blizzard, Abbi found the narrow crevice in the rock. She worked her way up through the passage, trying to hold the rock wall for support. But her fingers were too cold to grip the slippery stone surface with any success. Inwardly she prayed that she could find Blaze and get safely out before she was discovered. In spite of her obsession with the man she'd met beyond the ridge, she had no desire to encounter his anger.

Each step upward against the rocky incline became a battle as she fought to keep her balance in the snow. Her feet ached from the cold and she knew her shoes and stockings were soaked through. Saturated with moisture, her thin cloak clung to her body. The cold became crippling as her hands and feet hardly responded to her efforts to move, and an uncontrollable shivering overtook her.

Trying to keep a clear image in her mind of finding Blaze and riding him home to warmth, Abbi continued moving upward. Her progress was slow and strained, but she forced herself to keep going. When she thought she could see the top of the ridge, a rush of motivation pushed her on. She was certain she only had a few more steps to go when her foot slipped and her ankle twisted viciously. She screamed as she lost her footing and fell. The rocky surface just beneath the snow's deceptive covering bit painfully into her back. Pain shot up her leg and she could feel a deep cold settling in, leaving her helpless as she shivered violently. She screamed for help, putting every particle of remaining strength into letting her voice be heard. But she knew there was only one person within miles--and he was probably snuggled under a blanket by the fire, oblivious to the storm raging outside his cozy lodge. Recalling Georg's comment about her freezing to death, Abbi wondered if it had been some kind of horrible premonition. Within moments her shivering ceased, and Abbi felt herself sinking into a peaceful oblivion as she began to feel warm again. Opening her eyes, she realized she was still lying in the snow as flakes fell silently over her face. She knew her body had surrendered to the cold. Her life was over.

Cameron knew this would be the day. The official onset of winter simply had a feel that was unmistakable. The sky wore a heavy gray shroud, and the wind whipping against his face as he did his monotonous routine had an extra bite.

Working harder than usual, Cameron checked the stable and lodge for their preparedness against winter. He moved meat from the smokehouse into the pantry, and chopped wood until his shoulders ached from the swing of the axe. Carrying one armload of wood after another into the lodge, he wished his physical exhaustion could push away the anguish of facing another winter completely alone. One more year had come and gone, and still his prayers had apparently gone unheard. Or perhaps he'd only been given one chance to have his prayers answered, and he'd sent her away in fear and anger. Even then he had to admit that he wasn't entirely certain what he'd been praying for. While his loneliness had become incapacitating, any possible avenue to end it felt the same.

It was incredible to believe that he'd been here over three years, and had only once spoken to another human being. He wondered at times if he were still sane. He felt in control of his mind, but if he _had_ lost it, would he know? His only consolation was knowing that the alternatives to this life were either death or imprisonment. If he had been sure they'd just kill him, he might have come out of hiding long ago. He was becoming steadily more certain that death would bring more peace of mind than the internal scourging that tormented him daily. This peaceful mountain solitude was a far cry above rotting in some hole of a prison cell, but it had long ago lost what tiny measure of appeal it had held for him initially. Instead, he was banished, exiled from the world by barriers that were too ugly to even think about. And now another winter was at his door. Snow brought with it unyielding seclusion, and he knew he couldn't leave even if he had a choice. He found himself wondering how long it might take him to gather the courage to do what he knew was inevitable. In his heart he knew he would never survive until spring. Winter had brought with it the stark reality that his life was being measured in days. He just didn't know how many.

During late afternoon the rain began, quickly turning to sleet. Cameron fed the animals and went into the lodge to dry off. The dogs lapped at his feet as he entered with one last armload of wood, and he was at least grateful for their companionship. It was just past dark when he realized that an intense blizzard had set in--one of the worst he'd ever seen. He was just sitting down to eat when he heard the horse. Or was it a horse? With the wind howling he couldn't be sure. Then he heard it again. He knew his two mares were locked safely in the stable, but he put on his coat and boots and went out to investigate. The snow and wind were fierce as Cameron made his way to the stable. He was amazed to see a fiery stallion galloping back and forth in front of the corral. Carefully he approached the animal and opened the gate, his heart quickening as the familiarity became evident. The horse entered without hesitation, then went just as easily through the stable doors. Cameron smiled to realize the lengths this stallion had gone to in order to find a mare. He wondered briefly if the horse's owner might be anywhere nearby, but the animal had arrived without a saddle or bridle. Surely he had come alone. The thought made his ache deepen. _He was such a fool_. Well aware of the closeness that woman shared with this horse, he felt a measure of heartache to think how she might feel to be without him for the many months it would take the snow to thaw enough for his return. Other thoughts also crept into his mind that he couldn't examine too closely, and he pushed them away.

After taking care of the horse, Cameron once again closed up the stable and fought his way through the storm toward the lodge. With the wind shrieking fiercely in his ears, for a moment he truly believed he'd lost his mind. A scream? Could it be? He stood still in the snow, listening carefully while something deep within ached to believe it was real. Again he heard a distant scream. He was certain of it. Lightning struck his heart as he bolted toward the pass. He felt strong and weak with excitement and fear. That cry for help was the first human sound he had heard since he'd sent the fiery-haired girl away. Had she come back? Could it possibly be real? Relentlessly he plowed forward, groping his way through the storm. He fell repeatedly in the snow, and the cold bit his bare hands and face, but his heart pumped measureless energy through his veins.

As Cameron reached the top of the rock crevice which formed the pass, he could vaguely see the outline of a woman lying motionless in the snow a short distance below. Moving carefully downward, he prayed she would be all right. Kneeling beside her, a tight knot gathered in his throat. _It was her_. With hesitance he reached out to touch her, brushing the snow from her face. Her skin felt cold but her eyes came languidly open at his touch.

"Thank God," he murmured.

As her eyes closed again, the memory of Georg's accident when they were children gave Cameron the confidence that he could handle this. He knew she was on the verge of unconsciousness, and he had to keep her awake. Grasping her beneath her arms, he pulled her to a sitting position and shook her face gently with his hand.

When Abbi first saw the bearded face looming above her, she thought she was dreaming. But when she felt strong arms go around her and a gentle hand on her face, she opened her eyes and saw him again.

"Are you hurt?" Cameron shouted to be heard above the wind, but she only gazed at him dumbly. "Are you hurt?" he repeated. "Answer me!"

"My ankle," she managed, then her eyes closed again.

"Listen to me!" he shouted, startling Abbi. It took a strained effort to look at him. "I can't get you out of here if you don't pay attention and do what I tell you. Do you understand?" His voice was gruff and implacable. She nodded just enough to indicate that she did.

Cameron braced his back against the rock wall and pulled her up by holding beneath her arms. "Lean on me," he ordered.

Abbi's only awareness was the support this man gave her as she fell limply against him. He felt so strong, so sturdy. And she couldn't deny her intense relief at being here with him for reasons far beyond knowing that he'd just saved her life.

With his arm around her, Cameron looked directly into her face and spoke loudly. "The only way I can get you out of here is on my back. I'm going to pull your arms around my neck. But you've got to hold on--tight! Do you understand?"

Abbi nodded. He turned and lifted her up, guiding her arms over his shoulders. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he held to her thighs to keep her steady.

"Hold tight!" he shouted and braced himself to move through the steadily deepening snow.

Abbi silently thanked God for sending this man to save her. As he moved upward, bracing himself carefully with each step, she felt as thrilled as she was afraid until an unnatural drowsiness overtook her again.

Cameron felt the woman relax against his back and hoped she'd stay conscious until he could get her inside near some heat. The wind worsened with every labored step and he sighed with relief to finally come through the door and leave the biting storm behind. He carried the woman to one of the sofas near the fire and set her down, turning to see her head droop. Grabbing her chin, he shook her head gently and sighed with relief to see her eyes come open in feeble surprise.

Seeing the bearded man again, Abbi became barely aware that she was inside the lodge, though she couldn't recall getting there. Tired and weak, she wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep.

Cameron hurried to remove his coat and threw it to the floor. It only took seconds for the woman to droop over again, and he went to his knees beside her, shaking her almost roughly.

"Stay awake!" he shouted, imagining himself digging her grave.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice and he spoke to her sternly. "You have got to stay awake until you get warm. If you want to survive, you've got to keep your eyes open. If you fall asleep now, you may never wake up. Do you comprehend what I'm saying?" Abbi nodded. "Speak to me!" he shouted.

"Yes," she answered, barely audible.

The man seemed relieved at the sound of her voice, but Abbi thought he looked terribly worried. "Now we've got to get you out of those wet clothes," he said, "before you catch your death."

The woman remained silent, but Cameron sensed fear in her eyes. In an effort to ease the awkwardness of this necessary task, he said lightly, "If you think I'd take advantage of a woman in your condition, you should be thrown back down the mountain and left to the crows."

Abbi instinctively felt safe when he smiled kindly, but her mind was so dazed that she doubted she would even notice if he _did_ take advantage of her.

Cameron pulled the shoes from her feet and saw evidence of the injured ankle, but he knew he had to get her warm before attending to that. Trying to remain detached, he reached beneath her skirt to roll the stockings down her legs. A knot of dread rose in his throat. She was soaked to the skin. She felt as cold as if she were already dead.

As the man untied her cloak and began unbuttoning the bodice of her dress, Abbi found it easier to stay coherent. A dream-like quality hovered around her as his warm fingers efficiently removed her wet clothes. His face remained expressionless and his eyes met hers only once--intense blue eyes, she noticed, recalling their previous meeting clearly.

Cameron wrapped her firmly in a blanket and picked her up, carrying her to a bearskin rug near the fireplace. After stoking the fire generously, he turned to make certain she was still awake.

"I'm going to find something for you to wear," he said. "Don't get too close to the fire, now. If you get warm too fast it will do more harm than good." Abbi tried to smile at him. She couldn't have moved if she wanted to. He disappeared and she could feel the warmth from the flames. Gradually she began to feel cold again, when she'd felt nothing at all for quite some time.

Cameron returned to find her looking miserable instead of dazed. He pulled her to a sitting position and went behind her to unwrap the blanket. It surprised him to see several bruises showing on her back. "That must have been quite a fall you had back there," he said while slipping one of his nightshirts over her head. Carefully he pulled her arms into it, wishing he didn't feel so clumsy and awkward. As he laid her back down, he noticed she was starting to shake. "You're shivering." He smiled. "That's a good sign, I think. I do hope nothing's frozen."

Cameron wrapped an extra blanket around her feet and put her hands underneath her arms. "They'll stay warmer there," he said. "I'll be right back."

Soon after he left, Abbi felt colder than she ever had in her life. Her shivering became so intense that it scared her. As her body regained feeling, her mind emerged back into reality. She had nearly died out there! Maybe she still would. Closing her eyes, she relived the fear of lying helpless in the snow. "Please God," she prayed aloud through chattering teeth, "don't let me die."

"He won't," a deep voice said somewhere above her, and Abbi's eyes shot open. "He sent me to find you, didn't He?"

Remembering where she was, Abbi tried to show some relief. But her violent shivering made it impossible. "I'm so cold!" she cried.

"I know," he said as he helped her sit up. "I've brought you some warm coffee. Try to drink it."

He pressed the cup to her lips and Abbi tried to do as he'd said. But her lips were so cold that most of the warm liquid dripped from her mouth and ran over her throat. Cameron pulled the cup away and wiped the coffee from her skin with his shirtsleeve.

"Are you all right?" he asked, laying her back down. She looked up at him with fear in her eyes. "Good heavens," he added, "that was a stupid question."

Abbi tried to smile and let him know that his concern was reassuring. At least he wasn't angry. But all she could do was shiver, and a moan escaped her.

Cameron sat silently near this woman while her shivering only worsened. He knew the best and fastest way to get her warm, but he felt reluctant to act on the knowledge for more reasons than he could count. Again she moaned and he could almost feel her misery. Frustrated by watching her suffer, he put all of his own fears aside. Thinking of nothing but her survival, he pulled off his boots and stockings, then unbuttoned his shirt. She looked up at him with questioning eyes, and he spoke as he took it off. "The best way to get you warm is to give you my own body heat. I'm going to hold you until you warm up. Do you understand?" She nodded and he slid inside the blankets next to her, wrapping his arms and legs around her. He drew her as close as possible and pressed the side of his face against hers, hoping that her nose and chin could take his warmth as well.

Abbi felt reassurance as well as warmth coming from his nearness, and instinctively she nuzzled close to him. As she continued warming, her toes, fingers, and parts of her face pained her terribly, and tears flowed unwillingly from her eyes. She felt sick as she pulled her aching hands out to look at them. Her fingers were swollen and discolored, and she wondered if she would be permanently disfigured.

Cameron saw her shocked expression and quickly put her hands back beneath her arms where they could warm out of sight. "Don't worry," he whispered, "you'll be fine."

The pain only increased, and Abbi moaned in helpless anguish. The man holding her muttered kind reassurances, but still she felt afraid of what the results might be.

Cameron closed his eyes and held her closer, instinctively wanting to give everything he had to save her. His thoughts took him into territory better left unexplored, but one reality stood out starkly. He had sent her away, and now she was back. And the horrible, wonderful irony was that he _couldn't_ send her away. He just wasn't certain if that fact should be horrible or wonderful. He concluded that it was both.

While she absorbed his warmth, he absorbed her nearness. The very presence of a human life beyond his own felt unreal, dreamlike, almost magical. He felt his own human existence coming back to life through the simple evidence that he was not alone in this world. Hot tears gathered behind his closed eyelids while a warm sensation filled his entire being. He could almost believe that his mind and his spirit had been momentarily enlightened to some deeper purpose in this moment. His memories of their first meeting, his thoughts of her since, and the possible significance of the future all came together in an instant, leaving him deeply in awe.

He tentatively placed one hand into her wet hair, recalling well how it had looked in the sun the day he'd sent her away. He'd never imagined hair so beautiful. He'd indulged in fantasies of walking the streets of Horstberg and seeing her pass. He would have needed to look twice to assure himself that any person could indeed have such a striking head of hair, and then he would have looked again when he caught a glimpse of those unmatchable green eyes that silently dictated volumes of wisdom, soundly contradicting her aura of perfect innocence and naiveté. He could well imagine just from looking into her face that she was wholly unspoiled by the world, but at the same time understood its most human element in ways that could bring him to his knees. He would have followed her home and hovered at her door until she might consent to simply allow him to hold her hand or kiss her full lips. He would have worshiped her, as a knave worshiped a queen, a woman whose indifference to her own grace left her all the more graceful.

While Cameron had spent countless hours sharing a private relationship with this woman in his mind, he'd considered such an obsession harmless and empty, certain he would never see her again. But now the lonely hours he'd filled with thoughts of her left him unsettled and off balance. While he was holding her too closely to see her face, he studied his memory of it, willing his heart to calm down and his stomach to cease its violent fluttering. He'd worked very hard to convince himself that sending her away had been best for both of them, at the same time hating himself for having done it. A battle had raged inside of him ever since. Best in what regard? If he were somehow superhuman and capable of having his mind and spirit survive any degree of hell, then yes, her staying away was best. But she was here now, and she would be staying. Given the shape of his thoughts lately, he felt certain she had no idea the situation she had stumbled into, or the risk she would be taking to remain here with him while he hourly questioned his sanity. His mind wandered with the effects of her nearness, and he felt relatively certain that God would not approve of his version of the answer to his prayers.

Keeping his eyes closed, Cameron felt keenly attuned to her every movement, every subtle noise she made, as if his saving her life had already made him a part of it. Her need for the warmth he gave her was the first real purpose to his existence in more than three years, and he feared being able to ever let her go. Gradually her shivering ceased, along with any outward sign of pain. She lay still for a long while and he wondered if she'd fallen asleep. But he opened his eyes to find her staring at him with vivid green eyes--those eyes he remembered so well. For long moments he could only stare at her, searching for evidence that she was real. She returned his gaze as if she were attempting to do the same.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"I think so," she whispered in a raspy voice.

"Let me see your hands."

Abbi found herself so lost in his eyes that it took her a moment to realize he'd told her to do something. She reluctantly eased her hands from beneath her arms and held them up.

"Ah, yes." He smiled as he took them into his long fingers. "Much better. They might be a little tender, but I doubt there's any damage."

Cameron held her hands much longer than necessary, not wanting to allow reality to intrude upon these moments when he'd been justified in holding her so close. As he let go, her hands fell against his chest. Tempted as he was to kiss her, he had to force himself to concede that the justification no longer existed.

Abbi pondered the face before her, attempting to reconcile it with the face that had haunted her dreams. She had difficulty believing it had come to this and wondered how long it would be before he receded into anger and once again sent her home. When he tried to pull away, she grabbed on to him, not wanting to let go of the warmth that had saved her. He paused a moment to look at her thoughtfully, and then he stood and walked away.

Rolling onto her back, Abbi could feel the bruises where she'd fallen, and fresh pain shot from her ankle. She closed her eyes but couldn't relax, so she opened them again to take in the view. She'd hardly had a chance to observe her surroundings when she'd come here before. Above her was a high ceiling, going to a peak in the center, with polished log beams and high windows on either side. She could hear sounds in the distance, and a few minutes later the man reappeared and knelt beside her. He wore his shirt now, but it was left unbuttoned, showing just a hint of hair on his chest the same color as his beard, only a bit lighter than the dark hair on his head. She also noticed the dogs hovering curiously by his side.

"Your toes look good," he said after he'd unwrapped her feet. "It's a miracle." His tone was scolding. "Next time you go tramping through the snow, you should dress for the occasion. You're lucky to be alive."

Abbi wanted to explain but she couldn't think clearly enough to even form the words. "What are you doing?" she asked, feeling his hands on her tender ankle.

"This has got to be set," he replied, "or you'll limp for the rest of your life. Fortunately I've had some minimal medical training. We'll hope it's enough."

Abbi remained silent.

"It's going to hurt," he added gently. "I mean really hurt."

Abbi took a deep breath in an effort to prepare for the pain. Cameron braced her foot between his thighs, taking her ankle firmly into his hands. She let out a sharp cry and fell unconscious.

Georg returned to the stable following supper and found the doors wide open. At first he felt certain the wind had caused it, but then he noticed the broken stall and the missing horses. His heartbeat quickened as he rushed back outside. For several long moments he stood in the snow, as if the wind might answer the questions pounding through his head. He contemplated getting on a horse to see if he could find the missing animals, but he couldn't even see the fence that he knew was directly to his left.

He was still trying to fit it together in his head when a familiar mare galloped out of the blizzard and into the stable. He took hold of the reins, realizing that she had not simply run away. She had been bridled. Georg glanced again at the broken stall, then back to the horse, and finally at the door. Blaze. _Abbi!_

Sick with dread, Georg ran through the storm into the house. He nearly bumped into Elsa on the back stairs.

"Have you seen Abbi?" he demanded.

"Not since I prepared her bath," she reported, picking up on his panic. "When I straightened her room I noticed her cloak and a pair of shoes were gone. I assume she's left the house. Isn't she with . . ." she continued, but he was gone.

Georg rushed into the dining room without knocking. A frightened Elsa hurried in right behind him. He ignored Ramona's agitated expression. "Have you seen Miss Abbi?"

Lance stood uneasily. Ramona and Salina each nervously gripped the table, staring dumbly at Georg. Their expressions made it clear that she had been missed. Only the snow being slammed into the windows by the wind could be heard.

"What is it, Georg?" Ramona asked carefully. "What's wrong?"

"Blaze has busted down his stall. He's gone. Right after I discovered that, a mare ran into the stable--bridled but with no rider."

"What are you saying?" Lance demanded. Elsa gripped the back of a chair with trembling hands.

"I'm assuming she's gone after the horse, and . . ." he paused with emotion in his voice, "heaven only knows where she is now."

"We've got to find her." Lance stepped toward the door.

Georg took hold of his arm to stop him. "No one wants to find her more desperately than I do, I can assure you, but there's nothing we can do until this storm lets up without getting ourselves lost. I haven't seen a blizzard this bad in years. We'll send out a search party at dawn. Until then, I think we'd do well to pray." Georg gazed toward the window, adding in a prayerful tone, "Please God, let her make it through this night."

The women started to cry and Lance lumbered to a chair, looking as if he'd just been kicked in the chest. Georg knew exactly how he felt. Once the shock and horror had settled enough to have an intelligible conversation, it was decided that Lance would spend the night and set out with Georg and a significant number of his officers as soon as they had daylight to guide them. No one at Albrecht House slept well that night. Each howl of the wind was a painful reminder that Abbi was missing. 
Chapter Five

LURED BY OBSESSION

Cameron felt downright sorry for this girl as her pain dissipated into oblivion. He wished there was something he could have given her to ease it, but nothing was available. At least she was at peace now, but he wondered how she'd feel when she woke up to realize there was no way for her to go home. In truth, Cameron wondered if he could handle the situation himself. A gamut of indistinguishable emotion overcame him as he watched her in the fire's glow. _She was so beautiful!_ And he was so lonely. In awe of the reality, he gingerly touched her hair, watching it fall over his fingers as if it were spun from red and gold silk. He held his breath and touched her face, praying she wouldn't wake up and catch him behaving like a madman while he soaked up the actuality of human life before him.

Pondering the circumstance of their first meeting, he didn't know whether to feel terrified or thrilled at the implication of her being here now. Could it be possible? Had she truly been led to him through a dream? Was there some higher purpose in their coming together? Given the recent course of his thoughts, he felt inclined to consider her presence more a curse than a miracle. Perhaps the devil had sent her to torment him, to keep him alive and existing but never truly living.

Cameron fingered the little black pearl hanging on a chain around her neck. He noted its imperfect shape and wondered over its significance. He recalled seeing her wear it when she'd come here before. Again he touched her face and hair with hesitancy while she slept, needing further evidence that she was not just a hallucination. Astounded by her reality, he felt resentful, almost angry. How could saving someone's life bring such torment? Could he bear having to look at her every day until spring and keep himself in control when he'd been alone for so long?

Cameron knew his weaknesses well, but he felt prone to indulge in them for just a moment longer. With careful purpose he touched his lips to hers, both fearing and hoping that she might awaken and be faced with evidence of his attraction to her. The meaningless nature of such a one-sided kiss shocked him to the reality of such foolish thoughts and behavior. He forced some physical distance from her, getting something to eat and making certain all was in order for the night. Still she slept. He carried her upstairs to the bed and carefully tucked her in to be certain she stayed warm. He stoked up the fire and told himself he should leave her to sleep and he should go back downstairs and do the same. Yet he found himself pacing the room, wringing his hands, muttering to himself that this couldn't be real, and fearing that if he slept he would wake up to find that it hadn't been. Compelled to stay nearby, he told himself he should be there to offer reassurance when she regained consciousness. But he couldn't deny his own need to be close to her, to soak in the evidence of her breathing even while she slept.

Somewhere in the darkest hours of the night, the woman's peaceful rest passed into a slight delirium. Cameron touched her face to find it hot with fever. As exhausted as he was, he found purpose again in meeting her needs. Ironically, he was now trying to cool her down as he kept wet cloths against her skin and sat near her into daylight, praying her condition wouldn't worsen. He left only long enough to see to the animals' needs and his own before he was quickly back by her side. It wasn't until the sun was moving down in the west that Cameron fell asleep, sitting in a chair by the bed, his head buried against her side.

Georg stood gazing out the window of the little house where he lived behind the stables. Snow continued to fall, though less violently now. He wiped away yet another burst of tears, attempting to accept that Abbi was lost. The odds were high that she was dead. He couldn't believe it! He'd spent hours looking for her along with the search parties that had left at dawn, spreading out in every direction, combing the woods, the hills, the farms, even the forest.

He couldn't keep his mind from exploring the bits and pieces of information Abbi had shared that led him to believe there was the tiniest possibility she might be alive. He felt afraid to invest hope in such an idea, when hope was something he'd come to see as fragile and difficult to hold, but how could he not hope that by some miracle she had survived? How could he not want to believe there was a perfectly logical explanation for the timing of her disappearance? Or perhaps a miraculous one. He knew she'd taken repeated rides to a place where she'd said Blaze had shown a bizarre temperament. Knowing horses well, he suspected that only other horses nearby would bring on that kind of behavior. And how could he forget the drawing he'd seen just yesterday? A place she'd seen in a dream, she'd told him. Yet the drawing was so accurate. Was it possible she'd been there? Was this the same place Blaze had been drawn to? Could it possibly be a coincidence? Although Georg had steered the search parties away from the ridge, knowing that its secret must remain concealed, he had checked it out himself without finding any clues. The snow had buried everything. Even so, he couldn't deny himself the smallest measure of hope that maybe--just maybe--Cameron had found her in time.

As darkness settled again, Georg went into the big house where he found Elsa and his mother crying in the kitchen. Since he'd headed the search efforts and he was the oldest male employee, he took it upon himself to call the household together and lay out all of the facts that he could divulge. "There have been no messages," he reported solemnly, "or any sign that Abbi has been seen or assisted. I know she rode up the mountainside often, but we've searched every possible area, moving out in all directions from the valley with more than a hundred men, and have found nothing. That storm has buried everything. The only possibility of her still being alive is the chance that she lost herself near a mountain home and someone's taken her in. If that's the case, they'll probably be snowed in until spring. The people who live up there are few and far between but there is a small chance." He tried to make his voice sound hopeful as Abbi's aunts and the servants watched him fearfully. Even the captain had remained after sending his men away. He met Georg's eyes with an intensity that made him wonder if Lance's feelings for Abbi went much deeper than he'd suspected.

"I'm afraid we'll just have to wait until spring to know for certain," Georg continued. "When the snow's gone we'll find her . . . one way or another."

Georg felt sick at his own words and wondered how life could possibly go on without Abbi. Her friendship meant more to him than words could describe, and the emptiness that enveloped him was tangibly painful. Even with the knowledge he had that he couldn't share, he found the likelihood of Cameron rescuing her next to impossible. Still, he refused to give up hope--as fragile as it might be. He prayed with everything he had that someone--anyone--had found Abbi in time.

"Georg," Elsa spoke up, breaking the deathly silence that had come in response to his announcement, "I found this on Miss Abbi's dresser. With all the commotion, I'd forgotten about it . . . but . . ."

Georg took the invitation and read it. He sighed and said to Lance, "It's from the duke's sisters. She was supposed to be there today. Do they know that--"

"I'll tell them," Lance said. "I'm going back there anyway." He nearly sounded as if he might cry and Georg felt downright sorry for him.

With nothing more to be said, Georg hurried from the room, leaving the captain to comfort the ladies. Hot tears burned once again into Georg's eyes as he rushed toward the side door, hoping the winter air would cool his emotions.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Georg slipped out of his sleepless bed and got dressed. He crept into the house and up to Abbi's room, searching noiselessly for the drawing book. He found it more quickly than he'd expected, tucked beneath her bed, hidden by the lacy coverlet that hung to the floor. Georg sat on the bed and held the book toward the faint glow of the lamp he'd set on the bedside table. Opening the cover, he found the drawing of the mountain ridge. It hadn't been so long since he'd left supplies there, and he was amazed at the accuracy. The placement of every tree, the proportion of the ridge to the meadow. It was incredible. Then Georg turned the page. The covered bridge sketched roughly. Another page. The clearing where the tree had fallen. His heart beat quickly. It was a simple landmark, but it had to be passed to get to the trail that led to Cameron's lodge.

"What does it mean?" he whispered aloud to the darkness, trying to piece together what little Abbi had told him. A dream. A promise. _Good heavens,_ he thought. She said she could say nothing because she'd made a promise to someone. Who? What had she said? He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to remember. Then the words appeared in his mind. She'd made a promise to the person she had dreamed about.

Georg laughed at himself. Surely he was making more of this than it could possibly be. Even if Abbi had dreamed of this ridge and the trail that led there, she couldn't possibly have . . . Georg turned the page and nearly choked on the thought. _The lodge_. "Heaven help me," he muttered and touched the rough sketch, unable to believe his eyes. Had she seen it? Had she been there? And if she'd made a promise to the person she'd dreamed about, had she . . .? He turned the page and his breath caught in his chest, refusing to let go as he absorbed the reality that he was looking into Cameron's face for the first time in three years. He'd left supplies regularly. He'd communicated with him by the pigeons. In all that time, Cameron had never once agreed to see him, declaring that it was too dangerous. Yet here was evidence that Abbi _had_ seen him. It was too vivid to be an image from a dream. Wasn't it? Cameron looked older and careworn. His face was bearded, his hair longer, but there was no mistaking the eyes. She'd caught his likeness remarkably well, especially considering the roughness of the sketch.

Georg sat for nearly an hour, staring at the picture in front of him, contemplating what it could mean. _Abbi had spoken to Cameron_. As he put the pieces together he felt certain of it. The only possible explanation was that Abbi's dreams had led her to Cameron. He was too carefully hidden to be found otherwise. And she had made a promise to the person she'd dreamed about so she couldn't tell Georg. What other explanation could there be? Beyond that, Georg could only guess what had transpired. He'd sensed that Abbi was troubled by something, but her conversations with him had been cryptic. Oh, if she had only known what he knew!

Georg closed the drawing book and tucked it under his arm. He picked up the lamp and went quietly back to his own room, where he hid the book safely beneath the mattress. He couldn't risk anyone else seeing this, especially Abbi's friend, the Captain of the Guard.

Georg lay back on his bed and couldn't keep from smiling. He felt certain now that Abbi had to be with Cameron. If something had happened to her on her way to the ridge, he would have found some evidence of it. And if she'd made it that far, surely she was all right. But did she have any idea that the dream she had followed was the means to answer many prayers? If she didn't know now, he felt certain that before winter ended, she would.

Magda du Woernig got out of bed early, deciding that any attempt at sleep was pointless. She simply couldn't rid herself of a nagging discomfort that had settled in when she and Lena had first realized Abbi wasn't coming to their little social gathering. A message had come from Abbi the previous evening, stating that she planned to attend. Magda and Lena didn't know Abbi well, but they both agreed they'd felt something special about her the moment they'd met. They'd both been very busy in the meantime, but when Nikolaus had mentioned he'd seen Abbi, and suggested that they invite her over, they had agreed it was time to stop putting it off. But when Abbi hadn't come, they'd wondered if something was wrong. Of course, the weather was atrocious, and that was likely the cause, but for some reason Abbi's absence had troubled Magda terribly.

She dressed and decided to wander downstairs, perhaps to pass some time at the piano. She was barely into the main hall when Lance Dukerk appeared, looking stunned to see her.

"Is something wrong, Captain?" she asked.

"Uh . . . I was just . . . coming to find you. I . . . need to talk to you."

Magda felt uneasy. His expression alone let her know something was wrong. "What is it?" she asked and he turned his gaze so distinctly away that she had to wonder what kind of emotion he was struggling with.

"Could we sit down somewhere?" he asked.

"Of course," Magda said and led him through the nearest door into the east drawing room. They sat together on one of the sofas and she turned to face him. "What is it, Lance? What's wrong?"

"It's Abbi," he said. "She's--"

"Is she ill?" Magda interrupted, certain that would explain Lance's behavior as well as Abbi's absence.

"No, she's . . . lost, Magda."

_"Lost?"_

"She went out in the storm, searching for a runaway stallion, and . . . she never came back."

"Merciful heaven," Magda gasped and put a hand to her chest. "Are you saying she's . . . _dead?_ " She whispered the last, hardly daring say it aloud.

"There's a small possibility that some of the mountain people found her and took her in. But there are very few of them, and I fear it's unlikely. If she is alive, she could be snowed in until spring, so there's no way of knowing for certain until . . . until the snow thaws."

Again Lance turned away, his expression filled with agony. "You care for her," Magda guessed.

"Yes, I do," Lance said.

"Dare I guess there is something else troubling you?" she asked gently. When he didn't answer she added, "Are you thinking of Gwen?"

Lance nodded.

"We all miss her," Magda said.

"She could be difficult at times," Lance said, "but . . ."

"But she was still my sister, as she was yours. I think of her often, as well as . . ." Now it was Magda who turned her gaze away as emotion overtook her.

"Cameron," Lance filled in her thoughts, but he said the name as if it were a dirty word.

"Yes, Cameron," she retorted with the indignation of a princess. "His death was senseless. He didn't even have the opportunity for a fair trial."

"He was attempting to escape, Magda. You know as well as I that a trial would have seen him to the same end."

"I don't believe it," Magda said. "He wouldn't have killed her."

"There is no evidence otherwise."

"Of course you would say that. His absence has certainly left you in a fine position."

"I did not seek out this position. Nikolaus insisted that I--"

"In Cameron's absence, what else would he do? Nikolaus was only too happy to be rid of Cameron. I can't help wondering if Gwen's death had something to do with Cameron's knowledge of Nikolaus's indiscretions."

"Are you implying that Nikolaus had something to do with it?" He was undoubtedly appalled. "I don't pretend to endorse His Grace's character, but surely he would not stoop so low."

"I certainly don't believe Nikolaus is capable of murder," Magda said, "but that doesn't mean he didn't have _something_ to do with it. It's all too bizarre and complicated to even begin to know what happened. But Nikolaus becomes steadily more power-hungry, and he has many people under his thumb who are far from trustworthy. His improprieties are mounting. When Mother was alive, she kept him balanced. But in her absence, he's becoming more and more deplorable. I fear what he may end up doing to this country, and that he will undo himself in the process. I can't imagine the people putting up with it indefinitely."

"What is there to be done about it? He is our ruler, Magda. There are no other options."

"There are always options," she said in an angry whisper. _"I_ could rule this country, Lance. And before you point out the fact that I'm a woman, may I remind you that Lena or I have the power to choose a suitable regent--or to marry one. In spite of my preference to marry for love, I _would_ marry for my country if it would free her from tyranny. There are _always_ options."

Lance looked utterly stunned before he said with an edge of sarcasm, "How very treasonous of you, Your Highness."

She countered hotly, "You go ahead and tell Nikolaus I said it, and then you can give the order to have me executed."

"You know I would never repeat any such thing."

"I know or I wouldn't have said it. But that's how I feel, Lance. Revolutions brew when good people are subjected to such ridiculous tyranny. As his sisters we stand back and watch, wondering when the people might be pushed too far and we'll _all_ be executed." She softened her voice and got to a point that she'd been wanting to bring up to Lance for a long time now. "Your position allows you a great deal of influence on Nikolaus. There is much resting on your shoulders. Cameron is gone and there's nothing to be done to change that. But _you_ must do all you can to influence Nikolaus for good, as Cameron would have, or at least he tried."

"He left some difficult shoes to fill, I must admit." He said it begrudgingly, and Magda knew Lance believed Cameron had killed Gwen. Still, his respect for Cameron crept through.

"Yes, he did," Magda said. "And whatever he may or may not have been guilty of, I still remember him fondly. He will always have a place in my heart. It's tragic the way Nikolaus has defamed him so thoroughly. Even in death, he could not acknowledge the good Cameron had done. He stripped him of all honor, with no mention of his rank or position. Cameron worked hard to get where he was, and he deserved better than that, but . . . listen to me rambling on. Forgive me, Lance. I didn't mean to get off on a tangent . . . and with such vehemence, but . . ."

"But you miss him, I know."

"And now Abbi is gone," Magda said, going back to where their conversation had begun.

"Yes," he said, coming to his feet, "but there is nothing to be done about it. One more reason to put heart and soul into my duties."

"As Cameron did," Magda felt compelled to add. She smiled in spite of his dubious expression. "Perhaps you have more in common with him than you think."

Lance looked away abruptly. "I will do my best to guide Nikolaus appropriately," he declared. "That is all I can do."

"Thank you. That's all we ask."

Lance hurried from the room. Magda stared at the door long after it had closed. And then she cried. She cried for the friends and loved ones she had lost. And for Abbi. She hardly knew her, and yet the loss felt deep.

Abbi awoke with the sensation that time had passed. Opening her eyes with effort, she became aware of a warm glow diffused over a large room, as if a fire were burning low with no other light present. Looking down the bed, she was surprised to see an arm lying across her, and a head of dark wavy hair resting against her side. She was really here. He was really with her. It wasn't a dream. She moved to ease the stiffness in her back, and her rescuer's head shot up as if she'd startled him from a bad dream. Their eyes connected in a way that made her heart quicken.

"You're going to make it," he whispered hoarsely.

Abbi spoke with effort. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?" he asked.

"You were . . . my ankle."

"It was dislocated. A bit painful in resetting, as I'm sure you noticed. But with that splint on for a while, it should be fine."

"How long have I been here?"

"Since last night. You've had a fever. I'm not much of a nursemaid, but it looks as though you've made it through." A slight smile touched his lips. "And the frostbite didn't damage anything permanently."

Abbi sighed to realize she'd survived her ordeal, and she turned to examine her surroundings. Her eyes felt grainy but she forced them to look about the dimly lit room. It appeared to be built entirely of logs, with log beams in the ceiling. The furnishings were practical, the decor comfortable. Satisfied with that, Abbi focused on the man at her bedside--her savior. Although he was sitting, she knew him to be tall. His dark hair eased from waves moving haphazardly off his face into loose curls that hung over his neck. He wore a beard that didn't cover much of his face, but it looked ragged and unkempt. Intense blue eyes hinted at a softer side to an otherwise brusque exterior. How clearly she recalled those eyes!

"It's late," he said. "I'll let you sleep now. If you need anything, just call. I'm not far away."

"Who do I call for?" she asked. "I don't even know who you are."

Cameron hesitated momentarily, wondering how much to tell her. He'd once told her that it was better she didn't know his name, but they could hardly be nameless and live under the same roof for months. "Just call me Cameron. We'll talk more in the morning. You've been through a great deal and need your rest."

As he rose and turned to leave, Abbi stopped him. "Cameron?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He only smiled in reply and closed the door.

"Cameron," Abbi whispered into the empty room. She knew his name, and she was in his home. Perhaps, finally, she could be free of the frustrated urgency that had become her companion since that initial dream had led her to his door. "Thank you, God," she muttered and slept.

Because his bed was in use, Cameron threw some blankets down over the rug in front of the fireplace and tried in vain to sleep. It was over now. She had made it through. Sensing her natural strength, he felt confident that she'd be up and about in no time.

He felt suddenly lonely and wondered why. He'd been lonely for years, but now he was no longer alone, and the loneliness had become freshly intense. After hours of hovering so close to her, the distance between them now felt brutal. Her presence in his home left him far from indifferent, and again he wondered if he should regard it as a curse or a blessing.

While Cameron considered his own circumstances and state of mind, he wondered what the coming months had in store for them, being thrown together this way. He doubted that he had the ability to handle the circumstances appropriately. She was beautiful and he was lonely. And far worse was the fact that he was deeply ingrained into habits of being alone. How long had it been since self-restraint or respectable discourse had been a requirement of his life? As long as he'd kept himself and the animals fed and living, there had been no one to answer to and no agenda to be met. The dogs didn't care how he spoke to them; they accepted him no matter how foul his mood. But a young woman was not likely to be so tolerant. The lodge was small, and her presence felt immense.

In spite of the sparse amount of sleep he'd gotten since she'd shown up, Cameron lay awake far into the night, playing every possibility over and over in his mind. He knew there was only one possible way to deal with the situation. He simply couldn't allow himself to have any personal involvement with her whatsoever. He was here for reasons this woman must never know--for his protection as well as hers. The less she knew about him--and perhaps just as important, the less she liked him--the better for both of them. As far as he could see, there were simply no other options. So he settled his mind on the unpleasantry before him and slept at last.

Abbi woke to a room filled with light, the kind of light that was darkened by clouds but brightened by snow. It took some effort to sit up when she found her body aching and weak. She could see through the windows that snow was falling, but a fire burned vigorously nearby to compensate. It had been recently stoked and she felt grateful for its warmth as she stretched and breathed in the day--and the fact that she had lived to see it. Her aching spirit felt soothed to consider where she was and what had transpired between her and the obsession of her dreams. She pondered her surroundings and felt increasingly comfortable. The bed in which she'd slept was brass but simply designed. The other furnishings were equally simple and practical, but the room had a coziness that reminded her of her own. A wide, cushioned window seat enhanced the window to her right. A man's clothes and belongings were evident, but it only took a glance to surmise that he was more tidy than sloppy.

A rumbling in her stomach reminded her of how long it had been since she'd eaten. Since she still wore the nightshirt she'd been helped into that first night, she also longed for some water to wash up. Carefully swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Abbi noted the neatly made splint on her ankle. She pondered it for a minute, recalling the events that had led up to her losing consciousness. It all felt like more of a dream than any dream that had ever come to her in sleep _._

_Cameron. His name was Cameron_.

Abbi took hold of the bedpost and eased up onto her good leg. She took a moment to measure her equilibrium then stepped toward the door where Cameron had left last night. It only took one step to prove just how tender that ankle was. The pain provoked a sudden dizziness, and she fell to her knees with a hollow thud against the wood floor. Footsteps bounded up the stairs and the door flew open.

"You've already been foolish enough to end up here," Cameron snapped. "Let's not kill yourself now and waste all my good effort."

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

He said nothing as he helped her back into bed.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you," she persisted, sensing his displeasure.

"It's no trouble saving the life of a fellow human being. I'd have done the same for an old man." His voice was toneless but his eyes took her back to their first meeting. He was angry. The tenderness she'd seen in the man who had saved her life was completely absent and she knew it wouldn't be long before he sent her on her way, leaving her to wonder once again what purpose there might have been for all of this.

"It might have been better if you _were_ an old man," he added tersely, but Abbi could find no retort. As he leaned against the bedpost and folded his arms across his chest, she took in his appearance. In the space of a heartbeat, her entire perception of this man and the circumstances of their coming together changed. She had felt drawn to him, even obsessed. Yet even as she'd struggled for weeks with an undefinable urgency to help him, her feelings had been comparable to coming upon an injured and helpless child, or an elderly woman in need. Something almost maternal and instinctively benevolent had accompanied her thoughts of him. She'd considered her ability to help him at some level of friendship, in the way that Georg was a friend and constant support to her. But as she took in the man before her now, he was neither helpless nor elderly, and the feelings that entered her heart and pumped through her veins had nothing to do with a desire for friendship. He was tall and strong and virile. And they were all alone. She tried to tell herself that her purpose in his life surely had no romantic implications, but at the same time she recalled how close he'd held her to share his warmth--and the fact that he'd been shirtless. A ferocious quivering erupted in her stomach, making it difficult to keep her breathing steady.

Their eyes met boldly for a long moment while she could feel him appraising her in daylight, as she was doing the same to him. This man she knew only as Cameron was dressed simply in high dark boots, narrow black breeches, and a loose-fitting white shirt with an unbuttoned waistcoat over it. The clothes looked well worn but clean, and mildly elegant. She could imagine that he'd once lived a very different life. In spite of his unkempt beard and hair, he didn't appear the type to live as a mountain hermit, either by his dress or by his manner. And she couldn't help wondering, as she had a thousand times, what he was doing here and why. In contrast to his attire, he had a rugged appearance. His face looked sun-soaked and slightly weathered, the only indication that he had lived a harsh life.

When she realized that he was waiting for a response, she finally asked, "And why would it be better if I were an old man?"

"Long story--and boring."

"I'm listening." She sensed that his dragging out the conversation was more for the sake of an excuse to stay in the room than any desire to offer or receive information.

"After breakfast," he stated as he strode to the door. "I'm starved. And stay right there." He pointed a threatening finger at her, looking almost cruel. "No more accidents--for my sake as well as yours."

He hurried from the room, leaving Abbi in a wake of confusion. The gentle kindness of the man who had saved her life had receded into the man she had met last summer--a man who was angry and afraid. No matter what had led her here, if he was going to treat her like this, she'd rather not stay. She'd known from the start that it was impossible to help him if he didn't want to be helped. Putting into the mix her own changed perceptions, she knew that staying here with him under these circumstances was not a good idea, dreams or no dreams. All else aside, she needed to get home as quickly as possible. She had already been gone two days, and knew she'd be sorely missed and worried over. Her aunts and Georg would be frantic.

When Cameron returned with a breakfast tray and set it on her lap, Abbi was full of questions. But the answer to her first squelched the others. "Go home?" He laughed. "You must be joking!" His expression was as contemptuous as his tone.

"I'm quite serious," she said firmly, refusing to be intimidated.

"I think it's time for a long story," he said. "Eat your breakfast."

The food smelled good and Abbi was definitely hungry, but apprehension put her appetite on hold. Cameron sat in a chair near the foot of the bed and folded his arms.

"I'll eat later," she said. "Get on with your story, please."

He sighed as if he were only doing this out of necessity. "We are in seclusion, my dear girl," he said. "You can't get any more secluded than this. The only way on or off this mountain," his words had a distasteful edge, "is through that crevice where you nearly got yourself killed. But of course you already knew that. When that pass is filled with snow, as it is now, it's completely impossible to go up or down. And there's no way around. That's why I'm here--so I can't be found. And that's why you're stuck here with me."

Abbi let his words sink in while her heart beat so hard she feared it might pound to a dead stop and end her life. Attempting to accept the implications in light of all that had led to this moment, she felt more afraid than she ever had in her life. Her mind went to the people who would be wondering over her whereabouts. Her heart ached for Georg as she considered how he might perceive her absence. And her aunts. And the captain. She'd missed her appointment with the duke's sisters. Did they think she was dead? What else _could_ they think?

"There must be a way," she protested, although her voice lacked any degree of conviction. "I have responsibilities. I've got to get back."

"It doesn't matter who you are or what you should be doing. You can't leave."

Cameron watched her squeeze her eyes closed as he hurled the final blow. He wanted to take her in his arms and assure her that he would take good care of her, that everything would be all right. But it was easier--and mandatory--to keep barriers between them. He watched her eyes come slowly open, releasing a strand of tears that fell down her face. He wanted to wipe them away, but he also wanted to kiss her, and he wasn't sure he could do one without being too closely tempted to do the other.

Abbi smoothed her tears away, too stunned by the news to be embarrassed by them. "How long?" she asked warily, afraid of the answer.

"April, if we're real lucky."

She took a deep breath and swallowed the hard knot in her throat. "And that's why I should have been an old man."

"It would have suited me better."

His words were cold, and Abbi had to blink back the threat of more tears. She could cry later when he wasn't staring at her as if she'd scourged his life. Setting her own despair aside for the moment, she returned his stare, certain the only way to deal with this man--especially through an entire winter--was to be just as strong and bold as he.

"Why?" she asked, lifting her chin.

"Are you that naive or just stupid? I once considered myself a gentleman, but that was a long time ago. Now I am a man too close to the edge of insanity to quibble about moral judgment and social propriety when loneliness long ago took full control of my every judgment, and I have no society to answer to. You know absolutely nothing about me."

"I'm in danger?" she asked. "Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Maybe." His eyes showed more concern than anger as he added, "Do you really think it's wise to be trapped with a man who has been completely alone for three years?"

Cameron had expected her to show alarm or fear as he gave her evidence to back up his reference to insanity. But she took him in with a gaze of perfect compassion while new tears rose in her eyes. "Three years?" she echoed breathlessly. "How have you survived?"

Cameron hated the pity in her eyes even more than he loathed the desire he felt to respond to it, and allow her to get close enough to soothe his pain. He knew she wasn't asking how he'd managed to keep himself fed. So he answered her question with one to counter it. "What makes you think I have?"

She didn't look as disconcerted as he might have expected, and he had to admit that her lack of predictability left him disarmed. While he was attempting to keep her in her place with a cold stare, he was startled by the way she returned it. How could he feel so intimidated when he was trying so hard to intimidate her?

"Why are you here, Cameron?" she asked as if he were on trial.

"The reason I'm here is of no importance to you. Just be glad that I was, or you wouldn't be alive. Which brings me to an important point. Why _are_ you here, young lady? I made it perfectly clear that I didn't want you coming back here, _ever!"_

"My stallion broke out of the stable," she stated, not ruffled by his anger. "I knew he would come here. I was hoping to get him and be gone, but . . ." She sighed and glanced down. "I didn't break my promise to you. I swear it . . . not until the storm. And I was only--"

"I know. You already told me. If nothing else, the horse you risked your life for is in my stable."

"Blaze?" she asked, her countenance brightening. "He's here?"

"He didn't mention his name, but yes, he's here."

Ignoring his jest, she asked, "Is he all right?"

"I'd say he's doing better than the rest of us." He smirked. "It seems he was lured by some bizarre obsession; looking for a little romance, perhaps. Smart horse." He raised his eyebrows playfully, and Abbi felt uneasy over the contradictions in his character. She couldn't help wondering which personality was the real Cameron.

Abbi's unity with Blaze once again became evident as she considered her own obsessions that had lured her here. Until the storm she'd not come through the ridge, as she'd promised, but she _had_ been lured to the lower meadow over and over, always consumed with thoughts of this man. She'd suspected Blaze's reasons for wanting to get through the ridge, but _a little romance_ had never once crossed Abbi's mind in regard to her feelings for this man. Until today. And now she felt wholly unnerved by every facet of this situation. She wondered what her dreams had led her to, and how she was supposed to deal with the results now that they couldn't be undone. Still, she was alive, and sheltered, and fed. And she needed to keep perspective.

Putting an abrupt end to the conversation, Cameron moved toward the door, saying, "I'll get the tray later."

"Cameron?" she asked.

He turned impatiently.

"Could I perhaps get some water . . . to freshen up?"

"Later," he said, "I've got work to do."

Life on the mountain quickly fell into a routine which Abbi abhorred. Cameron brought her meals and saw to her needs. He said barely what was necessary and insisted that she stay in bed. She had to demand wash water to get it, and finally coerced him into finding her another nightshirt so she could wear something fresh. Although she had to admit that Cameron managed well enough. The meals weren't too bad, and the nightshirt came back to her room freshly laundered the next day.

Abbi felt weak and sore from her ordeal, but after a few days it gradually passed, and the only remaining sign of her brush with death was the splint on her ankle. Feeling as well as she did, Abbi's frustration increased daily at being stuck in this room. She missed Blaze and wondered if Cameron was treating him well. He assured her that he was, but she would have preferred to do it herself. She missed fresh air and conversation and the security of home. While she tried not to dwell on the negative aspects of the situation, she knew a change of scenery and something to occupy her time would do wonders for her spirits. But Cameron insisted that she stay put, and he was a difficult man to argue with. He brought her a book to read that she found boring, but while he was out of the lodge Abbi occupied herself by moving carefully about the room to ease the stiffness in her legs, even though she could barely touch her ailing foot to the floor at all.

Each day Cameron came to her room several times to see that her needs were met and to stoke the fire. He also brought chopped wood which he added daily to a pile in the corner near the fireplace, even though there was already enough there to last a good many days. Abbi said little to him beyond polite requests and a "thank you" here and there. He'd made it clear he had no interest in conversation, or even being remotely polite. But on a particular afternoon she ventured to ask, "Do you have any paper available?"

He glanced over his shoulder from where he was putting wood on the fire. "What kind of paper?"

"Just . . . paper."

"For what purpose?" he asked, as if she might be conspiring to commit some crime against him.

"I would like to draw, if you must know. It's something I enjoy, and I thought it might help ease my boredom."

"I'll see what I can do," he said and left the room abruptly.

It wasn't until the following afternoon that Cameron came into the room and tossed a book and pencil on the bed at her side.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It's paper and pencil," he said with mock grandeur, as if he'd granted freedom to a condemned prisoner.

Abbi pressed her hand over the smooth leather binding of the book, then she opened it to flip through the thick stack of blank white paper. "Where did you get it?" she asked. "It's so fine."

"I'm in the habit of keeping a journal," he stated with his back to her as he worked at the fireplace. "I have several blank ones on hand."

"But if you'll need this in the future, then--"

"Keep it. I won't miss it. There isn't much to write about these days." He left the room again without even glancing in her direction.

Abbi pushed away the irritation spurred by his brashness, and instead concentrated on the lovely gift he'd given her. In her present state of boredom and confinement, it was priceless. She began sketching right away, taking great care with each drawing, rather than filling the book up quickly. She did sketches of her surroundings, and even of her benefactor, always careful to keep her drawings from his view whenever he came into the room. And she did drawings from memory, things from home, and things she had seen in books. And even things from her own imagination. She felt the practice improved her skills, and she found that she actually enjoyed drawing more than she ever had before--perhaps because it eased the difficulty of her circumstances.

Every day for what seemed like hours, Cameron chopped wood below Abbi's window, and the heavy crack of his axe splitting timbers echoed against the mountain. Out of sheer boredom, Abbi occasionally sat in the window seat and watched intently, trying to figure him out. Despite Cameron's brash nature, she often remembered how he had been the night he'd saved her life. And how could she forget the dream that had lured her here in the first place? And the way it had made her feel! At times it was easy to believe there was nothing to him beyond his cruel nature. But watching him while he wasn't aware, it was easier to recall the tenderness she'd witnessed, and she sensed something deeper. Pondering the single fact that he'd been completely alone for three years, she found it difficult to dislike him. She felt more prone to compassion as she considered that his years of loneliness had likely left him bitter and understandably disoriented at no longer being alone.

As Abbi began to wonder if he'd ever run out of wood to chop, he paused and leaned against the axe. Methodically he removed one glove to wipe the sweat from his brow. While replacing it he glanced up and caught sight of Abbi at the window. He stared boldly at her and Abbi wondered if he'd scold her later for being out of bed. Certain he was just trying to intimidate her, she stared back, proud of herself for her defiance. She couldn't hold back a smile, and was gratified to see him smile back--especially seeing how reluctantly it had come. A fluttering sensation caught her off guard. It was nice to see him smile.

Finally looking away, Cameron fell back into the rhythm of his chore, glancing up toward the window occasionally. Abbi played idly with the pearl hanging around her neck while she watched him with deep contemplation as to what compelled him to live this kind of life. When he finished at last, he looked up once more before turning and walking away. A minute later Abbi heard him enter below, followed by his familiar footsteps on the stairs. He entered the bedroom still wearing the long coat he wore to work in. His face was red and glistening with sweat from his labor in the cold air.

"What are you doing?" he asked, but it sounded a little less gruff than usual.

"Being a naughty girl and sitting by the window."

"I see." He removed his coat and gloves and threw them to a chair. Abbi noticed traces of frost in his beard before he squatted near the fire to stoke it.

"Are you going to beat me or just confine me to bed for another ten days?" she asked, wanting to provoke him.

"You shouldn't use that leg," he said, still attending the fire.

"Is that how you justify keeping me prisoner up here?"

Cameron hated the guilt that rushed into him at her accusation. But he quickly forced it back and tossed her an angry glare before piling more wood on the fire.

"You don't even know my name," she said and the guilt almost conquered.

Cameron reminded himself for the thousandth time of what he felt certain was best for both of them before he snapped, "That's right. And I don't want to know it, either."

She sounded equally angry as she countered, "Do you think by pretending I don't exist, I'll go away? Perhaps I should sleep with the horses if you want me to, then I can stay out of your way."

"Don't be ridiculous." He stood to face her.

"Why not? You are! I can't take it any longer. I have to get out of this room or I'll lose my mind. I've got one good leg, Cameron, but it won't be for long if I don't get a chance to use it. Please, let me move around and take care of myself. There's no need for you to wait on me. I'm capable of at least seeing to my own needs."

Cameron took in her determined gaze, wondering how she could look so frightened and unfaltering at the same time. While he was pondering how to handle this without backing down on his convictions, she asked in a voice that chilled him as much from her tone as the memory it provoked, "Didn't your mother ever tell you about Goldilocks?" Their eyes met, and he was taken back to that moment he'd first seen her. Did she have any idea what she had done to his life since then? Could she have the slightest comprehension of the internal hell in which he existed? Did she know the torment she was putting him through while he hourly resisted the desire to just bask in her presence and revel in the thrill of human companionship? His temptation to indulge crept closer to the surface as she added, "Perhaps you'd like to hear _my_ version. When Goldilocks became stranded in a strange house in the woods, the big bad wolf kept her locked in the tower until she became as lonely and miserable as he was."

Cameron wanted to shout at her for daring to throw such implications in his face. But she'd said it with such perfect compassion that he became more preoccupied with not dissolving into hysterical weeping as he realized that she _did_ have some comprehension of his internal hell--if only slightly. He tried for a long moment to consider all of this from her perspective, which he felt certain was exactly what she'd intended. Attempting to save face, even a little, he simply said, "There's no big bad wolf in the story of Goldilocks. You're getting your fairy tales mixed up, girl."

"I told you it was _my_ version. I can tell it any way I choose."

He sputtered a brief laugh, amazed at her defiance, her audacity, her absolute charm that left him utterly bewitched and disarmed. The battle was lost, and the white flag of truce rose high as he reached out a hand toward her. "Come along," he said.

Abbi saw the tender side of him rise into his eyes and fill his countenance, leaving her drawn to him so completely that something warm and magical happened when she slipped her hand into his. He looked quickly away, but not before his gaze provoked a quivering in her stomach.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he placed an arm around her waist to help her walk.

"Just downstairs. Neither of us is in a position to go dancing."

Abbi laughed, sighing deeply as they moved through the doorway. She felt as though she could breathe again. They moved across a landing where three large trunks were lined up against the wall opposite the railing which overlooked the common room below. From the landing she could see through high windows that the tree-covered mountainside rose steeply behind the lodge. With everything covered in deep snow, the view was magnificent.

Cameron helped her down the stairs, not seeming impatient at her slowness. After the stairs turned, ending in the common room near the dining table where she had once sat briefly, he helped her cross to the far side where two sofas faced each other near a large fireplace. He seemed reluctant to let go of her as he helped her sit down. The dogs immediately poked their noses at her curiously. Abbi laughed and patted their heads, which in turn made them eager for her attention.

"Back!" Cameron bellowed as if he were irritated by their acceptance of her. The dogs eased away, looking sulky.

"Enjoy yourself," he said, turning to head back upstairs. "Life's no better down here."

"That's strictly your opinion," she replied vibrantly.

Cameron came down the stairs a moment later with his coat on and left the house without another word. Abbi was content to sit for a long while and soak in her surroundings. The room was large and decorated with practicality. Looking at the fireplace, she remembered lying near it on the night he had brought her here. There was a large bearskin rug in front of the fire, and a pile of wood in the corner that seemed astounding. It occurred to her that perhaps Cameron chopped wood with more purpose than just supplying fuel for the fires.

The remaining furnishings were simple: a desk, a well-stocked book cupboard with overstuffed chairs on either side, and a dining table with two chairs. Other than that there was only a dish cupboard near the dining area, and a low, square table between the sofas. A rifle and a crossbow hung above the fireplace, which were the only wall adornments. Abbi liked the mood of the room, and the way it spoke of the man who lived here. And he kept it tidy--a bit dusty perhaps, but tidy.

Abbi hopped around the room a little to become more acquainted with her surroundings. The dogs followed her curiously and then settled close together near the fireplace, adding a warmth to the decor. She added some wood to the fire and made herself comfortable on the other sofa. She wondered, as she often did, about the people she'd left behind and what their reactions might have been to her disappearance. It was a logical assumption that they would think she was dead. She hoped they hadn't had a funeral. That would certainly complicate things when she went back. Concentrating her effort on looking at the positive side of everything, Abbi decided that perhaps her escape from the problems she'd left behind was not really so bad. The estate was in good hands, and maybe time would ease some of the frustrations she'd dealt with. There were, of course, disturbing aspects to being pulled away from her home like this. But it would do no good to dwell on those, so she concentrated on the positive and decided to make the most of it. The most positive point of all was that, in spite of the obvious challenges of the situation, she had finally come to peace with the dreams that had plagued her, luring her to this place where she had now eerily become stranded. Recalling her initial dream about Cameron, and the feelings that had consumed her ever since, she had to conclude that she was supposed to be here. And the turmoil she'd felt in trying to honor her promise to stay away was no longer an issue. Instinctively she knew Cameron needed her, even if she didn't understand why.

Abbi found a book that looked mildly intriguing and settled herself near the fire to read. A few hours later Cameron returned and hung his coat near the door before he approached Abbi and presented her with a crutch.

"There!" he said triumphantly. "Now you've got no reason to complain."

Abbi smiled. "Aren't you clever."

"Try it out." He took hold of her hand to pull her to her feet, placing the crutch neatly under her arm.

"Just right," she said, looking up at him. "Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you."

"It was nothing. I should have done it a week ago." He was silent a moment, seeming embarrassed. "Let's see you use it," he said at last.

Abbi went carefully at first, but it only took a few steps to appreciate how much easier she could move about. "It's wonderful," she insisted and saw him smile.

"If you can make it up those stairs," he said, "I've got something to show you."

Abbi moved slowly up the stairs with Cameron close behind. Again he showed no impatience at her slow pace. When they reached the landing, he moved past her and took hold of the trunk closest to the bedroom door. He dragged it near the bed and Abbi followed. She waited silently as he stooped to open it, sighing with hesitancy before lifting the lid.

Abbi saw immediately that it was filled with women's clothing. "I thought you could probably use these," he said. "I don't know how well they'll fit, but you're welcome to do what you want with them. There's needle and thread in the desk." Abbi remained silent, sensing some kind of emotion in him as he stared almost helplessly into the open trunk. His voice was dry as he continued, "I'm not sure what's in here, but it should help."

Abbi didn't want to ask who had owned the clothes, but she knew she could never feel comfortable wearing them if she didn't know what she was dealing with. "Who did they belong to?" she asked with caution.

He looked up abruptly but didn't seem disturbed by her question. "My wife."

Abbi was taken aback to realize just how little she knew about him. She had only seen Cameron alone, and had wrongly assumed he'd always been this way.

"Where is she now?" Abbi asked, praying the answer wouldn't leave her disillusioned. The circumstances and her feelings were complicated enough without throwing a wife into the mix.

"She's dead," he said without emotion.

"I'm sorry," was the only thing she could think to say. And she was. Sorry for his loss and his grief. But at the same time her relief was deep--deeper than she wanted to admit.

Coming out of a trance-like state, he added, "It doesn't matter anymore. It's been a terribly long time."

"Then it won't bother you to see me in her clothes?"

"Heavens no." He chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed.

Abbi sensed something unusually open in his mood, so she sat next to him and asked as tenderly as she could, "How did she die?"

"You're a curious little thing."

"Not usually, if you must know."

"All right, I'll tell you. She was murdered."

Cameron expected her to be shocked and couldn't hide his disappointment when she wasn't. Once again he saw only compassion.

"Who did it?" she asked, as if she might personally hunt the killer down and see justice met.

Cameron stood slowly and walked to the window so she couldn't see his face. "Me," he said, knowing now she _must_ be shocked. Casually he turned to face her, tucked his hair behind his ear with his fingers, and folded his arms. "Or at least that's what they say."

Abbi watched him silently, grasping a clue to why he was here.

Cameron expected her to ask if he was guilty, but she only said, "Did you love her?"

Now he looked sad, and Abbi wished she hadn't asked. He sat down hard in the window seat and looked at her fiercely. "If I had, she'd be dead just the same."

Abbi took a sharp breath and held it. She knew little about him, but what she knew was heartbreaking. He'd been married to a woman he didn't love, and accused of killing her when she'd come to a tragic end. And now he'd been completely alone for three years. All at once she saw resentment, hatred, regret, and a deep sadness flash through his eyes. She expected him to get up and leave as their conversation crept into sensitive territory, but he stayed, one arm folded over the other, looking thoughtfully distant.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. He looked surprised and she added, "Talking helps, you know. Surely you've missed that." Cameron seemed dazed but said nothing. "I'm not going anywhere," she added lightly. "I've got all the time in the world."

She wondered if he would resist opening up, but he finally said, "There's not much to tell, really. It was rather a marriage of convenience. I was comfortable with her because we'd grown up together, but there was certainly no love involved. Our relationship dwindled quickly."

Abbi felt a strange relief from his confession. She wanted to ask about the murder, but felt it might be better to tread carefully with the subject. She settled for one more question. "What was her name?"

"Why do you want to know that?"

"If I'm going to wear her clothes, I'd like to know her name."

"Gwendolyn," he said with no inflection in his voice. He tilted his head slightly to look at her. "And what, may I ask, is _your_ name?"

"Why do you want to know my name now when you didn't earlier today?"

"You want to know who owned the clothes. I want to know who'll be wearing them."

"Abbi."

"Abbi," he repeated carefully. "It suits you. But it must be short for something else. People don't name a beautiful daughter just Abbi."

"Abilee," she said, realizing he'd just told her she was beautiful.

He smiled. "A one-of-a-kind name."

"Yes, I suppose it is. I believe my mother made it up." Abbi couldn't resist asking about _his_ name. "And what of Cameron? It's not German, yet you obviously are."

"The name is Scottish," he said. "My father traveled a great deal in his youth. During a lengthy stay in the highlands, he was befriended by a man in the Cameron clan. Apparently this man saved his life during a difficult situation."

"And so he named his son Cameron," Abbi concluded.

Cameron nodded and looked down as if he felt suddenly uncomfortable. He turned in the window seat to look outside, and Abbi became fascinated by his profile against the sunlight. She discreetly pulled her drawing book from beneath her pillow and hurried to find an empty page. He glanced toward her to investigate the noise and she said, "No, turn back the way you were. Don't look at me."

Cameron did as she asked but not without growling, "Surely you can find something better to sketch than me."

"At the moment, no," she insisted.

"If you're drawing pictures of me, you'll have to leave that book here when you go."

"Why is that?" She sketched frantically, doubting he'd stay put for long.

"I'm a wanted man, Abbi." Their eyes met briefly, and Abbi could almost feel a part of him reaching out to her. He turned quickly back to his pose, adding, "We can't have anyone knowing that you spent the winter with a fugitive--for your sake as well as mine."

Abbi stopped sketching for a moment as several unanswered questions suddenly made sense. She felt some hope to see him opening up to her and prayed it would continue.
Chapter Six

THE SKEPTIC

For several minutes Cameron sat in comfortable silence, apparently lost in thought, and Abbi was grateful for the opportunity to just watch him openly as she sketched. His loose, thick curls hung down the back of his neck. But the way he combed his hair back off his face left his brow, ear, and throat fully visible. His beard concealed only the lowest part of his face, growing naturally in a way that left most of his cheeks bare. His thoughtful expression wasn't difficult to capture. His freshly laundered white shirt billowed over his chest and arms, looking almost cloudlike. It seemed the black braces going over his shoulders were all that kept it from floating away. His narrow black breeches blended into the high black boots he always wore. One booted foot was planted firmly on the floor, the other in the window seat, with his knee folded against his chest and his fingers clasped around his leg.

When Abbi sensed that he was growing impatient, she attempted to provoke some simple conversation, if only to keep him sitting as long as possible. "How is it that you knew all of the right things to do when I was nearly frozen?"

"Common sense," he stated.

"But it was more than that, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it was. Something to that effect happened to a friend of mine when we were children."

"Tell me," she encouraged.

Cameron looked momentarily hesitant, and then he began to speak with nostalgia in his voice. "I was probably only ten at the time. Some other boys and I were playing near the river, when my . . ." He stopped abruptly, and fear briefly flashed through his eyes. "When one of them pushed a friend of mine into the water. The others thought it was humorous. That's the way boys are, I suppose." He chuckled, but Abbi sensed he didn't find it funny at all.

"He was shivering when I pulled him out. The air wasn't really all that cold, but the water had been. By the time I got him to my home, the shivering had stopped and he was acting much the way you were when I found you. Fortunately a doctor was already there, because my mother was ill . . . and he told us all the right things to do."

"And he survived?" Abbi asked.

"Oh yes." He gave the barest hint of a smile. "He and I have been the best of friends ever since."

"And what of the other boys?"

"You don't want to hear about them," Cameron said, not wanting to say anything that might clue her in to his connections in Horstberg. It was too risky.

Abbi hurried to think of something else to say, not wanting him to move. Her drawing could probably be finished by memory at this point, but she was enjoying his companionship and the openness between them.

"You knew how to set my ankle," she said. "Did your knowledge on that also come from practical experience?"

Cameron took a moment to come up with a suitable--but cryptic--answer. "I had some minimal medical training related to my work at one time."

"What kind of work was that?" she asked, and anger briefly flickered in his eyes.

"Nothing worth talking about, I can assure you."

Abbi easily grasped the hidden message. There were simply things he _wouldn't_ talk about. "I see," she said, and several minutes passed in silence while she struggled for another topic of conversation. "Is it the seventeenth yet?" she asked, and he turned to face her.

"No. Why?"

"Oh," she said, knowing well that they were barely into the month, "it's just that I have an appointment on the seventeenth."

"You won't make it."

Their eyes met briefly, and Abbi felt something pass between them that she could never put into words. In that moment she felt a formless vindication of the dream that had led her there initially. She recalled Georg telling her that God could speak to a person through their feelings. Was He trying to tell her now that in spite of all appearances, her being here was the right thing? As the thought skittered through her mind, the emotion hovering inside of her deepened.

"Is something bothering you?" Cameron asked, startling her. "You look . . . frightened."

Abbi quickly diverted her attention to the sketch in her hands, not wanting her feelings read. "No," she said, "I'm fine."

Cameron watched her closely, knowing she wasn't. As uncomfortable as it made him to look at the full perspective of this situation, he couldn't deny the pleasure he found in her presence. For this moment he was willing to throw his convictions aside just to have her companionship and conversation. He feared saying too much about himself, but listening to Abbi talk could be a perfect pastime.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Abbi."

Abbi looked surprised. And he certainly couldn't blame her for saying, "I find it difficult to believe that you'd have any interest in what I have to say."

Cameron looked out the window. "I know I'm moody at best." He looked at her again. "But right now I'm in the mood to hear you talk." His voice softened. "Tell me what's on your mind. Are you thinking of home?"

"No, actually." She knew it would be impossible to tell him the full extent of her thoughts. They sounded too bizarre in her mind to even consider voicing them.

While Cameron watched her expectantly, wondering what she'd say, he was taken aback by her question. "Do you believe in God, Cameron?"

Abbi saw his eyes harden. "I did once. Now, I'm not so sure."

"Why not?"

"Look at me," he said. "What have I got that is any indication of God being mindful of _me?"_

Abbi wanted to tell him she believed that God had sent her to help him, but she knew he wasn't ready to hear something that sounded so strange.

When she said nothing, Cameron realized he wasn't being completely honest. He couldn't deny his deep belief that God existed, in spite of his present circumstances. "I must admit," he said, "that I've become hard and bitter." He returned the question. "Do _you_ believe in God?"

"I never even contemplated the existence of God too deeply until last summer," she said. "My mother died when I was young. My grandfather was not a church-going man, although he did well in teaching me right from wrong."

"So, what made you contemplate the existence of God all of a sudden?" he asked.

The words came to Abbi's tongue, but she felt afraid to say them. Cameron's gaze hardened on her, as if he could see through to her soul.

"Is it such a difficult question?" he demanded.

"Perhaps."

"You're the one who brought it up. If you . . ." He stopped, and his gaze deepened further. The emotion Abbi had been battling suddenly increased, burning in her chest. "I swear, girl," he said, "you look as if you've committed some act of thievery and you're contemplating how to get out of the punishment."

"I've never been dishonest in my life."

"Until now?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then answer the question!"

"Is the answer so important to you?"

"No, but the fact that you are so hesitant to answer it is. It must have something to do with me, or you wouldn't look like a scared little mouse all of a sudden."

"Don't flatter yourself," she said with a straight voice, if only to divert his attention from what she didn't want to say. "The fact that I had to acknowledge I'd been given the gift of dreams has very little to do with you, as far as I can see."

Cameron turned to put both feet on the floor. "The _gift . . ._ of _dreams?_ " His eyes became skeptical and she wished she'd said nothing. "How so?"

Abbi took a deep breath, searching for words that might lead away from anything to provoke him further. "I . . . dreamed of my mother's death before it happened, and my grandfather's as well. And . . . other odd things. But . . . it wasn't until last summer that I began to wonder if there was a . . . purpose to my gift."

"A _purpose?_ " His skepticism deepened. "Would that be last summer . . . when a dream led you _here?"_

Abbi nodded but wouldn't look at him.

"Are you trying to tell me, then, that you believe God led you here to . . . what? I don't know what!" He sounded angry now. "Do you really believe that _you_ could possibly help _me_ get out of the mess I'm in? Now who is flattering herself?" Cameron made a noise of disgust and folded his arms stiffly over his chest. "I'll not doubt that a dream led you here. There's no other possible explanation. Only one man living besides myself knows the way here, and he'd never tell a soul. But I wonder if you've ever thought to question the _source_ of your inspiration. As far as I see it, your presence here is nothing but torment. You are a thorn in my side, Abbi girl." He made a scoffing noise while she fought back heated tears. "God didn't send you here, unless He meant to punish me. You are far too--"

"No!" she interrupted and then heard words come out of her mouth that surprised even herself. "I know how those dreams made me feel. I know their source, and I'll not deny it."

Cameron sighed as if she were a disobedient child and he was using great self-discipline to remain patient. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He hurried toward the door. "It's madness, Abbi--absolute madness. You're as crazy as I am."

The slamming of the door made Abbi wince. She looked down at the sketch in her hands, trying to comprehend the serenity she had captured, and how fleeting it had been. Then she cried, wondering if this was all just as he'd said. Madness.

Cameron knew as soon as he left the room that the source of his anger was far more complicated than her implication that she was somehow the answer to his prayers. Maybe she was. But how could he admit to such a thing and keep up the necessary pretenses to keep them both safe? He'd divulged far too much about himself already, and he wasn't doing a very good job of making her hate him--or maybe he was. Still, less than two weeks had passed and already he was failing in his attempts to keep their relationship impersonal. She had a way of actually making him feel guilty for his lack of sensitivity, and resisting the urge to just talk to her was like putting food in front of a starving man and telling him not to eat. Did she have any idea how her presence alone made him ache for conversation? He wanted nothing more than to just be near her and reap the rewards of companionship. But that was out of the question. He knew the circumstances well, and he'd just have to find a way to uphold his pretenses. Come spring, it could be a matter of life and death. Setting his mind to it with fresh conviction, Cameron went outside to chop more wood.

After crying for several minutes, Abbi resigned herself not to even attempt to understand Cameron. She wiped her tears and forced difficult thoughts from her head as she removed the things from the trunk and laid them out on the bed. A number of dresses took up the majority of its contents. They suited Abbi's taste by their simplicity, but the styles weren't really to her liking. There was some minimal underclothing in the trunk, and some stockings. The only other contents consisted of a hairbrush, to Abbi's delight, and a tortoise shell comb. There were two very plain nightgowns, a pair of shoes that were hopelessly too big, some hair ribbons, a bottle of flowery shampoo, and a jar of lavender bath salts. Surveying the collection, Abbi felt at least grateful for what there was. It could have been worse. She could have been stuck with the clothes she had come in and Cameron's nightshirts.

Abbi thought for a moment about the woman who had owned them. She found herself wondering what it might be like to be Cameron's wife. The thought intrigued her, at the same time making her wonder how she could even entertain such an idea with a man who had been so outwardly cruel most of the time. As much as she'd enjoyed the conversation they'd shared earlier, this vacillation in his character was maddening at best.

Impulsively, she chose a cream-colored dress with tucks across the bodice and a pleated skirt. Though it hung loosely on her and was too long, the color went well with her complexion. Abbi cinched in and tucked up the waist, tying it with a long ribbon. She rolled up the sleeves and decided it was much better than an old nightshirt. At least it would do until she had time to alter it, along with the other dresses. She made a mental note to thank Marta, when she returned, for the skills she'd insisted on teaching her that would likely save her now, given the circumstances.

Pulling the brush gratefully through her hair, Abbi wondered about her aunts and how they had reacted to her disappearance. But it did no good to speculate. She had resigned herself to spending the winter here, and she would just have to deal with the consequences when spring came.

She was placing the things back in the trunk when Cameron's voice boomed from below, "Abbi! Eat now or starve!"

Moving toward the stairs with her crutch, she thought that he could have politely asked her to come down to dinner with the same amount of effort. Before reaching the common room, Abbi could see a meal for two set out on the table. She heard noises coming from below the stairs, apparently where the kitchen was located.

"Can I help?" she called from near the table.

"I can manage, thank you," Cameron said shortly. He emerged a minute later from behind a partition that divided the kitchen from the dining area. "It's no more trouble to cook for two than it is one." He set a platter of meat and vegetables on the table, stopping a moment to stare at her before he was seated. Abbi sat across from him and leaned her crutch against the back of the chair.

"We must bless it," she said before he managed to get a fork into his mouth.

Cameron looked up at her in surprise, more humbled by her request than he dared admit. He nodded toward her and she offered a brief but sincere blessing on the food. As she began to eat, he took in her appearance once again.

"You look different," Cameron said with no expression.

"I feel much better," Abbi said, hoping to begin a conversation. But Cameron said nothing more and the meal went by in complete silence.

Abbi learned quickly that Cameron's brief effort at conversation was a rare thing indeed. The days wore on, and again they fell into a pattern of speaking only when necessary. Cameron's tone with her was always sharp, a stark contrast to the way he spoke to his dogs. Abbi quite liked the two hounds that followed Cameron nearly everywhere when he was inside. But she resented the way Cameron treated them with more civility than he did her.

Seeing Cameron interact with the dogs left her aching to be with Blaze. But the snow was deep, and she knew that even attempting to get to the stable with a splint and a crutch would be ludicrous. Though Cameron assured her the animal was fine, she longed for Blaze's company when there was no one else to talk to. At least Blaze listened and understood her. However, the snow left a barrier between them just as it had with everything else in her life. Abbi had never even imagined snow so deep. As new snow fell, she realized that Cameron was shoveling it away from the windows--to keep them from breaking, he told her when she asked. And those few words were apparently his maximum quota for an average day. Gradually she became accustomed to his silence, and she did her best to ignore the rude intonations in his voice when he _did_ speak. Rather than taking it personally, she only wondered what made him so bitter, and what she might do to reach a deeper part of him.

Gaining more agility with her crutch, Abbi began to move around the house more freely and occupied herself by cooking and doing menial household chores. Cameron objected the first time she set to work in the kitchen without his permission, but she insisted it was woman's work.

"Who do you think's been doing it for the past three years?" he demanded.

"I'm here now," she replied firmly, "and I intend to work. We'll take turns. I may not be very good at it, but I can manage."

Cameron only grunted and went to the book cupboard before plopping himself onto the sofa to read. She noticed then that he wore glasses to read. As she started doing more around the house, he began reading more to occupy his time, and seeing him in his glasses became common. Abbi was intrigued with the way he looked in them, and she often watched him from a distance when he was absorbed in a book. She had to admit--albeit grudgingly--that she was impressed with this man, in spite of his bouts of anger and his brusque manner. She liked the way he walked, his mannerisms and manner, as well as the way he dressed. At times she would look at him and find it hard to believe this was the same man who had saved her life with his warmth. Whenever such thoughts caught Abbi, she felt an exhilaration that she could never explain. She couldn't deny that she felt something for Cameron, though she found it difficult to define. Her emotion didn't compare to what she'd felt for Nikolaus, or even Lance. It was wholly new and thoroughly consuming, puzzling her as much as Cameron himself. She often wondered what had happened specifically that kept him hidden in this mountain retreat, and why she had been led here by such bizarre methods. It made no sense to her, but then she felt certain that when Joseph of Egypt was languishing in prison, his dreams certainly would have made no sense to him. She wondered if Joseph's cell mates had been infuriatingly rude.

Cameron was surprised one morning when Abbi didn't appear for breakfast, especially since it was her turn to cook. Hunger motivated him to cook it himself, certain she'd just overslept and she'd show up soon enough. But he finished eating and had still heard no sign of her. He hurried up the stairs to check on her, realizing he'd not been in the room for many days. He knocked at the partially opened door and heard her make an indiscernible noise.

"Abbi, you overslept. Breakfast is getting cold."

"I'm not sleeping," she replied in a tone that caught his attention and left him concerned.

Moving closer, he asked, "Are you ill?"

"Yes . . . I mean . . . no. I'll be fine. I just don't feel like getting out of bed."

"You look pale," he said and touched her face to check for fever. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," she insisted.

"If it were nothing, you would have come down to breakfast."

Abbi glared at him, wondering how he managed to make everything so thoroughly difficult. Why, of all days, couldn't he just ignore her today?

"It's not catching. And it will pass. Now just let me rest."

"You should eat something."

"Yes, I probably should, but I'm . . ." Abbi stopped herself. She had no desire to discuss her monthly cramps with this man she had been forced to live with.

Cameron turned away and sighed, wondering why she couldn't just answer a simple question without creating an ordeal. Then he noticed the clean, wet rags hanging over the side of the tub to dry. And he understood.

"You know, Abbi," he said, "if you're having feminine difficulties, all you have to do is say so."

Fighting her embarrassment, Abbi lifted her head to glare at him, wishing she had the energy to bodily remove him from the room. "I have never discussed my _feminine difficulties_ with a man in my entire life, and I don't intend to start now."

"That might be difficult, Abbi girl, since there is no one else here to discuss them with."

He left the room and Abbi growled toward the door, longing for her own bed at home and Elsa's help and comfort. Cameron returned a few minutes later with a tray of food that he'd reheated. "Sit up and eat this," he ordered. "You need your strength."

"Thank you," she said, giving him a skeptical glance as she carefully leaned against the headboard.

"There's no need to be embarrassed," he said. "I'm a grown man who once had a wife."

Abbi said nothing. She'd never contemplated the possibility that men were even made aware of such things. But it only took her a moment to realize that it was unlikely a married man _wouldn't_ know.

"Do you have what you need?" he asked with an intensity that almost dared her to lie to him.

"Gwendolyn left me well supplied, thank you."

"Anything else? Clean water, perhaps?"

"Yes, thank you."

Cameron stoked up the fire before he left, coming back a short while later with two buckets of warm water. He took the food tray, commenting with mock chagrin, "Good appetite."

Abbi felt alarmed as a thought occurred to her. "Good heavens," she said, "do you have enough food for both of us to get through the winter? I didn't even think that--"

"Yes, Abbi," he said with a chuckle as he was leaving the room, "there's plenty of food."

After Abbi freshened up, she curled into the bed and would have drifted off to sleep if not for the continued cramping. But at least she felt secure and cared for. She contemplated the goodness in Cameron that couldn't help but show itself when the need arose. A moment later he appeared again, holding something that was wrapped in a heavy towel. She was startled when he lifted the bedding enough to slide it between the sheets, then she felt its warmth and gravitated toward it.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A hot brick. Gwen always said it helped." He turned to stoke the fire once more, and Abbi was barely aware of him leaving the room before she drifted off to sleep.

Cameron hurried to finish his chores, and then he returned to Abbi's room to see if she was hungry again. He found her sleeping soundly and couldn't resist the urge to sit in the chair near the bed and watch her. He doubted that he had ever witnessed anything so beautiful in his life. If he had, surely he would remember. He wondered if she could possibly be the means to answer his prayers. But then, it was difficult to tell when he didn't even know exactly what to pray for. At the beginning of his banishment he had prayed for freedom, for the means to prove his innocence. But he'd given that up a long time ago. He'd felt walls close in around him, and he'd become so comfortable in them that a part of him was just plain scared to even consider going back to the real world. What good would it do him if he did? What good would it do anyone else? Yet, even being resigned to his circumstances, he'd not been able to accept being alone. Hadn't he prayed for something to ease his loneliness?

_Is she the answer to my prayers?_ He asked the question in his mind as if he expected it to be answered. Then, in his first conscious effort to pray in a very long time, he muttered in a whisper, "If she is, please don't let me be fool enough to ruin any chance I might have for redemption."

Cameron sighed and leaned his head against the high back of the chair. He wanted to touch her but feared she would awaken. Then he caught sight of something peeking out from beneath her pillow. It was the book he'd given her, the one she'd spent endless hours sketching in. How could he not be curious?

Holding his breath, Cameron took the exposed corner and slid it carefully from beneath the pillow. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, and he sighed in relief that he'd succeeded without disturbing her. He took his glasses from where they were tucked between the buttons of his shirt and put them on. He opened the book to see first a drawing of the view from the upstairs window. The next two pages were different angles on the bedroom, showing in detail the fireplace, the furnishings, the log walls and beamed ceiling. He turned another page to find a horse running, and then a forest scene. The next drawing took Cameron off guard. It was his own face. He recalled Abbi sketching him as he'd sat in the window, but this was different. He wondered if he truly looked so grave and unlikable, and decided that he probably did. The thought disturbed him.

On the next page Cameron found the picture of himself in the window seat. There was a serenity to this drawing that intrigued him. He recalled feeling serene at the time, at least for a few minutes. He was amazed at her ability to capture details, in an abstract kind of way. But more so, he admired the way she had captured a mood that he hadn't even realized he'd been feeling until he looked at the drawing.

Flipping through the pages, Cameron found several other drawings, mostly scenery; some that he recognized. The only drawing that puzzled him was stuck in the middle of the others, completely out of place. It was a man wearing something strange around his neck, and an even stranger headdress. He suspected it was meant to look Egyptian, although he knew little of such things. But the expression of the man was firm and confident; heroic, in a word. He held the book farther from his face, tipping his head to examine it from a different angle. It was fascinating, especially as he speculated over her reasons for drawing such a thing. Had she traveled abroad? Did she know someone who had?

"Is my work really so bad?" she asked, startling him.

Cameron turned to look at her, expecting her to be angry to find him looking at this without her permission. But she only seemed curious over his interest. "No, actually," he said. "They're really quite good. I'm just a little . . . puzzled by this one." He turned the book to show her.

"That's Joseph," she said as if it should have been obvious.

"Joseph?"

"Joseph of Egypt," she clarified.

"I can see he's Egyptian, but . . . I still don't know who you're talking about."

"No, he's not Egyptian, actually."

"But you called him Joseph of Egypt."

"Well, that is how I imagined him to look when he became the governor of all Egypt."

"But he's not Egyptian," Cameron said skeptically, wondering if she'd made this up.

"No, he was from the land of Canaan. You know, Joseph . . . and his coat of many colors."

"Am I supposed to know this story?" he asked.

"It's in the Bible, Cameron. Didn't you go to church?"

"Yes, actually. I did my best to listen to the sermons, but I don't recall hearing this story. Maybe I wasn't paying attention."

"I never went to church. But I think when I return home, I'm going to start."

"So, how did you become so well versed in Bible stories?"

"Oh, just this story," she said. "A friend of mine told me to read it when he realized I had the gift of dreams." Cameron looked interested so Abbi continued. "You see, Joseph had the gift of dreams."

"Ah," Cameron said, "so I take it this Joseph is a hero of yours."

"Something like that."

"How did he come to be the governor of Egypt?"

"Joseph had eleven brothers. Many of them had done things to earn their father's displeasure, while Joseph had proven himself honorable. Joseph was also the oldest son of Rachel, the woman Jacob loved most. So, Jacob gave Joseph a coat of many colors, and his brothers were terribly jealous. And then Joseph had some dreams that symbolized his brothers bowing down to worship him. This made his brothers even more angry. One day while they were away from home tending the sheep, they took Joseph's coat away and threw him into a pit."

"That's horrible," Cameron said, feeling more uncomfortable with this story than he dared admit--even to himself. He knew that thrown-into-a-pit feeling, but memories of prison made him shudder.

"Oh, it gets worse. They were going to kill him, but instead they sold him as a slave to some traders. Can you even imagine?" she asked. "How horrible that must have been, to be sold into bondage by his own brothers?"

"Go on," Cameron said.

"He was taken to Egypt and bought by a very important man named Potiphar, who quickly took a liking to Joseph. Because Joseph was a righteous man and trusted in God, he was blessed so that everything he touched flourished. Potiphar could see that he was special, so he made him the leader of his household. But Potiphar's wife was a wicked woman who tried to seduce Joseph. When he refused her she became angry and accused him of . . . well, you know."

Cameron smirked at her obvious embarrassment. She cleared her throat and continued. "When Potiphar heard about it, he sent Joseph to prison."

"Oh, so now the poor boy's in prison."

"Yes, for a very long time. But while he was there, Pharaoh's baker and butler were brought in, and they were both troubled by dreams."

"Pharaoh, as in the king of all Egypt?"

"That's right," she said as if she were terribly impressed with his knowledge.

"I've endured a few history lessons in my day," he said, motioning for her to continue.

"Joseph interpreted their dreams and they came true. The baker was executed, and the butler returned to Pharaoh's service. I think it was two years later that Pharaoh had some very disturbing dreams, and none of his ministers could interpret them. The butler told Pharaoh about Joseph, and he was brought before the king. Joseph interpreted Pharaoh's dream, predicting that there would be seven years of plenty, and then seven years of famine. He told the king that it was a warning, so that Egypt could store food through the years of plenty to get them through the famine. Pharaoh was so impressed that he made Joseph governor of all Egypt to oversee the project of storing and then distributing the food."

Abbi was silent for a minute while he stared at the drawing. He had to admit, "That's quite a story. Are you saying, then, that the moral is . . . what? Tell me the point."

"Joseph never stopped believing in his dreams, and he never compromised who he was, even through many years of hardship, when I suspect he often must have felt forsaken. Even when he had no good reason to have faith, he still did."

Cameron tried to absorb what she was saying. Did she have any idea the impact her story was having on him? Was that why she had come here? To tell him the story of Joseph? The idea was ludicrous, especially when he wasn't certain he wanted to contemplate the story too deeply. And faith was simply beyond his ability to grasp.

"That's all very nice, but--"

"I'm not finished yet. Don't you want to know what happened to his brothers?"

"I'm certain you're going to tell me."

"Of course. It's the best part. When the famine began, Joseph's family got low on food, and they heard they could buy grain in Egypt. The brothers went to Joseph, not knowing it was him. They bowed down before him, which--"

"Which meant that Joseph's dream had come true."

"Precisely. Joseph figured out a way to test his brothers. When he saw evidence that they had become honest men, and they regretted what they had done, he revealed himself to them."

"And they lived happily ever after, right?"

"Actually, yes. He forgave them."

"How could he, when--"

"He was able to see that the difficulties he'd suffered had been for the purpose of putting him in the position to save his family from starvation. There was a higher purpose in the bad things that happened to Joseph."

Cameron looked at Abbi's drawing of Joseph once more before closing the book and handed it to her. "So, Abbi girl, do you think there is a higher purpose to your _gift of dreams?_ "

Abbi didn't like his cynicism, but she only said, "I don't know, Cameron. I just do my best to listen to my feelings and follow them. I seriously doubt that I am capable of making much difference in the world."

"That gives us something in common," he said and left the room.

Abbi sighed and rolled over, wondering if he was implying that his doubts were directed toward himself, or her. Either way, she doubted her own wisdom in actually sharing her deepest feelings with Cameron. At times he could be so easy to talk to, so easy to trust. And then, in an instant, he could turn bitter and crusty. She wondered if it might be possible to break past that churlish exterior long enough to find the real Cameron. Oh, how she longed to!

Watching snow fall became a common pastime for Abbi. It came down relentlessly for days at a time, and the world became more buried every hour. Certain the boredom would drive her crazy, Abbi found a chore that not only needed doing badly, but it would occupy some time. It was easy to find a bucket and scrub-brush. After pulling her hair up in a ridiculous manner to keep it out of the way, she set to work scrubbing the kitchen floor. The chore was tedious, but Abbi hummed as she went, feeling some satisfaction in the vast change she brought out in the floor. At least it was better than watching snow fall.

Abbi tried to ignore Cameron as he came into the lodge, making elaborate indications of how cold it was outside. But as soon as he'd taken off his coat and gloves, he walked right across the clean, wet floor and stood directly in front of her. The two hounds followed and plopped down by his feet. Abbi just kept scrubbing and humming as if they weren't there.

"What have you got to say for yourself?" Cameron sounded indignant, as if her chore were an insult to him.

Abbi paused her work to look at his boots, only inches from her face. "Is it cold outside?" she asked.

"Quite." His indignant tone deepened at her evasion of the subject. "Do you want to talk about the weather?"

"Can you think of something better?" she asked, returning to her chore.

He finally got to the point. "What are you doing?"

"Something that you apparently don't know how to do," she retorted with a challenge in her voice. She was careful to keep her head down as she scrubbed vigorously, so Cameron couldn't see her smirk.

"Are you indicating that this place isn't clean?" he asked.

"This floor wasn't."

"It's never bothered me."

"Obviously."

"It's my floor, and my house, Abbi girl. Dirty or not."

Abbi looked up at him and smiled wickedly. She found the situation amusing, but Cameron wore no expression as he stood casually with his hands on his hips. "Welcome to the world of companionship," she said slyly.

"Indeed." He glared at her.

"Now, sir," Abbi said with authority, "if you would care to remove yourself and these _dogs,_ I will finish my work."

"These _dogs,"_ he mimicked her tone, "do have names."

"I've never heard you call them by name."

"There's never been anyone else around. If I spoke, they knew who I was talking to."

"And now?" she asked but didn't wait for a reply. "But of course, they know when you speak to _me_ by your amiable tone." Her sarcasm was evident.

"Their names are Duke and Captain," he said, ignoring her comment.

Abbi looked up at him in astonishment. Then she laughed. "You're serious."

"Yes, I'm serious." His irritation deepened.

"Which is which? No, don't tell me." She thought of Lance with his blond hair, and Nikolaus, who was dark. "The black one is Duke."

"Very good," he drawled.

"Is there . . . a reason you named them--"

"A friend gave the dogs to me when they were puppies. He named them."

"I see." Abbi forced herself to be serious and returned to her work. Cameron plainly had no intention of moving, so Abbi took her scrub-brush to his boots.

"My boots don't need washing." He sounded insulted again, but still he didn't move.

"That's what you said about the floor."

"And so you've taken it upon yourself to--"

"To clean this floor despite all obstacles."

"Then perhaps I should move," he said, giving in at last.

"How very sensible."

Cameron casually walked from the kitchen and sat at the table where he could see her. The dogs followed, lying near his feet as he slid low in the chair. Abbi was vaguely aware of him staring at her as she scrubbed and hummed, ignoring him completely.

"I used to watch you," Cameron said. Abbi stopped scrubbing and looked up at him, puzzled by his comment. His expression was earnest and his eyes showed a depth that rarely surfaced.

Cameron studied her expression closely while he waited for a reaction. His heart responded to memories of hiding in the trees to observe her antics with the stallion that seemed an integral part of her. The first time he'd come upon her had been uncanny coincidence. Georg had come up in the night and left supplies at the top of the ridge. He'd gone to retrieve them and found the object of his obsession wildly riding the meadow below. The strength had drained from him and he'd sat on the ground, leaning against a sturdy beech tree, soaking her in from a distance like rare art. There were many times he'd gone to the ridge, hoping to see her and leaving disappointed. But eventually she'd made a habit of her time there, and he'd made a habit of watching her, always in awe of how well she sat Blaze, as if they were one, and what a striking picture they made when Abbi rode with her fiery hair flying behind. Her natural grace and poise had radiated from her brilliantly, and he had drawn her into his aching spirit. Only fear had kept him from answering his temptations to go down through the pass and break the promise he'd insisted she keep. Now, in spite of fear's power over every other part of him, she had landed firmly in the center of his life, and he only became more entranced by her every day, every hour that she hovered within his reach. But he felt barriers of stone between them now as surely as he had then. His fear kept him well guarded, except on rare occasions when it would momentarily become too weary of the battle to hold back the truth.

"When you'd ride the meadow," he added, "I was watching."

Abbi stood up slowly. She felt a need to react to his confession, but emotion prevented her from speaking. Haunting sensations flooded back to her as she stared into those intense blue eyes. It was comforting somehow, knowing that he'd been mindful of her then, just as she had been of him. But what did it all mean? And how could she ever make sense of all she had felt? All she felt now?

"Does that surprise you?" he asked.

There was so much she wanted to say, so many things she wanted to ask him. "No," was all she could manage. Her voice trembled.

Cameron's lips parted to breathe more deeply while he could only stare at Abbi. With wet streaks down the front of her skirt, and her hair hanging haphazardly from a ribbon, she was no less beautiful, no less compelling than she'd ever been. The enchantment in her expression touched him, and he couldn't restrain a degree of tenderness from seeping into his voice. "Ironic, don't you think?"

Abbi was assaulted by so many different thoughts and emotions that she could only stare at him while no words would form in her mouth. Unnerved by the intensity of her feelings to the point that she feared losing control, she grabbed the crutch and moved quickly past him and up the stairs.

Cameron sighed and watched her hurry away, questioning his reasons for saying what he'd said--and feeling what he felt. Not wanting to examine the confusion building steadily inside of him, he resigned himself to getting through the forthcoming winter one hour at a time.

As Abbi made herself a more prominent part of the household, she noticed a subtle change come over Cameron. Along with the routine of duties she had set for herself, she would often sit near the fire to work on altering the clothes from the trunk, or to read from Cameron's library. But it didn't matter where she was or what she was doing, if she was in Cameron's sight, his eyes followed her closely. Abbi felt uncomfortable as the object of his almost constant scrutiny, and the implications of anger and resentment she sensed in his silence. She told herself she should be grateful that he wasn't being outwardly angry and rude as he had in the past. But she wondered if open confrontations would be easier than having to guess what he was thinking while his eyes followed her every movement. She sensed his spite and indignation, but at the same time he seemed intrigued with her, perhaps obsessed. Abbi couldn't begin to understand his reasons for treating her the way he did. Still it made her angry. But he'd saved her life and kept her fed, and she certainly owed him. She'd come to avoid pondering any deeper meaning in any of this, when making sense of the situation was completely futile in light of his behavior. She felt certain it would be best to keep quiet and avoid him as much as possible.

At breakfast one morning Cameron surprised her by saying, "I think we can take that splint off now."

"Good," she said. She'd given up on trying to make conversation.

As soon as they'd eaten, Cameron asked her to sit on the sofa and place her foot up on the table. He sat on the table with her foot between his knees, and she was taken off guard by memories of the night he'd saved her life. She wasn't surprised at his gentleness in untying the strips of cloth that held the pieces of wood around her ankle. He pulled each piece carefully away and set them on the table beside him. When her foot was free, he rubbed it with his hands to help ease the stiffness.

Saying nothing, Cameron moved his fingers farther, massaging her lower leg tenderly. Abbi tingled from his pleasing touch, but wondered why a man who seemed to hold nothing but contempt for her would take time to ease the stiffness in her leg. Then he looked up to meet her gaze and she understood. She'd seen the same look in Nikolaus du Woernig's eyes when he'd given her a tour of his bedroom. Angry, if not afraid, Abbi pulled away and stood up abruptly, not giving her new foot a chance to prove itself. She would have fallen if Cameron hadn't caught her, and he smiled devilishly as her face came close to his. "Give it time, Abilee," he said, clearly finding humor in the situation.

"I can manage, thank you." She pulled abruptly away, wondering what he meant by _it_. Taking her crutch, Abbi hurried away, barely touching the tender leg to the ground.

Alone in her room, away from Cameron's gaze, Abbi tested the leg more bravely. It wasn't as bad as she'd thought it would be. After walking about for an hour or so, she felt confident it had healed well, and the slight limp seemed more from stiffness than any permanent injury. If nothing else, Cameron had doctored her well, and she was grateful. She only wondered how to deal with his newfound interest.

On an especially cold afternoon, Cameron stayed inside much longer than usual to avoid the chill. Abbi went about her household routine, humming and ignoring his ominous presence as he sat at the dining table, reading. She was in clear view of him as she cleaned the dishes, and he glanced up at her frequently. It was easy now to see lust laced into the resentment in his gaze, and she wondered if she should feel afraid.

Abbi finished her chore and attempted to move the dishpan to empty it, but it slipped and water spilled down the front of her. She cursed under her breath as she looked at the soaked dress, then she noticed Cameron's attention on her. He removed his glasses and leaned back, staring at her dress with glazed eyes. Abbi turned quickly to go upstairs and change, but Cameron bolted out of his chair to block her path. He backed her toward the wall, reminding her of the first time she'd come here. Abbi could hardly breathe as she faced him so closely that she had to look up to meet his eyes.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I might ask you the same," he murmured against her face.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you what you're doing. You're torturing me. You move about this place so silent . . . so beautiful. You are torturing me, Abbi, with every move you make. This is _my_ home. Do you hear me? And I'll not be tortured in my own home."

"You're making no sense," she snarled, even though she knew well what he was talking about. "You must be drunk!"

"I'm not drunk. I've never been drunk a day in my life."

"You're mad then."

"I wholly agree with that possibility. Living alone for three years and then being forced daily to exist with you could make any man go mad."

"I didn't ask you to save my life."

"No, but you asked God to send someone to save your life, and I was the only fool available."

"I would rather have died in the snow than lose my virtue."

"Then perhaps we shall both be tortured."

"You once told me that you were a gentleman."

"That man was gone long before I ever saw your face." He eased closer and Abbi saw something brutally honest appear in his eyes. His voice turned husky and she could feel his breath when he spoke. "In another time and place I was a man who would have courted you properly, and we might have enjoyed a relationship that was perfectly appropriate. But that man no longer exists. I have long ago stopped attempting to gauge my feelings according to what I once believed to be rational and correct. The man I once was would have never even considered doing what I want to do without marrying you first. The man I am now is ruled by a desperation I'd never imagined existed, and a loneliness that is capable of utter destruction." His eyes turned sad, his expression confused. "What kind of God would send you here to be subjected to such madness, Abbi?"

Abbi was surprised at how she knew the answer to that question, but she also knew speaking it would be futile in that moment. It was the kind of God who had compassion for Cameron's suffering, who had hope for his future. It was the same God who believed that Abbi was somehow capable of reaching past what the horrors of life had done to Cameron. While she considered the vacillation between Cameron's reluctant honesty and his apparent need to intimidate and frighten her, she felt completely unafraid--at least of him. She feared more her own response to his nearness and her own relief that he seemed in no hurry to back away. Her breathing quickened audibly as he pressed his hands down her arms and back up again before he touched her face with trembling fingers. She closed her eyes and eased closer to his touch. He guided her hair behind her shoulder with one hand while he cradled her neck with the other and pressed a kiss to her throat, provoking a gasp from her lips that in turn incited him to press his lips more tightly against her skin. He kissed her cheek, her temple, behind her ear, and her throat again. Her stomach quivered, and it took all her willpower not to respond to his affection and urge him on.

"Abbi," he murmured close to her ear, the honesty still evident in his voice, "I have nothing to give you. _Nothing_. But I am capable of taking everything from you in a heartbeat."

"But you wouldn't," she whispered.

Her hope to urge him toward deeper honesty instead provoked him to fresh anger. He kept his hand tightly at the back of her neck while he looked hard into her eyes. "How do you know what I would and wouldn't do, Abbi girl?"

"I'm not a girl," she insisted, doing her best to rival the anger in his eyes.

He glanced down briefly. "That's true."

"And I'm not afraid of you."

"Maybe you should be. How can you not question what lengths I will go to when I question it myself? You have lit a fire inside me, Abbi. One day it may burn out of control."

"That may well be a day you'll regret."

"Perhaps," he whispered and pressed his lips to her neck once again, "but will you?" Cameron moaned from deep in his throat as he pulled her away from the wall and wrapped her tightly in his arms, holding her impossibly close. Her eyes met his with defiance, but she remained silently helpless, from his presence as much as his force. He pressed his lips to her neck again, sighing deeply with satisfaction. Then, with no warning, he let her go, holding his arms away from his sides as if they'd betrayed him. But he smiled as she hurried past him toward the stairs. She turned to glare at him, and her defiance intensified. "I see this all amuses you very much."

Cameron looked suddenly sulky, almost sad. "I only laugh to cover the way you make me suffer. But we will suffer together, you and I. I swear it!"

Abbi rushed to her room to avoid letting him see the tears burning in her eyes. She felt utterly humiliated and thoroughly confused. How could she not think of Nikolaus du Woernig? His behavior had been appalling, his intentions deplorable. Were all men this way? And yet there was something about Cameron's behavior and intentions that put Nikolaus to shame, even if she could never define it.

Confused and frightened, Abbi could do nothing but curl up in the bed and cry. Her isolation from the comfort and security of home had never felt more stark than it had in that moment. But perhaps in some tiny, insignificant way, that too gave her compassion for Cameron.
Chapter Seven

A FAMILY HEIRLOOM

Abbi avoided Cameron as much as possible and hardly saw him except at mealtime. It had been days since they'd exchanged hardly a word, though his eyes continued to betray what he was feeling. She felt them on her constantly without shame. And once, while sitting across from him at dinner, she drew the courage to look into those eyes and wondered what it would be like if his desires burned out of control as he'd said they might. Allowing such a thing to happen outside of marriage went against everything she'd ever been taught. Still, as his gaze intensified, she felt so fluttery inside that she couldn't finish her meal. Pushing her plate away, she stood and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" he asked. It was the first thing he'd said to her in three days.

"I can't eat with you staring at me like that," she retorted. Cameron made no reply, so she went upstairs to bed, confused more intensely by her own feelings.

The following day Abbi saw Cameron leave with his crossbow slung over his back, and she knew he'd gone hunting. Taking advantage of the time, she set quickly to work preparing herself a hot bath. She had previously washed her hair with great difficulty, and had mostly been sponge bathing, first because of her splint, and then for fear of Cameron's intrusion. There was no lock on the bedroom door, and her preparations would have made it obvious that she was intending to bathe. All in all, she didn't trust him. And she certainly didn't want to give him ample opportunity to soothe his lust.

Abbi was grateful for Gwendolyn's bath salts as their aroma filled the room. Removing her dress, she knelt by the tub in her underclothing to wash her hair before getting into the water. She had barely begun to get her hair wet when she heard the downstairs door closing. Abbi panicked at first, but she decided the best thing to do was remain quiet and hope Cameron didn't come upstairs. As soon as she thought it, she heard his footsteps ascending the stairs. Cursing under her breath, she groped for a nearby towel just as the door swung open. She flipped her head back and pressed the towel in front of her chemise, letting her hair drip on the floor behind her. Cameron leaned silently against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest, his expression smug. He wore his usual attire of dark breeches and boots, but she'd never seen the shirt before. It was the blue of his eyes with tiny white stripes, and the top two buttons were undone, which was typical.

"I thought you went hunting," she said indignantly.

"Well, I'm back." He seemed proud of himself.

"Don't you ever knock before entering a lady's room?" she asked.

"This is my room, if you'll recall, Abbi. I've been sleeping, quite miserably, on the floor, so don't get too uppity."

"As you can plainly see, I was about to bathe. I'll sleep on the floor from now on and you can have your bed back. Just let me bathe in peace." He only moved to a chair and sat down. "Please," she added.

"You look as though you could use some help," he said, his eyes on her dripping hair. "It must be difficult washing hair like that without your lady's maid."

"What makes you think I had a lady's maid?"

"I know a well-born woman when I see one." She gave him a dubious glare and he chuckled. "Come now, Abbi. I'm no fool. You show up in worn calico, wearing that hair of yours like some ignoble wild child. At first glance one might think you were a simple farm girl, or a shopkeeper's daughter, perhaps. But your eyes contradict you, Abbi girl--among other things. So, tell me . . . is this some kind of . . . mask you hide behind? Would you prefer that the world see you as something different than what you really are?"

Abbi looked away, unnerved by his perception. She could almost believe he'd overheard solid evidence of her resistance to accommodating society's expectations. "What other things?" she asked, if only to counteract the silence left hanging by his question.

"Oh, my dear Abbi," he said, pretending to sound shocked, "no farm girl would ever wear such quality shoes on her feet, nor would she wear the very finest of silk stockings and underclothing."

Abbi shot him a startled glance, then wished she hadn't. She'd forgotten all about what exactly he'd done to keep her from freezing to death. But now the memory was clear, and the smirk on his face left her warm with embarrassment. He chuckled again while she avoided his eyes. "You do blush very prettily," he said. "I apologize for not having a lady's maid available to help you bathe, but--"

"For your information, I have never bathed with assistance from anyone."

Cameron made an exaggerated show of being impressed. "And do you wash that fiery mane of yours alone as well?"

Abbi couldn't answer without lying. Elsa had always helped wash her hair.

"I thought not," he said and knelt on the floor beside her. Abbi didn't know whether to feel terrified or grateful as he added, "Come now, Abbi. Turn around and lean back. Let me help you."

Abbi reluctantly turned to sit on the floor, leaning her head back over the edge of the tub. Cameron said nothing as he rolled up his sleeves and lifted water into her hair with his hands. He lathered it with the shampoo she'd left close by, and for several minutes she could feel his hands massaging and playing in the suds. He never met her eyes for even a moment, but Abbi kept her gaze on his face, contemplating his possible motives. He eased her head back into the water, rinsing her hair carefully, lifting water with his hands to rinse where the water didn't reach.

"That should do it," he said, urging her to sit up straight. He took great care in wringing as much water out of her hair as he could, then he wrapped a towel around her shoulders and sat down on the floor beside her.

"Thank you," she said, hoping he would take the hint and leave her alone to bathe now.

"You know it will be Christmas soon, Abbi."

"It's amazing how you've hardly said a word for days, and now you're trying to make witty conversation--while my bath water is turning cold."

"It's not easy keeping track of the days, you know, up here in solitude. But after three years I never seem to miss one. So I thought you'd like to know what day it is."

"Fine! Tell me and go."

"It's December eighth," he said lightly, leaning back on his hands with an obvious intention to stay right where he was.

"If you're waiting to get a glimpse of me without my clothes, it won't work."

As soon as she said it she realized how ludicrous it sounded, in light of what he once again reminded her of. "I've already seen you without your clothes," he smirked again, "so what is there to be concerned about?"

"You won't again," she insisted, unnerved by the memory far more than she wanted to admit.

He raised his brows, and Abbi couldn't help thinking how handsome he was. Then his expression became so severe that she wondered where his thoughts were. She caught her breath as he lifted a hand to touch her face. "You're a strange creature," he said. "One minute you're like that wild-spirited stallion of yours. And the next you get a look about you that's almost . . . unearthly." He turned his hand over to touch the same spot with the back of his fingers, as if it might feel differently. Abbi's heart quickened and she forced her eyes elsewhere, unsettled by his potent stare.

"Are you real, Abbi? Or are you some fiery-haired sorceress, sent to bewitch me? Or perhaps you are an angel, sent to teach me a harsh lesson."

"I am only human, Cameron; flesh and blood, just as you are."

"So you are," he said. "Barely a woman. Your innocence is as evident as your age. I'd wager you're not more than seventeen."

"Eighteen," she corrected.

"Ah," his sarcasm was evident, "practically a spinster." His eyes turned serious again. "I'd wager you've never even been kissed."

Abbi gasped before she had a chance to make any effort to hold it back. Cameron looked into her eyes. With his face so close and the present topic of conversation, she feared where this was headed.

"Well?" he demanded with an arrogance that startled her.

"Actually, I have."

He looked surprised and amused. "Tell me about it," he said. While Abbi was wondering what to say, he pressed a finger over her lips. "No," he said, "better yet, show me."

Abbi sucked in her breath just before she found her lips beneath his. She'd not had even a moment to anticipate his kiss before it was happening. And with the realization her heart raced and her every nerve tingled. While her conscience told her to resist, she unwillingly softened her lips against his, relieved by his apparent determination to make it last. She wondered what she might have felt if she could have foreseen this moment the first time she'd laid eyes on him. Everything wrong became right, every mystery was solved. The world stopped and the moment was perfect. When the emotional impact of his kiss began to completely overtake her, she focused instead on the physical sensation, intrigued by the feel of his beard around her mouth. Some measure of logic intruded, reminding her that her interpretation of his kiss was not necessarily the same as his reasons for doing it. The conversation that had led up to it came back to her, eradicating the magic. She felt like a fool for exhibiting such pleasure when she knew he was mostly taunting her. Abruptly she turned away, breaking the connection.

"My kiss offends you?" he asked with an arrogance that she was beginning to see came naturally for him.

"I have no reason to believe it was sincere," she retorted without looking at him.

"And how do you know that?" he asked, sounding angry. She was amazed at how he could so conveniently forget his attitude with her.

"I've yet to be kissed with sincerity," she said. "When it happens, I can assure you that I will know." He said nothing and she added, "Now please, leave me in peace."

Cameron stood and left the room briskly. Abbi let out a long, slow breath, then she hurried to get into the tub before the water cooled any more. She was grateful for Gwendolyn's bath salts that clouded the water and made it impossible to see anything as she sank completely beneath the surface. If Cameron decided to return, she could at least maintain a degree of modesty. But she'd only sat there for a few minutes when she realized the water was too uncomfortably cool for her to enjoy any relaxation. She was about to hurry and wash herself and get out when she heard Cameron's boots on the stairs again.

"Oh, help," she muttered under her breath and sank as low in the tub as she possibly could. Only her head and the tips of her knees were visible. At least he knocked this time.

"What?" she called.

"Are you decent?" he asked.

"In a manner of speaking, but . . ."

Cameron opened the door before she could finish. With no expression or comment he poured a bucket of steaming water into the tub. Then he just stood there, staring at her face as if he wanted to say something. Abbi thought if he were truly so overcome with lust, he would behave very differently under the circumstances. She sensed a rare moment when he let down his guard and faced her with honesty. Looking into his eyes, she felt a renewed compassion for the loneliness he must have dealt with for so long, and she could understand why he might find it difficult to communicate with her.

"That should help a little," he said, but he seemed hesitant to leave. She was about to insist that he go out when he asked, "Are you afraid of me, Abbi?"

Astonished by the question, she considered how to answer without being dishonest. She reasoned that she was more afraid of the way he made her feel, rather than fearing that he might hurt her. "No," she pressed her lips together firmly, "I'm not!"

"Perhaps you should be." He shifted his weight from one booted leg to the other.

Wondering if this was the moment she'd been fearing, Abbi took a deep breath and spoke courageously. "Why should I be afraid of you?"

"They say I'm a dangerous man."

"Who are they?"

"That's irrelevant."

"Then so is what they say."

For a full minute their eyes clashed in some silent battle, then he smirked subtly before he turned and left the room.

"Thank you for the water," she called, but he was gone. Once again she was left to wonder exactly what she should make of such a bizarre exchange.

Just as Abbi expected, Cameron was back to his normal cruel and lusty exterior when she came down to prepare dinner. It was as if his kiss and tender glances had never existed. She convinced herself that if he was going to pretend they didn't exist, then she would too. His attitude made it easy to forget quickly. Within a few days he had tormented her so badly with his sharp tongue and craving eyes that she nearly hated him. All practicality considered, she decided it would be best to hate him after all. It would make her life much less complicated when blessed spring came. She knew he was certainly in no position to become a permanent part of her life. He had hidden himself carefully away from the world. And far worse, he had built up a seemingly impenetrable barrier around himself. In truth, she felt certain that he would never go back.

Once again Abbi sat across the table from Cameron, attempting to eat and not let his gaze affect her. But looking into his eyes, she had to admit to feelings she'd been fighting for days now. She _was_ afraid. Not of having him do harm to her, not of his passion getting out of control. If she were going to have to fight him off, it would have come to that by now. No, Abbi was afraid of spending the rest of her life with this unfulfilled ache growing inside her. She wanted to know him, heart and soul. She wanted to hear his thoughts and dreams, and to share hers with him. She wanted to hold his hand and touch his face and just be in his arms. She wanted him to kiss her. And yes, she wanted to experience the full extent of his passion; she wanted it more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life--but only under the proper circumstances.

If they were in the real world, surrounded by society and decorum, she would demand that he make his intentions honorable or get out of her life. But that was impossible under the circumstances. It was only the two of them here, and there was nowhere for these feelings to go. She felt confused, and yes--afraid.

Cameron lifted one corner of his mouth into a skeptical smile at the same moment his eyebrow rose into a questioning arch. Abbi realized she'd been staring at him as she took a drink of water. She choked and spilled water down the front of her dress. While she was coughing, Cameron's gaze moved over the wet stain, then back to her face. Abbi slammed her glass down on the table and hurried upstairs to change. She paced the room for several minutes, fighting to find some semblance of reason in all she was feeling. How could she have such contempt for this man and in the same breath want only to be in his arms?

Trying not to think about it all, Abbi pulled a dress from the trunk to change into. It was one she hadn't worn yet, but she had it on before she realized that it fastened down the back, and she was accustomed to having Elsa handle such matters. Abbi tugged and reached and managed all but the top three buttons. She finally gave up and started digging through the trunk to find a dress with front buttons. She glanced once into the mirror and was startled to see Cameron standing in the doorway, wearing a long cloak.

"How long have you been there?" she demanded and turned abruptly, pushing her hair back over her shoulder in order to see him more clearly.

"Long enough," he replied, and she wondered if this was the moment she'd been fearing.

"You shouldn't sneak around like that. You scared me," she added, feeling decidedly nervous as Cameron removed his cloak, threw it deliberately to a chair, and ambled across the room.

"I see you're missing that lady's maid again. Allow me," he said and turned her around. She found it difficult to breathe as he gathered her hair into one hand with slow deliberation. He eased it all over the front of her shoulder and pressed a hand down the length of it with silent admiration. Abbi felt tense and embarrassed, but she said nothing. He fastened one button then stopped. Her breathing quickened. His cold fingers touched the back of her neck. He kissed her there, took hold of her shoulders, and kissed her again. A tingling began at her neck and pulsed through every nerve in her body. Fear and longing quarreled inside her, and frustration threatened to overtake them both. Cameron had been right when he'd said he would torture her. She felt it every time he touched her, or when his gaze scrutinized her carefully. She was human too, and her desires were overwhelming. Was this what he had wanted all along, to bide his time and gradually make her want him as much as he wanted her? Did he expect her to believe that sharing something so sacred would change the way he felt about her, or the way he treated her? A confused rage of anger and passion finally startled her from the magical trance of his touch, and she turned to him defiantly.

"Stop it!"

"What?" he retorted as if he had no idea what she meant.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she growled. "It's working, you know. You're tormenting me--just like you said you would. I can't walk past you without your eyes undressing me. I can't go to bed without fear of waking to find you upon me like a hungry wolf. I'm human! You've proven that. Now will you give me no peace?"

"An eye for an eye," he whispered slyly.

"Then we shall both be blind!" she raged. "You want me? You can have me! I'll not live like this any longer! Take me and then I'll have nothing more to fear. Let me give myself to you with some dignity. Perhaps it will pay the price for your having saved my life!"

Cameron just stared at her. His silence humiliated Abbi further, and hot tears filled her eyes. "Take me!" she screamed. "I can bear it no longer!"

Abbi was trembling as Cameron took her shoulders into his hands and kissed her. She had to tip her head back as far as it would go to accommodate his height, but she found his hand there to hold it as his kiss gained fervor.

"Abbi," he muttered against her lips and kissed her again. For a long moment she became lost in it, eagerly letting it fill something lost and aching inside herself. He eased her fully into his arms, and her enjoyment disintegrated into sudden fear. What had she said? _What was she doing?_ How could she be so stupid? Frantically her mind struggled for a way out of this situation that her anger had just gotten her into. She couldn't possibly allow anything inappropriate to pass between them. She prayed silently for strength and readied herself to run for the door. She pictured where the kitchen knives were kept and imagined defending her virtue with the largest one. She would sleep with it under her pillow for the remainder of winter if she had to.

Cameron felt as surprised by Abbi's response as he was by his own behavior. The anger of her words profoundly contradicted the abandon in her kiss. He didn't bother to consider the reasons. Startled by sensations stark and unfamiliar inside of him, he paused to draw back and study the tears in her bewildered eyes.

"No, Abbi," he murmured and stepped away. She lost her balance but he caught her arms and held her steady, searching her eyes as he added in a whisper, "Not like this."

Abbi held her breath as he pressed a kiss to her brow then whispered close to her ear, "Forgive me, Abbi. I should have stopped long ago to consider your feelings. We have many weeks of winter still ahead, and I will leave you in peace." He gently touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "You owe me nothing."

Abbi felt stunned by the irrefutable evidence before her that, in spite of his pretenses, Cameron truly was a good man. She wanted nothing more than to reach her hand into his thick, dark hair and kiss him again, but he picked up his cloak and silently left the room. Abbi sat down and cried, feeling lonely, relieved, confused, and in awe. And perhaps even more afraid of her own feelings than she ever had been.

By morning Cameron had fallen back into his normal pattern of silence, except there were no lusty glances or sharp words. He didn't speak much, but when he did his tone was kind. With his courtesy, Abbi gained more confidence in trying to converse with him. And one evening as they were finishing dinner she said, "How's my horse?"

She'd requested previously that he let her go out and care for Blaze herself, but he'd insisted the snow was too deep and he didn't want her getting hurt.

"He told me he misses you, but other than that he's fine."

Abbi couldn't help smiling at his humor, even though he said it with complete seriousness. "I assume," she followed his example, "that you must spend a significant amount of time together, all those hours you're out of the house every day. Are the two of you out there playing cards, dice? What is it?" He smirked but didn't answer and she added, "Or do you just chat about the weather?"

"You would likely be appalled if I admitted how much I talk to animals. I'd like to think they've helped keep me sane, but maybe it's insane to talk to them. Although they make very good listeners, you know."

"Yes, I know," she said, loving such moments when he was open and real. "Blaze knows my deepest secrets. I just hope he doesn't go blabbing them to you." He smiled and she added, "Maybe we're both insane."

"Maybe," he said as if he liked that idea.

Not wanting the conversation to end, Abbi added, "What _do_ you do while you're outside?"

"Well," he said, leaning back in his chair with a look she'd learned well from her grandfather and Georg, not to mention the captain and the duke. Men liked to talk about what they do. "My first concern is for the animals. They have to be fed, of course. The horses must be groomed and exercised; the cow milked; the chickens--"

"You have chickens?" she asked with a little laugh. "And a cow?"

He leaned over the table. "Where exactly did you think the milk and eggs came from, Abbi girl?"

Abbi felt a little stupid. "I just . . . never thought about it." She smiled. "You must be churning butter and making cheese as well."

"When I have to. I've a mind to let you do it next time."

"I would be happy to try," she said, then motioned for him to continue. "You were saying . . .?"

"Well, I have to hunt now and then to keep food on the table, along with other odd jobs, like keeping the buildings in good repair and chopping wood. It's hard work to survive up here."

"You've got enough wood there for three winters," she teased.

He smiled at her. "I like to chop wood. It eases my frustrations."

"So that's it. I've wondered, you know."

"You have?" There was a hopeful tone in his voice, which for some reason unsettled Abbi and she looked away.

Cameron cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Tomorrow is Christmas, Abbi. I'm sorry you have to spend it with me."

"Sorry?" she asked. "Why?"

"Wouldn't you rather be home with your family, having a real celebration?"

"If I were home, I'd only miss Papa. He died last summer."

"Your father?"

"No," she said sadly, "my grandfather. He was one of the few people who meant anything at all to me. I guess you could say he was at the top of the list."

"Who else is on the list?" he asked, and she felt warmed to see his genuine curiosity. There had been a time when he hadn't even wanted to know her name.

"Well," she said, "there's my father, but I only saw him once a month. And there's the man who cares for our horses; he's a dear friend. Actually he does a lot more than that. Since Papa died, he keeps many things under control. Other than that, there are only my mother's aunts, who were summoned from England to look after me when Papa died. They're nice enough, but I could live without them. And then there's . . ." She paused and looked at him warily.

"Who?" He gave a baffled chuckle.

"There's Elsa," she added.

"Elsa?"

"My lady's maid," she admitted and he smiled.

Cameron watched her become thoughtfully distant, and he wondered if there was someone else she missed--someone she loved. "And those are the only people your Christmas would consist of at home?" he asked.

"That's it."

He decided to come right out and ask. "You didn't leave any broken hearts behind when you got lost in the blizzard?"

"I seriously doubt that." She laughed. "My aunt had a prospect in mind for me, and . . . I believe he was interested, but I hardly knew him, and . . ." She looked up at Cameron, wanting to say that her feelings for Lance came nowhere near what she felt for him. But she simply finished by saying, "I felt nothing for him."

"And your grandfather?" he continued. "If he were alive you'd be wanting to go home, I'd bet."

"Yes," she said, "I must admit. But he's not."

Abbi reminisced about her grandfather for several minutes, aware of Cameron watching her closely. When she stopped talking, his gaze became inquisitive. "What?" she asked.

"I was just wondering what kind of man he is."

"My grandfather?"

"No, the man your aunt wants you to marry."

Abbi looked away uncomfortably. "It's irrelevant. As I said, I felt nothing for him beyond a certain respect."

"But you said he was interested in you." He smiled playfully. "Tell me what kind of man courts a fiery-haired sorceress."

Abbi laughed softly. "I would hardly call it courting. He's far too busy with his duties to pay me much attention."

"Duties?" Cameron laughed as well. "So, he's a working man, then? Perhaps he hopes that marrying a lady such as yourself will elevate his standard of living, or--"

"I seriously doubt it," Abbi interrupted, not liking the path of this conversation. "I daresay he has plenty of status on his own, and all of the prestige he can handle. Being Captain of the Guard is nothing to sniff at, although I . . ." Abbi stopped when Cameron looked as if he'd stopped breathing.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and he abruptly squeezed his eyes closed. "Cameron, are you--"

"Forgive me, Abbi. I'm just . . . surprised." He gained his composure quickly, then laughed again. But it had a phony edge to it. "You're talking about Lance Dukerk."

"Yes, I am," she said, her nerves bristling. "You obviously know him. Do you not like him, or--"

"Oh, it's not that. Captain Dukerk is a fine man; at least he was the last time I saw him. We had our differences, but I've no grudge against him. It's just that . . . I'm not certain the feeling is mutual."

"What do you mean?"

"Abbi," Cameron leaned farther over the table, "I am a wanted man. He is the Captain of the Guard." He took her hand and his eyes filled with urgency. "Please, Abbi, tell me that you kept your promise. And don't lie to me."

"I would never lie to you or anyone else."

"Did you keep your promise, Abbi? Did you tell anyone about me? Anyone at all?"

"No, of course not," she insisted. "And if I had, it would not have been Lance. There was nothing between us."

Cameron sighed audibly. "Then there's nothing to worry about." He smiled, seeming more relaxed. "It must be the good captain who has enjoyed the pleasure of your kisses in the past, eh?"

Abbi hurried to say, "I'm really not enjoying this conversation. Could we talk about something else?"

"Of course." Cameron leaned back. "I believe you were telling me about your grandfather."

Within a minute Abbi was talking freely again, and Cameron listened with growing pleasure. He was amazed to realize that Abbi was heiress to a considerable estate. While he wasn't surprised, considering her overall character and refinement, he found it an intriguing contrast to the way she dressed in calico and wore her hair so unruly. But he liked that about her--and so many other things. When she stopped talking, her eyes became distant.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I was just wondering what Georg is doing now," she said.

"Who?"

"Georg Heinrich, who works on the estate; and he's a dear friend. I've mentioned him. I would bet he misses me most of anyone I left behind."

Cameron managed to cover his surprise much better this time. While his mind was spinning with the reality of this woman's connections, he said with no expression, "So, your grandfather, the man you speak so highly of, would be Josef Albrecht."

"You knew him?" She was clearly pleased.

"Rather knew of him. I purchased my horses from him through recommendation of a friend of mine." He smiled. "That would be Georg Heinrich."

"You know Georg, too?" She leaned forward happily.

Cameron nodded sadly. "He must be very worried about you."

"I suspect he is. But there's not a lot to be done about that."

Again Abbi became lost in her thoughts, and Cameron relished the opportunity to watch her. He had to take her in all over again, as if he'd never seen her before, while something deep and long-buried inside of him sparked to life. Their connections were far too astounding to be called happenstance.

"Abbi," Cameron said as if he were going to give her bad news.

"Yes?" she asked, her green eyes wide with perfect innocence.

When he didn't answer, her gaze filled with expectancy. But as his thoughts found their way to his heart, they settled into him with emotions so startling he couldn't find voice enough to say anything beyond, "Excuse me a moment. I'll be right back."

Cameron hurried outside, taking no time to even grab his cloak to ward off the cold. He ran to the stable as if his emotions might catch up and smother him. Once inside he leaned against the wall, suddenly weak. Memories collided with recent discoveries, like some kind of viscous sword-fight clanging around in his mind until the internal struggle forced him to his knees with a guttural moan. There was so much to think about that he didn't even know where to begin to sort it through. It was easy to push away aspects of his circumstances that were too painful or frightening to look at. But there was one thing he couldn't ignore. As far as he could see, there were only two possibilities that might explain Abbi's presence in his life. Either she was some kind of bewitching vixen who had magically cast some adverse spell on him, or she was tangible proof that God had not abandoned him, after all. By no stretch could Abbi's presence be evil to any degree. But if he searched the deepest part of himself, he had to acknowledge that God's hand was in his life. Especially now. And if God was mindful enough of him to bring Abbi into his life, what would be required of him in return? The very idea was so formidable that he couldn't even look at it.

"Please, help me understand," he prayed aloud.

Cameron sat down hard on the ground and lost track of the time as he sorted through the present situation. There were many months left until the snow would thaw enough for Abbi to go home. He didn't have to make sense of it all in this moment. But he did have to acknowledge that there was something far bigger happening here than he ever would have comprehended. And he had to respect Abbi for being a part of it--whatever it was.

"Are you all right?" Abbi's voice startled him and he looked up at her, his heart pounding. She wore his cloak, which was significantly longer than she was tall.

"Yes." He sighed and came to his feet. "Forgive me for walking out like that. I . . . just needed to be alone for a few minutes."

Abbi looked into his face, sensing an honesty and openness about him that she'd never seen so completely before. "Was it something I said?" she asked.

"Yes . . . I mean, no." He laughed softly. "I mean . . ."

He watched her closely as she became distracted by the animals. Without a word she walked past the cow and his own two mares, greeting Blaze with tender words and a gentle caress that he envied. It was the first time she'd seen the animal since she'd come here. Their tender reunion brought back memories of watching them together in the meadow, spurring feelings that were only enhanced by his recent thoughts.

When she seemed satisfied that all was well with Blaze, she moved back toward him, taking his hands into hers. "You must be frozen," she said. "Let's go inside."

Cameron looked down at her tiny hands, so warm and delicate in his. Then he looked into her eyes. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Instead he simply motioned for her to go ahead of him, and he followed her back to the lodge. He was fascinated by the way his cloak billowed around her, but his eye was more drawn to that cascade of red hair hanging over the back of it. Once inside, she took the cloak off and hung it up. She looked at him expectantly, and he knew she was wondering whether he wanted to talk, or if she should let the subject drop.

"Sit down," he said. "There's something I need to tell you." Cameron quickly devised a way to say what he needed to say without giving her information that might put her at risk when she returned to Horstberg. "I . . . uh . . . well, as we were talking about your family . . . something just came to me. It caught me off guard. I mean . . . we've been together all these weeks, and I had no idea that . . ."

"What?" she pressed gently when he hesitated.

"You're Gerhard Albrecht's daughter." He said it with a little laugh. He still couldn't believe it.

"You know my father?"

"Quite well, actually." He chuckled again. "I don't know why I didn't see it before. There is a striking resemblance."

Abbi couldn't help being curious. "How do you know him?"

Cameron looked down, struggling to find a suitable answer. He had no idea how much she knew about her father and his dealings. "We were, uh . . . business associates, you could say . . . in a roundabout way."

Abbi had no idea what kind of business her father was involved in, but she knew he was in trouble. Perhaps it was the same trouble Cameron was in--whatever that might be.

"And do you like him?" she asked.

"Now that's a leading question, coming from the man's daughter."

"Forgive me," she said. "I've never felt much affection for my father. I know practically nothing about him."

Cameron sighed, unable to deny some relief from that.

"Through the past few years I've seen him only once a month for a few minutes. And before then even more rarely. We're scarcely acquainted."

Cameron felt momentarily stunned. _She saw him once a month . . . through the past few years_. He swallowed hard and kept his expression steady. "I see," he said. "Well, yes, I think a lot of Gerhard. We were good friends."

Fearing he might erupt with words that were bubbling inside of him, Cameron quickly changed the subject. "Perhaps we should do something special tomorrow," he said. "For Christmas, I mean."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." He smiled. "I don't care. I just don't want your Christmas here to be like every other day."

"We'll see what tomorrow brings," she said.

He just stood up to clear the table.

Christmas day brought sunshine that reflected the snow, filling the lodge with brilliant light. Abbi hummed as she went about her routine, and when Cameron came inside early that afternoon, he seemed affected by her mood.

While Abbi was making her bed, she heard him come up the stairs. She expected him to come into the bedroom, but he paused on the landing. Opening the door just a crack, she could see him kneeling in front of one of the two remaining trunks, searching for something. He apparently found what he was looking for and put it in his pocket, then he closed the trunk just as Abbi opened the door.

"Looking for something?" she asked, and he appeared startled.

"I found it," he answered.

"What's in those trunks?" Abbi pressed. She'd wondered each time she'd passed them, and now she took advantage of the opportunity to ask.

"Mostly some things of mine; keepsakes you might say. I trust I don't need to lock them."

She understood the implication clearly. He didn't want her to see what was there.

"I'll honor your privacy," she said.

"Thank you." He smiled and seemed more relaxed. "Now come downstairs. I have something for you."

"What could you possibly have for me?"

"A Christmas gift," he said and took her hand, leading her down the stairs. Abbi followed him to the sofa and sat beside him, not knowing what to say. He reached into his pocket and held up what she suspected he'd just found in the trunk.

"It's beautiful," she said, noting the finely etched gold bracelet. "But I can't accept it. It looks so expensive."

"You _will_ accept it," he ordered, slipping it carefully over her wrist. "And you won't take it off--ever."

Abbi nodded, admiring the shine of the gold around her arm, but puzzled by his insistence. "Where did you get it? I know you didn't run to town yesterday to buy me a Christmas gift."

Cameron chuckled. "It's sort of a family heirloom. Please don't question my motives. I sincerely would like you to have it. That's all."

"Thank you," she said, feeling a little guilty but not wanting to be ungracious. She touched his cheek with her fingertips while kissing the other side of his face. "But I have no gift for you."

Cameron smiled and touched the hand against his face. "That was gift enough." He looked into her eyes for just a moment, and Abbi wished that he would kiss her. But he only stood and moved toward the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

"I was thinking the animals might like something special for Christmas." He pulled on his gloves.

"May I come along?" Abbi asked impulsively.

Cameron looked surprised, and Abbi felt certain he would tell her no. But he smiled and said, "Let's go."

Abbi moved quickly toward the stairs. "I'll just get my cloak and . . ."

"No." Cameron stopped her and threw _his_ cloak around her shoulders. "I'll wear this." He put on his long coat and opened the door, motioning her outside. Abbi hurried out into the sunlight, certain this would be the most memorable Christmas of her life.

Georg woke to realize it was Christmas morning and pulled the covers over his head with a groan. What point was there in celebrating when a shadow of emptiness hung everywhere he turned? This being the first Christmas without Josef Albrecht was bad enough, but facing this day without Abbi seemed more than he could bear. And the presence of Abbi's harping aunts did little to ease the situation.

Knowing he was needed in the stables, Georg begrudgingly rose from his bed and went out to face the cold. The day was bright and crisp, but his thoughts could not be forced from Abbi. He believed she was alive, but the weeks without her were beginning to convince him that he might be wrong. He'd felt tempted to come right out and ask Cameron if he might have any knowledge of Abbi's whereabouts, but he'd felt hesitant to do so without fully understanding why. These days it was difficult to ask Cameron anything through their crude method of communication. Crude as it was, Georg still knew that Cameron was emotionally closed and easily offended. And perhaps Georg had a tiny bit of fear in the belief that if Cameron told him Abbi wasn't with him, he would have to accept that she was dead. As long as he could believe she was alive, there was _something_ to hold on to.

While feeding the horses, Georg was surprised to hear a pigeon fly in and alight on the stall gate. He hadn't received a message from Cameron in weeks and wondered why one might come today. He didn't recall ever receiving messages simply for the purpose of holiday greetings. With expectation he took the bird into his hands and untied the tiny paper from around its leg. His heart quickened before he even had it unfolded enough to read, _I have Miss Abbi Albrecht with me. She is safe and well and will return as soon as the thaw allows. Would have let you know sooner, but I only just discovered that she knows you_. And then as a complete surprise to Georg, Cameron added, _Merry Christmas_.

Georg threw back his head and laughed. The day was suddenly joyous. Not only did he have tangible proof that Abbi was alive and well, but he had the first indication in a long time that Cameron had not lost all caring. Through their brief, irregular messages, Georg had felt the changes in Cameron over the years. His friend had become hard and bitter. In spite of the distance between them, it was apparent Cameron had lost all desire to return to a civilized world that had given him little but pain. Georg wondered for a moment what might have softened Cameron, and he read the message again, a grin spreading over his face. _Abbi_. How could a man spend that much time with Abbi and not be softened?

Georg stuffed the little note in his pocket and continued his work, feeling hope he'd not experienced in years. He wondered if Abbi had any idea that her getting lost on the mountain had been the answer to many anguished prayers.

When Georg had finished his chores, he went inside with every intention of provoking this household into a Christmas celebration worthy of the way he felt. While Abbi's aunts spent the day with Lance and a few of his men who had nowhere to go for Christmas, Georg gathered the servants together and was pleased to see that his mood was rubbing off as they shared Christmas dinner in the kitchen.

It was late before he finally got to his evening chores, and afterwards he returned to the house to find it quiet. Turning down the hallway toward the kitchen, he stopped abruptly, coming upon a scene that riled him. Some imbecile wearing a uniform had pinned Elsa against the wall, unquestionably making a nuisance of himself. Georg only caught intermittent words, but he easily grasped the gist of the conversation. He moved forward quietly in the dim hallway, wanting to hear only enough to justify intruding.

"Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?" The officer's voice was slurred with too much to drink.

"You'll not get me into your bed with flattery," Elsa insisted, disgusted and upset. "I am not interested. Get it through your thick skull."

"You're being old-fashioned," he retorted.

"Yes I am," she said with defiance. "You've made your intentions clear, now listen while I make mine. I am not interested. Why don't you go into town and find someone who's willing for a price, instead of tormenting servant girls because you think they haven't got any brains."

"Come now." The officer laughed off her resistance and pushed his arm around Elsa's waist. Georg became tense but held back. "What harm is there in a little affection? It's not so--"

"Let go of me!" she demanded and the officer laughed again.

"I don't think the lady is interested," Georg said, and they both turned toward him in surprise.

The officer backed away and Elsa brushed her hands over her dress. She wanted to get down on her knees and kiss Georg's feet for his timely intrusion.

"Mind your business," the officer said with authority and teetered slightly.

"I might advise you the same. I wonder what your captain might think to hear of such behavior," he said, and the officer turned and walked away. When he'd gone, Georg turned to Elsa. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, timidly meeting his eyes, "I'm fine. Thank you." How could she tell him what his efforts meant without sounding trite?

"I hope I didn't embarrass you or--"

"Oh no," she said quickly. "I'm very grateful you came when you did."

Georg tried to determine if Elsa would prefer to be left alone as silence fell between them. She was undoubtedly flustered and distraught, but she didn't necessarily seem eager to leave. He tried to think of something to say to put her at ease. They had worked in the same household for years now and had shared countless meals when the servants gathered in the kitchen to eat, but with all the times their paths had crossed, Georg couldn't recall ever saying much to Elsa beyond necessity.

"Smile," he said impishly, "it's Christmas."

"What is there to be happy about?" she asked, reminding Georg of himself earlier in the day.

"Are you missing your family?" he asked carefully.

"There is none to miss," she stated. "I have an aunt who lives in the Black Forest. That's it." She paused, and Georg saw one side of her mouth twitch upward. "She's an old hag."

Georg laughed and Elsa's smile broadened. Again there was silence, but Georg's mind worked frantically. Just looking at her sparked something to life inside him. This day had been good, and he didn't want it to end.

"Is your work done for the day?" he asked.

"Work?" She laughed bitterly. "If only I had any work that was worthwhile. Your mother does well in trying to keep me busy. I believe she understands how I feel, but . . ." Elsa bowed her head, and Georg sensed she was fighting tears. But she drew up her chin and squared her shoulders. "Keeping Miss Abbi's room meticulously clean when there is no one living in it doesn't require much effort."

"You miss her," Georg said warmly. It took no effort to feel complete empathy. Elsa looked up at him with sad eyes but said nothing. "She'll come back," Georg said with confidence.

"I fear she won't." Elsa looked down again.

"Nonsense," Georg laughed. "I know Abbi well. I have a gut instinct that she is alive and she will come home in the spring."

"Do you really think so?" she asked with hope in her eyes.

"I'd bet my life on it."

Elsa smiled, apparently reassured by his confidence.

"Do you like to ride?" he asked, wanting to distract her.

"I'm not certain. I've hardly done it."

"There's no time like the present." Without permission Georg took her hand and led her toward the door.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice trembling with excitement.

"Riding, of course."

"But it's dark."

"No," he said, "it's night. There is a difference."

"But it's late."

"There's nothing like midnight on a full moon," he added and heard her laugh.

Georg paused at the rack near the door to take down her coat, and she giggled as he helped her into it. Then he grabbed his own coat and ushered her toward the stable.

Elsa watched silently as Georg lit a lamp and proceeded to saddle only one horse. He doused the lamp and helped her mount in the darkness before climbing into the saddle behind her. She concentrated on her awakening senses, certain nothing so exciting had ever happened in her whole life. She shivered unwillingly when Georg put his arms around her to take the reins into his gloved hands.

Georg wondered if she was cold or scared. Heeling the stallion to a gallop, he felt her grab onto his thighs and knew it was more the latter. Gradually she relaxed, and the silence between them was broken when she admitted, "This is fun, Georg."

It was all Elsa could think to say, but her mind was tumbling. Did Georg Heinrich have any idea how she had admired him for years? To her he had always been the example of what she wanted in a man. He was strong--not only in stature but in character as well. She knew he was a hard worker, and he was honest and true to the core. But never once had she dared hope that he would show any interest in her. It seemed too good to be true, but Elsa reminded herself not to get carried away. Patronizing her with a little midnight ride didn't mean he had any interest in her the way she did in him.

Back at the stable, Georg dismounted and took hold of Elsa's waist to help her down. He found himself holding her longer than necessary and wondered why he felt the urge to kiss her. He couldn't recall the last time he'd kissed a woman, and even then, it had not been stirred by feelings such as this.

As Georg bent to press his lips to hers, he wondered if his advance might put him into the same category as the drunk officer she'd been fighting off in the house. But it was too late. He felt her lips turn soft and warm beneath his while he wondered what had been blinding him all these years. Pulling back to briefly check his sanity, he realized it was true. Even in the darkness of the stable he could see it without any doubt. Elsa Bruxen was beautiful. And she liked him.
Chapter Eight

THE SORCERESS

Abbi followed Cameron over the crusted snow to the stable. Little was said between them as she helped him pamper the animals with some extra treats and exercise, but she felt warm just being with him.

With that done, Cameron led the way outside and paused to look around. "The snow is fairly packed," he said. "We could probably manage a little walk, if you're interested."

"I'd love to," Abbi replied with enthusiasm.

Cameron took Abbi by the hand and led her around the stable. They walked for some time before he stopped to sit on the crusted snow and motioned for Abbi to sit beside him.

"It's beautiful up here," he said with an exuberant note in his voice. "It never ceases to overwhelm me. No matter how many times I look at this mountain, it's still beautiful." Cameron's tone was as earnest as his expression.

"You sound as if you enjoy living up here."

He looked surprised before he turned away. "I would enjoy being able to come and go as I please." He sounded vaguely upset, and she wondered if he would say anything more. But after a minute he added, "Still, it is beautiful here. And this mountain challenges me. When I embarked on my first winter here, I have to admit I was afraid I might not survive."

"It would seem you've come through quite well."

Cameron wasn't certain how the conversation had come to this, but perhaps he should be grateful for an opportunity to offer some meager explanation for his past behavior that had been so appalling. "Physically perhaps," he said, "but I wonder at times if my spirit will ever recover." He sighed. "I often feel dead inside, Abbi." He looked at her firmly. "You must . . . forgive me . . . for my unseemly behavior at times."

Abbi looked into his eyes and found new hope on his behalf. She felt certain he wasn't nearly as dead in spirit as he likely believed. "I understand," she said, "truly."

"Yes," he said, returning her gaze, "somehow I believe you do."

Cameron didn't like where such an admission led his thoughts. He pushed everything away except the moment and took her hand.

"Come along," he said, and they walked in silence, hand in hand, conversing only enough to comment on the scenery or the weather. The winter sun was easing toward the west horizon when they returned, and they once again made certain the animals had all they needed before going into the lodge.

"Did I wear you out?" Cameron asked, stopping before the door of the lodge to shake the snow off of his boots.

"Not at all."

He smiled. "Go warm up and we'll fix dinner."

"But it's my turn," she said.

"I know. But it's Christmas and I want to help."

"As you wish," she replied and went into the lodge, noting that the hem of her dress was wet from the snow. As soon as she had changed clothes and warmed her hands and feet, she came downstairs and found Cameron asleep on one of the sofas, his long legs hanging over the end. Watching him for a moment, she got an idea and hoped he would sleep long enough for her to carry out the impulsive plan.

In the cellar below the kitchen, Abbi found an ample supply of apples. As quietly as possible she mixed a pastry dough, recalling how she'd helped Marta do it many times through her youth. She then peeled and sliced the apples, mixing them with sugar and ground cinnamon. When the pie was completed she put it in the oven to bake, and began to prepare a meal of the finest they had available. With Marta's training and the practice she'd had through her weeks here, she was pleased to find some confidence in what she was doing.

With her preparations well under control, Abbi gathered every candle she could find and placed them on the table with the dishes. Then she went outside and cut some pine boughs from a tree, which she arranged neatly around the candles. Retrieving some hair ribbons from her room, she wound them into the boughs before standing back to admire the festive effect of the dinner table. With the pie cooling, she set the meal on the table and lit the candles. She smoothed her hair and dress and went to wake Cameron. He was sleeping so soundly that she wondered if he'd slept well the night before. Abbi felt hesitant to wake him, finding a certain peace in watching him this way. She wondered, as she often had, what it was about him that brought out these feelings in her.

"Cameron," she whispered close to his face and nudged his shoulder. "Cameron, wake up." His eyes came open sleepily as he moaned and stretched.

"Are you going to sleep away your Christmas?" she asked.

"How long have I--"

"More than two hours."

"I was just going to rest a minute and then help you with dinner," he said through a yawn as he sat up.

"You can help me eat it." She took his hand to pull him to his feet.

"Something smells good."

Abbi moved to the table still holding his hand, and she smiled to see the surprise that came to his face.

"Merry Christmas," she said, indicating that he sit down. She caught his tender eyes through the candlelight and a warm glow erupted inside of her, a completely peaceful sensation assuring her every nerve that she was where she needed to be, an intangible promise that with time all would be well.

They ate mostly in silence, but Abbi could tell from the tender glances Cameron gave her across the candle-lit table that he was pleased with what she'd done.

"Now don't get too full," she said. "I have a surprise for you."

"Now what have I done to deserve your being so good to me?"

Abbi thought it strange to recall at this moment how it had felt to be in Cameron's arms. A fluttering surged through her and she looked quickly away. "You saved my life," she finally said.

"And I'd do it again," he said earnestly. Abbi looked up at him and sensed some deeper meaning in his words.

"Are you finished?" she asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Yes, thank you."

Abbi stood and took their plates to the kitchen, returning with the pie and set it in front of him. A grin spread over his face as he looked up at her and took her hand.

"I don't believe it," he said. "Do you know how long it has been since I've eaten such a delicacy?"

"Too long, I suspect."

"Indeed."

"I do hope it's good," she said while serving him. "I've had a few lessons in the kitchen, but it's not one of my greatest assets, and . . . I had to improvise a bit."

"It certainly smells good," he replied as she served him a piece. He complimented her several times as he ate it, and he asked for more.

When Abbi took an armload of dishes into the kitchen, Cameron stood and followed her. After she set them down he took both her hands into his and smiled.

"Thank you, Abbi," he said quietly. "You've just made up for how miserable my last three Christmases have been."

"It was my pleasure." She impulsively reached up and touched his face, then quickly turned to finish clearing the table.

Cameron helped her clean the dishes. They both remained silent as they worked side by side, until he started to hum softly. After a moment Abbi recognized the melody as _O Taunenbaum,_ and she smiled at him. He hummed through one verse then began to sing the words; softly at first, then he became jubilant and she joined in. They finished the song together, laughing freely.

"Come, sit with me," he said, taking her by the hand to the common room. He stoked the fire and sat beside her on the sofa, but he said nothing and she wondered if it was companionship more than conversation that he wanted. She sensed it was both.

"So," she said when the silence grew long, "what were your Christmases like before you came here?"

"Since my mother died," he began, "they've been rather dull."

"Tell me about her."

"My mother was a good woman," he said, "and I didn't realize until she was gone just how much influence she'd had on the family. Things were never the same. But when she was alive," he smiled nostalgically, "she did everything possible to bring the spirit of Christmas into our home, in spite of our circumstances."

"Tell me about it." She smiled and leaned toward him with interest in her eyes.

Cameron spoke easily of his family traditions, and he told her stories of sentiment and humor from his past, using hand gestures frequently for emphasis. In turn, Abbi told of her Christmases with Papa, and how Georg and his mother had always shared holidays with them. She wondered what Georg was doing now.

Abbi became briefly lost in thought, then she looked up to see that Cameron was too.

"You look so sad," she said, and he turned in surprise. "What were you thinking just now?"

Cameron's expression saddened further. "I was . . . wishing, I suppose."

"To be home again?" she guessed.

"How perceptive you are." He sighed. "Yes, to be home again; to see those I care for most."

"Do you think Joseph felt that way?" she asked.

"Yes, Abbi, I believe he did. In fact, I've thought a great deal about your story of Joseph."

"It's not _my_ story. It's true, you know. It really happened."

Cameron had to admit, "Yes, I suppose it did." He took her hand and asked, "You think Joseph missed those he loved? Do you think he felt angry toward those who had betrayed and wronged him?"

"I'm certain he did."

"Do you think he ever wondered if he'd done something to deserve his bondage?"

"I would imagine."

Abbi held her breath as Cameron squeezed his eyes shut and anguish overtook his countenance. The statement had struck something painful in him, and she nearly expected him to get up and leave, but instead he squeezed her hand more tightly and her heart quickened. "Oh, Abbi," he muttered, "I lost so much." His voice cracked. "And I don't know why."

There were a thousand questions Abbi wanted to ask, but she knew from experience that they would be more likely to stop him from talking at all. Instead she put her arms around him, silently letting him know that she felt compassion for his pain. She was surprised when he took hold of her arms and pressed his face to her shoulder as if he might drown without her. "Oh, Abbi," he murmured again, "I don't understand."

He eased back to look into her eyes as if she could answer his plea. But how could she? She knew so little of his circumstances. She only knew how she felt about him. But even that was difficult, if not impossible, to express. In so many ways they were still practically strangers. Not knowing what to say, she simply touched his face, hoping to offer some kind of assurance.

Cameron looked into Abbi's eyes, wondering as he often did if she were real. If he had contemplated, even for a moment, the internal struggle he might feel tomorrow, he never would have kissed her. But his emotions were raw and open. Nothing but impulsive desperation guided his lips to hers.

"Abbi," he murmured, kissing her as if he had a right to. He eased back to look into her eyes. She seemed as surprised as he felt. But he wondered how this could feel so right when he had no reason to believe that whatever he shared with Abbi would ever last more than a fleeting moment. Still, there was something warm and hopeful in her eyes, and he couldn't find any reason to keep from kissing her again. Even knowing that his kiss was admitting to feelings he'd been fighting to resist, his desire overpowered his will. He kissed her as if she might actually hold a promise for his future, all the while knowing deep inside that such hopes were futile. His desire to look at her severed his lips from hers. But Abbi kept her eyes closed while she pondered his face with her fingers and urged her lips again to his. She was thirst and he was water. But surely it was the other way around. He felt one of her delicate hands move over his neck while the other crept into his hair. He kissed her cheek, her neck, the tip of her ear. She whispered his name and pressed the side of her face to his, and he found it possible to believe that the simple value of human contact had as much meaning for her as it did for him. Fighting to keep control of his senses, he resisted the compulsion to kiss her again, and instead looked into her eyes. She touched his face with trembling fingertips while her countenance expressed perfect acceptance. How could it be? How could this woman so precious, and fine, and exalted, ever find anything worthy of such innocent devotion in the crumbled man he had become?

"Oh, Abbi," he murmured, allowing her name to hover on his lips with the memory of her kiss. He took her face into his hands and pressed his thumbs over her cheeks, wanting to kiss her again but compelled by the need to just touch her and look at her. Fearing he might truly lose control of his senses, Cameron reminded himself of who he was and what he was doing. He let go of her and eased away, but he couldn't keep from watching her while a deep ache settled into him. How he wished that life could have been different, that he had come upon Abbi in a different time and place when he had been a man with something to give her.

While Abbi's lips tingled from Cameron's kiss, she absorbed his silent yearning, longing to read his thoughts. She feared that by morning he would neatly forget what was transpiring now. But she resigned herself to enjoy the moment. They gazed into each other's eyes, but there was no uneasiness between them as there often had been. Seeing his expression, she nearly anticipated some deep confession to gush out of him. But he only cleared his throat tensely and looked toward the floor, as if he were embarrassed by his affection.

Abbi sighed and turned away, unable to explain the feelings he wrought in her, especially at moments like this when his mysterious guard was let down, overtly betraying that she meant something to him. But perhaps, Abbi had to admit in all honesty, he had been alone for so long that it was merely her companionship he was attracted to.

"Merry Christmas, Cameron," she said with the tenderness she was feeling, hoping to break the tension.

Cameron turned toward her and smiled. "Merry Christmas," he repeated, then became lost in thought.

Abbi wondered why he looked so distressed. Or was he sad? Not wanting to let go of the tranquility of the moment, she searched for conversation that might prolong their time together and also satisfy her curiosity. "Tell me what you wanted to be," she said. Cameron looked baffled and she clarified, "When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

Cameron looked sad as he answered, "I wanted to be a blacksmith, actually. I remember sitting for hours as a child, watching one at work." He chuckled. "I thought it looked fun. I was much older before I noticed how much the poor man was sweating." Regret replaced his humor. "And I always wanted to be a father."

"Are you?"

"No--in both cases."

"What did you become?" she asked. He looked directly at her, as if he sensed what she was after.

"A fugitive," he said.

With the subject open, Abbi persisted. "Forgive me, but . . . I can't help wondering how you came to be accused of your wife's death."

Cameron looked surprised but not upset. His expression darkened as he stared into the fire. "I believe I mentioned before that our marriage was not good. But the real problems began when I heard rumors that she'd become involved with another man. Our relationship had dwindled to practically nothing anyway, so I just tried to ignore it and live my life. One morning while I was in town I received a message from her, saying she needed to speak to me at once. Naturally I hurried, hoping something good might come of it, but I . . ." he hesitated, "I found her dead. A kitchen knife . . . through the heart." Abbi felt a little sick at the thought, and could only imagine how Cameron must have felt. "I knelt down beside her," he continued. "I felt so . . . horrified, so shocked, so full of regret, wishing that I . . . had loved her more, or come sooner, or not been . . ." He paused and looked at Abbi sadly.

"Been what?"

"I suppose I wasn't the kind of man she wanted for a husband. I worked hard to give her what she wanted, to be what she wanted. But it was never enough."

"I'm sorry," Abbi whispered.

"For what?"

"That she was such a fool . . . not to see what a good man she had."

Cameron reached out to take her hand, squeezing it tenderly. "If you keep saying things like that, I won't let you go home."

Abbi wanted to say she would gladly stay with him forever, but she felt compelled to keep her feelings to herself. "Then what happened?" she asked.

"I pulled the knife out because I couldn't bear to see it there, and suddenly my bedroom was filled with several officers of the Guard. It was obvious that I'd been set up. I was arrested. A friend helped me escape, and I've been here ever since." He looked directly at her. "Now you know."

"How did you come by this mountain retreat, so perfectly secluded?"

"My grandfather built it with the help of a friend. He liked the quiet life and planned it all carefully for long periods of solitude. He gave it to my father, who gave it to me. Once Gwen died, no one living knew of this place but me and a friend of mine."

"Tell me about your father," she said.

"I didn't know him very well; we weren't close. There's not much to tell. He died many years ago."

"But he gave you all of this?"

Cameron smiled. "Yes, a very long time ago. You look tired," he added. "I'm boring you."

"Oh, not at all," she said.

Cameron was silent a moment and his sad expression returned.

"What are you thinking, Cameron?"

"Just dwelling a little in the past, I suppose."

Abbi touched his face, loving the affection they'd shared that made doing so possible. "Is it the past that makes you so sad? Or is it the past you're hiding from?"

He looked defensive but his voice didn't betray it. "I failed in my past, and . . ."

"And you should look to the future."

"There is no future. For me there is only the present."

After months of looking into his eyes, Abbi looked there now and discovered a new level of understanding. Cameron was a broken man. She could almost feel his inner anguish in believing his life was truly over, and he'd have no chance to redeem his past or find any joy in his future. She wanted desperately to say something to make his hurt go away, to help him see himself the way that she saw him. Instinctively she knew he had no comprehension of the future in his present state of mind. Wanting to offer some positive point, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, "Then we must find joy in the present."

Cameron looked into her eyes, wondering how any woman could be so good. He _wanted_ to feel joy, sharing such moments with her. But in his heart he could only believe that her presence in his life was simply prolonging the inevitable. Spring would come, she would leave, and nothing would change for him. Eventually he would return to the place he had been before he found her, and his life would come to a tragic and lonely end. Recalling too vividly that state of mind, his fear of her leaving him to face it again felt tangible and stark. He forced thoughts of it willfully away and changed the subject, hoping at least to satisfy his curiosity over something that he'd wondered since she'd first come here. Reaching out to take the little black pearl between his fingers, he asked with genuine fascination, "Why do you wear this? I assume it has significance."

"It does," she said, "although it might sound rather silly."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I've never seen you without it."

"I've never taken it off," she said while Cameron continued to examine the tiny gem with his fingers. "My father gave it to me soon after my mother died. At the time, the chain was long and it hung down much farther, but as you can see, I've grown into it."

"Then it holds sentiment for your father? Your mother?"

"Neither, really," she said. "It was something he purchased after her death, so it had no connection to her, and he gave it to me as something of a parting gift. He was leaving me in his father's care. As I told you, I was never really close to my father. The sentiment of his gift is more in the explanation he gave me of its meaning."

Cameron smiled. "Now you've really got me curious."

"A black pearl is rare, he told me. Anyone can own a white pearl. But this black pearl is clearly unique because it's imperfect; it's far from round, as you can see. It's also very beautiful. He told me that like this pearl I am unique, that I should never try to be like any other woman, but find joy and fulfillment in simply being who I am." She laughed softly. "Maybe that's why I'm so stubborn about not conforming to society's expectations."

Cameron smiled at her again, his eyes sparkling with some kind of enchantment. "Or maybe your father saw something wonderful and unique in you at a very early age that he hoped to encourage, even in his absence."

"Maybe," Abbi said, looking down. As always, thoughts of her father left her unsettled.

"You want to know what I think?" he asked, letting go of the pearl to lift her chin and look into her eyes. "I think your father is a very wise man, and I agree with him completely. You _are_ unique, Abbi--and very beautiful; unlike any woman I've ever known."

For a long moment Abbi became lost in his eyes, wanting to treasure up the words he'd just spoken. She was relieved when he kissed her, and disappointed when his kiss was brief and he hurried to change the subject. Still, he held her hand in his as they talked far into the night, until Abbi couldn't stay awake any longer. "I must get some sleep," she said, forcing herself to stand up. "I didn't get a nap, you know."

"Thank you again," he said, "for an unforgettable day."

"It was purely my pleasure. And I should thank you--for the gift." Abbi bent to place a kiss on his cheek. "Good-night, then."

"Good-night," he replied and watched her walk away.

The following morning, Abbi was not surprised to find Cameron cool toward her, and mostly silent. But she couldn't deny her disappointment, and rather than ignoring his changed mood as she'd done in the past, she ventured to question him.

"Is something bothering you?" she asked.

"No, why?"

"I have to wonder why you become so closed toward me after anything good or tender passes between us."

Cameron's expression hovered between angry and astonished. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said and walked away.

Abbi sighed and followed him. "Cameron, why won't you talk to me?"

His voice was toneless. "Isn't that what we were doing last night?"

"Yes, but now . . . what I mean is . . . I wish that you would . . . really _talk_ to me. Tell me what's troubling you, Cameron, and--"

Cameron turned to face her, anger blazing in his eyes. "There are some things that I cannot, and will not, discuss with you."

"And I take it that includes your feelings, your hurts and fears, your dreams."

"I have no dreams, Abbi. A man in my position has nothing to wish for."

"You were wishing last night."

"Futile wishes. There is no point in discussing something so thoroughly fruitless."

Cameron finished with a harsh glare, wanting to be done with this conversation. But Abbi looked at him as if she could see into his soul. He expected her to snap back in the same tone of voice that he'd thrown at her. But she said gently, "Forgive me, Cameron. I know you have your reasons. My intent is not to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me. But please, don't push me away. I need you."

Cameron looked into her eyes, attempting to accept what she'd just said. _She needed him?_ The thought was as pleasant as it was frightening. He took a deep breath and had to admit, "I need you too, Abbi. Perhaps that's what scares me. What we share is only temporary."

Abbi drew her courage and asked, "Does it have to be?"

"Yes!" he snapped so abruptly that it startled her. Seeing her frightened expression, he touched her face in silent apology for his sharp tone. "Yes," he repeated more softly, "it has to be."

Abbi watched him walk away, not willing to accept his declaration. She resigned herself to being patient, and doing whatever it took to keep the friendship between them open. Perhaps with time, she could reach the part of Cameron that needed her the most.

As January set in, Abbi became more comfortable with Cameron. He was most often quiet and distant, revealing little about himself, but usually kind and considerate. She began accompanying him to the stable each morning to help with the animals, and Blaze was always pleased to see her.

Watching her with Blaze, Cameron commented, "That horse has the same color of hair that you do. The color of fire."

"That's why Georg named him Blaze," she said. "He says that Blaze and I are soul mates."

Cameron smiled and took a handful of Abbi's hair, running it through his long fingers with fascination. "I don't doubt that," he said, then turned his attention back to feeding the animals.

The immense depth of the snow made it impossible to ride the horses, but Abbi helped Cameron see that they were each exercised daily. He informed her that one of his mares couldn't be ridden anyway, since Blaze had gotten her pregnant. He smirked when he told her and Abbi tried not to blush, even though she felt certain he was trying to embarrass her. He added that it was a good thing he'd kept the other mare in separate quarters, so he'd have an animal to ride if he needed to.

Abbi learned to gather eggs and to milk the cow, although she was so bad at it initially that Cameron teased her with no mercy. But at least her awkwardness with the cow and her initial fear of chickens made him laugh. It was good to see him laugh. She had no trouble admitting that she enjoyed the opportunity to be with Cameron whenever possible. And she usually made a point to seek out his companionship, in spite of the silence that generally ruled between them. She found it humorous that the dogs began to follow her more than they did Cameron. He commented on it only once, saying that he couldn't blame them. Captain took to sitting at Abbi's side and resting his head in her lap, while Duke enjoyed sleeping directly on top of Abbi's feet when she sat for long periods of time.

