Love Wild And Free

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html

"YES, I WANT YOU!' HE SAID BLEAKLY Tor's face was empty of emotion as he continued, "But I'm not going to take you." "You were the one who said to forget about tomorrow and enjoy today. So what could be wrong with making love at this beautiful lake?" Lyn asked with a courage born of ignorance. "Just because this place is like Shangri-La, remote from the world, romantic, doesn't mean we should become lovers." "That's not what you were implying a few minutes ago!" Lyn lashed back, remembering the exquisite gentleness of his touch. "I'm the first man who's ever kissed you, let alone made love to you," Tor replied grimly. "How the hell do you think I'd ever live with myself if I took advantage of your innocence? You know nothing of the ways of the world, Lyn...." Published, January 1982 First printing August 1981 ISBN 0-373-70.011-3 Copyright (c) 1982 by Jocelyn Haley. All rights reserved. Philippine copyright 1982. Australian copyright 1982. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Worldwide Library, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9. All the characters in this book have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the. author, and all the incidents are pure invention. The Superromance trademark, consisting of the word SUPERROMANCE, and the Worldwide trademark, consisting of a globe and the word Worldwide in which the letter "o" is represented by a depiction of a globe, are registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office. Printed in U.S.A. CHAPTER ONE

TOR HANSEN GOT OUT of the car and stretched lazily to his full height, an impressive six feet two. It had been a good weekend - an extremely good weekend. He walked around to the trunk to get his fishing creel, which was

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html filled with one- and two-pound speckled lake trout; Marian could fry up a couple for his supper. But first of all he'd head for the shower. A hot shower was one of the more underrated joys of a civilized life, he decided as he slammed the trunk shut, besides being an absolute necessity after three days at the camp. He cherished his wilderness retreat, perhaps even more deeply than he realized. It was no effort at all for an image of the place to fall into his mind: the rough-hewn cabin on the shore of Skocum Lake, hemmed in by dark-needled pine and spruce; the never ending chorus of birdsong; the placid waters of the lake itself. It was five miles from the nearest house, ten miles from the village, and that suited Tor fine. It was the place he went to when he'd had enough of his unobtrusively luxurious house in Halifax, and enough of people. Wealthy businessmen who wanted him to paint them in their mahogany-paneled boardrooms. Rich and idle women who wanted their portraits done by the famous young artist Tor Hansen... "My dear, he's so devilishly handsome!" He could hear them saying it, for he had no illusions about his attractiveness to women. During the past couple of years he had reached the point in his career where the famous - and infamous - sought him out. He could claim whatever price he wanted, and could pick and choose his clientele. Because he was an artist of conscience, in each of his paintings he strove for the spark of truth that would create a portrait that was more than a face on canvas, that would express something universal; but increasingly he was drained by this process. He knew that it was already starting to show in his work, and was convinced that it was going to get worse if something didn't change. He grimaced, already depressed by his return to Halifax. It was time he broke out of the rut he was in and got back to some real painting. Heaven knows, he didn't need the money; his father had seen to that. But somehow he had let himself get trapped into a self-perpetuating cycle of portraits, acclaim, money, more portraits, more acclaim, more money and so on to the grave, he found himself thinking, with a depth of cynicism that shocked even himself. "Tor, what on earth are you doing, staring at the ground like that? You look as though you've just lost your best friend!" Oh, hell... Helena. He straightened slowly, none of his thoughts showing in his face. "Hi," he said without any great enthusiasm. "What are you doing here?" "Waiting for you to get home, of course," Helena said archly. She was a petite blonde, as chic and exquisitely groomed as he, at the moment, was sweaty and untidy. She glanced at her platinum-and-diamond watch. "About time, too." "I wasn't aware that I'd specified a time when I'd get back." His voice was even, but she knew him well. "You didn't." She linked her arm in his, laughing up at him provocatively. "But I haven't seen you since Friday. I've missed you." He smiled, a certain gravity still lingering in his deep-set blue eyes, and it was obvious that he did not reciprocate her sentiments. Instead he said, "You'd better not get too close. I probably smell of fish." She wrinkled her nose. "I'll never understand what the attraction of that place is." "No, you won't, will you?" he said, almost to himself. "I used to think you kept your other women up there," she prattled on, oblivious to his mood. "But I don't think you ever take a woman there, do you?" "I took you once." She shuddered. "No running water, no electricity, cooking on a wood stove. No, thanks." He glanced down at her, taking in every detail of her appearance, from the expensively coiffed blond hair to the feet clad in handmade Italian shoes. "As they say nowadays, it was not your scene."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "You're so right. I only wish I knew why you have to go up there so often. We missed a party at the Morpeths' last night because you were away." "You could have gone without me." "But they were expecting you as well." "I don't know why. We're not married, after all, Helena. Or even engaged." "No, we're not, are we?" There was a waspish note in her voice. "Just the same, I think it was pretty inconsiderate of you to take off so unexpectedly on Friday." "I went more or less on impulse. I just felt I had to get out of here for a couple of days." "Well, you could have let me know." "Helena, don't try to cage me in. It won't work." "I'm not! I'm just asking for a little common courtesy from you." He raked his fingers through his thick black hair, a weariness in his face as he looked down at his companion. Into his mind slipped the wayward thought that it would not be long before Helena would have to be careful whom she picked to paint her portrait. She was beautiful enough with her artfully made-up violet eyes and her slim pointed face, but already there were tiny lines of discontent around her mouth and a lack of spontaneity in her smile. He said sharply, "We certainly did not have a definite date for Saturday night, Helena. Anyway, you know I thoroughly dislike Gwendolyn and Harold Morpeth." "They happen to be friends of mine." "Fine. Then you go and see them." He sighed in frustration. "Look, I don't want to stand here arguing with you. I'm tired and hungry and dirty. Why don't you come in and you can pour us a couple of drinks while I have a shower?" She recognized this as an olive branch and seized it avidly. For different reasons than his she, too, disliked their quarrels, which were becoming more and more frequent of late. "All right. I'll make you a martini just the way you like it." They walked up the wide stone steps to the paneled front door. Oceanview, as the house had been somewhat unimaginatively called by its first owner a hundred years ago, was a rambling L-shaped structure of faded pink brick, now ablaze with the August roses that twined up the walls to the gray slate roof. True to its name, its leaded windowpanes overlooked the Northwest Arm, a narrow branch of the Atlantic, although the house was sheltered from the sea winds by tall well-tended trees and shrubs. The house had a look of permanence and comfort that had very little to do with the undeniable wealth it represented. Into the spacious foyer with its cathedral ceiling and Kurdistan carpet bustled Marian Hollman, Tor's middle-aged housekeeper. She had known him since he was a small boy, and he never chided her for the liberties she took liberties he would not, for instance, have tolerated from Helena. "Now then, Master Tor, you take off those dirty fishing boots this minute. And more than the boots are dirty, by the looks of you." Belatedly she added, "And good afternoon to you, Miss Thornhill." There was no love lost between the two women, a situation that had always rather amused Tor but that now seemed to grate on his nerves. "Anything happen while I was away?" he inquired. "Well now, a telegram arrived two days ago and a special delivery letter came for you yesterday. Michael put thtm on your desk." Michael was her husband, who looked after the grounds of Oceanview. "Oh? I'd better see what that's all about." In his socked feet Tor padded across the hall and into the library, suppressing his irritation that Helena should follow so closely on his heels. Boy, he was in a bad mood, he thought morosely. It was time for a change of some kind; he just wished he knew what. He looked down at the two envelopes on his desk, feeling a tinge of disquiet. Since the death of their parents just over a year ago, his sister, Madeleine, was the only relative he had left; Madeleine was gradually making a name for herself as an interior decorator on the West Coast, and despite the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html three thousand miles that separated them, they maintained a close tie by telephone and through the occasional rushed visit. If something were wrong with Madeleine, she'd pick up the phone surely, Tor thought. Letters weren't exactly her style.... Impatiently he ripped open the telegram, which had been addressed, he noticed now with a jolt of surprise, to his father. "Regret inform you death of Paul Selby. Letter to follow. D. Metcalfe. Murray, Cameron and Metcalfe, Barristers and Solicitors." Tor blinked. Paul Selby...he'd never heard the name before. Or had he? He frowned abstractedly, his memory reaching back into the past. Years ago, his father had shown him photographs taken on a geological survey in northern Alberta; he had been amused, he remembered, to see his normally immaculate father in overalls and mud-caked work boots, standing in a crowd of similarly dressed men gathered around an oil rig. Had one of those men been Paul Selby? He groped for the recollection of his father's voice.... "That's Paul Selby beside me. Brilliant geologist... could have made a future for himself. He and I hit it off from the start. We corresponded for a couple of years, then the letters stopped coming. I heard later that he'd had some kind of family trouble, can't remember what, and he'd just dropped out of sight. I never heard from him again. Strange man - an unsettling combination of intelligence and extreme introversion, with a streak of ruthlessness, I shouldn't be surprised." His father's forehead had wrinkled in thought. "At that time he was involved in a very passionate affair with a musician - a violinist, I believe. Wanted to marry her, as I recall.... I don't know what happened - his letters never touched much on personal matters. He certainly wouldn't be everyone's choice for an easy man to live with. Still, I was sorry to lose touch with him---" And now, apparently, Paul Selby was dead. But why had a firm of solicitors bothered to inform his father after all these years? Tor picked up the special delivery letter, noticing its thickness with a qualm of foreboding. "Is it bad news, Tor?" He had forgotten Helena's presence. "An old friend of my father's has died. I never met him. Why don't you get us those martinis, Helena, while I read this?" Although politely worded, it was still a dismissal. Helena swallowed her annoyance and standing on tiptoe brushed his cheek with her lips, making sure that her breasts were pressed against him and knowing her scent would tantalize his nostrils. Hips swaying in her clinging crepe dress, she left the room. But Tor was already immersed in the first of the two letters in the envelope. It was from the same firm of lawyers, giving a Toronto address and telephone number. Dear Mr. Hansen, We regret to inform you of the death of Paul Martin Selby of Sioux Lake, Ontario, on August 12. According to the terms of his will, you are named to the guardianship of his only child, Lyn, of the same address. His original covering letter and a letter to his daughter are enclosed. Because we have been unable to get in touch with Miss Selby herself, due to the extreme isolation of her domicile, we would appreciate hearing from you as soon as possible concerning this matter. Yours sincerely, D. Metcalfe Stunned, Tor read it again. August 12...that was almost a week ago. And where on earth was Sioux Lake? He got out a Canadian atlas; there were several Sioux Lakes in the index, but only one in Ontario, and when he looked at the map he located it a hundred and fifty miles northeast of Lake Nipigon. A tiny point in the midst of a vast area of green that was sprinkled with irregular blue lakes and crisscrossed by rivers, nothing else. No other settlements within miles, no towns, certainly no cities. Just an unbroken stretch of wilderness all the way to the huge indentation that was Hudson's Bay. As he

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html stared at the map he felt deep within him the first stirrings of excitement. He read the letter again, grinning to himself at the dry legal phrase "extreme isolation of her domicile." They were right, of course, and it was little wonder they had been unable to get in touch with Miss Lyn Selby. The letter didn't even say how old she was, he noticed with dismay. An image of a skinny, pig-tailed, solemn-eyed child rose in his mind, a child now presumably orphaned, as there had been no mention of a Mrs. Selby. Orphaned. The word struck a sympathetic note in his soul, for he knew what it felt like; he had been over thirty when his parents had been killed, and still it had been a devastating shock. How much worse to a child reared in isolation in the wilderness---What the devil was he going to do about this? "Here's your drink, darling." "Thanks," he said, taking a sip abstractedly. Helena perched on the arm of the chair nearest the desk, arranging her beautiful legs to best advantage. "You look very solemn, considering it's only a friend of your father's." He glanced up and said ruefully, "You'd be looking solemn, too, if you'd just found out that your late father had been named guardian of a child living in the wilds of northern Ontario." "What on earth are you talking about?" Patiently he explained the contents of the letter, showing her the tiny blue oval on the map that was Sioux Lake. "Just hold on a minute, will you?" he added. "I haven't looked at the enclosures yet." The first was a handwritten letter addressed to his father and signed by Paul Selby, dated some twelve years ago; its gist was a request that Peter Hansen care for Paul's daughter, Lyn, in the event of Paul's death. Somehow from the cramped handwriting and tersely formed sentences, there emerged in Tor's mind the picture of a proud and reticent man driven to ask a favor of one of the few people in the world he could count on as a friend. The second letter was addressed simply "Lyn." It was sealed. "I don't see that you need to worry about any of this," Helena said briskly. "Your father was named guardian, but your father's dead. All you have to do is inform this D. Metcalfe that Peter Hansen is deceased, and that's that. It's really nothing to do with you." Of all the various courses of action that had flitted through his mind since reading the letter, this had not been one of them. "I can't do that, Helena. For a short while my father and Paul Selby were friends. I know very little about the whole situation, but I have the feeling Paul Selby couldn't have had very many friends. He didn't sound like the kind of person who would make them easily. He obviously didn't know about my father's death, so he left his child in my father's care in good faith. I can't just ignore that." "So what are you going to do?" Helena asked unpleasantly. "Adopt some skinny little backwoods brat?" He held tightly to his temper. "Adoption is a big word. I certainly haven't got as far as that. I don't even know how old the child is, or anything about her except her name. But I can't act as though the whole thing's none of rny business." Sarcastically Helena said, "I should think it highly unlikely that a reputable firm of lawyers would allow you to adopt a child. You don't exactly lead an exemplary life, Tor darling." She got up and walked over to him, pulling him to his feet and running her hands up the broad expanse of his chest to his throat. "You haven't even kissed me today," she whispered huskily, "let alone anything else." "Helena,! - " "Kiss me, Tor." She pulled his head down, moving her body sensuously against his. There was a rap at the door. "Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, Mr. Hansen. Will Miss Thornhill be staying?" There was a flash of pure venom in Helena's eyes. "Yes, she will," she said

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html clearly, adding without bothering to lower her voice much, "Interfering old bitch. She knew we were alone in here, so she just had to interrupt. I don't know why you keep her on, Tor." "She's been with the family for years, Helena. You know that as well as I do. Besides, she does a fine job. And as I'm the one who pays the bills, I guess I can decide whom I have on staff." Helena swallowed her chagrin and said lightly, "Sorry, darling. I forget sometimes that you have all these old-fashioned ideas about loyalty." For a moment she surveyed him through narrowed eyes, taking in his lean animal grace, his arrogantly carved features and piercing blue eyes. "Somehow it doesn't go with your appearance." Determined to close the subject, he said equally lightly, "If I don't do something about my appearance neither you nor Marian will allow me in the dining room. So will you excuse me for a few minutes, Helena?" As he ran upstairs, his long legs taking the steps two at a time, he was thinking not of Helena, or of Marian, but of a girl he had never met, a young girl recently bereaved and now alone in the world... Lyn Selby. He closed his bedroom door, stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, deliberately emptying his mind as the hot water pummeled his muscles and the steam enveloped him. Then he wrapped a towel around his hips and went back into his bedroom. Without any sense of having made a conscious decision, he picked up the telephone and dialed the number at the top of the letter. After a series of clicks and bleeps the connection was made. As he waited, he wondered why he was bothering to phone now. It was unlikely that anyone would be in the office late on a Sunday afternoon. However, the receiver was picked up on the second ring. "Murray, Cameron and Metcalfe. Good afternoon," a male voice said. "Good afternoon. I wonder if I could speak to Mr. Metcalfe, please?" "Donald Metcalfe speaking." "My name is Tor Hansen, Mr. Metcalfe, and I'm calling from Halifax." "How do you do, Mr. Hansen," said a dry precise voice, indubitably of the legal profession. "Today I received a telegram and a letter from your firm concerning the death of Paul Selby. These were addressed to my father, Peter Hansen." "That is correct." "However, my father was killed over a year ago. So I took the liberty of opening the letter myself." "Ah, I'm sorry to hear of Mr. Hansen's demise. That puts a rather different complexion on the situation." "Mr. Metcalfe, I know my father would have wanted me to investigate the matter of the guardianship. I'm prepared to go to Sioux Lake and at least see under what circumstances Lyn Selby is living, and what her wishes are. You have no idea of her age?" "None whatsoever. Mr. Selby was not a regular client and filed no personal documents with us." The lawyer sounded faintly aggrieved. "I see." "You do recognize what is involved, Mr. Hansen? First of all, you are not legally bound to do this - " "I realize that. However, for my father's sake, I would prefer to." This was obviously too emotional an outlook for Mr. Metcalfe. "I do not like to discourage you, Mr. Hansen, particularly as our firm would like to have the matter dealt with as expeditiously as possible." Irreverently Tor found himself wondering how the child Lyn Selby would like to hear herself referred to as "the matter." "However, getting to Sioux Lake is no simple task. From Halifax, of course, you can fly to Ontario; there are railway connections to Caribou Lake, and from there you have to go by bush plane to Sioux Lake. Or you could fly direct from Toronto, I suppose. As far as I can gather Miss Selby does not actually live at Sioux Lake, but at some undetermined location even farther north." Tor grinned to himself, for Donald Metcalfe was plainly not equipped to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html deal with people who lived in undetermined locations. "I'm sure I can manage to find her," he said reassuringly. "Once I've made contact with her, I'll be in touch with you again, Mr. Metcalfe." "Umm...yes. Should the child come under your legal care, there would be the matter of an allowance to be settled from the estate. But that can be discussed at a later date." "Fine. I'll call you in a few days." "Well, thank you, Mr. Hansen. I appreciate the trouble you're taking. I hope to hear from you soon. Goodbye." He appreciates but does not understand, Tor thought wryly as he replaced the receiver. Absently rubbing the towel over his chest and legs, he selected trousers and a shirt out of his wardrobe and got dressed. As he combed his hair in front of the mirror on the wall, he was unaware of the long-limbed virility of his figure in tight-fitting navy suede trousers and a pale blue silk shirt, for he was totally preoccupied with his coming journey. Right after dinner, he'd call Air Canada and get reservations--When he told Helena the results of his telephone call, her face fell and she said reproachfully, "You've only just come back, Tor. And who knows how long you'll be gone this time?" "It shouldn't take long." "Why couldn't I come with you?" "Helena, I'm going to the back of beyond - " "I'll go as far as Toronto with you, and we could spend a couple of days there first." He was realist enough to know that, for Helena, much of his attraction lay in the reflected glory she obtained by being seen publicly with him. Yet for a brief while several months ago, he had wondered if in Helena he had at last found the woman he was always more or less subconsciously searching for, the woman with whom he could share a similar deep love and warm companionship such as his parents had enjoyed all their years together. However, ail too soon Helena had betrayed the essential shallowness and greed that lay under her beautiful face, and again his dream had foundered. That he continued to spend time with her was a tribute to the wit and charm she could exert when she chose to. "No, Helena," he said evenly, and she knew it was useless to argue. "I'm going alone." "I wish I knew why you consider it necessary to go off on such a wild-goose chase." "I've explained that to you already," he said wearily. "My father would have wanted me to." Absently he rearranged the cutlery before continuing in a quiet voice, "But there's more to it than that, if I'm to be honest. I need to get away for a while, Helena. My painting's going stale and that frightens the life out of me. Maybe another few days in the wilderness will give me a sense of perspective." He pushed back his chair and strode over to one of the long windows overlooking the water, his big shoulders tense, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stared out into the dusk. "I wish I could make you understand," he said passionately. "I'm an artist, Helena. The way I feel and the way I paint are inextricably bound together. Unless I can get some sense of direction back in my life, I'm going to be finished as a painter. Sure, I'll be able to produce slick, competent, expensive portraits. But they won't mean a damn thing under the surface. I'll be selling my soul." "You're overdramatizing, Tor." Her light laugh flicked him on the raw. "You don't need more solitude, darling, you need less. Your trouble always has been that you think too much." As she spoke, she came up behind him and wound her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his back. "Let's go upstairs and go to bed, Tor." He flung her off violently. "For God's sake, Helena! You haven't heard a word I said." Her voice quivered pathetically. "Please, Tor."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html He drew a deep ragged breath, knowing it was useless to try to make her understand. "I think you'd better go now. I'm in a foul mood; I'm not fit company for anyone. If I can get a flight, I'll go tomorrow morning, and I'll give you a ring as soon as I get back." With this she had to be satisfied. He walked with her out to her car, firmly pushing her away when she attempted to turn their good-night kiss into something more. "I'll see you in a few days," he said as she slid into the seat, purposely revealing a silken-clad thigh to his view. Sulkily she adjusted her skirt. "Very well." Her violet eyes baleful, she added, "If you're so concerned about your future as an artist, you'd better consider the effect on your life of being saddled with a young child. Parenthood even by adoption is a twenty-four-hour j ob. Have you given any thought to that?" "I'll worry about that if and when the time comes. Good night, Helena." Finally the red taillights of her car disappeared up the driveway. Tor turned on his heel and walked past the house down the neatly clipped expanse of grass to the shore, where the water lapped ceaselessly at the barnacled rocks. He sat down on the bank and for a long time stared unseeingly at the restless waves. "LYN, I WISH YOU'D STAY." "I can't, Margarei. Really I can't. I've been gone ten days, and the chickens will need looking after and I have to check trie garden. I always worry that rabbits will get through the fence." "Well, look. Why don't you do those things and then come back tomorrow? You could stay another two or three days." Margaret Whittier smiled persuasively, the misty rain gathering in droplets on her fine curly hair, her brown eyes pleading. She seemed younger than her thirty years and looked just what she was: a contented wife and mother. Humor and intelligence gave character to her attractive features, "I don't know...." Margaret seized her advantage. "Better than that, you and I could take off to Toronto for a couple of days. You've never been there, and a complete change would do you good. Please say you'll come back, Lyn." Just the mention of the word "Toronto" was enough to arouse in Lyn all the old ambivalence. Toronto...city of over two million people on the shores of Lake Ontario, with its skyscrapers and luxurious restaurants, markets and shopping malls, parks, factories and docks. The side of her that craved adventure longed to go there and see it all for herself. But she had lived too long with her father, whose all-consuming hatred of cities with their teeming masses of humanity had spilled over onto her, instilling in her an irrational fear of venturing forth into the unknown. For Toronto represented an alien world to Lyn, as different from Lake of Islands as anywhere could be. Her mind had been made up for her. "No, Margie love, I can't. Maybe later on, but not right now." She hesitated. "It's too soon...and I guess all I really want is to be home again - back at the cabin." She lowered the haversack from her back onto the weathered boards of the wharf. The waters of Sioux Lake lapped against the pilings, gently rocking the canoe that was moored there. Unconsciously Lyn glanced down at it, and that quick look told Margaret more plainly than words how anxious her friend was to be gone. The older woman sighed in frustration, and against her better judgment asked sharply, "Lyn, what are you going to do now?" Lyn looked up in surprise. "I've just told you. I'm going home." "I don't mean right now. I mean in the future. Now that your father's dead." Lyn winced. "Carry on as usual, I suppose." "You can't live up there all by yourself." "Why ever not? I was often alone for days on end while Dad was traveling his traplines." "That's different, and you know it. Lyn, you'll be burying yourself alive if you go back there...." She paused, seeing the stubborn set of Lyn's full