Abbi developed a daily ritual of being near the fire to read after all the work was done. And Cameron usually did the same. They established an unspoken game to choose where they would sit. If Cameron chose the sofa, Abbi would take the chair closest to the fire. And if Abbi chose the opposite sofa, Cameron would take the chair near the desk. They always managed to sit where they could glance up and look at each other, making another game of trying not to get caught looking up.

On a particularly snowy afternoon, Abbi sprawled herself on the sofa with her wool-stockinged feet hanging over the end. Cameron sat low in the chair near the fire, finding that he was less and less interested in his book. He'd read it twice before and it hadn't been all that compelling to begin with. He couldn't help watching Abbi. She was like no other woman he'd ever seen. It wasn't just the striking hair color, or the challenge in her vivid green eyes that made her unforgettable. Nor was it the unique way she carried herself. Gracefulness alone could not describe Abbi. She was elegant and lissome, with an appealing touch of childlike charm. But she was also very wise. How could he ever put a description of her to words, any more than he could describe how she was affecting his life? Now as he watched her reading, she nearly looked like a little girl, and he suddenly had the urge to play.

Abbi never went too many minutes without looking up to see if she could catch Cameron looking at her. She caught him staring boldly, and when he made no attempt to avert his gaze, she stared back. Then, with no warning, he went into a hilarious imitation of a wild animal, gritting his teeth and walking toward her with his arms outstretched, making deep growling noises. She squealed with laughter as he pulled her into his arms, tickling her mercilessly. His laugh joined hers and they rolled together onto the floor. Abbi beat her fists against him in protest until he finally stopped, only to say with mock wickedness, "The big bad wolf has come to devour you, little Goldilocks."

"There's no big bad wolf in the story of Goldilocks," she said breathlessly. "You're getting your fairy tales mixed up."

"If I'm the big bad wolf, I can do whatever I want," he said and tickled her again. She screamed and laughed until he finally relented.

"You must be mad," she said, out of breath all over again.

"Yes," he said, lying back on the floor beside her, "I believe I am. I just couldn't bear the silence any longer."

Abbi turned to look into his eyes. "Would you say that we are friends?" she asked.

"No doubt," he replied easily.

"And will we always be friends? When it comes time for me to leave here, will we ever see each other again?"

"I can't answer that." He sighed. "Change the subject, please. I must confess that your leaving here is not my favorite topic."

"Then you _do_ like me," she said lightly.

"Yes," he said with a chuckle. "I do."

They both lay silently on the floor until Abbi realized Cameron was asleep. She relaxed and took pleasure in being near him, eventually falling asleep herself.

Cameron woke to find Abbi's head on his shoulder. He relished her closeness for a few minutes before he eased away and stood, glad that he'd not awakened her. Watching Abbi sleep, he convinced himself that it was all right to appreciate her companionship while he had it. But he had to be careful to keep his thoughts and feelings in perspective. Then he quietly went upstairs.

Abbi woke to a gentle poking in her ribs. Opening her eyes, she saw Cameron standing above her with his hands on his hips. She focused on him and grinned. "My, don't you look fine," she said.

Cameron only smiled and reached down his hand to help her up. Once standing, Abbi couldn't resist touching his freshly trimmed beard. Then she realized his hair was shorter. It still hung to the bottom of his neck, which was obviously a length where he could reach to trim it himself. She couldn't resist touching that as well. "You do look nice," she said, standing back to get a better look at him. "And you don't look quite so wicked."

"Well, I'm _still_ wicked," he teased and chased her to the table, where they sat to eat as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Lance stood from behind his desk as one of his lieutenants entered through the open door. His office was adjacent to the keep, where prisoners were kept, and not far from the courtroom, where orders of justice on behalf of Horstberg were meted out. Although, much of the time these days, Lance had trouble seeing that _justice_ had much to do with the majority of what took place there. He pushed away uneasy feelings that were becoming more and more difficult to smother and turned his full attention to the lieutenant, whose expression indicated that something was amiss.

"What is it?" Lance demanded, reminding himself not to take out his foul moods on those he worked with.

"The petition of clemency we discussed yesterday, regarding the prisoner whose family is--"

"Yes, I know who you mean," Lance said, not wanting to hear the details again. It would only sting his open wounds and he was not up for it.

"His Grace has still not signed it," he stated, holding up the document in question.

Lance felt horrified and at the same time not at all surprised. While a man, falsely accused, was languishing in a prison cell, his family, who had some extreme needs and endured extenuating circumstances, were suffering in his absence. The matter had been thoroughly discussed by every committee that was in place to help rule this country, and it had been put repeatedly before Nikolaus du Woernig, requiring his final approval before it could be resolved. Nikolaus had reluctantly agreed, mostly because he seemed to prefer more than anything to not be bothered by it any further. He had promised to sign the paper to make it official the previous day. Lance had wrongly assumed it had been taken care of and the man in question had been reunited with his family. He could now add this to the growing list accumulating in his mind of reasons why he needed to _personally_ act as a nursemaid to the Duke of Horstberg through every detail of important matters, or they would never be taken care of.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Lance said gruffly, taking the paper from his hands. "I'll see to it. Does anyone have _any_ idea where His Grace might be at the moment?"

"None, sir. He is nowhere in the castle as far as anyone can tell."

"That's wonderful," Lance murmured with harsh sarcasm and hurried out to the courtyard to mount one of the many horses that were always kept saddled and ready to go in case members of the Guard were ever needed urgently to enforce the law.

It only took Lance a minute's thought as he rode to know where he was mostly likely to find his childhood friend now turned tyrant. And the very idea made him sick to his stomach. Nikolaus's riotous living was getting more and more out of hand, and Lance was often haunted by words Magda had once said to him: _Revolutions brew when good people are subjected to such ridiculous tyranny._

Sure enough, Lance found the Duke of Horstberg in a brothel, and a rather unsavory one as far as brothels went. Lance ignored the scantily clad women, ordered them all to give him some privacy with the duke, biting his tongue against chastising him because he knew it would only spur a pointless argument that he would inevitably lose because by all rights and measures Nikolaus was the man with the power. So Lance just put the paper in front of Nikolaus, reminded him of his promise to sign it, stood there while he did, and rode back to the castle, trying not to fume, and trying even harder not to feel terrified of what the future might bring for this country he loved so dearly.

Lance personally saw to releasing the falsely accused man from prison, and he personally escorted him home to be reunited with his family. Observing the joyous and tearful reunion soothed his pain somewhat, and he reminded himself that he _was_ doing some good, even if it was only a little here and there. He simply had to keep striving to make a difference on behalf of the people, even if it was only in tiny increments. If he remained entirely focused on _that_ every waking moment of his life, perhaps he could stop thinking about Abbi. Somehow, he knew that all of this would be easier if she were here, if she were alive. But she wasn't. And just as when he'd lost Gwen, he had no choice but to keep going. And so he would.

A week into January, Abbi became confronted with an unexplainable urgency. It was as if time were somehow running out. But for what? There were months left until she could leave. Perhaps it would take that long to get Cameron to learn something that she was supposed to teach him. But what? She wanted to believe there was a future for them, that they were meant to share their lives in every way, but she reminded herself often that she didn't know what the future held, and she had to be careful not to let her wants and emotions confuse her purpose--whatever that purpose might be.

Abbi carefully pondered the events that had occurred since she'd first dreamed of Cameron's mountain lodge. She recounted her feelings, and the evidence she'd had that there was far more to Cameron than he often let on. Still, she remained confused. And her confusion was only compounded by Cameron's guarded manner. He remained polite and friendly, but the affection they'd shared on occasion had become nonexistent. He seemed determined to remain friends alone--at all costs. But Abbi felt certain that she would never reach the deepest part of him as long as he remained so aloof. She wondered how she might get him to trust her, to open up to her. And she prayed day and night for strength and guidance.

Gradually Abbi came to believe that the only way to teach Cameron to trust again was for her to trust _him_ completely, even if she wasn't certain how she might let him know. She asked God if her conclusion was right and good. She had nothing but a peaceful feeling to confirm her question, but she believed that was enough. She'd always been taught to trust her instincts--and there had never been a moment when they hadn't lured her toward Cameron, with feelings deeper than she'd ever experienced before in her life.

On a heavy night with wind and snow howling around the lodge, Abbi woke from a dream that left her breathless. She'd hardly dreamed at all since she'd come here, and she'd not felt this way since she'd dreamed of the path that had led her to Cameron.

"Help me understand," she prayed aloud and rolled onto her side, holding her pillow tightly. Oblivious to the wind outside, she played the dream over and over in her mind. She finally drifted back to sleep, only to have the same dream again. She woke up trembling, her mouth dry, her breathing sharp. The things she'd seen were not by any means frightening, but the feelings and implications were too overwhelming to digest.

Abbi attempted to light a candle, but her hands were trembling too much to strike the match. So she groped her way through the darkness, holding the stair railing tightly to guide her to the kitchen, where she felt her way to where she knew water had been left ready to be heated in the morning. She splashed water on her face and drank it from her cupped hands.

"What are you doing?" Cameron's voice startled her. He struck a match and touched it to a lantern wick close by.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't want to wake you. I just . . ."

He looked her up and down before taking her wet hands into his. "You're trembling, Abbi. What's wrong? Are you ill?"

"No, of course not. I . . ."

"What?" he demanded.

Abbi didn't know what to say. She couldn't admit to what was bothering her without opening up something she wasn't prepared to discuss.

"What?" he repeated, his voice deeper.

"I . . . I had a . . . dream." She pulled away and hurried up the stairs. "I'm fine now, thank you," she called over her shoulder and hurried back to bed.

For the next two days, Cameron watched Abbi become steadily more on edge. She jumped at the slightest noise, as if her mind were absorbed elsewhere. She hardly spoke at all, but occasionally he'd catch her staring at him, looking as frightened as he felt. He knew that whatever she had dreamed was troubling her. And her refusal to talk about it only deepened the evidence that it likely had something to do with him. Unable to bear his ignorance any longer, Cameron barred her way as she headed up the stairs after dinner.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"You're not leaving this room until you tell me."

Abbi swallowed hard and turned away from him. "Tell you what?"

"It's that dream, isn't it," he said with certainty. "You've been like some kind of ghost since you had that dream."

Abbi's heart quickened, amazed at the accuracy of his perception. She attempted to evade him. "I find it difficult to believe that you would have any desire to know the contents of my dreams, when you have so little to say to me otherwise." She turned to look at him directly. "I was under the impression that my dreams only frightened you, and--"

"They _do_ frighten me, Abbi." He took hold of her shoulders. "But not nearly as much as what might happen if I ignore them."

Abbi attempted to accept his implication. He had just acknowledged a deep respect for the dream that had led her here. And it was impossible to separate her presence in his life from the fact that she was the one who had been guided to him.

"It has something to do with me," he said. Her thoughts were moving so fast that she couldn't answer. "This dream you had a few days ago . . . it has something to do with me, or you wouldn't be so hesitant to speak of it. Am I right?"

Abbi felt her breath deepen. Then she nodded.

Cameron deepened his gaze and tightened his grip. "Tell me," he insisted in a harsh whisper.

Abbi nodded to indicate that she would, and she walked toward a chair as he let go of her. She sat down and put her hands on the table. Cameron watched her a moment, slowly moving to the other chair. He wondered if she had foreseen something from his future. His worst fears came to mind. Had she seen him executed? Or languishing in prison?

"I'm listening," he said when her silence dragged on.

Abbi cleared her throat tensely. "It was very simple, actually. I saw . . . a child . . . riding a hobbyhorse."

"And?"

"That was it." She imitated his curt tone.

"You've been wandering around here in a trance because you saw a _child_ on a _hobbyhorse?_ "

"Just as with my other dreams, it's not so much what I saw as the way it made me feel."

Cameron tightened his gaze on her, not liking the way his heart pounded. "How did it make you feel, Abbi?"

"Like it was . . . significant, that it would . . . happen."

"A child on a hobbyhorse?"

"That's right," she said, feeling a little better. She didn't have to tell him the details, and they could leave it at this.

"There has to be more," he said, and by the way her eyes shifted, he knew she was omitting details.

"What did the horse look like?" he asked.

Abbi sighed. "It was . . . ornately carved, as if a great deal of time had gone into making it."

"What color was it?"

Abbi shrugged. "The color of wood, but . . ."

As a memory began to stir into Abbi's description, Cameron didn't like the feelings it elicited. "But?" he pressed.

"Where the brand would be, there was painted a red lion."

Cameron sucked in his breath but forced a steady expression. It took every ounce of self-control not to shout at her and call her some kind of psychic witch. He swallowed carefully and asked, "And the child?"

This was the part that troubled Abbi most. "He had your face," she said, "and your curly hair, but it was curlier than yours."

"It was me," he said, liking the answer. He knew his hair had been curlier as a child. The explanation soothed his emotions somewhat, but at the same time seemed rather pointless.

"I don't think so," she said.

"Why not?"

Abbi turned away, not wanting to see his reaction. "His hair was red."

It took Cameron a full minute to grasp the implication. He wanted to accuse her of being some evil sorceress, of making up these dreams to manipulate or torment him. But there was too much validity to question it. He knew that the feelings bubbling inside of him were not rational, but he couldn't find any strength to hold them back. "It's madness," he said, erupting to his feet. He slammed a fist on the table. "It's absolute insanity! It's impossible! It's absurd!"

Abbi winced at his anger. She stood to face him, drawing up her chin to say in a firm voice, "If it is so absurd, then why are you so angry?"

Cameron turned and left the lodge, not coming back until Abbi was settled into bed. Through the next few days she could almost feel her mood being transferred into him. She saw her own fears and speculations mirrored tenfold in his eyes. While she felt something inside her beginning to digest the implication of her dream, Cameron withdrew further from her. He implied by his reticence that he was determined to remain independent of her. It would have been easy for Abbi to believe that he truly disliked her and simply wanted nothing to do with her in his future. But as she searched the evidence of all that had transpired between them during her stay, she was inclined to believe that his motives were more related to fear and doubt. Abbi felt helpless to reach him, while the urgency inside her only grew stronger each day. Again she prayed for strength and guidance, knowing deep inside that she was only human. There was nothing in her power that could change Cameron's perspective if he didn't want to change.

Cameron resigned himself to spending as much time in the stable as he could possibly manage, if only to avoid the way Abbi's presence filled his home. It took all his mental effort to keep from obsessing about this woman and her dreams. And the busier he kept, the easier it was to avoid thoughts that threatened to devour him.

On a fairly warm afternoon, Cameron did some insignificant repairs, purposely dragging out each task. As he meticulously organized his tools, it became evident that nothing would keep Abbi out of his thoughts.

"Blast her!" he muttered under his breath, setting both hands on the edge of a wooden chest. He took a deep breath and forced her out of his head, at the same time moving one hand to reach down and pick up a chisel off the ground. With no warning, the heavy lid of the chest slammed down over his fingers. The latch hit the back of his hand, creating a deep gash. Cameron moaned and cursed as he freed his hand and curled around it, wondering how he could have been so stupid. Watching blood drip onto the ground while his fingers throbbed, his head began to swim. He put his head down for a minute, hoping to equalize himself enough to get to the lodge. He stood slowly and got out the stable door. Becoming dizzy again, he fell and landed on his knees. He wondered if anything had ever hurt so much in his entire life. His mind was drawn to the senseless beating he'd gotten in prison, and the memory added to the sickness he was feeling. He tried to stand and once again ended up kneeling in the snow, his head pressed to the cold ground like some kind of monk in prayer.

"Abbi!" he shouted and waited a minute, but nothing happened. "Abbi, I need--"

"What!" she snapped, opening the lodge door. Then she saw him and ran up the steps carved in the deep snow that led up from the doorway. She hurried across the crusted surface of the snow and knelt beside him. "What is it?" she asked gently. "What's happened?"

"My hand," he muttered and tried to lift his head.

Abbi gasped when his left hand came into view. His fingers were red and swollen and blood was spewing generously from the back of his hand, staining the snow in front of him.

"Come along," she said. "We've got to get you inside."

With Abbi to lean on, Cameron managed to get up and walk. He'd never pondered until now just how tiny she was. Her head didn't even come to the top of his shoulder. But she felt strong and secure as she kept his balance for him.

"Come upstairs and--"

"I can't make it up the stairs," he said tersely. But when she helped him toward one of the sofas, he shook his head. "I can't lie there. It's too short." They took a few more steps to the rug where he spent his nights, and he moaned as he practically collapsed on his side. Abbi grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around the hand to put pressure where it was bleeding.

"What happened?" she asked, elevating his arm by propping a pillow beneath it.

"A chest . . . the lid . . . slammed down . . ."

"Ooh," Abbi said. "I'd wager that hand's going to be pretty useless for a while."

"Really?" he retorted with sarcasm.

"At least it's not your right hand. It could be worse."

"It _is_ worse," he snapped. "I'm left-handed."

"So you are," Abbi said sheepishly. "I'll be right back. Now don't move."

"I've no intention of moving." He watched her walk away, then closed his eyes.

Abbi returned a few minutes later and stuck his fingers into a bowl full of snow. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"The cold will keep the swelling down."

"Who told you that?"

"The doctor told my grandfather after he'd had a nasty quarrel with a difficult horse."

"Who won?"

"The horse. Then my grandfather spent several days in bed, regularly putting several parts of his body on ice."

"How clever you are, Abbi," he said. "Now it hurts _and_ it's cold."

"Stop being such a baby," she retorted. He glared at her, and she found it difficult not to laugh.

By evening Cameron's fingers had all swollen to double their normal size, and they were a deep purple color. Only his thumb had been spared. The gash on his hand had stopped bleeding, but he could feel his heart beating in his fingers until he wanted to scream.

"It's really hurting, isn't it," Abbi said, watching the contortions on his face. He'd not moved from where he was, and he'd refused to eat any dinner.

"Yes, it hurts. Go ahead. Call me a baby."

Abbi laughed softly and sat down beside him. "Don't you have anything around here that you can take for the pain?"

"No. If I did, I'd have given it to you when I had to set your ankle."

"Do you think anything's broken?" she asked, fearing what the answer might be.

"I don't think so," he said without opening his eyes. "But my fingers won't be moving until the swelling goes down, anyway."

Abbi took hold of his good hand, saying gently, "I wish there was something I could do."

"Maybe you could concoct some magic spell to ease my pain, the same way you see senseless visions." His tone was mocking and Abbi stood up abruptly, her concern smothered by anger.

_"If_ I could concoct a spell," she snarled, "I'd come up with something to make you see what a fool you are. Under the circumstances, I would think you'd have the sense not to bite the hand that may end up feeding you. You can just lie there and _rot,_ for all I care. In the meantime, I'll be praying for an early spring."

Cameron watched her go up the stairs, and he winced when the bedroom door slammed. As her words echoed through his mind, the pain in his hand diminished in light of one harsh fact. Abbi was right. He _was_ a fool. Since she had come into his life, his thoughts and emotions had been continually engaged in silent battle. His years of being alone seemed so uncomplicated in comparison. Yet, looking back, he knew the simplicity of his emotions had just been a symptom of his refusal to feel anything at all.

Abbi went to bed angry, but an hour later she had to admit that she'd never sleep while Cameron lay there with nothing to eat, and nothing to ease the pain. She was trying to talk herself into going downstairs to check on him when she heard noises below in the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" she asked, coming down the stairs.

Cameron glared at the round of bread he was attempting to slice with his right hand. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He stabbed the loaf and left the knife there. "I'm trying to prove myself a fool once again."

"If you weren't so proud, you'd have asked for some help."

"I thought you were asleep."

"Well, I'm not." She pushed past him to cut two thick slices of bread which she buttered and put on the table. "Sit down," she ordered, "before you fall over. You're as white as a ghost."

She gathered dried fruit and jerked meat that he could eat with his good hand. She poured him a tall glass of milk and asked, "Is there anything else you need?"

Cameron swallowed. "No, thank you."

"Then I'm going back to bed," she said and headed up the stairs.

She was halfway up when Cameron said, "Abbi." She turned to look down at him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said and left him alone.
Chapter Nine

HOPE

Three days later, Cameron's hand finally stopped throbbing--as long as he kept it higher than his elbow. He could move his fingers enough to know that they weren't broken. But they were so swollen and discolored that it was impossible to do even the simplest task without experiencing great pain. Abbi took care of the animals and the meals without complaint. She was gracious and polite but said little. Her only comment beyond necessary exchange was a slightly sarcastic expression of gratitude for having ample wood chopped, because she felt certain she wouldn't be any good at doing it.

Feeling useless as he did, Cameron keenly felt her reticence. He didn't have any trouble with the fact that he deserved her behavior, but he had a hard time admitting that she'd learned it from him. Had she felt so disheartened and vulnerable when she'd first come here? The answer was a blatant yes. And he had to wonder if this ridiculous accident had truly been his own stupidity, or if God was trying to teach him a lesson. Either way, he hated it. At the same time, he felt something softening in him--almost against his will. Still, he preferred not to examine such feelings too closely.

A week after he'd smashed his fingers, Cameron began to hope that he'd get beyond this experience. He was able to use his left hand minimally, as long as he didn't attempt a feat that took any pressure or strength. When Abbi set his dinner in front of him, which included a venison steak, he wondered if she were trying to make things as difficult as possible. Determined to be independent, he did his best to cut the meat into bite-sized pieces while Abbi ate her dinner, paying no mind to him whatsoever.

"Damn!" he finally muttered when he just couldn't do it.

"There's no need to curse," she scolded. "If you want help, all you have to do is ask."

"Fine," he snarled. "Will you please cut this?" He pushed his plate toward her.

"I'd be happy to."

"You find my cursing offensive?" he asked with a little smirk.

"Should I?"

He scowled. "Well, it hurts like hell and I'll curse if I want to."

Abbi threw down the knife and slid his plate back across the table. "If you can't speak to me with any kind of respect, you can do it yourself."

Cameron cursed under his breath and glanced down at his meal. He ate what he could, then had to admit he couldn't do it alone. His only other options were to starve or eat like a barbarian. "Forgive me, Abbi," he said. "I will do my best to control my speech."

"Thank you," she said with a forced smile and stood up to cut the remainder of his meat.

Before she was finished, Cameron reached up with his good hand to touch her hair where it hung in front of his face. _Could it be possible?_ he asked himself. _A child with his face . . . and red hair?_

"Abbi," he whispered as she set the knife down.

"What?" she asked.

He only shook his head and said, "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll heal soon enough."

Abbi sat back down and finished her meal, fighting to conceal her frustration. She wanted him to need her. But not like this.

While she was cleaning the dishes, Cameron appeared beside her, pushing her hair behind her shoulder so he could see her face. She glanced up briefly, attempting to gauge his motives. The sincerity in his expression made her heart quicken, and tears that were already close to the surface became suddenly difficult to subdue.

"You look as if you're about to cry," he said. She threw down the wet rag and turned her back to him. "Am I so cruel?" he asked, touching her shoulders.

Abbi couldn't speak without letting go of her emotion. At times like this, when his sensitivity overcame his brusque exterior, she felt an innate closeness to him that she could never put to words. But she knew from experience that his tenderness would only be temporary, and she feared being too open, knowing they would be separated by an even thicker wall tomorrow.

"Yes, I suppose I am," he said when she didn't make a sound. She felt his hand in her hair and closed her eyes to more fully accept his nearness, his touch.

"There's something I need to tell you," Cameron said, wishing he could see her face, praying he wouldn't regret setting such words free. "It runs through my head over and over. I fear if I don't say it aloud, it will never leave me in peace." Still she said nothing. Cameron took a deep breath. "Somewhere in Horstberg, Abbi, in the home where I grew up, there is a hobbyhorse, the color of wood, ornately carved, with a red lion painted where the brand would be."

Abbi sucked in her breath and held it. She turned to face him, oblivious to the tears that refused to be held back another moment. Her breath escaped her with a quivering sigh. Cameron touched the tears on her face. "What does it mean, Abbi?"

She shook her head, unable to answer. He put his arms around her, pressing her face to his chest. Abbi just clung to him, aware of his heart pounding along with her own. She tipped her head back to look at him, wishing he could always be this way with her.

"Abbi," he murmured, cradling her head in his hand. And then he was kissing her. He kissed her like he never had before. Something honest and real and open crept into his affection. She could feel his reluctant trust, his flailing hope, his confusion, his fear, his aching spirit. And she responded with her whole soul, as if she were truly capable of saving him, as if she could feed him her hopes and dreams. She gasped with pleasure as he kissed her throat, her face, her lips again. She ached to have it go on and on, to make it last forever, but her common sense began to battle with the passion building inside of her. She resigned herself to stopping this the very moment he took a step back, heaving a breath of restraint.

"Abbi, we mustn't," he murmured close to her face.

"I know," she whispered in reply.

"Forgive me," he said, but he kissed her again before leaving the lodge. Abbi sat down and cried, knowing beyond any doubt that by morning she would be left alone once again with her feelings.

She hardly slept that night as memories of being in Cameron's arms made her ache. But for what? In her heart she knew it wasn't her physical desires that dictated this longing. But how could she express her feelings to a man who had apparently forgotten how to feel little _but_ physical desire?

She rose early with little sleep behind her and quickly went to work preparing breakfast, until she turned to see Cameron standing in the kitchen. His expression made it immediately evident that he'd put up that impenetrable wall--just as she'd predicted. She turned her back to him, attempting to ignore his presence. She didn't realize how distracted she was until he took a step toward her. She dropped the plate she was holding and it shattered on the floor. Cameron's expression didn't change as he bent to pick up the broken pieces. Silently, Abbi bent to help him, but she found herself so close to him that she could feel his breath. Their eyes met for an awkward moment, and she felt angry with herself for wanting him to kiss her. Knowing that he wouldn't, she threw the piece of plate in her hand back to the floor, where it broke again, then she noisily put breakfast on the table while he got the broom and finished cleaning up the mess. Once seated, their eyes met with tangible communication passing through the air between them. Abbi knew he was remembering, just as she was, the passion they'd found in each other's arms last night, however fleeting and innocent. Fluttery from the meaning in his gaze, she dropped her fork audibly to the table and leaned back, parting her lips to draw a deep breath.

"Forget about it, Abbi," he commanded, his voice low.

"That will be no problem for you," she countered. "You're well accustomed to quickly forgetting any sensitivity that passes between us." He looked insulted but said nothing, so she continued. "I don't know what you're running from, and I really don't care, but it's--"

"Forget about it!" he shouted. And for the first time in weeks, Cameron looked downright cruel. But Abbi didn't feel the fear she knew he was trying to instill in her. She stood up and hit her fist against the table.

"I can't!" she shouted back. "And you can't expect me to!"

"You've got to!"

"Why?" she demanded.

Cameron glared at her with defiance, but he couldn't come up with an answer. He knew his own anger was simply some warped attempt to mask the fear lurking beneath it. But he didn't know what to do about it.

"You're not going to make me forget this time," she said, her eyes full of fire. "I'm going to make you remember. Think about it, Cameron." Her voice quivered as she walked around the table to stand close to him, looking down into his face. "Think about it long and hard. Remember how it felt!"

Cameron could only turn away and swallow hard. She'd struck a nerve, and he felt certain she knew it. How could he _not_ remember? His constant thoughts of everything sweet and tender he had shared with Abbi were the very thing that made him so afraid to acknowledge what he felt. Still, this was so much more complicated than she could ever understand. For all that they'd shared, the facts hadn't changed. There was nowhere for these feelings to go, no future to invest in, nothing to hope for. He regained his composure and stood to face her. "There is no good in this, Abbi."

"Then we're not talking about the same thing."

"What are you saying, Abbi? Would you have me compromise you? Is that what you want?"

"No! I would have you admit honestly to your feelings for me."

"My feelings are irrelevant," he snapped. "And I'm not going to destroy our friendship by gratifying carnal desires." Cameron regretted saying that as soon as it slipped out.

The tears in Abbi's eyes contradicted her determined expression as she retorted, "Why won't you admit there's more to what we share than some sordid physical attraction?"

"Because I can't!" he shouted. Then his voice broke as the raw truth forced its way into the open. "I _cannot_ allow myself to become personally involved with you."

Abbi's astonished gaze was more than enough to make him feel like a hypocrite. But she had to say, "You already are."

Cameron sat back down and pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I know," he said.

"Is it so bad?"

"For you, perhaps."

"I'm capable of judging for myself."

"You can't judge the situation accurately when you don't have all the facts. There is far too much you don't know about me."

"Tell me," she challenged.

"I can't, Abbi. You have no comprehension what you're asking."

"It really doesn't matter what I know about you, Cameron. Because I know how you make me feel. I know what led me here, and--"

The severity returned to his eyes as he interrupted firmly, "We will forget last night."

_"You_ might," she reached out and touched his face, "but I doubt it." She paused uneasily. "And I hope you don't."

Cameron closed his eyes tightly as if to shut out her words, then his hand went over hers. Turning his face into her palm, he pressed his lips there before he opened his eyes and looked up at her. Abbi could see by his expression that he wanted to say something, that he felt some kind of desperation. She wanted to be in his arms, to have him spill his heart to her. She ached to help him find the peace of mind he was searching for. If only she could reach him!

"Eat your breakfast, Abbi," he said, pulling his hand away. "It's getting cold."

Overcome with defeat and frustration, she sat down across from him and tried in vain to eat.

At dinner, Cameron once again had a meal put in front of him that he couldn't eat without help. Couldn't she make stew or something? He knew from experience that a humble request for her assistance was the only way he'd get anything to eat without being barbaric. While she was cutting his food into bite-sized pieces, he said, "You're really enjoying this, aren't you."

Abbi couldn't hold back a little smile. "Yes, actually. I believe I am." Her expression sobered. "But don't worry, Cameron. You'll be healed soon enough. And winter is half over. I'll be gone before you know it, and then you can have your pleasant little life here back to normal."

Cameron swallowed hard to keep from coming back at her with anger. He finally asked, "Do you really believe that's what I want?"

Abbi finished her task and sat down. "Do I have any reason to believe otherwise?"

"Do you intend to make every meal a drama?" he asked, if only to divert attention from the question.

"If that's what it takes."

"If you've got something you want to say, Abbi, just get to the point."

"All right, I will. In spite of some rare tender moments, I have every reason to believe that I am little more than a curse to you." He opened his mouth to protest but she didn't give him a chance. "Be patient, my friend, and I'll be gone before you know it. Then you can crawl back into the hole you've carved here for yourself. You can hide from the world outside, and never worry about all of the people out there who might hate you or do you harm."

"Do I have any choices beyond hiding in this hole, Abbi?"

"There are _always_ choices, Cameron. I don't need to know the details of why you're here to know that you've become content to stay put. So be it. Stay here and _rot!_ You'll never have to deal with anyone's anger but your own. But you'll never have anyone to care for you except yourself, which seems to be fine except in cases of debilitating injuries. Just keep up this attitude, Cameron, and you can dwindle away in self-pity and despair, and die here in this hole, unloved and unremembered."

Abbi took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. "Cameron," she pleaded, "there may not be any good reason for you to have faith right now. But you've got to have faith, anyway."

"I don't know if that's possible," he said with harsh cynicism.

"If not faith, at least hope."

"What do I have to hope for?"

"I don't know!" she shouted. "I don't know what the future holds for either of us. I only know that no one, especially not me, can pave a clear path for you to have a future beyond this. You have to fight your way out of here, Cameron. That's why I'm here. Can't you see that?"

"What?" His laugh was caustic and she wanted to slap him. "You're here to tell me that you can't do anything to change my future? Is this supposed to surprise me? Did you think that--"

Abbi leaned over the table and took hold of his chin. "Will you shut up and listen to me? I'm here to give you hope, Cameron. And that's _all_ I can give you. As long as you remain encircled with pride and fear, hope is the very best you can get from me. But only if you reach out and take it. What you do with the rest of your life is up to you. But for the remainder of this winter, I will not get caught up in your emotional battles. You're not the only one this is affecting anymore, Cameron," she finished softly, "but only you can change it."

"How?" he asked, and immediately regretted his sharp tone when Abbi's eyes turned brittle. She sighed and started up the stairs, clearly demonstrating that she had reached her limit.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"I can't take it anymore!"

"Don't walk out on me!" he shouted. She only shot him a fearless glare and kept going. "Abbi! Come back here!" She ignored his anger and paused a moment on the landing. "Talk to me, Abbi!" he demanded.

"I've tried," she said, disappearing into the bedroom.

Cameron felt like throwing something. Instead he kicked a chair and watched it fall and slide across the floor. Then he paced the room, his thoughts racing. He knew she was right. Why did she always have to be so blasted _right?_

He finally put the chair in place and sat back down, certain Abbi would return and finish her dinner. But she didn't. He felt little appetite himself. He looked around at the uneaten meal and the unwashed dishes, thinking how pathetic his life had become. Could that be the reason Abbi's presence made him so uncomfortable? She was like some kind of barometer, unconsciously measuring the balance of life, making it clear that it had no balance at all.

Cameron managed to clear the table with one hand and feed the scraps to the dogs. He tried to clean the dishes, but his head pounded with the memory of Abbi's heated words, while his hand protested at any attempt to use it. He felt useless. The thought struck him uncomfortably deep and he leaned his head against the wall, groaning from a reality he didn't want to admit to. He _was_ useless--but not just because he couldn't use his best hand. No, it went far deeper than that. He had no purpose, nothing to live for. That was certainly no surprise. He'd reconciled with death long before Abbi got lost in that blizzard, but perhaps it wasn't death he feared; perhaps it was living. If he _could_ find something to live for, he would inevitably have to face all that had been so easy to let go of when he'd made the decision long ago to end his own life and leave this world behind.

As Cameron's thoughts churned, leaving him physically weak, he doused the lantern in the kitchen and lumbered toward the rug beside the fireplace. He collapsed onto his side, fighting without success to be free of familiar thoughts that would not relent. Something about Abbi's outburst made it impossible to deny the presence of his most intimate companions: fear and pride. They stood at his sides like armed sentinels, protecting him from anything or anyone that might tempt him to look inside himself, where the truth lay hiding like some great beast in hibernation. And Cameron knew the beast well. _Pain_. Yes, that was the truth of his existence. Fear and pride existed to protect the pain.

The very thought urged the beast closer to the surface. Cameron moaned and curled up as bruising memories marched through his mind, each one prompting a tangible pang in the deepest part of him. From the difficulties of his childhood, through the years he had fought to become the man he had believed he should be, only to be knocked down and kicked out like some beaten dog. The hours of the night wore on as every hurt in Cameron's life returned to taunt him, inflicting pain that was too literal to be imagined; pain that made his bruised and swollen fingers seem like nothing. He cried like a child, and cursed those who had wronged him. And he cursed God for leaving him to wallow in this hell on earth, alone for years with nothing but tortured memories to haunt him. He felt himself being swallowed into an endless black pit of despair that made death all the more appealing, if only to release him from his relentless misery.

Then, like a pin-hole of light in an otherwise black sky, Abbi's presence appeared in his mind, just as she had appeared in his life. She'd come out of nowhere, threatening his pride and fear, challenging them to stand aside and let his pain show itself. He'd cursed her very existence, at the same time wanting only to hold her in his arms and allow her to perform the painful surgery that would free him of the cancer eating away at his soul.

Groping for the light she offered, Cameron encouraged thoughts of her to come forward. He was amazed at how quickly and thoroughly she filled every crack and crevice of his mind, clearing out the ugliness of his life, dusting away the cobwebs of pain and fear, leaving pride discarded by the wayside, exposed for the traitor that it was. He wondered what he would ever do when she left him, but he was surprised in that moment to realize that even in her absence, the places once occupied by jaded intruders were now filled with hope. _Hope_. How could she not give him hope when her presence alone was evidence that God was mindful of him? Oh, he'd been so blind! He'd been a blind fool!

"Abbi." He said her name aloud, as if he could will her closer by his thoughts alone. Newer, fresh memories now filled his mind. Each moment he'd spent with Abbi recounted itself before him like a great vision, replacing darkness with light--an intense, blinding, undeniable light. And again he cried, but not in anguish. These tears were prompted by joy, purging him of all fear and misery. And he praised God--for sparing his life, for giving him the strength to survive, and most of all, for sending him hope. For sending him Abbi.

In his pride, Cameron had wanted to believe that Abbi's intrusion in his life was happenstance, or if God _had_ sent her it was only meant to punish or torment him with some kind of test he could never pass. Or perhaps he'd believed that God had simply answered Abbi's prayers by sending him to save her life when she had nearly died in the snow. But now he could see the truth. There had been a time when he had prayed fervently for something to end his loneliness. Was he such a fool not to recognize Abbi as the answer to his prayers? Could he not see that God was merciful and compassionate enough to send her to him, even when he had given up faith?

Dawn gradually filtered into the room. Night had passed, and Cameron hadn't slept even a moment, but he didn't feel tired in the least. He felt rejuvenated and replenished. He felt alive again. He watched his surroundings brighten, in awe of the opportunity before him to have another day, a new beginning. It was impossible to see anything beyond this day, but he had the hope that with time his uncluttered mind could now find a way to create a life for himself once again. He prayed for the strength to discern the first step toward that life, and he prayed for the courage to take it.

Filled with unexplainable energy, Cameron rose and went to the desk, digging in it until he found his journal. He couldn't remember the last time he'd written in it. But now, there was so much he wanted to record. He maneuvered a pen into his tender fingers and found that he could manage to write with only minor discomfort. It was labored and slow at first, but he felt blessed as his hand loosened up and the words of his heart flowed onto the pages. He hoped that, in the future, when difficulties arose, reading about the way he felt now would carry him through.

More than an hour later, Cameron stopped writing. He had to pry the pen from between his fingers, then he put some water on to heat so that he could soak his aching hand. While it soaked he heard a noise upstairs. His heart quickened at a reality he'd almost forgotten, having been so caught up in his emotions. Abbi was here. She was alive and real. She was hope personified. There was enough winter left to give him the chance to redeem himself, to glean her wisdom and strength, to take full advantage of all she could give to him. And perhaps most important, to somehow find a way to repay her for all that she'd done for him. If only he knew how! He uttered a silent prayer for help in guiding him to meet Abbi's needs, to give her all that he might be capable of giving.

Cameron took a deep, sustaining breath. He lifted his hand out of the water and curled it into a fist just as the bedroom door came open and Abbi glided down the stairs. She hurried past him without meeting his eyes and began to work in the kitchen.

"Good morning," he said, wishing he knew how to tell her that he wasn't the same man she'd walked out on last night. But every attempt to gather words to describe his experience sounded so foolish.

"Good morning," she replied, still not looking at him. A moment later she asked, "How's your hand?"

"Doing better, I believe," he said. "Thank you for asking." When she didn't respond he added, "Look at this." She hesitated and turned slowly toward him as he lifted his hand, watching him open and close his fist as if it were a magical feat. He smiled as she fell for his ploy to get her to look his way.

"Impressive," she said tonelessly, turning to clear last night's dirty dishes in order to prepare breakfast.

Cameron dried his hand and walked toward her. "You don't look so good. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I just didn't sleep well."

"Lack of sleep must be an epidemic around here." He chuckled but she didn't even crack a smile. He cleared his throat tensely. "There's something I need to say to you, Abbi." She gasped when he took both her hands into his. He looked into her eyes and had no idea _what_ to say. How could he possibly express such complicated emotions? Then a simple thought occurred to him that seemed sufficient for the moment. "I need to ask your forgiveness. I've been terribly unfair with you. I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you, and I'm truly sorry."

Abbi wondered if this was just one more tender moment that would disappear with his change of moods, but she accepted it for what it was, compelled to add the thoughts that had plagued her through the night. "Perhaps," she said, "I am equally to blame. Perhaps I should keep my dreams to myself and mind my business. Perhaps I should remember that you got along fine without me before I came, and when I leave again you'll--"

"But I didn't, Abbi." He took her shoulders into his hands. "Don't you see? I didn't get along fine without you. I was . . ." He stopped as it became evident that the words threatening to tumble into the open were still too new and fragile to share. He drew a deep sigh and touched her face with his fingertips. "I thank God that one of us has the ability to dream, Abbi. And the strength to believe in dreams. Don't stop dreaming, Abbi. And whatever you do, don't give up hope."

Abbi's eyes widened as she attempted to grasp what he was saying _. "You_ are telling _me_ to have hope?"

Cameron's smile warmed Abbi through--a smile so peaceful and serene that his face nearly glowed. He pressed a kiss to her brow, murmuring softly, "You _are_ hope, Abbi."

A moment later he began cleaning the dirty dishes, though rather awkwardly with his hurt hand. They worked together in silence while Abbi wondered what kind of magic had taken place in him. He was changed. She didn't know how or why, and only time would tell if it would last. But she found strength being near him. Her dwindling hope felt renewed in his presence. She only prayed that it might continue.

Lance approached the door of Magda's sitting room, having been informed by a maid that she would be there. He lifted his hand to knock, then drew it back, needing to question once more his decision to bring her into this problem. Knowing he had no other choice, he took a deep breath and knocked resolutely. It was far from the first time he'd come to this room, but even with the passing of years he'd not grown entirely comfortable with the position he was in, or having to come here as the bearer of bad tidings, or as a matter of political necessity. Today it was both.

He heard her call for him to enter and he did, closing the door behind him. She turned slowly from where she was standing at the window, looking out over the beautifully groomed gardens that were a part of Castle Horstberg, but known only to the few people who came here because of their position within the great fortress. Even though everything was presently covered in snow, the gardens were still beautiful.

"I thought it was you," she said with a slight smile.

"Did you?" he asked. "How so?"

"No one knocks like the Captain of the Guard." The words were mildly facetious, and a part of him wanted to take offense until he realized she wasn't mocking him. It was more true that he was mocking himself, not fond of the position _or_ the title. He forced a smile in response to her teasing, allowing himself for a moment to be taken back to the childhood memories he shared with her. Then he remembered his purpose and put the mask of captain firmly in place in order to state his business.

"Baron Von Bindorf is here, Your Highness."

"What?" She turned more fully toward him, every bit as displeased as he would have expected. "Why? Is it not suitable to announce such a visit, as opposed to just . . . appearing unannounced as if he hopes to catch us at some kind of mischief?"

"I believe you have perfectly summed up the baron's motives for occasional surprise visits, Your Highness. He wants to see His Grace; no doubt to check up on his future son-in-law and be assured that all is how he thinks it should be. The problem is that His Grace is away from the castle. The baron insists on being told where he is so that he can go seek him out, but I can't very well tell him the possibilities, now can I." He did not put any question in his tone.

Magda looked understandably disgusted. "No, you cannot. What _did_ you tell him?"

"That he had gone riding, that the baron should know how very much the duke enjoys very long rides alone, and no one could possibly know where to find him."

Magda sighed deeply and looked at Lance with careful eyes. "What good liars we have become under Nikolaus's tutelage."

Lance swallowed back bile in his throat that came in response to the comment and said fervidly, "How right you are, Your Highness. I hesitated to involve you, but I must confess that I believe your charm is the only thing that will soothe the baron's concerns. No one in this country is in agreement with Nikolaus's arrangement with the baron, but we all have to live with it and do our best to keep peace." He didn't verbalize what she already knew, that toying with the Baron of Kohenswald was a dangerous game that Nikolaus's father had avidly avoided in order to protect his country. It was as if Nikolaus had invited a wolf to prowl among his flock of sheep for the sake of enhancing his own sense of power. There was no need to discuss this with Magda, since they had deliberated on the subject more than once already and there was nothing new to say. He chose instead to remain focused on the present symptom of Nikolaus's senseless decisions, and deal appropriately with the wolf in order to keep him happy.

"I fear," Lance said, "that you are the only peacekeeper that he would be prone to speaking with at the moment . . . at least until His Grace might show his face and use his wiling charms to talk himself out of yet another indiscretion."

Magda shook her head slightly and let out a chuckle that was more sardonic than humorous. "We have not only learned to lie, we have learned how to speak treason so well to each other and make it sound normal."

"One does what one must, Your Highness."

"Yes," she said, briefly checking her appearance in the mirror. "One does what one must, _Captain."_ She walked past him, clearly determined to do her duty and soothe the baron's foul mood. But she winked at him and said softly, "I hate it when you call me _Your Highness."_ He turned to follow her down the hall while she continued to speak. "When it's just the two of us, you should call me by my name, the way you always have."

"Yes, Your Highness," he said with no hint of humor.

She glanced over her shoulder at him with the hint of smile that was truly royal. That's what he admired about her, he concluded. She could calmly and with grace and dignity smile in the face of lying and treason in order to make some little effort to keep Horstberg at peace. He wished that he could be so noble over the contradictions. And he wished that her brother had even a degree of her royal integrity. For all that she was technically admitting to dishonesty and treasonous ideas, she did it for the greater good. Her motives were pure and right. Nikolaus had no motive but serving himself and his own distorted need for power. And oh, how Lance was growing to hate him for it!

For the next three days the occupants of the mountain lodge existed in comfortable silence, while Cameron's mind worked vigorously to find a way to bridge the chasm he'd created between himself and Abbi. He was grateful to be able to chop wood again, liking the way it eased his restlessness and opened his mind. He was managing to keep up a fair rhythm when the axe stopped in mid-swing as a thought occurred to him that left him frozen. He was barely aware of the axe falling from his hand, hitting the ground with a hard thud. As his thought took hold, he consciously recognized a choice before him. He could extinguish the idea and try to force it away as he'd been doing for months now. Or he could feed it, give it life, and take it out into the light to look at and consider.

Cameron took a deep breath and allowed the thought room to grow. Suddenly weak, he sat on the tree stump he used as a chopping block. He glanced up at the bedroom window, recalling clearly the first time he'd seen her sitting there when she'd only been here a short time. He laughed out loud as the idea coming to life inside of him settled comfortably into his every nerve, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Now that fear and pride had relented, there was room left in their absence to allow him to see the truth.

For the remainder of the day, Cameron entertained and contemplated his newfound discovery. By nightfall, he saw no choice but to share his feelings with Abbi. His fear of her reaction seemed insignificant compared to the fear of what might happen if he held something so powerful inside. When dinner was finished and the kitchen cleaned, Abbi sat at the table, leaning toward the lamp there to do some mending. He knew he'd get no better chance than this. He knew what he had to do. He'd resisted it. He'd fought it. Now it had to be faced.

He sat down across from her and clasped his hands together on the table to keep them from trembling. "Can I talk to you?" he asked.

Abbi looked up for a moment, then back to her needlework. "I don't know," she said. "I've asked myself that same question many times."

Cameron shook his head and chuckled. She had a point. "Will you listen to what I have to say?" he corrected.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Cameron blew out a long breath. "Abbi," he began awkwardly, "you know when you first came here, I was afraid of what my reactions might be." He leaned back a little and folded one arm over the other. "After being alone for so long, I wasn't even sure if I knew how to communicate, let alone deal with another person on a daily basis for so many months. And your being a woman--and so beautiful."

Abbi's hands stopped working, as if they sensed her surprise before her mind fully grasped it. She set her work aside and looked up at him. This was not what she'd expected.

Unfolding his arms, Cameron leaned forward and ran a finger down the side of his face, forcing himself to go on. "I was afraid for you. I feared my past would haunt you if you were to become involved with me. It's all so complicated. I suppose that's why I made up my mind to make you hate me." He saw Abbi's eyes begin to soften at his honesty, urging him to press forward. "I tried so hard. Oh, how I tried! But you were too perceptive--and kind--and you found things out about me that I didn't want you to know, and you were good to me when I didn't deserve it."

Cameron ran both hands through his hair, staring at her and hoping the humility he felt would come through in his words. "And how could I not take notice of you . . . as a woman? I realized after you put me in my place that I'd not given myself any credit. I just couldn't believe that after being alone for over three years, I could feel anything for you but lust. The circumstances in my life are so complicated and confusing that sometimes I don't even understand myself. I feel like a fool when I think about my behavior, and I hope I can somehow make it up to you."

He paused for a moment, feeling stuck. But Abbi looked at him with her big green eyes and he knew he had to get through this, however difficult it might be.

"I know it hasn't been easy for you to have to live with me all this time, but I . . ." He pressed his lips together, momentarily thwarted. "What I really want to say . . . need to say . . . is that I just didn't count on . . ." He paused and sighed, contemplating the feelings that had brought him to this moment. Drawing courage, he put his hands down firmly on his thighs and looked directly at her again. His words were breathy in spite of the strength behind them. "Abbi, I'm trying to tell you that . . . I love you."

Abbi's breath escaped her. Taking hold of the table, she stood so quickly that her chair fell over with a loud thud. Cameron glanced at the chair, and then gazed up at her with vulnerability in his eyes. She didn't know what to say. She hadn't expected this. She had sensed it in him, even suspected it strongly. But she had never imagined that he'd admit it, however much she had wanted him to.

Cameron broke the awkward silence by continuing his confession. "I've tried to deny it. I've tried to credit it to lust or greed." He paused and pushed his hair behind his ear. "I've let pride and fear distort it in my mind. I've tried to hide it, get rid of it--everything I could possibly think of. But it all burns down to one undeniable truth, Abbi. What I feel for you is real, and I have to acknowledge it."

He took a moment to gauge her reaction. She looked stunned. Or was she scared? Either way, he had to finish what he'd begun. "I've thought it through carefully and deeply, Abbi. And I know beyond any doubt that no matter where I might have met you, I would have loved you. It's not just the circumstances that make me feel this way. It's _you_. It's what you do for _me_. And I'll say it again, without regret or reservation--I love you, Abbi."

Cameron looked into her eyes and saw tears forming. He wondered if he had hurt her feelings. He felt as though his life was hanging in the balance, knowing he didn't deserve to have her feel the way he so desperately wanted her to.

Abbi felt the shock begin to wear off, allowing joy and blinding relief to engulf her. It was as if every pain she had ever experienced was lifted from her and hope replaced discouragement. Seeing his uncertainty, she forced her voice past the emotions that threatened to hold it back. "Oh, Cameron," she cried, "I've always loved you."

Cameron pushed his chair back abruptly. He wanted to stand but couldn't find the strength. It had felt so good to admit his love, to feel it burn inside of him. But oh, how he felt to have it reciprocated! He felt life surging through him. He had wanted her to love him, prayed she would love him. But he knew how hard he'd tried to make her hate him, and how cruel he had been at times. He couldn't comprehend that she might possibly love him. But she did! He could hear it in her voice, see it in her face until his vision blurred with tears. Without standing up he held out his hand, and she hesitated only a moment before she flew into his arms. He trembled as he held her close, pressing his tears into the folds of her dress. He looked up at her standing above him, her eyes filled with light--the same light that had always been there. He'd just been too lost in his pride to see it. He laughed through his tears and urged her onto his lap, holding her as if he might die without her. He truly believed he would. They held each other and cried, until he urged her lips to his, kissing her in an attempt to express the full measure of his love. He watched as Abbi drew slowly back, opening her eyes dreamily.

"Was that sincere enough for you?" he asked. She looked baffled and he clarified, "You told me once that when you were kissed with sincerity, you would know. So, I'm asking if--"

"Yes, Cameron." She pressed a hand over his face. "Your sincerity is evident."

He sighed and guided her head to his shoulder, where he could feel her crying. He lifted her chin with his finger to kiss her again, and with her eager response he felt all of his pain melt away. Her kiss gave him hope and made him realize that mankind was good and life was worth living. He felt a sense of rebirth into the civilized world, where love _could_ conquer all. And most importantly, he knew he was alive. He was not a dead spirit, lingering in an existing body. He _did_ know how to feel--and how to love.

Cameron eased his lips away and pressed his face against hers. She pulled back to look at him and they both laughed, wiping away each other's tears.

"Oh, Abbi," he said, hugging her tightly. Then he laughed again. "There's so much I want to say, I hardly know where to begin."

Abbi stood and took his hand, urging him to his feet. "I don't care where you begin," she said, leading him to the sofa where they sat close together. "I just want you to talk to me." She looked into his eyes, marveling at the changes she saw there. "Tell me . . ." she touched his face, "what kind of magic has wrought this change in you."

Cameron pressed his brow to hers. "I _am_ changed, Abbi. But I believe the magic is yours." He did his best to explain the internal battles that had raged within him, where his pride and fear had fought against all logic and feeling. He told her of his sleepless night that had led him through the depths of hell and into a brighter day. As difficult as it was to describe such an experience, he was amazed at how she understood.

When he had nothing more to tell her, she touched his face, saying, "I only fear that I'll awaken tomorrow and find you hiding behind invisible walls again."

"No, Abbi. I understand that habits can be difficult to break, and I need your guidance. But I swear to you, my love, from this moment forward, I will always be completely honest with you. I would expect the same from you, even if it means telling me that I'm out of line." A thought jolted Cameron, and he eased away from her.

"What is it?" she asked, sensing his alarm.

"I . . . must make an exception to that promise." He looked into her eyes as if he were about to tell her of the world's end. "I will be completely honest with you, Abbi, concerning my feelings, my fears . . . but . . . there are things I cannot tell you. You must understand. You must trust me. I don't know what the future might hold for us, but I do know that your ignorance in certain matters could very well keep you safe."

"I'm not generally curious by nature," she said thoughtfully, "but . . . I don't even know your name."

"It's Cameron." A smile peeked through his grave countenance for only a moment. "That's all you need to know for now. You know too many people who know me, Abbi. My heart and soul are yours. But as long as I am a fugitive, it's better that you know nothing more of me or my circumstances."

Abbi glanced away, disconcerted.

"I know it sounds preposterous, Abbi. You must trust me."

She looked into his eyes, saying firmly, "I _do_ trust you, Cameron."

He breathed an audible sigh of relief, pulling her close to him again. "I love you, Abbi. And I thank God for sending you to me."

Abbi nuzzled against his shoulder. "Amen," she murmured. In her heart she knew her place was with Cameron, wherever he might lead her. She didn't know his name. But she knew his heart. And it belonged to her.
Chapter Ten

ALLIANCE

Three days after their confessions of love, Abbi found Cameron in the stable. He smiled at her as she entered and leaned against the door. There was no tangible reason why she shouldn't feel completely comfortable with him. But something remained uneasy between them, and she needed to understand it.

"Cameron?" she asked tentatively, watching him throw clean straw into the horses' stalls. He made a noise to indicate he was listening. "We promised to be completely honest with each other, right?"

"Yes, of course," he said, glancing at her in question.

"There's something I need to say."

Cameron closed the stall and leaned against it, giving her his full attention. "I'm listening."

Abbi pulled her cloak more tightly around her. The January air was bitter, even here in the stable. She glanced away, realizing this was more difficult than she'd expected.

"Abbi, what is it?" he asked, his concern evident.

She cleared her throat and began without looking at him. "You told me that you love me, and I have every reason to believe that you meant it."

"I _do_ love you," he insisted, wondering how she could doubt something that consumed him so completely. When she didn't go on, he asked, "What are you getting at, Abbi? Have I done something to upset you? Have I hurt you or--"

"I don't know," she said, finally looking at him. "I've never loved anyone before."

"Neither have I," he said and shook his head. "Not like this; never in my life have I felt the way I feel about you." He saw doubt in her eyes and wondered over its source. "What would make you think otherwise? Help me understand what's wrong, Abbi."

She said nothing for a moment and he realized she was freezing. "Come inside where it's warm," he said, "and we can talk."

Abbi said nothing as she walked from the stable to the lodge and sat on one of the sofas, still wrapped in her cloak, and pulled her feet beneath her. She noticed the way Cameron sat on the opposite sofa, while his eyes penetrated her with overt adoration. His gestures so often seemed to contradict his emotions, and she wondered why. But she didn't know how to voice it.

When nothing was said for several minutes, Cameron felt compelled to express some thoughts of his own that might help her understand how inadequate he felt. "Abbi," he leaned forward and looked directly at her, "there's something I've had on my mind that I . . . well, it's difficult to talk about, but . . . maybe it needs to be said. You see, you've made me look at myself in a way I never have before. And I've had to wonder if . . . well, if I somehow contributed to the failure of my marriage to Gwen." Abbi looked more interested than concerned, so he continued. "She was a difficult woman. But then, I look at my behavior toward you at times, and I have to admit that I can be a difficult man. It stands to reason that we behave the way our parents taught us to behave by their example. My mother was the kindest and best of women. I was often told that I favored her personality, but I fear I have some of my father in me as well. I loved my father, Abbi, but he was a harsh man. And I realized one day that he didn't treat my mother very well."

Briefly at a loss for words, he wondered if she was following him at all. "What I'm trying to say, Abbi, is that . . . I don't want to be like my father. You must help me to see . . . and to understand . . . what's appropriate and what isn't. I want us to be open and honest with each other. I never want our friendship to end, no matter what the future may bring. Am I making any sense?"

Abbi nodded, amazed at how perfectly she understood. "But what makes you think that I know any more about keeping a relationship strong than you do, Cameron? My mother died when I was five, and my father was more like a distant relative who visited on occasion. I was raised by a gruff old man who never took me to church and never had a woman in his life as long as I knew him. He taught me to believe in myself . . . to be competent and strong. I loved him very much, but he wasn't a warm man. There was no display of emotion between us. How can I possibly know if what I'm feeling is right or not? If something bothers me, is it valid or just--"

"If it bothers you, then it's valid," he interrupted firmly. He watched her face closely and said with confidence, "Something _is_ bothering you, Abbi. What is it? Talk to me."

Abbi resigned herself to just saying it. "Lately I feel as if . . . we're growing further apart. Shouldn't we be getting closer, sharing more? If I love you, and you love me, then . . ." She stopped when he only looked more confused. "What?" she demanded.

"I don't understand, Abbi. We talk about feelings I've never discussed with anyone. We do everything together. How can we be closer than that?"

Emotion accompanied the heart of the problem into the open. "You don't . . . kiss me. You don't . . . touch me. We don't hold hands. You hardly even look at me. I sit on one side of the room. You sit on the other."

Cameron turned abruptly away as the problem became clear. But how could he explain without hurting her further?

"We have months left until spring, Cameron," she went on, hearing her own voice tremble. "I can't bear the thought of feeling this way until . . . until . . . what? I don't even know what will happen beyond that."

"That's just it, Abbi," he said, his eyes showing a trace of anger that had once been familiar. "The uncertainty of my future makes it difficult for me to . . . get too close." His voice softened. "Oh, Abbi, don't you see? I fear that if I touch you, I'll never be able to let go."

"Is that so bad?" she asked softly, relieved to at least understand the source of his behavior.

She saw his eyes soften as he met her gaze; his voice was barely audible. "I want you so badly, but I will not compromise you, Abbi. You deserve better than that."

"I would not expect you to. I know the kind of man you are. But . . ." She hesitated, not knowing how to express her feelings without sounding somehow wicked.

"But?" he pressed.

"There are many weeks of winter left, Cameron. Can we live like this?"

"Do we have a choice?" he asked tersely.

"I don't know!" she countered. "I only know that I love you!"

"For that I am truly grateful. But the fact is, you know absolutely nothing about me. I'm not even sure I know myself anymore. Who am I?"

"You are Cameron--the only man I'll ever love," she replied easily.

But he responded with anger. "Cameron what? Is Cameron my real name? Do I even have a name? You don't know! What do I have to offer you? How do you know that what you see here isn't all I have?"

"It's enough!"

"Not for me, it isn't!" he shouted. Then his eyes turned sad. "Not to give you."

"Cameron, listen to me," she said with a glowing conviction that caught his attention. "I was well aware, long before I saddled Blaze and rode up here the first time, that my coming could not be halfhearted or lacking any degree of conviction. I came here prepared to take on whatever being with you might require of me--but you sent me away. Fate may have intervened to make it possible for me to be here in spite of the promise I made to you, but if I had been given the choice, at a moment's notice, to be snowed in here with you, or to be left aching on your behalf while your existence here haunted me night and day, I would still be here. I fought that battle a long time ago. I could either live with you or live in torment."

Cameron absorbed her words and the meaning beneath them, wondering how one so young could be so wise and resolved. He shook his head and sighed. "Or both . . . as it turned out."

"I don't know your reasons for being here, Cameron, but I know you wouldn't be if life had been fair to you. _My_ reasons for being here are not impulsive or naive. I came prepared to give you all that I have and all that I am, and I expected the same in return. It doesn't matter how much or how little you have to give me, as long as it's forever. I don't need anything but you, Cameron. It doesn't matter who or what you are, I love you."

Cameron felt hard pressed not to break down and cry after such a glorious speech. Still, one fact stood out strongly. "But what if loving me puts your life in danger?"

"I would gladly risk any danger to have a future with you, Cameron--any future at all."

"Maybe there is no future, Abbi. Maybe now is all we get."

"I'm not willing to accept that."

"You might have to!" he shouted. "You can't possibly be content to live this way forever."

"And you are?" she asked, giving him a hard stare.

"Content or not, my feelings for you do not change my circumstances."

"No, they do not," she countered. "Only _you_ can do that."

"But I can't if--"

"You could if you wanted to! Are you going to stay up here for the rest of your life? The circumstances will not magically change while you sit here and wallow in your misery. You've got to do something about it, Cameron. It's not your circumstances that keep you imprisoned here, it is your perception of them."

Cameron felt the words enter his heart while his mind became defensive at the very idea. He was ready to spout a list of reasons why he could never leave this place under the circumstances, but she quickly went on to prove herself unquestionably right--once again.

"If living here has been so horrible for you, why didn't you just . . . leave the country? Change your name? Make a different life? I can understand why that would be difficult, but it certainly proves the point that there are always options. Your fugitive status is valid, Cameron, and no small thing. I'm not disputing that. But what holds you back from at least trying to find a way to prove your innocence? Is it possible that what you're really hiding from is inside yourself?"

Cameron drew a deep breath and held it while she went on. "If you were framed, there's got to be someone out there besides the killer who knows _something._ Find a way to prove your innocence. Think, Cameron. Use your brain. Use bribery. I'll pay it. Do anything. I'll help you. I'll give up everything I have--for you. Fight, Cameron!" Her voice softened. "Fight for me." She paused then added with strength, "I believe that if you took some time and thought about it, you would not resign yourself to your fate."

Cameron could only stare at her, stunned speechless and quivering inside. She added fervently, "I can't believe that God brought us together just to have us torn apart again, with no hope, no future." While he ached to believe what Abbi was telling him, puzzle pieces of information moved about chaotically in his mind. Then a thought appeared that made his heart believe in something that his mind still refused to grasp. _Abbi's dream_. A child . . . with his face . . . and red hair. Could it be possible? Then an idea appeared that actually made him gasp. Abruptly he stood and moved toward the door, pulling on his gloves.

"Where are you going?" Abbi asked frantically.

"I need some time, Abbi," he said, throwing his cloak over his shoulders.

Cameron nearly ran to the stable. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. At times he wondered if Abbi had a power of vision, as well as the gift of dreams. She always said the right thing at the right time to help him come to his senses. He'd known over a year ago that Georg had uncovered a connection that had the potential to prove his innocence, but at the time he'd felt no desire to return to the real world. And then it had slipped deep into his mind and was forgotten. But now! Now he hoped the circumstances hadn't changed. Oh, how he hoped!

Cameron scribbled a simple question onto a little piece of paper, then he reached into the cote and pulled out one of the pigeons, tying the message to its leg. As he watched the bird fly away, he prayed that Georg would be there and answer quickly. He just couldn't go back inside until he got a reply.

Georg bent to kiss Elsa, thinking she'd never looked more beautiful. She smiled and he kissed her again before he took hold of her hand, conscious of the gold band he'd just placed on her finger. He led her from the cathedral amidst a flurry of congratulations, and helped her into the harnessed trap.

"Oh, Georg, I can't believe it." Elsa laughed. "We're actually married."

He moved the reins into one hand and put his arm around her. "It's the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me," he said.

Elsa's voice saddened. "I only wish that Miss Abbi could have been here. Beyond your mother, I don't know that anyone would have been happier for us."

"I'd have to agree with that. But when she comes back, we'll have a great surprise for her."

"Do you really believe she'll come back?"

"Yes, Elsa, I do."

"I pray you're right."

The conversation spurred a thought in Georg's mind, and he pulled the horse to an abrupt halt.

"What's wrong?" Elsa asked.

"I forgot something." He turned the trap around. "We have to go back to the house . . . just for a minute."

"But . . ."

Georg paused a moment to kiss her. "It won't take long," he said. "We'll be long out of the country by nightfall, I promise."

Following the brief drive back to the estate, Georg ran into the stable and scribbled a message for Cameron. He couldn't leave without letting him know. He didn't want messages being sent that others might get hold of. He was folding the little piece of paper when he noticed a message waiting for him. Grateful for the impression that had brought him back, he untied the note and unfolded it, squinting to read the tiny print. _Please tell me it's still possible to get my life back_.

Georg laughed out loud. He'd been hoping for something like this for more than a year, and he was well prepared to respond. He unfolded the message he'd just written, added some words to it, then sent it off and hurried back to the trap where his bride was waiting.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"It is now," he said. Then he laughed again.

"What?"

"Just happy, Mrs. Heinrich. Everything is absolutely perfect."

Cameron paced the stable until he nearly went mad. He forced himself to sit down, allowing his mind to work through the possibilities. If he could digest the reality that there was hope for his future, then the perspective of everything in the present changed. When his head began to ache from being assaulted with so much information, he instinctively went to his knees, praying with more fervency than he ever had in his life. He told God of his love for Abbi and his desire to care for her, to do what was best for her. He expressed his desire to have a future with her and to be guided down the paths that might make such a thing possible. No obvious answers came to mind, but he did feel an increase of hope. A future seemed more feasible just by verbalizing his desires and putting them into God's hands.

He lost track of the time as he poured out his heart and soul in prayer, intermittently attempting to listen to his thoughts and feelings, searching for answers. He was tired of being out of control of his life, bobbing around like a cork at the mercy of ocean waves. He wanted to prove his innocence, to be free, and to take responsibility for what he'd left behind. He wanted a life with Abbi.

A pigeon flying through the upper window startled him. He stood slowly and just stared at the bird for a moment, afraid of what the message might contain. His life was on the line, and that message would determine if he had a chance to make it work, for himself as well as for Abbi. Drawing courage, he finally untied and read it. What he read made him smile.

He tossed the paper down and began to pace again, this time sorting all of his feelings into this newfound hope. Again he prayed, and visions of the future opened up in his mind with clarity and peace. His stomach growled to remind him that he'd missed lunch, but food meant little at the moment. He felt on the verge of a new life.

It was late afternoon before Cameron finally headed toward the lodge. There really was hope, he thought. And with any luck, he could become the kind of man that Abbi deserved.

Abbi felt increasingly restless when Cameron didn't return for lunch, and then hours passed. She was tempted to go out and find him, but he'd said he needed time, and she needed to allow him that. She hoped this meant that the things she'd said had given him something to think about, something to reach toward. And she prayed that he would be inspired, guided, strengthened.

She finally settled into the window seat of the bedroom with her sketchbook. While she drew the pine trees on a distant ledge, she kept her eye peeled for any sign of Cameron. She became enthralled by the beauty of the view until movement distracted her. Cameron walked at a brisk pace toward the lodge. Just as when he'd left, there was a purpose to his step. Her heartbeat quickened, sensing something different in his manner.

She heard the door below close loudly and Cameron shouted, "Abbi!" She wondered if he was angry. His boots echoed on the steps, taking three at a time. "Abbi!" he called out again but she just waited quietly for him to enter the room. "Abbi." He sounded relieved to see her and she wondered where he might have expected her to go. For a long moment he stood in the doorway, his shoulders set squarely, just watching her.

Cameron's hope magnified tenfold the moment he saw her. He hardly dared move until he gained control of his emotion. Without taking his eyes from her, he removed his gloves and threw them to a chair. He strode slowly across the room, removing his cloak as he did and tossing it over the end of the bed. He was wondering where to begin when Abbi said, "You must be hungry. You missed lunch."

"I know, but . . ." He slid a chair close to her and sat down. "I'll eat later. Can we talk?" Without waiting for a response, he stood again and slowly paced the room. "I don't know where to start, Abbi. My head is churning with so many ideas and thoughts that . . ."

"Start anywhere. I'm not in any hurry."

"You said something that got me thinking, and . . . well, you've said a lot of things to make me think. But when you said there's got to be someone out there who can prove my innocence, I . . ."

Abbi's eyes widened and her heart beat wildly, but he was oblivious to any change in her expression as he continued to pace.

"I suspected long ago that there might be someone, but . . . after being here for a while I think I . . . well, I got scared. That's all. I wondered if taking the risk would be worth it. I can't bear the thought of going back to prison, and . . . it's complicated. There are things I can't discuss with you, so it's difficult to explain, but . . . then I think about the way I feel for you, and the way you've changed my life." He stopped walking and turned to look at her. "I can begin to doubt myself and wonder if it's just a delusion that you and I could actually have a life together. But then I realize that you've given me something I'd lost, something that was never very strong in me to begin with." He curled a fist for emphasis. "Hope, Abbi. You've given me hope. I have something to fight for now, something to _live_ for. Maybe it _is_ risky, but having a life with you would be worth any risk. I realized that all I can do is the best I can do." He laughed softly. "We may not have very much to work with, but we can do the best we can with what we've got. And God willing, we might come through this together. If it's not possible for me to ever prove my innocence, we'll just have to make the most of what we have."

Abbi watched Cameron closely, her pulse racing. She sensed a determination in him she'd never seen before and wondered where this might lead. She could hardly breathe as it became evident that he had a great deal more to say.

"When I start thinking that way," Cameron went on without looking at her, "I usually stop and tell myself that I can't pull you irrevocably into my life when you have no idea what we're dealing with. But in the stable just now . . ." He turned to look at her, his eyes blazing. "It came together in my mind, and . . . oh, Abbi, I understood . . . or maybe I finally accepted . . . what first led you to me."

Abbi was so taken aback by his enthusiasm that it took her a minute to realize he was expecting her to fill in the obvious. "A dream," she said so softly that even she could barely hear it.

"Yes, Abbi." The fire in his eyes deepened. He slid the chair closer and sat on it, moving as near to her as he possibly could. "Don't you see?" he asked.

"I'm beginning to, but . . ."

"You were telling me the truth, weren't you? About the dream?"

"Of course, but--"

"Of course you were. And I felt the truth of it. The first time you told me, I knew there was something to it. But I was so scared, and . . . then there was the other dream. The child. Oh, Abbi," he took both her hands into his, "I understand now."

Abbi sensed where this was leading, but she wasn't quite following his point.

"Abbi," he said, and a lump came to her throat at the same moment tears brimmed in his eyes. "God sent you to me. I believed it. But now I _know_. I know it with all my heart and soul. I can't tell you how I know it. I just do. Even though I thought God had betrayed and abandoned me, I never stopped praying in my heart. And He heard my prayers. He gave you a vision that sent you to me. And even when I was foolish and sent you away, He was merciful enough to guide you back. Oh, Abbi," his voice cracked and tears fell down his face, "I thought God sent me to save your life. But I know now that He sent _you_ to save _mine."_

For a long moment he said nothing while Abbi watched his eyes. A tangible warmth encompassed her, beginning at the top of her head and moving slowly downward, as if every nerve in her body had received the message that what he'd just said was true. She didn't realize she was crying herself until Cameron touched her face to wipe away her tears.

"Abbi," he said with reverence, "if God has brought us together, then surely He is with us in making a future. Just as you said, I can't believe He would so unquestionably put His hand into our lives for nothing." He took a deep breath and tightened his hold on her hands. "I'm trying to tell you that I will do everything in my power to make a life for both of us."

Abbi considered his expression only long enough to be completely certain that he meant what he was saying, then she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly, silently thanking God for sending her here, for bringing this man into her life, and for blessing him with a change of heart. She'd never imagined such happiness! She only wondered how they could survive the months ahead until they might be able to marry.

"Abbi," he said, easing her away with his hands at her shoulders, "I . . ."

Fear crept back into her as he seemed at a loss for words. She knew his moral convictions, and she admired them, but she wondered how she could cope with this distance between them. Spring was such a long way off. She ached to be close to him, to share their love completely--now, while the world with all its injustice couldn't intrude upon them. Yet how could that be possible without compromising everything she'd ever been taught?

While she was expecting him to remind her that they needed to be careful, he stood and pushed his chair back. She wondered if he'd said all he was going to say. Would he leave her now to deal with so many different thoughts churning in her mind? She caught her breath when he went down on one knee, taking her hands tightly into his. "Abbi," he said in a firm voice, "will you marry me?"

She smiled and squeezed his hands, touched by his gallantry and sentiment. "Yes, of course," she said. "When spring comes, and--"

"No, Abbi, I mean _now_. Well," he chuckled, "maybe not _today_. It is rather late to be planning a wedding. But please, Abbi, tell me you'll marry me, and I swear to you I will do everything in my power to give you a good life, and always be there for you."

"But . . . how can we, when--"

"Oh, I know it can't be official without a man of God to officiate, but . . . if there were any possible way to marry you now, I would. I know it's right. I've never known anything with such conviction in my entire life. I know it's far from ideal, but as I said, we have to do the best we can with what we have to work with. And these are extenuating circumstances--to say the least. Tell me you'll marry me, Abbi, and we will exchange vows. We'll commit ourselves to each other for the rest of our lives, and then at the first possible moment, I will take you before a man of God and make it official. Under the circumstances, it's really just a technicality, I believe."

Abbi was so overcome with emotion that she couldn't speak. While she struggled to come up with a coherent response, a sob erupted from her lips. Then another. She crumbled into his arms, going to her knees to face him, crying helplessly against his chest.

Cameron stroked her hair and held her, relishing her nearness, praying that she would feel the peace he'd felt when the idea had come to him. As she continued to cry he began to feel nervous, wondering over the source of her emotion. He lifted her face to his view. "Talk to me, Abbi," he said, but she only shook her head to indicate that she couldn't. "Do you think I'm mad, or . . ." She shook her head again. He smiled and asked, "Can I take that as _yes?_ " Abbi nodded firmly, still sobbing. "Is that _yes, you're mad, Cameron,_ or _yes, I'll marry you, Cameron?_ "

"Yes," she cried, "I'll marry you. Yes, yes, _yes!"_

Cameron laughed with perfect joy as he held her close, allowing her to cry while his own emotions consumed him. Her tears gradually ceased and he sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. He eased her against him and wrapped his arms around her.

"Abbi," he said softly, "maybe you should take some time to think it through, to come up with your own answers. What I'm asking is no small thing. To expect a lifetime commitment when you know so little about me is ludicrous."

"It's not ludicrous," she replied, nuzzling closer to him. "And I don't need to think about it. I've never been more certain about anything in my life."

They held each other for a long while in comfortable silence while Abbi allowed the changes between them to settle into her spirit. She'd never felt so happy, so completely at peace. Little was said as they shared an evening meal and went about the usual routine of cleaning the dishes. But Abbi felt the intensity in Cameron's eyes every time he looked at her. She kissed him good-night at the foot of the stairs and went up to bed, in awe of what tomorrow might bring.

Abbi woke to find Cameron filling the bathtub with buckets of hot water. She listened to him go down the stairs and return again with more water. Memories of the night before came back to her with a dreamlike quality that made her wonder if it had really happened. Was it too good to be true?

"Good morning, my love," he said when he saw that her eyes were open. "I thought you might like a hot bath." She leaned up on one elbow and yawned. He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her quickly before he smiled and said, "Every bride should feel pampered before the wedding, don't you think?"

_It wasn't a dream_. The reality left her stunned. He kissed her again and she touched his face. "And what about the groom?"

He chuckled and stood up. "I've already bathed. Couldn't sleep. I've got breakfast ready, too. I'll bring some up, and you can eat while the rest of the water heats."

Abbi stretched and yawned again. "You treat me like a goddess."

Cameron grinned. "As I should," he said and left the room.

After Abbi had eaten her breakfast, she sank into the steamy water and relished the luxury. She thought through all that had passed between her and Cameron yesterday, and a few stray tears leaked down her face. _She loved him so much_. And she knew in the deepest part of her heart that what they were about to do was right. Under any other circumstances, perhaps it wouldn't be, but this was far from an ordinary situation, and instinctively she knew that Cameron needed the love she could give him, and the validity of her commitment to him to see him through whatever might lie ahead. She felt nothing but perfect peace and knew she could face God with a clear conscience.

She wondered what Cameron was doing while she soaked in the tub. After her bath, she spent a great deal of time combing through her freshly washed hair. She put on the cream-colored dress, liking the way it fit her since she'd altered it, although she'd rarely worn it for fear of soiling the light-colored fabric. Looking at herself in the mirror, she wondered if every bride felt this delightful tingling inside. She suspected that many women would not want to marry without an audience, without the closeness of family and friends. Beyond Georg, and perhaps Elsa, she couldn't think of anyone she would want to be present--except perhaps her father. And he wouldn't be able to come to her wedding anyway.

Gazing at her reflection, Abbi asked herself once more if what she had agreed to was right. She was committing her entire life to a man she knew practically nothing about. But it only took a moment to know beyond any doubt that this was right for her. She was putting herself into God's hands, and instinctively she knew that her place was with this man, whatever that might entail. As Cameron had said, they were doing the best they could with the circumstances they'd been given.

She was startled by a knock at the door, since she hadn't heard Cameron come up the stairs. "What are you doing in there?" he asked, a lilt to his voice that enhanced her own happiness.

"I want to look perfect," she called back. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

Abbi finally decided that no matter how much she fussed with her hair, it wasn't going to get any better. She hurried to pick up the bedroom and smooth the bed, and then she took a deep breath and stepped out onto the landing. The early afternoon sun streaked through the high lodge windows, creating shadowed patterns on the floor where Cameron paced methodically. He was dressed in his normal attire of black breeches and boots, but the white shirt looked brighter than usual and had a slightly different cut. He'd obviously had it tucked away somewhere; perhaps the same place he'd come up with a black cravat he had tied around the shirt's high collar. He turned abruptly when she said, "Nervous about something?"

Cameron absorbed Abbi standing above him while he attempted to comprehend the bridge he would cross with her this day. She was so beautiful. _He loved her so much_. "No," he said easily. "Anxious would be more accurate." She smiled as if to say that she understood, then she started down the stairs. He watched her, mesmerized, until she stood to face him.

"I made some lunch," he said. "Are you hungry?"

"I think so," she replied. "It's hard to tell."

They shared a simple meal in silence, though Abbi could hardly eat. Together they cleared the table and cleaned the dishes, just as they had done a hundred times before. But the tension hovering between them was new and exciting. Abbi felt no fear or trepidation--only an intense anticipation of being his wife, and of sharing the rest of their lives as they were sharing these months of seclusion.

Cameron was drying the last dish when he asked in a soft voice, "Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?"

Abbi looked directly at him, saying with conviction, "Absolutely. I know how I feel about you. I know how you care for me; how you treat me. Whatever else life brings, as long as those things remain constant, I will be content."

He looked up and she saw him swallow hard. His voice held a trace of emotion. "I don't understand . . ."

"What?" she asked when he faltered.

"How can you trust me so blindly?"

Abbi stepped forward and touched his face. "Because you asked me to." She smiled. "And God sent me here. I trust Him. It seems very clear to me that He wants us to be together."

Cameron squeezed his eyes closed and drew in a deep, sustaining breath. He had never comprehended that he could feel so blessed. He opened his eyes and smiled, saying, "Shall we, my love?"

Abbi absently put a hand to her heart, realizing what he meant. "Just . . . give me a minute." She hurried upstairs to freshen up a little and smooth her hair better now that it was dry.

When she walked back down the stairs, Cameron was waiting at the bottom to meet her, now wearing a black and red brocade waistcoat. She recalled seeing men dressed similarly at the social she'd attended at the castle. He looked indescribably handsome and dignified as he took her hand, saying, "You are so beautiful."

"So are you," she said with a smile.

Cameron guided her across the common room to the fireplace where she noticed several candles burning on the mantel, even though it was mid-afternoon. He'd clearly given this a great deal of thought, which made her realize that she'd not thought about it at all--at least concerning how to actually go about getting married.

"Oh, wait a minute," he said and hurried up the stairs. He returned quickly with a length of ivory lace.

"Where did you get that?" she asked.

"Oh, there's a trunk full of some odd things upstairs. It's a tablecloth. But I believe it will serve the purpose."

Abbi wondered what purpose exactly until he folded it, not quite in half, and placed it reverently over her head, much like a wedding veil. He knelt on the rug in front of the fireplace, and she followed his example, kneeling to face him. She listened in awe as he closed his eyes and prayed aloud, a brief, simple prayer, asking for God's blessings to be upon their union, and for the guidance and strength they needed to get beyond whatever obstacles might keep them apart. He promised God that he would make these vows again in the proper way at the first possible opportunity. When the prayer was finished, Abbi echoed his amen.

He looked deeply into her eyes. "I'm sorry I don't have a ring," he said.

"It's all right. I have the bracelet."

He glanced at it and smiled. "So you do." He lifted her arm and removed the bracelet, holding it in his left hand. He took her right hand into his, and their eyes met with unspoken intensity.

Abbi's love for him filled every part of her as he spoke in a firm, but gentle voice. "I Cameron, take thee, Abbi, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, to honor and to obey, in sickness and in health, in prosperity or poverty, giving myself to thee and forsaking all others, till death do us part."

Abbi was so mesmerized by his conviction that she was startled by a silence that made it evident she needed to speak. She wondered for a moment if she could remember the words without stumbling, but they came to her mind with perfect clarity and she was able to say them with certitude. "I, Abbi, take thee, Cameron, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, to honor and to obey, in sickness and in health, in prosperity or poverty, giving myself to thee and forsaking all others, till death do us part."

Cameron seemed as entranced as she felt. He glanced down, pushed the bracelet over her left hand, and looked into her eyes, saying with a little smile, "I may now kiss the bride."

Cameron wondered if he'd ever felt such unmatchable peace as he closed his eyes and kissed her meekly. He pushed his arms around her and held her, attempting to comprehend the full spectrum of what they had just done. It seemed so brief and simple without all of the pomp and ceremony he'd seen attached to the weddings he'd attended in his life--including his own first wedding. But the course of both their lives was hinged on this moment. He marveled at Abbi's trust in him. Even the absence of surnames didn't seem to bother her. And he swore in his heart that he would prove worthy of her trust. He would find a way to see this through, no matter the cost. He drew back to look into her eyes, feeling a delightful tremor at the realization that he no longer needed to feel guilty for thinking about her the way he often did.

Through a long moment of silence Abbi felt tense, wondering what might happen now. It was evident that Cameron shared her nervousness, but she wondered if his thoughts were wandering to the same place as hers. She saw him smile, which sent a delightful tremor to her every nerve. He pressed her hand to his lips, nearly smirking as he said, "You know, my love, I do believe I feel like dancing."

"Dancing?" She laughed softly. "Why?"

"Well," he reasoned, "every wedding I've ever attended has had dancing. It's a celebrating kind of thing, don't you think?"

"I suppose it is," Abbi admitted. "Although, I can't say for sure. I've never been to a wedding."

"Never?" he asked.

"I've been to this one."

"So you have." He came to his feet and she did the same. "And now that we are husband and wife, I'd say that some celebrating is in order."

Cameron hurried to push aside the sofas and table, and he rolled back the rug. Abbi grabbed the broom and quickly swept away the dust that had gathered beneath them. In just a few minutes a fairly generous space was opened up, with a polished floor of wood slats. Cameron put one arm around Abbi's waist and took her hand into his.

"But we have no music," she pointed out.

"I don't need music," he said. "I can count. All you have to do is follow."

They laughed together as they attempted to coordinate a simple dance step without much success.

"Forgive me," she said. "I never even learned to dance until late last summer when I attended my first social. Actually, it was my only social. Georg taught me enough to get by."

Cameron laughed. "Well, _I_ taught Georg enough to get by before he attended _his_ first social."

"You're joking," she said.

"I am quite serious. Now try it again." He counted a simple rhythm, and within a few minutes they were gliding gracefully together around the little room. "There," he said, "very good."

"You dance well."

"I attended a few socials, once upon a time."

"Do you miss that sort of thing?"

"You want the truth?"

"Of course."

"I suppose there are aspects of such things that I miss, but overall, I found the social events I attended rather tedious." He smiled. "I've never enjoyed dancing so much as now."

"Nor I," she said, "but then I have little to compare to."

"Tell me about this one great social you attended," he said as they continued to move in perfect tempo.

"It was tedious," she replied with a little smile.

"Be serious."

"I am. It was tedious and . . . well, there were some things about it that I enjoyed, but the evening was ruined when the duke got a little too friendly while he was giving me a tour of the castle."

Cameron stopped dancing so abruptly that Abbi almost tripped. He stepped back, looking as stunned as if she had slapped him. While she was wondering what she'd said wrong, he asked in a voice that squeaked, "The _duke_ got a little too _friendly_ with you?"

The shame Abbi had felt over the incident came back to haunt her. She looked away to avoid his eyes. "I take it you don't like him."

_"Like_ him?" Cameron echoed in a voice that was angry. "Nikolaus du Woernig is an ogre and a cad, like his father before him. I shudder to think how many women he's gotten a little too _friendly_ with."

Abbi felt her face burn hot with embarrassment. She turned away, wishing this hadn't come up now. The last thing she wanted was to have this day marred by memories of the worst experience of her life.

Through the following silence, Cameron reminded himself not to take out his personal resentments on Abbi. He swallowed his anger and took a deep breath. With his hands at her shoulders he turned her to face him. "Forgive me," he said. "It's just that . . . I had no idea you'd spent your affections on . . . royalty. I mean . . . Nikolaus du Woernig?" Cameron looked into Abbi's eyes and had to ask, "Did you care for him, Abbi?"

"Does it matter?" she asked.

"Whatever the past may be, it matters nothing to what you and I share now," he insisted. "I only want to understand what happened. Did he hurt you? Did he--"

"I was ignorant and naive. I was a fool. He flattered me and led me on, making allusions to love and commitment, all the while betrothed to some princess."

Cameron fought to keep his expression from revealing the true nature of his thoughts. He _hated_ Nikolaus du Woernig, and he resented those who worked closest with him. But the only thing that mattered now was Abbi. Again he asked, "Did you care for him?"

"I was . . . attracted to him, I admit. But even then, my thoughts were drawn to you, and I could find no comparison."

"To me? But how could you--"

"I met Nikolaus after I had come here last summer." Her explanation was left hanging so she hurried to add, "Nothing happened between us beyond a few lusty kisses. I thank God that I had enough sense to hold him at bay until I learned his true nature."

"Yes," Cameron said with a gruff quality to his voice, "so am I."

"Are you angry with me, Cameron?"

"Angry?" He was astonished. "Oh, Abbi, no. Forgive me. I'm just . . . well, perhaps jealous. To think of you waltzing in the arms of the Duke of Horstberg is . . . unsettling."

Again silence hovered uncomfortably until Cameron said, "How is Castle Horstberg these days? I hear it's magnificent."

"It is," she stated, not quite sure of his mood.

"Tell me about it," he said in a voice that was almost wistful.

"It was dreadful, actually." His eyes widened as if he didn't believe her. She quickly clarified, "I mean, much of it is beautiful, and my evening there had its enjoyable moments, but . . . it's so huge that I wondered how those people avoid getting lost. And everything just seemed so . . . pretentious and . . . tedious."

Cameron chuckled softly, more like himself. "I can well imagine. I prefer folk-dancing in the market square, actually. My preference is a little more common."

Abbi smiled. They truly had the same taste when it came right down to it. "You mean the dance they do at the fair?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

"I've seen it done a few times. It's incredible to watch."

"Watch? Abbi, are you telling me you've never participated in the folk-dance?"

"No," she laughed. "Does this disillusion you? Would you like to undo our vows?"

He grinned. "Never! I'll simply teach you."

"Oh," her hesitance was evident, "it looks very difficult. Are you sure it's worth the time?"

"Absolutely," he insisted. "First of all, the women are lined up here." He guided her to a spot on the floor. "And the men are lined up here." He stood across the room from her. "The men come forward and bow, then they step back." He demonstrated as he said it. Then he motioned toward her. "Then the women come forward and curtsy." Abbi did so and he gave her an exaggerated smile. "Very good."

He walked her through the series of turns and steps, telling her the traditions of the dance that she'd only been vaguely aware of. "There are a group of folk-dancers," he said, "which mostly consist of local merchants and such, and they dress in traditional costume."

"Yes, I've seen them."

"On the afternoon of the fair they perform the dance, then each dancer takes someone from the crowd and they do it again. They keep doing it over and over until everyone is dancing. Even as a young man, I went to the fair, often with Georg, and we had such fun. After the last set, you are supposed to spend the remainder of the day with your dance partner."

"When you take _me_ to the fair, we must dance the last set together."

"Indeed, we will," he said, loving the thought of such an opportunity. "All right, now you've learned the whole thing."

"I have?"

"Yes, now let's go through it again."

Abbi felt more comfortable with the steps this time. She especially enjoyed the part where they turned together, facing opposite directions with their arms around each other.

"They've been doing this dance for decades, you know," he told her. "Perhaps even centuries."

"That's an intriguing thought."

"I can't believe you didn't know it," he said, holding her hands high from behind. "I thought it was against the law not to know Horstberg's traditional folk-dance. I'm surprised His Grace didn't have you executed for your ignorance."

"Well," she said, "he didn't know that I didn't know it."

Cameron laughed. "What Nikolaus du Woernig doesn't know . . ."

"Won't hurt him?"

"Actually, I was going to say . . . could see him undone."

"His Grace undone? Because I'm learning this dance?"

Cameron laughed again. "Precisely."

"You know," Abbi said, "I do believe I remember watching my parents do this dance."

"Really?"

"I couldn't have been very old, because my mother died before I turned five. But it seems familiar."

"Well, shame on your father for not teaching the dance to you. I must discuss this with him the next time we meet."

"I'll look forward to that," she said.

As Abbi gained confidence with the series of simple steps, their dancing picked up momentum. Cameron began improvising by lifting her off her feet when they turned, and kissing her between steps. They laughed and danced themselves into exhaustion, plopping down onto one of the sofas.

Abbi took Cameron's hand and pressed it to her lips. "Will you take me to the fair, Cameron? It's late in the summer, is it not?"

"Yes, it is, my love. And you can count on it." He sighed. "Oh, I miss the simple pleasures of life in Horstberg."

Abbi listened as he talked of going to the pub every day except Sundays to meet Georg. She found it ironic that she had been aware of Georg meeting a friend each morning. Cameron also told her of going into town on market day, how he loved to wander among the street vendors, buying odd things. He reminisced about the sounds and smells, bringing familiar images to her mind.

"What are you thinking?" Cameron asked, noting her dreamy expression.

"I was just savoring the idea of sharing such simple pleasures with you." She kissed him quickly. "I look forward to the day when that might be possible."

"It's a vision that could keep me going through the tough moments." He looked into her eyes, noting that dusk was settling over the room. "I love you, Abbi."

"And I love you, Cameron."

Abbi's heart quickened as she read the meaning in his gaze just before he bent to kiss her. Before it ended, he took her face into his hands. Then he kissed her again. And again. Abbi took hold of his shoulders, slipping into sensations she didn't understand, but ached to know. She was startled when Cameron came to his feet. The distance between them felt stark, and Abbi wondered about his intentions. He held out a hand for her. She took it and stood to face him. With purpose he touched her hair, saying in a hushed voice, "When we get married again, I want you to wear your hair exactly this way."

Abbi smiled. "It would be a pleasure, although my aunt will be mortified."

"All the better," he said and kissed her. Abbi tipped her head backwards, finding his hand there to hold it. He drew slightly away to look into her eyes, and then he scooped her up into his arms. Abbi could hear pulse-beats in her ears, echoing in time with his footsteps as he carried her briskly across the common room and up the stairs. She laughed as he gained momentum. He paused before the door, as if to question her amusement.

"This was all just a ploy to get your bed back, wasn't it."

"Precisely." He laughed and carried her over the threshold, kicking the door closed behind him.
Chapter Eleven

DREAMS

Abbi opened her eyes slowly, feeling as if she'd just emerged from a dream--a perfect, ethereal dream. She turned her head on the pillow and found Cameron watching her in the fire's glow, leaning on one elbow, his head propped up with his hand.

"My husband," she said, reaching out to touch his face.

"Forever," he whispered, and kissed her before he relaxed his head on the pillow to face her.

"Do you believe in forever, Cameron?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you believe we will part at death? Can feelings so deep just dissipate into nothing when this life ends?"

"I pray it's at least fifty years before we have to worry about that," he said.

"Yes, but . . . eventually life ends for everyone. And I just can't believe that everything we share would be for nothing."

"Abbi, my love, if you believe that true love lasts forever, then I believe it, too. You've taught me to believe in miracles. And surely there could be no greater miracle than that."

Cameron pulled on his breeches and got up to stoke the fire. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

"I don't know," she admitted, pulling on a nightgown. "I hadn't thought about it."

Cameron laughed and took hold of her hand. "Come along," he said. "Let's see what we can dig up, shall we? I believe we forgot to eat dinner."

"So we did," she laughed and picked up a lamp, following him out of the bedroom. She was surprised when he stopped and unfastened the latch on one of the two trunks on the landing. She recalled him implying once that their contents were none of her business, and she held her breath as he sat on one trunk and lifted the lid of the other.

"Most of these things were left here a long time ago, by my father perhaps; obviously with the purpose of romantic getaways." He laughed softly. "Not that I've had the need for them."

"You can't get any more romantic than this," she said.

Cameron kissed her quickly, then he lifted out two beautiful wine goblets and handed them to Abbi. While he carefully dug through some linens in search of something, he commented, "The candlesticks I put out on the mantel earlier, and the lace tablecloth . . . they were in here. Ah, here it is," he said, lifting out a bottle of red wine. "I'd forgotten this was here until I went digging for something else a while back." He stood up and closed the trunk while Abbi resisted the urge to question him on the contents of the other one. Following him down the stairs, she reminded herself that with time and patience she would eventually know him completely.

"Have a seat," he said, setting the lamp on the table. "I'll be right back."

Within minutes Cameron had laid out a round of dark bread, cheese, jerked meat, and freshly washed apples. While Abbi was slicing an apple, he set the goblets on the table. She watched him open the bottle of wine with a corkscrew before sitting down across from her and pouring it out.

"We must bless it," she said.

Cameron nodded toward her, listening in awe as she offered a brief, sincere prayer over their meal, just as she always did. He marveled at her humble faith, and his love for her blossomed with fresh admiration. He wondered if he'd ever been happier as they ate together, talking and laughing, feeding each other across the table. He marveled at the joy Abbi had brought into his life. Through her he had found a reason to have dreams, and the determination to do everything in his power to make them come true. Recalling his own state of mind prior to her coming, he could only describe such dramatic changes in his life as miraculous.

"What are you thinking?" Abbi asked, noting Cameron's distant expression.

Cameron took her hand across the table. "I was only thinking about you; how alive you make me feel." He stood only long enough to reach over the table and kiss her. "Oh Abbi, you've made me so happy. I didn't think I could ever be happy again."

"There is much happiness ahead for us," she said, and he smiled.

When they had eaten their fill, Cameron carried Abbi back up the stairs and made love to her again before they slept contentedly in each other's arms.

Abbi woke up alone, and for a moment she felt as if she'd merely dreamed all that had happened yesterday. She squinted toward the window where sunlight streamed, in awe of the paths her life had taken. Her eyes had barely adjusted to the light when Cameron came into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Good morning, my love," Cameron said, pausing a moment to soak in her appearance. He kissed her slowly, touching her face and hair, amazed at the stark contrast of her endless red curls strewn over the white bedding. Abbi sat up and took the cup from him to share his coffee, and he noted how the steam rose to caress her face.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked as she took a careful sip then gave it back to him.

Abbi noted that his hands were cold. He'd been outside already, caring for the animals no doubt.

"Very well, and you?"

"Never better." He smiled, then walked toward the window and looked out. "It's a beautiful day."

"How could it not be?" she said, stretching the sleep out of her limbs. "If it were pouring outside, it would still be a beautiful day."

"Hear, hear," he said, noting how the snow glistened in the sun. Turning to sit in the window seat, Cameron was once again struck by the reality of how his life had changed. He was surprised to find his thoughts wandering to Gwen. It would be impossible to compare her to Abbi. Gwen had been beautiful in her own way, but Abbi had a graceful, lissome quality that Gwen could have never possessed. Abbi had taught him an entirely new definition of beauty. He couldn't believe what a fool he had been, taking so long to realize how much he loved her. How could he have made himself so miserable by trying to deny his feelings, when she had already brought him such happiness? Now that he had her, he knew that he would find a way, somehow, to keep her. He returned to sit on the edge of the bed, wanting only to touch her. "Abbi," he murmured, kissing her face, "I love you dearly."

"And I love you." She touched his face in return, smiling impishly. "My husband."

"My wife." He smiled, loving the feel of it on his lips. "I will make our marriage official," he declared with purpose. "I'm not certain when, or how, but I will. I respect the sanctity of marriage. I do not take this lightly."

"I know."

_"How_ do you know, Abbi? Why are you willing to give up so much for my sake? You know nothing of my past or--"

"Your past doesn't matter, Cameron. Your future belongs to me. But what makes you believe I'm _giving up_ anything? Don't think for a moment that I would make any such decision for the sake of self-sacrifice, or that I would trade peace of mind for peace of conscience. I _love_ you, Cameron."

He breathed in her words but felt compelled to point out, "And what if love is not enough, Abbi? I've seen the evils of the world destroy love."

She touched his face and kissed him. "Not _this_ love," she murmured and kissed him again. Cameron set the coffee on the bedside table and took her into his arms, wondering if he could ever get enough of the way she replenished him, body and soul.

Abbi felt deeply relieved with the evidence in his affection that all they had shared last night had not been a dream. She laughed and wept as he once again guided her through an experience she'd never begun to comprehend. Never in her wildest imaginings could she have fathomed that a man and a woman had been created for such splendor. He became the entire nucleus of her existence, as if every step she'd taken had been leading to these moments, and wherever her life went from here would be influenced by the impact of all they were sharing. She loved this man beyond all comprehension.

Cameron settled his head onto the pillow, exhausted and perfectly content while he explored Abbi's face with his fingertips. The serenity in her countenance was as brilliant as the love and perfect acceptance in her eyes. The impact she'd had on his life rushed into him like a gust of hot wind, and the tears that resulted caught him off guard. Embarrassed as well as needing her comfort, he pressed his face into Abbi's hair and wept.

"What is it?" she murmured, holding him close. He just shook his head and cried, unable to get control of his emotion. She simply held him and whispered tender words, as if she fully shared his pain _and_ his joy.

Cameron's next awareness was coming awake alone in the bed. His eyes focused on one of the room's two windows, where sunlight trickled through the closed curtains. He turned over and his heart quickened to see Abbi standing at the other window, a sheet tucked beneath her arms, encircling her and flowing onto the floor. She looked like a painting, an exquisite composition of rare art that was created to inspire and touch anyone who might have the opportunity to get a glimpse. He wondered what miracle had made it possible for him and him alone to be the man privileged enough to call her his own. She turned to look at him, and the artistic impression of her deepened as her eyes came into view. She was magnificent!

"Are you all right?" she asked and moved to the edge of the bed. Only then did he remember that he'd fallen asleep crying.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just . . . happy." She sat beside him and he touched her face. Hoping to explain himself he added, "When I first came here . . . I cried every day. I felt as if my life was over. I'd been cheated, betrayed, forced into exile. Then one day the pain just became . . . too much. It was as if something inside of me became determined not to feel anything at all. I stopped crying. And I tried to stop caring whether I lived or died, but I could never bring myself to completely let go. Still, I felt myself drifting closer to the edge of . . . some kind of ghastly cliff . . . some ambiguous edge of sanity . . . of reality." His voice softened. "And then you came, but . . . I was so terrified that I sent you away." Again he touched her face. "I am so grateful that you came back." She smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips that clearly expressed her perfect love for him.

Driven by hunger, they went downstairs in search of a very late breakfast. Working together to prepare their meal and put the lodge in order felt so normal that it was difficult for Cameron to believe what had changed between them. Abbi looked more beautiful than ever as she moved around the lodge, humming as she worked. He couldn't keep his eyes off her, and couldn't stop thinking about the intimacy they had shared. There was something wonderful in the way he could watch her doing everyday things, and try to comprehend the full spectrum of what had passed between them. It was like knowing a secret about her that was hidden to the rest of the world. No one could ever know or take away what he had found in Abbi. He finally tore himself away from his enchantment to tend to the animals' needs that had barely been met earlier. He'd not been in the stable long when Abbi came quietly through the door.

"Hello, my love," he said to her.

She responded with a kiss and touched his face, as if she had trouble accepting the reality of their relationship, just as he did. Impulsively he pulled off his gloves to touch her in return, wanting his whole life to be like this.

Abbi looked into Cameron's eyes, more keenly certain than ever that she had stumbled onto her destiny. His fingers smelled of warm leather as they moved over her face, then he thrust them into her hair and combed through it. Blaze snorted as if to say he was waiting for some attention. Abbi laughed and walked away, nuzzling against the stallion while Cameron fed him.

"I have to compete with a horse for your affection, I see," he said.

"I did fall in love with Blaze first," she said and he chuckled. "May I help?"

"Not today," he said. "I'm almost finished."

Abbi glanced down and saw something that looked out of place in the clean straw. She bent to pick it up just as Cameron lunged to intercept it. But Abbi was quicker and pulled the little crumpled paper into her fist, glaring at him defiantly.

"You seem upset," she said, gauging his expression. "Is what I have in my hand so threatening?"

Cameron swallowed carefully. She had displayed perfect trust in him. She'd given him her heart and soul, knowing practically nothing about him. There were some things that he absolutely could not tell her, but perhaps displaying his trust on other matters would be more conducive to getting them through the difficulties that lay ahead.

Cameron glanced at her fingers, curled around the message he'd received two days ago. He generally wasn't so careless, but his mind had been elsewhere. He honestly didn't remember what it had said exactly, but he did know that his communication with Georg was always done cryptically. Cameron took a step back and held his hands up in a gesture of resignation. He couldn't help being touched when she said, "If you don't want me to see this, all you have to do is say so."

Cameron simply nodded and put his hands behind his back. Abbi took a deep breath as she opened the paper and began to read aloud _._ " 'I'm leaving the country for a few days. I'll let you know when I return.' "

So far so good, Cameron thought.

She glanced up briefly then continued _._ " 'Witness still available. We can do it.' "

Abbi stared at it for a full minute before she looked up. "This is not your handwriting."

"No, it's not."

"This is a message from someone else."

"Yes, it is."

Abbi's heart quickened. "How old is this message?" she asked. "And how did you get it?"

Cameron stared at her silently for a moment, fixing a line in his mind that he could not cross; there was only so much information he dared divulge. "Two days ago," he said at last.

Abbi recalled the hours he had been out of the lodge, and the change that had come over him during that time. Now she understood.

"And how?" she repeated, wondering how he could possibly get word from anyone if they were as snowed in as he had claimed.

"Carrier pigeons," he added, motioning toward the birds in their cote.

Abbi smiled. "You can send messages with _those?"_

"Tied around their legs," he stated soberly and waited for her next question, knowing her curiosity was not satisfied.

"Who are you communicating with?"

"The only person who knows I am alive . . . beyond you. He leaves supplies for me in the spring and the fall. I owe him my life many times over."

As Abbi digested everything she'd just learned, excitement bubbled out of her. "Cameron," she moved toward him, "this is wonderful. If this is true, then you can be free and come home with me and--"

"Calm down," Cameron said, taking her by the shoulders. "It's not that easy."

"Why not?" she asked, and he wondered how a woman so wise could have the innocence of a child at times.

"The situation is very complicated. It will take time to put everything in order enough so that I won't be putting myself, or you, or him, in danger. The man who sent that message is putting his life on the line for me--quite literally. And I'll not move an inch until he tells me I can. That's final."

"But there is hope," she uttered.

Cameron had expected her to be angry or hurt that he couldn't go with her the day she left, but as usual he'd underestimated her. Abbi had the ability to look beyond.

"Yes," he smiled, "there is hope."

"You see. I knew there was a way. Do you feel confident this man will succeed?"

"Yes, I do. He's never failed me before. He got me out of prison, in fact. I trust him with my life."

"How long will it take? Do you know?"

"No, my love, I don't. But I swear to you, Abbi, the same day I come off this mountain, I will find you. And then we'll get married--again."

Abbi smiled and sat down in the straw. "Why didn't you want me to see this?"

Cameron's expression became grim as he sat next to her and held her hand. "When you go home, news will spread about the woman who was lost in the mountains all winter and came home alive. If something suspicious gets stirred up--and inevitably, it will--I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if you were questioned by the Guard."

"Why?"

"I'm a wanted man. You know that."

"Is it more than Gwendolyn's death?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

"Don't I have a right to know?"

"Yes, you do," he sounded frustrated, "but if you _do_ know, they could use you to get to me and that will endanger you further. I've told you far more about these circumstances than I ever should have. Abbi, you must promise me, by all you hold sacred, that if you are questioned, you know nothing. You don't know my name, or where you were, or anything about me. Lie to them. Do anything to keep them away from you. Both of our lives could depend on it."

Stunned by the urgency of his plea, Abbi could only gaze at him in bewilderment, speculating over what could possibly be so critical.

"Abbi, you must believe me when I tell you that if the wrong person finds out that you and I are involved, you could be in a great deal of danger. You must not tell anyone. Do you trust me?"

"I love you."

"I know. But do you trust me?"

"With my soul, life, and heart."

"And you'll remember what to do?"

"I'll tell them you were old and dreadful."

He chuckled, grateful to her for understanding things that seemed so unwarranted. "You won't be far from the truth."

Cameron pushed her back in the straw and kissed her, then he tickled her until she was laughing tears. When they returned to the lodge, it took him half an hour to get all of the straw out of her hair. But he enjoyed every minute of it.

Lance ran from his office in response to the hasty report he'd just been given of a violent dispute that required intervention from the law. He could have just sent some of his men, but when he'd been told the part of town where this dispute was taking place, he felt the need to go himself. Generally it was an area he preferred to avoid. Its wretchedness was haunting, and the reasons for it were difficult to face. But as Captain of the Guard, he knew it was important to remain abreast of the condition of the people of Horstberg, and this particular place had certainly come to represent that condition--its deteriorating and pathetic condition. He feared that what was happening here somehow represented a disease that would continue to grow throughout the whole country if the infection were not boldly halted. But who could possibly stop Nikolaus du Woernig from breaking his own laws and doing as he pleased with the people of his country and their property?

Lance rode in haste with a dozen officers of the Guard toward their destination. They never went into this part of town without numerous forces. Normally he would take half that many men, or less. But this was different. As they approached, Lance could almost feel the darkness creeping toward him. The area had always attracted the less honorable activities of Horstberg, but it had still once been a thriving part of the valley, and very little trouble had occurred here. Now it had become wretched and forlorn, and it reeked of poverty. The majority of crime and domestic disputes of Horstberg came from this area of the valley, and Lance saw evidence of how it was growing worse each time he allowed himself to go there.

As they came through a grove of trees and moved onto the main street that was flanked with stark evidence of the depravity of human life, Lance felt literally ill. He'd expected it to be worse--because everything bad seemed to be growing steadily worse--but he'd not expected it to be _this_ bad. The decline of Horstberg was on the rise, and it only took him a glance to know it. He didn't need reports or graphs or meetings to know. It was evident in the desperate, sallow eyes that looked in fear at the small battalion that had just appeared. It was evident in their pathetic and disgusting surroundings that represented a desperate attempt to remain sheltered and fed.

Lance tried not to think about Nikolaus's behavior and his direct connection to most of what was taking place here, but how could he not? It was simply a fact. In order to suppress his growing anger, Lance focused on the reason they had been summoned here. A woman and child had both received multiple blows from the man who was husband and father to them. She'd been in the streets screaming, which had spurred a neighbor to ride quickly to Castle Horstberg, seeking help from the law. The man responsible for the abuse was still in an uproar that had become very public since his wife had run out in the street, seeking help. He was shouting at her and everyone else who was trying to intervene and calm him down. He was obviously very drunk. Lance hated the reality that when these people didn't have enough money to put food on the table, some of them always found a way to purchase liquor. But he hated even more the bruises and bleeding he saw on the face of this woman and the child clinging to her skirts.

Lance quickly gave orders for the cause of the disturbance to be taken into custody until he could sober up, and for other officers to disburse the crowd and be observant enough to make certain all else was well. He sent one officer to get a doctor, making it clear that the cost would be taken care of. Nikolaus would never know that such things were occasionally taken out of his budget for running the country, but it was a very small percentage of what the duke spent on his own pleasures.

Lance personally dismounted and approached the woman, while her young son buried his face against his mother, apparently crying but ashamed of his tears.

"I'm Captain Dukerk," he said gently to the woman. "Allow me and my lieutenant to escort you home." He motioned to the man at his side and the woman nodded and began to walk with the child still holding to her. Lance and the officer with him followed in silence.

Once inside a meager dwelling that was tiny and a pathetic excuse for a home, Lance encouraged mother and child to sit down and told them the doctor would come to make certain they were all right.

The woman thanked him and said, "He weren't like this before, you know." She began to weep.

"Before?" Lance asked.

"Before we lost everything," she said and sniffled, wiping her face with her apron, mixing her tears with the blood coming from a cut on her face. "I still don't understand what happened. We was accused of breaking some law or other, but I don't know what it were. We was always decent sort, or we tried to be. Then we lost it all. That nasty duke of ours took it all away."

Lance looked discreetly over his shoulder at the lieutenant standing close behind him. They shared a glance of discreet disgust. While their frustrations of trying to uphold the law under such circumstances were rarely spoken, and then only in private whispers, the men employed to keep Horstberg safe were all thinking the same thing. He saw the fury in the lieutenant's eyes that mirrored his own, then he put a mask of calmness in place and turned back to face the woman as she went on.

"That's when my husband started drinking . . . and he got so . . . angry . . . and . . ." She dissolved into sobbing while at the same time trying to soothe her child, who was also weeping.

"I am so sorry for your predicament, madame," Lance said, and he meant it. But he could do nothing to change it. If he even attempted to he would have his own legal charges to face that would probably put him before a firing squad. And he'd learned long ago that even if he had the resources to help those in distress, privately and discreetly, he could never help them all. It just never ended.

"What will happen to him?" she asked, showing compassion and concern for the man who had just beat her.

"Unfortunately," he said, hating it every time he had to say such words, "what your husband did was not illegal, therefore we cannot convict him of any crime. Once he's sobered up, I will talk to him personally and see if I can't help him see sense, and then he'll be coming home. I'm afraid that's all I can do."

"You're very kind, Captain," the woman said. "Thank you for coming."

Lance could only nod and try to avoid thinking about how badly he wanted to return to Castle Horstberg, find Nikolaus, and break his nose. Instead he offered a few more comforting words, leaving as soon as the doctor arrived. He told the lieutenant to make sure everything was in order and he would see him later. Instead of going back to the castle, Lance went instead to the enormous and elegant cathedral that was Horstberg's second most beautiful edifice. He sat on a bench near the rear, glad to be alone with his thoughts. The bishop's assistant came in at the front of the cathedral from a side door and nodded toward him, but left again as if to give him the time he needed, and Lance appreciated the man's perception. He bowed his head in prayer, knowing that nothing short of divine intervention could save Horstberg now. But reversing the ever-growing damage seemed as impossible as the parting of the Red Sea. He reminded himself that the Red Sea had indeed parted. He wanted to believe in miracles, and he believed that they often came in ways that were completely unexpected, but he'd had too many losses in his life, too much heartache, to _really_ believe it was possible. Still, he prayed anyway. As long as he was Captain of the Guard, he could not give up hope that Horstberg could survive the reign of Nikolaus du Woernig.

With days passing, Abbi gradually digested the reality of being Cameron's wife, finding a contentment that filled her so completely she wondered how she had ever lived without him. Their routine of doing together all that needed to be done continued much as it had before. In their spare time they often read, sometimes aloud to each other. They talked and laughed. And Abbi continued filling up the book he had given her with sketches. Looking through it one afternoon, she found the evolvement of her relationship with Cameron typified in the drawings. The mood and expressions of her earlier work were completely different from the ones she did now. But Abbi's favorite was still the piece she'd done of Cameron sitting in the window seat months ago. She loved to look at it and imagine how she might have felt to foresee their relationship now.

On a sunny afternoon in late February Abbi announced, "Guess what today is."

"Thursday," he said without looking up from the journal where he was writing vigorously.

"That's not what I mean, silly," she said.

"I don't know." He looked up and took off his glasses. "What's today?"

"It's our anniversary. We've been married a month."

"Really?" He laughed. "And I can't imagine what life was like before then." He reached out a hand and she took it. "One month closer to having to let you go," he said sadly.

"You mustn't think of it that way." She sat on his lap and kissed his brow. "It's one month closer to being a free man . . . to starting over again."

"You keep telling me that," he said.

"No sadness today." She stood abruptly. "I've got something special planned for dinner. We're celebrating."

"Ooh," Cameron said, lifting his brows, "then I'd do well to get my chores done early."

"What an excellent idea," she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

When Cameron had been outside nearly an hour, Abbi noticed that the late afternoon sun would soon be setting. She wanted everything to be perfect when he came in, and suddenly she felt pressed for time. With dinner under control, she rushed up the stairs to get the tablecloth and candlesticks out of the trunk.

Abbi gasped and held her breath as she found herself staring at something that looked so completely out of place that she momentarily questioned her sanity. It took her a minute to consciously accept that in her rush she had opened the wrong trunk. Then her heart beat quickly, knowing that Cameron had not wanted her to see this. She told herself to close the lid and ignore her mistake, but she felt compelled to touch the fine red fabric. She had touched fabric like this before. Lifting the coat into her hands, she knew she was looking at a near replica to the uniform that Lance Dukerk wore.

Abbi sat down on the landing, feeling a little weak. What did this mean? And why was Cameron so determined to keep her from knowing about it? Well, she _did_ know, and she wasn't going to hide the fact from him. But when she heard the door open below, a deep dread knotted her stomach. He started up the stairs, then stopped when he saw her, the fine red and black coat spread across her lap.

Cameron gripped the stair railing tightly and felt the blood drain from his face. A thousand fears that had pounded through his head since the day he'd first seen Abbi became too close to ignore. When he finally found his voice, it betrayed all too well what he was feeling. "What are you doing?" he growled, but she didn't seem affected by his anger.

"I was in a hurry, and I opened the wrong trunk by mistake."

Cameron stared at her a long moment, inwardly groping for a way to handle this and still keep her protected. If she knew too much, then . . . he couldn't think of that. He _couldn't_. Too weak to even stand, he turned methodically and sat down on the top stair, his back to her. He pressed his head into his hands and forced himself to take a deep breath.

Abbi's voice came gently. "This is a uniform of the Duke's Guard, Cameron."

"You think I don't know what it is?"

"You were an officer of the Guard?" she asked, as if the idea were incredulous.

Cameron remained with his back turned. He said nothing.

Abbi added, "Do you want me to put this back and pretend that I didn't see it?"

"Yes," he snapped over his shoulder. Then his voice softened and his shoulders slumped. "No. I mean . . . I don't know, Abbi. I'm just scared."

"Scared? Is there something frightening about my knowing that you once served in the Duke's Guard?"

Cameron turned to look at her. Perhaps he was making more of this than necessary. It was a simple explanation, and she was willing to accept it. Finding his uniform didn't mean she had to know everything. While he was thinking of a way to smooth this over and let it drop, she said, "There is more to Gwendolyn's death than simply your being accused of murder."

"Yes," he stated, "and I'm not going to answer any more questions."

"I'll only ask one more."

"I'm listening."

"Why, Cameron? Why is it so important that I'm left ignorant? Wouldn't it be easier for you to face whatever you have to face if we could . . . talk about it and--"

"No!" he snarled in a voice she'd not heard in many weeks. And it frightened her. "Don't you understand, Abbi?" He knelt on the step and took her shoulders into his hands.

"Not completely, no."

"Do you know what they do to people who are guilty of treason?"

Abbi sucked in her breath, barely letting it out enough to mutter, "Treason?"

"Yes, treason! After they keep you locked in some hole of a cell for heaven knows how long, they put you in front of a firing squad. Man, woman, child. That animal who rules Horstberg doesn't care."

"But . . . what does that have to do with . . ."

"Abbi!" Cameron nearly shook her. "Listen to me carefully. It is the last I am going to say. With the position I held, and knowledge I had, and elements surrounding my wife's death that I will _not_ discuss with you, I pose a threat to Nikolaus du Woernig."

Abbi could hardly breathe. _Nikolaus du Woernig?_ Cameron knew something that was a _threat_ to the ruler of Horstberg? She had to ask, "Does he _know_ that?"

"He thinks I'm dead," Cameron said, but Abbi caught the inference. If Nikolaus found out that Cameron was alive, the most powerful man in Horstberg would consider Cameron's knowledge a threat.

"I did nothing wrong, Abbi. I swear it. I was framed. But if His Grace believes I am guilty, with the power he has, then . . ." Cameron stopped, realizing he'd said too much. Taking a deep breath, he finished. "Under the circumstances, harboring and aiding an exiled criminal is treason. And that's exactly what you're doing."

Abbi's breathing sharpened as the implication sank deeper. Cameron sat down again on the stairs and sighed. "When you leave here," he said, "the enormous task of proving my innocence will have just begun. I don't know how long it will take. I don't know if it's possible for us to even be together at all until I can be completely certain that I've been exonerated of the charges. If you are questioned, you will have nothing to say. You don't know who I am, or anything about me."

"Except that I am your wife."

Cameron's expression filled with compassion as he took Abbi's hand. "Yes, a woman with no name. I don't deserve to have you trust me the way you do."

"I love you, Cameron. When you do get your name back, I will proudly bear that name, whatever it may be."

Cameron kissed her hand. "One day I will tell you my name, Abbi. And perhaps by then I will be able to understand why I have trouble even saying it aloud."

Abbi wondered what he meant, but she couldn't help recalling what he'd said about his father. She considered the possibility that his reluctance to tell her his name was as much for emotional reasons as it was for her protection. Did he have trouble claiming his father's name for reasons he wasn't ready to talk about? She considered asking but he walked back down the stairs, saying over his shoulder, "Please put it back, Abbi."

Abbi did as he asked, laying the coat gently over the boots and breeches that had been hidden beneath it. Nothing more was said about her discovery, and their evening of celebration went well. But Abbi found herself speculating over what might have happened to Cameron. It felt completely natural to imagine him having a military career. It suited his personality, and what little he'd told her of his life. If he had been an officer of the Guard, and he had found incriminating evidence against the duke, that would explain the circumstances. Of course, there could be a hundred different possibilities. And it really didn't matter what had happened, so long as he could prove himself innocent and find a life again. Abbi concentrated instead on imagining Cameron wearing the uniform she had found. As little as she cared for Lance Dukerk, she couldn't deny that she had admired the way he looked in the uniform he wore. Imagining the man she loved dressed that way made her heart flutter, and she tried to envision how it might be one day for him to wear his uniform again without shame or fear. That was a day she longed for.

Georg hurried up the stairs in search of Elsa and peered into Abbi's room through the partially open door. He often found his wife there, tidying things that didn't need tidying. He was surprised instead to find Lance Dukerk idly fondling a set of jade hair combs on Abbi's dresser. The captain looked up to see Georg in the doorway, clearly embarrassed.

"Forgive me for startling you," Georg said. "I was just looking for Elsa, and--"

"Ramona said it was all right," Lance said a bit sheepishly, "to come here, and . . . I can't seem to stay away."

By _here_ Georg knew he meant Abbi's room. Lance spent a great deal of time at the house, visiting with his stepmother and sometimes even staying the night. Georg felt certain the captain would be wise to seek out a more entertaining social life, but now he had to wonder if his time spent in the house was more out of pining over Abbi than being drawn to his stepmother's company.

Attempting to ease his discomfort, Georg said gently, "Nothing feels right without her here."

"No, it certainly doesn't," Lance said, touching Abbi's belongings with a tenderness that defied what Georg knew this man was capable of as Captain of the Guard.

Georg wished he could tell Lance what he knew. He settled for saying, "I'm still holding onto the hope that she'll come back."

Lance let out a humorless chuckle. "I find myself hoping the same, but it's not very likely now, is it."

"Miracles do happen," Georg said. Noting the lovesick expression on Lance's face, he wondered over the depth of this man's feelings for Abbi. When she _did_ come back, would something evolve between them? Although Georg and Lance had not always agreed, Georg knew he was a good man--one of the best, in truth. He'd always had a social reticence that was somewhat contradictory to the man known by the officers he led. Georg suspected that Abbi had not yet seen the depth of character in this man, but he couldn't help thinking they would make a fine match.

When nothing more was said, Georg added, "I'll leave you alone then. Take your time and--"

"Georg?" Lance said, stopping him before he could leave.

"Yes, Captain."

Lance looked subtly nervous, and Georg wondered what might be on his mind. "There's something I've always wanted to say . . . should have said a long time ago . . . but the opportunity never presented itself."

"Why now?" Georg asked.

Lance looked around Abbi's room and sighed loudly. "Matters of life and death . . . bring up memories of the same, I suppose."

Georg leaned his shoulder in the doorway. "Yes, they certainly do."

"I, uh . . ." he cleared his throat, "I just wanted to say that . . . given the time we all spent together growing up, I know that Cameron's death must have been devastating for you."

Georg took a deep breath. Lance could never know how devastating, but not because Cameron had been mortally lost. It was so much more horrid and complicated than that. The grief had been unspeakable--and so solitary. He simply said, "As Gwen's was for you."

Lance cleared his throat again and turned the other way. "Yes, well . . . the whole thing was . . . difficult for all of us. We all grew up together."

"Yes," Georg chuckled with nostalgia, "a strange group of friends; such an odd mixture. And Gwen was always in the middle of everything, ordering the rest of us around."

Lance chuckled as well. "She had a way of doing that."

"Nothing was ever the same once she and Cameron were married."

"No, it certainly wasn't. I don't know what went wrong, but . . . it shouldn't have come to this. Who would have dreamed . . . all those years ago . . . that two tragic deaths would . . ." He didn't finish. "And now Abbi is . . ." He didn't finish that sentence either. He cleared his throat once again and added, "I just wanted to say that . . . in spite of what Cameron may or may not have done, I know that losing him was hardest for you. And I'm sorry for your loss. That's all . . . for what it may be worth."

"It's worth a great deal, actually. Thank you. And I'm sorry for your loss, as well. I guess that gives us something in common, in spite of how our lives have changed."

"Yes," Lance chuckled dryly, "and now we've both lost Abbi."

"I'm not going to consider her lost until the mountain snow has melted enough to have proof."

Lance met his eyes. "That's a day I dread with my whole heart."

"You must believe in miracles, Captain. Things are not always as they appear." He smiled and left the room, wishing that he could trust the good captain enough to share what he knew. Lance would surely be ecstatic to realize that Abbi was alive, but not necessarily pleased to know that Cameron was too. As long as Lance believed that Cameron had killed Gwen--which Georg knew that he did--there would be no trusting him, period. But with any luck, one day Captain Dukerk would know the truth, along with the rest of the country. That was a day that Georg looked forward to with his whole heart.

A few days after she'd opened the wrong trunk, Abbi became vaguely aware of Cameron getting out of bed just after dawn and slipping quietly out of the bedroom. When she heard no evidence of his leaving the lodge, she eased toward the door and opened it quietly, surprised to find him kneeling in front of the open trunk, touching the coat of his uniform with a kind of reverence. His expression made it clear that his memories were difficult, but she hoped that facing them now would make some progress in overcoming the past--whatever it may be.

"Why don't you try it on," she said, startling him.

Cameron leaned back on his heels and sighed. "I lost the right to wear it."

"By what? Being framed?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"All right, so it's complicated. But you could still try it on." He looked at her dubiously and she smiled. "Let me see my husband in uniform. I'm absolutely certain you'll look much more handsome in it than the Captain of the Guard."

He scowled and his eyes flickered uneasily. "I don't think looking good in the uniform is a job requirement," he snarled and came to his feet. He tried to close the trunk, but Abbi put her hand on the lid to stop him. She took the coat by the shoulders and held it up. He looked skeptical, almost afraid.

She returned his gaze with determination. "Just for a minute," she said. "Stop being so stubborn."

Cameron reluctantly slipped his arms into the fine coat. It felt so strangely familiar. As Abbi adjusted the shoulders and smoothed out the wrinkles, he realized that it actually felt good to be wearing it again. He fastened the hooks down the front as if he'd done it thousands of times. But of course, he had. Abbi stood back to look him up and down. Her eyes lit up with admiration, and something that had been cold inside him suddenly turned warm.

"You look incredible," she said. "It's you." She motioned him toward the mirror in the bedroom. He hesitated but couldn't resist. Looking at his reflection, he could almost imagine the man he had once been. And he was grateful for Abbi finding this and for insisting that he put it on. For the first time in years, he actually caught a glimpse of who he really was.

"How do you feel?" she asked. "As good as you look?

"I don't know," he said. "How good do I look?"

"Good enough to make me grateful that I'm your wife. Otherwise, my thoughts could be considered wicked."

Cameron chuckled and looked at his reflection again. "I will earn the right to wear it again," he said with determination. "I will show myself in public with my head held high, and maybe I'll even take you to one of those tedious socials at Castle Horstberg."

"Being there with you could almost make it bearable," she said, and he laughed.

Cameron took another long look at himself, attempting to fix an image in his mind that could help him get through the months ahead. Then he removed the coat and impulsively put it around Abbi's shoulders. He absorbed the way it drowned her petite frame, then he put his arms around her, holding her tightly and imagining her as an integral part of his vision.

"I do love you, Abbi."

"And I love you," she said, firmly returning his embrace.

Cameron put the uniform away and nothing more was said, but he found that it hovered in his mind. It represented something that he'd not wanted to look at for a very long time. But looking at it now gave him renewed determination and hope that he could truly be the man he'd once been. He felt himself changing, believing, longing to reclaim the life he'd left behind.

Barely into the first week of March, Cameron woke with his heart beating quickly, knowing an unusual sound must have caused him to be suddenly alert. Staring into the darkness, he waited for a clue. He heard Abbi cry out and turned toward her. Putting a hand on her arm, he found her trembling. He turned her over, surprised to see that she was sound asleep and completely unaware of him. It was startling to see her shiver so vehemently, crying out indeterminable words, yet her eyes remained closed. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her gently. "Abbi! Wake up."

Still she showed no response, so he shook her harder. But she slept on, only becoming more frightened. Finally he shouted in frustration, jerking her shoulders. "Abbi!"

Her eyes flew open. Her cries stopped abruptly, but her shivering did not. Her expression showed so much fear that for a moment Cameron felt afraid himself. She grabbed the front of his nightshirt into her fists. "Cameron!" His name came to her lips with astounding relief, and she pressed her face to his chest while her shivering continued. "I'm so cold," she muttered. "Don't let me die, Cameron. Make me warm."

He put his arms around her and pulled her close. "It was only a dream, Abbi," he whispered with firm reassurance. "Everything is fine."

"I'm so cold," she repeated.

"You're not cold." He took her hands and pressed them to her face. "You're not cold, you see." Looking directly into her eyes, he spoke with slow determination. "It was a dream, Abbi. You're fine."

Abbi smiled feebly and relaxed against him. Almost immediately her shivering ceased. Cameron held her in silence until her breathing returned to normal. "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked. When she hesitated he pressed gently, "Tell me, Abbi."

"It felt so real," she began, "just like the night you found me. I could feel myself climbing, fighting the storm. I could feel the cold--frightening cold. And then I saw Blaze. But I couldn't reach him. And then I saw you sitting on Blaze, and you were wearing the uniform. I knew it was you, but you were different somehow. It was like I didn't really know you at all. But I knew if I could reach you that I would get warm, and I wouldn't die, but I . . ." Her voice quivered. "I could never quite reach you."

Cameron felt a chill run over his shoulders. If there were prophetic implications to this dream, he didn't want to discuss them. The accuracy of her dream unnerved him. She _didn't_ really know him. But he had recently been envisioning himself in that uniform, in a situation where Abbi would finally be able to know the full truth.

Cameron tightened his arms around her. "It's fine," he whispered, rubbing the back of her head. "It all makes sense. You came very near to dying in that storm. It was a traumatic experience, and your mind is trying to deal with it." He hoped that would soothe her fears and avoid any lengthy conversations about the other aspects of what she'd dreamed.

Abbi quickly fell back to sleep, and the next day she said nothing more about her dream. But Cameron couldn't help thinking about it. He'd learned to believe in Abbi's dreams, and thoughts of this one stirred ideas that he began sending in discreet messages to Georg. Gradually his thoughts hovered more and more in the future, and the messages Georg sent back made the possibilities begin to feel real. But along with the reality there was fear. It was fear that had kept him hiding all these years; knowing in his heart what powers he would have to come up against to return and prove his innocence was no small thing. At times he wondered if he would actually survive. In truth, he knew the odds were against it.

While Cameron speculated over the meaning of all Abbi had brought into his life and where their experiences might lead them, his mind wandered to the dream she'd had several weeks ago. A child on a hobbyhorse, with his face and her red hair. The hope he found in that alone left him breathless. He'd always wanted to believe he could father a child, even though Gwen had implied that the absence of children in their marriage was his fault. Something in him had always ached at the thought of dying without progeny. But now, even the prospect of losing his life did not seem so grim. He believed that even if he didn't survive, Abbi was the means to see that his son would. Georg would care for them. He'd know what to do. And one day his son could carry on the family traditions that Cameron had been denied. The very idea strengthened his peace, though he hardly dared share his thoughts with Abbi. If she knew the full spectrum of the danger he was in, she would never be able to cope. It was impossible to tell the woman he loved that every officer of the Guard, unless he had come into service in the last few years, would recognize Cameron at a glance. And they would only be too willing to follow strict orders to kill him, in spite of how things might have been at one time. It would be even more absurd to tell Abbi that a part of him didn't believe he could actually pull off Georg's plan to restore him to freedom. But he did believe he could make a difference to Horstberg, even if it meant his martyrdom. He was prepared to die for his country, as long as he knew that Abbi would be cared for, that their marriage was legal, and that she had conceived the child who would carry on his name.

Cameron knew little about the signs of pregnancy, but he secretly hoped for evidence that Abbi might be with child. He began counting the days of her cycles, hoping they would stop. But every four weeks she spent a day or two in bed, and the signs were evident. She was most definitely not pregnant. And as spring drew closer, he began to wonder if he'd simply misread the meaning of her dream. Perhaps he couldn't father children after all.

When discouragement began to tempt him, Cameron forced his thoughts away from speculations about the future. He concentrated instead on the present, enjoying every moment with Abbi as if it were a treasured gift from heaven. But he knew the time they shared was temporary. Abbi's love as well as her presence had brought him back to life, but he couldn't deny a growing discontentment with the life they were leading. He could only pray that God would see fit to give them a lifetime.

"Abbi," he said late one night as he crawled into bed beside her, "I've been thinking about the story you told me, about Joseph." He kissed her brow and whispered close to her face, "Tell me the story again."

Abbi repeated the story, whispering it into the dark as if her words could literally create the images before their eyes. When she was finished, she told Cameron how her initial interest in the story had helped her believe that her dreams were not just nonsense. "But then," she said, "last summer, after I came here and you sent me away, I felt troubled at the feelings spurred by the dream that had led me here. I couldn't get it out of my mind. That's when I began to pray for help and guidance to understand what I should do and to have the courage to do it. And thinking of all that Joseph went through before he saw his dreams come to pass, I found hope and courage. I knew somehow that God was mindful of me and my purpose in life, just as He had been of Joseph."

Cameron lay in silence for several minutes, attempting to comprehend the depth of her feelings--and his own. The implications were astounding.

"Where are your thoughts?" she asked, pressing her fingers over his bearded face.

He sighed. "Do you remember when you asked me if I believed in God?"

"Yes."

"I don't recall exactly what I told you. I do know that my answer wasn't very positive. But I have to tell you now that . . . well, I always went to church. It was just something my family did. I believe that for my mother it really meant something. For my father, it was a matter of appearances. For me, it was somewhere in between. I never really doubted the existence of God, but it wasn't until I found myself in prison that I uttered my first sincere prayers. How patient He must be with those of us who do not acknowledge His existence until we're in trouble. And when I first came here to stay, I prayed incessantly. After a while, I stopped praying, feeling that I had been abandoned--or at least I thought I'd stopped praying. But looking back, I recall still talking to God in my mind. And now I realize that in spite of my bitterness and weakness, God really did hear me. And perhaps a part of me never stopped hoping that He would. Thinking of Joseph, my bondage seems petty and trite. And, well . . ." He turned to look at her in the fire's glow, touching her face with adoration. "What I'm trying to say is . . . I always believed in God, I think, but now I _know_ He exists, that He's real. The means by which you have come to me and changed my life could have no other explanation." He kissed her. "And I am truly grateful."

"Would you like to know the first dream I had that truly led me to believe it was a gift?"

"Don't keep me in suspense."

"Before Blaze was born I had a dream. I knew he would be a stallion and that he would lead me to great happiness."

Cameron leaned up on one elbow as the implication settled in. Blaze had led her _here_. It was one more piece of evidence that divine hands were guiding their lives. "How very amazing," he said, and then he kissed her.

"Do you want to know what's even more amazing?"

"I do."

"If not for Blaze, I never would have survived being here with you."

"How is that?"

"He gave me a great deal of practice in dealing with a stubborn male."

Cameron laughed. "You are a wicked child, Abbi girl."

"I'm not a child _or_ a girl," she said, laughing with him.

"No, you certainly are not. You're more woman than I'll ever be able to handle. Perhaps Blaze and I should chat about his experience in getting along with a fiery sorceress."

She laughed again. "He'll just tell you that it's always best to let me have my way."

"I'll have to remember that," he said and kissed her again.

Long after Abbi fell asleep in his arms, Cameron gazed upward, praying in his heart that God would see them through this. At moments it was difficult to believe that his visions of the future could come to pass as he hoped they would, but he told God that the only chance of it happening would depend on them working together. In spite of all logic, Cameron simply wanted a life with Abbi. If they were to have a child, he wanted to be there to see it born, and to watch it grow. He wanted to live, and to be free. He prayed that it wasn't too much to ask.

For the next three days it snowed constantly. When the sun finally came out again, Cameron announced, "This snowfall has been heavy and wet. I've got to go up on the roof and get some of that snow down, otherwise we could have some leaking."

"Isn't it dangerous?" Abbi asked.

"I've done it many times," he assured her, "and I'm still in one piece." He kissed her. "Why don't you come out with me? It's a beautiful day."

Abbi followed Cameron out to the stable, where he retrieved a long ladder from where it hung on the outside back wall. Then she followed him to the far side of the lodge.

"There," he said, putting the ladder in place. "You hold it steady down here so I don't fall and break my neck."

"How did you do it alone last time?" she asked, leaning her weight on the ladder to hold it in place as he ascended, shovel in hand.

He laughed. "The dogs helped me."

Once Cameron was on the roof, Abbi moved back where she could watch him. The roof was steep and slick, and she feared that he might fall as he pushed the snow off into huge piles on the ground. "Be careful," she called.

"Always," he hollered back, grinning as if he found her concern amusing.

The sun became so warm that Cameron removed his coat and threw it down to Abbi, who opted to sit on it rather than pick it up. She noticed that where he'd removed the snow, the sun was melting the ice on the roof and it dripped unceasingly. When he was finished, Cameron slid the shovel off the roof and it landed in the snow. Again Abbi feared for his safety as he eased toward the ladder. He looked toward her and smiled, but a moment later he slipped off the roof and landed on his back in the snow.

"Cameron!" she cried, running to his side. She knelt beside him and took his face into her hands, but he made no response. "Cameron!" she shouted, shaking him to try and rouse him. Her efforts were futile and she buried her face against his shoulder and began to cry. Overwhelmed with fear, she wondered what life would ever be without him. _She loved him so much_.

"Please God, don't let him die," she prayed aloud. In desperation she shook his face again with her hands. "Cameron! Wake up!" she screamed.

Cameron's eyes opened dramatically and he grinned. "If you insist," he muttered before rolling her into the snow, laughing hysterically and stuffing snow down her dress. Abbi screamed protests and tried in vain not to laugh.

When he finally let her go, Abbi stood up and glared at him. "I thought you were _dead!_ " She grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at him but he dodged it, laughing harder. "If I weren't so glad to see you're not dead, I'd kill you myself." She threw more snow and missed again. "You _scoundrel!_ You _rogue!_ " Cameron laughed harder until she scooped both hands full of snow, ran toward him, and pressed it into his face.

Cameron continued to laugh while he spit the snow out of his mouth. Abbi sauntered triumphantly into the lodge, declaring, "Not so clever after all, are you."

Abbi didn't talk to Cameron until they sat down to eat dinner, and he had to make faces at her and get her to laugh before she said a word. She finally agreed to forgive him just before they crawled into bed. Holding her in his arms, Cameron fell asleep quickly. His next awareness was his name being cried out in anguish, and he came awake with a start. Abbi was sitting up stiffly, her eyes wide with fear.

"Abbi!" He took her in his arms and looked directly into her face. "Abbi, it's all right." She nodded but said nothing. "Same dream?" he questioned.

She seemed startled as she shook her head. "No," she said weakly, "this was different."

"Tell me about it," he urged gently as they lay back down.

"It was like when you fell off the roof. You were lying on the ground . . . no, it was a floor. We were inside somewhere. It was like a long hallway. I tried to get you to wake up. I begged you to answer me. Georg was there, kneeling beside you as well. But it wasn't Georg, really; it looked like Georg, but it wasn't. I was sure you were teasing me, but gradually I realized that you weren't. I kept crying out for you . . . and then I woke up." Abbi nuzzled closer to him. "Please don't die and leave me alone, Cameron. Promise me."

It took Cameron a minute to answer. "Abbi, I can't promise I won't die. Some things are out of our control. I can only be careful and trust that God will keep me safe."

"Be careful," she emphasized. "Whatever it is you have to do to get beyond this, promise me you will be careful."

"I promise," he whispered, but Abbi didn't feel convinced.
Chapter Twelve

RETURN

"I feel like riding," Abbi said impulsively after lunch. The April morning was bright and clear. "The snow should have melted enough for Blaze to handle it, don't you think?"

"I would certainly think so," Cameron said.

She giggled. "Blaze can handle both of us. Let's do it."

"I'm ready." He rose and took her hand. "Where do you want to go?"

"I'll go wherever you take me."

"Good." He smiled. "I know the perfect spot."

It almost felt like home to Abbi as she helped Cameron saddle Blaze. She straddled to mount and adjusted her skirt around her legs. He smiled wryly and mounted behind her, holding the reins in his left hand and resting the other on her leg. They rode slowly up the mountainside, taking time to enjoy the scenery, and Abbi sensed that Blaze enjoyed being ridden again after all these months. Leaning back against Cameron's chest, she tingled from his nearness as well as the love between them. Lost in thought, she was surprised when Cameron pulled the reins to stop Blaze and said, "We're here. Look." He pointed downward, and Abbi caught her breath to see the entire valley of Horstberg. The outline of the estates could be seen, and Abbi could determine where her own home was. Everything looked so small. Even the castle didn't appear at all ominous.

"It's so beautiful," she sighed.

"And it looks so peaceful from up here."

"Do you ever miss it?"

"Oh, yes. I do love Horstberg."

"So do I," Abbi said.

They were both silent for a moment, then Cameron started Blaze back down the mountain.

"Abbi," he said tenderly.

"Yes, my love?"

"Do you believe in destiny?"

"In what sense?"

"In the sense that somehow, one way or another, you and I would have ended up together."

"Yes," she said emphatically, "I do."

"You know," he continued, "your father spoke of you often."

"He did?" She was surprised. "What did he tell you?"

"He told me over and over about his fiery-haired little girl with a temperament to match. Green eyes that could melt your heart, he would say."

"How long ago was this?" she asked, sad as she pondered the distance between her and her father.

"You would have been very young. It's been many years--before I married Gwen." Abbi remained silent and he continued. "I wanted to tell you this before. When I realized who you were, I wondered if I'd stumbled upon my fate. But it was too overwhelming. I couldn't comprehend what you meant to me at the time. Or perhaps I was afraid to admit it."

"What do you mean?" This was not where she had expected this conversation to go.

"Gerhard used to tease me in a way . . . when we were working together. Abbi, he told me time and time again that I should wait for his daughter to grow up so that I could marry her." Abbi's heart quickened as he went on. "I didn't take him seriously. I couldn't. I was already betrothed, and you were still a child. But he would smile at me and say, 'You're making a mistake, boy. My princess is the one for you.' "

"That's incredible," Abbi murmured.

"Yes, it is," he agreed. "And with all that's happened between us, no coincidence in our lives could ever surprise me. But somehow he knew. And if I'd listened, maybe all of my heartache could have been avoided."

"There's no good in trying to change the past. We're together now. Perhaps life's experiences while we've been apart have tempered us better, preparing us for now."

"I suppose if we believe in destiny, then that makes sense." He kissed her cheek softly.

"Besides," she added, "you'd have had a long wait. I didn't even think about marriage until after Papa died."

"You're still just a child," he teased.

"I'll be nineteen soon," she said with mock aggravation. "I'm woman enough to handle _you,_ old man that you are."

"Yes, indeed," he laughed.

"Exactly how old are you?" she asked, giggling. It was a ridiculous question to ask a man she was already married to.

"I think I'm thirty-one," he said.

"You _think?"_

"It is 1817, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Then I'm thirty-one. And that gives me more than a decade over on you."

"So, _that's_ why you're always calling me Abbi girl."

"That's right," he said. "When you're fifty and I'm sixty-two, you'll still be a girl to me. You'll always be my Abbi girl."

Abbi laughed and pulled the reins from his hand, barely giving him enough warning to grab onto her waist before she broke Blaze into a gallop across a snow-covered meadow, laughing wickedly. When she pulled the reins back, the horse reared up on his hind legs, then came down and stood perfectly still as he'd been trained to do.

Cameron laughed and put his face into Abbi's hair. "You really are full of fire," he said, "just like your father told me."

Abbi turned in the saddle and pulled his head down so he would kiss her. "I love you," they said at the same time and laughed together as they rode toward the lodge.

While Abbi was freshening up, she impulsively decided to put up her hair. She had told Ramona that she could be a lady when she wanted to be, and in that moment she felt compelled to prove it. There was only one hair comb in Gwendolyn's trunk, and it took her three tries to wind her long tresses just right so they were held in a delicate swirl. She went downstairs to find Cameron sitting on the sofa reading. She quietly came up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. He took off his glasses and sighed.

"Is the book fascinating?" she asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Not really," he said and turned to look up at her. He stared a long moment, expressionless. With deliberation he put his glasses back on and stared again. Abbi walked around the sofa and stood in front of him while his gaze remained intent. He leaned back and folded his arms. He finally said with mock grandeur, "Are we going out?" She scowled at him and he added, "What brought on this sudden bout of refinement?" He smiled as he removed his glasses.

"A lady is supposed to wear her hair up," Abbi said, giving him Ramona's argument.

"Who told you that?"

"My aunt was very critical when I wore my hair down."

"You _do_ look elegant," he admitted, "but I fail to see that you are any more of a lady now than you were an hour ago. Perhaps this aunt of yours is jealous of those long red tresses."

Abbi smiled shyly at him. "I believe it's more than that. My grandfather was criticized for the way he raised me."

"And how is that?" he asked, looking up at her soberly.

"I suppose it's assumed that a man can't raise a young lady with the proper influence."

"Did his methods ever bother you before?"

"No," she said.

"Why now?" he asked, but Abbi didn't reply. She only stared at him, confused.

"Abbi," he said with reassurance as he eased her beside him and put his arms around her. "The way you look now, combined with the undeniable grace I've seen in you right from the beginning, makes it evident that you could stand up against any lady in any situation."

Cameron pulled the comb from her hair and it fell around her shoulders. "But now it's only you and me," Cameron kissed her softly, "and you are by far the most beautiful lady I've ever seen." He paused and smiled. "Especially with your hair down."

"Perhaps a real lady only wears her hair down for the man she loves," she said quietly, reminding Cameron of her perfect innocence that was such a stark contrast to her exceptional wisdom.

"That sounds like a pleasing privilege," Cameron said, rummaging his hands through her hair. "Hair like this should be looked at and touched, Abbi girl. Another privilege that I consider a singular honor." His voice became reverent. "You are so beautiful."

"But isn't it true," she smiled, "that I'm the only woman you've seen in years?"

"Yes, that's true," he admitted.

"Then your opinions are biased, are they not?"

"They certainly are," he smiled and kissed her fervently. "But not for the reasons you're implying. If I had been walking through the streets of Horstberg and passed by this," he motioned toward her elaborately with his hand, "I would have tripped and fallen on my face. I would have groveled to know your name like some lovesick schoolboy."

Abbi laughed softly as he leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "Last summer," he continued, "when you showed up out of nowhere and I saw you standing in front of me, I thought I had died and gone to heaven." He took her hand and kissed it. "And I'm still in heaven."

"You flatter me terribly, I'm sure."

"Oh, no, Abbi," he leaned toward her, "flattery is wasted on a woman like you. You're too wise to be flattered, which is one of many reasons that I love you."

Abbi sighed and eased into his arms, wondering how she could bear to be separated from him for even a day.

The following morning, Abbi had just finished cleaning the dishes when she heard Cameron yell from outside, "Abbi, get out here! I need you."

She threw her cloak around her shoulders and went out to find him sitting on Blaze. "Just what do you need so desperately? I thought you were hurt or something."

"We need another wild ride, I think." He reached out his hand and pulled her up behind him. Abbi took hold of his waist and Cameron heeled Blaze into a gallop, going the opposite direction of where they'd gone the day before. Abbi loved the way snow flew behind Blaze's hooves, and she took great pleasure in sharing it with Cameron.

When they reached a meadow, Cameron pulled Blaze to a stop and was prepared for his rearing back. "That's quite a trick you've taught him."

"It's fun, don't you think?" she asked. Cameron chuckled and she went on, "He likes you, you know."

"I'm touched," Cameron said, reaching down to pat the horse's neck.

"Blaze has always been my best friend," Abbi said.

"Now he's mine."

"Why's that?"

"He led you to me." He paused, then observed sadly, "There's not much snow left."

"There's still over a foot."

"It won't last long if this sunshine keeps up."

"Don't ruin today, my love, by worrying about tomorrow. I'm perfectly content to be here with you right now. Tell me about where we are."

Cameron loved the way she made everything all right. "In the summer," he said, "this meadow is covered with wildflowers. One day I'll bring you up here in the summer and watch you pick handfuls of them. And then I'll put them in your hair, and you'll--"

"Put dozens of them in this gorgeous dark hair of _yours."_

"Just try it!" he threatened and laughed.

"I love it when you talk about the future. You've come a long way."

"Yes," he admitted, "I believe I have."

Blaze sidestepped impatiently, distracting them from their conversation.

"He's dying to run," Abbi said.

"Well then," Cameron took the reins firmly and urged the stallion forward, "let's run."

They laughed together as Blaze galloped the meadow wildly, then Cameron dismounted to give the horse a break and let Abbi ride alone. He marveled at the dazzling image before him as Abbi's hair billowed behind her and snow flew around the horse's hooves. Abbi laughed wickedly as she turned to drive Blaze directly for Cameron and he dodged just in time. She tugged on the reins, and Blaze reared back and whinnied loudly.

"Try it again, woman!" Cameron challenged, and Abbi didn't hesitate. She drove Blaze hard toward Cameron, but he didn't move this time and Blaze reared back to avoid hurting him. Cameron laughed and pulled Abbi from the saddle, rolling backward into the snow and bringing her with him. He tickled her and she stuffed snow down his shirt, then they lay in the snow, laughing themselves into exhaustion until Blaze sauntered over and nudged Abbi with his nose.

"He wants to play some more," Abbi said.

Cameron rose to his feet and pulled Abbi up with him, helping brush the snow from her dress. "So do I," he smirked and pulled Abbi close to him, kissing her with a touch of passion. "Come on," he whispered, "let's go home."

After they'd come through the door of the lodge, Cameron noted where Abbi was standing and said, "Do you remember how we first came face-to-face, standing in this very spot?"

"I remember," she said, and he backed her toward the wall, just as he'd done then, making her laugh.

"You were terrified," he muttered.

"So were you," she said, and he couldn't argue. Instead, he carried her up the stairs. Sunshine persisted relentlessly through the following days. Cameron felt a growing dread that he saw mirrored in Abbi's eyes, but neither of them voiced their feelings, as if keeping silent might keep the inevitable from coming to pass.

"Cameron?" Abbi asked one morning as she stared out the bedroom window.

"Yes, my love." He put his arms around her from behind.

"How much more time have we got?"

He glanced over the top of her head at the ground beginning to appear through the melting snow. "Not much sun hits that crevice. But when the snow is completely gone from around the lodge, it will be passable. Two days; maybe three. I could dig it out now if I had to, but--"

"No!" she interrupted firmly. Then her voice softened. "Let nature take her time."

"You mustn't worry, Abbi," he added. "I have some good advice a very dear friend of mine once gave me."

"What's that?"

"Don't ruin today by worrying about tomorrow."

Abbi turned in his arms, holding to him desperately. Fear and uncertainty rushed through her in torrents, but she couldn't bring herself to voice them. She looked up into his eyes. "Is there no way you might come with me when I go?" she asked. "Surely there is a way for you to stay hidden and--"

"Abbi," Cameron put his fingers over her lips, "even when I do come down, I may well have to stay hidden for some time. But now it's . . . too dangerous. It's too soon. We're simply not ready."

"We?" she asked. "By _we_ you mean the man you're communicating with?"

Cameron nodded and guided her to the edge of the bed, where they sat close together. "Abbi," he took her hand, "there's something I need to tell you. I've thought this through very carefully. I want you to know that you can trust Georg. I know the two of you are very close, and he's quite accustomed to watching out for you and--"

"How do you know?" she asked. "I've certainly talked about him, but--"

"Hear me out," he said. "Georg has let me know that he will watch out for you, and--"

"He's the one," she breathed. "Georg's the man you're communicating with, who . . ."

"That's right."

"That's incredible."

"Yes, it is," he agreed. "The coincidences in our lives are"--he looked into her eyes--"too incredible to be coincidence." Abbi nodded in agreement and he went on. "Georg knows you're alive and well, although I've told him nothing about . . . what has transpired between us. It's difficult to put much information on a pigeon." He chuckled softly. "I just didn't know how to explain in so few words. What you tell him is up to you. You can trust him completely. Just be careful that your conversations are not overheard."

Abbi nodded. "I understand."

"If you need anything . . . if any problems arise . . . he'll be there for you . . . as I wish I could be."

Abbi said nothing more, but instead found something to keep herself busy. She had to concentrate on the future beyond this separation. Otherwise, she would go insane.

The following day was so warm that the lodge felt stuffy, and Cameron opened windows to let in the fresh air. Abbi had to bite her tongue to keep from getting angry with him for doing it. Yes, the fresh air felt good, but what it represented terrified her.

That night in bed, Cameron said through the darkness, "You have to go tomorrow, Abbi."

"I know." She rolled over and pressed herself into his arms. "But don't talk about it. Tomorrow isn't here yet."

After they made love, Abbi drifted reluctantly to sleep, not wanting to waste a moment of being with Cameron. The bedroom held just a touch of morning light when he bounced onto the bed in his nightshirt to wake her. "Come on! Get up," he said, pulling at her arms. "There's something you've got to see--right now."

Abbi groaned and tried to ease him back into bed with her. Cameron picked her up and carried her to the window seat. "Look!" he whispered. "It's snowing like mad."

"Oh Cameron!" she cried out in elation and threw her arms around his neck. "I don't believe it!"

Cameron let out a whoop of joy and pulled her into his arms, twirling around the room with her. Abbi threw back her head and they laughed together with sheer happiness. For them it was a miracle.

The spring snow fell hard and fast, and melted away just as quickly. But Cameron couldn't begrudge the extra three days it had given them together, and he spent the moments with Abbi as if they were sacred. They both agreed that the added time made them feel a little better prepared to face their separation. Cameron often reminded himself that it was only temporary. He had something to live for, something to fight for. And fight he would!

Coming into the lodge on that third day, Cameron leaned in the doorway, unable to go any farther. "Abbi," he called. She appeared on the landing above him, looking sad. "You've got to go. I can't justify keeping you here another day."

Abbi exhaled and took hold of the stair railing. "What difference does a day or two make? How can anyone know if--"

"Georg left supplies for me, Abbi. He came through the ridge in the night."

Abbi sighed and then attempted a positive tone. "Did you see him? Did he--"

"No, I didn't. It's safer this way. Besides," he chuckled tensely, "I am greatly anticipating the day when I see Georg face-to-face again. I will savor the anticipation until the time is right."

Abbi nodded her understanding. Their eyes met across the room, but neither of them was able to move. Then, with no warning, Cameron bounded up the steps and gathered her into his arms. "Abbi," he whispered, holding her tighter than he ever had, "let me love you one more time."

Cameron made love to her with a desperate passion, calling out her name repeatedly. And Abbi cried. The stillness they shared afterward was eerie, like the calm before a storm that held boundless uncertainty. With purpose they looked into each other's faces, memorizing every detail, every emotion, every moment they had shared together.

"I don't want to leave, Cameron," she whispered. "Let me stay."

"We've discussed all of this before," he said adamantly. "If we are going to be together, we have to do it right."

"I know," she said sadly, "but it's so hard."

"All through history men have gone to sea, and to battle, and to make their living, with no choice but to leave behind the women they loved. Surely you and I have the strength to do the same. It will be worth it. One day, my love, we'll be together without having to hide."

"I know," she repeated, and her voice quivered.

"I love you, Abbi," he kissed her softly with mist in his eyes, "and I pray it will not be too long."

"I love you too, Cameron," she replied, touching his face. "I will miss you desperately." Tears showed again in her eyes. "I must have you in my life. You are a part of me now. You understand that, don't you?"

"Very well, my love," he said with conviction, "and I won't let you down. I will come for you, and we'll make our marriage official. We need to be together. I'm nothing without you."

"We're nothing apart," she cried.

Cameron touched her face and hair with adoration, and then he swung his legs over the bed and pulled on his breeches and boots.

"Come on, love," he said soberly. "If we don't leave now, you won't make it home before dark."

Abbi sat up in bed and picked up her sketchbook to thumb through it while he finished getting dressed. It was filled with memories that warmed her, but her desire to take it with her was interrupted by Cameron saying, "I want you to leave that here."

"But . . . I would never show it to anyone. I need it to--"

"I know you wouldn't show it to anyone, Abbi. But I don't want to take any chances of having it fall into the wrong hands. Your friend the captain, for instance."

"What makes you think I will even be seeing him?"

"He is your aunt's stepson, is he not?"

"Yes, but--"

"Abbi." Cameron sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. When Georg had presented this as part of the plan, he couldn't deny that it made perfect sense. But now the thought made him a little sick.

"What?" she asked when he didn't continue.

He drew back his shoulders, seeking courage. "Abbi, I _want_ you to see the captain."

"What?" she gasped, but he only tightened his grip on her hand.

"I want you to see him a great deal. I want you to behave with him as if you have nothing to hide, and nothing to fear. I want you to keep him distracted. The nearer we get to my coming down from here, the more distracted I want him to be. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I understand," she said, "but I don't like it."

"I don't like it either!" he shouted for the first time in weeks. She glared at him and his voice softened. "Forgive me. This is not easy. But there is wisdom in it."

"How do I know that Lance will even show any interest in me at all? Maybe he's married by now. How can I be sure that--"

"Abbi," he interrupted firmly, "Georg knows what the captain is doing. He knows the present situation. Just do the best you can. That's all I ask. But remember," he looked into her eyes with intensity, "in spite of all pretenses, you _are_ a married woman."

Abbi tossed the book onto the bed. "A married woman flirting with the Captain of the Guard."

"Within reason," he admonished. "Just be yourself, Abbi. I'm not asking you to lie beyond what is absolutely necessary to protect us both. I guess what I'm saying is . . . he's not going to know you're married. He _can't_ know. And if he has any interest in you whatsoever . . . if you can keep him hanging on even a little, it may work in our favor."

Abbi sighed. "I'll do the best I can."

"That's all I ask," he said and stood up. "I'll get Blaze ready," he said and left the lodge.

Abbi fought back the urge to cry as she picked up the sketchbook one more time and glanced through it. Impulsively she tore out the picture of Cameron in the window seat. She folded it in half twice and tucked it inside her camisole as she dressed in the clothes she'd come in. Forcing back her fears for the future, she quickly made certain all was in order. After making up the bed, she examined the house carefully to find all the things she had used personally and put them away in the trunk, not wanting to leave obvious memories lying about for Cameron to deal with.

Cameron entered the lodge to find Abbi coming down the stairs, looking around herself as if to absorb her surroundings into her memory. He noticed that she wore exactly what she'd come in, with the exception of the gold bracelet around her wrist.

"Let's go," he said sadly, holding out his hand for her.

Once outside he helped her mount Blaze. Then he took the reins and walked, leading the horse toward the pass. When they reached the crevice in the rock, he took her by the waist and helped her down.

"You'll have to walk through," Cameron stated. With the reins in one hand and Abbi's arm in the other, he led them carefully between the rock walls. Abbi felt as though she were moving into another dimension. Centuries seemed to have passed since she'd fallen on these rocks.

The meadow opened up as Cameron pushed his way through the thicket that kept his secret hidden. He silently helped Abbi remount Blaze and looked up at her, saying with heartbreaking intensity, "I love you, Abbi."

In desperation Abbi slid back down and threw herself into his arms. "One more moment, please!"

"Oh, Abbi." His voice trembled as he held her. He searched frantically for something to say to express all that was happening inside of him. But there was nothing that hadn't been said before, and he forced himself to step back, touching her chin with his fingertips. "Don't forget me, my love," he whispered.

"How could I possibly?" She tried to smile.

Again Cameron helped her mount, pressing her hand to his lips. "God go with you," he murmured. Knowing this would only become more difficult by the minute, he didn't give her a chance to reply before he slapped Blaze and the stallion broke into a gallop. He watched her cross the meadow, halting briefly as she looked back at him. She touched her fingers to her lips and waved. Cameron returned the gesture and watched her disappear into the forest that now separated their lives.

Slowly Cameron walked back to the lodge. Not wanting to face the emptiness waiting there to torment him, he lingered outside. Well past dark he finally went in, knowing that if he could make it through the time until he saw Abbi again, he could do anything.

Georg found Elsa in Abbi's room, straightening out the bureau drawers. No matter how many times he saw his sweet wife, his heart still quickened at the sight of her.

"Oh, hello." She smiled up at him and her eyes sparkled.

Georg kissed her in greeting, but that wasn't enough so he kissed her again.

"What are you doing?" he asked, making himself comfortable in a chair near the window.

"You keep telling me Abbi will be home any day. I certainly don't want her to find things left untidy."

"You must have straightened those drawers a hundred times," he chuckled.

"I'll not deny it." She laughed in return, then proceeded to set Abbi's nightclothes on the bureau so she could dust out the drawer.

"There's something I need to tell you," Georg said in a tone so serious that Elsa stopped abruptly to look at him. "I have a friend who is in some trouble. He needs my help."

"What kind of trouble?" she asked warily.

"It's nothing to worry about, I can assure you. But you must trust me."

"Are you saying that you're not going to tell me?"

"I can't."

Elsa said nothing.

"I know it's a lot to ask," he said gently, rising to take her hands into his.

"What are you saying?" she asked fearfully.

"I'm saying that it's going to take some time and dedication on my part. And it involves things that I cannot discuss with you until it is over, for your own protection." She looked stunned as he proceeded. "All I'm asking is that . . . you trust me in this, and with any luck, it will be over in a matter of weeks. Please say you'll understand, Elsa. I need to have you behind me in this. It would mean so much to me."

Elsa looked searchingly into his eyes and felt reassured to see the love and sincerity that had always been there. "I'll do whatever you ask of me, Georg. You know that. You've never given me reason not to trust you."

"Thank you," he said, his relief evident. "You are an angel."

"You know how much I love you, Georg," she said quietly.

"No more than I love you." He kissed her gently. "I'll make it up to you." Embracing her he added, "You are so good to me. Better than I deserve."

Elsa laughed. "No, it's the other way around."

Georg hugged her again as his eye caught something on the bureau, and he pulled away to pick it up. "What is this?" he asked, turning the little packet of papers over in his hand to see that there was nothing written on it.

"How should I know? I don't pry into Miss Abbi's personal affairs--and neither should you."

He picked up the other one and compared them. They were identical.

"Mind your business, Georg Heinrich," she insisted lightly, taking them from him and replacing them in the drawer where they belonged.

"How about if I mind yours instead?" he laughed, pulling her into his arms and smothering her throat with kisses.

"I've got work to do, Georg," she protested, giggling when he persisted.

"Very well." He sighed reluctantly. "I suppose I've got work to do as well."

Elsa smiled at him as he moved toward the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and turned back to look at her. "I love you, Elsa," he said and left the room.

Georg returned to the stable to find a message waiting for him. Hoping this would be the one he'd been expecting, he untied it quickly, laughing aloud as he read: _She is on her way home. Take good care of her and see that she's watched_.

Georg scribbled a reply to acknowledge that he'd received the message, and then he sent the pigeon off and waited for Abbi to appear.

Abbi felt a mixture of emotions as she made her way home. It surprised her to think that she hadn't spent much time missing what she'd left behind. She had found joy and fulfillment from her winter in seclusion, and a deep ache settled into her heart as Blaze took her ever farther from the man she loved. She was tempted more than once to turn around and go back for just one more day. Knowing it was impossible, she forced back thoughts of what she had left behind and concentrated more on her destination. As the scenery became more familiar, Abbi had to admit she had missed Horstberg more than she'd realized. Crossing the covered bridge, her home came into view. A flutter of excitement rushed over her as she thought of the changes she'd gone through since she'd last seen it.

It was early evening when Abbi rode onto the estate. She dismounted Blaze and led him quietly into the stable, where she saw Georg, his back toward her. For a moment she felt as if she'd never been gone. "Hello, Georg," she said.

Georg closed his eyes just to absorb the sound of her voice. He opened them and turned slowly, attempting to comprehend that she had just left Cameron. But he wasn't prepared for the way that seeing her took his breath away. His feelings for Abbi were nothing like what he felt for Elsa. Still, he loved her. And she was more beautiful than he'd remembered. Or perhaps she'd become more beautiful through the course of her absence.

"Abbi," he murmured. His desire to just look at her made it difficult to move.

Abbi inhaled Georg's presence and realized how much she had missed him. They shared a smile and she said, "You need not pretend you're surprised to see me."

"What makes you think I'm not?" he asked, ambling toward her.

Abbi looked up into his face. _He is as tall as Cameron,_ she thought. "I have reason to believe a little bird told you I was coming."

Georg laughed and pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground. Abbi held to him tightly as he turned in circles. "Oh, Abbi, Abbi, Abbi! Do you know how much I've missed you? It was a long winter without you."

He set her down and held her hands out to her sides, looking her up and down. "Oh, but you've changed." Abbi saw him glance toward the bracelet on her wrist.

"Have I?" she asked, intrigued to know his opinion.

"You seem . . . different somehow; perhaps older. No," he cocked his head to the side, "it's as if . . . you left here a girl, and you've come home a woman."

Abbi glanced away, warmed by the memory of how Cameron had changed her. As if he'd read her mind, Georg asked, "Is Cameron well?"

Abbi breathed in relief just to hear his name voiced. "He is," she said, becoming lost in thought until Georg touched her chin, tilting her face to his view.

"Sadness?" he asked, looking into her eyes. "I thought you'd be glad to come home."

Abbi wondered what to tell him. Cameron had said that he could be trusted, but there were feelings close to her heart that she wasn't ready to share. She forced a smile. "I am glad to be home," she said. "It's just that . . . Cameron is alone, and . . . I worry for him."

"I know well how you feel," Georg said. "I've been worried for more than three and a half years."

Abbi was taken aback as the reality settled in regarding all Cameron had told her that Georg had done for him. She had to clarify, "You're the one who got him out of prison."

Georg's face tightened before he nodded. It was a difficult topic. She was wondering how to change the subject when a woman's voice called, "Georg?"

Georg bolted toward the door, motioning for Abbi to stay quiet. She turned and saw him leading Elsa into the stable, his hands over her eyes.

"I have a surprise for you," he said. "Just come a little farther."

"What is it?" Elsa laughed, and Abbi's insides bubbled with excitement. It was truly good to be home, if not for being without Cameron.

When Georg had Elsa standing directly in front of Abbi, he nodded toward her. "Hello, Elsa," she said as Georg moved his hands.

It was difficult to tell if Elsa's scream was from excitement or fear at being faced with someone believed dead. "You _are_ alive!" she squealed, and they embraced while Elsa began to cry. "I can't believe it. Oh, I can't believe it." Elsa pulled back and wiped at her tears. "Goodness, I must remember my manners."

"You're perfectly fine," Abbi said. "I missed you terribly."

They embraced again with laughter, then Abbi pulled back, holding both of Elsa's hands as they absorbed each other's presence. Abbi's eye was drawn to something different about Elsa, and she couldn't hold back a little gasp. "Good heavens," Abbi muttered, "what have you been doing?"

The implication was obvious, since Abbi was staring at her middle, where a gentle mound was just starting to show. The straight cut of her dress left no doubt that Elsa was pregnant.

"Surely she doesn't need to explain," Georg said. Abbi glared at him in disgust and he laughed.

"Let me rephrase that," Abbi said directly to Elsa. "What kind of scoundrel have you been consorting with while I was gone?"

"Not a scoundrel, Miss Abbi, my husband." She lifted her hand to show off her wedding ring.

"Elsa!" Abbi laughed and hugged her again. "Tell me! Who? When? How?"

"Don't let her fool you, Abbi. Her husband most certainly _is_ a scoundrel, and if he'd had any brains, he'd have married her a long time ago."

Elsa shot a scolding glance toward Georg before laughing and holding out her hand toward him. It took Abbi a minute to absorb the implication as Georg took Elsa in his arms and kissed her.

_"You?"_ Abbi shrieked. She laughed again. "I don't believe it! When?"

"We were married January 27th," Georg said, looking directly at Elsa.

Abbi's smile faded into sadness. She and Cameron had been married the following day. One more strange coincidence. She watched them exchange another kiss and her heart ached from loneliness. How she longed to shout out her own news! But she had to remain silent. Forcing her thoughts away from Cameron, Abbi took both their hands. "I'm truly happy for you," she said. "Little could make me happier than to see two of my favorite people together. This way I'll never have to lose either one of you."

"Which makes us all happy," Georg said impishly. "Come on," he added, taking her hand, "let's get you into the house and surprise the living daylights out of everybody."

Once Blaze was taken care of, the three of them tiptoed into the entry hall of the big house, grinning at each other as if they were playing a child's game. Abbi could hear her aunts talking in the drawing room, and she nearly burst into giggles as they listened. Ramona was saying at that very moment, "If Abbi was going to come home, she would have by now, I tell you. As much as I hate to admit it, or even think about it, she must be dead. The snow has been gone for quite some time now. Yes, quite some time. I hate to admit it, but she must be dead."

"Now, sister," Salina scolded, "you should not say such things. Georg has told us many times that it takes longer for the snow to melt in the mountains. I just know she's still alive somewhere, and one day she'll come walking in here and say, _Here I am_. I just know it!"

"They have this conversation at least six times a day," Elsa whispered in Abbi's ear, and she had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Go on," Georg insisted, "do it now. The timing couldn't be better."

Abbi stood up tall and walked into the drawing room with Georg and Elsa hovering in the doorway. "Here I am!" she announced.

Both ladies gaped at her with such surprise that neither could speak. Ramona glanced at her sister as if she were some kind of prophet, then she said at last, "I thought you were dead."

"I knew she wasn't dead." Salina came to her feet and hugged Abbi jubilantly and then leaned back and squinted to be sure her eyes weren't deceiving her.

Ramona rose and hugged her in turn, genuinely happy to see her. "Come and sit down, child," she said. "You must tell us immediately where you've been all this time. Come and sit down."

"Yes, tell us," Georg said. Abbi moved to the sofa where her aunts sat on either side of her, each holding one of her hands too tightly.

"Do tell us, Abbi," Salina said impatiently. "I just can't bear it any longer."

Abbi had given her explanation a great deal of thought last night while Cameron had slept near her. She couldn't recall ever lying before in her life; it wasn't in her nature. But to protect Cameron she'd do almost anything. She'd decided to make the story good and leave no room for suspicion--just in case, as he'd said, she was questioned by the Guard. Gathering what little she knew about the kind of people who lived in the mountains, she had made up a story that would sound completely legitimate.

"You see," Abbi began, "when Blaze broke out of the stable on the night of the storm, I followed him on the mare. But when I got up high on the mountain, the horrible wind made me fall. It startled the mare and she ran off."

"I assumed that much," Georg inserted, "with the broken stall and the mare coming back alone."

"I hurt my ankle rather badly," Abbi went on, "and the storm was so horrible. For a while I truly feared I was going to die. But someone found me and took care of me all winter."

"Who on earth would have found you in such a place?" Ramona asked skeptically. "Who on earth?"

"It was a man," Abbi began, noting that Georg became especially alert, "who lives on the mountain . . . with his mother and his little brothers."

Georg smirked while Elsa seemed completely enthralled by the story.

"Didn't I tell you, sister," Salina said smugly, "that there really were people living up there?"

"More than you'd realize," Georg added, and Abbi appreciated his support of her story.

"Were they good to you?" Salina asked.

"Yes, they were," Abbi continued. "They were a quiet people. Not really very friendly. But they set my ankle which had been dislocated, and it healed just fine. They fed me and the woman loaned me clothes to wear." Georg seemed mildly amused. "It wasn't what I'd call an enjoyable winter, but I survived it and I'm glad to be home."

Abbi smiled and Salina patted her hand. "It's certainly good to have you back," she said with pleasure and hugged Abbi tightly.

"What were these people's names?" Ramona asked.

"I didn't ever find out the family name. They were rather close-lipped, you see, but the man's name was Hans, and the woman's name was--"

"Oh that doesn't matter," Georg interrupted. "You're here now, and we're grateful. The rest is in the past."

"Certainly you must reimburse them for their efforts," Ramona stated. "Certainly."

"Absolutely not!" Abbi said, proud of herself for giving such a quick response. "They were poor people, but very proud, and they would be terribly insulted. Besides," she added, "I earned my keep. I worked hard as soon as my ankle allowed me to get around. I doubt I could find my way back there, even if I tried."

Georg smiled at her and she thought how much she had missed him.

"There's really not much more to tell," Abbi said, "and I'm feeling rather tired."

"Yes, of course dear." Salina patted her hand. "You've had quite an ordeal. Run along to bed, and perhaps you should take it easy for a time until you can readjust."

"There's no need for that," Abbi said. "I feel fine . . . just a little tired."

"It wouldn't hurt," Ramona said blandly. "We don't want you getting ill on us. We'll have some dinner sent to your room. No, it wouldn't hurt a bit for you to rest."

"I'm fine," Abbi chuckled as she kissed each of her aunts on the cheek. _Silly ladies._ Walking toward the door she turned back. "It is good to be home." They all agreed, and Georg and Elsa followed her into the hallway.

"This place isn't much without you," he said.

"Amen to that," Elsa said, leaning against Georg's shoulder.

"It's good to know I was missed." Abbi laughed lightly and started up the stairs, thinking how strangely familiar the house felt. She had an urge to find her grandfather and talk to him, and it took a moment to recall that he wasn't there.

Moving nostalgically about her room, Abbi noticed it had been kept up well and nothing had changed--except her. She felt out of place, accustomed to sharing everything with Cameron. She missed him terribly and wondered how long it would be before she would see him again.

Consumed with nostalgic thoughts, Abbi undressed for bed, surprised to see the drawing of Cameron fall to the floor as she removed her camisole. Her heart quickened as she picked up the paper and unfolded it. She sighed as looking at his likeness brought memories closer. Fearing Elsa would arrive any minute with her dinner, Abbi tucked the picture inside a book and set it on the bedside table.

Dressing for bed, she thought how good it felt to wear a pretty nightgown again, and to see the dresses hanging in her closet that were much more suited to her taste than Gwendolyn's clothes. She stepped onto the balcony for a moment, gazing toward the mountain with a spring breeze against her face. She wondered if Cameron felt the same breeze, and perhaps too, the same ache. She knew he did, and the thought made her feel closer to him.
Chapter Thirteen

FROM A DISTANCE

Abbi woke late and went straight to the stable as soon as she'd eaten and checked with Mr. Logen. She was pleased to discover that the estate was in good order, and she commended him for handling things well in her absence. The servants were all glad to see Abbi again, but Elsa especially was beside herself with delight. Abbi told her it would be nice to have her around again, and how she'd missed having her help with all the little things. A related memory flooded into Abbi's mind, but she could hardly say or do anything without being reminded of Cameron.

She rode Blaze about town and through the foothills, reacquainting herself with places she'd been accustomed to. Noting the immensity of the castle, she recalled how small it had looked from the high mountain ridge. She felt glad to have escaped Nikolaus when she had, and hoped he would not find his way back into her life. Remembering the things Cameron had said about him, a chill rushed over her shoulders. She forced such thoughts away, praying that her husband would remain safe regardless of Nikolaus du Woernig.

Abbi arrived home wondering about Lance and what had become of him. Late afternoon, Elsa came to tell her that the captain was waiting in the drawing room. Recalling Cameron's admonitions concerning Lance, she put herself in the proper frame of mind and went down to see him, hoping their visit would not prove to be too miserable. Her first glance at him took her breath away. He was more handsome than she'd remembered, and seeing his uniform made it easy to imagine Cameron wearing the same; the thought was stirring. Then she considered the possibility that if Cameron returned to the position in the military that he'd left behind, he would likely be working for Lance--provided that he could prove his innocence. Of course, with their marriage, all that belonged to her would automatically become Cameron's, and his pursuit of a career would be his choice rather than necessity. Recalling his expression when he'd tried on the coat of his uniform, she felt sure that it _did_ have significance for him beyond the means to provide a living. Past that she knew nothing about Cameron's career, but such things were surely irrelevant to the relationship they shared.

"Hello," she called from the open doorway, focusing her thoughts on Lance.

Lance turned to look at her, and she had to laugh at his incredulous expression. "It's true," he said with more fervency than she had believed he possessed. He walked toward her, laughing in disbelief. "It's really true. You _are_ here." He engulfed her in an embrace of steel, while Abbi did her best to return it. "I just couldn't believe it when they told me," he said, pulling back to look into her face. "But you're real; you're alive. Oh, Abbi!" He hugged her again while Abbi touched the fabric of his coat, thinking again of Cameron.

"Are you well?" he asked, finally stepping back.

"Yes, thank you. I'm very well." She motioned him toward the sofa, and he sat close enough to hold her hand.

"Tell me . . . everything," he said.

"There really isn't much to tell," she insisted, forcing herself to relax as she recalled Cameron's words. _Behave with him as if you have nothing to hide, and nothing to fear_. She recounted the same story she had told her aunts, adding a few details about milking cows, gathering eggs, cooking and cleaning.

"You don't look any worse for wear," he said with a smile. "Although I daresay you've changed." He pressed her hand to his lips. "You seem . . . more grown up, perhaps."

Abbi glanced down. "As I said, I'm doing well. It's good to be home, however."

"It's certainly good to have you home," he insisted. "Forgive me if I'm being too bold, Abbi, but I truly missed you." He laughed again. "I just can't believe it. I really thought you were dead. It's a miracle."

"Yes," she agreed, "I believe it is." Following a brief silence, she asked, "How are Magda and Lena? Do you see them?"

"Rarely, I'm afraid. I understand they're doing well. His Grace is as usual."

"Oh, I don't want to hear about him," she said and they both laughed.

"Tell me what you've been doing," she said, again hearing Cameron's words in her mind. _Keep him distracted_.

"Naturally my duties keep me busy," Lance said. "I've done little else of interest."

Abbi couldn't help respecting him as a captain, but she was grateful to have found more intriguing husband material. They chatted casually for a while longer before he stood and announced, "I should be going. Duties, you know."

"It's good to see you again, Lance," she said, glad to note that she really meant it.

"And you," Lance said. "I've been invited to dine here this evening. I'll see you then."

Abbi nodded and he left. She went upstairs, wondering if missing Cameron would ever get easier, or if it would only worsen by the hour as it had so far.

The passing of three weeks did little to convince Abbi that she could live without Cameron. Accustomed to keeping busy around the lodge and with the animals, she felt lost and without purpose. Often unmotivated, she spent the majority of her time, when she wasn't riding, sitting around and thinking about Cameron. She was grateful to recall the sketchbook she'd been using last fall. She found it right where she'd left it, beneath her bed. And she cried as she looked through the pictures she'd drawn, recalling the feelings behind them--especially the one of Cameron, looking much different than he had become to her now. Oh, if only she had known then the significance of these images she had put to paper!

Unambitious and frequently tired, Abbi spent a great deal of time lying down. Gradually she even lost her enthusiasm for riding, since she couldn't help thinking how easy it would be to ride up the mountain and into his arms. But the risks were too great. She couldn't take the chance that the one time she'd do it, someone might follow her and discover Cameron's secret. So Abbi stayed home and moped. Her aunts and Elsa expressed concern for her, and Ramona asked every day if she was ill.

"Just tired," Abbi always replied, but they didn't seem willing to accept it.

"What's wrong, Abbi?" Georg asked. His voice startled her while she was sitting on the lawn, staring up toward the mountain. The little bench had become a favorite spot of hers lately.

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Elsa tells me you're not yourself. You've hardly ridden at all lately. That's not like you." Georg sat on the ground and leaned back on his hands, looking up at her with concern.

"I suppose I just got out of the habit when I . . ." she looked upward sadly, "when I was on the mountain."

"I see," he said thoughtfully, moving his gaze the same direction. "Is there something else?"

Abbi looked at Georg, wanting so badly to ask him a thousand questions, to tell him everything she felt for Cameron. But the time just didn't feel right. She settled for simply asking, "Have you heard from him, Georg? Is he well?"

Georg watched her closely, mildly suspicious. "Yes, he's well, Abbi. Terribly impatient, but fine."

Abbi smiled, attempting to comprehend his impatience. At least she had other people to keep her company. At least she could come and go freely and do as she pleased.

"But _you're_ not fine," he said, "are you."

"I am, really," she insisted.

"I don't believe you."

"Perhaps a ride would do me good." She smiled, trying to divert his attention from her sorrow. "Would you go with me?"

"Now that's something we've not done in a long time." He forced a smile, still seeming concerned as he stood and offered his hand.

Abbi enjoyed her ride with Georg, but when they returned she became unexpectedly lightheaded. She was dismayed when Georg noticed her teetering as she dismounted. He was beside her immediately, holding her steady. "Good heavens, Abbi, what's the matter?" he asked as she leaned heavily against him.

"Just a little dizzy," she said. "I'm fine, of course." With her feet on the ground, Abbi quickly regained her equilibrium. "Really I am," she said in response to his worried stare. "It's just a little dizzy spell."

"All right, but what caused this little dizzy spell?"

"I haven't been sleeping well," she said with conviction. "I'm certain I'm just tired. It will pass." Georg said nothing more, but he followed her into the house and made certain she lay down to rest before he would leave her. She heard him whispering to Elsa just outside the bedroom door and wished they wouldn't fuss so much over a trivial incident.

Later, Abbi went down to dinner and found that Lance had joined them as he did a few times a week. She'd become accustomed to his company and didn't find being with him altogether distasteful--which made the task of distracting him a pleasant pastime. Unusually tired once again, Abbi excused herself early. Coming to her feet, she noticed the worried expressions of everyone at the table.

"Perhaps you should see a doctor," Ramona said. "Perhaps you should."

Abbi argued until Lance said sternly, "I think it's a good idea, Abbi. You just don't seem like yourself."

"You're all getting upset over nothing," Abbi insisted and went up to her room. How could she possibly explain to these people that her only malady was simply a longing for the man she loved? And there was only one remedy for that.

Abbi woke feeling ill for the third day in a row. Seeing her pale complexion and sallow eyes in the mirror, she wondered if missing a lover could affect a person physically. With no warning, her stomach lurched and she hurried to the basin. Elsa came in the room while Abbi was consumed with dry heaves.

"Good heavens!" she muttered, rushing to Abbi's side. "Are you all right?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps I _am_ coming down with something."

Elsa helped her back to the bed and handed her a glass of water. "You don't feel fevered," she said, setting a hand to Abbi's face.

"I'll be fine," Abbi said. "Maybe something to eat will help."

Elsa brought breakfast to Abbi's room, which she ate heartily and felt better. She forced herself to go out and ride, if only to keep everyone from insisting that she needed to see a doctor.

The following morning, Elsa had barely come into the room when Abbi rushed to the basin, just as she'd done before.

"Good heavens!" Elsa said again, helping her back to the bed. "You _must_ be coming down with something. You're acting just the way I did when I first found out I was pregnant."

Abbi took a labored breath, grateful Elsa's back was turned as astonishment overtook her. _Of course_. It all made perfect sense now. She put a hand over her mouth to keep her emotions from bubbling out as Elsa rambled on while she bustled around the room, doing her usual straightening. "It happened much sooner than we expected. Honeymoon baby, Marta calls it. But it's hard to tell who is more thrilled, Marta or Georg. Anyway, I was sick every morning. Tired all the time. Dizzy now and then. Most of that's passed now, but then . . . that has nothing to do with you. Still, I think we _should_ send for the doctor and . . ."

Abbi looked up to investigate Elsa's sudden silence. "What?" she demanded when the maid just stared at her.

"Miss Abbi," she drawled and barely made it to a chair. "Is such a thing . . . _possible?_ "

While Abbi was attempting to absorb the reality of what she'd just discovered, she had to consider what to tell Elsa. She couldn't very well hide something like this from Elsa when she was involved in Abbi's every personal need.

"Yes, Elsa," she said, "it's highly possible."

"Miss Abbi." Elsa moved to the edge of the bed and took her hand. Abbi appreciated the way Elsa could so naturally slip out of being a maid in order to be her friend when it was needed. "What happened to you while you were away? Did someone hurt you? Were you . . ." She didn't finish.

"No, Elsa, no one hurt me. What I did was of my own free will." Abbi swallowed the urge to explain that she had taken private vows, that the father of this child would come back into her life and take responsibility. It was too complicated, and perhaps too risky. She focused intently on Elsa as she said, "You mustn't tell a soul about this. Do you understand? Not a soul; not even Georg." She added more softly, "I'll tell him myself when the time is right."

"I'll do whatever you ask me to, but . . . you can't hide it forever. Why, my belly popped out almost as soon as I knew there was a baby in there."

"I don't have to hide it forever," Abbi said. "Just promise me you'll not say a word."

"I swear it," Elsa said in spite of the doubt in her eyes.

When her stomach lurched again, Abbi asked Elsa to bring her some breakfast right away, since it had helped yesterday. Once alone, Abbi allowed herself to contemplate what this meant. She was with child. Cameron's child. What better fate could have befallen her? A son with red hair, she thought, recalling her dream. She didn't feel afraid or ashamed. She was elated. Cameron would be coming soon, and with any luck, the task of proving his innocence would be behind them before anyone besides Elsa ever had to know. And everything would be perfect.

Abbi laughed softly, touching herself tenderly where she knew a part of Cameron was already beginning to grow. She felt happy and sad all at once. She wanted this child and loved it already, but in the same moment she wished desperately for Cameron to be here to share in this joyous discovery. Knowing that he would be as happy as she was in the knowledge of what they had created, she ached for him more than ever.

Abbi felt a new zest for life now that she understood the reason for her ailments. Breakfast eased the sickness smoldering inside her, and she dressed with a new sense of purpose. Brushing through her hair, she felt an urge to wear it up, and asked Elsa to help her. Cameron had told her he preferred it down, but he wasn't here, and she wanted to save that privilege for him alone. Feeling like a true lady for the first time in her life, Abbi went down to join her aunts for lunch, cheerful for the first time in weeks--but hungry again in spite of her late breakfast. She found their pleasure over her hair amusing.

"Oh, don't you look nice," Salina chirped. "Doesn't she look nice, Ramona?"

"Nice, yes, nice," Ramona added with approval.

After eating, Abbi felt much better, and she wondered if keeping her stomach full would ease the nausea. Certain a brisk ride would make her feel even better, she went to the stable, where she found Georg busy oiling a saddle.

"Good morning," he said, raising his brows when he saw her. "How fine you look," he said, glancing at her hair. "Are you feeling better?"

"Very much, thank you."

"You're actually wearing a riding habit. I assume you're going riding," he teased.

"You're very perceptive, Georg. Perhaps it's time I got some good use out of these clothes Ramona insisted I buy last fall."

"Perhaps it is," he said with approval.

While Georg saddled Blaze, Abbi felt a secret thrill in wondering how he might respond to her news. It was tempting to tell him, but for the time being she preferred to keep it to herself. She wanted Cameron to be the first to know, and she certainly didn't want him hearing such news from some little note tied to a pigeon.

"You be careful now," he said as she mounted.

"Always." She smiled down at him and rode out.

For the first time since she'd left the mountain, Abbi could not fight the compelling need to ride to the lower meadow and gaze up at the tree-lined ridge that divided her world from Cameron's. She galloped Blaze around the meadow several times, marveling at how her life had changed since she'd done this last fall. The haunting aura of this place was still with her, and she wondered if Cameron could possibly be watching her as he'd said he used to. But she convinced herself it was only her imagination making something out of memories. Still, she pulled Blaze to a halt and sat for several minutes just staring upward, wondering what Cameron might be doing right now. She loved him so much.

Cameron had come to the ridge at least a hundred times since Abbi had left, and each time he'd scolded himself for the waste of hope and energy, swearing he'd not return. But what else did he have to do with his time? Boredom and idleness always lured him back. If nothing else it was a pleasant spot to sit and indulge in his memories of the woman who had changed his life. There was nowhere he could go without seeing her clearly in his mind, but the ridge was a tangible representation of the barrier between their lives. Coming here had a way of making him ache for her all the more at the evidence of just how out of reach she was. Still, he found something ironically soothing in the pain of her absence, if only in the reminder that he was alive enough to feel.

Growing weary of the same old musings, Cameron had almost turned for the lodge when he saw Abbi emerging from the forest. The reality made his heart pound and he leaned heavily against a tree, abruptly weak. Like a salve upon his wounds, her distant presence gave him peace. Watching her gallop the meadow several times, he didn't so much feel the need to touch or hold her, as he felt grateful for just having seen her. Even from a distance he could see that her hair was up and she wore a dark-colored riding habit that flowed over the back of Blaze, giving her an aura of opulence and elegance, enhanced by her natural stately posture.

When Abbi came to a halt and stared upward, Cameron felt warm inside. He knew she couldn't see him, but perhaps somehow she sensed him. The fact that she was there gave him the strength to face the time left alone. She was alive and real. And she missed him. Cameron could feel the evidence that she too was lonely, and he found renewal in knowing that someday soon he could be free to claim her publicly, and not have to settle for watching her from a distance because he feared that someone might have followed her. Or perhaps he was more afraid that if he acknowledged her at all he'd never be able to let her go again.

As Abbi disappeared into the forest, Cameron murmured aloud, "Thank you, God, for sending her to me." He walked back to the lodge with a light step and a new hope in his heart.

After sending Abbi off, Georg went into the house for lunch. He preferred eating after the majority of the other servants were finished, and was delighted to find only Elsa in the kitchen, sitting at the table, picking apart a piece of dark bread.

"If it isn't the most beautiful woman alive," he said.

She looked up with a tense smile but said nothing.

"What's wrong?" he asked, scooting a chair next to hers.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying," she snapped, taking Georg off guard. He couldn't recall her _ever_ speaking to him that way. "I'm fine," she added more softly. "I'm just . . . thinking."

"About what?" he asked gently. "What's troubling you?"

"Nothing!" she snapped again and stood abruptly. She attempted to leave, but he blocked her way.

"If you don't want to talk, fine," he said. "But don't lie to me and walk away."

"I _can't_ talk about it," she said, turning her back to him.

"Is it Abbi?" he asked. She said nothing. "I saw her a few minutes ago. She seemed fine. Do you think she's ill or--"

"I told you, I can't talk about it."

Georg turned her to face him. "If something is wrong with Abbi, I want to know about it."

For a moment Elsa looked as if she might cry, then her eyes turned brittle. "You have no business asking me to betray my confidence with her when you tell me practically nothing about your life beyond what you do around here. You spend hours away from here nearly every day; sometimes you're gone until the middle of the night. Most women would assume a husband keeping such hours was being unfaithful."

Georg's eyes widened. "I would hope you know me better than that."

"I _do_ know you better than that," she retorted, much to his relief. "And you should know me better than to think that I would betray Abbi's confidence in _anything_. Yes, I'm concerned about her. But it is simply none of your business. Now let me pass. I've got work to do."

What else could Georg do? He stood aside to allow her to go, but he was waiting in the stable when Abbi returned, hoping he might get some information out of her directly.

Abbi was glad to see Georg when she arrived and willingly allowed him to help her dismount, not wanting to admit how lightheaded she was feeling after such a lengthy ride in the warm sun.

"Thank you," she said, leaning heavily into him for just a moment. But apparently he noticed.

"What's wrong, Abbi?"

"Nothing's wrong, Georg."

"I don't believe you."

Abbi looked at him hard. Couldn't a woman keep a secret for even a day without being tormented for it? She turned away, saying, "When Cameron comes back, everything will be just fine."

Georg attempted to figure where she was coming from. He felt it necessary to say, "Abbi, I know the two of you became close, but . . . when Cameron comes back, his life is going to be very complicated."

It took Abbi a moment to perceive Georg's implication. Was he assuming that she and Cameron were merely friends? Was he gauging Cameron's feelings for her according to his own relationship with her? Of course, no one had told him otherwise.

"Abbi," his voice softened, "I know that it must be a difficult adjustment after being with him and no one else for so long. But I don't want you expecting something from him that he's not in a position to give you. I know you did a great deal for him, and I know he truly appreciates your influence, as I do, but . . ."

"But?" she retorted when he hesitated. "What are you trying to say, Georg? Are you implying that I'm some simple-minded girl who might be deluding myself into believing that Cameron would hold onto any interest for me now that I've served my purpose?"

"I know he cares for you, Abbi. I just don't want you to--"

"Of course he cares for me," she growled with a hint of sarcasm. "I'm the only person he's talked to in nearly four years. Of course he would give me attention. But you're afraid I might assume something, and expect too much? Is that it?"

Georg said nothing and Abbi had to fight back her growing anger. She reminded herself that he was only thinking of her best interest. He had no idea what had transpired between her and Cameron. Still, she found it disheartening to think that Georg would assume she would be so foolish, and Cameron so heartless.

Georg attempted to gauge the reasons for her defensiveness, and he didn't like the implications at all. When the silence became too intense he opted for a change of subject that might also help her find some perspective. "You've been seeing the captain quite regularly, I've noticed."

"How observant you are," she said, mildly sarcastic.

"He's a good man, Abbi. He can be somewhat guarded, but if you give him a chance, you'll not find a man more kind or honorable."

Georg saw her eyes widen and then sharpen with anger. "I already have," she said with a demeanor that reminded him clearly, in spite of her age, that he worked for her and she knew her place well. Still, they were friends first and foremost, and he was not going to stand by and let her be hurt by circumstances she had no comprehension of. While he was wondering how to ask exactly what she meant, she spoke words that verified his worst assumptions. "I've already found a good man, Georg; a man who is kind and honorable."

"If you're talking about Cameron," he said, "you need to look at the situation realistically. In case you haven't noticed, he is not in a position to be an appropriate suitor."

Now she _really_ looked upset. "An _appropriate suitor?_ Is that what you said?" She shook her head and visibly suppressed her anger. "You don't know what you're talking about, Georg."

He folded his arms stiffly. "Then maybe you'd better tell me."

"Maybe I don't _want_ to tell you; not if you're going to just assume that I'm deluding myself with some senseless attraction to this mysterious man who saved my life."

Georg sighed. He knew that Abbi wasn't simple-minded or prone to delusions. But he feared what she might have _perceived_ from Cameron's interest in her. This was so much more complicated than she could ever comprehend, and he didn't want her getting hurt. Attempting to get more of the facts, he said cautiously, "Tell me what he said to you, Abbi."

"About what?"

"Anything."

"We were together for nearly six months."

"All right, in general."

"If you're talking about the circumstances of his life, he told me very little; practically nothing. I don't know his name, or anything about him. I only know how I feel about him."

"And how is that?" he asked.

"You're asking more questions when I haven't answered the first one."

"All right. What has he said?"

Abbi tried to find an important point, while she grudgingly held onto her most tender feelings, not wanting them spilled where they might be disregarded or treated lightly. "He promised me that the day he came down from the mountain, he would find me."

Georg hated his next thought. Had Cameron made promises that were unrealistic because he'd been caught up in the fact that she was the only human being he'd had contact with in years? Had his need for companionship been misinterpreted? But he kept his mouth shut, certain he'd taken this too far already. It was evident that Abbi would perceive what she wanted.

"You still look as if you think I'm crazy," Abbi said.

"I don't think you're crazy, Abbi. I'm just concerned that . . ."

"What?"

Georg put up his hands in resignation. "Forgive me, Abbi, but . . . I have nothing to go on here."

"Fine, I'll give you something to go on." She lowered her voice to an imperative whisper. "We were _intimate,_ Georg."

Georg sat down hard and fast on a bale of straw. "Intimate?" he echoed, fearing he'd not heard her correctly. Or perhaps fearing that he had.

"That's what I said."

He took a good, long look at Abbi, attempting to comprehend what that meant. Sweet, precious little Abbi was no longer innocent--and Cameron was to blame. His first urge was to ride up the mountain this very minute and bust Cameron in the jaw. Knowing that was impossible, he swallowed his anger and pressed his head into his hands. "I can't believe it." He sighed. "I can't believe that Cameron, of all people, would do something so irresponsible, knowing that he--"

"He was _not_ irresponsible," Abbi interrupted, and Georg looked up sharply. "All things considered, I think he exhibited enormous self-restraint. Don't think for one minute because you are in control of his life that you have any idea what's really going on. Now before you go jumping to any more conclusions, let it be clear that my interest in Captain Dukerk has _nothing_ to do with seeking out an _appropriate suitor_. I have no need for any such thing."

"Abbi," he protested, "Cameron has told me nothing to indicate that his feelings for you warrant something like that. I realize you were alone together for a very long time, but--"

"Listen to me, Georg. A man doesn't put months' worth of feelings and experiences on tiny pieces of paper and tie them to birds. Trust me when I tell you that _I_ will be his first concern when he shows his face."

Georg watched Abbi walk away, wondering if he'd ever felt so frustrated in his life. He was supposed to be completely in control of something that he felt absolutely no control over. His wife was angry with him. Abbi was _furious_ with him. Cameron was impatient to get on with his life, while the pieces were coming together all too slowly. And now? Now he had to wonder if Cameron was thinking clearly at all. Their communications regarding plans to regain his freedom were clear, and just what Georg would expect. But what of matters of the heart? He'd said _nothing_ about his feelings for Abbi. Yet, they had been intimate. He could understand how, even as disciplined and responsible as he believed Cameron to be, it could be difficult to keep from being intimate with the only woman he'd seen in years, especially being alone with her for months. But that didn't make it right. And it didn't necessarily mean what Abbi might think it did. And how was all of this supposed to work into his great plan?

After thinking it through for a long while, Georg knew that he could not accomplish anything without first mending his relationships with Elsa and Abbi. But before he approached Abbi, he had to know what he was dealing with; otherwise, he was going to alienate her completely. He sent a message to Cameron before going to find Elsa, hoping to make amends.

Cameron paused his work long enough to grab hold of the bird that had just arrived and remove the message. He was getting terribly weary of daily reports of progress that felt far too slow. But this message was different. _Please help me understand your feelings for Abbi. I can see that she's struggling, but she's not talking. I can't help her if I don't know what I'm dealing with_.

Cameron felt warmed by this second piece of evidence today that Abbi was missing him. She felt alive and real to him for the first time in days, and he was grateful. He read the message again, saying aloud, "You want me to put that in less than a thousand words?"

Cameron went into the lodge to sit down and think this through carefully. He could understand why Abbi might find it difficult to talk to Georg freely about the situation. He could also see where Georg could have trouble understanding. He finally wrote down a few brief sentences that didn't begin to express what he felt, but they would at least let Georg know exactly where he stood.

Georg felt better after finding Elsa. While Abbi took a long nap, he walked with Elsa and they shared apologies. Their love for each other put everything else into perspective.

Returning to the stable, Georg found a message waiting. Opening the little paper, he hoped Abbi was not in for some serious disillusionment. But remorse tugged at him deeply as he read: _Funny you should ask. It is my most prevalent thought. She is the hope that keeps me living. She is my heart and soul. Her place in my life is neither coincidence nor to be taken lightly. Without her, everything we are working for is meaningless. She is as good as my wife, and deserves to be treated as such_. Georg had to blink back the mist in his eyes before he could read the last sentence. _Tell her I love her_.

"What have I done?" Georg murmured, squeezing his eyes closed. Instantly the entire spectrum changed. Everything he needed to do on Cameron's behalf took on a whole new perspective. It was more complicated, yes. But it would only be that much more fulfilling.

Abbi woke from a long nap, grateful to find some bread and fruit that Elsa had left, which quickly eased her nausea. How grateful she was to have a maid who was well aware of her needs. She was still eating when a knock came at her door. She opened it to see Georg looking intent, perhaps sheepish, but he said nothing.

"Yes?" she finally asked, and he glanced down.

"May I come in?" he asked, and she motioned him inside.

They stood face-to-face for a long moment while she attempted to understand his entranced gaze. Before she could ask, he went to his knees in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I owe you the deepest apology, Abbi."

"Fine. But get up off the floor."

Georg stood up slowly, but still he said nothing.

"You were apologizing," she said.

He took a deep breath. "You were right. I was wrong. And I'm truly sorry for the way I behaved. I will keep you posted on our progress as much as it's possible."

"Thank you, Georg, but . . . why this sudden change?"

Georg took both her hands into his and pressed a kiss to her brow. When he stepped back and left the room, Abbi found a little piece of paper in her hand. She sat on the bed and cried as she read the words over and over. She touched Cameron's handwriting, marveling that he had written this message just today. When Elsa came into the room, Abbi discreetly tucked the paper into a book and wiped away her tears.

"You all right, Miss?" Elsa asked.

"Just a little emotional," she said.

"That's understandable. I believe women cry more anyway when they're pregnant. I certainly do. But you must have a lot on your mind."

"Yes, but . . . I'm certain everything will be fine. Oh, and thank you for the food. It saved me when I woke up. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Glad to be here," Elsa said with a smile. "But I have bad news."

"What?" Abbi asked.

"The captain is here to see you. Should I tell him you're not feeling well, or--"

"No," she hurried to the mirror, "I don't want the entire household getting suspicious. Just help me smooth my hair and then you can tell him I'll be down in a few minutes."

Abbi entered the drawing room to find Lance actually without his uniform. It took a moment for her to adjust to the difference, especially when the clothes he wore were so similar to the style she'd seen Cameron wear. He chuckled self-consciously at her overt interest in his apparel. "I look different, I know."

"Yes, you do. But . . . you look very nice."

"I actually have a day off," he said. "I came this way earlier to see if you'd like to go riding, but . . . well, I saw you go into the forest just before I got to the bridge. I tried to catch up but I lost you."

Abbi sat down, fighting to keep her expression steady. She hoped he was telling the truth, that he'd lost her. She shuddered to think of the Captain of the Guard, of all people, following her to that meadow. He very well could have read something into the way she'd been gazing upward nostalgically. She felt grateful that she'd resisted the urge to actually see Cameron, and knew that she must avoid going anywhere near him.

"Do you go that way often?" Lance asked, startling Abbi from her thoughts as he sat beside her.

"No, actually," she said with a soft laugh, hoping to appear relaxed and at ease. "I've never been that way before. I didn't get far before I realized it was senseless. There's not so much as a trail anywhere in the area."

The silence became uncomfortable. "I like your hair that way," Lance said warmly.

"Thank you," Abbi replied. "I think I could get used to it. Your stepmother is certainly pleased."

Lance laughed softly. "You mustn't take her too seriously. She's a little crusty around the edges, but she's got a soft heart."

"I know," Abbi said.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked. "You _do_ look a little pale."

"Oh, I'm fine," she said. "I've had a slight . . . stomach disorder. Perhaps it's just this drastic change in my habits and diet since I returned home."

"Perhaps," he said, not seeming convinced.

"I'm certain it's nothing to worry about," she insisted.

"I don't suppose you'd be up to riding."

It actually sounded nice, Abbi thought. At least riding with Lance wouldn't feel so uncomfortable as sitting here in awkward conversation. But she had to admit, "I've already been out today. Perhaps another--"

"How about a walk, then? It's a beautiful day." He stood and held out his hand.

Abbi looked up at him and couldn't deny that his offer was inviting. He was kind and concerned, and right now he was a pleasant distraction from her loneliness. They walked about the grounds and through the gardens, sitting on the little bench in the yard for quite some time. She was feeling completely comfortable until Lance said, "Have you seen your father since you've returned?"

"Good heavens!" Abbi gasped and put a hand over her mouth. A knot formed in her stomach that encouraged her nausea. "I'm ashamed to say that I forgot all about it. Oh, how could I be so thoughtless?"

"Abbi, you've been gone. There was little to be done about it when--"

"Yes, but I should have seen him last week. Oh, Lance. Do you know if he's all right? Is he--"

"He's fine, Abbi," he reassured her. "I took the liberty of telling him the situation of your absence."

Abbi paused to absorb this. "Do you talk to him often?"

"No." He glanced down, uncomfortable. "Quite rarely, in truth. But I did let him know you had returned safely, and you would see him as soon as possible."

"He's all right, then?"

"Yes, yes of course. I hope I wasn't out of line to--"

"No, I'm grateful you told him. I just wish that I . . ."

"What?" he asked when she faltered.

"Nothing." She couldn't resist asking, "Lance, do you know anything about the situation my father is in?"

"No," he said, "I don't."

"You don't have to lie to me," she said. "If you can't talk about it, I understand."

"I'm not lying to you, Abbi. I've been ordered to see that he's guarded constantly. I know nothing more."

Abbi felt decidedly unsettled as she recalled her father once saying that her visits were the only thing keeping him alive. If that were the case, why had her absence not created a problem? While she had to tread carefully with the Captain of the Guard, she did feel compelled to say, "I feel bad to think of how long it's been since I've seen him. He's told me my visits are important. I wonder if he has anyone else who notices if he's even alive, or--"

"Of course he does, Abbi. You mustn't be so concerned. He has three other monthly visits, besides yours." Her eyes widened as she digested the deeper implication. It didn't take much thought to realize that her father had been careful to give himself more than one avenue of protection. But protection from what? Was he blackmailing someone? Was someone blackmailing him? She reminded herself that such questions had no answers, and it was pointless to waste energy on them. Knowing she wasn't her father's only visitor left her more relaxed, but she did ask Lance, "Do you know who?"

"Friends. That's all I know," he said, and again her thoughts wandered until Lance touched her chin. "You mustn't be so sad, Abbi."

"I'm just . . . concerned for him. It's gone on for so long."

"At least he's not in prison," Lance said. "Whatever his crime was, he's been granted a comfortable lifestyle. I can assure you that his every need is being met."

Abbi nodded, finding some comfort in that. But then, Cameron's every need was being met too--technically. Needing to change the subject, she said, "I'm feeling awfully hungry. Is it dinnertime yet, do you think?"

Lance pulled a watch out of his waistcoat pocket. "Not for an hour yet."

"I've a mind to sneak in the kitchen and get something. Would you like to join me?"

"I shall be your protector," he said and she laughed.

While Lance watched Abbi eat the bread and butter she had confiscated from the kitchen, he commented, "Is there some significance to the bracelet you wear? I've not seen you without it since you returned."

"It's just something . . . sentimental."

"But you're not going to tell me," he said with a wink.

Abbi shook her head, appreciating his kindness. She wondered if his interest in her was as it appeared to be. Was his attention an attempt to court her? Did he expect to marry her? If he only knew! Abbi found it disconcerting to realize that she was misleading him. But then, Cameron had asked her to distract him. And Lance's company was not altogether unpleasant. She made up her mind to enjoy it for what it was and not worry too much about how everything would come together. Cameron would be arriving soon, and all would be well.

Dinner with Lance turned out to be relatively enjoyable until Ramona commented, "You look a little pale, Abbi. Are you well? I'd swear you look a little pale."

"You've seemed under the weather for quite some time, my dear," Salina joined in. "Are you certain there's nothing wrong?"

"Quite," Abbi said simply.

"I wonder," Ramona added, "if you didn't contract some dreadful disease up on that mountain. I wonder."

"Disease indeed," Abbi said, trying not to smile.

"There's nothing wrong with her appetite," Lance commented lightly, and Abbi tossed him a quick smile before she zealously continued eating her meal.

"Still," Ramona added, "I think you should see a doctor. Yes, I do believe you should see a doctor."

"Whatever for?" Abbi retorted.

"When someone who knows what he's talking about says you're healthy, then we'll accept it. Lance agrees. You should see a doctor."

Abbi turned to Lance, feeling betrayed when he'd been so kind. But he gave her a look that indicated his firm endorsement of Ramona's request.

"What has Lance got to do with this?" Abbi cried.

"He's concerned for you, my dear," Salina interjected. "Just as we are. This time I must say I agree with my sister."

Abbi didn't know what to do. There was no doubt that any doctor in his right mind could easily tell what her _problem_ was. But she needed to keep it a secret. Still, better that a doctor know than to have the entire household harping about her change in habits.

"Fine. I'll see a doctor," she conceded, mostly just wanting to be free of their nagging. Perhaps she could find a way to get out of it later. Her aunts smiled at each other with satisfaction, and Lance smiled at Abbi.

The following morning, Abbi rose feeling worse than she ever had in her life. She ate some dry bread that Elsa had left close by, which eased the nausea some, but her stomach continued to churn, and she was terribly lightheaded. Still, she was determined to appear healthy for the sake of pretenses. As soon as she had dressed and Elsa put up her hair, she went downstairs for breakfast.

Abbi dined alone since she'd risen late, and her aunts had already gone to the garden to cut flowers. It was disappointing to find no one around to see her efforts when they had been so difficult to come by. Eating slowly, Abbi began to feel the discomfort in her stomach ease, but the lack of balance in her head increased.

Standing carefully, she decided to move to the drawing room where she could relax and wait for her aunts to come in and see that she was up and about. Much to her dismay, a few minutes later Captain Dukerk was announced. Abbi stood to greet him and her dizziness took hold. She would have fallen if Lance had not been there to catch her.

"Thank you," she said, suddenly afraid. Not only had she just convinced Lance that she needed a doctor, she had almost convinced herself.

"Whatever's the matter with you?" Lance asked with obvious concern as he helped her back to the sofa. Abbi didn't reply. She was too worried about what might happen if her secret came out, and even more worried that something might truly be wrong with her.

Abbi could have predicted the following events with accuracy. Lance summoned her aunts, who fussed over her with concern. Ramona insisted that Lance carry Abbi to her room while she sent for a doctor immediately, and nothing Abbi said could talk them out of it. "If you must get a doctor," Abbi insisted as Lance placed her on the bed with Ramona and Salina hovering nearby, "it must be Dr. Furhelm. He's done everything for this family as long as I can remember, and I'll not have anyone else."

"Very well," Ramona said, "it will be Dr. Furhelm. Now you stay put and we'll have him here in no time." She and Salina hurried away, leaving Abbi alone with Lance in her bedroom. But she was feeling too sick to care.

"I do hope it's nothing serious," Lance said.

"I assure you it's not."

"Just the same, I'm glad you agreed to see the doctor."

"I had little choice," Abbi said, but perhaps risking her secret would be worth the reassurance that everything was all right. Besides, she didn't have to reveal who the father was. And she was a strong woman; she could deal with the shame. It was Cameron's baby, conceived in love and with the proper commitment as far as it was possible. Nothing was more important than this child's well-being. She would worry about propriety after it was born; her marriage would surely be made public long before then.

"Well," Lance said after a long silence, "I'll wait downstairs to hear what the doctor has to say."

Abbi just closed her eyes as he left the room, wondering what the future might bring. At least she knew Dr. Furhelm and felt confident he could be trusted. She only hoped he would trust her judgment and allow her to keep her secret. She imagined how Lance and her aunts might respond to the news. It would certainly put an end to any opportunity for her to keep the captain distracted. She only hoped that the knowledge of her pregnancy would not prompt any speculation as to who the father might be, and create suspicion that could put Cameron in danger.

The doctor arrived much sooner than Abbi expected.

"Hello, Abbi." He smiled kindly as he set his bag on the bureau and began to wash his hands.

"Hello," she replied, sitting up in bed.

"I hear you've had quite an adventure this past winter."

"I wouldn't exactly call it an adventure," she said.

"Certainly not your average winter. I spoke with Georg Heinrich in town last week. He told me all about it." He smiled again as he sat next to her on the bed and took her hand. Dr. Furhelm was a nice looking, middle-aged man. Abbi had always liked him, especially for the way he had attended Papa through many illnesses, always showing compassion and understanding.

"I suppose it wasn't an average winter," Abbi admitted, "but I'm home now and not much has changed here."

"Except," he patted her hand, "that you're not feeling too well. Do you want to tell me about the symptoms?"

"There's no need." She looked away. There was no point in pretenses now. "I'm pregnant."

"Ah," he said, and if he'd been shocked he covered it quickly. Abbi didn't know what to expect, but she was surprised by his reaction. "And does that make you happy?"

"Yes," she smiled at him, "it does."

"Then that certainly makes things easier, doesn't it?" He stood and walked around the bed, giving Abbi a reassuring glance that made her feel better already.

"Forgive me if I step beyond my boundaries as a physician," he continued, "but I feel it's important, both for your emotional and physical well-being, that we discuss the father of this child for a moment. May I ask you some simple questions?" He leaned his hands against the footboard of the bed and looked at her kindly.

"Yes, of course," she replied.

"Why don't you just tell me about him? You need not disclose his identity, if you wish. You could start by telling me why carrying his child makes you happy."

"Because I love him," she said, appreciating the doctor's frank attitude. "And he loves me, as well."

"That's very good." He seemed genuinely pleased. "And is marriage a possibility for the two of you?"

"Yes," she said with confidence, "but we need some time." She hesitated. "He needs to work some things out first."

"I see." He sat next to her again. "And that's all right, you know, because now that we can agree good things are to come from this situation, we can do our best to keep this child strong and healthy, as well as its mother."

"You're very understanding, Doctor."

"A woman in your position could use some understanding, I think." Abbi smiled at him and he continued. "Now then, is he a healthy man?" She looked puzzled and he added, "I ask for the child's sake, if there might be hereditary problems we should watch for."

"Yes, he's very healthy," Abbi replied.

"That's good. Now let's talk about you. I hear you've been having a little trouble. Would you tell me about it?"

"I feel tired," she said, "almost constantly. And I feel nausea, especially when I've not eaten."

"And do you keep your meals down?"

"Yes."

"That's a good sign. As long as you keep that nutrition inside of you, the nausea is nothing but a temporary inconvenience. Please go on."

"The only other problem I've experienced," she continued, "is a terrible lightheadedness. I could hardly stand this morning."

"Let me try to explain," he said. "Your body is giving up a great deal to create this child, therefore you need extra sleep, extra nourishment, and some good common sense. A woman's body is very clever, and if you listen to what it tells you, it will serve you well. Eat when you're hungry and rest when you're feeling tired or dizzy. It's all very natural. Otherwise you can continue on normally."

Abbi sighed with relief. "Then everything's all right?"

"It appears to be so far. If you'll allow me to examine you more thoroughly, we'll reassure ourselves that everything is in order."

"Of course," Abbi replied.

The doctor's examination was gentle and without comment. When he had finished, he sat beside her again and smiled. "You're a perfectly healthy expectant mother, Abbi. I'm certain the father would be pleased to hear it."

"Yes, he would," she said sadly. "I must ask you, Doctor . . . for the time being, I would prefer that my condition be kept secret. I don't want to cause worry or shame for my household. I've told no one yet. When the time is right, I'm--"

"You needn't worry," he interrupted and squeezed her hand. "I'll not tell a soul. I'm just your doctor, Abbi. It's not my job to make your choices, or to judge you for the choices you make."

Abbi smiled. "Thank you . . . so much."

"Now then," he said as he stood and picked up his bag, "if you're feeling well enough to accompany me downstairs, we'll see if I'm able to soothe these people who are concerned for you."

"What will you tell them?" she asked, standing carefully to take his arm.

"I can take care of it." He smiled, and they walked together down the stairs.

"You'll all be pleased to know," Dr. Furhelm announced as they walked into the drawing room where Lance, Ramona, and Salina all sat solemnly, "that Abbi is in good health."

There was a unified sigh of relief, but he didn't give them a chance to ask questions. "The problems are caused only by a common matter that some young women experience as they, uh . . . well," he paused, "when they are passing into maturity. It's all very natural. She's also been through quite an ordeal this past winter, and such things can be an adjustment emotionally as well as physically. With proper care, I can assure you that in a few months' time the problem will take care of itself."

Abbi smiled at him, thinking how clever he was. He had told the absolute truth and not left any suspicion in the air at all. She wondered if he sensed, as she did, that the three of them were probably naive on such matters. Knowing that all was well gave Abbi peace of mind, and now those around her were pacified as well.

"I do have some instructions," the doctor continued, directing his attention to her aunts. "You can help Abbi see this through more easily by following a few simple steps. She needs plenty of rest, along with peace and quiet, and rather than three large meals a day, more frequent smaller ones would be preferable. That should ease the symptoms," he said and turned to Abbi. "I'll check back with you regularly until the situation has resolved itself."

"Thank you, Dr. Furhelm," she said with a smile. "For everything."

He left the house graciously, and Abbi gave the silent trio a smug glance, announcing that she was going upstairs to take a nap, and could they please send up something for her to eat as soon as possible.

Abbi felt more content than she had since leaving Cameron. From her bedroom balcony she looked toward the mountain, pleased with the way things had worked out so far. Dr. Furhelm's explanation would allow her to live more comfortably with her condition and avoid any aggravation from those around her. Her only concern now was that Cameron would be able to come soon, before the increasing size of the child caused further problems. But satisfied with the present situation, she concentrated on positive thoughts of the future, certain that Cameron would be coming any day. 
Chapter Fourteen

WHISPERS OF TREASON

Cameron felt a growing anticipation as the days passed. He kept busy making preparations to close up the lodge and preparing himself to face what waited for him in the valley. The busier he remained, the less he ached for Abbi, although the loneliness he felt in her absence seemed at moments more than he could bear. She'd been there at every turn for months, and now he was left alone with only his memories. But time was passing, and soon he would be able to return to Horstberg and be with her again. He knew from the brief messages he exchanged regularly with Georg that his efforts to prepare the way were going well. The whereabouts and circumstances of a witness to Cameron's innocence had been uncovered and carefully examined. And Georg was quietly spreading the word that Cameron was alive and in need of support in setting right the problems that had put him in this position. There was little more that could be done in the valley without Cameron himself being there to help things along.

Cameron went out to the stable early one morning to care for the animals and found a message waiting for him. He untied it from around the pigeon's tiny leg and wondered if this would be the word he'd been waiting for, that it might now be safe for him to return to the valley. He unfolded the little piece of paper and his stomach tightened before he fully digested what it said. _The lieutenant was discovered investigating our witness. He went before a firing squad this morning. Treason was the official verdict. Suspicion is high. Must lay low. We need time_.

"Dear God, no," he muttered and fell to his knees. "No!" he moaned and doubled over. The lieutenant Georg referred to was a man Cameron had known and respected. They had worked together. He had a wife and children. And now he had given his life on Cameron's behalf. As for the remainder of the message, Cameron could easily read between the lines. All their plans needed to remain completely dormant until the impact of the lieutenant's death dissipated somewhat. If Cameron returned to the valley now, he would be putting more lives in danger. He was stuck on the mountain until Georg felt confident that their plans could be carried out as safely as possible.

Emotionally debilitated and wholly defeated, Cameron returned to the lodge feeling as if he'd been struck in the heart by a poisoned dagger. A deep, festering ache hovered in his chest, reaching out to every nerve in his body. His limbs felt heavy, his head swam with loneliness and uncertainty. To make matters worse, the empty lodge reeked of Abbi's absence. He still could hardly come through the door without expecting her to be there. How could he bear many more weeks of this? He wandered aimlessly, touching things she had touched, imagining her presence here, much as he'd done when she'd first left. Almost against his will he found himself kneeling next to the trunk at the foot of the bed. He lifted the lid. The clothes and personal items she had used lay there neatly, emitting an aroma that brought her back to him vividly. He picked up the hairbrush, noting the strands of red hair left among its bristles. He set it back down and opened the nearly empty bottle of bath salts, inhaling the fragrance of her, freshly bathed. He could almost feel her damp hair. He wondered what she was doing now. Did she ache for him as he did for her? He'd promised her it would only be a matter of weeks. And now he had no idea when he might see her again.

Consumed with desperation, Cameron scooped his hands into the trunk, as if he could lift its entire contents at once. He clutched the pile of folded dresses to himself as if he could feel closer to her. Then he cried. He cried as if she were dead to him. And when his emotion only deepened, he lifted his face heavenward and howled the full extent of his anguish, like a lost and frightened animal. When his grief finally settled into an even deeper ache, he sat on the floor, absently holding the dress Abbi had worn when they'd exchanged vows. He prayed for strength and forced himself to think good thoughts, if only to find a seed of hope that he could hold onto. He thought of the love they shared, and the reasons she had given him to find hope again. He recalled the dream that had led her to him to begin with. How could he doubt that God was with them? How could he forget the evidence he'd been given that his quest was right and good? Like Joseph of Egypt, he would hold on. And one day, he would see his dreams come true.

Reluctantly putting her things back into the trunk, he was surprised to find the book she'd used for sketching. He'd forgotten all about it. He sat on the floor for another hour, sifting through its pages, touching the images her hand had created. He could see the evolution of their relationship in the drawings of himself. He marveled at her talent and thanked God for leaving him this tangible reminder of the love they shared. He finally put everything else away, but he kept the book out and left it on the bedside table, certain it could help him through the loneliest hours yet to come. Just looking at it kept her closer to him in spirit and helped him believe that they would get through this together, even though they were so far apart.

Abbi was on her way down to breakfast when she met Georg in the upstairs hall.

"Hello," she said in a tone that expressed her cheerful mood. Just yesterday Georg had told her that Cameron would be coming any day now. But everything inside of her turned cold and scared as she absorbed Georg's countenance. "What's wrong?" she demanded.

Georg motioned back toward her room. "I think you'd better sit down."

"You're frightening me, Georg," she said, closing the door. He said nothing as he motioned her to a chair, then he sat in the other one.

Georg cleared his throat and wiped a hand over his face. Abbi could almost hear him telling her that something horrible had happened to Cameron. That he was hurt--or dead.

"Georg!" Her impatience startled him.

"Cameron . . . won't be able to come just yet."

Abbi sighed. At least he was all right. Then she absorbed what that meant. "What's happened? How long?"

"I don't know how long, Abbi. The entire situation just got terribly ugly. I know it's difficult for you to wait, but . . . he is so much safer there."

"But, Georg . . . I don't . . . understand." While visions of scandal and shame raced through her mind, she had difficulty comprehending what might be so grave. "I _can't_ wait much longer, Georg. Surely there must be a way to--"

"There isn't!" he shouted. "You're going to have to wait, just like the rest of us."

Abbi reminded herself not to jump to conclusions. "Us?" she asked tentatively.

Georg lifted a cautious brow. "There are many people who . . ."

"Who want to see incriminating evidence against His Grace come to light?" she guessed when he hesitated. "Evidence that Cameron holds."

Georg looked surprised but answered quickly. "Yes, in essence, that covers it."

"What exactly is the problem, Georg? I can't wait forever."

"Listen to me, Abbi," he leaned closer, "your impatience does not supersede a man's life."

"I realize there is a great deal I don't know, but if Cameron's life were--"

"I'm not talking about Cameron!" he shouted again. Something uneasy prickled the back of Abbi's neck. She'd never seen Georg so upset.

"Who are you talking about, Georg?"

"I think I've already said too much," he stated and moved toward the door.

"Wait!" she demanded. "If I have to put my entire life on hold, I deserve to at least know something of what's going on."

Georg swallowed carefully and turned to face her. "I have never known you to be so impatient, Abbi. Is it really necessary to--"

"I have never been pregnant before, Georg." She heard him suck in his breath before she continued. "Now, I can accept that my ignorance on some counts is protecting me. But don't expect me to accept that my husband, the father of my child, is trapped on that mountain indefinitely. Do you have any comprehension what will happen if I start looking pregnant and the world believes I'm not married?"

"Married?" he echoed in an astonished whisper.

"We exchanged vows, Georg--as binding as it possibly could be under the circumstances. But I can't very well announce that publicly, now can I?"

Abbi's anger melted into tears when Georg's arms came around her. "Oh, Abbi, I had no idea." He eased back and looked into her eyes. "Is that why you've been ill?" She nodded and he hugged her again.

"Abbi, listen to me." He took her shoulders into his hands. "I can only do the best I can do. Rumors are spreading that Cameron is alive. We've tried to be careful, but . . . it's impossible to spread the word that we need help and not have it leak out somewhere. Whispers of treason are circulating, Abbi, and we are at the heart of it. We must be very careful. You see . . . there is a man . . . a lieutenant of the Guard. He was one of our greatest assets. He would have done anything to help Cameron. They were friends. But . . . he was executed this morning, Abbi."

Abbi's throat tightened and she felt weak and nauseous. "Why?"

"He was caught trying to uncover information on the witness that could prove Cameron's innocence. It is directly connected. He was found guilty of treason. He left behind a wife and three children."

"Oh, help!" Abbi muttered and pressed a hand over her mouth as she sank onto a chair. "Does Cameron know?"

"Yes," he said and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could be there to console him.

"Forgive me, Georg, for being so selfish." She looked into his eyes as he took her hand. "I would gladly suffer any amount of scandal and shame if it meant having a life with him. _Any_ life with him." She sighed. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Just . . . be patient, and . . . pray."

"I've been praying, Georg."

"So have I. We'll just keep doing it. Good things don't usually come easy, you know." Abbi nodded and he asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Abbi shook her head. "I'm fine. Just . . . tell him I love him."

"Does he know about the baby?" Georg asked.

Abbi shook her head. "I want to tell him . . . when I see him."

"I understand," he said, then stared at her with a penetrating gaze.

"What?" she asked.

"It's just . . . difficult to believe. You and Cameron. I never would have dreamed . . . yet it feels so right to imagine the two of you together."

"It _is_ right, Georg. Do you remember when I first told you . . . about my dreams?"

"Of course."

"It was you who said my gift would lead me to my destiny, right after I dreamed that Blaze would lead me to great happiness. Do you remember?"

"I do," he said breathlessly, his eyes showing enlightenment.

"You've known Cameron a long time," she said, intrigued with the deep connections they shared.

"Since we were young children," Georg said. "We had a lot of good times together while we were growing up." He moved to a chair, at ease as nostalgia overtook him. "I've missed him these past years. There have been times when I wondered if I would ever see him again. Even when I found a possibility to prove his innocence, he discouraged my pursuing it." Georg smiled at Abbi. "But you changed him, Abbi, and I'm grateful. I owe that man my life," he said thoughtfully. "I'd have either drowned or frozen to death if he'd not been around."

"So, that was you." She smiled. "He told me about that, too. Just who was it that pushed you in the water?"

Georg wondered if he should tell her. Deciding it could do no harm, he proceeded. "I think it was Lance Dukerk."

"You and Lance grew up together?" she asked, realizing how very little she knew of Georg's life.

"In a roundabout way. We were part of a strange group of friends. My father worked at the castle before he died; we actually lived there at the time. Lance's father was a military man, and his family lived there, as well. Children of the royal family were schooled along with many of the servants' children. Lance's family had especially strong ties to the royal family. He and Nikolaus du Woernig were always together. And they were both obnoxious children." He chuckled. "I'm glad to say that Lance has mellowed through the years. I wish we could say the same for Nikolaus."

"What trouble those two must have stirred up," Abbi said, not wanting to think about Nikolaus any more than that. "Would that have anything to do with what you named the dogs? It was you who named them, wasn't it?"

Georg laughed. "Yes, it was me. And yes, you're absolutely right. I thought it was rather funny myself."

"Indeed," Abbi said.

They talked a while longer and then Georg gave her another reassuring hug before he left the room.

Days passed into weeks while Abbi endured the effects of her pregnancy and attempted to cope with her loneliness. The worst part was that she couldn't let on to her true feelings except with Georg and Elsa. But at least she had them, she reminded herself. Cameron had no one. She didn't know what she would have done without the opportunity to spend hours talking to Georg about her experiences on the mountain. And with Georg's permission, she had given Elsa a minimal explanation that would help her understand why Abbi was making no effort to rectify being pregnant with an illegitimate child. Of course, to Abbi, it was legitimate. But her marriage was not legal, and it wouldn't be until Cameron returned.

Prone to crying easily, Abbi spent hours each day alone in her room, doing just that. Dr. Furhelm had assured her that emotions became more sensitive with pregnancy, but knowing that didn't make the emptiness go away.

Georg looked at the message in his hands and felt something stab at him. It wasn't so much the words written there, as an underlying tone that felt all too familiar. Cameron was deeply discouraged. Georg had seen through his messages in the past how discouragement had ebbed into despair, and then to a complete loss of hope. It had taken Abbi months to get through the walls he'd created around himself, but Cameron's spirit was still vulnerable, and Georg feared for him. If he didn't stay strong and determined, they would never accomplish what lay before them.

Through the following hours Georg thought deeply on the situation, wondering what might be done. He prayed fervently over the matter, not wanting to do anything that would jeopardize anyone, especially Abbi. By nightfall he had a plan that felt comfortable, and he went to Abbi's room with confidence, knowing it would take little to talk her into what he wanted to do.

The following morning Abbi stood up after finishing her breakfast and announced, "I'll be leaving the country for a few days."

"Leaving?" Ramona gasped. "You're leaving?"

"Yes, I need to take care of some business for my father. There is a conveyance coming through later this morning. Georg will take me to meet it. Everything's arranged."

"But you can't travel alone," Ramona protested. "What if something were to happen? You can't travel alone."

"I'll be fine," Abbi insisted. "I'll be back in a few days."

Abbi hurried to get ready and pack a few things. She managed to avoid her aunts, counting down the minutes while she attempted to conceal her excitement. She met Georg in the stable, wearing a deep green traveling dress with a matching hat pinned into her hair that Elsa had put up tightly to withstand the journey. Georg smiled when he saw her, and he tied her bag to Blaze's saddle. He helped her mount and followed her out of the stable. They rode together through the covered bridge, then into a cluster of trees where they waited for a short while to be absolutely certain there was no one in sight.

"Wouldn't it be better to go up at night?" Abbi asked. "Wouldn't we be less likely to be seen?"

"Perhaps," Georg said, "and I usually take supplies up at night. Either way, we just have to be careful. At night it's harder to see if anyone else is around."

"Makes sense," she said. A minute later she told him, "Georg, if he doesn't figure out that I'm pregnant, I don't want him to know . . . not yet."

He looked surprised. "Do you think he won't notice?"

"I've been feeling much better. And I'm hardly showing, actually, but . . ."

"I won't say anything to him," he said, "if that's what you want to know."

"Thank you," she said. It was difficult to explain her desire to wait until their marriage was official before he knew about the baby. She didn't question Cameron's integrity, but there was a small part of her that wanted to know he would follow through on his promises because of his love for her, not because of any obligation to an unborn child.

They waited a few more minutes, then Georg motioned toward the forest, saying, "I trust you know the way."

Abbi guided Blaze past the fallen tree and to the forest trail, with Georg close behind. He rode past her when they finally got to the meadow, and dismounted near the ridge. He had the opening exposed by the time Abbi stepped out of the stirrups.

"I believe you can manage now," he said, motioning her toward the crevice.

"You're not coming?"

"No. I want to see him, but . . . I think it would be better if I wait until he can taste a little more freedom. It's difficult to explain, but . . ."

"I understand," she said.

He kissed her brow. "God go with you, Abbi," he murmured.

"Thank you, Georg."

"I'll see you in a few days. And remember . . ."

"Hope. Yes, I know. For me, as well as for him."

Georg nodded and motioned for her to go. Abbi moved with little trouble up through the crevice. Georg sent Blaze up after her, and she could hear him putting the thicket back into place below. Abbi took a deep breath to calm her excitement before she mounted Blaze and rode quickly toward the lodge. It was difficult to contain her emotion as it came into view, feeling so much like home to her. How beautiful it looked against the mountainside, surrounded by summer! She thought of coming here last summer. It all looked so much the same. But she was _nothing_ the same. If only she had known!

Abbi took Blaze into the little stable, almost expecting Cameron to be there, considering the time of day. But he wasn't. She removed Blaze's saddle, settled him into his stall alongside the other horses, and walked to the lodge. She opened the door to be greeted by Captain and Duke. She laughed and rubbed their heads, expecting Cameron to appear. She called his name, but it became quickly evident he wasn't there. She wondered if he had gone hunting, but his rifle and crossbow were both on the wall. A walk, perhaps. She left her bag inside and ventured toward the high meadow, hoping it wouldn't take too long to find him. She was grateful to know that Georg had been receiving messages, or she'd be downright worried.

Abbi was surprised at how easily she _did_ find him. She stopped at the edge of the meadow, leaning against a tree to catch her breath. She didn't want him to realize that she was more prone to getting winded in her condition. Abbi drew in a deep sustaining breath, absorbing him into her from a distance. She wished that she had a sketchbook as she took him in. His stance was reticent. She could almost taste his loneliness, and her heart ached for him. His cream-colored shirt clung to his shoulders and chest. He looked exactly as she'd remembered him except for the blanket of wildflowers where he stood. While a part of her wanted to just run toward him, there was something sweet in the anticipation of being in his arms again. _She loved him so much_.

Cameron lost track of the time as he gazed out across the meadow, remembering the times that he and Abbi had ridden Blaze here in the snow. How he wished she could see it now! How he ached to hold her. He glanced around himself, trying to imagine how it might look through her eyes. Gazing upward toward the rocky ledges above him, Cameron wondered if he were going insane. As his gaze had passed over the cluster of trees below, he could have sworn he'd seen her standing among them, blending into the wooded scenery like some kind of forest nymph. He couldn't resist turning back to look again, knowing full well that he'd see nothing but forest.

"Heaven help me," he muttered into the breeze. His heart began to pound. Was he hallucinating? Had he gone mad? He closed his eyes and opened them again. A splash of red hair stood out undeniably against an otherwise green background that swallowed up the dress and hat she wore. "Abbi," he whispered, as if her name might convince him that he was not seeing a mirage.

Abbi's pounding heart threatened to explode when she felt Cameron's eyes come to rest upon her. He took a step toward her. Then another. Slowly, with trepidation, as if he dared not move too quickly. She stepped out of the trees and his pace quickened in response.

"Abbi!" she heard him cry as he broke into a run. She took only a few steps and waited, already too weak with emotion to exert any more energy. He slowed, stopping an arm's length away. Through his labored breathing he asked, "Are you real, Abbi? Are you really here?" She reached out her gloved fingers and took hold of his hand, guiding it to her face. He sighed as if he'd been holding his breath since she last saw him. And then she was in his arms. She couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying as he buried his face against her throat. She laughed herself into tears, her lips aching to meet with his. But he fell to his knees, pressing his hands to her back, his face into the folds of her dress. She eased her fingers into his hair, holding him tightly against her.

"Oh, Abbi. Abbi!" he muttered. "God truly does hear my prayers. Oh, He does, Abbi. He does."

"And mine," she said. He looked up at her face before jumping to his feet in a bout of laughter. Abbi laughed with him as he held her in his arms, lifting her off the ground, twirling with her until he nearly collapsed from dizziness. He finally set her down and took a step back, holding her hands out to her sides as he drank her in with his eyes.

"Look at you," he said with exuberance. "Such a lady!"

"Do you like it?"

"You look like a queen, Abbi my darling." He laughed again. "I can't believe it. But if Georg finds out that you sneaked up here for the afternoon, he'll have both our heads."

"Georg brought me," she said, and Cameron's brows went up. He looked over her shoulder as if he expected his friend to appear. "He didn't come through the ridge," Abbi told him, "but he made certain all was well. And I didn't come for the afternoon." He looked confused and she added with a laugh, "I'm staying a few days."

Cameron felt like a child with a new toy for Christmas. "Is that three or four?"

"Perhaps it could be six or seven."

"Perhaps we shouldn't push our luck."

"Perhaps we shouldn't worry about that right now." She eased closer to him, tipping her head back completely to look into his face. "Perhaps you should kiss me."

"As you wish," he said and pressed his mouth over hers. He kissed her long and hard, over and over, holding her against him, keeping nothing back. Then he took her hand and led her to the center of the meadow, where he sat in the midst of the wildflowers, urging her to sit beside him.

"Talk to me, Abbi. Tell me everything." He tugged at one of her gloves as he spoke, then the other.

"I don't know that there's much to tell. My aunts are still harping at me every chance they get. Although they are pleased with the way I've become such a lady, or so they tell me."

"Indeed," he laughed. "And the captain? Is he still out to win your heart?"

"I believe he is."

Cameron looked concerned, but his expression was more facetious and Abbi laughed.

"I am doing my best to keep him distracted whenever the opportunity arises."

"Good," he drawled. "I think."

Abbi laughed over his blatant jealousy. It felt so good to laugh again.

"And what of His Grace?" Cameron asked. "Has he come searching out your affection?"

"I've not seen him, I'm glad to say."

"And Georg? How is he?" Cameron eased behind Abbi and searched for her hat pin to remove it. He stuck the pin into the hat and set it aside with her gloves.

"Now there's some news," she said. "He's terribly love-stricken, and--"

Cameron stopped and leaned over her shoulder to see if she was serious. "Georg? Love-stricken?"

"Surely he let you know."

"He lets me know _nothing_ beyond whether or not I can breathe. Tell me--who is this enchantress who has melted Georg's bachelor heart?" He began pulling pins from her hair as he spoke, setting them into her hat for safekeeping.

"It's Elsa," she said.

"What? The lady's maid?"

"The very same." Abbi laughed. "Apparently they were both missing me terribly through the winter, and found comfort in each other's company."

With the pins removed, Cameron maneuvered his hands through her hair, as if it were fine silk. He pushed it all over one of her shoulders and kissed the back of her neck. Abbi made a pleasurable noise and relaxed her back against his chest. He put his arms around her and eased her closer.

"So," he murmured, kissing her neck again, "are there wedding bells in the air for Georg and Elsa?"

Abbi turned to face him so quickly that it startled him. She laughed as she said, "They're already married."

"Surely you're joking." Cameron looked at her sideways. "Georg is _married?_ And he didn't _tell_ me?"

"You didn't tell him that _we_ were married."

Cameron sighed. "Yes, that's true."

"In fact, they were married the day before we were. When he let you know he was leaving the country, he was going on a honeymoon."

Cameron laughed. "That's incredible."

"Yes, it is. And they're expecting a baby."

Cameron's expression became severe.

"What is it?" she asked, touching his face.

Cameron shook his head and smiled. "It's just . . . difficult to believe. I'm truly happy for him. Georg is the best of men."

"There is one better, in my own humble opinion." She kissed him meekly.

"Yes, well, at least Georg is free to live his life fully."

"You will be free, just as he is, Cameron. I know you will."

He shook his head, marveling at her faith. "How do you know, Abbi? Did you dream my freedom?"

She glanced down and took his hand into hers. "Only in daydreams," she admitted. "But in my heart, I just know . . . that you will be free."

"I pray your dreams come true, Abbi, for your sake as well as mine. We should be together. I should be taking care of you. But there is so much uncertainty." He hung his head and took both her hands into his. "Abbi, there is something I need to ask you."

"I'm listening," she said.

"If . . . we fail in proving my innocence, the only chance for me is to . . . what I'm trying to say is . . . if it becomes necessary, would you be willing to leave the country with me? To leave Germany if we have to? Do you think we could start over somewhere else, take on new identities, and be happy? Would you be willing to do that, Abbi . . . if it becomes necessary?"

"Yes, Cameron," she said without missing a heartbeat. "I would give up all that I own to have a life with you."

"Oh, Abbi." He pulled her close and held her tightly. "My dear, precious Abbi. I thank God night and day for having you in my life--even though we've been so far apart."

Cameron lay back on the ground, easing Abbi with him, and the surrounding wildflowers swallowed them. Looking up at her with the sun overhead, her face became lost in the shadows. But her hair caught fire from the light shining through it, surrounding her head like some kind of flaming halo.

"Abbi," he murmured, touching her hair as if it might burn him, "you are my light. You are my hope." His voice became husky with emotion as he pulled her to him, holding her desperately close. "You are as essential to me as my air to breathe."

Abbi couldn't hold back tears as she noticed the moisture in Cameron's eyes. She inhaled his presence as if he were _her_ air to breathe, then she pressed her face to his shoulder, clinging to him with the same desperation.

Holding her in his arms, Cameron felt all of his emotion disperse into a passion unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He kissed her as if he could pull her inside himself and keep her there forever. She responded eagerly as he rolled her into the blanket of flowers and lifted her skirts into his hands.

"Abbi," he murmured over and over as he fought to fulfill this starving, thirsting need he had for all that she could give him. Strength filled his weary spirit, and he felt sure he could die here in her arms and have no regrets.

Long after he'd made love to her, Cameron lay in perfect contentment, simply watching her as she sat beside him, leaning back on her hands, the July breeze toying with her hair. When she pressed a hand over his face, he eased closer, nestling his head in her lap.

"It's cooler here than in the valley," she said. "The breeze feels good."

"Yes, summer is nice here now that you're with me."

Abbi began picking the flowers around her, giggling as she put them one by one into Cameron's hair. When he realized what she was doing, he sat up and shook his head, sending them flying. He brushed his hands through his hair, then reached for her, but she jumped to her feet and backed away.

"Wretched woman," he growled with a laugh.

Nothing was said between them as Abbi wandered aimlessly through the meadow, taking in her surroundings as if she were in some great museum. Cameron sat where he was, watching her with the same kind of awe. He picked several flowers with long stems and idly wove them together, while she picked some of every color and put them into a bouquet, occasionally lifting it to her face to inhale the unique fragrance. Slowly, she ambled back to stand above him.

"What have you got there?" she asked, kneeling before him. Cameron knelt to face her and put the crown of woven flowers over her head.

"There now," he said, clearly pleased with himself. "Those flowers have never looked prettier."

Abbi looked up into his eyes. "I love you, Cameron."

Cameron pulled her into his arms, holding her as close as humanly possible, praying with all his heart and soul that he might soon be free.

They walked back to the lodge hand in hand, and Abbi wore her crown of flowers until long after they had eaten dinner.

"I can't believe you're really here," Cameron said as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.

Abbi noticed her book of sketches on the bedside table and knew she'd put it away before leaving. She felt touched by the evidence that he'd searched it out and kept it close. She removed the crown from her head and laid it reverently on the little desk in the bedroom. Then she turned and lifted her bag onto the trunk at the foot of the bed to unpack it.

"What is this?" he asked in mock astonishment.

"No need for Gwendolyn's things," she said. "I've come prepared this time."

"So you have," he said just as she pulled out a bottle of wine that had been carefully wrapped in her nightgown.

His eyes widened as she handed it to him. "Georg sent this. He told me to have you read the card."

Cameron set the bottle aside and removed the little card that had been tied to it. His vision blurred before he could finish, then he squeezed his eyes shut in silent prayer.

"What does it say?" Abbi asked and he held it out to her, grateful that she read it aloud. He needed to hear it again. " 'Here's to freedom, my friend. Before summer's end, it will be yours, I swear it.' "

Sharing Cameron's emotion, Abbi sat on the bed beside him, where they held each other and cried. "I pray to God he's right, Abbi. Or I shall lose my mind."

"Everything will be all right," she whispered, lying back on the bed with him. "In my heart, I know everything will be all right." Cameron held her tighter, wondering how he had ever survived without her.

Abbi found the following day to be absolute bliss as they worked together to do the minimal chores, just as they had done for so long. She loved being outdoors with him, enjoying the warm weather. Together they pulled weeds and watered the garden he had planted, and they took fresh vegetables into the house to eat. In the evening they celebrated their reunion with a fine meal by candlelight, and by sharing the wine Georg had sent. After Cameron poured it out into two goblets, Abbi lifted hers toward him, saying firmly, "To freedom."

"To freedom," Cameron repeated with a conviction that was stirring.

Their days together were filled with laughter and passion as they picnicked in the meadow, rode together, and shared long talks by the fire while summer breezes filled the lodge. Abbi couldn't help but feel disheartened when the message came from Georg that she needed to return and he would be meeting her at midday in the meadow below the ridge. But she reminded herself to appreciate this time she had been able to share with Cameron, and to keep a bright outlook for the future. While a part of her longed to tell Cameron of her secret, knowing he would find a great deal of joy, she felt peace over waiting until they were reunited again. She wondered if he might notice the changes in her body, however slight they were at this point. But his only comment had been, "I daresay you've filled out some, Abbi girl. They must feed you better than I did."

Cameron struggled not to think too much about letting Abbi go, instead concentrating on the perspective their time together had given him. While he deeply dreaded being separated from her again, he felt rejuvenated and replenished, giving him a brighter hope of getting through the remaining weeks of summer.

At midday he helped Abbi down through the ridge, trying to think only of being one step closer to putting all of this behind them. They'd only been in the meadow a minute when Georg emerged from the forest. He stopped when he saw them, and for a long moment the two men stared at each other. The distance was too far for Cameron to make out Georg's features, but he could feel the kinship they'd always shared. A part of him wanted to get closer, to shake his hand, to feel his brotherly embrace. But for now, the anticipation of sharing such a moment in another place was sweeter. Enjoying Georg's friendship again was something he'd come to equate with his own freedom from this place.

Cameron turned to Abbi, knowing there was no time for delay. The likelihood of his being seen here was incredibly remote, but Georg would not tolerate risks to any degree.

"There's nothing I can say except that I love you, Abbi."

"And I love you," she said.

They held each other tightly, and he kissed her as if he might never have the chance again. Pulling back reluctantly, he helped her mount Blaze and watched her gallop away. When she reached Georg's side, she turned back and touched her lips and waved. Cameron returned the gesture. Then Georg held a fist in the air as a gesture of triumph, and Cameron returned that as well. He stood there for several minutes after they had disappeared into the forest before slowly making his way back into his isolated world.

"I've decided to take up painting," Abbi announced at the dinner table. She'd come up with the idea that morning when her reflection in the mirror revealed an unmistakable bulge that had appeared almost overnight in the week since she'd left Cameron. To begin painting seemed a perfect idea. It was something she'd considered on occasion as an avenue to go a step further with her interest in drawing, and now seemed a good time. Not only would it give her something with which to occupy her time, but it provided a wonderful excuse to wear smocks over her dresses. Many of her clothes were high-waisted and full enough to conceal her swelling figure, but there were some that would never hide the truth. Wearing smocks would bring less attention than a change of wardrobe.

"That sounds very clever, my dear." Ramona seemed pleased. "Very clever."

"Is this a new interest?" Salina added.

"I've done some drawing in the past," Abbi stated, "but I've had an urge to take my creativity a step further."

"I think it's admirable," Lance said. "I wish you well."

"Thank you, Lance." Abbi gave him a genuine smile.

"How does one go about getting started in such a thing?" Salina asked.

"I suppose I'll start tomorrow by getting some of the necessary equipment. Amazingly enough, I saw some oils and brushes for sale the last time I went into town, as well as a book of instruction. I hope someone hasn't snatched them up."

"You're going into town tomorrow, then?" Lance asked.

"Yes, it's the seventeenth. I need to see my father. I went last month but they told me he was ill, so I've not seen him since I returned." Abbi knew that everyone was well aware of the situation with her visits to her father, and the unusual circumstances seemed to be taken for granted.

"That will be nice for you then," Ramona said. "Yes, it will be nice."

"Would you like me to accompany you?" Lance asked, staring intently at her over the table.

"No, thank you," she replied. "He's requested that I always come alone."

"Very well," Lance said. "You will be careful?"

"Of course," she added and excused herself to go to bed.

The following morning, Abbi felt anxious to get on her way and ate breakfast quickly. She'd looked forward to seeing her father again ever since Cameron had told her they'd worked together. Of course, she couldn't tell her father about that. But she longed to see him nevertheless.

"So," Georg said as he saddled Blaze, "today is the seventeenth."

"Yes, it is."

"It's been a long time since you've seen your father. Do you think he'll be there?"

"I hope so," Abbi said as she mounted.

"So do I," Georg said severely. "So do I," he repeated to himself as he watched her leave.

Abbi rode Blaze slowly toward the park in the center of town, wondering as Georg had if he would even be there. She had not seen him for nine months--a reality that left her unnerved under the circumstances. She was glad to remember that she wasn't the only person aware of her father's circumstances. Sitting on the usual bench, she waited nervously until she saw her father approaching with his relentless armed guards not far behind.

"Father," she stood and called to him. He nearly ran when he saw her. As he hugged her tightly, Abbi believed this was the most enthusiasm she'd seen in him since before her mother had been killed. Perhaps he had missed her.

"Abbi my dear, it's so good to see you alive and well. I was told that you'd disappeared and I had feared the worst. But you appear to be fine."

"I'm doing well," she insisted. "And you?"

Gerhard glanced discreetly toward the guards, who stood just out of hearing range. "As well as could be expected."

They sat together on the bench and he asked her some questions about her winter away, which she answered cryptically.

"I must confess that I've missed you dreadfully, Abbi."

"I've missed you too," she replied, longing to tell him all of her secrets. How would he react to knowing that she had secretly married the man he had once tried to coerce into marrying her? She wanted to tell him he was going to be a grandfather. But she simply asked, "And so, how have you been all these months?"

"Nothing new," he stated with his usual tone that indicated he'd rather not discuss his life. "I should be going," he said as he took her hands into his. He glanced down and Abbi's heart quickened before she fully absorbed the shock in his expression.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded brusquely, pulling her wrist close to his face to examine the bracelet.

Abbi was so caught off guard that she couldn't find her voice. Her father looked into her eyes with an intensity that was frightening. "Don't lie to me, daughter. Tell me where you got it!"

"I, uh . . . the man who took care of me this winter. He gave it to me."

"Who?"

"I don't know his name. I told you that."

Gerhard looked searchingly into her eyes for a long moment, then he tugged at the bracelet, taking it from her wrist. Abbi was upset but too stunned to say so. The bracelet had been on her arm since Cameron had put it there when they'd been married. Her father looked inside the bracelet, squinting to read an inscription that Abbi hadn't even realized was there. Then he looked away from her, emotion straining his voice as he spoke more to himself. "Could it be possible?"

Turning to look at her again, he asked imperatively, "Abbi, this man, did he know who you are--that you're my daughter?"

"Yes," she said, praying in her heart that this would not bring some harm to Cameron.

"Did he know that you would see me when you returned?"

"Yes," she said again. Then her father looked heavenward and laughed.

The guards approached to indicate their visit was over. Gerhard put the bracelet into Abbi's hand, kissing her brow as he stood. "I love you, Princess," he said. "You are a walking miracle." He turned and left with his escorts.

Abbi willed her shock to subside, but in its place a sick knot gathered in her throat. What if her father was one of those working against Cameron? Had she disclosed something that would put him in peril? She wondered if her father's circumstances had any connection to Cameron's. The thought was too incredible to comprehend. But then, she'd learned long ago to respect coincidences. The inscription her father had read inside the bracelet would probably give her a clue, but she hesitated to look at it, not certain she wanted to know. Cameron had said this bracelet was a family heirloom. Perhaps the inscription might indicate something of his true identity. Carefully Abbi looked inside at the tiny lettering, hoping to discover something about the man whose child she carried. What she read left her totally surprised. _To LeeAnna, my forever love, Gerhard_.

It _was_ a family heirloom! But it was from Abbi's family, not Cameron's. Abbi felt more puzzled than ever as she slipped her mother's bracelet back over her wrist, wondering why Cameron would have had it in his possession.

Abbi left the park to do her other errands, delighted to find the painting supplies she needed with little trouble. She paid for the purchase and arranged to have it delivered the following day. Then she ordered several paint smocks in various fabrics and paid for them as well.

Riding slowly homeward, Abbi's thoughts were overwhelmed by how little she knew about Cameron. She was carrying his child, yet she knew almost nothing about his circumstances or background. She had married him without question, but she had no idea what her name would be when their marriage was made legal.

A dull ache settled low in her back, and she dismounted to lead the horse for a few minutes in order to give her muscles some diversion. She was aware of people passing on the road in both directions, but it wasn't until a white stallion fell in time with her steps that she interrupted her train of thought and looked up.

"Your Grace," she said sarcastically as she looked into the eyes of Nikolaus du Woernig. She found it ironic to see how evil he looked now that she knew his true character. She wondered how she ever could have been foolish enough to believe that he had any good intentions whatsoever. She concluded that he was a very good actor when he wanted to be.

"Abbi, my sweet." He smiled like the devil. "It's been a long time."

"Not long enough," she replied.

"Have you considered my offer?" he asked, ignoring her rudeness.

"I have. And I'm not interested."

He chuckled. "Why not? I'm not such a bad guy."

"You're worse than bad," she sneered. "Besides, I'm in love with another man."

"Now that," he smirked, "is no problem. Lance is certainly a nice enough guy, but I doubt he has the passion a woman like you deserves. I'm certain we could make arrangements to keep you happy in all respects."

Abbi was furious. She felt certain there was no man on the face of the earth lower than the Duke of Horstberg. She glared up at him, feeling delightfully treasonous as she spat, "You can go to hell, Nikolaus du Woernig."

He threw back his head and laughed. "I've already been there, and it was too crowded." His expression sobered as he added with arrogance, "It's _Your Grace_ to you, wench."

He broke into a gallop and was soon out of sight, but it took Abbi several minutes to calm the anger he had spurred in her. She hated that man zealously, and she couldn't help wondering what kind of power Cameron held over him with knowledge that had the potential to see him undone. The very idea gave her a great deal of pleasure.

The following Sunday Abbi went to church with Georg, Elsa, and Marta. She noticed that many of the servants from her household also attended. She'd meant to go ever since her return, but laziness or illness had kept her away. Now she felt a strong desire to make religion a regular habit in her life, if only to express gratitude for all that God had done for her.

There were many branches of the church throughout the valley, but her household attended the main branch that met in the great cathedral, where the bishop himself conducted the service. Of course, the cathedral was the meeting place closest to the estate, since it had to be passed in order to get into the heart of town. But Abbi enjoyed its atmosphere as opposed to the other small, quaint church buildings. She truly enjoyed the service and felt a strengthening of her hope as she listened to the sermon.

Within a matter of days, Abbi settled easily into her new hobby. She felt awkward at first with the brush in her hand, but still she enjoyed working at her semblance of art. She experimented endless hours with mixing colors and dabbing oils sporadically onto canvas to determine how to achieve different effects. Her first project was a painting of roses from the garden, and then she decided she'd like to paint something from memory and see how it turned out.

With zeal and purpose, Abbi first did a rough sketch of the view she'd seen of the valley of Horstberg from the high ridge. She worked on it every spare minute, indulging in fond memories and sweet dreams as it gradually began to take form. And by keeping busy the time went more quickly, which made her dreams feel almost close enough to touch.
Chapter Fifteen

AT LAST

Georg leaned in the stable doorway, watching Abbi across the lawn where she sat on the little bench, painting--as she often did these days. He was grateful she'd found something to occupy her time and ease the waiting. He only wished he had some such hobby. But nothing could relinquish his anxiety over the passing of time while access to vital information eluded him. Before the lieutenant's death, a puzzle had been carefully put together that would allow them to get to the witness at the same time the duke would be out of the country. Now Georg had set events in motion that needed to be followed through before they lost momentum. But any access to their witness continued to escape them. He'd prayed for help until his head hurt. He'd thought and stewed. He'd discussed it with anyone trustworthy who had any connection at all. The situation appeared hopeless. He was beginning to wonder if their best option might be to just get Cameron and Abbi out of the country and allow more time to pass. Maybe he should have done that to begin with. The thought made him curse under his breath and return to his work.

Since Cameron had been arrested, Georg had done his best to feel his instincts and do what he believed was best on his friend's behalf. But now he had to wonder. He felt discouraged and completely inadequate to accomplish what Cameron had put into his hands. Or perhaps his involvement was more God's doing. Either way, Georg wasn't sure they had the right man for the job.

An hour later Georg looked up to see a man in uniform riding toward the stable. He had no idea who this man was or what his purpose might be. He kept a steady expression as he stepped outside to meet him, but he couldn't help wondering if he should be concerned.

"I'm looking for Georg Heinrich," he said, dismounting.

"That's me," Georg said without betraying his own anxiety.

"A friend told me you had some excellent horses for sale."

Georg smiled. "Yes, we do."

"Farold Garver." He introduced himself and held out a hand which Georg shook firmly. "Could I see what you have? I'm looking for something special for my daughter."

"Of course." Georg walked down the long row of stalls in the stable, pointing out the assets of each animal available. Then they walked outside to the main corral where several horses were lazily grazing.

As both men leaned against the fence, Officer Garver said, "You do have some magnificent animals. I'm impressed."

"I can't take much credit," Georg said. "I just work here. I take care of the animals and train them. Someone else is responsible for their quality."

"And that would be . . ."

"Josef Albrecht. Although he's passed away now."

"You carry on his work beautifully." Officer Garver turned his back to the fence and leaned against it. "I understand his granddaughter has inherited the estate."

"That's right," Georg said, nonchalant but cautious.

"I also understand that her father would give a great deal to be back here again."

"And how is that?" Georg's heart quickened for an entirely different reason as the fear he'd experienced earlier turned to an obscure hope.

"I talk to him regularly."

Georg searched his instincts, hoping they weren't nearly so far gone as he'd begun to believe. "You didn't come here to buy a horse, did you."

"Not today." He glanced over his shoulder. "When I need one, I'll certainly know where to come."

"Why _are_ you here?" Georg asked, watching this man's eyes carefully. He'd learned a great deal in recent years about finding integrity in a man's eyes.

"Gerhard Albrecht sent me. He would have come himself, but . . . that _is_ the heart of the problem, now isn't it?" The officer smiled.

"Delivering messages for an exiled criminal could be misconstrued as treason. His Grace has executed men for less. Why take the risk?"

"Because there's something not right about this whole situation. I don't know of a single person beyond His Grace who has even a clue concerning Gerhard's crime. He's guarded every minute of the day, given anything he asks for beyond his freedom. It makes no sense. I like Gerhard. I think it's time he got a fair trial; a trial at all would be a good start." He laughed with an edge. "Besides, His Grace won't find out I'm delivering messages . . . as long as _you_ don't tell anybody."

"Why would I?"

"Gerhard told me I could trust you. I have no reason to believe otherwise."

"You can trust me," Georg said.

Garver looked into Georg's eyes. "Yes, I believe I can."

"So, what's the message?"

"He told me to tell you that he has reason to believe Cameron's alive, and if that's the case, to tell you that he has the information you need."

Georg's heart beat painfully fast. He had the feeling he was looking at the man who could be their final key. He just didn't know how to ask.

The officer cleared his throat. "Cameron's not a terribly common name for a German man. In fact, I'd wager there aren't two of them in the country--which makes it even less likely that there would be more than one Cameron believed dead. And I'd wager if Gerhard knows something about this Cameron, it could well explain why His Grace keeps such a close eye on him."

"That sounds logical to me," Georg said.

Garver chuckled. "You're a cautious man."

"I have to be."

"So, I'll do my best to make it easy for you. _If_ this Cameron is alive, and he knows what I think he knows, I would gladly do anything in my power to help him. But don't count on me saying that under oath."

"Of course not," Georg said blandly while inside he bubbled with excitement.

"My shifts with Gerhard are Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from two to midnight. And every other Sunday. If you need to get information to me, my home is on Bader Street, number twenty-seven." He smirked subtly. "My wife makes tatted lace; a fine gift for any woman. You might want to come and look at it. You can leave any message with her."

Georg's excitement calmed to gratitude. He reached out to shake the officer's hand, but they gripped forearms instead. "Thank you," Georg said. "It would seem you are the answer to many prayers."

Garver tightened his grip. "It would seem you are the same."

Georg watched him ride away, not knowing whether to shout for joy or fall to his knees. He turned his face heavenward and laughed. Then in reverence he muttered, "Thank you, God. Between us, we may get through this yet."

On a warm afternoon in August, Abbi made herself comfortable on the lawn to paint, her materials laid out on the bench beside her. But she stared at the image in front of her more than she put any effort into dabbing paint on the canvas. Occasionally she gazed toward the mountain, as if doing so might refresh her memory of the view looking down from that high ridge where Cameron had taken her.

Sadness enveloped Abbi against her strongest effort to keep it at bay. Time was passing, and it wouldn't be much longer before her misshapen figure would become obvious no matter what she wore. Georg assured her daily that he was doing all he could, and he would hold to his promise to see Cameron off that mountain before the end of summer--one way or another. But the waiting had become ponderous. Her hopes and dreams seemed difficult to grasp when loneliness and discouragement were her constant companions. And she knew that whatever she might be feeling, Cameron had to be feeling it tenfold. Her heart ached for him and the loneliness he had to endure. She prayed it would not be much longer.

Abbi was not surprised to see Lance approach. As always, she was struck by the distinction of the uniform, and the impressive effect of the sword and pistol at his sides. She noticed too that he always wore a small scabbard on his belt that housed an elegant dagger. It looked a little too fine to be standard military issue, and she wondered if it had significance.

"Hello," she said, appreciating a distraction from her melancholy thoughts.

"Hello." He set a hand on her shoulder to observe her work for a moment. "It's very nice, Abbi," he said. "I must say for a beginner you're doing very well. Not that I'm any great art critic."

"I thank heaven you're not." She laughed.

Lance moved her things aside and sat down on the bench. "As long as you're enjoying your work, it shouldn't matter what anyone thinks."

"That's true."

"Still, I like it."

"Thank you, Lance. You're kind as always."

A minute later he spoke in a tone that caught her attention. "Abbi, I'd like to talk to you, if I may."

Abbi stopped painting but left her brush poised, wondering if this would be what she'd been expecting for weeks now. "I'm listening," she said, still concentrating on her work.

"Abbi, you know I'm a man of few words, but I think the time has come that you should know . . . I would like it very much if . . . we were to marry."

Abbi swallowed carefully. She didn't want to lead him on, but she couldn't help recalling Cameron's admonition regarding the captain before she'd left the mountain. _The nearer we get to my coming down from here, the more distracted I want him to be_. She set her brush aside and glanced down, laughing softly in an effort to cover her nerves. "Lance, your offer is very flattering, but . . . we hardly know each other."

"We've spent regular time together since you've returned. We dine together practically every day."

Abbi listened with patience. Everything he said was true. He had increasingly spent more and more of his free time here. Occasionally he even spent the night. His company always delighted Ramona and Salina, and Abbi often hovered near them. It had eased her boredom and allowed her to keep her promise to Cameron.

"I've talked with you more than any woman I've ever known," he went on. "I doubt we could know each other better than that." Abbi was amazed at his naiveté. He didn't have any idea what a real relationship should be like, or he wouldn't be proposing to her.

"Lance," she said gently, "we've spent a great deal of time together, but . . . we really know very little about each other--not about the things that matter in a marriage."

"I know that you're all I'd ever need or want in a wife."

His statement made her wonder what his perception of a wife might be.

"Does love fit in with your plan?" she asked.

"I care very much for you. I would do everything in my power to make you happy."

Abbi glanced down and had to admit, "I know."

"Do you find me distasteful, Abbi? Have I done or said something that makes you hesitate?"

"No," she said, looking into his eyes. "You're a good man, Lance. And you've always been kind and caring. I'm grateful for your friendship. I just . . . don't know if this is the right choice for my life."

Lance leaned back and sighed. "Will you think about it?"

Abbi felt some relief. At least that would give her time and allow them to continue on as they were. "Yes, I'll think about it. Thank you."

Lance stayed and visited with her for a while, but Abbi sensed a tension between them that hadn't been there before. That evening at dinner she was shocked when Ramona said, "Abbi, my dear, is there a reason you've turned down Lance's proposal of marriage?" Abbi looked up at Lance, somewhat relieved to see that he was embarrassed by his stepmother's intrusion. "Is there a reason?" Ramona repeated.

"Ramona," Lance said, "I told you what was going on because you asked, but I don't see where Abbi's decisions are anyone's business but her own."

Abbi made a mental note to thank him for that later. Sitting there in his uniform she could almost imagine a great hero defending her against a dragon. Ramona certainly wasn't all that bad, but her overt opinions and nosiness were often bothersome and frustrating.

Ramona looked stunned and Abbi clarified, "I didn't turn him down, Aunt Ramona. I told him I needed some time to think about it."

"I hope you think about it carefully. Yes, I do hope," Ramona continued, apparently not the least bit deterred by Lance's reprimand. "You really should marry. Salina and I don't want to stay here until you turn twenty-one. You really should marry."

"Speak for yourself, sister," Salina interjected and Abbi glanced at her affectionately. "I should like to stay forever."

"Hush up," Ramona scolded before turning again to Abbi. "A woman in your position needs a husband, my dear, and I don't see any other prospects. Lance is a good man. You really should reconsider. Lance is a good man."

Abbi felt angry as she considered for the first time that perhaps Ramona had ulterior motives. If Abbi married Lance, he could care well for his stepmother with Abbi's money. Though nothing had been said to that effect, she couldn't help wondering if it had crossed Ramona's mind.

Later that evening, Abbi's anger turned to fear as she sat alone in her room. According to Dr. Furhelm's calculations, she was nearly halfway through her pregnancy. And still she and Cameron were living in separate worlds. The doctor had come every two weeks, assuring her all was well with each visit. But his visits depressed her as they marked another passage of time. And everything was made worse with the reality that the fair would be the day after tomorrow. How could she forget Cameron's promise that they would be together, that they would share the folk-dance? She'd already committed to going with her aunts, but the thought of being there without Cameron incited knots in her stomach. How could she bear it?

Abbi found it difficult to sleep as worries and fears assaulted her. Finally she turned her mind to prayer, desperately seeking some peace and hope for the future. She recalled Georg telling her about the lieutenant who had lost his life for Cameron's sake, and the wife and children he had left behind. Abbi reminded herself that she had much to be grateful for, and with her gratitude came the hope she so desperately needed. She prayed Cameron might feel that same hope, and with thoughts of him she fell asleep.

Cameron walked toward the stable, looking around him at the signs of summer becoming late. Georg had promised him that, one way or another, he would be off this mountain before autumn. But each day felt like a month and he ached to be away from here and, mostly, to be with Abbi. Freedom was a dream further still beyond his reach.

In the stable Cameron found a message waiting for him. He couldn't help hoping that it might be good news. But he had hoped the same thing every day, and as of yet it had always been information of one kind or another, coming in bits and pieces to prepare him for the state of affairs he would be returning to.

Cameron put his glasses on and opened the little paper to read: _All here is as good as it will get. I'll see you tomorrow. Everything as planned_. For a moment Cameron couldn't breathe. He had to read it again, just to be sure. And again. Then he lifted his face heavenward and let out a joyful cry before he sank to his knees and thanked God for finally giving him another chance. He prayed that all would go well, that he and Abbi would remain safe. And that he truly might be free when all was said and done.

After a good night's sleep, Abbi went straight to the stable. She didn't feel at all like riding, but she needed Georg's company, if not his reassurance. She walked in and found him smiling.

"What?" she demanded. "Is it good news?"

Georg's smile deepened as he held out a little piece of paper. Abbi took it and read. Her hands trembled as she recognized Cameron's handwriting. _Assemble! I'm coming down_.

"Oh Georg," she cried, pressing the paper to her heart. "Is it really true?" Abbi sighed with unexplainable relief. "He's coming? At last?"

"A few days, at the most," he promised and Abbi threw herself into his arms. Georg laughed and lifted her off the ground. Even the prospect of being without Cameron at the fair tomorrow didn't feel quite so grim. Just to have him back in her life at all would be heaven.

Cameron quickly set to work, knowing there was much to be done. Still, as busy as he was, the day dragged far too slowly. He scoured the lodge and stables, wanting everything in a condition that could be left indefinitely. He packed a change of clothes and some personal items into saddle bags, knowing Georg would come up soon to get whatever else he might need. Georg wanted Cameron's transition to go quickly, with the least possibility of drawing any attention. Traveling light was essential.

Cameron hardly slept that night while his thoughts churned with excitement. When morning came he moved about the lodge, touching pieces of his seclusion in bittersweet farewell. He walked through one last time, making certain all was in order, then he saw to the animals' needs, leaving plenty of food and water to last until Georg came up. He told Duke and Captain good-bye, ruffling their ears. "Georg will be back for you before long," he said. "And perhaps very soon, you will belong to a very important man."

Cameron sighed and threw his cloak around his shoulders. He went briskly to the stable and saddled one of his horses, bidding farewell to the other. Going down through the crevice in the rock was like moving into another dimension of time. He felt as if his world had stopped when he'd come here over four years ago. Now it was beginning again. He turned back to put the thicket in place over the opening, then he remounted and headed down the forest trail, trying to imagine the times Abbi had ridden this trail. It was more narrow and treacherous than he'd remembered, and he marveled that any woman would be so fearless.

Cameron emerged from the forest and crossed the fallen tree, coming into the open at last. He took a deep, life-sustaining breath and paused to absorb the view. Below him Horstberg glistened in the morning light. He gazed long and hard at the castle, sitting magnificently against the mountain, and he wondered if it might really be possible for him to return there and resume the position he'd left behind. If he did, would he be well received? The idea was as frightening as it was exhilarating.

A thousand thoughts hurtled through Cameron's mind, but he put them all aside and concentrated instead on Abbi. She was his hope, his strength. She had led him out of his personal hell, and God willing, she would continue to guide him toward freedom. Thoughts of her prompted him to heel the mare forward. He galloped through the covered bridge and had to pause again as the Albrecht estate came into view. It had been familiar to him as a youth through his rare visits to Georg, but he'd never dreamed the connection he would find to it now. Perhaps he should have visited Georg more often.

"Abbi," he murmured and galloped on, slowing as he approached, going carefully to be certain all was well. The stable doors were wide open, and he could see that Georg was alone, sitting on a stool, bent over some tool that he was sharpening with a whet-stone. Cameron dismounted and led the horse by the reins through the doorway. The grinding noise kept Georg from hearing Cameron's entrance, and he paused to absorb the presence of his friend; never had there been a truer friend than Georg. The years fled as he observed how little Georg had changed. And he was grateful that he had waited until now for their reunion. The moment was sweet, knowing how far they had come--in spite of what still lay ahead.

"Hello, my friend," Cameron said. The grinding ceased. Their surroundings became eerily silent as Georg looked up, then rose to his feet.

Georg had to contend with a burning in his eyes as the significance of this moment came home to him. The tragic nature of these years in Cameron's life was evidenced by the stark change in his face. Georg had spent much time looking at the drawing Abbi had done of him last summer. The beard was not a surprise, and she had captured something of the way he had changed. But even that had not prepared him for the difference. Cameron had always looked younger than his age, but now he had caught up with, and even surpassed his years. He'd aged ten years in four and the reasons starkly reminded Georg of his own inner turmoil on Cameron's behalf all this time. He reminded himself that it was almost behind them. They were on the brink of a new life. They were together again. How could he not be grateful? They stood for a long moment just facing each other until Georg let out a laugh that suppressed every other emotion. "I don't know what to say."

Cameron held out his right hand. They gripped forearms tightly, then wrapped their free arms around each other in a firm embrace that didn't begin to express all they felt.

"I can't believe it," Cameron muttered, still holding to his friend. "I just can't believe it."

"That makes two of us," Georg replied and they laughed together.

"Where is Abbi?" Cameron asked as he stepped back.

Georg smiled to recall Abbi once saying indignantly, _Trust me when I tell you that_ I _will be his first concern when he shows his face._

"She's gone to the fair with her aunts."

"Already?" he asked, his disappointment evident.

Georg noticed the little bouquet of wildflowers in Cameron's left hand. "Are those for me? Or did you want me to pass them along to Abbi?"

"I would prefer giving them to her myself," he insisted.

"You can't very well go traipsing into the house in broad daylight, even if she were there." He took the flowers from Cameron. "I'll leave them in her room."

"Wait," Cameron said as he took a single blue flower out of the bouquet and tucked it into his pocket.

"You get back on that horse," Georg said, "and go to the fair--just as we planned." Cameron smiled at the thought. "Leave the saddle bags, and . . . oh, just a minute." Georg walked away and Cameron removed the bags before Georg returned, holding out a small sack. "You'll need this," Georg said, exchanging the sack for the saddle bags, which he slung over his shoulder, still holding the bouquet in one hand.

"What is it?" Cameron asked, opening the sack cautiously. Then he laughed to see a mask, typical of those worn by fair-goers for as long as he could remember.

"It's you," Georg said.

"No," he replied lightly, but with severity in his eyes, "it's _not_ me. It's what I'm hiding behind."

"One day soon," Georg replied with the same seriousness, "there will be no more hiding."

"Very soon, I hope," Cameron said, reaching back beneath his cloak to tuck the sack into the waistband of his breeches. "How do I find her in such a crowd, Georg?" he asked, remounting his horse.

"Funny you should ask. My wife went with them. She told me they'd stay mostly to the east side of the square and check there regularly in case I decided to join them."

Cameron chuckled. "You think of everything."

"I do my best," Georg said and reached up to grip Cameron's hand. "I'll find you later in town. You know what to do?"

Cameron nodded. "I've gone over it in my head a million times."

"God go with you, Cameron," Georg said, and watched him gallop away.

Abbi had tried to continue with her normal routine since Georg had given her the good news, but she found herself constantly watching for Cameron to appear. She became jumpy and on edge, almost expecting him to emerge from some dark corner without warning.

Desperately needing a diversion, she was grateful when Salina insisted on leaving for the fair early. Forcing her thoughts from Cameron, she settled into the carriage with her aunts and Elsa, concentrating on her excitement over the day.

Abbi had attended the fair yearly since she was a child. She had vague memories of going once with her parents. In the years since her mother's death, her grandfather had taken her. There was always a variety of fascinating entertainment, and traditionally it was a day of mischief. People dressed in all varieties of costumes and masks to disguise themselves, and Abbi liked the mystery in the air. It was mostly the commoners who participated fully in the event. But Abbi, as well as many others of her class, enjoyed spending the day in town just to witness the gala event.

The carriage had barely passed the covered bridge when Ramona began to complain. "It's outright dangerous I tell you, dangerous. All those people gallivanting about the streets, in masks and capes and such. A decent person can't even tell who anybody is. I told you last night, I don't want to spend the day not knowing who anybody is."

"You could have stayed home," Salina said fervently.

"I didn't want to stay home all alone," Ramona insisted. "No, I don't like to be alone."

"I wouldn't miss the fair for love or money. And especially not for you, my fuddy duddy sister."

Ramona gave her sister a glare of disgust and Abbi stepped in on Salina's defense. "The fair isn't dangerous, Ramona. I'm certain you'll be glad that you went. Just wait and see. We'll have a glorious time." Abbi felt an unexpected stab of regret as she thought of Cameron, but she hurried to push it away. She could feel her sadness later when she was alone. For now, she was determined to enjoy this day.

Ramona looked defeated, as if she were resolved to be miserable. "I certainly didn't want to stay home alone all day. Since you were both going, I had no choice. I didn't want to be alone all day."

Abbi and Salina smiled at each other, and Salina added smugly, "Must you always repeat yourself, dear?"

Ramona clearly had no idea what her sister was talking about and only made a huffy noise in response. Abbi exchanged a smile with Elsa, turning to concentrate on the view out the window as the carriage approached town. The sky was a little cloudy, although rain looked unlikely. A cool breeze made it an ideal day for an outing.

Abbi felt a childlike excitement as the carriage halted on the east side of the square and they stepped out to be barraged by the sights and sounds of celebration. Even the air smelled festive. She and Elsa quickly moved into the throng, with the aunts following closely. They'd only been there a few minutes when the crowd moved aside and Nikolaus rode past atop his white horse, smirking devilishly as he caught her eye. She turned to look elsewhere, grateful that he moved on, but she couldn't help noticing that a certain amount of pomp followed the duke wherever he went.

Abbi was pleasantly distracted from thoughts of Nikolaus when his sisters rode past. Just as with their brother, the deference of the crowd toward them was astounding. She was surprised when Magda caught her eye and laughed as she dismounted.

"Abbi!" Magda embraced her as if they were the best of friends. She turned toward her sister and called, "Lena, look who I found."

Lena dismounted as well, and Abbi was vaguely aware of their horses being held by officers of the Guard who had been at their sides.

"Oh, Abbi," Magda said, "it's been so long. We'd heard you were lost and given up for dead. And we've been out of the country until last week. Imagine our surprise when we heard that you'd come home safe and sound."

"Yes, I'm well," Abbi said. "And you? What have you been doing?"

"We left in April to become better acquainted with the family Lena's marrying into, and of course, to plan the wedding. We had a good time, I admit. But it's nice to be home."

"We must get together soon," Lena said. "I should like to see you before the wedding."

"And when will that be?" Abbi asked.

"The date is set for October eleventh," Magda volunteered. Abbi wondered when her own wedding might be, but she forced the thought away.

"Is something wrong?" Lena asked.

Abbi smiled. "No, I'm fine. I'd like you to meet my aunts."

"Oh, how lovely," Magda said.

"Aunt Ramona, Salina," Abbi called, turning their attention from the acrobats they were watching, "I'd like you to meet some dear friends of mine." Magda and Lena smiled kindly as Abbi introduced them. "This is Helena and Madeleine du Woernig," she said. "And my mother's aunts, Salina Eddington and Ramona Dukerk."

"You must be Lance's stepmother," Magda said as she took her hand.

"Why, yes," Ramona said with the same nervous smile she'd worn when she'd encountered Nikolaus months earlier.

"Then surely we have met before," Lena said and Ramona looked flustered. "At a wedding, I believe."

"Yes, of course," Ramona said. "It was at the wedding."

"That was years ago," Magda chided her sister. "You can't expect her to remember us. I hardly remember."

"It is a pleasure to see you again," Ramona said. "Quite a pleasure."

"Indeed," Lena added. "And you Salina, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"And you," Salina said, her curtsy ridiculously deep.

"We must be going," Magda said at last, squeezing Abbi's hand, "but it was so good to see you."

"We'll be in touch, I promise." Lena smiled and they both moved away. Abbi watched them mount their horses with the help of the officers waiting to assist them before they disappeared into the crowd. Abbi was reminded of how much she liked them, which made it difficult to believe they were Nikolaus's sisters.

"I didn't realize you were so cozy with the duke's sisters," Salina said excitedly. Abbi just shrugged. In actuality she hardly knew them, and it was difficult to explain how something had simply connected between them on their first meeting.

"They're very nice," Ramona added, plainly impressed. "Yes, very nice."

"There you go again," Salina said to her sister.

Abbi and Elsa exchanged a knowing glance, but their attention was diverted by some men twirling fire. When that display ended, Elsa reminded Abbi, "I told Georg where we would be. Come with me to check and see if he's come."

Abbi left her aunts sitting on a bench where they had a good view of some mimes who had just begun a performance. She and Elsa hurried back to the east side of the square and hovered there for a few minutes, but they saw no sign of Georg. While they waited, Elsa brought out some buttered bread she'd hidden in her handbag, wrapped in a napkin, which she shared with Abbi. "I thought you might need this more than me," Elsa said, and they began to joke about how fat they were going to get. Abbi was grateful for the way Elsa had predicted that she might need something to ease the nausea, even though it bothered her rarely these days.

"All right," Elsa said. "We'll check again in a while."

They were moving back into the square when Abbi heard a deep voice say, "Abbi, wait."

She turned to see Captain Dukerk approaching. "There you are," he said, taking her hand to kiss it. "I was hoping I'd find you. Ramona said you would be more this way. Are you having a good time?"

"Very much so," she said, taking the arm he offered. Though position and title meant nothing to Abbi, she couldn't deny that it was a pleasure to be on the arm of the Captain of the Guard. As they moved through the crowd with Elsa at her side, she sensed a degree of the deference that she had observed with the royal family. It was evident that Lance and the position he held were highly respected.

When they were reunited with Salina and Ramona, Abbi suggested they get an early lunch together and avoid the crowds. She knew she'd enjoy the remainder of the day more on a full stomach.

After lunch Lance escorted the women back to the east side of the square so Elsa could be reassured that her husband wasn't waiting for her. Then the captain stayed with them as they walked aimlessly through the square, taking in all of the entertainment.

"There is certainly an abundance of the Duke's Guard present," Abbi commented to Lance. "I see a uniform every time I turn around."

"They are _all_ on duty today," he said. "We just want to be certain this mischievous celebration doesn't get out of hand."

"All of this is so exciting," Salina chirped every so many minutes. Abbi smiled to observe how her aunts--especially Ramona--seemed to be enjoying themselves. They did very little talking because of the noise, and they were both clearly enthralled by all that was going on around them.

"I need to rest," Elsa whispered to Abbi. "If you want to stay with--"

"I need to rest, as well," Abbi admitted. Then she said to Lance, "Elsa and I are going back to see if Georg has come, and find a place to rest for a few minutes. If you--"

Lance took out his watch and looked at it. "I have a while longer," he said and escorted the ladies, along with the aunts, back to the east side where they found a nice spot to sit on the grass at the edge of the square.

"I'll be right back," Lance said and returned a few minutes later with a hot pasty for everyone.

"Oh, that looks delicious," Ramona said. "It certainly looks delicious."

Salina just mumbled something and began eating.

"Thank you, Captain," Elsa said, accepting her pasty.

He sat close beside Abbi as she took the first bite and gave a sigh of pleasure. The warm, tender crust and spicy apple filling tasted absolutely divine. "You must have read my mind," she said. "I was just thinking one of these sounded good."

He laughed and wiped a drop of filling from her lower lip with his thumb, which he put into his mouth, saying, "I think yours tastes better than mine." She laughed as well and he surprised her by pressing a quick kiss to her brow.

A few minutes later they were all standing at the edge of the square as it became evident the folk-dancing was about to begin. A dread knotted in Abbi's stomach that wasn't easy to push away. She'd managed to avoid thoughts of Cameron through most of the day. But how could she not think of him as she watched preparations for the festive dance to begin? He had told her about the traditions attached to it that she'd never known. He'd taught the dance to her--the day they had been married. Her heart ached for him and she felt the urge to cry.

"Are you all right?" Lance asked, startling her.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Just a little tired."

For a moment Abbi feared that he might ask her to dance, and she wasn't certain she could bear it. She was relieved when he came to his feet, brushing off the breeches of his uniform as he said, "I hate to, but I must go. I have a lieutenant waiting for me to take over his shift."

He bent down to kiss Abbi's cheek. "Enjoy yourself," he said to her. Then he bowed toward the others. "Ladies, it has been a pleasure."

Ramona and Salina said their farewells, and he eased toward the other side of the square, around the costumed dancers, who were now getting into position to begin the first set. As the music began, Abbi had to put an arm around her middle to quell the physical pain she felt over Cameron's absence.

"Are you ill?" Elsa asked.

"No," Abbi said with a smile. "I'm just . . . missing someone."

Elsa gave her a sympathetic squeeze of the hand. She'd never bothered Abbi with questions about the absent father of this child, but her understanding was always there.

When the first set ended, Abbi looked up to see a man in costume holding his hand out to her. She smiled but shook her head firmly. "No, thank you. I'm not up to it."

"Are you certain?" the stranger asked.

"Yes, thank you."

He quickly moved away, much to Abbi's relief. Then Elsa whispered, "Why didn't you? It would have been such fun. If I weren't so big and pregnant, I'd be dancing."

Abbi glanced to Elsa's well-rounded belly and wondered how long before she looked the same. She met Elsa's compassionate eyes and had to admit to the truth of her feelings, if only to say them aloud. "The last time I did this dance, it was with the man I love. I won't do it again unless it is with him."

The folk-dance began again and she suddenly wished she could go home. She didn't want to watch everyone else pair off and participate in something that only spurred heartache for her under the present circumstances.

Abbi focused on the dancers, envying their obvious enjoyment. She glanced around the crowd and felt so out of place. Everyone except her was completely enthralled with watching the dance. She turned her eyes back to the performance and her heart quickened for no conscious reason. Asking herself why, Abbi turned slowly, looking to her left. Only then did she realize that not _everyone_ was enthralled in the dance. One man was looking at her. She sensed more than saw a familiarity about him as she caught a flash of blue eyes staring at her intently from behind a masked and bearded face. The mask covering the top half of his face was red velvet, trimmed with elegant gold braid and filigree, and had a regal look about it. She was quick to take him in entirely. The black boots, slender breeches, white shirt. The cloak around his shoulders. His stance. His aura. That thick, dark hair that he wore longer than the average man. In the split second it took her to absorb this man, she knew without question. _It was him_. Any room for doubt was dispelled when she saw his lips move to silently form the word, "Abbi."

Abbi's insides fluttered as she stared back boldly. Her knees became weak and her heart went wild. She felt ecstatic. Cameron had come at last. Her hand went instinctively to her heart in an attempt to calm it, and she saw him smile at the gesture. _Everything_ had changed. The day had become joyous and her heart was full. Energy surged through her, and she wanted to run into his arms. She saw him glance upward nonchalantly and grasped his indication to be careful. Glancing unobtrusively around the crowd, she let him know that she understood.

Abbi wondered how to get out of this crowd so she could speak to him. She became briefly distracted as the dance ended and the square filled with commotion while everyone scrambled for new partners. Then she saw a hand in front of her, and her heart raced all over again as she looked into Cameron's eyes. She couldn't believe it. They were standing face-to-face. He was asking her to dance.

Abbi's hand trembled as it slipped into his familiar grasp. His expression remained straight, but he squeezed her hand so hard that it almost hurt. Abbi returned his grasp, silently attempting to express all she felt while keeping her emotions from showing. He escorted her to the end of a line of women and took his place across from her with the men. The music began and Abbi felt it surge through her. During the initial sequence, she watched Cameron in awe, convincing herself that this wasn't a dream. She felt his eyes on her in much the same way. Then the dance required him to put his arm around her waist and she caught fire from his touch. As they turned together in a rhythmic step that they had practiced repeatedly, she felt alive again.

"You are more beautiful than I'd remembered," he whispered. Abbi's heart quickened as his voice lowered further to say, "My sweet wife."

Abbi fought back tears of joy to know that all was as it should be between them. She was grateful when their position changed so that she could look into his eyes without appearing too obvious.

"I recall dancing this way once before," he said, "but there was no music."

"You planned this, didn't you," she replied discreetly as he turned her to face the other direction.

"Yes, I did," he whispered behind her ear. "For a while there, I thought the captain was going to foil my plan. He keeps very good track of you."

Abbi wondered how long Cameron had been observing them, and what he might have felt from her interaction with Lance. She smiled slyly as she turned to face him again. "I'm just trying to keep him . . . distracted. My heart is with you--always."

"As mine is with you, my love."

Abbi knew the dance was coming to a close, and she feared being separated from him again, knowing from his cautious demeanor that she could not acknowledge him openly. As if he'd read her mind, he whispered, "When the dance ends, go down the street that heads south. There is a stable with a red door next to the butcher's shop. Go in and wait for me there."

"I will," she said, and again felt a tight squeeze of his hand.

The music ended and his hand slipped reluctantly from hers. A quick glance showed that her aunts were still enthralled with the entertainment. And Georg was now with Elsa. Pressing her way carefully through the crowd, she followed his directions, finding the street practically deserted. She turned only once to see if he was following, but she saw no one. She found the specified stable easily enough and slipped inside. With her back to the door, she leaned against a post for support. She knew he would be here soon, and her insides fluttered violently at the thought of being in his arms again.

The door squeaked and Abbi turned to see him standing in the shadows. He stepped into the light and removed the mask to reveal himself. She rushed into his arms.

"Abbi," he cried as he pulled her up and turned her around in his arms, laughing carelessly. "Oh, Abbi, my darling!"

"I love you," was all she managed to say before he pressed his lips over hers with a hungry kiss. Abbi pushed her hands greedily into his hair. She touched his beard, his face, reacquainting herself with his presence.

"I thought I'd die without you." Cameron touched her face the same way, taking in her reality. "I nearly went crazy with loneliness."

Abbi looked up at him, too overcome with emotion to speak. Cameron smiled his understanding and pressed her face gently to his chest, where he just held her.

"I've got something for you," he said, and she pulled back as Cameron reached into his pocket. He took out a small blue flower, only slightly crumpled, and held it near Abbi's face. "It's from the high meadow. I picked it just before I came so you'd know I found you right away."

Abbi took the little blossom from him and brushed it against his beard. "I love you," was all she could say before tears overwhelmed her. Cameron smiled and pressed the back of his hand to her face.

"I love you too," he said.

She cried harder and Cameron took her face into his hands, distracting her with a long, torrid kiss. Her tears ceased and she responded eagerly. He kissed her over and over until she thought she'd go mad with longing. He finally eased away, laughing softly. "I don't think this is the time, or the place, Abbi girl. But soon," he whispered, "very soon, we will be together."

"How soon?" she asked, placing a hand on his face.

"I will see you tonight. I promise. For now, you should go back. You will be missed. We must be careful."

Abbi made no effort to hide her disappointment. A few minutes couldn't begin to compensate for the countless weeks of separation they'd endured. He kissed her again and slipped toward the door.

"I love you, Abbi girl." He put the mask back over his face, and he was gone. Abbi took a few minutes to settle her emotions before she returned to join the others.

"Oh, there you are," Salina said.

"We were wondering what had become of you," Ramona added. "Yes, we were wondering."

"I'm right here." Abbi sat beside Elsa on the lawn, noticing that Georg was gone.

"Did you enjoy the dance?" Elsa asked.

"Very much, thank you," she replied, attempting to appear indifferent.

A moment later Elsa whispered in her ear, "I thought you said you wouldn't do the dance again until--"

Abbi spoke softly in return, "I know what I said Elsa." She smiled and added, "And I meant it."

Elsa's eyes widened. "Was that . . ."

Abbi nodded.

Elsa looked utterly thrilled. "Is he . . ." she began, but Abbi put up a hand to stop her.

"Don't ask me any questions, Elsa. When there's something to tell, you'll be one of the first to know."

Abbi looked up to see Georg just before he squeezed in between them and sat down. He said something to Elsa that made her giggle, then he turned to Abbi. "Why, Abbi," he whispered, "you look flushed. Are you well?" He smirked and his eyes sparkled. He _knew_ she had been with Cameron.

"I'm doing _quite_ well, thank you," she said.

He leaned a little closer. "From the way you look, I could swear you'd been off necking or something."

Abbi's heart reacted to the memory of Cameron's kisses that were still so fresh on her lips. She glared at Georg in disgust, unable to keep from laughing. "You're a scoundrel, Georg."

"Yes, I know," he said, "and so are all of my friends." He laughed. "Some more than others."

Abbi laughed and pretended to watch the dancers that now filled the entire square, but her mind was absorbed with Cameron. _He'd come back_. Her joy was indescribable.

"I take it you're feeling better," Georg said so only she could hear.

"Yes, thank you, much better."

"Me too," he admitted. Then in a cautious voice he said, "You may not see him nearly as much as you'd like to for a while. We must be very careful. We must make everything appear as normal as possible. But if all goes well, it will all be over in a couple of weeks."

Abbi looked into his eyes, immediately finding the sincerity she was seeking. "Really?" she asked.

"I promise," he said firmly. "If we can't make it work in that much time, I'm sending you both out of the country until we can. Beyond that, you'll never have to be away from each other again."

Abbi sighed at the thought. Two weeks. In a way it seemed so long, but in truth it was so little time. With as far as they'd come, she could endure almost anything for two weeks.

"Thank you, Georg," she said, discreetly squeezing his hand.

Abbi was relieved when her aunts declared a desire to go home. The day had been enjoyable and exciting, but her feet ached almost as much as her back. Georg escorted the ladies to the carriage, declaring he had some business to take care of and he'd be home later this evening. Abbi felt certain his business had to do with Cameron. The thought was comforting. He felt real to her again, and that alone strengthened her hope.
Chapter Sixteen

RESURRECTION

Georg stepped tentatively into the bishop's offices, situated within the huge cathedral that dominated this section of town as one of the oldest and most magnificent edifices in Horstberg. There were several smaller branches of the church scattered throughout the country, but the Bishop of Horstberg oversaw them all. He was _the_ religious leader in this country. And he was the man Georg needed to talk to. Georg knew him personally and knew he could be trusted.

"Georg, my son," the bishop said as his assistant ushered him into the office. "What brings you here on a day other than the Sabbath?"

Georg waited for the assistant to leave and close the heavy door. He needed complete privacy. "I need some help, Your Grace." He always found it ironic that the proper way to address the bishop was the same as addressing the duke--especially knowing Nikolaus du Woernig's character.

"Sit down, my son. Sit down." Georg sat across the huge desk. He appreciated seeing the bishop this way, minus the religious robes he wore on the Sabbath. "Now, what might the problem be?" he asked.

"It's not for me, Your Grace, but for a dear friend."

"Yes?" The bishop nodded.

"I need you to perform a marriage--secretly."

The bishop said nothing for a long moment. His concern was evident and Georg waited patiently for him to ask whatever questions he needed to. Georg was prepared to answer them.

"If it needs to be done secretly, then something must be out of order in your friend's life."

"Yes, that's true."

"Obviously, it would be better for a marriage--any marriage--to take place properly in the church with--"

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I do agree with you. But these are extenuating circumstances. This friend was accused of a crime he did not commit. If he shows himself publicly, he would be arrested."

"Perhaps he should wait until he can be exonerated of the crime before he marries."

"I have high hopes that he _can_ be exonerated for the crime, Your Grace. But we are up against a tangled web that is proving to be difficult to unravel. This man has been hiding in a mountain lodge for nearly four years. Through this last winter, he was snowed in with a young woman whose life he saved, and--"

"Ah, would you be talking about your young friend, Miss Albrecht, who started coming out to church with you recently?"

"Precisely," Georg said. "In January, while they were in seclusion with many months still ahead before spring, the love they shared became evident. They took private vows, knowing that they would marry if there had been any possible way to do so. But there wasn't. She gave him the courage to fight to prove his innocence, and we are in the process of that. In the meantime, well . . . he's come down from the mountain now, and he wants to make the marriage right as quickly as possible." Georg took a deep breath. "She's going to have his baby."

The bishop looked more thoughtful than upset by Georg's story. He felt certain this man would agree to perform the marriage. But there was one more thing he needed to know.

"Your Grace," Georg leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper, "I am talking about Cameron."

The bishop's astonishment didn't disappoint Georg. His wise, methodical voice squeaked as he uttered, "But I thought he was . . ."

"Dead?" Georg provided. "Yes, as did everyone else."

The bishop sighed deeply and his eyes filled with moisture. "Praise be to God."

"Amen," Georg muttered.

"But how could . . ." The bishop didn't seem to know what to ask.

"We thought that having him believed dead would make it easier to prove his innocence. But it became more complicated than that. After some time passed, Cameron gave up hoping that he could ever be a free man again. Abbi changed all that."

The bishop sighed again. "And now there will be a child. It's a _miracle._ "

"Yes, it is," Georg agreed easily. "And God willing, we might have the miracles we need to see this through." He allowed a moment for this man to absorb all he'd heard. "Will you marry them, Your Grace? Tonight?"

The bishop smiled. "It would be an honor."

"What time would be best in order to avoid any attention?"

The bishop thought a moment. "Half past ten. Come here. I'll be alone."

"Good then." Georg came to his feet.

"But . . . we will need two witnesses."

"I will act as one," Georg said. "And I'll bring another."

"I would imagine Cameron has many friends who can be trusted."

"Yes, he does." They exchanged a smile as if they now shared a great secret--which they did. "Oh," Georg paused, "there is one more thing--of great importance. Abbi does not know the full situation with Cameron. In truth, she doesn't even know his name. He thought it better that way, considering the people involved. If something goes awry, her ignorance could keep her protected."

"I understand," the bishop said.

"I'll see you at half past ten."

Georg left the cathedral and hurried to the usual pub. Boris, who owned the establishment, including the rooms for rent upstairs, was standing at the counter.

"Ah, Georg," he said jubilantly. "The usual?"

"No, actually," Georg said. "I'm more in the mood for wine. What have you got?"

"Too many to tell. Come back and choose for yourself."

Georg followed Boris through the kitchen and into a back room where he slid the rug aside and opened a door in the floor. Georg went down the cellar steps alone while Boris stayed above. "Did you see him?" Cameron asked, sitting up on the makeshift cot sidled between rows of kegs and wine racks.

"Yes. It's all arranged." He turned the wick up on a lantern hanging from the low ceiling.

Cameron sighed loudly. "I bet he was surprised."

Georg chuckled. "Yes, I believe he was."

"What did he say . . . when you told him I was alive?"

Georg looked firmly at Cameron. "He got tears in his eyes and praised God."

Cameron squeezed his eyes shut. There were no words to describe what that meant. The bishop's faith in him added a great deal to his hope that he could actually get beyond this and be a free man again.

"I must go," Georg said. "Be at the cathedral at half past ten. And be careful."

Georg hurried back to the house, praying that all would go well.

Abbi wanted nothing more than to hide in her room with the hope that Cameron would come, but she remembered Georg's admonition to make everything appear as normal as possible. The little bouquet of wild-flowers she found on her dresser moved her to tears. She held them close to her face and inhaled their sweet fragrance as memories of picnics in the meadow flooded through her.

Forcing herself away from nostalgia, Abbi shared dinner with her aunts, all the while formulating the words in her head to excuse herself to her room for the remainder of the evening, once the meal was finished. A knock at the dining room door made her realize how jumpy she'd become. Then her heart pounded as Georg entered timidly, glancing her direction.

"Forgive me, Miss Abbi," he said. "But it's a matter of estate business that's come up. Could I speak with you for just a moment?"

"Of course." She smiled toward her aunts, proud of her calm demeanor. "Excuse me," she said, and they nodded.

Once out the door, Georg ushered her to the far side of the hall, whispering carefully, "Meet me in the stable about ten. Wear your dark cloak, and perhaps . . . well, a nice dress." Abbi wanted to ask a hundred questions. He smiled and leaned close to her ear. "You're getting married tonight, Abbi."

"Married?" she echoed, pressing a hand to her heart.

"Cameron wanted it to be official right away. I've arranged everything."

Abbi felt so consumed with joy that she feared bursting into either laughter or tears. She hugged Georg and headed to her room to absorb the reality in private. The time passed quickly as Abbi looked through her dresses, trying to find one that would be appropriate. She settled on a cream-colored day dress that she'd hardly worn, mostly because the color was too light to be practical. Recalling that Cameron had said he wanted her hair down when they were married officially, she pulled out the pins and brushed it through. She was nearly finished when Elsa came to the room. Abbi was grateful to know that Elsa could be trusted.

"Going somewhere?" Elsa asked, taking notice of her dress. "So late?"

"Yes, actually," she said. "I'm meeting someone. We'll leave it at that. I trust you'll cover for me."

Elsa looked hesitant but said firmly, "Of course."

"Thank you," Abbi said, and Elsa took over brushing her hair.

At the appointed time, Abbi slipped out the side door and went to the stable, where Georg was waiting with two saddled horses, one of them Blaze. He smiled and helped her mount, and she followed him into the moonless night. They rode to a back door of the cathedral and tied off the horses before going inside. The bishop greeted them kindly, looking into Abbi's eyes with a form of reverence. He obviously knew what was going on, but she found it difficult to believe that the Bishop of Horstberg would perform the secret marriage of a convicted criminal and be so pleased about it.

"Does he know about the baby?" Abbi whispered to Georg as they followed the bishop down a hallway into the main part of the cathedral.

"I told him everything," Georg said. "He's known Cameron since he was a child. He was so glad to know he was alive that I think he'd have done just about anything for him."

That explained it, Abbi thought as she absorbed her surroundings. The huge cathedral looked eerie with only a few lanterns lit and some candles burning near the altar.

Abbi's heart quickened as they heard someone coming down the same hallway, but a man emerged that she'd never seen before. Georg introduced him as Boris, a friend of Cameron's who would serve as the other witness.

"All we need is the groom," the bishop said, seeming almost as nervous as she felt.

A few minutes passed while no one said a word. The silence was broken by the opening of one of the huge doors at the other end of the cathedral. Abbi held her breath, but the room was so long and dark that she could see nothing.

Cameron stepped inside and took a deep breath. He'd gotten here with no difficulty, but he'd had trouble believing that this could be real--until he'd stepped through the door. The other end of the room was illuminated by a soft glow, and in the center of it stood Abbi, like some kind of angel. He took a deep breath and walked briskly toward her, amazed at how huge this place was.

Abbi heard footsteps on the stone floor, moving quickly. She caught her breath as a figure in a hooded cloak appeared from the darkness. He reached the bottom of the steps leading to the altar and stopped where the bishop stood to meet him. Pushing the hood back from his head, Cameron looked up into the bishop's face as if he were being reunited with his own father. "Your Grace," Cameron said as they clasped hands. Cameron went quickly to one knee, pressing his forehead to the bishop's hands.

The bishop urged Cameron to his feet, murmuring quietly, "Cameron, my son. It really is you. God is surely smiling upon us to bring you back this way."

"He surely is." Cameron's eyes shifted to Abbi. For a long moment they simply absorbed each other. Then he ascended the few steps between them and took her into his arms. They held each other tightly until he turned back toward the bishop, keeping an arm around her. "I assume you have met the woman who brought me back to life."

"Indeed, I have," the bishop said. "She is apparently an instrument in God's hands to answer many prayers."

Cameron inhaled the depth of the bishop's statement and turned to look into Abbi's eyes. "Yes," Cameron said, "I believe she is--most especially mine."

"Shall we begin?" The bishop motioned toward the altar. Cameron handed his cloak to Georg before taking Abbi's hand and escorting her to the altar where they both knelt to face the bishop. There were no rings, no flowers, no music. But the vows they exchanged filled Abbi with contentment beyond description. She'd never been so happy in all her life. She only prayed that all would go well according to Georg's plan, that Cameron would soon be able to come out of hiding and be a free man.

Cameron watched Abbi closely through the ceremony, marveling at what she had done for his life, his spirit. He wondered how she could be so trusting, to marry a man she knew so little about. Even the omission of surnames in the ceremony didn't seem to concern her any more now than it had when they'd taken their original vows. As they kissed to seal their marriage, Cameron found it difficult not to laugh aloud. He'd never been so happy, never felt so much hope.

Abbi signed the marriage certificate first, and Cameron waited only a moment before Georg distracted her so he could sign his full name. The bishop and witnesses signed it, then Cameron rolled it up and handed it to Georg. "Keep that safe," he admonished. "It's priceless."

"Your wish is my command," Georg said with a smirk.

Cameron playfully slapped his shoulder. "It's the other way around and you know it." He smiled. "But I can't complain. I'd be nowhere without your help."

"I'll get even," Georg said.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Cameron said to the bishop, taking his hands again. "One day soon, I hope to do this again--publicly, just for the sake of it."

"I'll look forward to it," the bishop said, who kissed Abbi's cheek before moving toward the hallway that led to his offices.

Cameron turned to the other witness and shook his hand. "Thank you, Boris. I'll see you later tonight."

Abbi panicked to hear this and turned questioning eyes to Cameron as Georg handed back Cameron's cloak. Then Georg and Boris followed the bishop, clearly with the intent of giving her and Cameron some time alone. She knew her new husband had read the distress in her eyes before she had a chance to ask.

"I know I should be with you tonight, Abbi. And I want to be, more than you can imagine." He pulled her into his arms and held her closely.

"What's . . . happening, Cameron?" she asked, feeling afraid.

"Georg has arranged for me to meet with some men who can help me. It's vital that I go tonight. It's all arranged. And it will likely take some time."

"When will I see you again?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

"Tomorrow night," he said and kissed her. "I promise." He took a long minute to gaze at her. "I love you so much, Abbi. I pray this will all be behind us very soon."

"As do I," she said and held to him tightly, burying her face against his chest, loving the familiarity of him after being apart for so long. She could feel his hand at the back of her head. His lips pressed into her hair as he held her with a desperation that echoed the way she felt.

"I must go," he said, easing back only enough to look at her. He kissed her again, this time with a familiar passion that made her ache to never let him go.

Cameron used great willpower to step back and throw the cloak around his shoulders. "Be careful," she whispered.

He smiled, appreciating the fact that she didn't know what he was _really_ up to. Every day he was more grateful for her ignorance. "I'll see you tomorrow night," he said and touched his nose to hers. "I promise."

Abbi watched him walk away, her heart beating in time with the heels of his boots against the stone floor. He turned back once for a moment before disappearing into the darkness, like a phantom disintegrating into a mist. She waited until she heard the huge door open and close. Then she sat down on one of the altar steps and wept. She was Cameron's wife now--officially. She had to keep that in mind. He'd come back to her. He'd kept his word. But what now? She'd thought earlier that she could endure almost anything for two weeks. But now she felt doubtful. Loneliness and fear crept through her like some kind of disease, determined to consume every part of her body and soul.

"Abbi." Georg's voice startled her. "It's late. Let me take you home."

Abbi numbly put her hand into Georg's and allowed him to lead her to where the horses had been left. He escorted her directly to her bedroom door, where he kissed her hand and offered assurances that all would be well. Her thoughts were tumbling when she crawled into bed, but thankfully exhaustion overruled and she slept soundly.

Just before two in the morning, Cameron and Georg discreetly rode west of town, down long roads between a series of farms, finally stopping at a large barn that belonged to the friend of a friend. They tethered their horses along a corral fence, where many horses had already been left. Georg led Cameron through a side door into a storage area for tools and equipment.

"Wait here," Georg said and slipped through a door into the main area of the barn. Cameron could hear the murmur of many men's voices. His heart pounded with fear and anticipation. This was a moment he'd been waiting for. But now that it had come, the reality was unsettling. He knew on the other side of that door were better than a hundred men; men who had been painstakingly selected through a grapevine of careful whisperings. They'd been told that he was alive, and that he had the means to aid a cause they'd been itching to fight for. Many of these men were currently serving as officers of the Duke's Guard, putting much on the line to be a part of this revolution. Cameron thought of the lieutenant who had already lost his life for the cause. His heart ached for this man and his family. He prayed that no more lives would be lost, and that he might be able to get through this ordeal unscathed and emerge with his freedom--for Abbi's sake, as well as his own.

Cameron was startled from his thoughts when Georg opened the door, saying, "I think we're ready. Everyone's accounted for."

"Thank you, Georg." He stepped into the well-lit barn where bales of hay and straw served as benches for the assembled men. Upon his entrance there was a sudden hush, and then every man stood, sending up a cheer that left Cameron speechless. When they finally quieted down, he had to blink back his emotion. He broke the silence with a chuckle that was intended to cover his sudden urge to cry. He looked up and scanned the expectant faces in the room.

"Thank you," he said. "Your efforts and sacrifices are truly appreciated." He cleared his throat more loudly than he'd intended and forged ahead. "For those of you who once served with me, I trust your captain has treated you well in my absence. I know he is a good man, and I pray that he will be forgiving of what we are about to embark upon." Again the men applauded, as if to say that they shared his sentiment. Not knowing what else to say, he motioned toward Georg. "I'll turn the time over to Georg, who knows a lot more about what's going on than I do."

Cameron sat down on a nearby barrel and listened as specific plans were laid out and talked through repeatedly. He felt some hope in seeing how well Georg had thought through every aspect of the situation. Everything was mapped out carefully, and each man knew his assignment well. They just had a few missing pieces to fill in. If all was carried through as planned, Cameron could have his life back in a fortnight.

Abbi woke late, exhausted but starving. She blessed Elsa when she noticed a tray on the bureau with fruit, buttered bread, and cheese. She'd nearly had her fill when Elsa came to the room.

"Did you sleep well, Miss?" Elsa asked.

"Very well, thank you. But I still feel tired. And you?"

"Not at all well," she said. "Georg was gone more than half the night. It's certainly not the first time, but . . . well, he tells me not to worry. But it's difficult not to when . . ." She trailed off with emotion that she was attempting to stifle. Abbi felt perfect empathy as she watched Elsa straighten the bed and fluff the pillows vehemently. She had no qualm about sharing information that might ease her concerns somewhat. If nothing else, they could worry together.

"Elsa," Abbi took her hand and guided her to the edge of the bed where they sat close together. "Georg was with me last night, at least for a little while."

Elsa's eyes widened and Abbi went on. "I was home before midnight, but I do know that he was with . . . my husband."

"Husband?" Elsa echoed breathlessly.

"That's right," Abbi said quietly. "But you mustn't tell a soul--not anyone."

"I wouldn't, of course. You know that."

"Yes, I know, or I wouldn't be telling you."

"Is he the man you were dancing with?" Elsa asked.

"Yes, that was him. I've only seen him one other time since I came home last spring. We were married last night, and then he told me he had some important matters to take care of. I'm certain Georg was with him."

Elsa looked stunned. "Then . . ." She seemed to have difficulty gathering her thoughts. "Then . . . your husband . . . must be Georg's friend, who is in trouble."

Abbi nodded. "That's right."

"What kind of trouble?" Elsa asked.

"In truth, I know little more than you do." She laughed softly, choosing to focus on the humor of the situation, rather than her concerns. "I don't even know my husband's surname. I suppose that makes me nameless for the time being. But he was accused of a crime he didn't commit, and they are working very hard to prove his innocence, although I'm certain it's much bigger than that. He has asked me to trust him, and he's certain my ignorance could protect me. I'm certain Georg's motives for you are the same."

Elsa sighed and became thoughtful again. "Georg told me it would all be over in a couple of weeks."

"He told me the same," Abbi said. They sighed together and embraced, and Abbi was grateful to have an ally who understood the concerns of a woman.

Abbi forced herself to get dressed, knowing she needed her life to appear as normal as possible. Once Elsa had finished with her hair, she went down to the lawn to paint, hoping it would help pass the time. Still, the day dragged. Lance came for lunch, and she felt particularly hypocritical walking through the gardens with him, holding his hand--especially when she couldn't deny that she enjoyed his company. After he left, she returned to the lawn to work on her painting until she couldn't bear sitting there another minute.

Abbi returned to her room early evening, tired and discouraged. She wanted only to be with Cameron, and looked at the coming days of waiting and wondering as pure torture. She shared supper with her aunts but had little appetite. Pleading exhaustion, she excused herself and went to her room to lie down. She woke some time later feeling on edge, wondering when Cameron would come. Needing something to occupy her time, she rang for Elsa, certain a hot bath would soothe her tense nerves. When darkness settled and Elsa hadn't come, Abbi became impatient and went to find her, trying not to wonder what awful thing might have happened to keep Cameron away.

As soon as it was dark, Cameron moved stealthily across the huge lawn. He'd been told where to find Abbi's room and quickly located the rope Georg had left hanging from her balcony and tucked into some shrubbery. He was grateful for the strength he'd gained from all that wood he'd chopped as he took hold with gloved hands and worked his way up, hand over hand, until he reached the balcony. The door had been left open to let in the summer breeze. Checking to be certain there were no servants in the room, he slipped quietly inside. He turned the wick up on the lamp that had been left burning and slowly soaked in Abbi's personality from the room. He was struck with the stark differences from the life they had shared on the mountain, and he smiled as he touched the dried crown of flowers that hung over a corner of her mirror. And he noted that the little bouquet he'd turned over to Georg was in a small vase.

Hearing footsteps in the hall, Cameron quickly crossed the room and hid himself behind the draperies, in case it wasn't Abbi. He felt relieved to see her, but a maid entered a moment later. While the maid fussed in the room and prepared a bath, Cameron discreetly watched Abbi. She looked different in these surroundings, and yet they suited her so well. He was glad to see that she still wore the bracelet, and he couldn't help smiling when she fondly toyed with the flower he'd given her yesterday.

Abbi picked up the little wilted wildflower from her bedside table and touched it idly to her face. It was in sorry shape from the dozens of times she'd carried out the ritual since Cameron had given it to her, but it was tangible evidence that she had seen him, and holding it gave her comfort.

When a knock came at the door, Elsa said, "I'll get that."

"Thank you, Elsa," she said.

_Elsa_. Cameron leaned his head back against the wall. Of course. This was Georg's wife, Abbi's lady's maid. While Elsa was talking with someone at the door, he peered around the draperies to see Abbi sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing through her hair.

"Oh, that smells wonderful," Abbi said in reference to the tray of food that had been brought up. Elsa closed the door with her foot and set the tray down. "Where did you come up with this?"

"I think it was simmering for tomorrow's lunch," Elsa said. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Oh, and some of that exquisite cake," Abbi said. "Elsa, you are an angel."

"Don't be promoting me to sainthood, Miss Abbi. I had Marta send enough for both of us."

Abbi giggled and they sat together on the bed, eating and chatting about senseless, girlish things. While Abbi finished eating and brushed through her hair, Elsa finished preparing the bath with buckets of hot water brought upstairs by the house boy.

"That should do it," Elsa said. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you, Elsa. I won't be needing anything more tonight. You look tired. Get some rest and I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, then," Elsa said as she left the room, taking the empty food tray with her.

Once alone, Abbi undressed for her bath. She stood for a moment in front of the mirror and touched the gentle swelling where her baby grew. Thoughts of the child eased her anxiety, as if its very existence gave her added serenity. Sinking into the tub, Abbi sighed and relaxed, deeply breathing in the lavender aroma of the water.

Cameron pressed himself more tightly against the wall in an effort to remain concealed as he tried to accept the evidence of what he had just seen. Abbi was with child. _His_ child. Though he knew no one could see him, his hand went quickly over his eyes to cover the surge of tears that pressed out. His heart beat madly and he moved his hand over his mouth to keep from crying aloud. He was grateful that Abbi couldn't see him as he absorbed the discovery in solitude, letting the tears spill silently over his face.

The bath was refreshing as Abbi had hoped, but she felt too anxious to stay there for long. After drying off and putting on a nightgown and wrapper, she walked to the balcony and looked out into the night. Gazing across the estate in all directions, she ached for some clue that Cameron might be nearby. But the night was peaceful and quiet--almost too quiet. She turned and stepped back into the room, gasping as her eye was drawn to a dark cloak thrown over the foot of the bed. She held her breath and turned to see Cameron sitting in her chair with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, as if he'd been there for hours.

"Hello," he said, the sound of his voice cementing the evidence that he was truly here. In the time it took her to draw a deep breath, Abbi recounted the endless hours she'd spent in this room, longing for him, aching from loneliness, unable to comprehend ever being together again. And here he was. Real, and alive, and all hers--legally and forever. She was struck by a serenity in his countenance that soothed all her tension and worries away. Recalling the frightened and angry man she had met last summer, she felt the urge to just stand there and look at him and ponder the changes. But her mind was drawn to an obvious question.

"How did you get in?" she asked.

"The window," he said, nodding toward it. She realized how long he must have been in the room before he added, "I couldn't very well make myself known with Elsa here, now could I." He laughed softly. "Good thing the two of you weren't sharing secrets or speaking ill of me."

"Did you think I would?" she asked, wondering why he'd not declared his presence once Elsa had left for the night.

"No," he said, holding out a hand toward her. She stepped forward to take it and he looked up at her. "I have always believed that you would be utterly and completely honest with me, that you would always share with me the deepest secrets of your heart--even though I have kept a great many secrets from you. But you _have_ been keeping something from me."

Abbi's heart quickened when his eyes moved downward, filling with childlike fascination as he watched his own hand come to rest against her belly. She wondered if he might be hurt or angry that she'd not told him, but he looked up with a sparkle of tears in his eyes before he squeezed them closed and pressed his face into the folds of her nightgown, as if to acquaint himself with this child that was a part of him. Elated and weak, Abbi leaned against him with a sigh of relief, holding him close as he wrapped her in his arms.

"Oh, my love," he said, as her hands went around his neck, "how can I tell you . . . where do I begin . . . to let you know how happy you've made me?" He looked up at her and then eased her onto his lap, cradling her in his arms. "You knew," he said, "when you came to be with me last month. You must have known." Abbi nodded and met his eyes, wondering how to explain. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She reminded herself to be completely honest with him. "I couldn't. Not until . . ."

"Until what?" he demanded gently. "Did you think I would be upset or--"

"No, of course not, but . . . I just had to know that you would keep your promises because of your love for me, and not because of any obligation to a child."

The hurt in Cameron's eyes was evident as he asked, "Did you believe I wouldn't?"

"No, Cameron, in my heart I truly believed you _would_ keep your promise . . . to make our marriage legal, to spend the rest of your life caring for me. But in the years ahead, no matter what difficulties we might come up against, now I will never have to wonder." Emotion tainted her voice. "I will always remember that your first order of business was meeting me at the altar."

"Oh, my sweet Abbi." He looked into her eyes. "Are you happy about this? All these months . . . it must have been terribly difficult for you. I can't help wondering if you had wished that--"

"It's the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, Cameron. I've not had even a moment's regret. Not one."

Cameron laughed and relief came to his eyes. "I've waited for so long to be with you," he said, "and now I don't even know what to say."

"Just hold me," she said and he pulled her closer. He kissed her only once before he stood with her in his arms and placed her on the bed, lying close beside her.

"I do believe," he said with tender humor, while he reacquainted himself with her by touching her face and hair, "the last time I saw you, we were getting married. I think that means we are now on our honeymoon." He chuckled. "If you could call hiding away with an exiled criminal a honeymoon."

She smiled. "As long as we are together, nothing else matters."

"Well," he said and kissed her, "we are certainly together." He kissed her again. "And we are certainly married." And again. "Legally, this time." He laughed softly close to her ear while his hand pressed tightly over where the baby grew. "High time I made an honest woman out of you."

"High time, indeed," she murmured with gentle laughter and kissed his throat while she pressed a hand beneath the fabric of his shirt. He scattered kisses over her face and in her hair.

"I love you dearly, Mrs. . . ." He stopped speaking as abruptly as he stopped kissing her.

"You nearly said it, didn't you," she teased and expected some sign of humor from his near slip. But he tensed up and rolled onto his back, exhaling loudly as he pressed a hand over the center of his chest and squeezed his eyes closed.

"I _can't_ say it, Abbi. It's hurt to even _think_ of saying it."

"Why?" she asked gently, propping herself up on one elbow.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I'm not sure. And how can I talk to you about it when you don't even _know_ my name?"

_"Our_ name," she corrected and he took her hand. "I don't need to know what it is to understand how you feel about it, but . . ."

"But what?" he pressed.

"But . . . I can't help wondering if . . ."

"Just say it, Abbi."

"If your reasons for withholding your name are as much to do with the way you feel about it, as they are your concern for my safety."

"I admit to that," he said so readily that she knew he'd pondered the idea long before she'd suggested it.

Abbi traced the line of his beard with her fingers. "Talk to me, Cameron. You don't need to tell me your name to explain why it causes you pain." She pressed a lingering kiss to his brow and whispered, "Give me the pain in your heart, my love. Let me hold it for you."

Cameron's heart quickened to hear it put in such a way. He eased closer to her and she relaxed with her arms around him. "Just thinking of it confuses me, Abbi. On one hand I have a deep respect for my name, and I honor it. But at the same time a part of me loathes it, or perhaps I just hate what it represents."

"And what is that?"

He blew out a harsh breath. "Family names come with expectations, Abbi. Farmers expect their sons to become farmers. Bakers, milliners, blacksmiths expect the same. Professions are most often carried on as tradition. The name Albrecht has a reputation for fine horses. You have a passion for them, but your father did not. His breaking with tradition was difficult for him _and_ for his father."

"I didn't know that," Abbi said. "Is that why my grandfather disowned him?"

"No, he had other challenges. But they might have been more easily remedied if he and his father had seen eye to eye. As I understand it, your grandfather was deeply wounded by your father's lack of interest in what meant most to him."

Abbi's mind raced with the implications regarding her father, and what they might mean hypothetically to Cameron's situation. She was relieved when he continued. "With my name the expectations were high and the traditions very clear."

"You were expected to follow your father's career."

"Exactly."

"But you didn't want to?"

"No, I didn't want to."

"A military career?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," he said.

"But you did it anyway."

"Yes, I did. My father was very good at what he did, but he . . ." His hesitance indicated a painful point. "He . . . made it clear that he didn't believe I had the ability or personality to follow in his footsteps effectively. His attitude created . . . tension in the family, and some . . . competitive views. I spent my life trying to prove my father wrong. Even after he died I kept hearing his voice in my head, making me determined to not only do my job well, but to do it better than he had. By all logical assessments, I was damn good at what I did, Abbi. But it still never felt good enough. I would still hear him telling me that I had to earn the right to bear his name proudly, and his certainty that I would only slander it. Then I was found with Gwen's blood on my hands and thrown into prison like some whipped dog. Men who had worked with me and respected me were bringing meager meals into my cell with strict orders not to talk to me. They wouldn't even look at me. Pacing that floor hour after hour, day after day, I could only hear my father's voice telling me that I had proven him right. I had slandered his name and his good reputation. I had lost the right to bear it proudly. And that's when I put the name away." He let out a ragged sigh. "I can't give you my name, Abbi, until I can take it back with some measure of dignity."

Cameron felt her hand in his hair as she spoke with gentle wisdom. "You don't need your father's approval, Cameron. You only need to know within yourself that you've honored your own expectations, and that those expectations are right and reasonable."

He tightened his hold on her in an effort to express appreciation for her sound intuition. "I know that, Abbi. I do. But a part of me has trouble accepting it." He leaned on his hand so that he could see her face. "It's difficult to explain how important it is for me to see this through, Abbi. Even if you were aware of all that's taking place, I doubt that I could fully explain what it means to me. I can only say that I have the opportunity before me not only to prove my innocence, but to take back my name--and to take it boldly--and to prove that I _am_ worthy of what I worked for."

She smiled and touched his face, once again spouting insights that left him stunned. "And then," she said, "you can choose your own path, Cameron. Not because it's your father's path, but because it's what _you_ want, what _you_ believe in. Whether or not you follow your father's career is not nearly so important as living your life in a way that honors _your_ name, not _his."_

Cameron felt her words penetrate his heart and warm his spirit. He shook his head in disbelief, murmuring with the reverence he felt, "Where did you come from, Abbi girl? Did heaven send you to this world already equipped with such profound wisdom and discernment?"

"I only say what I feel . . . what I think."

"Precisely. And what you say has many times left me thoroughly humbled and utterly in awe."

Her only response was a probing gaze that wordlessly expressed her perfect love for him, resulting in the emotions he'd just described. Deciding he'd had enough deep confessions for one day, he lightened his tone and added, "If I had any sense, I'd marry you."

She smiled. "You already did--twice."

He laughed softly. "I must be a fairly intelligent man then, to have done something so brilliant."

"No doubt," she said with exaggerated wonder. "Would you like to know the first time I realized just how brilliant you are?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me," he said skeptically.

"It was when I realized that you could cook and do laundry."

He chuckled. "I'd had lots of practice." He bent down to kiss her. "How could my father not be proud of _that?"_

"Indeed," she said and lifted her lips to his again.

Passion crept into his kiss but he drew back long enough to say, "We did it, Abbi. Our marriage is legal, and we're going to have a baby." Again he put a hand to her belly. "A son with red hair, perhaps."

She smiled and urged him to resume his kiss. Cameron drew her fully into his arms, grateful beyond words to be reunited with his sweet Abbi, and to know that the matters of greatest importance were in place. No matter what happened from here, he knew everything would be all right.

Long after they made love, Cameron held Abbi close, gazing toward the ceiling.

"What are you thinking?" Abbi asked.

"I thought you were asleep." He pressed his lips into her hair.

"I don't want to sleep. I want to savor every moment with you."

"My thoughts exactly," he murmured.

"What are you thinking?" she repeated.

"All this time," he whispered. "A baby. Oh Abbi, I can't believe it."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," he said, looking into her eyes. "Perhaps because I wanted it so badly." He touched her lips with his fingers and she kissed them in response. "You know, of course, that I had no children with Gwen. I had reason to believe the problem was not with me, but I could never be sure until . . . well, I'm just so happy, Abbi. No man wants to die and leave nothing of himself behind."

Abbi looked mildly alarmed. "There will be no talk of death. We have our whole lives ahead of us."

Cameron smiled, but Abbi saw his eyes become distant again, and his expression turned sad.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I fear I was thinking of . . ." He hesitated. "It doesn't matter."

"If you're thinking about it, then it matters. Or is it something you can't tell me now?"

"No, it's not that," he said. "I just . . . don't want to talk about it."

"It?"

"Her."

"Her?"

"Gwen," he clarified.

"And why not?"

"It was a different world with her, Abbi--and much of it was so crass. I hate the memories."

"Tell them to me," she kissed his eyelids, "and I'll forget them for you."

"But she's gone now, and there's only you." He tightened his embrace.

"That's why you should tell me. Tell me what makes you bitter. Go ahead," she challenged, "tell me the worst thing about Gwendolyn."

He hesitated and she nudged him. "She could be cruel in many ways, but I think the worst moment was when she accused me . . . in front of my family, of not being able to give her a child. It was so humiliating, especially considering . . . well, since my father had always stressed the importance of passing on the family traditions, from father to son, that only aggravated the situation between us--because I had no son." He looked into Abbi's eyes. "Perhaps that's one of many reasons why your having a baby means so much to me." He sighed before he continued. "Anyway, what little was left of the marriage at that point quickly came to an end. But I'm certain she'd started looking for other beds to sleep in long before then."

"But still she had no child," Abbi said with tender reassurance.

"No," he replied, "which was the very reason I hoped that I _could_ have children. But it means a great deal to have evidence."

"Just as it meant a great deal to me to know that you married me last night, not knowing about the baby."

Cameron looked into her eyes, struck deeply by the comparison.

"Now don't you feel better?" Abbi smiled. "Whatever happened with Gwen is in the past. Now we can both forget it ever happened."

"You're priceless, Abbi girl. You always make everything right."

"Now," she said, "tell me the best thing you remember about Gwendolyn."

"Why?" He seemed puzzled.

"You tell me first, and then I'll tell you why."

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "she could be a lot of fun. We laughed . . . a lot. We practically grew up together. Our families had connections. And she could be very witty--when she wanted to be. Unfortunately, most of those good times were _before_ the wedding. Perhaps we would have been better off remaining friends. But as you say, that's all in the past."

"There now," Abbi said triumphantly. "That is how we'll remember Gwendolyn. Your witty first wife. The rest doesn't matter anymore."

"Sometimes I feel guilty," he muttered, feeling a need to unburden himself of old heartache.

"There's no reason to. Even if you weren't the perfect husband, she made the choice to dishonor your marriage, and it's certainly not your fault that she was killed."

"I believe that," he said sadly.

"Then why do you feel guilty?"

"Perhaps guilt isn't the right word. I don't know how to explain it." He looked searchingly into Abbi's eyes and pushed his hair behind his ear. "Sometimes I can't help wondering where you and I would be if she were still alive. I didn't like her, Abbi, but she didn't deserve to be killed."

Cameron pulled Abbi closer, needing the reassurance of her presence. "I did a lot of thinking while I was alone, and I couldn't help speculating on what would have happened if she'd not been killed, and one day . . . perhaps coming here to see Georg, I saw you and . . ." He looked soberly at Abbi. "Would I have lived out my life loving you from a distance and dreaming of what might have been? Or would I have dishonored us both . . . just to have you?"

"None of that matters now," she whispered.

"I know," he said softly, shifting in the bed to press his face to her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what? For admitting that you're human and you find it difficult to deal with some hardships in your life? I find it admirable," she said, stroking his beard with her fingertips. "But you must put the past behind you, my love. You said yourself that it was destiny for us to come together. Fate works in strange ways, and it's not for us to question what might have been. Now, we have only the future ahead of us."

"Abbi," he said, leaning up on one elbow, "there is something I need to talk to you about."

"I'm listening," she said, not liking the gravity of his tone.

"Georg and I have discussed this thoroughly, and . . . I don't really like it, but I have to admit that it would answer every unsolved problem that we are up against. And it would also see that you were cared for in case something went wrong."

"What do you mean by that?" Abbi asked, leaning against the headboard.

Cameron sat to face her. He hated this, but he had to force himself to get through it. "I mean that . . . we will do everything we can to see that this goes through as planned, but . . . if something unforeseen happens, I want to know that you're cared for . . . and the child." As Cameron said it he had to wonder if Georg had known of Abbi's pregnancy. He'd proposed the plan speaking hypothetically of the possibility of a child. But if he'd been keeping close track of Abbi, surely he would have known, or at least suspected. Cameron wasn't certain whether to feel comforted or furious over such aspects of Georg's plan.

Abbi said nothing, but she didn't like the way this was sounding. Cameron cleared his throat. He looked at her cautiously, then he glanced down at his hands. "I understand the captain has proposed marriage."

Abbi made a noise of disbelief. "What has that got to do with . . . and where did you hear that anyway?" His eyes met hers. His expression was sheepish. "Georg is little better than an old gossip," she said, knowing he was the only possible means through which Cameron could have known. "I fail to see how it has anything to do with this conversation. If--"

"Abbi, don't you see? This is an answer to our prayers."

Abbi retracted toward the headboard. _"Whose_ prayers?"

"Everyone involved."

"Just how many people know that Captain Dukerk proposed to me?"

"Nobody yet."

"Nobody except you and Georg, and that's two people too many."