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html lower lip. "I talked to Bernard last night and he suggested you come and stay with us for the winter. You could help me with the children and come with us when we go on trips. Please say you'll do it, or at least promise you'll consider it." Lyn stared down at her moccasined feet. Bernard was Margaret's husband, a burly soft-spoken man who, as the local Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer, was responsible for patrolling the vast area of forest and lakes that stretched for hundreds of miles around them, and for all its scattered polyglot population. Lyn liked and respected him, for he used his authority wisely and well. That he and Margaret should concern themselves with her welfare touched her to the heart, even though she knew she would refuse their offer. "You're going to say no," Margaret said flatly. Lyn looked up, a rueful smile on her mouth. "You know me too well." Margaret tried another tack. "I know this is none of my business, but did your father leave you any money?" "I don't think so." "Did he ever mention a will?" Margaret asked quietly. "No." Lyn was startled. The possibility of there being one had simply not occurred to her. Margaret cleared her throat. "Well, just after we met him, your father told Bernard and I that in the event that... anything ever happened to him, we were to contact a certain lawyer firm in Toronto. One of our neighbors happened to be flying to Toronto on the day after your f-father's attack - " Margaret's voice quavered as she recalled the horror that had been on Lyn's face as she had relayed her shocking news " - so we instructed him to phone the lawyers. Perhaps there will be some word...." Lyn shrugged. "Perhaps," she said unconvincing-ly. "As far as I know, Dad had very little in the world, so I doubt if anything will turn up. I'll look when I get home in case he hid a will of sorts there." "If you came to us, Lyn, I could pay you something for helping with the children, so you'd be independent. I know how you'd feel about taking charity." "Mmm.... Dad drilled that into me often enough! Margaret, it isn't the money that would hold me back from coming to you, truly it isn't. And it's really kind of both of you to make the offer. But the cabin and Lake of Islands - they're my home. They're the only home I've ever known, and I belong there." She looked along the rocky shoreline at the untidy cluster of wooden houses, the Hudson's Bay warehouse, the boats anchored on the lake, the police bush plane swaying on the waves. "I love coming here to visit you, Margaret, believe me. But I'm always glad to go back to the bush. It's quieter, more peaceful... more real, somehow." "No, Lyn, you're wrong," Margaret said with deep conviction. "People are what make life real. And you can't spend your whole life hiding from them." Lyn felt a stirring of anger at her friend's persistence. "We seem to be back at square one," she said with attempted lightness. "You don't understand. My upbringing has been different from most people's, and I'm a product of that upbringing. You can't put a square peg in a round hole, Margaret, any more than you can transport me to Toronto and turn me into a...a sophisticated secretary. I'd go crazy in that environment!" "You don't know until you try!" Lyn took a deep breath, determined not to quarrel with the woman who was her only real friend. "Well, maybe this winter I'll go to the city with you and Bernard, just for a visit. But in the meantime I've got to go home and feed the chickens." Her decision made, she glanced around her once more, unconsciously gauging the wind direction. It was time she got going.... Then her eyes came back to Margaret and she was jolted out of her preoccupation - there were lines around Margaret's mouth and a tension in her posture that she had not noticed before. "Are you all right?" Lyn asked suddenly.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Margaret pushed back a wisp of hair. "Well, of course. Don't I look all right?" "I don't know," Lyn said uncertainly. "I guess this is the first time since dad died that I've really looked at you. I've been kind of wrapped up in my own concerns the past few days, I'm afraid. You look terribly tired." "You try taking care of two small boys!" "I know they keep you pretty busy. But it's not just tiredness, is it Margaret? Are you worried about something?" Margaret's telltale features gave her away. "Oh, dear, is it that obvious?" she said ruefully. "You'd better tell me about it. I'm sorry I've been so slow on the uptake." "Don't apologize. Bernard and I purposely tried to keep it from you, because we figured you had enough on your mind without adding our troubles." "What's wrong?" Margaret leaned against one of the posts, the strain in her face only too evident now. "Do you remember Gilbert Duval's trial last spring?" "Yes. It'll be a while before that's forgotten." Lyn shivered reminiscently. Late in March, when the snow lay deep on the ground and the lakes were still frozen, Gilles Lemieux, an old trapper in his seventies, had been found brutally murdered at his camp some fifty miles north of Sioux Lake. His entire winter cache of fox, mink and beaver pelts had been stolen. The little community of Sioux Lake had been stunned by the tragedy. Fights were frequent at the lake, particularly in the spring when the trappers had sold their furs and their pockets were full of money and their bellies full of whiskey. Eyes would be blackened and noses broken: but by some unwritten code the fights always broke up before more serious injuries could occur. The death of Gilles Lemieux had violated that code. Through a combination of persistence and dogged courage in the face of late winter blizzards, and by drawing upon all the modern technological knowledge of the forensic laboratories in Toronto, Bernard had tracked down the murderer within ten days. Two months later Gilbert Duval, an erstwhile trapper long feared for his violent temper, was tried, convicted and sentenced to jail. The people of Sioux Lake heaved a communal sigh of relief and settled back into their normal routine after this brief period of notoriety. Now Lyn said, "But Gilbert's in jail and the whole thing's best forgotten, isn't it?" "I wish it could be. I... I'm frightened, Lyn." "Why?" "Gilbert has a brother, Raoul Duval. He used to live up near Moosonee, but since Gilbert's trial he's begun hanging around here. He knows Bernard's the one responsible for capturing Gilbert, and he's out for revenge." Margaret tried to smile. "I know it sounds terribly melodramatic, especially in broad daylight." "Yes, it does. Are you sure you're not exaggerating?" "Quite sure. He came to the house one night and told Bernard he'd be sorry he'd ever laid eyes on Gilbert. It wasn't so much what he said as the way he said it - he meant every word." "Is he still around?" "Oh, yes. It seems every time I leave the house, I bump into him. I think he does it on purpose because he knows it makes me nervous. And of course there's nothing we can do. There's no law against his being in Sioux Lake." Lyn's voice quickened. "Is he about Bernard's height, with red hair and a beard?" "Yes, that sounds like him." "I have seen him, then. He was hanging over the fence talking to the children yesterday evening." Margaret paled. "I'll kill him myself if he ever lays so much as a finger on the boys," she said passionately. "Oh, Lyn, do you see why I'm worried? He could do almost anything, and until he makes a move, we're absolutely helpless."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Maybe you should go and stay in Guelph with your parents for a while." "Bernard suggested that. But rny father's not very well and the children seem to be at such a rambunctious stage. Besides, I don't want to leave Bernard to cope with it alone." Without much conviction Lyn suggested, "Maybe it will all blow over and Raoul will go back to Moosonee." With an equal lack of conviction Margaret said, "Maybe," "Look, I'll go to the cabin and do the chores and come right back here. How's that?" "It sure is tempting!" Margaret smiled at Lyn, looking more like herself, her brown eyes warm with affection. "And it's sweet of you to offer, because I know how much you want to be home for a while. I tell you what: let's compromise. In a week's time Bernard has to go out on patrol. Why don't you come then?" "Okay, it's a deal." Lyn gave Margaret a quick hug, kissing her on the cheek. "In the meantime, try not to worry too much. I'm sure everything will be all right. And Margaret, thanks so much for everything. You've been wonderful these past few days. I couldn't have managed without you." "Take care of yourself and promise you'll come and stay next week?" "I promise." Little did Lyn know that the next time she saw Margaret it would be under very different circumstances, circumstances she could not possibly have imagined. She untied the canoe and with the agility of years of practice settled herself at the stern, pushing away from the wharf with the paddle. As she raised the blade in brief salute, Margaret saw her friend's slim figure silhouetted against the gray waters of the lake, her damp chestnut hair glowing, her eyes a clear forest green in a heart-shaped face. Even in old jeans and a checked shirt Lyn was a beautiful young woman, Margaret thought. Equally well she knew Lyn was totally unaware of this fact, and probably would not have considered it of much importance, anyway. In all the time Margaret had known her, she had never seen the younger woman exhibit even a trace of vanity. Margaret had first met Lyn two years ago, shortly after Bernard and she had moved to Sioux Lake. Lyn and her father had brought a canoe load of furs to the warehouse, and Bernard, meeting them by chance, had invited them both to lunch, knowing how Margaret enjoyed the company of another woman. Paul Selby, with his tight thin smile and cold gray eyes, had not been an easy man to get to know, and Margaret had been rather repelled by his taciturn manner and his obvious domination of his daughter's life. But Lyn had seemed serenely unaware that her father was in any way limiting her existence. Her quick mind and open friendliness had charmed Margaret, and in the following months they saw as much of each other as they could, separated as they were by several miles of wilderness. More than once Margaret had invited Lyn to go with her to Guelph or Toronto, but Paul Selby had always flatly vetoed these suggestions and it had apparently not occurred to Lyn to disobey him. Now, as Margaret waved goodbye and the canoe was swallowed up by the mist, she wondered not for' the first time if she was wrong to want for Lyn all the normal things of life - a circle of friends, a proper home, a husband, children. Lyn would never find any of these at Lake of Islands; that was certain. But Margaret was no more capable than Lyn of envisaging the events that were already unfolding, events that had been set in motion by the death of Paul Selby, Lyn's father.... CHAPTER TWO

LYN WAS THINKING OF HER FATHER as she drove the canoe steadily up the lake, keeping fairly close to the shoreline because of the mist. There was a slight head wind ruffling the surface of the water, and she was soon warm from her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html exertions. However, she was glad of the physical exercise, for she had been more disturbed than she had let on by Margaret's comments about the future. More than once since her father's sudden death from a heart attack ten days ago she had found herself wondering what she would do now. Paul Selby had been a trapper. From the heaps of skins that he collected every winter he had earned enough money for the food and clothes that they could not provide for themselves. With his gun he had kept a supply of meat on the table - venison, caribou, grouse, rabbit; with his nets, trout and bass. Everything else he left to Lyn. She kept the cabin neat and tidy, cooked the meals, tended the chickens and the vegetable garden, and had been content to do so. Her father had not been a talkative man, but she had sensed he was grateful for her help even though he had never said so. In some obscure way she felt she owed it to him because he had no wife and she no mother. But now she would be alone at the cabin, with only herself to care for.... In spite of the warmth of her body, she shivered. Her paddle broke from its easy repetitive rhythm, and she rested it across her knees, letting the canoe drift aimlessly as she gazed at her surroundings. The mist had lifted a little and she could see the shore a little more clearly with its stark granite cliffs where twisted spruce trees tangled their roots in the crevices, precariously balanced on the very brink of survival. Thousands of years ago the glaciers had gouged out the lakes from among the tumbled rocks, and something of the primeval force of those tons of ice still lingered over the landscape. Although wisps of cloud blurred the forest from her view, she knew it stretched north mile after mile, harsh and forbidding, until it was finally defeated by the cold wastes of the Arctic tundra. The wilderness was home for bear and lynx and fox, deer and moose. Here man was the alien, the intruder, and suddenly she was sharply aware of this. The landscape was inimical to her; if she disobeyed its rules, it would destroy her as thoughtlessly as she might crush a mosquito. She would disappear as if she had never been. With a desperate strength she dug her paddle into the water so that the canoe surged forward through the waves. Paul Selby had instilled in her a healthy respect for the wilderness, but she had never before sensed its underlying hostility, nor had she experienced the bitter loneliness, the feeling of total isolation, that now attacked her as cruelly as a fox's fangs would tear the throat of a rabbit. She would be all right once she got home, she thought frantically. This was only some kind of a delayed reaction to her father's death. When she was back at the cabin, she would feel like herself again. Between her and the cabin was a short portage, then a further two miles of paddling, followed by a second portage across a quarter of a mile of rough and swampy terrain, and then another hour in the canoe. Paul Selby had made no secret of his dislike of the human race and he had picked the site where he was to settle with care: the log cabin, built with his own hands from wood hewn from the forest, was tucked in the curve of an inlet and hidden from the casual observer by a thick stand of young spruce. Lyn was sure it had been seclusion, not beauty, he'd had in mind when he chose the place, but as far as she was concerned, he could not have picked a more perfect spot. A crescent-shaped beach of white sand gleamed palely in front of the cabin, while the silvery trunks of birch trees clustered behind it. There was the constant burble of the brook that ran into the lake at the head of the inlet, and only in winter were the birds silent. When she arrived, Lyn beached the canoe and lifted out her gear. In the dull gray light of late afternoon the cabin looked deserted and forlorn. No smoke curled out of the tail stone chimney. The windows looked dark and secretive. It had been her father's habit on the occasions when Lyn had been gone from the cabin to light one of the oil lamps and set it on the windowsill to welcome her home. He would never do that again, she thought desolately. A lump lodged in her throat. She was alone--She hoisted the haversack on her back and picked up the paddles, squaring

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html her shoulders determinedly as she walked up the narrow pathway to the cabin. The last thing she could afford to do was brood over the past. Although she had never known just what had driven her father to become a virtual hermit at Lake of Islands, she had sensed that some tragedy in his youth had scarred him for life, so that he had turned his back on humanity. She must not allow herself to fall into a similar pattern of behavior. Resolutely she unfastened the cabin's front door, which was kept locked against bears and raccoons, rather than humans. She had been gone only a few days but the cabin already looked abandoned, and there was a light film of dust over everything. Rain dripped monotonously onto the roof. Hurriedly she lighted the stove, the cheerful crackle of the kindling comforting her with its normality. By the time she had given the hens fresh food and water, and prepared and cleared away her own meal, it was almost dark. She was tired both physically and emotionally, yet somehow was too restless for bed. Sitting in the gold circle of light cast by the oil lamp, she tried to read one of the books Margaret had loaned her, but she could not concentrate on the printed words and finally she gave up. For a long time she sat staring at her linked hands, her ears unconsciously straining at the silence; she had never realized before what a difference one other person could make, even a person as silent and withdrawn as her father. For as long as she could remember, she had cared for him as much as he would let her...and now he was gone. Tears fell quietly on her fingers, as for the first time since he had died she allowed herself to cry for him. Two days passed. Determinedly Lyn kept to her normal routine, just as though she were not alone. But she was not sleeping well and in the tiny cracked mirror that hung over the sink she could see the violet smudges under her eyes, the faint lines of strain around her mouth. More than once she had contemplated going to Margaret's earlier than the agreed-upon day next week, but some inner stubbornness kept her from doing so; to go to Margaret's would be to admit defeat. The third day was hot and still, presaging one of the violent August thunderstorms that could sweep so rapidly up the lake. In the afternoon Lyn decided to hill a row of potatoes before it rained. When she finished, she leaned wearily on the hoe, wiping perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand. She should do some more weeding, but it was just too hot. The sun glinted on the surface of the lake in subtle invitation, and finally she could resist it no longer; she had not been swimming for over a week. Walking down to the shore, she dropped her clothes in a heap on the sand until she stood naked in the sunshine. With unselfconscious grace she waded into the water, which struck deliciously cool on her overheated skin. For nearly half an hour she swam back and forth, feeling all the accumulated tensions of the past week seep away. Lake of Islands was at its most beautiful, somnolent in the sun, its mirror-smooth surface reflecting the towering thunderheads in the sky. The two islands over by the far shore that gave the lake its name seemed to hang suspended over the water, quivering in the heat. They were nothing but heaps of granite encrusted with lichen, among which a few stunted spruce trees grew. After a hot dry summer, when the water level had dropped in the lake, it could be seen that the two islands were not really separate but were joined by a narrow causeway: a place for canoeists to be wary, but also a place where otters cavorted and mallards dabbled in the shallows. Lyn knew - and loved - every inch of the shoreline in any weather and in any mood. But as she dived underwater, lithe as an otter herself, and her head rose sleek and wet above the surface, she found herself wondering if it had ever looked lovelier than it did now, with the faraway menace of the thunderstorm enhancing its fragile peace. The water lapped at her chin, sliding sensuously over her bare skin as she swam to shore. She felt for the bottom with her toes, then pushed herself upright, idly watching the ever expanding ripples on the smooth surface of the lake. With languorous grace she submerged again, throwing back her head so