"Abbi, hear me out. Captain Dukerk and I have had our differences, but I know he's a good man. I respect him. We need a public event . . . something with a great deal of people in attendance. Lance comes from a well-known, highly prestigious family. And his position has given him the association of many important people. The wedding would naturally be at the cathedral. Half the country would come out to see him married."

"I hope you're exaggerating."

"Yes, of course, but . . . listen to me, Abbi. If you tell the captain you'll marry him, then you can plan this wedding and carry it out. The captain will be distracted, which will make it easier to do what we need to do."

"This is absurd!" Abbi got out of bed and put on a wrapper. "You're telling me you want me to lie to Lance, lead him through some kind of . . . mock wedding and--"

"Only the preparations. I plan to be there for the ceremony, Abbi. In essence, it is our public wedding that you're planning. But you can't very well do that without a groom."

"How can I be that unfair to Lance?" she asked, pacing the room. "He's been nothing but a gentleman to me. He does not deserve to be misled and used."

"I agree with you, Abbi. But when all is said and done, I really believe he will understand."

Abbi shook her head. "I can't believe you're asking me to do this."

"I can't believe it myself," he snarled. "This is Georg's idea. I _hate_ it."

"Then why are you--"

"Because I can't come up with a better one. As I said, it solves every problem. While we put the finishing touches on proving my innocence, you can keep your _fiancé_ occupied and pull together this public event where I can declare what I know. If the wedding is planned for a week from Saturday, we could pull everything together like clockwork. I know it's not long to plan a wedding, but if notice is posted in the usual manner, it can be done. I know it's been done before."

Abbi stared at Cameron hard, as if that might help her understand this plan that seemed so thoroughly preposterous. Then her mind went back to where this conversation had begun. _If something unforeseen happens, I want to know that you're cared for . . . and the child_.

Abbi put a hand to her heart when it threatened to burst out of her chest. "Cameron!" she gasped. "What did you mean . . . if something unforeseen happens? What has that got to do with . . ." She couldn't even say it.

Cameron drew a deep breath and forced himself to say it. "If the worst happens, Abbi, I know Lance Dukerk is a good man; one of the best I've ever known. He'll take care of you. He'll raise the child well. He will be a good husband and father."

Abbi turned her back to him while anger, fear, and betrayal all battled for dominance in her mind. "How dare you even say something like that!"

"Because it has to be said!" he countered. "We will do everything in our power to get through this with no bloodshed. But there is a price on my head, Abbi. Any man walking the streets can be run down and killed at any moment. But the odds of _me_ surviving the next two weeks are less than average. I have to accept that. And so do you. I'm doing my best to believe that God will get us through this together, but I have to know that everything in my life is in order. And that means, first and foremost, that you and this baby are taken care of. I swear to you if I am living, I will not allow this marriage to take place between you and Lance."

Abbi forced back her emotions enough to find a steady voice, but she kept her back turned to him. She couldn't disagree with what he'd said, but she didn't have to condone it. She reminded herself that she had sworn to do anything in her power to help bring him to freedom, but she felt she had to make an important point. "I can't lie to him, Cameron. I can't lead him blindly into something so deceptive. If he did end up marrying me, he should know what he's getting in the bargain."

"I agree," Cameron said, hating this more by the minute.

"So, how can I be honest about my feelings and my circumstances, without threatening your safety? He's the Captain of the Guard, for the love of heaven."

"You're an intelligent woman, Abbi. You know enough of the situation to handle it appropriately. I certainly trust your judgment."

Abbi sighed and sat down in the chair near the window. What could she possibly say? She rubbed a hand over her face as if it might clear her mind. She sighed again. "All right," she said. "I'll do the best I can."

Cameron slumped in visible relief and blew out a long breath. "You are priceless, Abbi. I truly doubt that I deserve the trust you give me."

"As long as I keep getting your love in return, I might actually survive this." She pointed a finger at him. "But so help me, you'd better make it to that wedding. I don't want to be Mrs. Dukerk. I don't like the sound of it at all!"

Cameron looked away, visibly upset. She saw the muscles in his face tighten and knew this was at least as difficult for him as it was for her. A minute later he looked directly at her, "I'll be there, Abbi. I swear it."

"But you just told me that--"

"I know what I told you. I know we have to be realistic. But we also have to keep the vision clear. If I work toward the picture in my mind, and believe in it, then surely it's more likely to come to pass." He sighed and held out a hand for her. "Oh, Abbi," he said as she moved into his arms, "I think of it night and day, imagining what it will be like to be openly married to you. To be who I really am--once again. I imagine publicly declaring that I'm alive, that I'm innocent. And you are at the center of it all, Abbi. Without you, the rest seems so . . . meaningless."

"I love you, Cameron," she said.

"You truly must," he replied, nuzzling his face into her hair. Then they fell asleep together with Cameron's hand resting against the baby.
Chapter Seventeen

DECEPTION

Cameron woke to find the room still dark, but he knew dawn wasn't far off. He could feel Abbi's warm breath against his face as she slept, and he soaked in her presence with gratitude. After all these months without her, having her in his life felt miraculous. But he wished the days between now and the public wedding were behind them, and he prayed that Abbi's ignorance of the situation would keep her uninvolved until he could reclaim his freedom.

Light crept subtly into the room, cuing Cameron that it was time to leave. He dressed quietly while he watched Abbi sleep. She glowed with an extra beauty motherhood had given her, and he knew that what he faced was well worth any risk--to have her freely and with a clear conscience. He put his cloak around his shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to Abbi's lips until she moaned with pleasure.

"Abbi," he whispered, "I've got to leave."

"Leave?" she said with sleep in her voice. "Why?"

"It's dawn, and I've got to get out of here before the sun comes up."

"Will I see you tonight?" she asked through a yawn and stood up to embrace him.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid." He kissed her once more. "But I'll come tomorrow night. You can count on it."

Cameron looked over the balcony in all directions before he kicked the rope down and swung his leg over the railing. He looked down and said, "You know, a woman with a clandestine lover should have a rose trellis going up to her balcony, don't you think?"

"You'll have to settle for a rope."

"It's well worth it," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow night. Oh, and love, when I get down, pull this thing back up so it won't be seen." Cameron then grabbed the rope with both hands and disappeared over the railing.

Abbi stepped to the edge of the balcony and watched him slide carefully down. When his feet touched the ground he looked up and touched his lips with his hand, then he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and walked rapidly across the lawn toward the stable. Abbi watched as he went inside, and was surprised to see him reappear on a horse only a moment later. Georg must have had it saddled and waiting. Abbi watched Cameron gallop toward the covered bridge with his cloak flying behind him until he disappeared from sight.

Abbi went back to bed and slept soundly until midmorning, loving the subtle masculine scent Cameron had left behind, which took her mind back to the time they'd shared on the mountain. She wanted to stay in bed all day and indulge in memories, but she had important things to do today. Drawing courage, she forced herself to get up and meet the challenge of carrying out Cameron's assignment. Attempting to plan it out in her mind, she determined that it wasn't so easy to accept now that Cameron wasn't here. He'd been very convincing. But now that he was gone, the thought of consenting to marry Lance felt like committing treason. It was all so deceptive. She had sworn to trust Cameron unquestionably, but she'd never dreamed her trust would be tested to such limits.

After a late breakfast, Abbi walked out to the stable to pass some time. She considered sending a message to let Lance know she needed to talk with him, but she knew he'd show up before the day was over. She had barely walked through the stable door when she looked down to see two familiar dogs lapping at her feet.

"Captain! Duke!" She laughed and squatted down to rub their heads.

"I see you've met," Georg said.

Abbi looked up at him and laughed again as the dogs licked her hands. "Oh, we know each other _very_ well. Yes," she said more to the dogs, "we're good friends, aren't we?"

"They're living here for the time being, so you'll have plenty of time to get reacquainted."

"Actually," Abbi said with a caustic edge as she stood and moved toward him, "I'm going to be _much_ too busy. I've got a wedding to plan." She walked around Georg while he stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the ground. "Thank you very much, Georg," she said with sarcasm. "I can't tell you how overjoyed I am to think of being betrothed to Captain Dukerk. It's exactly what I've always wanted."

"Are you finished?" he asked, calm and unruffled.

"What else can I say?"

"You could have said you wouldn't do it."

"And then what?"

"I don't know what, Abbi, but we would have figured something out."

"Like what? Cameron told me he couldn't come up with a better plan."

"I'm not going to force you to do anything."

Abbi sighed. "You're much too clever for your own good, Georg. You know very well that I would do anything Cameron asked of me."

"He would do the same for you."

"Yes, I'm certain he would."

"It's going to be all right, Abbi," Georg insisted.

"Yes, well, _all right_ is relative. Having Lance take care of me and my child for the rest of my life might be _all right_. But it's certainly not going to make me happy."

Georg put his arms around her. "Stop worrying."

Abbi just grunted, relieved by the distraction of the dogs, who wanted to play.

The day dragged for Abbi. She didn't want to get involved with any projects in case Lance showed up. She attempted to paint but simply couldn't concentrate. He finally appeared a short while before supper, but he visited with her aunts until it was time to eat. Throughout the meal, Abbi rehearsed in her mind the things she would tell him. She wanted to be as honest as possible, and she was grateful to find only one point of outright deception. Still, the whole thing made her terribly uneasy and she wanted to have it over.

"Are you all right, Abbi?" he asked while she aimlessly picked at her dessert.

Abbi looked up and forced a smile. Instead of answering the question she pushed her plate away and said, "I was hoping we could talk when you're finished. I--"

"I _am_ finished," he said, coming to his feet. He graciously kissed the hands of Ramona and Salina, bidding them good evening.

Abbi put her hand over Lance's arm as they stepped into the summer air.

"It's been a beautiful day," he said.

"Yes, the weather's perfect."

"You have something to say, I assume," Lance said as they started out.

"Yes, but . . . I need some time to gather my thoughts. Let's just walk for a while."

"My pleasure," he said, and they moved on in peaceable silence. The sun went down as they walked through the gardens and followed the path around the house, finally coming to the bench where Abbi often sat to paint.

Abbi drew a deep breath of courage as Lance looked into her eyes. "Something is troubling you," he said.

"Yes," she admitted and shivered involuntarily.

"Are you cold?"

"A little perhaps," she said and was startled a moment later to find Lance putting the coat of his uniform around her shoulders. Beneath it he wore a close-fitting white shirt and black braces. Wearing the coat did ward off the chill of the evening breeze, but how could she not recall wearing the coat of Cameron's uniform? _Good heavens,_ she thought, _he was once an officer of the Guard_. The connection became suddenly unsettling, though she'd realized as much back at the lodge. What did that imply in relation to Cameron's present endeavors?

"Abbi?" Lance startled her from her thoughts once again.

"Forgive me," she said. "I confess, there is a great deal on my mind."

"Which brings us back to the fact that you wanted to talk to me about something."

"That's right. It's just . . . difficult to know where to begin." She took a deep breath and attempted to get right to the point. "I've been thinking about your proposal and . . . I would like to accept."

"Oh, Abbi," he took her hand into his, displaying more enthusiasm than she'd expected, "that's wonderful."

"But," she drawled, "there are circumstances I must discuss with you. I have developed some complications in my life that . . . well . . . that I hesitate to bring into _your_ life." He looked disheartened as she continued. "I must be honest with you and tell you where my situation stands. And then you can decide if marrying me is still something you're willing to do."

The concern in his eyes deepened, but he simply said, "I'd do anything in my power to help you, Abbi."

Abbi sighed. That was a good sign. She fought back a rush of emotion, but her voice still cracked as she said, "I'm in trouble, Lance."

"What kind of trouble?" he asked in alarm. "Are you--"

"Please, let me explain, and then I'll answer any questions you have for me." She chuckled tensely. "I've been trying to memorize what I need to tell you. This is difficult for me. I ask for your patience."

"Of course," he said, still holding her hand.

"I told you very little about my experience on the mountain last winter. But now . . . it's imperative that you know . . . the man who saved my life, who took care of me, is . . . well, we grew to care for each other very much."

Lance looked startled as it became evident this was not what he'd expected. "Go on," he said, and Abbi feared that once she got the whole truth out, he would shun her and foil Cameron's plan. And she couldn't blame him.

"In fact, we grew to care for each other so much that . . . we exchanged vows." Abbi allowed him a moment to absorb this.

"Vows?" he repeated, incredulous.

"We were snowed in. It was impossible to go before a man of God, but . . . we exchanged private vows of marriage . . . in January."

Lance looked as though he wanted to ask a dozen questions, but his silence made it evident that he would allow her to finish her story.

"There are some things in his life that are not in order. In fact, I am ashamed to admit that I know very little about him. I only know how he makes me feel . . . and how I feel about him, but . . . at a later time we made our vows official before a man of God, and--"

"You're already married, then?" he asked in a voice more calm than she'd expected. But his shock was still evident.

Abbi looked away. "That's right, but . . ."

"But?" he pressed.

"I have reason to believe I may never see him again. I have known all along that his life was in danger, but . . ." Abbi got emotional again as her honesty struck deeply. "He told me that we would be married publicly one day, and I do not regret what I've done, but . . ."

"You think he's dead?" Lance said gently.

Now the deception deepened. Abbi reminded herself that this was for the sake of Cameron's safety. She recalled his promise that he would not allow this marriage to take place if he were still alive. So, in a way, she was not deviating too far from the truth. Firmly she nodded.

"Well . . . if he's dead, then surely you--"

"Hear me out, Lance. There is more."

He sighed and leaned back.

"If I marry you, Lance, you must understand that my heart is lost, and I don't know if it will ever recover. I would do my best to be a good wife. I would be loyal to you in word and deed. But I cannot make any promises concerning what would be in my heart. I love this man very much. My feelings for him are unlike anything I've ever experienced."

Abbi's heart pounded; Lance said nothing. While she was gathering words to give him the remaining information, he said in his usual quiet way, "I care very much for you, Abbi. It would be an honor to care for you. And perhaps . . . with time, you could care for me as well."

"You're very kind," she said. "Your understanding means more to me than I can say, but . . . there is still another factor that you must be aware of."

"I'm listening."

"I'm going to have a baby."

She heard Lance gasp, but he said nothing.

"If you are still willing to marry me, I would gladly make the situation public so as not to subject you to scandal. I have the certificate of marriage to prove that it was legal. The fact is, Lance, if my husband is truly dead, I need a father for my child. I need to know that we will be cared for. But I will not live out my life feeling guilty or condemned by the man I marry. If you are not willing to take me on as I am, and to raise this child as your own, then I will take life on as a widow and make the most of it."

The words stung Abbi's mouth. The very idea was more than she could bear. Whether Lance agreed to this or not, the thought of living the remainder of her life without Cameron made her long for death herself. How could she endure it?

Abbi was surprised by Lance's next question, but grateful that he'd brought it up. "Do you know for certain that he's dead?"

"No," she answered without hesitation. "I have no proof at this moment one way or the other." At least that was true. "I have considered many possibilities. Perhaps he's been detained somewhere. Maybe he's hurt and can't get to me. I don't know for certain."

"In other words, if I married you, and he came back, our marriage would be void."

Abbi felt her hope dwindling. Hearing him say such an undeniable truth made her realize the absurdity of her request. She had to admit honestly, "Yes, I suppose you're right. I can't blame you for not wanting to--"

"I didn't say that," he interrupted. "Now, listen to me for a minute, Abbi. When I look back over my life, I find it absent of any real meaning or purpose. I have no immediate family remaining, beyond my stepmother--if that even counts. I find some fulfillment in my work for the most part, but it's just that: work. My life is deeply lacking in any purpose beyond that. If I am in a position to help you now, I will gladly do so."

Abbi didn't know what to say. She attempted to clarify. "Are you telling me that you still want to marry me?"

"Yes, I am," he stated firmly.

"Oh, Lance," she began to cry at the evidence of his caring on her behalf. "You are so good to me, really. I couldn't imagine any man agreeing to such a thing."

Lance put an arm around her and pressed a kiss to her brow. "It would be an honor to be your husband, Abbi, under any circumstances." Abbi was too overcome with a churning mixture of emotions to respond. "I assume you want to get married as soon as possible," he said and Abbi was amazed to see her plan proceeding much better than she could have ever hoped.

"Yes," she agreed readily. "It's already becoming difficult to hide my pregnancy, but I don't want to declare my other marriage until . . ."

"I understand," he said, preventing her from having to explain.

Lance easily consented to getting married a week from Saturday, and he offered to help pull the event together. He would see that the forthcoming marriage was announced publicly, and he felt certain that many people would attend. Since it was late, he promised to come back the following morning to discuss their plans with her aunts.

Abbi couldn't help but admire and respect Lance. His gallantry and self-sacrifice were touching. But she couldn't help feeling unsettled by his lack of passion. She sensed no jealousy in him at the realization that she was in love with another man and carrying his child. And his willingness to help seemed more like an act of heroism in rescuing a damsel in distress. It was as if he were only playing out another level of being the Captain of the Guard. Under the circumstances, she had to be grateful for his attitude. But she prayed she wouldn't have to spend the rest of her life with him. Given her feelings for Cameron, and the evidence she'd seen of Cameron's love for her, she wondered if Lance had any idea what real love was like. She had her doubts. But he was a good man, just as Cameron had said he was, and she hoped that one day he _would_ find someone he could love the way she loved Cameron.

Abbi could hardly refuse Lance's kiss. With it she marveled at what a gentleman he was. In all the time they'd spent together, he'd not once kissed her lips until now. She found it a stark contrast to the behavior of his _friend,_ the Duke of Horstberg. Resigned to playing out this charade, she was grateful at least to feel comfortable with Lance, although she hated the betrayal she felt, thinking of Cameron. She reminded herself that he had asked her to do this. But that didn't make it any easier.

Cameron hovered in the darkness of the stable doorway, the dogs resting at his feet while he discreetly observed Abbi and the captain, sitting together on the far side of the lawn. A light from the side porch barely illuminated their silhouettes. It was evident that they were talking, and the conversation went on and on. He hated Abbi being a pawn in all of this, especially when it meant that she would have to share a degree of her affection with another man. At least Lance Dukerk was someone he trusted and respected. He knew that if the worst happened, he would take good care of Abbi and his child. But the thought chilled him so deeply that he couldn't think about it too hard.

Cameron felt a horrid mixture of emotions as he prayed that everything would go as planned. If Lance didn't agree to go through with this sham, he wasn't sure how to pull it off. On the other hand, _needing_ Lance to agree to take care of Abbi was sickening. But it was a necessary precaution he hoped would not become necessary. Cameron sensed that their conversation was getting deeper and more emotional, just by the way Abbi's shadow stiffened. He nearly expected one of them to stand up and storm away, which would force them to come up with another plan--if such a thing were possible. But his pulse quickened when he saw Lance put his arm around her, drawing her close. The relief he felt to know that it was going well was quickly squelched by pure, unbridled jealousy. The woman he loved was in the arms of another man, and he had to stand by and allow it. He cursed whoever had framed him to begin with. In spite of what people believed, he reminded himself that he wasn't guilty of murder _or_ treason, and he believed that was basis enough to believe God was on his side. And God willing, he would be able to prove his innocence on both counts. In the midst of his circling thoughts, every nerve in his body went tense. The Captain of the Guard was kissing his wife, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

"It's going well, I see," Georg said from behind, startling him.

"Yeah," Cameron said with sarcasm as he stood up and brushed off the back of his breeches. "It's going just great."

Following Lance's tender kiss, he pressed his lips to Abbi's brow and guided her head to his shoulder, holding her in silence. She sensed his thoughts settling over all they'd just discussed, while she contended with the relief and betrayal battling inside her. She was startled by the sudden approach of Cameron's dogs, eagerly poking their noses at her in search of her familiar affection.

"Oh, hello," she said and heard Lance chuckle.

"Since when do you have dogs?" he asked while she rubbed their heads and they licked her hands.

"Georg is watching them for a friend," she said and laughed from their eager attention. A different side of Lance came out as he talked to the dogs in a silly voice, and they responded by curiously assessing a new acquaintance and immediately liking him. He was obviously comfortable with dogs, and they took to his interest readily.

"What are their names?" Lance asked at the same moment Abbi wondered _why_ the dogs were running loose. She knew Georg kept them secure in the stable unless he was with them.

"Uh . . ." she chuckled at the very thought of answering that question, "truthfully . . . I've never heard Georg say." At least _that_ was honest.

"Back!" Abbi heard from behind her and turned to see Georg approaching. The dogs heeded the command, albeit reluctantly. "Come!" he added and they ran toward him. "Sorry," Georg said and chuckled. "When I find out who let them loose, I'll make sure they're severely reprimanded."

"It's not a problem," Abbi said, actually grateful for the intrusion. Little more was said between her and Lance as he walked her back to the house and left her with a quick kiss.

Alone in her bed that night, Abbi pondered the circumstances and found it impossible to sleep. She wondered what kind of mischief Cameron was up to that kept him from being with her, and she stewed over all that stood between now and a week from Saturday. She finally slept, but in her dreams she saw herself kneeling at the cathedral altar with Lance. She prayed it was only a subconscious release of her fears, and not a premonition. Then she slept again and dreamed of nothing.

Hammering noises outside awoke Abbi midmorning. Tying a wrapper around her nightgown, she went to the balcony to investigate. She saw her aunts approaching across the lawn with baskets of flowers they'd just cut, and Georg was just below the balcony, hard at work nailing strips of lumber together in a diagonal pattern.

"What are you doing, Georg?" Salina asked.

"Yes, Georg, what _are_ you doing?" Abbi called from above and he looked up with a grin.

"You did say you wanted some roses planted below your window, didn't you?" he asked. Only Abbi could see his mischievous expression.

"Why, yes I did," Abbi replied. No such thing had ever been voiced between them, but it was obvious he wanted her to go along.

Georg smiled. "I've transplanted some red climbers here," he paused to enunciate carefully, "by special request."

Abbi assumed he meant Cameron. Had it been his request to plant the roses? It was certainly a unique way to give a woman flowers. If she was going to live here long enough to enjoy them, she had to assume that Cameron would be moving in with her after the wedding.

"That's very sweet of you, Georg," she replied. "But that doesn't explain what you're building."

Ramona and Salina stood nearby, watching him with interest, oblivious to the undertones of the conversation.

"I did tell you these were climbing roses, didn't I?" Georg said.

"Yes, you did."

"Well then, you've got to have a trellis for them to climb on."

"Isn't that clever?" Salina said, clearly impressed.

"Yes, quite clever," Ramona added.

"I just thought," Georg continued, "that I'd build this trellis up to your balcony so they could climb right up there and keep you company."

Abbi let out a subdued laugh. Cameron had said she needed a rose trellis, and he'd evidently mentioned it to Georg. Despite missing Cameron all night, this reminder of his presence in her life left her more at ease.

"You're wonderful, Georg," Abbi said, "and I've no doubt your efforts will be greatly appreciated."

He grinned up at her and returned to his work as Abbi went back into her room. She could hear her aunts still chatting with Georg, but her thoughts were drawn to Cameron. Already she was counting the hours until he would climb that trellis tonight.

Elsa came into the room a few minutes later to see if she was awake. While she put up Abbi's hair, Abbi told her the briefest possible version of her plans. Elsa was astonished but agreed to help all that she could.

"I'm going into town this afternoon," Abbi said on her way out of the room. "I'd like you to come along. I could use your opinion, I think."

Abbi had barely finished eating a late breakfast when Lance arrived. Ramona was beside herself with joy at the announcement of their marriage. But Abbi found it difficult to even look her aunt in the eye. Lance held her hand and seemed compassionate to her emotions. She was grateful for the honesty they'd shared as far as it was possible. In spite of the threat he posed to Cameron due to his military position, he had become an ally to her.

Salina said little, but Abbi suspected she was not entirely pleased with the announcement. Abbi wondered if Salina sensed that Abbi didn't love Lance. But gradually Salina relaxed and became caught up in their plans. They discussed arrangements for the wedding at the cathedral, and the festivities to be held at the estate afterward. Ramona was more pleased than distressed at the prospect of having the wedding take place so quickly. Abbi invited Marta and Elsa to join them so that the work could be delegated throughout the household. Elsa took notes and made suggestions. Marta was priceless in her sound wisdom and organizational skills. Abbi found some measure of excitement in thinking that, as Cameron had said, this would really be _their_ wedding. If she kept that image in her mind, the arrangements might not be so difficult.

Their plans continued over lunch, and then Lance insisted that he had to get back to work. "Surely you don't need a man's opinion for most of this," he said lightly.

Abbi walked him to the door, fully expecting to have to kiss him. But he only kissed her brow, saying gently, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she insisted.

"This must be difficult for you, all things considered."

"Yes, but . . . your kindness and support make a world of difference."

"I'm glad," he said. "Are you feeling all right?" She looked baffled and he clarified, "It occurred to me after I'd left here last night that . . . well, it's obvious now why you've felt ill off and on since--"

"I'm doing better now," she said, "as long as I take care of myself."

"Then you must take _very good_ care of yourself."

Abbi looked into his eyes and had to say, "Thank you, Lance, for everything." She went on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He smiled before he walked out the door.

Lance had not been gone ten minutes when Ramona and Salina ushered her and Elsa into the carriage for a trip to town. Mrs. Schilling, the proprietress in the dress shop, seemed to find it odd that Abbi didn't want to try on any gowns, or even remove her cloak to be measured. But Abbi insisted that she was not up to a fitting, and this particular shop already had her size on record, since they'd made several dresses for her in the past. Requesting certain specifications, she was content to choose by simply looking.

Mrs. Schilling's doubtful expression faded when Abbi was quickly pleased. She ordered a gown with a fashionable high waist, and a skirt so full of gathers in all directions that her laden figure could never be detected. And she wanted a tremendously long train. Even as a child, she had dreamed of marrying in the cathedral, and she had always imagined a huge train trailing behind her, and how it would become dwarfed by the massive surroundings.

Mrs. Schilling wasn't at all concerned about completing such an elaborate dress so quickly, especially when Abbi offered her a generous bonus for the extra time she would have to put in. She assured Abbi that she had many seamstresses available to assist her, and the gown would be completed in plenty of time.

"I'll bring the dress to your home next week on Wednesday," she said, "and that will give us time to see if it needs any alterations. I will also bring over several veils and accessories for you to choose from."

"That sounds perfect," Abbi said. "Thank you. You've been most helpful."

Arriving home Abbi was pleasantly surprised to find that a small package had arrived from Magda and Lena. The message with it read: _We heard last night about your marriage plans and are both pleased and excited. The enclosed gift is just for you as a bride. Carry it with you on that special day. We wish you much happiness in your future. We will both be at the wedding. Affectionately, Magda and Lena._

Abbi sat on the bed to open the package. Pulling back the tissue she found an elegant lace handkerchief of fine quality. She smiled and held it tenderly, again indulging in daydreams of what the wedding might be like. She wondered how this switching of the groom could possibly come together, and she felt a little panicked to think how everyone might respond when that happened. But she forced such thoughts out of her head, concentrating only on her vision of marrying Cameron publicly in the cathedral where they had been married privately.

Despite being involved with wedding arrangements, the hours of the day dragged for Abbi. She tried in vain to take a nap and catch up on her sleep, and she had picked at her meals with little enthusiasm. She felt a combination of intolerable excitement and unexplainable worry, perhaps brought on by the confusion of these bizarre wedding plans. She finally forced herself to work on her painting to keep busy, knowing that it was almost finished.

Lance returned for dinner, and the aunts chattered constantly about the wedding. Abbi was glad to have the meal over and be able to escape them, going back to the lawn where she'd left her easel set up. Lance sat peaceably beside her on the little bench while she dabbed some finishing touches of paint on the canvas.

He chatted casually as he watched her, mostly talking about his work. Since he rarely spoke of anything else, she was surprised to hear him bring up his parents, who were both dead. He spoke freely and openly of them, and Abbi saw a side of Lance she'd never considered before. _He was human_. She listened attentively as he went on. "My father was a good man, who had a great deal of integrity and worked very hard, but he was not necessarily warm. I knew he loved me, but he didn't display any kind of affection openly."

"And did he also have a military career?" Abbi asked.

"He did," Lance said with pride. "In fact, he also served as Captain of the Guard, although I'm sure he was much better at it than I could ever be. I'm relatively certain the biggest reason I have this position is a combination of my family traditions and Nikolaus's preference. I was hesitant to take the position, but I was encouraged by many of my fellow officers. They felt that I could perhaps curb Nikolaus's behavior, due to our friendship. I've certainly tried, but he becomes increasingly difficult. I'm not certain I am necessarily the best man for the job, but I do my best to honor my father's example and serve my country well."

"I'm certain he would be very proud of you," Abbi said, struck with a fresh admiration for Lance. The more she got to know him, the more she could see the evidence that he _was_ a good man, and she couldn't help but respect him. His willingness to help her in less-than-favorable circumstances only strengthened her regard. In contemplating her feelings toward him in the past, she had to give herself a lesson in judgment. Lance was not dull at all. He'd been somewhat guarded initially, but he was a man with depth and sensitivity, and she was grateful for his presence in her life.

"I'm not so certain," he said, glancing down in a way that implied he didn't feel as confident about himself and his position as he usually let on. But seeing his human qualities only warmed her toward him even further. "In some ways he would be, I suppose. He was rather close to the duke--Nikolaus's father--and he wanted very much for his children to be involved with the royal family and to work for prestigious positions." As he spoke on about his relationship with his father, Abbi couldn't help thinking of what Cameron had said about his own. It was clear that Lance had also been expected to follow his father's career. The difference was that Lance enjoyed his work and had been drawn to the military, which had given him a common bond with his father. He showed her the fine dagger he always wore and told her it had been a gift from his father when he'd completed his military training, and he carried it purely for sentimental reasons as a reminder of honoring his father's legacy.

Abbi provoked the conversation further by asking what exactly was entailed in the training necessary to serve on Horstberg's military force. Just hearing him give a brief summary made the process sound grueling. She wasn't surprised to hear of the extensive training in swordplay and marksmanship, but she hadn't expected to learn that every officer of the Guard had been trained in criminal behavior, the politics and history of Horstberg, and a fairly extensive education in medical matters.

"Why?" she asked.

"To aid fellow officers on a battlefield," he said, "or simply to be able to handle any emergency that might arise in offering aid or protection to the citizens of Horstberg."

"Of course," Abbi said distantly. _Like setting a dislocated ankle,_ she thought, trying to imagine Cameron's expertise on everything that Lance had just listed. There was so little she knew about the man she had married. But she smiled to think of how he'd looked wearing the coat of his uniform, then she felt her smile deepen as she recalled him saying, _I don't think looking good in the uniform is a job requirement._ But it didn't hurt any, Abbi thought.

Silence prompted Abbi to remember herself. She told Lance how impressed she was with all he'd learned in order to follow his career. He smiled humbly and asked her questions about her relationship with her grandfather. She got a little teary as she spoke of him, but Lance was compassionate and in turn spoke of his mother and how difficult her death had been on the family.

"Was it difficult for you when your father married Ramona?"

"Not at all," he said. "It was good to see him find someone. They were very good for each other, I believe."

"Were you close to Ramona then, prior to your father's death?"

"Not necessarily. She's a good woman and we've always had a mutual respect. She treated us well, but we were practically grown before she came into our lives."

"You have brothers and sisters, then," she said. He looked confused and she clarified, "You said _our_ lives . . . I assume you have brothers and sisters."

"Only one," he said, suddenly uncomfortable, "who was killed. But I don't want to talk about that."

"Very well," she said and found herself looking into his eyes. She was struck with an insight that touched her deeply. Not only was he human, he was lonely. He had no parents beyond a stepmother who shared little with him beyond a persuasive respect. He had only one sibling, who had been killed. And she'd seen no evidence that he had any friendships beyond Nikolaus du Woernig, and that relationship was strained at best. She wondered about his honest opinions of Nikolaus, but had no desire to even bring him up. In that moment she felt a deep affinity with Lance, and prayed in her heart that whatever the outcome of their association, he would find great happiness in his life. He certainly deserved it. She truly appreciated his support and friendship, and felt compelled to tell him so. Impulsively she touched the side of his face, saying gently, "You're a good man, Captain. I'm truly grateful for all that you're doing for me."

He smiled with a distinct sparkle in his eyes, leading her to believe that her words had touched him. She watched him close his eyes and turn his face to kiss the palm of her hand as he pressed his hand over hers. "It is my deepest pleasure, Abbi," he said in a voice of hushed reverence, "to do anything in my power to aid your happiness."

Abbi sighed contentedly and felt no desire to refuse his kiss. While her feelings for him could never compare to her love for Cameron, and she knew giving Lance her kiss was mostly for the sake of pretenses, she felt a marked affection for him. Her deepest hope in that moment, beyond her desire to see Cameron free and safe, was that Lance would emerge from this experience unscathed and not hating her for her deception. She recalled Cameron saying that when all was said and done, he really believed Lance would understand. She certainly hoped so.

Feeling a sudden tension between them, Abbi gently cleared her throat and continued with her work, and he seemed content to watch her. A few minutes later, Lance leaned closer to her painting and commented, "I can see now what this is. It's a bit abstract but . . . I've never seen the valley from that angle before. Still, I recognize the castle there at the left and . . ." He paused carefully. "Where did you ever see it from that point of view?"

Abbi covered her nervousness well. "From the mountain, of course. I spent the winter there, remember?"

"I know," he said, "but from the direction you're looking at it . . . well, I didn't think there was anyone living up that way."

"I saw this view quite far from where I stayed. I wandered a great deal."

"I see," he said. "It _is_ a nice painting."

"Thank you," she said and was grateful when he turned the conversation back to his work. Abbi stopped painting when it became too dark to see. Lance helped carry her things inside, and when he set them down a loose, wrinkled sketch fell out from inside her sketchbook. Before Abbi realized what it was, Lance had picked it up and was looking at it. She snatched it from him with such vehemence that he looked startled.

Taking a glance at the drawing, she was relieved to see that the depiction of Cameron in the window seat of the lodge didn't show enough of his face to make it recognizable, especially with the emphasis on his beard. Still she felt unsettled to hear Lance say, "Your husband?"

"Yes," she said and tucked the drawing back inside the sketch book where she kept it.

"Forgive me," he said. "I didn't mean to pry. It's very good work."

"Thank you," she said, pretending not to be upset. She told him good-night and excused herself, insisting she needed some rest. He kissed her brow before she hurried to her room, wondering when Cameron would show himself.

Cameron nearly laughed out loud when he saw the trellis leading to Abbi's window. He'd jokingly mentioned it to Georg in passing, but he hadn't honestly believed Georg would take the suggestion seriously. The strong lattice was easy to climb, and felt sturdy holding his weight. He knew it had not been built for roses. Making a mental note to thank Georg for fitting this into his already busy schedule, Cameron swung his leg over the balcony and was disappointed to find the room empty and dark. But he'd told Abbi he was coming tonight, and he knew she couldn't be long. He lit a lamp and made himself comfortable in a chair near the bed, taking time to admire the surroundings and the way they spoke of Abbi.

Cameron jolted when the bedroom door opened and he realized that he'd dozed off. The maid standing in the doorway looked only a little more shocked than he felt as they stared at each other for just a moment before she closed the door.

"Blast," Cameron muttered under his breath, hoping this would not create any problems for Abbi.

Abbi was almost to her room when Elsa practically ran into her, looking frantic. She expected Elsa to say something, but she just glanced toward Abbi's room and moved on. Opening the door, Abbi saw Cameron looking concerned. It took little to figure out what had just happened.

"Elsa," she called down the hall, knowing the situation needed to be cleared up.

"Yes, Miss Abbi?" she replied timidly.

"Come in here please."

"Oh no, Miss Abbi, I don't think that--"

"Elsa," she said firmly and they both entered the room. Abbi closed the door and sighed.

Cameron stood quietly with his arms folded, looking mildly upset.

"Would you please," Abbi said to Elsa, "inform my husband that he has no reason to be concerned about your finding him here."

"Oh, of course not," she insisted with wide eyes. "I've never told a soul about the baby." Cameron sighed and looked at the floor.

"I would never betray your trust, Miss Abbi," Elsa added.

"I know that, and you know that," Abbi said. "I just wanted _him_ to know that." She thought it best to avoid Cameron's name, if only to make him feel more at ease.

Elsa looked up to meet Cameron's eyes, saying in a firm voice that defied her nervousness, "You are Georg's friend . . . the man he's helping."

Cameron glanced to Abbi in concern before he put the pieces together and remembered the connection. He recognized her voice more than her face from the other evening when he'd been hiding in Abbi's room.

"I am Georg's wife," Elsa said. "I want you to know that I would never do anything to bring harm to him, or those he cares for. And I would do anything to help Miss Abbi--anything."

"Thank you, Elsa," Cameron said, then he took her hand and kissed it. "I am indebted to you for your support and understanding."

Elsa looked a little in awe as she bustled nervously out of the room. Following a moment of silence, Cameron said, "Forgive me. I must be more careful."

"No one ever comes to my room this time of day except Elsa. But it wouldn't hurt to lock the door when you're in here." She did so as she said it. Their eyes met again, but she sensed some kind of tension between them. Her thoughts went to the bizarre relationship she was sharing with Lance in Cameron's absence, and she wondered if his thoughts were the same. She felt unexpectedly queasy and scolded herself for not eating better through the day. She wished that she'd asked Elsa to bring her something to eat as she sat at her dressing table and began pulling the pins from her hair. As her hair fell around her shoulders, she glanced in the mirror to see Cameron's reflection behind her. She knew she should say something to ease the strain between them, but she felt lightheaded as she brushed through her hair.

Abbi was about to ring for Elsa when Cameron stepped behind her and took the brush from her hand to take over the task of smoothing out her hair. Pulling it gently through her curls, over and over, his eyes kept moving from her reflection to his brushing. Then Abbi's stomach lurched and her nausea became too intense to ignore. She put a hand over her mouth and bent forward.

"What's wrong?" Cameron asked, dropping the brush and taking her shoulders.

Abbi shook her head but left her mouth covered tightly.

"Come and lie down," he insisted and urged her to her feet, but her lightheadedness overcame her and she fell against him. "Good heavens, Abbi." He picked her up and carried her to the bed. "What's the matter?"

Abbi kept her mouth covered and Cameron felt helpless and frustrated, not knowing what to do. "Are you going to lose it?" he asked, but Abbi shook her head. "Is there anything I can do?" Again she shook her head.

Abbi noted Cameron's visible concern while she struggled to gain control of her insides. She finally moved her hand and relaxed against the pillow with a sigh. "If only I _could_ lose it," she said, "which would be a far cry above feeling that way."

"Does this happen often?" he asked.

"Only occasionally now. It used to be almost constant. But I'm afraid I haven't eaten very well today, which only aggravates the problem."

"Is there something I can do," he asked, "now that you can speak?"

"Yes, there is," she replied, placing her hand over her stomach. "You could ring for Elsa," she motioned to the bell rope, "and have her bring me something to eat."

Cameron pulled the cord then held Abbi's hand until Elsa came into the room only a minute later.

"What is it, Miss?" she asked after Cameron unlocked the door to let her in.

"Abbi would like something to eat," Cameron said with kind authority. "Could you see to it, please?"

"Yes, sir," she said and left the room as if she'd been taking orders from him for years.

Leaning against the headboard, Cameron put his arm around Abbi's shoulder and rubbed it gently. "Have you seen a doctor about this?"

"Of course I have," she replied.

"What did he say?"

"He said it's all a natural part of pregnancy, and I shouldn't let myself get hungry or tired."

He looked into her eyes then pressed a passionate kiss to her lips.

"What was that for?" she asked.

"For going through all of this to give me a child."

"I've never had to wonder if it's worth it," she said. "This child is tangible evidence of the love we share."

Cameron sighed and kissed her brow. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful," she said, "but Elsa will be here soon. She's wonderful."

"So I see," Cameron said as Elsa entered the room. He still didn't feel entirely comfortable with the situation as he moved off the bed so that Elsa could place the tray there. But it didn't seem to bother Abbi, and he had to remind himself to overcome his paranoia and remember that this was Georg's wife. Never having seen them together, the connection was difficult to comprehend.

"Thank you, Elsa," he said. She nodded politely and left.

Abbi quickly felt better as she filled her stomach. "Hungry?" she asked Cameron as he stood looking out the window.

"No, thank you," he said, "Georg had Marta bring me something in the stable before I came."

"So, Marta is in on your little secret?"

"She's endlessly faithful. Together they take very good care of me. I owe my life to Georg, many times over."

"Then I owe him mine also."

"And your rose trellis." He chuckled.

"Indeed."

"I noticed a proclamation posted today in town . . . that the Captain of the Guard is getting married."

Abbi sighed. "New travels fast . . . which it should, considering that the bride is very pregnant."

Cameron turned from the window. "I'm terribly jealous."

"As you should be," she said. "But I can assure you that his kisses are entirely platonic, and he's been a perfect gentleman."

"I wouldn't expect him to be anything less. I wouldn't trust my wife and child with just anyone." He sighed and wandered idly about the room. "I assume everything's going well."

"Yes, actually." She told him briefly about the plans they'd made, and how she'd ordered a wedding gown, which made him smile.

"What's this?" Cameron asked, noticing the package on her bureau.

"A wedding gift."

"Really?" He seemed surprised. "So soon?"

"Go ahead and look at it," she said. "It's your wedding, too."

Cameron pulled the handkerchief from the box and admired it. "Very nice," he said, puzzled.

"Read the card."

Cameron picked up the card sitting near the box and read with no expression. "Friends of yours?" he asked.

"In a way," she said. "I met them at the castle last year while attending a party. We keep in touch, although they're extremely busy. They're the duke's sisters."

Abbi expected him to be impressed, or at least surprised, but he just set the paper down and moved back to gaze out the window. She watched him thoughtfully, grateful to have him here, and to be feeling better so that she could enjoy their time together. She took the tray to the bureau and turned to face Cameron, running her hands through his hair.

"That was a quick rejuvenation." He smiled.

"I told you it was nothing serious." She reached up to kiss him. "Hold me," she whispered. "Hold me all night."

"I had every intention of doing just that."

Abbi turned to pull up her hair, indicating that he unbutton her dress. She put on her nightgown while he removed his boots and breeches and got into bed. She slipped between the sheets and into his arms, relaxing her head against his shoulder.

"Tell me more about our wedding," he said, putting his hands behind his head.

Abbi told him about the gown she had picked out, and of her plans for the cathedral wedding, and the reception afterwards at the estate, which Marta had taken charge of.

"It sounds perfect," he said, "and it won't be much longer now."

"I only wish my father could be there," Abbi said, and then she recalled the unusual incident with him. Her preoccupation with other things had put it to the back of her mind. But now that Cameron was here, there was a great deal she wanted to know.

"So do I," he added.

"Just how well do you know my father?" Abbi asked.

"I've already told you," he stated with an edge. "We worked together for a time."

"I know better than to ask, because I'm sure you won't tell me, but I can't help wondering how you came by my mother's bracelet."

Cameron looked at her sharply. "How did you find out it was your mother's? I told you not to take it off."

"My father took it off. He acted as though he'd seen a ghost."

"He had every reason to believe I was dead."

"You don't think any harm will come of it, do you?"

"No, Abbi. Whatever the situation may be with your father, he would never do anything to harm me."

Abbi felt some relief in that. "And the bracelet?" she asked. "Why did you have it?"

"He gave it to me many years ago for safekeeping. He had trouble with gambling now and then, and he didn't want to be tempted to gamble away something that meant a great deal to him. I believe he told me at the time that if anything ever happened to him, I should give it to his daughter." He smiled at the irony. "So I did." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Like you, I wish he could be at the wedding."

Wanting to change the subject, Abbi asked, "What about your relatives? Do you have any?"

"A few."

"Will they be at the wedding?" she asked.

"I believe so," was all he said.

"It just occurred to me," Abbi said, "that if my father can't be there, well . . . someone's got to give the bride away. I think it should be Georg."

Cameron smiled. "What a marvelous idea. I'm certain Georg can handle giving away the bride and standing up with the groom as well."

"I don't see why not. Do you want to ask him?"

"I've already asked him to stand with me. I think you should talk to him about giving you away."

"I will." She smiled and hugged him tightly. "I guess we're all set then. The rest is up to the people we've engaged to come through with their assignments, and you, my dear betrothed. Just when are you going to make this grand switch of the groom?"

"Before the wedding is over." He smirked.

Abbi didn't know whether to hit him or kiss him. She opted for the latter.
Chapter Eighteen

MANEUVERS

Abbi was awakened by a knock at her door. In the darkness she felt Cameron beside her and sensed his concern.

"Who is it?" she called.

"It's Georg," he called back in a loud whisper.

"You stay put," Cameron said to Abbi, pulling on his breeches. She lit the lamp on the bedside table as Cameron unlocked the door and Georg slipped inside.

"What is it?" Cameron asked frantically as he closed the door and leaned against it.

"Hello, Abbi." Georg smirked toward her. She gave him a sarcastic grin and pulled the bedding up to cover the bottom half of her face.

"Well?" Cameron urged impatiently.

"You know that problem we were discussing earlier, and our hopes that . . ." He glanced discreetly toward Abbi. ". . . That a particular gentleman could help us."

"Yes."

"He's agreed to give us everything we need, as long as he can see with his own eyes that you're alive."

Cameron laughed. "Hey, that's easy. I can do that."

"He's waiting for us."

"What?" Abbi said, peeking over the covers. "It's the middle of the night."

"The very best time for fugitives to wander," Cameron said, kissing her quickly. "I won't be long."

Abbi went back to sleep a few minutes after Cameron left with Georg. And the next thing she knew he was climbing back into bed.

"Everything all right?" she murmured, nuzzling close to him.

"Everything's perfect," he said and she drifted off again.

Cameron woke instinctively before dawn, knowing his life might depend on it. Feeling Abbi's warmth next to him, his thoughts went to the child she carried. He had never been a man to think much about the future, mostly because it had always appeared so bleak--until Abbi had come into his life. In Abbi he could see a bright and hopeful vision, well worth dreaming about. And now it was no problem for Cameron to see ahead. He'd worked hard at it all those months alone on the mountain. As he'd waited for Georg's signal, the only thing he'd had was his future with Abbi, and he'd constantly filled his mind with a dream that he was determined to make reality. Now, as Cameron worked to meet the challenges before him, he depended on that dream more than ever to show him the way. The fight, the changes, the risks would all bring him the future he knew was right for Abbi and the child, because he knew it was what he truly needed to be at peace with himself.

In his mind he could see their wedding, a public ceremony where pretenses and deceptions were gone, and vows that weren't taken lightly would be exchanged for all to see. There would be all the months and years ahead with Abbi as his wife, without having to hide and worry. But the most fascinating aspect of Cameron's vision was the child. A product of perfect love, an astounding miracle of nature, and as Abbi had said, tangible evidence of the love they shared.

Cameron knew he didn't begin to understand what was involved with bringing a child into the world, but he was eager to learn. He wanted a part in all of it, including being there for the birth. Knowing it wasn't an acceptable practice didn't make him any less determined.

Beyond the birth of their first child was where his dreams really began. He could see Abbi so clearly as a mother, and she would be such a fine one. Cameron knew that what he and Abbi shared gave them the potential to raise good and happy children, who could grow up to be upstanding, responsible people, able to find their own dreams.

As predawn light crept into the room, Cameron forced himself from his reverie, knowing he had to leave. Not wanting to disturb Abbi's sleep again, he left a note on his pillow. He pressed his lips softly to her brow, touched her where the baby grew, and climbed quietly down the trellis.

The note on Cameron's pillow did little to ease the ache Abbi felt to wake and find him gone, but still it touched her as she read: _Knowing that you need your rest, I couldn't bear to wake you. I'm not certain when I can return to see you again, but it will be at the first possible opportunity. Don't watch for me, keep busy with that wedding, and take care of yourself. It's little more than a week, my love, until our wedding day, and as you read this I'll be one step closer to my freedom, counting down the hours. I love you, Abbi, with all my heart. Be patient and strong as I know you are. I am forever yours, C._

Abbi touched the letter to her lips as if it could bring him closer, longing as she knew he was, for the waiting to be over.

When Elsa came to her room later that morning, Abbi noticed a fine lace collar that had been added to a dress Elsa wore frequently.

"It's beautiful," Abbi said to her. "Wherever did you get it?"

"Georg gave it to me a few days ago. He told me he met a man whose wife makes the lace, and he had to buy some for me. I just finished putting it on the dress last night. I think I should like more of it."

"I think I should like some as well," Abbi said.

Dr. Furhelm called mid-morning to see how Abbi was doing. She was puzzled by his extra attention as it hadn't been a week since she'd last seen him. They went through the usual examination and questions, and convinced that all was well, he left without further comment.

Abbi was pleased to find that the next two days passed more quickly than she'd anticipated. She finished up her painting, and since it turned out better than she'd expected, she took it into town to get it framed as a wedding gift for Cameron.

On Sunday Abbi went to church as she usually did, except that Lance came along. They were assaulted by many well-wishers, and Abbi had to keep in mind that in a week this deception would be over and she would be living openly with her husband.

On Monday she picked up the framed painting and had it wrapped. She also picked up a few other things in town, then she returned home and spent the afternoon going over wedding plans with Marta and Elsa. Marta seemed ecstatic over the whole thing, and Abbi concluded that she cared very much for Cameron and was pleased to know they would be together.

Sitting in her room Monday evening, Abbi felt good about the time that had passed. She read Cameron's message over and over and found strength in the reassurance he had given her. She only prayed that he would continue to avoid any harm, and that he might be able to see her tonight.

Cameron sat discreetly in a poorly lit corner of the pub, observing the comings and goings. He loved the normalcy of life he found by being here. He'd come to this place almost daily for years, and it pleased him to see that little had changed. He enjoyed just sitting there, unobserved as he hovered like a ghost on the perimeter, listening and watching. He'd felt the same kind of awe as he'd wandered through the streets and the market square on the day of the fair. Secure behind the mask he'd worn, he'd been able to observe a world that had once been familiar to him, just soaking everything into his senses like a sponge that had long been dry. And for the same reason, Cameron loved to sit here in the corner of the pub. He kept the hood of his cloak up, leaning back against the wall, pretending to be asleep. He only slipped in when Boris made certain it was clear, and he slipped out when the crowds were preoccupied.

He was surprised when Boris set some supper in front of him. Was it already that late? "Thank you," he said. Boris just grinned and slipped back into the crowd. This was one of the busiest times of day as men stopped on their way home from work, some just for a drink and others settling in to stay all evening. Cameron ate his meal at a leisurely pace, and smiled when he saw Georg come in and immerse himself into the crowd. He didn't speak with Cameron. He didn't even make eye contact with him. That was the way it needed to be.

Long after he'd finished his meal, the crowd finally dispersed enough for Cameron to slip away. Even Georg was long gone. He was about to stand up and leave when half a dozen officers of the Guard filtered through the front door. They sat down and ordered something to eat, but it was evident by the way their eyes scanned the room that their reason for being there was not hunger alone. Cameron's heart quickened as one of them took notice of him. A minute later the officer stood and walked casually toward Cameron. He forced himself to appear calm and unconcerned. But it was difficult when he recognized this man as someone he had once known well.

_Lieutenant Wurtzur_. How could he possibly forget the day this man had escorted Nikolaus du Woernig into his prison cell? How well he recalled kneeling on the cold floor, doubled over in pain, bruised and bleeding. And now he was face-to-face with Wurtzur again, praying that the lack of light and the hood of the cloak would conceal his own features.

"Are you new around here?" Wurtzur asked in a tone that was grating. Cameron ached to be in a position to see this guy without a job.

"Yes, actually, I am." He kept his voice low and gruff, attempting to disguise it.

Wurtzur came to the edge of the table and leaned over. "I don't think so. You look awfully familiar to me."

Cameron forced indifference. "I've been told I look like somebody dead."

"Maybe you _are_ somebody dead," Wurtzur said and laughed.

"Are you threatening me?" Cameron asked.

"Only if you're up to mischief."

"Why would I be? I was just enjoying the peace and quiet. It would appear that _you're_ up to mischief. I'm certain your captain would love to hear of your appalling manners."

"You know the captain?" Wurtzur asked, unconcerned.

"Indeed, I do," he said and came to his feet. "Now if you will excuse me. I can see I'll need to go elsewhere for respite."

Cameron hurried out the front door, expecting Wurtzur to order the others to pursue him. The thought made his heart pound into his throat, which increased when he realized that three other officers were loitering where his horse had been tethered among many others. He turned and walked the other direction, hoping to lose himself in an alley. Then he heard commotion behind him. He didn't know if it had to do with him or not, but he ran like hell, fearing hell would catch up with him if he didn't.

Abbi's heart went wild when she heard a thud outside her window, and she went quickly to the balcony and looked down. In the darkness she recognized the top of Cameron's head as he leaned heavily against the trellis, and she could hear his labored breathing.

"Cameron," she whispered loudly.

His head shot up, startled. He muttered her name hoarsely and began climbing upward. The night was dark, but Abbi could tell he was having difficulty. When he finally got close enough for her to reach him, she took hold of his arm and helped him over the railing. He leaned heavily against her, barely able to stand.

"What happened?" she demanded. His breathing was too strained to respond as she helped him to the bed. "Good heavens," she said when she saw blood running down the side of his face, "you're bleeding!"

Cameron collapsed on his side, still unable to speak as he struggled to catch his breath. Fighting to keep her composure, Abbi grabbed a towel, wet it, and began wiping the blood away to find its source. Much to her relief, she only found a small, vertical cut through his eyebrow.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" she asked as his breathing slowed a little.

"I don't think so," he said with difficulty, "but I ran from the middle of town and my whole body hurts so badly that I can't tell."

"Cameron, that's at least three miles."

"Don't I know it," he said, trying to laugh.

"What you need is a good hot bath to ease those aching muscles. You can tell me what happened later . . . just like you tell me everything else." She couldn't help the bit of sarcasm that seeped into her words.

Cameron remained silent on the bed, gradually feeling himself come back to life while Abbi rang for Elsa and then paced the room. He wanted to console her worries but didn't know what to say. A torrent of fear and confusion left him wondering if he was doing the right thing, or if he'd lost some portion of his mind in believing he could actually pull this off and keep Abbi safe.

Abbi met Elsa at the door, saying softly, "I need you to prepare a hot bath."

"But Miss Abbi, you already had a bath today."

"I know that," she insisted. Elsa looked puzzled so Abbi moved aside and motioned toward the bed where Cameron lay. "He's been hurt," Abbi whispered. Elsa gave an understanding nod and left to take care of it.

A short while later the bath was ready and Abbi dismissed Elsa for the night. Turning her attention to Cameron, she wondered if he'd fallen asleep. She touched his shoulder and his eyes flew open. He looked up at her with such childlike trust that she was almost brought to tears. She had no idea what had happened, but she sensed fear in him, which made her wonder if he would make it to their wedding day alive. But Cameron needed confidence and hope, so Abbi pushed her fears away for the moment.

"Come on, my love," she said, pulling him by his shirt collar to a sitting position. "We're going to get you into that hot tub before those muscles stiffen."

As she removed his cloak, Abbi noticed a long, bloodstained tear across his shirt with a nasty scratch beneath it on his shoulder. He winced slightly when she touched it.

"You are hurt elsewhere, and you didn't even know it," she scolded as she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his arms. He smiled weakly at her as she helped him out of his boots and breeches and into the tub.

"You're so good to me, Abbi," he said, sinking into the water.

"Someone's got to look after you," she said, feeling an onset of emotion as she knelt beside the tub, "so you don't get yourself killed." The last barely escaped through a flood of tears, and she leaned against his shoulder and cried. Her efforts to encourage him were futile when she couldn't even control her own fear.

"Abbi," he said lightly, "it's not as bad as all that."

"Then you tell me just what it is!" She felt like screaming.

"It's all under control," he said, while his fearful eyes contradicted his calm voice.

"Oh, yes," she retorted. "I can see that. The blood is a good indication that everything's in perfect control."

"I let you know a long time ago that it wouldn't be easy to be involved with me. Why do you think I tried so hard to keep you out of it?"

"I did not ask to become involved in all of this, either!"

Abbi saw a fury come into Cameron's eyes that she hadn't seen since long before they'd exchanged vows on the mountain. She actually felt afraid as his voice turned hard and brusque. "Just say the word, Abbi. Say it, and I'll leave you in peace." Abbi knew he was too angry to be thinking rationally, but the very implication pierced her heart. "I could go someplace far away and save many people a great amount of trouble--especially you."

Abbi could only stare at him, feeling afraid--not of him, but of his threat.

"Just say it, Abbi!" He spoke softly to avoid being overheard, but for the impact in her heart he could have been shouting.

"I don't want you to go, and you know it!"

"Then what would you have me do?"

Cameron regretted his outburst when he saw the fear in Abbi's eyes and a feeble sob escaped her. "Oh Abbi," he said, "forgive me. I just . . ." He couldn't find the words to finish.

"I'm sorry." She blinked hard against her threatening tears. "I didn't mean to get so upset. It's just that . . . all those months, waiting and wondering, knowing I was pregnant and not knowing what would happen, and now . . ." She drew a deep sigh. "I can't ask you what happened because I know you won't tell me. I'm so tired of not knowing what's going on in your life."

"How do you know I won't tell you?"

"Fine." She sniffled and calmed down. "What happened?"

"Well, I was sitting at the pub in a dark corner, minding my business, when several officers came in. One of them thought he recognized me, so I left. There were officers standing around where I had left my horse. I ran like mad to be certain they weren't after me. I didn't dare stop until I got here, or I might have fallen asleep under a tree or something, and ended up in prison by morning. As for my being hurt, that's just because I'm clumsy. It's a dark night, you know, which is a good thing, but I ran into something . . . I don't even know what . . .and cut my forehead. Then I fell when I was climbing through a fence and cut my shoulder. There. That's the entire truth. Are you satisfied? Will that make you trust me until Saturday?"

"I've always trusted you, but I . . ." She paused, emotional again.

"But you what?"

"But that doesn't make me worry any less. What if you don't outrun them next time?"

"Worrying will only make you and that baby sick. I've told you before that I'll be careful, and you can see that I was tonight. Besides, I'm smarter than they are, and quicker."

He smiled encouragingly until Abbi snarled at him, "Don't you _ever_ threaten to leave me again!"

"Oh, my love," he whispered with regret, "I could never, ever leave you." She knelt on the floor beside him when he opened his arms to her. "My life was nothing before you came into it." He brushed his lips over her brow. "I may be a fool, but never foolish enough to let you slip away, my darling. Forgive me."

Abbi relaxed with her head against his shoulder, allowing herself to accept that he was all right, and she had to have the faith that he would remain safe until the wedding was over. Feeling much better, she pulled the sponge out of the water and wrung it over his head.

"What are you doing?" he sputtered.

"I'm going to wash your hair." She soaped his head and began massaging his scalp, twisting and playing in the mass of lather for several minutes as he contentedly closed his eyes.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, noting that the cut over his eye had nearly stopped bleeding.

"Oh, yes."

Gradually she worked the lather down through his beard. She giggled and Cameron tipped his head back to look at her upside down.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"You are."

He smirked and pulled a handful of lather from his head to put it on Abbi's nose. She giggled loudly and he said, "Be quiet. Someone will hear you."

"No one except Elsa is ever in this part of the house so late."

"Really?" he said and tried to grab her with his soapy hands, but she jumped out of his reach.

"Now Cameron, be a nice boy. I've got to rinse your hair."

"Fine, rinse my hair."

Abbi moved behind him and pushed his head under the water. He came up laughing and spitting water, and she did it again. "That ought to do it," she giggled, and a moment later she found herself in the tub with him, every inch of her clothing soaked. She laughed and tried to hit him until he pressed his lips over hers with a kiss that melted her.

"Fine," she said, "you win. You're stronger than I am." He kissed her again and she responded with passion. "And for your prize, you get to mop up all the water you just got on the floor, because I am _not_ going to try to explain to Elsa, or anybody else, why it's there."

"Yes, madame!" he said firmly and they both laughed.

Cameron finally got out of the tub and put on his breeches. He emptied the bathtub with a bucket, tossing the water out over the balcony. Abbi put her wet clothes into the tub, followed by the towels they used to wipe up the water off the floor.

"Are you feeling better now?" Abbi asked Cameron when the mess was cleaned up and he lay back on the bed.

"Extremely." He smirked.

"I mean your injuries."

"I'd forgotten all about them."

"Elsa brought some salve and I'm going to see that they're properly cared for. Now let me have a look at your shoulder."

"It's just a scratch. Nothing serious."

"Scratches don't leave bloodstains, and if you'll stop being so proud and let me take care of it properly, it won't turn into something serious."

When the cut was bandaged, Abbi reached up to put salve on the cut over his eye. But he grabbed her wrist, kissing her hand tenderly. "I love you," he said.

"Why?" she asked, continuing with her task.

"I can't think of a good reason why I shouldn't. Actually, I can't think of _any_ reason why I shouldn't."

"Good," she said triumphantly. "Now you're all fixed."

Georg had barely gotten cleaned up from the day's work when he heard a harsh knock at the door. He pulled it open as he tugged on a shirt, dread already tightening his muscles. He relaxed slightly when he saw the teen-aged boy who worked for Boris.

"What is it, lad?" he asked.

"Boris sent me to tell you that he lost him, sir."

By _him_ Georg knew he meant Cameron. His name was never spoken among those helping him, for fear of being overheard.

"What do you mean _lost him?"_ Georg bellowed quietly, grateful Elsa had not returned from the big house yet.

"He was sittin' in the corner. Boris went in the back room. He came back and he was gone. There were officers all over the place. His horse was still there. I brought it back. It's in the stable."

"Anything else?" Georg demanded, hating the fear consuming him.

"No, sir."

"All right. You go unsaddle that horse and keep hidden in the stable while I check something. I may need you to take a message back to Boris."

"Yes, sir." The boy hurried toward the stable.

"Damn," Georg muttered, pulling on his boots. If Cameron wasn't with Abbi, he would have to put in action a carefully planned network to find him; a part of the plan he'd hoped to avoid using.

He was almost to Abbi's bedroom door when it came open and she stepped into the hall. For a moment their eyes met and he feared the worst. If she hadn't seen him, then . . .

"I was just coming to find you," she said. "Cameron wanted you to know that he's all right now."

Georg leaned back against the wall, nearly collapsing from relief. "Oh, thank God," he murmured while Abbi gazed at him aghast, wondering if there was more to the story than Cameron had told her.

"What do you mean he's all right _now?_ Where is he?" Georg asked and Abbi motioned toward the bedroom. She followed him in and closed the door. "What on earth happened?" Georg demanded.

"I'm fine," Cameron insisted.

"There are a number of people having fatal heart failure right now because you're _lost."_

"Forgive me, Georg."

"What do you mean, lost?" Abbi asked Georg.

"We have a network set up so that we know exactly where he is at all times," Georg explained. Abbi smiled. She liked that idea.

"What happened?" Georg asked.

Abbi listened as he repeated the same story to Georg, adding some names and details that he'd omitted before. "That's it, Georg, I swear."

"If Wurtzur thinks he's recognized you, all hell could break loose. I told you loitering in the pub was not a good idea. I will see you at dawn and we'll discuss it."

Georg left the room, the lines of his body taut with anger. Abbi closed the door and locked it. Cameron wasn't looking very happy, either, so Abbi sat at her dressing table, combing through her wet hair, trying not to think about the fears assaulting her. She glanced up to see Cameron's reflection behind hers.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You look as if you're about to cry."

"I'm scared, Cameron. And don't try to promise me that everything's going to be all right, because you can't possibly know." She turned in her chair to face him as he squatted beside her. "I wonder if these stolen moments together are all we're going to have. And I can't bear the thought."

"Then don't think about it."

"I have to! I try not to, but . . . how can I avoid it? I spend my days betrothed to a man I don't love. Every hour I'm reminded of the possibility of spending life without you. And I don't even know who you are. If you don't make it to the wedding, even by some odd accident that has nothing to do with all this mischief you're into, my child would not even know who his father was. How do I look my child in the face and say, 'Your father died before you were born, but I can't tell you anything about him? I didn't even know his _name?' "_

"Do you want me to tell you?" he asked. "Just say the word, Abbi, and I'll tell you everything."

Abbi looked into his eyes, amazed to see that he really meant it. "But aren't you concerned that my knowledge could incriminate me if--"

"Yes, Abbi, I am. I'd rather not put you in danger, but if you feel this troubled by it, perhaps your fears should be an equal concern. Do you want me to tell you?"

"No . . . I mean, I don't care . . . I mean . . ." She sighed heavily. "That's not the point." She paused and looked up at the ceiling. "I want to be sure you'll be there. I want this to all be over."

"Abbi, look at me." She did and he touched her face softly. "There is no way I can guarantee I won't die tomorrow. It's impossible. You shouldn't worry over such things. If the worst happens, Georg will see that you know all you need to know. He has everything in his possession to prove our marriage, and to give my child the rights to all that is mine. I love you, and we have to believe we'll make it through this together, the three of us." He pressed a hand to her belly. "Come along." He took her hand. "It's late. You need your rest."

Abbi relented and went to bed, reminding herself that tomorrow they would be one day closer to having this nightmare over.

Cameron instinctively reached out to hold Abbi in his sleep. Not finding her there, he came immediately awake. He was alone in the bed and couldn't see her in the room, so he pulled on his breeches and found her standing on the balcony.

"Is something wrong?" he asked as he came behind her, moving her nightgown and wrapper aside just enough to kiss her shoulder.

"Do you remember when we were on the mountain and I was having nightmares?"

"Yes, of course."

"I just had the same dream."

"Which one?" he asked lightly, hoping to ease her anxiety. "Was I dead on the floor, or just sitting on Blaze not being myself while you were freezing?"

"Oh, hush!" she scolded, not in the mood for his teasing.

"Tell me what you dreamed," he said gently.

"I didn't feel cold, only thwarted somehow."

"Tell me about it."

"It's more simple than it was before. I could see you sitting on top of Blaze, and you seemed so different, strange somehow. I'm trying desperately to reach you, but I can't."

"You haven't been having these dreams all this time, have you?"

"No, this is the first since last spring. I'd forgotten all about it."

Cameron felt concerned but didn't know what to say. He put his arms around her and pulled her against him. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Come back to bed with me. Let me hold you."

Abbi turned in his arms and touched his face tenderly. "I would die without you, Cameron."

"You shall live a very long time," he assured her with a smile.

Abbi drifted back to sleep in his arms, waking only long enough to kiss Cameron good-bye when he left at dawn.

Elsa awakened Abbi before breakfast to remind her that she had an appointment to go into town with Lance this morning. She actually felt pretty as she observed her reflection in a burgundy day dress, and she was pleased to see that the design of the dress hid her swollen figure well. After Elsa did her hair up nicely, she put on the matching hat and went downstairs for breakfast.

Abbi was pleased to find some time left before Lance was due to arrive, and she went to the stable hoping to talk with Georg. She had wanted to for several days now, but he'd become difficult to find lately. She was relieved to discover him alone, but it became immediately evident that he was still in a foul mood. Perhaps he was feeling some of the same anxiety that troubled her. But that wasn't what she wanted to talk about.

"Good morning, Georg."

He looked up from a pile of tack he was sorting. "Good morning."

"I'd like to talk with you, if I could," she said. "I was beginning to think I'd have to make an appointment."

"You're the lady I work for. You can speak to me anytime you like." His reply was a little terse.

"Well, I'm here."

"Go on."

"I was wondering, well . . . you know of course that my father won't be at the wedding."

"Yes, I know."

"And with Papa gone now and . . ." She looked down for a moment.

"Good heavens, Abbi." He smiled at last. "I thought I was your best friend. What's the problem?"

"You _are_ my best friend."

"Then spit it out. There isn't anything you can't say to me."

"I would like you to walk down the aisle with me at the wedding . . . to give me away, so to speak."

Georg looked at her almost shyly, his face showing an emotion she couldn't name.

"Cameron and I have already discussed it," she went on, "and he agrees completely. Please, Georg, say you'll do it."

"You don't have to beg me, Abbi." He chuckled. "Of course I'll do it. I'd be honored."

"Oh, thank you!" She threw her arms around his neck, giving him a light kiss on the lips. "You're a treasure."

Georg laughed softly and hugged her. They were both surprised to hear Lance say, "Am I interrupting something?"

Abbi and Georg smiled at each other as he took his arms from around her. She moved her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Georg is going to give me away at the wedding," she announced.

"How nice," Lance said. "Shall we go, Abbi?" His tone felt a little off, but he was smiling, so Abbi dismissed the idea.

Abbi spent the better part of the day in town with Lance, shopping aimlessly and sharing lunch at an inn. As always, she was grateful for the distraction and enjoyed the diversion. She had come to feel comfortable with his company and found they were genuinely becoming friends. On their way back to the estate he asked if she would attend an opera with him. "It's a traveling company," he said, "and they'll only be here for one night, which is tomorrow. I have box-seat tickets."

"I would love to." Anything was better than sitting at home worrying about Cameron. This way, she could keep the captain distracted as well.

As soon as Lance left, Abbi walked back out to the stable to pass some time. Georg wasn't there, but she hovered near Blaze, currying him with tender care as she talked to him in a soft voice. She'd not felt up to riding much with her pregnancy, and when she did she was far more careful than she used to be, but a day never passed when she didn't spend time with Blaze. Though Georg always saw that his needs were met, she had to see him nevertheless.

"Now I have proof," a familiar voice said from above her. "You talk to horses."

"Cameron," she said, "what are you doing in the loft?"

He was lying down, leaning his chin against the edge so that all she could see was his face.

"Georg told me to stay here so he can keep an eye on me."

"I like Georg more all the time." She smiled. "It's nice to see you in daylight for a change."

"Yes, it is. And I must say the two of you look lovely in that dress."

"Do you like it?" she asked, holding her arms up in an elaborate show. "It's one of the few things I can still wear without looking conspicuously fat."

"You look beautiful, as always," he said tenderly, and then he disappeared as they heard a noise.

"It's only Georg," Abbi said when their friend came in through the back door.

Georg said nothing as he glanced toward Cameron, who stuck his head over the edge of the loft again.

"Rest easy, Georg," Cameron said. "Next week I'll be on my honeymoon, and your worries will be over."

"You cannot imagine how much I'm looking forward to that." Georg sounded weary.

"No more than I," Cameron insisted.

"And what about me?" Abbi asked lightly. "If you men think that--"

"Someone approaching," Georg interrupted and Cameron disappeared again. Abbi returned her attention to Blaze. She looked up to see one of the downstairs maids scurrying into the stable.

"What is it?" Georg asked.

"Is Miss Abbi . . . oh, there you are," she said when she saw Abbi. "There are two men waiting inside who want to ask you some questions. It seems urgent. They're from the Duke's Guard."

Abbi couldn't even see Cameron, and Georg's back was to her. But she felt their tension nevertheless.

"Thank you," Abbi said. "Tell them I'll be right in."

"It's clear," Georg said after the maid had hurried away.

Cameron sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the loft. "What do you suppose _they_ want?"

"It doesn't matter what they want," Georg said. "Abbi doesn't have anything to tell them. We've been careful and there's no way they could suspect she has anything to do with you."

"I certainly hope not," Cameron said. "Abbi?" She looked up at him. "You remember what I told you . . . before you left the mountain? You know what to say?"

"Yes, I know." She noticed a worried crease around his eyes.

"Go in with her Georg," he ordered.

"I can handle it," Abbi said.

"I didn't say you couldn't handle it, Abbi. I want Georg to know what's going on, but . . ."

"But?" Georg pressed.

"Is it possible for you to stay in the hall and hear without going in?"

"Of course," Georg insisted.

"Good. That's better. At all costs, Georg, I don't want you implicated in this."

"I'm not worried about that." Georg motioned Abbi toward the door. "Come along, we don't want them becoming impatient before you even get there."

"Be careful," Cameron warned.

As Abbi entered the drawing room, she was glad she'd dressed up today for her trip into town. Feeling dignified in her apparel contributed to her confidence.

"Miss Albrecht?" one of the officers questioned as they both came to their feet.

"Yes?"

"Would you please be seated? We have orders to ask you a few simple questions. It shouldn't take long."

Abbi did her best to appear innocently surprised as she sat down. "I can't imagine what on earth you'd want to know from me."

"There's no need to be alarmed, Miss. We've simply had some concerns arise that make it necessary to explore any unusual happenings. We understand you were away for the winter, an accident that left you stranded on the mountain, I believe."

"Yes, that's true."

"May we ask exactly where you were?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "I was lost when I ended up there to begin with, and when I returned the man who found me ushered me into the foothills. I'm not really sure I could give you a location exactly. It was a little bit east of . . . or was it south . . .?"

"That's fine, Miss Albrecht," the officer said. "Could you tell us who you were with?"

"Why, it was the funniest peasant family. Children all over the place and--"

Abbi's answer was interrupted by the front door slamming in the distance, and then Lance strode into the drawing room.

"What is going on?" he asked his men in a commanding voice that bordered on angry. Abbi was taken aback to realize that for all the time she'd spent with him, she had only now encountered the Captain of the Guard.

The officer who'd done all of the talking remained calm as he replied. "Just routine questions. There's no need to be upset, Captain."

"Who sent you?"

"It was Wurtzur, sir," the officer replied, looking more confused than distressed.

Lance looked disgusted. "This is my fiancée. There is nothing about her situation that's of any interest to you."

"It's not a problem," Abbi said as she stood and moved to Lance's side. "They've been very polite. But I'm afraid I haven't been much help."

"That will be all," Lance said to his men. "And you can tell that imbecile who's got you all stirred up that he's a paranoid man. From now on you do nothing without verifying it with me first."

"Thank you for your time and cooperation, Miss Albrecht," the officer said. With a bow, he and his partner left the house.

"Are you all right?" Lance asked Abbi, touching her face. His manner with her was completely different from what she'd just seen, and she couldn't help feeling impressed to realize that he had a gentle nature, yet he clearly filled his role well when he needed to.

"I'm fine. It really wasn't a problem. But . . . you seem upset."

Lance sighed and walked toward the window, placing his hands behind his back. He was silent for a full minute, but Abbi sensed that he wanted to say something. "You can imagine my surprise," he finally said, "when one of my lieutenants came to me with a theory that _you_ had become involved with a fugitive, mostly based on the unique nature of your absence last winter." He turned to look at her with a penetrating gaze. "A man we believe to be dead, though a body was never found."

Abbi said nothing, but she feared that her eyes deceived her before she had a chance to check her reaction. "And what did you tell him?" she asked finally.

"I told him you were my fiancée, and I had no question concerning your loyalty to me. I told him it was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard, to stop chasing ghosts and stick to the business at hand." He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the window sill. "Did you honestly think I would tell him what I _really_ know? That you're going to have the baby of some man who is . . . how did you put it? His life is not in order? A man you spent the winter with? I can assure you, my dear, that if I had told him what I know, you would have been arrested by now and enduring harsh interrogation."

Abbi swallowed hard. "Then you lied . . . for my sake."

"Yes, and I'd do it again. At the risk of ending up the fool, I would do almost anything to see that you are safe and happy."

"Why?" she asked in a squeaking voice, wondering if Georg were still close enough to hear.

"Why?" He laughed with no trace of humor. "I don't know why, Abbi. Maybe it's because you're giving purpose to my otherwise meaningless existence. Maybe it's because there's something about you that just . . . makes a man want to throw himself down in the mud to keep you from getting your feet dirty. I've asked myself if I really love you enough to be a husband to you, or if I love you the way any man would if they had the chance to know you. The only thing I know for certain is that helping you now is the best course my life could possibly take at this time. However it turns out, my deepest prayer is that you will emerge safe and happy. I'm not certain if I'm the right man to keep you happy for a lifetime, but if this man you're married to--this man who fathered your child--if he is who I think he is, I'm not sure he's the right man, either. I have my doubts. But if you love him, and he loves you . . ." His voice trailed into silence.

"I don't know what to say."

"I don't want you to say anything, Abbi. I don't want any information that I might be forced to use against you. I don't want to know what he's guilty of. I don't want to know the last time you saw him. I want to believe that you've been honest with me, and for the most part I think you have. But I realized just today that a person will do almost anything to protect someone they love. So, don't tell me any more. If he _is_ alive, I pray that _you_ don't end up the fool."

Abbi didn't realize she was crying until she felt Lance's fingers on her cheeks, wiping the tears away. He touched her chin and kissed her lips, looking into her eyes with an adoration that she felt so unworthy of. When her tears had subsided, he left the house without another word.

The moment Abbi heard the front door close, she began to shake. Had she done Cameron harm in being so honest with Lance? What if he hadn't been so noble? Or what if he was lying to her about his commitment? What if he ended up betraying her secret for the sake of his duty? What if Lance ended up in trouble when all was said and done, only because he'd been willing to help her? And then there was the reality that no matter what ended up happening in that cathedral Saturday, _somebody_ would end up the fool.

She let out a gaspy sob as she became aware of someone else in the room. "Georg!" she cried and her shaking increased. "Did you--"

"I heard everything," he said, his arms coming around her.

"What if I . . . What if I . . ." Through her shaking and tears she couldn't even finish a cohesive sentence.

"It's all right. It's just one more piece of evidence that God is with us in this."

Abbi cried harder, but Georg just held her, assuring her that everything would be all right. When she finally calmed down, she looked up at him and asked, "What will you tell Cameron?"

"I'm going to tell him that everything's fine, that you've done beautifully, and there's nothing to be concerned about."

"But . . ."

"Listen to me, Abbi. You _have_ done beautifully. And everything is as fine as it can be. Cameron is having a difficult time with this. He hesitates to admit it, but he's scared, and he's discouraged. He fears that he's put you in the middle of something that will end up hurting you. He's questioning his judgment."

Abbi took in this information, realizing that Cameron was putting up a brave front for her, and what did she do but complain and contribute to his difficult feelings?

"Do you question his judgment, Georg?" she asked.

"Not very often, and especially not when it comes to you. You are the best thing that's ever happened to him. I believe if you keep giving him the hope he needs, he'll make it through this. I want you to go upstairs and freshen up, then you go out to the stable and let him know everything is perfect."

Abbi nodded stoically. "Thank you. I don't know how I could ever repay you for all you've given me."

"Payment is not my motive. You know that. To see you and Cameron together and happy when this is done will mean more to me than words could ever say. And we will all live happily ever after."

Abbi laughed softly and went upstairs to wash her face. Going back to the stable, she found Georg oiling a saddle, and she greeted him with a smile. Coming close enough to be discreet, she whispered, "Is he still here?"

Georg glanced toward the loft. "I think he's asleep."

"May I?" she asked with mischief.

Georg smiled innocently, mimicking with gestures that he'd pretend he didn't even know she was there.

Climbing the ladder, Abbi peered over the edge and saw Cameron sleeping in the soft straw. She crept quietly on her hands and knees, then leaned on one elbow next to him, carefully tickling his nose with a piece of straw. She couldn't help snickering as his face twitched and his hand brushed across his nose. Still he slept on. She continued to toy with him until he finally opened his eyes and grinned as he pushed Abbi back into the straw and kissed her.

"Wretched woman," he said and they laughed together. "Georg," he called with mock anger.

"What is it, Cam?" Georg called back innocently.

"I thought you said you were going to protect me."

"That woman's no match for any man. You can fight her off on your own. I'll not risk it!"

"I'll not argue she's a handful," Cameron said. "But I've already lost this fight." He smiled lovingly at her. "I surrendered."

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too. I'm glad you came back. I've missed you desperately."

"Can you come to my room tonight?"

"I'm not certain. I have to find out what my agenda is. Georg keeps me on a tight leash, as you can see." He kissed her again. "But I will certainly do my best."

"That's all I ask," she said and kissed him in return.
Chapter Nineteen

GHOSTS

After Cameron picked all of the straw out of Abbi's hair, she was delighted to return to the house and find that her aunts were going out for the evening. They had recently become involved with a ladies' social club that met weekly to play card games, share dinner, and mostly to visit. And tonight was the night. They invited Abbi to come along since Lance was tied up with work all evening, but she pleaded fatigue and stayed behind, only too happy to have the house to herself.

However, as she stood at the drawing room window, watching the carriage roll away with her aunts inside, Abbi felt a pang of loneliness. She ached to spend this time with Cameron, and wondered if he would be able to come tonight. Of course, even if he did, it wouldn't be for hours yet. Still, Abbi enjoyed having her run of the drawing room without her aunts sitting about prattling. She sat down with the old sketchbook she had dug out recently and began to draw Cameron's face looking down at her from the loft. It was just beginning to take shape when she looked up to see Marta in the doorway.

"There's a gentleman here to see you," she said. Abbi hadn't heard the door. She wanted to ask who it was, but Marta was gone before she had a chance. She wondered if Lance had taken the evening off after all. The thought made her weary. She enjoyed his company, but she was tired of keeping up pretenses, and she knew she'd be spending tomorrow evening with him when they planned to attend the opera. A moment later she heard Marta say, "Right this way, sir."

Abbi glanced up and caught her breath. "Cameron," she muttered and came to her feet, dropping the book and pencil to the floor just as Marta closed the drawing room doors, leaving them alone. He walked slowly toward her while she took in his attire. He wore a stylish black coat, and a waistcoat of blue brocade that complimented the color of his eyes. A neatly tied cravat surrounded the high collar of his white shirt. But the most striking difference was to see him in these surroundings. It was an entirely new experience to formally receive him in the drawing room, and it occurred to Abbi how limited their life together had been.

He bent down to pick up her sketchbook and pencil, setting them on the side table.

"Thank you," she said.

He took her hand and kissed it, watching her eyes closely. "My lady. It is truly a pleasure."

"You look very nice." She smiled. "But . . . what is it that brings you here this evening?" Abbi couldn't help wondering and had to ask, "Are you making yourself public?"

"Do you see any public present?" he asked lightly, looking around him. "I came to see _you."_

"What a nice surprise," she said, seating herself on the sofa.

"Oh, I'm full of surprises." He sat down beside her and took her hand. "Did you ever wonder what it might have been like if we had met and courted like normal people do?"

Abbi sighed. "It might have crossed my mind . . . but I think it would have been terribly dull."

Cameron laughed. "Dull, perhaps . . . but safer that way."

Abbi shrugged her shoulders. "Dull."

"Georg thought it would be nice for us to share a _normal_ evening together. Apparently he knew your aunts would be leaving, and Marta gave most of the servants the night off."

"Really?" Abbi laughed. "How . . . conspiring of them."

He looked down at his clothes, pressing his hands over the lapels of his jacket. "Fortunately, Georg and I are about the same size. I believe he got it for the wedding."

"What a nice thought. And what will _you_ wear to the wedding?"

Cameron smiled. "My uniform, of course."

Abbi returned his smile. "Of course."

Cameron glanced around to acquaint himself with the room, and Abbi thought how comfortable he looked in such surroundings. Soon it would be an everyday occurrence.

"Your home is lovely," he said.

"Would you like to see more?"

"Yes, I would," he said with enthusiasm.

Cameron stood and held out his hand for her just as Marta appeared in the doorway.

"Excuse me," she smiled slyly, "but dinner is served." She disappeared and Cameron held out his arm for Abbi.

Cameron made a mental note to thank Georg for making it possible to spend this time with Abbi. The simple act of walking down the hall with her to go to dinner put a taste of normalcy into his life that he'd not experienced for years. As they entered the dining room, Cameron looked around with interest, but when he pulled out a chair for Abbi to be seated, his attention focused completely on her. Holding her hand across the table, he couldn't keep his eyes away. He had always thought she was beautiful, and always known she was a lady. But it felt good to just be with her like this, and to have a taste of what it would be like to be openly married to her. _Only a few more days,_ he reminded himself.

"It's been a long time," Abbi said as they began to eat.

"What's that?"

"Since we've sat together and shared a meal."

"Yes, it has." His eyes caressed her face. "But it was never quite like this."

"It does feel different."

"We'll get used to it, I think."

The meal passed mostly in silence as they watched each other intently, neither uncomfortable at the other's overt gaze. When they had finished eating, Cameron slid his chair back, saying, "I believe you owe me a tour of the house."

"It would be my pleasure, sir." She took his hand and led him toward the hallway. "We shall need a lamp," she added. "Most of the house is dark."

Abbi laughed as they started up the stairs, finding perfect joy in having him with her this way. Like two children on a wild exploration, they went to the top of the house and worked their way down, peeking into nearly every room and lingering a little in some. Cameron seemed both curious and impressed, and Abbi felt a sense of pride in what her grandfather had left for her.

Back on the ground floor, he found a fascination with the library. They stayed there for quite some time while he examined the vast shelves of books, and occasionally took one down to glance through it. Abbi sat quietly admiring him until he seemed satisfied. He stood and folded one arm over the other. "I'm impressed," he said. "Your home is exquisite, and very tasteful."

She smiled. "Thank you. You realize of course, that as my husband, it all belongs to you now."

"That thought had occurred to me," he said without expression. Then he looked alarmed and turned to face her. "I hope you know that had nothing to do with my reasons for marrying you."

"Of course. But being my husband makes you a very wealthy man."

He took her hand and kissed it with reverence, saying quietly, "Abbi, I became a very wealthy man the moment I realized you loved me. Nothing else matters." She smiled and kissed his hand in return. He looked around the library once more and added facetiously, "It _is_ nice to know we'll never go hungry, however."

She laughed and said, "Now that everything is yours, Georg is actually working for _you."_

"So he is." Cameron chuckled. "I'll be certain to remind him at every possible moment."

"However, you must still do whatever he tells you. He does a very good job at keeping you safe."

"So he does."

"We're not done yet." Abbi stood and handed the lamp to Cameron.

"Lead the way."

They peeked into a few more rooms that held little interest, but when they came to the winter parlor, Abbi deliberately walked past the door.

"Wait," Cameron said. "What's wrong with this room?" He pointed at the door with his thumb, but Abbi didn't answer. "Ghosts?" he teased.

"In a sense, perhaps."

"Why?"

"This was my mother's favorite room. I played in there a great deal as a child before she died. Then, for years, my grandfather and I would just sit in there to feel close to her. We both missed her very much. I haven't been in there since the night he died."

"I want to see."

"Very well," she said, and he pushed the door open slowly, holding the lamp high to illuminate the room. Abbi hovered in the doorway until Cameron turned to look at her, his expression intrigued. Wondering for a moment if he truly had seen a ghost, she stepped into the room just as he set the lamp on the old grand piano. He folded back the cover from the keys and touched them reverently.

"Do you play?" he asked.

"No," she replied, "I had a few lessons when I was younger, but it was hopeless. My mother played very well. Papa said she was gifted."

"Then there _are_ ghosts in this room," he said, "but only because you let them stay." He turned his attention to the keyboard, running his long fingers lightly along the top of the ivory. "May I?" he asked without looking at her.

"Of course," she replied, not certain what to expect.

Cameron seated himself at the bench and held up his hands. After stretching his fingers elaborately, he looked up at Abbi with a tense smile and said, "It's been a long time."

Abbi sat close by, thoroughly fascinated to see him this way. He tucked one foot underneath the bench and placed the other near the pedals. As his hands came down and struck a clear chord, he gave a barely detectable smile, then he slowly began playing his fingers along the keyboard until he gained some confidence after his many years without this opportunity. Following several minutes of warming up, he tucked his hair behind his ear and looked over at Abbi. "I'd like to play a song for you."

"I'd be honored," she said, still attempting to absorb this as a part of the man she loved. His countenance became serene as he skillfully worked his hands into a lilting melody; sad and sweet, with a unique quality that was intricately played. Once or twice he hit a wrong note, but he only smiled and kept playing. Knowing how long it had been since he'd been anywhere near a piano, Abbi felt in awe, even humbled by his skill. It was a part of Cameron she never would have suspected. But to see him seated at the piano as if he were born to it, she couldn't help but wonder what other aspects of him she had yet to discover. The thought gave her a secret thrill. For the moment she was content just to watch him play. This was obviously something important to him that he had missed through his years of seclusion.

He completed his song with an elaborate run and a final high chord. Lifting his fingers from the keys, he turned to look at Abbi. "You really are full of surprises," she said.

He laughed. "Yes, I am."

She loved seeing him so happy. "That was beautiful," she continued. "I didn't recognize the melody."

"I doubt you've heard it before." He smiled humbly. "I came up with that one on my own. I played it a thousand times in my mind when I was alone on the mountain." He looked down almost shyly, then he stood and pulled her into his arms. "I love you," he whispered, guiding her into a simple dance step, humming the song he'd just finished playing. They danced for several minutes before coming to a stop, silently holding each other.

"Are there still ghosts in this room?" he asked.

"I believe your music has driven them away. You've given this room some life, and now I can come here and remember something that brought me happiness."

"Good," he said gently.

"Where did you learn to play?"

"My mother. She too was very gifted, just as your mother. Perhaps our children shall inherit their talent."

"Perhaps." She smiled.

Slowly he brought his face close to hers, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. But the kiss was interrupted when the door burst open. "Cameron, my boy," Marta said with urgency, "there's a carriage approaching. I'll see to everything here. You hurry along."

"Thank you, Marta." He placed a kiss on her cheek and then took Abbi by the hand and pulled her into the hallway. Breaking into a run, he led her up the stairs while she lifted her skirts and followed, gripping his hand tightly. As they reached the top of the stairs, they heard the front door open below, but without being noticed, they slipped into her room where a lamp had been left burning.

Cameron leaned against the door while Abbi rested against him to catch her breath. They laughed until he kissed her again. She untied his cravat and unbuttoned his waistcoat while he continued kissing her. Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She threw back the covers and kicked off her shoes. Then he kissed her again. He was just beginning to really enjoy himself when a knock came to the door.

Cameron felt Abbi's heartbeat quicken as she looked down at him, whispering fearfully, "I forgot to lock the door."

The knock came again and Abbi called out, "Who is it?" as she efficiently rolled onto her back, pushed Cameron's head below the sheet, and pulled it up to her chin.

"It's Aunt Ramona," came the reply.

Abbi glanced down at Cameron's jacket and waistcoat on the floor just as the door came open and Ramona pushed her head inside.

"I was only wondering if you were feeling any better," Ramona asked.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," Abbi replied.

"Are you certain?" Ramona furrowed her brow. "You sound, well . . . breathless. Are you certain you're all right?"

Abbi could feel Cameron's face pressed against her side. She could tell he was fighting to avoid a snigger, which made Abbi unwillingly chuckle as she reassured her aunt, "I've never felt better."

"You seem in good spirits anyway," Ramona smiled, apparently not noticing anything out of the ordinary. "Yes, good spirits. Good night then," she added and slipped quietly back into the hallway.

"Good night," Abbi called out. When she was sure the woman was gone, she darted across the room, locked the door, and jumped back into bed.

"Yes," she said, "normal courting and marriage must be terribly dull."

"Indeed," Cameron laughed and resumed their kiss, relishing the intimate borders it lured them beyond. Each time he shared such an experience with Abbi, he marveled anew at the bliss and beauty she brought into his life. She was heaven in the midst of hell. And when he was with her this way, thoroughly captivated by this most sacred and extraordinary aspect of all that they shared, he could push away his every fear and worry and allow himself to fully absorb his reasons for believing miracles were possible. He felt deeply grateful to know that she was his wife, that he'd been given the opportunity to make their union right before God. Now he could only pray that God would see fit to allow him to live long enough to truly share his life with her. He was sick to death of running and hiding, of living in fear, of bringing worry and uncertainty into Abbi's life. And he hated having to wonder if the opportunity to be with Abbi this way would ever come again before his own life ended.

Abbi lay with her head on Cameron's shoulder long after the passion between them had subsided. She lifted her head to look at him in the soft glow of lamplight, touching his face in an effort to silently express how very much she loved him. She smiled as he pushed her hair back from her face. She bent to kiss him but stopped when a light knock came to the door, followed by Georg's voice in a loud whisper, "It's me."

"Just a minute," Cameron said and hurried to pull on his breeches before he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

"Forgive me," Georg said, "but I need you for about an hour."

"It's all right. Just give me a minute." Cameron turned to grab his shirt, leaving the door open, where Georg waited.

While Cameron pulled on his boots, Abbi said, "You'll make certain he comes back safely, won't you, Georg?"

"Actually," Georg drawled with hesitance, "I won't be coming back with him. I have some other things to attend to after."

Cameron leaned over Abbi to kiss her, saying with conviction, "I'll be back by midnight. I promise."

Abbi glanced at the clock to see that it was just past ten-thirty. "I'll be waiting," she said. "Be careful."

The men left the room and closed the door. Abbi sighed and wished she could keep herself from worrying while she counted the minutes until midnight.

Just before midnight, Cameron rode into the stable where Georg had left a single lantern burning low. When Georg returned, if the lantern was out and moved to a different hook, he would know Cameron had come back safely. Their business had gone well this night, and it was one more step that brought him closer to his goal. He dismounted and led the horse into an empty stall after he'd removed the saddle. He was reaching for the lantern to douse it when a voice from the darkness made his heart threaten to stop beating.

"I had a feeling if I sat here long enough, I would see you."

Cameron fought to maintain his dignity even while he wondered if this was the end for him. He wished that he could shrink back into the shadows and make some futile attempt to conceal his identity, but he knew his face was clearly visible in the light. He stepped back and turned, forcing himself to breathe as he saw the Captain of the Guard step out of the shadows from the other side of the stable. The sword and pistol at his sides prompted Cameron's life to flash through his mind. Their eyes met for a long, silent moment while Cameron concluded that perhaps an attempt to keep this encounter casual could work in his favor.

"Hello, Lance," he said.

"Hello, Cameron," Lance responded in the same cool tone.

"I'd like to say that it's good to see you again after all these years, but . . . under the circumstances . . ."

Again there was silence until Lance said, "You really are alive. Even seeing the evidence for myself, I find it difficult to believe."

"Sometimes I have difficulty believing it myself," Cameron said, not bothering to expound on his personal torment related to such a comment. "But I can assure you that you're not looking at a ghost."

More silence tempted Cameron to shout at the man, but he kept his voice steady as he asked, "So, are you . . . here to arrest me, or what?"

"If I were, I can assure you that I would not have come alone. I'm relatively certain you wouldn't go without a fight."

"Then why this late-night vigil, Captain? Surely you couldn't have been _too_ certain I would show up here tonight."

"I had a late visit with my stepmother after she returned from town. But maybe coming to see her was just an excuse; maybe it was intuition. I noticed Georg leaving with someone; I had a hunch who."

"And your purpose for acting on this hunch?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out. Maybe I wanted to see for myself that you were really alive. Maybe I wanted to prove that I could do my job well enough to track down such an elusive criminal. Or maybe I just wanted some evidence that Abbi's commitment was not based in futility."

"Maybe it is," Cameron said, hating the way Lance had struck a sensitive nerve. He was also taken aback to realize that Lance had figured out a great deal more about what was going on than Cameron had ever believed. The very idea was disconcerting at best. Hoping that some honesty and respect might serve him well, he added, "I've asked myself a thousand times if she would be better off with you."

Lance's voice was almost tender as he said, "She loves _you_. That is readily evident."

"When was love ever enough?" Cameron retorted. "I love her too, but as you can see, the life I've given her is _far_ from enough."

Silence fell heavily while Cameron attempted to determine if he should feel threatened by this encounter. He finally had to ask, "So . . . is this visit simply preliminary to my imminent arrest and execution? Or did you come to chat? What should we talk about? Love, perhaps? We _are_ after all, in love with the same woman."

"A woman who is _your_ wife."

"For as long as I can manage to stay alive. The odds are not necessarily in my favor, as your visit has just proven."

He sensed the other man's mind working before Lance said, "You see her every night, don't you."

Cameron took in the underlying message and weighed his response carefully. How could Lance not feel disconcerted to realize that while Abbi was spending her days pretending to be engaged to him, she was sharing her bed with Cameron? As always his greatest concern was Abbi's position in all of this.

"Not _every_ night," he said carefully. "I asked her to lie to you because there was simply no other way. You can't blame her for that. The situation I have put her in is deplorable. Whatever you feel compelled to do to me, Captain, I beg you to keep her and that baby safe."

"I would do everything in my power to protect her _and_ the baby. But it is you who have the greatest power over her. It is you who holds her heart."

"You must hate me for that."

"No," Lance said, "not for _that."_

Cameron sighed, knowing well what he meant. He had no desire to talk about it, but he sensed that Lance did. "What went wrong, Cameron?" Lance sounded both sad and mildly upset. "Before you and Gwen got married, the two of you were always talking, laughing together. I'd always wished she would talk to me that way." His eyes became hard. "You should know that I told her not to marry you."

"I know."

"I didn't think the two of you were well matched at all."

"You were right. Apparently you saw something I was too blind to see."

"She insisted it would make her happy, and I wanted her to be happy." Lance's voice turned bitter. "But Gwen came back from the honeymoon less happy than I had ever seen her, and she died with a knife through her heart."

Cameron responded with acrid sarcasm. "So, it's a natural assumption that once I exchanged vows with her, I firmly set out to make her miserable and see her to a tragic end."

"I'm just asking what happened, Cameron. What changed?"

"I _can_ answer that question, but I don't know if you're ready to hear it. Perhaps it's better that you keep her on the pedestal where you've placed her. Perhaps it's better that you remember her as she was before her marriage to me ruined her life."

Lance seemed to be weighing such an option before he said, "I need to know."

Cameron sighed. "I'm not sure I have time to give you a fair explanation. I'm late."

"Stop avoiding the point and just tell me."

Cameron exhaled and looked the other way, trying to think of the most succinct and diplomatic way to give a truthful answer. "She married a name, Lance, and once she had it, she very quickly put an end to the tireless efforts she had put into acquiring it. You and I both know that the marriage had been arranged from our youth, and she took great pride in uniting our families so gracefully. With the way our fathers had cared for each other, it all made a very neat package. But the name I gave her died with her, and it does not rest in peace."

Lance looked stunned and doubtful. "Surely she could not have been so . . . harsh."

Cameron let out a caustic chuckle. "You did not know her well enough to have any idea _whatsoever_ of how harsh she could be. You want the truth? Fine, I'll tell you the truth. Whether or not you believe me is up to you. However much you may have cared for and revered her, the private life she led was despicable. She gave her favors to more men than I can count. She was a whore and she . . ."

Quicker than Cameron could consider taking back the word, Lance drew his sword and pressed it to Cameron's throat. He lifted his hands and forced a cool voice. "Very impressive, Captain. She's been dead four years and you still jump to defend her honor. Go ahead. Arrest me and have me executed. You can give the order. How convenient for you to be in such a position. Since you've become so comfortable with my being dead, maybe seeing me shot through the heart with your own eyes will make it possible for you to remember her the way you want to."

"She was _precious_ to me," Lance growled.

"You didn't even _know_ her."

"That's a brave thing to say when you are at such a disadvantage. But I wonder if . . ."

In one agile movement Cameron threw a fist into Lance's face with his left hand and knocked the sword to the ground with his right. He took Lance by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

"I can still best you, _Captain._ Now maybe the truth will penetrate a little better with the tables turned. I had no problem with politely tolerating the fact that her reasons for marrying me had _nothing_ to do with love, because what little love I felt for her quickly vanished with the way she treated me behind closed doors. People can take public appearance and make whatever they wish out of it, but no one will _ever_ understand how thoroughly she debased me. But when she began taunting me with her lovers, I reached my limits."

"So you killed her!"

"That's a brave thing to say when you are at such a disadvantage, Captain. If I told you I didn't do it would that make you believe me? I did _not_ kill her, though there were moments when I wanted to. Still, I grieved her death. But I grieved more for the life she lived. I grieved the friendship we'd lost, the horrible things we'd said to each other. Eventually I was able to separate my grief from the fact that she _was_ a whore. And how she used me."

Cameron let go and stepped back. Without breaking eye contact, he bent down and picked up the sword by the blade, holding it toward Lance. The captain wore a calm demeanor, but a quiet fury danced in his eyes as he took the hilt. For a long moment Cameron could feel him pondering whether or not to use it. He finally sheathed the sword, but the silence between them became grueling.

Unable to bear the deepening tension, Cameron went back to their previous conversation. "Enough about love. Let's talk about power. I may have power over Abbi's heart, but beyond that I am powerless. I am a fugitive. You are the law. And now you know that I'm alive and intent on stirring up trouble. You have the power to see that I live or die. What will it be when all is said and done?"

"Actually, the position I'm in feels just a little too powerful for my liking. If I do what I have committed to do, according to the law, you would go before a firing squad by the end of the week, and I could have marvelous incentive in being able to spend the rest of my life with the woman you leave behind. And she is, without a doubt, the most incredible woman in Horstberg."

"You don't have to tell _me_ that," Cameron said, struggling to remain collected while his insides churned.

"On the other hand, if I were _really_ adhering to the law, I'd have to see _her_ in front of a firing squad as well."

"I am the one accused of murder, Captain. It has _nothing_ to do with her."

"I'm not talking about murder," Lance said. "I'm talking about treason." Cameron sucked in his breath as Lance continued, "Yes, treason. Such an ugly word--mostly because His Grace and I disagree on what exactly constitutes treason."

Cameron's heart quickened for different reasons and he held his breath.

"Perhaps you would like to cast a vote on that matter?" Lance added.

"A vote from me is meaningless," Cameron said. "I am no one. I am nothing. I live in exile and hide in dark corners. I am a man without a country, and without a name--not even name enough to give my _wife_. And I did _nothing_ to warrant this. _Nothing_. So, don't stand there and taunt me with accusations of treason. You and I both know that treason is an act that goes against the best interest of a country and her people. I may not have a vote, but I sure as hell have an opinion. And in my opinion, that makes Nikolaus du Woernig more guilty of treason than any other person within these borders. If you want to put me in front of a firing squad for _that,_ you're as guilty as he is."

Lance let out a weighted sigh. "Maybe I am. And if you were in my place?"

"What do you mean?" Cameron demanded.

"If you were in a position to do something?"

Cameron blew out a long, slow breath. "That _is_ the cardinal question, now isn't it? But a man deemed guilty of murder is not in a position to do _anything."_

_"Are_ you guilty?" Lance asked with a subtle snideness that grated Cameron's nerves.

"What do you think, Captain? Now we are back where we began."

"I have every reason to believe that you are guilty."

"No, if you had _every_ reason to believe I had killed her, you would have run me through before I had a chance to say hello. Maybe you've wanted to believe that I killed her because I was dead and the matter could be laid to rest, and any other possibility didn't have to be considered. Well, I'm back. And if I were, according to law, allowed a fair trial with my choice of witnesses, I can assure you those accusations of murder would not stand."

Lance said nothing, but Cameron sensed him taking in the idea. At the risk of making this situation even more precarious, he couldn't resist the opportunity to add, "And speaking of trials . . . I wonder when or if Gerhard Albrecht will ever see a courtroom. Don't you find his circumstances highly bizarre, Captain?" Hoping to prick his conscience he added, "Can you imagine how such a situation must appear to Abbi? How it must weigh on her?" Cameron wondered if Lance might connect his own claim to innocence with Gerhard's situation. At the very least he hoped it might spur some reasonable doubt.

"I'll admit to being troubled over Gerhard's position."

"That's something, I guess," Cameron said more sharply than he'd intended.

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything can be done about it."

"If you believe that, Captain, you underestimate the power of your own position."

Lance's next words sounded angry, or at the very least defensive. "What Nikolaus does is--"

"Don't waste your breath justifying your endorsement of Nikolaus. He is a bastard and a tyrant. His baby sister could rule this country better than he does, and I'd bet my life that _somebody_ holds knowledge that is a great threat to His Grace." As he said it, Cameron realized he was doing just that--betting his life.

"You?" Lance asked, more intrigued than skeptical.

Cameron diverted the question. "I was talking about Gerhard. Does anyone beyond Nikolaus know the reasons for his banishment? If you don't, who would? And if you stop to consider that . . ."

A noise startled them both, and they each stepped back into the shadows and waited. Never had Cameron's frustration over Abbi's place in this situation burned him more than it did when he saw her walk into the stable. He felt tempted to remain hidden and avoid any conversation with her under these circumstances, but her voice was tainted with worry as she called softly, "Hello? Are you here?" He'd told her when to expect him and he couldn't leave her to wonder.

"Yes, I'm here," he said, stepping out of the shadows.

"Oh," she said with visible relief and pressed a hand over her heart as she moved toward him. "It's past midnight and I was worried. I couldn't sleep."

"Forgive me," he said.

"Were you talking to someone?"

"Myself," he lied. She looked puzzled and he chuckled. "After all those years alone, you can't expect me to be completely sane."

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him tightly, pressing the side of her face to his chest. Not wanting to alert her to anything out of the ordinary, he put his arms around her and pressed a kiss into her hair. When she said nothing more, he murmured, "You should go back to bed. You need your rest."

"I can't sleep without you there. As long as you're there, I'm not worried about you." She looked up at him. "Is everything really all right?"

"I'm fine," he said and smiled.

He cursed her perception when she said, "You don't _seem_ fine. Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Everything's fine. You mustn't worry. It's not good for you. I'm just . . . a little distracted, that's all."

She sighed loudly. "I won't ask with what, because I know you can't tell me."

"It's better this way. You must trust me. It will be over soon."

"I love you." She lifted her lips to his, initiating the kind of kiss that would never take place in the presence of others. When he cut it short she looked alarmed. "Cameron?"

"Forgive me," he said. "I just . . . need a few minutes. I was trying to . . . sort my thoughts when you came out. Go on inside, and I'll be there soon, I promise. I simply need to be alone to think some things through."

"Are you sure everything's all right?" she pressed.

"Yes, of course." He kissed her quickly. "I won't be long."

Abbi stepped back and moved hesitantly toward the door. He hated the uneasiness between them and hoped to alleviate it when he called, "Abbi." She turned back and he said with the conviction he felt, "I love you too, and everything's going to be all right. I promise."

She smiled and left the stable. When he knew she was gone, Cameron let out a harsh breath. He wanted to be angry with Lance for creating such an awkward moment, but he was more prone to feel compassion.

"Forgive me, Lance," he said. "I know this can't be easy for you." He turned to look at Lance as he stepped into the light.

"Nor you," Lance said.

"But it is most difficult for Abbi." He felt compelled to add, "She saved my life. She gave me a reason to live, to care, to go on. Whatever I may have done wrong in my life, wherever I may have fallen short, it is made right through her. I've done my best to protect her by keeping her as ignorant as possible--for her own sake. She doesn't even know her married name. As you consider your place in the outcome, I beg you to consider _her_ place foremost."

"Of course," Lance said and hurried toward the door.

"Captain," Cameron said and Lance turned back, "on the chance that I don't live to see the end of the week, I'm hoping you will still be at the wedding."

"Oh, I'll be there," Lance said. "I suppose we'll see who ends up kissing the bride."

Cameron didn't like the way he'd put that. Realizing he had no idea where Lance's deepest loyalties might be, he had to ask, "I would be very grateful to know where we stand."

"I can only speak for myself," Lance said. "In spite of certain obligations which cannot be ignored, whether I agree with them or not, I will continue to do all that I am capable of in the best interest of my country and her people. And as far as I'm concerned, this conversation never occurred; I never saw you."

Once Lance was well out of sight, Cameron staggered a few steps backward and leaned against the side of a stall, stunned at how his encounter with the captain had sucked the strength out of him. But at least he wasn't dead or on his way to prison. He pressed his hands over his thighs and lowered his head, struggling to take a deep breath. Contemplating the possible outcome of such an encounter, he had to thank God for keeping him protected. As for what lay ahead, he could only pray that Lance had meant what he'd said, that his knowledge of the situation would be kept to himself.

Recalling that Abbi would be watching for him, he gathered his composure, doused the lantern according to Georg's instructions, and hurried discreetly across the lawn where he climbed the trellis to Abbi's window. He couldn't help wondering if Lance was still on the grounds, or worse, still aware of him. He imagined getting shot in the back before he reached the balcony and his insides rumbled with alarm. Slipping carefully into Abbi's room, it was easy to quell his own fear when he came face-to-face with hers. Or was it anger? She was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, eying him skeptically.

"What's wrong?" he asked, throwing his cloak over a different chair.

"You tell me. You weren't yourself out there. Something's not right. And don't try to tell me it's my imagination or--"

"Abbi," he knelt in front of her and took both her hands, "you're right. I wasn't myself out there, and I ask you again to forgive me . . . for being late, for worrying you, and for _not_ being myself. You just . . . caught me at a bad moment. You see . . . I saw someone tonight. Someone I once knew very well. He said things that were difficult to hear, and well . . . I was just trying to think it through and . . . sort it out. I was upset. I lost track of the time. I'm sorry."

Abbi couldn't deny feeling better to hear a plausible, genuine explanation. And now that he was here, she could put her anxiety on hold--at least for a while. Sensing that he was troubled, she asked, "What things?"

"What?"

"What things did he say that were difficult to hear?"

Cameron looked down. "It doesn't matter."

"You mean it's better left unsaid."

He sighed. "Perhaps. I was just . . . struck with . . . the passing of time, the way things have changed, all that I've lost." He eased closer and wrapped her in his arms, putting his head to her shoulder. "One day," he said, "I will have no secrets from you. I will tell you everything and anything until you become utterly bored with such tedious thoughts."

Abbi pushed a hand through his hair and laughed softly. "Never bored to hear your thoughts, whatever they may be. I am looking forward to that day."

"Yes, so am I," he said and tightened his arms around her.

Searching out a distraction, for himself as much as for her, he came to his feet saying, "Come downstairs with me."

"Whatever for?" she asked.

"I need to," he insisted. "Do you think we can make it without being seen?"

"Everyone's long asleep by now, but why do you--"

"Just . . . humor me."

With a lamp in Cameron's hand, they crept down the stairs and to the winter parlor, where he sat with purpose at the piano and quietly picked out a simple melody.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sitting beside him on the bench.

"I've had this in my head for months," he said. "I came up with it after you left the mountain, and I couldn't wait to hear what it would sound like."

Abbi made an interested noise, then she yawned and Cameron laughed. He worked at the melody a short while longer before saying, "Do you want to hear it?"

"Of course," she said with enthusiasm.

Cameron grinned sheepishly and cleared his throat. "I'm not much of a singer, but here goes."

He played a slight introduction, then he put accompaniment with the melody, and began to sing softly . . .

_"I know a place where snow falls white; that's where I long to be._

_Where castle turrets strike moonlight, and shine where I can see._

_I've known my love on mountains high, where meadows bloom in blue._

_I know my love is there for me; I know that love is true._

_There is a place where snow falls deep, and warmth is near the hearth._

_Deep in my sweetheart's dreams I sleep; there's comfort in this warmth._

_The world is cold and brash outside; I fear what it imparts._

_But I know my love is here with me; a fire burns in my heart."_

Cameron finished and looked up at Abbi saying, "There is a dream I have, about the way our life will be. You instilled that dream in me, Abbi. That song is about you."

Abbi was too moved to speak. Cameron kissed her warmly and they went back upstairs. She hummed the melody as they returned to the bedroom. "It's beautiful," she said. "Sounds almost like a lullaby."

Cameron's eyes widened. "I believe you're right. A lullaby for Erich."

"Erich?" she questioned.

"Our son." He grinned. "The one with red hair, riding the hobbyhorse."

Abbi pressed her hand over her belly. "Yes, of course," she whispered, "our son." She liked the name Erich; it felt right. "Why Erich?" she asked.

He met her eyes and she sensed the reasons had deep meaning for him. "Erich is my second name."

"Cameron Erich," she said to try it out. "It suits you well."

"My mother told me she'd wanted the names reversed; she wanted me to be called Erich. I'm not certain of her sentiment for the name, but I believe it would mean something to her if I named my son Erich."

"Then Erich it shall be," Abbi said, and he smiled.

Cameron left at dawn as usual. Abbi went back to sleep and woke feeling refreshed. Lying quietly on her back, she felt a sensation deep within, a fluttering tremor comparable to what she felt at the thought of Cameron, but more tangible. Only taking a moment to realize what it was, Abbi touched herself where the child was becoming more prominent, and tears came to her eyes. The baby was truly alive and growing. She could feel him moving deep inside, giving her a realistic unity with Cameron. Even in his absence, a part of him flourished inside of her, and the newfound evidence of their child's existence touched Abbi, giving her a new hope that everything would come together all right.

Cameron went to the little house behind the stables where Georg and Elsa lived. Since Elsa had actually met him, he'd been able to come here without waiting in the stable for her to leave for the big house to begin her day's work. He slipped quietly through a side door and found Georg sitting as he typically did at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee.

Cameron poured himself a cup and asked, "Don't you ever sleep? I have to leave Abbi's room while it's dark, but you could tell me to go sleep on the couch, or in the hay or something, until it's actually daylight."

"Why would I do that when we have so much work to do?" Georg asked without taking his concentration from the paper. "Besides, I sleep here and there. And I've got plans to catch up on my rest while you're on your honeymoon."

"How delightful," Cameron said and sat down across from him. He couldn't help the sarcasm as he added, "What great task do we have before us today?"

He hated the seemingly endless hours over the past several days that he'd been holed up here, while Georg had meticulously guided him through countless details of the plans being formulated. But today Georg stood and slid a wooden box out from under the table, which he set down with a thud in front of Cameron, declaring with a grin, "Look what Franz borrowed from the ducal office."

_"Borrowed?"_ Cameron asked skeptically, knowing that Franz was someone who currently worked at the castle, but loathed the man he worked for.

"They'll be back before anyone notices them missing. Everyone up there is preoccupied with a couple of days of entertaining visiting dignitaries. Here, you'll need these." Georg handed Cameron his glasses.

"I was hoping you might have lost them since yesterday, but I should know better than to think that you might miss a single detail."

Georg just tossed him a comical smirk.

"By the way," Cameron added as he put on his glasses and began perusing the deep stack of papers in the box. "Abbi thought you should know that since I'm her husband, you're actually working for me now."

Georg chuckled. "Maybe. But you're still at my mercy for a few more days, so you'd be wise to do as I tell you."

"She said that, too," Cameron added with mock chagrin.

"Wise woman, Abbi."

"Indeed."

"Study and learn, my friend," Georg said. "I've got work to do."

Cameron grabbed his arm before he could leave. He whispered, "When Elsa leaves, I need to talk to you." They both knew she was in the other room, likely just coming awake, and Cameron didn't want to be overheard.

Georg nodded and replied softly, "I'll be back." In a normal tone he added, "My mother will bring you some breakfast, as usual."

"Thank you," Cameron said, and Georg left the room.

Long after both Georg and Elsa had left to see to their work, and Cameron had eaten his breakfast, he wandered the house and attempted to find some interest in the papers Georg wanted him to see. He knew the information was important and he was getting the gist of it, but he felt restless and horribly weary of living this way. He wished that Abbi could come out here and spend some time with him, or that he could sneak into the big house and be with her. How could they exist so close together and yet struggle with the distance between them? But Georg had made it clear that Abbi's habits needed to remain normal, and Cameron needed to be especially careful to avoid being seen--especially during daylight hours. A fat lot of good that rule had done them, he thought, considering his late-night visit from the captain.

Georg finally returned past noon, bringing some lunch for both of them.

"Thank you," Cameron said as Georg set the tray that his mother had sent on the table, but at the moment he felt no appetite and paced instead while Georg started to eat.

"What's wrong?" Georg asked. "Talk to me."

"I'm sick to death of this," Cameron said, beginning with the most trivial point. "I feel like a caged animal if I stay in, and if I go out it's like . . . there's some enormous foxhunt going on--and I'm the fox. Truthfully, Georg, if I didn't believe that someone out there might benefit from what I can accomplish, it would be tempting to just turn myself in and end this masquerade, once and for all."

"I don't think Abbi would appreciate such an attitude."

"No, I'm certain she wouldn't." He stopped pacing as if that might help him think of her more clearly. "If anything can get me through this, it's her."

"I think God knew that," Georg said.

Cameron sighed. "Yes, I'm certain He did." He started pacing again. "In fact, the evidence that God is with us in this continues to mount . . . but at the same time . . . I wonder how close to the edge He will take me. At times I truly wonder if I'm meant to survive this, but if it's my time to go I wish He'd just get it over with."

Georg seemed to pick up on the added edge in Cameron's manner. He straightened in his chair and demanded, "What happened?"

Cameron tossed him a hesitant glance and kept pacing. Georg needed to know, but he didn't want to tell him.

"Stand still and tell me what happened!" Georg ordered.

Cameron stopped moving, but looked the other way as he said, "Captain Dukerk paid me a visit last night."

"What?" Georg erupted out of his chair and walked around the table to stand directly in front of Cameron, as if to see that he really meant it. "Tell me what happened!"

Cameron could never recall ever seeing him so agitated. Evidently the stress was getting to Georg, as well. "Obviously I'm still here," Cameron said. "He didn't arrest me or run me through, but he could have easily enough. I guess that's what bothers me most."

Georg stared at him, horrified and visibly upset.

"Maybe you'd better sit down, Georg. You don't look so good."

"I will if you will," Georg said, and they each took a chair.

Cameron repeated the encounter in detail, reiterating every bit of the conversation as much as he could recall. Georg was thoughtfully silent while he listened, occasionally asking a question. He remained quiet long after Cameron had finished, then he leaned back in his chair. "Maybe you gave him something to think about. The fact that he's obviously turning the other way while he _knows_ you're alive is a good indication that he's not completely against whatever he believes you might be up to."

"Or maybe it's more about Abbi," Cameron said, surprised at his own anger. "Maybe he's standing by and allowing me to live for _her_ sake. He's that kind of man, you know. That's the _only_ reason I can accept him as part of the back-up plan in case I don't make it through this. Whatever Lance Dukerk may or may not be, he is a gallant soul. He _loves_ her. He would _die_ for her. And what that means, Georg, is that without Abbi we would probably _all_ have gone before a firing squad by now. And what have I done to her? I've put her into the middle of this _wretched_ nightmare for the sake of what?"

"For the sake of having the life with her that you deserve. I really believe that when this is over, she will understand."

"I wish I could feel so confident on that count," Cameron said. "But we have a new issue to consider. Lance now knows that Abbi is lying to him. She told him she didn't know if I was dead or alive, gave him the impression she hadn't seen me for a long time. Now he's seen with his own eyes that's not the case. He knows I'm sleeping in her bed while she spends her days with him. If the matter were reversed, I can assure you I would be _very_ unhappy about that. He told me he'd be at the wedding, but I can't be certain what he meant exactly, and I can't help wondering if his attitude toward Abbi will change."

Georg sighed. "Do you think we should tell Abbi he knows that--"

"No, I do not. It's already far too complicated, and I don't want her to worry more. For all that Lance may or may not be, if I thought he would treat her unkindly I would have never agreed to this charade. I just want all of this to be over, one way or another." He began eating, signaling clearly that he no longer wanted to discuss the matter.

Cameron was relieved when Georg stayed but changed the subject. "What happened?" he asked, pointing to the scar on the back of Cameron's left hand. "It wasn't there before."

Cameron looked at the scar and chuckled from the memory that came to mind. "That's what happens when you bite the hand that may end up feeding you."

"Excuse me?" Georg chuckled.

"It's a very long story."

"I'm not in a hurry, and you can't go anywhere."

Cameron smiled at his friend, then he spent more than an hour telling him how the scar on his hand was a continual reminder of how Abbi Albrecht had changed his life.
Chapter Twenty

CAUGHT BETWEEN

Abbi felt assured through the course of the day that the wedding plans were going well. Marta had everything under control. And when her wedding gown was delivered early afternoon, Abbi couldn't help feeling a rush of excitement. Mrs. Schilling and her assistant also brought armloads of veils and accessories. When Abbi realized how much work bringing everything gave the dressmaker, she wished that she had simply offered to come back into town to try on the dress, instead of having Mrs. Schilling go to so much trouble. But it was too late now.

Abbi had Elsa help her into the dress so that no one else would discover her condition, and they caught their breath in unison upon seeing her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Abbi felt beautiful. Her condition was completely undetectable, and the lines of the gown were perfect for her frame.

The aunts made themselves comfortable in Abbi's room, thoroughly delighted as they fussed over every choice to be made. Abbi was amused by their enjoyment and relished the activity herself. With the help of Mrs. Schilling and her assistant, Abbi tried on what seemed like dozens of veils and accessories with the dress. She at last decided to simply wear the pearl necklace she always wore, and forego any other accessories to keep it simple. The veils however, were all so beautiful that she just couldn't make up her mind. When Mrs. Schilling had to leave to meet another appointment, she offered to leave Abbi's favorites overnight to let her decide, declaring that she would return in the morning for them. After Mrs. Schilling left, Elsa helped Abbi out of the dress.

"You will make such a beautiful bride, Miss Abbi," Elsa said as she undid the buttons down the back of the dress. "Georg says that your wedding will probably be the event of the century," she added and laid the elaborate gown over the bed.

"Georg is a tease," Abbi said and Elsa chuckled.

"Should I put these other things away or--"

"No, I don't think so, Elsa. I'd like to look at them again later. Just leave them be for now."

"I hate to tell you this, but you only have a little more than an hour before the captain comes to pick you up. Since you are dining out before the opera, and then--"

"Oh, my goodness." Abbi glanced at the clock. "You've got to help me."

"Of course," Elsa said, pulling a gown out of the wardrobe that Abbi had ordered last fall when her aunts had insisted she get some new clothes. She'd never worn it, since she'd hardly had reason to wear something so fine. But following Lance's invitation, she had decided it was perfect for the occasion. And she blessed her long-time adage of keeping clothes comfortable. The dress was simple and elegant, with yards of fabric gathered into a waistline that was high in the front and tapered down the back. But it was the color that had intrigued Abbi most when she'd ordered the gown. And now as she stood before the mirror, her reflection pleased her more than it possibly ever had. The fabric was the same tone as Abbi's hair, though several shades lighter. And her green eyes shot out more vividly than ever.

Elsa took special care putting up Abbi's hair, winding into it some coral-colored roses she'd found in the garden. A strand of pearls with earrings to match finished the picture perfectly. Abbi truly felt beautiful. But gazing at her reflection, a sadness enveloped her. It seemed pointless to take such pains with her appearance when the man she really cared about would not even see her. Abbi reminded herself that Lance had become good company, and she felt comfortable with him. With that she forced her thoughts away from Cameron. When the captain's arrival was announced, she was waiting in the drawing room where Ramona and Salina were fussing over her.

"Oh, Abbi, you look beautiful," Lance said.

"That's what I told her," Ramona said. "I told her she looks beautiful; just beautiful."

Lance took Abbi's hand and kissed it, smiling at her with the same adoration she'd seen in his eyes when he'd admitted to lying for her sake.

"What happened?" she asked, touching his lower face where the barest hint of a bruise was visible.

"It's nothing," he said. "Just an unfavorable encounter with a fugitive." He lightened his voice and said to her aunts, "I hear you ladies are going to the opera, as well."

"We're going with our club," Salina said. "One of our friends got tickets. But we won't be leaving for a while yet. You two run along and enjoy your dinner out."

"Yes," Ramona added, "run along and enjoy your dinner out."

Salina glared at Ramona. "If you're not repeating yourself, you're repeating me."

Ramona made a noise of indifference, and Lance escorted Abbi out to the waiting carriage. He sat beside her and held her hand as they began the brief journey into town. After a minute of silence he looked at her and smiled, saying with tenderness, "You really do look beautiful tonight, Abbi. I mean . . . you always look beautiful, but . . ."

"But I'm more suited to dressing like a wild farm girl with--"

"No, Abbi," he laughed softly, "I was going to say . . . and I don't want to offend you if this doesn't come out sounding right, but . . . I think you underestimate yourself if you believe you are not suited to being every bit a lady, in the finest sense of the word."

Abbi felt taken aback by the intensity of his compliment, and how it affected her. She looked into his eyes while they silently echoed his words and she felt fluttery. "You're too kind, Captain," she said, if only to break the silence.

"Just being honest," he said, then looked away and cleared his throat as if he'd thought of something that made him uneasy. A moment later he put an arm around her shoulders, while keeping hold of her hand. "There's something I need to say," he murmured close to her ear, almost as if he meant it to be a secret, even though they were completely alone and no one could possibly overhear. "I just don't know how to say it."

"Just . . . say it," she said, sensing that he was nervous.

She felt more than heard him take a deep breath. "What I said yesterday, Abbi . . . about your husband . . ."

Abbi's heart quickened. She turned to meet his eyes, then turned away just as quickly when she realized how close his face was to hers. "What exactly are you referring to?" she asked hoping he couldn't see her intense desire to avoid the topic.

"I told you that I didn't want to know the last time you'd seen him. But now . . . I just want you to know that there is no need for you to go on pretending."

"Pretending what?" she asked, certain her defensive tone implied guilt.

"I don't want you to say anything," he muttered quietly. "I just want you to listen. There is no need for you to pretend that you're not spending more time with him than you are with me."

Abbi found it difficult to breathe, and applied all her strength to concealing her anxiety, grateful that he couldn't see her face.

"And there's no need for you to pretend that you actually care for me enough to marry me, or that you enjoy my company enough to . . ."

Abbi drew back abruptly and turned to check his expression. Her concern over his misinterpretation outweighed all else as she absorbed the barely masked sadness in his eyes. "But Lance," she said, "you misunderstand."

"Then help me understand, Abbi."

Abbi measured her words carefully, wondering how he knew she was spending time with Cameron. Focusing on what mattered most between them, she said firmly, "I'm _not_ pretending, Lance; not with you. You have become very dear to me." She touched his face. "I _do_ care for you, and I _do_ enjoy your company--very much. I say that from the heart. Your willingness to stand by me through this means more than I could ever tell you, but spending time with you is not any sacrifice on my part. I pray that you can believe me." Impulsively, but not without feeling, she pressed her lips to his with a kiss that was both meek and warm.

Pulling back she saw his eyes soften, but his smile showed concern. "You are too precious, Abbi . . . truly. But please . . . don't do this to placate me or--"

"Lance," she put a finger over his lips. "If you think I would do _anything_ to placate you, then you don't know me at all. I love my husband; I made that clear when I accepted your proposal. You told me yesterday that you understood how a person would do just about anything to protect someone they love. I admit that I haven't been completely honest with you--for his sake. You are the Captain of the Guard, Lance, and I am married to a fugitive. But I want you to know that it's not in my nature to be dishonest, and this is difficult for me, as I'm certain it is for you. Beyond the single point of doing my best to protect him, I have never been anything but honest with you."

She watched him searching her eyes. He smiled as if he'd found the sincerity he'd been seeking, then he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. But his embrace was not at all romantic, and the tenderness she felt had an edge of desperation. It was fear she sensed in him, but was it on her behalf, or his own? He seemed reluctant to let go, and she relaxed her head against his shoulder while her mind wandered back through the conversation. One point stood out as especially unsettling, and she hardly thought about holding the thought back before she heard herself saying, "I want to ask how you know, but perhaps it's best if neither of us admits that you know anything."

"Perhaps I _don't_ know anything, Abbi. Perhaps I just suspect."

"Yet, you are still so kind and accepting of me. I don't understand."

"I'm not sure I understand it myself," he said, sounding mildly angry. "How exactly did I get into a position of making life-and-death decisions, with _your_ life caught between?"

Abbi sat up straight and looked at him hard. It took a long moment for the meaning of his words to penetrate her mind, and then she began to tremble. Lance was quick to notice, since he still had hold of her hand. He glanced at it, then back to her face. "What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice trembling as well.

Abbi saw Lance fade behind the mask of the Captain of the Guard as he spoke with a firm resolve that chilled her. "I am sworn to serve Nikolaus du Woernig. If he knew what I know, your husband would be arrested tonight and executed at dawn--no questions asked." Abbi found it difficult to breathe and pressed one hand over the burning in her chest, the other over her mouth. "I never imagined that I would find myself in a position where my personal loyalties would so strongly contradict my duty."

Abbi carefully moved her hand and muttered, "I put you in that position, Lance. It's my fault that--"

"No!" he said, taking her arm and putting his face close to hers. She'd never seen him so intense. "Cameron put us _both_ in this position."

Hearing his name come through Lance's lips pressed her into a sweeping panic. She turned away from him and struggled to breathe, knowing he had to be well aware of how upset she was.

"Yes, I know his name, and I know he's been spending his nights with you, and I have a feeling I know a lot more about him than you do. Maybe that's what bothers me most. I know you love him, Abbi, but I don't think you have any idea what you have married yourself into, my dear." His voice softened but his anger was still evident. "You tell me, Abbi, how I'm supposed to find reason with the fact that you are married to a man who murdered his first wife."

"He didn't kill her!" Abbi insisted, turning again to look at him.

"How can you know that, Abbi? How can you _know_ he didn't?"

"How can you know that he did?" she countered.

He sighed and turned away. "I can't. But whatever I may or may not believe, he was found with her blood on his hands. He escaped from prison, and he _is_ a fugitive."

Abbi told herself to remain calm, and not give into the full extent of horror she was beginning to feel as the futility of the situation became evident. She swallowed carefully and attempted a steady voice. "You told me yesterday you didn't want to know when I'd seen him, or anything else that you might be forced to use against me." He turned to look at her. "Apparently you know a great deal already." He tightened his gaze but said nothing. "Why haven't you just sent officers to storm the house in the middle of the night and arrest him?"

His anger returned. "Because they would find you there with him, and you would be arrested as well."

Abbi swallowed hard. "Maybe I deserve to be."

"For what? For _loving_ him? _Trusting_ him? You've done nothing wrong, Abbi, at least as far as I see it. But my personal opinions do not dictate the law I am sworn to uphold. And technically you are aiding and harboring a fugitive."

"So, why do you turn the other way while you know I'm breaking the law?"

"I answered that question yesterday, Abbi."

"Something's different since yesterday. You're angry. Upset."

"Yes, I am."

"So, what happened since then to--"

"Maybe I just had more time to think about it."

"And maybe something's happened that--"

"Abbi." He put his fingers over her lips, his eyes returned to the tenderness she was more familiar with. "I've already said far too much. Just . . . be careful, Abbi. I only have a certain amount of control."

"But you are the captain."

"Yes, and if Nikolaus gives orders that contradict mine, I am powerless."

Abbi tried not to think too hard about the ramifications. Instead she sought for information. "Do you think Nikolaus suspects that something is amiss?"

"I have no idea where that man's head is, but he doesn't give much credence to gossip and hearsay. He's far too busy consuming liquor and chasing women."

Abbi felt a little sick at the overtone, but kept to the matter at hand. "And your men? Should I be concerned that they _will_ find him with me?"

"My orders have been made clear, that this matter has been put to rest. But now that I know what I know, I'm not certain I can, in good conscience, ignore what's going on. Whatever my place may be, however, I will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if that means doing what I believe is best on your behalf--regardless of how difficult it might be for you."

Abbi wasn't certain of the connotation, but she made no hesitation to state firmly, "I need Cameron to live, Lance. I need a normal life with him."

Lance sighed loudly and pressed a kiss to her brow. With his lips close to her face he murmured, "Oh, my dear. I don't know if such a thing is possible. I only pray that when this is over, you'll be able to look me in the eye and believe that I did what was best, what had to be done."

For long moments of silence Abbi allowed his implications to settle in, heedless of the tears that fell down her face. Putting together everything he'd said, there was no mistaking his purpose in this conversation. He wanted her to know that he would do everything in his power to protect _her,_ but he could promise no such thing for Cameron. One question haunted her and she felt compelled to ask it with the hope that her knowing might actually help Cameron in some way, as opposed to making either of them more vulnerable. "What _do_ you know, Lance?"

"In other words, what information am I aware of that could put _me_ in front of a firing squad if it were discovered that I'd not reported it?"

Abbi looked at him sharply, terrified on his behalf as she considered a possibility that had never occurred to her. He added firmly, "I know that Cameron is alive and well, and he boldly declares his belief that Nikolaus is guilty of treason, and he is apparently intent on doing something about it."

Abbi's trembling increased and her heart threatened to stop beating. Her voice quavered as she said, "But surely that is only hearsay and gossip. How can you _know_ that he--"

"Because he _told_ me, Abbi."

"You _spoke_ with him?" she breathed.

"Yes, I spoke with him. I had no intention of telling you, but maybe it's better that you know. I suppose that gives us both marvelous incentive to keep each other's secrets."

_"Will_ you keep my secret, Lance?"

"I would do anything to protect you, Abbi, _anything!"_

"And Cameron?"

He looked away. "Cameron needs to be very careful. He's playing a dangerous game."

"It will all be over in a few days, Lance. Surely you can look the other way for a few more days, and give him the opportunity to prove his innocence, and take back the life he lost."

Lance's eyes widened at her words.

"What?" she demanded.

"Abbi, if Cameron takes back the life he lost, your life and mine will never be the same. I'm still trying to decide if that's good or bad." He sighed loudly while her heart quickened anew, wondering at a depth she'd never bothered to wonder before, what she had married herself into.

"I can't make any promises in regard to Cameron," he said. "I can only do the best I can do."

Before Abbi could question him, the carriage came to a halt. She wiped her face and smoothed her hair, wondering how she was ever going to remain composed in public with the turmoil of thoughts roiling inside her. Lance took her hand and she felt grateful for the evidence of his genuine concern as he asked, "Will you be all right?" In spite of all that had been said, and the horrid complications mixed into their relationship, it was evident the trust and care between them had not diminished. How could she not be grateful for that? What would she ever do without him? How could she ever tell him what it meant to know that he would honor her above his duty to king and country? She could only pray that he would not feel compelled, for any reason, to do anything that would bring harm to Cameron.

Abbi nodded and resigned herself to putting on a brave face. She was grateful to feel his strong hand helping her from the carriage, and the way he kept hold of her as they walked toward the door of the home where they would be dining. He stopped before ringing the bell and turned to face her. "You mustn't worry, Abbi. Forgive me if I've said anything to upset you. Let's just . . . do our best to set all of that aside and enjoy the evening."

She nodded but couldn't even force a smile. He kissed her brow and squeezed her hands, and she tried to drive her thoughts away from the precarious reality of her life--and Cameron's.

Once inside, Lance's mood brightened considerably, even though she felt certain he was simply doing better than her at pretending that all was well. She managed to be gracious and pleasant as he introduced her to the group of friends he occasionally socialized with, most of whom were high-ranking officers of the Guard and their wives. Everyone was warm and polite, but Abbi felt uncomfortable with the formality of such a social gathering. She sensed that Lance was comfortable in the respect that he'd grown up among such events, but he seemed indifferent to the decorum. He did well at playing the prospective groom as congratulations were offered on their forthcoming marriage, and he was teased by these men he worked with about finally ending his bachelorhood. Lance took it all in with good-natured grace, possessively keeping Abbi's hand in his, occasionally kissing her cheek or pressing her fingers to his lips. Abbi managed to follow his example and appear relaxed and in love, but she knew that he sensed the underlying tension she was feeling. More than once he whispered in her ear that she was doing great, and everything would be all right. She wanted to believe him.

Through the brief carriage ride to the opera house, Abbi felt compelled to simply say, "Thank you, Lance."

"For what?" he asked, kissing her hand.

"For holding me together back there. In spite of the circumstances, you stand by me so graciously. I can't imagine why you do it, but I'm grateful."

"Caring for you is the easiest thing I've ever done, Abbi . . . in spite of the circumstances." A moment later he asked, "Are you all right? If you prefer, I could take you home and--"

"No, I'm fine," she said, certain that being at home pacing the floor, wondering what Cameron might be up to, would be far worse than pretending to be engaged to Lance. She was grateful once again for the way she had come to feel so comfortable with him, and to realize that the tension of their situation had not created awkwardness between them. He didn't have to say anything at all for her to know that he was her ally. She could only hope that in the end, he would see fit to be Cameron's as well.

When they arrived at the theater and found their seats, Abbi was pleased to realize they were sitting in the same box with Nikolaus and his sisters--well, at least she was pleased to see his sisters, and managed to politely avoid conversing with Nikolaus. Yet how could she not look at him and consider the context under which his name had come up in the carriage? _If he knew what I know, your husband would be arrested tonight and executed at dawn --no questions asked_.

Abbi forced such horrific thoughts away and settled comfortably into her seat with Lance at her side. There were some empty seats around them that were never occupied, while the rest of the theater filled up completely. She realized then that the empty seats surrounding the royal family had not been accidental. The officers of the Guard posted outside the box added to the sense of deference and protection that followed them. Abbi pondered the loftiness of Lance's position, when _he_ of all people would be sitting with _the_ family of Horstberg. Abbi enjoyed visiting with Magda and Lena, mostly about the wedding, and the distraction it was from her worries. Since Lena was planning a wedding as well, they shared details of their gowns and the flowers that would be used. Lance talked quietly with Nikolaus, occasionally smiling toward Abbi, until the show began. He put his arm around her and whispered, "How are you feeling, my dear?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she said, trying to be positive. "And you?"

He laughed softly. "I'm not pregnant, Abbi. For that reason I feel great."

Abbi nudged him in response to his teasing, and they turned their attention to the show. It had barely begun when Nikolaus slipped out and didn't return. Abbi's mind wandered again through her conversation with Lance--and its implications--more than she focused on the show. But it was still better than being at home, stewing and wondering.

During intermission the back curtain of the box was opened and people came and went freely, exchanging greetings and stopping to visit. Abbi mostly observed all of the attention the duke's sisters were getting from people who seemed quite in awe of them, though it wasn't much more than the attention Lance received from single ladies.

When the second half was about to begin and the curtain was closed behind them, Abbi whispered to Lance, "You certainly don't have any trouble drawing female admirers."

"It's the uniform," he said humbly.

Abbi had to say, "No, I think it's more than that."

Lance looked into her eyes, smiling wryly. "Then, perhaps if your husband makes it to the wedding alive, there will still be a chance for me, eh?"

Abbi felt startled by his comment and didn't know how to react. But she found something genuinely kind in his eyes. "Oh, I'm absolutely certain that eventually you will find someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved."

He silently took in the comment, then squeezed her hand before he turned his attention to the stage as the lights went down.

During the final act, Nikolaus slipped into a seat just behind Abbi. He tapped Lance on the shoulder and motioned for him to step back a row and sit beside him. "Excuse me," Lance whispered to Abbi before he joined Nikolaus. She made no effort to listen to their conversation, but she could hear their whispering clearly. Nikolaus told Lance that he would be leaving tonight instead of tomorrow, and he didn't know if he'd make it back for the wedding or not. He gave him some instructions concerning matters that made no sense, and then said with a wicked chuckle, "Don't be so concerned with Abbi that you neglect your duties, now."

"You ought to talk," Lance replied dryly. "If we could keep your mind off of the ladies' skirts for one day it would be a miracle."

Nikolaus only chuckled as if he agreed. The thought struck a little too close to home for Abbi, but she forced memories of her own encounter with Nikolaus away.

"Not to worry," Lance went on. "I have everything well delegated."

"I'm not worried," Nikolaus said. "If anything, you could stand to ease up a little."

There was silence for a few minutes until Lance said, "You had Dwight Elting arrested." He didn't sound pleased.

"That's right," Nikolaus stated, their conversation continuing in a whisper.

"What was he guilty of--beyond accusing you of getting his daughter pregnant?"

Abbi tried to force herself to watch what was happening on stage. She wasn't certain she wanted to hear this. The reality of what Horstberg's ruler was like actually sickened her. But the opera made no sense to her, and the men's voices were too close to her ears. It was evident that neither of them cared if she heard. Did they think she was too naive to care?

"He accused me _publicly,"_ Nikolaus corrected, his tone reeking of arrogance. "He had the gall to insist that I support the child. If I supported every illegitimate child that could lay any claim to me, valid or not, we'd have to raise taxes." He laughed as if it were terribly amusing. Abbi heard Lance breathe out a sigh laced with disgust.

"What are you going to do with him?" Lance asked.

"I haven't decided yet. We'll deal with that when I get back."

"You know, Nik," Lance said firmly, "I've done my best to stand back and allow you to do what you want; heaven knows you will whether I approve or not. But you can't lock up or execute every man who doesn't agree with you."

"Are you attempting to give me advice?" Nikolaus's voice was astonished. Apparently Lance speaking to him that way was not common.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing." Lance sounded angry. He was the Captain of the Guard now, and Abbi felt proud of him for standing up to Nikolaus. "You pay me to keep this country safe and strong. I can't keep doing it under these circumstances."

Now Nikolaus sounded angry. "You _will_ do it under these circumstances, or I will find someone who will. You see, _Captain,"_ he spoke the title with sarcasm, "I _can_ lock up or execute anyone I don't agree with. So you take some advice. You'd do well to keep agreeing with me."

Nikolaus slipped out of the box. Abbi glanced briefly over her shoulder to see Lance looking dazed. She felt compassion on his behalf and impulsively moved to take the seat Nikolaus had just left. She took Lance's hand, bringing him out of a stupor.

"Forgive me, but . . . I couldn't help overhearing." He didn't look alarmed or concerned. "Are you all right?" she whispered close to his ear.

Lance smiled at her then pressed a kiss to her hand. "I will be, but . . . thank you for asking."

When the opera ended, Magda and Lena visited with them for a few minutes, making them promise to come to the castle for dinner when they got back from the honeymoon. Abbi appreciated their invitation, but the thought of honeymooning with Lance made her a little queasy. In the carriage on the way home, Lance was more somber than usual. "Are your thoughts still with Nikolaus?" she asked.

Lance looked up at her, surprised. "You're a perceptive woman, Abbi." Then he sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid they are."

Abbi watched him closely, again feeling compassion for his situation. She didn't want to marry him, but she couldn't deny the friendship they'd developed. And how could it not occur to him that Nikolaus had come up in their conversation earlier?

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"There's little to say, really. I'm just a little . . . astounded by his attitude. I mean . . . he was always somewhat of a womanizer, and always arrogant. He was just like his father--raised to be a king. We've been friends since we were small children, and I've usually been able to look past his faults and enjoy his company. But more and more, I just can't seem to do it. Since he inherited this position, his character has steadily declined."

When he said nothing more, Abbi took his hand. "As long you do your best to stand up for what you know is right, that's all you can do." Once again she heard implications that tied into their conversation about Cameron, and she prayed that Lance would not consider her a hypocrite while she was _aiding and harboring a fugitive._

"Yes, I've told myself that," he said, seeming focused only on the issue at hand. "But more and more I feel manipulated into carrying out his orders--orders that I don't agree with. I wonder sometimes if I'm man enough to hold this position."

Abbi said with complete honesty, "You are more of a man than Nikolaus du Woernig ever dreamed of being."

Lance chuckled softly. "You are too kind, really. But the fact stands: Nikolaus is the leader of this nation. As Captain of the Guard, I have always tried to uphold what I believe is right, but at times I feel my hands are tied." His eyes became distant and Abbi couldn't help wondering if some degree of his motivation in aiding her had to do with the point that he _did_ disagree with Nikolaus. She felt as if Lance had read her mind when he went on to say, "I fear that Nikolaus may end up undoing himself, and I don't want to be undone with him. I've honestly considered resigning. I know I'm qualified for the position, but I wonder if it was wrong for Nikolaus to put me here. Perhaps our personal association isn't conducive to a good working relationship."

"Perhaps it would be if Nikolaus had any morals whatsoever."

"Perhaps," he said, then he kissed Abbi's hand in a way that had become familiar. "What do you think, Abbi? Would you still want to be my wife if I didn't wear this uniform?" A teasing sparkle in his eyes kept the question from cutting too deeply into the reality of their relationship.

Abbi quickly found a way to answer his question honestly. "I hold no account for position or title, Lance. I never have. I agreed to marry you because I know you're the kind of man who would respect me and take good care of me."

"I would certainly do my best," he said, showing a wan smile.

"Although, you do look fine in the uniform. Even if you resign, I'd hang on to it if I were you."

Lance laughed and kissed her hand. "Good advice, my dear. I'll have to think that through."

Cameron couldn't help being pleased when Georg once again manipulated some degree of normalcy into his life. Since Ramona and Salina would be out late again, socializing with their ladies' club after the opera, Georg made certain the servants had all gone to bed, and then he invited Cameron into the kitchen where they chatted with Marta and Elsa. Cameron enjoyed observing Georg and Elsa together. He envied their freedom, but not their love. He understood the kind of love they shared because it was the same love he and Abbi shared, and he was grateful for the chance he had to know what true love meant.

While the women were busy with something on the other side of the room, Cameron and Georg talked quietly of their plans for the next few days.

"As I see it," Georg said, "our only real problem is finding out for certain when His Grace is leaving the country."

"How do we find that out?" Cameron asked. "He's not sharing information with anyone who wants to help _me."_

"I don't know," Georg said. "I guess we just keep praying. Everything is set to get Gerhard Friday night. If all goes well, he'll be at the wedding." Georg smiled. "Imagine how Abbi will feel to realize she doesn't have to be given away by me, after all."

Cameron smiled at the idea. "I'm counting down the hours, myself."

"Here's a sample of the wedding cake," Elsa announced, setting a plate in front of each of the men.

"Ooh, how lucky can a man be?" Cameron asked.

"Lucky enough to get a glass of milk to go with it," Marta said, setting down two tall glasses.

"You're an angel, Marta," Cameron said. "I wonder why you didn't adopt me when my own mother died."

Marta just laughed and kissed Georg and Cameron each with a loud smooch. "I'm going to bed, boys. You mind yourselves now, and--"

"Shhh," Georg said and they all became quiet. "A carriage. Just a minute." He left the room then came back to say, "It's Abbi. The captain should be kissing her at the door any moment now."

"Oh, thank you very much, Georg," Cameron snarled.

Marta laughed and left for the night. Elsa sat down next to Georg to eat her own piece of cake. A few minutes later Abbi appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Marta told me I needed to go to the kitchen," she said, "but I didn't expect such a pleasant sight."

"Abbi!" Cameron stood and opened his arms. "You look absolutely incredible," he said just before he embraced her. "I'm jealous," he whispered more quietly.

"As you should be," she said with something severe in her eyes that left him uneasy. But she moved away and greeted Georg with a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Elsa," she said as she sat down. Elsa waved, since her mouth was full.

"How did it go?" Georg asked.

Abbi pondered her answer for a long moment while she looked hard at Georg then Cameron, feeling inexplicably angry. She wasn't certain who to be angry with. She just felt angry. She wanted to scream at both of them for putting her--and Lance--into this horrible mess. While she knew they were only doing the best that they could--or so they had told her--she hated everything about this situation and felt like screaming. Instead she settled for a nonchalant answer and managed a cool voice. "Opera is terribly boring, but it was enjoyable nevertheless. We sat in the same box with the duke and his sisters," she said and Cameron's brows went up. She laughed and added, "You really hate my associating with royalty, don't you."

"What makes you say that?" he asked dryly.

"You always get that . . . look on your face when they come up."

Cameron glanced away, wondering how much he revealed of his emotions that he wasn't aware of. "It's just a little . . . disconcerting, that's all," Cameron said. "You're interacting with some pretty important people." He looked into her eyes. "I hope that when this is over, you will accept me for who and what I am."

Abbi deepened her gaze on him. "Do you really need to ask that?"

Cameron swallowed hard. "No. Forgive me. I'll just be glad when this is all behind us."

"No more than I will be, I can assure you." Abbi realized how curt her words must have sounded when she saw mild alarm in Cameron's eyes.

"So," Georg changed the subject, "how are the duke and his sisters this evening?"

"Magda and Lena are doing well," Abbi said while Cameron stared at the floor. "Nikolaus is as despicable as ever, but he's leaving the country tonight, so we can all breathe a little easier." Cameron and Georg exchanged a surprised glance, then they laughed.

"Did I say something funny?" she asked.

"No." Cameron leaned over the table to kiss her, his somber mood completely absent. "You said exactly what we needed to hear." He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "Maybe we'll actually be able to pull this off, after all."

"Maybe," Abbi said, "but I wouldn't get too comfortable, if I were you."

Cameron took in one more piece of evidence that for all her attempts to be gracious, Abbi was in a foul mood. He wondered what else had happened this evening that might have set her off.

"What are you eating?" Abbi asked, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

"Wedding cake samples," Cameron announced, putting a bite of cake into her mouth.

Abbi made a sound of pleasure. "That's really good. Who's getting married?"

"It's hard to keep track," Elsa said. "Do you want a piece for yourself?"

"No, thank you. I'll just eat this one." She took another bite of Cameron's.

"I'd like another piece, thank you," Cameron said.

"Oh, Miss Abbi," Elsa said on her way out the door, once she'd given him one more piece of cake. "You wanted to look at those things again before I cleaned them up. Since it's so late, perhaps we should--"

"Oh, of course," Abbi said, coming to her feet. "I'll be up in a few minutes." She was actually grateful for a chance to say what needed to be said in order to clear the air--and Georg needed to hear it too.

Elsa left the room and Cameron saw Abbi's countenance darken immediately. He was about to ask what was bothering her when Georg said, his tone teasing, "So, Abbi, did the captain give you a good-night kiss?"

Abbi didn't feel at all amused, and felt no motivation to keep the bite out of her voice as she said, "Actually, _I_ kissed _him_ --and I rather enjoyed it." She couldn't help being pleased by Cameron's stunned expression. "I believe he did, as well. Small compensation, I'd say, for putting the man in such a hideous position. While he's risking his life to save mine, a kiss or two seems a small price to pay."

"Risking his _life?"_ Cameron countered.

Abbi leaned toward him, her eyes filled with fire. "Yes, my love, risking his life. Consider how well you have tutored me on the importance of my ignorance on certain matters for the sake of my protection, then consider what might happen if Nikolaus du Woernig got even a clue of what his own captain knows that he's not reporting. And why is he not reporting it? I'm certain the matter is complicated at best, but the main point is shockingly clear. He is caught between his duty and his conscience because he loves _me._ He's trying to protect _me._ And if he goes before a firing squad for that, I will _never_ be able to live with it. I would say that a kiss is a small price to pay, indeed."

Cameron knew the anger he felt was likely out of line, but he made no effort to hold it back as he retorted, "I'm grateful for what he's doing to keep you safe, Abbi, but you are _my_ wife, and--"

"When I actually know what my name is, I might be able to remember that fact for more than a moment. As it is, it seems more evident that I am engaged to the Captain of the Guard, and I'm cheating on _him_ because some other man--a man I know nothing about--is sleeping in my bed."

"With any luck," Cameron snapped, "by the end of the week the captain will be sleeping in your bed and your troubles will be over."

Abbi didn't hesitate a moment before she slapped him, wondering even as she did how she could be driven to such cruelty and feel no regret. "How dare you even _think_ something like that, when I have given _everything_ for you--even my integrity. This is _your_ child growing inside of me, Cameron, and if you don't do everything in your power to stand by me to see it born and raised, I will _never_ be able to live with _that!_ "

Cameron watched her leave the room while he touched his face where the sting was still settling in. He closed his eyes against the memory of her words hammering through his mind, then opened them when he heard Georg slide his chair back and stand up. He felt doubly humiliated to realize Georg had witnessed such an abhorrent exchange. Then Georg just had to add insult to injury as he muttered, "You deserved that. If anything gets you killed before the end of the week, it will be your own arrogance."

Hoping to save face even a little, Cameron retorted, "You once told me I needed an edge of arrogance to accomplish what needs to be done."

"If you can't tell the difference between politics and your marriage, you've got a serious problem." He headed for the door. "On the chance that she'll let you sleep in her bed, I'll see you in the morning. Otherwise, the sofa at my house is tolerable."

Cameron had no idea how long he sat there, while every shred of anger and jealousy corroded, leaving nothing in their place but fear and regret. "What have I done?" he muttered into the empty room, unable to even comprehend how it had come to this. Then he realized that it didn't matter what he'd done or how it had happened. He had no choice but to move forward and do everything in his power to rectify it. And whether or not he survived, he had to be certain that Abbi remained safe, at all costs.

Elsa helped Abbi out of her evening gown and into the full petticoats and wedding gown so that she could try the veils again, seeing how they went together. She was grateful that Elsa didn't question her sour mood, especially seeing how talking about it hadn't gone well in the kitchen.

Abbi focused on the task and narrowed the decision down a little, but she still had trouble making a final decision. Elsa helped Abbi out of the dress and laid it over the bed again just as Abbi said, "I know it's late and you must be tired, but I think I'm hungry. Would you mind just getting me a little something? And I'll clean this stuff up enough to last until morning."

"Don't you worry about me," Elsa said. "I had a nap while you were at the opera."

Elsa left and Abbi perused the veils once more. Her back and legs ached from such a long day, but that seemed insignificant to the ache in her heart. The conversations of the evening rumbled together inside of her as she plopped into a chair, still wearing her full petticoats, unable to find the strength to even move. Glancing around the room, she realized there were only two days between now and Saturday. She wondered when Cameron was going to make himself public. She had daydreams of him appearing in the drawing room, just as he had last night. Then he would introduce himself to everyone and announce that he intended to marry her. Abbi wondered how her aunts would react to this man intruding upon their plans. And she couldn't even ponder how all of this would affect Lance. Her anger of earlier melted into the fear of wondering if people she cared for would come through this alive, and sorrow in knowing that no matter what happened, their lives would never be the same. With that thought she slept.

When Elsa returned to the kitchen and made herself busy, Cameron took it as his cue to go up to Abbi's room. It felt strange to be using the stairs, as opposed to climbing through the window. But considering Georg's final comment, he wondered if he'd be better off to just spend the night on Georg's sofa. He took a deep breath and resigned himself to a humble apology before he turned the knob and quietly entered the room. A different kind of emotion crept over him. The things lying about spoke of wedding preparations. And seeing his bride sleeping serenely in a chair, wearing elaborate petticoats and looking exhausted, he could picture her day's events clearly. But the anticipation of a wedding had become tainted with the complexity of all else that surrounded it, and he felt sick at heart. He would have wished for Abbi to be caught up in carefree days and perfect happiness. Instead he had lured her into a situation that caused her little but grief. Considering how upset she had been in the kitchen, a hard knot gathered in his chest. How could he not wonder if he'd done right by her, making such decisions on her behalf when she had no knowledge of the circumstances at all? But it was too late now to change course. He had pushed events into motion that would work up momentum until they brought to pass his dream--or saw him undone. Either way, he prayed that Abbi could live with his decisions.

Cameron sat close to Abbi and watched her sleeping while he attempted to make sense of the turmoil inside of him. He remained sitting quietly as Elsa returned to the room, setting a tray of food on the bureau. She seemed to accept his presence there as normal, which prompted him to follow her example.

"Hello, Elsa," he whispered and put his finger to his lips to indicate they be quiet and let Abbi sleep.

"I was just going to straighten up some so Miss Abbi could . . . well . . . so the two of you could . . . retire." She gathered up the wedding veils, hanging them on a rack near the wardrobe. Cameron thought of Georg, and how ironic that after all these years they would end up marrying at the same time. Cameron liked Elsa, and he could tell from what little he knew of her that she was as good a wife to Georg as she was a friend to Abbi.

Feeling a little mischievous, he said, "You do like me, don't you, Elsa? Come on, admit it."

"Yes, sir, I do," she said timidly.

"And is our secret still safe?"

She smiled at his teasing. "I've not told a soul."

"I certainly like you, too," he said and Elsa smiled. "You take very good care of Abbi."

"Miss Abbi is a good lady. She's always done well by me. I would do anything for her."

"You and I have very much in common, then."

"Yes, sir, I suppose we do." Elsa picked up the elaborate dress and hung it carefully.

"How does she look in it?" Cameron asked.

"Oh, sir," she smiled, "Miss Abbi will make the most beautiful bride."

"I've no doubt of that." He looked lovingly at Abbi where she slept.

When Elsa had the room straightened, she stood with her hands on her hips, looking at Abbi. "I'm amazed she's still asleep," she said, "but then she did have quite a day. Would you be embarrassed, sir, if I asked you to help me get her out of those petticoats and put her to bed?"

"No," he chuckled softly, "I wouldn't be embarrassed."

"I forget sometimes that you're her husband already."

"Yes, I certainly am," he said. Recalling Abbi's comment in the kitchen, he felt pained to think how it was difficult for him and Abbi to remember that fact at times. Lifting Abbi up beneath her arms, she drooped her head against his shoulder but remained asleep. Elsa untied the petticoats and they fell to the floor, after which Cameron pulled Abbi up into his arms and laid her on the bed that Elsa had turned down. He smiled to see how she snuggled into the bed without waking, and he kissed her brow as he covered her.

Elsa hung the petticoats with the dress and asked, "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, I think so. Thank you, Elsa."

She smiled at him and left the room
Chapter Twenty-One

DEVOTION

Abbi woke to find the room dimly lit, wondering how she'd gotten to her bed. Immediately, she saw Cameron's profile outlined in the faint glow of a candle left burning on the bedside table. He was leaning against the headboard, still fully dressed, one booted foot hanging casually over the side of the bed.

When Cameron realized Abbi was awake, his heart quickened with dread. That slap she'd given him had stung deeply, and the pain had been fueled by Georg's declaration that he'd deserved it. He breathed relief when she moved closer to him and settled her head in his lap.

"Hello at last," he said.

"When did you come up?"

"A couple of hours ago. Elsa and I had a nice little talk while she cleaned up the room."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"It was apparent that you needed your sleep." He took a deep breath and ventured to take on the results of their last encounter. "And perhaps I was hoping to avoid another of those slaps."

Abbi sighed and wrapped her arms around him. "Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. Georg said I deserved it. I'm sure he's right; he's always right."

"But I shouldn't have gotten so angry."

"I was angry too, Abbi. The difference is that what you said was true, and what I said was cruel. Sometimes I don't think I'm a very nice man, and I wonder what you did to deserve ending up with me this way. What I've done to your life is deplorable, Abbi. I can only hope and pray that when this is over, it will be worth it from your perspective."

"Just stay alive, Cameron. I need you to live."

Cameron eased her to sit beside him, wrapping her fully in his arms, wishing he could promise her that he would. At the risk of spoiling the mood between them, he had to ask, "Abbi . . . what happened this evening . . . that got you so upset? What did he say?"

Abbi wasn't certain how to answer that question, so she turned it back on him. "Why didn't you tell me the two of you had spoken?"

She felt his heart quicken before he eased back to look at her, saying firmly but without anger, "I felt it was in your best interest to remain ignorant. I'm wondering why the captain deemed it necessary for you to know."

"Perhaps he felt it was in my best interest to be aware of just how precarious a game my husband is playing."

Cameron swallowed carefully and reminded himself to control his temper. Anger had already gotten him slapped once today. He couldn't deny that this was difficult for Abbi--and for Lance. He just didn't know what to do about it, especially when the situation became steadily more complicated by the hour. "What else did he tell you?" Cameron asked. "I need to know," he insisted when she hesitated.

Abbi sighed and looked away. "He told me there was no need for me to go on pretending . . . about the time I was spending with you . . . and about my feelings for him. I told him that in regard to my feelings, I was not pretending."

Cameron suppressed his temptation to jealousy and asked, "And how do you feel for him, Abbi?"

She turned to meet his eyes. "Are you worried?"

"Maybe."

"You think that I would be anything but loyal to you? Do you have cause to question my love for you?"

"No. But I have cause to believe that, of the two of us, he may be the better man."

"This is not a competition, Cameron. I love _you_. I care for Lance, I admire and respect him, and I enjoy his company. He's been a good friend to me. His loyalty and devotion to me are beyond belief, all things considered. I don't have to pretend to like him for the sake of pulling off this grand charade of yours."

"And if you did . . . have to pretend?"

"I would have to take the art of deception to a whole new level. But it's good I don't have to; I don't think I'm very good at it." She sighed loudly and added, "You should know that he also made it clear he would do anything in his power to protect me, but he could make no such promise for you."

"I wouldn't expect him to," Cameron said. "But I _am_ deeply grateful that he cares for you enough to see you through this. And believe it or not, I _do_ regret the position this has put him in. If he does come to harm over this, I too would have trouble living with that. He's a good man, Abbi. If he weren't, I can assure you I would not be entrusting you to his care."

Abbi pondered his words before saying, "You know him well."

"Yes, I do." He sighed deeply. "You and I are a part of the same social circles, Abbi. But I left society before you came into it. I'd like to think that means our paths would have crossed one way or another, no matter how fate twisted our lives. But at times our connections only leave me terrified."

He met her eyes with an intensity that made her realize a new level of the fears he'd struggled with. She wanted to ask more questions, but she felt certain he either wouldn't answer them, or if he did, she might find the answers disturbing. So, she let the subject drop. Instead she leaned against his chest and kissed him in a way she hoped would eliminate whatever residue of anger or tension might be remaining between them. When passion crept into it, he eased her fully into his arms, then muttered close to her face, "Is that how you kissed the captain?"

"Not even close," she said and kissed him again.

"How _did_ you kiss him?" he asked facetiously.

She demonstrated an imitation of the meek kiss she'd given Lance in the carriage, which was barely more affectionate than how a woman might kiss her brother.

"Oh, is _that_ all?" Cameron said and laughed before he kissed her again, the way a husband should kiss his wife. And she was, after all, _his_ wife.

While unbuttoning his shirt, a letter he'd tucked inside earlier became visible and the mood changed abruptly. She looked at him in question and he simply said, "It's for you."

"What is it?" she asked, sitting up as she took it.

"Security," he replied. "Just in case."

"What do you mean?" she asked warily.

"So that my child will know who its father was," he paused and sighed, "and be entitled to what is mine." Abbi looked worried and he continued, "Abbi, I don't want to say this, but I . . ." He looked away to hide his emotion. "If . . . just _if_ I don't make it, do not . . ." He looked directly at her, perhaps more soberly than he ever had. "Do not show that letter to anyone . . . except the captain."

Abbi felt as startled by the precaution as she was by the evidence that, in spite of their current differences, Cameron considered Lance, at some level, an ally.

"Georg has a copy of it, as well," he went on. "No one but him and Lance are to know who fathered your child. Together they will look out for both of you. They will know what to do. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Abbi nodded but said nothing. She recalled Georg telling her that Cameron was struggling with his own doubts and fears. He didn't need her contributing to them any further. And they'd already had far too much drama for one day.

"There will be no need for you to ever open it. I'll be there. It's just a precaution."

Abbi didn't question him. She knew what he meant and had no desire to talk about the circumstances anymore. She went to her bureau and opened the drawer, pulling her nightclothes aside. Carefully she placed the sealed letter with the two packets of documents from her father, then she pushed her fearful thoughts to the back of her mind.

"The gown is beautiful," Cameron said as she closed the drawer.

"You really like it?" she asked, appreciating the change of subject.

"I can hardly wait to see you in it."

"But I just can't decide on a veil. I tried for hours. Maybe you could help me," she said, lighting a lamp so they could see better.

"I'd love to." He smiled and pulled off his boots to make himself more comfortable.

"You don't think it's bad luck, do you?"

"Of course not," he said. "I'm not superstitious. Besides, we're already married. This is just a formality."

"True," she said, pulling a veil down from the rack and placing it on her head. Turning elaborately, she looked at herself in the mirror and said, "How about this one?"

"It goes well with your underclothing," he snickered, "but I don't think it's quite right for the intended purpose."

"Well then," she said, pulling it off and exchanging it for another. "How about this?"

"No," he said, acting as though this were an important business matter. "It's too ornate; detracts from that fiery hair. Let's keep it simple."

"We're making progress," she said, glancing through the assortment. "At least now I know what we _don't_ want. Earlier I just couldn't make up my mind. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I'm glad to see I'm needed." He grinned. "Try the long one there, on the end."

"This one?" she asked, placing it on her head. The veil hung down past Abbi's hips, and hooked into her hair with a simple ivory comb where the netting was gathered. Abbi adjusted it carefully in the mirror, and then she turned to face Cameron triumphantly.

"That's the one," he said and smiled. "You look beautiful, and I trust you will be wearing your hair just like that."

"If you prefer," she said, recalling what he'd said when they'd exchanged their initial vows. _When we get married again, I want you to wear your hair exactly this way._

"Yes, I do," he said.

"Do you think this veil will go well with the dress, then?"

"Perfectly," he added.

"I'm glad that's taken care of," she said, taking it from her head and hanging it with the dress. "I was worried."

Cameron smiled as he watched her. Far better that she worried over wedding veils than other impending problems. He was worried enough for both of them.

Again Abbi woke to only a note. She felt exhausted and realized that she'd really overdone it yesterday. She asked for breakfast in bed and declined seeing Lance when he came. Her aunts checked on her more than once, but she insisted that she'd simply become too tired with the wedding preparations and being out late. And she hadn't been sleeping well with all of the excitement--which was absolutely true.

Abbi fell asleep early afternoon and didn't wake until it was nearly time for supper. Again she ate in her room before she finally bathed and dressed. She knew she'd not be able to fall asleep again for hours even though it was dark, so she wandered out to the stable to see Blaze. She was pleasantly surprised to find Georg there, until it became evident that he was extremely on edge.

"Georg, what's wrong?" she demanded.

He looked hesitant to speak, which made her all the more frantic.

"Georg!"

"He should have been here over an hour ago."

Abbi gasped. "Where is he? Did he--"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be worried."

"We've got to go find him. We've got to--"

"No, _I've_ got to go find him. I'm glad you're here. You stay put. If he comes, order him into that loft and don't let him move."

Abbi nodded. "Hurry, and be careful."

Georg bridled a horse and jumped onto it bareback just as they heard a horse approach. It galloped right into the stable, but Abbi couldn't be certain if the rider was Cameron by the way he was bent over unnaturally.

"Georg, are you here?" Cameron's voice was strained and raspy.

"Yes, of course." Georg dismounted and hurried to his side.

"I think I'm in trouble," Cameron murmured and practically fell out of the saddle onto Georg, who barely managed to keep his footing.

"Dear God, no!" Abbi cried and rushed to him.

Cameron looked surprised to see her there, but too dazed to comment. While Abbi attempted to come up with a coherent question, Georg asked frantically, "What happened?"

"Gunshot," he muttered, looking down at his side.

"What?" Abbi shrieked.

"Hush!" Georg demanded. "You want the whole countryside to know he's here?" Then to Cameron, "Were you pursued?"

"No. I've been lying in a ditch for better than an hour to be certain that I wasn't." Cameron leaned weakly against Georg but still managed to remain standing.

"Abbi," Georg ordered, "go tell my mother to be sure the way is clear, and get Elsa to help you. We're taking him up to your room, and I'll go for the doctor."

Abbi ran as fast as she could manage. She considered herself lucky when she found Marta gabbing with Elsa in the hall just off the kitchen. "Cameron's been hurt," she said. "Marta, make sure the way is clear. Georg's bringing him in. Elsa, help me."

Elsa followed Abbi to the side door where they met Georg, who quickly transferred Cameron's weight to the women. "I'm getting on that horse he was riding," Georg said, "so no one will find it and get suspicious--just in case. Get him upstairs. I'll hurry."

Cameron tried to avoid thinking about the humiliation of needing two women to get him into the house. He mustered all his energy and managed to get up the stairs without leaning on them too heavily. Having that much strength came as a relief. The damage couldn't be too bad, all things considered. But when Abbi and Elsa got him to the edge of the bed, he eagerly collapsed, catching a glimpse of a huge bloodstain on Abbi's dress before he rolled onto the side that wasn't burning with pain.

"Elsa, get clean rags and some disinfectant," Abbi ordered, forcing herself to remain calm. She locked the door behind Elsa and hurried to Cameron's side. His shirt was torn and blood-soaked, far worse than it had been a few days ago. She carefully unfastened his breeches and peeled away his shirt, lifting his left arm out of the sleeve. Elsa knocked lightly at the door and Abbi hurried to open it, locking it again quickly.

"Good heavens!" Elsa gasped when she saw the blood. Cameron lifted his head to glance down at his side. He groaned and let it drop back onto the pillow. At least he was conscious, Abbi thought as she wet a rag in the basin and attempted to wash away the blood and find its source, just above his waistline. She was relieved to see that it looked more like a nasty gash than a bullet hole. She wanted to scream at him for putting himself in this kind of danger. Instead, she bit her tongue and cleaned the wound with disinfectant, which made Cameron curse and groan. She thought it served him right.

When his response to the pain subsided, Cameron reached out a hand, saying, "Abbi." Elsa pressed a clean rag over the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding while Abbi sat on the bed and eased Cameron's head into her lap. He held to her and relaxed while Abbi cried a steady stream of silent tears. Elsa glanced occasionally toward her with compassion, but nothing was said.

Georg returned with the doctor, who slipped quietly into the room when Abbi unlocked the door. He was almost smiling at Cameron, who lifted his head slightly to see who was there.

"It's been a long time, sir," the doctor said to him.

"At least two or three days," Cameron mumbled and Abbi wondered what other occasion he'd had to see the doctor.

"Hello, Abbi." Dr. Furhelm nodded toward her.

"Hello," she said, amazed to realize that he knew Cameron well, and he didn't seem the least bit surprised to see them together this way.

"What have you gone and done to yourself?" the doctor asked as Elsa backed away to allow him to take over.

"Those wretched officers of the Guard," Cameron murmured without opening his eyes. He winced slightly as the doctor examined the wound. "Every time I turn around, it seems there's one breathing down my neck." He groaned and shifted the position of his head in Abbi's lap. "What idiot taught them to be that thorough and persistent, anyway?"

Georg and the doctor both chuckled and exchanged a quick glance. "I believe you had something to do with that," Georg said.

"Rumors are flying about you," the doctor said, "which is not terribly surprising, but it is a concern. I'd suggest that you lay low for the time being and allow yourself to heal."

"I'm getting married the day after tomorrow, Doctor."

"You don't have to tell me that." The doctor smiled at Abbi. "Looks like he's been lucky. Hurts like hell, but the bullet only braised his side." To Cameron he added, "If you keep the wound clean and rest all day tomorrow, you should be able to do what you need to do tomorrow night and feel fine for the wedding. Let me repeat that--you need to rest." He gave Cameron a large spoonful of brown liquid to swallow, telling him it would ease the pain.

"That's horrible!" Cameron croaked, coughing and groping for the glass of water Elsa held toward him. After emptying the entire glass, he growled at the doctor, "What are you trying to do? Poison me?"

Dr. Furhelm only smiled, saying more to Georg, "He's too much like his old self to be very bad off. He'll be fine."

"Thank you, Doctor," Georg said.

"And that stuff he just took will keep him down for about twelve hours. The powers of hell won't be able to move him until that wears off."

Georg escorted the doctor discreetly away. Abbi changed into her nightgown while Elsa gathered up all of the bloody rags and clothes before she left for the night. Abbi crawled into the bed next to Cameron, grateful to know he was all right. If nothing else, having him wounded might keep him close to her until all of this was over, which would alleviate a great deal of her worries. She quickly drifted to sleep and woke midmorning to find Cameron still slumbering deeply. Elsa brought an extra large breakfast to her room and offered to help put Abbi's hair up for the day. Abbi declined, feeling the urge to wear it down. She felt too nervous to sit still and no desire to fuss with her appearance. After eating her fill of breakfast, she set aside the remaining pastry, some dark bread with butter, and a large sausage, wrapping them in a napkin before she sent the tray back to the kitchen.

While Cameron slept, she contemplated the reality that her wedding day was almost upon them. She prayed that all would go well and they could get beyond this secret life once and for all. As Cameron began to stir, she watched him from the chair by the bed, admiring this man she loved, grateful to have him in her care. A light knock at the door made him more alert.

"Who is it?" Abbi called, rising to unlock the door.

"It's Elsa," came the reply. Abbi opened the door and Elsa slipped inside with a pot of hot coffee and a cup. "Marta sent this up for you, sir."

Cameron squinted from the sunlight and struggled to lean up against the headboard, moaning as his side throbbed and he recalled his reason for feeling this way. "How long have I been asleep?"

"It's nearly eleven," Abbi said and Cameron moaned again.

Elsa poured him a cup of coffee and left the pot on the dresser. "Thank you, Elsa," Cameron said, wrapping his hands carefully around the cup.

"Go slowly, sir," she cautioned. "It's hot." Then more to Abbi, "Is there anything else you need?"

"No, thank you."

Elsa left the room and Abbi locked the door, not willing to take the chance of having one of her aunts peek in unannounced.

"I saved some breakfast for you," Abbi said, setting the napkin on the bed beside him, and unwrapping it to reveal its contents. "It's probably not very appetizing, but . . ."

"Actually, it looks good. When I get a little more awake, I'll . . ." He didn't finish the sentence and his eyes drooped closed. Abbi wondered if he'd gone back to sleep, but a second later he lifted the cup to his lips and took a careful sip.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm too sleepy to tell. Whatever that wretched doctor gave me had a hefty wallop to it."

"You needed the rest, I think. You'll heal more quickly if you stay down."

He said nothing but she sensed that he disagreed with her, and she feared he would disobey the doctor's orders and put himself in more danger. She wished the doctor had left that bottle of brown stuff, whatever it was. She'd lace his coffee with it if she had to. Anything to keep him safely with her.

Cameron finished his cup of coffee and Abbi asked, "More?"

"Yes, thank you." He sat up straighter while she was filling it, and he began to eat the buttered bread he found at his side. Abbi set the cup on the bedside table and sat back down. "And how are _you?_ " he asked.

"I'm all right."

"You're lying."

Abbi glanced down and had to admit. "Physically, I'm fine. But I've been worried sick about you. I don't know if I can take this any more."

"It will all be over soon, Abbi."

"Yes, it will be over all right. You'll be dead and I'll be left to--"

"Abbi," he interrupted, "everything's going to be fine."

"How dare you tell me that? You showed up here earlier this week hurt, and now you come back with a bullet hole. If this is what it's going to take to prove yourself innocent, then I say to hell with it. To hell with all of it. You and I can leave here tonight and go somewhere far away. We'll start a new life together, where at least you'll be alive!" Abbi didn't realize her vehemence until she stopped talking long enough to notice Cameron's stunned expression.

"Forgive me, Abbi," he said gently. "I know this is hardest for you. If leaving were the answer, I'd do it. It's just not that simple. I could never live in peace, knowing that--"

"Peace? You call this peace? Sneaking around, running from the law, cleaning up the blood and . . ." She started to cry and Cameron reached a hand toward her. Before she could take it, a knock sounded at the door. Abbi knew it wasn't Elsa.

"Who's there?" she asked carefully, wiping at her tears.

"It's Georg," came the reply and she quickly opened the door long enough for him to slip inside. "How you doing?" he asked Cameron.

"Better, I think . . . now that I'm coherent enough to see straight. It hurts, but . . . it could be worse."

"That's an understatement," Abbi said fiercely. "He's lucky he's not dead."

"I can agree with that," Georg said. Cameron scowled and continued eating. Georg nodded toward Abbi and asked, "Would you mind giving us a minute?"

"Of course," she said, but she didn't want to. She took the opportunity to peek in on her aunts, if only to avoid having them seek her out later. Then she went in the kitchen to see if there was anything else she could smuggle up to Cameron. She easily located a couple of apples and some cake left from last night's dinner. She knocked at her bedroom door and Georg let her in. "Am I back too soon?"

"No," Georg said as Abbi set the food down on the napkin and Cameron made a noise of approval, since he'd practically finished off what she'd given him and he was obviously still hungry. Abbi sat down and Georg added, "I'll be off. I'll check in on you later."

"Wait a minute," Cameron said, swinging his legs over the bed. "You could at least give me a chance to eat."

"You can't leave!" Abbi protested. "The doctor said that--"

"I know what the doctor said," Cameron interrupted. "But I've got to--"

"No!" Abbi insisted. "You're supposed to rest so you can heal. That's what he said and . . ." Her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest as Cameron pulled on his boots. "Georg," she turned to her friend for support, "tell him he can't go. It's too dangerous. It's--"

"She's right, you know," Georg said and Cameron glared at him. "Until tonight there is absolutely nothing left to be done that has to be done by you personally. If something happens to you, the rest of this is absolutely pointless."

"I'll be careful." Cameron stood up and grabbed the shirt that Elsa had laundered and mended.

"Careful?" Abbi retorted. "I've heard that before."

"Go back to bed, Cameron," Georg said. "That's an order."

Cameron looked at his friend, so blatantly appalled that Abbi almost feared they'd come to blows over this. "What did you say?" Cameron asked.

"I told you to go back to bed."

"And I'm telling you that I'm coming with you. If it takes--"

Abbi gasped when Georg reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pistol. Without hesitation he pointed it directly at Cameron, then cocked it. Cameron's expression was so stunned that it took a moment for the hurt to come into his eyes. "Is that really necessary?"

"Apparently, it is," Georg stated.

"And you call yourself a friend?"

"Friend enough to see that you put your own pride in check and do what's smart. We don't need a dead hero, Cameron. We already have enough martyrs to this cause." He nodded toward Abbi but didn't retract the gun even slightly. "You need to slow down and think of Abbi . . . and the baby. She's not going to give a damn about your cause, or your innocence, if she has to lose you in order to see it through. You told her you'd be careful. You're _not_ being careful. You're being stupid. Two close calls is one too many. I'm not going to let you make it three."

Cameron gazed long and hard at Abbi, then shifted his gaze back to Georg. He took a deep breath and stared at the floor, hating the reality he'd just been slapped with--especially because he'd become so blinded by his own ambition that he needed a gun pointed in his face to be forced to see the truth.

"All right," Cameron said and tossed the shirt back onto the chair, "I'll stay. Not because you're pointing that stupid gun at me, but because . . . you're right." He looked again at Abbi and added, "Forgive me. I'm being a fool."

Georg uncocked the pistol and put it back into the hidden holster. Abbi wondered if it had become his habit to carry a gun. The possible reasons were unnerving.

"Don't get me wrong, Cam," Georg said, more like himself. "I admire your determination. And I admire what you're trying to do. I know, as the rest of them know, that you wouldn't ask anything you aren't willing to do yourself. But you've proven that. And now your safety is more important." He glanced at Abbi as he took hold of the doorknob. "I'll be back to check on you, and I want to find you here."

"Yes, _sir,"_ Cameron said with sarcasm.

Georg left the room and Abbi locked the door. Cameron sat weakly on the edge of the bed, not wanting to admit that he really felt in no condition to go anywhere. He knew he should feel humbled--and he did. But humiliated was more accurate. He pushed his hands into his hair and sighed.

"Forgive me," Abbi said, startling him to the recollection that he wasn't alone.

He turned to look at her. "Forgive _you_? For what?"

"I feel terribly selfish, wanting to keep you here. I feel like a bothersome mother, preventing you from going out to play with the rest of the boys."

Cameron smiled wryly at her analogy, then sighed again. "You have nothing to feel sorry for, Abbi. Georg was absolutely right. It's just that . . . well, sometimes I hate it when he's right. He's _always_ right. If I had his brains and your insight, I might actually be capable of accomplishing great things."

"But you do, don't you?" she asked with an innocent wisdom that continued to leave him in awe. He thought of the gentle way she had stood beside him since the first time he'd seen her, quietly guiding him with her insight and strength. And in much the same way, Georg was always behind him, thinking of things that Cameron would never think of. He reminded himself to be humble enough to listen to those who cared for him most.

"Yes," he admitted, "you're right. I do. I just need to be smart enough to pay attention to what you tell me." He took her hand and urged her to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. "I don't deserve the way you trust me, Abbi. But I swear I'll make it up to you. Before the sun sets tomorrow, we will know joy like neither of us has ever comprehended."

"Tell me about it," she implored softly.

"Freedom," he whispered. "Freedom to live and love as I choose, and to be known for who and what I really am."

Abbi held him close and prayed that his vision would come to pass.

Cameron went back to sleep so easily that Abbi felt certain he was still feeling the effects of whatever the doctor had given him. All the better, she thought. While he slept, Abbi had to help Elsa get all of Mrs. Schilling's wares out of her room and downstairs before she arrived to pick them up. With that taken care of, Abbi had Marta come to her room where they went over last-minute details. Cameron slept on, oblivious to the quiet chattering in the room. He finally woke late afternoon and Marta brought him a tray of double portions left over from lunch.

"Eat hearty," she said. "You've got a long night ahead of you."

The comment made Cameron smile, but it provoked an uneasy stirring in Abbi. She sat with him while he ate, praying in her heart that Sunday would find them free and safe--and together. Once he'd gone back to sleep, she slipped out of the room to make an appearance with her aunts.

Cameron heard Abbi leave the room and felt an intangible fear settle deeper into him. His encounter with Georg, added upon by Abbi's ongoing concern, had stirred haunting emotions close to the surface, thoughts he'd not bothered to even glance at since he'd taken hold of the vision for freedom that Abbi had brought into his life. Now, in spite of a lingering drowsiness, sleep eluded him while memories that were better forgotten marched into the forefront of his mind, demanding to be acknowledged. But worse were the anxieties that rose to contend with them. While he considered everything he was presently up against, and all that had led up to it, his present fears made his breathing shallow and his heart pound. He was grateful to be alone while he attempted to force himself to some reasonable perspective in order to feel peace. When his efforts only heightened his fears, he squeezed his eyes closed and prayed with all the fervency of his soul that he could understand the turmoil taking place within himself, and come to terms with it enough to do all that would be required of him.

Cameron lost track of the time while he prayed on and on. He was relieved to feel himself relaxing, but his thoughts continued to roll and boil. Then his heart quickened again. His mouth went dry. Cold sweat oozed from every pore. The perspective in his mind shifted so abruptly that he gasped. He had to believe his prayers had been heard and answered when he could find no other explanation for such a complete and immediate understanding. A deeper level of comprehension flooded him concerning his own behavior these past several months. And he knew _why_ it was so important for him to gain that understanding--now--before he took these final steps that would determine the future, not only for himself and the people he loved, but for the people of Horstberg. He marveled at God's mercy as the miracles of the past year--and this moment--settled into him. Certain of his own many weaknesses and inadequacies, he could only believe that God was using him as an instrument to bring something good to pass for a great many people. But he would never be capable of doing any such thing while deep layers of his thoughts and emotions were so self-destructive.

When Abbi came back into the room, Cameron pretended to be asleep. He needed to talk to her; he knew that saying his thoughts aloud would help him come to terms with them. And he needed to help her understand what _he_ had come to understand. But he needed time to fully digest what he'd learned, and to consider how he could ever confess such horrors to his sweet wife. If she could still love and accept him--and forgive him--after she heard what he had to say, then surely they could overcome anything.

He felt Abbi's fingers on his face and opened his eyes to look at her. With her hair down and the sun behind her, he was struck with how completely beautiful she was. "Are you all right?" she asked. He didn't answer and she added, "I thought you were asleep, but . . . you looked so . . . distressed. I wondered if you were dreaming." Still he said nothing. "Are you in pain?"

Knowing she meant the bullet wound, he said, "It's fine unless I move."

"You look troubled," she said, and he didn't know whether to bless or curse her perception. She sat beside him and leaned against the headboard, urging his head into her lap. "What are you thinking?" she asked gently, pressing her fingers repeatedly through his hair.

He took a deep breath and ventured to explain. "So many thoughts all at once . . . I don't know where to begin. It's as if . . . some enormous understanding just opened up in my mind . . . instantly. And I don't know what to make of it."

He said nothing more and Abbi let the silence reign, wondering if he simply needed time to sort his thoughts. "Abbi," he finally said in a voice that was humble, almost frightened, "I need to tell you something." She waited through more silence. The wedding was tomorrow. Would he tell her his name? His purpose? Would he spill his secrets to her now? "It's something I hadn't thought of for a long time; I'd forgotten all about it. Now it feels as if I need to say it or . . . it will undo me."

"I'm listening," she said and he eased closer.

More silence. "I don't want to say it, Abbi. It's a horrible confession. You could be . . . angry, or . . . upset. You could think less of me."

Abbi's heart quickened, wondering what could be so abhorrent. "It's all right," she said. "Say what you need to say."

"Just . . . hear me out, and . . . then we can talk about it."

"I'm listening," she said again.

"Do you remember when I told you that God had sent you to save my life?"

"Of course."

"You saved my spirit, Abbi. You gave me hope. You changed everything, but . . . you need to know something that . . . I don't think I've even wanted to acknowledge since the day I realized that you _had_ changed something in me. Before then, I had believed that your presence was only prolonging the inevitable."

"The inevitable?" she echoed, not certain what he meant.

"You need to know that . . . what I said . . . went so much deeper. It was literal. You see, I knew that I couldn't face another winter alone. I _couldn't._ Once the snow came, I knew it was only a matter of time before I reached the edge. I'd planned it all very carefully. I knew exactly how to go about it so there would be no chance for failure." Abbi felt the implication begin to settle into her slowly, until it struck her with undeniable horror as he added, "I couldn't leave the animals to go hungry without me there to care for them. I had to kill them first; quick and painlessly."

Cameron heard Abbi's breathing sharpen, but she didn't speak. He forced himself to go on. "They had kept me alive for a long time. It was my reluctance to harm them that had prevented me from doing it long before then. But I had reached a point where even that didn't matter anymore." He sighed. "When I realized Blaze had found his way to me, and he was in my care, I think a part of me knew in that moment I was doomed to live through another winter because I knew how much you cared for him, and I don't think I could have ever done anything to hurt him. But still . . . that was only prolonging the inevitable."

Abbi had to put a hand over her mouth to keep her emotion silent. She'd promised to listen and knew that getting upset would not be conducive to allowing him to say what needed to be said.

"And then," he went on, "I heard you scream, and I ran to save you, and everything changed. But as I said, I believed that eventually you would leave, and my life wouldn't change, and your presence there was only dragging out my misery. But you saved me, Abbi. You need to know that. I needed to say it, and . . . I needed to say it now because . . ." He took a sharp breath then something resembling a sob precluded his quavering words. "Oh, Abbi. It just occurred to me . . . how wrong I've been, how _foolish_ I've been, how unfair to you, and to me, and to our baby, and to everyone who has given so much for my cause, and to the people who suffer from Nikolaus's tyranny. Oh, Abbi, can you ever forgive me?"

He pressed his face more tightly against her and wept without control while Abbi wondered exactly why he was asking her forgiveness. His reference to being wrong and foolish and unfair had no apparent connection to his confession of once pondering suicide, as far as she could see. But it seemed there was a connection. When he finally calmed down, she said, "I don't understand, Cameron. Forgive you for what?"

He sat up abruptly and penetrated her eyes with his. "Don't you see?"

"No, I don't. That's why I asked."

"I'm not afraid to die. I stared death in the face a long time ago. I was eager to embrace it. Death represented the ultimate freedom for me. I'm not afraid to die. I'm afraid to _live._ I didn't realize until just now, but . . . somewhere inside of me . . . I've been more afraid to live than to die. Facing up to what I left behind feels far more terrifying than facing the end of my life. I promised you that I would be careful. I wasn't. I can see that now. As much as I knew that my dying would break your heart, because I know how much you love me, a part of me truly believed you would be better off without me."

Abbi watched silent tears spill down his face while her own weeping was not so discreet. She knew now why he'd said she would be angry and upset. She certainly was. But more than that, she felt his pain. At the same time, she longed for some evidence that he had come to his senses and had realized that she would never be better without him.

As if attuned to her innermost thoughts, he took both her hands into his and said with vehemence, "But I was wrong, Abbi. Oh, I was so wrong. I _need_ to live. No one can do what _I_ can do in this world. What I contribute may be insignificant in the vast scheme of life, but in this time, in this place, the world needs _me_ to live. No one can be a husband to you the way I can. No one can be the father this child needs except me. And no one can bear my name and my position the same way that I can do it. I need to _live,_ Abbi. While I know my life is in God's hands, whether I face him tomorrow or in thirty years, I need to face him with the confidence of knowing I did everything in my power to stay alive, and that my leaving this world was _His_ choice, not mine."

He touched her face. "Forgive me, Abbi. I didn't realize what I was doing. Forgive me for causing you so much worry and grief. I swear to you that I _will_ be careful, and that living to share my life with you will be my highest priority."

Abbi's tears turned to relieved laughter as the light of determination shone more brilliantly in his eyes than she'd ever seen it. She wrapped her arms around him and held him as tightly as he held her. "Then everything will be all right," she said, praying that fate would not intervene and cut his life short when he had come so far.

"I love you, Abbi," he murmured with emotion. "God sent you to save my life."

She laughed again through her ongoing tears and took his face into her hands, kissing him while she wiped away his tears. "I love you too," she whispered close to his lips, and kissed him again.

Georg hummed as he went about his usual work in the stable. Everything was going as planned, and by tomorrow at this time, it would all be over. He chided himself for getting too comfortable when a woman rode into the stable, slipping off a huge work horse.

"Mr. Heinrich," she said, glancing around nervously to be assured they were alone.

"Yes." It took a moment to recognize her. And when he did his pulse quickened.

"I have brought the lace you ordered for your wife."

He swallowed carefully. "I already got the lace I ordered for my wife."

"Yes, but . . . this is a special piece." She held out a wrapped package, but he didn't take it. "I'm absolutely certain that you're the one who ordered it, and you paid for it as well. Perhaps you meant it as a gift for . . . the bride."

Georg looked into her eyes and saw huge tears forming. This woman's husband was the officer of the Guard who had put everything on the line to help them. He was the man who held the final key in getting access to Gerhard tonight. Horrible images flashed through his mind. Had Farold Garver been caught? Arrested? Or worse?

Oblivious to propriety, Georg took hold of Mrs. Garver's shoulders and deepened his gaze on her. "What's happened?" he whispered imperatively. "Please don't tell me they found out that--"

"No," she insisted, "oh, no. He's . . . ill. He's very ill." Georg's sigh of relief caught in his throat as she went on. "He has a fever." Tears coursed down her cheeks. "The doctor assures us that it will pass, but . . ." Her voice lowered. "He told me what you're trying to do," she said. "If I could take my husband's place tonight, I would do it gladly. He's consumed with worry for you and those you are helping." She shoved the package into Georg's hands. "Our prayers are with you," she said and struggled to get back into the saddle of her oversized horse.

Georg stepped forward and helped her. When she was seated, he took her hand and squeezed it. "Thank you," he said. "Our prayers will be with you as well." She nodded, too emotional to speak, and galloped away.

Georg leaned against a post and groaned. "Oh, please God, no!" he murmured. Everything hinged on this one element--the only element for which they'd been unable to come up with a backup plan. Georg felt exhausted and drained. His brain was too weary and overworked to even begin to think how to handle this new problem. It would now be impossible to have Abbi's father at the wedding as they had hoped, and yet it was so much more complicated than that in ways Abbi could never imagine. What they needed now was a miracle.

Abbi opened the bedroom door after Georg let them know it was him. He stepped into the room, looking especially somber. She was about to question him when he handed her a small package, wrapped in brown paper.

"What is it?" she asked, and Cameron glanced her direction from where he was sitting up in bed.

"A wedding gift," he said.

"From who?"

"Some people who are praying very hard that your wedding goes well."

Abbi tore open the package and laughed softly. "Oh, it's beautiful. A lace collar, much like Elsa's."

She glanced up just in time to see Cameron give Georg a harsh stare that Georg returned with some kind of formless terror in his eyes.

"What's happened?" Cameron growled, erupting to his feet so fast that Abbi feared he would lose his balance. But he stepped toward Georg like some kind of angry beast. "What's happened, dammit?"

Abbi clutched the lace to her heart, realizing her beautiful gift symbolized something much deeper.

"He's safe, if that's what you mean. No one's on to him."

Cameron sighed so thoroughly that his shoulders slumped. "Then what . . ." Cameron pressed.

"He's ill. Down with a fever." Georg glanced at Abbi, but didn't have the heart to tell her to leave. "I don't know how to fix this one, Cameron. I'm drained. If we can't get to the witness tonight, then . . ." He couldn't even say it. Not when they were this close. "I should have found some way to back up this part of the plan." Georg felt hard pressed not to sit down and cry like a baby. "I should have . . ."

"Georg, listen to me." Cameron took him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "If we can't get him tonight, we'll get him tomorrow night."

"But how can you--"

"Georg," Cameron interrupted firmly. "It's so close now I can taste it. I feel alive again, Georg." He actually laughed. "Do you know who I am, Georg?"

"Yes, of course, but--"

"Well, _I_ know who I am. I'd forgotten, you know. In my mind I knew, but my heart forgot. And now," Cameron's eyes sparkled with vision, "my heart is remembering. I know who I am. I know my mission. I know what I'm capable of."

Georg looked into Cameron's face, in awe to see a presence there that he'd not seen since long before he'd been accused of murder. All these years it had been hidden behind a mask of doubt and fear, and Georg had taken it upon himself to hold tightly to Cameron and guide him through the process of removing that mask. Finally, it was gone. His natural strength shone in his face, and Georg _knew_ they would succeed. He could see it in Cameron's eyes.

Cameron stepped back and took Abbi's hand into his, saying firmly, "We'll take care of it tomorrow night, Georg. Tomorrow I can do anything I damn well please." Then he laughed. "Provided, of course, that civil war doesn't break out in the meantime." Abbi's eyes widened frantically and he laughed again. "I'm joking, Abbi. I'm joking."

Abbi hit him and walked away. Cameron added quietly to Georg, "I hope civil war doesn't break out in the meantime, or I could end up divorced."

"Amen," Georg said, and they laughed together.

Abbi observed the relaxed attitude between the two men and hoped it was indicative of the potential outcome. Georg left them alone, saying he would meet Cameron at dusk in the stable. Abbi didn't want to think about what might happen after that. Instead she relished this time with Cameron, basking in the calm confidence that exuded from him. Little was said, but they held each other while Abbi wondered if such tranquil moments would be a part of their life beyond this day. While Cameron's change of attitude assuaged her concerns somewhat, she couldn't deny the fact that he'd come within an inch of losing his life--quite literally, considering the bullet wound. Hot tears threatened, but she forced them back, instead praying that he would yet survive whatever lay ahead.

She realized Cameron had once again fallen asleep when Elsa knocked lightly at the door and it didn't disturb him. "Forgive me," Elsa whispered, "but the captain is here, and I thought for the sake of proper appearances, you should see him."

"Of course, you're right," Abbi said. "Thank you."

She quickly checked herself in the mirror, made certain Cameron was sleeping, and went downstairs. As she stepped into the drawing room and closed the door, Lance turned to look at her. For a long moment nothing was said, but his genuine concern, and the sincerity of his devotion, radiated from him. She felt safe in his presence, and nothing but relieved when his arms came around her while he urged her head to his shoulder. "How are you?" he asked quietly, and without warning, tears rushed out of her. She could only credit the security she felt for provoking all of her pent-up emotion to the surface.

"Abbi, what is it?" Lance asked, taking her shoulders to look at her closely. She only shook her head and put her face against his chest. "Abbi," he muttered close to her ear and she undeniably detected fear in his voice, "please tell me he's all right."

Dread overtook her tears and she stepped back abruptly, wondering what he knew. "He's alive, if that's what you mean," she said.

"It _was_ him, then."

"Please don't tell me you had something to do with this . . . and don't lie to me."

"I would never lie to you, Abbi. And no, I had nothing to do with it beyond receiving the report. Surely you must believe me."

"Of course I believe you," she said. "May I ask what was reported?"

"I don't know details. I didn't ask because I didn't want to give the matter too much attention. A fugitive was pursued and shot, then lost. But the officer felt certain he'd hit the target and was puzzled at having lost him."

"Apparently he is easily recognized by your officers."

"Many of them once worked closely with him. They would know his face well." Abbi felt a little queasy over that. Lance looked like he didn't want to ask, but he did anyway. _"Was_ he shot, then?"

"Yes."

"And is he going to be--"

"He's fine," Abbi said curtly. "By some miracle the bullet only braised his side." Lance heaved a deep sigh, and she found some comfort in the evidence that he wanted Cameron to remain safe. Apparently his desire for her happiness, and her pleas on Cameron's behalf, meant something to him. For that alone she wanted to get down on her knees and pledge her undying gratitude and esteem. She opted instead to say, "I keep telling myself that it's evident God wants him to live, but then I wonder if we've already been given more than our share of miracles."

"Abbi," Lance said in little more than a whisper, "I need to speak with him." She knew her astonishment was evident by the way he took hold of her hands and pleaded earnestly, "I swear to you that this encounter will have no bearing on the matter. No one will ever know that I saw him or spoke to him. You must trust me."

Abbi searched his eyes and weighed her instincts carefully. While they had come to speak freely of Cameron, and she knew the two men had spoken recently, being asked to allow the Captain of the Guard into the same room felt more treasonous to her than anything she had done so far.

"Please, Abbi," he pressed. "Just give me five minutes with him."

"And then what?" she demanded. "Once you leave here and return to your duties, how can I believe that he will truly remain safe when I know you are sworn to serving Nikolaus?"

"Keeping Cameron's whereabouts a secret is as much for my own protection as his. I can't suddenly announce _now_ that I know where he is without making it evident that I've known long before now."

"Still, you made it clear that you believe he is guilty of murder. For all your willingness to stand by me, do I have any reason to believe that you would still not prefer to see Cameron face the full penalty of the law for his alleged crimes? You swear to me that you will keep your knowledge to yourself, but you are still dabbling in mixed loyalties, and I wonder if you know which direction the scales would tip if death were staring you in the face. Would it be me or Horstberg you would choose?" He looked completely stunned, his expression reminding her of Cameron's right after she'd slapped him. "I would hope, given the choice, that you would stand for Horstberg. You are her captain, and I am merely a simple woman with no heart to give you. If you die for love or devotion, Captain, let it be for your country. But the true question for me lies in the fact that whichever direction the scales may tip for you, Cameron's position would only be caught in the middle. If you are a man who truly serves his country and abides by the law, then you could well be the man who will see my husband undone. If you were to face him publicly, would you not be under obligation to arrest him?"

He said nothing, but his eyes answered the question. Still, he seemed disarmed, perhaps confused. He almost looked afraid, staring at her as if she'd suddenly transformed into a mystical sorceress who might cut him down with a magic word if he were to even speak. She felt certain that Lance still believed Cameron was guilty of murder, and believed he simply couldn't state his convictions in that regard without upsetting her.

Recalling the purpose of this conversation, she asked firmly, "Did you mean it? That no matter what happens, your knowledge of his whereabouts will never pass through your lips?"

"As God is my witness," he said, his eyes still riveted to her with an intensity that was unnerving.

If only to break the tension surrounding them, she hurried past him and opened the door. "We must be careful," she said, and peered into the hall to make certain that no servants--or her aunts--were anywhere nearby. She moved quickly up the stairs, aware of Lance coming directly behind her. At the door she took a deep breath and prayed she was doing the right thing. Opening the door slowly, she could see that Cameron was still asleep. She was hoping to tell Lance as much and postpone this, but she heard him step into the room behind her and quietly close the door.

"He's asleep," she whispered, noting how Lance's eyes took in the brutal evidence of Cameron sleeping in her bed, bare above the sheet that fell around his waist, except for the bandaging that covered the wound. She saw his eyes quickly scan the room, which was a bit of a mess at the moment. How could he not notice Cameron's clothes, his boots, his cloak, all mingled among her own things? Then he turned to look at her with concern and sadness showing in his eyes, and the emotion she'd been battling in the drawing room rushed back unexpectedly. This was all so ridiculous and horrible, and she had no idea what to do about it. She wanted to think that by tomorrow at this time it would all be over, but at the moment the very idea seemed impossible. Tears fell before she could think of holding them back, and once again she found his arms around her. She cried quietly against his shoulder until she could gain some composure.

"Forgive me," she said without letting go of him. "I didn't mean to unburden myself that way. I still wonder every day why you would be so good to me . . . under the circumstances."

"It's purely selfish, Abbi," he whispered lightly, pressing a hand through her hair. "I'm just going to enjoy every moment I can call you mine . . . for as long as it may last--even though I know you're not _really_ mine." She found the statement especially ironic, considering that Cameron was asleep in the room.

"That all depends on how you look at it," she whispered, looking up at him. "When my marriage is made public, I will not consider you any less of a friend than I do now."

He smiled as if he liked that idea. She put her head again to his shoulder, instinctively needing the strength that flowed from him while she continued to cry silent tears.

Cameron heard whispering in the room and forced his eyes open, unable to believe what he was seeing. The Captain of the Guard was standing in the room while Abbi wept in his arms. He bristled when Lance put his hand in Abbi's hair, wondering why _that_ would bother him even more than knowing that the man had kissed her. And here he was, flat on his back, feeling less dignified than he'd felt since he'd escaped from prison.

"I'm not dead yet, Captain," he said, and they both turned toward him, startled. They stepped away from each other, but he found no guilt in their eyes. Abbi's innocence in her feelings toward Lance was evident, but he could well imagine the captain finding some gratification in turning the tables following their encounter in the stable.

"How very lucky for you," Lance said, and Abbi was amazed at how he could immediately become the captain as his entire demeanor changed. "I'm glad to see that you survived last night's antics."

"Are you now?" Cameron asked. "I wonder." He looked hard at Abbi and she sensed his displeasure. Before she could explain he said to Lance, "Is someone going to tell me why my wife brought you up here, or should I start guessing? Did you change your mind about arresting me, or did you just come to taunt me with the fact that you can be seen in public with Abbi and I cannot?"

"You're still an arrogant wretch," Lance said, and Abbi wished she had any idea exactly what their connections had been prior to Cameron's arrest. They shared a grudging respect, at best.

"Georg tells me my arrogance could get me killed," Cameron said, but he said it with arrogance.

"He's probably right," Lance retorted while Cameron sat up in bed, grimacing only slightly from the pain as he leaned against the headboard.

"He usually is," Cameron said and turned again to Abbi, silently demanding an explanation.

"He wanted to talk to you. He swore to me he wouldn't divulge your whereabouts."

Abbi watched Cameron turn his gaze to Lance, amazed to see no sign of humility or apprehension. Was he truly so arrogant as to think that such an attitude was best in facing the man who could see him undone? Or was his arrogance simply a mask to conceal his fears and concerns?

"So, talk," Cameron ordered. "Your visits are beginning to get on my nerves."

While Abbi was considering the evidence that Cameron's audacity was appalling under the circumstances, Lance turned to her and said quietly, "Could we have a few minutes alone, please?"

Abbi wanted to scream at him and insist that she had a right to know what was going on, but she only slipped out of the room and resisted the urge to listen at the door. 
Chapter Twenty-Two

A MATTER OF TIMING

"So," Cameron said after the door had been closed, "have a seat, Captain. Make yourself at home. The decor is a little more lavish than what I'm accustomed to, but it's not so bad once you get used to it."

"If your arrogance doesn't get you killed, your flippancy and sarcasm might," Lance said, taking a chair that allowed him to face Cameron directly.

"My dear captain," Cameron said, "there are so many factors in my life that could get me killed. I think I'm beyond caring."

"I think you _should_ care . . . for Abbi's sake."

"I'm glad you made that clarification, Captain. For a moment there I thought you might actually be concerned about _my_ welfare."

"I _am_ concerned, for a number of reasons. Whatever your past crimes may or may not be, I'm asking you to do the same that you asked of me. You must consider Abbi, first and foremost."

Cameron pondered the possible depth of Lance's motives for only a moment before he answered, "I can assure you that my concern for Abbi torments me every hour of every day."

"Then leave the country," Lance implored. "Take her and go; go tonight. Get away from here far and fast. Change your name and start over somewhere else . . . before it's too late."

Cameron considered the implications--and what they meant coming from _this_ man. But he didn't have to wonder over the answer. He knew it well and he spoke it firmly. "It's already too late. I will either free the people of Horstberg from Nikolaus's tyranny, or I will die trying. But don't interpret that as some selfish motive with no regard to how either outcome will affect Abbi's life. Both possibilities have given me countless nights without sleep. I only know one thing for certain. While I will do everything in my power to stay alive, she would be better off a widow than enduring life with a man who is dead in spirit, always wondering if he could have made a difference to the thousands of people who are suffering in silence. I've already attempted living that way, and I would rather not live as that man."

Cameron sighed loudly, giving Lance a harsh stare. "So, thank you for your concern, Captain, but it's not an option. If I end up dead, it might be well for _you_ to take Abbi out of the country--at least for a while, until the dust settles."

"So, you're willing to just . . . be a martyr to your cause?"

"If that's what it takes, yes. I have no intention of becoming a martyr, but I realize much of the outcome is beyond my control. And yes, I admit that it's probably terribly arrogant of me to believe that a man in my position could really make that big of a difference, all things considered, but someone's got to try. I don't believe God put me in this position, with _my_ knowledge, and _my_ potential influence, just to have me stand back and let Nikolaus play with this country as if it were some royal toy created for his entertainment."

"Treason flows very comfortably from your lips, Cameron."

"Treason is all a matter of timing, Captain. I may be a traitor today. Tomorrow I may be a champion."

"Or a martyr."

"Or both." Silence prevailed a long moment before Cameron added, "I understand Lena's betrothed is a good man, a third son I believe--with no political obligations in his own country."

Lance's eyes widened as he perceived the implication. "That's what I hear."

"He would likely make a fine duke regent, with Lena working at his side--until a child came of age."

"It's certainly an option," Lance said, "but for all of Nikolaus's indiscretions, proving him guilty of any crime serious enough to remove him from his position is not necessarily plausible."

Cameron just smiled, certain it was best to drop the conversation right there. A moment later Lance said, "So, you'll be staying in Horstberg permanently, then?"

"Dead or alive," Cameron said.

Lance stood up. "I want to say that I wish you all the best, but . . ."

"That would border on speaking treason, now wouldn't it, Captain."

Lance's eyes silently agreed before he turned and moved toward the door.

"On the chance that I don't make it to the wedding tomorrow," Cameron said, and Lance hesitated with his hand on the knob, "take good care of her. For all of her fire, she's fine and fragile. She deserves the very best that life can offer."

Their eyes met for a long, silent moment, heavy with unspoken messages.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Lance said and left the room.

Once the door was closed, Cameron groaned and slammed a fist into the bed at his side, wishing he could feel a degree of the confidence that he'd been able to exhibit. He reminded himself of what he'd told Georg, and fought to capture those feelings again. He closed his eyes and concentrated on a vision of how different everything would be tomorrow. He was surprised at how little effort it took to take hold of the image. It _was_ so close he could taste it. And God willing, Captain Dukerk would look the other direction for just one more day.

Abbi was pacing the drawing room when Lance entered, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he said.

"You'll say nothing about seeing him?" she asked, needing reassurance.

"Seeing who?" he asked with exaggerated innocence. He smiled and took her hand, kissing it before he whispered close to her face, "You mustn't worry."

When he said nothing more, Abbi found her mind clinging to a thought that she felt compelled to share with him. She wanted to believe she was being guided somehow, to trust him with information that might give him perspective regarding the situation with Cameron. Following her instincts, she said softly, "Lance, there's something I want to tell you, but . . . it may sound strange and . . . I ask you to keep an open mind."

"Very well," he said, looking more intrigued than concerned. She sat down and he took a seat next to her, holding her hand.

"Whether we end up friends . . . or married . . . it's something you should know about me, although . . . you must know how much I trust you to share this, because almost no one else knows."

"May I ask who?" he asked.

"Georg. He's been like a brother to me for most of my life. And Cameron, of course."

"Of course," he said and she looked down, realizing she was nervous. "Whatever it is, Abbi, there's no reason for concern. You don't have to tell me if--"

"No, I feel like I should. I'm not certain why, but . . ."

"All right. I'm listening."

"Well . . . you see . . . my mother died when I was very young and . . . the thing is . . . before she died . . . I had a dream about it. And when the accident happened, it was just as I had seen it in the dream."

His eyes showed intrigue and no trace of skepticism, which made it easier to keep going. "At the time, I told my grandfather about it and he brushed it off as silly. So, I suppose I made myself believe it _was_ silly--even though I occasionally dreamed things that later came to pass."

"Really?" he said. "Like what?"

"Well . . . most of the time it was insignificant; more like . . . just enough to show me that it _was_ a gift, so that when the time came for something truly meaningful to occur, I would trust the gift. It was more than ten years after my mother's death before I had another dream of true significance."

"And what was that?" he asked, so genuinely interested that she felt warmed by his acceptance, when she knew it had to sound strange.

"Before Blaze was born, I dreamed about him. I knew the foal would be a stallion, and I saw myself riding him while I felt strongly that he would lead me to . . . well, to something great and important in my life. The next dream of any importance was the night before my grandfather died; I dreamed that he'd left me."

"That's incredible, Abbi," he said, keenly attentive. "So . . . it's obviously a gift, and you've learned to trust it."

"Yes, I have. There is a quality to such dreams that cannot be questioned. The memory of them doesn't fade. And it's not only what I dream . . . as the way it makes me feel."

"Amazing," he said, and she felt certain he believed that she'd finished her confession. Her suspicion was proven when he added, "I can't help wondering what purpose your gift might serve through your life."

"Oh, it already has," she said firmly. "Whatever I may dream in the future will never compare to where my gift has led me."

"What do you mean?"

"Last summer I had a dream." Abbi closed her eyes to pull the dream's image closer to her memory. "I clearly saw a series of landmarks, guiding me to a place in the forest that was so carefully hidden it would be impossible to find without being shown the way." She opened her eyes. "The next morning I saddled Blaze, and I followed the path that had been revealed to me. I found each landmark with no difficulty, and that's where I found him--completely alone, forced into exile, hiding for his life."

She heard Lance draw a sharp breath as he perceived her meaning. Looking away, she continued her story. "He was angry with me. He told me to leave and never come back. He made me promise. But I kept dreaming about him. I was haunted by him. Even though I knew nothing about him, I felt his pain. I kept my promise until the night of the blizzard, when Blaze broke free and I had no choice but to follow where he led. Just as I had dreamed before he was born, he led me to my destiny." She sighed as she realized that recounting the memories had aided her own perspective of the present. "Cameron heard Blaze and went out to investigate, or he never would have heard me scream. I'd fallen and couldn't move. I thought I was going to die. A few more minutes and I might have." She looked up at Lance. "You know the rest. I just wanted you to know, because . . . whatever may come of this, I have absolutely no doubt that it was destiny for Cameron and me to come together. Unfortunately, I have no idea where destiny might lead us now." Lance looked completely stunned. The silence became taut. "I know it sounds crazy, but--"

"No," he said, sounding a little breathless. "It's just . . . well, it's incredible."

"Yes, it is," she agreed, hoping his perspective might be tipped in Cameron's favor.

"Whatever your destiny, Abbi, I wish for you every possible happiness."

Emotion crept into her words as she said, "I wish the same for you."

He kissed her brow. "I'm glad you told me." He smiled again before he arose. "I must go, but Ramona's insisting I come back this evening. Will I see you?"

"Of course," she said and stood beside him. He kissed her lips quickly and hurried away.

Returning to her bedroom, Abbi found Cameron standing next to the basin, wearing only his breeches, splashing water on his face. He pushed his wet hands through his hair, leaving it almost black where water clung to it. For a long moment she watched him while he haphazardly straightened his hair. She'd seen him do it a thousand times. She'd become comfortably familiar with his habits and painfully dependent upon his presence in her life. Through the span of a heartbeat she was reminded of the moment she'd first seen his face, and all that had transpired between them since. Knowing that the coming hours would bring great change--and probable danger--she wondered if she would ever see him again, and if she did, whether she would ever see him the same. He turned to look at her, as if her silence left him puzzled. Just meeting his eyes took her breath away, the same as it had the first time he'd looked at her, and a thousand times since. It was as if their spirits connected in a way words could never describe and logic could never justify. All else that was happening in their lives, everything they were up against, paled in the face of the love they shared. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to never leave her alone, to live, to be hers forever. But she could only stare at him and wonder why she would be the woman privileged to share any portion of his life at all.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, drying his hands on a towel that he placed over his shoulder.

She shook her head, forcing herself to say, "May I ask what Lance wanted?"

Cameron wondered whether or not to tell her, but as the time drew near for the secrecy to come to an end, he felt certain honesty was his best option. He attempted to treat it nonchalantly as he said, "He suggested that you and I leave the country . . . tonight."

"Maybe we should." A trembling began somewhere inside of her, alerting her to just how afraid she really was.

His eyes showed torment as he said, "I can't, Abbi."

Cameron expected her to protest or argue with him, but she drew up her chin, saying firmly, "Then we must do everything necessary to keep you alive and safe."

"And so we will."

She nodded with courage even while tears leaked from beneath her closed eyelids. He stood to face her and took hold of her chin with one hand, wiping her tears with the other before he pressed his lips over hers. He felt her trembling as she eased into his arms. He looked into her eyes, long and deep, not willing to even consider the possibility that he might never have this opportunity again. She walked backward with his hands in hers, leading him to the bed where she lay back and urged him beside her, kissing him with an intensity that expressed his own rumbling emotions. Their lovemaking reached deeper into his soul than it ever had, reminding him of all that he had to live for and giving him the peace of knowing that if he didn't live another day, he would die complete and fulfilled.

The room grew dusky while they held each other in silence. Cameron knew that he had to leave soon. Georg would be waiting for him. He dreaded being separated from her as much as he yearned to do what needed to be done and put this night behind him.

"I need to go," he said, finally breaking the stillness as he eased away from her and pulled on his breeches. "The sun is going down."

"I know," Abbi said. "Let me change your bandage for you."

Cameron watched Abbi's face as she carefully removed the dressing the doctor had placed over his side. He winced when she put disinfectant on the wound, and she looked into his eyes, as if to gauge the pain. When the job was finished, Cameron put his shirt on and tucked it into his breeches, pulling the braces up over his shoulders. He took Abbi's hands into his and they gazed intensely into each other's eyes. She recognized the same expectancy she'd felt when she had first dreamed of the trail to the mountain lodge. She had followed her dream, and it had led her to this man--and whatever lay beyond this day.

"I must go," Cameron said and pulled her into his arms. "Tomorrow is our wedding day."

"I know," she whispered. "And when can I expect you to make your presence known?"

"As soon as I possibly can," he reassured her. "I'll be there to marry you, my love. There is no need to be concerned, in spite of how things may appear."

Looking into his eyes, Abbi saw a light there that made it easy to say, "I believe you."

"Good. Now I've much to do if I'm going to make it to that wedding." He sighed heavily. "Tonight it will all come together."

Abbi bit her lip, wanting so badly to ask what was going on. "Be careful," was all she said as he swung his leg over the balcony railing.

"Until tomorrow." He smiled and kissed her before he climbed down the trellis. He took a few steps and turned, touching his fingers to his lips before he gave a final wave.

Cameron found Georg in the stable with their horses saddled. As he mounted, Cameron said, "You told me a long time ago there was something you wanted me to see, but it was too soon. Whatever it is, you've never shown it to me, so--"

"I had every intention of taking you there now," Georg said with a smile. "It would seem we are thinking the same thoughts."

"That's a good sign," Cameron said, and they galloped away.

Cameron felt a distinct uneasiness as Georg led him to a section of town that he'd not been to since his return. In the years before his exile, this had been known as a seedy district, where drunks and prostitutes gravitated. Still, serious trouble had rarely occurred in this area, and even then, the streets had been clean, and there had been a mood of frivolity and revelry. He recalled riding through here many times, finding little worthy of the law's interference.

But now, the stench of poverty overwhelmed Cameron before they had even slowed their horses to move discreetly down the path that had once been a street. Now it was banked closely by makeshift dwellings, mostly consisting of crates and canvas. The original buildings that stood behind the newer _housing_ stood like gray skeletons, sneering down at the pathetic situation below them. Fires burned in various places, where women and children gathered over meager pots that he doubted held much promise. There was no laughter. No inkling of anything good. The cries of children and babies wafted through the air; cries of hunger and abuse. He heard drunken screaming and glass breaking, while every pair of eyes stared back with a hollow, lifeless quality that pierced Cameron's soul.

Cameron wanted to hurry through, to get out of there to where he could breathe again. Yet something compelled him to linger, to move as slowly as the horse could manage. As if feeling their pain might somehow ease it. When they finally rode beyond the hell of Horstberg, Cameron dismounted and found it difficult to walk the few steps to a tree where he leaned his entire weight. The blood rushed from his head exactly as it had when he'd been shot. He groaned and pressed a fist to his chest, where a tangible burning threatened to explode. He felt Georg's firm grip on his shoulder and groaned again.

"Oh, heaven help me, Georg. How did this happen?"

Georg sighed. "They're mostly people who had mortgages foreclosed because of a bad crop, or some other misfortune. Some are the less fortunate who were expected to pay taxes they could never meet. And some had their properties confiscated by the government for various reasons, most of which were ludicrous."

"Damn him!" Cameron growled and threw a fist into the tree, oblivious to the pain retaliated by the tough bark. "What kind of man is he that he would allow this to happen?"

"Fortunately," Georg said, "Nikolaus du Woernig is a man who will regret ever crossing _you_."

Cameron looked into Georg's eyes. "Why didn't you show me this sooner?"

"What? And discourage you further by showing you something else you could only worry about and feel helpless over?"

"So, why now?"

"Because tomorrow it will be finished, Cameron. I believe this is something you need to remember when you're facing those life-and-death moments. Abbi needs you. Your child needs you. I need you. There's no doubt about that. But, Cameron, if you die without accomplishing this feat, these people have no hope."

Cameron straightened his shoulders and drew a sustaining breath. Georg saw the light come back into his eyes as he remounted his horse and turned toward town.

"Come along, Georg," Cameron said with determination. "We've got work to do."

As soon as Cameron was out of sight, Abbi slipped quietly back into her room and went over all of the plans for the wedding, assuring herself that everything was ready. Certain all was under control, she decided to bathe before Lance arrived. He was coming, at Ramona's insistence, to spend the night at the house in order to prepare for the wedding here. And they would be spending some time together this evening.

Abbi was informed of Lance's arrival just as she was getting dressed. Elsa helped comb through her wet hair, and she tied it back in a ribbon before Abbi went to the drawing room to find Lance visiting with her aunts. He rose to greet her, kissing her quickly while he squeezed both her hands. She was glad when he suggested they take a walk in the gardens, which allowed her to escape her aunts' constant chattering.

"Are you feeling prepared for tomorrow?" he asked, setting her hand over his arm.

"As prepared as I possibly can be," she said. "Actually, I've done very little. Marta has been wonderful."

"Very good. Is there anything that you need me to do?"

"Nothing that you haven't already done." She looked up at him and smiled. "You've been wonderful, as well."

Just before they went back inside, Lance took her shoulders into his hands and looked into her eyes. "I want you to know, Abbi, that whatever happens tomorrow, I will always be there for you. _Always."_

Abbi felt overcome with emotion. It was difficult to keep her voice from breaking as she said, "Thank you. You can't know what that means to me."

Lance held her in his arms, whispering into her hair, "Perhaps I can." Abbi responded to his embrace and held to him tightly. She could never describe the support he had become to her. She drew back and he pressed a lingering kiss to her brow.

He moved to go back inside, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Lance," she said, not certain how to put into words what she wanted to say, but knowing she had to find a way.

"What is it, Abbi?" he asked gently.

"Whatever _does_ happen tomorrow, I hope that . . . you will forgive me . . . for any hurt or difficulty I may have brought upon you." Tears burned into her eyes. "There is so much about this situation I don't understand, and much that I fear, but . . ."

"Oh, Abbi," he said when she faltered. He wiped her tears with his fingers. "You mustn't worry. However this turns out, however difficult it may be, everything will be all right."

Abbi appreciated his confidence, but she had to say, "However this turns out, Lance, I don't want to see you hurt. You've been nothing but selfless and kind to me."

He showed a wan smile and took her chin into his fingers, pressing a meek but lengthy kiss to her lips. "You mustn't worry, Abbi," he said. "I'll be fine, and so will you."

She nodded and forced a smile as he wiped away the remaining residue of her tears and they went inside. They returned to the drawing room to find the aunts still chatting, even though they normally would have gone to bed by now. Lance sat down with Abbi close beside him, holding her hand possessively. Abbi found it strange to realize how thoroughly comfortable she had become with him. The thought of living her life without Cameron was heartbreaking--she couldn't even consider it--but there was some peace in knowing that the backup plan would not be totally devastating. She certainly felt no passion for Lance, but she did feel peace. And under the circumstances, peace could be worth a great deal.

Elsa came timidly into the drawing room and curtsied. "Miss Abbi, could I ask you to come upstairs for a moment please? There's that adjustment you asked me to make on the veil, and I need you to try it on now, so I can get it done for morning."

"Yes of course," Abbi said. To Lance she added, "I won't be long. You won't run away, will you?"

"I'll stay right here," he replied.

Abbi followed Elsa to her room, surprised to see it completely dark when they entered.

"Thank you, Elsa." Cameron's voice came through the darkness just before the door closed. "I had to see you," he said, stepping closer. In the shadows Abbi could see that he wore his cloak, and his crossbow was slung over his back.

"I'm so glad you came," she said, moving into his arms.

"It won't be much longer now," he whispered and then kissed her fervently. "I can't stay. I just needed a kiss . . . for luck."

Abbi was reminded of medieval tales where knights went off to fight dragons, taking with them a lady's farewell kiss and a handkerchief to carry into battle.

"Wait," she said, and quickly found the gift Magda and Lena had given her. "Take this," she said, pressing the fine lace handkerchief into his hand.

Cameron looked at it, saying, "Isn't this the one the duke's sisters gave you to--"

"Yes. And tomorrow, when you see me, you can give it back. And I will have it when I marry."

"Thank you," he said, his voice edged with emotion as he pushed it into his pocket. "I'm certain it will bring me luck."

"I take it you're off to cause some mischief," she said, trying to smile.

"All for a good cause," he replied and kissed her again with intensity. "Oh Abbi, you give me such comfort in the midst of all this madness." He eased back. "I must go. Georg is waiting for me in the stable." He moved onto the balcony.

Impulsively Abbi said, "Take Blaze. Perhaps he can . . . help look out for you."

"I will, thank you," he said warmly. "Goodness, I've got so much good luck I don't know what I'll do with it all."

"You can never have too much good luck."

Cameron kissed her once more. "Now you get back down there and keep the captain occupied until I get away from here."

"Yes, my love." She smiled. "And please--"

"Be careful," he interrupted, "I know. I will. See you tomorrow."

"The wedding is at noon."

"I know, Abbi. I'll be there."

Abbi watched from the balcony as he moved across the lawn, floating away with his cloak brushing the ground behind him.

"I love you, Cameron," she whispered into the breeze, certain that when she saw him again, nothing would ever be the same. Then she went downstairs to entertain Lance.

As long as Abbi kept Cameron's image clear in her mind, listening to her aunts chatter about the excitement of the wedding tomorrow was almost pleasing. But less than half an hour after Cameron had left, two officers came to the house, insisting that Lance go with them immediately. Abbi's aunts hurried off to bed once the captain was not there to entertain them, and Abbi returned to her room, tense and nervous. She forced herself not to think too hard about what Cameron might be doing. Instead she concentrated on the wedding, attempting to foresee the results, rather than the grueling process.

Elsa seemed unusually excited about the wedding. As she helped Abbi prepare for bed, she chattered about how wonderful it would be, and what a fine man she thought Cameron was. Abbi appreciated the way she kept the mood light. After Elsa left however, Abbi found it impossible to sleep. She moved about the room listlessly, reminiscing about the time Cameron had spent there with her.

Somewhere in the night, Abbi went to the balcony, surprised to see an immense fire burning on the other side of the valley. Flames rose high into the air, and the smoke drifted up in front of the moonlight. She couldn't tell what was burning, but she hoped no one had been hurt.

In spite of the distance from town, Abbi sensed a commotion in the night. Fear enveloped her as she wondered what Cameron was up to, and if his motives were warranted. It was crazy to think how much she loved him, and for all she knew he was nothing more than a common criminal, deceiving her into going along with . . . what? Heaven only knew. Abbi had no doubt about the sincerity of his love, and to her that was all that had really mattered. But as her future came closer to being on the line, she prayed that he was the honorable man she had always believed him to be. And she prayed even harder that he would survive this night's proceedings.

"You know, Georg," Cameron said, "if Abbi knew what we were up to right now, she'd probably disown us both."

"That's why Abbi doesn't know," Georg retorted.

"I hope she'll forgive me," Cameron said, a little too seriously.

"She loves you," Georg replied.

"I know. But I hope she'll forgive me. Do you think she'll understand why I had to do it this way?"

"She loves you," Georg repeated.

"I know but--"

"Shut up, Cameron. You're a wreck."

"I'll admit it, but--"

"There's the signal," Georg interrupted, then he gave a shrill whistle to alert those waiting around them. "Come on, let's go."

"I'm a wreck," Cameron uttered, stirring Blaze forward.

"Shut up!" Georg insisted, and he did.

Georg led the group as they slithered stealthily up the castle hill. Cameron hovered at the rear, just as they'd planned. Approaching the gate they hesitated, passing expectant glances among themselves. Georg nodded and the men drew their weapons--just in case. The plan was to avoid any bloodshed, but that all depended on how much resistance they encountered.

Cameron gave the signal and they flew in unison into the courtyard. Organized chaos ensued as each man followed meticulous instructions. Arrows flew and rifles sounded amid the clattering of hooves on stone, but the use of weapons was more for a display of power than any intention to do harm. Cameron had made it clear that any bloodshed at all was only as a last resort, and even then he would not accept any loss of life unless the situation became desperate. His men spread out to assume their posts by overtaking the positions of each man on duty. Those who were presently on shift to protect this great fortress were greatly outnumbered and quickly overtaken by Cameron's own force. While sounds of scuffling and well-rehearsed signals came from all directions, Cameron found himself facing a young, zealous officer he'd never seen before. It took little effort for Cameron to knock the pistol out of his hand and draw the officer's sword, which he pressed to the young man's throat.

"What's your name?" Cameron demanded.

The officer only gave a mechanical response. "I serve Nikolaus du Woernig of Horstberg."

"Are you willing to die for him?" Cameron asked gruffly, impressed by the lad's courage, but not his blind obedience.

"I serve Nikolaus du Woernig of Horstberg," the officer repeated.

"Ah, shut up," Cameron said and tossed the sword into his other hand so he could belt him firmly in the jaw. By the time the lad recovered from the blow, Cameron had him in handcuffs. He was put into the care of one of Cameron's own men, who would take him to wait with the others who had been temporarily relieved of their duties until they could be properly informed of the change in command. Cameron was then given a report that no deaths had occurred, every post was secure, and all injuries were minor. A signal was given and three wagons rolled into the courtyard.

"Bring down the gate!" Georg called and it reluctantly groaned to a close. With men placed strategically to keep watch, Cameron and Georg went into the main entrance of the castle, meeting no resistance. Cameron paused to catch his breath and absorb where he was and how it had come together like clockwork.

"Wait," Cameron said in response to Georg's impatient stare. "I need a moment." He touched the stone surrounding the doorway, absorbing the memories that assaulted him. "I can't believe it, Georg. I've come back." He laughed. "And your careful planning paid off, eh?"

"Having more than half of the Guard on our side might have had something to do with that."

Cameron laughed again, and they hurried across the great hall, then down long corridors, searching for something that Cameron had waited four years to find.

Magda came awake from the shouting and clattering outside. Then gunshot split the night. "Heaven be merciful," she muttered, moving toward the window as she threw a wrapper over her nightgown. "No!" she cried, seeing the courtyard in absolute chaos. She hurried through the sitting room she shared with Lena, only to bump into her sister somewhere in the middle.

"Do you realize what's happening?" Magda asked, her voice shaking.

"Of course I do!" she snapped. "Come along. We've got to hurry."

"Just our luck," Magda said, scurrying down the hall at her sister's side, "Nikolaus is out of the country."

"A lot of good he'd do us, anyway," Lena said, and Magda couldn't argue. "I'd wager that whatever is going on, he brought it upon us."

"When he shows up," Magda said, breathlessly trying to keep up with her sister, "do you want to slap his face off, or should I?"

"If either of us is alive by then, we'll do it together."

Magda couldn't believe this was happening. The very idea of having their home overtaken by depraved fanatics was her worst nightmare coming true. She didn't even have to ask Lena where they were going. Ever since they were old enough to walk, they'd been taught what to do if the castle was invaded. Lena took Magda's hand as they crept around the corner of a darkened hallway and into the chapel. They were quickly hidden away, but Magda didn't feel safe. In fact, she felt downright terrified.

Cameron pushed open the doors to the chapel and stepped quietly inside, with only the lantern in Georg's hand to guide them down the aisle between the pews. Cameron's heart quickened as he moved stealthily behind the altar. He pressed his fingers carefully beneath the altar cloth, searching for the tiny latch that opened a concealed compartment, where he found a little lever. Pushing it provoked a loud clicking sound as a section of the floor boards behind the altar sprung up enough for him to get his fingers beneath the edge of the trap door.

Magda heard the door above them click open and she gasped. She and Lena retracted into a corner of the cold little room, lined with provisions of food and water. "Oh, help," she whispered. "How did they find us here?"

"Hush up!"

"Maybe it's Nikolaus," she whispered. "Maybe he's come back. Maybe--"

"I said hush up!" Lena repeated.

Magda had no trouble keeping quiet as a faint light emitted from above, and a man wearing a hooded cloak descended the creaking steps. Then another followed him down.

"Find them!" she heard one of them order in a gruff voice.

Lena stood up tall, urging Magda to stand beside her. It was obvious they had no retreat, and they were determined to face this with dignity.

Cameron held his breath as Georg lifted the lantern high.

"What do we have here?" Cameron muttered, noting the two women clinging to each other, courage carved into their expressions. "I believe we've come upon the Princesses du Woernig. How quaint."

Magda could see nothing but shadowy features beneath the hooded cloaks. But she felt certain their doom was imminent.

"Whatever you're after," Lena stated firmly, "you won't get away with it."

"Spoken like a true princess," Cameron stated coldly. "But . . . we already have." There was a moment of silence. "Where's your brother?" he demanded. Neither of them responded. "Where's your _brother?"_ he shouted.

"We don't know," Lena retorted. "He's out of the country. He might be back tomorrow, but we don't know."

"Good," Cameron said more calmly. "When your brother comes back, we're going to have a little surprise waiting for him."

Magda held to Lena more tightly, wondering what these men were up to, astonished that they had managed to get past the tight network of the Duke's Guard that kept this fortress safe. And even more astonished that they had found this place that no one knew about beyond the royal family and their closest friends.

"All right," Cameron added, unable to suppress a chuckle, "let's get down to business. I've got a wedding to get to."

"You?" Georg quipped. "I'm supposed to give the bride away."

With purpose Cameron pushed back the hood of his cloak, and Georg raised the wick on the lamp to illuminate the room.

Magda looked into the face of their conqueror and heard Lena gasp just before a hysterical scream escaped her own mouth.

Cameron hadn't known what to expect at this point, but he questioned his methods when Lena pressed her back into the wall, turning white as a blizzard, as if she'd stopped breathing. Magda screamed over and over, as if she'd seen some kind of apparition. Then he realized that from her perspective, she had.

"Magda," he said, taking hold of her shoulders. "Magda, look at me." She did and screamed again. "It's all right," he said, holding her tightly against him. He could feel her fists pushing against his chest, fighting to free herself. But he held her tightly, whispering close to her ear, "Listen to me, Magda. I'm not a ghost. It's me. I'm real." Her screaming subsided into sobs, but she continued to struggle and squirm. "Do you remember," he whispered, "how we would sneak away . . . to the library . . . or the maze in the garden? Do you remember what very good friends we were; how we read stories to each other and . . ." He felt her soften in his arms. "It's me, Magda." He eased back and looked into her eyes. "It's me."

"Cameron," she murmured and lifted a shaking hand to touch his face. "Cameron!" She sobbed laughter. "You're alive. It's a miracle. Oh, praise heaven. It's a miracle!"

Cameron laughed and hugged her tightly, then he held out a hand toward Lena. "Cameron," she murmured and slipped her hand into is. "It really is you."

"It really is," he said, drawing her into his embrace as well. "I've come back." He smiled at Georg over the top of their heads. "I've really come back."

"This is all very quaint," Georg said, and the girls turned as if they'd just noticed he was there, "but I've got work to do, and you should get some sleep."

"I'm not sure I _can_ sleep," Cameron admitted.

"Fine," Georg said, "but I'm certain you can find someplace more comfortable to reminisce." He led the way back up the creaky stairs and the women followed. Cameron came up last and closed the trap door, amazed at the way it meshed into the pattern of the floor.

Georg left to see that everything was under control, while Cameron talked with Magda and Lena for nearly three hours. He told them of all he'd been through and why, and all that he planned to do. They were stunned to realize that he intended to supersede Lance at the wedding. But he told them of his love for Abbi, and how she had changed him. He brought out the handkerchief she had given him for luck, and tears filled their eyes at the irony.

"Abbi's a wonderful girl, Cameron," Lena said. "It's funny, but Magda and I both felt drawn to her the first time we met her, even though it was difficult to define the reasons. We've hardly spent any time with her at all, but we sensed something special."

"Now, perhaps we understand," Magda said. "Perhaps she was the means to answer prayers, when we didn't even know for certain what to pray for."

The women finally returned to bed, declaring they had to look somewhat presentable for this wedding. Cameron returned to the chapel alone and knelt in prayer. The light of dawn crept through the stained glass above him, but he was oblivious to the passing of time. The gratitude that filled his heart was more than he could put to words. He begged forgiveness for the choices he'd made that had been less than ideal, although he found some peace in being able to face God and know that he'd earnestly tried to do the best he could under the circumstances he'd been confronted with. He acknowledged God's hand in bringing him this far, and God willing, they would see this day through together.

Cameron was startled from deep thought when he felt something being placed over his shoulders. Cameron touched the red fabric and pulled it tightly around him as he glanced up to see Georg.

"Did you get any sleep?" Georg asked.

"This was more important," Cameron said with reverence. "Did you?"

"No. But everything is unpacked and in order. Franz will have your things ready. I've got to go soon. There's some breakfast waiting for us upstairs. You need to eat and get cleaned up before you make an appearance."

"The Guard?" Cameron asked.

"They are all accounted for and will be assembled in an hour. There are only two missing beyond the captain and those who are currently on shift with Gerhard. Garver, who of course, is ill. And Wurtzur, who is out of the country as Nikolaus's escort."

Cameron nodded. "Just give me a moment," he said and closed his eyes, uttering one more brief prayer that all would go well.

After eating a quick breakfast with Georg, Cameron cleaned up, and with some help from Franz--a dear man he had once worked with closely--he saw the transformation of himself taking place in the mirror. Wearing his full uniform, he studied his own reflection carefully, more choked up than he wanted to admit.

"It's you," Georg said, his voice tender.

"It doesn't feel like me," Cameron replied, hearing a tremor in his own voice. "It feels like a dream of me." He sighed and added, "How do you suppose, Georg, with as perceptive as Abbi is, that she hasn't discovered who I am?"

"She hasn't been looking. There are certain things that are important to Abbi, and the rest goes unnoticed. She knows you don't want her to know or you would have told her, so I doubt she'd even try to find out."

"If she'd tried, she could have found out easily enough."

"But she didn't, and we both know that's been best for her. But it's almost over now." He put a hand on Cameron's shoulder. "Come along," he said. "They're waiting."

A few minutes later, Cameron uttered another prayer, knowing that the entire military force of Horstberg was gathered on the other side of the door where he stood. When he hesitated, Georg said, "Just do it."

Cameron took a deep breath and pushed open the doors, stepping out into the bright morning sunlight. Lieutenant Joerger, a trusted ally, was standing closest to the door. He barked an order and the entire force came to perfect attention in unison. Cameron forced down the knot in his stomach and whispered to Georg, "Here goes." His facetious tone didn't quell his nerves as he added, "The civil war test."

Cameron stepped forward slowly, almost expecting opposing loyalties to break out in bloodshed. He had no idea how many of these men would prefer to see things remain as they had been. And he wondered if he'd ever had to draw so much courage as to walk directly between the two lines of men facing each other, all with swords at one side, and pistols at the other. He walked slowly and steadily across the courtyard, giving every man the opportunity to see for himself that he was indeed alive and well. Then he turned back and called loudly, "There has been a change in command, as I'm certain you've figured out by now. I regret the deception that was necessary to reach this point, but I can assure you that all deception is in the past. Within a matter of hours, I will see the truth uncovered and exposed for what it is. I stand before you asking only that you serve me as you once did, trusting that I would not expect such loyalty if I were guilty of the crime for which I was accused. I am here to meet my commitment to serve this country, with honor and integrity; to see that everything we do is done for the best interest of Horstberg and her people. If there is any man who cannot abide by that precept, who cannot accept me as your leader, I want to know now. Having an opinion will not threaten any man's rank or reputation. But I expect to know where I stand. And I'll not have grumbling or dissension behind my back. Either you're with me, or you're not."

With his announcement made clear, Cameron walked back down the aisle of men. He'd barely taken a step when the officers closest to him went down on one knee, pressing a fist to their chests in a well-known gesture of loyalty. He took another step and the next in line did the same. It was difficult for Cameron to hold back his humility as each man went to his knee, falling like dominoes as he walked between them. He turned and looked back at the entire force on bended knee. Then the lieutenant at his side did the same. For a full minute there was silence while Cameron gathered his composure.

"Help me, Lieutenant," he whispered.

The lieutenant bellowed an order and the men came to their feet in unison, then they turned to face front, each boot resounding on the stone courtyard collectively. The lieutenant ordered the men who were on duty to return to their posts, and those who had been assigned for the procession to the cathedral to be prepared to depart at the appointed time.

"Anything else, sir?" the lieutenant asked.

Cameron called with authority, "When Nikolaus du Woernig returns, I want him arrested. He will be tried for treason on several counts. That will be all."

The lieutenant dismissed the men and they dispersed.

"Very good," Georg said quietly to Cameron.

Cameron only sighed, unable to find words to express all he was feeling.

"The committee is waiting, sir," the lieutenant said to Cameron.

"Of course," Cameron said, reminded that he still had much to contend with. "Thank you."

He went back inside and hurried down the long hall, forcing back his tender emotions, along with his raw nerves.

"Cameron," Georg called and he stopped and turned back. "I'm going now. You're on your own."

Cameron stepped back toward Georg. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything. I'll see you in a few hours, you know."

"Yes, I know, but . . . thank you, Georg. For everything. I am forever indebted to you."

"Any friend would have done as much," Georg said humbly.

"No." Cameron took hold of his forearm, then pushed his other arm around Georg in a firm embrace. "There is no friend so great as you are."

They eased back from their embrace to look into each other's eyes. Then Georg left, and Cameron hurried to face the committee, praying that all would continue to go as planned.

With the smell of smoke permeating the air, Abbi moved a chair to the balcony and watched until the fire died down and a stark serenity fell over the valley, like the aftermath of a storm. She fell asleep in the chair and woke to find the sky barely light. She watched as the east horizon burst into a background of orange, and Abbi realized her wedding day had arrived. Only a matter of hours now stood between this peaceful moment and the reckoning of her future. She went to the bureau and opened the drawer where Cameron's sealed letter sat patiently with her father's documents. She picked it up, tempted to open it--just to know who he really was. But deciding it would be bad luck, she quickly put it back and closed the drawer.

Abbi felt restless, but knew it would be hours yet before she'd be getting dressed for the wedding. While she didn't feel up to riding, a visit to the stables seemed a good distraction. She pulled on a simple day dress, one of her most comfortable, and barely put a brush through her hair. A light knock sounded at the door while she was putting on her shoes.

"Come in," Abbi called and was surprised to see Marta. The housekeeper rarely came to her room.

"You must come downstairs at once," she said, sounding mildly concerned.

"What is it?" Abbi asked, but Marta just hurried away.

Abbi followed her down the stairs, noting that the house felt unusually quiet. She was startled to find two officers of the Guard standing just inside the front door. Her heart beat painfully hard while she attempted to put herself in the frame of mind that she knew nothing about the possible extraordinary happenings taking place in Horstberg.

"Miss Albrecht," one of them said, kind but firm, "we have strict orders that you are to come with us."

Abbi fought for dignity and composure. Was she being arrested? Had the worst happened just when they had finally come so close? She let out an innocent chuckle and asked, "For what purpose?"

"Protection, Miss."

That sounded better than being arrested. She pretended to be baffled. "Protection from what?"

"We have our orders, Miss," was all he said.

"I'm supposed to be getting married at noon."

"We're aware of that, Miss, and we apologize for the inconvenience, but . . . we have our orders," he repeated.

"Who gave these orders?" she demanded, wondering if Lance knew something she didn't. Was _he_ trying to protect her? If so, from what?

"We're not at liberty to say, Miss," the officer said and reached out to take her arm, making it clear he was finished talking.
Chapter Twenty-Three

RECLAMATION

Abbi turned to look at Marta, whose concern was evident, but she forced a smile and said, "I'm certain everything will be fine, Miss."

Abbi felt reluctant to believe her as she was led outside to a waiting carriage, where one more officer was standing, and another sat on the box seat with the driver. She was helped inside and the remaining space was filled by the three officers before the carriage rolled forward. While her insides smoldered with unfathomable dread, she wondered if all of the wedding preparations were now dissolving. The men were politely silent, avoiding eye contact with her as if that might avert any conversation or questions.

Unable to bear the silence, she finally said, "I must admit to feeling rather alarmed. I don't suppose any of you have something to say that might help me understand what's going on."

The one who'd done all the talking looked directly at her and said, "Our orders were brief but clear, Miss."

_It's Mrs._ she wanted to say. But Mrs. _what?_ And where was Cameron? If Lance felt she needed protection enough to pull her away from the wedding, what did that mean regarding Cameron? Had he been arrested? Or worse? Lance was supposed to have spent the night at the house, but she had no idea if he'd returned or not.

Abbi wasn't surprised to realize the carriage was heading up the castle hill, since that was the military headquarters of Horstberg. As the first officer stepped out into the courtyard and turned to help her do the same, she forced a light tone to ask a question that didn't feel humorous in the slightest. "You're not going to toss me in prison, I hope?"

"No, Miss," he said, and motioned toward the main entrance to the castle, as opposed to the keep that was in the other direction. All three officers stayed with her as they entered and went down first one long hall and then another, flanking her so closely that it added to her sense of fear more than any amount of security. She'd never felt so afraid in her life. They stopped beside an elaborate door, but in this place, all of the doors were elaborate. An officer took hold of the knob but spoke before he turned it. "His Grace wished to have a word with you."

"His Grace?" Abbi countered, wishing it hadn't sounded so alarmed. Her fear heightened. She almost felt lightheaded. If Nikolaus was on to her to any degree . . . She couldn't even think about it. Surely there was another explanation.

"There's no need for concern," the officer said. "He asked that you wait here where you can be comfortable. He will be with you shortly."

The door was opened and the officer motioned for her to go inside. She only took two steps into the room before the door was closed behind her and she was left alone. Her surroundings became a distraction from her nerves. It was some kind of parlor, with the drapes pulled back and brilliant sunlight scattered over the elegant furnishings. It had a cozy atmosphere. Not at all the kind of room where she would expect to be intimidated by that arrogant beast who ruled this country.

"Don't turn around," a man's voice said from behind when she hadn't realized anyone was in the room. She was so startled that she couldn't be certain if it was Nikolaus or not. The gentle tone lured her to believe that it wasn't.

When nothing more was said, she asked, "Why not?"

"I need you to stay right where you are . . . just for a minute."

_Cameron?_ She almost said it aloud, but feared the possible implications if she were mistaken. Instead she asked, "Is that you?" At the same time she wondered what he would be doing _here_.

Cameron took a moment to allow her presence in these surroundings to fill him. He felt deeply comforted by her appearance. With her hair down, wearing a dress that had obviously seen many days of riding in the sun and wind, she reminded him so clearly of the woman who had followed her dreams to save him from himself. And he loved her with all his soul!

Abbi heard slow footsteps moving closer. "Yes, it's me," he said behind her ear, and she took a sharp breath. She felt his hands on her shoulders, and the familiarity of his touch left her so relieved that she nearly melted into the floor. Forgetting his initial request, she tried to turn and look at him, but he held her shoulders tightly and repeated, "Don't turn around; not yet. There's something I need to say first."

"All right," she said, and drew a deep breath as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her neck. But it felt different. His beard was gone! Her curiosity made it difficult to ignore his order, but she did say, "You shaved."

"Yes, I did." He chuckled. "For that and . . . other reasons . . . you can now see the real me." She heard him draw a ragged sigh, as if he were fighting emotion. More lightly he said, "I'm glad to know we're already married, so we won't have any bad luck with my seeing the bride before the wedding." Abbi couldn't comment. She was inexplicably relieved just to know that there would be a wedding. His voice became husky as he added, "This is the moment of reckoning, Abbi."

"What are you saying?" she asked breathlessly.

His voice cracked. "We did it."

Abbi put a hand over his where it held her shoulder, but it didn't begin to appease her desire to throw herself into his arms and laugh and cry over such an announcement. A tiny sob came out of her mouth, and tears spilled down her face. "Then it's over?" she asked.

"Not completely, but . . . I _can_ show my face in public." She tilted her head just enough to look at his hand on her shoulder and her heart quickened to see the red fabric of his sleeve. _He was wearing his uniform_. Elaborate gold braid around the cuff brought to mind the differences she had seen in what Lance wore. This was dress uniform, appropriate for a wedding apparently.

Cameron attempted to calm his pounding heart, but he knew it would never relent until he got this over with. "Through all that's happened," he said, "since the day I first allowed myself to consider the possibility of making you a part of my life, this moment has perhaps frightened me most of all. And now that I've said that much, I just need to hurry and say the rest. Please bear with me." He sighed loudly. "I know you would likely prefer a simple life, Abbi, and it's been difficult to accept that by making you my wife, I would be bringing you into a world that could be less than favorable for you."

While Abbi's mind was spinning too much to grasp what he might be implying, she hurried to say, "I told you I would take on whatever came with you, and I meant it."

He sighed again. "Did you _really_ mean it, Abbi? That's what I need to know."

"Yes, of course I did," she said. "I love you, Cameron. God sent me to you. If He believes I can be a part of your life, then I must believe it of myself. But . . . what do you mean, Cameron? I don't understand. Why did you bring me here and--"

"Abbi," he put his lips close to her ear. His breathing sharpened and she could tell he was nervous. He spoke in little more than a whisper as he added, "This is my home, Abbi, and now it is yours."

A hundred different floating pieces of information cemented suddenly in Abbi's mind. She gasped and her own breathing turned sharp, while the only possible conclusion occurred to her. But the very idea felt so bizarre and unbelievable that at the same time she felt sure she had to be wrong. He let go of her shoulders and took a step back, silently retracting his previous order for her to keep her back to him. She felt both terrified and thrilled as she took a deep breath and turned abruptly.

Her heart caught in her throat. Only five seconds ago had the possibility crossed her mind, but even seeing the evidence left her saturated with disbelief. And yet everything made such perfect sense. _Everything!_ He didn't look as unfamiliar without the beard as she might have expected, but his hair was shorter as well, and more neatly in place than she'd ever seen. The uniform was breathtaking, and the red robe that flowed from his shoulders gave him the appearance of a mythical god. But it was the simple crown he wore on his head that left her beginning to comprehend her own place in all of this.

Cameron watched her closely and waited for a reaction. He'd imagined many different possibilities, including her insistence that he was out of his mind to think that she would ever live the kind of life he had chosen for her while she had remained ignorant and out of control of her own future. The pounding of his heart only became worse as she stared at him in dumbfounded silence, and he wondered how to break this harrowing tension that had no place between them.

While Abbi attempted to catch her breath and find her voice, she saw vulnerability in his eyes, but she saw something else there as well. It had always been there, but she'd never recognized it for what it was. _He had the eyes of a king._ She watched him take a deep breath and set his booted feet firmly together at the same moment he tucked his hands behind his back, beneath the robe. He bowed very slightly while keeping his eyes connected to hers, saying with firm tenderness, "Mrs. du Woernig." He spoke her name as if they had just been introduced at a social event, while she could only attempt to accept that _she_ was a du Woernig. With all the possibilities she'd considered that her name might be, that one had _never_ crossed her mind. Recalling his confessions regarding his name, the enormity of what he'd been saying made such perfect sense. He hadn't been talking about any name passed from father to son. He'd been talking about _the_ name of Horstberg.

As the full implication began to penetrate her clouded brain, she took a sharp breath, then another. She knew she should say something, anything. But he didn't seem disconcerted by the silence; he seemed to have expected it. He pulled his shoulders back, lifted his chin just slightly and spoke with a dignity that was not detracted by the way his voice cracked. "My name is . . . Cameron . . . Erich Ferdinand Gustave . . . du Woernig." He drew a coarse breath. "I am . . ." He swallowed hard. "I am . . . the rightful . . . heir. I am . . . the . . . Duke of Horstberg."

He squeezed his eyes closed and pressed a hand over the center of his chest, reminding her of the moment when he'd _almost_ spoken the name and had immediately become upset. Her voice finally presented itself enough to mutter, "You said it. You said your name."

He opened his eyes and swallowed carefully. "Yes, I said it."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes."

As if her speaking had set him loose, he stepped closer and took both her hands into his, bringing her to the awareness that she was trembling. Or was it him? Both perhaps. She looked into his eyes, once again taking in the reality. She swallowed hard and admitted, "I can't believe it. I never would have dreamed . . ."

"Oh, Abbi," his voice quavered and the trembling of his hands increased, "do you know how many times I wished that you would dream the truth . . . so that I would never have to tell you?"

Cameron wasn't surprised by how disoriented and concerned she was, but he still hated it. Lifting her hands, he pressed them to the sides of his face, closing his eyes to relish her touch. "It's still me, Abbi," he said, hoping to alleviate this horrid anxiety. "I'm still the same man I was the last time you saw me. I'm still the man who loves you more than I had ever believed it possible to love."

Abbi could find no words to respond. Instead she pressed her lips to his, as if that alone might prove what he'd just said was true. He moaned softly, as if her kiss had unleashed some level of emotion he'd been struggling to hold back. She kissed him more fully and eased closer, unable to hold back a sudden rush of tears. With her eyes closed and their mouths fused together this way, she could believe he _was_ the same man. He wrapped her in his arms and moaned again while their kiss deepened further. And one reality settled into her, above all else. He was alive and safe. And he was hers.

Their kiss only ended when she realized he was crying, too. She looked into his eyes and wiped the tears from his face. "Are these happy tears, my love?"

A short laugh came through his lips. "Happy, relieved, overwhelmed . . . scared out of my mind."

"Scared? Why?"

He sobbed then swallowed hard. "I was so afraid . . . you would be upset . . . angry."

Abbi pressed her hand to his face. "I'll admit to being scared, as well. I have no idea how . . . to feel . . . what to think. But angry? Upset? No, never. Grateful . . . that it's over. No more secrets." Another of those brief laughs erupted from him before he kissed her again. "I love you, Cameron du Woernig," she said, and his laughter melted into such an onslaught of tears that he fell to his knees, pressing his hands to her back, and his face against the child growing inside her. He wept unlike she had ever witnessed, but she could well imagine the years of heartache and grief that had culminated in this moment. And Abbi wept with him. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask him as the reality began to descend, but there would be plenty of time for that. In this moment they were together, and it was over.

A knock at the door startled them both, but Cameron remained as he was. A loud voice called, "Ten minutes, Your Grace."

He cleared his throat and called back, "Thank you, Lieutenant." Then she felt him consciously willing back his emotion and struggling for composure.

He looked up at Abbi and again she wiped away his tears, unable to keep from repeating, "Your Grace," if only to further acquaint herself to the reality. He showed a subtle smile and took both her hands into his, pressing them to his lips with fervor, reverence, and overt adoration before he came to his feet without letting go. "Ten minutes until what?" she asked, feeling a little panicked to think of leaving the room, knowing what she knew now.

"There is much to be done," he said, and offered no further explanation. "Do I look like I've been crying like a baby?" he asked with a self-conscious chuckle.

"No," she smiled and touched his face, "you look like a man in love."

He returned her smile and kissed her, but she sensed some kind of hesitancy in him. To fill in the silence, she asked, "So, it's over?" Her voice quavered. "You're free?"

While she was seeking validation and comfort, the apprehension in his eyes left her alarmed.

"Not yet," he said. "We must still be very careful."

"Why?" she demanded more harshly than she'd intended. She felt compelled to point out, as if he didn't know, "The officers of the Guard are doing your bidding."

"Yes, they are, and while the vast majority of them have pledged their support, I have no way of knowing how many of them may quietly remain loyal to Nikolaus."

"Nikolaus is your . . ." She couldn't finish.

"My brother," he said and her inner trembling heightened.

"Where _is_ Nikolaus?"

"We don't know," he said while she distinctly recalled hearing Cameron's _brother_ say to Lance, _I_ can _lock up or execute anyone I don't agree with._

"And there could be officers who remain loyal to him?" she clarified, wishing it hadn't sounded so alarmed.

"Abbi," he said gently, "my biggest concern is not the division of loyalty."

"What _is_ your biggest concern?" she asked, and knew she would hate the answer by the way his face tightened. "No more secrets."

Cameron looked at her sharply. He knew she was right, but he wished this aspect of the situation could have been avoided completely until he had something more positive to tell her. Her trust and patience had been immeasurable. She deserved to know the truth. "My biggest concern," he said, "is the same that it has been from the start. My innocence will immediately remove Nikolaus from his position, and he dearly prizes his position."

Abbi sucked unbridled terror into her lungs. She was surprised at how grateful she felt that she'd not known that single fact until now. She never would have been able to cope all these months knowing the truth. Cameron's _knowledge_ was not a threat to Nikolaus; his _existence_ was a threat.

Cameron went on to say, "As of this moment we don't know where Nikolaus is, or if he even knows I'm alive, and he has an officer with him. It's been reported that he's flippantly dismissed the rumors. His arrogance may be the very thing that saves us."

"Arrogance must run in the family," she said, praying that Cameron's arrogance wouldn't get him killed, as Georg had said it might.

"No doubt," Cameron said, visibly tense.

Knowing their time was brief, Abbi tried to find some reasoning over the situation. "But Nikolaus could not do anything to boldly incriminate himself. What can he hold over you beyond the accusations of murder? If your innocence has been proven, then--"

"But it hasn't. That will happen later, Abbi. It's all very complicated, and there isn't time to explain right now. Before I sleep tonight it will all be resolved."

"And in the meantime?" she countered in a voice that clearly expressed her panic. He said nothing. "If your innocence has not been proven, then what exactly has been accomplished that has taken all these many months to bring to pass?"

Cameron remained calm. It was a valid question and she had a right to know. And given all she'd been through, she had a right to be angry, as well. "Abbi," he took her shoulders and spoke firmly, "if this had _only_ been about proving my innocence . . ." He sighed and began another way. "I have now taken control of the fortress and military force of this country. The committee of national security and the advisory council have agreed to allow me twenty-four hours to prove my worthiness to keep what I am entitled to. My trial has been set for tomorrow morning, but it's up to me to provide evidence for my defense. If I can't do that, I've agreed to allow myself to be arrested." Her breathing became ragged even before he added, "And Nikolaus will once again be in control. I have officially charged _him_ with treason, but it could be difficult to prove when he starts throwing his tyrannical attitudes around. But it will be all right, because I _can_ prove my innocence. And a trial is what I had no hope of getting when I was first imprisoned. All else is irrelevant if I am not guilty, Abbi. I am the rightful heir, and no one can dispute that. Without hours of explanation on political matters and the intricate dynamics of a hundred different issues involved, it's impossible to comprehend what it has taken to get to this point. Your love, your trust, your patience have far surpassed what I could ever hope to deserve. I only ask that you trust me and remain patient just a little longer, and--"

A knock at the door interrupted him, and Abbi wanted to curse. "Come," he called with comfortable authority.

The lieutenant entered the room, stood at attention and stated firmly, "Forgive me, Your Grace, but you asked to see Mr. Lumburg as soon as he arrived."

"Yes, thank you," Cameron said. "Show him in."

The lieutenant merely turned and motioned a man wearing a fine suit into the room, while Cameron said quietly to Abbi, "This won't take long."

The lieutenant left the room and closed the door. Mr. Lumburg stood staring at Cameron, looking aghast.

"Sir," he said and bowed slightly. "It really is you. I couldn't believe it when they told me. I apologize for missing the meeting. I was--"

"It's fine," Cameron interrupted firmly, and with those two words Abbi saw her husband become the Duke of Horstberg. She realized she was still shaking as she observed this man she loved step into the role of a position she'd never considered or comprehended.

"I understand you are presently serving as the head of the advisory council," Cameron went on.

"Yes, sir." The man's awe and respect were startlingly evident.

"I'm certain you've already been informed of what I expect to take place today, but I wanted you to hear it with your own ears so there will be no question as to the urgency of the matter."

"I have been informed, sir," he said, sounding flustered, perhaps nervous. "With all due respect, do you truly mean for us to take care of it _today?"_

Abbi expected to hear some request related to preparations for the trial, for some efforts to be made in securing the witness or waylaying Nikolaus. Instead he dictated firmly, "My orders are clear, Mr. Lumburg. I want _excessive_ amounts of food and supplies distributed to the homeless-- _today!_ " He spoke in a harsh, commanding voice that Abbi recognized--but she'd not heard it in many months. Looking back to the way he'd initially treated her, she should have known he was a sovereign. He was clearly accustomed to giving orders and expecting them to be heeded. The reality sunk in a little deeper, and her inner trembling increased. "And I want the prisons cleaned out, and every prisoner given fresh amenities. I also want records on my desk of each prisoner's alleged crimes and their current status of justice. While the committee is reviewing these records, they can also review every case of confiscated property in the past four years. If it wasn't done legally, I want it _undone."_

"But . . . sir," Mr. Lumburg protested timidly. "Just embarking on such projects could take days and--"

"I don't have _days,_ Mr. Lumburg. I have twenty-four hours."

Abbi wanted to scream at the implication. Did Cameron truly believe he only had one day to have any impact before he lost all that he'd fought so hard to gain? She felt only slightly better as he went on to say, "No matter how long such projects may take, I am absolutely certain that by morning you can convince me significant progress has been made to ease the suffering in this country." Cameron lifted a finger and took a step toward this man. He was nearly as tall as Cameron, but clearly intimidated. "Now let me make one point perfectly clear," he added. "No matter _who_ is in charge of this country tomorrow, I want you to promise me that the committee will do everything possible to see that these changes take place. Am I understood?"

"Clearly understood, sir," Mr. Lumburg said. Abbi expected some indication that this man might feel indignant or upset, even if he would never dare say so, but a subtle smile crept into his countenance before he added, "It's good to have you back, Your Grace."

Cameron immediately receded into his kind and humble self. "Thank you. God willing, we will be able to discuss these matters further tomorrow afternoon."

"I'm certain many people will be praying for that very thing."

"Then surely all will be well," Cameron said. "Thank you for your time."

Mr. Lumburg bowed slightly once again, and his eyes shifted to Abbi as if he'd just now noticed there was someone else in the room. He looked surprised and intrigued, but she felt terribly conspicuous, dressed as she was with her hair gone wild.

"My wife," Cameron said to answer the silent question in this man's eyes.

"Mrs. du Woernig," he said, bowing more deeply. "A pleasure."

Abbi simply nodded in reply. She was so knotted up inside she couldn't begin to think of an appropriate response.

"Your Grace," Mr. Lumburg said to Cameron and hurried from the room.

Abbi longed for more conversation with her husband. Her head was spinning with questions while her insides swarmed with unsettled emotion. But the door didn't close behind Mr. Lumburg before the lieutenant appeared, saying, "Forgive me, sir. But there are matters that require your attention before we set out, and time is short."

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Lieutenant." He looked into Abbi's eyes, adding quietly, "You mustn't worry. Everything will be all right. They'll escort you safely back to the house, and I will see you at the cathedral." He took both her hands into his and kissed them before he hurried from the room, the ducal robe flowing behind him. Abbi became so distracted by the image, and all it represented, that she was startled to realize the lieutenant was still in the room.

"Allow me to see you home, Mrs. du Woernig," he said and motioned toward the hall. This was the same man who had called her _Miss_ in the carriage. Obviously he'd known her name then, but had not been at liberty to say it.

"Thank you," she said and rushed past him, struggling to keep a steady expression while storms brewed inside of her. Fear and relief, awe and trepidation, hope and doom all whirled together like a cyclone threatening to sweep away her ability to even remain standing. She marveled that she could put one foot in front of the other as the reality settled in deeper with each beat of her heart. _The Duke of Horstberg_. How could it be possible? In spite of the evidence she had seen and heard, she couldn't get her mind to even accept it as truth.

In the carriage she wanted to curl up and cry like a baby, but she was surrounded by men in red and black uniforms--uniforms that had just taken on a whole new meaning. She recalled the day she'd found the coat of Cameron's uniform in the lodge, and how upset he'd been. Now she understood. There were _so_ many things she understood now, but at the same time, she felt more ignorant than ever in some respects. And knowing that it wasn't over left her utterly terrified.

Abbi was helped out of the carriage in front of her home, but the lieutenant barely nodded her direction before he stepped back inside and it rolled away. She stood in the drive and watched it leave before she considered how to get from here to her bedroom before this rumbling torrent of emotion broke loose. Entering the front door, she was taken off guard to see Lance coming down the stairs, fastening the cuffs of his shirt.

"Good morning," he said brightly. "You were apparently up early. I'm afraid I slept late after being out half the night."

Abbi wanted to ask what exactly that had entailed, but she was more relieved that his sleeping in had prevented him from taking notice of the means by which she'd left and returned. Before she could comment, he added, "It would seem that Ramona has conspired for you and me to have brunch together. But she told me she couldn't find you."

"I was just . . . out . . . killing some time."

"That's exactly what I told her," he said, sounding especially chipper. She doubted he would be so happy if he knew what she had just learned. But then, he would know Cameron's true identity. He would have known all along. But did he know Cameron had taken over the country? As if nothing in the world were wrong, Lance added, "I assured her that you wouldn't go too far on such an important day." He took hold of her hands much as Cameron had done at their recent farewell. His eyes showed alarm. "Abbi, you're trembling. Whatever is wrong?"

"Just . . . nervous, I suppose," she said.

"You mustn't worry." He pressed a kiss to her brow. "Everything will be all right."

How could she not recall Cameron saying it exactly like that not so long ago? Why didn't she feel convinced? She wanted to discuss what she now knew, and what had happened this morning. But she couldn't. Obviously Lance was ignorant of the current state of affairs, and she didn't want him running off to the castle now to cause problems. Had Cameron and Georg planned it this way? To overtake the castle while Lance was caught up in preparations for the wedding? Of course they had. They'd admitted as much at the start. Every aspect of the situation took on new depth and meaning, and she felt like a fool for being so blind to what should have been obvious.

"Come along," he said, keeping hold of her hand as he led her to the dining room, "let's eat. You'll feel better." Helping her with her chair, he added, "I trust you slept well."

"Off and on," she admitted. Taking a breath, she forced some conversation if only to fill the silence that tempted her to focus too much on her own thoughts. "Business as usual last night?" she inquired, hoping perhaps to glean some information.

"Hardly usual," he said, sounding rather perky. "Someone deliberately set a barn on fire, to start with."

"Oh," she sounded surprised, "was anyone hurt?"

"No, it was just an old barn; no serious damage. But while it was burning there were seventeen robberies reported in different areas of the valley. I suspect the fire was set for a distraction so the robberies would go unnoticed by the law until the criminals were long gone."

Abbi felt a little queasy, wondering how _that_ tied in to what she knew now. "There were no arrests made, then?"

"I'm afraid not. Whoever did it was very clever."

She fought to keep up casual conversation. "You must have been up most of the night."

"Yes, but I'm fine. Apparently a meeting was called early this morning at the castle for all of the Guard, but I received a message saying I was excused because it's my wedding day." He smiled. "Now wasn't that thoughtful of Nikolaus?" He said it with sarcasm; they both knew Nikolaus would never be remotely thoughtful. But Abbi knew that Nikolaus had nothing to do with such orders. Cameron had said they didn't know where Nikolaus was, or if he even knew that Cameron was alive. _They were brothers!_ But a country couldn't have two rulers, and if Nikolaus was at large, and Cameron had no idea how many men were loyal to him, then . . . She couldn't think about that.

Abbi felt queasy again and her trembling increased. She forced a steady voice. "I thought Nikolaus was away."

"He must have returned early. He told me he might make it back for the wedding."

"Personally, I hope he doesn't," Abbi admitted and Lance smiled. She wanted to go back and rehash every conversation they'd ever had, and take into account the realization that Lance had known all along her husband was the rightful Duke of Horstberg. What would she have thought? His concern for her took on new depth, his divided loyalties a whole new meaning. But above all else, the precariousness of Cameron's life came fully into perspective. _His very existence was a threat to Nikolaus's power._

"Are you all right?" Lance asked, bringing her out of a stupor.

"I'll be fine," she said and excused herself to go dress for the wedding.

Again Abbi was prevented from having any time alone to respond to all she'd discovered. She found Elsa in her room preparing a bath, chattering excitedly about the wedding. Abbi could only listen and try to accept what she had learned, and the deepening of her fears as a result. The only thing she knew for certain was that her life would never be the same.

Following Abbi's bath, Elsa helped her into the gown and veil, but Abbi refused to have her hair put up. She knew it wasn't conventional, but when had convention ever been her motivation? She wondered for a moment if it was inappropriate for the wife of a duke to wear her hair down in public. Then she recalled Cameron's request when he'd helped her choose a veil. She felt disoriented to consider her every conversation and interaction with this man--and now to realize he was a du Woernig. _She_ was a du Woernig. The very thought made it difficult to breathe.

"Are you all right?" Elsa asked, making her jump.

"Just . . . nervous, I suppose," Abbi said.

"No need for that," Elsa insisted. "Georg assured me not an hour ago that everything was perfect. I've not seen him so happy in months."

"Is that right?" Abbi asked, attempting to accept Georg's place in all of this. The complexities alone made her head hurt.

Elsa just smiled and made a final adjustment on the veil. "You look beautiful, Miss Abbi," she said with a long sigh. "I will hurry and change, and meet you downstairs."

"Thank you, Elsa," Abbi said, "for everything."

Once alone, Abbi couldn't hold back a barrage of tears, but she'd barely begun to vent the tiniest bit of emotion hovering inside her when Salina knocked at the door. "Are you nearly ready, dear?" she called. "Lance has left for the cathedral."

"I'll be right down," Abbi said, and forced herself to appear composed.

Downstairs the aunts fussed over how beautiful she looked. And Ramona's attempt to comment on Abbi's hair was thwarted by an elbow from her sister. Elsa appeared in a dress Abbi had never seen before, looking lovely and radiant.

"Georg got it for me," she said to Abbi.

"You look exquisite," Abbi insisted. Then more quietly, "Where _is_ Georg?" She both needed his comfort and wanted to give him a piece of her mind. In truth, she understood the reasons for her ignorance--at least to some degree--and a part of her was grateful not to have known. But another part of her felt infuriated and terrified and completely off balance.

"He's nearly ready," she said. "He'll be escorting your aunts in the carriage. I'll be going with you, of course," Elsa said with a grin, "to be certain that every hair is in place."

Abbi wished she could share Elsa's enthusiasm. She wanted this day to be over.

"I believe you're all ready then, sir," Franz said, meticulously checking Cameron's uniform for any speck of lint. Franz was unquestionably loyal to Cameron, and he loathed Nikolaus deeply. The man had endured working with the duke for the sake of keeping his family fed these last four years--since he'd been promoted to Gerhard Albrecht's former position as the duke's valet. Nikolaus had told him then to do his job and do it well or he'd be out on the streets, and Franz had known he'd meant it.

While Cameron pondered his own image in the mirror, still trying to become accustomed to it, he considered Franz's story and wondered how many thousands like him had been adversely affected, either directly or indirectly, by Nikolaus's abuse and lack of ethics. The thought made his blood burn, but within a matter of hours it would be over.

"The lieutenant asked me to inform you that your escorts would be assembled in the courtyard as soon as you're ready, and I do believe it's time you were on your way."

Cameron took a deep breath. "Thank you, Franz," he said. "You're very good at what you do. With any luck we'll be able to keep working together for a very long time."

"That is my prayer, sir," Franz said. Cameron put a hand on his shoulder and smiled before he headed toward the door. He hurried down the stairs and past the ducal office before he realized that several men were waiting in the hall, between him and the door that led out to the courtyard. Cameron scanned their faces. There were five men, who each belonged to one of the two committees he'd met with this morning. They had all been unusually quiet during the meetings. With them were six officers, sporting the usual weapons, officers who had given Cameron no indication of their loyalty beyond their visible display in the courtyard earlier. But that could have been all for show as far as he knew. He'd told both the Guard and the committees that he expected to know where each man's loyalties may lie. He wondered if that was the purpose of this little impromptu gathering.

"We would like a word," a committee member stated, but Cameron didn't know his name. He'd never served with him. Cameron noted there was no use of title or form of respect in the way he'd been addressed. He scanned eleven sets of eyes, finding distrust and skepticism. He wondered how he had managed to end up alone with such a mob while his protection was just out of reach. He had images of everything coming down around him now due to one simple oversight.

"Yes," Cameron said, acting bored and impatient as if he had nothing in the world to be concerned about beyond getting to his wedding on time.

"You are terribly arrogant, young man, if you really believe that you can traipse in here and just snatch up a country as if you had the right."

While Cameron prayed that someone with military expertise might feel the urge to investigate his tardiness, he fought away visions of being knocked over the head and dragged to a prison cell to wait for Nikolaus's return.

Cameron cleared his throat and spoke with casual ease. "I'm just following my brother's example. The difference is that I _do_ have the right." He sighed impatiently as if their impedance meant nothing to him. "Could we discuss this later? I'm late for my own wedding."

"We'll discuss it now," he was told, and all six officers quickly surrounded him. Cameron had no means of defending himself. Even if weapons were traditionally worn with his dress uniform, he was severely outnumbered. He prayed that Abbi would forgive him for letting her down now. After they had come this far, it just didn't seem right. He reminded himself that even with his death, hope was not lost for Horstberg, and Abbi would be well cared for. Still, it just didn't seem right.

Cameron felt the barrel of a pistol press into his back, and a voice behind his ear said, "Walk. You know the way."

Cameron knew he meant the keep. The very idea of going back into a cell made him physically ill. _Just shoot me and get it over with,_ he thought. And then he did as he was told.

Abbi didn't see Georg before she left in the hired wedding coach with Elsa. When they arrived at the cathedral to the chiming of bells from the tower, a footman helped the ladies down. Abbi and Elsa were escorted to a waiting room with mirrors and plenty of space to sit and be comfortable. But Abbi only paced the floor until Georg showed up at ten minutes before noon. He appeared relaxed and pleased, but when their eyes met she undoubtedly saw his trepidation. He knew that she had seen Cameron, and that she'd been made aware of the truth. Hot tears bubbled out of her before he could even speak. He put his arms around her and urged her face to his shoulder, but the evidence of his compassion only made her cry harder. When she finally calmed down, there were a hundred things she wanted to say, but no words would form. While he was wiping at her tears, she noticed Elsa's alarm.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently.

"Everything's fine," Georg said. "She's just had . . . an eventful morning."

_"Don't_ tell me everything is fine!" Abbi shouted in a whisper and pushed Georg away. Elsa looked frightened. And why wouldn't she be? She'd probably never heard Abbi talk that way. But how could she ever explain how absolutely disoriented her life had become in the space of a heartbeat? How could she express the horrible uneasiness prickling her every nerve? Her deepest fear sputtered out of her mouth. "How do you know one of his brother's thugs hasn't tossed him into prison in the last couple of hours?"

"Because he will not step out of the castle without being carefully protected by men he can trust until we know exactly where he stands."

Abbi took a deep breath, liking that answer. Still, anything could go wrong, and she felt--as Cameron had put it--scared out of her mind.

"What's wrong?" Elsa repeated timidly. "What's happened?"

While Abbi paced and wrung her hands, Georg faced his wife and took hold of her shoulders. "Elsa," he said, "when you met Cameron, did he look familiar to you?"

"No, should he?"

"Had you ever heard the name Cameron before?"

"It sounded vaguely familiar, but . . . I don't know. Why?"

"At least I'm not the only naive fool in this country," Abbi growled, leaving Elsa more confused.

"Neither of you is a naive fool," Georg countered. "Having no knowledge of political matters in this country is _not_ criminal. But apparently gossip concerning the royal family doesn't commonly reach the Albrecht household."

"Apparently not," Abbi snapped with sarcasm.

"The royal family?" Elsa asked.

"Oh help," Abbi muttered, wrapping an arm around her stomach. She felt sick. _She_ was a member of the royal family.

Georg glanced at her while she continued to pace, and then he focused again on Elsa. "You know that both you and Abbi have been kept ignorant of certain . . . elements of Cameron's situation . . . for your protection."

"Yes."

"That secrecy is no longer relevant. Cameron will be here any minute, and by the time he arrives most of the country will know. Elsa, he is a du Woernig. He is the . . ." The bells in the cathedral tower changed their toll to announce the hour. "I'll explain more later," he finished, but Elsa's stunned expression gave Abbi some validation. At least she wasn't the only naive fool who was in _shock!_

"Shouldn't he be here?" Abbi demanded while the bells continued to count the time.

"He will be," Georg said with a smile. "He may not always be punctual, but he'll be here."

Abbi glared at him. The bells stopped, but in their absence she could hear music playing to announce that the wedding march would soon begin. Had her worst fears come to pass?

"You look beautiful, Abbi," Georg said and smiled again. "You mustn't worry. He'll be here." Abbi wanted to believe him, but she hardly knew _what_ to believe. As the music changed to the wedding march, he added softly, "It's time."

Elsa pushed her way between them. She eased Abbi's hair behind her shoulders and adjusted the comb that held the veil in place. "You _do_ look beautiful," she said, and Abbi saw tears in her eyes. "You are a du Woernig," she said. "It's like a fairy tale, Miss Abbi."

Abbi wanted to scream. Fairy tales were supposed to have happy endings. This felt like a nightmare. Elsa smiled and pulled the top layer of netting forward until Georg took hold of it. He bent and kissed Abbi lightly on the lips before letting the veil fall over her face. "I love you," he said, looking into her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, Georg." She forced a smile. "I know what you mean, and I love _you_. I always will."

Georg carefully placed her hand on his arm, pressing his fingers over hers. "We're off," he said gallantly, and they moved through a door into the main section of the cathedral. She heard him take a deep breath before they started up the aisle, and she forced herself to do the same, praying inwardly that Cameron would remain safe, and that he would get here before her nerves became any more raw.

Forcing her thoughts from Cameron's absence, Abbi noticed how the sun came brilliantly through high east windows, literally filling the atmosphere with beaming streaks of light, dispersed into color by masses of stained glass. Music soared to the lofty ceilings and domed roof, rebounding off the massive pillars and archways. Abbi's wedding was exactly how she had envisioned, down to every fine detail--except that the man standing at the other end of the cathedral, barely visible from this distance, was not Cameron.

In time to the music, Abbi stepped resolutely up the polished stone aisle, as though she were facing inevitable doom. She considered her veiled face a blessing, not wanting the vast amount of people present to see the fear in her expression. Her only comfort was in Georg's nearness, and she tightened her hand over his arm, holding to him with desperation. _But where was Cameron?_ What could have happened since she'd seen him? Was he dead? In prison? What would her future be like without him, if the worst had happened now?

Traversing the length of the aisle, her eyes met Georg's several times. Though his expression was reassuring, she had to wonder if he was only trying to pacify her. He couldn't be certain any more than she was that something hadn't happened to Cameron in the last couple of hours. The unknown whereabouts of Nikolaus troubled her even more than the possible divided loyalties of men who could very well be intent on doing Cameron harm.

The length of the cathedral passed behind them far too quickly, and Abbi found herself standing next to Lance, while he waited for Georg to give him her hand. She looked up at her lifelong friend with pleading desperation. She saw him glance back down the aisle toward the huge doors at the rear. Abbi's eyes followed. But everything was quiet and still. With hesitance Georg pulled Abbi's fingers from his arm, kissed her hand, and placed it into Lance's. "He'll be here," Georg whispered and stepped aside. Lance and Georg exchanged a look that seemed to hold some kind of understanding, but she couldn't imagine what.

Abbi looked up at Lance, fighting back tears as he said softly, "I really didn't believe we'd get to this point." Abbi wanted to agree with him, but her voice was frozen. He too glanced back as if he expected an interruption, and then he guided her toward the altar.

Abbi's eyes met with the bishop's, but he seemed concerned. He was one of few people who knew she was already married, but did he know the full reality of what was happening here? As she knelt with Lance at the altar where she had once knelt with Cameron, Abbi prayed with all her being that time would be stalled, that he would come. When the bishop began to speak, Abbi felt sick. Her whole world was falling apart around her, and she had no power to change it.

"Abbi, you're trembling," Lance whispered, at the same time squeezing her hand as if that might have a soothing effect.

She tried to think of the most succinct explanation. "He promised me he would be here if he was still alive." She turned to look at him, grateful for the bishop's ongoing speech. "Please, Lance. Please tell me that you didn't do anything to--"

"Don't ask me to restate my loyalties now, Abbi. Not here." He sounded mildly angry. "You should know me well enough to know where I stand."

Abbi's panic deepened. What was that supposed to mean? She believed he would do anything to protect her. But there were many things he'd said that had left her unclear on exactly where his loyalties were otherwise.

"Or maybe you don't really know me at all," he added with a subtle edge that made her wonder if she did. He looked at her hard and added, "But better perhaps than your own husband?"

Abbi found it difficult to even take a breath as his words struck her far too deeply. He was right. There was a great deal she didn't know about either of these men. They both loved her. They both had political loyalties that were far beyond her comprehension. And she was caught in the middle of something she didn't understand and feared with all her soul. In that moment she cursed the dreams that had guided her into this life, this moment, this horror. But she was here and there was no turning back. She felt angry and betrayed in the worst possible way, even though she wasn't certain who to be angry with. At least anger might keep her from crumbling in public. She discreetly glanced at Georg, hoping for some reassurance. But he was visibly agitated. If _he_ didn't know where Cameron was, then who did?

"I really thought he would be here," Lance whispered, "but maybe I was wrong." Abbi heard the words, but allowed her anger to force them to a place where she couldn't feel their meaning. Her trembling increased as he added, "As much as I would love to be your husband, Abbi, I'm not sure I'm the right man to raise the heir to Horstberg."

Abbi looked at him sharply. Her pounding heart raced and threatened to stop. How did he know that she'd been told Cameron's identity? And what else did he know? In spite of the secrets that had been revealed to her, she felt certain she was still being left horribly ignorant. Her instincts told her that Lance knew far more than he was letting on, and he was very much involved in the outcome. But was his involvement in Cameron's favor, or against it?

Abbi's mind was drawn to memories of things Cameron had said that suddenly became haunting. _I'm not afraid to die. I'm afraid to live . . . He'll take care of you. He'll raise the child well._ The meticulous precision of Cameron's plans became startlingly clear. "Or maybe you are," she finally said in response, struggling to breathe. Who better than the Captain of the Guard? How very coincidental! How convenient! Was this how God had meant it to be all along? Anger and fear continued to battle inside her. Then she remembered. She had dreamed this moment! She'd wanted to believe the dream had been spurred by her fears, that it had no meaning. She'd been convinced that everything would turn out the way she wanted it to, and she'd denied herself the opportunity to be prepared for this moment. On the verge of completely crumbling, she determined that she had no choice but to say her vows and resign herself to the worst. She could fall apart later.

Unable to speak, Abbi's attention was drawn more to the bishop's ongoing speech. He was rambling on with boring slowness about the power of love and commitment in overcoming the evils of the world. _He was stalling,_ she thought and felt the tiniest grain of hope. Or was his attempt to stall just prolonging the inevitable? She jumped at the sound of the heavy doors opening in the distance, at the rear of the cathedral. Tears burned behind her closed eyes while she prayed with all the fervency of her soul that there was not some other reason for this untimely intrusion. The cathedral became very still until she heard a voice of authority call loudly, "Announcing His Grace, the Duke of Horstberg."

Abbi nearly fainted from weakness. _That_ didn't tell her anything. For all she knew Nikolaus had decided to attend the wedding at the last minute. Lance squeezed her hand and whispered, "I told you he'd be here." Was that disappointment she heard in his voice? Or relief?

"Or Nikolaus has stabbed him in the back and come in his place."

"For all of Nikolaus's depravity, he would do no such thing."

"No, of course not," Abbi whispered with a bite of sarcasm. "He'd just toss him into prison and have him executed at dawn--no questions asked. Isn't that what you told me?" Lance didn't comment. She knew he had no rebuttal.

Abbi was surprised to hear the echo of a horse's hooves on the stone floor--and something else. Footsteps, many of them, marching in unison. A low murmur rustled through the crowd.

"What's happening, Lance?" she whispered, squeezing his hand so tightly she felt certain she was causing him pain. He didn't answer. She took a labored breath, then another. "Is it him?" she asked. "I can't look."

"Of course it's him," Lance said. "Nikolaus would not have come here with full military escort."

Abbi tried to find relief, but she felt hesitant to believe him. It wasn't so difficult to imagine Nikolaus returning to take Cameron's place, if only to make it publicly clear that he was still in charge. Terrified to even turn around, she feared that every grain of hope and logic would be dashed if she saw anyone other than her husband. While she was gathering the courage to see for herself and get it over with, she wanted to drill Lance with questions. Was this what he'd expected? Had he known the outcome all along?

Lance stood and took hold of her arm, urging her to do the same. He turned her toward him and lifted the veil from her face. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, and she couldn't hold back tears on his behalf. He turned to take in the crowds filling the cathedral, then she saw him focus on the military escort that she could hear moving slowly closer. The barest hint of a smile touched his lips as he turned to look at her.

"Is it him?" she asked, breathing so sharply she feared losing consciousness.

"It is," he said and she exhaled all the weight of her fears, pressing her face to his shoulder while she fought back the urge to cry like a baby. Lance took hold of her chin and lifted her face to his view. "Everyone in the room is watching him," he said, "but _he_ is watching _us."_ His smiled deepened. "He'll probably give me a bloody lip for this later," he added and bent to kiss her. He drew back and wiped at her tears. "I will always remember," he said, "that for a moment you were almost mine."

Abbi was too overcome with emotion to speak. She could only touch his face and hope that he understood how she cared for him, and her gratitude for all he had done for her--and for Cameron. He smiled and kissed her hand before easing her away from the altar, keeping his arm around her as they turned to face the cause of intrusion.

Abbi leaned heavily against Lance, not prepared for the impact of the vision before her. It _was_ him! She couldn't believe it. He was alive and real. _He was the Duke of Horstberg_. He looked exactly as he had earlier today at the castle, excepting the public demeanor that perfectly radiated his composed authority and firm confidence. He looked at no one with eyes that were sharp and unquestioning of his own power. He sat at perfect attention, his bearing straight, his chin high, his shoulders back. One hand held the reins, the other was tucked behind his back beneath the robe that flowed over the horse. _Her_ horse. Blaze--born to lead her to her destiny. Her breathlessness increased as she realized she had dreamed this moment as well, but it had been vague and shadowed, as if her not knowing his identity had been crucial. But perhaps God had known she would need the confirmation that this moment was as much a part of her destiny as the dreams that had led her to this man. She felt as if she'd never seen him before, but if she had seen him first in this moment, she would have fallen for him--head over heels, forever lovesick. She wondered how many women might be watching him now, feeling heady just to be in his presence, perhaps with fantasies about capturing the heart of such a man. She felt deeply privileged and thoroughly in awe to realize that she was the only woman who had ever known him heart and soul. She had seen him broken and crumbling, on the verge of self-destruction, bitter and lost. And now he was whole. His own words spoken just yesterday echoed in her memory. _I know who I am. I know my mission. I know what I'm capable of._

The magnificence of Cameron's presence was amplified by the military force accompanying him. Officers of the Guard barred the doors and lined the aisle, standing firmly at the end of each pew with the clear intent to prevent anyone from moving or leaving. A significant number of men surrounded the object of their protection on every side, marching with slow deliberation and ceremonial unity. Their precision was as impressive as their presence was inspiring. Every face wore a determination that clearly stated they would defend Cameron du Woernig with their lives. Abbi recalled Lance's impressive list of the training and requirements to serve on this military force, but he hadn't mentioned the distinguished exactitude of their military display that undoubtedly took tireless hours of training and rehearsal.

Cameron forced his mind to the realization that he had envisioned this moment a thousand times. And now it was happening. He was here. They had done it. But his relief at being here was counterbalanced with the fact that he almost hadn't been. He still felt stunned and utterly sick over the skirmish he'd just survived, and the damage that had been done. But it could have been so much worse, he reminded himself, and tried to remain focused on the results. _He was here!_ He blessed his most trusted officers for having the insight not to let too many minutes pass without determining his whereabouts. They'd come to find him the very moment his captors had been leading him past the doors to the courtyard. Then all hell had broken loose. He'd used the moment of distraction to turn and hit the guy behind him in order to get the gun out of his hand. But the fight that ensued had been far worse than anything that had occurred during last night's invasion. And he'd been right in the middle of it, his life passing before his eyes. In the end Nikolaus's entourage had been taken to the keep, and a doctor had been summoned to attend the wounded from both sides. Two bullet wounds and several other injuries had left bloodstains on the floor, and a deep impression in Cameron's mind. But no lives had been lost, and Cameron knew beyond any doubt that he'd now overcome the twisted thinking he'd confronted just yesterday. He was definitely more afraid to die; he most certainly wanted to live. And he thanked God for what seemed the thousandth time in the last half hour that he was still alive, and whole enough to reclaim his country with some dignity.

Concentrating on his sweet bride made it easier to be free of the horrid images in his mind. She looked even more beautiful than he'd imagined, and her visible relief, even from this distance, assuaged some level of his deepest fears. Lance's presence as he held her close provoked mixed feelings. Cameron knew the kiss he'd given Abbi had been meant as some measure of boasting. But perhaps the captain had earned that right. Just as Abbi had said, a kiss seemed a small price to pay for the position he'd been forced to endure through all of this. Cameron wanted to both bust him in the jaw and kiss his feet. He felt it best to just give him the respect he deserved and pray that his loyalties stayed in Cameron's favor until Nikolaus could be secured.

Abbi focused again on the man she loved as he moved closer. His studied pace on the horse was in perfect rhythm with the officers surrounding him. The slow and steady tempo seemed a declaration for every eye present to witness and declare with certainty that this man was indeed living and breathing. As disoriented as Abbi felt with his identity and all that surrounded it, she couldn't deny a deep comfort in the evidence of all he had endured to reach this day. How could she not admire him for the risks he had taken and the sacrifices he'd made in order to claim his position and serve his people? Still, attempting to accept that this was the same man she had grown to love, whose child she carried, she felt bewildered and overwhelmed. Then she saw his eyes shift discreetly, making contact with hers, and everything fell neatly into perspective. The crowds, the grandeur, the crown, and the majesty all faded into the background with that split second of silent connection that left Abbi knowing without question she was most important to him. She thought of how he had kissed her this morning, how he had fallen to his knees and wept, and her heart overflowed with perfect love. She felt weak and fluttery, and she wondered if Lance sensed it as he tightened his arm around her with an embrace that seemed to express his sadness in knowing he would never have the opportunity to be so close to her again.

Abbi's attention was drawn to the medals and regalia spread across the chest of Cameron's uniform; more than she'd seen on Nikolaus and Lance's combined. She wondered what each piece symbolized, and was struck anew with how little she knew about him and the world he'd come from.

Abbi watched her husband closely as he brought Blaze to an effortless stop, at the same time lifting his right hand in a casual gesture. Immediately the entire force came to a unified halt, and several dozen booted feet hit the floor in perfect unison with a resounding echo. He dismounted and the robe flew gracefully around him as if it had been trained to enhance his eminence. An officer stepped forward and stood at attention while holding the horse's bridle. Cameron moved up the steps and the bishop stepped down to greet him halfway. Cameron went down on one knee and pressed his brow to the bishop's hands, just as he'd done when they'd met here less than two weeks ago.

"Your Grace," Cameron said with reverence.

"My son," the bishop said as Cameron stood. "It is good to see you alive and well."

"It is good to _be_ alive and well," Cameron replied. The bishop nodded as if to give him a cue. Cameron turned partly toward the audience, speaking in a loud voice that he clearly intended for the acoustics of the cathedral to carry to the very back. "I apologize for this discourteous interruption, Bishop, but I cannot allow this marriage to take place."

The room became eerily still while Cameron turned to take in his audience with eyes that seemed to dare anyone to question his authority.

"May I ask why, Your Grace?" the bishop inquired, speaking Cameron's title with ease.

"The woman is already married and with child," Cameron stated. The crowd responded with gasps and sounds of astonishment, and then became still again before Cameron added, "I am the man Abbi was stranded with last winter. We were married privately in January, and our marriage was made official at a later date. I am here to make the marriage public." He turned again to glance out over the audience, then back to the bishop. "The child is mine."

A low murmur resonated through the cathedral. Abbi sighed with her entire body, knowing the worst was over. He was here, and he'd admitted the situation publicly. Surely she could face anything now. Again there was silence, as if Cameron were expected to speak. And he did. "The good captain agreed to marry her, believing that I was dead. Clearly I am not." He nodded with respect toward Lance. "But I do thank him for honoring my wife in every possible way."

Cameron stepped toward Abbi and held out a hand toward her, keeping his eyes carefully tuned to Lance. "Thank you, Captain," he said in little more than a whisper.

Lance's voice held only a trace of malice as he countered softly, "I trust you will take better care of this wife than you did the last one." He lowered his voice further. "If you ever hurt her, I will hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands."

Abbi watched them as their eyes met, and she felt the intensity between them. She longed to know the history they shared, certain that with time she would. She was surprised when Cameron said firmly, "I would hope so."

Lance turned to Abbi, taking her shoulders into his hands. "I know you love him, Abbi," he said quietly, and pressed a kiss to her brow. "And for your sake, I am grateful he's alive." The sadness in his eyes tempted her to cry. He turned and bowed slightly toward Cameron, backing away before he straightened his back. Then he left through the hallway that led to the bishop's offices.

Abbi glanced quickly to the front row, where the only people she really knew or cared about were sitting. Ramona looked as if she might faint. Salina was beaming. Elsa and Marta were both crying. Georg was still standing close by and he tossed her a faint smile. His relief and pleasure mirrored her own. She turned to Cameron and focused on his face enough to realize something was different from when she'd seen him this morning. She felt a little queasy wondering the reasons for his being late when she noted the cut on his bottom lip, and a hint of bruising below his left eye.

"What happened?" she whispered. The tension in his eyes made it evident he knew what she meant.

"Later," he said, and offered his hand. She forced her mind to focus only on the moment as she slipped her fingers into his, and the warmth of his love rushed into her. Showing a hint of a smile, he whispered, "Didn't I tell you I was full of surprises?"

Abbi caught her breath and put a hand over her quivering stomach. She'd almost begun to accept that she was married to the Duke of Horstberg. 
Chapter Twenty-Four

CAMERON'S MASK

"You'll be all right?" Cameron asked gently.

Abbi nodded and he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, putting it into her hand. "It brought me luck," he said. "Now I give it back to you."

_His sisters,_ Abbi realized as she clutched the fine lace in her fist. She recalled Cameron once saying, _With all that's happened between us, no coincidence in our lives could ever surprise me._ And he had known so much more of their connections than she had ever imagined.

Cameron turned again to the bishop, speaking loudly, "I would like to proceed with the ceremony. I have the necessary documents."

Cameron motioned with his hand and a young officer stepped forward, giving the bishop's assistant some papers rolled together. Unrolling them carefully, the assistant eyed the document, then lifted it to look at another. He nodded toward the bishop as if to give his approval that everything was in order. Abbi wondered if this was simply a visible display, since their marriage was already legal.

"Now, where were we?" the bishop said, and a soft chuckle went through the crowd as he returned to his place at the head of the altar. Abbi wondered if even those who had come to see Lance married were pleased to be present for such an event. If not, she felt certain they would keep their opinions quiet, given the military presence.

Abbi turned to Georg, who smiled remarkably and whispered, "I told you he'd come." He kissed her and pulled the veil back over her face. Then he took her hand and pressed it into Cameron's as a gaze of heartfelt emotion passed between the two men.

Cameron squeezed Abbi's hand as he guided her to the altar. They knelt together and he whispered, "We're getting good at this; so much practice, and all."

Abbi smiled and focused on the reverence of the ceremony, even if it was only for the sake of making their marriage public. Their vows were exchanged effortlessly--this time with the use of full names. A ring was presented by Georg, blessed by the bishop, and then given to Cameron. The band of gold slid easily onto Abbi's finger, while a glisten of moisture rose in Cameron's eyes. She locked her gaze with his and held both his hands tightly while the bishop declared with certitude, "I now pronounce you, Cameron Erich Ferdinand Gustave du Woernig, and Abilee Amelia Albrecht, husband and wife for as long as you both shall live.

"You may kiss her," the bishop said, and they stood to face each other. Cameron lifted the veil and pressed his lips to hers with a reverence and adoration that penetrated her heart. His relief and happiness were evident in the little burst of laughter that erupted before he kissed her again. And the crowd cheered. The bishop raised his hands to indicate silence before saying, "Shall we continue?"

Abbi thought they should have been finished, but Cameron seemed to know what he meant. The bishop's assistant brought forth an elaborately carved wooden box, which he opened in front of the bishop. He blessed its contents as he'd done with the ring, then the box was brought to Cameron. She held her breath as he lifted out a gold crown similar to his own, but smaller and more feminine in design.

Abbi's heart raced as the implication settled in. A part of her wanted to back away and insist that she couldn't do this. She felt utterly terrified, and the inner trembling she'd contended with earlier returned in full force. She silently questioned Cameron, wanting to tell him he was making a mistake to give her this kind of responsibility--and she had absolutely no idea what exactly that responsibility entailed. But he smiled with kind reassurance, as if he felt no doubt or concern. And what could she do? Just this morning she had reiterated her conviction that she had agreed to be a part of his life, whatever that might entail. Never would she have dreamed that such a commitment would have included becoming the Duchess of Horstberg. Even when she'd been flattered by Nikolaus's attention and had believed he'd been interested in marriage, the title and obligation connected to it had never crossed her mind. Now, she could only pray that she might be able to live up to whatever would be expected of her.

"Please kneel," Cameron said with authority. Abbi knelt before him and bowed her head, recalling the crown of flowers he'd made for her in the meadow. He had known! He had surely imagined this moment!

Cameron's voice resounded through the cathedral as he spoke. "Let it be known upon the records of this land, that I, Cameron Erich Ferdinand Gustave du Woernig, being of sound mind, and by the power vested in me as the reigning Duke of Horstberg, do hereby pronounce thee, Abilee Amelia Albrecht du Woernig," he paused and drew an emotional sigh, "Duchess of Horstberg; and with the sustenance of thy husband, the approval of thy people, and the blessings of God, I place this crown upon thy head that thou might reign with nobility as duchess of this land for all the days of thy life."

Abbi felt the crown slide easily over her veil, and warmth permeated from it. She thought back to Cameron helping her choose the veil, and understood why he'd not wanted an elaborate headpiece. His hands appeared in front of her and she looked up to meet his gaze. "Now you are truly a princess," he whispered. She slipped her trembling hands into his and stood next to him. Again he kissed her, and she doubted that was part of the usual ceremony. He put his arm around her and turned with her to face the audience.

"Let it be known," he announced with solemnity, "that I have returned and will proceed from this day forward to rule Horstberg with fairness and compassion. I am prepared to prove my innocence of the crime for which I was wrongly accused. I greatly regret the years of suffering inflicted on my people in my absence. We will now as a unified nation begin anew with peace and prosperity as our guide."

Cameron soaked the present into his spirit and felt hard pressed not to cry. He looked down at his sweet bride and willed the moment to be forever embedded into his heart and soul. _They had made it_. His vision had come to pass, and no man knew gratitude deeper than he felt with Abbi's hand in his. He looked around the room and added with all the jubilance he felt, "God bless us all."

The crowd stood in unison and cheered exuberantly. The roar was deafening, and Cameron felt it penetrate his very being. He hugged Abbi and laughed. He had hoped for polite tolerance from these people who had come to be part of a wedding that hadn't taken place. Their enthusiasm had far exceeded his expectations, and made it increasingly difficult for him to keep his emotion in check. His joy was only amplified by the privilege of making his marriage public. To show his face and have Abbi by his side was a simple pleasure that had been completely beyond his wildest comprehension not so many months ago. The reality was astounding!

"By the way," he added, holding up his hand for silence, "the wedding festivities have been moved to Castle Horstberg, following the usual celebration in the square."

The crowd resumed their cheer while Abbi wondered what exactly _the usual celebration_ might entail. Cameron turned to the bishop and thanked him. When he finished, he met Abbi's eyes while he held his hand suspended in front of him, as if it were resting on some imaginary table. Too dazed to grasp his meaning, she was relieved when he said, "Just rest your hand on mine."

She did as he said, wondering over the gamut of royal etiquette she might be required to learn. But he smiled, and nothing mattered but having him freely by her side. As they descended the steps to where Blaze was waiting, Abbi recalled Elsa saying, _It's like a fairy tale._ And maybe she was right. At least for the moment it felt that way, and Abbi was determined to enjoy the moment. He helped her mount Blaze and smiled at her when she straddled the horse as usual. But the elaborate dress covered her legs completely, and she had to hold the train over her arm to keep it from dragging. She watched Cameron over her shoulder as he mounted behind her, lifting the robe over the back of the horse before he took the reins into his left hand and pressed his right around Abbi's waist. He eased Blaze into a gentle canter, traversing the length of the cathedral much more quickly than when he'd arrived. The small army of uniformed men fell into step, moving around and behind them while the crowd continued cheering. Cameron pulled Blaze to a halt at the huge cathedral doors and Abbi laughed as the animal reared back and then stood perfectly still.

"Very effective," Cameron muttered behind her ear. "Did you dream this moment before you trained him to do that?"

"I _never_ could have dreamed this moment," she said, and he laughed softly before he turned his attention to the lieutenant standing closest to him, the same man who had been Abbi's escort to and from the castle this morning. She was drawn back to a distinct uneasiness as she realized that he too had bruises on his face that hadn't been there this morning, even more obvious than Cameron's.

"Your Grace," he said to Cameron, "a significant crowd has gathered. More than we anticipated, sir. It would seem that word of your arrival has spread quickly." He smiled. "But spirits are high, sir, and all appears to be well. Reinforcements have arrived in order to accommodate."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Cameron said and nodded toward the doors. His positive tone subdued Abbi's concerns. "Let's go then, shall we?"

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said and officers pushed open the huge doors to reveal a massive crowd being held at bay by a solid line of uniformed men on horseback. The moment the duke appeared, a cheer rose through the air that dwarfed the one they'd left inside.

"Good heavens," Cameron muttered breathlessly and tightened his arm around Abbi, but she couldn't be certain if he was nervous or thrilled. Perhaps both. He guided Blaze carefully down the cathedral steps, and the officers eased their horses gracefully into the crowd, gently pressing the people back and keeping Cameron and Abbi securely surrounded on every side. Officers on foot added a second perimeter as they remained in step with the cavalry. The evidence of protection and security left Abbi less concerned for her husband's safety than she perhaps ever had been. Even knowing Nikolaus was still at large seemed irrelevant when so many skilled men were eagerly engaged in keeping Cameron safe. She knew from seeing Nikolaus publicly in the past that this was not standard procedure, but surely necessary under the circumstances. Still, there was not the slightest hint of any negativity from the crowds. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The people cheered and rallied around them with such enthusiasm that Abbi felt on the brink of tears to consider the enormity of what her husband meant to them.

As they moved slowly through the crowd toward the center of town, the extent of the gathering became more evident. People lined the street in hordes, apparently having concluded that the bride and groom would travel from the cathedral to the market square. Once adjusted somewhat to the experience, Abbi became more tuned to what people were saying. Right and left, men and women of all ages praised God and thanked heaven for his miraculous return. Abbi saw tears in people's eyes and on their faces while she realized she had no comprehension of what Cameron's reclamation of his country truly meant to these people. She thought of his orders this morning to have food and supplies delivered to the homeless. From the humble appearance of many of these people, she wondered if they were among those most grateful and most eager to spread the news of Cameron's return. Tears moistened her own eyes the same moment she heard him murmur close to her ear, "Tell me I'm not dreaming, Abbi."

"How can I," she said, pressing her hand over his where he held her increasingly tighter, "when I've never dreamed anything so magnificent?"

"Nor I," he said, his voice quavering.

Abbi felt so in awe of the experience that she could hardly breathe. But her amazement mingled with trepidation as she was once again struck with the unreal sensation that these people now regarded her as their queen. She clung to Cameron's arm that supported her, not knowing whether to be elated or scared to death. She reminded herself that it was Cameron she loved. It was his arm around her, his ring on her finger. They were married. Cameron's bondage was over. They were together freely and publicly, with no shame or pretenses. She threaded her fingers between his and felt his grip tighten as they rode Blaze at an unhurried pace through the press toward the center of town.

They arrived at the market square to find it empty, with officers situated around the perimeter, standing at attention and holding the crowd at bay. The military escort surrounding them made an impressive display of coming to a halt, and then they gracefully dispersed into the crowds while the protective barrier around the square remained intact.

"What are we doing here?" Abbi asked.

"Abbi, my dear," Cameron whispered behind her ear, "I've told you before, I've never attended a wedding that didn't have dancing. And for royal weddings, there is _always_ folk-dancing."

Abbi swallowed, again feeling torn between perfect ecstasy and horrible nerves. Cameron dismounted and looked up at her, saying softly, "Dreams really do come true, Abbi girl. I have imagined this moment since Christmas." Seeing the adoration glowing in his eyes, Abbi just wanted to hold him in her arms and absorb all she had learned this day, but the square was surrounded by crowds, and every eye was on them.

"My lady," he said, helping her down. The moment her feet touched the ground, an officer led Blaze away, and Abbi noticed some musicians slipping past the officers and assembling in one corner. She draped the train of the gown over her arm and set her other hand over Cameron's suspended arm as they walked to the center of the square--alone.

"Cameron," she said, "don't tell me that we are the only ones who--"

"Only for the first set," he said. "It's tradition, Mrs. du Woernig." He smiled in response to her alarm as he turned her to face him, apparently oblivious to the hundreds of eyes watching his every move. "Look at me, Abbi. I know this must be overwhelming, but there is no reason on earth for you to feel afraid or self-conscious. Just watch _me,_ and I'll watch _you._ And it will be just like doing it in the lodge." He kissed her as if they were alone, and looked into her eyes again. "It's just you and me," he said. He stepped back to a starting position, and the music began. Cameron stepped forward and bowed, then he stepped back. Abbi became mesmerized by him as she stepped forward and curtsied before moving back. _He was incredible_. The uniform. The robe. The crown. _The man_. He'd been raised to be a king. _He was her husband_.

She felt less conspicuous when the dance brought them together, and his arm slipped around her waist. She thought of sharing this dance with him at the fair, and the mask he'd been wearing at the time. She felt chilled to look into his face and see all masks--both literal and figurative--now gone. She was looking at the real Cameron-- _Cameron du Woernig_. As they turned to go the opposite direction, she managed to switch the train of the dress to her other arm and not miss a step.

"Very good," he said and smiled. How familiar his smile was, in spite of the absence of his beard.

"Everyone is watching you," she whispered as he moved behind her.

"No, my love, everyone is watching _you_. They're wondering where this incredible goddess has come from. They're speculating in whispers, wondering what kind of magical powers she might have used to bring an exiled king back from the dead."

"I only loved him," she said, and a sudden rush of emotion caught her off guard. But she kept dancing in spite of the tears rolling down her cheeks. When Cameron turned to face her to do the final series of steps, he noticed her tears and came to a sudden stop. The final bars of the song were played while they stood staring into each other's eyes, like some kind of stone monument erected in the center of the square. The music became replaced by an eerie silence. Abbi waited for Cameron to do something. She wanted to wipe her tears but he held her hands tightly, and she realized they were both trembling. Then he went down on one knee, pressing his lips to her hands in the same moment she felt them moistened by his tears. Abbi's tears increased, but they were muffled by the cheer that rose up from the crowd as Cameron came to his feet and kissed her again.

"Now," he said, wiping her tears while she wiped his, "you need to choose a partner. After we dance two more sets, we'll leave."

"But I don't want to dance with anyone but--"

"Georg," he interrupted, nodding over her shoulder.

Abbi turned to see Georg and Elsa standing at the edge of the square, beaming with happiness. She squeezed Cameron's hand and left to approach her friends. First she hugged Elsa, noting the tears in her eyes. Abbi knew well how she felt. Then she hugged Georg before she offered her hand. He took it and escorted her to the center of the square.

Cameron scanned the crowd and quickly found Magda and Lena. "My dear, sweet sisters," he said, embracing them both at once. He took Magda's hand, winking at Lena as he said, "You're next."

"How are you?" Magda asked as they walked to the center of the square.

"I'm the happiest man alive," he said. "And what about you, my dear little childhood friend? Do you have any idea what it means to be with you again?"

"Yes, I believe I do," she said with laughter.

"Abbi," Cameron said and her eyes widened to see who he was with, "I believe you've met my baby sister."

Abbi only laughed as she exchanged a firm embrace with Magda before the music began.

"I can't believe it!" Abbi said to Magda while the men were taking their bows.

"We have a great deal to catch up on," Magda said.

Abbi looked up as she stepped forward to curtsy, noticing how Cameron and Georg were talking and laughing. When Georg pushed his arm around Abbi to turn her, he said, "You appear to be holding up well."

"For the moment," she said. "I can't believe you managed to keep all of this from me."

"I have trouble believing it myself." Georg chuckled. Then his voice became serious. "But whatever might come up in the future, Cameron will never wonder over your trust." He smiled tenderly. "No woman has ever exhibited such perfect trust." A moment later he said, "You are magnificent, Abbi."

"Am I? I feel more terrified."

"There's nothing to be afraid of. You have everything you need already in your heart. Remember that."

Abbi sighed, wondering what she would ever do without Georg. "Stay by me, always," she pleaded. "I need you."

"I will forever be there. I promise."

When that set ended and it became evident that Cameron would be dancing with Lena, Abbi whispered to Georg, "What do I do now?"

"Just one more set."

"But . . . who?" She glanced around, not wanting to do something inappropriate for a duchess.

"See the man in uniform . . . leaning against the lamppost."

"Yes," she said, realizing he meant the lieutenant who had already crossed her path a number of times today.

"Lieutenant Joerger. He's worked very hard for your husband these past weeks. I'd say he's earned a dance with the duchess. He'll brag about it for weeks."

Abbi chuckled tensely and offered her hand to the lieutenant. He looked surprised and momentarily flustered, but he proved to be a competent dancer. She noticed again the bruises on his face, and wondered what this man had suffered on her husband's behalf. Looking at it that way, a dance seemed insufficient gratitude. When the set ended, he bowed graciously, saying, "A pleasure and an honor, Your Grace. Thank you."

As he walked away, Abbi was relieved to hear Cameron announce loudly that he would be taking his bride home. Blaze appeared, led by an officer of the Guard, and Cameron helped her mount. She relaxed some when she felt Cameron behind her in the saddle, his arm securely around her. Once they were past the crowds with a portion of their military escort hovering on all sides, Cameron broke into a smooth gallop and Abbi caught her breath as they ascended the castle hill. Her heart took an unexpected leap as Cameron heeled the horse through the high castle gate and into the courtyard. The clattering hooves of the accompanying cavalry echoed off the walls of the fortress surrounding them. _Home_ he had called it. In spite of her visit here this morning, the idea was too incredible to accept. A livery servant stepped forward to take the horse the moment they appeared. Cameron helped Abbi dismount and then picked her up in his arms.

"What are you doing?" she laughed, well aware that they were being closely followed by six men in uniform.

"I'm carrying my bride over the threshold--for good luck. Welcome home," Cameron added, setting her down in the enormous entry hall. Abbi noted the two staircases moving up in opposite directions and recalled the social she had attended here. She wondered what she would have felt then if she could have foreseen this day.

An enormous amount of servants were gathered in dress uniform, apparently aware that the duke was bringing home his bride. But of course they would have known; the festivities were to be held here. Abbi wondered if Marta had been planning it this way all along. No doubt. There were also more officers waiting on both sides of the door.

Cameron addressed the servants with ease. "This is Abbi du Woernig, the new mistress of Castle Horstberg." _Abbi du Woernig_. She still couldn't believe it. She thought of how long her name had legally been Abbi du Woernig, and she'd had no idea. The servants all bowed and he went on, "You will heed her word as you would mine. There is much to do. Our guests will be arriving soon. You are dismissed. And thank you."

Abbi sensed these people were not accustomed to being treated with civility. She could well imagine how Nikolaus must have treated them. She wondered for a moment if Nikolaus had returned, but surely great precautions had been taken to see that he had no access to Cameron. The officers surrounding them were a good indication of that.

A manservant approached Cameron and whispered something in his ear. "I'll be right there, Franz," he said, then he turned to a young maid lingering nearby. "Berta, please show Her Grace to my rooms where she can freshen up and rest. I'll not be long," he added to Abbi, then he quickly ascended the staircase to the right, three officers in front of him, and three on his heels. Were such precautions necessary right here within the castle? She watched him until he disappeared, unsettled to be separated from him at all.

"Your Grace?" the young maid curtsied. It took Abbi a moment to realize she was being addressed.

"Yes, Berta," Abbi replied and the girl looked pleased to be called by name.

"You will come with me, please."

"Of course."

Abbi followed her down a long hall, unnerved by the four officers who followed. They went up a different staircase while Berta spoke comfortably. "You must pardon the condition of His Grace's rooms. He requested we leave it be as there was much to be done for the wedding festivities."

"I understand," Abbi replied, her mind still stuck on the title _Your Grace_ being connected to herself.

At the top of the stairs, Berta opened a door which the officers flanked as if they intended to remain there indefinitely. Abbi followed Berta into an enormous room, at least twice the size of the common room in the mountain lodge, with a massive canopied bed and elaborate furnishings. It was far grander than any of the other bedrooms Abbi had seen in the castle, and more tasteful than Nikolaus's room had been. She thought back to her evening here with Nikolaus, and the ironies chilled her.

"I believe you'll find what you need to freshen up," Berta said. "If there's something else you want, just ring."

"Thank you, Berta," Abbi said and the girl left.

Alone at last, Abbi was overcome by a torrent of emotions. Earlier she had only wanted to be alone and cry, and now the tears refused to come. Instead they tightened her chest and stung her throat as she took in her surroundings. She noticed one of the trunks that had been on the landing in Cameron's mountain lodge, the one where she had found his uniform. It was evident now that beneath the uniform had been the ducal robe, the medals and adornments that had been added, and the crowns they now wore. She contemplated how upset Cameron had been when she'd found the uniform, yet even then she had assumed the very least possibility. How would she have felt if she'd dug deeper? How would he have responded? In spite of the ironies, the reality of Cameron's position made it evident just how valid his concerns had been. He wasn't just an ordinary man with precarious knowledge. He was a du Woernig. And his brother was still at large. The thought provoked a cold chill and she pushed it away.

Abbi glanced at her reflection in the mirror and felt as though another woman were looking back at her. _She_ was a du Woernig. She touched the crown on her head as if it might burn her. Her hands slid down over her face, as if she almost expected it to feel differently. The changes were overwhelming, even frightening. Her emotions vacillated between euphoria and panic, and a part of her wanted to just sit down and cry like a baby, but she reminded herself that she was a duchess now. Guests would be arriving, and she had to be presentable. Cameron had achieved his quest and she had to be supportive. There would be plenty of time to deal with her emotions later.

Abbi turned her attention from the mirror, if only to distract her thoughts. The room was indeed disorderly, and she could easily imagine Cameron taking over the castle and frantically making preparations to see that all was secure in order to get to the wedding. The clothes he'd worn when he'd come to her room last night were thrown on the bed along with his crossbow, and his boots were nearby on the floor. Abbi felt nostalgic to see the shavings of his beard in a basin on the bureau, along with hair that had been trimmed from his head. She touched the loose hair tenderly and then prompted herself to get freshened up before he returned. She was smoothing her hair the best she could with the veil in place when Cameron came through the door and closed it behind him. Seeing him as the duke took her breath away all over again, but with the way he stared at her, she had to believe he was feeling the same way.

"You look so beautiful," he said. "I've imagined you this way for so long, and . . . now I hardly know what to do . . . what to say."

Abbi could only smile, feeling much the same. Except she had to admit, "I _never_ imagined you this way."

"I warned you about becoming involved with me," he said facetiously, but with something grim in his eyes. Before she could comment, he added, "Forgive me for being so long. Our guests have arrived and they're waiting."

Abbi took a deep breath and held out her hand. "I'm ready," she said, sensing a distinct tension between them.

Cameron took hold of it and placed a gentle kiss there. "Are you all right, my love?" he asked, vulnerability showing in his eyes.

"Yes," she replied, squeezing his hand with reassurance. "I'm just feeling . . . overcome. We need to talk."

"I know, and we will. But it will have to wait."

Abbi smiled again to try and let him know it was all right, but he still seemed tense.

"And what of you?" she asked. "You seem distressed."

"So much has changed," he whispered. "I need to know that you feel the same for me."

"Cameron . . . my love." She pressed her hand against his face and whispered with conviction, "I love you." He turned his lips to kiss her palm as he closed his eyes and sighed. "I love you," she repeated, "and I always will."

"Come," he smiled, more relaxed, "we'll talk later."

When he opened the door, several officers waiting in the hall came to attention immediately, startling Abbi. "At ease, gentlemen," Cameron said and walked past them, keeping hold of Abbi's arm.

They followed at a comfortable distance that at least made her feel that she could talk with her husband and not be overheard. "Please don't tell me that men in uniform are going to shadow my every step for the rest of my life."

Cameron smiled. "Of course not. This is a temporary precaution until after the trial. And until Nikolaus knows where he stands."

Abbi didn't want to talk about that, but the conversation ended when they came to the head of a staircase which descended into a huge room that had been set up for an elaborate feast. Many people were standing about chatting, and Abbi recalled watching Nikolaus descend this very staircase with his sisters. _Cameron's_ sisters, she reminded herself. She felt a fresh quiver at the thought of Cameron and Nikolaus being brothers.

The officers flanked the top of the staircase and they all seemed to be waiting for something. While she and Cameron hovered in the hallway where they couldn't be seen, she took the opportunity to say, "I know this is probably a stupid question, and I think you already said as much, but . . . are you older than Nikolaus or--"

"Quite," he said with a firm edge to his voice. She let that settle in. Cameron was the firstborn son, the rightful heir.

"Here's another stupid question. Were you--"

"If you want to understand something, Abbi, it's not a stupid question."

"All right. Were you actually serving in this position when you . . . were arrested?"

"Yes," he drawled.

"Gwendolyn was . . ."

"The duchess, yes." He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes, not seeming the least bit impatient. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

Abbi smiled weakly. "It's nice to be able to ask you any question and know you'll answer it, but . . . I can't think of anything else at the moment."

Cameron kissed her meekly. "I love you, Abbi girl." He took her hand and set it over the top of his, as he had done earlier.

"I'm nervous," she admitted as they moved to the top of the stairway.

"Just be yourself. This is your wedding celebration, not some royal forum."

Abbi wondered what they were waiting for. Then the music stopped and all conversation ceased as every eye turned toward them. "May I present," Cameron called, "my wife, the Duchess of Horstberg."

Amidst cheers and applause, Abbi descended on Cameron's arm. She was grateful when he escorted her directly to one of the many huge tables that were set up around the perimeter of the room. She was hungry and not much in the mood to socialize. Once she and Cameron were seated, everyone followed suit. Abbi had never seen such an elaborate feast, and she wondered how Marta had pulled it off since the castle servants couldn't have been informed until yesterday.

After the meal, champagne was served and Cameron stood to offer a formal toast. "To the duchess, my wife," he smiled lovingly at her. "The woman whose patience and determination gave me the strength and motivation to bring all of this to pass." Everyone drank and he continued, "To a long and peaceful reign." The guests responded with jubilance, and Abbi realized that their wedding day symbolized a new beginning for all of Horstberg. She never would have dreamed!

After the meal was finished, Cameron escorted Abbi to the foot of the stairs where they would receive their guests. She felt a little more at ease when they were first approached by the Princesses du Woernig. Cameron looked playfully smug as he said to Abbi, "I believe you know my sisters."

"I do indeed." Abbi smiled as they took her hands.

They spoke for a few minutes of the astounding coincidences, and Abbi was given a brief version of how badly Cameron had scared them by returning from the dead. They promised to talk more later, and Abbi had to admit that knowing Magda and Lena would be living under the same roof made the changes in her life a little less intimidating.

Abbi felt relatively indifferent to most of the people she met, or people she knew that she introduced to Cameron; some they both already knew. But dread tightened her stomach when she saw her aunts approach. She feared Ramona's reaction especially, since Abbi had certainly not done well by her stepson. She introduced them to Cameron and felt him tighten his arm around her, as if he understood her concern.

"I believe we have met before," Cameron said as he took Ramona's hand. "But it has been a long time." He let out a tense chuckle. "Shall we only meet at weddings?"

"I hope no more of yours," Ramona said, clearly in awe of him, "I do hope." There was an awkward moment of silence before she added, "I never really believed that you killed her. I never did."

"Thank you," Cameron said.

While Abbi was trying to figure their possible connection, Salina eased the tension by giving Abbi an exuberant hug. "This is so exciting," she chirped.

"Exciting," Ramona joined in, as if the somber words exchanged between her and Cameron had not occurred. "Yes, exciting."

"Then you're not upset?" Abbi asked outright.

"I suppose," Ramona said, "that your being the duchess can compensate for not having you married to Lance. I believe he will get over it. Yes, I believe he will."

Salina turned to her sister in surprise. "Do you really think so?"

"Do you want me to repeat it?" Ramona quipped smugly.

Salina shrugged and turned to Abbi. "We are both very happy for you, my dear." She winked and laughed softly. "My, but you are a clever thing. All the scheming you must have done."

"I'm afraid the scheming was my fault," Cameron said. He offered a few more pleasantries before gallantly thanking them for coming and for taking such good care of his wife.

"What was that all about?" Abbi whispered when they were gone. "Your conversation with Ramona?"

"Later," Cameron said under his breath, and then he smiled diplomatically as more of his acquaintances approached them. It was astonishingly evident that he knew most, if not all, of the people who had come to see Lance get married.

The last guests to be received were Georg and Elsa. While Abbi and Elsa shared a firm embrace, Cameron and Georg did the same. Abbi's heart quickened as Georg got a good look at Cameron's face and asked, "What happened?"

Her alarm increased at the evidence of how the question bristled Cameron. He glanced around casually to make certain no one was within hearing range. He looked at her with a clear indication that he would prefer she not be privy to this conversation, but she glared at him with a silent declaration that told him she had a right to know. He sighed and looked in the other direction as he said, "I've got six officers and five committee members in the keep. Once the trial is over and Nikolaus is taken care of, we'll let them go."

"What happened?" Georg repeated, his voice deeper.

"I was only alone for a few minutes," Cameron said. "It was a simple oversight."

"That almost got you killed?" Georg countered in a hot whisper, and Abbi instinctively reached for Elsa's hand, relieved to find that they shared the same alarm.

"They were taking me to the keep, presumably until Nik returned. But we both know what that would mean. Joerger saved me when he arrived with the brigade, not a moment too soon. But it got ugly."

"How ugly?" Georg demanded.

Cameron blew out a harsh breath. "Seven wounded."

"Including you?"

"No, not including me. I'm fine," Cameron insisted. "Joerger says I'm not taking a step outside of my bedroom without multiple escorts until this is settled."

"That's why we keep him around," Georg said.

Cameron turned to look at Abbi and touched her face, as if he could pull away her worry. "It's over now," he said. "Everything's all right."

Abbi forced a smile. Until Nikolaus was behind bars, she couldn't accept that it was over.

Cameron's voice lightened as he added, "I hope you don't mind, Abbi my darling, but I'm going to take Georg away from his present employment."

Abbi smiled, relieved by the change of topic. "Since it would be impossible for me to live without Elsa, I naturally assumed that Georg has to live here, too."

"That's right," Cameron said. "Georg will be with me from now on. I need him." Georg smiled and Cameron added, "I think it's about time we got on with the festivities. Don't you think, my love?"

"Yes of course," Abbi replied with some trepidation, wondering what exactly that might entail.

Cameron gave her a smile that was warmly familiar and led her to the center of the floor, where they began to dance while Abbi again held the train of her gown over her arm. Just as in the market square, they were the only ones dancing as everyone else watched--except that this was an entirely different group of people than the commoners who had gathered in the streets. She estimated that better than fifty officers of the Guard lined the edges of the room, flanking the doors, even mingling among the guests with cautious eyes. Abbi blocked out her surroundings and looked into Cameron's eyes, at the same time feeling his arm tighten around her. There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions she needed answered. Her frustration deepened when he whispered close to her face, "I want to be with you alone."

"I too," she replied, comforted to know that they were feeling the same way.

"Welcome to the diplomatic world." He smiled as if he didn't really mind, and Abbi realized he'd known it would be like this, even as he'd worked hard to reclaim his position. "We will be alone soon, I promise." He smiled and added, "The duke can do just about anything he wants."

"And the duchess?"

"The duchess rules the duke, of course . . . by keeping me a prisoner of your heart." He grinned, and Abbi enjoyed seeing the Cameron she was accustomed to, but she suddenly felt a little lightheaded.

"What's wrong?" he asked, easing their dance to a graceful halt.

"Just . . . tired all of a sudden. I didn't get much sleep last night. I need to rest, I think."

Cameron lifted a hand and the music stopped. He turned to their guests and said, "The duchess is not feeling well. You must excuse us; her condition, you understand." He smiled freely and got laughter in response.

Abbi felt such relief in being able to admit publicly that she was pregnant, no longer needing to hide it or feel shame in wondering what people would think if her marriage hadn't been made public. She appreciated Cameron's insight in announcing the private wedding and the pregnancy. There would be no reason for people to speculate on why the duke's first child was born so soon. Gossip could not start from common knowledge of the situation.

"Continue with the festivities if you like," Cameron said and ushered Abbi toward the stairs. "Stay all night. I don't care," he added and laughed easily, turning to escort his wife toward their rooms. Eight uniformed men followed. Abbi understood the reasons now for such a precaution. Cameron had said he'd only been alone for a few minutes, right here in the castle. He'd almost gone to prison. Men had been wounded. The full meaning of his military protection settled into her. Cameron du Woernig was invaluable to the people of Horstberg. The evidence of such devotion was as comforting as it was disconcerting. But Abbi was grateful to know that men who days ago would have been obligated to hunt down this man and arrest him were now willing to defend him with their lives.

Cameron opened the bedroom door for her, then said quietly, "I need to take care of something quickly. I won't be long." He walked away before Abbi could think of any protest.

Elsa was there waiting to help her, and the room looked much better. Her first impulse was to seek out the comfort of her close companion and dear friend. She hugged Elsa tightly and felt reluctant to let go, grateful beyond words to know that she would remain near Abbi's side. Elsa represented something constant and firm in her life, when everything else had become so foreign.

Abbi sat on the bed to remove her shoes, wondering if her feet had ever ached so much. Elsa seemed to sense the need for normalcy and chattered as she bustled around the room, seemingly untired despite her own pregnancy. She admitted to being in awe of the changes in both their lives. But all the things that felt frightening and uncertain to Abbi were apparently a thrill to Elsa. She reverently lifted the crown from Abbi's head and set it on the bureau. The veil she hung over the back of a chair.

"Georg and I went back to the house and packed most of your things," she said, motioning to some trunks sitting open in a corner. She began digging in one of them. "Perhaps I should find what you'll need, and then I can finish unpacking tomorrow."

Again Abbi felt unsettled. She had assumed that Cameron would move into Albrecht House following the wedding. Leaving her home was something she'd never considered. But she had told Cameron she'd leave the country with him if it became necessary. She didn't question her commitment; she just had to get used to what it entailed.

While Elsa rummaged through one of the trunks, Abbi opened the other to see her neatly folded nightclothes. And there on top of them were the three sealed envelopes she'd kept hidden in her drawer. The two from her father, and the one Cameron had given her in case he hadn't made it to the wedding.

Abbi picked it up as if it might burn her. Knowing what she knew now, just holding it made her tremble. But she had to read what he'd written. She broke the seal just as Elsa pushed all of Abbi's hair over her shoulder and began unbuttoning the back of her gown. Abbi eased one arm out, then the other, taking the letter out of the envelope in between. She shivered involuntarily as she wondered how this moment might have felt if Cameron had not survived. The elaborate dress rustled to the floor and she stepped out of it to stand in her chemise and petticoats while she read what he had written.

_Let it be known that I, Cameron du Woernig, do hereby bequeath all that is mine to my unborn child of Abilee Albrecht du Woernig. Said child shall be entitled to all that I claim as the rightful heir of the Duchy of Horstberg_.

His signature was clear, as well as those of two witnesses. It was dated the same day as their private wedding with the Bishop, after he'd come down from the mountain. He'd written this long before he'd given it to her. Tears filled Abbi's eyes as she realized her child was a royal heir. But there was still so much she didn't understand.

Elsa untied her huge petticoats from behind, saying, "Are you all right?"

"Just a little . . ."

The door opened and the letter slipped from her hand, floating to the floor. Cameron entered the room smiling, but his expression turned to worry when he met Abbi's face.

"What's the matter?" he asked, moving toward her.

"Thank you, Elsa," Abbi said. "I can manage now."

"Ring if you need me," Elsa said, and slipped out of the room.

Abbi watched Cameron as he bent to pick up the letter, looking at it with regret. "It doesn't matter anymore," he said.

"I know . . . but, why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why should I not have shown it to anyone?"

"Sit down, Abbi. There's something I need to tell you."

Abbi loosened the petticoats and stepped out of them. She grabbed a wrapper that Elsa had left nearby and tied it over her underclothing. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she watched Cameron pace slowly in front of her.

"Abbi, I want you to know that a long time ago I realized you were an answer to my prayers in the respect that . . . if I didn't survive this, I . . ."

When he fumbled she asked, "Is it so difficult?"

"Yes. I don't know how to say this without sounding . . . callous or unfeeling."

"Just say it. You can apologize for being callous later."

Cameron sighed. "When you had the dream, Abbi . . . of a son with red hair, I felt as if it were a message to me. If I were dead, Abbi, I would still have a legitimate heir. When everything was made legal, I knew that no matter what happened to me, there would be someone to carry on my name and . . . my obligations."