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html that when she stood up, her hair fell in a straight sheath down her back. Slowly she began to walk toward the beach, droplets of water glistening on her shoulders and breasts. The man who had been watching her from among the trees let out his breath in a deep sigh. His eyes, usually a penetrating blue, were blurred and blank, and a pulse beat heavily at the base of his throat. As the girl waded to shore, his gaze never left her slim figure, lingering on the pink-tipped breasts, the flowing curve of waist and hip, the slender length of thigh. He moved slightly and a branch rustled against his arm. The girl's head swung toward him. Instinctively, like some wild creature, she had sensed an alien presence, But she was staring into the sun and could see nothing. He stayed statue-still. Wondering if her self-imposed isolation was making her overly sensitive, Lyn called out uncertainly, "Is anyone there?" He shifted again, and there was no mistaking her reaction this time. Shy as a deer, she backed tov/ard the water, trying to cover herself with her hands. "Who's there?" she cried, poised to run for the lake. "Don't be frightened." "Who is it?" The man emerged from his hiding place, his boots soundless on the soft ground; he moved with the stealth of an Indian. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said, his voice deep and resonant in the quiet air. Was she dreaming, or was this really happening? Lyn blinked, almost blinded by the sun's golden rays, yet still able to discern that here stood a man such as she had never seen before. He was tall and carried himself proudly. Sunlight glittered on his jet-black hair, giving it the iridescent sheen of a raven's wing. His eyes were the brilliant blue of the sky behind him, his skin tanned to the color of autumn beech leaves. As she stood transfixed, her gaze roamed to the chiseled month, the arrogant tilt of chin...broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and lean hips... and the long muscular legs. He was bathed in sunlight, vibrantly alive, totally male. "I'm sorry I scared you," he repeated, speaking as gently as if she were a doe about to bolt. "Nor did I mean to pry. But you looked so incredibly beautiful coming out of the water that I had to watch you." He gave himself a little shake. "I'm still not quite sure if I'm dreaming or if you're real. Are you real, lake maiden?" Her hands fell helplessly to her sides as her heart began to pound in her breast. "I, too, wondered if I was dreaming," she faltered, her words falling softly between them. He stepped closer until he was only a few feet away, near enough to see the frantic fluttering of her heartbeat, the drowned dazed green of her eyes. "I have never seen a woman as beautiful as you," he said, speaking with a strange reluctance, almost as though the words were being dragged from his lips. Under his searching gaze she felt herself begin to tremble, for his eyes seemed to penetrate to her very soul. From deep in the woods came the lilting sweetness of a thrush's song, and for the rest of her life, whenever she heard a thrush call, Lyn would remember this meeting of two strangers on the lakeshore. He had come even closer. His eyes never left her face, holding her mesmerized. "I want to see if you're real," he said softly, stretching out one hand; she noticed that it was not quite steady. His fingers brushed her breast, streaking her skin with fire, then caught and held her chin, tilting her face up. He lowered his head to hers. From the far hills came the low rumble of thunder, distant and threatening. The girl quivered as though she had been struck, shocked back to reality. She jerked free of his hold, stumbling backward on the sand, then whirled and ran for the heap of clothes she had so carelessly abandoned what seemed like an age ago. Grabbing her shirt, she wrapped it around her body and turned at bay. Only a few minutes ago she had stood shamelessly naked before this man. Now her cheeks were suffused with color and her voice was sharp as she demanded, "Who are you? Why are you here?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html If he was startled or surprised by her sudden change of mood, he gave no sign of it. But before he answered he hesitated fractionally, and she sensed he was picking his words with care. "I'm an artist. I - rather unexpectedly had the chance to come up here to northern Ontario. I've always wanted to paint in this part of the world, so here I am." He gestured behind him, flexing his shoulders ruefully. "I left my pack back there in the woods. It was getting quite heavy." She frowned. Something did not quite ring true in his explanation, but she couldn't put a finger on what it was. "It doesn't look to me as though a backpack would bother you." "Oh, I've had too much city life lately," he said easily. "I'm out of shape." This was patently untrue for he moved with the agile grace of a born athlete, and Lyn would be willing to swear he was in top condition. But why should he bother lying to her? "Who told you I was here?" "At Sioux Lake they mentioned that yours was the only place between there and Beaver Falls." He glanced over at the gathering clouds on the horizon. "When I realized a storm was coming up, I decided to try to find you." It was entirely plausible, but for some reason none of her suspicions were abated. She said shortly, "You can make it to the falls easily before the storm breaks." "But I want to stay here and paint you," he said abruptly. She gathered the shirt a little more tightly around her body. "What on earth for?" "I have already told you," he replied patiently. "Because I've never seen anyone looking more beautiful than you did walking out of the lake." She could feel herself blushing again, and her mouth tightened angrily. "The answer is no." "Look, can't we discuss this reasonably somewhere? Why don't you go in and get your clothes on, and I'll get my gear." His mouth quirked, although his eyes remained oddly watchful. "I can even show you my credentials if you like." Oh, yes, Lyn thought, he would have credentials, all in order, correct and convincing. Not that there was any rational reason why she should not believe him - or fear him. But fear him she did. With searing certainty she knew that if the stranger stayed, her life would never be the same again. He wouldn't necessarily have to do anything; the simple fact of his existence would change her irrevocably and disastrously. Why this should be so, she didn't know. She must not allow this chance meeting to disrupt her life. Blindly trusting her instincts, she said, "I don't want you here." "What are you afraid of?" "I - nothing," she lied. With an air of humoring a fractious child, he said, "I promise I won't steal the family silver. Nor will I force upon you any undesired attentions." Unsophisticated as she was, it took her a moment to catch his meaning. She straightened to her full height, her eyes blazing with fury. The shirt slipped a little, revealing the shadowed hollow between her breasts. "I'm going to get dressed. And when I come out, I expect to find you gone." Not waiting to see what he would say, she turned on her heel with as much dignity as she could muster in her scanty attire and stalked to the cabin, banging the door shut behind her. Once inside she pulled on a pair of overalls and an old shirt of her father's, ruthlessly pulling back her wet hair into two pigtails with frayed pieces of string. Shoving her feet into a pair of sandals, she went back outside. The beach was deserted. And to her inward horror she felt a bitter disappointment flood her whole being. He had taken her at her word...he had gone. Unconsciously her shoulders drooped. "Don't look so worried. I'm still here." She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting for control. Turning slowly, she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html saw him standing among the birch trees, a laden backpack on his shoulders. A pattern of sun and shadow dappled his features and the light fabric of his shirt, and again she had that dreamlike sense of unreality. "I...I thought I told you to go," she said uncertainly. "Something you might as well learn about me now as later is that I rarely take orders." The words were lightly spoken, but she knew they were the absolute truth. This was a man of steel who would not bend to the will of others. She could think of nothing to say or do, so she quietly waited to see what would happen next. For a long moment he stood still, his brilliant eyes exploring her face. When he spoke, his question was totally unexpected, and very down to earth. "Who cut your hair?" "My father." "He did a lousy job." "Thanks a lot," she said tartly. "You have to admit I'm only telling the truth." She was torn between indignation and amusement, but her innate sense of humor came out on top. Eyes dancing with mischief, she said, "Well, you see, we have - or rather, had - only one pair of scissors. I'd been using them in the garden while I was stringing up the peas, and I'd left them on the ground. I went into the cabin for a minute and while I was gone one of the ravens stole them. There's a pair that live on the bluff up there." She gestured behind her. "They're almost tame and they can be awful pests. My father was cross that I'd been so careless, so instead of buying another pair, he cut my hair v/ith his hunting knife." The effect of her story, which was quite true, was all she could have desired. He threw back his head and laughed, his white teeth gleaming against his tanned skin. His laughter was contagious. She began to giggle, too, saying weakly, "You should have seen me shaking my fist at that wretched bird as he flew by with my scissors in his claws!" Playfully he pulled one of her pigtails. "At least-that explains those jagged ends." She smiled up at him, as trusting now as she had been wary before. Laughter, the sharing of a joke, had been a rare thing in her life, for her father had rarely laughed nor had he been the slightest bit amused by the raven's thieving ways. But this stranger, formidable as he was, had seen the funny side of the incident immediately. He had been untying the string that held her hair and now he stood back a little, considering her features with an artist's detachment. "It should be cut quite a bit shorter," he mused. "You have a lovely natural wave, and if your hair were shorter, it would curl around your face." "You can't cut it shorter," she retorted, trying not to reveal how much his compliment had pleased her. "We haven't any scissors!" "Right. But when - " and then he stopped suddenly, a strange expression on his face. "What were you going to say?" "Oh, when you get another pair of scissors, you should try it that way." He was lying. He had been going to say something else, she was sure. On her guard again, she tied her hair back to give herself time to think. There seemed to be little sense in prevarication, so she said directly, "What are you going to do now?" "I want to stay around here for a day or so. Do you have any objections?" "Does it matter if I do?" "Why don't you try being honest with yourself and admit that you'd like me to stay?" It was as though her mind were as naked to his eyes as her body had been. She did want him to stay. She longed for him to stay, and it was the very intensity of this desire that terrified her. If only he would go now, she thought. If he did, in time she would forget him; he would remain in her memory only as a particularly vivid dream remains. But if he stayed, dream

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html would merge into reality, and she would never be able to forget him. Almost suffocated with fear, she gazed up at him mutely, her inner conflict mirrored in the clouded green of her eyes. "You have to choose, don't you?" he said evenly. "Whether to tell me to leave, so that you can stay safe and secure and half-alive, or whether to let me stay and risk waking up to all the joys and pains of life. And only you can decide...." His uncanny perception stripped her of every vestige of defense. Leave me! Leave me alone, her mind screamed at him. From a long distance away, she heard her voice say, "Will you stay?" With infinite gentleness he traced the line of her cheek with his finger, his touch making her heart leap in her breast. "Yes, I'll stay," he said, and it was as though he had made some commitment to her, the nature of which was beyond her comprehension. He straightened, and when he spoke his voice was so matter-of-fact that that moment of closeness might never have happened. "I'm hungry," he said, quirking a sardonic eyebrow." I can offer you dried pemmi-can or dehydrated soup. Can you improve on that?' * She lacked his ability to move so swiftly from a depth of feeling that had left her exhausted, to levity. Bewildered, and still frightened, she felt precariously close to tears. "Are you regretting your decision already?" he said quietly. "I thought you had more backbone than that. Besides," he added, an undertone of menace in his voice, "it's too late to change your mind now. I'm staying." Feeling cornered and avoiding his eyes, she said tightly, "Then you'd better come inside." She led the way to the cabin, holding the door open for him, wishing she felt less as though she were allowing an invader in. He stepped over the threshold and the door swung shut behind him. He looked around him with interest, and Lyn found herself observing the interior of the cabin as though through his eyes. There was one large room, high-raftered which was heated by the cast-iron stove that doubled as a cooker. In opposite corners were two wide bunks covered by patchwork quilts, and huge bearskins were laid on the scrubbed softwood floor. A handmade pine table and chairs and a tall dresser stood against the far wall, and covering two other walls were built-in shelves filled with a large and well-thumbed collection of books. A magnificent set of moose antlers hung over the door. In one corner was a sink with an old-fashioned pump. Everything was spotlessly clean, neat and orderly. What must he think of it, this man from the city? For in spite of his soft-footed woodsman's walk, she knew intuitively that he was not simply a nomadic painter. She was suddenly glad she had taken the trouble to pick a bunch of wildflowers this morning and arrange them in a jar on the table; they added a touch of color to the room. "How long have you lived here?" he asked. "For as long as I can remember." "That's quite a collection of books." "Mmm---living up here, I couldn't go to school. So my father taught me the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic, and then more or less turned me loose on ail his books." "No pictures on the wall?" Of course. He would notice that lack. "No. I live surrounded by beauty. I have no need of paintings on the wall." "Have you ever seen a Renoir? A Cezanne? A van Gogh?" he rapped. "No, How could I have?" "Then don't dismiss the masterpieces of centuries by saying you don't need art. The true artist expands your horizons, no matter where you live, makes you see some facet of experience as though for the first time." Her lively mind, so often starved for stimulation, longed to question him further. But equally she was angered by his cool assumption of authority. "Is the lecture over?" she demanded, facing him squarely. She wished he wasn't

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html quite so tall; the cabin seemed to have shrunk since he entered. "Generalizations always irritate me - yours no less than anyone else's," he said with a faint air of boredom. He glanced out of the window. "I'd better bring my gear in. The clouds are coming up fast." He strode out, giving her a few precious moments of respite. Weakly she sat down at the table. Never in so short a time had she been buffeted by such a conflicting storm of emotions. What had happened to her since this stranger had walked into her life? What was it about him that so disturbed her? As he reentered she looked up at him, her green eyes puzzled, her face unnaturally pale. "You look worn out," he said flatly. "Tell me where to find things and I'll start supper." She jumped up. "Oh, no, I can't let you do that," she said, reaching past him for the matches on the shelf. He seized her arm in a grip of steel, like one of her father's traps, she thought dazedly, staring down at the lean shapely fingers clasped around her wrist. His skin was tanned, and dark hair grew on the back of his hand. Her own arm, in contrast, looked frail, smooth and undeniably feminine. Deep within her something never before awakened stirred to life. She tried to pull free, but his sinewy strength defeated her. "You're hurting," she whispered. He slackened his grip, and only someone who knew him well would have guessed how tightly he was holding himself in control. "Sorry. Now will you do as you're told and sit down while I get us something to eat?" "I can't do that!" "Why not? Surely your father must sometimes get the meals?" "Oh, no, he never did," she answered, shocked. "That was my job." "Even when you were tired? Or ill?" "I'm never ill. And he was often tired too." "Look - " he paused, grinning reluctantly " - I've just realized we haven't introduced ourselves. I can't go around saying, 'Look, you' all the time. I'm Tor Hansen. Artist. From Halifax." "LynSelby." "It seems a bit late in the day to shake hands, doesn't it?" For a split second his gaze shifted to the swell of her bosom under the ill-fitting overalls, and she flushed vividly as she remembered how he had first seen her. Only wanting to divert attention from her pink cheeks, she said hurriedly, "Why don't we compromise? I'll get everything out and lay the table, and you do the cooking." "Okay, You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you?" "If I am, then I think I may have met my match in you," she said wryly, wrinkling her charming nose at him. His eyes caught fire and he made an involuntary movement toward her. She waited, her heart in her throat, but then his hands dropped to his sides and he said calmly, "I'll light the fire. The kindling's in that box, isn't it?" "Yes. I'm going out to the garden to get some vegetables. I'll be right back." "Wait a second and I'll come with you:" The garden had always been her retreat, the place she went when she wanted to think something out or work off a fit of temper. She didn't want him to accompany her, to invade yet another part of her life. Besides, she had been looking forward to a few minutes alone, to try to get him in some kind of perspective. But how could she tell him any of this? Rather ungraciously she said, "Well, hurry up." He raised an expressive eyebrow at her tone but made no comment. Her lips compressed, she preceded him down the pathway. Ducking under the wide-spaced wire strands that kept the deer out, she opened the gate for him. "Do you want to dig a few potatoes? Just enough for supper." But he was looking around him, and giving a low whistle of appreciation. "Do you look after this by yourself?" "Oh, yes."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Then you've put one hell of a lot of work into it." She blushed with pleasure, for she was genuinely proud of her gardening ability. "You must enjoy it." "I do." Looking around her at the neat rows of plants, she tried to put into words something she had never verbalized before, unaware that his eyes were trained on the delicate play of expression across her face. "I love planting the seeds and watching them push their way up through the soil to the sunlight. I like keeping them free of weeds, I guess because I prefer to have things neat and tidy. And there's nothing better than working in a garden in the cool of a summer evening with the birds singing all around you and the lake murmuring in your ear...." Suddenly afraid that he might be laughing at her, she looked up, but his eyes were serious and so intent on her face that she felt a frisson of mingled delight and terror ripple along her spine. She looked away and said lightly, "And of course I love eating what I grow, too!" "Lyn," he said quietly, "don't be afraid of sharing your feelings. That's part of friendship - showing the other person the real you." "But... we're not friends." "We could be, if you want us to be." Her face troubled, she said, "You're going too fast for me. I'm not used to seeing many people, especially people like you." "Stop making excuses." "I'm not. It's the truth!" "Okay, so it's the truth." There was a bite in his tone. "But you can't legislate relationships, Lyn." He gestured around him at the garden. "You can't always control them, keep them neat and tidy. Because relationships are between people and people mean emotions... and emotions are not always controllable." He was battering her with words. Her throat dry, she whispered, "What do you want of me?" "Just to be honest. And to take a few risks." "This is crazy. Two hours ago I hadn't even met you." "And now that you have, nothing will ever be the same again." Above them the sun disappeared behind a cloud, and suddenly she shivered. "That's what I'm afraid of. I was happy as I was. Why did you have to come?" His face closed. "I came. That's enough for now." He glanced up at the sky. "If we're going to get some vegetables before the rain starts, we'd better hurry!" Pulling her spade out of the ground, he walked over to the newly hilled potatoes. So that was that. Not knowing what else to do, Lyn began picking some beans, and the greens for a salad. From the shore came the peeping of sandpipers and from high on the hill the raucous cries of the ravens. Her hands busy with the familiar task, she fought to bring some order to her confused brain. Tor Hansen was only a man, she thought fiercely. So he was taller and better looking and infinitely more self-assured than anyone she had ever met before - so what? She was being foolish to let him affect her so strongly. He would be on his way tomorrow and she would never see him again. And in the meantime all she had to do was relax and enjoy his company. An admirable decision that lasted barely two minutes once they got back inside, for she had forgotten how cramped the kitchen area of the cabin was. As he began to wash the vegetables at the sink she reached up in the cupboard for the salad bowl. But it was too high for her, and she was about to get a chair when she felt hands at her waist and she was lifted effortlessly. She grabbed the bowl and was lowered to the floor. But instead of releasing her, Tor turned her to face him. She tensed, fighting the surge of wonder at his closeness. A gold medallion gleamed among the tangled dark hair on his chest; she could see the steady rise and fall of his breathing, smell the clean, undeniably masculine aroma of his skin. She clutched the bowl to her chest, holding herself rigid. 'Tut the bowl down, Lyn." 'Tor, I - "