"I . . . don't understand."

"Abbi, even if I were dead, my son could be the means for good people to take the country back from Nikolaus, to save Horstberg from his tyranny. I wanted my son to inherit all that should have been mine. But if Nikolaus had ever discovered that this was my child . . ." He stopped and she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing both hands over her belly. "None of that matters now," he added gently.

"I know," she whispered.

"I'm sorry I was so long," he said, throwing the letter carelessly to the bed. "Now that I'm here, there is so much to take care of."

"I understand," she said, watching as Cameron removed his crown. He held it, pondering the curves with his fingers.

A memory caught Abbi off guard, but she felt compelled to share it. "I held Nikolaus's crown once."

Cameron looked at her aghast. He couldn't begin to fathom how such a thing would ever happen. The protocol related to the crown showed great respect to its symbolism. It was not to be handled by anyone except those who wore them, and their closest servants who would care for them.

Abbi took in her husband's implacable expression and wondered how to explain why she suddenly felt like giggling. She bit her lip and looked down to hide her smile. But a spurt of laughter forced its way out.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," she said and laughed again. "It's just . . . looking back now . . . it seems . . . funny. Or maybe it's not, but . . ." She laughed again.

Cameron said with no humor. "Abbi, I think this day has driven you mad with hysteria. Just tell me."

"That's likely true," she said and forced sobriety. "Nikolaus and I were alone. He bent over to pick something up, and the crown fell on the floor."

Cameron actually winced at the image. The crown was _never_ supposed to touch the floor; it would be considered defiled.

"I picked it up," Abbi said. "And I told him he mustn't lose it."

Cameron's eyes widened, and a chill rushed over his shoulders.

"And I think I told him he should have the size adjusted so that it would fit better."

Cameron thought about that for a second and then laughed. "That _is_ funny. A bit . . . eerie, but funny. If he'd only known you would be the means to dethrone him."

"Not me," she said firmly.

"Oh, yes," he said. "Without you I would either be dead or rotting in self pity."

Abbi couldn't respond. All humor fled with the enormity of the present, and everything that had led up to it. Cameron placed the crown carefully in the velvet lined box lying open on the bureau, next to hers.

"Would you mind?" he asked, indicating she help him with the robe that was attached to his shoulders. "My valet is busy elsewhere. I assured him that I could manage."

"Of course." She stood and reached up to help him remove it. Holding the huge piece of rich, red fabric in her hands, she was startled by its heaviness. She considered its texture, unlike any fabric she'd ever felt before. And she was struck by its symbolism. A stark reality descended as her mind went back to the moment earlier today when she had learned the truth. _Cameron was the Duke of Horstberg_. The hours since had been filled with a month's worth of events and emotions, hardly giving her a chance to fully digest what this meant. She felt stunned and found it difficult to breathe. Watching him now was like standing in the center of one of her dreams, feeling lost and uncertain of what it meant.

Cameron sat down to remove his boots but couldn't find the motivation to do it. He considered the silence between them, and felt distinctly uneasy. He studied her expression. She seemed dazed and lost, standing there holding his robe as if it were spun from gold.

"Abbi," he said and startled her. Her eyes focused on him with the same kind of awe before she glanced away as if he frightened her. He tried not to feel angry as he said, "You're behaving differently, Abbi."

She laughed with no humor. "Everything is different."

"No," he insisted, "not _everything."_

Abbi didn't want to speak her deepest feelings, but knew she had to. "I . . . I don't even know you," she said, concentrating on the robe in her hands to avoid looking at him. "It's like . . . you've been hiding behind some extraordinary mask, and now that it's gone, I . . . I don't even know who you are."

"I'm Cameron," he said, erupting to his feet. He grabbed the robe out of her hands _. "This_ is the mask, Abbi." He tossed the robe with loathing. "All my life I've had to hide behind it, never fully understanding who I really was, never believing I was entitled to any personal happiness. When that mask was torn away, I became _nothing_. But you changed that, Abbi. You showed me who I _really_ am."

"But . . ." she looked into his eyes, still unable to believe it, "you are the Duke of Horstberg."

"Not to you!" His voice wasn't loud, but Abbi still winced. "I'm a man, Abbi; only a man." He took her hands and pressed them to his face. "I'm the same man you loved yesterday. My blood is still the same color. My heart still beats. I _have_ to be the Duke of Horstberg in front of the country. It's who I am. It's in my blood. But I will _not_ wear that mask with you. I will _not!"_ His voice softened as he added, "There are only two people in this world who know the _real_ me, Abbi. You and Georg. And I'm not married to him! My sisters love and accept me, but they were raised to see me as a monarch first. I thank God every day that He allowed you to love the man first, Abbi, so I will _never_ have to wonder if the mask I wear has anything to do with your reasons for loving _me."_

Abbi looked up into his eyes. There was so much she wanted to say, but her voice was stuck behind the knot in her throat. When she started to cry, she wanted to press her face to his chest as she'd done a thousand times. Except now the front of his uniform was covered with symbols of his power, preventing her from being as close to him as she wanted to be.

"Forgive me, Abbi," he said. "I know this is most difficult for you."

"No," she said, "you're safe, and we're together, and . . ." He wiped at her tears. "I'm certain I will adjust to all of this with time."

In an effort to aid that adjustment, she pressed her hands over the ornamental regalia on his chest. "What do they mean?" she asked, noting there were dozens of them, pinned close together, a grand variety of color and design. She wondered if the valet was responsible for putting them all meticulously in place.

Cameron felt disoriented by the question, or perhaps it was more trying to place the answer into his relationship with Abbi. "Um . . . nothing terribly important."

"They certainly _look_ important," she said. "They must mean something. Nikolaus and Lance wear them, but not nearly so many."

The comparison struck a nerve for Cameron, at least in relation to Nikolaus. "Each one represents some level of military or political training or accomplishment. Some were presented as awards. Most were earned. What Nikolaus wears is for show." She looked puzzled and he was pleased to be able to express such feelings aloud after holding them inside for so long. "I earned this country, Abbi. Nikolaus stole it. For as long as I can remember, I was trained and prepared for this. Of course I was allowed a social life and free time, but Nikolaus had little _but_ free time. _Nothing_ was expected of him. I worked night and day to keep this country secure and prosperous. He took it from me without blinking, and then he let it rot. I can only imagine his diabolical laughter when he was told I'd been arrested. It probably took him about ten minutes to put on the crown and pull up a chair in the ducal office. It's like taking a vagrant off the streets and asking him to grow a crop when he's never touched a plow."

Abbi felt the pain in his words, and her own struggles with this adjustment took on perspective. She touched his face, intrigued with the absence of his beard. "And now you have earned your country again."

"With any luck, I'll get to keep it," he said intensely.

Abbi considered what little she knew, wondering how they might ever feel safe from his brother. She hesitated to open the subject but felt she had to say, "You told me that you had charged Nikolaus with treason. If he's arrested and found guilty, then what? Is it your intention to see him go before a firing squad?"

"No!" he said firmly. "My only wish is to bring attention to his misdeeds enough to see that he never has control again in this country. I will grant him clemency if needs be, or he may be required to leave the country. It is not vengeance I seek, Abbi, but justice. His crimes cannot be tolerated, but I do not wish to see him harmed. He is my brother."

Once again silence fell and tension gathered. Hating the formality between them, Abbi took it upon herself to unfasten the hooks down the front of his coat. When it was hanging open she pressed her hands over the white shirt covering his chest. "So, you are hiding under here," she said lightly, but he didn't comment. 
Chapter Twenty-Five

THE VALUE OF A DUCHESS

Abbi wondered if Cameron felt as disoriented as she did, coming back into this world after being gone for four years. She wanted to find some common ground in their feelings, but couldn't think of anything to say. He slipped off the coat of his uniform and turned to put it over the back of a chair.

"Good heavens!" she gasped, seeing a deep red stain on the side of his shirt. "What happened?" she demanded, and he looked down to see the source of her concern.

"It's nothing," he said nonchalantly. "What happened earlier . . . it broke the wound open; that's all."

"That's _all?"_ she echoed and pushed his braces over his shoulders. She saw his eyes become timid, almost frightened, while she unbuttoned his shirt. She wondered why until she pushed the shirt away and gasped again. His chest and torso were covered with bruises. The wound she had bandaged the previous evening had been haphazardly wrapped again with thick pads of gauze that were completely soaked with blood. "This is why you were late," she said. He nodded but wouldn't look at her. He looked a little pale. She took hold of his arms to guide him to a chair. "Cameron, you're trembling!"

Cameron felt heady as Abbi's words brought back the most horrific event of the day. Her attention to the evidence spurred some kind of delayed reaction to the fear he hadn't had the luxury to feel at the time. He slumped onto the chair and lowered his head into his hands, groaning, almost afraid he might lose consciousness as it became difficult to draw breath.

"Cameron, what is it?" she asked, kneeling beside him, pressing her hands to his shoulders. "Are you in pain?"

"Yes. No. I mean . . . no more than I have been since it . . . happened. I'm fine."

"That's what you said to Georg. Obviously you're not fine. You're shaking. You're pale. What's wrong?"

He lowered his head further and groaned again. "No, I'm not fine," he admitted and clutched onto her. "Oh, Abbi. I thought it was over. I didn't feel that scared when I was arrested four years ago." He struggled to breathe. "They were taking me to the keep. Just the thought of going back in there made me so sick I thought I was going to throw up, right there in the hall. I wanted to get my hands on one of their weapons; not to defend myself, but to keep from having to go back there."

She knelt directly in front of him and wrapped him in her arms. He held her tightly and pressed the side of his face to her chest. He could hear her heart beating, feel her breathing. "I thought I would never see you again," he muttered. "I imagined you being married to him, sharing with him everything that is most precious to me. I was praying that you would forgive me for letting you down when we had come so far, when you had given so much to me." He fought to catch his breath enough to go on. "When Joerger showed up with six men, I almost passed out from relief. Then the fight started, and I thought they were going to kill me. I heard somebody shout that they wanted me alive, but they seemed intent on punishing me for _something._ More officers showed up, and it was all under control in about thirty seconds. But it scared the hell out of me, Abbi." He groaned again and tightened his embrace. "Oh, I'm alive, Mrs. du Woernig. I'm alive. And we're together. I want to live, Abbi. I _need_ to live. I need to see your face every day, and hold you close, and we need to raise a family and grow old together."

Abbi wept as he spoke, holding his head tightly against her, silently thanking God for protecting him and seeing him safely into her arms. "We will," she whispered. "Everything's all right now."

"Yes, it is," he said, and his trembling ceased. A few minutes later he drew back and said, "Forgive me, Abbi."

"For what?"

"For everything I've put you through." He pressed his hands down her arms and back again. "You are my life. I would not be here without you. I only regret that it's been so difficult for you."

"I love you, Cameron. Nothing else matters." He made an emotional noise and she kissed him, but her attention was drawn to the blood-soaked gauze that needed to be changed. "We must take care of this," she said, and rang for a servant.

Bruna, one of the maids Abbi had barely met earlier, came through the door in less than a minute. While Abbi told her what she needed, an officer who had come in with her spoke quietly with Cameron. He'd apparently been waiting for an opportunity when he wouldn't disturb them. Even though he didn't even glance her direction, she was grateful to be more sufficiently covered than she might have been to call a female servant into the room. Once Bruna left, Abbi noticed the officer had a significant black eye, and she wondered if he'd been one of those who had helped save Cameron's life today. The two of them were still talking when Franz came to the room with the salve, disinfectant, and bandaging that Abbi had requested. The officer left just before Franz said, "Good heavens, sir. Are you all right?"

Cameron glanced down as if he'd just remembered he was bare from the waist up, minus the bandaging. "It's not as bad as it looks," he insisted. Abbi pulled her wrapper more tightly around her. She would need to adjust to having her husband's male servants coming in and out of her bedroom.

"Let me help with--"

"I can take care of it," Abbi interrupted. "Thank you, Franz." She took the things from him.

Franz gave Cameron a questioning gaze. "Thank you," he responded. "My good wife will help me." Wanting to be alone with Cameron, Abbi was relieved when Franz left the room.

Little was said between them as Cameron sat on the edge of the bed, and Abbi cared for the bullet wound that had been hideously disturbed earlier today. When that was taken care of, she took it on herself to gently rub salve everywhere that he was bruised. She sat behind him on the bed to administer to his back, and then she urged him to lie down so she could reach his chest and torso while she sat cross-legged beside him.

"You're so good to me," Cameron said and saw her smile, but he sensed her disquiet while she occasionally glanced around the room as if she were in a foreign country. The silence became uncomfortable, but all he could think to say was, "Talk to me, Abbi." She smiled timidly but still said nothing. He decided he would prefer some kind of outburst rather than this unbearable quiet. "You must tell me what you're feeling," he pleaded.

"I suppose I'm just . . . trying to get used to all of this," she admitted.

"That's understandable."

"I still can't believe it." She focused on her gentle attention to his bruises rather than meeting his eyes. "All this time . . . and I had no idea. Since I first met Nikolaus, I've been well aware that I am terribly naive and ignorant of life beyond my own little world." She laughed softly. "Perhaps that's what made me the perfect woman for you."

"That is the least of it, I can assure you."

Abbi sighed, grateful for a task to keep her hands busy while she mentally tried to catch up with her life. Her mind wandered through more than a year's worth of occurrences that had brought her to this moment. She thought of the dream that had initially led her to Cameron, and all that had transpired between them since. _It was all so impossible._

"Talk to me," he said again.

"I keep wondering how I might have felt if you'd told me the truth months ago. It must have been so difficult for you . . . not to talk about it."

"I wanted to tell you so badly, Abbi," he said, "but I was more concerned for your safety than your feelings, or mine. When I was accused and overthrown, Nikolaus made it clear that anyone associating with me--period--was to be arrested. There is nothing like genuine innocence when it comes to being questioned by people who are trained to look into a person's eyes and find the truth."

Abbi's confusion showed in her face. Cameron sighed and resigned himself to telling her things that had haunted him since he'd first dared admit that he loved her.

"Abbi, listen to me. I know this operation like the back of my hand. There are people who used to work for _me,_ who know how to get people to talk. When it comes to dealing with criminals and fanatics with evil motives, such methods are necessary. But until today, those people were working for my brother. Whenever I was tempted to tell you the truth--and I was tempted practically every day--I would imagine you looking into their eyes and saying with complete confidence that you knew absolutely nothing about the man you loved; you didn't know what he was guilty of, you didn't even know his name. Because if I had failed, _anyone_ who could be connected to me would have been lined up and executed."

She stopped her massaging and he took her hand. "I once saw a woman executed for treason. She was evil and wicked, and the punishment equaled the crime. But still, I will never forget watching her fall when that bullet hit her. That's exactly why it was so difficult to let myself get involved with you in the first place. I feared that your love for me could end up costing you your life. Then I realized that I would never make it back without you, and I knew in my heart that God had sent you to me. Still, I considered your naiveté a great blessing, and I was willing to keep you naive for as long as I possibly could." Cameron leaned up on one elbow and touched her face gently in an effort to soften the horrors of what he'd just told her. "Do you think I was wrong, Abbi, to keep it from you? Should I have told you from the start who I really was?"

Abbi shook her head. "No, Cameron, I think you did the right thing. Truthfully, I'm grateful I didn't know. If I had known all this time the full extent of the situation . . . of the danger you were in, I think I would have lost my mind. I'm just grateful that we're all alive and it's in the past."

"Amen," he whispered and sat beside her, pressing a kiss to her brow. And then her lips. Abbi was just getting caught up in the familiar passion of his kiss when a clock chimed and he turned to look at it.

"Good heavens," he said. "I've got to go. Georg will be waiting for me."

"Where are you going?"

"We have to get your father--tonight."

"My father?"

Cameron started changing his clothes while they talked. "Your father is the man who can prove I didn't kill Gwen."

_"My father?"_ she said again. "Is that why he's been kept guarded all this time?"

"Truthfully, we don't know the whole situation. There must be more to it than that. The only thing I know and care about is that he can absolutely testify to my innocence. I need him in the courtroom tomorrow morning, or all is lost."

Abbi's mind went wild with trying to put the pieces together. One point stood out. "You told me you worked with him."

"That's right. He was my valet."

Abbi made a dubious noise. "My father was the duke's _valet?_ And he never told me?"

"You said yourself that the two of you weren't close."

"No, we weren't, but--"

"He didn't want his family to know. His father would have considered it a demeaning profession."

"You were close, then," she said, considering the depth of such knowledge.

"Yes, very. He loved his work, and he took excellent care of me." Cameron dressed in clothes that were more familiar to Abbi as he continued to explain. "He was loyal and committed. He became a great support to me. Ironically, almost like a father. What started out as casual chitchat during the times when he was assisting me, gradually evolved into long conversations. He was wise and insightful and helped guide me through many challenges." Cameron paused to touch Abbi's face, saying with tenderness, "You are so much like him. When I realized you were his daughter, I truly had to accept that God's hand was in my life."

He kissed her quickly and resumed his efforts to get dressed. "As I understand it, not long after your mother died, Gerhard came to work at the castle. He gradually worked his way to the top."

"The top?"

"That's right." He stated with matter-of-fact humility, "The personal servants to the duke and duchess are the highest paid, and carry the most prestige among the hundreds of people who are employed here." Abbi felt a little stunned in relation to her father, and also in thinking of what this meant for Elsa. _Hundreds_ employed here? Would she ever get used to this? Cameron gave her one more layer of amazement as he added, "They are the ones who care for the crowns--both figuratively and literally. Elsa has already been versed in the proper protocol of her position."

"I see," she said while Cameron buttoned his shirt. "And when will the duchess be versed in the proper protocol of _her_ position?"

He smiled as if he found the question amusing, but she couldn't see the humor. "All in good time, Your Grace."

Not liking that topic, she said, "You were telling me how my father became involved in all of this."

"Gerhard heard rumor among the servants that Gwen was dabbling in something that bordered on treason; he didn't know what. Our marriage was a disaster, but I certainly didn't want her getting into some kind of trouble. He offered to keep a discreet eye on her. Then she was killed. I'd been on the mountain for two years before Georg was able to find out for certain that Gerhard knew something relating to Gwen's murder. That's all we know. We've tried desperately to reach him, but as you know he is heavily guarded, and messages are not received. When he saw you wearing the bracelet, which let him know I was alive, he found a way to get word to Georg. The man who risked so much to make that contact is the one who couldn't help us last night because he was ill." He looked at her intently. "His wife made the lace Georg gave you yesterday."

Abbi sighed as the pieces came together. "Where _is_ my father?"

"I don't even know," Cameron said. "But I have officers who do. And now that they won't have to fear being executed for treason to help me, we'll just go and get him." He sighed and threw his cloak around his shoulders. "The whole thing has been so complicated, it's difficult to believe that what I have to do now is so simple." He chuckled. "It's good you didn't realize you were aiding a revolution."

She groaned. "Yes, I think that's very good. But I have a question. Did the fire in town last night have something to do with this?"

Cameron chuckled again. "One of our revolutionaries donated his barn to the cause, and then we had false robberies reported to distract the Guard while we took the castle. There wasn't as much of a fight as I had anticipated, thanks to Georg, who had it all mapped out very carefully. He's been planning this since the night he got me out of prison . . . making contacts with the right people and so on. I couldn't have done any of this without him."

"Where would _either_ of us be without him?"

"I shudder to think." He took her hands into his and kissed her gently. "I must go."

"I wish I could come with you," she said, fearing any separation after all they'd been through.

"I won't be long," he said. "I've been told it's less than an hour's ride, there and back. And the minute that trial is over tomorrow, you and I are leaving."

"Leaving? Where?"

"A honeymoon, of course," he said with a little grin, and Abbi laughed. The thought of being alone with him away from here seemed heavenly. "I figured we could use some time together to adjust to all of this."

"I couldn't agree more," she said. Cameron kissed her once again and moved toward the door. "Do hurry and be . . ."

"Careful," he finished with a smile. "Always. And you." He pointed a finger at her. "Don't leave for any reason. Until Nikolaus is under control, I'm not taking any chances. Now, get some rest; it's been a long day."

The minute Cameron left, Abbi felt the evidence of just how long the day had been. She rang for Elsa and slumped into a chair, shaking her head to think of the reality. _She was the Duchess of Horstberg_.

Twelve uniformed men and an empty horse rode quickly through the black night. Cameron and Georg wore dark cloaks, riding among them. Two officers had remained at a rendezvous point a short distance from the castle, where they would wait with instructions on what to do in case the others didn't return within the specified time. The heavily guarded lodge that served as Gerhard Albrecht's prison wasn't difficult to locate. Cameron and Georg remained quietly in the trees while four officers went into the lodge and walked back out with Gerhard in less than five minutes.

Indescribable relief washed over Cameron to see for himself that Gerhard was alive and well. He sighed and heard Georg laugh softly just before he whispered, "We're almost home free."

"What's going on?" Cameron heard Gerhard demand as he was escorted to a clearing in the trees where the horses were waiting.

"His Grace wishes to speak to you," an officer retorted and Cameron chuckled.

"I have nothing to say to _him,"_ Gerhard countered.

"What's this?" Cameron asked, stepping toward him. "After all these years, I thought you'd be glad to see me."

Gerhard's stunned expression quickly merged into an eruption of laughter. "I don't believe it!" he exclaimed, and they shared a firm embrace. He pulled back with tears in his eyes and looked into Cameron's face _. "His Grace?"_ Gerhard asked. Then he laughed again. "Does this mean that you've taken it back?"

"I have, but I won't be keeping it unless you can prove that I deserve it."

Gerhard laughed again. "That will not be a problem."

"Good, we have a courtroom appointment in the morning."

Gerhard slapped Cameron lightly on the shoulder. "You've changed, my boy. What have you been up to?"

It amazed Cameron to look at this man he'd known so well and see the striking resemblance to Abbi. "Oh, nothing much," he said with light sarcasm. "Inciting a revolution, overthrowing a duchy. Trivial things like that. And I got married today."

"Really?" Gerhard lifted his brows expectantly. "Who's the lucky princess?"

Cameron glanced slyly at Georg and said, "It's Abbi."

Gerhard's serene smile held no surprise at all. "Didn't I tell you, boy? If you'd have listened to me back then you'd--"

"I knew you'd say that, _Father."_ Cameron chuckled. "But we'd better get moving. We can catch up on the way."

"Spoken like a king," Gerhard said lightly. They mounted and Gerhard rode between Cameron and Georg, with officers leading the way and taking up the rear.

"So, you've married my daughter," Gerhard said. "Do you love her?"

"More than life," Cameron replied. "And you should know . . . you're going to have a grandchild."

Gerhard chuckled. "And a royal one at that. You're pretty fast, aren't you, son. But then, I've already figured that it was you she stayed with last winter. I sensed she had fallen in love, and well . . . putting two and two together . . ." He chuckled. "My instincts were right, were they not?"

"Yes, they were," Cameron replied. "It's destiny, I believe. Speaking of destiny, how did you manage to stay alive all these years if Nikolaus knew you could prove my innocence? I'm assuming he knew."

"Oh, yes." Gerhard's gravity chilled Cameron. "I managed in the hours before I was arrested to make up documents stating in detail what I'd seen, and with enough evidence to back it up. I made four copies and gave them, sealed, to four different people with instructions not to open them as long as I remained alive. As far as Nikolaus knew, my regular visits with four different people were only links in a chain of several people who had careful instructions to keep those documents sealed as long as I stayed alive. He had marvelous incentive to keep me safe, and he could never possibly track down the connections enough to put any of those people in danger."

"Very clever," Cameron said.

"So I thought," Gerhard's voice became acrid. "Then you ended up dead. My plan was to stay safe long enough to get us both in a courtroom. I didn't know it was going to take four years. Believing you were gone, I thought I was stuck in this for the rest of my life. I finally reached a point where I was sick to death of living like this, and ready to just give it up for the sake of Horstberg and find a way to expose the truth. Then Nikolaus pulled his trump card." Gerhard's voice picked up an edge that bristled Cameron. "The degenerate came to pay me a visit last summer, telling me in great detail of the time he'd spent with Abbi."

Cameron's fury burned inside of him. He'd barely known of her existence at the time, but the implications were revolting.

"If the tiniest leak of information came to his ears," Gerhard added, his voice quivering more with fright than anger, "Nikolaus made it clear that Abbi would be defiled, if not dead." He sighed. "I had given him incentive to keep me safe, and he had turned the tables, giving me great incentive to keep my mouth shut."

Cameron felt confused. "There must be more to it," he said. "If you and Nikolaus both believed I was dead, then my innocence had no bearing on his position. Why would he care?"

"Your innocence is not the issue, my boy," he said, and Cameron loved the comfortable way they had reconnected so quickly. Gerhard knew well how to pay the proper respect when necessary, but also how to be a friend when it was needed.

"What _is_ the issue?" Cameron asked, wondering if Gerhard might have some leverage to help him keep Nikolaus on a leash.

Gerhard spoke with a cautious voice that prickled Cameron's nerves. "The issue is your brother's guilt."

_"What_ guilt?" Cameron asked, increasingly uneasy.

There was a dramatic hesitance in Gerhard's answer that let Cameron know he wasn't going to like it. "Nikolaus killed her." Gerhard exhaled sharply as if setting the words free allowed him to breathe again.

Cameron's chest began to burn and his head swam. He was grateful for a well-trained horse beneath him that kept moving at a steady gait. "No!" Cameron breathed, even as everything made such perfect sense that it sickened him.

"Oh, yes," Gerhard said. "I saw it with my own eyes."

Cameron was too shocked to do anything but exchange a sharp glance with Georg, seeing his own horror reflected in the eyes of his friend. "I can't believe it," Cameron finally said. "I knew he was a wretch. I've said myself that he would stop at nothing, but I didn't really believe he was capable of murder." One question burned through his throat. _"Why?_ Why would he do such a thing?"

Gerhard let out a heavy sigh before he forged into an explanation. "I was in the dressing room and overheard the argument between you and Gwen, then you left. When I heard her searching for something, I managed to slip behind the draperies in the bedroom, trying to see what she was after. Not two minutes later, Nikolaus came into the room. It was evident that . . ."

"What?" Cameron demanded when he hesitated.

"You're not going to like this, sir."

"You're going to tell me something worse than my brother killed my wife?" he snarled.

"He was the one."

Cameron didn't need to hear more to know what he meant. He'd known she was sleeping in other beds; she hadn't slept in _her husband's_ bed for a very long time. But to know that one of her dalliances had been his own brother left him increasingly sick. He wanted to scream and cry and break something. But most of all he wanted to have his hands around his brother's throat. And then it just had to get worse.

"You know there were many men," Gerhard said.

"Yes."

"I overheard a lengthy argument, sir. They had been involved off and on since before her marriage to you."

Cameron groaned and leaned forward, assaulted by physical pain. If they hadn't been surrounded by several officers, who were thankfully out of hearing range, he would have stopped long enough to throw some kind of childish tantrum right here and now.

Gerhard hurried on as if he wanted to get the explanation over with. "She got saucy with him, told him he couldn't get away with it."

"With what?"

"That's what I was waiting to hear. Apparently she had knowledge of something he'd done that would have been a threat to his position with a neighboring country. She plainly threatened blackmail, and then . . . then she said that she had no incentive to support him in his plan to see you undone through false accusations of treason when she would lose her position and some other woman would take it."

"Oh, help!" Cameron muttered and pulled the horse to an abrupt halt, bending over in an effort to get the blood back in his head. He felt exactly as he had earlier today with a gun at his back, being hauled off to the keep. He was vaguely aware of the officers all stopping while Georg motioned them back to allow comfortable space. Georg dismounted and came to his side, and Gerhard did the same. "I can't breathe," Cameron muttered as they helped him dismount and he immediately dropped to his knees. "I can't breathe," he repeated.

Georg talked him through taking a deep breath, and another. Then with the finesse that had earned him the position of Cameron's right-hand man for life, he said gently, "I know this is difficult, but we must hurry. If we don't return on time, the entire militia will be called out." Cameron tried to digest what he meant. They'd left two officers waiting. If they didn't come back, one of them would return and send out a mass reinforcement that could cause unnecessary chaos. He swallowed the pain and the horror and allowed Gerhard and Georg to help him to his feet. He nodded to indicate that he would be all right. He glanced around to see that the officers were circling him at a distance, remaining mounted, their backs turned. Still, they had to know he'd just crumbled. He cursed under his breath and got back in the saddle.

"Forgive me, Lieutenant," he said loudly. "Let's proceed."

Joerger called the order and they moved on in formation. As difficult as it was, Cameron needed more explanation from Gerhard. He needed to know what he was up against. He needed answers.

"Tell me the rest," he ordered.

"She told him she'd sent for you. She'd sent a message to the pub even before Nikolaus came to speak with her, knowing the messengers were slow and you would get it soon after you arrived. She told Nikolaus she intended to tell you everything if he didn't agree to her stipulations."

"What stipulations?" Cameron asked. "Did that come up?"

"It did. She wanted him to call off his betrothal and marry her once you were out of the way."

Cameron groaned but forced himself to remain steady. _He couldn't believe it!_ In all his endless speculations over what had created this disaster, he never would have imagined such evil and calculated plans against him. He felt so sick he wanted to throw up, and almost feared he might if he didn't keep his thoughts from wandering too deeply.

He attempted to clear up a point of confusion. "But he wasn't betrothed at the time."

"No, but he was in the process of working out a deal that included marriage," Gerhard said.

"Unbelievable," Georg muttered.

"That's when he killed her," Gerhard said, "with the knife that had been on your breakfast tray."

Cameron briefly squeezed his eyes closed. How clearly he remembered that knife; he'd pulled it out of her chest only a minute before he'd been caught with the blood on his hands.

Gerhard's voice became even more grave as the memories were plainly disturbing for him, as well. "I couldn't believe what I saw. I gasped before I even realized what had happened. Nikolaus realized I was there, and I thought I was as dead as Her Grace. Then he heard someone coming and slipped out through the hidden passageway. I went out the same way, hiding there for quite a while, but knew it was only a matter of time before Nikolaus caught up with me. You showed up a few minutes later, and . . . you know the rest."

Cameron's heart thudded painfully. _"What_ hidden passageway?" he demanded, passing a fearful glance toward Georg.

"It leads from your bedroom to the outside of the east wall. That's how he got out without anyone seeing him, and that's how I got out in time to--"

"Damn!" Cameron rumbled and increased his speed, knowing the others would follow. His _worst_ possible nightmares became thunderously real, reiterated by Gerhard's words screaming in his mind. _Nikolaus made it clear that Abbi would be defiled, if not dead._

After Abbi had eaten a fine supper that had been sent up from the kitchen, Elsa brushed through her hair, and they talked about the impact of this day. Elsa speculated over what the future might be like with all that had changed, but Abbi didn't even want to think about that. She only longed to be away from here with Cameron, as he'd promised they would be tomorrow.

While Abbi dressed for bed, Elsa unpacked more of her things. When she noticed the documents her father had given her, it was like a dagger going through her heart. Wanting to be alone, she dismissed Elsa and picked the papers up with trembling hands. She broke the seal and held her breath as she unfolded what she held. Her eyes went first to the date: 17 August 1813. She knew it well. The day Blaze was born. The day her father had delivered these papers into her hands. _The day Cameron had been arrested._

She scanned what he'd written. It was lengthy and complicated, and she had no desire to read the details of Gwendolyn's death. But there was no question as to what she was holding. Cameron's identity, Cameron's innocence, Cameron's right to all that was his--had been within her reach long before she'd even known him. What trouble could have been spared if they'd only known that she'd had this all along!

Deeply troubled by the irony, she hurried to refold the papers and put them away, but one question haunted her and she took them up again, looking only long enough to see who had committed the crime that Cameron had suffered for. "No!" she breathed, and shoved the papers in a drawer as if that might block out the full enormity of what this meant to Cameron. How would he ever be able to come to terms with this? After all he had suffered, all he had been through, how might he cope with learning that his brother was responsible? Thinking of the trial to take place in the morning, she dreaded the truth coming into the open in spite of knowing it was necessary in order for Cameron to remain free and safe.

Enticed by exhaustion, Abbi turned the lamp down low so that Cameron could see his way in when he returned. Then she crawled into the massive bed and tried to sleep, but her thoughts raced madly with fearful questions. Was that why Nikolaus had shown so much interest in her? Had he known she might be a link to her father's knowledge? Where was Cameron now? Where was Nikolaus? She prayed that Cameron's ploy to retrieve her father had been successful, and that she had not discovered this too late. At last her need for rest overcame her fears and she drifted into a disturbing sleep.

"Abbi, my sweet." A deep voice awakened her. She had every reason to believe it was Cameron, but when her eyes adjusted in the dim light, fear strangled her every nerve.

"Nikolaus!" she gasped before he put a hand over her mouth. Looking into his angry eyes, she knew how Gwendolyn must have felt in those last moments of her life. Was this the room where she had been killed? Her terror heightened when she realized he was lying beside her. Thankfully he was on top of the bedding and she was beneath it. She prayed that the barrier remained in place between them.

"I'm going to move my hand," he said, and she was startled to hear how much he sounded like Cameron. Beyond that, the physical resemblance was vague, but now that she knew they were brothers, she could see the evidence. "But if you so much as squeak above a whisper, you will sorely regret it. Do you understand me?"

Abbi nodded and he removed his hand. "How did you get in here?" she demanded quietly, wishing her voice hadn't sounded so afraid.

He only laughed close to her ear, and pressed his gloved fingers over her face. She attempted to retract, but he pulled her close to him with one hand, and continued caressing her with the other. "You truly are beautiful, Abbi," he murmured as if they were lovers. "Although, you must know it was not your beauty I wanted." He pressed a kiss to her throat and she squirmed, which made him chuckle. "That was just an added bonus," he whispered. "But how could I resist such a precious opportunity to put your father in his place? He's been a thorn in my side for _years."_ The malice in his voice reeked of evil. Then he laughed. "I will forever treasure the look on his face when I told him how thoroughly I had enjoyed your sweet kiss, and how pleasant our time together had been in my bedroom."

"Pleasant for whom?" she countered hotly.

"Now, Abbi," he muttered, "you know you enjoyed the way I kissed you."

"That was before I realized what a depraved monster you are."

He laughed. "Depraved, perhaps," he said as if it were a great accolade. "But I resent monster."

_"Demon_ then," she spat and he laughed again. He resumed his gentle caress of her face and she stiffened, far preferring his verbal assaults. Again he kissed her throat and she pushed her fists against his chest, attempting to put some distance between them. But he only held her more tightly, almost painfully.

"Oh, Abbi," he murmured, "you're . . . breathless . . . and flushed. You can't imagine how thrilled I am to know I still have that effect on you." Before she could utter a retort fitting of her thoughts, he added, "Who would have dreamed that my brother was hiding you away all this time, making a woman out of you? And now that you're not so naive, perhaps we could finish what we once started."

"I would rather die," she hissed.

"That _is_ an option," he said as if he'd told her he loved her. "But perhaps you should not make such hasty wishes, my sweet. You must think of Cameron. Would he prefer you living, or tainted? Or maybe once you give birth to his son, he wouldn't care." He pressed his hand into her hair and she wanted to scream. "Oh, my sweet Abbi," he touched his lips to her face as he spoke, "do you have any idea how _valuable_ you are? If the child you carry is male, he could dethrone me simply by his existence."

"You've already been dethroned," she snarled, and he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes.

"But that's where your true value lies, my sweet. Don't you see? Will he choose you, or his country?"

"I pray to God he chooses his country."

"How _noble_ of you!" he said with mocking admiration, then he lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "Give me what I want, Abbi, and I will let him keep my throne."

"It's not your throne to give," she said, proud of herself for sounding brave when she was so thoroughly terrified.

"You know _nothing_ of my power to give or take!" He tightened his arm around her, as well as his hand holding her hair. "Give me what I want and I'll let him keep the country."

"I might actually consider it if I remotely believed you would keep your end of the bargain. But I know you better than that. You'll take what you want whether you have any right to it or not."

He smiled. "You _do_ know me," he said as if it touched his heart.

"This country rightfully belongs to Cameron, and so do I. Because he _earns_ what he takes, because he _deserves_ it."

The fury that rose in his eyes pressed Abbi's fear beyond all reason. It took everything she had not to scream. Only believing he might kill her kept her silent. With an efficiency that hinted at much practice, he took both her wrists into one hand and pressed them above her head, while he put his mouth over hers in a way that had no similarity to a kiss. She squirmed and groaned and bit his lip. He cursed and slapped her before he did it again. Then he tossed the covers off of her and full-fledged terror further tightened her every nerve. While he held her completely powerless, her struggle and protest both amused and angered him.

"You'd do well to cooperate," he snapped, and once again demonstrated his version of a kiss, crushing her mouth with a bruising intensity that hurt so badly it provoked tears. She sobbed and he laughed. Her nightgown and the glove on his hand were her only protection from his revolting touch. She knew her pregnancy had to be vitally evident to him. As much as she feared for herself, she felt far more concerned for the welfare of the child growing inside her.

Abbi relinquished her last grain of dignity, whimpering and sobbing. "I beg you, Nikolaus . . . please."

"My sweet Abbi," he murmured, and took a long moment to compound the pain on her lips, "there's no need to beg."

Her powerlessness became fully evident as he made no qualms about pressing his boundaries further. Abbi could only force her mind beyond this moment. Confronted with the choice between this and death, she couldn't deny that she preferred to live in spite of what she'd told him. She resigned herself to face the worst and to survive it. But he drew back and growled close to her face, "You see how easily I can take what I want, whether I deserve it or not. Unfortunately we've wasted all our time talking, and it will have to wait." He assaulted her mouth again with his own. "I just wanted you to have a taste of what you have to look forward to." He touched the tears on her face with a mock tenderness that reeked of evil. "As much as I'd like to, I can't defile you completely--not yet. What little remains of your virtuous loyalty to your husband makes a valuable bargaining tool, don't you think? And you may get to keep what's left if he makes the right choice." He came to his feet and dragged her off the bed. Her relief was coupled with the fear of wondering what horrible intentions he had in store for her now, in order to go about making his bargain.

Standing face-to-face, he pushed his hands into her hair with intimate implications that felt as defiling as having him in her bed. Being on her feet restored a degree of her dignity, and now that her hands were free, she pushed his away. "Still a feisty wench," he snapped.

Recalling the last time he'd called her a wench, she found great pleasure in saying exactly what he'd said to her at the time. "It's _Your Grace_ to you!"

That fury reappeared in his eyes, tenfold. "Never!" he rumbled and took her chin brutally into his hand. "You might reconsider your attitude." He smiled cruelly and added, "His first wife preferred my bed to his; maybe you will too."

Abbi took advantage of the opportunity to slap him hard, fully prepared for the evil glare he gave her in response. "You are going to regret that more than you can possibly imagine," he said and she spit in his face. If there was a price to pay for defying him, she intended to get what she paid for. He immediately backhanded her across the side of the face with such force that she fell to the floor and screamed.

"Shut up!" he said, and took hold of her arm, hauling her to her feet. She hoped the noise might have been enough to arouse the suspicion of the officers outside her door, but apparently he wasn't going to stay around long enough to find out. He forced her to walk while her head was still swimming too much to even stand up straight.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, wishing it had sounded more firm than terrified.

"We're going to find your husband."

"No, Nikolaus, please!" she cried as he forced her roughly toward a door that seemed to open right out of the wall, where a tapestry had been pushed aside.

"Keep your mouth shut!" He pointed a threatening finger at her. "Or we can just finish what we started, here and now, and make him wait." He took hold of her face so hard it hurt, and spoke with his lips almost touching hers. "Or I could just kill you now and be rid of _one_ possible impedance to the throne."

Nikolaus dragged her through the door and closed it behind him before he grabbed a torch that had been hanging on the wall. With the torch in one hand and her arm firmly in the other, he dragged her down a stone passageway that was long and narrow with a significant downhill slope. Her bare feet felt icy on the cold floor that seemed to go on forever. She wanted to sob and scream, if only to vent the fear burning in her chest and throat. But she forced herself to silence, and only an occasional whimper accompanied her silent flow of tears.

As they emerged into fresh air, Abbi felt dirt beneath her feet. She was thinking it felt good in contrast to the cold stone, until Nikolaus pushed her from behind and she fell to the ground. Pain bit her hands and knees and spurred a harsh sob from her throat. She wondered if she would live to see another day. Or if she did, would he do as he'd threatened and finish what he'd started? The memory of his assault prompted another sob.

"Shut up!" Nikolaus said, and slapped the back of her head.

"Is that necessary?" another voice asked--familiar, but too gruff with anger to recognize from those three words.

"Get her on her feet," Nikolaus ordered, ignoring the question.

Abbi felt strong hands take hold of her shoulders and help her stand. In the torchlight she looked up, and a gaspy scream escaped her. She drew back her hand and slapped Lance hard across the face, oblivious to the pain already in her hands from falling.

Nikolaus laughed as if he'd never seen anything so funny. Lance slowly turned back to look into Abbi's eyes as Nikolaus said, "After what you did to him this morning, my sweet, I wouldn't get too uppity. You're no better off with him than with me."

"Damn you," Abbi hissed in Lance's face. He only looked down, focusing his attention on her hands as he tied them together in front of her.

She saw regret in his eyes, but she couldn't believe it was genuine, even when he bent close to her and whispered, "You must trust me, Abbi." He took her chin into his fingers, and she saw his countenance become something that frightened her. "Brute force?" he said to Nikolaus, tilting her face more toward the light. Apparently the throbbing in her cheek had visible evidence. "Always a gentleman," Lance added with sarcasm, but not disapproval.

"She's riding with me," Nikolaus said and handed the torch to Lance before he forced Abbi onto his horse. "And I'll be needing this," Nikolaus added, and took the dagger from the little scabbard on Lance's belt.

"Help yourself, my friend," Lance said with that same sarcasm, but his tone and demeanor made her wonder what kind of mask he'd been hiding behind all this time. Did she even know him at all? Were his friendship and loyalty to Nikolaus more suited to him than she'd ever believed? If so, what had his motives been all this time in regard to Cameron? And to her? The thought made her so nauseous she nearly lost the contents of her stomach.

"What took you so long?" Lance growled while Nikolaus tucked the dagger into the side of his belt and Lance doused the torch.

Nikolaus chuckled and mounted behind Abbi. She cringed from his nearness. "Oh, my friend," he said, "use your imagination. I would have preferred to take a little longer, but we must keep our priorities in order."

Abbi hung her head and turned away, unable to even look at Lance. But she couldn't be certain whether it was from shame over Nikolaus's inference, or disgust at Lance being an accomplice to such atrocities.

Abbi leaned her tied hands onto the saddle horn, trying to keep some distance from Nikolaus. But he heeled the horse to a gallop and wrapped an arm around her, slamming her back against his chest. She fought to keep her tears quiet, vaguely aware of Lance riding beside them while she wondered what her fate would be. And where was Cameron? Did he have any idea what his brother was conspiring to do? Just as she'd told Nikolaus, she prayed to God that he would choose his country. The people of Horstberg deserved better than to be ruled by the vile fiend now holding her life in his hands.

Cameron and his men came into the clearing where they were supposed to meet the two officers they'd left behind. He found them bound and held at gunpoint. Their faces showed evidence of the physical force that had been used to subdue them. And the man holding the gun was Wurtzur--who had been out of the country with Nikolaus. With him were three other men that Cameron could add to the list of officers who were not to be trusted. Cameron glanced around discreetly, attempting to gauge the situation, while his heart pounded painfully with thoughts of Abbi. Beyond the circle of light created by a torch stuck in the ground, he could see nothing.

"You're outnumbered, Wurtzur," Cameron said with authority.

"Perhaps, but . . . I know you better than to think that you would stand by and see one of your men needlessly harmed. If one of you even twitches, they die. If you try to leave, they die. I'm certain you'll be willing to wait patiently."

"For what?"

"I've got orders to hold you here until . . ." he paused for a caustic laugh, "the duke arrives."

Cameron uttered a silent prayer as he exchanged a harsh glance with Georg, then Lieutenant Joerger. He was grateful for the lieutenant's suggestion to keep Gerhard separated from the group, under the protection of two officers. At least Wurtzur didn't know they had the witness in their possession. Cameron dismounted and ordered his men to do the same. He hardly dared speak, not wanting to betray the intensity of his own fear. He glanced around at the officers who were with him, knowing that at least one of them had betrayed him. And if one had betrayed him, he had no way of knowing how many more had pledged false allegiance. There was no other explanation for having Wurtzur know where they were meeting. He felt like a cornered animal, wondering what kind of surprise Nikolaus had waiting for him here. But he was more concerned with the realization that he'd left Abbi in the room where a passageway led to the outside of the castle. And if Nik had killed Gwen, what would he do to Abbi if he found her? Would his deepest fears for her and the child come to pass now, after he'd fought so hard to keep her safe at all costs?

He was contemplating bolting out of there to go see that Abbi was safe when he heard horses approach, but he could see nothing. Then an angry voice shot out of the dark, and he knew it was his brother. "Cameron!"

Concerned glances were exchanged among the men in the torchlight. The tension in the air heightened. Georg eased closer to Cameron, giving unspoken support.

"I've got something for you, brother!" Nikolaus shouted, but still no one could see him.

Cameron remained silent. Captain Dukerk stepped into the light, and Cameron wondered what _he_ had to do with this. He'd wondered which way the captain would go, but he had to admit his disappointment in knowing that he had chosen to stay with Nikolaus. Perhaps he hadn't known Lance as well as he thought he did. Still, nothing happened.

"Come out and show your face, you filthy coward!" Cameron shouted.

"I was just waiting for an invitation," Nikolaus said before he stepped into the light. And every aspect of Cameron's life took proper perspective. Revolution and triumph, crown and country, honor and nobility. They all shattered on the ground as his brother appeared with the woman Cameron loved, the motive behind his every action, his reason for living.

"No!" Cameron whispered hoarsely to see his precious wife, wearing only a nightgown, her hands tied in front of her, a dagger pressed to her side. Nikolaus had a firm grip on Abbi's hair, kinking her head back awkwardly. She'd been crying, good and hard, and she was crying still. Even in this light the bruising on one side of her face was undeniable. Cameron's entire body tightened into one hard knot, while a tangible sickness smoldered in his stomach. How he longed to get his hands on that dagger and stab his brother through the heart! He was ready to step forward and have it out with him when he heard Georg whisper, "Don't let your emotions get her killed."

Every man present on Cameron's behalf eased hands toward their weapons, indicating they were alert and ready for orders. "Stand down!" Nikolaus ordered. "Or I'll kill her!"

"Do as he says," Cameron said, forcing all of his anger out of his voice, and commanding his fear to back off and allow him to think clearly. "Hello, little brother," he added with starched civility, knowing the reference to his being younger would gall him. "It's been a long time."

"Not long enough," Nikolaus said, his voice sly and cruel. "I've come to make a deal with you, Cam. You give me back the duchy, and I'll give you back your bride. Fair is fair."

"Don't do it!" Abbi screamed, but Nikolaus yanked back on her hair, making her cry out in pain.

"Let her go, Nik!" Cameron ordered. "This has _nothing_ to do with her."

"It does now!" he shouted. Then his voice lightened so dramatically that it was chilling. "She's a beauty don't you think, Cameron? Well, of course you do; you married her. And you've already got her pregnant. I didn't think you had it in you."

Cameron choked on his own bile as he watched Nikolaus let go of Abbi's hair, and press a gloved hand down the side of her body, over her hip, and back up again. Abbi sobbed and hung her head, but not before he distinctly saw the shame in her eyes. Cameron's horror descended to a whole new level. _What had he done to her?_ While Georg's warning rang through his mind, his every instinct wanted Nikolaus to die a slow and painful death.

"Nikolaus . . . please," Abbi whimpered as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, watching Cameron's eyes closely for a reaction that he struggled not to give him.

"I told you in the bedroom, my sweet," Nikolaus said and pressed a kiss to her throat. Abbi winced and groaned. Cameron unwillingly clenched his fists. "There's no need to beg." As if he'd completed the demonstration of his power over Cameron, he shouted harshly, "Give me back my country, and you can have what's left of your wife."

"Don't you do it, Cameron!" Abbi shouted with a remarkable courage that seemed to have sprung from nowhere, instantly banishing every hint of fear or shame. She met his eyes firmly. "The people of this country need you! Don't sacrifice them for my--"

"Shut up!" Nikolaus yelled and tightened his hold on her.

"Don't you do it!" she shouted again. "I could never live with it!"

"I said shut up!" Nikolaus snarled and hit her hard enough to knock her to the ground. She screamed and made no effort to get up. 
Chapter Twenty-Six

THE VERDICT

Nikolaus bent over to drag Abbi to her feet, and Cameron lunged for him, knocking the dagger out of his hand, and throwing a hard fist into his face. He stepped over Abbi to slam Nikolaus against a tree. He heard swords being drawn and wondered what kind of skirmish would ensue, but he focused on his brother. "You filthy bastard," Cameron growled and lifted a knee into his brother's stomach, at the same time throwing another punch that broke his nose. He'd wanted to do that since he was twelve. Nikolaus screamed like a child and made no effort to retaliate. He _was_ a filthy coward. Then Cameron heard a gun cock, and Wurtzur's voice stated firmly, "Back off, or I'll put a hole through her head."

Cameron took a sharp breath and lifted his hands as he stepped back. He knew Wurtzur must have been on Abbi the very second Cameron had gained control. Otherwise the other men present never would have allowed him to get his hands on her. But now he had a gun pressed to her head. Nikolaus glared at Cameron and made a futile attempt to wipe the blood off his face before he grabbed Abbi's hair and yanked her away from Wurtzur, taking the pistol from him with the hand covered in blood. He pressed the gun to Abbi's temple, and she met Cameron's eyes as if to express some silent farewell.

Cameron took another step back and spread his hands. "All right. You win, Nik. It's all yours."

"No!" Abbi said, and Nikolaus tightened the gun against her head.

"Hush," Cameron said gently. "This is not up to you, Abbi. I could never live with losing you this way." To Nikolaus he added, "Let her go. It's over. You win."

Nikolaus let out an evil laugh. Cameron had always hated that laugh. His eyes shifted and Cameron felt new fear. Nikolaus had _never_ let him have the last word. _Never._ He took a step back, saying with triumph, "I'll let you know where to find her once I have it in writing. And then you can--"

"It's no good, Nikolaus." Gerhard stepped into the light and stood next to Cameron.

Nikolaus was clearly taken off guard, and Cameron felt certain he'd believed Gerhard's protection was secure.

"You keep your mouth shut, Albrecht!" Nikolaus threatened, but Gerhard remained calm. "Or I'll kill her."

"It won't do you any good," Gerhard said. "If you stand there and kill her in front of all these people, you will go before a firing squad for murder regardless of anything else. But I know you killed your brother's wife, and you know I can prove it. And that should explain a great deal to these people who have been wondering over your motives all these years."

Nikolaus looked cornered, but that frightened Cameron most of all. Then his concern heightened. Captain Dukerk was missing. He wished he had any idea of where the man's loyalties truly lay. Cameron saw the evil intensify in Nikolaus's eyes. "I guess that settles it," he said, glaring at Cameron. "If I can't have the country," he said, "I'll at least have the woman." He laughed and backed toward the darkness, pulling Abbi with him. "You'll never find us, Cam," he added with a cruel smirk.

Cameron took a step forward, determined to do whatever it took to get that gun out of his hand. Then he heard a guttural moan. The gun fell to the ground as Nikolaus dropped to his knees and Abbi fell from his grasp. She groaned and scrambled to her feet, running into Cameron's arms. He'd never been so glad to have her there. His relief made it difficult to breathe as she pressed her face to his chest and sobbed. He looked up to see Lance come out of the darkness, a bloodied dagger in his hand; the same one Cameron had knocked on the ground.

Lance took hold of Nikolaus's collar with the other hand, just in time to keep him from falling forward. He was still very much alive, his expression stunned and horrified. Cameron held his breath as Lance looked directly into Nikolaus's face, saying with venom, "You killed my sister, you _bastard_. And then you had the nerve to stand by me all these years and call yourself my friend." The helplessness and shock on Nikolaus's face were downright pathetic. Abbi turned to see what was happening. "The witness has spoken," Lance added. "The jury is present. The verdict is guilty." He drew back his arm and lunged the knife into Nikolaus's chest. Abbi screamed and turned her face again to hide it against Cameron. "The execution is complete," Lance concluded and went to his knees, supporting Nikolaus's weight as he fell. He tossed the bloodied knife and eased the body onto the ground before he came unsteadily to his feet.

Time stopped. Silence ruled. No one spoke. Cameron could only hear his own breathing. _Nikolaus was dead._ Shock and horror filled the air. The atrocity of the act was starkly contrasted by the reality of how necessary it had been.

The movement of officers startled Cameron from staring at his brother's body. Now that the threat was over, his attention turned to Abbi. "Are you all right? The baby?" he asked, frantically touching her face. She nodded but he knew the answer was relative. He took hold of her shoulders and looked into her eyes, speaking too softly for anyone else to hear. "Did he _hurt_ you?" he asked and realized that was too vague. He just had to say it. "Did he rape you, Abbi?" She shook her head, but was too upset to say anything. Her eyes filled with shame. She hung her head and sobbed. Everything inside of him roiled with fury. He wanted to kill Nikolaus again! "Abbi," he attempted a gentle voice, "listen to me. It will never change the way I feel about you, or what we share, but . . . I have to know."

Abbi forced back her own emotion over the trauma and composed herself. She clung to Cameron tightly as she looked up at him, so grateful to be able to say, "No. I'm fine." She felt her chin quiver. He slumped with relief. "But . . . he threatened to."

Cameron held her close, whispering firmly, "Oh, Abbi. I'm so sorry. So relieved, so grateful."

"So am I," she said, and he tenderly stroked the back of her head where Nikolaus's grip must have left a painful reminder of his cruelty. He felt her shiver and removed his cloak, throwing it around her shoulders. Then he glanced around to gauge the situation. Wurtzur and those who had come with him were now being held at gunpoint. The commotion had put them at a disadvantage. The officers that had been bound no longer were. Everyone stood in stunned silence, either adjusting to the shock of what they'd just witnessed or waiting for orders. Likely both. Lance stared down at Nikolaus's body, visibly unsettled. Cameron left Abbi's side and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all right, Captain?" he asked gently.

Lance turned to look at him, startled and upset. He shook his head. "No, I don't think I am." Then he took a deep breath and went down on one knee in a gesture of loyalty to Cameron, pressing a fist over his chest--the hand that was covered with Nikolaus's blood. "Forgive my doubts, Your Grace."

Abbi observed the exchange between Lance and Cameron, taking a stilted breath to see the captain kneel before her husband. She couldn't believe it, never would have imagined!

Cameron sighed. "That's really not necessary, Captain." Then his voice softened. "Lance," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Before he could say anything more, Abbi was at his side.

Lance looked up at her, saying with regret, "You must forgive me, Abbi. I purposely went to find Nikolaus. I made him believe I had remained loyal to him, wanting to have some control over what he did. I told him there were still many men fighting for him, that your father was still well protected. I didn't know he would go after you that way." She actually saw tears in his eyes. "I never dreamed it would get so ugly. You must believe me when I tell you that--"

"It's all right," Abbi said, holding out a hand toward him. He took it and stood. Abbi felt her hand trembling in his and looked down to realize that his was trembling as well. She stepped closer and pressed the side of her face to his, and her other hand to his cheek. "You saved my life," she muttered close to his ear. "I am eternally indebted to you."

He drew back and looked into her eyes as Cameron added, "As am I."

Lance looked stunned and uncertain, then he glanced down and noticed the blood on his other hand. "If you will excuse me," he said and hurried into the trees.

Abbi turned to find her father beside her. He hugged her tightly, and while there was so much she wanted to say, silence seemed sufficient for the moment.

Cameron turned to gauge the situation once more. He had to deal with Wurtzur and his friends sooner or later. But he also had at least one other officer present who had betrayed him. He decided sooner was better than later in letting it be known that he was in control, and he would not tolerate the kind of disloyalty that threatened the stability of protecting his country. He first approached the three officers who had stood with Wurtzur in this little escapade. One went immediately to his knee, fist to chest, head bowed. The other two followed within a heartbeat.

Abbi watched her husband step behind the mask of the Duke of Horstberg. She was still trying to accept the truth of who and what he was, but she wondered if she would ever become accustomed to his power, and the way people responded to it. She was grateful to have her father's hand in hers and also to find Georg at her side.

"Forgive my misguided loyalty, Your Grace," the first officer said, remaining on his knee.

"And I," the other two said almost simultaneously.

"I'll need some time to think about that," Cameron said. "In the meantime, perhaps a little time in the keep will give _you_ some time to think about honoring truth and justice on behalf of Horstberg above all else. _That_ is how this country will be run from now on." He glanced over his shoulder. "Lieutenant."

"Sir," Joerger said, immediately at his side. They exchanged a glance but no words before the lieutenant motioned toward some other officers with his hand. The three on their knees were put in handcuffs and flanked by those who would apparently see them to the keep. But it became evident they would wait and all return together.

Cameron turned to Wurtzur while memories of their encounter in the keep four years ago mingled with the image of this man holding a gun to Abbi's head. Without a word he put his hand over the pistol being aimed at him by an officer and pressed it down.

"We won't be needing this anymore," Cameron said to the officer holding it. Then to Wurtzur, "What? No pleading forgiveness for your misguided loyalties? You might do well to learn from example. I daresay they'll be spending much less time in the keep than you will be." Wurtzur stiffened. His eyes betrayed his fear, even if his hardened expression didn't. "Funny how the tables turn, don't you think? How distinctly I recall your telling me that I would never get out of that cell alive. How clearly I remember the way you beat the hell out of me when you said it. Am I striking a chord with you, Wurtzur? I hope so. Because I've been saving something for you for four years, and I don't want you to have to wonder where it came from."

Cameron threw a fist into Wurtzur's jaw, and another into his belly. Wurtzur doubled over and fell to his knees. "Very good," Cameron said. "That's exactly where I want you."

"What's he doing?" Abbi whispered to Georg, disconcerted to see her husband behave this way. She recalled seeing how differently Lance had behaved with his men, but it had been nothing like this.

"It's all right," Georg said softly. "He has to ensure getting the respect he needs to do his job. Once he makes his boundaries clear, his men know he'll give them the respect they deserve in return for their loyalty. He knows how to balance power with compassion."

Cameron continued speaking to Wurtzur, wanting every man present to hear what he had to say. "I'm assuming you still want your job. I'm assuming you have a family to feed. And I would rather have you working for me, so I can keep track of what you're doing. Since you seemed to be lacking in some manners in the way prisoners were treated, most specifically _me,_ I think you could use some practice. Following two weeks as a _guest_ in the keep _,_ you will be assigned to working there until further notice. But you will be watched. Oh," he chuckled sardonically, "you will be watched very closely. If you ever, _ever,_ breathe a disrespectful word, or treat _anyone_ in your care with any less respect than you will treat me from now on, you will be on the street, my good man. Do I make myself clear?"

Wurtzur didn't move.

"I asked you a question!" Cameron bellowed.

"Yes, Your Grace, quite clear."

"Very good," Cameron said and Wurtzur too was put into handcuffs. Cameron turned abruptly and scanned the faces of every officer present before he said, "Lieutenant."

"Sir," Joerger responded.

"Take these men with you back to the castle. Please take my brother's body and see that it's properly cared for. I want a standard funeral procession arranged for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Tomorrow. I want him buried before sundown. I didn't say you had to do it single-handedly. Just see that it gets done."

"Yes, sir."

The lieutenant barked some orders. Nikolaus's body was lifted over the back of his horse and the officers mounted to leave. Cameron intercepted one in particular just before he put his foot into the stirrup. In a soft voice he said, "I assume you want to keep your job, as well."

The officer's eyes widened. His guilt was obvious. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Good, then keep your finger out of disloyal pies. You too will be watched very closely. Consider it a great honor that I'm not having you arrested as well."

Cameron penetrated his eyes with a deep stare before the officer asked, "How did you know?"

"I have my methods," Cameron said.

"But no one knew except--"

_"I_ knew," Cameron said, and motioned the man onto his horse.

"How _did_ you know?" Georg asked Cameron quietly once he'd moved away from the officer in question.

"He was the only one who hadn't looked me in the eye since we got here."

"Very good," Georg said, mimicking the way Cameron had said it to Wurtzur.

While Cameron was busy talking with his officers and Georg, Abbi spoke quietly with her father. Once reassured that she was all right, Gerhard got tears in his eyes as he talked briefly of the irony of the situation and his relief in having it behind him. He too had been in exile for four years. For that and many other reasons, Abbi knew the bond he shared with Cameron was deep.

A moment after the officers all rode away, Lance appeared, rolling down his sleeves. He'd obviously cleaned up in a nearby creek.

"Captain," Cameron said, and Lance looked surprised. "Would you please put together a proclamation appropriately explaining the circumstances of my brother's death--with my endorsement, of course. I want it posted first thing in the morning, and coordinate with the lieutenant on the funeral procession. You will ride with me."

Lance moved closer to Cameron, saying in a quiet voice, "You don't have to do this. Under the circumstances, I would not expect you to keep me in this position. I was considering a change of profession, anyway."

"Why change professions when you're so good at what you do?" Cameron asked.

Lance looked directly into Cameron's face, speaking in little more than a whisper. "I've spent a great deal of time the last four years hating you because I believed that you'd killed her."

"Now you know that I didn't."

"I spent a lot of time before then hating you because I believed that you treated her badly."

"Maybe I did."

"She was a difficult woman, Cameron. I know that now."

"And I was a difficult man, Lance. I don't know how much of the problems between us were my fault. It really doesn't matter anymore. I've tried very hard to become a _better_ man. And I need to say that I'm sorry . . . for the things I said about her. I was angry."

"And I needed to hear the truth," Lance said. "But given the history between us, I think it might be better if I just leave this position to--"

"The history between us is all the more reason that you should remain in this position. I need you, Captain. We have work ahead of us that will not be easy, and I need a man I can count on."

Lance looked away and sighed. "I'm not so sure I'm the man for the job."

"Why is that?"

He sighed again. "I think you could use a captain who can kill a man without having to go hide and fall apart over it."

"Captain," Cameron said, and Lance turned to look at him. "Do you think I want someone in this position who can kill a man and _not_ be upset over it?" Cameron glanced away and blinked back a sudden burning in his eyes. "He was my brother, for the love of heaven. I wish you would have taken me with you. We could have fallen apart together."

A moment later, Lance said, "Forgive me. I--"

Cameron's glare stopped him. "There is nothing to forgive. You did exactly what I would have done if I had been in a position to do it. He may be my brother, but I still hope he rots in hell." He took a deep breath. "Now, Captain, as I told the lieutenant, I want my brother buried by sundown tomorrow. But I want it done right. I'm sure he'd appreciate some help."

"I'll see to it at once," Lance said and nodded. "Your Grace."

"Captain." Cameron nodded in return.

Lance's eyes moved to Abbi. "May I have a moment, Your Grace?"

Cameron turned toward his wife, who was standing near her father and Georg while the two men were talking. She looked dazed and exhausted. "Of course," Cameron said.

Abbi looked up to see Lance standing in front of her. She felt horribly awkward when he once again went down on one knee and pressed a fist to his chest. "Lance," she said, "please don't do--"

"I must," he said and looked up at her. "You will forever be my queen, Abbi, and I your serf."

"No, my _friend,"_ she said, and took his hand, urging him to his feet.

"That too," he said with a little smile. He took hold of her shoulders. "Did he hurt you, Abbi? If he did anything to hurt you when I could have prevented it, I--"

"You _couldn't_ have prevented it," she said, "without compromising your ability to be where you needed to be when it _really_ mattered."

"Did he hurt you?" he repeated.

The memory of all that Nikolaus had done made her stomach churn, but she had no desire to talk about it--especially with Lance. She firmly assured him, "Nothing I won't recover from. I'm fine."

He looked skeptical but nodded before he kissed her brow. Without another word he mounted his horse and rode away.

Cameron observed the exchange between the captain and his wife, pondering all he'd put them through. They'd obviously come to share something close and tender, but he couldn't bring himself to begrudge it, or even to feel the slightest hint of jealousy. He knew their hearts, and he could feel nothing but gratitude for all they had done for him.

Once Lance was out of sight, Cameron turned to see that only Abbi, Georg, and Gerhard remained. They exchanged silent glances, but nothing was said. The torrent of emotion Cameron had been struggling to hold back since he'd first seen Abbi appear in Nikolaus's grasp suddenly rushed forward, demanding to be felt now that the officers were absent and pride was no longer in place to keep it back. He'd been threatened with losing Abbi under circumstances that were too unbearable to think of, and he'd just watched his brother die. His head began to spin with the spectrum of all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, enhanced by the reality that he'd not slept since yesterday afternoon. He sank to his knees and wrapped his arms up over his head, letting out an anguished howl that refused to be held back. Abbi rushed to kneel before him, holding his head to her shoulder as he wept. Georg went to one knee beside him, putting an arm over his back. And Gerhard set a firm hand on his shoulder. No words were said. But the strength and compassion Cameron felt were boundless. _It was over_.

"Come along," Georg said once Cameron had been given sufficient time to vent the worst of his anguish. "It's time you got some sleep."

Cameron helped Abbi onto his horse and mounted behind her, so grateful to feel her safe and well in his arms. He galloped toward the castle with Georg and Gerhard at his sides. On the castle hill they passed the officers bringing in Nikolaus's body. Magda, Lena, and Elsa all erupted out the door the minute they halted in the courtyard.

"What's happened?" Lena demanded. "Elsa discovered Abbi missing and we've been frantic. Lance came in but went straight to the office and wouldn't tell us anything."

"I'm fine, as you can see," Abbi said as Cameron helped her down.

They all took notice of Abbi's bare feet, and the nightgown she wore beneath Cameron's cloak. "Your _brother,"_ he said to his sisters, "stole her out of her bed and tried to kill her, _after_ he threatened to rape her."

"Oh, good heavens!" Magda gasped. "Where is he now?"

Cameron turned to look over his shoulder just as Nikolaus's body was brought through the gate. "He's dead," Cameron said.

Magda stood frozen. Lena stepped forward as if she intended to investigate personally. Cameron took hold of her shoulders to stop her. "Trust me. He's dead. You don't need to see him like that."

Both his sisters began to cry, but he wondered if their emotion was as confused as his own. Cameron ushered everyone inside. He sent Magda and Lena off to their rooms and turned to Elsa. "Would you please see that Abbi has what she needs then get some rest yourself?" To Abbi he added, "I have ten minutes of business then I'll be up." He kissed her quickly and she left with Elsa. This time they had no military escort.

Turning to Gerhard, Cameron extended a hand, "Thank you, my good man. I owe you my life and my freedom."

"That would make us even, then," Gerhard said, embracing Cameron firmly.

"We'll talk tomorrow," Cameron said, then he motioned toward a maid who was standing just out of earshot, waiting to meet his needs. "See that Mr. Albrecht is cared for comfortably."

"Yes, Your Grace." The maid curtsied and Gerhard followed her down the hall.

Cameron moved toward the office with Georg at his side. They found the captain at the desk, preparing the proclamation. He looked up when Cameron entered. "I take it you're here to endorse this. But it's not finished."

"That's all right," Cameron said. He sat down and read what there was, fighting the lump that gathered in his throat. Without malice it plainly stated that Nikolaus du Woernig had been killed by an unnamed officer of the Guard when he had threatened the life of the duchess. It also made clear the indisputable testimony of Nikolaus's crimes, and their effect on his brother and the country. Nikolaus would always be remembered as a traitor and a tyrant. And that's exactly how Cameron wanted it.

"It's fine," he said, and signed it. "I trust you. Give me those blank ones to sign, and then you can have them copied. I'm going to bed." Cameron signed his name several times, then he stood to leave the room. "Thank you, Captain," he said. "When you finish with that, get some sleep."

He went back into the hall where he and Georg took a deep breath at the same time. "What a day," Cameron said. "We've gone from heaven, to hell, and back again."

"At least twice over," Georg said. "I think you need some sleep."

"What makes you think so?" Cameron laughed. "And what about you?"

"As soon as my wife . . . ah, there she is," he said, taking Elsa's hand as she came to the bottom of the stairs. "Good night, _Your Grace,"_ Georg said and walked away with Elsa at his side.

Cameron moved slowly up the huge staircase, marveling at how far he'd come. He found Abbi in bed, with a lamp left burning low. When he crawled between the sheets and pulled her into his arms, everything was perfect--until images crowded into his mind of his wife at Nikolaus's mercy. And to think the helplessness he'd felt was only relinquished by his brother's death. Would he ever forget the powerless shock etched into Nikolaus's face just before he'd died?

"Are you all right?" Abbi asked when she felt Cameron tremble. He made a noise that she couldn't distinguish as positive or negative. Then he took hold of her and cried, but it was only a few minutes before he drifted to sleep. Abbi just held him, with a prayer in her heart that didn't begin to express the gratitude she felt. The man she loved was finally free.

Abbi woke to sunlight and the feel of Cameron's lips on her face. She hated the momentary reminder of coming awake to find Nikolaus beside her, but she pushed it away. He was wearing his uniform, minus the coat, and she asked, "Where are you going?"

"The hearing," he said. "An actual trial is no longer considered necessary, but the committees have asked for a hearing to be clear on all the facts and evidence, and to make everything official." He kissed her again. "It's still early. You rest and we'll have brunch together when I come back."

Abbi nodded and watched him walk through a door that she now realized was the duke's separate dressing room. She could hear Franz talking with him and found some relief to know that she could have privacy in her bedroom while the valet helped her husband. She thought of her own father having worked as his valet and smiled at the irony. Then she drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later, she awoke, thinking she was alone, until she heard paper rustling and turned to see Cameron reading a newspaper, wearing his glasses, his booted feet stacked on a separate chair. He'd removed the coat of his uniform and the braces hung around his hips. The close-fitting shirt hinted at strong shoulders. His clean-shaven face and neatly combed hair enhanced a regal aura about him that was strangely familiar. Pondering her brief visit to the castle the previous morning, she felt as if she'd lived seven days in one. But it didn't matter who he was or where they lived. He loved her, and only her.

"I know you," she said, and he turned toward her, removing his glasses, showing a smile. "You're Cameron du Woernig. That man who tries to pass himself off as a commoner for the sake of saving his own hide."

"A fairly accurate description," he chuckled, setting the paper and his glasses aside.

"But not terribly effective," she said lightly. "I should have known the first time you started ordering me around that you were the most powerful man in Horstberg."

"Actually," he drawled, "at the time, I was the most _wanted_ man in Horstberg."

"But no commoner. Your eyes are too royal to hide the truth."

Cameron moved to the edge of the bed and sat close beside her. He leaned over and kissed her meekly before he said, "I know you. You're that woman responsible for bringing that scoundrel of a duke back from the dead."

"I don't know that I really had much to do with it," she said and hurried to change the subject. "How did the hearing go?"

"Perfect," he said. "I must confess that I felt thoroughly vindicated." His voice took on a comical lilt. "Respect and apology for my suffering flying all over the place."

"How marvelous. Perhaps I should have been there."

"Most of it was tedious." His countenance became grave. "And I did not want you hearing every detail of last night's events repeated." He lightened his mood. "There's only one part that was truly worth hearing, but I do believe I can repeat it with accuracy."

"Tell me," she said eagerly.

He cleared his throat elaborately and lowered his voice to mimic the committee chief. " 'We hereby pronounce you, Cameron Erich Ferdinand Gustave du Woernig, _not guilty.' "_

Abbi inhaled the words. "A man with a name _and_ freedom. How glorious."

"Yes, it is," he said, yet his countenance darkened.

"What is it?" she asked.

He drew a troubled sigh. "The hearing was difficult for Lance."

"Why?" she asked, sharing Cameron's concern as she considered all he'd gone through recently.

"Lance loved and revered his sister deeply," Cameron said, his eyes distant. "But she chose to behave a certain way around him. She was an excellent actress. He really didn't know her. Your father's testimony put her in an appalling light; unfortunately it was very accurate to the woman I remember." Cameron sighed. "When I spoke to Lance . . . last week . . . he asked me what had gone wrong with me and Gwen, and I told him. But I was angry and unkind. I've apologized to him, but . . ."

"I'm sure he understands."

"Yes, I believe he does. He's a very forgiving man." He sighed again, more deeply. "I'm certain he will be able to forgive Gwen much more easily than I will. Her crimes against me were far worse than I'd ever imagined."

"What do you mean?" she asked, and Cameron felt touched by her concern.

He leaned forward and clasped his hands. "She was involved with Nikolaus . . . even before I married her."

"No!" she whispered, horrified.

"Oh, yes. And, uh . . . apparently her goal was to aid my brother in framing me for treason, and to marry him once I was out of the way so that she could maintain her position." A glance showed him that Abbi felt his shock and disgust. "That's what the argument was about."

"What argument?"

"The one that got her killed. He was intending to enter into a betrothal that would favor him politically, and she wanted to be the duchess, even after I was gone."

"I can't believe it," Abbi muttered, her compassion so evident that it soothed him tangibly.

"Nor can I," he admitted, turning to look at her directly. "Do you have any comprehension, my dear, sweet wife, how much your integrity and ethics mean to me? The way you love and honor me is . . . priceless, incomprehensible. She made everything in my life difficult. You make everything easier." He smiled and touched her face. "It's no wonder that I love you."

An elegant brunch was brought to their room, and while they were eating, Elsa worked on preparing a bath for Abbi in the duchess's separate dressing room, which she hadn't even realized existed. Elsa came discreetly in and out of the room, still working at unpacking Abbi's things and putting them in place, while hot water was brought up and delivered through a separate entrance. Abbi had longed for a bath the night before, but with the late hour and mass exhaustion, she had settled for washing her hands and feet with Elsa's help, and changing into a clean nightgown.

Abbi and Cameron ate mostly in silence while she still felt too in awe of her surroundings to be completely comfortable. She sensed that he was troubled and unsettled, as she was, over the previous evening's events, and the outcome. But she didn't want to broach the subject with Elsa coming and going.

A strong aroma of lavender surrounded Abbi as she slid into the hot bath, relishing the luxury, wishing it could wash away the memory of Nikolaus's vile touch. She leaned back and looked at the palms of her hands, contemplating the scabbing there, a souvenir of being pushed to the ground. Her wrists had the hint of rope burn and some tenderness from the way Nikolaus had held them so tightly. She lifted her knees and feet to assess the damages there as well. Nothing terribly significant, but enough to make it clear the experience had been horrifically real. She went back to staring at the palms of her hands while she attempted to relax. She touched her wedding ring, and held up her left hand to admire it, finding contentment with the simple fact that she could publicly claim being a married woman.

"Would you like me to help you with your hair now?" Elsa asked.

Before Abbi could answer, she heard Cameron say, "No, thank you, Elsa. I'll help her this time." Abbi turned to see him leaning in the doorway, and she wondered how long he'd been there. "That will be all for now," he said. "We'll ring if we need anything. Thank you."

"Very good, sir," she said and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

Cameron rolled up his sleeves as he moved toward her, and she was reminded of that day in the lodge when he had helped wash her hair. Little had existed between them beyond fear and mistrust--and an undeniable attraction that neither of them had understood.

"Just like old times," she said as he knelt beside the tub.

"Not exactly," he said, and took her hands into his, turning her palms to his view. He touched the scabs on one hand and then the other before pressing them to his face as if he could heal them. "Do you remember," he asked, holding them there, "the first time I touched your hands?"

"Yes," she said with no hesitance.

"You were telling me a dream had led you to my door."

"You reached across the table and took them."

"They were scratched from getting through the thicket."

"You let go and told me to leave and never come back."

He pressed a kiss to each of her palms and let them go, saying, "Let me wash your hair." He helped her lie back in the water to get it wet, and then he sat on the floor and lathered every inch of it, quietly playing in the suds with the fascination of a child.

"What's troubling you?" Abbi asked, unable to bear the silence. She knew they needed to talk, but didn't know where to begin. "You have everything now. I should think you'd be overjoyed."

Cameron's voice held sorrow. "My joy is deep, Abbi. But . . ."

"But what happened last night was upsetting," she stated. His silence agreed, and she urged gently, "Tell me what you're feeling, Cameron."

"I'm not sure what to say." He gently massaged her scalp, paying special attention to the back of her head where Nikolaus had been holding her hair so tightly. "Is it tender here?" he asked.

Abbi didn't want the topic opened of what Nikolaus had done to her. She wasn't ready to talk about that yet, and he had far too much to contend with at the moment without her heaping more upon it. "Yes," was all she said.

"There is no hair so beautiful as this in all the world," he murmured, then his voice tightened. "When I saw him holding it that way, I wanted to kill him for that alone." He kept his hands busy in her hair, liking the way it soothed his emotions as he spoke. "I keep wishing that I had been the one to kill him, but at the same time I'm so grateful that I didn't have to."

"Yes, so am I."

He said nothing as he helped rinse her hair, then he pushed it all over the front of her shoulder to wash her back and rinse it as well. She lay back in the tub and he sat on the floor, leaning against it, his eyes distant. She touched his face and he met her eyes. He offered a wan smile, his brow furrowing as he pressed the back of his hand to where Abbi knew there was bluish evidence of Nikolaus's abuse on her cheek.

"Talk to me, Cameron," she said, at the same time praying that he would not ask her about what had happened. Not yet.

Again his eyes became distant. "I keep thinking of when we were children. I helped him learn to ride his first pony. I taught him to tie his shoes. For years I hardly went anywhere without Nik and Lance trailing along. He had a strong personality even as a child, and I often felt frustrated with him. Being angry with him was common. But he was . . ." Cameron's voice broke, ". . . my brother." He took a deep breath. "Maybe the anguish isn't only in seeing him die like that. In a way, he was dead to me a long time ago. The real heartache is in the reality of what he'd become, of seeing someone I once loved and cared for turn into something so . . . _evil._ "

"It's difficult to believe that you're brothers," Abbi said gently.

Cameron chuckled bitterly. "He's the spitting image of my father . . . in many ways."

Abbi felt chilled to recall Cameron once saying zealously, _Nikolaus du Woernig is an ogre and a cad, like his father before him_. If she had only known how personal those feelings were to Cameron. Putting that together now with other things he'd said about his father, her chills increased.

"I've often thought of your story of Joseph," he said. "I couldn't tell you at the time, but I was struck deepest by the fact that Joseph's brothers sold him into bondage." Abbi inhaled deeply as she perceived the parallels. "I felt like I'd been sold into exile. I had no idea that Nikolaus had actually killed Gwen, but I knew he was only too pleased to be rid of me."

_"How_ did you know?" she asked.

Again he gave a strained chuckle. "He came to my prison cell and implied that a trial would be a waste of time, because I was so obviously guilty. He told me he had ducal business to attend to. And many times before he'd told me that . . . _Dammit._ "

Cameron erupted to his feet as a deep, festering pain became too close to ignore.

"What is it?" Abbi asked, watching him pace.

"I don't understand why it has to hurt so much . . . after all these years."

"What? Tell me."

Cameron took a deep breath. He didn't want to talk about it. But Abbi had proven many times that she had the ability to lessen his hurts and fears by putting them in perspective. "I told you my father's expectations of me were very high."

"Yes," she said, recalling the conversation well.

"What I couldn't tell you was that . . . I had no choice but to follow in my father's footsteps. The problem was that he didn't think I was good enough to take his place. My mother would tell me privately that I was more soft-spoken and sensitive than Nikolaus, that my compassion would make me a better ruler. But she never would have dared say such a thing to my father. He was constantly telling me that I needed to be tougher and stronger, or I would see his country into ruin." Cameron lowered his voice to mimic his father's unkind words, __ " 'You don't have the backbone to be a duke, boy. Fate has cursed me in making my second son the strong one.' "

Abbi gasped at the irony of the implication--especially with all that had happened. Cameron kept pacing as he spoke. "My mother's quiet guidance kept me believing that I had something my father didn't have, and that I could _learn_ to be strong enough to fill the position well. But even after he died, his attitude haunted me. When difficulties came up, I would hear him whispering in my head that I didn't have the backbone to handle it."

Abbi thought of what she'd witnessed just last night as Cameron had dealt with Wurtzur's betrayal. She didn't begin to understand the full spectrum of all that was entailed in Cameron's position, but it was easy for her to see that he had a balance of power and compassion; Georg had said as much.

"He was wrong," Abbi said.

Cameron sighed and sat on a nearby chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. "In my heart I believe that. And seeing the evidence of what Nikolaus's _backbone_ has done to this country has certainly strengthened my confidence. But it still . . . hurts to know that my father saw nothing of value in me." He sighed again. "Which brings me back to the point. Nikolaus had taunted me over that very thing. He'd told me that Father had made it clear he should have been the firstborn, and he was entitled to take my birthright from me. When he came to my prison cell, telling me I was obviously guilty, I knew the implication. That's when Wurtzur started hitting me, and I felt sure I'd never see the light of day again. Georg had to use bribery to get into my cell. I told him what had happened. He knew there were some officers who would do just about anything for me, so he arranged everything to break me out of prison. You know the rest."

Cameron slid lower in the chair and stretched out his long legs. "Through these months of waiting, I kept thinking of Joseph in the Bible. His brothers had betrayed him, sold him into slavery. But Joseph ended up in a powerful position, and he forgave his brothers. They were reunited in peace. A part of me had hoped for that. I had imagined Nikolaus apologizing to me, and in turn, I would tell him that it was all in the past. Instead, I find out that his crimes against me were far worse than I'd ever imagined, and his antics last night only make me hate him all the more. And now, I have to bury him with no sweet memories to compensate for his loss."

"You're a good man, Cameron," Abbi said. "Your mother was right. And that's what you need to remember. These years have been difficult, but you've done the best you could do with what you had to work with. The important thing is that you move forward now with what you've learned, and you will be remembered as a leader who was far stronger than his father before him, because you were able to balance sensitivity and compassion with power and backbone."

Cameron inhaled deeply, as if he could draw Abbi's strength into him. "How does one so young have so much wisdom?"

Abbi glanced timidly away. She felt entirely inadequate to face what had been put on her shoulders. She felt anything but wise. Without looking at him she said, "I only say what I feel and what I believe."

"So you tell me." He came to his feet and bent over the tub to kiss her before he left the room. She wondered how long until they had to leave for the funeral procession she'd heard mentioned last night. She finished bathing and put on a dressing gown that Elsa had left nearby.

Coming into the bedroom, she found Cameron standing in the open door of the passageway Nikolaus had used to abduct her. She came behind him and put her hands over his chest. "Unbelievable," he said. "I don't know how many years I've slept in this room, and I had no idea this was here." He shook his head. "I thought you were safe."

"It's over, Cameron," she said and then shifted the subject quickly enough to avoid any further discussion on her lack of safety. "I'm not certain I have anything appropriate to wear to a funeral procession."

"That's fine." He closed the passageway door, putting the tapestry back in place. "Because you're staying here."

Abbi didn't want to admit how deeply relieved that made her. "Why?"

"There is no reason for you to be involved in such an unpleasant task. I see no reason why you should pay _any_ kind of last respects to him after what he's done. Besides, with what you went through last night, you need your rest. As soon as it's over, we're leaving."

"Should I pack?" she asked, unable to hold back her excitement of getting away from here with him.

"Not unless you want to." He smiled. "Where we're going, there is everything we need."

"The lodge?" she asked, unable to conceal her excitement.

Cameron laughed softly. "Can you think of a better place for the duke and duchess to get away and find perfect seclusion?" Abbi laughed with him. The lodge's purpose made more sense in the context of being built as an escape for royalty.

"But that will be later," he said. "If you want to . . ."

A knock at the door stopped him. He glanced at Abbi to be certain she was sufficiently dressed before he called, "Come."

Abbi felt the ironies of her life steadily deepening as Lance came into the room, leaving the door open. His demeanor was all business. Two days ago, he had been a possible threat to Cameron's life; now he was doing Cameron's bidding and showing perfect respect. She recalled him saying not so many days ago, _If Cameron takes back the life he lost, your life and mine will never be the same._ If only she had known!

She felt his eyes rest briefly on her, but there was a deference in his attitude that was unfamiliar. Was he treating her as royalty? Or was it simply the official end of their phony engagement?

"Your Grace," he said, bowing slightly.

She wasn't certain she liked the formality, but she simply responded, "Captain."

"Forgive the intrusion, sir," he said to Cameron, "but the Baron Von Bindorf and his daughter are here."

"Why?" Cameron asked, anger mixed with alarm.

Lance looked mildly confused by the question. "They were appropriately notified of your brother's death and the funeral, sir."

_"Why?"_ Cameron asked again, genuinely baffled.

"You didn't know?" Lance asked.

"Know _what?"_ Now Cameron sounded angry, but not at Lance.

"Nikolaus was betrothed to the baron's daughter, sir."

Abbi saw Cameron's eyes widen, then fill with a fury she'd rarely seen. "He was going to marry _my_ country to _Kohenswald?"_

"Yes, sir."

"And when was this marriage to take place?"

"In a few weeks, sir."

Cameron shook his head and made a dubious noise. "I can't believe it. And why do you suppose Georg did not bother to tell me something so--"

"Crucial?" Georg said, and they all turned to see him standing in the open doorway.

"Precisely," Cameron said, giving him a sharp glare. "I assume you have a reasonable explanation."

"I do," Georg said with confidence. "This goes under the heading of 'things that you can do nothing about and will only infuriate you.' "

"I see," Cameron said. "And if I'd not been able to take the country back before this marriage occurred?"

"We would have had a hell of a mess," Georg said. "Clearly, the timing was important."

"Clearly," Cameron said with sarcasm. "It would seem I came back just in time."

"Yes, sir," Lance said.

"For what purpose would Nikolaus do such a thing?" Cameron asked while he rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs. "And don't tell me it was love because I know him better than that."

"I was never quite clear on his purpose," Lance said. "I suspect he wanted the baron as an ally."

"I shudder to think what kind of alliance that might be." Cameron pulled his braces up over his shoulders and made a disgusted noise. "Tell the baron I'll see him in a few minutes, or tell him to go to hell; I don't care. Keep him in the front hall. I don't want him to get too comfortable."

Lance showed a hint of a smile. "I'll tell him you'll be down soon."

The captain left the room, but Georg stayed.

"I cannot believe Nikolaus could be so _stupid,"_ Cameron said.

"He had a way of inspiring such sentiment," Georg said, and took Cameron's coat from the back of a chair to help him into it.

"I don't understand," Abbi said.

Cameron took a calming breath. "Kohenswald is our neighbor to the south."

"Yes, I know that."

"The baron who rules comes from a long line of tyrants and cheats. Horstberg is much larger, more prosperous. We have many assets that he covets. He tried very hard to get _me_ to marry one of his wretched daughters. He was furious when I married Gwen, and made no qualm about telling me so. And now he probably wants to have it out with me because he considers himself cheated."

"And I'm certain you'll handle him beautifully," Georg said.

Cameron kissed Abbi quickly then left the room. She expected Georg to follow, but he didn't.

"How are you, my lady?" he asked gently.

Abbi sighed loudly. At least she could be completely honest with Georg. "Stunned. Overwhelmed. But relieved that it's over, I must admit."

"Yes, we all are. You've been remarkable, Abbi."

"I don't feel remarkable," she said. "I feel completely inadequate, like a fish out of water."

"I'm certain it will take some time to adjust. Be patient with yourself, and with Cameron. This is difficult for him, as it is for you, but . . . you need to know . . . his love and admiration for you are beyond anything I had ever believed him capable of." He came closer and took her hand. "He's a changed man, Abbi, and he honors you for all you have done for him and given to him. You need to remember that when it becomes difficult. I just thought you should know."

"Thank you, Georg," she said and hugged him tightly, longing for the carefree days when they would cross paths in the stable, where he would saddle her horse and send her off to do nothing but wander the countryside.

"There's something else I need to say," he murmured, keeping his arms around her. "Do you remember the day . . . when we argued? You told me that you would be Cameron's first concern, and I didn't believe you."

"I remember," she said, keeping her head against his shoulder, relishing the familiarity of their friendship.

"There's something I couldn't say then that I need to say now. Cameron du Woernig was a man who _never_ put a woman before his duty. I just couldn't comprehend him ever giving you what you deserve, especially knowing what he was up against. When he sent that message, it put me in my place, mostly because I realized then I wasn't dealing with the same man. I realize you don't know a great deal about politics or royal protocol but--"

"You mean I know absolutely _nothing,"_ she countered and eased away.

"All in good time, Abbi. But you should know . . . yesterday in the square . . . when Cameron went to his knee . . ."

"What?" she asked when he hesitated.

"It's never happened in the history of this country, Abbi. The Duke of Horstberg kneels to no one publicly except his religious leader, as an expression of his devotion to God. He kneels to _no one."_

"I don't understand."

"By kneeling before you in public, he was paying you the deepest possible homage. He was making it clear that you deserve the utmost revering and respect. Those who witnessed it were amazed. People are still talking about it."

Abbi found the idea of being gossiped about disconcerting. While her understanding of Cameron's devotion was touching, she found her mind more drawn to her ignorance of royal protocol, and a thousand other facets of her life that she'd never comprehended. Her thoughts wandered to the day Georg had just reminded her of, then the memory made a connection to the present.

"That day," she said, "when you came to apologize . . . you . . ."

He went to his knees as he had done that day. She felt too stunned by the implication to protest, even though she hated the very idea of having her lifelong friend kneeling before her. "Yes, Abbi," he said, "I knew that day. When Cameron let me know you were as good as his wife, and deserved to be treated as such, what he really meant to say . . . but couldn't put in writing . . . was that you would be the next Duchess of Horstberg."

Again she felt touched, but preoccupied with trying to take it all in. "Get up," she said and he did, but it seemed more because she'd ordered him to do it as opposed to his realization of how ridiculous it was.

As if he sensed her unrest, he kissed her brow and whispered, "Everything will be all right, Your Grace." He smiled at her and left the room, closing the door behind him. Abbi slumped onto the edge of the bed and cried.
Chapter Twenty-Seven

THE PRICE OF TYRANNY

Cameron thoroughly enjoyed telling the baron he should be grateful to have been spared from any further association with Nikolaus du Woernig. After giving a brief summary of Nikolaus's crimes, the forsaken bride burst into tears, and the baron attempted to get angry with Cameron. But Cameron assured the baron there was no room for such behavior in his country, and then he looked at the baron's daughter, saying firmly, "You should get down on your knees, my dear, and thank God that you were saved from marrying a man whose evil would have destroyed your life. Find yourself a decent man and be happy."

The baron's anger became replaced with exaggerated friendliness as he said, "And would you be seeking out a wife now that you've come back, Your Grace?"

Cameron resisted the temptation to tell him where to go. Instead he offered a diplomatic smile and stated with pleasure, "I am happily married, Baron, but thank you for your inquiry. Good day."

Cameron walked away and left them in the care of servants who would see that they were comfortable until the funeral procession. They would make their appropriate appearance before the people of Horstberg, then slither back to their own country, where he hoped they would stay.

On his way back to the bedroom, Georg stopped him in the hall, near the office.

"Could we talk for a few minutes?" he asked.

"Certainly," Cameron said, and Georg followed him into the office where Captain Dukerk was sitting. Georg closed the door and Cameron asked, "Is something wrong?"

"No," Georg said and sat down. "You've asked me to be the duke's highest advisor. I feel the need to advise you of something. Have a seat, Your Grace." He chuckled. "I love calling you that. It's been too long."

"Indeed," Cameron said, and took a seat behind the desk--one more aspect of his life that felt so strange, and yet so familiar. "So, advise me."

Georg met the captain's eyes and knew their thoughts were the same. Only two days ago their lives and the future of the country had all been hanging in the balance. The outcome had been uncertain, and their plans filled with trepidation. But Georg had been presented with a miracle. He'd made a firm decision to keep Cameron ignorant until it was over. But now he needed to know.

Not certain where to start, Georg's mind wandered back to the event, still in awe of how it had all come together. He'd walked into the stable and had stopped abruptly to see Captain Dukerk waiting.

"Captain," he'd said casually. "What can I do for you?"

"Could we talk?" Lance asked and glanced around. "Somewhere more . . . private, perhaps."

"I'm overdo for a break," Georg said, trying to gauge his instincts. "I believe my wife left some coffee on the stove."

Lance nodded and Georg led the way out the back stable door and to his home. He invited Lance to sit at the table, while he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Would you like some?" Georg asked.

"No . . . thank you."

Georg sat across from him, holding the warm cup in his hands, wishing he had any idea what to expect.

"I understand revolution is brewing," Lance said.

Georg managed a perfectly nonchalant chuckle. "And if it were, would you expect me to admit to knowing anything about it . . . to _you?"_

"Fine, I'll make it easy for you," Lance said. "I don't know whether or not Cameron is guilty of murder. Frankly, I consider that irrelevant to the present situation. Before I say any more, I just want to clarify something so that there is no question as to where I stand. I will never repeat what I know about Cameron and your involvement with him, and you will never repeat what I am about to say. Are we clear on that?"

"Impeccably clear, Captain." He swallowed carefully. "You were saying that Cameron's possible guilt is irrelevant to the present situation."

"Whatever he may or may not be guilty of, Horstberg needs him." Georg took a sharp breath and Lance looked hard into his eyes, as if to measure his response. "Are we in agreement on that?"

Georg took a slow sip of coffee. "We are."

"What can I do to help?"

"Help?" Georg echoed, and Lance sighed loudly.

"I'm not a fool, Georg. Knowing what I know, it's not difficult to determine that this farce of a wedding is intended as a military reclamation and dare I guess, the crowning of a new duchess? What you're trying to accomplish is no small thing; dangerous to say the least. I know I'm in a position to make it go more smoothly. I'm offering to help."

"You're speaking treason, Captain Dukerk."

"Yes, I am!" Lance said with more intensity than Georg had ever seen. "And I've been committing treason right and left since I lied to protect Abbi from those bloodhounds who favor Nikolaus's power because it keeps them so comfortably rewarded. I cannot in good conscience stand by another day and watch him destroy innocent people's lives for the sake of protecting his lifestyle. My first commitment is to Horstberg, and if it is Cameron's intent to free her from this horrific tyranny, then I will be the first in line to pledge my commitment to serving him."

"Even if he is guilty of murder?"

"Exactly!"

"She was your sister."

"And this is my country. Whether he is guilty or not, Horstberg saw peace and prosperity under Cameron's reign. Now she is a sinking ship, while Nikolaus drowns in his own poor captaining. I'll not stand for it any longer. Tell me what I can do to help. As God is my witness, I will see Cameron protected and returned to the throne, or I will stand up to be executed by his side."

Georg set his coffee down and folded his arms over his chest. "That's very noble of you, Captain. But if we fail, you must remain completely without blemish, unquestionably innocent."

"Why?"

"Abbi will need your protection more than ever, and someone to raise the child." Lance took a deep breath and Georg went on. "Looking the other way with preoccupation over your forthcoming marriage is a great benefit in itself."

"But surely there is more I can do and not become implicated."

Georg stood up and began to pace. "I need to think," he said, and took several minutes to walk his mind through every step of the carefully planned process and the chinks that caused him concern. He didn't even have to wonder if Lance's conviction was genuine. When a man like Captain Dukerk swore to something with God as his witness, he meant it. He finally turned toward Lance, leaned against the counter, and folded his arms over his chest. "How good are your acting skills, Captain?"

"I've spent years acting as if I enjoy Nikolaus's company."

Georg smiled. "There are certain . . . military personnel who are a cause for concern. Nikolaus's bloodhounds, as you call them. Some are off duty tonight. Most of those will be drunk. The ones who are on duty need a special assignment. You will call them in, apologize for your disregarding of their interest in the theory of revolution brewing, give them respect for their diligence, tell them you've been given classified information that you have every reason to believe is related to the case, and you're asking them to see to it personally. It's delicate espionage, takes brains and sharpness. Feed their egos. They will need to leave the country and return at dawn with a report, which they will give to Lieutenant Joerger. Your orders will be given long before you come to spend the night here at the house. When their wild-goose chase turns up nothing, it will all be over--one way or another. You will boldly declare that you were fed false information and taken for a fool."

"I can do that."

"When trouble starts to stir tonight, your socializing with your fiancée will be interrupted. You will personally go nowhere near the castle as you oversee what's taking place, and you will be impatient to return to your fiancée's home and get some sleep before the wedding. You will be so tired from being out half the night that you will be sound asleep and have no awareness of Abbi being taken from the home very early in the company of some of your best men. She will be returned to share brunch with you before the wedding. You will behave, even toward Abbi, as if you have every reason to believe that you will be marrying her. While you may say otherwise, she will sense your belief that Cameron will not be alive to interrupt the ceremony."

"Even though he will."

"God willing." Georg looked at the Captain firmly. "Now, this is the most important part. When your wedding is interrupted, it will be evident that you knew Abbi was married to Cameron du Woernig, but you truly believed he was dead. You believed her when she told you that she'd been with him long enough to exchange vows and get pregnant, but neither of you had seen him since. You will respond to the news of his return with dignity, as anyone would expect of you. But certain people will see evidence afterward that you're deeply hurt, your pride has been wounded, your heart broken." Lance's expression was puzzled until Georg added harshly, "When Nikolaus returns to Horstberg to the news that his brother has taken everything from him, you will be his ally, you will feed his ego, be his friend as you never have before. Cameron murdered your sister and stole the woman you love, and you want vengeance. You will be at his side and thoroughly aware of his every move as far as it's possible. If Cameron fails, you will remain his ally while he remains ignorant of the true paternity of the child you are raising. When the time is right, Nikolaus will be dethroned on several counts of treason, and a regent will be appointed until the child comes of age."

"Who?"

Georg looked down. "It's clearly stated in Cameron's will, so that no disputes arise."

"You?"

"No," Georg chuckled. "Someone much more competent and capable than me. I am no one, Captain. People like me do not rule countries. But not to worry, it's taken care of in the event that the worst happens."

"And what if the child is female?"

"It's not."

"How can you know?"

"Abbi knows."

"A dream?" Lance asked, and Georg realized Abbi had become closer to him than he'd believed. She didn't speak of such things freely.

"That's right."

"So, Cameron is prepared to die."

"Prepared to die and determined to live. We're counting on the latter. If he succeeds, you will cover all past indiscretions with the adage that you stood first by your country, and therefore your allegiance will be to her ruler, first and foremost, because his innocence will be proven--one way or another. Until this country is firmly in Cameron's hands, neither him nor Abbi can know anything of this conversation or your involvement--for your own protection. Even if that means temporarily alienating Abbi."

"I understand," Lance said, and came to his feet. "Is there anything else?"

"Pray. Pray very hard."

Lance nodded and held out a hand toward Georg. "Thank you, my friend," he said as Georg shook it firmly.

"Godspeed, Captain," Georg said and watched him leave. Once alone, he slumped onto a chair and thanked God for yet another miracle. And he prayed that Lance, along with everyone else involved, would remain safe until all of this was behind them.

Georg came back to the present, noting Cameron's expectancy. Georg simply said, "You need to know that Captain Dukerk's allegiance to you was in place prior to the reclamation."

Cameron looked at Georg and then Lance. "But you believed I'd killed her."

"Yes, I did," Lance said. "Or at least a part of me did. I admit that you did raise some doubts on that with the things you'd said."

Georg listened as Lance repeated to Cameron his reasons for choosing to stand behind him. Cameron looked understandably stunned. When Cameron knew everything that Georg knew, he asked, "What brought you to such a decision, Captain? The last time we spoke you told me to leave the country."

"Truthfully, I was testing you. Once I'd put the pieces together and realized what you were doing, I knew I could never live with myself if I did anything to stand in the way of getting Nikolaus out of that position--whatever the cost. But I wondered over your commitment. When you made it clear that you could not in good conscience leave the country, and you were willing to die for Horstberg's sake, I knew I could believe in you enough to stand behind you."

"I don't know what to say," Cameron said. "To tell you I'm grateful sounds so trite."

"And vice versa, Your Grace," Lance said. "I'm grateful for the risks you took to make this happen. And you should know, there was one other thing that let me know beyond any doubt this was the right course."

"And what's that?" Cameron asked, stunned and silently thanking God for the thousandth time as the evidence of His hand in all of this kept mounting.

Lance leaned more comfortably into his chair and showed a lazy smile. "It happened when I realized, beyond any doubt, that you were married to the Duchess of Horstberg. You may have the title and the bloodline, but that woman has this position in her blood no less."

"Amen," Georg said. Cameron could only listen with growing wonder.

"What she told me about her dreams certainly left an impression on me, but after you'd been shot, and I came to ask her if I could talk to you, I finally understood what had drawn me to her all along. She stood there and asked me what I would do if I had to choose between loyalty to her or to my country. And before I could answer, she said that she hoped I would stand for Horstberg. 'You are her captain,' she said with that perfect indignance she has. And then she told me that she was merely a simple woman with no heart to give me. And she clinched it when she spoke like a queen. 'If you die for love or devotion, Captain, let it be for your country.' And I knew. There was no other woman within these borders or out who could hold a candle to Abbi du Woernig."

"Amen," Georg said again. Then he realized that Cameron had a hand pressed over his mouth, his eyes closed, tears on his face. Georg exchanged a gaze of compassion and understanding with the captain. They both knew that Cameron's emotions couldn't help but be fragile after recent events.

Georg was prepared to slip quietly out of the room and take the captain with him, allowing Cameron some time, but a light knock sounded at the door. Cameron hurried to wipe his tears before he called, "Come."

An officer stepped in, saying, "Her Grace wishes to see you, sir."

"By all means," Cameron said in a light tone that would never hint that he'd just been crying.

Abbi stepped into the room, and all three men rose to their feet as the door was closed. "You found us," Cameron said.

"It took three servants to get me here," she said, glancing around.

"It's just down the stairs from the bedroom, Abbi," Cameron noted.

"Maybe I exaggerated a little." She smiled. "This is a beautiful room, and it's huge."

"Most rooms are around here," Georg said. "Beautiful and huge, I mean."

"I think I've spent more time in this room than any other in this place combined," Cameron said.

"Does that count sleeping?" Abbi asked, taking a seat.

"Yes," he added easily.

She said to her husband, "I was wondering . . . did Mr. Lumburg follow through?"

Cameron felt a little disoriented until he recalled that she had been privy to their conversation the previous morning. "Yes, it's going very well," he said. "Many people have been willing to help."

"That's good, then," Abbi said.

"Perhaps I should go," Lance said, "and leave you to--"

"No, Captain," Abbi interrupted, "there's something I need to say. I'm glad the three of you are all here."

The men took their seats, and Abbi slid a sealed packet of papers across Cameron's desk. He picked it up as she said, "If you open that you'll note that it's dated the seventeenth of August, 1813. The date is significant for me, because Blaze was born that day. And that's the day my father put those papers in my care."

"Merciful heaven," Georg muttered as he apparently perceived the implication first.

Cameron asked severely, "How do you know the date if you haven't opened it?"

"He left an identical set with his father, which left me with both eventually. I opened one of them last night. That's how I knew _before_ Nikolaus showed up in my bedroom that he had killed Gwen. It's all there." Tears came in spite of her effort to hold them back. "I should have opened it a long time ago. If I had known . . . if _we_ had known . . . but he told me never to open them if he were alive, and . . . I had no idea that he . . ." She couldn't continue.

Cameron looked at the papers as if they might explode in his face, but he broke the seal and unfolded them. He scanned the first page, then the second. Then he tossed them scornfully to the desk.

"I'm not going to start questioning why everything worked out the way it did," Cameron said, "and why it took four years to make it happen. We were all doing the best we could do under the circumstances. We can't go back and change the past." He looked firmly at Abbi. "But I want you to know that I am absolutely certain you should _not_ have done anything more than what you did."

"How can you say that when--"

"Abbi," he interrupted gently, "after Nikolaus met you last year, he told your father in no uncertain terms that if anything got stirred up against him as a result of this, he would do you harm, or even kill you. He was using your safety to blackmail your father." Abbi took a sharp breath and put a hand to her stomach as Cameron added, "We know he was capable. You did the right thing. We can all be grateful that it's over now."

Abbi nodded through ongoing tears. Cameron walked around the desk and urged her to her feet, holding her tightly in his arms. Georg picked up the papers to look at them, muttering quietly, "Unbelievable."

"It's too bad he's already dead," Lance said. "I'd sure like to--"

"Don't say it," Cameron interrupted. "It's almost time for church, and I'm trying very hard not to take my anger with me. For the moment, I'd prefer that we focus on gratitude."

"Point taken," Lance said while Cameron wiped Abbi's tears.

Abbi had forgotten it was Sunday, but she was pleased to discover that a private church service was held in the castle chapel at midday as a standard. She loved sitting through the service with Cameron's hand in hers, and she focused her mind, as he'd suggested, on the gratitude she felt for how far they had come. They were together and safe.

Magda and Lena were there, as well as Georg and Elsa, and Abbi's father, and Lance. Many of the castle servants and even some officers of the Guard were in attendance. The bishop of Horstberg officiated the service, and it was evident that after he finished with the morning service in the cathedral, he always came here. Afterward he talked with the family, expressing his joy that all had come together well. Then Cameron asked if they could speak alone. While Cameron was with the bishop, Abbi visited with her father for a few minutes before he left to take advantage of his newfound freedom and see some old friends. Abbi returned to her room with Elsa.

She was delightfully surprised to be greeted by Cameron's dogs. Elsa told her that Georg had gone back to the estate for a number of things that morning and had brought the dogs with him. Franz had eagerly agreed to look out for the animals, since he had dogs of his own at home and was fond of them. Abbi asked Elsa if she knew who was seeing to Georg's work on the estate, and Elsa told her that he'd taken care of hiring someone to take his place, but he hadn't wanted her to know that he'd been planning to leave his job. One more point that left Abbi disoriented. But she focused on the loving attention the dogs gave her and their familiar connection to more simple times with Cameron.

A short while later, Dr. Furhelm came to check on Abbi. "His Grace sent for me," he said. "He's concerned for you. I understand you had quite an ordeal last night."

"Yes," she said, "but I'm fine." _Physically at least,_ she added to herself, and pushed away memories of the incident that smoldered uneasily inside of her.

"Still," the doctor said with compassion, "we just want to be certain that you're well before you leave on your honeymoon."

Following the routine examination, he asked her some straightforward but embarrassing questions about her ordeal with Nikolaus. She wondered if Cameron had put him up to this, hoping to glean information without having to confront it personally. She was glad to be able to tell the doctor that Nikolaus had not raped her, and the scrapes and bruises were minimal and would heal. She could feel the baby moving, and he assured her that everything with the pregnancy appeared to be fine.

Once assured that she was all right, their conversation turned to his longtime loyalty to Cameron, and how he'd been one of the first helping Georg as the revolution was planned and carried through. It was evident the doctor had known Abbi was carrying a royal heir long before she did.

Cameron came to the room, and Abbi realized the doctor had been waiting for him. She was pleased that he insisted on checking the wound he'd treated a few days earlier. The doctor was alarmed, as Abbi had been, to note the bruising on his torso. But he simply told Cameron to keep the bullet wound clean and take it easy, and he felt certain all would heal well.

"I'll see the both of you in two weeks when you return," the doctor said while Cameron was putting his shirt back on.

"Thank you, Doctor," Abbi said.

"It is a pleasure to be at your service, Your Grace," he said with a warm smile before he left the room.

_Your Grace_. The words hung uncomfortably over Abbi each time she heard them in reference to herself. But in spite of her discomfort, she had pledged her unquestioning love and devotion to Cameron. She only prayed that she would not let him down.

As soon as the doctor left, Cameron said, "We need to go to supper. We're eating early so we can take care of the burial."

"Are you all right?" she asked while he tucked in his shirt.

"No, Abbi, I'm not all right. And I _know_ you're not all right." She looked away, not wanting her own burdens to weigh him down further on such a difficult day. "But I'm trying very hard to be grateful for what I have gained, instead of angry over what I've lost--and the reasons for losing it. I have to get through this day in one piece, and I can't think about it, or I will lose what little control I'm holding onto. I fear I'm going to fly into a rage and end up scaring the hell out of whoever happens to be nearby--and that will probably be you." He lifted her chin with his fingers and looked at her closely. "But we're going to get through this day, and get away from here and take some time. And when it _does_ explode, I pray you will forgive me."

"For what? For sharing your pain with me?" She wondered how he would respond when her own rage inevitably came to the surface. She smiled and added, "You've come far, Cameron du Woernig. You used to hide from me, and try to pretend you weren't hurting. And now you admit it so readily."

"You taught me well, my love," he said and kissed her quickly.

Cameron held her hand as they went to supper, going down the stairs, past the ducal office, and traversing another long hall toward the dining room. Abbi stopped abruptly and tugged on Cameron's hand, overcome with a strange sensation.

"What is it?" Cameron asked, noting her distracted expression as she turned and looked around herself.

"I've . . . seen this place before," she said, furrowing her brow with deep thought.

"You've been to the castle before," he said. "Surely you--"

"No, it's not that. It's more like . . ." The thought began to take hold and her heart quickened. She pointed to a nearby door. "What's in there?"

It took Cameron a moment to remember. "It . . . uh, goes down to an old . . . dungeon-type room. It hasn't been used for years."

Abbi turned to look around herself again, paying special attention to the floor. Cameron felt more unnerved than he wanted to admit.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I saw this in a dream," she said. Her eyes finally focused on him. "This is where you were lying when I couldn't wake you up. It was right here." She stomped her foot on the floor. "This door was open. And someone else was here."

"You told me before it was Georg."

"No, it looked like Georg, but it wasn't him."

Cameron offered what he thought was a logical explanation. "Georg's son, perhaps."

"Perhaps," Abbi said. It felt right, and she liked the way it justified many years passing before this particular dream might come about. Still, it was unnerving. If she truly had foreseen Cameron's death, she prayed it would be a very long time in coming.

"Hurry along," he said, taking her hand. "There's nothing to worry about. We're together now, and everything's perfect."

Abbi managed a smile and they hurried to the dining room, where Magda and Lena were waiting. She found their company one of the few positive aspects of this arrangement. Even the huge dining room didn't seem quite so ominous as the four of them huddled at one end of the table, chatting and laughing. Cameron seemed relaxed and at ease to be with his sisters. But the tension quickly fell back over him when the meal was over and Franz came to help him dress for the funeral procession. He went without the crown and robe, and Abbi realized they were only used for certain occasions. Instead he wore black arm bands to indicate mourning. When he was ready to go, Franz slipped away and Cameron bent to kiss Abbi, looking into her eyes with unspoken emotion. "I love you," he murmured. "As soon as I return, we'll leave."

"I'll be counting the minutes," she said.

"You know, you don't have to hole up here in the bedroom. You're welcome to go anywhere in the castle."

"I fear I'd get lost."

"I'm certain any of the servants would love to show you around and--"

"Perhaps another time," she said. "I'll just rest here. Thank you."

Cameron nodded and sighed. "I'll be glad when this is over," he said and left the room.

Abbi went to the window and realized she'd not yet taken the time to do so. The view of the valley beyond the castle was remarkable. Diverting her attention to the courtyard below, she saw at least a hundred men in uniform, waiting at attention alongside a hearse bearing an elaborate casket. The hearse was draped with the ducal colors of red, black, and gold, as was an open coach waiting behind it, harnessed to four black horses. Her eye was drawn to a huge flag flying over the castle gate that she'd never noticed before. The breeze held it unfurled perfectly for her to see the likeness of a shield, divided into three sections, with different symbols in each one. The du Woernig family crest, no doubt. But her blood quickened as she recognized the most prominent of those symbols: a red lion.

Distracted by movement below, Abbi saw Cameron appear with his sisters, who were dressed entirely in black. He helped them into the waiting coach, and Abbi tried to imagine herself there with them. The thought chilled her, and she was glad to be excluded. She felt certain, however, that her opportunity to hide in the background was only temporary.

Cameron walked to where his horse waited at the head of the hearse. She noticed then that Lance was waiting there also. They mounted their horses at the same time. The captain bellowed an order. Cameron lifted a black-gloved hand, and the entire procession moved forward in time to a slow, lamenting drum cadence that sounded like death. Abbi watched until the procession disappeared through the castle gate and the drums could no longer be heard. Then she lay down on the bed and cried.

Cameron was surprised at how many people lined the street to watch the procession go by. He wondered if any of these people actually felt sadness over Nikolaus's death. But faces were unreadable, etched in a common expression of appropriate solemnity. He couldn't help thinking what a contrast it was to his public appearance for the wedding the previous day.

As they neared the cathedral, which stood as a north boundary to the cemetery, a woman burst out of the crowd, screaming, "Murderer! You filthy murderer!" She was quickly restrained by two officers who fell out of rank to handle the situation efficiently.

Cameron discreetly asked the captain, "Was she talking about you or me?"

Lance looked surprised. "Whatever anyone assumed concerning Gwendolyn's death is long in the past. I'm certain she's referring to Nikolaus."

"But the proclamation did not state who was responsible," Cameron said.

"Wurtzur knew, and the men with him."

"They're in prison."

"And allowed one visitor," Lance stated. "I'm certain the truth will filter through."

Cameron glanced discreetly over his shoulder to see the woman struggling against the officers' restraint, as if she'd like to personally avenge Nikolaus's death.

"One of his love interests, no doubt," Lance said.

"No doubt," Cameron said, wondering how many broken hearts Nikolaus had left behind. He doubted anyone else would mourn his loss, especially those who had been groveling in poverty due to their deceased duke's indiscretions.

A minute later, Cameron said to the captain, "I hope you're not feeling any remorse over what happened last night."

"That I killed him, you mean?"

"That's what I mean."

"Not in the slightest," Lance said, and the procession moved through the cemetery gate, toward the portion in the center surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence, where members of the royal family were buried. Nikolaus's casket was lowered into the ground by the officers who served as pall bearers. The bishop spoke some ceremonious words over the grave. And then it was over. Cameron escorted his sisters back to the coach and ordered the procession to return to the castle. But he felt compelled to linger a few minutes over Nikolaus's grave, well aware that the sexton was waiting to finish his job and fill in the hole. Cameron couldn't conjure up a tear on his brother's behalf. But his thoughts wandered through the childhood they had shared, filling him with a deep ache. He was surprised to feel a hand on his shoulder.

"Captain," Cameron said. "I thought you'd returned with the rest of them."

"I thought the captain's main duty was to see that the duke remained safe. I'll stay and see you back to the castle."

Cameron glanced toward the gate where four other officers waited at attention, out of hearing range, their backs turned. Then he looked into Lance's eyes and couldn't suppress a chuckle. "We've come far in the last couple of days," he said.

"Indeed." Lance laughed as well, then his voice turned grim. "There's something I think you should see."

Cameron followed Lance past the open grave and the huge elaborate headstones of his parents. He paused for a moment to ponder his parent's names engraved in stone, along with the elaborate tributes etched there. Then he walked a few more paces to where the captain stood, looking down at the ground. The paltry rock gravestone looked completely out of place here, surrounded by the ornate marble structures left to commemorate the lives of generations of royalty. But its eeriness came more from the meaningless memorial inscribed there. _Cameron du Woernig. 1786 --1813._

The captain's voice was compassionate as he said, "There was no service of any kind. No procession. No memorial. Nikolaus publicly declared that he would pay no honor to one who had died so dishonorably. Your sisters were furious, but he wouldn't bend. It all takes on a whole new irony in knowing he was entirely responsible for the events that left us believing you were dead."

"I _was_ dead," Cameron said, and put a hand to his chest as if it might quell the burning that gathered there. The building rage he'd confessed to Abbi rose uncomfortably close to the surface. He actually felt lightheaded, as if all the blood had rushed from his head to feed the anger and hatred boiling inside of him. He teetered slightly and felt the captain's hand at his shoulder to steady him.

"What is it?" Lance asked quietly.

Cameron struggled to steady his breathing and willed his heart to be calm. Quiet rage accompanied his words into the open. "He took _everything_ from me; _everything!_ And for what? Purely for the sake of his own gain. And I wonder . . . if he hadn't succeeded in framing me for murder, what lengths might he have gone to in order to frame me for treason."

"I cannot imagine how difficult this must be for you," Lance said, "but I think I speak for a great many people when I say that I'm glad he didn't succeed."

Cameron couldn't comment. Looking down at his name carved in a headstone, he wanted to scream like a madman and cry like a child. He was grateful for the captain's calming presence when he said, "I've already given orders for this to be removed and destroyed."

"Thank you," Cameron said tersely.

"But I think it's a great credit to you, that you would give your brother an honorable burial, even though he had no honor."

"He was still my brother," Cameron said, and he kicked the gravestone with scorn.

Lance walked a few more steps and paused before an elaborate stone of white marble. Cameron joined him, reaching out to touch the name, _Gwendolyn Dukerk du Woernig_. A combination of emotions struck him all at once, but the reality of Abbi in his life put them all into perspective. He was grateful to have her a part of him now, and the past simply didn't matter anymore.

"Let's go home," Lance said, urging Cameron away. "Your bride is waiting for you."

They mounted their horses and rode slowly out of the cemetery, with two officers riding some distance ahead and two behind. It was proper protocol for them to ride close enough to offer aid or protection, but far enough to remain out of hearing range. Cameron was grateful for that as he took the opportunity to say, "I know you care for Abbi. In that respect, this must be difficult for you."

"Perhaps a little, but . . . may I speak candidly, sir?"

"Of course."

"I must confess, I felt drawn to Abbi the first time I laid eyes on her. Naturally I wanted to be around her, and I couldn't help but want to marry her. When she told me the circumstances--that she was married and pregnant, but not certain if her husband was alive--I was more than happy to help her. I think I would do anything for her. But then, as I watched her, and the way people reacted to her in public, I realized that the love I felt for her was something quite common. Everywhere she went, men's eyes were drawn to her. Women as well seemed to want to just look at her, as if they were fascinated. And yet she's so completely oblivious to it. It's as if she has no comprehension of this incredible . . . _something_ that radiates from her. It's impossible to put into words."

"Yes," Cameron said, "I know well what you mean."

Lance chuckled. "I'm sure you do. The love I have for Abbi is a . . . gallant kind of thing, I suppose. I believe a thousand men would do for her for what I was willing to do. It's as I told her; she has a way of making a man want to fall down in the mud just to keep her from getting her feet dirty. But it's not the kind of love that could keep a woman like that happy for the rest of her life."

Cameron watched Lance as he spoke, marveling at how perfectly he knew Abbi. Everything he said felt familiar and right, and yet to hear it described this way showed him a facet of the woman he loved that he'd never been able to pinpoint before now.

"She can walk into a room wearing worn calico, with her hair flying out behind her," Lance continued, "and she takes your breath away, as if she were some kind of goddess--which makes it seem so natural to see her where she is now." Lance turned to look hard at Cameron as he added, "Which, I believe, is one of the main reasons I knew you were the man who had won her heart. It seemed appropriate, somehow."

There was a length of deep silence before Cameron said, "I'm truly indebted to you, Captain. I knew that what we were doing was precarious at the very least, and I did my best to put all of it into God's hands, praying that it would come together. It's evident you were an instrument in His hands. And I'm grateful."

Lance's voice was firm as he replied, "I consider it an honor, I assure you."

Cameron was touched by Lance's commitment, but he felt sure the deepest part of his loyalty was directed at Abbi.

A few minutes later Cameron asked, "By the way, I've meant to ask what happened to Captain Wacher." Prior to his arrest, Cameron had worked with the previous Captain of the Guard for many years.

"He took an early retirement the moment he heard that Nikolaus had taken over. He made no qualms about refusing to work with him. He actually moved his family out of the country."

"Smart man," Cameron said with chagrin.

"We've exchanged letters here and there. They are doing well. He's fulfilled his dream to make furniture, and does well."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Lance then added, "Nikolaus did some coercion to get me into this position. Those who ranked above me didn't want to take it. I was reluctant. But many officers encouraged me, hoping I could have a positive influence on him. That was my intent, but I'm not sure I did much good."

"Oh, I believe you did a great deal of good," Cameron said. "There will probably be things we may never know, but I am eternally grateful for the position you were in last night. Enough said."

They were both startled when a woman approached them, seemingly out of nowhere. The street was mostly deserted and quiet, now that the procession was over. Cameron felt relief at how quickly the officers dismounted and came between him and this woman, but the alarm on her face was disconcerting.

"Your Grace," she said with fear and determination, "forgive my boldness . . . but might I have a word?"

"Of course," he said, but remained in the saddle. "It's all right, Lieutenant," he added and the officers moved aside.

"I was waiting for you to pass by, hoping to speak with you, even though I knew it would be unlikely." She wrung her hands nervously. Her attire expressed poverty.

"Go on," he said when she seemed hesitant to speak any further.

"I simply must express my gratitude," she said and her eyes became moist. "Before we had even heard news of your return, my children were eating the first solid meal they'd had in months. And just today we've been informed that our property would be returned, and we will now have a place to call home."

Familiar knots tightened in Cameron's stomach. He knew the property would not be returned if it had not been taken illegally. Those had been his orders. "And what pathetic excuse did my brother have for taking your property, madame?" he asked.

Tears fell and she wiped them quickly away. "My husband was wrongly accused of treason, Your Grace. He was . . . executed, and our property . . . taken. And here on the Sabbath it has been given back."

"This is the day for good works, is it not?" Cameron said, resisting the urge to scream and curse. "I am glad to hear that your needs are being met at last. I only wish that I could bring your good husband back." She nodded but seemed too overcome to speak. To ease the tension, Cameron added, "You are very kind to make the effort to share your appreciation. I will remember it fondly."

He almost moved the horse forward until she said, "Your Grace. Forgive me if I speak too boldly, but . . . it's said that your good wife . . . Her Grace . . . had much to do with bringing you back to us."

Cameron chuckled. "How quickly gossip spreads."

"Is it not true, Your Grace?" she asked, as if she feared having spoken some falsehood.

"It is very much true, madame. Her Grace is the finest of women, and I truly would not have been able to come back were it not for her influence."

"Then you must express to her our appreciation."

"I will do that, thank you."

"The both of you will be in our prayers," she said, stepping back. "Thank you for your time, Your Grace."

"Madame," he said, and urged his horse forward, the officers doing the same.

While Cameron was pondering this woman's words and what they meant to him, Lance said, "It's all a matter of timing, Your Grace."

"What is?" Cameron asked, confused.

Lance chuckled. "On Friday you were a traitor. Today you are a champion."

Cameron ignored the compliment, more preoccupied with the irony of their conversation two days earlier when he had made such a comment. Then he forced his mind to the present and spent the remainder of their slow ride back to the castle instructing Lance on what he wanted done in his absence. He told him to work with Georg and the committees to see that everything stayed under control until he returned and that the projects of restitution that had begun would be continued.

It was nearly dusk when they returned to the castle, and Cameron hurried to the bedroom. His dogs were curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed. They lifted their heads to greet him, and he thought of the companionship they had given him through these difficult years. Serenity washed over him.

He found Abbi asleep in the huge bed that made her look even tinier and more delicate. He kissed her awake, loving the way her arms came around him in a manner that was so familiar.

"Get your shoes on, my love. Let's get out of here."

Abbi was quickly alert and hurried to freshen up while Cameron changed into comfortable clothes. He was pulling on his boots when he looked up to see Abbi holding a wrapped package.

"What is this?" he asked.

"It's a wedding gift."

He looked at her sideways. "That's really not necessary."

"I know, but . . . it has no monetary value. I simply want you to have it."

Cameron set the package on the bed and pulled the brown paper away to reveal the framed painting. He was momentarily speechless as he recognized the depiction of the view of Horstberg from the high ridge. "Abbi, this is incredible."

"My talent isn't anything to speak of," she said humbly. "But it has special memories for me, and painting it helped get me through all of the waiting."

"Oh, Abbi." He took her in his arms and held her, wishing he could express how this painting bridged all they had shared on the mountain with all that was happening now. He turned to look at the painting again as another idea occurred to him. "This is our dominion," he said. "Our Horstberg," he added in a soft voice. The ironies continued to mount.

"We'll find a place to hang it when we return," he said. "Here in the bedroom."

Abbi nodded and hugged him tightly, then she led him toward the door, wanting only to leave here. She was beginning to feel as if she might suffocate being confined within these castle walls. She wondered how she would ever survive living here the rest of her life.

Abbi felt indescribable relief as she rode Blaze out of the castle gate with Cameron at her side. Her heart quickened as he led the way through the covered bridge, over the fallen tree, and up through the forest. It was dark long before they arrived at the lower meadow. But Blaze had no trouble following Cameron. She knew the stallion could likely find his way here under any circumstances.

Abbi couldn't find words to express all she was feeling as Cameron helped her up through the ridge. She laughed aloud as he carried her over the threshold of the lodge, once the horses had been cared for. He set her down only long enough to light a lamp, which he handed to her, and then he carried her straight up the stairs to the bedroom. Once the lamp had been set down, he made a comical display of tossing her gently onto the bed, then he collapsed beside her, out of breath.

"I think we're overdue for a wedding night," he said. "But since it was our third wedding . . ." He laughed but didn't finish the sentence. Abbi didn't comment. She hated the way any implication of intimacy took her thoughts to Nikolaus. She was grateful that they'd been too busy or exhausted since their cathedral wedding to have time for intimacy. And even more grateful when he added, "Truthfully, I'm so exhausted I almost hurt." Thinking of the bullet wound and the bruises, she felt certain that he was minimizing his pain. He kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, "But it will give us something to look forward to."

"Indeed," she said, and they hurried to get ready for bed. Abbi felt more content and relaxed than she had for weeks as she fell asleep close to his side, while the world seemed a million miles away.

She woke to find him absent and wondered if he'd just gone downstairs or if he might be feeding the horses. She rolled over and inhaled her surroundings and the peaceful memories associated. She had to admit this was likely her most favorite place to be in all the world, as long as Cameron was here with her.

Abbi's eye was drawn to a book on the bedside table. She reached for it, wondering if it was one of Cameron's journals, then she immediately recognized it as the book she'd used for sketching during her stay here with him. She recalled seeing it there when she'd visited him in the summer. She felt moved to think of him keeping it close, but even more so as she looked at the sketches and the history they expressed of her evolving relationship with Cameron. If only she had known then what she knew now!

Wanting to be near him, she went down the stairs in bare feet, still in her nightgown. She quickly realized he wasn't there, but he'd left coffee on the stove. She poured herself a cup and was sitting at the table to drink it when he came through the door. He smiled when he saw her.

"Good morning, Mrs. du Woernig," he said and chuckled. "Do you know how many times I wanted to call you that but never dared? I love saying it."

"I love hearing it," she said, simply because it meant being his wife, and the absence of secrets between them. She wished that she could only be Mrs. du Woernig, and not the Duchess of Horstberg.

While Cameron washed up, she went into the kitchen to start cooking some breakfast, noting that Georg must have come and left the fresh food that was there. She'd barely put a pan on the stove when she found Cameron facing her, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. She forced away uneasy memories as he took her into his arms, and she reminded herself that this was her husband. She set a hand to his stubbled face, acquainting herself with a sensation that was so unusual, since she was accustomed to his wearing a beard.

Cameron loved the way just being here with Abbi made him feel. The distance from all their fears and burdens in itself was heavenly. It _felt_ like a honeymoon, and heaven knew they certainly needed one after all they had been through.

"This can wait," he said, easing her away from the stove. He pressed his lips overs hers with a kiss that only began to express all he felt for her in that moment. He was startled when she winced and drew back.

"What?" he asked, noting the alarm in her eyes. She touched her lips as if they had betrayed her. The alarm turned to terror, then disappeared behind a harsh rise of tears. "What?" he repeated, alarmed himself.

Abbi struggled for the simplest explanation, if only to give her a moment to gather courage enough to say all that he would demand to know. "My lips hurt."

Cameron tried to tally any possible explanation for such a thing--something that might have occurred since he'd last kissed her with any passion. He figured it out the same moment she moved unsteadily to a chair and put a hand over her mouth.

"What did he do to you?" Cameron demanded. She began to visibly tremble. She hung her head and turned shamefully away. "You told me you were fine," he said while his stomach smoldered.

"And what was I supposed to say?" she countered without looking at him. "You'd told me _you_ were fine not so many hours earlier, and you were bruised and bleeding. It was the order of the day!"

"That was _different,"_ he snapped.

"Don't tell me it was _different!"_ She looked at him then, her eyes full of rage. But for who? What? "You did what you had to do even though you were _not_ fine. I only followed your example and did the same."

"You could have told me the truth," he muttered, increasingly sick as he considered what the truth might be.

She shot to her feet, clearly more comfortable with being angry than accepting the pain she was in. He felt most disturbed to realize she'd probably learned _that_ from his example, as well. "And what would you have had me say?" she cried. "There were twenty men standing there, and your brother had just been stabbed through the heart. You were barely holding yourself together, and I knew it. Would you have preferred that I'd just sputtered it all out right then and there? Maybe I should have said it loud enough for everyone to hear, and completed my disgrace in front of your most trusted officers. Do you think they will ever look at me without remembering the way he paraded me into their midst, dressed as I was? Do you think they won't remember the way he _touched_ me in front of them, and threw me to the ground, broken and crumbling? Perhaps I should have just publicly added my testimony to his final condemnation. I should have just said it!" she screamed. "He defiled me and used me for the _sole_ intent of putting himself on even ground with _you!"_

Cameron staggered to a chair and put his head down, barely able to breathe as she continued. "You took what meant most to him, and he was getting even. The _only_ reason he didn't finish what he'd started was to save it as a bargaining point. He made it clear that I might get to keep what little was left of me if you made the right choice. Is _that_ what you wanted me to say when you asked if he'd hurt me? You asked if he'd raped me. The answer was no. But I wonder now what _exactly_ is the definition of such a word. Are there varying degrees for such an offense? Should I have said he _barely_ didn't? Or that he did everything _but_ rape me?" Cameron's stomach lurched. Physical pain gathered in the deepest pit of his gut, even as her voice softened. "It could have been worse; it could have been _so_ much worse. And I thank God that it wasn't. But he still ravaged and violated me, and we both have to live with that."

She became silent, but Cameron kept his head down while his tears flowed without restraint. He sniffled loudly and knew she had to be aware of his crying. He pressed a hand over the tangible pain in his chest, finding it difficult to even draw breath. "Why didn't you . . . say something . . . before now?"

"I couldn't tell you such things that night," she said, her voice soft with regret and compassion. "And I couldn't tell you while you were consumed with seeing your brother buried and trying to accept that he was responsible for all you had suffered. I had no intention of keeping the truth from you. I just needed to wait."

Cameron tried to take in what he'd just learned. He felt like throwing up. He groaned and pushed his hands harshly through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Abbi," he cried and sniffled again, wiping his face on his sleeve.

"You have no need to apologize for this, Cameron."

"I put you in this position!" he shouted, and then he sobbed as the tears continued. But he still couldn't look at her, still could hardly breathe. "I left you vulnerable to this, when I should have--"

"Cameron," she interrupted firmly. When she said nothing more he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "God led me into your life. I had the choice of whether or not to stay there. I made that choice with my whole heart, and I do not regret it. Even if he had taken everything from me, we would have found a way to come to terms with it and move on, because I will _not_ allow him to destroy my happiness, or yours."

The source of Cameron's tears shifted as he took in what she was saying, and her aura as she'd said it. She was everything noble and strong, without even trying. She was his greatest example, and his truest source of power. She had become the pillar and foundation of Horstberg, and she didn't even know it. While she looked into his eyes with hesitance and timidity, waiting for a response, he was so filled with hope and admiration that it became even more difficult to breathe. He searched for words to express all he was feeling, even while he knew that words could never be adequate.

"I think," he said, "they will remember most what I remember most. With perfect dignity and unquestionable courage, you told me to choose my country. There was _nothing_ broken or crumbling in what you said, or the way that you said it. You behaved like a queen under the most deplorable of circumstances. I am absolutely certain that they will forever honor you for that, as I will." 
Chapter Twenty-Eight

ABBI'S MASK

Abbi wondered why she found it so difficult to believe him. She didn't feel like a queen. She felt inadequate, and unworthy, and completely incapable. Not knowing how to explain, and not wanting to, she hurried up the stairs and closed the bedroom door.

Cameron sat for several minutes while his admiration for her courage and dignity battled with the horror of what Nikolaus had done to her. He fought to push away his own anger and sickness over the matter, and tried to figure how all of this might be perceived by a tender woman's heart. Then he had to accept that he could never possibly know any such thing. He could only try to understand. And he'd never accomplish that by just sitting there. He opened the bedroom door to find her lying on the bed, her back to him. He lay on the bed behind her, and pushed her hair back from her face enough to be assured that she was wide awake, staring at nothing with dazed eyes. He eased closer and gently put his arm around her, relaxing his head on the pillow close to hers.

"Abbi," he said softly, and felt her flinch.

Abbi squeezed her eyes closed against the images in her mind, but they only became more clear. More than anything, she hated the way Nikolaus had tainted the most simple, tender moments she shared with her husband. She just didn't know what to do about it.

"Talk to me," he said and put a hand into her hair. Even _that_ reminded her of Nikolaus.

Cameron sensed her resistance to discuss the problem, but far worse, he sensed her resistance to his touch. But he wasn't going to let Nikolaus come between him and his wife. Surely they were stronger than that. "Please tell me what happened," he urged. Then he remembered words she'd once said to him that had helped him cross a painful bridge. "Give me the pain in your heart, my love," he said. "Let me hold it for you . . . as you have done for me, over and over." She said nothing. He lowered his voice. "Tell me what happened, Abbi. I need to know, and then we can put it behind us." Still nothing. "You just told me yourself that we need to come to terms with this and move on. We can't allow him to destroy our happiness."

"I know," she said. "And I know you're right, but . . . I don't want to say it."

"Better that you say it than to let it roll around in your mind with nowhere to go." Mildly facetious, he added, "I have a certain amount of experience with that."

He allowed her some silence and was relieved when she began, even though the first four words tightened his stomach. "He sounds like you." She sighed. "I never would have noticed had I not already known that you were brothers, but the similarities were evident." She rolled deeper into the bed, putting some distance between them. "After you left, I got ready for bed and fell asleep." She took a sharp breath. "When I woke up, he was lying beside me." Cameron winced at the very idea, but steeled himself to stay calm and let her say what needed to be said. "I'd found the papers from my father, and had opened them. I knew he'd killed Gwen, and I thought he was going to kill _me."_

Cameron eased her into his arms, and listened with growing abhorrence to the details of what his brother had done to Abbi, and the vile, cruel things he'd said. She spoke without emotion until it came to the way he had touched her, and the betrayal and loathing she'd felt. She sobbed without restraint, and cursed Nikolaus's soul to rot in hell while he silently echoed her, holding her tightly in his arms, crying silent tears. And for all that she confessed, he felt most deeply wounded by her admittance that she'd told him she would consider giving what Nikolaus asked of her if she had believed he would keep his side of the bargain. After all that she had been through, everything she had suffered for his sake, Cameron was most amazed of all that she would even consider giving all she had to give for the sake of her husband's duty to his country, a duty she had not even begun to understand. She had only known what it meant to _him,_ and how he had fought to honor it. And she was willing to stand beside him in that, at the expense of all that was most precious.

When her crying quieted and her words ran out, he whispered close to her ear, "Is there anything else, Abbi? Anything at all?"

"No," she murmured.

He rolled her onto her back so that he could look into her eyes as he touched the faint bruise on the side of her face. "And when did he give you _this?"_

"This I earned," she said with not even a hint of oppression. It was the Duchess of Horstberg who declared boldly, with fire in her eyes, "I slapped him hard, and I spit in his face, and I told him to address me as 'Your Grace.' So he hit me. But it was worth it, just to see the look on his face."

Cameron smiled as his admiration for her soothed all else. "That is the moment we will remember, my love. Whenever the memories make me angry, I will think of you spitting in his face."

A hint of serenity crept into her eyes. "And I will think of you breaking his nose," she said. "Is it wicked of me to admit I found great pleasure watching you hurt him like that? There was a gun pressed to my head, and I felt sure the last thing I would see before I died was you hitting him, and I _reveled_ in it."

"If such feelings are wicked, then surely I am most wicked of all. I wanted to believe that it was justice, not vengeance, fueling my rage. But I still feel rage. More than ever. And it's going to take time for both of us to understand it and know what to do with it." He pressed a hand into her hair. "Right now it doesn't matter. He is dead, and we are together and free. There can be no greater justice than that for me."

Cameron placed a careful, tentative kiss to her lips, not wanting to cause her physical pain or to press boundaries that might still be too fragile. He was willing to give her all the time she needed to heal in every physical and emotional way, but she pushed both her hands into his hair as if to hold him within her reach, responding to his kiss with an emotional fervor that was not detracted by her physical reticence. The delicacy she used to avoid pain only further enhanced an intimacy that bridged every chasm.

Abbi drew in a contented sigh as Cameron spread tender kisses over her face and throat, rummaging his hands through her hair as if his privilege to touch it was more honorable than that of wearing the crown. She eased him closer and melted into his embrace. "Hold me," she murmured. "Touch me, love me. Replace the memories." He looked into her eyes as if to be certain she meant it. "Heal me," she whispered, and lifted her lips to his.

Abbi succumbed to his familiar caress and lost herself in the comfort of his love. Never had she felt so safe, so utterly secure. With his love and perfect acceptance, he gave back all that Nikolaus had taken from her. He traded away the ugliness with an immovable beauty that was anchored by everything they had ever shared, and all that they ever would with the commitment of a lifetime. And everything fell unequivocally into perspective. Nikolaus could have _never_ truly stolen what she gave to Cameron, simply because she gave it of her own free will, and with a loving heart.

They lay together for endless minutes in silence, until Cameron felt compelled to express his thoughts. At the risk of spoiling the mood between them, he leaned up on one elbow and looked into her eyes. "Abbi," he said, touching her face, "I love you with all the pieces of my heart. Forgive me, but I just have to say . . ." his voice broke, "how truly sorry I am . . . for all that you have suffered for my sake. I know I can't take away what you've endured, but I want you to know that I love you more for enduring it, and for loving me the way you do in spite of it."

She only smiled and kissed him, but he knew her love for him was firm, as his was for her. And with all they'd been through, that was no insignificant matter.

For Abbi, being alone with Cameron in the lodge made the realities they'd left behind feel distant and unimportant. Every hour that passed without any mention of life in Horstberg felt blissful, even though she knew that inevitably all they had gone through--and the changes that lay ahead--would have to be faced. The very thought provoked disquiet and anxiety inside of her, but she forced such thoughts away and tried to enjoy the present. Just being with her husband in such simplicity was worth savoring. They worked together the way they once had, excepting there were no cows to milk or eggs to gather. Georg had left them well supplied with plenty to eat for a few days, and he would be bringing more of all they would need in order to stay at least two weeks.

Two days following their arrival, they shared a simple breakfast before Abbi went back to bed, finding that her pregnancy was prone to bringing on bouts of exhaustion. Cameron left her to rest while he took care of the horses. She was surprised at how quickly she felt relaxed, and sleep overtook her with no effort. Peace and serenity surrounded her as she looked into Cameron's eyes. He peered at her through the mask, his eyes sparkling with adoration and mischief. He took her hand and led her into a heavy mist, but she didn't feel afraid. His grip was tight and firm. He knew where he was going, and he guided her carefully along. As the mist cleared, they stood in the center of the market square. It was like the day of the fair. They were surrounded by people on every side who were oblivious to them, dancing and reveling and full of laughter. It was only her and Cameron; their eyes connected, while nothing else mattered. Then the mask was gone, and their surroundings became eerily quiet. All who were present went to their knees. Cameron disappeared into the mist, leaving her alone in the crowd, the only one standing. Whispers began to stir around her. _Who is she to be a duchess? She's not got a drop of royal blood in her veins. Look at her! Never could she be a lady. She's too wild. Too naive. She has no comprehension of the name she bears or the crown he's given her. What was he thinking? His years away have driven him mad to marry such a nymph. It's an embarrassment to all good society, and especially to His Grace._

Abbi saw Cameron coming toward her. He wore the crown, the robe, the mask. He stood before her, and she begged him to take her away from the cruel taunting of these people. "Abbi, my sweet," he said. "Don't you realize how valuable you are?" He pulled away the mask and it was Nikolaus. She tried to run but couldn't move. He slapped her hard and snarled, "Wear _that_ with the crown, _Your Grace."_

Abbi came awake with a gasp, heart pounding, cold with sweat. __ While the memory of her dream threatened to turn her inside out, the horrifying reality was the undeniable truth in what she'd heard in the echoes of her sleep. Her mind frantically pieced together every memory she'd shared with Cameron, everything he'd ever said and done, trying to fit what she knew into the reality that he was the Duke of Horstberg. She felt completely inadequate to stand beside him. He'd been raised to be a sovereign; she'd been raised naive and inept. Anxiety reached her every nerve. She wondered why a man like Cameron du Woernig would commit his entire life to a woman such as herself. And like a bolt of lightning, the reality she'd been suppressing in order to simply cope rushed forward, refusing to be denied any longer. _She_ had been crowned Duchess of Horstberg. What _was_ he thinking? Her chest tightened painfully and her stomach hardened. _She couldn't do it!_

Cameron entered the lodge and hurried up the stairs, wondering if Abbi was still asleep. He had the urge to take her riding in the high meadow. Pushing open the bedroom door, he saw her sitting in the center of the bed, clutching the bedding tightly in her fists, looking as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Abbi," he said and she jumped. Her eyes snapped toward him like a frightened animal. "Abbi," he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What is it? What's wrong? Did you have a dream or--"

"Yes," she said.

He sat beside her and said gently, "Tell me."

She repeated the dream to him in detail, her voice trembling.

"That's no premonition," he said firmly. "It's a nightmare. It's not true; none of it."

"It _is_ true! I can't do it. If it's not a premonition, it's certainly an expression of everything I've been feeling but couldn't say."

"What do you mean?" he asked, wishing his alarm hadn't come out so sharply.

Abbi shook her head frantically and murmured in a barely audible voice, "I can't do it, Cameron. I can't."

"What are you talking about, Abbi?"

"I can't . . . be a . . . duchess, Cameron. I can't!"

Cameron made a dubious noise, stunned by her intensity. "You _can,_ Abbi. I _know_ you can."

"I can't!" she insisted. "Not that; anything but that."

"Abbi," he took her hands into his, "you're shaking."

"Yes, I'm shaking!" she shouted. "I just realized what I've gotten myself into, and I . . . I can't do it!"

"Yes, you can," he insisted gently.

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do! You were raised to this. You grew up with it. I'm nothing but a senseless . . . unsophisticated . . . girl who grew up in the stable. Women with such positions as this should be trained and raised to it. Like your sisters. Like _Gwendolyn."_

"Abbi, listen to me," he spoke close to her face in a firm, gentle voice, "Gwendolyn Dukerk was no more well-born than you."

"But she grew up among royalty, and--"

"Abbi, there is no law that says the Duke of Horstberg has to marry royalty. And if there were, I would change it."

"Maybe you should reconsider."

"Reconsider _what?_ We're married, Abbi. You're going to have my baby. If that child is a boy, he will be the Duke of Horstberg one day."

Abbi's panic only increased. "How can I raise a child to that? How can I--"

"We'll raise him together. I think you're making a much bigger ordeal out of this than it really is. Now, try to calm down, and we'll talk about this. I'll help you through. I'll be there for you. Everything will be all right."

Abbi swallowed hard and looked at him skeptically. But her heart didn't slow down any more than her breathing. "Exactly what _is_ entailed in being a duchess?"

"Well," he thought a minute, "it's mostly just being by my side, especially on a social level. We socialize with dignitaries from other countries, and . . . well, there are things you can be involved in to serve the people if you choose. It's really up to you how involved you become politically or--"

"I can't do it!" she interrupted again. "Do you hear what you're saying? Socially? Politically? Little more than a year ago, I didn't even know who the royal family was. I'd never even worn an evening gown, or put a pin in my hair, or--"

"But look how far you've come in a year, Abbi. Don't you see the natural grace you have?" He recalled how Lance had described her, and wished he could put words together to share those feelings now. "Can't you see that you--"

"No, I can't!" she insisted.

Cameron took a deep breath, attempting to remain calm. He felt so frustrated that he wanted to shout at her. But he knew that would only make matters worse. Calmly he asked, "All right, Abbi, what do you think the options are? What do you want me to do? Are you saying that you want to annul the marriage or--"

"No, of course not. I'll be your wife. I just don't want to be the duchess."

He snorted a laugh at the incongruity of the statement. "It's impossible to separate one from the other."

"I'll just . . . stay in the background . . . and have your children . . . and--"

He looked into her eyes. "You promised me that you would take on everything that went along with me."

"Yes, but . . ."

"Are you telling me now that your vows had conditions attached? 'I promise to cherish, honor, and obey, except in cases of taking on positions of royalty?' That's who I am, Abbi. It's not by choice. But I know from experience that I have to live up to who I am, or I can never be happy. I need you by my side. You're the one who made me believe in myself again . . . to see and understand what was really important."

"But you're a du Woernig, Cameron. I can't be a du Woernig."

Cameron couldn't keep his frustration out of his voice. "You _are_ a du Woernig! You have been for a long time."

"I didn't _know_ that," she shouted.

"Fine!" he shouted back. "Sue for an annulment. You've got grounds. You were led into the marriage by deception. You were under duress. You can just raise my son alone, and I'll send monthly support to see that he's fed."

"That's absurd!"

"Is it? You're sitting there telling me you can't be my wife, that you don't want my name. Can you tell me any other options of making that possible? You know what, Abbi? I kept the truth from you because I wanted to protect you. I knew if you remained ignorant of my identity you would remain innocent. That's all true. But there's a truth I've hardly admitted to myself, let alone anyone else. The truth is that a part of me was scared out of my mind to tell you who I was, because I feared you would tell me to go to hell, that you wanted nothing to do with it. I knew deep inside what kind of woman you were, that a simple life appealed to you. That's one of many reasons why I loved you so deeply. There are a thousand women in Horstberg who would give their right arm to be my wife. But not because they love me, or know me, or understand me. Only because it brings a title, and wealth, and power. They want the family jewels, and the family name, and the prestige that goes along with being a _du Woernig_. And I can't even talk my own wife into thinking about what the name _du Woernig_ even means." He curled a fist in front of his face. "Do you know what I went through just to claim my name, so that I could give it to you with dignity? And now you're telling me you don't _want_ it!" He pushed his hands into his hair and groaned. "Well, fine, _Your Grace!"_ he spat. "You carve a hole for yourself and curl up safely inside of it, while I go out and serve the country like a bachelor king. But just remember. You're the one who told _me_ that I could hide from the world, but I would never know the love, and joy, and happiness that come from being a part of it."

When Cameron's speech ran down, he paused to absorb Abbi sitting there--tiny and innocent, huge tears welling up in her big green eyes. He heard the echoes of his own anger, and wondered what kind of man he really was. He took in the image of his trembling wife, and pondered what kind of perdition he had lured her into against her will. He considered all she had gone through for his sake, the worst being Nikolaus's abuse. And he felt sick to his stomach. How could he not loathe himself for doing this to her, as much as he loathed his brother for the horrid situation he'd created? He could only leave the room, fearing he'd erupt all over again otherwise.

Cameron paced the common room frantically, fearfully, wondering how to undo what he'd done. He slumped onto one of the sofas and pressed his head into his hands, asking God's forgiveness for his anger and begging for guidance and strength. "You led her to me in a dream, God," he murmured into the empty room. "Is this not how it's supposed to be? Did I wrong her somehow? Did I set my own pride and fear before her needs? Please God, help me understand! I need her by my side, or I will never make it. Please."

"Forgive me, Cameron." Abbi's voice broke the silence that followed the ending of his prayer. He straightened his back, wondering how much she had heard. He prayed in his heart that they could find common ground to stand on in order to get through this adjustment. If not, he couldn't imagine going on.

"It is I who must ask your forgivenness . . . for shouting at you that way. My father used to talk to my mother like that, and I _hated_ him for it. I just . . ."

"It's all right," she said, but she remained standing, several feet away, as if she didn't want to get too close.

"No, it's _not_ all right. I deceived you. Maybe I should have had more faith; maybe I should have believed that being honest with you would put right on our side, and--"

"If I had been in your position," she said, "I would have done it no differently. I'm grateful I didn't know. If I'd realized the danger you were in . . . I would have lost my mind. And maybe . . ." she looked down, "maybe my own fears would have held me back from doing what is right by you . . . if I had known." She looked up at him with tears glistening in her eyes. "Perhaps I should have faith enough to believe that we can get through this . . . together."

Cameron closed his eyes and sighed. "Thank you, God," he murmured under his breath. Already his prayers were being answered. As long as they held tightly to each other, he knew everything would be all right. Without standing up, he opened his eyes and held his hands toward her. Abbi stepped forward to take them, and he pressed his face into the folds of her dress.

"Abbi," he murmured, "I love you. I love you more than life." He looked up at her. "Don't you understand? That's what it really takes to lead a nation. If you and I love each other and stand by each other, it can't help but radiate through the country."

"No, I don't understand . . . not really. But I'm willing to learn. I'll do my best. That's all I can offer."

"Oh, Abbi." He urged her to sit beside him and held her chin, looking into her eyes. "That's all I would ever expect of you. I never wanted to bring a burden into your life, but I know that what I offer you _is_ a burden in some ways. Still, it's a good life, and I know we can find joy in it--together." Abbi looked away and he asked, "Is that so difficult to believe, after all we've been through?"

"No, it's not that. I'm just . . . afraid . . . that I'll let you down." He opened his mouth to protest but she held up a hand to stop him. "I just lost my head up there; I panicked. It's all so overwhelming, but . . . I want you to know that I meant what I said. I would do _anything_ for you, Cameron. Anything!"

Cameron held her close, grateful beyond words. Abbi drew back and looked into his eyes. "Teach me," she said, emotion tinging her voice, "what it means to be a du Woernig."

Cameron murmured and pressed a hand into her hair. "I love you so very much. You are so precious to me." He held her close and let the subject drop for now. As long as he knew she was willing to work together with him to solve this, he had to believe that everything would be all right.

That night Abbi came awake to a strange sound. After orienting herself to her surroundings, she turned over to see Cameron sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"What is it?" she asked and sat behind him, pressing a kiss to his back.

He drew a harsh sigh. "It would seem you're not the only one having nightmares." He stood abruptly and moved to the window, where she could see his silhouette against the moonlight. He leaned a forearm on the window frame above his head.

"Tell me," she urged, remaining on the bed.

"If I had known . . ." he said. "When I was arrested . . . if I had known how completely responsible he was . . . I wouldn't have come here when I escaped; I would have killed him."

"Then it's good you didn't know."

"Yes, I'm sure it is. But . . . _how,"_ he groaned, "can I feel so much hatred for my own _brother?"_

"I think it's more pertinent to ask why he felt so much hatred for you. And I think the answer is simply that you had what he wanted, and your father encouraged him to covet it."

"And now I know he was determined to find a way to take everything from me--one way or another."

"But you have prevailed, Cameron."

She saw him wipe a hand over his face and knew he was far more troubled than he was letting on. "What did you dream?" she asked gently.

"I was in prison. I dreamed it just as it happened. Nikolaus made it clear that I would not get a fair trial, and he was taking control of the country. Wurtzur tied my hands behind me and beat the hell out of me, swearing I would never get out alive."

"Now Wurtzur is in prison, and Nikolaus is dead," she reminded him, as if he might have forgotten.

"Yes, well it still _hurts!"_ he shouted, and she recalled his admitting, the day of the funeral, that he felt a rage he feared would explode. "When I think of what he did to me, what I've been through, what _you_ have been through . . ." He groaned again and started to pace, ranting hotly of the ugliness of Nikolaus's behavior and how adversely it had affected him. He talked of the horrors that some of the citizens of Horstberg had endured. And he really got angry as he recounted how sick it made him to think of what Nikolaus had done to _her._ Abbi just listened, knowing he needed to free himself of the rage he carried. And after he raged, he cried. Four years worth of anguish bubbled out of him in heated spurts while she held him and cried with him. Then he stood again, pacing and ranting. His hurt was deep and justified, and she understood it well. After his emotions ran down, she told him so. Then she added firmly, "But we have to let go and move on."

"I know," he said, leaning once more against the window frame. "I'm just not sure how to do that."

"It will take time, Cameron, but . . . you need to forgive him; we both do."

He turned to look at her, and she felt his astonishment even though the room was dark. "How do you forgive something like this, Abbi? He took _everything_ from me. _Everything!_ And then when I fought so hard to get back what was _rightfully_ mine, he tried to take it all again, hurting you in the process. He was evil and black-hearted and I _hate_ him!"

"Your feelings are valid, Cameron. He hurt you beyond comprehension. But you can't let what he did have power over your life, now that he's gone. You have to forgive him; you have to find the good in this."

"The _good_ in this?" He gave a caustic chuckle. "I don't know if that's possible," he said so bitterly that Abbi felt chilled.

She took a sustaining breath and spoke calmly in the hope of diffusing his anger. "Joseph's brothers sold him into slavery. Slavery for seven years, then prison for seven years. Fourteen years, Cameron. He forgave them. He came to see the good in the outcome. Perhaps you should stop thinking about what Nikolaus took from you, and consider what he gave to you."

"What he _gave_ to me?" he countered hotly, as if she'd lost her mind.

"He freed you from a doomed marriage and put you in a position that gave you the opportunity to become a better, stronger man. He made it possible for you and me to have a life together."

Cameron sat down in the window seat, suddenly weak. While he was trying to accept that she was right, she drove the message a little deeper when she added, "Sometimes the best things in life come out of the greatest adversity."

"So they do," he admitted, and his heart felt soothed. He knew it _would_ take time to heal, to forgive, to move on. But with Abbi at his side, he knew it was possible. She had a way of making _anything_ seem possible. And he couldn't deny, given the choice, that he would go through it all again just to have her.

Through the days that followed, Abbi prayed for courage and consciously fought to replace her fears and concerns with the reminder that Cameron loved her and he had the faith in her that she could fulfill her role as a duchess. They spent long hours talking about orders of echelon and matters of state. He told her the political history of Horstberg in amazing detail and the current status of every country that neighbored Horstberg.

"How do you know all of that if you've been gone for four years?" she asked.

"I've been spending these last weeks catching up. There were many people I worked with before who remained loyal to me. And Georg managed to remain aware of many things that have occurred in my absence." Cameron chuckled. "Actually, he has the brains, you know. If I ever need a problem solved, he's the one who can figure it out."

Abbi thought deeply on that. She felt so in awe of all the information that continued pouring out of Cameron's brain. Did Georg know all of this and more? It was almost frightening to comprehend that these men she cared for had aspects to their lives that left her completely baffled. The very idea was disconcerting, but she forced herself to keep learning and not think too hard about anything else.

Cameron wrote down lists of names and titles of members of the royal families of neighboring countries. He told her they socialized frequently with these people, mixing dinners and dancing with political discussions and negotiations. Abbi worked hard to memorize the list, and Cameron drilled her on it as they'd go about their usual routine of cooking and working together.

One difference in Cameron's routine was that he now shaved every day. But Abbi loved to watch him do it--especially since he never wore his shirt when he did. And she loved the fragrance that lingered from his shaving soap. She typically pressed her hands over his face and kissed him when it was done. Ten days into their honeymoon, she noticed that it no longer hurt at all when he kissed her. With that thought in mind, she pressed her hands over his chest and said, "The bruises are fading." And he'd long ago stopped wearing any bandaging over the bullet wound that was healing well.

"Yes, they are," he said, touching her face where she'd been bruised herself. "Perhaps we shall be able to put the past behind us, after all."

"Not all of it," she said and smiled. "The past I shared here with you is something I will always treasure."

"Amen," he said, and kissed her.

Later that morning, Cameron pushed back the furniture in the common room and left it that way for a few days as they practiced dancing, royal curtsies, and even walking. Abbi was surprised to learn that Cameron had been trained in his youth in swordplay and archery. And his marksmanship with a pistol was incredible. He hadn't been raised to be a foppish king who expected to be protected and waited upon. He was a highly skilled warrior and a man capable of taking on any task that rose before him--which was made evident by the years he'd spent in solitude, completely caring for himself. She mentioned what Lance had told her about all the training entailed in a military career. While Cameron was humble about his experience, it was evident he'd been guided through more rigorous extremes in nearly every respect. He'd been raised to be a leader, to be at least as skilled as any military personnel who might accompany him.

Abbi was also surprised to hear him talk of his father with respect and admiration. "Now, wait a minute," she said. "I've heard you express some severely negative feelings toward your father. You've told me that his example was something you were trying to overcome and--"

"Let me clarify," Cameron interrupted.

"I wish you would."

"On a personal level, my father was a very harsh man. He showed absolutely no love or affection toward his children, or his wife. I was too naive to figure it out at the time, but when I became an adult and looked back, it was evident that he'd been unfaithful to my mother. He considered the marriage a political union and the means to produce heirs. In that respect, Nikolaus was very much like him. _But,"_ Cameron emphasized, "in matters of state, in spite of my father's harsh ways, he was a genius. He knew and cherished Horstberg. I didn't always agree with the way he handled things. He had an iron hand, and he demanded obedience whether he was right or not."

"Which is also like Nikolaus."

"Yes. But he never would have tolerated the way that Nikolaus forced citizens into poverty in order to serve his own greed. And I do have to say that my father kept Horstberg independent and strong as a country through some terribly difficult years. I told you about that already."

"When the Baron of Kohenswald was attempting to take over Horstberg and--"

"That's right. Very good, Your Grace."

"Why do you call me that? I'm your wife."

"Yes, you are. But when we are in public, I will address you by title, and you will do the same to me."

Abbi sighed. "I hope we don't have to be in public very often."

"It's not as bad as all that," he insisted. "And if you'll just give me a chance, I'll prove it to you."

"All right," she sighed, attempting to conceal how thoroughly she disliked the idea. "You were talking about your father." The conversation went on while Abbi did her best to absorb everything she needed to understand in order to become a woman worthy of standing at Cameron du Woernig's side. But in her heart, she wondered if she ever could.

Thoughts of her inadequacies hovered with her through the course of her training, and they were spurred on by the memory of Ramona's criticism--which brought to mind another unanswered question.

"How is it that you knew my aunt Ramona?" Abbi asked one morning at breakfast.

He simply answered, "She is Gwen's stepmother."

"Of course," she said, feeling a little stupid for not seeing the obvious.

She was wondering what horrid adventure Cameron would lead her through today when he asked, "Have you ever ridden sidesaddle?"

"Sidesaddle?" she echoed as if it were a dirty word.

Cameron laughed. "I just happen to have one in the stable. It's a beautiful day. Get dressed. We're going riding."

A few minutes later, Abbi took a long look at the saddle and wrinkled her nose. "How can you really ride with something like that?"

"Let me clarify," he said.

"I wish you would."

"You may go riding anytime you please, Abbi. You are the duchess. You may ride where you please. And how you please. I know that my sisters own riding habits that allow a lady to ride comfortably in a regular saddle without being the least bit immodest or inappropriate."

Abbi sighed. _Riding habits_. She wished she had listened to Aunt Ramona's harping. That alone made her shudder. "All right. So, why a sidesaddle?"

"Because there are certain, special occasions when we ride into town, sometimes as a procession to--"

"Procession?" she practically shrieked, and he laughed. "Isn't that just for weddings and funerals?"

"And many other odd things. Oh, Abbi. If you just get through one week of being the duchess, you will realize how absolutely easy it is."

"You call this easy?" she countered, unable to understand how he could be so amused when she was shaking inside.

"Just be patient--with yourself and with me."

"I will if you will," she replied and motioned toward the saddle. "Help me into that thing, and then you can tell me about this procession."

Abbi sat in the saddle and hooked her leg around the special horn. She hated it for the first hour, but when it became evident that she didn't have to ride quickly in these processions, she relaxed and found that she could be fairly competent. As they rode, Cameron discussed the purpose of members of the royal family going into town each week on market day, simply to illustrate to the people that they were alive and well. "It gives the country an underlying sense of security," he said. "If they never see us, they don't know what's going on up in that castle, and they start to get nervous. But if we go into town and interact like normal people, it seems to help."

"I like that _normal people_ part," she said.

Cameron chuckled. "I know all of this seems overwhelming. And there are certainly moments when we have to endure some pomp and flamboyance, but I think you'll be surprised at how very normally we live."

Abbi took a long look at her husband and had to admit, "Maybe I won't be so surprised."

"You're doing beautifully," he said. "I know this hasn't been much of a honeymoon, but I'll make it up to you. I swear."

"You already have."

"How is that?"

"I'm not honeymooning with the captain, now am I?"

Cameron chuckled. "No, thank heaven."

After they had returned to the lodge, Abbi asked, "Did your father do this weekly procession into town?"

"He went into town regularly, but . . . I didn't really like the way he could never step out of being the duke. For me, I've always wanted to be a part of the people, not to set myself above them. I look at my position more as a great responsibility--to serve the people and see them cared for. I think my father did too, but he had an arrogance about him that--"

"That Nikolaus exemplified well."

"Indeed," Cameron said. "I believe that being close to Georg all of my life has helped me keep that balance. He never let me get too arrogant. He always reminded me of the common man's perspective."

"How _did_ you and Georg become friends?"

"Ah," he chuckled, "I've known him as long as I can remember. His father worked at the castle as a blacksmith. They lived in one of the servants' apartments, and we naturally gravitated to each other as playmates. When his father died, Marta didn't want to stay there. She got a job for the Albrechts, and your grandfather put Georg to work in the stables at a fairly young age."

"He was there as long as I can remember."

"We kept close touch. We met nearly every day at a halfway point where we could ride together. When we were old enough, we began meeting at the pub and . . . well, you know the rest."

Cameron pulled himself out of his memories and looked into Abbi's eyes. "We must go back tomorrow."

"I know."

"You're going to do beautifully, my love."

Abbi quelled the smoldering in her stomach and fought back the urge to argue with him. "As long as you're right beside me, telling me what to do, I'll be fine."

"I'll be there," he promised. "Forever." Then he kissed her long and hard.

Early the following morning, they lay holding each other, neither wanting to get out of bed.

"Are you still afraid?" he asked.

"Yes, but . . . I feel more prepared."

"That's good."

"And . . . I must admit, I'm not as afraid as the last time I had to leave here." She leaned up on one elbow and looked into his eyes. "I don't have to leave without you, wondering when or if I'll ever see you again."

"That's right," he said. "Whatever we take on from here, we take on together."

"I love you, Your Grace," she said. And Cameron smiled.

They waited until late afternoon to leave, not emerging from the forest until evening. They rode discreetly into the castle courtyard. But the moment they appeared, servants hurried to take their horses, and the officers of the Guard on duty went to attention, standing rigidly as they passed by. Cameron greeted everyone warmly and walked inside with Abbi's hand in his, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And to him it surely was.