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Do as I say." Helpless to resist him, she did as she was told. "Now look at me. Has a man ever kissed you before?" Eyes wide with panic, she shook her head, feeling his hands move up her arms to her shoulders. As he bent his head, she closed her eyes. Gently, question-ingly, his lips moved against hers. The echo of birdsong, the crackle of the fire in the stove, the sighing of the wind - they all vanished, until there was nothing left in the world but the warmth of his mouth on hers. The heat spread through her body and she swayed toward him. From deep in her throat came a tiny sound of pure delight. Only then did he raise his head, seeing her eyes slumberous with pleasure, her lower lip trembling slightly. He said huskily, "You're very beautiful. You know that, don't you?" A moment ago she had been drowning in his kiss. How could he stand there so calm, so unmoved? She was too inexperienced to sense the thud of his heartbeat under his shirt, too shy to reach out and touch him and find out for herself. "Am I?" she asked in confusion. "Yes. Someday I'm going to dress you in silks and satins - " His kiss had dulled her fear of him. But now it reared its head again, sharp-fanged as a lynx. "No!" she cried. "Don't talk like that. You know it'll never be true." "We don't know what the future holds, Lyn." "But we can choose what we want to do! I don't want your silks and satins, Tor Hansen. I'm not a doll, to be dressed up and put on parade, like a mannequin in a store." "No. But you're a woman, a woman of flesh and blood, with a beauty no one has ever brought to life. And I'm the one who's going to do that." "You can't just walk into my life and disrupt it any way you want to! I won't allow it. Besides, you have no right - " "I have every right---" And then he stopped. "Why don't you finish what you were going to say?" But he remained silent, his face an inscrutable mask. "Who are you, anyway?" she said desperately. "And why have you come?" "I'm not prepared to tell you that yet." She pounced. "Yet you spoke to me of friendship, and of the sharing between friends!" "Perhaps I want the friendship to develop before I tell you." "You're talking in riddles!" "Then let's drop the subject," he said with infuriating calmness. Too upset to think straight, she turned away and grabbing the knife, began slicing carrots with more speed than accuracy, the blade biting viciously into the board. Then the knife slipped and a thin red line appeared on her finger. She gave a sharp cry of pain, dropping the knife with a clatter into the sink. In a second Tor was beside her, his hands sure and steady as he compressed the wound to stop the bleeding. "I'm not usually that clumsy," she said faintly. "Have you got a first-aid kit?" "Second shelf at the back." She gasped with shock as he doused the wound with disinfectant, but by the time he had bandaged it, the pain had subsided to a dull throbbing. Unceremoniously he thrust her into a chair, his hands hard on her shoulders. "There'll be no arguing this time," he said grimly. "I'm going to cook the supper and you're going to sit and watch me." "Very well," she said meekly. "But my shoulder's hurting more than my hand." With a muttered expletive he loosened his grip, and a reluctant smile softened the harsh lines of his face. "Sorry." "As he cooked the meal, his movements deft and quick, they chatted casually about things. Or at least it seemed casual to Lyn at the time. It was only later that she realized how much of the talking she had done; his contribution had been the occasional question or comment, just enough to keep the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html conversation going. He served the meal and while they were eating, the first raindrops pattered on the roof. "I must haul the canoe farther up the beach after supper," Lyn remarked. "The waves can get quite high on the lake in a storm." "I'd better bring mine over, too." "Oh, did you come by canoe? I hadn't realized that." "Yes. I mistook the inlet before this for the one where your cabin was, so I left the canoe there and came through the woods." They went outside once they had eaten. It was raining more heavily. The wind had come up, gusting through the treetops and churning the surface of the lake into waves. Tor disappeared down the trail to the more southerly inlet while Lyn ran down to the beach. She seized the bow of her canoe, digging her heels into the sand to give herself purchase, and foot by foot dragged it up until it was well beyond the reach of the waves. As she finished, Tor rounded the peninsula, handling his canoe in the rough water with an expertise she had to admire. He drove it up on the shore, leaped out and hauled it level with hers, although with considerably less effort than she had expended. "Everything else okay?" he asked. She nodded and he grabbed her by the hand, running with her back to the cabin. Lyn hung up her slicker, shaking the wet hair out of her eyes. "Get a towel and come over by the stove. I'll dry your hair for you," Tor said. "That's all right. I can do it." "I know you can," he said with exaggerated patience. "But I'm offering to do it for you." She hesitated, biting her lip. Already she knew how dangerous it was for her peace of mind to be too close to him; why, she was not yet ready to analyze. "Lyn, don't be so infuriatingly independent. Hasn't anyone ever done anything for you?" "Not much, I guess," she said honestly. "I'm used to looking after myself." "Well, it's never too late to learn. Come over here." Reluctantly she walked toward him, sitting down in the chair he had pulled out. Vigorously he began toweling her scalp. When he had finished, he asked, "Where's your brush?" "In the cupboard by the sink," she replied, knowing better than to protest. She sat quite still as he brushed her hair, enjoying the sensuous tug and pull of the brush. "Look at yourself." In the mirror she saw how her hair fell loosely to her shoulders, framing her face with burnished curls. She gave an involuntary smile of pleasure. "It looks nice," she said naively. "Thank you." "The name is Tor." "Thank you, Tor." "After all, by now we should be on a first-name basis, don't you agree? Especially as I'll be spending the-night here." The smile faded from her lips. "What do you mean?" "I trust you're not going to make me pitch a tent in that - " He indicated the rain running in rivulets down the windowpanes. He sounded so sure of himself, she thought angrily. "You can't stay here!" "Why not? There's an extra bed." "My father will be coming home later," she lied. "There's a bunk in the shed. You can sleep out there." He said heavily, "Your father's dead, Lyn. They told me that at Sioux Lake." She backed away from him, putting the table between them. So he had known all along that she would be alone here. Trying to keep the fear out of her voice, she said evenly, "In that case, I'll sleep in the shed." "You'll do no such thing. Don't be such a little idiot!" "This happens to be my house and I'll do in it as I please," she retorted.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html While it was one of the unbreakable rules of the wilderness that you did not turn anyone from the door, it had also been one of her father's rules that she never allow a stranger to stay in the house when he was out on his traplines. At first she had been too young to understand why. Later her mind had become filled with all the whispered stories of rape and violence that the old-timers who would sometimes visit them from Sioux Lake seemed to delight in repeating in her earshot. And now she was alone in the cabin with this black-haired stranger, with only her own wits to depend on.... Outwardly calm, she began folding the quilt on top of her bed. "What are you doing?" "I already told you - I'm going to sleep in the shed." He reached her in four swift strides, jerking the blanket from her fingers and flinging it back on the bed. "No, you're not!" "I'll sleep where I please," she seethed, her fear swallowed up in a swift surge of anger, her eyes an emerald blaze. "You'll sleep in your own bed and I'll sleep in your father's bed. Stop making such a big deal out of it. What are you worrying about anyway - that I'm going to rape you? " Her white-faced silence was answer enough. "Oh, for God's sake!" he snarled. "I like my women willing, Lyn, and I like them sophisticated enough to know the score. You miss out on both counts." Underlying her relief was a bitter hurt from his undisguised contempt. Wanting only to hurt back, she said sarcastically, "And do you never run out of willing and sophisticated women?" "I never have yet," he said coolly. "But that really need not concern you, need it?" She had a sudden sickening vision of the type of woman he would consider acceptable: a sleek polished creature with a painted face and long red fingernails; a woman who would know all the best restaurants, the right clothes to wear, the correct thing to say in any situation. A woman of experience, both in bed and out.... Absurdly she felt like crying. She bent and straightened the quilt, blinking furiously. Behind her she heard Tor say in a carefully neutral tone of voice, "Now that that's settled, let's talk about something else. You must have a radio somewhere, Lyn? I'd like to hear the news." Her hands grew still. Why did he have to hit yet another of her vulnerable spots? "No. There's no radio." "Oh? You'd get fairly good reception here, wouldn't you? It's funny you don't have one. How on earth do you keep track of what's going on in the world?" She kept her face averted, wishing he would drop the subject. "I don't." Something in her voice must have alerted him. "Turn around so I can see you." Shrewdly he eyed her pinched face. "There's something you're not telling me. What is it?" "It's really none of your business." "I'm making it my business, Lyn. So why don't you tell me?" "Because I don't want to," she said vehemently. "It's something I've never really understood and I just don't want to talk about it. So please drop the subject, okay?" "No." His tone was perfectly calm and this, more than any show of anger, convinced her that he meant exactly what he said. "You have no choice," she said ' crossly. "You've phrased that wrongly, Lyn. It's you who has a choice: the choice of telling me or not. I don't know what you're hiding from me, but whatever it is, it obviously bothers you quite a lot. The best thing you can do is share it with me. And who knows, maybe I can help you understand." She gazed at him with unwilling respect, for he made everything sound so simple and clear. Perhaps he was right. She drew a deep breath. "It's something my father did," she said slowly. "We used to have a radio, you see.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html We had one for years. We must have got it when I was little. But all my father would listen to was the news. Nothing else. From the beginning I loved to listen to music, but the first time he caught me doing that, he turned it off and forbade me ever to turn it on again. So as soon as he'd go away on his traplines, I'd turn it on and listen to all the music I could find." She smiled faintly in reminiscence. "I don't know why. It just filled some kind of need. It was inevitable, I suppose, that sooner or later he'd catch me at it. One spring he got home a day earlier than I'd expected him. The Toronto Symphony Orchestra was playing a violin concerto when he came in. He picked up the radio, threw it across the room and smashed it. He was furious, beside himself." She shuddered. "It was the only time in my life he ever struck me. I've never understood why. I tried to ask him, but he wouldn't talk about it and he got so angry again that I was frightened." She sighed, and with an effort came back to the present. "So," she said, an unhappy twist to her mouth, "no more radio and no more music. I'm afraid you'll have to do without the news." "That's an incredible story, Lyn. I wonder why he was so opposed to music?" "I don't know. I used to wonder if it had something to do with my mother, because I wasn't allowed to ask about her, either." "Do you know anything about her?" "Hardly anything," The ghost of an old pain was in her voice. "I don't think she died. I think she just...left. I don't know why or when, although I was very young when we came here and she'd gone before that." 4'You don't know her name or anything else about her?" "No. I've often thought perhaps I resemble her, especially the last few years. Sometimes Dad would look at me as though he hated me. But I think it was my mother he was seeing, not me." "It doesn't sound like much of a childhood." "Don't get me wrong. He wasn't all bad. We were often happy together and he took good care of me. I always had clothes and warmth and enough food." "But not much love." "I suppose not." She'd had enough of this conversation. "Tell you what let's make a cup of coffee and I'll play you a game of chess." "You're probably an expert," he grinned, accepting her change of subject. She was a good player for her father had taught her well, but nevertheless it was Tor's voice that after a couple of hours said, "Checkmate." Laughing, she pushed back her chair. "I know when to quit! Anyway, it's bedtime." He yawned, "Yes, All this fresh air has made me sleepy." She put a bit more wood on the fire, just enough to keep the dampness out of the air, and brushed her teeth at the sink. Tor was still sitting at the table, neatly putting the pieces back in the box. Awkwardly she said, "Wouldn't you like to go out for a walk or something? Just so I can get ready for bed." "A walk in that weather? No, thanks." "But, Tor - " "If it'll make you feel better, I'll turn my back. Although I'm not likely to see anything I haven't already seen, am I, Lyn?" "Don't be so crude!" she snapped. He got up and walked over to her, and she fought the urge to retreat. "There's nothing crude about the human body. It's beautiful. And yours, as I have already told you, is exceptionally so." Scornfully his eyes raked her up and down, missing not one detail of her loose overalls and shirt. "Why on earth you wear clothes like those is beyond me." "Perhaps because this isn't Halifax or Toronto. It's northern Ontario. Or hadn't you noticed?" "Lyn, don't be - " She swept on, "Who am I supposed to impress around here - the deer and the ravens?" "How about your own self-respect? The way you dress and do your hair sure

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html doesn't indicate to me that you take much pride in yourself." "I thought you were an artist, not a psychiatrist," she said irritably. "At the moment I don't feel like either one. I feel like a man face to face with the most infuriating female he's ever met, a sharp-tongued little redhead who's scared to death to be a real woman." He had come closer as he was speaking until he towered over her, the lamplight shadowing his deep-set eyes to blackness. His face was like the granite cliffs of the lakeshore, she thought numbly. Harshly carved, dangerous, unforgiving of any error. She backed away until her knees hit the bed. "If I'm all that bad, why don't you just leave? After all, think of all those sophisticated women you were telling me about. They must be missing your attentions." "They can wait," he said silkily. "Maybe I'll find them rather boring after you." "What do you mean, after me? There's not going to be any before, during or after as far as I'm concerned!" It was hard to be defiant when he was standing so close to her, his big body exerting a magnetic pull that was almost irresistible. With a sick feeling of self-contempt, she knew she wanted him to kiss her again, to put his arms around her and hold her. He said he liked his women willing. She was no better than the rest of them, she thought in bitter self-derision. Slowly she raised her eyes to his. "Good night, Tor Hansen," she said, each word brittle as an icicle. "I'm going to bed. Alone." "I think you're a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you? I wasn't aware that I'd asked to share your bed." "Oh! You're intolerable!" "And you're a frigid little miss." He flicked her cheek with a casual cruelty, "Go to bed, Lyn. I'll turn my back while you undress and I won't come near you again." Her eyes filled with tears as, true to his word, he turned his back. She shrugged out of her clothes, throwing them across the chair, and pulled on her nightgown. It had once been a shirt of her father's; she had taken in the side seams and removed the collar, and its masculine severity somehow emphasized her very feminine curves and long slim legs, bare from midthigh. Over by the other bed Tor had just removed his shirt. The muscles of his back rippled smoothly under his tanned skin. She said coldly, "Will you put out the lamp or will I?" He turned to see a slender figure in a pale gray nightshirt, a tumble of dark red hair to her shoulders. "I will. Go to bed." The gold medallion around his neck caught the light and with a stab of pain she wondered who had given it to him.... A woman, she could be sure of that. She climbed into bed, deliberately turning her face to the wall and pulling the blankets around her shoulders. She could hear the tiny sounds of his movements across the room, then the light slowly dimmed and was extinguished. From the other bed a creak of springs, a sigh... then silence. Outside the wind had dropped and the rain had diminished to a soft patter overhead. She lay quietly, knowing she wouldn't sleep, not with Tor Hansen in the other bed. In minutes her breathing grew deep and regular, although even in sleep her fingers stayed clenched on the pillow.... CHAPTER THREE

THE STORM MOVED SWIFTLY up the lake. Forked lightning split the black sky and seconds later thunder clapped and growled. The rain fell in sheets, bouncing on the surface of the lake, drumming on the roof of the log cabin. From directly overhead a bright blue flash illuminated the interior of the cabin with an eerie glow, then like a gunshot the thunder reverberated in the air. Lyn woke with a start, her ears still ringing. Instantly she knew what was wrong. She huddled under the covers, bracing for the next flash of lightning. As it snapped through the sky, the thunder roaring on its heeis, her body

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html shuddered, She thrust her fist against her mouth. It was only a thunderstorm. Electricity...noise...that was all. Nothing to be afraid of. Again the cabin was bathed in blue Tight and she buried her face in the pillow, her limbs trembling. "Lyn, are you all right?" She had not heard the soft fall of footsteps across the floor. For a moment she thought it was her father, before memory rushed in and she knew it to be Tor. From the clouds a jagged streak of lightning ripped to the ground and she whimpered, almost demented with fear. He sat on the bed and she threw herself at him, her arms tightening convulsively, her cheek against his chest. He could feel the tremors that shook her frame and the frantic racing of her heart. With each flash of lightning she flinched, as though under the lash of a whip. He gathered her into his arms, pulling the quilt around her, holding her as he would a child. "It's all right - I'm here. You're not alone," he murmured. "Don't be frightened. I won't leave you." Mindless with terror, she scarcely understood what he was saying. All she knew was that he was there, solid, comforting, warm, his arms a haven from the storm's fury. For more than ten minutes the storm raged directly overhead, before gradually moving northwest. The brilliance of the lighting lessened, the thunder subsided to a dull rumble among the clouds. Insensibly the grip of Lyn's fingers loosened and Tor heard her draw a long quivering sigh. He shifted his cramped limbs, his hand moving up to stroke her hair. "Have you always been that frightened of thunderstorms?" "Ever since I was five or six," she gulped, her face still burrowed in his shoulder so that he had to bend his head to catch her words. "Tell me about it." "Are you sure? It's another long story." "Tell me about it," he persisted. This time she was too upset to try to resist him. "Well, okay. You see, when I was small I was never supposed to go very far from the cabin, but one day in August I was picking blackberries and not really watching where I was going, just wandering from bush to bush until I filled my pail. Then I realized that I was in a patch of woods that I'd never seen before." She looked up at him in the dark. "Have you ever been lost in the woods?" "Yes, once. Not an experience I'd care to repeat. It sure makes you understand how people go round and round in circles, though. It's so easy to give in to panic." "Mmm." She snuggled closer and instinctively his arm tightened around her. "Dad had told me that if I ever got lost, to stay put. So that's what I did. But it started getting dark and a storm came up. Even though I got soaked in the rain, I didn't mind that too much. But then the lightning started." She paused, lost in memory. "Afterward I heard someone say it was the worst electrical storm in years. The flashes were so bright I could see everything around me, sharp and clear. Then the thunder would fill the darkness, and afterward there'd be that awful waiting silence until the next flash of lightning." She swallowed. "A tree was struck only about twenty feet away from me. It cracked from crown to roots just as though it had been split by a giant ax, and then it burst into flames. I was petrified. I started running, anywhere, just to get away. When I was too tired to run any farther, I curled up under a tree and fell asleep. And that's where my father found me." "Did he punish you?" "Not at the time. I think he was too relieved to find me. But two or three weeks later we had another thunderstorm, and I was as scared as I'd been when I was lost. And that was when the punishment came. Dad wouldn't comfort me at all. He said it was my own fault I'd been so scared the first time, because if I hadn't wandered away from the cabin, it would never have happened. Thunderstorms were a fact of life, he said, and I'd have to learn to live with them. But I never have. Every time it seems as though I'm back in the woods

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html seeing that tree disintegrate into flames." "He was a hard man, your father." "Well, it couldn't have been easy for him, bringing up a daughter on his own," Lyn said in weary excuse. "But even so, I think you're right; he was a hard man. I wanted so much to be loved by him and to be able to love him back, but it never seemed to happen. Always there was a distance between us." Her voice sank to a whisper. "And now he's dead and it's too late." Two tears trickled down her cheeks and dropped onto his chest. Then suddenly she was crying in earnest, her slim form shaken by sobs as she grieved for the pain and disappointment that had been interwoven in the most important relationship of her life. Eventually she grew calmer. She felt utterly exhausted but strangely at peace with herself as well. "I've never told anyone so much about myself before," she hiccuped, too tired to be anything but completely honest. "Not even my friend Margaret knows about the thunderstorm, or the radio." "Maybe you needed to tell someone." "I wonder why you, though?" she murmured drowsily. Against her cheek she could feel the tangled hair on his chest and the steady beat of his heart. His arms were warm and firm and sure; they would protect her, she thought trustingly as she drifted off to sleep. They would keep her from any harm--In a few minutes the man lowered Lyn into bed so gently that she did not even waken. There was no one to see the strained twist to his mouth as he stared down at the sleeping girl, his eyes bleak with a purpose known only to himself. It was a long time before he got up and went to his own bed, and the first pale glimmer of dawn was shining on the surface of the lake before he slept. Lyn woke first in the morning, surprised to find Tor still asleep. Moving as quietly as she could, she got out of bed and padded over to the rack that held her entire supply of clothes. Up until now she had considered them perfectly adequate, but as she pulled on a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a green T-shirt, faded with many washings, she found herself wishing she had something a little more...becoming or sophisticated? Unwillingly she looked over at the man lying face down on her father's bed, the man in whose arms she had fallen asleep just a few hours ago. His tousled head was coal black against the white pillow. The blankets were twisted around his waist, leaving bare his broad shoulders and a smoothly muscled back that rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. One arm hung limply over the side of the bed. That arm had held her close last night; that hand had smoothed her hair. Yet twenty-four hours ago she had not even known he existed. As she stared at him, so relaxed and untroubled in sleep, a strange warmth spread through her limbs as she took one step toward him, her hand tentatively reaching out to bury itself in his hair and slide over the warm hollows of his back.