They'd not been home long when Cameron went to the office to meet with Georg and the captain in order to be updated on all that had progressed in his absence. Abbi went to her sitting room to visit with Elsa, who looked much more pregnant than when they had left. But rubbing her own rounded belly, Abbi knew her own baby had grown significantly since the wedding. She learned that Elsa and Georg had settled into an apartment in the castle, and Elsa was unquestionably happy. In fact, she seemed so pleased about the entire situation that Abbi wondered what was wrong with her that she couldn't be pleased with circumstances that everyone else seemed ecstatic over.

"You know, Elsa," Abbi said, "you really don't have to continue working for me." Elsa looked astonished, but Abbi felt the need to clarify her purpose. "I'm certain Georg's salary allows you to live very comfortably."

"It does indeed," Elsa said with pride in her voice. "But I don't do this for the money. I love working with you, Miss Abbi. I'd be lost if I couldn't."

"I would certainly prefer you over anyone else," Abbi said. "You're as much a friend to me as anything. I just want you to know . . . we can still be friends without having you do so much to help me. After all, you're the wife of the duke's highest advisor."

"It's my pleasure to help you," she said. Then she laughed softly. "Besides, Georg has hired extra help at _my_ house, so I can spend more time with you. I'd much rather be helping you than cleaning house."

"I'm glad you see it that way."

A servant came to the door, saying, "His Grace and Mr. Heinrich wish for the two of you to join them in the east parlor for coffee."

"That would be fine," Abbi said, "except that I have no idea where the east parlor is."

The maid smiled. "If you'll follow me."

They arrived in the east parlor to find a wide variety of sweets and pastries laid out along with the coffee. Magda and Lena were laughing over something Cameron had told them. Georg rose to greet Elsa with a kiss, and Cameron did the same to Abbi, urging her to sit at his side. As they visited and laughed for better than an hour, Abbi felt completely relaxed. They talked of Lena's upcoming wedding, and Abbi hated the idea of having her sister-in-law leave to live elsewhere. At least Magda would still be here. But it was only a matter of time before she married and moved away as well.

Abbi almost forgot she was the Duchess of Horstberg until Cameron said, "We should get some sleep. We must go into town tomorrow, my dear."

"Tomorrow?" she protested. "Why tomorrow?"

"Because it's market day," Cameron said. "It's important for the people to see us together and well, especially after all of the uprising and uncertainty that's been going on."

"But . . . I have nothing to wear. I haven't had a chance to order anything new, and--"

"Oh, we can fix that," Magda insisted. "I'm a bit taller than you, but I believe we are close to the same size. I'm certain we can find something."

Abbi didn't hesitate to admit, even in front of Cameron's sisters, "I just don't . . . know if I'm cut out for this."

"Nonsense," Lena said. "You'll do beautifully."

"Miss Abbi," Elsa said, "you've always had a natural grace and dignity. No one is more of a lady than you are."

Cameron smiled subtly toward Abbi, but she wanted to hit him. He then turned to Georg and said, "And you're coming along. From now on, you will be at my side--always!"

"While you're gone," Elsa said, "perhaps I could assess Miss Abbi's wardrobe and see what--"

Cameron interrupted, "Oh, no, Elsa my dear. You're going with us. You are Georg's wife and shall we say, a _lady-in-waiting_ to the duchess. For tomorrow, at least, you're coming as well."

Elsa's protests were an echo of Abbi's, but Georg reminded her that she too had a great deal of natural grace and dignity.

"But . . . what will I wear?" Elsa protested.

Magda stood up and motioned toward Elsa and Abbi. "Come along. We're going to solve this right now. And tomorrow while we're in town, we'll be ordering new clothes for both of you."

"Excellent idea," Lena said, following the other women out of the room.

After the door had closed, the room became eerily silent with the absence of women chattering. Cameron leaned back and said with light sarcasm, "What are you going to wear, Georg?"

"I don't know, Cam. What are you going to wear?"

They both laughed and Cameron added, "Women. Whatever would we do without them?"

"I don't want to know."

"We did without them for a long time, although now it's difficult to imagine."

"Like I said . . ." Georg chuckled, "I don't want to know."

In her room, Magda pulled out some day dresses from her closet with high waistlines and full skirts. Abbi settled on a dress that Magda and Lena both agreed would do well for the occasion. Lena, who was taller and closer to Elsa's size, gave Elsa a couple of dresses that were more suitable to her position.

"Oh, they're lovely," Elsa said. "Are you certain?"

"I've not worn them in a very long time," Lena insisted. "I'll not miss them."

Abbi was grateful for Cameron's sisters. While her husband had taught her a great deal, she felt certain their feminine influence and insight was something that Cameron could never grasp. Even Georg's brain couldn't compensate for that.

Elsa returned with Abbi to her dressing room. They entered from the hall, and Elsa helped brush out Abbi's hair and see that she was dressed for bed before Elsa left for the night. Abbi came into the bedroom to find Cameron sitting low in a chair, his long legs stretched out, his booted ankles crossed. The dogs were sprawled on the rug near the bed and lifted their heads to silently greet her.

"Hello, Mrs. du Woernig," Cameron said when he saw her. "How are you?"

In her mind the possible answers were clear. _Disoriented. Afraid. Overwhelmed._ "I'm fine," she lied. "And you?"

"I think I'm starting to get used to this new life I'm living."

"The same as your old life," she said and took the hand he held out toward her.

"No," he said, looking up at her, "it was never like this. Same job, same home; not the same life." He kissed her hand. "It had never occurred to me that I could be so happy living this life. To have you here with me makes everything perfect."

Abbi couldn't deny the happiness she felt in seeing _him_ so happy. The light in his eyes compensated for much, especially when that light was coupled with his overt love and adoration for her. How could such devotion from such a man not make her happy?

Abbi responded to the dogs' craving for attention, and she commented to Cameron, "Perhaps we should change their names."

Cameron chuckled. "I should be honored to be called after such a fine dog, as the captain should be." Abbi looked at him dubiously. "But I never call them by their names, anyway." He reached toward Abbi and said to the dogs, "My turn."

He adjusted his position in the chair and eased her onto his lap, cradling her against him in a way that felt secure and warmly familiar. As he threaded his fingers between hers, she realized he was wearing a ring she'd never seen before. She drew his right hand close to her face, noting the gold band going around his ring finger. And on it was the elegantly crafted symbol of a red lion. She silently questioned Cameron, and he said, "The du Woernig men have worn the red lion for generations. I put the ring away when I went into exile. I figured it was time I got it out again." While she was pondering the significance, he seemed to read her mind. "What might you think, Your Grace, of a woman with no knowledge of the politics or history of this nation, who saw in vision the symbol of the red lion--in context with my unborn son?"

"I had no idea," she said softly.

"I know. That's why it scared the hell out of me. But in the end, it was your vision that led me to believe there could be a future for us." He pressed a loving hand over her rounded belly. "I love you, Abbi girl."

"And I love you," she said, pressing her mouth to his. Before their kiss ended, he had come to his feet, still holding her in his arms. He placed her in the center of the huge bed and stretched out beside her, kissing her on and on, as if no other task in the world were more important than the exploration of her mouth with his.

Long after their passion had subsided into a contentment that was comfortingly familiar, Abbi lay with his head on her shoulder, attempting to reconcile these surroundings into the relationship she shared with Cameron. It occurred to her with some measure of disbelief that the Duke of Horstberg had just made love to her. Then he lifted his head to look into her eyes, as if he might have sensed her need to see his face, and to let her know that he was the same man. It was Cameron. _Her_ Cameron. And what they shared privately was the same as it had always been. She recalled his telling her that no one knew him the way that she did. She needed to remember that no matter what their lives entailed, the love between them mattered most. Horstberg could have the duke; Cameron du Woernig belonged to her alone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine

THE RELUCTANT DUCHESS

Cameron woke early and took a moment to orient himself to his surroundings. He still had to regularly remind himself that this was his home, once-familiar and comfortable to him. He was a free man with nothing to prove or fear. He turned to see Abbi sleeping beside him. Her presence alone bridged all chasms from the life he'd been living to this one. But in his heart he knew those bridges were not complete. Impressions and memories haunted him, in spite of all his effort to put them behind. And every uneasy thought tied directly to Nikolaus. He still had trouble accepting that his own brother had been responsible for so much damage--in his own life, as well as with his country. But he was most haunted by what Nikolaus had done to Abbi. He kept reminding himself that it could have been so much worse. And he wanted to believe that even if the worst had happened, they would have found a way to overcome it and move on. But even with what _had_ happened, he knew instinctively that Abbi's spirit had been damaged. Given the changes thrust upon her life the same day that Nikolaus had invaded her safety and maliciously used her, it was difficult for Cameron to discern how much of the damage was a direct result of Nikolaus's choices--or his own. He only knew that he was having trouble reconciling all that had happened and his feelings toward his brother.

Without disturbing Abbi, he got dressed and watched her sleeping for a long moment. She was beautiful and so precious to him. But even that moment was marred by thoughts of Nikolaus. How could he not think of his brother lying beside her on _this_ bed, in _this_ room, taking atrocious liberties with her? He forced the thoughts away and went to the office, knowing the captain would be there to go over some matters of business before breakfast.

A short while into their meeting, Cameron was startled from his thoughts when Captain Dukerk said with concern, "You seem . . . upset. Is something troubling you?"

"Much, to be truthful," he admitted but said nothing more.

"You've been through a great deal," Lance said. "The adjustment can't be easy." Cameron didn't comment, and he added, "Anything you want to talk about with an old friend?"

Cameron sighed then chuckled, but with no hint of humor. "We certainly _are_ old friends, but until you showed up threatening to arrest me, I don't recall us ever having much to say to each other."

"Perhaps Nikolaus got in the way."

Cameron made a disagreeable noise as just hearing his brother's name brought the brunt of his thoughts too close. "Nikolaus got in the way of many things, didn't he? Whatever drew you to his friendship, I cannot imagine."

Lance chuckled. "I suppose it began at a time when I was more mischievous, and he was less obnoxious."

"Yes, there was a time like that, wasn't there."

"And then I suppose it became a habit. I'd always hoped I could keep him tempered, find something redeemable."

"You can't say you didn't try," Cameron said.

Lance let out a weighted sigh. "Yes, I tried. But for as long as I live, I will know that I'm the man who killed him."

"And for as long as I live, I will be grateful that you did."

Again Cameron's mind wandered, until Lance said, "Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, Your Grace, but you look deeply troubled. Truly, if you need to talk about it, then . . ." He hesitated before adding, "Of course, I know you have your wife to talk with, and--"

"We have talked about this as much as it's possible without creating more grief. It's been thoroughly discussed. We've cried and screamed and done our best to heal. But the reality still haunts me, and I . . ." His voice trailed into silence. "I can't talk to her about it any further." More silence made it evident that the captain was willing to listen, and Cameron knew that he could trust him with such tender and traumatic issues. He, more than anyone else, knew the betrayal and horror of what Nikolaus had done. Still, Cameron felt hesitant to voice his thoughts, as if keeping them inside might keep them from feeling quite so real. On the other hand, they kept circling in his mind with such intensity that he wondered if saying them aloud--to someone other than Abbi--might indeed help him find some peace. Considering the full gamut of the outcome, he considered Abbi the greatest victim of all.

"When I start tallying all that Nikolaus did to create grief, the list is very long." Cameron turned in his chair and looked toward the window. "There is the list of issues associated with the people of Horstberg. And then there is the very personal list. He maliciously intended to have me framed for treason, but he killed my wife and framed me for murder instead. He had me beaten and left to rot in prison with no promise of a fair trial, while he gleefully took over my country, reveling in the power and wealth as if that's all being a duke might ever entail. I can add up the malicious, cruel things he said to me through the course of our lives, and the way such words haunted me while I lived in solitary exile. All of it together pains me deeply. But every bit of it fades away and becomes meaningless when weighed against . . ." he heard a quiver in his own voice, "what he did to Abbi."

Cameron was stunned by the urgency in Lance's voice as he demanded quietly, "What _did_ he do to Abbi?" Cameron didn't answer, certain that repeating the details would not be ethical or respectful of his wife. Lance leaned forward and spoke with an intensity that made it evident he too had been haunted by the issue. "I had no idea he was with Abbi, or I would have gone in right behind him and done away with him then, at the first indication that he intended to hurt her. He left me outside and told me to wait. I never dreamed he had access to her, that it was her he'd gone after. When he came out with her, I wanted to kill him then and there, and I wished I'd done it before."

Cameron tried to find some point of assurance. "We both know it worked out for the best. The witnesses to his death will never allow for any question over the necessity of it. You were where you needed to be."

Lance sighed, not seeming convinced. "What did he do to her, Cameron? I have to know."

"Why?" Cameron countered. "So it can haunt you as it haunts me? He dragged her out of her bed, held her hostage, and threatened to kill her. He treated her with contempt, and disgraced her in front of my most trusted officers."

"I knew all of that," Lance said, sounding mildly nauseated. "But that's not what haunts you, is it." Cameron looked away. "And it's not what haunts me. He was alone with her far too long." Cameron squeezed his eyes closed. "I have assumed the worst, and struggled to get a good night's sleep since it happened. It has haunted me almost as much as the fact that I had to kill him. I have prayed to find peace over it, but . . ."

Cameron met Lance's eyes and felt a new perspective settle into him. The captain's love and respect for Abbi were noble and appropriate. But deep and firm. He cared for her and honored her. The man had almost married her. This was personal for him. Their feelings for Abbi were different, their relationships varied greatly. But they shared a common bond in their concern for her, and their desire to see her safe and happy. And perhaps there was some greater purpose in the need for this conversation. Lance had been praying for peace; Cameron had been doing the same. He knew from past experience that peace only came with understanding. And in that respect, Lance of all people, needed to know the truth. He'd been put in the middle of events that had transformed his life permanently. He'd been at the altar with Abbi that morning, and he had killed to save her life that night.

"Tell me, Cameron," Lance implored. "I need to know. Did he . . ." His hesitance made it evident he didn't want to say it. But Cameron knew exactly what he meant. Unlike many of the men they associated with, Lance Dukerk was not crude or vulgar; he did not freely engage himself in the crass discussions common among men gathered in pubs, as they spoke of women and the pleasure they offered to those who sought after little else.

"No," Cameron said to answer the unfinished question. His voice turned acrid with the harshest truth. "He was saving that as a bargaining point with me. But how do you measure the damage, Captain? He touched her, he taunted her, he told her that if I made the right choice she would get to keep what little was left of her."

Cameron saw his own torment in Lance's expression as he grimaced and hung his head. Cameron went on, "While I thank God that he did not cross certain boundaries, he crossed others that hurt her deeply and make me sick. And I hate him for it. Abbi tells me I need to forgive him. I probably do. But that's going to take time--if it's even possible."

"And how _is_ Abbi?" Lance asked.

"It's difficult to say," Cameron admitted. "I sense that she's struggling. But she loves me, and she's trying very hard to fill the role that being my wife requires of her. She is strong and determined not to allow what Nikolaus did to mar her happiness. I am trying to follow her example." Their eyes met, and he felt the tension over the topic dissipate now that there was nothing more to say.

"She is an amazing woman, Cameron. She has no comprehension of her own caliber."

Cameron chuckled softly, finding his mood lightened with such thoughts. "I only know that the fire in her veins burns much hotter than any royal blood ever will in mine."

Lance chuckled as well. "I could agree with that." More seriously he added, "She's changed you."

"Yes, she has," Cameron said proudly. "The smartest thing I ever did was actually stop and listen to what she was capable of teaching me."

"Then it is she who truly rules this country," Lance said lightly.

Cameron smiled. "More than she would ever believe."

Abbi slept deeply, but woke up feeling frantic over what she had to face this day. While Cameron was in the office, Elsa arrived wearing one of her new dresses. She helped Abbi with her hair while they discussed the advantages of fashionable high waists in regard to being pregnant. Elsa helped Abbi into the dress Magda had loaned her, which had a simple black bodice. The high waist in the front sloped down slightly to just above the natural waistline in the back, with yards of red fabric gathered into it. There was red piping at the cuffs and neckline. Magda had told her it had been designed to complement the ducal uniforms.

Cameron came to the bedroom to get Abbi soon after she was ready. He smiled with such genuine admiration that it couldn't help but make her feel more at ease. She noted he wasn't wearing his uniform, but he looked so handsome in the red and gold waistcoat he wore that it spurred a rush of butterflies in her stomach.

"Come along," he said, glancing out the window. "They're waiting."

_"Who_ is waiting?" she asked, crossing the room to look out. "Oh, no! You must be joking. The entire Guard is out there." She absorbed them, standing in two long rows, each holding a horse by the reins.

"No," he said casually, "there are only a couple dozen of them. There are more than ten times that all together. But some only work part time, and some are only on reserve, and--"

"Cameron," she interrupted, not the least bit interested in his military figures. "This is . . . so . . ."

"It's a simple procession into town, Abbi. All you have to do is ride a horse and smile. I normally don't go with all that protection, but we need to let the uncertainty die down a little."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nikolaus had followers. I don't know who or--"

"Are we in danger?"

"It's just a precaution . . . or perhaps a display--just to let the people know that I am in control, and we are being protected. Now, calm down and let's go."

He took her hand and led her down the stairs to the main door. "You look beautiful," he said, kissing her quickly. "And it's a beautiful day."

They stepped outside, and Abbi first noticed Lance standing closest. He bellowed an indiscernible syllable, and the entire troop came to attention in perfect unison. She noticed Magda and Lena chatting close by, and officers holding the reins of their saddled horses.

"Thank you, Captain," Cameron said. "Let's be off, then."

Lance nodded toward Cameron without relinquishing his rigid state of attention. Abbi had never seen him quite this way, and couldn't help smiling at him. "Good morning, Captain," she said as they passed by him.

"Your Grace," he said with a little nod, but she didn't miss his subtle smirk, as if he were thoroughly enjoying himself.

Cameron helped Abbi onto Blaze. She situated herself in the sidesaddle and forced down a rise of nerves. She glanced around to see Georg, Elsa, Magda, and Lena, all mounted and ready to go. Cameron mounted and held up his hand as if he were flicking away a fly. The entire Guard responded to the subtle directive and mounted their horses. Lance barked a command and they all moved forward through the gate and down the castle hill. Half the troop went before the royal family. The other half came behind. Abbi rode between Cameron and Lance, who were casually discussing business matters over her head, as if they'd been colleagues for years.

As they approached the center of town, the conversation ceased. Abbi sensed murmurs of excitement and anticipation from people as they passed by. She watched Cameron discreetly, and her own nerves were briefly dispelled by the image of her husband. He looked so completely comfortable. But more than that, he practically glowed with serenity--something that had been completely absent in him when they had first met. He was truly at peace; he was in his natural element. With an instinctive desire to merge their emotional relationship with the public requirements of being his wife, she straightened her shoulders and concentrated on the experience of being the Duchess of Horstberg.

Abbi was amazed at the awe she sensed from the people as the Guard halted by the captain's order at the edge of the square. The officers dismounted, then relaxed and began to chatter and laugh. Some of the officers stayed where they were. Others dispersed into the crowd. Cameron helped Abbi dismount, laughing as he did. She was surprised to feel a kiss come over her lips and looked up to see his eyes shining. "I love you, Your Grace," he said, but not as softly as she thought he should have.

With Cameron's hand in hers, and the captain hovering close to her side, they moved casually into the square to examine the wares for sale, just as Abbi had always done when she'd come here on market day. Georg and Elsa remained close, holding hands and visiting freely. And Magda and Lena chattered back and forth while interacting with the people effortlessly. Abbi felt self-conscious and too overwhelmed to speak. She just held tightly to Cameron's hand, and appreciated the nearness of Lance, Georg, and Elsa--all connections to the life she'd known before.

Abbi became distracted from her concerns as she observed the way people addressed Cameron. She had perhaps expected them to bow and clear a path. But he greeted many he'd evidently known in the past by exchanging handshakes and an occasional embrace. Joy was expressed over and over to have him back, and congratulations were offered on his marriage. He introduced Abbi to more people than she could count, and she wondered how he could remember so many names after so much time away. Abbi would just smile and declare repeatedly, "It's a pleasure to meet you." Inevitably the response was, "And you, Your Grace."

"Some things never change," Cameron whispered into Abbi's ear as they walked along. And she could almost touch the peace he felt from the statement. She was about to comment, when a plump, elderly woman bustled around her little cart, practically shouting with glee, "It _is_ you!"

Cameron laughed as he picked up the old woman and turned her around once before setting her down. "Of course it's me. Who did you expect?"

"They told me you'd come back," she muttered, grinning to show several missing teeth. "But I said I'd not believe it until I saw for myself. And here you are, Your Grace, in the flesh."

"And tell me," he said, "have you been hearing any rumors about that scoundrel who once harassed you mercilessly?"

The old woman laughed. "Only good ones," she said and Cameron laughed as well. Abbi realized he was talking about himself, and she wondered what their connection might be, but as Cameron introduced her, it became evident that their only association was the duke's love of her baked goods. Every week since his childhood, he had sought her out and purchased a freshly baked treat.

"You've not been to heaven until you've eaten Gertrude's cinnamon cakes," he told Abbi. Gertrude quickly provided him with one, and Cameron held it up to Abbi's mouth. "Taste it," he insisted. Abbi took a delicate bite and he laughed. "Now, is that not heavenly, Your Grace?"

"It is, indeed," Abbi said quite honestly and guided Cameron's hand back to her mouth.

"I think we'll need another," Cameron said to Gertrude. The old woman laughed and wrapped him up another one. He paid her a generous amount and they moved on.

A few minutes later, Abbi once again heard him chatting with a street vendor, referring to himself in third person. And not many minutes later, he did it again. She realized then that he'd been doing it since they'd arrived in the square. It was clearly common practice, a form of humor that seemed related to the mask he'd claimed to wear. When interacting with the common people, he was apparently more comfortable referring to the duke as a separate person. He lightly called himself an ogre and repeatedly declared that people would not be so kind if they realized their duke had gone mad during his years away. He provoked much laughter with his candor and offhand attitude, and Abbi couldn't deny her intrigue and pleasure with this side of his sense of humor that she'd never seen before. More than once, he simply said, "I hear His Grace is back from the dead, threatening to make up for lost time, gallivanting about the market square while political matters go unheeded."

The remark always got bouts of laughter, but one middle-aged woman who was selling fresh vegetables looked into Cameron's eyes with no sign of humor, saying with tears in her eyes, "And I wonder, like most people I've spoken with, what miracle has brought His Grace back into our presence this way."

Cameron took on her serious mood, and asked, "And what is the consensus? Do tell, madame. What miracle, indeed?"

The woman smiled and glanced only a moment toward Abbi before she leaned closer to Cameron and said, "They say it was the love of a fine woman, who softened his heart and gave him the courage to reclaim his country."

"Truly?" Cameron said, and turned to look at Abbi, his adoration as evident as it had ever been. But Abbi turned away, feeling self-conscious, perhaps alarmed to hear them speaking of her so boldly. "She must be inexplicably amazing . . . considering how very hardened his heart must have been."

"Indeed," the woman said, and they both laughed. Abbi was left feeling uneasy, but she didn't bother to analyze the reasons. She was only relieved when the conversation ended. Cameron bought a large amount of carrots from this woman and paid her a ridiculous amount while she had them put into a bag by her son.

"God bless you, Your Grace," the woman said.

"And you," Cameron answered with the same intensity.

As they were walking away with his purchase, Abbi whispered, "I hate to point out the obvious, but I'm certain there are adequate carrots in the kitchen. I don't think anyone expects the duke to be buying vegetables."

"And who says I'm taking them back to the castle?" he asked and laughed while they walked, hand in hand. Abbi turned to look at him, loving such genuine laughter. He then sobered and added, "I forgot to tell you something. It happened the day Nikolaus was buried."

"What?" she asked, feeling concerned.

He told her of a woman who had stopped him on the street after the funeral was over; she'd waited to speak with him. He told her of the woman's gratitude, and how it had touched him as much as it had angered him to hear that her husband had been wrongly executed. Cameron stopped walking and turned to look into Abbi's eyes, and she realized they were at the edge of the square, away from anyone who might overhear. He said with earnest, "She asked me to express my appreciation to you, on her behalf. I forgot to do that before now. She also said that we would be in their prayers."

"That's very sweet," Abbi said. "But why appreciation to me? You are the one who--"

"You are the one responsible for making it possible for me to be in a position to make a difference in these people's lives."

Abbi looked down. "You give me too much credit, Your Grace."

"No, Your Grace," he lifted her chin with his finger. "I could never give you enough credit." He pressed a brief kiss to her lips and smiled.

Abbi wanted to tell him that any woman could have done as much. She simply happened to be the woman in a position to give him the love he needed. She was relieved when his attention was diverted to a group of young boys playing in the street. By their dress and manner, they were clearly very poor, but Cameron stepped into the middle of their game, teased them and made them laugh and then set the bag of fresh carrots down, saying, "I happened upon this. Divide them up fairly and take them home to your mothers." The boys responded eagerly to his offering.

Cameron laughed and walked away as if it were nothing. He then guided Abbi back into the crowd, and she realized that Captain Dukerk was at her shoulder again; she doubted that he'd ever gotten too far away. If it was protection he offered, she certainly preferred him over anyone else. But the entire situation left her lingering with the sensation of being in a dream--a marvelous and terrifying dream. All she could do was keep Cameron's hand in hers and try to remember how grateful she was to have him alive and free, and to have his ring on her finger.

Abbi panicked when Cameron announced that he and Georg were going to the pub. At her obvious distress, Cameron said, "Now you don't expect us to go hover at the dressmakers, do you?" He chuckled softly. "My sisters will take very good care of you. We'll meet you back here." He kissed her and started to walk away, pausing to say to Lance, "I'm leaving her in your care, Captain."

Lance lifted a teasing brow toward Abbi, saying, "What a pleasant duty."

Cameron chuckled, and Abbi sensed that this was a display of trust, not unlike his willingness to allow Lance to care for her if he'd been killed. "But," Cameron lifted a finger, smirking as he said, "I won't have you flirting with my wife."

Lance chuckled. "Only enough to keep you humble, Your Grace."

Cameron left with Georg. Lance and another officer followed Abbi, Elsa, and Cameron's sisters to a dress shop, where the men made themselves comfortable outside while the ladies entered.

Abbi's head spun as Magda and Lena supervised the choosing of many fabrics and patterns for both herself and Elsa, although their wardrobes would vary greatly due to their different positions. Cameron's sisters helped select a few ready-made pieces that could be altered for Abbi to use soon. Elsa put in her opinions more on Abbi's wardrobe than her own, while Abbi simply said, "I like that," or "I don't care for that." The dressmaker seemed uncomfortably in awe of Abbi at first, but she gradually relaxed, and Abbi appreciated her comments on which colors suited Abbi and which did not.

Magda and Lena chattered continually about which event Abbi would wear which gown to, going on about people she'd heard Cameron talk about but she had yet to meet. Feeling as if she might scream, Abbi finally said, "Can we talk about something else? My head is spinning. Enough."

The sudden silence startled Abbi. The dressmaker looked almost afraid. Abbi wondered if she had done something wrong. Was her every word to be taken so seriously? Telling herself that if she'd done something wrong she could certainly undo it, she cleared her throat and added, "Let's just take this one day at a time, ladies. Forgive me. This is simply happening so fast. I can hardly take it all in."

"As I could well imagine," Lena said. "There have been some big changes in your life in a very brief time."

Abbi appreciated Lena's compassion. She glanced around the room. Even the dressmaker looked empathetic. But Abbi suddenly felt as if she couldn't breathe, as if she were hiding behind some horrible mask, and she wanted to tear it off and toss it.

Declaring the need for some fresh air, Abbi left the others, figuring they could prattle over drawings and fabrics without her. She stepped outside, where Lance and the officer with him immediately came to attention.

"Is that necessary?" she asked Lance.

"Appropriate," he said.

Abbi glanced at the other man, then Lance again. "Well . . . relax. It's so . . . formal."

She sat down on a little bench and motioned for Lance to join her. "At ease," he said to the other man. "Give us a moment, please."

The other man nodded and moved just far enough away not to be intrusive. She noticed him lighting up a cigar and was dismayed to realize they were sitting downwind.

"You seem upset," he said. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know," she admitted, appreciating the comfortable relationship they shared. "I made a simple request in there, and they act as if I've sent out a decree or something. I feel so uncomfortable with all of this. I'm not sure I'm up to it."

"I think you're doing beautifully, Abbi," he said. "I can assure you there's no reason to be concerned."

Abbi reminded herself not to be so self-centered. She considered the changes in Lance's life the past few weeks. She couldn't resist asking, "Has it crossed your mind that we almost got married not so long ago?"

Lance looked more amused than surprised. "It has," he said. "But I'm glad everything worked out the way it did."

"You are?"

"Oh, yes. I care very much for you, Abbi . . . I'm sorry, Your Grace."

"Please," she drawled. "As long as no one is listening, Abbi is sufficient, I can assure you. You were saying?"

"I was saying that I care very much for you. In fact, seeing you as the duchess very much makes up for not having my sister as the duchess."

"I didn't know that until--"

"I know," he interrupted, as if he shared her desire to avoid talking about the night Nikolaus had been killed. "Truthfully, I loved my sister, but she didn't make a very good duchess. And I know now that she made some terribly poor choices, things that likely contributed to the way her life ended. I do believe this is what's meant to be."

Abbi wanted to argue with him. She had no question that Cameron was the love of her life, but everything that went along with him just didn't suit her.

"You don't seem convinced," Lance said, as if he'd read her mind.

Abbi looked away. "I love Cameron very much," she said. "I would do anything for him, but . . . I'm not sure I'm duchess material."

Lance laughed. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." She scowled at him and he forced a sober expression, but it hinted at a fear of insulting royalty. More gently he said, "Of course you're duchess material. You shine, Abbi. You have the ability to do _anything._ It just takes practice. Go ahead, give me an order. Act like a queen. Expect to have me do anything for you, and I'll do it." He went down on one knee and bowed ridiculously low.

"Stop that," she said, but couldn't help laughing.

"At least I got you to smile," he said, sitting down beside her again. "It's all right for you to act like a duchess, Abbi."

"That's just it. I feel like I'm acting."

"That will pass, I'm sure. Go ahead, give me an order."

"I can't think of anything I want, except . . . perhaps we could sit elsewhere?"

She waved her hand in front of her face to ward off the aroma of the officer's cigar.

"You shouldn't have to move," Lance said. "Tell him to put it out."

"What?" she gasped. "I . . . don't want to sound . . . audacious."

Lance laughed. "Oh, Abbi, you are too precious. Just tell him. You don't have to be audacious. But you can't be afraid to give an order when it's appropriate. It's your place. But an order cannot be apologetic or insipid."

Abbi figured that he would know. She admired the way he could be the captain when he needed to be. She drew back her shoulders and called to the officer standing a few yards away, "Put that thing out. It can't be good for you with the way it stinks."

The officer looked startled as he tossed it to the ground and stomped on it. "Forgive me, Your Grace," he said sheepishly. "It won't happen again."

"Thank you," she said and smiled.

"Very good," Lance said. "Now, that wasn't too hard."

Abbi sighed. Actually it had been, but she didn't want to admit it. She changed the subject by mentioning something she'd noticed more than once. "You don't wear the dagger anymore. It was a gift from your father."

Lance looked away and she saw the muscles in his face tighten. "Forever tainted," he said. "Do you think I could ever look at it again without thinking of the way he held it to your throat?"

Abbi's thoughts went more to seeing Lance plunge it into Nikolaus's heart. She kept that to herself but knew he was thinking the same thing. He added with the firmness of a captain who knew he'd done what had been necessary, "The dagger is in the casket with Nikolaus. That's where it belongs."

"Forgive me," she said, noting the darkened mood between them. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

He looked at her squarely. "It will always be a part of our history--as a country, and also personally. There is no good to be found in trying to pretend it didn't happen. I only wish that . . ."

"That what?" she pressed.

He discreetly took her hand and squeezed it. She felt sure that his doing so in public with the duchess would never be considered appropriate. He spoke in little more than a whisper. "I only wish that I had known he was going after you, that I could have prevented whatever he did to hurt you." She looked down and he squeezed her hand more tightly. "My regret is deep. You need to know that."

"What's done is done," she said firmly. "I am forever indebted to you for saving me when you did. Enough said." She sighed and forced the conversation elsewhere. "I suppose I should get back inside," she said. "I don't want them picking out something hideous for me that I'll have to wear to some horrid social."

"Good luck," Lance said, and she went back into the shop.

After going over a lengthy list, the dressmaker offered to bring everything to the castle for a final fitting, when her work for both Elsa and the duchess was completed.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Abbi said. "We can come back." Again the dressmaker seemed taken aback. Abbi glanced at Magda and Lena, wondering if she'd done something wrong. In that moment the reality sank in that she had more authority than they did. She recalled what Lance had told her and said to the dressmaker, "I'm certain it would be much easier for us to come here than for you to bring everything there. Send word when you're ready, and we'll return."

"Thank you, Your Grace." The dressmaker was clearly pleased.

As the ladies left the shop and headed back into the square, Abbi asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not," Lena insisted. "We've always done it that way, having the dressmaker come out for fittings. That's the way our mother did it, but then, she didn't go out much at all. I must admit that it makes more sense."

"I think she was clever to have thought of it," Magda said, "and very considerate, as well."

When they returned to the castle, Cameron informed Abbi that her father was coming to dinner. He had been staying at the house Abbi had grown up in, and there were moments when she envied him. She had suggested to Cameron that ownership of the estate should revert to Gerhard, and Cameron had agreed with enthusiasm. He'd had his solicitor draw up the paperwork, and tonight they would see that it was all official.

Gerhard was so happy when they told him that tears came to his eyes. Abbi cried a little herself. She was pleased to see her father having a chance to start his life over, and there was no one more suited to take the estate than he was. But Abbi longed to be there. The castle felt so foreign and confining.

"I do hope you can put up with Mother's aunts," Abbi commented. "They don't seem too eager to go back to England."

"Ah," Gerhard laughed, "they're delightful. They've been keeping me entertained. I'm glad for the company. It's just felt so good to be home."

"And to be free," Cameron said.

"And to be free," Gerhard echoed. Then he added, "And to see my daughter in such circumstances. It is a dream come true for me."

"And for me," Cameron said, smiling at her.

Abbi made no comment.

Throughout the following days, Cameron became especially busy with running a country, while Abbi was given a different level of tutelage in her position from a woman's perspective. Magda and Lena were kind and tactfully informative, and at the same time a pleasure to be with. Abbi was also guided by servants who had spent their lives committed to caring for royalty. They too were kind, but they treated Abbi with a deference that felt rigid and unnecessary. While Elsa would always work closest with Abbi, Bruna was next in line, always available to meet any possible need. She had been explicitly trained in every protocol and policy related to the duchess's position, and had worked with Gwendolyn du Woernig for years prior to her death. In the absence of a duchess, Bruna and those who worked with her had been given trivial assignments elsewhere, anticipating the marriage of Nikolaus. Elsa confided to Abbi that the other servants were deeply relieved with the change in command and the opportunity to work with Abbi, who already had a reputation for being kind and humble--as opposed to the woman Nikolaus would have married, who had been well known for her arrogance and rudeness.

Abbi was amazed to realize there was a woman specifically employed to care for the duchess's wardrobe, and another to keep her every belonging in perfect cleanliness and order. And another still who was there to simply assist in any necessary way. With five women on hand to see to the needs of the duchess, it was impossible that one of them would not be available at a moment's notice to see to Abbi's any possible whim. They all proved to be pleasant and even compassionate to Abbi's discomfort, while they gently guided her through every aspect of her duties from a woman's perspective. Abbi appreciated their insight, their help, and their commitment. And she told them so. But she also told them that, in many respects, she was accustomed to taking care of herself and preferred it that way. Bruna told her that though these women would be on hand if they were needed, they were very good at keeping their distance and remaining invisible. Abbi liked that, but she still felt disconcerted by the reality. While Cameron daily became more comfortable with his job, Abbi became more intimidated by her own. But she kept trying to convince herself that she would adjust with time, and as long as Cameron's love for her remained firm, she knew she could do anything.

On a cold, rainy morning she shared an early breakfast with her husband in their room, loving these moments alone with him, when she could pretend that everything was the way it used to be. She reached across the table to touch his freshly shaven face. He told her how he loved her as he stood and leaned over to kiss her before moving toward the door.

"Oh, by the way," he said, "tomorrow evening we're having a little social thing. Elsa will know what you need to wear and all that."

"What _kind_ of social?" Abbi asked, wishing it hadn't sounded so panicked.

"It's nothing to be concerned about." Cameron smiled and stepped back to take her hands. "It's dinner and socializing with the people I work with, to celebrate our return to power."

"You mean _your_ return to power."

"With you by my side," he said firmly. Cameron omitted that the true purpose of this gathering, according to tradition, was to honor the crowning of a new duchess by those who served the country in the highest positions. He felt it was better to keep that fact out; she would likely never know the difference and be less nervous over the event.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

"Nothing but be there, and be yourself," he said with calm assurance.

"But . . . I don't know these people's names, and . . ."

"Abbi, you don't have to know their names. If you even say hello to them, they will feel honored." She made a disgruntled noise and turned away from him. He put his hands on her shoulders and said gently, "There's no need for concern. You'll do beautifully. Trust me. I'll be by your side every minute."

Abbi reminded herself not to be so disagreeable. "Forgive me," she said. "Who exactly are these people . . . who work closest with you?"

"The committee of national security, the advisory council, and the highest ranking officers. Only sixty or seventy people; not too significant."

"Sixty or seventy?" she echoed. "Is that your definition of a _little_ social?

"It includes their wives, of course."

"Of course," Abbi said, trying to quell her nerves.

"At least for the ones who are married. Some will bring a companion." He chuckled. "The captain, for instance, has a reputation for being the most highly sought after bachelor in the country."

Abbi looked at him sharply. "I don't know if I find that funny or not."

_"He_ does," Cameron chuckled.

"And who will be _his_ companion?" she asked, wishing she didn't feel responsible for his being a bachelor.

"Magda, I believe. They do well at keeping each other company at such things."

"Are they . . ."

"Romantic? No. Never. They're like brother and sister."

"Like me and Georg."

"Very much, yes."

"You all grew up together."

"Yes, we did." He kissed her hand. "You will be magnificent, Abbi. There is nothing to be concerned about. I promise." He moved toward the door and added, "Oh, and your father is coming; bringing your aunts, I believe."

Abbi sighed loudly, wondering if she preferred being a spectacle to people she knew or to strangers. Cameron hurried off to see to his work, and she tried to think about something else.

When it came time to get ready for the social, Abbi was grateful to know that Elsa had been instructed on how to help her prepare. Sitting at the elaborate dressing table, wearing her underclothing while Elsa worked on her hair, Abbi contemplated the women who had occupied this seat before her. She didn't feel intimidated by Gwendolyn. She knew too much about her weaknesses to care about following in her footsteps. But she wondered about Cameron's mother, his grandmother, and great-grandmother. What had they been like? Would they be disappointed in his choice of a duchess?

"We need to put the crown on now," Elsa said, bringing her from her thoughts, "so I can work your hair around it in the back."

"The crown?" she said, as if it were in a foreign language.

"His Grace told me it was expected this evening," Elsa explained.

"Must I wear it at every social?"

"No," she said. "But apparently it's appropriate for this one."

"Very well," Abbi said, and Elsa took the crown out of the intricately carved box where it resided.

"You're supposed to kneel," Elsa said. Abbi was too astonished to comment. Elsa's education on the proper protocol became evident when she instructed gently, "Whenever the crown is placed on your head, you are supposed to kneel, and you are never supposed to put it on yourself. Someone else who has been given the authority must do it."

"And you have been given that authority?"

"I have," Elsa said with a reverence that left Abbi wishing she could have been privy to the instruction she'd received. Somehow this had been overlooked in her own tutelage. But then, Magda and Lena didn't wear the crown, and the other servants apparently didn't have the authority that Elsa had been given. Or they'd neglected to bring it up. She was somewhat relieved to learn that it was all right for her to remove the crown on her own.

"Very well," Abbi said, finding the ritual awkward. Back in her chair, she studied her reflection while Elsa twisted and pinned her hair into an elaborate work of art, with the crown circling Abbi's forehead and disappearing into the elegantly placed red curls. _She was the Duchess of Horstberg._ It still felt like a dream; at least this part of it did.

When her hair was done, Abbi complimented Elsa on the results. She couldn't deny that her hair looked magnificent; perhaps a little _too_ magnificent for a girl of nineteen who was longing in that very moment to be riding Blaze through the foothills without a single pin in her hair.

"How long do we have?" Abbi asked.

"His Grace got ready quite some time ago. He said to tell you he'll be going over some business, and to meet him in the east parlor as soon as you're ready." She laughed softly. "He said that he has something to show you. From the smile on his face, I suspect it's something you'll enjoy."

Abbi could only sigh while her thoughts wandered once again, then Elsa appeared with a gown of shimmery gold fabric draped over her arms. "Where did _that_ come from?" she asked.

"It was delivered today," Elsa said. "Your sisters-in-law picked it out when you were ordering clothes with them."

"I must have missed that part," Abbi said, stepping into the gown as if it might break. That fragile sensation merged into her while Elsa meticulously fastened the hidden hooks beneath her arms and down her sides. Abbi kept her back to the mirror, almost afraid to look. She'd never worn, or even imagined, something so elegant. Even at the social she'd attended at the castle last year with Lance, she couldn't recall seeing anything like this. The lightly gathered skirt brushed the floor in front, sloping into inches of excess fabric that draped into a train behind her. She could tell from the way Elsa tugged and adjusted that the back was cut low, and the tiny sleeves angled off her shoulders. While Elsa was meticulously adjusting the bodice, Abbi looked down to realize she'd never before worn anything that hinted at her feminine curves this way.

Elsa stood back to admire her work, and smiled with glowing eyes. "You look like a queen, Miss Abbi."

"I feel like an imposter," she admitted, but Elsa only motioned for her to turn around. Abbi turned slowly toward the full-length mirror and felt something quiver inside of her. It wasn't so much what she saw, as the way it made her feel that caught her attention. She _did_ look like a queen. And for the first time since she had discovered that she had married a du Woernig, she almost _felt_ like a queen. The feeling didn't dispel her nerves or lessen her discomfort, but she caught the tiniest glimmer of hope that she could perhaps, with time, fill the role that had been thrust upon her.

Elsa helped Abbi place her silk-stockinged feet into gold slippers that matched the gown, and again Elsa stood back to admire her, while Abbi attempted to accept the reflection as reality.

"You're all ready," Elsa announced.

"And where am I supposed to go?"

"I'll take you," Elsa said, and Abbi realized that her maid knew the castle better than she did. "I wouldn't want to miss the look on your husband's face when he sees you."

Abbi took a deep breath and followed Elsa down the stairs, grateful that they didn't pass anyone in the hallway, although she couldn't be certain why she didn't want to be seen. When they came to a door, Abbi realized this was the room she'd been brought to the morning that Cameron had revealed his identity to her. Elsa knocked and Cameron's voice replied, "Come."

Elsa opened the door and Abbi took a few steps into the room while Elsa hovered behind her. Cameron was alone, and focused on what appeared to be some kind of chart spread over a large table. Abbi took advantage of the moment to observe him while he was unaware. She'd never seen him dressed this way before. The black breeches accentuated his long legs in the absence of boots that covered his calves. In fact, she'd never seen him without high boots, either with his uniform or without it. He wore a high-collared white shirt, with a black cravat tied around his throat, and a black coat that truly looked elegant enough to be worn by royalty. It hung below his hips with a tailored cut that was striking but simple. With a hand on his hip, the coat was pushed behind his arm enough to reveal the deep blue brocade waistcoat, interwoven with gold threads that shimmered like her own gown. The absence of his crown did not lessen the kingly demeanor that took her breath away. He glanced up to see who was there, and then he looked again, straightening his back abruptly, his eyes riveted to her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Abbi heard the door close behind her, and knew that Elsa had glimpsed the look she'd come to see and had now left them alone.

Cameron felt himself turn to stone, as if he'd been put under some bewitching spell that instantly made it impossible for him to move or even breathe. He remembered the moment when he had first indulged in imagining Abbi as the Duchess of Horstberg. In spite of her common preferences and wild nature, it hadn't been difficult to visualize. But never could he have fathomed the vision before him now. Her beauty was undeniable, her demeanor awe inspiring. But it was something else, something undefinable and brilliant that completed the picture and took his breath away. The hint of pregnancy that couldn't be disguised only added to her stately effect, as if this bold declaration that she was capable of creating life demanded an added dimension of veneration. She was like a statue erected to the glory and beauty of everything feminine and fine.

For long moments he felt so in awe that a lifetime of being treated as royalty diminished behind an insatiable urge to drop to his knees and worship her, as if the privilege of being in her presence for but an instant would be savored for a lifetime. And then he remembered, with some measure of surprise, that she was his, and he was hers. It was his child she carried, his heart she held. She was not only a queen, she was _his_ queen. And he felt more like a king in that moment than he ever had--not because she was beautiful, and magnificent, and he could take pride in having her at his side in any situation. But because he knew without question that she loved him with her whole heart and soul.

He longed only to be near her, as if doing so might prove that she was as real as she was his. Keeping his eyes connected to hers, he moved tentatively toward her, his heart quickening as if he'd just now met her for the first time and had fallen head over heels in love. Standing in front of him, she looked up with timidity and doubt that contradicted her regal aura.

"Your Grace," he whispered, taking her hand. He pressed her fingers to his lips with a kiss that showed honor and deference, the kind of kiss that a visiting dignitary might give her. Then he pressed his mouth over hers with a lover's kiss, if only to reassure himself that she was the same woman who had dreamed her way into his life, to give him _back_ his life. Her response fed him with an unadulterated thrill. He drew back and murmured, "You are so beautiful, Abbi, but that's not why I love you."

She smiled timidly. "As long as you love me, nothing else matters."

"Hear, hear," he said, and kissed her again. 
Chapter Thirty

CASTLE WALLS

Remembering his purpose in bringing Abbi here, Cameron said, "I have two surprises for you."

"I've heard that you're full of surprises," she said, and he chuckled.

"So I am, but then," his eyes roved down the length of her, "you are too. Who'd have dreamed that a duchess was hiding behind the wild child who walked through my door, uninvited?"

"Who would have dreamed that a duke was chopping wood outside my window?"

He smiled and lifted his arm. She set her hand over his in the proper manner, and they walked slowly across the room, watching each other more than where they were going. "It occurred to me," he said, "that you've not yet seen the most magnificent asset of Castle Horstberg. And it also occurred to me, that since the castle belongs to me--at least until I die--I am entitled to give my wife this portion of the castle. Many people may come here to enjoy it, but you will always know that it belongs to you, that it was a gift from me."

Abbi couldn't begin to imagine what might fit such a description, until he let go of her hand long enough to open a set of double doors and swing them outward. Surprised laughter burst from her as she stepped outside, her hand resting on his again, and the extraordinary landscape came into view. She understood now why this section of the castle appeared so huge from the outside. The walls actually formed a perimeter for the most breathtaking gardens she had ever seen. Hundreds of late-blooming roses, in every color imaginable, lined a stone path that led into a miniature forest of trees planted in precise rows, and artistically arranged shrubberies. The autumn breeze assaulted her bare shoulders, but Cameron immediately removed his coat and put it around her. In silence they walked the path through the trees to a place where a vast lawn spread into a maze of hedges. The sun had long set behind the castle wall, but not yet beyond the distant mountains, and the gardens glowed with a subtle, indirect light that gave them an almost magical effect. Marble benches flanked the lawn, hinting at the possibilities of huge garden parties and intimate gatherings. As they walked into the maze, Cameron said, "I played here as a child, more hours than I could ever count. Any time of year there was always some adventure waiting among the hedges and trees. I imagine our children doing the same."

"It's beautiful, Cameron," she said and stopped, realizing she'd lost her sense of direction in the maze.

As if he'd read her mind, he chuckled and said, "Don't worry. I know my way out. But while we're here . . ." He reached into a deep pocket in his coat that was still around her shoulders and drew out a flat box covered in rich blue velvet. Holding the box on the palms of his hands, he said, "This has been worn by six generations of women who wore the crown of Horstberg." Abbi quivered inside at the heritage it represented, and her heart quickened as she realized it could only be some kind of jewelry. "One day," he added, "our son will give it to the woman he marries. But for now, it is yours to bear." He opened the box and Abbi gasped. It was more beautiful than she'd imagined any jeweled adornment could be. "There are forty-seven diamonds," he said, "including the teardrop that hangs over the heart as a reminder of the responsibility to the people. As you can see, the diamonds are intricately connected with the finest gold filigree. It was specially ordered and imported, crafted by one of the world's finest goldsmiths of his time." Abbi looked at him in question, then again at the necklace. He added with tenderness, "It is yours now."

"Do I _have_ to wear it?" she asked.

He chuckled, finding her attitude more refreshing than he could ever tell her. "Don't you want to?"

"It's beautiful, but . . . a little intimidating, I suppose. It must be worth an enormous fortune."

"It is, actually." He took it out and put the box back in his pocket. "But it's only one of many pieces that are available for you to wear as you please." He went behind her and fastened it around her throat. "This is the oldest piece, however; the one that most represents the legacy of marrying the Duke of Horstberg."

Abbi touched the intricately woven diamonds that covered a significant portion of her upper chest, concealing the black pearl necklace completely. She couldn't deny that it added strength to the concept of feeling like a queen. But it also contributed to feeling like an imposter, hiding in some kind of costume. In truth she felt as if she were only _pretending_ to be a queen.

"Did Gwendolyn wear it?" she asked.

He remained behind her as he said, "Yes. Wearing it was one of her greatest incentives in marrying me."

"Surely you're joking," she said, turning to face him.

"No, I'm quite serious. Our marriage had been arranged, although I'm certain that either of us could have backed out of the betrothal without upsetting anyone too much. But it was comfortable, and I just accepted it. I'd never considered the possibility of a woman actually giving my life deeper meaning. I saw marriage more as a necessary aspect of life and my position. I did, however, trust that she would be true to me, that we could at least enjoy a life of mutual respect and commitment. Her expectations were much different from mine. She took great pleasure in the prestige and privilege of being the duchess. I quickly lost respect for her, and then I came to hate her." She pressed compassionate fingers to his face. He smiled and added lightly, "Now you're going to say something profound like I should be grateful to Nikolaus for setting me free from such a horrid marriage."

"You are grateful, aren't you?"

"I'm very grateful to be where I am now, and to have you in my life," he said and kissed her.

They walked on through the maze while Cameron reminisced more about his childhood in the castle gardens. He and Georg had been playmates from a very young age. Nikolaus and Lance and Gwen had commonly been involved, as well as Magda and Lena.

"I think it's time we will be expected, Your Grace," he said, leading her back inside the castle. Abbi longed to stay in the gardens and avoid facing this _little_ social, but Cameron kissed her and told her she was beautiful, and she reminded herself that for him, she would do anything. He put his coat on and checked his appearance briefly in a mirror. She turned to do the same and caught her breath. She'd not only forgotten that she was wearing the crown, but she wasn't prepared for how striking the necklace looked surrounding her throat. And she still wasn't used to seeing so much of herself exposed, even though she knew it was fashionable and acceptable. She felt disconcerted with her own reflection, until Cameron stepped behind her and put his hands over her shoulders. Seeing herself as a duchess alone was difficult to swallow, but seeing herself coupled with the duke made her feel strong and capable. He had promised to always be by her side. She needed to remember that.

"Shall we, Your Grace?" he asked, moving to her side with his supporting arm in place. She placed her hand over his and took in his warming smile.

Abbi's stomach tightened and her heart raced with nerves as they moved down a long hall. The effect intensified when she saw the door they were approaching, where a manservant waited, perfectly poised.

"Abbi, you're trembling," Cameron said, glancing toward her hand, then her face. She couldn't speak, knowing her voice would only further betray her nerves. "It's all right," he said, and the manservant opened the double doors and swung them into the room.

They hesitated in the doorway. Abbi could clearly see the _little_ gathering of sixty or seventy people, all seated down the length of a huge table, drinking champagne and chatting comfortably. She saw some faces she recognized; most she did not. She wondered what they were waiting for, then the manservant bellowed in a voice that startled her, "Announcing Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Horstberg."

The talking ceased and everyone rose to their feet simultaneously. Applause broke the air as they stepped into the room. Abbi saw all eyes upon her, expressions filled with the same homage and esteem that she'd seen in Cameron. But he was her husband; he loved her. What could these people possibly be thinking? She clearly recognized the faces of the men who had been present when Nikolaus had used her to bargain with his brother. She whispered to Cameron, as if he might not have noticed, "These are the same officers who . . ."

"Yes, they are," he said. "And _this_ is how they will think of you from here forward."

Abbi felt some relief, even healing, from his words. She was grateful then for the opportunity to restore her dignity with these men in such a way. The applause relinquished to fresh silence as Cameron stopped at the head of the table. Abbi felt uncomfortably conspicuous while her husband gave a brief speech, expressing his love and honor for her, and his gratitude for her being an instrument to bring him back to power. Three times there was applause, and he had to wait for it to die down to continue. It occurred to her then that she was wearing the crown, and he was not. Clearly this was an event intended to honor _her._ He offered a toast, once again declaring his love and appreciation. She was relieved when he finished so they could be seated, and the meal was served. Cameron sat at the head of the table, with her at his right.

"You could have warned me about that," she whispered to him.

"What? And have you full of nerves?" He laughed softly when she scowled. Then he kissed her hand. "Just relax and enjoy yourself, my dear. You are surrounded by those who love you."

She realized then that sitting beside her was her father, and her aunts beside him. Georg and Elsa were across the table. Next to them were Lance, Magda, and Lena. There was no one sitting close enough for the exchange of conversation that she didn't feel completely comfortable with.

"Thank you," she said, and he smiled. Then she _did_ relax and enjoy the meal, relishing the opportunity for casual conversation with her father and amused by the awe of her aunts. They'd surely never expected to have their niece become the duchess. Abbi also enjoyed seeing the interaction between Lance and Georg, and Cameron as well. Their lifelong association became readily evident, while the coincidence of their connections settled into her more deeply. Elsa was quiet but apparently comfortable and having a marvelous time. Lena was visiting quietly with those around her. Magda was animated and prone to much laughter, which was contagious. Abbi loved seeing Cameron laugh so deeply from such simple pleasures. And she realized then that in spite of the grandeur of their surroundings, the fineness of the meal, and the elegance of their apparel, this was still a simple pleasure. The company and laughter of loved ones felt treasured and valuable, more than the diamonds circling her throat.

Long after the meal was over, everyone remained seated, talking and laughing. Then people stood and began to intermix and mingle while they continued to visit. Cameron urged Abbi to her feet, and she tried not to appear nervous as he introduced her to many people, whose names she would forget immediately. She remembered Cameron telling her that people would feel honored just to have her say hello. She could see it in their faces and wanted to scream, _Don't you know who I really am?_ Instead she just smiled and remained politely diplomatic, and mostly silent. Beyond the officers she'd encountered previously, the only person she recognized was Mr. Lumburg. She was thinking of that morning they'd met when he had called her Mrs. du Woernig, which left her surprised when he addressed her as 'Your Grace.' The same had been true with Lieutenant Joerger. In fact, she realized since that morning _no one_ had called her Mrs. du Woernig--except for Cameron, and that was more a private term of endearment.

After he'd moved away, Abbi whispered to her husband, "Why did Mr. Lumburg and the lieutenant call me Mrs. du Woernig when we first met, but no one has since?"

"Nor will you ever hear it again . . . except from me, perhaps." He smiled and then answered her question. "They knew you had not yet been crowned. It would have been inappropriate to address you any other way. Now simply being Mrs. du Woernig does not show proper respect for your title."

Abbi sighed. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I think I prefer simply being Mrs. du Woernig."

He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "And to me you always will be."

Cameron was approached by two more gentlemen that he introduced to her. She noticed that the men had divided from the women, hovering in groups, but Abbi remained on Cameron's arm, not wanting to get too far from him. She was deeply relieved when Lance appeared at her side while Cameron was engaged in some political discussion with a member of the council.

"If I may, Your Grace?" he asked, taking Abbi's hand.

Abbi was surprised by Lance's request as much as the nonchalant way Cameron barely glanced his direction and said, "Of course." Then he resumed his conversation.

"You looked as though you could use an escape," Lance said, putting her hand over his arm.

"How perceptive of you, Captain. You're very talented in rescuing damsels in distress."

He laughed softly and offered a tender glance. "You look beautiful." She smiled up at him, grateful for his personal manner in the midst of so much formality. "I imagined you this way."

"You did?"

"Oh, yes," he chuckled. "When I realized who you were married to, and what the probable outcome would be, it was not difficult at all to think of you this way."

"Then why do I feel so out of place?"

"Be patient with yourself," he said, and kissed her hand before he changed the subject by telling her an amusing anecdote that had occurred with some of his officers a few days earlier. She became so caught up in his story that she completely forgot about the social decorum surrounding her.

Cameron was relieved when Mr. Hertz finished making his laborious point, until he motioned with his champagne glass toward the other side of the room, saying, "You tolerate the captain's attention to Her Grace very well."

Cameron glanced over his shoulder just as Abbi erupted with a feminine burst of laughter from something Lance had told her. He looked at Mr. Hertz and said firmly, "Do you hear how her happiness fills the room? I would be a fool to think I'm the only man who can make her laugh."

"Still, they were very nearly married." The man chuckled obnoxiously. "Or was that all just a ruse?"

"It was a backup plan, Mr. Hertz. If I had failed in taking back my country, the captain would have made a fine husband and father."

"And for that reason, can you be wholly comfortable with their obvious affection for each other?"

"Mr. Hertz," Cameron said with no attempt to hide his indignance, "Her Grace is the truest and best of women, and Captain Dukerk is a man of unquestionable character, who honors her as he honors me. He would die for her. If you are attempting to incite me to jealousy, I can assure you that your efforts are thoroughly wasted. If I hear gossip over the matter, I will know where it started and I may just have to reconsider the positions on my committee. Good evening."

Cameron walked directly over to Lance, saying with comfortable laughter, "Mr. Hertz believes you are inappropriately involved with my wife. Would you please glare at him this very moment so that he will absolutely know I just told you what he said."

"As you wish," Lance said and glared at the man the same time Cameron turned to stare at him as well. Mr. Hertz looked abruptly the other way when he realized they were looking at him. Cameron and Lance both laughed.

"What are the two of you conspiring about?" Abbi demanded.

"Nothing of any importance," Cameron said.

"I could kiss her right here in front of him," Lance offered, "if you think it would help."

"Don't get too cocky, Captain," he retorted, trying to sound severe. Then he laughed.

"Never," Lance said.

"I still haven't gotten even for the way you kissed her in the cathedral when you knew I could see you. I know what you were thinking."

"I wanted you to think we were already married," Lance said lightly. "Of course, your being alive would have made that irrelevant. But I simply wanted a moment to call her mine. You get her for the rest of your life."

"So I do," Cameron said with a smile toward Abbi.

Lance looked at her as well. "Is she not beautiful tonight, Your Grace?"

"Indeed she is," Cameron said while they both gazed at her overtly.

Abbi turned her eyes down, trying to ignore them, unable to come up with any witty reply.

"In fact," Cameron added, "tonight I can honestly say that I have never felt more happy about being the Duke of Horstberg, and I have never felt more sorry for you, my good man."

Lance chuckled. "I don't even need to ask the reasons, but I'm certain you'll tell me anyway."

"My dear Captain," Cameron said, putting a hand to his shoulder, "you may waltz her, escort her, and hold her hand. You may worship, protect, and defend her. But she will be leaving with me."

Abbi made a disgusted noise and scowled at both of them before she moved to Magda's side, finding refuge among a gathering of the gentler sex. But Cameron saw her glance toward him skeptically, while Lance was saying with humor, "She is yours because _you_ are the king."

"No, Captain," Cameron said firmly while keeping his eyes on Abbi, "I am the king _because_ she is mine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I do believe Her Grace is looking exhausted."

"It would seem she's in need of rescuing," Lance said, and Cameron moved to Abbi's side.

"You look tired," he said.

"Perhaps if I could just sit down, then--"

"No, let's go."

He guided her toward the door without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

"Just like that?" she asked.

"Just like that," he said, and she breathed in the openness of the hallway as the crowded room was left behind.

They hurried to the bedroom, where Abbi breathed even more deeply, just to be alone with her husband, and to see the love in his eyes that had always been there. "Stand right there," he said, and slowly walked around her, looking at her as if she were a museum piece. "You are more lovely and precious than I ever could have imagined, and I want to remember this moment for as long as I live."

Abbi attempted to draw the attention from herself by saying, "And you, Your Grace, are by far the most handsome man I have ever seen, or hope to see." He smiled. "However," she added, "you are far more adequately clothed. I feel half naked," she admitted.

"Much more covered than most of the women there tonight, and I far prefer it that way." She questioned him silently and he clarified, "You are sacred to me, Abbi. I do not wish to publicly flaunt what is most beautiful and feminine about you. In my own opinion, women who display themselves too boldly are merely expressing their own insecurity or discontentment."

"You sound . . . zealous on the topic."

"I suppose I am," he said, removing his coat. "Forgive me for making comparisons, my dear, but Gwen dressed like a whore; a very aristocratic and opulent whore. She advertised herself freely. She was an embarrassment to herself and to me. I told her so, which made her all the more determined to do it. But she got what she wanted."

"What was that?"

"A great deal of attention from the kind of men who are impressed by such things." He stood behind her. "You, on the other hand, are far more queenly for what you do not show in public, for what you save only for your husband." He touched her shoulders and her upper back before he kissed where he had touched. Facetiously he whispered, "Now, how does one go about removing such a work of art as this gown?"

She laughed softly. "Hidden hooks, down the sides."

"Ah," he said as she lifted one arm and he found the fastenings. "I think I should very much like to have Elsa's job."

"I think you are more suited to running a country. And being my husband."

"How marvelous," he murmured, and her gown slid to the floor. "Since I have the privilege of both, I am surely the happiest man alive."

Cameron kissed her the way he'd wanted to all evening and carried her to the bed. She wore the crown while he made love to her. But the perfect admiration he saw in her eyes was most queenly of all. Surrounded by perfect tranquility, they sat in the center of the bed, the sheets wrapped around and between them while he meticulously removed every pin from her tresses, watching with fascination as they unwound and cascaded around her. For seemingly endless minutes he worshiped her exquisite red hair with his hands, exploring it, contemplating it, pressing it to his face. He reverently removed the crown and put it away before he made love to her again. Then he slept with perfect contentment in the arms of the Duchess of Horstberg.

Abbi was just coming awake when she heard a knock at the door. Cameron barely rolled over before he called, "Come." She slithered further beneath the covers, wondering who might come to their bedroom so early. She was relieved to see Georg enter.

"Get dressed," he said, "both of you. I need you to come with me."

"Whatever for?" Abbi insisted.

"Trust me," Georg said, but he seemed in good spirits. "I'll wait in the hall."

"Do you have any idea what this is about?" Abbi asked Cameron while he buttoned the back of her dress.

"Not in the slightest," he said through a yawn.

In the hall Georg handed them their cloaks and hurried down the stairs, not giving them a chance to ask questions. Abbi was surprised to be led to a section of the stables she'd never been to before. They were barely inside when she saw a stable-hand on his knees, assisting a laboring mare. Abbi stopped and took a sharp breath, turning to Georg in question. He smiled at her and said, "Blaze is about to become a father."

Abbi gasped softly. Cameron chuckled and said, "Scoundrel horse. I should have known that none of us would ever be the same the first time he started--"

"Flirting with your mares," Abbi said, recalling the way he'd put it back then, the first day they'd come face-to-face.

Cameron put his arm around her shoulders and urged her closer, as if he shared her nostalgia for such an impacting day in their lives. Georg put a hand on the shoulder of the stable-hand, asking quietly, "How's she doing?"

"Fine so far. It's almost here."

Abbi crept quietly closer and sat in the straw. Cameron sat close beside her and she held to him tightly while they watched the little foal come into the world. The birth went quickly and smoothly. Georg laughed and announced, "It's a filly."

Abbi's thoughts wandered to the morning Blaze had been born. _The day Cameron had been arrested._ If they had only known . . .

She turned to look at her husband and found him already watching her. Were his thoughts the same as hers? Perhaps to test him, she said, "The day Blaze was born--"

"I know," he said and pressed a kiss to her brow, which for some reason spurred her to tears.

"What will you name her?" Georg asked, while it was assessed that the filly was healthy and strong.

Cameron tightened his arm around Abbi and said firmly, "Blizzard."

Abbi met her husband's intense eyes. The stable-hand laughed and said, "A beautiful name, but a bit odd for a chestnut."

"The color of fire," Georg said, winking at Abbi.

Cameron explained, "She was conceived during a blizzard. It was a very memorable night."

Abbi was overcome with such a rush of memories--and the emotions associated with them--that she suddenly felt on the verge of losing all dignity.

"Thank you, Georg," she said and came to her feet, rushing out of the stable.

Cameron met Georg's eyes with concern and hurried to thank both him and the stable-hand before he followed after her. When he stepped into the courtyard, she was nowhere to be seen. If she'd headed back inside, she wouldn't have made it to the door by now. He found her a minute later, sitting in the straw next to Blaze's stall, crying without restraint. He sat beside her and pushed her hair back off her face. She looked momentarily embarrassed, then pressed herself into his arms.

"What is it?" he whispered, holding her close.

"Has it only been eleven months?" she asked. "It seems a lifetime ago, worlds away."

"It is hard to believe, isn't it," he murmured.

Her tears settled and she sniffled loudly. "If you could go back . . . would you change what you did, the choices you made?"

"Only in one respect," he said with no hesitance. "I wish I wouldn't have been such a proud fool; I should have been kinder to you."

She tightened her hold on him. "We both had much to learn."

"Yes, we did; especially me. No, I wouldn't change it, Abbi. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

She sighed deeply, going back further in time. "When I think of . . . the day Blaze was born . . . with what we know now, I wish that--"

"Shhh," he whispered. "We can't go back. Those years were necessary, Abbi, even if we don't fully understand why. But a thought occurred to me . . . just a few minutes ago . . ."

"What?" She drew back to look at him.

"Blaze was born in the early morning; I remember Georg telling me a foal had been born when he met me at the pub."

"That's right."

"Before I was arrested," he said, and Abbi saw his eyes grow distant and troubled. "But you knew . . . before he was born . . ." He looked directly at her. "Tell me again about the dream."

"I knew he would be a stallion, that he would lead me to . . ." She hesitated and took a sharp breath.

"To what?"

"It felt like . . . great happiness, to some . . . purpose. Georg said it would be my destiny."

Cameron tightened his gaze on her. "Before I was arrested? Before Gwen was dead? Abbi, God knew. He knew what was going to happen, and before it even happened He had set into motion the plan for my return, and for us to be together." Abbi strengthened her embrace and felt him do the same in return. "It _was_ a lifetime ago, Abbi, that Blaze led you to me. We have lived through more in a year than most people would endure together in a lifetime. But I love you more for what you have endured by my side, and for my sake."

He kissed her, and then Blaze poked his nose at Abbi and snorted, which made her laugh. "Yes, we know this is a red-letter day for you," Cameron said to the animal. "You scoundrel, you."

Abbi guided Cameron's hand to her pregnant belly as Blaze snorted again. "I think he's calling you a hypocrite," she said. Cameron laughed and kissed her again.

Two days following Blizzard's birth, Cameron was almost to the office when he looked up to see Captain Dukerk approaching, looking concerned.

"Don't go in there yet," Lance said. "There's something I need to tell you . . . privately." He then nodded toward the two officers posted outside the office door. "Give us a moment, please."

They moved some distance up the hall before Cameron said, "What is it?"

"Apparently we have some zealot . . . a group of zealots who are--"

"Which? One or many?"

"I don't know."

"Who are what?" Cameron pressed.

"Who are boldly declaring that they want you dead, that they will avenge Nikolaus and see the crown given to some fanatic of their choosing."

Cameron actually laughed. "Is this supposed to frighten me? The people would never stand for it."

"The crown deferring to a fanatic zealot is not a concern, sir. The threat against your life most certainly is. Yes, it should frighten you enough to see that you do not leave the castle without a standard six."

Cameron made a disgusted noise. "Do I understand this correctly? I cannot leave my home in broad daylight without six military personnel surrounding me?"

"That's right. And the same for Her Grace. It's my job to protect you. Those are my orders."

Cameron felt humbled--and unnerved. "And where did we get this _frightening_ information?"

"A messenger boy who delivered a letter to my desk. He was paid by a woman he cannot identify; she wore a hooded cloak and had a scarf around her face."

Cameron blew out a harsh breath. "And tell me, Captain, what did my brother do to incite such devotion from half-crazed fanatics?"

"I suspect he made many promises he never intended to keep. Wealth, power, glory. I believe he'd say just about anything to get what he wanted. Now his death has shattered their delusions and they have it fixed in their minds that his empty promises somehow give them justification or false power."

"So, we _are_ talking about people who cannot be reasoned with."

"That would be likely, sir. Yes. I've already spoken with Mr. Fruberg who--"

"Remind me," Cameron said. He could connect the name with the face, but since his return he still hadn't quite mastered keeping track of each man's position.

"Committee of National Security. He's a criminal analyst. He's working on what he knows thus far, and will give us a full report when he's ready. In the meantime--"

"Yes, I know," Cameron interrupted, ignoring the way Lance looked past his shoulder. "I'll stick to another form of exile. But until we know more, I don't want anything said to Abbi or . . ."

Lance cleared his throat loudly and looked down, muttering under his breath, "Faux pas."

"About what?" Abbi asked from behind him. Cameron squeezed his eyes closed and then swallowed carefully before she added, "Are we back to secrets, now?"

Cameron took a deep breath and turned to face her. "I simply did not want you to worry over something you can do nothing about. It's likely meaningless, anyway."

"What is this meaningless problem that I can do nothing about?" she demanded in a way that made him wonder how she could ever doubt her own ability to be a duchess.

Cameron folded his arms and looked at the floor. "Captain, would you please tell Her Grace everything you just told me, and assure her that you are omitting nothing."

Lance gave the report briefly and with precision. Abbi glared at her husband, saying, "Meaningless? Will the struggle to keep you alive be a way of life?"

"No!" Cameron insisted. "I will not stand for it! These people will be rooted out and undone. We _will_ walk the streets of Horstberg in peace; I swear it."

"It is a noble goal, Your Grace," she said with anger, "but perhaps not realistic. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm in need of some fresh air. Thankfully there is a place I can get it without a military escort."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Captain," Cameron said, "but I have been led to believe that _I_ am the Duke of Horstberg, and _you_ are the Captain of the Guard."

"That would be correct, sir."

"And is it not reputed that our positions are the most powerful and prestigious in the country?"

"That is the rumor, Your Grace."

"Then why, Captain, do I get the distinct impression that you and I have both been neatly reprimanded and put into place?"

Lance chuckled and then forced sobriety. "Um . . . I believe it might have something to do with . . . how did you put it? The fire in her veins that burns much hotter than any royal blood ever will?"

"Something like that," Cameron said, still looking the direction she had gone. "And, oh, how I love her for it!"

"Indeed, sir. I think you're late for your meeting."

Cameron made a disagreeable noise and entered the office, trying to subdue the anger he felt over having his life in danger--again. Or was it still?

That evening, Cameron noted that Abbi seemed more tense than usual, even though the issue of fanatic assassins never came up. During a meeting the following day, Mr. Fruberg engaged in a long, boring speech about the importance of protecting the duke's life at all costs for the sake of maintaining security and stability at every level of the government. Cameron appreciated the concern for his life. It was nice to have these people on his side instead of against him, but he wasn't necessarily fond of having his life represent the security of the country. Mr. Fruberg also reported to the committee his firm belief that any loyalty to Nikolaus du Woernig could not possibly exceed more than one percent of the population as a whole. Cameron didn't know how he came by such figures; he only knew that he'd done it methodically, and his methods had proven accurate in the past. According to the way the threatening letter had been written, Mr. Fruberg felt certain there was likely one person at the head of such an endeavor, and if that person were rooted out, the matter would be closed.

Cameron sat through another meeting with a few select members of the committee and the highest officers of the Guard where possible methods were discussed for rooting out such an insidious character, and what his possible motives might be. Mr. Fruberg stressed that making a bold example of the leader was imperative to see that anyone else with similar ideas would never dare contest the crown. Over the next several days, two more threats were received, and Cameron sat through another five such meetings where officers proposed different scenarios to bring the matter to a head. These men were sharp and skilled, and Cameron fully trusted them to protect him and his wife. He simply didn't like the fact that every possible plan involved putting him in public view with regular habits, alongside military escorts who were discreet and appeared lazy and distracted. And he _really_ didn't like the unanimous decision that Her Grace should not be allowed into public view, whatsoever.

Cameron's insides knotted when Mr. Fruberg looked him in the eye and stated, "We must keep Her Grace safe at all costs and not leave her vulnerable to _any_ possible harm--especially after what your brother did to her."

Grueling silence responded, and Cameron wondered what the general opinion might be of what his brother had done to the duchess. He finally snapped, "Fine. You all know what needs to be done. The meeting is over." As the men filed out of the office, he added, "Captain, Mr. Heinrich. A moment please."

When the door was closed and it was just the three of them, Cameron said with sarcasm, "This is _just_ what Abbi needs to help her adjust to being a duchess. Let's lock her up and hide her away and see how that helps her spirits. Make these castle walls some kind of prison; that ought to help the situation."

"I thought she was doing rather well," Lance said.

"She's _pretending_ to do well," Cameron countered. He sighed and pushed his hands through his hair in frustration. "Captain," he said, "I need you to tell her. I can't do it. And . . . I need both of you to . . . be mindful of her. She trusts you both. I fear there are things she's feeling that she won't say to me because she doesn't want to hurt me. Just . . . try to be there for her . . . without being too obvious. That's all I ask." He sighed again. "Georg, would you send for her now, and let's get this over with."

Abbi was sitting in the garden with a book, enjoying an especially warm autumn afternoon, when an officer approached. He stood at attention and said, "His Grace wishes to see you immediately. He's in his office."

"Thank you," Abbi said and the officer followed her there, as if to be certain she didn't tarry. At her appearance, the officer at the door opened it and she stepped inside. The three men in the room came to their feet as the door was closed behind her. The sobriety in their expressions was unnerving.

"Your Grace," Cameron said, nodding slightly. "You know Captain Dukerk, and Mr. Heinrich, my highest advisor."

Abbi expected some evidence of humor in such an introduction. But there was none. He'd meant it clearly as a preamble to the fact that this meeting was all business, and it was to be treated as such. She wanted to scream that Georg had been her most trusted friend since childhood, and she'd very nearly married Lance. She wanted to remind Cameron of the intimate conversations she'd had with these men, and how she'd cried in their arms. She wanted to insist that Cameron not refer to her so formally in front of them. But she swallowed and said, "Of course."

Cameron motioned her toward a chair. She took it and the men returned to their seats. Without looking at her, Cameron said, "The captain has something he needs to report to you."

Abbi turned her attention to Lance and listened with growing horror to the evidence of threats against her husband's life and details of their plans to rectify the problem. She looked at Cameron, then back to Lance. "You're using him as a trap." No one responded. Their silence verified the truth. She said to Cameron, "And what if your plan fails? What if these men assigned to protect you aren't quite fast enough? Or not quite as clever as these fanatics who are after you?"

"I'll be fine," Cameron said, and she wanted to shout at him. Instead she just gave him a harsh glare. He ignored it and added, "The captain is not finished yet."

"What else?" she demanded like a duchess.

Lance went on to explain their concerns for _her_ safety, and the need for her to stay in certain areas of the castle. Abbi just listened, not wanting to admit that she actually liked _this_ part of the plan. Her pregnancy was making it too awkward to ride, and she had come to find a certain security within the structure of limited rooms and the gardens. She didn't want to be publicly seen as the duchess, but she had difficulty explaining why. How could she explain it when she barely understood it? When the captain was apparently finished, she asked, "Is that all?"

"Yes, Your Grace," he said. "If anything changes, we'll let you know."

"No secrets?" she asked.

"No secrets," Lance said, and she noticed Cameron giving him a firm nod.

"Thank you, Captain," Cameron said. Then to Abbi, "Mr. Heinrich will be available at any time to discuss the issue."

Abbi couldn't help her sarcasm as she said to Georg, "Why, thank you, Mr. Heinrich. It's nice to know that I have the privilege of your expertise and guidance at my disposal. If I ever--"

"Would you leave us alone, please," Cameron said.

"I'm leaving," Abbi retorted.

"I _meant,"_ Cameron clarified, "for you and me to be left alone."

The other men stood and left the room. After the door had closed, Cameron said, "Is it necessary for you to be so belligerent?"

"Is it necessary for you to be so formal?"

"It's appropriate under such circumstances."

"Well, I hate it. And I hate knowing that someone out there wants you dead."

"Would you prefer ignorance?"

"No! I would prefer that my husband's life be secure."

"I hate it too," Cameron said, hoping his gentle tone would soften her anger.

She immediately pressed a hand over her eyes and he knew she was fighting tears. "Forgive me," she muttered. "I'm just . . . scared for you and . . . overwhelmed, but . . . I shouldn't have taken it out on them . . . on you."

"They understand," he said. "And so do I. We all love you. Do you know what it means to me to have men working at my side who care for and honor you in ways that have nothing to do with their duty? Your protection and happiness is vital to them--and to me."

"I know," Abbi said, but she felt undeserving of such homage.

"I love you, Abbi du Woernig."

As he said it, she realized that she'd grown to love her name--not because it represented royalty or prestige. But because it was _his_ name. And nothing made her more happy than to be his wife. At the end of any given day, he was hers alone. She needed to remember that.

"I love you too, Cameron du Woernig," she said.

He smiled and held out a hand toward her. "Come here." She stood and took his hand as he eased her onto his lap.

"Look," she said, holding up her left hand to show off her wedding ring.

"Ah, so you're a married woman," he said. "High time the scoundrel made an honest woman of you."

"So I've been told. And he certainly _is_ a scoundrel. But you should mind yourself. He's a very powerful man. I knew it the first time I looked into his eyes."

"And he knew the first time he looked into yours that he was eternally bewitched." He kissed her. "Lost forever." He kissed her again, slow and lingering. "Blissfully in love."

"You're very good at such sweet talk," she said and kissed him. "Especially since I know you mean it." Still again. "Do you have work to do?"

"Nothing that won't wait." He kissed her yet again.

"It's a beautiful day. A walk in the gardens would be nice."

He smiled. "I was thinking more on a walk to the bedroom."

She laughed softly. "How about both?"

"What an excellent plan, Your Grace. But which order did you have in mind?"

"Oh, the gardens first, of course. Once we get to the bedroom, we could be there a very, very long time." She kissed his nose. "We might need to have supper brought in."

He laughed. "How scandalous you are, Mrs. du Woernig."

"Of course," she said and came to her feet. "I'm married to a scoundrel. But since we _are_ married, I don't suppose it's really very scandalous."

"I don't suppose so," he said as if he might prefer the scandal.

While they took a leisurely stroll, Abbi loved the way he held her hand--the way that normal people did. She forced thoughts of decorum and propriety--and any threat against his life--completely out of her mind and enjoyed every moment of this precious time with him.

Abbi began to feel more comfortable with the routine of the castle and her new way of life, especially if she ignored any evidence of ongoing concern for Cameron's safety. Each time he left the castle with his military entourage, she held her breath until he came back. But with each safe return, she felt increasingly assured that he would be fine. She reminded herself often that he was now in the care of these well-trained men who had not so long ago been the ones putting him in danger.

Cameron worked long hours, but she figured that was to be expected under the circumstances. She felt certain it would ease up with time, when he'd had a chance to get everything back to normal. She spent a great deal of time with Magda and Lena, and she actually enjoyed traveling out of the country to attend Lena's wedding, even though their military escorts were heavy. But Abbi ignored that and focused instead on the opportunity to see all of the social aspects of this life she'd been led into, without having to be at the center of it.

They had barely returned from the wedding when Cameron announced they would be hosting their own social event, which would go on for a few days, since dignitaries would be traveling from several countries in the vicinity. Abbi felt disconcerted to realize that while she had a good excuse not to go beyond castle walls and be a duchess, she would not be spared from having the need for such responsibilities coming within the walls where she had believed she could hide _._ Cameron talked with Abbi about how important it was to make these people feel welcome and for him to declare his return to power. Abbi didn't complain, but she became steadily more nervous as the event approached. The housekeepers and cooks wanted her opinion on every decision in preparation, but she was more prone to trust their judgment in doing whatever had worked in the past.

On the day that their guests arrived, Abbi stayed mostly to her rooms, claiming to feel under the weather with her pregnancy. She preferred making her appearance with Cameron by her side at the social scheduled that evening. Elsa put Abbi's hair up much as she'd done the last time Abbi had been required to wear the crown, except that she'd found a few late-blooming roses and coiled them into the carefully arranged curls, taking great pride in the results. Elsa admitted that she loved putting up Abbi's hair. "My mother taught me at a young age," she said. "She had been a lady's maid, and she said the ability to do a lady's hair would insure me a good position."

"And then you ended up working for me." Abbi laughed. "A woman who refused to wear her hair up."

"Working for you has always been life's greatest blessing," she said. "But look at you now, Miss Abbi." Elsa had continued using the _Miss_ out of habit, but Abbi didn't mind. It was much better than having her use a royal title. "I truly enjoy my work with you more than ever."

"I'm glad I have you," Abbi admitted, wishing she could find the same joy in her own _work_. "I'll just have to keep to my rooms while you're taking time off to have that baby."

Elsa laughed softly. "Bruna does well. She'll take good care of you."

"I'm certain she will," Abbi said. Bruna was sweet and competent. But Abbi preferred the idea of staying in her room.

Abbi was barely into her gown when Cameron came to get ready. He paused in his rush and absorbed Abbi's appearance. "The two of you look absolutely stunning," he said.

"Your son is making himself more prominent all the time."

"Yes," Cameron kissed her quickly, "but motherhood becomes you. You look more beautiful every day."

Abbi waited with her feet up while Franz helped Cameron dress. He appeared wearing the robe and crown, taking Abbi's breath away. How could she not be reminded of the day he'd revealed his identity to her? How could she not be freshly overcome with awe at the evidence that this man who loved her was of royal lineage? He took her hand and helped her to her feet, kissing her in a way that bridged the man with the duke.

Together they descended the grand staircase into the ballroom, just as they'd done the day they were married--except that now there was hardly a person in the room that she knew. She tried to relax and enjoy herself, but Cameron had to gently correct her at least a dozen times when she called someone by the wrong name, or the wrong title. She finally just stopped talking beyond answering questions as briefly as possible. But even then, she said things wrong. When the evening began to wear on her, she whispered to Cameron, "I'm going to bed. I'm tired. Make excuses for me if you must."

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked, sounding concerned.

_Yes,_ she thought, but she knew he needed to stay. "No, I'll be fine. Enjoy yourself."

Since Elsa wasn't expecting her yet, Abbi sat at the dressing table with the intent of taking her hair down herself. Instead she just sat there, staring blankly at her reflection. She was startled when the door clicked open, and she looked up to see Cameron closing it. He moved behind her until she could see his reflection in the mirror with her own.

"Have I ever told you," he said softly, "that you look beautiful with your hair up?"

Abbi smiled timidly at him and started pulling the roses out of her coiled hair, if only to avoid talking with Cameron about how she'd embarrassed him. He removed her crown and put it away before he picked up one of the roses and brushed the petals along her cheek, and then he sat down where he could watch her, holding the rose close to his face. She removed the pins from her hair, and it fell around her shoulders where she brushed through it with long strokes, wishing Cameron would just say what he needed to say.

"You look beautiful with it down," he said, and she set the brush on the table in front of her. Cameron moved behind her again, pushing the rose into the red curls just above her ear. He touched her face and ran his fingers down her throat. "Everything about you is beautiful. And I love you."

Abbi sighed. "Why don't you just say it and get it over with?"

"Say what?" He looked genuinely baffled.

"I embarrassed you out there."

"What? You did _not_ embarrass me in the least!"

"I did and you know it."

"Abbi, I can assure you that I felt nothing but pride to have you with me."

"I was getting everything wrong, and--"

"Did you think anyone would expect you to remember every person's name and title in the first few hours? Good heavens. You were incredible out there. Everyone is in awe of you."

Abbi stopped arguing, certain he only said such things to make her feel better. He had a good heart, and she couldn't deny her appreciation for his acceptance.

"You should be with your guests," she said.

"I'll see them tomorrow. I want to be with you right now."

"And why is that?"

"I thought we could gossip," he said and she didn't admit to her surprise. He removed his own crown and set it on the bureau, and she helped him with the robe, thinking she would prefer Franz's job to her own. "I heard some absolutely delicious gossip in town today."

"About who?" she asked. It wasn't like Cameron to be so excited about common hearsay.

"About Her Grace, of course," he said impishly. "People are impressed with you. They love the way you're so kind, so comfortable to be around."

"And how would anyone know? I've hardly been into town at all."

"The times you were left a deep impression. The rumor is that you are staying in due to your pregnancy. The people pray for you. They love you."

"And where did you hear that?" she asked, wanting to accuse him of lying.

"It's gossip," he said. Then he laughed, and Abbi felt certain he was teasing her. 
Chapter Thirty-One

THE RUNAWAY

Abbi did her best to let go of her negative feelings and enjoy some quiet time with Cameron. But the following day, she was required to be the hostess at a ladies' brunch for all the wives and daughters-of-age who had come to stay. If Magda hadn't been at her side, she knew she would have failed miserably. That evening, there was a more casual social for all of the adults. Abbi hovered close to Cameron and said little, feeling conspicuously out of place and inadequate.

The following day, their guests left Horstberg, much to Abbi's relief. She prayed it would be a long time before they ever had to entertain guests again. But an uneasiness over the matter hovered with her. Cameron worked late into the evening, taking supper in his office while he tried to catch up from all the time he'd spent with visiting dignitaries. She went to bed without him, and left a lamp burning low on the bedside table. She wasn't yet asleep when he came in, and she heard him getting ready for bed before he slid beneath the covers and doused the lamp.

"Hello," she said, alerting him to the fact that she was awake.

"Oh, hello," he murmured and eased close. She sensed his relief in being able to talk to her. She asked about his day; he said it was long. He asked about hers, and she said the same. He kissed her, and a minute later he was asleep. But Abbi stared into the darkness, holding her husband close, wondering what had happened to her life. She imagined herself riding Blaze at a headstrong gallop, feeling the wind in her face, letting her hair fly free. She thought of long days spent loitering in the stables with Georg, engaged in nonsensical conversations that occasionally intermixed with something profound and thought-provoking. She thought of cold, winter days with her and Cameron tucked safely in the lodge, cooking together, reading to each other, laughing and talking with no outside world to intrude upon them. How clearly she recalled the sound of his chopping wood and the sense of security she felt when he'd come in out of the cold and stoke the fires. And she'd been oblivious. Completely ignorant. She'd exchanged vows with a du Woernig, the Duke of Horstberg. She'd pledged her life to him with no comprehension of what that life would entail. And now she felt imprisoned. She could never dispute her love for Cameron. He was the most important thing to her; he had been since the day a dream had taken her to his door. She loved him with her whole heart. But he had a life that he now lived independent of her. And the aspects of that life where she was expected to participate had left her embarrassed and completely uncomfortable. She had to admit it. She loved her husband; she hated her life. And with the admittance came pain. While the night ticked on she cried and cried, fighting to keep her tears silent so that she wouldn't awaken him and have to explain. But the battle made her head ache and her chest burn. She finally got up and left the room, sitting at the top of the grand staircase in her nightgown, crying herself into a numb exhaustion that lured her back to bed, and finally into an uneasy sleep, tainted with dreams that she didn't remember when she woke up, but that left her solemn and deeply agitated.

When Abbi realized Cameron was up and morning had crept in, she forced herself past her own sleepiness enough to interact with him before he left for the day. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, and then he leaned over her and smiled as he touched her face in a way he'd done a thousand times. "Good morning, Mrs. du Woernig."

"Good morning," she replied and he kissed her.

"Have I ever told you that you're the most amazing woman in all the world?"

"You are most certainly biased," she said and pushed her arms around him, if only to avoid any eye contact that might let on to how discomforting such a statement felt. How would he feel to know the truth of her feelings? How could she ever share such inner torment with him when it would break his heart? But how could she _not_ share such feelings when they were eating her alive?

"No, I am not," he said with a little laugh. "Ask any person in Horstberg, and they'll tell you the same thing."

"Now, that's exaggerating."

Cameron looked into her eyes and soaked in the happiness he felt, just to have her a part of his life. He kissed her again before he walked to the window and pulled back the drapes to greet the day. His chest tightened and he took a sharp breath before he consciously understood why.

"Is something wrong?" Abbi asked.

"No." He pressed a hand over his chest. "I mean . . ."

Abbi moved to his side and touched his arm. "What is it, Cameron?"

"Do you see it?" he asked in little more than a whisper. Abbi looked out the window, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "Do you feel it?"

"Feel what? I don't understand."

She saw him come out of a daze and look down at her. "Forgive me," he said. "That feeling in the air just . . . brought it all back."

Cameron saw her confusion, and hurried to clarify. "Winter is at the door, Abbi." He looked out the window again. "There's just a . . . feeling in the air. The sky grows heavy, and the wind bites. The clouds look different when they're filled with snow. That first snow of winter was always the hardest. It was like having a door slammed in my face."

Abbi pushed her arms around him, understanding completely now.

"Oh, Abbi," he murmured and held her desperately close. "You saved my life. That day . . . last year . . . once it snowed, I knew the end was inevitable. I couldn't live like that anymore. I knew it was over." She could hear his heart quicken, feel his breathing become labored. "I'm so grateful," he whispered. "I never could have imagined where I would be in a year." He pressed a kiss into her hair and repeated, "I'm so grateful."

Abbi held to him tightly, feeling his gratitude soak into her. But as soon as he let go and stepped away, a coldness overtook her. He touched her chin and kissed her with adoration in his eyes. "I love you, Abbi girl," he said. "You have a good day."

He moved toward the door and she wanted to shout, _Doing what?_ She felt the urge to go to the kitchen and cook her own breakfast. Or perhaps she could invade the laundry and wash out her own underclothing. She could only imagine the spectacle she might make of herself, and the embarrassment she would surely bring to her husband.

Once Cameron had left the room, Abbi turned back to the window to absorb winter at the door. How could she not think of that day last year, when winter had ushered her into Cameron's isolated world, and into his life? She too was grateful--for the love they shared, for the freedom he'd gained, for the peace she saw in his eyes. But in the deepest part of herself, anger squelched her gratitude. Anger and sorrow. She missed the life they had once shared. The simplicity and togetherness of those months between their initial marriage and the coming of spring were precious to her. But they felt forever away. And she felt angry. Attempting to dispel her negative feelings, Abbi recounted all that was good. Cameron had given her a life that many women would envy. Why couldn't she see in it what such women could see? What was wrong with her?

Abbi went back to bed, deciding that sleep was much less complicated than trying to reconcile with her feelings. Elsa woke her with a late breakfast, which she ate alone. She wondered what Cameron might be doing, then tried to convince herself that she didn't care. When Elsa came to help her dress, Abbi insisted on wearing one of her oldest dresses, something that connected her to the life she'd lived before. And she refused to have her hair put up.

"If no one is going to see me," she said in response to Elsa's surprise, "then what is the point?"

After lunch, Abbi put on a cloak and decided to wander the gardens. She stepped outside and took a deep breath of _winter at the door._ And suddenly it wasn't enough. She felt half crazed as she went back inside then hurried the other direction, out the front door, across the courtyard, and to the stables, where she knew Blaze was kept. She wondered how many days it had been since she'd even seen the stallion as she put the bridle in place, boldly brushing aside the servant who offered to saddle the horse for her.

"There's no need," she said, and stepped on a bale of straw to hurl herself onto Blaze's bare back. She realized how long it had been when the weight of her pregnancy definitely impeded her agility.

Abbi broke into a gallop the moment she cleared the stable doorway, and Blaze's hooves clattered on the stone floor of the courtyard. Before she reached the gate, she heard other horses and turned to see six officers mounted and following her. She stopped and turned to face them. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Going with you," a lieutenant said firmly.

"I will be going alone," she snapped, and headed out the gate. When it became apparent they were still behind her, she stopped again and found it surprisingly easy to sound like a duchess. "Go back and leave me in peace!"

"But, Your Grace, we--"

"What is the penalty for disobeying my orders, Lieutenant?"

He looked stunned but answered straightly. "Six days in the keep, Your Grace."

"If you follow me another step, I will make it ten," she said, and galloped down the castle hill, relieved to glance over her shoulder and see that she was free. With no deviation, she rode with fury toward the covered bridge, lured by the forest trail that lay beyond. She felt free again. She felt alive!

The office door flew open, bringing the committee discussion to an abrupt halt. Cameron looked up to see a young lieutenant, out of breath, looking concerned.

"I trust there's a reason to justify this interruption," Cameron barked. "Anything short of war and I'll--"

"It's Her Grace," he said and Cameron came to his feet. "She's gone, sir."

"Gone?" he echoed, moving around the desk. Georg and Lance both stood as well.

"She left the castle, sir; didn't even wait for her stallion to be saddled."

Cameron headed toward the hall, motioning for Georg and the captain to join him. He grabbed the long coat by the door he'd worn this morning when he'd gone out. The lieutenant fell into step beside Cameron as he put the coat on and traversed the long hall quickly.

"Surely with a military escort," he said.

"Six officers pursued her, sir. I was one of them."

"And?" Cameron added, quickening his step.

"She ordered us to go back, and none too kindly, sir."

Cameron exchanged an alarmed glance with each of the three men as he attempted to clarify, "She _ordered?"_

"Yes, sir."

"And I'm assuming you made it clear that _my_ orders were for--"

"She asked me what the penalty was for disobeying her orders. I told her it was six days in the keep. She said that if we followed her another step she'd make it ten."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Cameron said and broke into a run.

"It would seem she's learned how to give orders," Lance said, keeping up with him.

"It would seem so," Cameron said, his heart pounding with fear. His wife was unprotected, apparently angry, and significantly pregnant.

In the cavalry stables, they found horses saddled and waiting. As they mounted, Cameron said to the lieutenant, "I'll not be needing an escort. Thank you, Lieutenant."

"But, sir, we have orders to--"

"Stay here until further notice, or I'll make it _twelve_ days." He glanced to Georg, then Lance, who were already mounted. "The captain will cover my back," he added and galloped out the castle gate, with Georg and Lance right behind him. At the bottom of the hill, Cameron said to Georg, "You check the estate and--"

"I will, but . . . we both know she won't be there."

Cameron's heart pounded harder as he perceived the implication. "She wouldn't!"

"Oh, I think she would," Georg said, and Cameron pressed the mount beneath him to its full ability.

Cameron knew Lance was right behind him as they thundered through the covered bridge. At the edge of the forest, he hesitated long enough to say, "I need to go alone from here, Captain. Thank you."

"But--"

"Just make certain I'm not followed." He glanced toward the sky. "With any luck we'll be back before that storm sets in."

Lance nodded. "Godspeed," he said and Cameron hurried into the forest, galloping at breakneck speed while his mind vacillated between prayer and anger. But he was well aware of fear hovering at the root of both. What bothered him most was wondering what might have possibly spurred such erratic behavior. What could have happened to trigger such madness? He tried to tell himself it wasn't as bad as it seemed. Maybe Georg was wrong. Maybe she'd gone back to her home, and she really wouldn't have been foolish enough to come up here with a storm brewing. He felt the temperature dropping with the rise in elevation, and the wind picked up along with the darkening sky.

Cameron emerged suddenly into the meadow, and his fears pounded audibly in his ears. He drew to a halt long enough to be sure his eyes were showing him the truth. There she was--his sweet wife, the wind tangling her wild hair while she tugged at the thicket to pull it away from the opening of the crevice.

"Don't you do it!" he shouted, and she turned toward him. Even with the distance, he fully perceived her defiance and anger. But _why?_ He felt his own anger squelch every other emotion as the possible outcomes marched into his head.

Abbi watched Cameron gallop across the meadow, as surprised to see him here as she was by the conspicuous anger that consumed his countenance. He halted beside her and dismounted, his long coat flying behind him as he swung his leg over the horse's back.

"Don't you do it!" he repeated, putting himself between her and the thicket.

"And what is the penalty for disobeying your orders, Your Grace?" she snapped, and Cameron wondered who this woman might be, impersonating his wife.

"Have you lost your mind?" he snarled.

"Maybe."

"Do you have any idea the danger you are putting yourself in?"

"I just needed some time away. A little ride in the forest is not going to--"

"Abbi! Take a look around you! It's going to _snow!_ What were you thinking? You'd just come up here for a little reprieve, some reminiscing? A nap maybe, since the ride was tiring? What if I hadn't known you'd left? What if you'd fallen asleep and woke up to three feet of snow? There's nothing up there, Abbi. No food; nothing! Not to mention your leaving the castle without protection under the circumstances is _ludicrous!_ We receive heated threats nearly every day, and you run off with _no_ heed whatsoever to the possible repercussions! How could you do something so thoroughly _preposterous?"_

Abbi slapped him before she realized she wanted to. She regretted it even before he pressed a hand over his assaulted cheek and turned to look at her, betrayal and hurt in his eyes. How could she ever explain how his anger had triggered a hundred plaguing thoughts and feelings? She reached up a hand to touch his face with the intention of offering some form of silent apology. But he grabbed her wrist and held it tightly. The hurt in his eyes disappeared behind the power of an angry monarch.

"The last time you did that," he said, "I clearly deserved it. Perhaps you could explain to me what exactly I did to deserve it this time."

Again Abbi acted only on impulse, spouting without premeditation, "You made me a duchess!"

Cameron couldn't breathe. He let go of her and stepped back, more pained than when she'd slapped him. A formless weight was heaved upon his chest. He felt kicked in the stomach and internally bruised. The regret that rose in her eyes could never take back the truth that had just flown through her lips. He found it impossible to look at her. A thousand memories, fears, and emotions of the past year encompassed him all at once, contributing to the sudden weakness that threatened to suck his legs out from under him. He wanted to remind her that she'd pledged to stand by him no matter what, that she had agreed to take on the life that came with him. But such promises felt hollow now. She'd had no idea what she'd been agreeing to. He'd led her blindly into this world, and he couldn't blame anyone but himself for her unhappiness. He knew now the reason for her irrational behavior. He'd captured her like some wild bird and locked her in a stone tower. She had broken free with the need to simply fly, and no comprehension that she could never go back to the world she'd once known. Now that she'd been sentenced to her gilded cage, she couldn't leave it without being in danger. Now he had to protect her against her will. He'd given her an exigent name, and forced her into a precarious position. And she hated him for it.

Cameron was startled from the horror of her brutal declaration with the realization that it was snowing. It hadn't come on slowly, but fell in huge, heavy flakes that were already accumulating on the ground where he was staring. While he was trying to motivate himself to get them both off this mountain before the weather became treacherous, he heard her say, "Cameron, I'm sorry. I--"

"Don't!" He lifted his hands in front of his face, as if doing so might ward off any added assault. "Don't . . . say anything else that might . . . incriminate me further."

"You misunderstand, Cameron," she said. He could tell she was crying, but he still couldn't look at her.

"No, I _do_ understand," he said, and looked at the sky. "We've got to get out of here."

She moved toward Blaze, then hesitated. "I need help."

An ounce of anger attempted to smother the gallons of hurt. "How did you get on to begin with?" he asked, realizing she couldn't mount alone when there was no saddle, and no stirrup to put her foot into.

"I stood on something," she said as he bent his knee for her to step there, and he helped her mount.

"And how exactly did you intend to get back on the horse and get home if I hadn't shown up?"

She only gave him a hard stare, mingling regret with anger, then she stirred Blaze toward the forest. He mounted and followed her down the forest trail while he felt something in his heart breaking, closing down, shutting off. The habit to avoid feeling anything at all in lieu of acknowledging such pain came on hard and fast. He reminded himself that he was stronger than that. He'd become a better man, and he had Abbi to thank for it. He could not resent her unhappiness. He had to find a way to counter it. If only he had even the slightest idea of how he could ever undo what he'd done!

It was snowing hard by the time they emerged from the forest. Abbi hesitated and he came beside her, alarmed to see how wet she was. "Are you all right?" he asked. She nodded, but he didn't feel convinced. "We must hurry," he said, and they moved over the fallen tree and toward the covered bridge. They both halted when they saw eight officers waiting with Lance and Georg.

"On the chance that someone saw you leave," Lance shouted, and they all broke into a gallop, surrounding the duke and duchess. They needed no further communication to know that the storm was worsening and they needed to hurry.

When Cameron helped Abbi dismount in the courtyard, she was clearly shivering. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath, realizing his own coat had shielded him from the weather much more than her cloak.

He nearly picked her up, but she said, "Please let me maintain some degree of dignity." And she hurried toward the door.

"Thank you, gentlemen," he said to the men who had weathered the storm to escort them home. Then he followed after his wife. Once inside, beyond the view of everyone except the maid hovering in the front hall waiting for orders, Abbi teetered visibly. Cameron caught her and scooped her into his arms, saying to the maid, "I need the fires in our room stoked, and bed warmers. Now! And I need Elsa."

"Yes, Your Grace," she said, and scurried away. He was keenly aware of the way Abbi shivered violently and clung to him. But at least she was shivering. How could he not think of the storm that had brought her into his life? She'd been way beyond shivering when he'd found her.

He barely had Abbi on the bed before Elsa came into the room. "What's happened?" she asked frantically.

Cameron didn't bother trying to explain. "Help me get her out of these wet clothes," he said. Two other maids came into the room, and he moved Abbi into the dressing room to maintain her privacy. With Elsa's help and Abbi fully conscious, it only took a few minutes to get her undressed and wrapped in a warm blanket. Cameron carried her back to the bed that had been turned down, and he tucked her firmly beneath the covers. The fires were blazing, the maids were gone, and Elsa carefully situated the two bed warmers that had been left waiting.

"Thank you, Elsa," Cameron said, removing his wet coat. "I think I can handle it from here."

"Ring if you need me," she said, and hurried from the room.

Cameron took off his own wet clothes and got into the bed beside his wife, wrapping her in his arms. "You're as cold as I am," she said through chattering teeth.

"Not quite," he said. "I'm not shivering. Now just relax and let your body warm up."

She nuzzled closer, and gradually he felt her shivering cease. He was grateful for the opportunity to hold her close. Such passive intimacy was comforting in light of the thoughts churning inside him. Her need for his warmth kept him calm and allowed his spirit to digest what had happened and why. But he wondered if he could ever understand or come to terms with how deeply it hurt. Even more than his brother's hideous betrayal, his wife's unhappiness--and his accountability in it--threatened to break his heart wide open.

"I'm so sorry, Cameron," she said, and he wondered if she meant the things she'd said, or the fact that he'd had to rescue her. He knew they needed to talk about both, but he didn't want to.

Opting to focus on the issue that was less difficult to address, he said lightly, "You do have a way of getting yourself into trouble. Do you have some perverse attraction to winter storms, or what is it exactly?" She only clung to him more tightly. "Although," he added, "having to remove all of your wet clothes was much less awkward with the help of your lady's maid, and now that you're my wife." He heard her sob and held her tighter. He didn't want to ask, but knew he had to, "Is being my wife so difficult for you, Abbi?"

"I love you, Cameron," she cried. "I love you with all my soul!"

"Except . . ." he pressed gently.

"There is no exception, Cameron. My own inability to be the kind of woman you deserve is in no way a reflection of my feelings for you."

He leaned on one elbow to look at her face. "What did you say? The kind of woman I _deserve?_ Abbi, you are more incredible and amazing a woman than I could _ever_ deserve. I think God created you to bless the people of Horstberg, and I'm just the idiot who happened to be born with enough royal blood to be matched with you for that purpose."

Abbi made a scoffing noise, not amused by his attempt to humor her. She felt utterly humiliated and foolish, and horrified to think of the things she'd said to him. Attempting to gather words for an adequate apology, she realized that _no_ apology could ever be adequate. But she had to try.

"I'm so sorry, Cameron. I'm sorry for . . . running off like that, for being so foolish. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused for everyone--for you especially. And most of all . . ." Hot tears stung her eyes and burned her throat. "I'm sorry for what I said, and that I . . . slapped you. I can't believe I slapped you."

"I have trouble believing that myself," he said, but his tone was forgiving.

"What I said, Cameron, I . . ." She saw the same hurt in his eyes that she'd seen after she'd said it. "I didn't mean it. I was angry, and . . . confused and . . . I--"

He put his fingers over her lips. "You can't take it back," he said, a tremor in his voice. "We both know it's true, and neither of us should go on pretending. I don't know what hurts me most. Knowing you feel that way, or the fact that you never told me until it became so painful to hold inside that you had no choice but to explode with it."

Cameron watched her turn away, squeezing her eyes closed against his words. He knew she had no rebuttal. He wanted to tell her that her feelings over the issue didn't matter, that her withholding such pain from him was irrelevant, but he couldn't say it, because he didn't believe it. The trust between them felt tainted. And how could he blame her for keeping pieces of her heart from him when he had seen her married and pregnant without giving her even a hint that she had taken on a life he had believed all along she would loathe?

"Abbi," he said, pushing her hair back from her face, "I can't undo what's been done. And how could I ever want to go back on making you mine? I wish with all my heart that I could have given you a simple life. But how can I change who I am any more than I could change how I love you?"

She turned to look at him. "I love _you,_ Cameron. I do not regret making myself a part of your life. I would do _anything_ for you. _Anything!_ My only regret is that . . ."

"What?" he pressed when she hesitated.

"That I . . . behaved like such a child today. Forgive me."

"Of course. I understand. Forgive _me."_

"For what?"

"For getting so angry. I was afraid. And forgive me for . . ."

"For _what?"_ she asked again.

Abbi saw a gleam of moisture in his eyes as he murmured, "For making you a duchess."

"Cameron," she took his face into her hands, "you did what you had to do. I know that. I'm not angry with you."

_Just angry with the life I've given you,_ he responded silently, not willing to take the conversation any further. He sighed and pressed the back of his head into the pillow, staring upward while he attempted to put his own hurt into perspective with the love they shared. Abbi put her head to his shoulder, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. "I meant what I said, Cameron, when I told you that I would stand by you, no matter what. As long as I know that you love me, I can do anything. I will do everything in my power to do what's expected of me, whatever it takes."

Cameron held her tighter, but he couldn't comment. Her love and commitment meant more to him than he could ever tell her. But it felt to him like she was sacrificing her own happiness for the sake of his. And he hated it. If he were a farmer and his wife had a strong aversion to it, he could sell the farm and become a blacksmith, or open a shop. But he was responsible for a nation. And how could he weigh his wife's happiness against the well-being of thousands of people? He could only pray that with time, Abbi's discomfort would ease, and that eventually he would be able to forgive _himself_ for making her a duchess.

Abbi was relieved when nothing more was said between her and Cameron about the ugly incident on the mountain. Still, it took her days to accept that she could not go back and undo what she'd done--and said. She could only press forward with a new determination to prove that her apologies had been sincere. She determined that it was not seemly for a duchess to behave as she had--toward her husband or the officers who had just been following orders. She made a point of formally apologizing to the lieutenant she had spoken harshly to, and also to Lance and Georg, knowing they had waited in the snow to see that she and Cameron returned safely. She pledged to herself that she would never allow her emotions to get so out of control, and that she would be honest with her husband--even if she had something to say that he didn't want to hear.

The mild tension she felt between herself and Cameron eased within a couple of days, although she saw him very little in between and around his duties. She questioned him on what he'd said about ongoing threats. He reluctantly told her that letters continued to come to the castle, boldly declaring that the family du Woernig would be removed and replaced in honor of Nikolaus du Woernig's memory. The messengers were always different, and they could never track where the messages had originated. They felt increasingly confident by the content of the letters that if the ringleader were taken down, the problem would desist. But as of yet, no actual attempts had been made against Cameron's life, and his wife and sister were being kept out of sight. Magda too was being kept a prisoner within castle walls, and while she was good company to Abbi during some stretches of the day, she was accustomed to habits of occupying herself that Abbi could not relate to. Abbi was therefore left with many empty hours to fill on her own.

Abbi did her best to take the news of the situation like a duchess, but each time Cameron left the castle gates, she felt knotted inside until he returned. She could only pray that after all they had been through, they would emerge triumphant once again.

Occasionally Lance or Georg sought her out to chat for a few minutes, and they would always ask how she was doing. She sensed their concern, but she had nothing to tell them beyond a firm reassurance that she was fine. Circumstances being what they were, she felt no inclination to start crying her eyes out to these men who worked so closely with her husband. She felt certain it was more appropriate for her to keep her feelings to herself and behave like a duchess.

Abbi was pleasantly surprised one morning at breakfast when Cameron told her he had a surprise for her. He took her to a room on the same floor as their bedroom and insisted she cover her eyes before he opened the door. He guided her blindly into the room, then laughed as he pulled her hands away. Abbi's first impression was the brightness and beauty of the room. The windows were larger than those in the bedroom, and the decor was in lighter colors. Then she realized that beyond the usual furniture that constituted a sitting room, it had been equipped with an easel and everything she might ever need to pursue her interest in art. She gasped, then laughed, then reverently touched the oils, the brushes, the canvases, the pencils, and sketch-books.

"Oh, it's wonderful," she said, wondering why she'd not even thought to do a single sketch since she'd come to live here.

Cameron put his arms around her. "I know it's not easy being holed up this way. But it's temporary. In the meantime, I thought this might help fill some empty time."

"Thank you," she said and kissed him. He smiled, and by all appearances everything felt right. But she couldn't deny the subtlest underlying tension between them. She just didn't know how to erase it.

Abbi began spending hours each day in her art room, which certainly helped ease her boredom. A couple of weeks into her new habit, Elsa gave birth to a healthy boy. She had a difficult time in labor, and the doctor told them he wasn't certain if she would ever be able to conceive again, due to damage caused by the birth. But Georg said many times that he was grateful to have Elsa alive and well, and to have this beautiful son.

"And what shall his name be?" Cameron asked, while he and Georg hovered over the sleeping infant with wispy blond hair.

"It wasn't easy," Elsa spoke up from her bed, where she sat propped against pillows, "but I think we've finally agreed on a suitable name."

"And what is that?" Abbi asked, amused by the smile that passed between Georg and Elsa.

"Elsa wanted his name to be unusual," Georg said.

"A name unlike any other in the country," Elsa clarified.

"I liked the name Hans," Georg said.

"Which is horribly common," Elsa added.

"But it had significance." Georg seemed amused. "When Abbi told her aunts about her stay on the mountain, she said the man who had saved her life was named Hans."

Cameron chuckled. Abbi admitted, "I'd forgotten."

"But it's dreadfully common," Elsa repeated.

"So, we took off the last letter," Georg said. "His name is Han."

"Han Heinrich," Cameron said with a regal air. "I like it. The two names go well together."

"My thought exactly," Georg declared.

Within days, Elsa was back on her feet, and the child was christened Han Josef Heinrich. Abbi enjoyed helping with the baby, imagining that he would be a friend to her own son, just as their fathers were. Cameron told Abbi several times that he had never seen Georg happier, and Abbi had to agree. In fact, Cameron showed so much enthusiasm over the event that Abbi couldn't help but anticipate the birth of their own child.

While Han changed and grew every day, Abbi began to feel the stress of her pregnancy. Having been close to Elsa, she wasn't surprised by the aches and pains, or the restriction in her activities, but it was difficult nevertheless. While Georg spent more time with his wife and son, Cameron spent more time at his duties, leaving Abbi to deal with her misery alone much of the time. When he was around, Cameron always showed compassion and concern for her, and Abbi reminded herself to be patient. She said nothing about her feelings of neglect until she awoke on a Sunday morning to find that Cameron had gone to his office. He barely left his work long enough to attend church service, and he worked until long after Abbi normally went to bed. When he entered the bedroom and saw her sitting near the fire, his surprise was certain.

"What are you doing up so late?" he asked, bending to kiss her.

"When else might I see my husband?" she countered.

Cameron was silent a moment. He sat down across from her. "I take it you're not very happy with me."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Abbi, don't play games with me. If you're upset, just say so."

"Fine. I'm upset."

"Do you want to tell me why? Or do you need to get angry enough to slap me before you can allow the truth to slip out?"

Abbi was as startled by the comment as she was by the evidence that the events of that day still bothered him. She resisted the urge to get angry over it, and she stuck to the issue instead. "I can't believe you even have to ask. Is it not obvious?"

Cameron sighed and sounded more humble. "I know I've been terribly busy, Abbi, but . . . it won't always be this way. There is much that needs to be done after being away for so long. And with Georg being busy and--"

"I understand there are many demands on you," she said firmly. "I know this is a big part of your life, and I respect that. But you have a family, Cameron."

Cameron felt his habitual pride rise up to defend his motives, but he pushed it back long enough to fully absorb what she was saying. Rather than jumping into an argument, he simply said, "I'm listening."

Abbi sighed, grateful that he wasn't throwing anger back at her. "I would think that you could at least be with us one day in seven. Certainly God gave us the Sabbath for a reason. As I see it, you cannot expect His blessings in your work if you don't respect that."

Cameron was thoughtful a moment. "You're probably right, Abbi. Forgive me. I won't work on Sundays any more unless it is an emergency."

Abbi inhaled deeply. "Thank you." She reached out her hand and he took it. "We miss you. We need you."

"We?" he asked with a little smirk, and Abbi rubbed her belly.

"Tell me his name again, Cameron. I have trouble remembering what we decided. Perhaps I should write it down."

"Erich," he said.

"Because it is your second name, and because it is fitting of Horstberg's prince."

"Precisely. A prince with red, curly hair," he said, taking one of her swollen feet into his lap to rub it.

She moaned pleasurably. "Then Cameron," she said, "after his father."

"Then Georg, for obvious reasons. He would not be born under such circumstances if not for Georg's help."

"And then . . ."

"Gerhard, after your father . . . for many reasons."

Abbi sighed. "Erich Cameron Georg Gerhard du Woernig. It's an awfully big name for such a little boy."

"And what if it is a girl?"

"It's not," she said with confidence.

"What if you're wrong?" Cameron asked. "Do you have a girl's name?"

"Actually, I do . . . if you like it, of course."

"Let's hear it."

"After your sisters."

"Madeleine Helena . . . or Helena Madeleine?"

"No, one name, taken from their nicknames. MagdaLena."

Cameron smiled. "I like it. I can well imagine a little red-haired princess . . . feisty like her mother."

"Stubborn like her father. But MagdaLena won't be coming just yet." She rubbed her belly again. "This is Erich."

"I'm glad that you're certain," he said, and began to rub her other foot. "So, what have you been doing to keep yourself busy?"

"What _can_ I do? I can only sit and paint or draw a little at a time before I become uncomfortable. I've been helping Elsa some with Han, but the servants keep everything under perfect control. They've all been very good to me."

"As they should be."

"I feel absolutely useless."

"It will pass, Abbi. After Erich is born, you will be so busy caring for him that you won't even notice how busy _I_ am."

"Busy perhaps, but I notice every hour that we're not together." She wanted to ask if he felt the same way, if he thought about her and missed her while he was so involved in his work. But she feared the answer might only frustrate her further, so she dropped the subject and went to bed.

Cameron remained true to his word, and Sunday became Abbi's favorite day of the week. It became even more blissful when Magda talked Cameron into playing the piano here and there. Abbi enjoyed seeing that side of him and marveled at his talent. But the Cameron she saw on the Sabbath became completely swallowed up in the Duke of Horstberg as he more than made up for it through the week, working as if his country were his entire life. Abbi hoped that as Georg gradually returned to his normal schedule, the demands on Cameron would ease up, but they didn't. And she couldn't begin to know what to do about it.

Cameron left the office late, wishing he didn't dread facing his wife. He wandered through dimly lit castle hallways, places in his home he'd not ventured into through all these months since his return, reacquainting himself with surroundings that had once been so familiar. Memories deluged him, and while they held a certain degree of comfort, searching his feelings made it evident that the comfort came more from being comfortable than from being happy. It was difficult to even find a positive memory. Those he found were attached to being with his sisters or Georg, hiding away and playing as children, snatches of time when he'd been oblivious to the weight of being heir to a country. He located a few tender moments with his mother. She had been kind and good, and her love and wisdom had always been firm with him. But she'd also been conspicuously unhappy. He'd never been in her presence without being keenly aware that her duty to Horstberg was simply that--duty. Her love for her children had been readily evident, but she had governed them quietly and timidly, while her husband hardly allowed her to speak a word without demeaning her or putting her into her place with harsh authority. And through every facet of Cameron's life, Nikolaus had always been close at hand, creating aggravation and tension. But Cameron never would have dreamed or imagined such an outcome. His relief at being back in control of his country, and at peace with himself in that regard, was continually tainted by the harsh fact that his own brother had inflicted such atrocities upon him, and those in his care.

Equally troubling for Cameron was the obvious unhappiness he saw in his wife. She was starting to remind him of his mother in that respect. Was being the Duchess of Horstberg so utterly deplorable? Was it cursed, somehow? Gwen had enjoyed the position, only because of the wealth and prestige that had come with it. But she was dead, stabbed through the heart. Abbi was physically alive but clearly unhappy. He wondered every hour if he were to blame, but at the same time he could never find any point in their history where he might have made a decision differently, according to what he'd felt and believed. He loved her desperately, and he knew she loved him. But apparently love wasn't enough. He just didn't know what he might give her any more than he had in order to compensate for all that had been taken away. He knew she longed for the freedom and simplicity of the life she'd lived previously. And yet, holed up in her room as she was, she wasn't really living any life at all. He wondered if he should take her to stay with her father, in the home she'd grown up in. Perhaps that would help bring her around, but his greatest fear was that she would find so much happiness there she would never want to come back and live in the castle again. Either way, it seemed they were doomed to some degree of separate lives, and it just felt so wrong. So completely wrong.

Cameron finished his solitary walk at the door of his own bedroom. He took a deep breath and went in to find Abbi asleep. While there was some relief in not having to face her, he felt deeply sorrowed by the growing chasm between them. He simply didn't know what to do about it.

On a bright, clear morning, Abbi got dressed to go out and went to the ducal office, minutes before she knew that her husband and his usual entourage would be going into town. It was market day, and they always made an appearance. She was well aware of the ongoing threats against the royal family, and the committee's edict that she remain behind bars. But she was sick to death of these walls, and equally tired of having some fanatic dissident controlling her life. Still, that was only part of her motive.

An officer opened the door for her, and she stepped in to see Cameron, Georg, and Lance all looking surprised.

"What might we do for you, my dear?" Cameron asked as they all came to their feet.

"I'll be going into town with you." They all looked stunned, exactly as she'd hoped.

"Your Grace," Lance said, "under the circumstances, I don't think that--"

"I'm sick to death of the circumstances, Captain. Christmas will soon be here, and I have shopping to do." She looked at her husband and delivered the final blow, almost proud of herself for manipulating the moment to say what needed to be said in front of his closest peers. "It will also give me a rare opportunity to see my husband in daylight. I will see you in the courtyard, then." She opened the door and said to the officer there, "Lieutenant, would you see that my horse is saddled."

"Yes, Your Grace," he said, and she left the room.

Cameron saw Georg's disgusted expression and held up a finger before he could open his mouth. "Don't say a word," Cameron muttered. "What takes place between me and my wife is none of your affair."

"She is dear to me, as you are," Georg said. "If something is wrong then--"

"Captain," Cameron said on his way to the door, "please see that the security is tightened, and I'll be expecting you to shadow her every movement."

"Of course," Lance said.

Cameron grabbed his coat and gloves and put them on as he headed toward the courtyard, wondering if he should feel angry or terrified. He concluded that it was both. But neither had any probable solution at the moment. And that made him even more angry-- _and_ terrified. But he subdued both as he approached his wife and helped her into the sidesaddle.

"Are you all right?" he asked, noting how very pregnant she looked.

Her discomfort was evident but she said, "I'm fine. Thank you."

Cameron mounted and rode beside her, well surrounded by men in uniform. Watching Abbi, he allowed pleasure to override his anger. While they rode he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "You look beautiful today, Your Grace. It _is_ good to see you in daylight." She gave him an almost wicked smile, and he knew she had conspired this to make a point. But he could hardly blame her. He kissed her gloved hand again, and said, "Be careful."

"And you," she said.

Arriving in the market square, Abbi realized how terribly long it had been since she'd shown her face in public. She was freshly startled by the deference and awe that confronted her at every turn. As always, she mostly kept close to Cameron and said little, well aware that Captain Dukerk was never more than inches from her. While Cameron was conversing with an acquaintance, she said to Lance, "He told you to do this, didn't he."

"Do what, Your Grace?"

"Pretending innocence will get you nowhere, Captain. Either he ordered you to shadow my every movement, or there is some invisible magnetic force that prevents you from being more than an inch away from me."

"Perhaps both," he said with a little chuckle, and Abbi tossed him a comical scowl.

While she was looking over a variety of crystal vases, she said, "Are you happy, Captain?"

"Are you?" he countered.

"It's not polite to ignore the duchess when she questions you."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," he said immediately, his tone light. But she could tell he meant it when he said, "I find great fulfillment and pleasure in working with your husband. My occupation is more pleasant than it has ever been."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said.

"And is there a woman in your life?"

"Is that a requirement of the position?" he asked facetiously. Again she scowled and he added, "Only you, Your Grace. I am sworn to protect and defend you."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"There is no one who holds any interest for me," he said. "But I'm not brokenhearted over being abandoned at the altar, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm glad to hear that, as well," she said, and moved on with Lance right behind her.

Abbi tried to relax and enjoy the outing, but she was keenly aware of the cautious eyes of the military personnel following them closely--even though their efforts were discreet, and they gave the appearance of being distracted and careless. Her instincts felt on edge, but glancing at Cameron and the officers, she wondered if theirs did too, even if any indication of it was imperceptible and reserved. Reminding herself that they were being well protected, she tried to force her thoughts to the pleasure of being outside of castle walls, while she kept close to her husband. Her mind had wandered completely away from any threat to their safety, when a deep voice shouted with urgency, "Take down!"

By the time Abbi heard the gunshot and the crowds screaming, she was wrapped in protective arms, on her way to the ground. Captain Dukerk broke her fall with his own body, then instantly rolled her to her back, putting himself between her and any possible danger. Abbi met Lance's eyes, startled by how close he was, and how efficiently and painlessly he had saved her from whatever had just happened. But her mind went to Cameron. She heard sounds of chaos, orders flying, and an officer shouting in alarm, "He's shot!"

She saw Lance turn to assess the situation, while keeping her shielded. "Is it him?" she asked with a quavering voice as he looked again at her. Through a split-second's hesitation, she knew his memory was the same as hers. Together at the altar. The intrusion of their wedding. Then, just as now, she needed to know if Cameron was safe.

"No, he's fine," Lance said and sat up, looking over his shoulder. Abbi looked that way just as Cameron's eyes moved frantically in her direction. He too was on the ground, and his relief was visible when he saw her. She heard the officers speaking frantically to each other, making it clear what had just happened. While Lance went to his feet, she quickly took in the astonished crowd being held back by a slew of officers. Apparently the gunshot had brought them from many directions. The man who was apparently responsible had been forced to his knees, his arm twisted up behind his back by one of the two officers flanking him. The gun was on the ground. She saw Cameron's eyes move to the lieutenant on the ground beside him, bleeding profusely from a bullet wound in his shoulder.

"Damn!" Cameron muttered, and only had to move a few inches to kneel beside the man who had just taken a bullet intended for the duke. Abbi recognized his face, but didn't know his name.

Lance helped her to her feet. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you," she said, and squeezed his hand before she knelt with Lance's help beside the wounded man.

"He'll be fine," she heard someone say. "The doctor is coming."

"You just saved my life, Lieutenant," Cameron said, removing his coat. "I can never repay you."

"Just doing my duty, sir," he replied, clearly in pain as he glanced at his bleeding shoulder. "Looks like I got lucky."

"Looks like we both did," Cameron said, and rolled his coat to put it beneath the lieutenant's head.

While Cameron tried to make the lieutenant comfortable and offer some reassurance, he was surprised to see his wife remove the scarf from around her neck and press it over the wound. She held her hand there while the lieutenant showed surprise at her attention. Then she pressed her free hand to one side of his face and kissed the other.

The lieutenant's awe was not diminished by the evidence of his pain. "You honor me too greatly, my lady."

"No," she said with tears on her face. "You have given me my husband's life. I could never honor you sufficiently."

Cameron took a moment to absorb the essence of a true duchess before he quickly assessed the damages--then the cause for them overtook him with instant rage. He came to his feet and found the culprit on his knees, being held at a disadvantage. But his eyes met Cameron's with defiance. Oblivious to his audience, Cameron snarled, "I assume you have some glorious justification for putting my men at such risk."

"Only the wish to see you _die."_

"How very bold!" Cameron said with harsh sarcasm and threw a fist into his face.

The man's determination was apparently not affected as he growled, "I am sworn to avenge Nikolaus du Woernig's death, if it's the last thing I do."

Cameron gave a caustic chuckle. "It's all worked out nicely then, since I am sworn to undo his every misdeed." He hit him again. "I can't tell you how convenient it is for me to find someone who actually has the nerve to admit a connection to the miscreant." He hit him again. "You have avenged _nothing,_ but it certainly _will be_ the last thing you do." He hit him once more. Then he turned to walk away as if he had no further interest in the matter. "Lock him up," he said casually to Lieutenant Joerger. "The execution will be at sunrise."

Cameron knew exactly what had happened when he heard a groan, and then the drawing of a sword. He'd been expecting it, hoping for it. In truth he knew the officers holding this man had been, too. Otherwise they would have put him in cuffs minutes ago. It was all part of the plan that had been carefully discussed and analyzed, over and over. While they couldn't have been certain of exactly how the villain would go about his crime, they had pondered many possibilities, rehearsing them carefully.

Cameron was fully prepared to pull a sword from the sheath of an officer standing conveniently beside him. He turned just in time to knock the sword from his assailant's hand that had been aimed for his own back. With no hesitance, Cameron pushed his own sword through the man's chest then drew it out again. The villain fell face down, clearly dead. Screams and gasps of horror brought him back to the realization that crowds were gathered and had witnessed this horrendous event. But that had been part of the plan, as well. His biggest concern was for Abbi. He turned to find her face hidden against the Captain's shoulder, and his arm protectively around her. He could only feel grateful to have such a fine man at his side who would look out for her so perfectly.

Cameron gauged the crowd and took advantage of the opportunity to put the proper conclusion on the matter. "Is there anyone else?" he shouted, turning a slow circle while he held the bloodied sword high. "I suspect those of you who would have favored seeing this man succeed have likely come out to witness this attempt on my life. And I _know_ you can hear my voice! Therefore let me make myself perfectly clear. Slither back into your rat holes and ponder long and hard that tyranny and oppression and the support of these things will _not_ be tolerated in my country! Either live by the laws of Horstberg, or _leave!_ If you choose to honor Nikolaus du Woernig, then you either have no comprehension of the evil he enforced upon my people, or you're as cowardly and sniveling as he was. Take a look around and see the good people who only want to work, and live, and raise their families in peace. Dare admit your loyalties aloud, and they will tear you to pieces, because these are the people who felt the brunt of my brother's selfish indulgence. Before any man or woman might dare to stand against me, they must first stand beside me and look into the faces of the homeless, and starving, and falsely accused who suffered immeasurably under Nikolaus du Woernig's reign. Whatever he promised was a lie; whatever he gained was through cheating and deception; whatever power he had was stolen. And I will _not_ tolerate acceptance of any such thing! Either you stand with me, or you stand against me. And if you stand against me, then have the courage to show your face and declare it boldly." Silence answered him. "Anyone?" he shouted. Not a sound could be heard; not even a baby's cry.

"Good!" Cameron said, and tossed the sword to the ground where it clattered on the cobblestone. "Then the matter rests. May we all live in peace."
Chapter Thirty-Two

THE DUKE'S MISTRESS

A cheer went up from the crowd, which Cameron ignored while he surmised that a doctor was with the lieutenant, who was being moved to the nearest hospital. As he was lifted onto a stretcher by his fellow officers, Cameron took his hand, saying, "Thank you again, my good man. We will see that your family is cared for while you recover."

"Thank you, Your Grace," he said, and was taken away.

Cameron approached the captain, who still had an arm around his wife. "Thank you, Captain," he said, and Abbi moved into his arms. "I am grateful to have her looked after by someone so capable and committed."

"An honor, Your Grace," Lance said, and moved away to see that the situation was under control.

"Are you all right?" Cameron asked quietly, looking into her eyes. She shook her head. "Are you hurt or--"

"No, just . . . shaken. Can we go home now?"

"Of course," he said, and called for their horses.

Back at the castle, Cameron stayed with Abbi a short while, until she was resting and left in Elsa's care. After enduring long, tedious meetings to analyze the conclusion of the situation, he finally returned to the bedroom late and found Abbi sitting in a chair with her feet propped up on another. He lifted her feet and sat there, replacing them on his lap. She had that look in her eyes, the same look that had been there when she'd discovered he was a du Woernig. And he hated it.

"What's troubling you?" he asked, trying to keep his own tightly strung emotions out of his voice. "And don't lie to me and try to convince me that everything's fine."

"Do you think you will ever trust me again to be honest with my feelings?" she asked, sounding as angry as he felt. "While you consider whether or not to forgive me for withholding certain things from you, consider your guilt over the same matter."

Cameron looked away, hating how her words bit deeply. But he ignored the issue and looked at her again, repeating his question. "What's troubling you?"

Abbi turned her eyes down. "I saw you kill a man today."

Cameron felt angry, but he tempered it and stated the truth. "I'm sorry you had to see it, but I'm not sorry I killed him. As you may have noticed, it was either him or me."

"I know," she said. "It's not the first time."

"That I've killed a man?" he clarified and she nodded. "No, it's not. I was raised to be a military leader, Abbi. I went to war at seventeen. Why is this troubling you?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I'm grateful . . . that you're all right. I know you did what you had to do. The same way Lance did what he had to do when . . ."

Cameron sighed, wondering if this was more about disturbing memories. Either way, he felt the need to define his stand. "Abbi, when it comes to defending my life, the safety and security of those I love, and my country, I have killed and I will kill again if I have to. But don't be thinking that I enjoy it. What I did today was difficult and disturbing, but it had to be done. And it had to be done in a way that left my position firmly declared and beyond questioning."

Abbi felt her eyes widen at the implication. As what little she knew settled in, she had to say, "He would have been executed tomorrow for his attempt against your life."

"That's right."

"Then, if the officers had not been so careless, he wouldn't have gotten away and--"

"Abbi," he said, hating this conversation. But he knew it was necessary. She needed to understand. "My officers are _not_ careless, especially the ones put in place to protect you and me."

Her eyes widened further. "You _planned_ to kill him. It was . . . set up . . . manipulated, so that _you_ could kill him."

"Yes, it was," he said firmly. "But before you start thinking that your husband has some perverse bloodlust, let me explain something. What happened today was the result of countless hours of analysis and planning by many people who understand the workings of politics very well. Fanatics have a leader. From the way these letters were written, we were able to understand and predict a certain amount of the motivation and attitudes of these people. If this man had been executed according to standard procedure, no one but myself and the military personnel involved would be witness to it. His followers were in that crowd. They would not have missed the glory of seeing me go down. _I_ had to be the one to kill him, Abbi, and _they_ had to see it happen. The entire thing is distasteful and ugly, but it's part of my job. And sometimes I just have to do things I hate. I'm grateful it's over. We can all relax and breathe more easily now."

"You're not concerned about others trying the same, then?"

"No. There will always be people who hate me, but such people grumble quietly and go about their business in peace, because I'm doing a damn fine job of running their country. There were a great many people who hated Nikolaus, but they feared him and his power. My power is no less; in fact it's greater, because it's earned by respect and honor. The vast majority of the people understand and appreciate that, and they will protect their right to live in peace. The matter is closed."

Abbi allowed his lesson to soak in and felt selfish for all her whining about the demands of being a duchess. Cameron was comfortable with his position, but that didn't mean it was always easy. She needed to remember the same about herself. Perhaps she would become more comfortable if she stopped expecting it to be easy.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?"

"That you have to do things you hate."

"Everyone has to do things they hate, Abbi. It's life."  
Abbi put her feet on the floor so that she could lean forward enough to take his hand. "I'm grateful . . . that it was him and not you."

"Yes, so am I," he said, and kissed her fingers. He was glad to feel his negative emotions slip away, and the tension eased between them. "And I'm grateful that you weren't hurt." He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. "Since it's over, perhaps you should know that our criminal analyst now believes your being present is what pressed this man to finally come forward. If you hadn't gone with me, he believes the issue could have gone on much longer."

"I don't understand."

"I don't fully understand myself. These people give me their reports, and they usually make sense, but I have trouble repeating what I've heard. Mr. Fruberg believes from things written in the letters that some deeper form of avenging Nikolaus's death would have been made complete by your witnessing the crime."

Abbi put a hand over her heart. "Oh, that's horrible."

"Yes, it is. And once again I regret that you have to be caught in the middle of such things. But you behaved so very much like a duchess today--as you always do."

Cameron watched her turn away, her eyes filled with the same doubt and discomfort that always showed when any reference to her position or abilities came up. Perhaps he just needed to accept that she would never find peace with it, and he just needed to appreciate what they had and stop hoping for something that would never happen.

Needing a distraction, he impulsively went to his knees and pressed his hands and the side of his face to her well-rounded belly. She looked more pregnant than he believed her tiny body could handle. The time was drawing near, and he couldn't help but anticipate becoming a father. He reminded himself that every challenge in their lives became insignificant in light of the love they shared and the life they had created together. Nothing was more important than that. Still, the subtle underlying tension between him and his wife was undeniable. He almost wished there was some committee he could consult on how to solve the problem. Perhaps they could cast a vote on whether or not he should be plagued with guilt every hour of the day for his wife's unhappiness. And perhaps they could analyze the reasons that God would so obviously bring two people together, knowing there were such stark contradictions in their lives. Realizing he was exhausted, he put the matter out of his head, hoping he could actually get some sleep in spite of the other issue that plagued his mind. He'd killed a man today.

Abbi felt an air of relief settle over the castle now that the fear of harm to the royal family had been alleviated. It was nice to know she could go out if she wanted to, but she was far too pregnant and miserable to go anywhere. And the problem was made worse by Cameron's ongoing obsession with his work. She attempted to focus on her artwork but found it difficult to enjoy when her body ached, and her spirit felt troubled by the distance between her and Cameron. She reminded herself often that she needed to be patient. But when she tallied the facts, it was impossible not to feel angry. Even through the holidays, he hardly spent any private time with her.

When ten o'clock came on a particularly cold evening in January, Abbi couldn't remember the last time she had fallen asleep in her husband's arms, and she went to find him. Wearing a wrapper over her nightgown, she ignored the officers standing at the office doorway and went in without knocking.

Cameron looked up from the books in front of him, smiling to see Abbi until he took a moment to absorb her countenance. She closed the door as he pulled off his glasses and glanced at the clock.

"Why do I get the feeling you're always upset with me?" he asked.

"You must have a guilty conscience."

Cameron sighed and looked away. "And why wouldn't I, knowing how unhappy you are?"

"Did I ever say that I was unhappy?"

"You don't have to," he said, looking at her hard. "I can see it in your eyes."

Abbi glanced away, feeling the evidence of her _own_ guilty conscience. She'd tried so hard to keep Cameron from knowing how difficult certain aspects of her life were, but he knew anyway. She reminded herself to stick to the issue at hand. "If I ever had any time with my husband, I'd be happy enough. But I feel more like a widow six days a week."

"You asked me to take Sundays off. I have."

"And you work every waking moment otherwise. You have meals in your office, or with people you conduct business with. Even Georg goes home to have supper with his wife."

"Georg is not personally responsible for the state of a country while--"

_"You,"_ Abbi leaned her palms on the desk and glared at him, "are personally responsible for a wife and the life you created with her. Is it so difficult for you to _want_ to be with me? Have you forgotten so quickly what it was like to be forced apart?"

"I have never said that I didn't want to be with you, Abbi. But I have a job to do that requires--"

"No job requires one hundred percent of a man! You don't have to work night and day to prove to your father, or anyone else, that you are worthy to hold this position!" Cameron looked stunned by the analogy, but she went on. "Farmers work their farms and go home to spend the evenings with their families. Shopkeepers close up their shops and do the same. _No one_ is expecting anything more of _you._ "

"I'm not certain you have any idea what's expected of me," he snarled in retaliation. "Like it or not, this is what I am. This is what I _have_ to be! You cannot be jealous of the time that I have to put into my work, and--"

"Jealous?" she echoed. "Do you know me so little as to think that I would _compete_ with a country for your time and affection? I am more than willing to _share_ you with Horstberg, but I will not _sacrifice_ you for her sake."

"Do you have any idea the condition Nikolaus left this country in? The crime? The poverty? The--"

"There will always be needs, Cameron--always. But you cannot see to them all single-handedly. You have to decide where your priorities are. Right now, I don't feel that I am any priority to you at all. If you spent this much time with Gwen, I don't wonder why she went elsewhere for--"

"That's not fair!" he shouted loud enough that she felt certain the officers outside the door must have heard. But she didn't care. "You have no idea what my relationship was like with her, or why we--"

"Don't tell me about being fair, _Your Grace_. Fair should be that I get you half the time. I would even settle for a fourth of the time. But I don't even get you a seventh of the time. On that one day a week, I have to share you with God and your sister. And for the record, I don't care what kind of husband you were to Gwen. I only care what kind of husband you are to _me_. You might be the Duke of Horstberg, but you are still only one man. And you are _my_ husband, and the father of _my_ baby."

"What would you have me do?" he snarled, reeking of the pride and arrogance that she had believed to be dispelled long ago.

"You have a brain, Cameron. You figure it out. You are the most important man in the country, and the wealthiest. You can do anything you want. You have people working for you who can be trusted, who should be earning their keep. If you don't have enough help, get more. It's your duchy. You figure it out. All I can tell you is that your life is out of balance, along with your priorities. And when things get off balance, they fall. If you fail as a husband and father, then what kind of ruler does that make you? One like your father, perhaps?"

Cameron bristled at the second mention of his father, but he felt too angry to respond before she left the room.

Abbi went upstairs before he had a chance to hurl more anger at her. She nearly expected him to follow after her, to apologize, to promise that he would try harder. But he didn't, which made her all the more angry. She had to stop every few steps to breathe deeply, feeling as if the baby consumed every spare inch of breathing space.

Abbi crawled into bed, certain Cameron would appear any minute and they could talk more calmly. But she fell asleep with no sign of him, and woke in the middle of the night to find herself alone. Her anger melted into a deep, aching sorrow as she stared into the darkness and cried. Was his absence an attempt to tell her that he would not bend on this issue? Could this be the reality of her life, a fact she had to accept? Was her husband married to Horstberg, first and foremost? The thought pierced her through, making her long for the days when they had been snowed in together, with no one or nothing to come between them. But they could never go back.

Cameron shot his head up when Georg entered the office, and he realized he'd been asleep, bent over the desk.

"What on earth are you doing?" Georg growled, throwing the door closed. "Have you been here all night?"

Cameron wiped his hands over his face, realizing it was daylight. "I'm afraid I have."

"What business was so important that you had to stay all night?"

Cameron grimaced as the question brought back his argument with Abbi. And now he'd only made the matter worse by leaving her to wonder why he hadn't come to bed.

"Well?" Georg demanded when Cameron didn't answer. "Was there some emergency I was not aware of that--"

"Abbi was angry with me, and . . ." He hesitated, attempting to gather his words, still half asleep.

"So, you slept in the office?"

"I didn't intend to. I just . . . was trying to think of something to say to her to make her understand, but I . . ."

"Fell asleep in the attempt."

"It would seem that way."

"You'd better hurry and get cleaned up. We have a meeting at the bank in half an hour to go over those accounts with . . ."

Cameron glanced at the clock and cursed under his breath. "I'll be ready in ten minutes." He hurried upstairs to freshen up and change his shirt, hoping Abbi would be there, if only so he could apologize for not coming up to bed and tell her that they needed to talk later. But she wasn't.

Riding at Georg's side toward town, Cameron was grateful for the absence of military escort, and how that symbolized the progress he'd made. But his mind quickly strayed to his wife. He felt torn and uncertain. If he were honest with himself, he had to admit that since he had taken back his position, he'd never felt completely comfortable with the way it had changed Abbi's life. Their argument on the mountain haunted him daily. She was trying to be brave and do what was right by him, but she hated this life and he knew it. Was he avoiding her with the excuse of work because he felt responsible for her unhappiness? At the very least, it was part of the reason. The things she'd said last night about his father weren't settling very well, either.

Georg startled him when he said, "What, if I may be so bold, is Her Grace angry about?" Cameron said nothing and he added, "It wouldn't be that her husband is neglecting her by working such long hours, now would it?"

"She doesn't understand, Georg," Cameron snapped.

"Understand what?" he replied calmly.

"My commitment to my country is . . . is . . ."

"More important than your commitment to your wife?"

"No, of course not, but . . ." He reminded himself that Georg was his closest and dearest friend. And if he'd ever needed advice, he needed it now. "She's not happy, Georg. I wonder sometimes if I should have loved her enough to let her choose her own life."

"She would have chosen you."

"I'm not so sure," Cameron said.

"I thought she was adjusting rather well," Georg said.

"She's pretending and I know it. And I know that I'm not there for her as much as she needs me, but . . . it's like she's asking me to choose between her and my country."

"That doesn't sound like Abbi," Georg said. "Forgive me, but I've known her a lot longer than you have. I would guess that she simply wants to feel like she's at least as important to you as Horstberg. How long has it been since you've shared a meal with her beyond Sundays, or--"

"You've been talking to her, haven't you."

"No, I have not," Georg insisted. "But don't start thinking that I've got brains enough to help you run the country, but I'm too stupid to see that your priorities are way out of balance."

"You _have_ been talking to her," Cameron said.

_"You_ have a guilty conscience," Georg retorted, and Cameron didn't want to admit Abbi had said _that_ too.

Silence brought the truth to Cameron's mind, and he had to say, "Maybe I'm avoiding her because I can't bear to see the evidence of her dislike for the life I've forced upon her. She's lost so much for my sake."

Georg made a contemplative noise. "When did you learn to be so deep and analytical, my friend?"

Cameron sighed. "I think Abbi taught me that. I think Abbi taught me everything that's of any importance."

A minute later, Georg said, "It's just a thought, but I daresay she'd be much happier if she knew she hadn't lost you, too."

Cameron looked at him sharply and let that settle in. Following more silence, he said, "Abbi brought up my father last night."

"She didn't even know him."

"She knows the impact his attitudes have had on me. Face it, Georg. Abbi knows me better than anyone; so much so that it's almost frightening sometimes."

"That's the way marriage should be, in my opinion. What did she say about your father?"

"She said that I didn't need to prove to my father that I was worthy to hold this position."

"Ooh," Georg said, mocking sudden pain. "She _does_ know you."

"Is that what I'm doing? Am I still letting him dictate my behavior from the grave?"

"You tell me."

"She also implied that I was the same kind of husband and father that he had been."

_"Ooh,"_ Georg said more dramatically. "That's got to hurt."

"Only because it's probably true," Cameron admitted, then he sighed loudly. "What kind of man am I, Georg?"

"The kind of man who is going to learn from his mistakes and continually strive to be better. The kind of man who isn't going to let pride and fear stand in the way of what's most important."

Cameron turned to look at his friend. "It would seem you know me rather well, yourself."

Georg smiled. "I will never know you the way Abbi does. You should trust her."

Cameron sighed, knowing Georg was right. He was always right.

During their meeting at the bank, Cameron felt distracted with thoughts of Abbi. He wasn't so stupid that he couldn't see the truth. If Georg and Abbi had both said the same things, there had to be validity to it. He was wrong. And whether or not Abbi was uncomfortable with her new way of life, avoiding her was only contributing to the problem. He thought of his father's bad example in the way he'd treated his mother, and he marveled at how deeply it had affected him. He'd often been harsh and selfish with Gwen, rationalizing that her bad behavior excused his own. But Abbi deserved better than that. With rare exception, her anger toward him had always been for the purpose of wanting him to become a better person--not to put herself above him. He wondered if it might be possible to ever overcome such bad cycles, and then he decided he'd already come a long way in the time he'd known Abbi. He just had to be humble enough to keep improving, as Georg had suggested.

Riding away from the bank, Cameron asked Georg to oversee delegating assignments to the advisory council and setting up a system that was more time-effective for Cameron--even if it meant hiring more employees. Georg gladly agreed.

"Yes, I was wrong," Cameron admitted, and he offered to buy Georg a drink.

They stopped at the pub, where Cameron ordered breakfast instead of the usual beer, since he'd not had time to eat before they'd left the castle. While he ate, they discussed more specifically how to delegate the different problems they were dealing with, and Georg made some notes. Cameron thought of Abbi and hurried to finish. He wanted to hold her in his arms and tell her how sorry he was. He would be nothing without her, and he'd been a fool to allow himself to forget that so quickly.

Abbi shared breakfast in the dining room with Magda, then she headed back to the bedroom, wanting to lie down and ease her backache. She wondered where Cameron was and felt sick at heart to think of the anger she'd expressed to him. Had her words driven him away from her irrevocably? She wished she had been more restrained and loving in conveying her needs. With the emotional residue hovering between them over her previous irrational behavior, their relationship had become fragile, and she needed to be more sensitive. She thought of what a difficult adjustment this had been for him, and all that he'd been through to get where he was now. And yet her own difficulties were impossible to ignore. She felt as if they'd fallen into a cycle of hurt and misunderstanding that seemed impossible to break. But she couldn't deny her deepest fears. And if her husband was lost to her, it was difficult to think of even wanting to live at all.

Walking from the dining room, Abbi cursed the length of these halls, realizing she was extremely uncomfortable. She finally made it to the office, and it occurred to her that she must look horrible when an officer standing close by asked if she was all right. She politely told him she was simply tired, and went inside, surprised to see Lance sitting behind the desk, going over some papers with a few officers.

"Oh, forgive me, Captain," she said. "I assumed His Grace would be here and--"

"Your interruption is welcome, I can assure you," Lance said, stepping toward her. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No," she forced a smile, "thank you. I'll talk with him later."

Before she could leave, he said to the officers, "We're finished for now. That is all. I need to have a private word with Her Grace."

The other men were gone quickly, and Abbi found the door closed, leaving her alone with Lance. "What is it?" she asked, wondering if more concerns of danger had come up.

He motioned her to a chair, then leaned against the edge of the desk. "Are you all right?" She looked away and he added, "You once told me that we would be friends forever."

"And we are," she said.

"If you don't feel it's appropriate to talk to me about whatever is troubling you, I understand. But I'm worried about you. Something's not right. You deserve to be happy."

Abbi couldn't begin to know how she might explain the enormity of the situation, and perhaps it _wasn't_ appropriate for her to be discussing her marital problems with him. Still, his concern was touching, and she knew his motives were nothing less than perfectly honorable. He was simply that kind of man.

"My husband is having an affair," she said.

He made an astonished noise. "Where on earth did you hear something like that?"

"I didn't have to hear it, Captain. I'm an intelligent woman with eyes and ears."

"It's impossible!" he said. "He wouldn't do that to you. He loves you with his whole heart, Abbi. He loves you more than I ever could."

Abbi met his eyes then. She had to ask, "Are you the kind of man who would put your duty to country above the woman you love?"

He looked thoughtful. "Would my answer incriminate my duke?"

"Perhaps."

"If you give a moment's thought to our history, you know the answer to that question."

Abbi knew he was right, but had to say, "No, Lance, he does not love me with his whole heart. His passion is divided. His time and attention make it very clear that I am not woman enough to keep him content and happy, and so he has taken a mistress."

"Abbi, there must be a mistake," he said.

"There's no mistake, Lance. He's cheating on me. The lady's name is Horstberg." She saw the understanding--and relief--come into his eyes. Then compassion. "She has a far greater power over him than I could ever have. She has lured him away from me. And I hate her for it." She sighed loudly. "Now if you'll excuse me, Captain, I'm feeling unusually tired and very pregnant. I'm going back to bed." She left the office without waiting for any attempt on his behalf to console her. _Nothing_ could console her.

Abbi started up the stairs toward the bedroom, and stopped halfway when her backache suddenly tightened all the way around her middle. When the pain let up, she moved slowly up the remainder of the stairs. At the landing she had to stop as it happened again.

"Oh, help," she murmured and sat down on the top step. When the pain eased, she started back down the stairs, halting twice to endure a contraction. She had been with Elsa when her labor began, and she had no doubt what was happening now. But Elsa's pains had been much further apart at the beginning. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Abbi called the short distance down the hallway to the officers standing near the office door. "Could you get the captain for me please? Immediately."

"Yes, Your Grace," one of them said, and Abbi slumped onto the bottom stair, wondering whether to feel excited or scared to death.

"What is it?" Lance asked, appearing at her side.

"Where is Cameron?" she asked, forgetting any use of formal language.

"He had a meeting with the bankers, and then I suspect he would have gone to . . . Abbi, are you . . ."

She looked up, surprised to hear him use her name in front of the officers nearby, who had followed to see what the problem was. His eyes were wide with concern. She nodded, certain he knew what was wrong. She leaned her head against a bannister post as Lance turned and barked orders. "You! Get Dr. Furhelm here. Tell him the duchess needs him--now!" The officer ran down the hall as Lance pointed to another. "You! Find His Grace. Take two men with you. Split up if you have to. Don't come back without him."

"Yes, Captain," came the reply, and he too was off.

"And you," he pointed to a third man, "tell the maids to prepare Her Grace's room. They know what to do."

When they were left alone, Lance sat down on the step beside Abbi. "Are you hurting badly?"

"It comes and goes," she said, "but it's happening more quickly than I . . . expected." She moaned as the pain came again, instinctively reaching for Lance's hand. When it finally let up, she murmured, "I'm scared, Lance."

"Yes, well . . . so am I, if you must know. What can I do?"

"Just . . . help me to my room. If I can just lie down, I'll . . ."

Lance took hold of her and helped her to her feet, but the pain set in again and she doubled over. A moment later, he lifted her carefully into his arms and carried her up the stairs. He had barely laid her on the bed when two maids scurried into the room, buzzing around like a couple of bees, adding to Abbi's nervousness.

"Where's Cameron?" she cried.

"He'll be here soon," Lance assured her.

"Don't leave me . . . until . . ."

"I'll stay until he comes," Lance promised, and for a moment Abbi wondered what it might have been like if Cameron had not survived his revolution and she had married Lance. The thought was poignant at best, but she couldn't deny her gratitude to have him with her now.

"You're such a good friend to me," she murmured, then grimaced in pain.

"I would do anything for you--anything."

Elsa rushed into the room and directly to Abbi's side. "Are you hurting badly?" Abbi could only nod. "It's coming on quickly?" Abbi nodded again. "Excuse me, Captain," Elsa said to him, "but we need to get her ready before the doctor arrives."

Lance moved back and Abbi cried, "Don't . . ."

"I'll be just in the hall," he said and hurried out.

Elsa and the other maids worked together to get Abbi out of her dress and petticoats. They helped her put a bed jacket over her chemise and made her as comfortable as possible.

"Cameron . . ." Abbi said. "Is Cameron . . ."

"They're not back yet," Elsa said. "I'm certain they'll hurry."

"Lance," she said. "Tell Lance to . . ."

"Do you want him to come in?" Elsa asked and Abbi nodded.

Elsa covered Abbi with a sheet and opened the door to find the captain pacing the hall. "You can sit with her for a few minutes," Elsa said, and Lance hurried into the room, kneeling at her bedside, taking her hand into his.

"I'm so scared," she said to him as the pain subsided briefly. "Women die in childbirth, you know."

"You're not going to die," Lance insisted. "Too many people need you and love you."

"But it . . . hurts . . . so much."

Elsa piped in. "The pain is normal, Abbi. You're going to be fine."

"Cameron," she cried as her entire body tightened like a vise. "I need Cameron."

"He's coming," Lance cooed gently. "I promise. He's coming."

Abbi turned her head on the pillow, and tears burned down her face. She wasn't certain she could believe him.

Cameron was on his way out of the pub when an officer approached him, saying breathlessly, "The captain sent me. You're to come to the castle immediately."

"What is it?" Cameron bellowed, moving briskly toward his horse, with Georg and the officer following.

"It's Her Grace," the officer said. Cameron exchanged an alarmed glance with Georg, then he glared at the messenger. "The captain sent for the doctor as well."

"The baby," Cameron muttered as he mounted and galloped toward the castle hill with Georg on his tail. _Not now,_ he thought over and over. _Not when there was so much wrong between them_.

The stallion beneath him thundered into the courtyard, and he dismounted before it had stopped completely. He ran through the door, down the hall, and up the stairs, hearing a scream pierce the air that stung his every nerve, turning his legs to lead. He felt suddenly hesitant as he approached the open door to the bedroom. Then he stopped when he saw Captain Dukerk, kneeling at the side of the bed, holding Abbi's hand. In his mind he clearly heard Abbi shouting at him. _If you spent this much time with Gwen, I don't wonder why she went elsewhere._ While he was trying to convince himself that she was his wife and that was his baby, her voice brought him back to life. "Cameron!" she cried. "I need Cameron!"

He hurried to her side, briefly meeting Lance's eyes before Abbi realized he was there. He saw nothing but genuine concern in the captain's expression as he quickly moved aside, allowing Cameron his place at Abbi's side.

"I'm here." Cameron put a knee on the bed to look into Abbi's face. "I'm here, my love."

"Cameron," she murmured. "I need you."

Cameron swallowed hard. "I need you, too. I love you more than life. Can you forgive me? I will always be here when you need me. I swear it."

The tears in her eyes, and her hand on his face, gave him the answer he needed. He could expect no more under the circumstances. When this was over, he would talk to her, tell her how sorry he was, that he was trying to learn, that he would never let her down again. His heart raced as pain overtook her countenance again, and her agony became evident. Cameron glanced around the room to assess the situation. In answer to his silent questions, Elsa spoke up. "Everything is ready, Your Grace. It came on quickly."

"Where's the doctor?" he demanded.

"I sent for him," Lance said from behind. "He should be here soon."

Cameron glanced over his shoulder and forced a steady voice. "Thank you, Captain," he turned to look at Abbi and added, "for being here when she needed you."

"If there is anything I can do, Your Grace," Lance said, "I will be close by." He left the room, and the doctor entered a minute later.

"Thank God you're here," Cameron said to him.

Dr. Furhelm handed his bag and coat to one of the maids. He nodded briefly toward Cameron, then he took Abbi's hand and spoke close to her face, "I'm here, Your Grace. Do you remember what we talked about? Do you remember what to do?" Abbi nodded, looking frightened. "Everything's going to be all right. You keep breathing deeply as best you can." Abbi nodded again.

The doctor moved away, rolling up his sleeves. Cameron was aware of him washing his hands, scrubbing them thoroughly while Elsa and the maids hovered near him, taking instructions. He returned to Cameron's side, saying firmly, "It is customary for the father to wait elsewhere."

"I don't give a damn what's customary," Cameron retorted. "This is my wife and I'm staying right here."

The doctor's eyes hardened on him. "You stay only on my terms, Your Grace. I'm in command in this room until that baby is safely delivered. You do as _I_ tell you. You stay calm, or you leave. Is that clear?"

Cameron nodded firmly, all too aware of Abbi's ongoing anguish. "Quite clear."

"Good. Get your boots off and move to the other side of her. Sit on the bed and help support her shoulders." He pointed at one of the maids. "Get those pillows behind her back. She needs to be elevated, and . . ." The doctor stopped as Abbi held her breath and groaned. "Breathe, Abbi!" he insisted, but she was oblivious. He put his face close to hers. "Abbi! Look at me!" She opened her eyes but looked dazed. "Remember. Breathe, or you'll pass out. Do it with me. Come on, now." The doctor took long, slow breaths until Abbi began to do it with him. He motioned for Cameron to take his place. He did his best to imitate what the doctor had done, gazing into Abbi's eyes, attempting to comprehend how this must be for her.

Through the following hour, indications of Abbi's pain rose dramatically. She took hold of Cameron's arms, digging her fingernails into him each time the pain took hold. The intervals between her pain became shorter and shorter, until there seemed to be no relief at all. She cried and protested. She groaned and writhed. Cameron kept his focus on her face, willing her his strength.

"All right, Abbi," the doctor said loudly, "you can push now. Remember how we talked about it."

As Abbi bore down, using all her strength, Cameron prayed that this would be the end of it. But twenty minutes later, she was still struggling to get the baby out, enduring pain that seemed relentless. Her face and hair were damp with sweat, and her anguish put him in knots.

Cameron bit his tongue from expressing his fears and frustrations, certain the doctor would love the opportunity to expel him from the room. He was both relieved and frightened when the doctor ordered, "Help her, Cameron! Move behind her and put your hands on her belly to help her push."

Cameron felt hesitant but did as he was told, and the doctor helped situate Abbi so that she was leaning back against his chest. He gently guided Cameron's hands into the proper position and looked into his eyes, saying, "Push hard when I tell you to."

Cameron did as he was told, fearing he would hurt Abbi even more. But he concluded the obvious. Until that baby got out, the pain was inevitable. The quicker they could be done with this, the better. But he helped her push three times with no apparent progress, while she screamed and groaned as if her body were being torn in half. He could only hold her in between, whispering words of reassurance and praying that it would end soon.

"Again, now!" the doctor ordered. Abbi bore down, throwing her head back in an anguished cry. Cameron pushed hard. Abbi screamed. He felt something move from beneath his hands. A delighted little chuckle erupted from the doctor that seemed completely out of place. Everything was still for a moment. Then the baby's cry penetrated the silence. Abbi's sigh of relief merged into tears. Cameron relaxed against the headboard, holding Abbi in his arms, at the same time holding his breath. With the sheet draped over Abbi's knees, he could see nothing of what the doctor was busy doing. Then the doctor laughed and held the wriggling infant up in his hands, declaring with a grin, "It's a boy, Your Grace. You have an heir."

Cameron finally let out his breath, feeling tears dampen his face. Abbi laughed through her own tears, holding to Cameron as Elsa took the baby into a small white blanket and wrapped him up tightly. She too was crying as she looked down at the child before placing him carefully into Abbi's arms. Cameron might have been surprised at how tiny and discolored he looked, except that he had seen Georg's baby soon after his birth. But there was one stark difference. Even though the baby's hair was matted down and splotched with blood, the dark red color was evident. _The manifestation of a dream,_ he thought, and felt chilled.

Cameron watched Abbi touch the baby's face with trembling fingers. "Erich," she murmured. Then she looked up into Cameron's eyes, and the full spectrum of what this woman had done for him settled into his heart and soul like it never had before. Emotion took hold of him, strangling his voice, crippling his ability to do anything more than press his face into her hair and cry while Abbi held the baby in one arm and onto him with her other.

They were both distracted from their reverie when the doctor said, "Forgive me, Abbi, but you're not going to like this part." He nodded toward Elsa, who took the baby just before Abbi groaned and clutched onto Cameron.

"I love you, Abbi," he murmured in an attempt to distract her. "I would be nothing without you."

She relaxed a minute later after the placenta was delivered but didn't respond to his declaration. He had to wonder if she doubted what he'd told her. How could she not, considering his behavior of late? And now he couldn't deny that his own reticence toward her had only deepened her unhappiness. He felt angry with himself for allowing his own hurt and fear over the matter to drive this wedge further between them. But he committed in that moment that he would prove to her, for the remainder of her life, that he was a man capable of keeping his life in balance and his priorities in order. He would keep his country strong and safe by keeping his family first.

"Your Grace," the doctor said, once again on formal terms, now that the crisis was over. "Perhaps now would be a good time for you to make an announcement, while we take care of things here. News travels quickly. I daresay the entire country is holding its breath, not to mention those waiting out in the hall."

Cameron nodded, certain the doctor was right. But he felt hesitant to leave Abbi's side. "I'll be back shortly," he promised, kissing her with fervent tenderness.

Abbi gripped his hand with an intensity that let him know he would be missed. She smiled weakly and turned her attention to the baby as he left the room.

Cameron stepped quietly into the hallway and closed the door. Georg and the captain both rose from the well-used chairs on the other side of the wide hall. He found pleasure in relieving their expectant stares. "It's a boy," he said.

The men laughed and slapped Cameron's shoulders. "Congratulations," Georg said, laughing again as he gave Cameron a brotherly embrace.

"I'm truly happy for you, sir," Lance said, giving Cameron a hearty handshake.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Is Abbi . . ." the captain began, his concern evident.

"She's fine, as far as I can tell, but . . ." Cameron moved unsteadily to a chair.

"Is something wrong?" Georg demanded, his eyes wide with alarm.

"No, no," Cameron said, but his voice broke with emotion. "I simply . . . can't believe . . . what she . . . had to . . . go through for . . ."

"I know well what you mean," Georg said, putting a hand on Cameron's shoulder.

A moment later, the captain asked, "Shall I spread the word, Your Grace?"

"Yes," Cameron said, "thank you."

"A pleasant duty, sir, I can assure you." Lance grinned and hurried down the stairs.

Abbi was easily able to ignore the residual pain of giving birth while she held her new little son in her arms. Now that he had been bathed and officially declared healthy, his wispy red curls were irresistible and she kept pressing her fingers over his little head in some effort to become acquainted with him.

"Erich," she whispered close to his little face and inhaled the precious aroma of new life. Examining his features with her fingers as well as her eyes, she saw a distinct resemblance to Cameron, amazed that even in this tiny stage of infancy there could be no doubt as to the identity of the baby's father. For just a moment she thought of the precautions Cameron had taken to insure this child's safety, and to see that he would inherit the country in the event of Cameron's death. For a moment she wondered how it might have been if Cameron had not lived to see this day, and she would have been left to have Lance raise the child as his own. Concealing the child's true paternity would have been difficult, given the obvious resemblance already. Abbi quickly moved past the moment of wondering how it might have been and instead relished in the way that it had all turned out. Erich had been born into a situation where he would know his father's presence in his life and feel his father's love.

Abbi recalled the words Cameron had spoken to her in the midst of the trauma, and his careful attentiveness through the ordeal. She felt hope that all would be well between them, although there were still aspects of the situation that she didn't want to think about. Instead she focused entirely on her new little son. He was precious and perfect. And she would go through it all again just to have him.

Cameron returned to sit by Abbi's side and together they admired their son and laughed over Erich's silly expressions and funny noises. Cameron said little to Abbi beyond reminding her of his love, but he felt regularly choked up just to observe her with this beautiful child and to recount all she had been through to make this moment possible.

Within a few hours, the drama of Abbi's ordeal settled into a pleasant respite. She had eaten a good meal and was resting. Though it was the doctor's standard procedure to stay close for a few hours to make certain all was well, he'd been up half the night stitching a dog bite on a child's arm, so Cameron made certain the doctor was fed and given a place to rest.