He stirred, muttering something under his breath. Certain that he must be able to hear her heart hammering against her ribs, she waited for him to discover her. Then he grew still again. Her cheeks flushed, she crept out of the room, wondering what she would have done had he awakened and found her staring at him so fixedly. It was

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html behavior she could not understand herself, and somehow it shamed her that the mere sight of a man's body, and moreover that of a man who was a virtual stranger to her, could so deeply affect her. She felt disoriented, at a loss to cope with longings and sensations that hitherto had played no part in her life. But when she went outdoors, her mood brightened. The clear innocent blue of the sky was reflected in the lake, while the leaves and grass glittered with silver droplets from last night's rain. Everything looked newly washed, fresh and clean. It was a day to give thanks for being alive, the girl thought in a sudden rush of joy, unaware that much of her euphoria sprang from the knowledge of Tor's presence in the cabin. As though she had conjured him up, the cabin door opened and Tor stepped out into the sunshine. He was naked to the waist, his powerfully built body as supple as a mountain lion's. He stretched and yawned, running his fingers through his thick black hair. Then, as he caught sight of the girl under the tree, he froze momentarily in his tracks. "Good morning," she called, a lilt in her voice. He came slowly down the path toward her, and she was shocked to see how haggard he looked. "Didn't you sleep well? " "No." There was tension in the set of his mouth, conflict in his shadowed eyes. "What's wrong, Tor?" she faltered. For a minute she thought he was going to tell her. But then his face closed. "You'll find out soon enough, Lyn. I don't want to talk about it right now." He glanced around him almost as though the tree trunks and lacy network of branches were the bars of a prison; he had a hunted, trapped look. "Please, won't you tell me? You were such a help to me last night. Can't I be the same to you?" "No!" The word was bitten off, and unconsciously she recoiled, her leaf-green eyes bewildered and hurt. He made a sudden gesture toward her and just as suddenly stopped short. "Lyn - " "Yes?" Breathlessly she waited, but when he spoke, his words were completely unexpected. "You must have a favorite place around here," he said slowly, "a spot where you go when you want to be alone. Do you?" "Yes, I do." Involuntarily her generous mouth curved into a smile. "Will you take me there?" "Now?" For the first time that morning he produced the semblance of a smile. "Well, we could wait until after breakfast." "Of course I'll take you. But why?" He looked straight at her and she was chilled by the torment in his eyes. "Tomorrow I'll be gone from here," he said quietly, and her heart constricted. "But I don't want to think about that right now. Just for this afternoon I'd like us both to forget reality, to forget all the things we should or shouldn't be doing. Let's enjoy the present moment and each other's company and tomorrow can take care of itself." Yesterday she had longed for him to leave. Now he was telling her that tomorrow he would be gone, and with absolute certainty she knew she did not want him to go. In less than twenty-four hours he had turned her life upside down. He couldn't just walk away and leave her, for if he went, she would be alone as she had never been alone before. "Don't look like that, Lyn - please." She spread her hands in a helpless little gesture. "I don't understand - " "Then don't try. Come on, let's have breakfast and pack a picnic and take off." It was past noon by the time they were ready to leave. They packed the gear in the canoe, and then Lyn took her place in the bow while Tor sat in the stern. For well over an hour they paddled steadily across the lake toward the two islands and the far shore, where the balsam fir grew tall and straight

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html against the sky and the poplars rustled in the breeze. Behind them the cabin was lost from sight. The rhythmic strokes of the paddle, the quiet, the warmth of the sun - all combined to make Lyn forget the threat of Tor's departure. The present was too absorbing, and besides, she was looking forward to showing him her retreat. Eventually she said softly, "We turn up that creek." As they rounded the bend, her paddle remained poised in the air. Among the waxen-petaled water lilies that dotted the surface of the lake a moose was feeding, almost completely submerged. Even as they watched, it raised its great head, water streaming from its muzzle, a lily shoot trailing incongruously from its massive spread of antlers. Still chewing, it surveyed them with majestic calm. Then in a swirl of water it turned in a leisurely fashion and headed for the bank. And with a heave of its haunches it was ashore. One more look over its shoulder, a twitch of its nostrils, and it had loped off into the bush, incredibly silent for so large an animal, until it had disappeared from sight among the tamaracks. From behind her Tor said quietly, "What a painting that would make." "Wasn't he magnificent... and so dignified!" "I'm sure we were far more impressed with him than he with us." She chuckled. "Had it been rutting season, we'd have been even more impressed. I've never actually been charged by one, but I know several people who've spent four or five hours treed by a bull moose." They began paddling again, more slowly now, and in the wake of the canoe the lilies swayed, their gold centers trapping the pagan glow of the sun. The water was shallower and so crystal clear that they could see the rock-strewn bottom and the occasional silver flash of a fish. A warbler hopped from branch to branch of the alders that crowded the shore; its feathers were a brilliant yellow. A pair of blackbirds rustled in the undergrowth. Skillfully avoiding scraping the canoe on the rocks, Lyn edged it ashore and jumped out, tying the hawser to a tree trunk. "We walk from here. It's not far." "Lead the way." There was a scarcely discernible trail among the trees, and as they moved along it, each carrying a haversack, the primeval silence of the forest enveloped them. It was hot and very still, the air resin-scented. The ground was springy underfoot from the accumulation of needles fallen from the trees, season after season. At first the track led away from the stream, and it was only after some fifteen minutes of walking that there filtered through the woods the first distant murmur of water. It increased in volume to a muted roar as they scrambled down the sloping forest floor toward the ravine, where between granite rocks the creek bubbled on its way down to the lake. Lyn clambered over an untidy heap of giant moss-covered boulders, beckoning Tor to follow her. Suddenly the trees opened into a small clearing carpeted with vivid green moss. Ahead lay gaunt gray cliffs, over which the water cascaded in a tumble of foam to the deep pool thirty feet below, which was overhung with graceful ferns. In the shadowed woods the orange flowers of touch-me-nots shone like little jewels. The girl stood still, as always entranced by the wild beauty of the scenery. Then she glanced up at Tor. "So this is your retreat," he said slowly. "Yes...do you like it?" It suddenly seemed very important that he should. He nodded, his eyes following the white arc of the waterfall over the slippery rocks. "I think it's the most beautiful place I've ever seen." Her lips curved in a delighted smile. She had never brought anyone here before, but his response quelled any doubts she might have had about sharing her retreat. With secret pleasure she saw how intensely he was absorbed in the scenery. His profile was hawklike in its strength, his neck corded with muscle; he looked as remote and untamed as any wild creature, and as much a part of the surroundings. He belonged "What are you thinking?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She jumped. "I...I'm glad you like it here," she said lamely. "But that's not all, is it?" "No." She hesitated, almost hypnotized by the blue brilliance of his eyes. "It's just that you fit here somehow. I...I've never brought anyone here before, you see." "I'm glad you brought me." He placed both hands on her shoulders, his fingers curving over the fragile bones. "Thank you." Then his mouth fell softly on hers in a kiss of such tenderness that her heart sang; because she had never learned to prevaricate or be coy, all her joy was shining in her eyes for him to see when he raised his head. So brief was the kiss that afterward she wondered if she had imagined it, if their joy was mutual, a silent communication more powerful and moving than any words could have been. But then a shutter dropped over his face. Unconsciously his fingers tightened their hold so that she made a tiny sound of protest. "You're hurting me." Without removing his eyes from her face, he loosened his grip. There was a sheen of perspiration on his brow. "I think you've cast a spell on me," he muttered. "You... and this place. I'm scared that if I let go of you, you'll vanish." "I won't do that." Shyly she reached up and placed her palm against his cheek. "See? I'm real." When he slid his lips along her hand, they left a trail of fire; she quivered with a mingled pain and pleasure such as she had never experienced before. "You're so real that I don't dare believe in you," he said. She frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean?" Abruptly he stepped back from her, his hands falling to his sides. "Nothing. I'm talking nonsense," he said shortly. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "Phew, it's hot. Can we swim here?" She was bewildered and hurt by his change of mood, but ineptly she tried to conceal this from him. "Yes...of course. The water's like ice, though, even in summer," she babbled. "You can swim up behind the waterfall if you want to." Ignoring her, he began unbuttoning his shirt. She was unable to pull her eyes away as he shrugged out of it, dropping it carelessly on the ground, and then fumbled with his belt buckle. He had said to her that the human body was a thing of beauty, and she knew him to be right: his smoothly tanned skin, the arch of his rib cage, the tangled hair on his chest, aroused in her a wild and primitive delight. His prosaic question brought her back to earth. "Do you have a swimsuit?" "Yes. I put it on under my shorts." "Are you going to swim?" "I guess so. If you don't mind," she stammered, wishing she knew what was going on in his head. "Why should I?" he said indifferently. "It's your territory, after all." He stepped out of his jeans, so that he was wearing only a pair of black trunks. She had never seen a man so briefly clad before and in fascination she gazed at his lean hips and the muscular length of his legs, which were covered with dark hair. Just looking at him made her feel intensely aware of her own femininity, of her softness and curves... and cf the vast chasm that stretched between them: he was male, she female. "Why are you staring like that?" he asked irritably. She flushed scarlet, crossing her arms defensively across her breast, and said the first thing that came into her head. "You can dive anywhere from the rocks - the water's over thirty feet deep." His eyes narrowed and she waited with a sinking heart. But then he pivoted, ran across the grass and dived into the pool. The water was peat-brown from mineral deposits in the hills, and for a moment she could see the whiteness of his body deep under the surface. Then he vanished from sight. As she waited for him to reappear, she walked over to the edge, her feet sinking into the moss. Even for a strong swimmer, he had been underwater for quite a while, she thought, becoming increasingly anxious---On the far shore, only a few feet

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html from the cascading waterfall, a sleek black head broke the surface. "It's freezing!" he shouted. She laughed with relief. "I warned you!" In a smooth crawl he glided back across the pool and heaved himself up onto the rocks. His swim must have exorcised whatever devils had been plaguing him, for he was grinning as he advanced toward her. "I thought you said you were going for a swim." "I am." He playfully flicked his arm so that a shower of ice-cold drops fell on her. "Maybe," she teased. "No maybe about it. I'm not going back in there without you." Torn between laughter and embarrassment, her fingers unaccustomedly awkward, she undid the belt and the zipper of her shorts. As she slid them down her hips, she knew he was looking at her. "Do you mind my watching you?" he asked. What had he said back at the cabin? "Tomorrow I'll be gone...let's enjoy the present---" She had two choices: she could turn away and hide her body from him or she could face him, braving the naked desire in his eyes. "Tomorrow I'll be gone---" So tomorrow would be too late... there was only today. Recklessly she tossed back her hair. "No," she said, "I don't mind." Her shorts fell to the ground and she pulled the shirt over her head in one graceful movement. The sun gilded the pale honey of her skin, bared by the narrow sheath of her white swimsuit. He made a move toward her and she laughed, unconsciously provocative. "Catch me if you can," she dared, backing away from him toward the dark water of the pool. Her body like a slim golden arrow, she plunged into the pool and swam swiftly to the opposite shore. But when she surfaced his black head was right beside her, his hands seizing her waist. She twisted like an eel but inexorably he pulled her closer. His lips found hers; they were cold and wet but even so a flame raced through her body. Unconsciously she relaxed and then the water was up over her chin and she was choking and laughing at the same time. It gave her the moment she needed. She put her palms flat on his chest and pushed back. Then she submerged, eyes open, and grabbed his ankle, pulling as hard as she could. For over half an hour they cavorted in the water like a couple of otters, their voices echoing among the rocks. Lyn was the first to give up. "No more," she gasped, pulling herself up on the shore and collapsing on the moss, her head on her knees, her breast rising and falling from her exertions. He grabbed her hands and hauled her to her feet. "Can't take it, eh?" "You're too much for me!" she chuckled, sensing even as she spoke that there was more truth than jest in her words. The laughter faded from his face and his eyes darkened. Wordlessly he drew her closer, until they stood body to body. She closed her eyes, every fiber of her being aware of his towering height, the steel strength of his sinews, his naked flesh on hers* A shudder ripped through her and in sudden terror she pulled away, her green eyes panic-stricken. "No - don't!" Although there was space between them now, his hands still firmly clasped her waist. He said gently, "Don't be frightened. You've never been held like this before, have you?" She shook her head, lowering it in shame. What must he think of her, so inexperienced and naive? He must find her laughable, a figure of fun--"Look at me, Lyn." "No, I - " He tilted her chin so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Don't look like that. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You're a beautiful woman, Lyn. Don't ever forget that." "But----" She fell silent, unable to put into words her sense of inadequacy. "All of life is a learning. So don't belittle yourself simply because you lack experience."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She felt an almost superstitious dread, for he had read her thoughts as though they were his own. Was nothing hidden from him? Deliberately he reached for her hand and placed it palm down on the hard curve of his collarbone. "You want to know what a man feels like, don't you, Lyn? Let me teach you...give me your other hand. Now touch me." She wanted to do as he asked more than she had ever wanted anything before, but some vestige of shyness held her back. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered. He bent his head, running his lips across the back of her hand and along her fingers, catching her fingertips gently between his teeth. "Because we both want it." It seemed reason enough. Her movements hesitant at first, she allowed her hands to slide across the breadth of his shoulders. The sun had dried the moisture from his skin and it was warm to the touch. As though they had a will of their own, her fingers memorized the contours of his neck and buried themselves in the dampness of his hair. Then slowly, with a sensuality she had not known she possessed, she allowed them to slide to his chest, teasing the tangled dark hair there. She discovered where his ribs curved to his breastbone and stroked the tautness of his stomach. Her breath caught in her throat at the scorching intensity of his eyes. "Do you like what you're doing?" he demanded, his voice suddenly rough. "Yes." Greatly daring, she murmured, "Do you like it, too?" He did not reply but seized her hand again and pressed it against his chest so that she could feel the heavy pounding of his heart. Her eyes flared with a new pride as she realized the power she could wield simply by being a woman. "I excite you, don't I?" she asked naively. His answer was to pick her up in his arms and carry her over to a hollow in the ground, where the moss grew thick and green. He laid her down and fell beside her, his face level with hers. The look in his eyes made her tremble as he said softly, "You're so beautiful, Lyn. This reminds me of the first time I saw you." He began kissing her with exquisite gentleness, his tongue teasing her lips apart. Trustingly she lay still, her body filled with lassitude and a delicious sense of freedom---She was floating, floating in a lake whose waters she had never tasted before. Shyly at first, then more confidently, she began to respond to the sureness of his mouth; she cupped his face in her hands, nibbling provocatively at his lower lip, then twisted her fingers in his hair. His breathing quickened. Then he was on top of her, his weight pushing her into the soft ground, his kiss growing deeper, demanding more of her. Ail the generosity of her nature, denied an outlet for so many years, overflowed into a longing to please him as he was pleasing her. Her arms curved around his back, her nails probing the muscles of his shoulders and the long indentation of his spine.... Tor pushed himself up on one elbow, his gaze devouring her flushed cheeks and brilliant eyes, green as the moss on which she lay. With a deliberation that made her ache with longing, he began kissing her again, but this time his mouth followed the line of her neck to the smooth hollow of her throat, touching her flesh with fire. Dimly she felt a hand at her back, then fingers pushing the straps from her shoulders, baring her breasts to the heat of the sun. She must have made some sound of protest, for he said softly, "It's all right. I won't hurt you." In a burst of wonderment she saw his dark head close to her breasts as his fingers stroked the fullness of her flesh, and then his lips followed the same path. Any lingering remnant of shyness or of control was lost to her. For the first time in her life she knew what it meant to be a woman: it was for this that she had been made... it was for this man's body that she had been fashioned as she was. With unabashed eagerness she allowed her hands to wander over his torso, caressing all its male contours. "Oh, Lyn, I want you so much," she heard him breathe huskily.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Just before his mouth claimed hers again, she whispered, "I want you, too." His body crushed her into the forest floor. Behind them the white foam fell unceasingly over the slick gray rocks, and the waters of the pool swirled and bubbled. High overhead an eagle drifted lazily in the hot summer sky. Lyn was aware of none of this. Her world had become the feel of flesh on flesh, the thudding of Tor's heart and the roughness of his breathing deep in his throat. She was overjoyed by her power to arouse him. Driven by instincts older than time itself, her hips moved sinuously under his, until the hardness of his body flooded her with a wild longing for something more. For fulfillment...for peace from the pain of desire...for an end to her body's clamor. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, she whispered, "Tor...oh, Tor...please take me...make me yours." Suddenly his hands grew still. For a moment his head rested on her shoulder and she saw him fight for breath, his eyes closed. Then he flung himself off her to lie face down on the ground. She began to shiver, too inexperienced to have any idea what was wrong. "Tor?" At first she thought he had not heard her. Then he slowly levered himself upright. His face was empty of emotion, his mouth a taut controlled line. "Please tell me what's wrong," she faltered. "What did I do?" His eyes a brittle icy blue, he said, "Put your clothes on." She blushed with shame for she had forgotten that she was half-nude; her fingers awkward with haste, she pulled her swimsuit over her breasts, where it clung suggestively to the curves of her body, and reached for her shirt. "Don't you want me any more?" she asked, with a courage born of ignorance. "Yes, I want you," he replied bleakly. "I want you as I have never wanted a woman before." "Well, then - " "That doesn't mean I'm going to take you." Her eyes filled with tears. "Why not?" "For heaven's sake, don't cry!" A slow burning anger began to replace the pain within her. "I'm not. But, Tor, what could be wrong with us making love here in this beautiful place?" "You're being a fool, Lyn," he said brutally. "So this place is like Shangri-la - remote from the world, incredibly beautiful. That doesn't mean we can become lovers." "But you were the one who said to forget about tomorrow and enjoy today!" "So I did. But I draw the line at making love to an innocent like you." "That's not what you were saying a few minutes ago," she lashed back. "Don't push me," he warned, white-faced. "You're a very desirable woman. And I'm >only human. But I'm sorry now I ever started it." His words stabbed her with pain. "Was it that bad?" "You know very well it wasn't." "Then why did you stop?" she cried. "It was so beautiful. So perfect." "I stopped because I'm the first man who's ever kissed you, let alone made love to you. You know nothing of the ways of the world, Lyn. How the hell do you think I'd ever live with myself if I took advantage of your innocence?" "Even if I wanted you to?" she whispered. "Yes - even then." "I don't understand!" "Did your father tell you nothing as you were growing up?" "When he was away, I wasn't allowed to let anyone sleep in the cabin," she faltered. "A man, I mean." "Didn't he explain why?" "Well, no." Knowing how inadequate this sounded, she stared miserably at the ground. "He never discussed it. I sometimes think he hated women. He never let me buy dresses or makeup." She glanced down at her white swimsuit. "I was forbidden to get a bikini, for instance." "The message being that sex is dirty... something to be ashamed of," Tor said savagely.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Isn't that just what you've finished telling me?" "No!" he said vehemently. "But don't you see, Lyn? For us to have made love this afternoon would have been wrong. We don't love each other; we're not committed to each other in any way." Her mind and body in a turmoil, she flinched away from the violence in his tone, still not able to comprehend how the closeness and desire they had shared could be construed as wrong. He took a deep breath, fighting for control. "Besides, don't you remember what I said earlier today? I'm leaving here tomorrow, Lyn. And that's not going to change." The color drained from her cheeks. Unconsciously her fingers tore at the soft clumps of moss. "I see," she said quietly, drawing on every ounce of pride she possessed to keep her voice steady. "Then there's nothing more to discuss, is there?" "Not here. Not now." But she scarcely heard him, for as she stood up she had to fight back a wave of dizziness. Her vision cleared and she gave the waterfall and the gently swaying ferns one last glance, knowing as she did so that she would never come here again. In one brief afternoon Tor had destroyed this place for her, taking away its serenity and peace; now she would always associate it with pain and rejection. As they walked back toward the canoe, she wondered numbly what else he would destroy before he left. Herself? It was not impossible. This afternoon he had wakened her to the strength and beauty of sexual desire; she could not go back to the innocent girl she had been a scant few hours ago, for a whole new dimension in her nature had been revealed to her. A frightening dimension, for it had given Tor complete power over her. He could have done with her as he wished, and she would have been unable to resist him. And in the end he had rejected her--They paddled home in silence. Lyn had the beginnings of a headache, which the glare of the sun on the water did nothing to assuage. Around and around in her tired brain the thoughts chased each other. Tomorrow he would be gone, and the sooner the better... but how would she pick up the scattered strands of her normal life? Would she be able to pretend that he had never existed? It did not seem very likely. She had always prided herself on her independence and self-sufficiency, which had enabled her to spend long periods by herself without ever feeling lonely. Somehow Tor had stripped her of this freedom; the thought of him going terrified her, for it would leave her truly alone. While the death of her father had hinted at that aloneness, the departure of Tor would drown her in it. Even as she acknowledged these unpalatable truths, she was trying to ignore the bitter knowledge that, wanting her as he might, Tor was adamant in his intention to leave the next day. Where he was going or why he had to leave, she had no idea. But whatever - or whoever - was taking him away, was more important than herself. Viciously she dug her paddle into the water. Although the journey home seemed to take far longer than the journey out, they finally beached the canoe and carried their gear up to the cabin. Tor extracted a couple of packets of sandwiches from the haversack and shoved them into his own backpack, which he then strapped onto his back. Lyn watched in silence, her heart in her mouth. Perhaps he was not going to wait until tomorrow to leave... but when he looked up, he said curtly, "I've got to get away from you for a while, so I'm going out to do some painting. I'll be back by nightfall." "Please yourself," she said equally coldly, trying not to let him see her relief that it was only a temporary departure. The door swung shut behind him. From the window she watched his long-legged figure stride down toward the trail along the lakeshore. Only when he was out of sight among the trees did she move away. Weighed down by an exhaustion that was emotional rather than physical, she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN LYN WOKE the cabin was shadowed and quiet, and she was still alone. Suppressing a sense of uneasiness that Tor was not yet back, she got up and changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, heated some soup on the stove and made herself a cup of tea, then sat at the kitchen table with an open book propped in front of her, although she made no pretense at reading. The minutes passed slowly. Dusk deepened to darkness, and still she sat there. Her headache was back in full force and she was filled with a sickening sense of apprehension that Tor had lied to her; his talk of painting had merely been an excuse to get himself out of the cabin so he could go back to Sioux Lake. On the other hand, if he had been telling the truth - and surely he had been then perhaps he had met with an accident, and that was why he hadn't returned. Either alternative aroused her to a level of such intense anxiety that she could no longer sit still. She went outside. The sky was a black velvet backdrop for a glittering display of stars, while a crescent moon had risen over the far hills. In the distance a coyote howled, its long-drawn-out cry indescribably sad and lonely as it echoed eerily across the waters of the lake. From the woods behind the cabin came a heavy beat of wings, then a thin shriek as some tiny night creature met death in the talons of an owl. Lyn shivered, her ears straining in vain for the sound of Tor's approach, but the forest was silent now, seemingly empty of either animal or human. Eventually she went back indoors, deciding to give him another fifteen minutes before going along the shore trail in search of him. She was gathering up her emergency gear - torch, waterproof matches, first-aid kit - when the cabin door opened and Tor came in. The constraint between them and the pain he had caused her were swallowed up in sheer relief that he was safe. The matches slid off the table to the floor as she ran toward him, hands outstretched. "Oh, Tor, I was worried!" she cried. "I thought you might have had an accident." Somehow she was in his arms, crushed against his chest. "Sorry," he murmured in genuine contrition. "I got involved in the painting and lost all track of time. It was almost dark - too dark to paint, anyway - before I stopped. And then I had to walk home. I must have been about three miles away." At the same moment it struck them both how naturally he had said the word "home." Lyn blushed and tried to free herself from his embrace, but he held her a minute longer. "That's the best welcome I've had in years," he said with a quietness that conveyed absolute conviction. "Thank you." "You're welcome." There was something different about him, she thought in puzzlement. He looked at peace with himself as though he had won some kind of major victory, yet paradoxically he also looked steeled for action, taut and tense. "Do you want to see what I did?" The question was simple enough. Then why did she hesitate? "Of course," she said hurriedly. He swung his backpack to the floor and she saw he had an ingeniously designed rack fitted to it, which was holding a rectangular canvas. Carefully he pulled it out and propped it up on the dresser where the light of the oil lamp fell full on it. In silence she looked at the painting. It was a head-and-shoulders portrait of herself in the red checked shirt and overalls she had worn yesterday, her hair pulled back with string, its russet hue warm against a gray cloudy sky. She was turned at an angle to the canvas. Behind her stretched the forest, dark green and impenetrable. With consummate skill Tor had blended this background into a hazy foreground of city streets and skyscrapers, overhung by the same dull sky. It was toward the city that the girl in the portrait was looking, her green eyes as full of secrets as the forest, a tension in the slim line of her neck, a pride in the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html tilt of her chin. It was Tor who spoke first. "I shall call it 'The Choice,' " he said, his eyes trained on her face. Her heart began to beat in heavy sick thuds in her chest, just as the headache pounded at her temples. She knew she had to say something, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. Scantily educated as she was in artistic matters, she somehow sensed that she was looking at a masterpiece, both technically and emotionally. But this was not the time for compliments. She forced the question out. "What does it mean?" Her eyes, huge in her pale face, reflected the same question. He rested his hands on the table, leaning forward for emphasis. "It means that I have to tell you the truth now about why I came here." She let out her breath in a long sigh. Intuitively she had known something like this was coming. Bracing herself a,nd unconsciously looking very much like the girl in the painting, she asked, "Why did you come, Tor? I presume your name is Tor?" "Let's sit down. This is going to take a while." "No, I prefer to stand." His blue eyes watchful, he said quietly, "Yes, my name is Tor Hansen and I'm an artist. A portrait painter. Many years ago your father and my father were friends. They met in northern Alberta, saw a lot of each other for a period of a month or so, and then went their separate ways. But for some time afterward they corresponded, until one of my father's letters to Paul Selby was returned, address unknown. Dad never heard from your father again." He hesitated, his face bleak, and Lyn found time to wish she had sat down. She was afraid, more afraid than she had ever been in her life. "Go on," she said sharply. "Both my parents were killed in a car accident just over a year ago. Paul Selby could not have known this, because in his will he named my father as your guardian." Whatever she had expected, it was not this. Speaking at random, she said, "So he did make a will. I looked for one in the cabin, but couldn't find anything." "He'd filed it with a firm of solicitors in Toronto, and they got in touch with me. When I came up here I was expecting to find a fourteen-year-old. Instead I found you." His expression was unreadable, his voice devoid of emotion. "Why did you come at all?" "Paul Selby entrusted your welfare into my father's hands. I feel he would have wanted me to look after this matter just the same as all the other responsibilities he left." He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "I'm sorry I sound so pompous." "No, that's not pompous. I understand just what you mean." He nodded slowly, as though she had just proved something to him. "I thought perhaps you might. But as I was saying, I was expecting to find someone much younger. How old are you?" "Nearly nineteen. So your trip was in vain, although I don't mean to sound ungrateful." "I spoke of moral obligation. But in the eyes of the law, I'm sure there's an equal legal obligation. I am your guardian, Lyn." She sensed that they were playing a mental chess game, carefully moving around each other so as not to give away any advantage. "I don't know enough about the law to be able to argue with you. Not that there's any real need to argue. As my supposed legal guardian you've traveled all the way up here to satisfy yourself about my welfare. And as you can see, I am well able to look after myself. So I'm afraid you've made the journey for nothing." "I don't think you quite understand - " "Sure I do," she said flippantly. "If it makes you happy to be my guardian, go right ahead. We can keep in touch, I suppose, by mail. And if I ever need anything, I'll let you know. But don't hold your breath, will you?" Because

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html once you've gone, she added silently to herself, / shall have to forget you. Although how, I have no idea. His eyes hardened. "You're being purposely obtuse. I'm your guardian, Lyn. And that means you'll go back with me." She groped for the table edge, her temples pounding, her mouth dry. Licking her lips, she whispered, "Go back where?" "To Halifax. I live there, remember?" "You can live there if you like. I'm not going to!" "Look, let's discuss this reasonably. I'm your guardian- - " "If you say that once more, I shall scream." "Pardon me," he said with heavy sarcasm. "Damn it, Lyn, I'm responsible for you. Don't you see that? Your father made me responsible for you." Spacing each word as clearly as she could, she said, "I will not go to Halifax with you!" "We'll see about that." The words were quietly spoken, but there was menace in the ice-blue of his eyes. She shrank back, the fear that had been hovering at the edge of her consciousness flooding over her, suffocating her. Dazedly she rubbed her hand against her forehead, her fingers cold on her overheated skin. From a long way away she heard him demand, "Are you all right?" "Yes. No... I have a headache." He came around the table toward her and with a sob of terror she tried to evade him. But her legs felt like lead and she was rooted to the spot. His body loomed over her, cutting her off from the light, until all she could see was a pit of darkness spreading in front of her. With a tiny sigh of surrender she fell forward into its black depths--She felt something cold and wet on her forehead, a hand at her throat loosening her collar and a sensation of having traveled a long way, only to come back to the starting point. Feebly pushing away the cloth on her face, she opened her eyes. For a fleeting instant she saw Tor's face, etched with an expression of such unguarded agony that she almost cried out. But then it was gone, and she was left to wonder if she had imagined it. "I'm cold," she murmured fretfully. He pulled the eiderdown up over her. "Try to go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning." If there was a threat in that last sentence, she was too exhausted to pay it any heed. She turned her face to the wall and closed her eyes, seeking the oblivion of sleep. SUNLIGHT SLANTED through the window onto Lyn's bed. Still half-asleep, she lay sorting out the medley of bird calls: the clear five-note whistle of a white-throat, the shrill peeping of the sandpipers, the rattling cry of a red-winged blackbird. She heard a series of tiny thuds on the roof: a squirrel dropping cones from the pine tree. The brook murmured softly in the distance. Everything was familiar and as it should be. Why then did she have a nagging sensation that the world had turned upside down and that the morning's normality was only an illusion? Lazily she rolled over in bed. The other bed was empty, already neatly made. Tor...Tor Hansen... the man who claimed he was her guardian and who wanted to take her to Halifax. She buried her face in the pillow, her fists clenched in the folds of the sheet as she recalled the shattering events of the last two days: Tor's first sight of her, naked in the sunshine... his kisses that for her had awakened a whole new world, like the tight buds of the water lilies opening to drink the golden rays of the sun...yesterday's lovemaking that had left her aching with the pain of unfulfilled desire and the bitterness of rejection...and then his final disclosure of why he had come to Lake of Islands. In less than forty-eight hours her whole life had been changed. The arrival of one man - a handsome dark-haired stranger - had destroyed the familiar patterns of eighteen years. Don't get emotional, she warned herself. Stay cool - and think.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Imperceptibly her fingers relaxed. Tor wanted to take her to Halifax. Would that be so terrible? After all, what would it involve? She would live in a city by the sea and wear dresses and go to restaurants and movies. She could listen to as much music as she wanted; she might even be able to go to symphony concerts. All the things which her isolated childhood had denied her would be hers. She had often longed to travel, particularly after her visits with Margaret, and more and more as she had grown older, her father's restrictions had chafed her. Now she was being given the chance to taste some of the forbidden fruits--- Trying very hard to be honest with herself, she recalled the crippling loneliness of her first three days at the cabin after her father's death; was that all she wanted for the rest of her life? And then there was Tor himself, tall arrogant Tor, with his ruthless discernment... Tor, whose touch inflamed her senses. If she went to Halifax, she would be living in the same house with him; she would see him every day. Her nerves quivered at the thought and for a moment she abandoned herself to a delicious fantasy... she, Lyn, chic and sophisticated in a long evening dress, her hair upswept, entering an elegant restaurant on Tor's arm, discussing the latest play with him as they dined by candlelight... dancing with him... ignoring the admiring glances of other men and the envious glances of the women...cool, in control, very much a woman of the world. Oh, Lyn, she chided herself, don't be such a fool! You don't have any idea how to behave in a restaurant, and you've never even been to a theater. Face it - you've never been anywhere but Sioux Lake. You'd be lost in Halifax, completely out of your element. Whereas Tor would be in his own territory. How long would it take before he became bored with the little girl from the backwoods, and irritated by her inevitable mistakes and gaucheries? How long before he regretted his decision to offer her a home? Not long, she thought dully. Finally, painfully, she faced what she had been consciously trying to avoid: the memory of their lovemaking by the waterfall and of its disastrous conclusion. In her innocence she had thrown herself at him, she thought, ashamed at the memory of how eagerly she had responded to his caresses. And he had rejected her, pushed her away. Although he had talked of morals and of not taking advantage of her, it was far more likely that he had been repelled by her forwardness, or worse, amused by her awkwardness. How could she risk a repetition? She couldn't. It had hurt too much, robbing her of all her newfound confidence as a woman. She couldn't possibly live in the same house with him, The only way to avoid anything remotely like it happening again was for Tor to go to Halifax and for her to remain at Lake of Islands... a conclusion that brought with it a sense of desolation so acute that she wanted to weep. But now was not the time for weeping, she knew - that would come later. Now she had to convince him to leave her behind, without revealing why. And how was she to accomplish that? When she eventually got dressed and went outside, the sun was already high in the sky. From behind the cabin came the rhythmic thud of the ax. Stripped to the waist, Tor was splitting wood, his body moving with a grace and economy that was beautiful to watch. He was completely absorbed in his task and it was not until she moved closer that he saw her. He straightened slowly, resting the ax head on the ground and wiping the sweat from his brow. Unsmiling and remote, he said, "Good morning." "Almost good afternoon," she replied with attempted lightness. "Have you had breakfast?" "No. I wasn't hungry. I'll pile this wood in the shed and help you pack. I guess we might as well take both canoes. You can store yours at Sioux Lake." The fight was now in the open. Angered by his cool assumption of authority, she said, "I thought last night we'd decided to discuss the whole thing today. Instead of which you're telling me what to do." "Lyn, there's nothing to discuss. I'm not leaving you here alone and I have to return to Halifax, so you're coming with me. That's all there is to it."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "That's where you're wrong. I'm not a child to be ordered around and I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself. I'm staying here!" "Look, Lyn, let's be reasonable about this," he said, visibly trying to control his impatience. "This place was fine while your father was alive, and I'm sure you've learned things here that will stand you in good stead for the rest of your life. But there's more to life than knowing how to portage a canoe or cut down a tree. There's the whole world of people, of civilization call it what you will. You know nothing of that. If you stay here, you'll grow up as only half a person, and I figure it's my responsibility to see that doesn't happen." He sounded uncannily like Margaret. In a flash of inspiration she said, "I don't have to stay here by myself all the time if I don't want to. I've been invited to live with friends of mine at Sioux Lake all next winter. And to go on trips with them. So you see, there's really no need for me to go to Halifax at all." "But these people are not your guardians. I am." "There's nothing magical about the word 'guardian,' " she retorted. "Bernard is the police officer there, and his wife Margaret is my best friend. You'd have nothing to worry about if I were living with them." "I have already met the Whittiers," he said coolly. "It was Bernard who gave me directions how to get here. And I agree with you, they're a fine couple. But you'd still be living in the back of beyond, Lyn, and that's got to change." He had an answer for everything, she thought in frustration. "We're going in circles, Tor," she said, knowing as she spoke that she was playing her last card. "Listen to me a minute, and try to see it from my point of view." Absently she stroked the gnarled trunk of the old pine tree that had sheltered the cabin for as long as she could remember. "This is my home. I grew up here. I know this place like the back of my hand. I know the trees and the rocks. I know the lake in all its moods: the sparkle of the water in summer, the sudden wild storms of autumn, the white sheet of snow and ice that imprisons it in winter. I know the birds and the animals and the wildflowers." In sudden passion she cried, "Don't you understand? You can't just pull me up by the roots and take me away. If you do that, I'll wither and die." She leaned back against the trunk, drawing a long shaky breath. There was nothing more she could say. "I do understand, believe me," he said quietly. "But you're only seeing one side of it." He paused for a minute. "You're a gardener, Lyn. You know that sometimes the soil's not rich enough for plants to grow, so you have to transplant them. And afterward they form new roots and grow taller and stronger than they would have otherwise." He stepped closer. "I know how reluctant you are to leave here. But in the long run it will be the best thing for you." Although when he dropped a hand on her shoulder, he squeezed it as casually as a brother might, the weight and warmth of his hand made her tremble as though she had been stroked with fire, and somehow that was the last straw. She could not possibly go with him. "My father wouldn't have wanted me to leave," she said desperately, gesturing around her at the cabin and the neatly weeded garden. "I can't abandon everything he worked so hard to build... it would be disloyal to his memory." "That's where you're wrong," Tor said heavily. "It's what he wanted for you." "You're crazy!" she said with absolute conviction. "I don't believe you. Anyway, how could you possibly know what he wanted?" "He left a letter for my father, and one for you." He fumbled in his back pocket and extracted an envelope, passing it to the white-faced girl. Her fingers awkward with haste, she tore it open, and for a minute the closely written words in her father's familiar handwriting blurred before her eyes.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html My dear Lyn, At my last routine checkup I was told by the doctor that the risk of a heart attack would be very high unless I more or less retired to a sedentary life. You know me well enough to know that that is out of the question. If he should be right, I do not mind very much for myself, as life long ago lost its savor for me. But I want to do what's best for you, so the question of your future has been on my mind. I have written to an old friend of mine in Halifax, whose name is Peter Hansen, and asked him to look after you. I want you to leave Lake of Islands and go and live with him for at least a year. You will probably be reluctant to do this and you may hate Halifax at first, but persevere, my dear. I have often felt guilty at giving you such a limited upbringing, and this letter is a belated attempt to make amends. If at the end of the year you decide to return to Lake of Islands, so be it. I have never been a man to speak of feelings, but I want you to know that you have been a good and loving daughter to me and that I have always loved you as much as I have been able to love anyone. God bless you. Dad Dimly she was aware of someone taking the letter from her nerveless fingers and holding her close. Her father had known he was going to die, she thought numbly, and even then he had been unable to speak directly of his love for her; he'd had to rely on a letter...her poor father, so locked up within himself that he could not tell his own daughter he loved her. Two tears trickled down her cheeks as she realized that he had still done his best to look after her future. He'd had no way of knowing that it was not with Peter Hansen, a man of his own age, that she would be living, but with Peter's son, Tor - a very different proposition. Her cheek was resting against Tor's naked chest, and his hand was stroking her hair. Like an animal in a trap, she tensed and pulled away, frantic to escape, and as she did so, saw the blue eyes grow glacial and the harsh features freeze to an implacable mask. Drawing breath in a ragged sob, she cried, "You've certainly covered all the angles, haven't you? You've had that letter all along. Why didn't you show it to me the day you arrived? Didn't you dare? Or did you prefer to keep me in suspense, dangling until you were ready to enlighten me? I think you're despicable!" She was heedless of the tears streaming down her face. "You must have read it," she accused. "How else would you know my father wanted me to go to Halifax?" His mouth was white with temper. Biting off the words, he said, "I do not read other people's letters. Paul Selby also wrote a letter to my father, explaining his wishes. That's how I knew." Her breath caught in her throat and childishly she scrubbed at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. "Oh...I see," she faltered. "I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." "No, you shouldn't," he replied remorselessly. "But do you at least concede that you'll come to Halifax with me?" Nothing had changed, and it was no more possible now to go with him than it had been before she saw the letter. Holding herself rigidly, praying that he would not guess her inner turmoil, she began to play for time. "All right," she said ungraciously, "I'll go. I don't have much choice, do I?" "C?ood girl! I knew you'd - " "But not until tomorrow." She saw suspicion darken his features and forced herself to look straight at him, her green eyes guileless. 4 'There are quite a few things to do around the cabin if it's to be shut down for any length of time. But I'm sure I can get everything done today, so that we could leave in the morning. Would that be all right?" "I guess so." "I'll harvest as many of the vegetables as I can and take them to Margaret," she said, trying to speak as collectedly as she could. "Maybe you