News came that there was celebrating taking place in the valley at the announcement of the birth of an heir. Cameron marveled that such an intimate experience for him and Abbi could have such an impact on the people. Then he realized that the last royal birth in Horstberg had been Magda's. But _this_ child would be the next Duke of Horstberg.

Just as they had planned, Elsa and Georg were settled into a bedroom on the other side of the nursery, where Elsa could be close by until Abbi got her strength back. While Abbi drifted in and out of sleep, and Elsa bustled around the room to put everything in order, Georg and Cameron sat quietly holding their sons. Han looked big next to Erich, and both men were amazed at how fast infants grew and changed. They speculated over the things their sons would share as they grew up together and laughed as they reminisced over some of their own antics as youth.

Elsa summoned Georg from the other room to help her with something, and Cameron was left alone with his wife and son, who were both sleeping. He looked into the little face of the blanketed bundle he held in his arms and tried to comprehend this child growing up and taking his place. He thought of Abbi's dream of a son with red hair, and he marveled at the reality of it coming to pass, so literally, and so quickly. Little more than a year had gone by since he'd not been willing to admit that Abbi had anything to give him. And now she had given him everything.

Cameron's attention was diverted to Abbi when she groaned. He leaned forward, holding the baby carefully against his chest. "Are you all right?" he asked as her eyes opened and focused on him.

"I don't know." She grimaced and attempted to shift her weight, as if to alleviate a growing discomfort. "Help me."

Cameron laid the baby into his little bed close by, as if he were a basket of eggs. Then he turned to Abbi. "What do you need?"

"Help me . . . turn this way . . . and . . ."

He threw the sheet off of her and gently picked her up, easing her up further on the bed where she could lean more comfortably against the pillows.

"Is that better?"

"I think so," she said, and Cameron eased back. His breath caught when he noticed the blood on his sleeve, then a quick glance revealed a huge, red stain on the sheet where she had been lying.

"Elsa!" he called with no thought to waking the baby or upsetting Abbi. "Elsa!" He called again and ran to get her when she didn't come, but she rushed through the door and nearly bumped into him.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Is that normal?" he asked, motioning toward the bed, where Abbi's discomfort was increasing in proportion to her concern.

"Good heavens, no," Elsa murmured, then she turned to Georg, who had followed her in. "She's bleeding far too much. Find the doctor."

Panic rushed to Cameron's every nerve, but he did his best to stay calm and not distress Abbi any further. "Everything will be fine," he said, sitting on the bed at her side. "The doctor is still in the castle. He'll be here in just a minute. Everything will be all right," he repeated, wondering in his heart if it would be. He recalled how he'd once thought that even if he hadn't survived the revolution, Abbi giving birth to a legitimate son would have brought something good out of his life. Now he wondered if he would be faced with the horrible irony of having Abbi give birth to his son, only to leave him alone. He forced his thoughts elsewhere, unable to even consider the idea of life without her. When the doctor arrived and hurried to wash up, Cameron convinced himself that he was making more of this than it was.

Just as during the birth, Cameron kept his focus on Abbi's face, ignoring whatever the doctor was doing to try and stop the bleeding. Then he did something that made Abbi scream and turn pale. Cameron held tightly to her, as if he could give her his strength and free her from the pain. He heard the doctor talking with Elsa in hushed, frantic tones, and his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. Cameron didn't understand most of what was said, but he distinctly caught, "We've got to get her uterus to contract, or she could bleed to death faster than you can possibly imagine."

Cameron let out a breathy gasp, but he reminded himself to be strong for Abbi when he saw the fear in her eyes. He was aware of the doctor leaning over Abbi, pressing on her belly, which provoked more anguish. Cameron held to her tightly, concentrating on the way she gripped his arms and the strength he could feel in her hands. As her pain only worsened, Cameron felt hot tears trickle down his face. He looked into Abbi's eyes, finding it odd that he recalled how angry she had been when his own life had been in danger, and how flippant and careless he had been. Now he understood how it felt to be faced with losing the one person who mattered more to him than anything--even more than the country bequeathed to him. He'd been confronted with losing her once before, when Nikolaus had threatened to take her from him. But even then he'd not felt any more afraid than he did now. He could feel the life slipping out of her. He could feel her weakening. He could see the light fading from her eyes. He thought of his recent neglect and his regret deepened. He wondered what it would take to humble him sufficiently. He prayed with all his heart and soul for Abbi to be spared, promising to always be there for her and to keep his life in proper balance. But he wondered if it was too late. 
Chapter Thirty-Three

THE CHOICE

Cameron was praying that Abbi's suffering would cease when she suddenly went limp in his arms. He drew back to look at her, hearing an anguished protest break the air before he realized that it had come from his own lips. _That's not what I meant,_ his mind contended. "No," he murmured, while his head spun with the reality of facing life without Abbi. They'd barely been married a year. How could he possibly go on? "No!" he cried, holding her face in his hand, as if he could wake her up. "Abbi! Abbi!" The emotion boiled out of him. "No, don't leave me, Abbi! No!" He felt the doctor trying to ease him away, but he held her tighter, refusing to let go of her, ever! "No!" he howled, rocking her limp body in his arms.

"Cameron!" the doctor shouted close to his face to get his attention. Then in a softer voice he said, "She's not dead." Cameron held his breath as the doctor took hold of his hand and guided it to her throat, pressing his fingers tightly against the faint evidence of a pulse beating there. "She went unconscious from the pain," Dr. Furhelm explained. "But her heart is beating, and she is still breathing."

Cameron drew back to look at her again. A different kind of noise erupted from his lips, but still he didn't let go of her.

"The bleeding is under control," the doctor added gently. "I think she'll be all right. But she's lost a great deal of blood. All we can do is wait and watch her very closely."

Cameron managed a nod to indicate he'd heard, then he just held Abbi and cried, praying that the miracle would continue, that she would hold on. _He would die without her_. He finally eased away so that the bedding could be changed, and the doctor could thoroughly check her. Word filtered through the valley that the duchess was barely clinging to life, while Cameron sat through the night, holding her hand and watching her every breath, oblivious to anything but his desire to feed his own life into her. He was vaguely aware of the baby crying, but Elsa assured him that she was able to see to his needs since she had a baby of her own. She took the baby away, and Cameron was left alone with Abbi, except for the doctor coming in and out, and occasionally he dozed in a big chair on the other side of the room. Gerhard came for a little while, and then he left, declaring he couldn't sit there and watch her die. Magda came in twice to check on Cameron, but she too seemed hesitant to hover close.

A hand on Cameron's shoulder startled him, and he looked up to see Georg at his side. "You should rest," Georg said. "And you've eaten nothing since breakfast."

"I can't," Cameron insisted. "I can't . . . leave her."

"All right, but . . . come over here for just a minute. I want to show you something."

Cameron came hesitantly to his feet, feeling his legs protest from being cramped into one position for so many hours. Georg guided him to the window, where he could see the valley below. Scattered across the darkness were thousands of flickering lights, like stars where he knew there was no sky.

"Candles burn in every window," Georg said, "while the entire country prays for her recovery."

Fresh tears burned into Cameron's eyes. He'd never seen anything so beautiful, never had anything gripped his heart with such a painful reality. He stared at the sight in silence for several minutes before he felt drawn back to Abbi's side. He was barely aware of Georg moving a chair close to him.

"Are you all right?" Georg asked quietly.

"No, I'm not all right. I'll never be all right again if I lose her, _never!"_

"Are you still upset over the argument you had with her before--"

"I neglected her needs, Georg. I've been selfish and insensitive." His voice broke with emotion. He couldn't admit to the full depth of his regrets without completely crumbling. The issues between him and Abbi were much deeper and more complicated than even he could understand. He summarized his fears by saying, "Would God punish me this way for my weaknesses? Would he take away the thing that matters most to me because I became too obsessed with my work to truly appreciate her?"

"Personally, I don't believe God puts struggles into our lives to punish us, Cameron. I believe struggles most often just . . . happen; they're a part of life. I believe they are meant to strengthen us, depending on how we respond to them." Georg moved a little closer and spoke in a hushed voice. "Cameron, have you ever heard the story of Joseph from the Bible?"

Cameron looked into Georg's eyes as a chill rushed over his back. Then he turned to look at his wife and answered, "Yes, Abbi told it to me."

"It's always been one of my favorites," Georg said. "But in the last few years, it's taken on new meaning for me. I've read it often, and for some reason, I always thought of you."

Cameron kept his focus on Abbi, and her hand in his, but his mind became consumed with what Georg was saying.

"A man sold into bondage by his jealous brothers. And just when he comes to terms with his slavery, just when he believes he can make the most of it, he's put into prison. But in the end, Joseph himself says that he knew it was God's will that he'd suffered those things, so that he could be put into the position that saved all of Egypt from the famine, as well as his own family." Georg's voice became intent. "Cameron, I believe the hardships you have endured were meant to make you a better, stronger man. I believe you have the ability to lead this nation into a state of strength and prosperity unlike it has ever seen before."

Cameron let that settle and had to say, "I believe that's possible, Georg. I do. But everything I am I owe to you--and to Abbi. All through my life you've been there for me, Georg. You've guided and supported me as no friend ever could. But we both know it was Abbi who changed me . . . healed me. How can I be _anything_ without her? Before she came into my life, I was just some . . . warped extension of my father." He sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. "Maybe I still am."

"No," Georg said with quiet vehemence. "You are a better man than he, even at your worst."

"I don't know that you've really seen me at my worst, Georg." He gazed at his sweet wife, contemplating how close to death she looked. "But Abbi certainly has."

"And that's in the past. Marriage requires forgiveness, Cameron. She may know the worst of you, but she also knows the best. And vice versa. You have the potential to break the patterns your father established--both as a ruler _and_ a husband and father. But the negative impressions left by his harsh example run deep, as they would in any human being subjected to such unfairness . . . to such a lack of love in the way he raised you. Such deeply ingrained habits don't change overnight. They have to be stripped away piece by piece, as you rebuild what's good and right in their place." He put a hand on Cameron's shoulder. "You're a good man. Don't punish yourself for this, when it has absolutely nothing to do with other challenges in your life."

Cameron couldn't comment. In his heart he doubted that he could ever stop punishing himself for the suffering he'd brought into Abbi's life. He might not be responsible for her hovering at the brink of death, but it was his son she'd just given birth to. And it was this life he'd brought her into that had destroyed her happiness. While a part of him wanted to share the burden of such feelings with Georg, he couldn't bring himself to even contemplate allowing them into the open. Instead he murmured, "What is left for me if Abbi dies? She is my motive behind all that is good; she's my reason for living."

"I can well understand what you must be feeling, Cameron. I cannot imagine living even a day without Elsa."

"Would God take her now and leave me with nothing?" Cameron cried.

"I wouldn't say you have nothing, Cameron. You have everything you've been fighting to have." His voice softened. "You have a son--a son who will need your love, whether Abbi lives or not. And Abbi would want you to be the kind of father that you wish your own father would have been. With or without her, Cameron, you have to live the way she would want you to live. You have to do your best to live worthy of all she taught you and everything she gave you." Cameron looked into Georg's eyes and felt the tiniest degree of peace. The feeling intensified when Georg gave an emotional smile and concluded, "And I really believe in my heart that she's going to make it."

Cameron put his head to Georg's shoulder and cried like a baby, all the while holding Abbi's hand in his. The door opening startled Cameron. He wiped his face with his shirtsleeves as Georg moved away. A moment later, Cameron looked up just as Elsa put his son into the crook of his arm.

"His stomach's full and his diaper is dry," she said. "He needs his father." She stepped back, apparently oblivious to Cameron's alarm. "I'll be close by if you need me," she said and left the room, taking Georg with her.

Cameron glanced toward the doctor, who was still sleeping soundly in the chair, oblivious to the quiet drama that had been taking place in the room. Cameron took a long look at Abbi's pale face, surrounded by her flaming red hair against the pillows. Then he looked into the face of his son, surrounded by curly wisps of hair, the same color. "Erich," he whispered, touching the baby's soft skin, in awe of the miracle. He feared the baby would wake up and cry, and he wouldn't know what to do. But he slept for more than two hours in the security of Cameron's arm, while Cameron kept his other hand in Abbi's, praying continually that she would live to see this child become a man.

It was still completely dark when Erich grunted and stretched himself awake, and then he began to squawk. Cameron was about to go find Elsa when she appeared and took Erich away to be fed and changed. Free of the baby, Cameron knelt beside the bed and touched Abbi's face, her hair, her face again. He talked to her as if she could hear him, pledging his love and commitment. He apologized to her for all the hurt he'd inflicted on her by his anger and neglect. He recounted the story of his falling in love with her and how she had changed his life. He told her how she'd made him believe in himself again, that she'd taught him things about himself that he'd never known.

As dawn began to break into the room, Cameron felt an urgency overcome him. How long would this go on? What if she didn't make it? How could he live without her? In desperation, he pressed his face into her hair against the pillow, crying as if she were already dead. "Please don't leave me, Abbi, please. I need you. I need you." He felt a comforting hand at the back of his head, and wondered who had come into the room. Georg, most likely. But he didn't care. Then the touch softened, fingers moved into his hair--plainly feminine. His sister, perhaps.

"Cameron," he heard close to his ear. He sucked in his breath and held it. He recognized her familiar touch at the same moment he recognized her voice. He lifted his head slowly, hardly daring to move. She looked no different. Perhaps it had been his imagination. Then her face tilted toward him, and her eyelids flickered open. "Cameron," Abbi said again. A sob of laughter burst directly from his chest into the open air. Then another. A faint smile touched Abbi's lips. Her eyes closed then opened again, this time a little wider. "I love you," she murmured.

Cameron laughed with a joy unlike anything he'd ever felt. "I love you too, Abbi, with all my heart and soul. And I will never let you doubt it again, _never!"_

She weakly touched the tears on his face, as if to question them.

"I thought you were going to leave me," he said, and concentrated on the evidence that Abbi was very much alive, and he prayed that she would hold on.

Cameron hardly left Abbi's side until the doctor declared that she was completely out of danger. And even then, he was never gone for long. He slept by her side and ate only when she ate. For days she was too weak to even feed herself, and the maids declared that he left them with little to do when he insisted on seeing that she ate her meals and helping her in every way that he could. Just to see her moving, talking, and breathing seemed such a miracle to him. And he told her more than once of all he'd learned, not only through her brush with death, but since she had come into his life initially. But Abbi didn't say much; she only listened with a somewhat dazed look in her eyes. He wanted to credit her lack of conversation to her weakness. And she certainly was weak. He could hardly believe this was the same woman who had come into his life with so much energy and vibrancy. He recalled how quickly she had recovered when she'd nearly frozen to death in the snow. But now days passed and her improvement was too gradual to measure. Even when she found the strength to feed herself, she needed help to shift positions in bed.

Little Erich had to be propped up with pillows for his mother to nurse him, since she didn't have the strength to even hold up his tiny head. And her milk was never enough to satisfy the baby, which made them all grateful that Elsa was on hand and able to meet his needs, rather than having to bring in a stranger to be a wet nurse for the infant prince. The doctor assured Cameron with each visit that it would take several weeks for Abbi's body to rebuild the blood she had lost, but Cameron felt impatient to see her restored to health. She was a ghost of the woman he'd fallen in love with, and he felt responsible. He almost believed her suffering had been for the sake of teaching him a new level of humility, and while he believed he had learned it, he would not feel peace until his sweet wife was back to normal.

For Abbi, the days dragged into weeks. Her only joy was her new little son, and her most pleasant moments came when she could just lie close beside him and watch him, whether awake or asleep. Beyond that she felt utterly useless and too weak to do anything about it. A milestone came when she could get out of bed with help and actually walk a few steps to a chair or the bathtub. But far worse than the physical debility that had rendered her helpless, she had to face the long, empty hours of feeling too ill to move and too preoccupied to sleep. Disturbing memories became her closest companions. Events that she had believed to be conquered and put away came back to taunt her with cruel fierceness. And while she tried to force such ugly thoughts away, there were equally difficult thoughts related to the present that seemed determined to hover in her mind.

Visitors came frequently, and Abbi was truly grateful for their company. Lance came nearly every day, as did her father. They only stayed a few minutes, just long enough to inquire over her health and wish her well. Her aunts came occasionally, thankfully never staying too long. Magda came every day at least twice, often sitting for an hour or more with her to give Elsa the breaks she needed. Otherwise Elsa was almost continually with Abbi, and she wondered what she would ever do without her. Georg checked on her often, and Cameron spent so much time with her that she began to wonder what he was neglecting in the other aspects of his life. With worry and concern in his eyes, he assured her that everything was under control, but she didn't know whether or not to believe him.

Abbi enjoyed not being alone, as much as she appreciated the evidence that many people cared for her and were concerned. But no amount of company could ease her deepest heartache. She knew she would recover physically with time. But then what? No matter how she tried to tell herself that she could live up to Cameron's expectations, she just couldn't fully believe it. With the course of her thoughts and memories, she simply found it impossible to imagine herself being a woman worthy of standing at Cameron du Woernig's side. And in her heart, she knew her own misgivings were the biggest reason for his neglect before the baby had been born. She wondered if she could ever forgive herself for the way she'd slapped him that day, and the horrible, hurtful words that had come out of her mouth. And because of what she'd said, she couldn't question that he knew she was uncomfortable with what was expected of her. And he likely didn't know how to confront something that had no solution.

When Erich was two months old, Abbi felt as if her life were over. The doctor said she was recovering well, and she could be up and around as long as she didn't overdo it. She moved around the room here and there and was managing to help care for herself to some degree. But she far preferred spending as much time in her bed as she could get away with. And she didn't feel at all like going outside the walls of her bedroom. As tired as she was of being here, life outside these walls was frightening. As much as she relished the presence of her son in her life, even he could not eradicate all else in her life that was wrong. A part of her wished that she had just died when the opportunity had come so close. She felt worthless and just plain tired of fearing life beyond her recovery. She could see her purpose in helping Cameron return to Horstberg. And she had given him a son. But she felt certain that from this point on, some other woman would be better suited to fill her position. She ached to pour her feelings out to someone and have them understand. But it was too sore a point to bring up with Cameron. And everyone else seemed so thoroughly pleased that she was now the duchess, she hardly dared put a voice to her feelings.

Abbi often thought of Cameron's reference to the mask he'd always had to wear, being the duke. And yet he was so comfortable slipping in and out of his role. He'd been born to it. But now Abbi felt herself hiding behind her own mask, a mask that represented everything she was expected to be. And she wasn't comfortable with it at all. More and more, she found her thoughts lingering with how much easier it would be to simply fade away and leave her life to be lived by someone else; someone more capable, someone less scarred and damaged, someone better suited to be a duchess.

Cameron found it difficult to focus on the topics being discussed by the advisory council. His mind and heart were continually drawn to concern for his wife. His deepest instincts were telling him this was no simple problem, and it would not be easily solved. He would do _anything_ to solve it; if only he knew what to do. He knew the doctor had been sent for, but he wondered if he would have anything new to report.

Cameron's heart quickened when the door opened. The young officer met his eyes directly. "You asked to see the doctor before he left, Your Grace."

"Of course." Cameron stood and said to the committee, "Go on without me. I don't know how long I'll be."

In the hall, Dr. Furhelm nodded toward Cameron in greeting. "Your Grace," he said, but there was a solemnity to his attitude that tightened Cameron's nerves. "If we could speak someplace private."

Cameron motioned with his hand, and led the way to a nearby parlor. Once they were inside, with the door closed, Cameron said, "Please . . . sit down."

"Thank you," the doctor said, and took a chair.

Cameron sat across from him and forced the topic open. "Any change?"

"None," the doctor said. "I can find no logical explanation to the way her health declines rather than improving with time. She is losing weight; she's thinner than she was before her pregnancy, and she becomes steadily less capable of giving Erich the milk he needs. There is no medical reasoning behind her seeming inability to do little more than walk across the room and help care for her son. At least she's doing that. The very fact that she's getting out of bed at all and moving around is very good. When the body doesn't get used, it becomes useless. She is gaining some physical strength by merely moving around more. So that's good."

"Good," Cameron said, but his mind was still with that first sentence. "If there is no medical reasoning, Doctor, then what might the problem be?"

Cameron didn't like the way the doctor leaned forward and looked him in the eye. And he didn't like the way he began by saying, "You and I have known each other a long time. I was one of the first in line to do anything I could to bring you back to power. I hope you know that you can trust me, and that I would do everything within my ability to serve you well."

"Yes, of course," Cameron said, wondering what on earth would require such a preamble.

"I've been terribly concerned about Her Grace, and I've prayed very hard to be guided in helping her. My mind has been trained to think in medical terms and to solve problems through that medical knowledge. But I've been a doctor too many years not to believe that what ails the body is often strongly tied in to what ails the spirit and the mind." He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, seeming nervous. "I traveled out of the country to meet with a doctor who specializes in psychological matters."

"What?" Cameron said, wishing it hadn't sounded so sharp.

"It relates to matters of the mind and--"

"I know what it means, Doctor. Are you implying that my wife is losing her mind, or--"

"No, Cameron," he said. The absence of his title made it clear at what level this conversation was taking place. "I'm telling you that she is depressed, and the depression is crippling her physically. I'm telling you that it is a very real condition, but very little is known about how to combat it." Cameron put a hand over his chest, finding it difficult to draw breath as the doctor went on. "This man I spoke with believes if you can find a root cause for what's troubling the mind, it can sometimes be undone."

"And what about the other times?" Cameron growled, assaulted with images of Abbi living out her life this way.

Dr. Furhelm ignored him and continued. "I've told you that it's common for women to struggle with feeling down following the birth of a baby. That combined with the medical trauma she survived could very well be the reasons, although I don't have to tell you that I've never seen a woman respond this severely to either situation before. But I'm glad I went to talk with this man. I believe he gave me some valuable insight."

"What?" Cameron asked eagerly, wanting even a tiny grain of hope.

"I did not reveal the identity of my patient, and I did not tell him anything of her recent history. I just asked him about the common causes of such intense depression." Something in the doctor's eyes told Cameron he wasn't going to like this. He took a deep breath and said, "He asked if she had gone through any dramatic changes in her life. I asked him to give me some examples. He said, 'For instance, has she moved away from an established home, given birth, gotten married, been faced with any emotional or medical trauma for herself or someone she loves?'"

Cameron squeezed his eyes closed as the list of changes and traumas in her recent life grew very long in his mind. The doctor went on. "He said that one or two of such changes could throw a person off balance, and that in most cases women were more sensitive to such changes than men. He told me that when a number of changes occur close together, it can be especially difficult for the mind and spirit to catch up."

"But do they catch up, Doctor?" Cameron asked.

"Sometimes," he said gently, but his eyes let Cameron know he hadn't said everything he needed to say. Cameron just waited. "This man also said that some traumatic events in people's lives can have a delayed reaction. It's as if . . . a person will try to suppress it or hold it back . . . and eventually it overtakes them, usually when something else adds upon it, and there's suddenly too much to bear. I asked him to give me some examples. He mentioned three things that he'd seen women go through that had created intense depression." Cameron's heart was pounding even before the doctor said, "One had been raped, one had been held hostage when her place of business was robbed, the other had witnessed a murder."

Cameron's anger and fear melted into raw, callow grief. He pressed his head into his hands, so overcome with a rush of tears he could hardly breathe, let alone speak. _What had he done to her?_ What kind of _horrors_ had he left her vulnerable to?

He felt the doctor's hand on his shoulder, and wiped his face on his sleeve, attempting to grasp any measure of composure. "She is my strength, Doctor," he murmured. "She has been since the day I met her."

"In my opinion, Your Grace, God has a way of showing us strengths we never believed possible. Perhaps it's time for you to be _her_ strength."

"Tell me what to do and I'll do it," Cameron said, still crying. "Anything, and I'll do it."

"There's no easy or obvious answer," the doctor said. "Encourage her to talk about what troubles her. Love her and accept her no matter what. Give her time."

"Will that be enough?" Cameron asked.

"I can't answer that. Only God knows the outcome, Cameron. I learned a long time ago that after all I can do, it's up to God whether or not a life will be saved, an ailment healed. She may be a lot stronger than she believes she is right now."

_Or she may not,_ Cameron thought. He felt the doctor squeeze his shoulder. "I'll check back," he said, and left the room. Once alone, Cameron sobbed like a frightened child, consumed with a despair that took him back to the months of his life preceding Abbi's rescue. She had saved him, body and spirit. He had been completely broken, defaced of all hope. He'd been cruel and unkind, but she'd stood by him, unafraid of his inner demons and unwilling to give up on him.

Cameron gasped as something in his perspective shifted. He _knew_ how she felt. The reasons were different, and he could never comprehend how the trauma in her life might be perceived by her tender heart. But he knew despair and helplessness. And he knew that no one was going to talk her out of it. But he could do for her what she had done for him. And that was exactly what the doctor had advised him to do. _Encourage her to talk about what troubles her. Love her and accept her no matter what. Give her time._ Surely there had to be an answer, there had to be a way beyond this. If _he_ could recover from such despair, then surely Abbi could do the same. Because he knew for a fact that Abbi was a far better, stronger human being than he could ever hope to be. He just had to find a way to reach that part of her she'd lost somewhere in the turmoil of what life had done to her.

Cameron got down on his knees, then and there, losing track of the time that he prayed for guidance and strength to help Abbi get beyond this. Then he went straight to the bedroom and found her curled up in the center of the bed, mostly hidden beneath the covers. He would have preferred to find her asleep, but instead she was staring at nothing with dazed eyes.

"Hello," he said. She turned to look at him but said nothing. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, sitting close beside her.

"Nothing," she said.

"Abbi," he whispered, and pushed her hair away from her face, "talk to me." She said nothing. "Tell me, Abbi, what rolls through your mind while you stare at walls with that nowhere look in your eyes. Share your heart with me, the way you used to." Still she was silent, and he added, "Where did I fail you, Abbi? Tell me and I'll change it. I'll do anything."

"You didn't fail me, Cameron," she said, her voice distinctly weak. _"I_ failed _you._ I broke my promises to you. I told you I would take on whatever you asked of me, and I didn't. I let you down."

"No, Abbi, you didn't let me down. It was too much too quickly. I know that now. But surely we can come to terms with this. If you would just . . . talk to me."

She only started to cry, and she clutched onto him, holding him tightly while she wept without restraint. Then her tears slipped into silence, and then she slept. Cameron held her close and prayed, but three days later he was still praying, and she was still completely closed to him. If anything, she felt further away than ever, and his heart burned with fear. More days passed while he pleaded with her to talk to him and continually expressed his love and adoration for her. But the responses she gave him were hollow and lifeless. He repeatedly suggested they leave for a while, take a vacation, have some time away. She not only wasn't interested, she seemed afraid to even leave the room.

With his desperation deepening, Cameron left his work in the hands of others and found himself, as he often did lately, in the chapel. He missed supper while he remained on his knees, begging God for the answers to see his wife happy and whole again. He was only vaguely aware of night settling around him, but still he stayed there, praying with all the fervency of his soul. He told God for what seemed the thousandth time that he would do anything, give up everything, just to see Abbi whole again. He simply needed to know what to do.

Cameron realized he'd been asleep when his head bolted up. A hint of daylight was showing through the stained glass at the head of the chapel. His back and legs hurt, and he could feel an impression on his forehead from the back of the pew where it had been resting. He groaned and eased himself onto the pew behind him, grateful to glance around and find himself alone. His reasons for falling asleep here assaulted him, and he groaned again, wondering how his life had come to this, how _Abbi's_ life had come to this. He wondered if he would ever get an answer to his prayers, or if there simply wasn't any solution. He gasped when a sensation rushed into him, like a warm wind in his face that had brought with it every memory of the life he'd shared with Abbi. Instantly, his mind took hold of the entire circumference of their relationship, from the moment a dream had led her to his door, until the day she'd given birth to his son and nearly lost her life. He'd pondered her impact on him many times. He'd recounted memories and listed all the ways she had enriched his life. But never had he felt it like this. Overwhelmed with the enormity of her place in his life, he felt all the more determined to do everything in his power to give back any portion of all she had given him. But _what?_ Was that the answer to his prayers? A stark reminder of how much she had done for him, leaving him all the more helpless and guilt-ridden because he could do nothing for her?

Cameron stood up to leave, then he sat back down as if he'd been physically restrained. He told himself it was the weakness in his legs from the hours he'd spent kneeling on a cold floor. But a moment later, the answer to his prayers appeared in his mind with absolute clarity. He knew what he needed to do. He knew the answers. And he knew in his heart that if he was willing to do his part, God would not let him down. But it was another hour before Cameron could reconcile the answer enough to stand up and face it.

Georg noted through the course of the usual meeting with the advisory council that Cameron's mind was clearly elsewhere. He'd shown varying degrees of concern and distraction since he'd nearly lost Abbi, but today it was startlingly worse. Georg felt uneasy to the point of being alarmed when Mr. Lumburg addressed Cameron, and he paid absolutely no attention.

"Your Grace?" Mr. Lumburg said, and still Cameron didn't answer.

Georg nudged him, since he was sitting at his right.

"I'm sorry," Cameron said, startled. But Mr. Lumburg looked too concerned to repeat the question.

Georg took it upon himself to do what a right-hand man should do. "I don't believe His Grace is feeling well." Georg stood and added firmly, "I'm certain the remainder of our business can wait. The meeting is adjourned."

Cameron looked a little dazed as he watched the men file out of the room. While Georg had no intention of leaving, he was still surprised by the way Cameron barked at him, "Mr. Heinrich. You will stay, please."

Georg closed the door and leaned against it, once the last man was out. He watched Cameron staring at the wall and wondered how to open a necessary conversation that might incite him to actually talk about the problem, as opposed to brushing it aside. Before he came up with any words, Cameron said, "Not so many months ago, you and I formed a very careful plan to prove my innocence and to free this country from tyranny."

"Yes, we did," Georg said and sat down.

"That has been accomplished."

"Yes, it certainly has."

"I'm certain you remember that a crucial part of the plan was to insure that, in the event of my death, the country would still remain in good hands."

"That's right," Georg said, his uneasiness increasing.

"We discussed avenues for placing an appropriate regent in lieu of an adult male with the necessary bloodline."

"Yes, but now that you're in place, those avenues are irrelevant."

"No, Georg. They are altered, but not irrelevant."

Georg's heart quickened with formless dread. "What are you saying, Cameron? What's wrong?"

Cameron sighed loudly and came to his feet. He stood at the window and sighed again. "Did I ever tell you, Georg, about the first time I saw Abbi?"

"No, I don't believe you did," he said, surprised at the turn in the conversation.

"I'd been alone for nearly three years," he said as if Georg might not have known. "Three years, and I'd not once laid eyes on another human being. I was coming out of the stable and heard something. I wondered if an animal had wandered in. I peered around the door, and my knees nearly buckled. I saw her just as she dismounted, and she left the reins hanging. My first thought of her was this trust she had with the animal, as if she absolutely knew he wouldn't leave without her. Then I took a good, long look at her, and my knees _did_ buckle. I remember sitting there on the ground, trying to breathe. By the time I _could_ breathe, I realized she'd gone into the house. I followed her in and did my best to scare the hell out of her. Maybe I wanted to put us on even ground. If it had been an ugly old man, I surely would have been affected just to be given any form of human interaction. But there stood the most beautiful creature I had ever encountered. I barely recall what I said, what she said, but I will never forget the moment our eyes connected. It was as if . . ." his voice cracked, "something in my spirit . . . reached out to . . . something in her spirit, and . . . from that moment, our spirits were inseparable. I was too afraid and overwhelmed at the time to comprehend any such concept, but . . . looking back . . . I know that's when it happened."

He sighed deeply. "Beyond that day, I asked myself a thousand times if what I felt for her was simply convenience or happenstance; she was the only woman I'd seen in three years. But there was nothing convenient about it. God sent _her_ to me because He knew our spirits would connect that way. But I was too afraid to truly see the meaning in her being there. I sent her away before I could even give the matter a moment's thought. And in her absence, my thoughts devoured me from the inside out. I'd spent ten minutes in her presence, and she was like some kind of bittersweet infection. She wasn't just in my mind, she was everywhere. She was in my blood, making my heart beat harder every time I thought of her. She was in my skin, my nerves, my every breath. She had me bewitched and utterly enraptured. But I'd sent her away, and the very idea of never seeing her again only strengthened my resolve to end my own life."

Cameron pushed a hand into his hair then wiped it over his face. "Then by some odd _coincidence,"_ his sarcasm made his belief on the matter unmistakably clear, "I saw her riding the lower meadow. She made a habit of coming there; I made a habit of catching her at it. I would hide in the trees and just soak her in as if . . ." he pressed a palm over his chest, "she could . . . heal me from her presence alone. There were moments when I nearly expected her to spread her arms and take flight, like some kind of mythical creature. I never could have convinced myself that I loved her then. I could only need her and want her. And oh, I did! I wanted her! I imagined myself walking down through that crevice just to tell her that I'd been wrong, and then I would take her in my arms and hold her, and touch her, and just let her bring me back to life. And that was the biggest reason I held myself back. I felt half out of my mind. I feared what I might do to her, lonely as I was. And then . . . then . . . she ended up in my care. I was so in awe of her that I had to keep my anger and pride carefully in place if only to keep myself from falling at her feet. There were times when I almost believed she had some magical power over me. She would spout off visionary dreams and look into my soul with more insight and wisdom than I'd ever encountered in my life. She was like water in a desert. She came into my home, and my life, and my soul, and she smothered the fire, and eased the thirst, and softened the crusted ground. And when she finally made it clear that she would not tolerate my emotional battles, that she would not stand for my hiding from the world--and from her--the greatest miracle of all manifested itself."

Cameron's voice broke, and it took him a long moment to continue. "She _loved_ me." He sighed and swallowed hard, closing his eyes as if to pull the memories closer. "Right from the start, she was more vibrant, more wise, more passionate, more selfless than any woman I've ever known. I saw in her a queen from that very first moment, and every day her nobility became more and more evident. And she gave herself to _me._ Of all men, she chose me. She knows me more deeply than I had ever imagined being known. What you and I share as friends, Georg, is rare I'm certain. But no one knows me the way Abbi does. She can see into my soul. She holds my heart in her hands. She is my life, Georg. She has suffered greatly for my sake. In spite of my cruelty and neglect at times, she has stood by me without question. She has exhibited more courage, and trust, and strength than I ever would have believed a woman could possess."

"I would agree with that," Georg said when Cameron seemed finished. Nothing at all was said for more than a minute. Georg wondered over the point of the conversation. Was Cameron simply reminiscing? Was he indulging in nostalgia to avoid whatever might be troubling him? Georg just waited.

"Abbi is dying," Cameron finally said, and Georg gasped. "I must take her away from here." The beginning of the conversation made sense when he added, "I need to know that my country is in good hands."

Georg could hardly draw breath. He wondered what had gone wrong, what information had been withheld from him. He finally managed to sputter, "But . . . I thought she . . . was supposed to be fine. The doctor said that--"

"What the doctor said is true," Cameron said. "There is no physical explanation for her absolute refusal to leave the room where she has made herself a prisoner. There is no medical reason for her to cling to her bed, as if being there is her only safety and security." He let out an anguished sigh. "I had believed that nothing in this life would devastate me more than her physical death. I was wrong. Every day I watch her fading, disappearing right before my eyes. She recedes further and further into a place where I cannot reach her, I cannot find her. I cannot express my love to her and have her believe me. And why? Because I'm the one responsible. How could she believe that I love her above all else when I have dragged her against her will into this world that she loathes, when I have sentenced her to a life that contradicts everything she longs for?" He sighed more deeply. "What have I done to her, Georg? And now that it's done, how do I see it _undone?"_

"Everything you have done has been done with love and concern for her, Cameron."

"No!" Cameron turned and lifted a finger. "Everything I have done has been for _duty_ and _honor_ to my country!"

"And always with love and concern for her," Georg repeated, but Cameron only looked more confused and disheartened. "She has the potential to be the greatest duchess this country has ever seen. I know it, and you know it. And everyone who has had the privilege to come within arm's distance of her knows it."

_"She_ doesn't know it, Georg. But more importantly, she doesn't _want_ it. She would rather die than be a duchess, and _I can't live with that!"_ He sighed and added with resignation, "That's why I'm leaving."

"What?" Georg retorted, aghast. But Cameron was unaffected. "How can that even be an option, Cameron?"

"A very wise person once taught me that there are _always_ options."

"And who would that be?" Georg asked, still stuck on exactly _what_ options he might be proposing.

"Abbi," he said and then hurried on. "I will be choosing a suitable regent to serve in my absence, and I will be taking my wife and son away from here to seek out a different life."

Georg allowed himself a moment to take in what he was hearing. "Horstberg is in your blood, Cameron."

He turned to look at Georg with piercing eyes. "Yes, it is. And leaving here will leave a hole in my heart for as long as there is breath in me, but . . ." He squeezed his eyes closed, and tears spilled down his face. "It is Abbi who holds the larger portion of my heart. She is my greatest responsibility. She is my most important stewardship. _Abbi_ is in my blood, Georg." He sniffled and turned away. "When Nikolaus confronted me with the choice--my wife or my country--I was torn."

"Understandably so."

"But my heart knew the answer. Guilt and duty lured me to believe that I should have chosen my country. Abbi told me to. She's like that. And that's the truest reason for the problem, Georg. With unfathomable courage, she made it clear that she would sacrifice herself for the sake of my country. And that's exactly what she's doing now. The situation was more precarious then for many reasons. Now I know the people of Horstberg are being properly ruled and cared for. I am in control. It's up to me who gets put in charge. It's up to me to determine that the established laws will be enforced even in my absence. It was Abbi who made all of that possible. _She_ is the reason Horstberg has no homeless or starving. She is the reason people are not being falsely accused and executed. She gave me back my life, and I turned around and gave it to Horstberg. She set me free in more ways than I could ever count, Georg. Now I must honor my most sacred obligation and set _her_ free."

"But . . ." Georg stammered, "how can you . . . just--"

"I do not want this freely discussed until the time is right." Cameron sat down behind the desk, all ducal business now. "The planning will be up to you and me alone. I don't want to hear the opinions of the committees. They obviously heeded Nikolaus's word without question like a bunch of blind sheep. They will have to do the same for me. I will be leaving you in this position to see that all is done the way I would have it done."

"And that's it?" Georg countered. "After all you've worked for and fought for? You're just going to walk away?"

"Yes, I am. And I will not look back."

"And you believe you can be happy?"

"I will be happy because Abbi will be happy."

Georg took a minute to let his declaration sink in. He rubbed his head as if that might make him think better. "I understand what you're saying, Cameron, and . . . I respect your honoring Abbi this way, more than I could ever tell you, but . . . surely such drastic measures are not necessary. I truly believe that it's in her to be the duchess _and_ to be happy."

"I'm not so sure."

"Still . . . you can take an extended vacation, put people temporarily in charge."

"If she knows it's temporary, she will dread returning."

"But perhaps time away will give her perspective and--"

"Georg!" he snapped. "Let me explain this to you so there is no room for misunderstanding. I asked God to guide me in this matter. I have begged and pleaded and pledged to do whatever He wanted me to do, if He would only show me the way to make Abbi happy, to give her a good life. The answer has come to me in no uncertain terms." His voice quavered. "He has asked me to give up my country. And I will _not_ back down on _my_ part of the bargain."

Georg was stunned into silence and relieved when Cameron went on, more calmly. "However, as far as anyone in Horstberg knows--including the committees--it will appear temporary. We will go on vacation, leave someone in charge, and never come back. After a few years, when everyone has become accustomed to the situation and is comfortable with seeing that the country is being well cared for, I will return long enough to legalize the change permanently."

Georg liked this aspect of it, mostly because he wanted to believe that with time the problem would solve itself, that both Cameron and Abbi would be able to take hold of their positions with confidence--and happiness.

"Who?" Georg asked.

"Magda," he said with no hesitation. "She will be guided by you and others who will keep everything on course. While it's not customary for a woman to rule, I will make it so in this case. She's strong enough to be a firm figurehead. She has good instincts and the integrity to do what's right by Horstberg. She's not afraid to make a decision and see it stand."

"Have you asked _her_ opinion on this?"

"Not yet. But she'll do it."

"She won't like it."

"No, but she'll do it. And it will only be the three of us who know my reasons for leaving and the purpose behind it. If Abbi even suspects my motivation, she will _pretend_ to be happy, and that will be worse. I'll tell her we're going on a lengthy vacation, and once we're settled, I'll tell her I've decided not to go back. The vacation will be a surprise. Until I put her in the carriage, she's not to hear a word. I've suggested vacations or outings, and she has no interest." He sighed and motioned a hand through the air. "That's all I have to say. I need to be alone."

Once his decision had been made, Cameron felt deeply relieved and truly at peace for the first time in months. As he and Georg continued to privately discuss their plans, Cameron sensed his friend's heartbreak over the outcome. Georg had stood by him, shared the dream, and had seen it to its fruition. They had become comfortable with the prospect of working together, side by side, for the rest of their lives. But Cameron needed Georg at the helm in order to have peace. And that meant separating Abbi from Elsa as well. Still, Cameron absolutely knew what he had to do. He'd rarely, if ever, felt anything so profoundly in his life.

When Cameron presented his plan to Magda, she wept at first. Then she dried her tears and spoke like a queen. "I'm capable of doing this, Cameron."

"Yes, I know."

"And I can do it well."

"Yes, I know," he said again. "But _will_ you?"

"I'm willing," she said. "But I don't want to. I believe Abbi will come to herself. I believe she has it in herself to rise to this and be happy. I'm counting on your return. I'll do it, but I will consider it temporary."

"This cannot be halfhearted, Magda," he insisted firmly.

Her eyes took on a familiar intensity that let him know beyond any doubt she _was_ capable. "I will govern this country with my whole heart, and I will do it the way you and I both know it should be done. And you will give your whole heart to Abbi. And when you are ready to return, I will give your country back to you . . . with my whole heart."

Cameron could not foresee that day, but for now that didn't matter. By the time she needed to accept that her position was permanent, she would be accustomed to it. There was one more point that needed to be clear.

"When you marry," he said, "you know that--"

_"If_ I marry," she countered.

Cameron leaned toward her and spoke harshly. "I will _not_ let you sacrifice your entire life for this, Magda. How can I save one woman I love from this fate and condemn another?"

"Because I was raised to it. I can be happy."

"No," he shook his head, "you think you can, because you don't know differently. Trust me when I tell you that there is no happiness or fulfillment so great as what you will find in a good marriage, Magda. It _is_ possible to have both."

_"You_ are telling _me_ that it's possible to have both, while you're ready to turn your back and run?"

He sighed and looked away. "It was just . . . too much for her . . . too quickly. The circumstances were far too extreme." He turned to look at his sister. "But that's not the case for you. When you marry, Magda, marry for love. But marry carefully. The moment that ring goes on your finger, this country will legally become his jurisdiction."

"I know that. But he will always be superceded by a male du Woernig." She hesitated and looked at him hard. "You do have a son, Cameron. Or had you forgotten? Erich has the greatest precedence."

"And he is an infant. Ruling Horstberg will be his choice. I will not force it upon him."

"I fear you leave too much up to chance after you have worked so hard to gain control."

"I'm leaving nothing up to chance, Magda. I am leaving my country in good hands, and there are many people here who will always know where to find me, should something unforeseen occur. But there will _always_ be chance in this game of monarchy, my dear sister. I cannot predict the personalities of my children or circumstances that may affect the hands this country will fall into. We can only do the best we can with what we have to work with. That's what I'm doing. I know in my heart it's what God wants me to do. There is confidence and peace in knowing He is with me, even though doing what's right by Him is rarely the easy path. And His purposes are not our purposes."

Magda watched him closely for a long moment before she said, "You've changed."

"Yes, I am a different man. My years away were--"

"I'm well aware that your years away created remarkable change in your life, Cameron. But you've changed even since we last talked. There is a . . . serenity about you. I've never seen you so at peace. You're worried . . . and I feel the weight on your shoulders . . . but I can also feel your peace."

He smiled and took her hand, pressing it to his lips. "Then surely all will be well."

The following day, Georg asked Cameron if they could talk privately. He started out the conversation with a firm declaration that they could not separate their wives or their sons--therefore Georg and his family would be leaving with them.

"You've spoken to Elsa, then," Cameron said.

"Yes. She adamantly refuses to be separated from Abbi. We overlooked the fact that Elsa is feeding Erich."

Cameron sighed. "Yes, we did overlook that, didn't we."

"Regardless, Elsa says that Abbi needs her."

"I can't argue with that, but . . ." Cameron's deep relief over such an idea was countered by one problem. "But I need you here, Georg. You're the only one I fully trust to--"

"That's why I've taken the liberty to purchase, on your behalf, a lovely country estate that is less than an hour's ride by horseback from our beloved Horstberg. I will be your liaison. I'll come here two or three times a week for a day's work and be home in time for supper. Magda will be a figurehead. You will be running the country from a distance. You can return often enough to make your presence known. Abbi doesn't have to come back at all, if she prefers. I've already talked to Magda about it. She's far more comfortable with this possibility."

Cameron felt added peace wash over him. Every aspect that had left him uneasy had just been solved. He took a deep breath and said, "Do I have no say in this?" He chuckled before Georg could wonder if he was serious. His voice broke as he said, "It's perfect, Georg. Thank you. When can we leave?"

"Three days," Georg said. "The day before we go, I'll have the servants start packing our things with careful instructions not to let Her Grace know our plans."

"Thank you," Cameron said, and Georg left the room. Once alone, Cameron closed his eyes and reminded himself of his convictions. He'd told God he would give up anything, and he'd meant it. But, oh the heartache of leaving his country behind! Life would never be the same, but as long as Abbi could be happy, nothing else mattered. Nothing!

Cameron looked up from his paperwork to see Lance enter the office.

"You wanted to see me, sir," he said, and Cameron tossed his glasses on the desk.

"Yes, have a seat."

Cameron was silent a moment and was not surprised to hear the question he heard each time he encountered the captain. "Is she any better?"

And Cameron gave the same response. "No." He then asked, "Have you spoken with her?"

"Not today," Lance said. "But . . . yesterday . . . it was the same. She doesn't have any interest in believing anything good I have to say about her, and she says very little."

Cameron sighed and looked away. "I appreciate your trying," he said. "I know she trusts you. If she's not talking to you or Georg, I fear she won't talk to anyone." He sighed again. "That's why I'm taking her away from here."

While Cameron gave Lance a brief overview of his plans, and the reasoning behind them, he nearly expected the captain to break down and cry. "I need you to know the truth," Cameron said. "You've stood by me . . . us . . . without question. I need you to be there for Magda."

Lance was silent a long moment, then said, "And should I choose to resign, sir?"

"I'm begging you not to," Cameron said.

Lance looked at the floor, and Cameron knew he was struggling with his emotion. "I can't imagine . . . serving without you . . . or her."

"I must do what's best for Abbi."

"I understand," he said. "Truly I do, but . . ."

"I know, Captain. You don't have to say it. Even though I don't want her to know, I hope you'll take the time to visit with her before we leave. And I hope that you will take every possible opportunity to visit us in our new home."

"Of course," Lance said, and hurried from the room, reminding Cameron of Lance's response right after he'd killed Nikolaus and had needed to be alone. And Cameron couldn't blame him. The whole thing was just so blasted hard.

Abbi stepped out of the tub and into the heavy robe that Elsa held up for her.

"Are you all right?" Elsa asked, lifting her wet hair over the back of the robe.

"Just tired," Abbi said, and went into the bedroom to lie down, feeling no incentive to get dressed any further. She drifted to sleep and woke up when Elsa laid Erich beside her.

"Feed him what you can," she said gently, "and then I'll see that he's full."

Abbi relished holding her son close, feeling as if he might be her only link to anything sane or reasonable. He was far too young to understand the turmoil going on inside of his mother. She nursed the baby until what she had was gone, but as always he was still hungry. She watched Elsa sitting nearby, feeding her son, and she couldn't help thinking that her life had no value whatsoever. She felt certain if she just faded away that those who would initially grieve over her absence would quickly recover and press forward. She'd given all she had to give. Her life felt over, and for the hundredth time she wondered why God hadn't allowed her the opportunity to slip quietly away when she had come so close.

Elsa left Erich sleeping in the center of the bed, not far from Abbi, while she came and went, caring for little Han. When he was asleep in Elsa's arms, she sat nearby and said with a gentle firmness that caught Abbi's attention, "You need to talk to me."

"There's nothing to say," Abbi murmured, looking away.

"Abbi, listen to me," she said with no differentiation of social status in her tone or manner. As if to explain, she added, "I have been by your side for many years. There is no other woman in your life or mine who shares the trust that we share. This has gone on long enough. I know you're hurting. _Everyone_ who loves you knows you're hurting. I've locked the doors. Our babies are here with us. I'm not leaving this room, and no one is coming in except to bring food until you tell me what it is that has defeated you so completely. I may not be able to solve any problems, but I can share your burden."

Abbi could only stare at Elsa, puzzled and dazed, wishing she could pretend not to understand what she meant, having no idea where to begin to unravel such complicated emotions and thoughts.

"Abbi, I know that these past months have brought some overwhelming changes into your life, and some traumatic events. No one can dispute that. But you're stronger than this."

"No, Elsa," Abbi muttered, "I'm not strong at all. I thought I was . . . once, but . . ." She couldn't finish.

"Abbi, talk to me," Elsa pleaded.

"I don't know what to say."

"Start by telling me what _really_ happened when you woke up to find Nikolaus du Woernig in your bedroom." Abbi gasped, then found it difficult to breathe. "And don't try to pretend that it was nothing to be concerned about, or insignificant. It takes much more than time to heal from such wounds. And yes, I know what I'm talking about."

Abbi's eyes widened, and Elsa added, "Tell me. I'm not leaving until you do."

Abbi still felt hesitant to talk, and she certainly didn't know where to start. But Elsa asked specific questions and insisted that Abbi answer them, however difficult they were. A surge of energy came with the rage she felt as she repeated the incident in detail, then she crumbled with tears, while Elsa held her and their sons slept on the massive bed. After admitting to the truth of what Nikolaus had said and done, and how deeply it had affected her, Elsa took both of Abbi's hands and countered with fervency, "Oh, my precious friend. Consider the kind of men who surround and revere you. When your good husband, and Georg, and the captain all admire and esteem you so deeply, why would you give credence to _anything_ that Nikolaus said? You must not let him have power over your life this way."

Something in Abbi responded to her words, but she still felt too much turmoil to fully digest it. Talking of Nikolaus led into talking of other things, and Abbi found herself pouring out her deepest hurts and fears to this woman she _did_ trust without question. The babies woke and were fed and changed. Lunch was brought to the room and they ate, and then Elsa prodded Abbi more. She talked and wept, raged and grieved, while Elsa offered perfect compassion and acceptance, wisdom and understanding. And sometimes she cried with her. They were only interrupted once when Elsa went to talk with someone who knocked at the door, but she was quickly back, listening and encouraging her not to stop the flood of thought and emotion that had suddenly burst beyond a dam that had apparently been holding them back for months. She didn't realize how much the strain of events in her life had been weighing on her until they came pouring out. From the moment she'd left Cameron behind on the mountain, fearing for his safety, and soon afterward discovering her pregnancy, she had been storing away layers of fear and worry, pain and doubt. When there seemed nothing more to say, Abbi just cried. And cried and cried, certain that now the dam had been broken it wouldn't be easily put back in place. And then she slept deeply.
Chapter Thirty-Four

PERFECT EMPATHY

In the middle of a committee meeting, Cameron felt a sudden urgency with thoughts of his wife. He excused himself and hurried up the stairs, startled to find the door locked. He'd _never_ found the door locked. He went into his dressing room and found the door into the bedroom locked there as well. He knocked, wondering what on earth could be happening. Elsa opened the door and slipped into the dressing room, closing it behind her.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"She's not doing well," Elsa said, and his heart quickened with dread. "We need some privacy."

"She's not been doing well for months, Elsa. Are you telling me she's _worse?"_

Something in Elsa's eyes left him in knots, even before she said, "Perhaps it needs to get worse before it can get better."

_"Will_ it get better?"

"If I could answer that question, Your Grace . . ." She didn't finish the sentence.

She took hold of the doorknob to leave and he stopped her, not ashamed to express his panic. "Please . . . give me something to go on here, Elsa. What's happening?"

"She's talking . . . and crying."

Cameron felt some relief. In his opinion, she'd not done nearly enough of either for months; at least not that he'd been aware of. Still, he felt puzzled. "About _what?"_

Elsa looked hard into his eyes, clearly unheeding to her servant status. It was Abbi's friend who said firmly, "All the deepest, darkest secrets of her heart. And before you try to tell me that you're certain she's kept no secrets from you, allow me to remind you that _no_ man could ever fully know a woman's heart. If a man had no reason to keep guessing, the world would surely stop. Now, if you'll excuse me, Her Grace needs me. I'll inform you if there's anything you need to know."

Cameron watched her leave the room and heard her lock the door. He slumped onto a chair and pressed a hand over the ache in his chest. He _had_ been certain that Abbi kept no secrets from him. Could it be true? Were there simply parts of herself that she wouldn't share with him? He wondered if there were things in his own heart that he'd never shared with her. Were there memories, experiences, perceptions that he kept to himself? Perhaps. And maybe Elsa was right. Maybe Abbi needed a woman to cry to, maybe only a woman could understand. He could accept that, and he was grateful for Elsa, but it still pained him to think that Abbi would hold back something of herself from him, especially something that was causing her torment.

Cameron forced himself back to work, knowing there was much to be done in order to leave the country as scheduled. It was hours later before an officer came into the room, saying, "Mrs. Heinrich wishes to speak with you, Your Grace." Cameron glanced at Georg, who was the only other person in the room.

"Thank you," Cameron said, coming to his feet. Georg did as well.

Elsa came into the room, looking spent and exhausted. Apparently she too had been crying. But he was surprised when she took Georg's hand, saying to him, "I need to speak to him alone."

Georg nodded and kissed her quickly before he left the room, closing the door behind him. Cameron motioned her to a chair, and they were both seated. He didn't know what to say or how to ask, and was relieved when she said, "I need to clarify something. Abbi has no secrets from you; not intentionally, anyway. But some things are difficult to talk about, especially with the person you love more than any other. I believe what's troubling her most is tied into what Nikolaus did to her."

Cameron sighed and squeezed his eyes closed; his stomach tightened. "Are you saying there are things related to the incident that she didn't tell me?"

"No. I'm saying that her perception of it, and the way it affected her, are something that a man could never understand. A man could never fully comprehend that kind of helplessness associated with being so intimately violated." Cameron's stomach tightened further as she went on. "However, a woman who was raped at the age of fourteen could likely understand."

Cameron gasped as he caught the implication, but he didn't know what to say. She looked down at her hands as she folded them in her lap. "I was working in a household where my employer believed that his servants were equivalent to his personal property. I ran away and ended up in Horstberg. It was a miracle to get hired by Abbi's grandfather. He thought I suited his granddaughter; said I would make a favorable companion for her."

"Apparently he had good instincts."

She ignored the compliment and continued with her purpose. "Miss Abbi has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. It's difficult to see her struggling this way. But I believe the heart of the problem lies not so much in what he did, as what he said." Cameron looked at Elsa hard. "And the power he was holding over her when he said it."

"What?" he demanded quietly, trying to remember what Abbi had told him. Or was it something she might have omitted? Did it fall under the category of secrets that were not kept intentionally?

Elsa took a deep breath and looked away. She seemed disconcerted and burdened. "This is difficult to explain," she said. "To simply repeat the words might make them seem trite and meaningless. It's the perception of them that matters."

"I understand," he said, but he wondered if he did.

"Consider it this way," she said with some confidence, as if she'd found the means to explain. "You're a sovereign. You understand well the matter of treason, and how an act committed against the crown can have deeply adverse effects on the state of the country. If a member of one of your committees expressed ideas or attitudes that hinted at going against your opinions and beliefs, you would likely expel him from his position and have him replaced."

"Yes," he said, seeing a side to her he'd never seen before. Apparently she was even more well suited to be Georg's wife than he'd ever considered.

"What does a woman do with opinions and beliefs that contradict the man she loves?

Especially when those ideas are political as well as personal? You see, in her heart she knows that on one point, Nikolaus was her ally."

Cameron straightened his back, his defenses prickled. Elsa added firmly, "If she agrees with Nikolaus, and the point is disagreeable to you, then where does she stand? Nikolaus died a traitor, but his words keep validating what she believes to be true." Cameron suspected the topic, but he wasn't prepared for how deeply it would hurt when Elsa said, "He told her she could never be a duchess. And she agrees with him. She feels like a traitor."

Cameron had to fight hard to hold back his urge to just allow the threat of tears to come forward, unleashed. He could only find peace in being able to say, "As soon as I take her away from here, being a duchess will no longer be an issue."

"And then what, Your Grace?" Elsa asked, and left his peace tainted. "Will she spend the rest of her life banished as a traitor, always believing she let you down?"

"I don't know what else to do, Elsa. If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them."

"I'm not disputing your decision. I have no answers. I'm only trying to give you some degree of understanding. Perhaps getting her away will make a difference, but it could create other issues. Still, perhaps those will be better dealt with once the present struggle is alleviated. We will work together to do whatever it takes to make her healthy and happy."

She stood to leave, making it clear she had nothing more to say. "Thank you, Elsa," he said, "for being there for her. Let me know . . . if there's anything I can do."

She nodded and left the room.

Abbi slept until supper was brought to her. After eating, she nursed the baby again before the nanny took him to the nursery. Cameron came into the room a few minutes later, and she realized she hadn't seen as much of him these last few days. Perhaps he was especially busy. Or perhaps he'd finally grown weary of attempting to solve what couldn't be solved. He greeted her with a kiss, and love mixed with concern in his eyes. But they had nothing to say to each other, and she was relieved when he extinguished the lamps and crawled into bed. She loved the way he held her close, but she preferred not to talk.

Abbi slept quickly, amazed that she could be so tired after such a long nap, especially when she had exerted no energy. She slipped into a fitful sleep, and found herself standing in the library of Albrecht House. She was fifteen again. Her grandfather was there, pacing the room, concerned and typically stern.

"I've arranged a marriage for you," he said, his voice gruff. His demeanor made it clear he would not be questioned. "No better offer could possibly present itself. It is not negotiable."

Abbi felt dazed as his declaration sank into her. She wanted to protest, and in spite of his firm stand, she felt certain he expected her to. She'd never been one to accept being forced into anything. She knew her grandfather loved her, and he would want what was best for her. In spite of his brash nature, he would always look out for her best interests. It wasn't like him to make such a forceful, life-altering decision on her behalf without even consulting her opinion. And she certainly had an opinion, but her inability to speak was crippling and unnatural. Even while she watched her grandfather continuing to pace, repeating again his edict, Abbi knew she was dreaming, knew she should be seeking for hidden messages and symbols. But at the same time it felt real, and present, and horrifying. While her voice remained incapacitated, her mind screamed in protest. _I love Cameron; only Cameron. I can't marry anyone but Cameron!_

"In spite of certain appearances," her grandfather continued, "he is a good man. He may not be kind and gentle, but he'll respect you and see you well cared for. His wealth and position are beyond compare. A thousand women would envy such an offer. You cannot refuse him."

The room swirled around Abbi while her grandfather circled her, barking phrases that left her feeling sold and slaughtered. "Your not knowing him is irrelevant. He finds you pleasing. He thinks you're perfect. You will serve his purpose. You can give him children. _You cannot refuse him."_

Her surroundings continued to spin. Her grandfather became her father. It was only the two of them. He paced and circled her. "In this case, I must agree," he said firmly. "When a man like this asks for my daughter's hand, I shall not refuse him. It is your destiny. You must embrace it. You cannot resist it. You must be patient with him. He will honor you in his own way, but don't expect him to ever admit it. His harsh nature will be compensated by the quality of life he will give you."

Abbi continued to protest silently while no sound came out of her mouth, and she felt dizzy from the condemnation being thrust upon her. Fear and confusion tightened her chest and clenched her fists as her father spoke close to her face. "You do not refuse the Duke of Horstberg."

He was her grandfather again, his face close to hers. "You do _not_ refuse the Duke of Horstberg!"

And then it was Georg, who spoke more tenderly but just as firm, "You _must not_ refuse the Duke of Horstberg. His position requires his arrogance, but his heart is good. He has asked for you in lieu of many other women. He saw you with me. You _move_ him. He _wants_ you."

The library of her own home became a castle parlor. She knew where it was but felt as if she'd never been there before. The grandeur and elegance of the room were almost as intimidating as the man circling her, pacing methodically while he looked at her as if she were a prize he'd just been awarded. He was dressed richly, elegantly. His eyes held intrigue; his voice held contempt. "She'll do nicely," he said as if she weren't present. "Her very reluctance to be the duchess will serve me more favorably than those simpering fools who crave the title and family jewels. She is young and naive. She can be properly trained to fill the position." His eyes traveled over her with a savoring, lusty gaze. "Yes, she will do nicely."

He walked behind her and then appeared again, this time wearing the uniform, the robe, the crown, _the mask._ His intense eyes peered at her with challenge and provocation, surrounded by red velvet and intricate gold embellishment. "Tell me, Miss Albrecht," he said, "do you oppose my proposition to esteem you, body and soul?" He lowered his voice to indignance. "Would you _dare_ reject the greatest honor that _any_ woman of Horstberg could ever hope to gain?" He touched her face and she retracted, looking away. "You shrink from me?" he snarled. "Am I so repulsive to you, child?"

Finally words came from her mouth. "I love Cameron, only Cameron, forever Cameron."

"He's not _here!"_ the Duke of Horstberg shouted. "Nowhere in this place will you find him. He was long ago swallowed up by duty and honor. He is forever lost. It is me and only me that you will give yourself to. It is your destiny to be the Duchess of Horstberg. Whether or not you _want_ to love me is of no relevance. Your duty will be to your husband and your country. This marriage has been agreed upon, and shall be effectuated and consummated, and shall bind us for as long as we both shall live. Get used to it!"

"I love Cameron," she murmured. "Only Cameron."

"You will love _me!"_ he hissed, and lifted her chin with his fingers. He tried to kiss her, but she turned away. They were at the altar, and still he wore the mask. His ring was on her finger, she was in his bed, his child grew inside her. And still he wore the mask. Again he stood before her while she boldly declared, "I love Cameron, only Cameron."

"The man you seek does not exist," he countered with anger. Again he was circling her, eying her skeptically through the mask, while disjointed phrases assaulted her. _Didn't your mother ever tell you about Goldilocks? . . . It's madness . . . You're as crazy as I am . . . It's absolute insanity . . . I wonder if you've ever thought to question the source of your inspiration . . . You are a thorn in my side . . . You are torturing me._

She stood in front of the mirror, staring at the crown circling her head. His masked face appeared beside her own. He whispered with hostility, "He is not capable of loving, of being loved. There is no miracle big enough to humble him sufficiently, to melt his cruel heart. He is too deeply betrayed, too mortally wounded, too sworn to duty. You waste your efforts, Mrs. du Woernig." He turned her abruptly toward him. "Show me such a miracle, and you will be set free." His mouth came over hers, demanding and arrogant. Against her will she responded to something alluring and sensual, even while she knew that he revealed these things against his own will. With her response she felt him soften. He drew back from her kiss, his eyes showing through the mask, frightened and vulnerable. She tore the mask from his face, and in its absence the crown, the robe, the uniform all vanished. Before her stood the man, dressed as commonly as any man she might pass on the street. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, tears streaked his face. He fell to his knees and cried with humble fervor, "Please don't leave me. I need you." He sat on the ground and pressed the hem of her dress to his face. And again he said it, _"Please don't leave me. I need you."_

Abbi came awake, startled and gasping. She felt as if she'd lived a lifetime while she'd slept. But most astonishing was the realization that she didn't even have to ponder for a moment over the dream's meaning. She knew _exactly_ what it meant. This dream had not been a glimpse into the future; it had been a vision of an alternate past, of what might have been the course of her life if circumstances had been different. She absolutely knew that she had been destined to be the wife of Cameron du Woernig. If they had not come together one way, they would have come together another. But the man she had seen in her dream was frightening and horrid, arrogant and uncaring. Images and words played over and over in her mind, and she sucked in her breath. He had changed. _She_ had changed him. In truth, the man she had initially come face-to-face with had much in common with the man she might have met prior to the circumstances that had forced him to such humility. Of course, she knew the softer side of him had always existed. Her father had known that side of him, and Georg. But Georg himself had told her that the Cameron he'd once known would never put a woman before his duty. She had seen him struggle to overcome his habits--battling with the harsh side of himself that he'd grown comfortable with through his life. But what could possibly be the purpose for such a dream?

"Are you all right?" Cameron asked from out of the darkness and startled her. She didn't answer. She was struggling to put the Cameron she knew into place in her mind, as opposed to the one she had just been exposed to in her dream. "Abbi," he murmured, leaning on one elbow beside her. But she could only see the shadow of him in the darkness. "You're breathing hard," he said. "What is it? A dream?"

Cameron realized he couldn't ask that question without his emotions responding. His heart quickened and his lungs tightened. He'd seen her dreams manifested, and he respected them. For that very reason, he had to admit that he feared them.

"Yes," she muttered, and he had to fight to keep his own emotions from showing.

Wrapping her in his arms, he realized that she was trembling. "Abbi," he whispered with concern as he became aware of how affected she was. That, combined with the things Elsa had said, left him especially unsettled. "Tell me." She hesitated and he pressed, "Was it the future? Will something happen?"

"No," she said, not knowing how to explain.

Cameron held her close, giving her time to gather her thoughts, while he did his best to offer silent reassurance. He'd heard no evidence of her dreams for months, and he wondered what might have invaded her sleep now. Her present state of mind added to his anxiety over what she was so hesitant to tell him.

"Share it with me," he urged gently. But her recent habits of not saying much at all left him certain she would keep it to herself.

More minutes of silence passed before she said, "What do you think might have happened if you had . . ."

"What?"

"If you had not married Gwen . . . and you had seen me . . . a few years earlier, perhaps?"

Instead of answering the question, Cameron moved away long enough to light a lamp on the bedside table. He sat beside Abbi and took her hand. "Is this something to do with your dream?"

She hesitated. "Just . . . answer the question."

Cameron was surprised at how easily he _could_ answer the question. There had been a time, after he'd first met her, but before she had been snowed in with him, when he had wondered over that very thing. Different scenarios had wandered around in his mind, keeping him company through endless lonely hours. Putting together what he knew now with what he had imagined then, it wasn't difficult to consider what might have happened. "As I see it," he began, "there are two obvious possibilities where our lives crossed. You are like a sister to Georg, and your father worked for me. I rarely, if ever, came to Georg's home. My life was too complicated. He would meet me other places at my convenience. But your father had told me repeatedly that his daughter was the right woman for me. If Gwen were removed from the picture . . . if I had seen you, even from a distance . . ." He hesitated, wondering how to explain it. "You would have . . . moved me."

She took a sharp breath, looking frightened. But she only said, "And then what?"

Cameron struggled to find words to describe hazy images and feelings, combined with what he knew of his own personality and circumstances. "It's hard to say, Abbi, but . . . I knew nothing of courting. For all that I had been strictly trained in certain social expectations and decorum, I grew up in political circles. Marriages were arranged." He heard her breathing become strained, and she looked the other way. He tried to ignore her reaction and went on. "There was usually little or no contact until the arrangement had been agreed upon. Your father had been disowned. I probably would have gone to your grandfather to ask for your hand before I ever would have made any effort to even speak to you. I can see now how ludicrous that is, but that's the way I'd been raised. And if I'm completely honest, I have to admit I probably would have been difficult and unkind. Even if my heart had been immediately smitten with you, Abbi, which it would have been, I was so dictated by being the ruler of a country that I did not know how to expose my heart." He hesitated, noting tears on her face. "I'm just rambling. It's pointless. I'm grateful that I met you when and how I did, that you were patient enough with me to reach my heart. Abbi, what is it? Tell me what you dreamed."

She turned to look at him, tears flowing more freely now. "There's no need," she said. "You just did."

"I don't understand," he said, wiping her tears with the edge of the sheet.

"I saw what could have been," she said. "My grandfather told me a marriage had been arranged. My father told me he would not refuse such an offer for his daughter's hand. Georg told me you had seen me with him, that I _moved_ you." He caught his breath as she had done when he'd used the same words only moments ago. "I told you I could only love Cameron; it was as if you were two different people. You shouted at me and told me Cameron no longer existed. And you were wearing the mask. You were harsh and unkind. You told me I would do nicely, that I would serve your purpose favorably." She turned away, wouldn't look at him. "You said that I could be properly trained because I was young and naive." Cameron sighed, trying not to feel hurt when she asked, "Is that what you thought? Is that how you felt?"

"No!" He took her chin and turned her to face him. "Never!" He softened his voice. "I cannot say what kind of man you would have encountered had our paths crossed years ago, Abbi. But I know that through our time together I _never_ saw you in that light. By the time I allowed myself to even consider imagining you in this position, I was deeply in love with you, and well aware that your ability to be a duchess had _nothing_ to do with naiveté. You were a duchess in your soul long before you ever came into my life, Abbi."

"Perhaps your love for me has blinded you," she said and turned away from him again.

"No, Abbi. My love for you has saved me. It changed me, heart and soul."

"I dreamed that as well," she said and rolled over, turning her back to him. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Cameron sighed and stared at the ceiling, praying that his plan to get her away from here would bring her back to life. His need to have her back caused tangible pain inside of him. He loved her so much!

A few minutes later, the nanny brought Erich in to be nursed. Abbi rolled over to face Cameron again, and he became distracted by her beauty with the baby at her breast. He pressed a kiss to her brow but didn't venture to kiss her lips, as badly as he wanted to. His every effort to do so for many weeks had been rebuffed. He couldn't even think about the possible reasons for her lack of affection toward him, or how deeply it hurt.

Abbi's mind hovered relentlessly with her dream long after Erich had been fed and Cameron had gone back to sleep. While she couldn't deny the stark message of the dream--that she had changed Cameron--she felt certain its deeper meaning was simply that she'd done what she had been sent into his life to do. Yet, one aspect of the dream stuck with her, mostly because it tied so accurately into the very first dream she'd had of Cameron. She was still awake and preoccupied with her thoughts when morning came.

Cameron woke up and panicked to find Abbi not in the bed, but he turned over and saw her standing at the window. She wore a lace wrapper over her nightgown and looked almost angelic.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She didn't even glance toward him. "There's something I need to tell you," she said, and Cameron sat up, realizing how he'd come to hang on her every word with the hope that she might say something to indicate some tiny measure of happiness or peace.

"What is it, my love?" he asked.

"Do you remember the day we met?"

"It is one of the most profound days of my life," he said.

"I told you that day . . . about the dream that led me to you."

"Yes."

"I omitted something. I couldn't say it at the time. I knew it would make you more angry, or that you would discredit it. But for me it was the most important point. It was the very thing that kept me thinking of you all those weeks, that drove me to the meadow over and over. It haunted me night and day."

"What?" he asked, almost breathless to consider that some element of her initial dream might have had such an impact on their lives.

"I didn't tell you that . . . in the dream . . . I heard your voice; you spoke to me."

"Something I've said to you since?" he asked, certain it would have been premonitory.

"No. You've never spoken such words, but their truth has been evident all along. You said . . . 'Please don't leave me. I need you.' " Cameron could hardly breathe as the full meaning penetrated his spirit, and then she stated such a horrible irony. "But you sent me away."

"I was such a fool," he said. She turned to look at him, and he added, "I _did_ need you, Abbi. I need you now; I will need you as long as there is breath in me."

She said nothing. Her eyes only looked disbelieving and hollow before she turned again to look out the window. "It's snowing again," she muttered. "Isn't it odd how it keeps snowing when spring should be here?"

"Yes," he said, recalling how blessed the spring snow had been last year when it had given them more time together in seclusion. If he could have seen this day, what might he have done differently? He didn't even want to think about it.

Cameron hurried to get dressed and leave the room. His frustration was so deep and intense that he almost feared shouting at her, something he knew would only widen the chasm between them. He began counting hours until he could get her away from here, rooted in the hope that God would keep His part of the bargain.

As soon as Cameron left, Abbi went back to bed. Her thoughts wandered through the same old caverns, and with them more tears came. She forced back her emotion when a maid knocked at the door to say that her father was here to see her.

"Bring him in," Abbi said as she sat up in bed and smoothed her hair. He'd been out of the country and hadn't come to see her for a couple of weeks.

"Abbi, my princess, as beautiful as ever." Gerhard crossed the room and bent to kiss her. "And how are you feeling?"

"A little better every day," she lied.

"Flowers for my favorite daughter," he said, pulling a bouquet out from behind his back.

Abbi smiled, knowing she was his _only_ daughter. "These must be from the hothouse," she said, inhaling the mixed fragrances of many vibrant blossoms. "It's still too cold to grow flowers so beautiful anywhere else."

"I thought they would brighten up the room a little," he said, sitting in the chair by the bed. "You must be sick to death of being cooped up in here."

"I am, yes," she said, again feeling as if she were lying.

"I know it's difficult, Princess," he said. "But you'll be up and about in no time, taking this country by storm."

Abbi tried to pass his comment off with indifference, but it struck too close to a very sore nerve. She hung her head and tried to blink back her emotion, but Gerhard touched her chin and lifted her face to his view. "What is this?" he demanded when tears trickled down her face.

Abbi didn't know her father well enough to know whether or not he was perceptive. She hoped that he wasn't as she swallowed and simply said, "I'm just so tired of this . . . of feeling so weak and useless."

Gerhard's eyes narrowed on her. "I can understand, but that's not all. Something's troubling you deeply. I can see it in your eyes. And I want you to tell me what it is."

"I . . . really don't want to talk about it," she insisted, just as she had a hundred times to her husband.

"I don't care," Gerhard countered. "I know I've not been much of a father to you, but I'm your father nevertheless. And I'll not have you holding secrets inside that are tearing you apart."

Before she could even consider whether or not to respond, his words lured her fragile emotions to the surface. She felt indescribably relieved as the dam burst on her pent-up emotions. There was one point in her conversation with Elsa the previous day that had hovered with her. Instinctively she knew it was the heart of the problem. She _did_ want to talk about it. But she couldn't address it with Cameron, for reasons that were difficult to define. Discussing it with Elsa had been good, but perhaps a part of her believed that Elsa's opinion might be distorted. Instinctively she wanted her father's perspective, but she just didn't know how to say it at all without sounding like a fool. After crying like a child in her father's arms for better than twenty minutes, she concluded that acting like a fool was no longer relevant.

"What is it?" Gerhard asked gently when her tears quieted but she refused to let him go.

Abbi was grateful that her father had been present when Nikolaus had been holding her hostage. It made it easier to tell him how the things Nikolaus had said and done had haunted her deeply. He listened, then firmly reminded her that Nikolaus's behavior had been evil and deplorable. He told her things she'd once said herself--things that Elsa had reminded her of yesterday--that she could not allow his deeds to destroy her own happiness. Abbi absorbed her father's words, then went on to vent many of the same emotions that had come out yesterday, related to the struggles that had accompanied falling in love with Cameron du Woernig, and how they had only amplified once she had known his true identity. She wondered why she felt compelled to spill it all again, as if what burdened her had become so deeply ingrained that she had to speak it all twice to believe that what she felt was real. She cried, and talked, and spilled her every thought, her every emotion, until there was only one more thing to say: the hardest truth of all.

"I can't do it," she admitted. "I can't be a duchess."

Gerhard looked astonished. "Who told you that?"

"No one had to tell me. That's what I _feel_. I am simply not the kind of woman who can live this life. I can't do it. I'll only let him down. That's all I've done is let him down."

"Abbi." Gerhard eased back, keeping her hand in his. He looked at her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he seemed too stunned to say anything more.

"At least I've given him an heir," she said softly, "although I almost failed at that."

"Your son is beautiful and healthy, Abbi, but that is the least of what you are capable of doing for this country--and for Cameron. You were _born_ to this, Abbi. This is your destiny; it's what God intended for you to do. I know it with all my heart and soul."

Abbi was a little taken aback by his vehemence. She forced her voice enough to ask, "How . . . can you know?"

"Oh, Abbi." He laughed. But not in mocking her. It was as if he felt complete joy in that moment. "If I tell you how I know, will you promise not to accuse me of being crazy?"

"Why would I?" she asked, while something in her father's attitude already felt calming.

"Because I've never told anyone. I've always felt a little crazy, and I feared no one would really understand or believe what I felt in my heart."

Abbi felt a chill run over her shoulders, and her breath quickened. How could she not relate to what he was saying as she recalled the dreams she'd had in the past? It wasn't until Georg had told her she had a gift that she'd felt any sanction at all. "I'm listening," she said.

"Abbi," he leaned closer, and his voice became hushed, as if he feared the walls might overhear, "before you were born, I had a dream." Abbi gasped and became breathless. "I dreamed of a woman with hair like fire, and I knew she was my daughter. She wore the crown of Horstberg, and all who encountered her were in awe. But it wasn't so much the dream itself," he said, "as the way it made me feel. I've never felt anything like it before or since. And the feeling hovered with me through the years. When your mother died and I got myself into trouble, Papa disowned me and sent me packing. I couldn't blame him, really. I'd gambled everything away that I had any claim to. But I felt lost and useless. I knew Papa would raise you far better than I ever could, but I wanted to do something for you that would make a difference in your life. That's when I realized the purpose of my dream. I went to the castle, begging for work. I started by mucking out stables, cleaning out fireplaces, pulling weeds, and scraping snow. I did whatever they'd let me do for any price they would pay me. I maneuvered and manipulated my way into better positions, one little step at a time, hoping and praying that one day I would make contact with the right person to bring my daughter to the attention of the royal family. I was amazed at how quickly I actually ended up working with the young prince as his valet. But you were still so young, and fate twisted it all wrongly--or so I had thought."

Gerhard tightened his grip on her hand. "Abbi, do you have any idea how I felt when I realized that Cameron was alive, and _you_ had been with him? And for all that I had believed I'd failed, I was the man who could prove him innocent and restore him to the throne? Oh, Abbi, Abbi. God works in mysterious ways. And He has put you exactly where you are supposed to be."

Abbi's next breath was so sharp that she wondered for a moment if she'd stopped breathing through the course of her father's little speech. In response to his expectant gaze, all she could manage to say was, "I don't believe it."

"And that is the heart of the problem, my dear. You will never have light enough to make a difference in this world, until you find that light within yourself."

"I'm not so sure there's any light in me . . . none of any consequence at least. I feel so . . . inadequate."

"Listen to me. If you could see in yourself what everyone else sees in you . . . what I've seen in you from the start . . . you would understand."

"But I _don't_ understand. How can _I_ be that important? I grew up wearing calico and practically living in the stables."

"So?" he countered. "Look at where you are, not where you've been. Look at _who_ you are, in here." He pressed a hand to his chest. "Do you think some senseless tomboy could march into Cameron du Woernig's life and knock him on his ear? Do you have any idea what kind of man he was before his exile?"

Abbi's heart began to pound. Was _this_ the purpose of her most recent dream? To give her the answer to that question? She _did_ know. But she was too stunned to say anything before her father went on.

"Cameron du Woernig had Horstberg in the palm of his hand while he was still a pimpled youth. He always had a good heart, but he knew his power, and he would not be trifled with. Gwendolyn Dukerk certainly tried to control him, but she never did. He was on to her the first time she looked at him sideways. But you . . . _you,_ Abbi. You have tamed a lion, my dear. Why? Because you were the woman born to do it. Because you were destined to take Cameron du Woernig by the hand and lead _him_ to _his_ destiny."

Abbi looked away, allowing her thoughts to churn through everything he'd just said. She added to it her own personal evidence of the dreams she'd had. But even excluding her dreams, the feelings she shared with Cameron were undeniable and too incredible to discount. Would God have led her into a situation, so obviously putting His hand into her life, only to leave her stranded in a position that would make her unhappy the rest of her life? For the first time since the crown had been put on her head, the answer to that question almost made sense. Still, she felt afraid and uncertain.

Gerhard's voice intensified. "Do you not believe me, Abbi?"

"Yes, but . . . it's just . . . so overwhelming. How can I be this woman you're describing?"

"Abbi, there is no law that says what _kind_ of duchess you have to be. There is certain etiquette to be followed and certain expectations politically. But beyond that, what you do with this position is up to you. You don't have to be like any duchess gone before. There is no mold to be filled. You are Abbi du Woernig. Your unique qualities will make you great, not your attempts to adapt to someone else's expectations. I know Cameron wouldn't want you to change. Nobody does."

She was surprised when he reached out and took the little black pearl she wore around her neck. "Do you remember what I told you when I gave it to you?"

"Yes," she said and trembled inside.

"When I left you in your grandfather's care, there was one thing I wanted you to know more than any other--that your unique qualities were the very characteristics that would make you great. You were never like other little girls, Abbi. And there is no woman like you. That's the way it's supposed to be. _You_ are meant to be here, Abbi, and no one else. You have the ability within you to be truly great--not in spite of who you are, but because of it."

At her continued silence, Gerhard went on. "Such things don't happen overnight, Abbi. It takes hard work. It takes courage, and sometimes you just have to fight for what you believe in. Everybody has dreams, Abbi. Few of them are as literal as mine was. But it's not sufficient to simply have a dream. You have to believe in it enough to fight your way through any obstacle that might spring up in your path. You have to take what God gives you and make the most of it. And many people are just too afraid to keep believing and keep fighting. But there are a few who are the dreamers of the world; they are the ones who will stop at nothing. You are one of those people, Abbi. And if I gave you nothing else, I would hope that I could pass along the ability to dream, and to do everything in your power to make your dreams come true."

Again Abbi became thoughtful. She was surprised to have the story of Joseph appear in her mind. As a youth, when he had dreamed of his brothers bowing down before him, had he not doubted what he'd seen? Had he not been afraid and discouraged through all he'd suffered? Had he not achieved incomparable things because he'd never stopped fighting and believing in spite of his doubts? As the thought settled in, Abbi felt a tangible warmth succumb her. It started at the top of her head and filtered down over her, reaching out to her every nerve. What had been dark suddenly became light. Fear became replaced with hope. With Cameron by her side she could do anything. And she would _be_ the Duchess of Horstberg!

Abbi looked into her father's eyes and felt a genuine smile fill her countenance for the first time in months. She was truly happy--to be alive and to be where she was in her life. She was a wife to the most wonderful man in the world, and she was a mother to his beautiful son.

"I love you, Father," she said, pushing her arms around him in a tight embrace.

"Ooh," he chuckled, "where did this strength come from all of a sudden?"

"Perhaps it's just been afraid," she said. Then she laughed. "And just between you and me, perhaps you'd like to know what led me to Cameron in the first place."

"I've wondered about that."

Abbi smiled serenely. "I had a dream."

Gerhard laughed with tears in his eyes and hugged her again. They talked for another hour, while Abbi continued to pour her thoughts out to him, and he helped her reconcile with all that had brought her to this day.

The minute her father left, Abbi rang for Elsa.

"You're up," Elsa said when she came in to find Abbi rummaging through her wardrobe.

"Yes, I'm up. I'm sick to death of this room. And I'm going to put some real clothes on."

Elsa laughed much the same way her father had before he'd left. She helped Abbi clean up and put on a crimson day dress, then she quickly wound her hair up and pinned it into place. Before she was finished, Abbi realized Elsa was crying.

"Whatever is wrong?" Abbi asked, turning toward her.

Elsa shook her head and laughed through her tears. "Nothing," she said. "It's just . . . so good to see you up and so . . . like yourself. That's all."

Abbi embraced her, and Elsa finished with her hair. Erich began to fuss just as Abbi was about to leave, but Elsa assured Abbi she would take care of him.

"Don't overdo, now," Elsa warned with a smile as Abbi opened the door.

For a long moment she just stood there, soaking in life outside of the walls where she had confined herself. She wondered what kind of madness had overtaken her. Thinking of Elsa's tears, she felt regret for all the worry and concern she had caused for those around her. But she concluded the best way to remedy that was to simply counteract the problem.

Abbi took the stairs slowly, hating the way she had to stop and catch her breath. But the doctor had assured her that it would improve with time. As usual, there were a couple of officers loitering in the hall outside the office, as if they were waiting for orders. They looked so surprised to see her that she couldn't resist saying, "The dead do come back to life, you know." She smirked and added, "My husband is proof of that."

"It's good to see you looking so well, Your Grace," one of them said.

"Thank you. Is His Grace--"

"He's inside." The officer opened the door and stepped into the room just in front of Abbi. "Her Grace wishes to see you," he said, and Cameron immediately removed his glasses and came to his feet.

He was nearly to the door when the officer moved aside and he looked up. "Oh," Cameron said, visibly startled. "You're here."

The officer left the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Abbi alone with her husband. The warmth in his eyes made all her effort worthwhile. But he looked as stunned as he had when she'd first come face-to-face with him and he'd not seen another human being in years.

Cameron couldn't believe what he was seeing. Only his pounding heart and sweating palms verified that she was really standing there. But she looked so radiant! So alive! Her pallor was still evident, but it had a way of magnifying her delicate beauty. And he had to search to remember the last time he'd seen her anywhere but in the bedroom, lying in the bed or sitting beside it, dressed only in nightgowns and bedjackets. Then he recalled. It had been the night before Erich was born, in this room; they'd been arguing. His regrets deepened along with his relief. But he didn't know what to say. He didn't dare hope this might be the miracle it appeared. He told himself that her standing here was not necessarily an indication that the problems were solved. But it was certainly a positive move.

He wrapped his arms around her, realizing the last time he'd embraced her standing up, she'd been incredibly pregnant. He was just thinking how good it felt to hold her close when she wrapped her arms around _him,_ holding him as tightly as he held her.

"Forgive me," she murmured.

"For what?" he asked, looking at her without letting her go.

"I know I've made things very difficult for you recently . . . and not so recently. I should have trusted you more. I should have trusted _God_ more. He knew what He was doing . . . even if I didn't understand it." She pressed her fingers to his face, while he was left breathless and struck dumb. "I've been so blind," she added, then pressed her face to his shoulder, tightening her embrace.

Still disbelieving, Cameron drew back to look into her eyes, looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. While he was trying to accept what he saw there, she lifted her lips to his with a kiss that bridged every chasm and healed every wound.

Abbi heard Cameron moan and felt him ease her more fully into his arms, while she wondered what she had been thinking all this time. Never had she felt more at home, more at peace, more completely right. Her place was with him, no matter where that might be. How could she have ever questioned it? When she drew back to look at him, there were tears streaking his face.

"What is it?" she asked, touching them with her fingers.

He searched her eyes and smiled. "You're back."

"Yes, and I'm here to stay," she said and kissed him again. She felt him sob in the midst of it, and broke away. "Cameron, what's wrong?"

He laughed and cried and pressed his face to her throat. "Nothing's wrong," he murmured close to her ear. "Everything is perfect."

"Then why are you crying?" she asked.

Cameron attempted to explain as simply as possible. "Everyone's been terribly worried about you. Especially me."

"There's no need for that," Abbi said, easing back to look into his eyes.

Cameron's hope increased tenfold when he met Abbi's gaze. There was no denying the light in her eyes. He smiled and pressed his mouth over hers.

Abbi went on her tiptoes and tilted her head back, feeling delightfully powerless in his embrace. When their kiss finally ended, she said with mischief, "I didn't come to distract the duke from his business."

"The duke could use such distractions more often, I think."

"Nevertheless," she eased out of his arms, "there will be plenty of time for such things later."

Cameron glanced at the clock. "I'll be counting the hours."

Their eyes met again, and she could feel him trying to assess the changes in her. She felt suddenly tense with the unspoken reasons for his emotion, and she attempted to draw his attention elsewhere. She walked around his desk, perusing for the first time ever the paperwork spread across it. She noticed the enormity of the room and the many chairs that filled it. She wondered who exactly used those chairs. She took a long look at the maps covering one wall of the room. Then she sat in the big chair behind the desk where Cameron had been sitting. It occurred to her that if her husband was going to be a busy man, she'd do well to be involved in his work--as any good duchess ought to be.

"Tell me what you're doing," she said.

Cameron's surprise was evident. "I'm certain you'd find it tedious."

"On the contrary," she smiled at him, "I believe I would find it fascinating. If I start to get bored, I promise I'll tell you."

Cameron attempted to gauge her motives but decided it didn't matter. Her interest was too genuine to be some attempt at placating him. He pulled a chair close beside her and sat down, telling her as simply as possible the process they were putting into effect to ease the ongoing burdens of poverty without throwing the rest of the economy off balance. He didn't tell her how he'd been planning to turn the project over to his sister, and he didn't tell her the perfect joy he felt in realizing that he didn't have to leave everything behind for the sake of her health. _It was a miracle._

Elsa brought little Erich to the office nearly two hours later, and Abbi nursed him while she listened to Cameron with such overt interest that he felt increasingly baffled.

"Enough," Cameron said, taking Erich from her once he was finished. "Your head must be spinning with all this nonsense."

"I'm enjoying myself, actually."

Again Cameron gave her that look, as if he were seeing her for the first time. "Why?" he asked.

"I don't understand."

"The duchesses I've known have never spent a minute in the office with the duke."

"Well," she cocked her head and smiled, "this duchess does not likely have much in common with them."

"Amen," Cameron muttered, then he laughed. But another unexpected rush of tears followed, and he leaned back in his chair, pressing a hand over his mouth.

Abbi took his hand and leaned toward him. "Have I been so difficult," she asked, "that you would feel this--"

"No," he said, touching her face. "It's just . . ." He chuckled with disbelief. "What happened? Help me understand."

She touched his face in return and gave him a loving smile. "You already understand," she said. "You see . . . I realized . . . just a while ago . . . that I've been . . ." her voice cracked, "more afraid to live, than to die."

Cameron sucked in his breath. She was right. He _did_ understand. Memories of once feeling exactly the same way overtook his mind. Perfect empathy rushed into him, and a stark sense of gratitude. He held her close and together they cried. He didn't begin to understand all that had happened between them, or how much of it had been meant to strengthen and teach them. But they were together, they were alive, and they understood each other in ways far deeper than any words could express.

A knock at the door startled them both, and they chuckled while wiping at each other's tears and forcing some composure.

"Come," Cameron called, once they both appeared somewhat normal.

Georg entered the room, looking as stunned as Cameron had when Abbi had arrived earlier.

"Your Grace," he said, looking directly at her. "How . . . nice it is to . . . see you up and about." She saw him exchange an anxious glance with Cameron.

"Thank you," she said.

"Did you need something?" Cameron asked.

"Um . . . it can wait," Georg said.

"Mr. Heinrich," Cameron said before he could leave. "Those plans we had . . . for the day after tomorrow."

"Yes?" Georg drawled.

"Cancel them."

"All of them, sir?" Georg asked.

"All of them," Cameron said, smiling at Abbi. "I'll be staying in Horstberg . . . with my wife."

Abbi said, "If you have business out of the country, then--"

"It's not important," Cameron said, kissing her hand.

Georg smiled. "I'll see to it," he said, and left the room. 
Chapter Thirty-Five

IN HER OWN TIME

On the day that Cameron had planned to take his family away from Horstberg forever, he took them instead into the castle gardens with a blanket and a picnic hamper.

"It's hard to believe it was snowing a few days ago," Abbi said, inhaling the warm spring air. "Today is a perfectly beautiful day."

"Yes, it certainly is," Cameron said and laughed.

The following morning, Cameron was just finishing a private breakfast with his wife when an officer came to tell them the Baron of Kohenswald had arrived, unannounced, and was demanding to speak with the duke.

Cameron made a disgusted noise and said to the officer, "Keep him in the main hall. I'll be right down." Once alone, he said to Abbi, "The man is unbelievable. He purposely ignores protocol over and over, presumably hoping to catch me off guard, for what purpose I cannot imagine." He kissed her quickly. "Hopefully this won't take too long, and--"

"May I come with you?" she asked, not bothering to mention that just last night she'd had a dream about the baron. She'd dreamed of facing him, even speaking to him in a way she never would have imagined herself doing. The dream had given her a perspective of her own abilities she'd never considered before, but it also made her believe that she needed to be at her husband's side, and it was no coincidence that the announcement of the baron's arrival had come when they'd been together.

Cameron looked surprised, but pleased. "Of course." He smirked and held out a hand. "Perhaps you can protect me."

"That's the captain's job," she said, and they left the room.

In the main hall, they found a dozen officers standing at attention and Captain Dukerk pacing casually in front of them, while the baron and a young woman sat nearby.

"He's brought his daughter," Cameron whispered to Abbi as they approached. "This is going to be about Nikolaus."

"How do you know?"

"He was betrothed to her," Cameron said. The baron saw them, and both he and his daughter rose to their feet.

"Your Grace," the baron said, but it lacked any tone of respect.

"Baron," Cameron said, facing him directly.

Abbi felt startled to realize how clearly she recognized the baron's face. Of course, she'd met him at a social last fall, only briefly. But it was in her dream that she had seen his face most recently. She had also seen his daughter, who stood nearby. Something in her expression hinted at the cold, cruelty of her father. But her eyes looked timid and afraid.

Captain Dukerk took his place at Cameron's left, tossing a discreet smile toward Abbi as he did. Abbi stood just to the right of Cameron and a step behind, waiting, as she knew he was, to hear the reasons for this visit--and for the baron's unquestionable anger.

"I won't waste time with proprieties," the baron said.

Cameron hurried to say before he could go on, "I understand you've been traveling for several months, which would explain why we've not had the pleasure of your company for quite some time. Apparently the time away has given you an opportunity to ponder your grievances against me."

The baron simply said, "I demand to know who is responsible for your brother's death."

Abbi could almost feel Lance's tension, even though he gave no visible indication of being affected. She noticed her husband lift his chin. He spoke firmly, "I am."

The baron lifted a skeptical brow. "You killed him?"

"No, but I would have, given the chance. And I stand behind the man who did it without question. His identity is of no relevance to you."

"He denied me what was rightfully mine," the baron snarled.

"Rightfully _yours,_ Baron?" Cameron countered. "I don't know what my brother promised to give you in exchange for your daughter's hand in marriage, but it was not his to give. Was it your intention to come here and illegally take one of my officers into custody to have him executed? I can assure you that the laws of Horstberg are capable of appropriately dealing with any such matter, and your arrogance in believing that you can cross my borders and have say in any such matter is as insulting as it is ludicrous."

The baron was apparently unaffected by the logic of what he'd just been told. "And what exactly have the laws of Horstberg done to see justice met for your brother's death?"

"Listen to me carefully, Baron, while I make myself perfectly clear. Had my brother not died at the hands of one of my officers, he would have been executed within hours. He was guilty of murder and treason on several counts, among other crimes. The evidence was irrefutable, and there was more than an adequate jury present. But even if that were not the case, his death was unavoidable, and I will _not_ stand here and tolerate your questioning of my judgment."

"He denied me what was rightfully mine," the baron said again, as if he'd heard nothing that Cameron had said.

Abbi couldn't hold herself back another second. The memory of her dream forced its way out of her mouth as she stepped between the baron and her husband, praying Cameron wouldn't be angry with her. "Baron," she said sharply, and he looked so astonished that she wondered if a woman had ever spoken to him in such a tone. "Your repetitiveness of the issue implies that you are not hearing what you've been told. Nikolaus du Woernig is dead, and we are all the better for it. You, of all people, should get down on your knees and thank God that your daughter was never subjected to his evil ways. At what price do you value any amount of political gain, Baron? It is evident that either you have no comprehension of the kind of man he was, or you are the most cruel and unfeeling of fathers. Since you are so determined to glean information related to Nikolaus's death, allow me to explain it to you. After he had very nearly raped me and dragged me from my bed, he had a gun to my head while he was attempting to use me as a bargaining piece to keep the country his brother had taken. Nikolaus gained the country through cheating and murder, and that was the only way he knew how to get it back. He was a man who thrived on the ill fate of others. He bragged about his illegitimate children and the lives he had ruined through his complete lack of ethics. If you are the kind of man who would prefer dealing with someone like Nikolaus du Woernig, then you are no longer welcome within these borders. You have no jurisdiction or power here. The matter is closed."

Abbi turned to once again take her place behind Cameron. She took advantage of a quick glance to gauge her husband's reaction, praying he would not be embarrassed by her outburst, or angry with her for behaving out of line. His expression was unreadable. Nothing was said for a full minute, while the baron was apparently trying to find some point to counter the issue. He finally said, "Your wife speaks very boldly. Perhaps you would do well to see that she remains more--"

"Baron!" Cameron interrupted firmly. "Her Grace is a very wise woman. She well understands the suffering inflicted by my brother. If you dare to speak ill of her, you will most certainly regret it. Now, do I need to have you bodily removed? Your grievance is with a dead man. I have no vindication to offer you. As Her Grace has stated, the matter is closed."

Cameron barely lifted a hand before the officers behind him stepped forward. The baron looked startled, then he gave Cameron a harsh glare and quickly left. The officers followed him and his daughter out the door, as if to be certain they didn't tarry. Abbi found herself alone with her husband and the captain. Both men turned to look at her, and she wondered if she would be politely reprimanded. While she was grateful that Cameron had defended her in front of the baron, that could have been as much to save face for himself.

Before she could speak, she heard Lance say quietly to Cameron, "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"I'm the one who killed him and--"

"And that is none of the baron's business," Cameron said firmly. "I meant what I told him. Enough said."

Abbi hurried to change the subject, hoping to clear the air. "Forgive me if I spoke out of line, or--"

"Captain," Cameron said, "what is your opinion on how Her Grace handled the baron?"

Lance took her hand to kiss it, smiling as he met her eyes. "She is truly a queen, Your Grace."

"Amen to that," Cameron said and smiled. "I should bring you along for protection more often."

"And it is good to see you looking so well, Your Grace," Lance said to Abbi.

"Thank you, Captain," she said and gently squeezed his hand before he let go.

Cameron took her hand and spoke over his shoulder to Lance, "See that the baron is escorted out of the country."

"Yes, Your Grace," Lance said and hurried away.

Abbi felt painfully nervous as she and Cameron walked slowly up the long hallway, without another soul in sight. His silence left her uneasy. She finally said, "If I was out of line, all you have to do is--"

"You were not out of line."

"I appreciate your defending me, but . . . now that we're alone, you don't have to spare my feelings, or--"

"Abbi," he stopped walking and turned to face her, "in the future I would only ask that you . . ."

Abbi held her breath; she could feel the reprimand coming. But she was prepared to take it on with dignity, learn from it, and not let it undo her. "That I what?" she pressed when he hesitated.

"That you _never_ hesitate to say or do exactly what you may feel inclined to say or do. Your instincts, your courage, your natural social graces are not something I have ever questioned, nor will I. Even _if_ I might ever disagree with something you say, I will never feel anything less than perfect pride to hear you speak your mind in any situation. You were born to be the Duchess of Horstberg, Abbi du Woernig, and I am proud to serve by your side."

Abbi could hardly breathe. She looked into her husband's eyes and had to say, "You really mean it."

Cameron felt tempted to cry as he saw something in his wife's expression he'd never seen before. Since the day he'd placed the crown on her head, her position and anything associated with it had provoked doubt and confusion in her. But it was gone. He saw nothing in her eyes now but perfect confidence. She actually believed what he'd just told her. But to make certain he said, "Yes, I really mean it." He started to walk again, holding her hand in his. "Do you want to know when I first realized you were destined to be the next duchess?"

"When?" she asked skeptically.

He chuckled. "It was right after I'd hurt my hand. I said something cruel. As you'll recall, I was very good at that. You told me I was a fool; you told me to rot." He chuckled again. "And you said you'd be praying for an early spring. I watched you walk away and thought . . . 'Good heavens, she's a duchess.' But I forced the thought away. Like most thoughts that alluded to my future, I was too afraid to look at them. Still," he shrugged, "that's when I knew."

Abbi looked at the scar on his left hand while they continued to walk. Then she kissed it. "I love you, Cameron du Woernig."

"Yes, I know you do," he said, kissing her hand in return. "And I love you . . . Abbi du Woernig."

She couldn't resist asking, "What might your father have thought about what I said to the baron?"

Cameron chuckled. "He would have been mortified to have a woman speak that way to one of his peers--as I'm certain the baron was." His laughter increased. "That's one of many reasons it was so delightful."

"And your mother?" Abbi asked.

"Oh, Abbi," he said with intense admiration, "my mother would be so proud she would have cried. She would feel utterly vindicated."

Abbi smiled. "I wish she were still alive."

"So do I."

"I would have loved to thank her for raising such a fine son. Her quiet influence is something I'm deeply grateful for."

"Amen," Cameron said, and kissed her hand once more.

The following day, Abbi was surprised to have Georg visit her while she was painting at the easel in her art room, with Erich sleeping close by.

"There's something you need to know," he said once they'd exchanged friendly small talk. "And I'm certain you will want to discuss it with your husband, but you need to know that I'm telling you this behind his back." Abbi stopped painting. "He didn't want you to know."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Because I believe you _should_ know. I also understand why it would be hard for him to tell you, so that's why I'm doing it for him." Abbi set her brush down and turned fully toward Georg. "You need to know that he'd made very distinct plans to take you out of the country."

Abbi felt puzzled. "He . . . mentioned several times a lengthy vacation, or--"

"I mean permanently," Georg said. Abbi's heart quickened, but she felt certain her assumptions couldn't be correct, until he added, "When he realized how unhappy you were, he made the decision to leave Horstberg in the care of others, to take you away from here and never bring you back."

Abbi put a hand over her heart as the pounding in her chest became painful. "No," she muttered breathlessly. "He _wouldn't!"_

"That's what I thought," Georg said. He went on to tell her how Cameron had approached him, and how they'd planned to carry through his plan. He told her how they'd modified the plan to keep Cameron involved from a distance, but he reiterated Cameron's determination to permanently prevent Abbi from ever having to serve as a duchess, or to be affected by the politics of Horstberg in any way.

"I never could have lived with it, Georg," Abbi said, feeling her heart break on her husband's behalf.

"You can say that now; your perspective has changed. When he made this decision, you were dying inside, and we all knew it."

"But . . . it would have broken his heart."

"It would have been very difficult for him, Abbi. But you need to know that as much he loves his country, he loves you more."

Abbi hung her head and sobbed. Georg moved to her side and put his arms around her. "He's grateful beyond words for the miracle that made it possible to stay here, _and_ to see you whole and happy. We all know this is how it's meant to be. But you needed to know, Abbi. Whatever challenges may come up in the future, you must never forget that given the choice, he chose you."

Abbi held to her friend tightly, crying long and hard. Her feelings of letting Cameron down rushed back to her. If he'd made such a sacrifice for her sake, how could she have ever lived with disappointing him so completely? When she expressed the idea to Georg, he just smiled and said, "Abbi, you need to look at this through different eyes. He knew you were willing to give up everything you had for his sake. He was only willing to do the same."

She couldn't help sounding angry as she said, "When did I _ever_ give him the idea I would give up everything? I was selfish and childish over the entire situation, and I--"

"Abbi," Georg said, looking into her eyes, "we all heard you say it, and we all know you meant it. Having your life threatened did not diminish your courage even slightly when you told Cameron to choose his country."

Abbi hung her head again, squeezing her eyes closed. "I _did_ mean it, Georg. Then what did I do? I turned around and put him in the position of choosing all over again."

"Not intentionally. I didn't tell you this to incite guilt or regret, Abbi. You have no reason for either. I told you so that you would know how much he loves you." He touched her chin. "Don't ever forget . . . how much he loves you."

For more than an hour after Georg left, Abbi curled up on the couch in her art room and wept. It took her a while to navigate past the guilt and regret that she felt, but once she put all the pieces together in her mind, she couldn't deny how difficult the adjustment had been for her. She was only grateful to have come to her senses when she did. And just as Georg had suggested, she was deeply grateful for the evidence that her husband loved her so deeply, so completely. She would _never_ forget.

Cameron was grateful to see another tedious meeting come to a close, but through it he couldn't help feeling deeply grateful to be present. He knew in his heart that he was supposed to be here, that his country needed him. And he believed that God had known those things all along as well.

As soon as the door to the office had opened, and the first man had left the room, an officer stepped in and said, "Your Grace."

"Yes?"

"Her Grace wishes to see you, when it's convenient, sir. She will be in her studio."

"Thank you," Cameron said and hurried from the room, leaving others behind to chat and take their time. His heart quickened as he ascended the stairs, and he realized that since Abbi had come back to life, it was as if he'd fallen in love with her all over again. He opened the door and immediately saw her, sitting with her feet up, the baby at her breast. Even the way she had been able to take over his feeding completely was a miracle and a good indicator of her improving health. She looked up and smiled, taking his breath away as he closed the door and leaned against it, just to soak in the picture before him.

"You wished to see me, Your Grace?" he said.

"When it was convenient. I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"Not at all," he said, and walked toward her. He found her sketchbook on the couch beside her and picked it up to see a partial drawing of their infant son, sleeping. "It's beautiful," he said. "I love the way you capture memories with a pencil." He set it aside and sat down, leaning over the baby to kiss her. "And how are you this afternoon, Your Grace?"

"I'm well, and you?"

He smiled. "The same. What did you need? Or did you just miss me?"

"Both," she said, smiling in return. Then she looked away as she added, "I understand you recently purchased a piece of real estate out of the country and then sold it at a loss."

Cameron felt taken aback, not certain of her motives. He _was_ certain of one thing, however. "Georg has been gossiping again."

"He has a knack for it. Remember when he told you the captain had proposed to me? If we're going to have him around, we would do well not to keep secrets from each other. He told me you might not be happy with him for repeating what he knew, but he believed that I should be told."

"Told what?"

She turned to look at him. "That my husband was within hours of giving up his country . . . for my sake." He said nothing, but kept his eyes firmly connected with hers. "Why would you do that, Cameron? After everything you went through to take back your country, why would you--"

"Abbi," he leaned closer, "your happiness is more important to me than _anything_. Even my country. I wanted to take you to a place where you could just be Mrs. du Woernig, where we could share a simple life."

Abbi looked into her husband's eyes and felt his conviction pierce her heart. She could never deny, nor forget, what that meant to her. But equally profound was her relief that it hadn't come to that. She knew he never would have been wholly content, and now that she'd come to understand her own place, she knew that she couldn't have been either. "If I had known . . ."

"If you had known, Abbi, you would have pretended to be happy for my sake, and that would have been worse."

"I _am_ happy, Cameron. Truly."

"I know. I can see it in your eyes. And I'm grateful beyond words. I thank God every day for the miracle of your happiness."

"But you were willing to sacrifice your own happiness for mine? Could you have been happy living such a life, knowing that Horstberg needed you?"

"I admit that it would have been difficult, Abbi, but you need to understand my reasons for making such a decision." He leaned closer still. "I prayed longer and harder than I ever have in my life, Abbi. I told God I would do anything if He would bring your spirit back to life. The answer was very clear; there was a price to be paid. And I was willing to pay it. Horstberg is free from tyranny, and I am a free man. But Abbi, until I made that decision, I'd never realized that, to some degree, I was still in bondage. I grew up believing I had no choice but to fill this position, and that there was only one way to do it. But _you_ taught me that there are always options. And a marvelous thing happened when I chose to leave Horstberg behind. That's just it; I realized it was a choice. When it became clear to me that we would be able to stay, and both be happy, something changed inside of me. From this day forward, I will rule my country with greater peace of mind and deeper fulfillment because I will always know that my being here is a choice. Once again, you have guided me to freedom, my love--a deeper, more profound freedom than I had ever imagined." He touched her face. "For that and a thousand other reasons, I love you with all my soul."

Cameron watched tears spill down her cheeks, and he wiped them away before she turned to look around the room with a sparkle in her eyes. "Something's changed in me, as well," she said. "It's difficult to explain, but . . . I love it here, Cameron. It feels like home to me." His heart quickened to hear such words come through her lips, then she turned to him and said, "There's something I need to say. I never imagined it could be possible, but I want you to know that it comes from the heart, and I do not say it lightly." She touched his face and murmured with conviction, "I need to thank you."

"For what?" he asked when she hesitated.

She smiled and her eyes glowed, enhanced by a fresh rise of moisture. "For making me a duchess."

A sob of laughter jumped out of Cameron's throat before his heart fully perceived what such words meant to him. He pressed his face to her shoulder and cried, while she held him close and the baby continued to nurse. Then he realized that Erich was apparently finished eating. He'd pulled back and was looking up at Cameron, as if to silently inquire over his emotion.

"Hello, Your Highness," Cameron said to the baby, wiping his face with his hands.

Erich smiled and made a cooing sound, which provoked laughter from his parents.

"He looks like you," Abbi said. "I see it more every day."

"You knew he would."

"Yes, I knew. And so did you."

"You're the one who has the gift of dreams, Abbi girl."

"But you trusted in them enough to make this day possible."

It quickly became common for Abbi to spend some time each day with Cameron at his work, inquiring over the present state of affairs. And she only felt a little nervous when he announced that the Baron Von Schaal would be coming with his family to stay for a few days. He was an older gentleman, whom she recalled meeting at their last social. He'd been a good friend of Cameron's father, and Cameron felt their visit was important for many reasons. Abbi kept busy making preparations, but still managed to get the rest she needed and to take care of her son. The days of entertaining their guests went quickly and without event, until the final evening of their stay.

Abbi sat in the drawing room with her hand in Cameron's while he visited casually with the baron. The baron's wife and two daughters were playing cards with Magda, but Abbi found the political discussions more to her liking.

Feeling the need to nurse Erich, she was about to excuse herself when she heard the baron speak to Cameron, as if she weren't present. "Your wife is as competent as she is beautiful, Your Grace. Never have I seen the halls of Castle Horstberg graced with such a presence. Even your mother, may she rest in peace, for all her beauty, did not compare. I've never seen one so young manage herself so well."

Abbi glanced discreetly at Cameron and caught a warm smile before he turned to the baron, saying, "Yes, she is everything a man in my position could ever hope to find."

"And where _did_ you find her, Your Grace? What delightful distant country did one so clever spring from? You must have traveled far in your years away to find this one, eh?" He nudged Cameron with an elbow, and bellowed a deep laugh.

Cameron's laugh was not so deep, but equally joyful. "Actually, Baron, Her Grace is Horstberg born and bred." He smiled at Abbi and squeezed her hand. "Her own country is in her soul, as it always has been."

"As it should be," the baron added.

Increasingly uncomfortable with being discussed so openly, Abbi acted on her recently acquired knowledge of handling such feelings. _Just say what needs to be said,_ she reminded herself. "You flatter me terribly, Baron. Surely you--"

"Flattery is for fools and hypocrites." The baron leaned across Cameron to take Abbi's hand. "And one day, Your Grace, you will come to accept that you are a woman born to bear a country on your shoulders." He pressed her fingers to his lips, then smiled at her. "Truly precious," he said, and excused himself to hover over the ladies' card game.

Abbi sat for a moment, attempting to digest the baron's words, feeling a little dazed. Then she realized Cameron was watching her, some kind of wonder dancing in his eyes. "What?" she demanded while he scrutinized her, just as the baron had done.

"He's right, you know."

"About what?"

"All of it. Every word he said about you is true, Abbi. And I thank God for the day He led you into my life." His voice lowered as he rubbed a thumb over her chin. "You are the answer to a nation's prayers, Your Grace. And most especially an answer to mine. Before your life is over, Abbi du Woernig, you will be a legend in your own time."

Abbi accused him of teasing her and hurried off to nurse the baby. But as she held little Erich close to her, rocking back and forth in the chair in the nursery, the things Cameron and the baron had said began to settle in. And she was pleased to note that they settled comfortably. She thought it funny to recall the words Georg had said to her when they had been dancing together in the square, the day of Cameron's Reclamation. _There's nothing to be afraid of, Abbi. You have everything you need already in your heart_.

Before undressing for bed, Abbi caught sight of her reflection in the long mirror. She was surprised to realize that she no longer felt like an imposter; she felt like a duchess. It was as if her heart had finally come to accept what others could see--and what she could now see in herself. She knew who she was, who she had been born to be. And she was happy.

On a beautiful warm day, Cameron announced that he was taking Abbi into town. It was her first opportunity to go beyond the castle gates since Erich had been born, and she felt a childlike excitement at the thought of going _anywhere_.

"Should I dress up?" she asked.

"No," Cameron said. "It's just a little shopping."

Abbi chose a simple green day dress that she'd worn long before she became the duchess. And she was pleased to see Cameron appear dressed as casually as he had been on the mountain. He insisted on riding with her, since he knew she was still weak. She'd never felt more happy and secure as she did when he got into the saddle behind her and eased Blaze toward the castle gate. She noted they took no military escort, which was evidence that Horstberg had settled peacefully beyond the upheaval of Cameron's revolution.

Abbi was prepared to be treated with deference and awe when they came into town. But she was completely taken aback by the joy and adulation that greeted her. Cameron dismounted and led Blaze by the reins through the crowds that gathered around them. She was told over and over how well she looked and how good it was to see her. Hands reached out to take hers, and she saw many eyes with tears in them.

Cameron tethered the horse and helped Abbi dismount. She was surprised to look into his eyes and see them brimming with moisture. He quickly blinked it back, but she wondered over its source.

"Is something wrong?" she asked quietly.

Cameron shook his head and smiled. "No," he said, "I was just thinking . . . perhaps you already are."

"What?" she asked as he touched her chin.

He kissed her quickly and explained, "A legend in your own time."

The following morning, Cameron enjoyed the surprised expressions of his advisory council when they arrived at the meeting to find the duchess sitting in the room. They each greeted her appropriately but appeared baffled by her presence. She sat in a chair at the edge of the room, to the right and behind Cameron, while the men were all seated around the huge table. As they all took their places, he tossed a smile over his shoulder and noted that she was busily engaged in sketching something. But not too busy to notice his smile and return it.

As the meeting began, Cameron simply stated, "I have asked Her Grace to join us whenever she chooses. She often has insight that could be very helpful." No one commented, but Cameron sensed their skepticism. And he really didn't care. Just having her in the room made him feel like a better ruler.

About ninety minutes into the discussion, Abbi said, "May I, Your Grace?"

"Of course," he said, and turned toward her.

She stood and looked at every man in the room as she spoke. "You talk about the issue as if only men are affected or to be considered. Do we not have women who are widowed or otherwise on their own, caring for children and attempting to keep food on the table? What of single women who might have elderly parents or others in their care? Don't just assume that the problem encompasses a limited type of people, simply because you have no records to indicate otherwise. Perhaps there are women with needs who have not requested help from the government because they simply do not know it's available, or do not know how to go about the process. That is all. Thank you."

Cameron gave her an approving gaze as she was seated, and he caught the sparkle in her eyes. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said. Then to the council, "It would seem we have a new perspective to consider."

More than an hour later the meeting ended, but Abbi remained seated as the council left the room. Then Captain Dukerk came in to give a standard report of events that the duke should be made aware of.

"Good day, Your Grace," he said to her before he was seated.

"And how are you, Captain?" she asked.

"Very well, thank you."

Georg also stayed in the room, and Abbi listened as the captain gave his report of some criminal activity, as well as a couple of other incidents that Cameron needed to know about. He finished by reporting that a home in Horstberg had been destroyed by fire.

"Was anyone hurt?" Abbi asked.

"The father sustained some burns, trying to get his children out," Lance reported. "But he's being looked after and he'll be fine. The mother and children are shaken, but fine."

"Was it completely destroyed?" Abbi asked.

"Not entirely, but it's likely beyond repair. We have officers and volunteers helping them now, and many in the community as well. Their needs are being met and . . ."

He stopped when Abbi stood and moved toward the door. She opened it and turned with her hand on the knob. "What are you waiting for?" she asked. The three men exchanged baffled glances. She looked at each of them sharply. "A family has lost their home, gentlemen. Certainly we will not be the worse for wear if we devote a little time and energy on their behalf."

Cameron watched his wife leave the room. "Unbelievable," he muttered and followed her, with Georg and Lance on his heels.

Abbi ordered the carriage to make a couple of stops before they were taken to the scene of the disaster, where a woman and four children were carefully sifting through the rubble in search of anything of value that might have survived the fire. They all looked understandably aghast when the ducal coach pulled up and Abbi du Woernig stepped out. Cameron watched in awe as she spoke to this woman and put her arms around her as she wept. Abbi told her they'd brought food and blankets that would be delivered to the home of friends where they would be staying until their own home could be rebuilt. Then the Duchess of Horstberg pushed up her sleeves and started sifting through the soot to help this woman find her wedding ring, which had been left on the bedside table that no longer existed. While he and Lance and Georg joined the men who were clearing out the burned rubble with shovels and buckets, Abbi chatted with the woman and continued searching. He knew they'd found the ring by the way he heard their triumphant laughter. Cameron turned to watch the two women embrace each other, covered in soot. He glanced at Georg, then Lance, before he shook his head and muttered, "She's a legend in her own time, gentlemen."

"Amen to that," Lance said. Georg just chuckled and they got back to work. 
Epilogue

"This could get to be a habit, Georg," Cameron said as they rode toward the castle from the center of town at a slow, easy pace.

"Are you complaining?" Georg chuckled and put the reins into little Han's hands.

"Not in the slightest. In fact, I was considering letting Abbi run the country. You and I could do this sort of thing more often."

"Go, Papa, go," Erich said, bouncing up and down in the saddle he shared with his father.

Cameron chuckled. "Barely two and a half, and he's already giving me orders."

"Get used to it," Georg said.

"With pleasure." Cameron smirked and eased the horse into a gallop, making Erich giggle until they finally halted in the courtyard.

While Cameron had Erich in his care, Abbi thoroughly enjoyed her lengthy ride through the foothills. The summer air was invigorating, and she returned to the castle feeling replenished. A livery servant appeared to take Blaze. "Did you enjoy your ride, Your Grace?" he asked.

"Very much, thank you, Bernard. And how is the new baby?"

"Growing quickly."

"As they do. Give your sweet wife my regards."

"I will, Your Grace. Thank you."

Abbi took a few minutes to loiter in the stables, unbridling Blaze herself and spending a few minutes with him. She chatted comfortably with Bernard while he removed the saddle, then she spent some time with Blizzard as well, enjoying the report that she was responding well to her training and promised to be a great horse, not unlike her father.

Abbi crossed the courtyard and breathed in the summer air before she entered the great hall, where Berta appeared and curtsied. "Has His Grace returned?" Abbi asked.

"He's in the nursery, I believe," Berta answered, and Abbi hurried up the stairs. She heard laughter before she opened the nursery door. Erich was on the hobbyhorse he'd inherited from his father, while Cameron lay back on the floor, pushing the rocker with his booted foot.

"Go, Papa, go!" Erich said just as Cameron looked up to see Abbi there.

"Hello, Your Grace," he said. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did, thank you. But did you? Erich's first day out all alone with his father is quite an event."

"We had a marvelous time," Cameron said. "But I fear he's getting bored with that wooden horse. He prefers the real thing." He winked at Abbi. "Got a little of his mother in him, I believe."

Abbi smiled and bent over Erich to give him a kiss. "Ooh," she said, "sticky face. Papa took you to see Gertrude, didn't he? How many cinnamon buns did you eat?"

The question was lost on Erich, but Cameron said to him, "Show Mama where the cake went."

Erich lifted up his shirt and proudly showed Abbi his belly. Abbi laughed. "The things you teach him. He's plenty silly without your encouraging him."

"He's not as silly as Han," Cameron said, standing to give his wife a proper greeting.

"That's not saying much," Abbi said, and they laughed together.

Cameron kissed her with a warmth that was familiar, and Abbi looked for a moment into his eyes. It was common for her to pause and take account of all that was good in her life. But there were moments, such as this, when her blessings seemed too rich and close to count. And now they were expecting a second child.

Since Erich's birth, Cameron had remained true to his word. He had ushered Horstberg into a state of prosperity unlike anything even the oldest citizens could ever recall. He kept his country safe and strong by keeping his family first. He was a very busy man, but Abbi never felt neglected or unsure of his love for her. It was rare when he didn't share a meal with her, and even more rare for him not to be there to tuck Erich into bed and tell him a story.

Abbi glanced toward her son, rocking on his little horse as if he could take on the world. Then she looked back into Cameron's eyes and knew beyond any doubt that dreams really do come true.

We hope you have enjoyed _Behind the Mask_ by Elizabeth D. Michaels. Please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author's best friend and is much appreciated. For your enjoyment, we have included two bonuses on the next few pages! First, a sneak peek into the second volume of the Horstberg Saga, _A Matter of Honor_. Then a preview of _House Without Lies_ , a contemporary romance novel by Rachel Branton that we think you will also enjoy. You can learn more about Elizabeth D. Michaels and her books on the About the Author page.

**THE END**
Sneak Peek

Prologue

Bavaria--1820

Abbi du Woernig came awake abruptly, gasping for breath. In the darkness she felt her husband's arms come around her and she clung to him, grateful to have Cameron near while she attempted to calm down and think rationally.

"A dream?" he asked close to her ear. He was well aware of her gift of dreams. Throughout her life she'd occasionally experienced dreams that had, without question, been premonitory, as their content had come to pass at some subsequent time. In fact, a dream had led her to Cameron and had put her in a position to help guide him to the determination he needed to take back the country he ruled from hands that were destroying it. To the people of Horstberg, these happenings were practically legend, even if they knew nothing about the dreams that had prompted such miraculous events. For Abbi, they were tender and personal memories, and one of many reasons she had learned to respect the messages of her dreams.

"Yes," she said, "but I've never had such a . . . _horrible_ dream. It was a nightmare, in truth."

"A nightmare?" Cameron asked, his voice low and husky. "Just a bad dream, or does it have meaning, Abbi? How did it make you feel?"

She groaned in response to the question and clung to him more tightly. "I feel as if it will come to pass. I've never felt it any more strongly than I do now."

"Tell me," he prodded gently. "You'll feel better if you talk about it."

"I saw a woman . . . murdered," she said and heard Cameron draw a sharp breath.

"There hasn't been a murder in Horstberg since my first wife was killed," he said, his astonishment evident.

"I know," she said sadly.

"Did you see who it was? Who did it?"

"No. I could only see the victim, and her face was obscured." Tears came with her clarification. "She was dressed simply, like a common woman. As a woman would dress who worked at a pub, perhaps, except that she had a white silk scarf around her neck; a very lovely scarf that did not go at all with her attire. Her hair was dark blond and curly. She was . . . near my age, I would guess, perhaps just a little older--early to mid-twenties. She was stabbed through the heart with a dagger; the dagger had a carved, ivory handle. And that's all I saw."

Cameron pressed his lips into her hair and muttered gently, "It's going to be all right, Abbi."

"How can it be all right for a woman to be murdered? Is this meant to be some kind of warning? Am I expected to protect a woman that I can't even identify?"

Cameron leaned up on one elbow and remained thoughtfully silent. Abbi could feel his compassion and concern, but she knew he didn't have the answers any more than she did. She touched his dark hair and then his face. He put a hand over hers, holding it there a long moment. He then touched her face in return, saying, "Abbi . . . I believe that sometimes . . . there are things that simply happen, and there's nothing we can do to prevent them, however tragic they may be. Perhaps your dream is more for the purpose of being prepared."

Abbi had to admit that felt right, but it didn't erase her anxiety. She had to ask, "For who to be prepared, Cameron? And how?"

"I don't know, Abbi. We just have to go on and be aware, and perhaps the answers will come."

Abbi knew he was right, but she had trouble going back to sleep, and when she did the dream recurred. She rose early and went to the window, looking out over the valley below. She wondered what unsuspecting woman might be destined for this horrible fate. The sun was barely showing itself when Abbi noticed a sleigh being harnessed in the courtyard below. Elsa would be leaving soon and the thought darkened Abbi's mood further. Elsa was her lady's maid and dearest friend, and Abbi wasn't certain how she would manage without Elsa while she traveled far to care for an ailing aunt. They had exchanged farewells before going to bed, but she felt an added sadness as she watched Elsa attempting to say goodbye to her husband before she finally got into the sleigh and it disappeared through the castle gate.

Abbi stood as she was until the sun came up, and she couldn't deny that it was a beautiful day. It had been snowing almost nonstop for days, but now the sun had appeared and the world was brilliantly white. If only she could free herself from her heavy thoughts. Thinking it through, she knew that she _had_ to free herself of them in order to do all that was required of her. If she went about her day melancholy and distracted, people would be concerned and question her. And she had no desire to discuss her feelings with anyone except her husband.

Abbi went to the wardrobe to find an appropriate dress. What she needed was a distraction, and getting started on her Christmas shopping seemed the perfect way to go about it.

Chapter One

DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

Sunlight peered tenuously over the snow-covered peaks standing to the east of Castle Horstberg. The sky was brilliantly clear, a stark contrast to the heavy clouds that had steadily dumped snow for the last three days. Georg Heinrich eased his wife a little closer to his side and walked sullenly across the castle courtyard toward the waiting sleigh, harnessed to four bays. Georg and Elsa stood silently facing each other while servants tightened down the baggage and rechecked the harnessing to be certain all was in order. Georg became lost in Elsa's eyes until an officer's voice startled him.

"I believe we're ready to go, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said absently. Then to Elsa, "I've been dreading this moment."

"So have I," she said and gave him a lingering kiss. "But the time will go quickly. You'll see. I'll be back before Christmas. I promise."

"Yes, well. Christmas is more than seven weeks away. It seems like an eternity, in my opinion."

Elsa managed a smile, but he saw her chin quiver and knew she was trying to be brave. He knew she didn't really want to go, but her aunt needed her. They weren't close, but this woman was Elsa's only remaining relative. She strongly valued the family tie and felt compelled to answer the plea. This aunt had close friends who were caring for her through a lengthy illness, but they had some other pressing matters to attend to and had written to ask if Elsa could come and stay just long enough to give them the time they needed. Georg had wanted desperately to go with her, but working as the duke's highest advisor was especially demanding at the moment, and he simply couldn't get away. He'd made every possible arrangement to see that she would be well cared for, but he still couldn't help being concerned. And oh, how he was going to miss her!

"You've got that worried look again," Elsa said. "Now stop that. Gertie will keep me company, and the lieutenant will take very good care of us."

Georg glanced briefly to Lieutenant Joerger standing nearby. He was competent and trustworthy, and Georg knew he was the perfect escort for Elsa and her friend. But he just hated the thought of being away from her at all. The Black Forest seemed terribly far away.

When it became evident that everyone was ready and waiting discreetly for him to complete his goodbyes, Georg took Elsa's delicate shoulders into his hands, though he could barely feel them through her heavy cloak. He pressed his mouth over hers as if he might never have the chance again, oblivious to being observed.

"I love you," he murmured, trying not to think that he'd never been away from her for more than a day or two since they'd been married nearly four years ago.

"And I love you," she replied in a shaky voice. He saw tears brim in her eyes, but she smiled them away--at least for the moment. He knew she'd be crying once the sleigh pulled away, and so would he. "You take good care of Han, now. Tell him every day that I love him and I miss him."

"I will," he promised and kissed her once more before he forced himself to help her into the waiting sleigh next to Gertie, who was already seated beneath a heavy quilt. She eased a portion of it over Elsa's lap just as the lieutenant took a seat next to the driver and the sleigh moved forward. Elsa turned back, pressing a gloved hand over her lips and waving. Georg returned the gesture and stood in the cold until the sleigh had disappeared through the high castle gate and slipped down the hill.

He glanced skyward and pushed back his emotion as the biting cold forced him to return quickly to his apartment in the servants' housing to one side of the courtyard. He hurried inside and up the stairs where he found three-year-old Han still sleeping soundly. He paused a few minutes just to watch his son and ponder how good their life was together. Then he gently woke him, holding him until he became coherent enough to get dressed. Once Han was bundled up for the cold, Georg carried him across the courtyard and through the main entrance of the castle. Even though Han's mother was gone, the routine was familiar. Each day, while Elsa assisted the duchess as a lady's maid and Georg worked with the duke, Han played in the nursery with Erich, who was younger than Han by only a matter of months, and destined to be the next Duke of Horstberg.

They had only been in the nursery a few minutes when the duke and duchess arrived with their young son, who would be turning three in a few months. Little Erich and Han were playing together as quickly as Erich's father set him down.

"Good morning, Georg," Abbi du Woernig said brightly, pressing the standard kiss to his cheek. They'd been friends since childhood, and their relationship now was warm and comfortable.

"Good morning, Your Grace," he replied and Abbi laughed softly.

"We're in the nursery, Georg. Formalities are really not necessary."

Georg managed a faint smile then became distracted by his thoughts until Cameron du Woernig slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "I take it Elsa's on her way," he said, "unless there's some other reason you've got that pathetic look on your face."

"How perceptive you are," Georg said with subtle sarcasm. "I'd wager you'd look a whole lot worse if Abbi were off for nearly two months."

Cameron glanced toward his wife, then back to Georg. "You've got me there, my friend. A day without Abbi is difficult to bear."

Abbi tossed her husband a warm smile, saying, "Then you'd do well to be empathetic, my dear. I already miss Elsa myself. I'm certain the weeks will drag for Georg."

Again Georg managed a weak smile, and he was grateful when Cameron shifted the conversation by bringing up a matter of business that would be on the day's agenda.

While Abbi watched her young son playing with Han, her mind was drawn against her will to the horrid images of her dreams. She forced her thoughts elsewhere by focusing on the boys playing and their fathers sitting close together, talking comfortably. Han was a childlike miniature of his father, with fluffy blond hair and gentle features. Erich too was the spitting image of his father, except that he had inherited Abbi's red, curly hair as opposed to his father's, which was dark and wavy. Abbi's thoughts guided her eyes to Cameron. Her husband typically wore his hair combed back off his face and it hung to the bottom of his neck. He had an innate regal air about him that could not be diminished by the way he often dressed so casually and behaved, with no effort at all, like a common man. He just looked like a duke without even trying, which Abbi found intriguing simply for the fact that she had known him for so long before she'd realized that noble blood flowed in his veins.

Breakfast was brought into the nursery for the children and Abbi watched how naturally Cameron and Georg helped their sons with the meal while they continued to visit intermittently. Cameron had once declared that he would keep his country strong by keeping his family first, and she loved him all the more for the way he had held to that promise. The citizens of Horstberg would likely be surprised to see their ruler cutting his son's food into bite-sized pieces while the nanny waited nearby for any order he might give her. But Cameron valued purposeful interaction with his son at every possible opportunity, and even though he was a very busy man, he took his time in the nursery very seriously. He talked with Erich for a few minutes while the child ate, then he and Georg stood side by side, continuing their conversation while the boys giggled and tried to kick each other under the table. The nanny just observed and smiled. Abbi did the same, loving the way that Erich and Han were being raised together, especially in light of the close relationship shared by their fathers. The two men together were a striking contrast in coloring and features but similar in build and stature--tall and thoroughly masculine--and kindred spirits to the core. Their strengths and weaknesses balanced each other richly, and they were well practiced at translating their unified strength into the running of a country.

Georg and Cameron stayed in the nursery until their sons had eaten breakfast and were off playing together as if they were brothers. Abbi was visiting with the nanny when Cameron interrupted their conversation to kiss his wife.

"You take care now, my love," he said, briefly setting a hand to her well-rounded belly. The baby was due a few weeks after Christmas.

"I hope your day goes well," she said and kissed Cameron again before he and Georg left the room to get an hour's work in before breakfast was served for the adults.

After breakfast Abbi sat in front of her mirror while Bruna put the finishing touches on her hair. Caring for the duchess's rich, red curly hair was an envied task among the servants, and it was usually Elsa who saw to it. But in Elsa's absence, Bruna always proved capable and pleasant.

"That looks very fine," Abbi declared once she was finished. She pinned a hat into place that went well with the rust-colored dress she wore, and hurried down the stairs, knocking lightly at the door of the duke's office.

"You're looking as lovely as ever, Your Grace," one of the officers flanking the door remarked.

"You're too kind," she said just before Cameron's voice called for her to enter. The officer smiled and opened the door for Abbi, but it was evident when she stepped in that she had interrupted something. "Oh, I'm sorry," she murmured, glancing quickly at each of the men seated in the room. Along with Cameron and Georg, there was Lance Dukerk, who was the Captain of the Guard. Also present were three of his highest officers. She focused her attention on her husband as he came to his feet and she added, "I just wanted to tell you that I'm going into town now and--"

"What for?" Cameron asked, moving around the desk to take her hand, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

"I need to get some Christmas gifts. I--"

"Christmas is more than seven weeks away," Cameron protested gently.

"Don't I know it," Georg said in a surly voice.

Captain Dukerk laughed and spoke in his deep voice. "If he's going to be in this kind of a mood until his wife returns, we should all be praying the time goes quickly, indeed."

Cameron glanced wryly toward the captain then turned his focus back to Abbi. "I know when Christmas is," she said in response to his comment. "And I can assure you that I will not feel like going anywhere at all long before it arrives. At the moment, I feel great and the weather is good. And I'm going shopping."

"Yes, Your Grace," Cameron said facetiously, then he turned more toward the men and added, "I know better than to stand in Her Grace's way when she's set her mind to something."

"Indeed," the captain sniggered.

"Who are you going with?" Cameron asked his wife. "If Elsa's not here, then . . ."

"I'm perfectly capable of managing just fine. The carriage is waiting and--"

"I'm not having you go into town alone," Cameron insisted.

"I won't be alone. The driver and--"

"And is the driver actually going _shopping_ with you, or--"

"I think I can manage fine on my own."

"You're seven months pregnant. And I'm not letting you go _anywhere_ alone."

"Are you offering to come along?" she asked with a teasing smile, knowing there was far too much work for him and Georg to justify time off for shopping. She could also understand Cameron's concern, since Erich's birth had come with some complications that had nearly cost Abbi her life. They were both thrilled with the prospect of having another child, but neither of them dared admit aloud that the ordeal ahead was frightening.

"I wish I could," he said, and she knew he meant it. "But the captain won't be needed here for quite some time," he added as if he were discussing some great military maneuver. "He would be happy to escort you, I'm certain."

Lance Dukerk looked up from some papers he was studying that were spread out on the table. "What was that?" he asked.

"We can finish here," Cameron said. "I'd like you to escort Her Grace into town. See that she doesn't overdo it."

Abbi opened her mouth to protest, but the captain grinned and spouted with enthusiasm, "I'd love to."

"Really, Captain," Abbi said, "I don't think that you should worry about . . . Surely you have more important things to do and . . ."

"Nothing so important," Lance said, offering his arm. He winked at her and nodded toward the duke. "A pleasant duty, Your Grace."

"Not too pleasant, I trust," Cameron said with a little smirk. He gave Abbi a brief kiss then pointed a finger at the captain. "Mind your manners, Captain, or I'll have you sweeping out cells in the keep."

"Yes, Your Grace," Lance said with mock fear before escorting Abbi from the room.

"And how are you feeling?" Lance asked Abbi as they moved down the long hall toward the main entrance.

"Very well, thank you. And you?"

"I'm fine as always. Thank you, Your Grace."

Abbi smiled up at him as he helped her with her cloak and they stepped out into the cold. It was highly common for Captain Dukerk to escort the duchess whenever such a thing was necessary. The duke trusted him implicitly, which trust had been proven in the past through incidents that had drawn them all close together, almost like family. In fact, Lance's sister, Gwen, had been Cameron du Woernig's first wife. Several years earlier, she'd been murdered by Cameron's younger brother, Nikolaus, who had attempted to frame Cameron for the crime. Cameron had gone into hiding for a period of four years, and the circumstances which had proven Nikolaus's guilt and restored the throne of Horstberg to Cameron had deeply involved Abbi, as well as Georg--and Lance Dukerk. The story of how it had all come together was well known among the people of Horstberg, but Lance Dukerk was one of the few people who fully understood what they had gone through to get where they were now. Neither of them could ever forget that they had come within a breath of being married to each other, and if Cameron had not survived the precarious game that had given him back his country, Abbi would this day be _Mrs._ Lance Dukerk.

In the carriage, Abbi turned away from the window to notice Lance watching her, an almost dreamy gaze in his eyes. Even though his features and coloring could be called average, he had a smile that glowed and a commanding presence that suited his position. Abbi turned back to the window, saying curtly, "If you don't stop looking at me that way, Captain, I'll find someone else to escort me."

He cleared his throat loudly and turned away, embarrassed. "Forgive me, Your Grace," he said. "It's just that . . . you seem to grow more beautiful every year."

"I'm quite pregnant, if you hadn't noticed. I've rarely felt less beautiful."

"That's a matter of opinion, I suppose."

"Well, your compliment is appreciated, but I think you should be paying them to other ladies-- _unmarried_ ladies."

Again he seemed embarrassed. "I didn't mean anything inappropriate, Abbi," he said. It wasn't unusual for them to be less formal when they weren't in public.

"I know that," she replied. "And Cameron knows it too, or he wouldn't be sending you to look out for me."

"Why _does_ he send me?" Lance asked.

"You know the answer to that question more than anyone."

"I was just wondering if the answer had changed."

Abbi looked directly at him and fought the urge to give some witty response that might lighten the mood. His question was intently serious. It deserved an equivalent answer. "He knows you would defend me with your life if it became necessary."

"Gladly," he said.

"Then it seems the answer hasn't changed."

"But I'm not so sure that most men wouldn't. You just have a way of making people adore you . . . without even trying."

"Now you're flattering me, Captain."

"I don't use flattery and you know it. I'm well aware of the way people regard you. I'm just one of many who would lay down in the mud to prevent you from getting your feet dirty."

"So you tell me." She laughed softly. "But I'm not certain I believe it." A moment later she said, "You're looking at me that way again."

"What way?"

"The way you used to look at me when we were engaged to be married."

Lance laughed softly. "There's no need for concern, Your Grace. I'm well aware that Cameron's love for you is something I could never compete with, and the vows you share with him are not something I take lightly, I can assure you. It's just that . . . I'm envious."

Abbi shifted uncomfortably, wondering how they'd gotten into this conversation. "Lance, you really shouldn't be saying such things; not after all this time. Not when--"

"No, you misunderstand me. I can assure you that I'm feeling nothing inappropriate, Abbi. It's just that . . . I'm envious of the way Cameron feels about you. I want to feel that way about a woman."

Abbi relaxed. "There have been many women vying for your attention these last few years."

"Yes," he said with a sour voice, "women who are enchanted by my uniform and my position. Shallow, flighty women, all of them."

"There's got to be someone out there who could find a way into your heart."

"Do you really believe that, Abbi? Is there really a special someone for everyone?"

"I'd like to believe that. You're a good man, Lance. You deserve to be happy."

The carriage halted at the edge of the square and Lance helped Abbi step out. He gave the driver instructions and escorted the duchess into the square where she eagerly began her search for the perfect gifts for those she loved and cared for. An hour into their shopping, they sat together on a bench at the edge of the square so that Abbi could rest her back. Lance relinquished his armload of packages and sat beside her.

Abbi hated the way she found herself searching in the crowds for women who fit the profile she had seen in her dream. She wanted to find every woman with dark blond hair and look into their eyes and tell them to be careful. When anxiety began to overtake her, she forced a distraction into her mind.

"Don't you find it a little demeaning for the Captain of the Guard to be carrying about the duchess's packages?" Abbi asked.

Lance laughed. "Not in the slightest. I can assure you I get plenty of opportunities to explore other more masculine aspects of my calling. Such things as this are a pleasure."

"So," Abbi asked, "what is it you're looking for in a woman?"

"I want someone who needs me--I mean, really needs me."

"A damsel in distress, then?"

"Perhaps," he laughed, "but . . . not necessarily. I mean . . . I just want someone who will allow me to care for her, and will do the same for me. I want a woman who loves me for who I am, not what I am. No pretenses. And . . . well, I just want to feel the way I know Cameron feels when you walk into a room."

"Have you ever felt that way?"

"No, I don't believe so. But when I feel it, I'm certain I'll know."

Abbi smiled. "I'm certain you will. And when you find this great lady, I expect to be one of the first to know."

"Oh, you will be," he said and came to his feet. They bought some lunch from one of the vendors and took it back to the carriage to share with the driver, who was waiting with a good book. After eating, they shopped a while longer, then set out for the castle, the seats piled with packages.

"A successful endeavor," Lance commented, eying all that Abbi had acquired.

"Yes, I believe so," she said. They talked casually of the happenings of Horstberg, which Abbi kept well versed on. She knew every political maneuver taking place, and was well aware of the problems and struggles of their little country.

The moment Lance stepped down from the carriage, an officer approached him, clearly agitated. "Good, you're here," he said. "I was about to send someone to get you."

"Has war been declared or something?" Lance asked, knowing his men were trained well enough to handle practically anything without him.

"No, sir. It's . . . a woman, sir."

"A woman?" Lance laughed as he helped Abbi step down.

"Yes, sir," the officer continued, seeming even more flustered. "She arrived a couple of hours ago, insisting that she see the duke personally."

Lance exchanged a comical glance with Abbi. "And surely you told her that no one sees the duke personally under such circumstances."

"Yes, sir, I did."

"Then why is she still here?"

"Well, she has nowhere to go, sir. She just arrived in Horstberg and . . . well, I think you should talk to her yourself. Then you'll understand."

"Very well," Lance said and turned to tell the duchess goodbye.

But she firmly said, "I'm coming with you."

"Very well, Your Grace. Perhaps this calls for a lady's touch."

"Perhaps it does," she said, and they followed the officer into the area of the keep where the captain's offices were located. The officer opened the door of a small room used for interrogation where a woman came immediately to her feet, along with a young girl who appeared to be about four or five years old.

"This is Captain Dukerk, madame," the officer said. "You may address your problem with him."

"Thank you," the woman said and the officer slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Abbi managed to keep from gasping when she saw this woman. She told herself not to overreact. Simply because she had the same type of hair that Abbi had seen in her dream did not necessarily mean a thing. She forced her heart to slow down and allowed Lance to do his business.

Lance took a moment to absorb this woman, while the woman absorbed Abbi du Woernig, who was standing at his side. She had a typical awe-struck expression that came over most people when they first got a good look at the Duchess of Horstberg. Abbi just had a way of affecting people that was difficult to describe.

The woman and child were both dressed poorly, especially considering the weather. Their faces were pinched with stark evidence of cold and hunger. The woman looked to be in her middle twenties. Her hair appeared to be dark blond and curly, although most of it was covered with a gray, wool scarf that had obviously been through some difficult times. The child had dark hair and brows, a stark contrast to her pale skin. Lance didn't know what the problem was exactly, but he asked the first thing that came to mind. "Have they given you anything to eat?"

The woman looked surprised but answered in a quiet voice, "Yes, thank you. We just enjoyed a fine meal while we were waiting."

"Good. It would seem my men actually know what they're doing occasionally. Now, what can I help you with?"

"I need to see the duke, right away."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Mrs. . . . uh . . . I didn't get your name."

"Rader," she stated. "Nadine Rader."

"Well, Mrs. Rader, I'm afraid that seeing the duke is not possible. But if you would like to discuss the problem with me, I am able to act on his behalf and I'm certain we can take care of whatever--"

"No," she snapped, "you don't understand. I have come many miles to see him. I must talk to the duke . . . personally!"

Lance exchanged a discreet glance with Abbi before he said gently, "Mrs. Rader, if you will tell me what the problem is, I will determine whether or not it warrants the duke's personal attention. He is a very busy man and--"

"He will see _me,"_ she said firmly.

"And how is that?" Lance was firm but kind.

A long minute of silence passed while Lance's frustration became undermined by a certain intrigue. It was easy to feel sorry for her, not to mention, curious. When she didn't answer, Lance stated the established policy, "If you would like to write down your name and request, I can see about getting you an appointment sometime next week and--"

"No," she interrupted again, but this time her voice cracked. "That's impossible."

"And why is that?" Lance asked.

Again only silence responded until Abbi stepped forward and urged the woman to sit down. "Mrs. Rader," Abbi said, sitting close beside her, "we can't help you if we don't know the problem. Please . . . just tell us why it's impossible."

Nadine Rader looked into Abbi's compassionate eyes and her voice broke as she said, "We have nowhere to go. We have nothing. What little we had was sold or stolen through the journey. We barely made it here alive. If I could just see the duke, everything would be all right."

Abbi glanced toward Lance who asked, "And why is that, Mrs. Rader?" When she didn't answer, he stated, "We can provide you with some food and clothing and a place to stay until other arrangements can be made. But seeing His Grace is not so easy. And until you tell me _why_ you want to see him, I'm not even going to consider it an option."

Lance and Abbi both waited while Mrs. Rader was clearly gathering her courage. She came to her feet and drew back her shoulders. With a shaky voice she muttered quietly, "I need to see His Grace because . . . this is his child."

Lance shot his eyes toward Abbi and they exchanged a silent understanding. _Oh, not another one,_ he could almost hear her saying. But they kept quiet and turned toward Mrs. Rader, attempting to handle this with compassion.

"Captain," Abbi said firmly, "I think it would be a good idea for Mrs. Rader to see the duke, right away. I'm certain I can arrange it."

"Yes, of course," Lance said as Abbi turned to leave the room.

"Who is that?" Mrs. Rader asked the captain.

"That would be the Duchess of Horstberg." At her questioning gaze he clarified, "The duke's wife."

Mrs. Rader gasped just before she fainted, falling into the captain's arms.

END OF SAMPLE. If you would like to purchase _A Matter of Honor_ , please click here. Or continue to the next page to read a preview of _House Without Lies_ , a contemporary romance novel by Rachel Branton that we think you will also enjoy. You can learn more about Elizabeth D. Michaels and her books on the About the Author page..
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Chapter One

I looked both ways as I headed into the back alley behind the store, not because I was embarrassed, but because I didn't want to get Payden in trouble for slipping out to meet me there. The boy was going to a lot of effort to help me, and my runaway girls always needed the food he donated. Unfortunately, I didn't have my car today, and I was already balancing two bags of groceries I'd purchased when I'd gone inside the store to signal Payden that I was here. So whatever he had for us would make my walk home that much more difficult.

He was already outside in the alley, waiting at the back door by the green Dumpster, his round, heavily-freckled face grinning as always. The roundness made him look younger than his seventeen years, and rather innocent.

"Hey, Lily," he greeted me, shifting the large box in his arms so he could give a friendly wave. His blue apron was splashed with something that had turned it purple, and the sagging material made him look chubby. He puffed a breath upward to blow away the straight-cut brown hair that hung like a shield over his brown eyes.

"Hey, Payden." I hooked the grocery bags over my wrists and pushed them toward my elbows, freeing up my hands so I could take the box from him. "Thank you so much."

"Got bread, bagels, muffins, and cookies today. Should last if you freeze them."

I could also see dented cans, a few vegetables that would make a fabulous soup, and a gallon of expiring milk. "This is great. Are you sure you won't get into trouble? That other clerk in there was looking at me kind of strange."

He shrugged. "Makes no sense to throw it in the trash if you're right here." He laughed. "I can always say you wrestled me for it." His smile dimmed slightly, and he waited only a second to add, "How is she?"

"Elsie's doing great. Really. The bruising is almost gone. I'll try to bring her next time, if she'll come."

His smile returned. "Then she didn't run away again."

"Nope. She still thinks whoever she's running from is looking for her, but no one's tracked her down yet. Plus, she's worried child services will find her and make her go back."

He folded his arms, looking for all the world as if he wanted to do battle for her. The expression sat oddly on his young face. "They probably would. She's better off with you."

If going back to her family or staying with me were the only options, I was the better choice--one glance at the picture I'd taken of Elsie after finding her in this very alley three weeks ago was proof of that.

I'd heard Elsie's pitiful sobs from the main street and hurried to find her collapsed on the ground near the Dumpster, which she'd apparently been trying to open to find food. Her numerous cuts were old, but not healing, and a deep black and green bruise mottled most of her feverish face. When I'd lifted Elsie up, her battered ribs showed through a gaping rip in her shirt.

That's when Payden had found us and given me that first box of expired groceries. He was a kindred spirit. Too bad he wasn't five years older. But then, even men my age seemed too young these days. All they cared about was partying, scraping by in their university courses, and more partying.

"Thanks again." I didn't tell him Elsie hadn't gone outside at all since last week when our neighbor on the second floor had seen her in the stairwell and questioned her about where she lived. Knowing would only make Payden feel bad, and it wasn't something he could change.

"You're welcome." He turned to go inside but hesitated at the door. "Hey, you should really talk to my cousin. I told you he's working at a place here in Phoenix that helps troubled kids. Teen Remake, or something. He's got connections, you know? He's dropping some stuff off for me soon. If you wait just a minute, I could introduce you."

"I don't think so. I can't betray Elsie's trust. She's been through enough." I could probably be charged for harboring a minor, and if my own family found out, I suspected they would come down on the side of the law. Well, all but my sister, Tessa, who had helped me out more than once in the past few months. Anyway, it wasn't likely Payden's cousin could do anything more than I could about helping Elsie.

"Think about it," Payden urged.

"I will."

I trudged up the alley, tripping once on an old tire someone had left in the way but catching myself before I fell. Lugging the groceries all the way back to my apartment on foot wasn't something I was looking forward to. Saffron, the oldest of the runaways who lived with me, had chosen a rotten day to borrow my car, but her job interview this morning had to come first.

Cars honked and whizzed past as I reached the main street. Downtown Phoenix was never quiet, it seemed, and today was particularly busy. The air already felt hot and dry on my face.

"Lily!"

I turned at the voice and saw Payden, but this time he stood in the front doorway of the small grocery store. A man I'd never seen before was with him, and I hoped Payden wasn't in trouble for helping me. Would they take back the groceries?

As I watched, the man pushed past Payden and stepped out onto the wide sidewalk. My heart stopped. He was a good two heads taller than Payden and handsome enough that I remembered I wasn't wearing makeup, and that my messy ponytail had to be more mess than ponytail.

"My cousin's going to help you get those to your car," Payden said, nodding encouragingly. He jerked his head to the side, as if listening to someone from behind him. "Gotta go."

The relief inside me that Payden wasn't in trouble was canceled out by the amused smile on the man's face. Without introducing himself, he reached for the box. "So, where's your car?"

His black hair was short except on top in the front, where it partially waved, arching up and then down in a way that I found compelling. His eyes, also dark, spoke of something exotic. Up close, not even one freckle marred his face, but there was a bit of a five o'clock shadow, as if he'd missed shaving today.

This was Payden's cousin? If I'd known he was this attractive, I might have hit him up for help a long time ago.

I kept hold of the box. "I didn't bring it. Sorry. But it's okay. I don't need help."

"I don't mind walking to your place. Where do you live?" He tugged again gently on the box, his bronzed arms brushing mine. I couldn't tell if his skin color came from heredity or the sun.

"Are you sure you're Payden's cousin? Because you don't look like him."

He laughed, a sound that warmed me clear through to my stomach. "People say that a lot. But we are cousins--our mothers are sisters. I just have a bit more variety in my gene pool from my dad's side."

Definitely a combination that was working for him. "Well, I'm used to carrying the boxes Payden gives me. But thank you."

He lifted the box from my arms anyway. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't walk you home?"

"Maybe you just want to know where I live."

Again the laugh. "Actually, I do want to know. That way I'll know where to pick you up when we go out."

_When we go out?_ A thousand butterflies took flight in my stomach. "Who said I'm going out with you?"

He gave me a slow grin that only increased my heartbeat. "You'll come around. Now where are we going?"

All at once, I wanted to let him help. I'd been doing this alone for so long, and I couldn't recall when I'd last been on a date--or flirted with a guy. Certainly not in the past six months.

"Okay," I said. Letting this gorgeous stranger carry a box ten blocks wasn't going to hurt either of us. "But keep up. I have stuff to do. And my roommates are waiting for me."

"Roommates, huh?"

"I have a few."

Six to be exact. Girls living on the street seemed to have some kind of internal radar where I was concerned. They appeared in my vicinity, obviously in need, and I couldn't help taking them home. Elsie, our newest addition, had been the last straw for my old roommates, but I was still trying to see getting kicked out of their apartment as a good thing. My new place was a dump, but at least the girls didn't have to hide in my room or sneak in only at night to sleep. And there were no complaints about them stealing food.

"So, have you lived here long?" I asked him.

"Five years. I came for school, but I love it here and I don't think I'll ever leave. I'm from Tucson originally. You?"

"Flagstaff. I've been here for most of three years. It's a nice place--well, not downtown so much but the city in general." I wouldn't tell him what I liked best was being away from Flagstaff and my parents. "Is your whole family here?"

"Just Payden and his mom. His dad died a few years back. That's one of the reasons I moved here, to help them out. My family's still in Tucson. I have three brothers and two sisters."

"That many?"

He laughed again, and it made me smile just to hear it. "Yeah. You have any?"

"One sister. She's here, too. Across town." Tessa didn't know I'd moved, and I was a little embarrassed to tell her. She'd warned me it would happen, but how could I have left Elsie in the street?

No, Tessa would understand, and she'd volunteer to help, if I needed her. She managed the swing shift at Crawford Cereals, our dad's factory, so our hours overlapped, and it would be easy enough to pull her aside and tell her there. If my parents got wind of it, however, there would be repercussions. They'd wanted me to come home after the college semester ended and, when I'd stayed, had barely let me continue my part-time job at the factory.

They didn't know about the girls, or that I was their only support. Now that school was out, I was thinking about finding a second job. The twenty hours at the factory weren't cutting it, and I'd already used much of my savings account.

Beside me, Payden's cousin slowed. "Hey, where'd you go?"

I refocused on him. "Sorry. Just thinking about something I have to do later." Then before he could probe further, I said, "I don't even know your name. But I can keep calling you Payden's cousin, if you want."

"If I tell you, will you go out with me?"

"If you don't tell me, I won't go out with you."

"That's not exactly a yes."

"Nope." I gave him a slow grin.

"Okay, my name is Mario Perez."

An unexpected laugh burst through me. He didn't look like a Mario Perez. "Mario? You mean like the game?"

"No way, you play video games?"

"Of course I play video games." Games were one way to connect with the girls, so I learned to play, and sometimes I even enjoyed it.

"Well, that's really my name. I'm named after my grandfather who came from Spain."

Europe. So that explained the olive skin and exotic features. "You don't look like a Mario." I studied him more closely. In the video game world, Mario was short and, well, a cartoon.

"My middle name is Jameson," he offered. "But only my mom and my aunt call me that. Everyone else calls me Mario."

"Okay. I'm sure there's a story behind that."

He grinned, and once more that strange heat curled through my belly. If he asked me to go out again, I was definitely saying yes.

"My mother named me, but she changed her mind about calling me Mario after the birth certificate was filed and began using my middle name instead. But my dad said that if Jameson was the name she'd wanted, she should have put it first." He laughed. "It's become a friendly little tug-of-war between them. Basically, I've learned to answer to just about anything."

"Sounds fun," I lied. Not if their wars were anything like the ones my parents waged. Those always sent both Tessa and me running for cover. "You do look more like a Jameson to me. But maybe I'd better pick something safer. Like MJ." I regretted the words the minute they escaped my lips because MJ didn't fit him at all.

His grin grew wider. "A nickname. Does that mean you'll go out with me?"

I was prevented from responding as a motorcycle roared by, and when I could hear again, the moment had passed. I jerked my head toward the four-story apartment complex. "That's where I live. I can take it from here."

"I don't mind walking you to your door."

As long as it was only to the door. With seven of us crammed into the one-bedroom apartment, I had no idea what to expect of the inside. I'd given the girls chores, but this early most of them would still be in bed, except Saffron, who was at her job interview, and the two sisters I had guardianship over, who were in school.

"It's on the fourth floor," I warned, "and there's no elevator."

"Of course there isn't."

He'd obviously taken in the peeling paint, the planter boxes filled with weeds, and the litter on the ground. But it was cheap, and the owners didn't mind the girls "visiting" me. Or at least as long as we didn't make too much noise or come in large groups around the other tenants. Mostly, the place was so run down that they were eager to accept just about anyone.

I hurried up the four flights of open stairs, and Jameson wasn't puffing hard as he kept up. That was a good sign. But the closer we got to my apartment, the more worried I became. I had a lot to hide, and maybe thinking I could date like a normal person was crazy.

Why did Jameson have to be so incredibly yummy?

He followed me down the inner corridor, where I paused in front of my door. "This is it," I announced.

He waited expectantly, but there was no way he was carrying that box inside, not when I could guess what was waiting. And I'd have little time to clean before I rushed to my four-hour shift at the factory this afternoon.

A tiny tendril of moisture curled down from Jameson's temple, and even that was sexy. His dark eyes met mine. "So, Lily, will you go out with me? Payden says you're my type."

The door in front of us whooshed open, revealing Halla, a sixteen-year-old with blond hair so short she reminded me of a marine. She also had a penchant for army camouflage and tank tops, which added to the impression. Halla was tiny, though, mostly from malnutrition, so her tough act didn't carry much weight, but we were working on getting her what she needed.

"Elsie's on the roof again!" Halla blurted excitedly. "She was just sitting out there on the balcony and then bang, up she went."

"Oh, no." I darted a worried glance at Jameson. Forget about yummy or dating; I wished he'd leave.

Another face appeared behind Halla. This time a tall black girl who was only fourteen but looked at least eighteen. Ruth had shoulder-length hair that I usually plaited in tiny, meticulous braids, although today it was a frizzy mess under a baseball cap. She was model gorgeous, but she always covered her lithe figure in too-large clothes to hide any trace of femininity. After what she'd been through, I didn't blame her.

"I told you we shouldn't let anyone up there, even with you," Ruth said. "Elsie thinks none of the rules apply to her."

She had it wrong. I was pretty sure I knew what had spooked Elsie. I pushed a sack at each girl and reached for the box. "Sorry," I told Jameson. "Gotta go."

His eyes went from me to the girls and back. "You need some help?"

"No. Elsie will only get hurt if she thinks you're here for her."

"Here for her? Why, what's she done?" A crease marred his forehead.

Great. I'd known his following me home like a Boy Scout was a bad idea. I yanked the box from his unwilling arms and shoved it at Ruth. "Nothing. Goodbye, Jameson. And thanks." I pushed past the girls and entered the apartment, leaving Ruth to get rid of him. She was a protective mother hen, and she'd know his presence here was dangerous.

"So no nickname?" he called after me.

I didn't answer. What had I been thinking? Any kind of a romantic relationship now was completely out of the question. I had to think of Elsie and the other girls. Two of them had already tried to kill themselves.

The balcony ran the length of our apartment, which meant the living room and the bedroom, but the ladder that led to the fire escape and up onto the roof was located on the living room side. I stepped over blankets and backpacks and other strewn belongings on my way across the tiny living room, where a lump told me one of the girls was still sleeping. I kept walking a few paces until it dawned on me that I had no idea who the lump might be. Elsie was on the roof, Saffron at her interview, Ruth and Halla were here, and the other two were in school. I shook my head. I'd have to deal with whoever it was later.

It was my fault Elsie was on the roof. One night I'd climbed up in search of privacy, and when a couple of the girls had come looking for me, I'd answered their calls. Before long, all of us were up there.

Now it had become almost a nightly ritual for whichever girls were home, a place where we could talk in the dark with only the stars as witnesses. I'd learned more about their lives there than anywhere else. Except for Elsie, who never talked but would sometimes reach out and clutch my hand.

The rules were that no one could go up without me because while the roof was large and barely slanted, we were on the fourth floor and some of the girls were still recovering from substance abuse. A couple of them also had quick tempers or were big jokers and as of yet didn't understand things like gravity and permanent consequences.

I jumped on the chair and climbed the ladder, easing over the edge on my hands and knees for a few feet until I reached the almost flat part and could walk upright. Elsie wasn't in plain view, but I found her hiding behind several air conditioning units that were already working overtime. Her forehead was pressed to her bare knees, and her long hair splayed outward in a wild, tangled mess, looking dark against her pale skin.

"Hey," I said, sliding into the empty space next to her.

She looked past me before replying, her brown eyes deep and unrevealing. "Is he looking for me?" The throaty words were full of dread.

"Oh, honey. No. Never."

She gave a little sob and pushed into my arms. At twelve, she was the youngest of the girls, and with how beaten she'd been when she arrived, the rest of us felt protective toward her--a good thing, or Halla and Ruth wouldn't have even noticed she was on the roof.

"Who is he?" she said after a few moments.

"Payden's cousin. He helped me bring home some groceries."

The remaining tautness in her body eased. "Good."

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

Elsie pulled away and nodded. "Yesterday when everyone was gone, I was on the balcony and I saw a little cat out in the parking lot. I thought I'd just go down to pet him for a minute and see if he was hungry, but that guy downstairs saw me and followed me, so I ran around the block and snuck back in." Elsie's teeth clamped down on her lips. "It was like he knew something and wanted to ask me more questions." Tears filled her eyes, spilling over when she blinked. "I won't go back. I'd jump off this roof before I'd go back."

Terror clutched at my chest. "No, Elsie. That's not going to happen. We'll find a way. Once I graduate, it'll be different. You'll see."

Changing my major twice now seemed ridiculous. The nursing classes had come in handy when Elsie arrived, but I should have pushed on with the business degree my parents had wanted--or at the very least avoided the year deviation into psychology. I could have finished by now, and have a good job cutting paychecks and balancing books at Crawford Cereals, even if it was a job I knew I'd detest. At this rate, I'd be an old woman before I graduated and had a job with enough money to do my dream work of helping lost girls.

The terrible irony was that I had money--a lot of money--just out of reach. An inheritance left to me by my grandfather, who'd founded Crawford Cereals: a half million dollars and monthly payments thereafter. But I had to be twenty-five and married, or thirty if I was still single, to access the funds. My parents had means, but convincing them would be impossible.

I needed to find a way to become legitimate, so the girls could get health and dental coverage and other benefits, but I didn't know where to begin. Risking that Elsie or any of the others might be sent back to the horrible situations they'd run from was not an option. At least with me, they didn't have to prostitute themselves or endure abuse by the very people who were supposed to protect them.

"Thanks, Lily."

At Elsie's soft words, the fear in my heart melted. I would make it work. Somehow.

Until I did, gorgeous and witty guys like Jameson were a distraction I didn't need.

**END OF SAMPLE.** If you would like to purchase _House Without Lies_ , please click here. Or continue to the next page to learn more about Elizabeth D. Michaels and her books.
About the Author

Elizabeth D. Michaels began writing at the age of sixteen, immersing herself ever since in the lives created by her vivid imagination. Beyond her devotion to family and friends, writing has been her passion for nearly three decades. While she has more than fifty published novels under the name Anita Stansfield and is the recipient of many awards, she boldly declares _The Horstberg Saga_ as the story she was born to write, with many volumes in the works. She is best known for her keen ability to explore the psychological depths of human nature, bringing her characters to life through the timeless struggles they face in the midst of exquisite dramas. For more information, please visit her author page on WhiteStarPress.com.

Books by Elizabeth D. Michaels

Horstberg Saga

Behind the Mask (Volume One)   
A Matter of Honor (Volume Two)   
For Love and Country (Volume Three)   
The Tainted Crown (Volume Four)   
Through Castle Windows (Volume Five)
Table of Contents

Copyright

Title Page

Book Description

Dedication

Preface

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Epilogue

Sneak peek! A Matter of Honor

Bonus! Preview of House Without Lies

About the Author

Books by Elizabeth D. Michaels