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html can nail up the windows of the shed where Dad stored all his traps - they're worth quite a bit of money. I must rinse out a few clothes, too." "Okay. I might as well start by stacking this wood." He appeared to have accepted her reasoning, and as he turned away she gave a tiny sigh of relief; she had at least gained a reprieve. But it was not until she was pulling the young carrots in the garden that a plan dropped into her mind, startling in its simplicity: she would run away. She sat back on her heels, brushing the dirt off the crisp orange vegetables, her brain racing. While Tor would see her loading her backpack for the trip to Sioux Lake, in reality she would be packing it for several days in the bush. She would get everything ready today so she could leave at first light in the morning before he woke up. She'd canoe across the lake to the muskeg on the eastern shore and then go overland to Caribou Lake; he'd never find her there. When he realized she was gone, he would go back to Halifax without her. It all sounded so easy that she wondered why she hadn't thought of it sooner. The hardest part would be today, trying to act in front of Tor like a girl about to leave her beloved home, when secretly she knew she would be staying.... In fact this proved to be quite easy. With a sensitivity that she could not help but admire, Tor kept his distance, as though giving her time to adjust to the coming change in her circumstances; all their conversation was at an impersonal level. Just the same, she waited until he was working on the shed to load up her backpack. Pup tent, sleeping bag, mess kit, matches, compass... carefully she made a mental checklist of all her requirements, allowing herself food for five days even though she was sure she would be back in the cabin three days from now. There, that seemed to be everything. Swinging it across her back, she carried it outdoors and leaned it against the wall. "It looks as though you're taking half the cabin with you." She jumped guiltily. "Hardly," she murmured with an attempt at a laugh. "But I want a few of my favorite books, and my binoculars---" Even as she was talking, she was aware of a pang of disquiet. He had come up behind her as silently as an Indian, and she'd had no idea he was there until he had spoken. She wouid have to be exceptionally quiet in the morning, for she could not risk him following her into the bush; he was far too experienced a woodsman. Lyn slept scarcely at all. A gathering anticipation twanged at her overstretched nerves and she tensed every time Tor turned in bed. The hands of her watch crept with agonizing slowness around the hours. Finally it was three thirty...quarter to four...four o'clock.... Quietly she eased herself out of bed and stood up, reaching for the neat heap of clothes on the chair and pulling on her jeans and shirt. Every little movement seemed to vibrate in the air. On bare feet, her socks and hiking boots in one hand, she padded across the floor, instinctively avoiding the floorboards that creaked. In the other bed Tor stirred and she stood transfixed, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then he lay still again. She crept to the door. Yesterday she had taken the precaution of oiling the hinges, and now the door swung open soundlessly as she stepped outside. Sitting on a rock, she put on her socks and laced up her boots. From behind the far hills came the first glimmer of light, while overhead a few stars still twinkled, cold and uncaring in the dark pit of the sky. The lake was wreathed in early-morning mist. There was not a breath of wind; the trees and shrubs could have been painted on one of Tor's canvases, so still were they. Lyn picked up the backpack and walked down to the shore, her feet soundless in the soft sand, to where the canoes were moored side by side. She lowered the backpack into the center of her canoe and untied the hawser from its anchoring rock. "Tie it up again, Lyn. You're not going anywhere." She whirled, her eyes piercing the gloom. Tor was standing by the edge of the trees, his big body dark and menacing in the shadows. "Do as I say," he

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html repeated, his voice sharp as flint. She straightened, her fingers tightening around the rope. "How did you wake up? I didn't make a sound." "I wasn't asleep. I'm not a complete fool, Lyn. I knew something didn't ring true in your sudden capitulation yesterday, so I decided to keep a close eye on you. And when I checked the contents of your backpack, I knew I'd been right to be suspicious - you don't need a tent to go to Sioux Lake." She drew in her breath in an angry hiss. "Now tie up the canoe again," he ordered, "and we'll make some breakfast before we head out." In a great surge of emotion, she lost her temper and with it all caution and restraint. She flung her words across the forty feet of sand that separated them. "No! You're not taking me to Sioux Lake!" "There's no way you can prevent it." "We'll see about that!" Something in her voice must have alerted him. As he took the first long stride toward her, she picked up the rock and flung it with all her strength into the ribs of his canoe. The wood splintered and water began to seep through. She moved her own canoe into the lake and leaped into the stern, back-paddling furiously until she was out of his reach. Then she rested the paddle across her knees, her breast rising and falling in agitation. Tor had run to the water's edge and stopped there, unable to pursue her in the damaged canoe and knowing that she could easily outdistance him should he try to swim. As he stared at her across the black water, the wisps of mist curled ghostly fingers around her canoe. "Lyn, you won't get away with this." "You can't stop me, Tor Hansen," she cried. "By the time you've repaired your canoe, VU be long gone. There are hundreds of lakes and streams around here, and miles of forest and swamp. You'll never find me." If she had hoped to hear him admit defeat, she was to be disappointed. "I'll find you," he said quietly. "I've never been beaten by a woman yet, and you're not going to be the first." His very stillness was more threatening than any show of rage, and an irrational shiver of fear raced up her spine. She fought it down. She held all the cards; how could he possibly win? "Go back to Halifax," she said. "You don't need me in your life any more than I need you." "Your father wanted you to live there for a year, and by God, that's what you're going to do. You can't get out of it, Lyn. Come back to shore now and we'll forget this ever happened. If you try to run away, you'll be sorry." "Don't threaten me," she seethed. "Your sophisticated women friends from the city might be impressed by caveman tactics, but I'm not. Sorry, Tor. This is one fight you're going to lose." "We'll see about that." She'd had enough of this verbal warfare. She dug the paddle into the water and swung the prow of the canoe in a southerly direction; once she was hidden by the mist, she would head east. When she looked back over her shoulder after five minutes of steady paddling, the shoreline had vanished, and she was alone in an eerie world of slick black water and ever shifting vapor. Fumbling for her compass, she turned due east and began to steer the canoe through the water as fast as she could, so that she would be hidden from Tor's view by the time the mist cleared. The sky was a soft pearl gray now and from the forest came the first faint twittering of the birds. For well over three hours she paddled without a break; long ago she had passed the two islands and rounded a peninsula that hid her completely from the sight of the cabin. Deliberately she was concentrating on the physical task at hand, on the deep steady strokes of the blade through the water, rather than dwelling on what had happened at the cabin. Her mind shied away from the memory of Tor's soft-spoken threats as well as her own impulsive act of destructiveness. In her haste this morning she had misjudged the weather. The mist, rather than clearing, had turned into a steady drizzle, and daylight had revealed

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html dark gray nimbus clouds hanging low on the horizon. By the time she reached the muskeg at the eastern tip of the lake where she would have to portage, a steady rain was drenching the spindly tamaracks and the tall rushes, while the white heads of the cotton grass hung limply and water dripped from the blooms of a few late-flowering plants. Lyn's poncho kept her dry enough, but the relentless rain was affecting her spirits, evoking a sense of futility and depression. Her headlong flight from Tor and all he represented began to appear not as an act of necessity but as one of immaturity and bravado. Grimly she heaved the canoe up on land, too preoccupied to notice that where the keel scraped on a rock, it left a streak of green paint. Normally she would have made two trips, one with her laden backpack and one with the canoe, but today, compelled by a subconscious urge to put as much distance as she could between her and Tor, she strapped on her pack and then swung the canoe by the gunwales over her head and shoulders. Satisfied that she was leaving no tracks in the springy undergrowth, she plodded toward the ridge of higher ground that lay between Lake of Islands and Caribou Lake. On the way she flushed two partridges and startled a snowshoe hare, which bounded off into the woods in three great leaps. Somewhat cheered by these encounters, she found the portage less arduous than she expected, although she was breathing heavily by the time she lowered the canoe into the waters of Caribou Lake. Surely it wouldn't do any harm to have a short rest... , Perching on a rock, Lyn munched some dried fruit and thoughtfully surveyed the vast body of water that lay ahead of her, wondering if perhaps Caribou Lake had been a poor choice on her part. It was long and narrow, and from where she was sitting the canoe would be visible for at least half of the distance to its far shore, although a cluster of tiny islands would provide some kind of camouflage from then on. Not that she really needed to worry about that, she thought resolutely. By now Tor would almost certainly be well on his way to Sioux Lake. But just the thought of his name made her glance uneasily over her shoulder as she shoved the packet of fruit back in its compartment. Time to be on her way. CHAPTER FIVE

LYN'S ARMS and shoulders were aching by the time she reached the islands, so she canoed to the far side of one of them and anchored there. The island was little more than a heap of rock with a few low shrubs and stunted jack pines, but at least she could light her tiny Primus stove and heat some soup. Taking a billycan to the water's edge, she leaned over to fill it, idly scanning the shoreline along which she had passed since the portage. She gave a sudden shocked exclamation, almost dropping the billycan. Something had moved; she could have sworn it. Down there at the head of the lake almost exactly at the spot where she had launched the canoe. She crouched lower, her whole being concentrated on penetrating the blur of rain...nothing. Had she imagined it? There was only one way to tell. Bent double she made her way to her backpack and extracted a pair of binoculars, focusing them on the ridge of land over which she had portaged. The scenery leaped into view as clearly as if she were only a few feet away. Methodically she moved the binoculars along the shoreline...still nothing. Her imagination must have been working overtime or else Tor Hansen was more on her mind than she had realized, she thought dryly, feeling her heartbeat settle back to normal. Then through the lenses she saw a pair of blue jays erupting from among the spruce trees. She trained the glasses on the spot in time to see the branches sway and a man step into sight: a tall black-haired man in a green poncho, his dark visage set in an implacable mask. The binoculars gave such a sense of immediacy that for a horrifying moment she forgot that she was separated by the length of the lake from the man she was watching. He seemed so close she could have touched him. She shrank back into the concealing shrubbery, almost dropping the glasses

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html because her hands were trembling so violently. How on earth had he been able to follow her so quickly, and so accurately? He could not possibly have been able to use his canoe.... With a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach she remembered how wantonly she had destroyed it. An ordinary man would have given up at that point and gone home, but not Tor Hansen. Sheer panic blotted out everything but the need for flight, for at some deep instinctive level she had become the hunted and he the hunter. Crouching low, she stumbled back to the canoe, hurriedly reloading the backpack. If she was careful, she could keep the islands as a screen between her and her pursuer. She had never paddled as hard or as fast in her life as she did for the next hour, drawing on reserves of strength she had not known she possessed as she approached the far end of the lake. The portage to the next lake was a long one, over some of the roughest terrain in the area, and she knew it would slow her down considerably. A wiser choice would surely be to conceal the canoe and travel on foot, a decision that was almost to cost her her life. The lake merged imperceptibly with the swamp, where cattails grew waist-high. She eased the canoe up the narrowing channel, her eyes searching for a hiding place, finally finding one between an abandoned beaver dam and a thick clump of rushes. She should be able to make it to shore without getting too wet.... She didn't see the bittern until the bow of the canoe nearly hit it. A big heron, it had frozen into its characteristic pose, long beak pointing skyward, striped breast blending into the vertical pattern of reeds. But as the canoe nudged aside the slender rush leaves, the bird gave an ear-splitting squawk and launched itself upward in a noisy beat of wings. It was a symptom of Lyn's overstretched nerves that she cowered back in the canoe, a cry of alarm escaping her lips. It was certainly not the first time in her life that she had disturbed one of the ungainly birds, and normally such an occurrence would not have bothered her at all. However, as it flapped steadily upward, she followed its course with mingled frustration and fear. To an expert woodsman, as Tor undoubtedly was, the bittern's flight was a dead giveaway; he would now know exactly where she was. To try to conceal the canoe would be a waste of time. Hurriedly she shouldered her backpack and leaped ashore, where she made a quick sighting on a tall tree in the distance with her compass. The route she planned to take doubled back along the lakeshore for a while before leading overland to two more lakes where there were some good camping spots. The last thing Tor would expect her to do would be to head back in the direction from which she had come. The pace she set herself was a killing one, but she was beyond the point of rational thought and no longer even knew why she was on the run. One overwhelming need obliterated everything else: to lose her pursuer. Very soon her breath was coming in hard painful gasps, while pains stabbed her legs so intensely that she began to stumble. It was no good, she thought wearily... she'd have to stop and rest. She came to a creek, its clear cold water trickling in a series of tiny pools through the moss-coated rocks, and she thankfully eased the pack off her back. Kneeling down, she drank the water from her cupped hands. For ten precious minutes she sat by the creek, her head between her knees, forcing herself to relax. Somewhat refreshed Lyn started out again, although it was not long before her steps slowed again. Her legs felt like two leaden weights and she was light-headed from the lack of a proper meal. It was with considerable relief that she noticed that the trees were thinning, and shortly afterward she emerged from the forest's gloom into a large clearing. It must have been the site of a lightning fire some years before, for blackened stumps still stood among the tender new growth of birch and chokecherry and poplar, and tall pink spikes of fireweed overlapped the tangled clusters of raspberry canes. She was halfway across the clearing when she saw the bear cubs. Born the past winter while their mother hibernated, they were about five or six months

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html old, Lyn judged, and while before she arrived on the scene they had probably been feeding on the ripe red raspberries, they had now decided it was time to play. Back and forth they gamboled, standing on their hind legs, rolling over on their backs, squealing and grunting, their mock attacks a travesty of the power and ferocity they would eventually command as adults. Because she was tired and overwrought, Lyn forgot her normal caution. A smile curved her lips as she watched the energetic antics of the little cubs, who were completely oblivious to their audience. Even when a whiskey jack scolded from a nearby tree, she ignored the warning. Her first intimation of danger came from a rustling in the undergrowth as into the clearing stepped the largest female bear Lyn had ever seen. She must have weighed several hundred pounds, and she moved her bulk with a kind of ponderous grace. Even as Lyn stood rooted to the spot, she raised her massive head, nostrils twitching as she caught Lyn's scent. From deep in her throat came a low-pitched growl. To the two cubs she sounded a note of command. They ran toward their mother, who cuffed them toward a tree. With ungainly haste they began to climb, digging their claws into the bark, their little rumps jerking from side to side. At any other time it would have been a comical sight, but Lyn knew better than to laugh; she was in trouble, bad trouble, and it was all due to her own stupid carelessness. At the best of times an adult bear was a creature of unpredictable moods, but a female with cubs was notorious for its vicious temper. Scarcely daring to breathe, Lyn stood still, for to run was to invite disaster. For a few seconds the scene remained suspended. The rain fell steadily. The cubs had almost reached the crown of the tree and hung from there, hugging the trunk with their forelimbs. The she-bear pawed at the ground, snuffling at it suspiciously. Then, her mind made up, she broke into a shuffling run toward Lyn. The girl held her ground. Swiftly she pulled the poncho over her head, holding it bunched in front of her. At the top of her lungs she shouted, "Tor! Help - Tor!" The bear paused irresolutely. Encouraged, Lyn yelled Tor's name again and flapped the poncho in front of her. For a minute she thought her strategy had worked. The bear stood there, shaking her head in bewilderment. Then from high in the tree, one of the cubs whimpered. With a throaty roar the mother bear charged. Not even then did Lyn lose control. Nerves taut, body tense, she waited until the last minute before dodging to one side and tossing the heavy folds of the poncho over the bear. As she snarled with fury, her great claws ripping through the thick fabric as though it were paper, Lyn whirled and ran for the nearest tree. Behind her the bear disentangled herself and galloped after her. There could be only one ending to the unequal chase. Had Lyn not tripped on a tussock of wet grass, the bear's paw would have hit her full on the back; as it was, it glanced off her ribs, tearing her shirt, and she tumbled to the ground, screaming in sheer terror as she felt the heat of the black-furred body lunge at her and smelled the stink of her breath. Her last coherent thought was that she was going to die--Suddenly there was an earth-shattering explosion. The bear lifted her head, her eyes sparking with murderous rage. Not thirty feet away stood Tor, a smoking gun in his right hand. He raised it again and fired at a point over the bear's head. As the reverberations of the gunshot died away, he called tautly, "Lyn! The minute you can get away, climb a tree and stay there. No matter what happens, don't come down. Do you hear me?" Lyn heard his voice coming as though from a great distance away. Blindly she knew she had to obey him, and a tiny whimper of assent came from her throat. Not waiting for a reply, Tor dug into his pocket and fished out a handful of stones, firing them with deadly accuracy at the bear's face. Shaking her head to ward off the hail of stones, she growled and took a tentative step

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html toward this distracting new menace. Hardly daring to breathe, Lyn bunched her muscles to do as Tor had told her. But the shock of the encounter had rendered her incapable of movement. As the bear charged Tor, her hind legs grazed the girl's defenseless body, causing Lyn to tumble over and over in the grass. Her forehead struck a rock. Semiconscious and totally disoriented, she lay still. WHEN SHE OPENED HER EYES the clearing was deserted. Frantically she struggled to her feet, feeling the earth dip and sway. Tor...she had to find Tor. Where was he? What if the bear had killed him? It would be all her fault. A strangled sob tore at her throat. She staggered back the way she had come, using her last reserves of strength to call Tor's name. The tall trees closed in on her like the bars of a prison from which she would never escape. She had killed him... she had killed him. Nothing would ever be the same again--Twice she tripped over roots and fell to the ground, once cruelly scraping her cheek. Not even aware of any pain, she lurched onward, her weak cries scarcely audible in the endless dripping of rain from the boughs. In the end she literally fell into Tor's arms. One minute she was alone, lost in an unending nightmare of dread, the next minute she heard him call her name. "Lyn! Thank God you're safe!" "Tor...you're alive," she sobbed incoherently. "I thought you were dead. I'd never have forgiven myself. Oh, Tor!" His hard arms gathered her close and held her as she wept hysterically. It took a long time for her sobs to lessen, but gradually she became more and more aware of the security of his embrace, the utter relief of knowing he was safe. "Where's the bear?" she hiccuped finally. "Probably chivvying her cubs back down the tree," he said lightly. "I drew her far enough away from them that she began to have second thoughts. That, and a few strategic gunshots that were altogether too close for comfort, made her lose interest in me." She knew enough about bears to realize that this had to be an expurgated version. She had already had to acknowledge to herself Tor's skill as a woodsman, and to this she now added courage coupled with a formidable intelligence. Nothing less could have brought him back to her unharmed.... *'You're not hurt?" she demanded sharply, raising her head from his chest. It was a mistake, for his mood had transformed itself. "No." His eyes narrowed, and there was a rasp of anger in his voice. "Although that's really no thanks to you, is it?" "I didn't mean..." she began miserably. "Come off it. You meant to run away. You deliberately planned it, didn't you?" "Well, yes, I did, but - " "Maybe you didn't plan to smash the canoe. That just happened, I suppose," he said with heavy sarcasm. "I'm sorry - -" "Sorry!" he exploded. "I should hope you are. And then to cap it all you get caught between a mother bear and her cubs. That's.about as stupid and elementary a mistake as anyone can make!" She stared at him dumbly. He was white-lipped with rage and his hard fingers were shaking her mercilessly. Five minutes ago he had been glad to see her; now he looked as though he hated her. "What were you trying to prove anyway, running away like that? " When she spoke she intended to sound defiant, but she was so unutterably weary that her voice quivered pathetically. "I didn't want to go to Halifax with you. That's all." For a moment she thought he would strike her and automatically she flinched away from him. "Am I that bad?" he grated. "Can't you even stand to be with me?" "It's not you..." she faltered, and then came to a halt. She was lying: it was fear of him and fear of her own reaction to him that was at the root of

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html her reluctance to go with him. He had smashed her safe, familiar little world to smithereens and given her nothing in return. Blankly she gazed at him, at his black furrowed brows and ice-blue angry eyes. Yes, she was frightened of him. Suddenly she was seized by a wave of shivering so violent that her teeth began to chatter. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "I'm cold." Although he had been gripping her by the shoulders, she sensed that he'd had no idea of what he was doing. Now for the first time he really looked at her. "You're soaked to the skin," he said accusingly. "And what happened to your cheek?" "I...I fell. While I was looking for you." Tremors shook her slender frame again as she remembered that nightmarish search. He muttered an oath under his breath. "Look, you stay here and I'll go back to the clearing and get your backpack." "No! Don't leave me alone!" "Well, you'll have to come with me then," he said in apparent exasperation. "You'll need dry clothes and a hot drink and all my gear's cached back at the portage. Can you manage?" She nodded, although in truth she was on the verge of collapse. But not for anything would she let him know that - or let him out of her sight again---The next hour passed by in a haze of exhaustion and pain. Back at the clearing there was no sign of the bears. Tor retrieved the backpack and picked up her poncho off the ground. It was torn to shreds and his mouth was grim as he dropped it back on the grass. "That won't do you any good now." He glanced around. "Let's get out of here." After another tramp through the woods they came upon a sheltered hollow in the ground, which apparently satisfied Tor as a potential camping spot. Lyn sank down on a rock in exhaustion. Still dazed and shivering, she couldn't help noticing how speedily he rigged a primitive shelter out of some straight tree limbs and his poncho, flooring it with layers of spruce boughs. Next he built a fire and hung a can of water over the crackling flames that looked bright and cheerful in the deepening gloom. "Come and sit down," he ordered, rummaging in her backpack for dry clothes. Although she tried to get to her feet, her limbs refused to obey her. "I can't," she whispered, stifling an almost hysterical urge to giggle. After all the miles she had covered since daybreak, it seemed ridiculous that she could not walk the ten feet to the improvised shelter. He gave her a sharp glance and reached her in two strides. "You're worn out, aren't you, you little idiot," he said roughly, and whether this roughness masked anger or some other emotion, Lyn could not tell. Swinging her into his arms, he carried her to the shelter, putting her down near the fire. Calmly he began to unbutton her shirt. She pulled away. "Don't do that." He said tightly, "Stop acting like an outraged virgin, Lyn. This is no time for false modesty. You can get hypothermia in August just as easily as in December - you should know that." But as he pulled the wet fabric off her back, his hands abruptly grew still. Hugging her breasts, she said peevishly, "Hurry up. I'm freezing." Wordlessly he held out the shirt. In four places it was torn from neck to hem. Then she felt his fingers touch her back and she gave a little gasp of pain. "That must have happened when the bear knocked me down," she whispered, and for a horrifying instant her nostrils were filled again with the remembered stench from the creature's massive jaws. "You'll never have a closer call than that," Tor said harshly, handing her a dry T-shirt with hands that were not quite steady. "You've got four dirty claw marks on your back and a few scratches, so you'll be sore there for a few days. You're lucky the skin wasn't broken." There was an expression on his face that Lyn had never seen before, like some devastating emotion held tightly in check. Clutching the dry shirt to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html still the trembling of her hands, she gathered her courage and said quietly, "Tor, I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you. I shouldn't have run away. It was a childish thing to do." Unable to face him, she stared down at the ground. "And I'm so ashamed of smashing your canoe. I've never done anything like that before." She raised long-lashed eyes to his face, their expression deeply contrite. "Please, will you forgive me?" There was an instant's charged silence before he dropped his hands on her bare shoulders and pressed her body against the warmth of his chest. His lips against her wet hair, he said huskily, "You have the capacity to take me completely by surprise. Do you know that? I've never met a woman like you before. You use none of the usual feminine tricks and wiles, do you? Yes, Lyn, I forgive you. And I thank God you're safe." She gave a tiny sigh of sheer relief, burrowing her cheek into his shirt front. "Thank you," she said softly. Now she could sleep...her eyelids drooped. The next half hour was never very clear in her memory; somehow she got into dry clothes and swallowed some hot soup and a cup of tea liberally laced with sugar. Dimly she heard Tor say, "We'll have to share the sleeping bag," but even that had no power to arouse her. From a long way away she felt herself being lifted into the soft folds of down, where it was safe and warm and dark.... IT WAS to the same delicious sense of safety and warmth that she awoke, although it was daylight now and narrow rays of sunlight were slanting to the ground through the trees; above her the interlaced spruce boughs swayed gently in the breeze, while somewhere nearby a woodpecker was drilling. Drowsily she turned her head so that her eyes wandered from the lofty green ceiling above to the face of the man sleeping beside her. She and Tor were lying face to face, so close to each other that his breath fanned her cheek; her presence in his arms had a strange sense of inevitability and Tightness. He looked younger in sleep, more vulnerable, his mouth displaying a gentleness it did not normally reveal. Although he was wearing a light cotton shirt unbuttoned to the waist, she could feel the warmth of his bare thighs against hers. Her head must have been lying on his arm, so as softly as she could she allowed it to rest there again, not wanting to waken him until she had savored the full delight of his nearness. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and slowly her eyes drooped shut again.... A hand was stroking her back, sliding under her shirt to caress the hollow of her spine, smoothing the roundness of her hips. Firm and sure it roamed her silken skin. Half-asleep, she murmured something under her breath, arching her back with languorous pleasure. For a moment the hand grew still, then it followed the curve of her waist to the flatness of her belly and with only the thin fabric of her shirt between it and her flesh, traced the rising swell of her breast to its tip. Flooded with sweetness, her body sprang to life. Her eyes flew open. In the golden light of early morning she gazed at Tor, the sun gilding the tips of her long eyelashes and glistening in the russet tumble of her hair. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, held all the mysterious shadows of the forest in their depths. Then his arms went hard around her, crushing her to the lean length of his body, and his lips seized hers with all the assurance of a conqueror. She melted into his embrace, surrendering all consciousness of everything but the glory of their bodies' common hunger. Deep in the woods a thrush warbled its song, the liquid notes rising and falling with exquisite clarity. Lost as she was, it nevertheless struck a chord in Lyn's memory, for a thrush had been singing the first time she had met Tor only four days ago, in that still hot afternoon on the lakeshore, when he had blazed into her life like a comet, fiercely beautiful but with destruction in his wake. And now, just as at the waterfall, she was allowing the newly awakened needs of her body to throw her into jeopardy again; he would seize her, ignite her with the flames of passion and then throw her aside. He had done it before; she could not bear for him to do it again.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html With all her strength she thrust herself backward. But she was trapped in the folds of the sleeping bag and his hands still held her captive. "Let go!" she gasped. "I want to get up." His mouth hardened cruelly. "No, you don't. Stop trying to fool me - and yourself. You want to be kissed, Lyn, don't you?" "No!" "You're lying." "Why should I be lying? Hasn't anyone ever said no to you before?" The hiss of his indrawn breath told her she had struck home. "You were talking to me about the value of new experiences. Well, this is going to be a new experience for you, Tor Hansen, because I'm saying no. I don't want to make love with you." "You're lying again!" "I'm not!" Angrily she threw his own words back at him, words she had treasured when he had spoken them. "Last night you were glad I was different from other women. So you can't really complain now, can you?" "Different?" he laughed shortly. "I was wrong. You're like all the rest. You've got a tongue like a pitchfork. Unfortunately I'm still not convinced." She knew he was going to kiss her again, and her heart began to flutter in her rib cage. His hands were clamped around her waist like steel bands and her attempts to wriggle free only served to excite him, for she saw his eyes flare a vivid blue and heard him laugh softly as he drew her relentlessly nearer. But she was not about to give up. For a moment she went limp, pleading weakly, "Please, Tor - " Exultantly he bent his head to claim her mouth. Lightning-swift she kicked him hard on the shin, hearing him grunt with pain. His own reactions were even swifter. His legs caught hers and pinioned them to the ground as he flung his body on top of her, his weight knocking the breath from her lungs. Even so she managed to beat at his ribs with her fists before he grabbed her by the wrists. Impotently she glared up at him, her eyes green pools of fury, her mouth a defiant grimace. "You little hellcat!" he swore. His gaze roamed insolently over her flushed cheeks and over bright eyes to the slender column of her throat with its frantic pulse. Slowly he began running his lips up her neck from collarbone to earlobe. She flexed her wrists but he held them immobile. As his mouth continued its leisurely exploration, she jerked her head to one side. "Don't!" she gasped. As he began kissing her, his tongue teasing her lips apart and tasting the sweetness of her mouth, a dangerous weakness pervaded her, and imperceptibly her body lost its resistance, softening, molding itself to his hardness. Welcoming the intimacy of his kiss, her capitulation was as sudden - and as generous - as her resistance had been fierce. With his uncanny attunement to her moods, he released her wrists and like homing birds her fingers moved along the hard line of his shoulders to intertwine themselves in his hair. Resting his weight on one elbow, he allowed his free hand to explore the honey-gold smoothness of her skin in a deliberately slow descent from the fragile bones of her face to the slim line of her throat. Her breasts swelled with anticipation, aching for his touch, and shamelessly she guided his fingers toward them. " Would you say no now?" he murmured. The shy glow of her smile was answer enough. "Then," he said so laconically that at first she did not grasp his meaning, "it's my turn to say no." He rolled off her, unzipping the sleeping bag as he did so, and lithely got to his feet. Lyn lay still, hectic patches of color staining her cheeks as the full significance of his behavior became apparent to her. He had done it again. He had aroused her, excited her, until she had lost all control and surrendered to him. And then he had rejected her with no more feeling than if she had been a - her outraged brain sought for a simile - a lump of clay. Stabbed by an inner pain that she knew she must keep hidden, she used the only weapon left

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to her, her tongue. "You did that deliberately, didn't you?" she demanded. "You manipulated this whole situation so you could have the satisfaction of turning me down. Well, I hope you enjoyed it." "I think you're rather overrating your own importance." Ignoring him, she rolled over, trying to fight free of the sleeping bag and muttering under her breath as her hair got entangled in the zipper. Incautiously she jerked the metal closure, crying out as it pulled at her scalp. Involuntary tears flooded her eyes. "Hold still," he ordered, dropping on one knee beside her. 4'I don't need your help!" "I seem to spend most of my time contradicting you, don't I?" he said coolly, detaching the chestnut strand from the zipper with exquisite care. "There. Next time don't lose your temper." She was nothing but a child to him, she thought in despair, again aware of that knife-sharp pain. "There won't be a next time," she said with assumed calmness. "When we get back to the cabin, we'll load up the gear and head for Sioux Lake." "I'm glad to hear you've finally come to your senses," he said dryly. She continued as if he had never spoken. "And I'll stay with the Whittiers while you go on to Halifax. I already told you they'd invited me to spend the winter with them, and that's what I've decided to do." He raked his fingers through his hair, and for a moment he looked older than his age, weary and strained. "I don't want to discuss it anymore," he said flatly. "You're coming to Halifax with me, Lyn, and your policeman friend will be the first to agree with me that that's your proper place. He is, after all, an officer of the law." He turned away, removing the poncho from its framework of tree limbs. "Come on, let's get this stuff back to the canoe." He was wrong, Lyn thought with supreme confidence. Margaret and Bernard would never stand by and see her forced to go somewhere she didn't want to go, with someone whom she feared and disliked. Everything would be all right when she got to Sioux Lake--CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON of the following day by the time the canoe with its two occupants approached the weathered log wharf at Sioux Lake. It would be a long time before Lyn would care to recall the past twenty-four hours. She and Tor had treated each other with stilted politeness, carefully walking around each other, never touching, rarely even looking directly at one another. They had exchanged no more conversation than was absolutely necessary. None of this had come easily to Lyn, for of necessity they had spent those twenty-four hours sharing the same canoe, eating at the same table, even sleeping in the same room, and most of the time she had been acutely conscious of his presence. Now, as they moored the canoe and hauled their gear up on the wharf, she was trying hard to convince herself what a relief it would be to see the last of him and to settle down to a protracted stay with the Whittiers. Very soon she would forget him, she thought stoutly, adjusting the straps on her backpack and picking up a sack load of vegetables. The sooner the better--A dirt track led from the wharf between the scattered wooden houses toward the Whittiers' white-painted bungalow with its emblazoned blue sign and painted crest. Margaret had planted flowers along the driveway and the orange marigolds and blue bachelor's buttons made a brave show of color, even though they were diminished by the bleak granite escarpment that thrust skyward behind the house. Lyn knocked on the door. From inside Stephen's voice cried, "Daddy's home!" The door was flung open and a towheaded little boy said, "Oh, it's Lyn. Not daddy." "Hi, Stephen," Lyn said, masking a faint sense of disquiet at his

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html uncharacteristically lukewarm welcome. "May we come in? Where's your mommy?" As his mother came to meet them, it seemed to Lyn that Margaret, too, was disappointed that the knock . on the door had not heralded Bernard's return. However, the older woman greeted her warmly. "Lyn, how nice to see you, dear. And, Mr. Hansen, do come in." "Is Bernard away?" Lyn asked bluntly. "Yes. I've been keeping my ears strained all afternoon for the sound of the plane. Stephen, move your toys from the chair so Mr. Hansen can sit down." "Enough of this 'Mr. Hansen* stuff," Tor said easily. "My name's Tor." He gave Margaret a charming smile, which had the effect of erasing the anxious frown from her brow and making her smile spontaneously in return. He never smiles at me like that, Lyn thought crossly, and was even less pleased to see Tor and Stephen immediately strike up an animated conversation about Stephen's toy trucks. Kevin, Stephen's younger brother, who had inherited Margaret's buoyant nature along with Bernard's reddish blond hair, and who had always adored Lyn, burst into the room and flung himself at her. "Daddy's off fire fighting!" he cried. "They have bomber planes that drop water on the fire. I'm going to be a pilot when I grow up and fly those planes." He scrambled off Lyn's lap and raced across the room, droning like an engine, his chubby arms outheld like wings. "Where's the fire, Margaret?" Lyn asked. "In the Crow Lake area. This is the second one since you left last week, Lyn, so I've hardly seen Bernard at all." She paused, her head to one side, an intent look on her face, and said with unwonted sharpness, "Hush, Kevin! Do I hear daddy's plane?" Stephen ran to the window. "Yes, it is. Can I go down to the wharf and meet him, mom?" "No, you can't." As the little boy's face fell, Margaret added, "You know daddy told you last week that you mustn't wander around alone." "It's not wandering; it's only going to the wharf," Stephen wailed. Tor said quietly, "Would it be all right if I went with him, Margaret?" In the end the two boys trotted off with Tor, one on either side of him, little hands confidingly tucked in his much bigger ones. That Tor should have such a facility with children somehow surprised Lyn, although as she watched the three figures walk down the road it suddenly struck her that he might have children of his own. He had never mentioned any, nor had he ever mentioned a wife. On the other hand, she had never asked if he was married. "You look as though you've just lost your best friend," Margaret said wryly. Lyn whirled, blushing. "Nonsense," she said lightly. "In fact, Tor Hansen is as far from my best friend as anyone could be." "Oh? Don't you like him?" Margaret asked in surprise. "I've never met such an overbearing, dictatorial, arrogant man!" Margaret blinked. "He didn't strike me that way." She grinned. "Now if you had said charming, witty, intelligent and devastatingly handsome, I'd have agreed with you." Despite herself, Lyn had to laugh. "Really, Margaret, a respectable married woman like you talking that way? It's a disgrace!" "You know as well as I do that Bernard's the only man in the world for me. But that doesn't mean I can't recognize pure dynamite when I see it." She looked quizzically at her friend. "He must have rubbed you the wrong way." Literally and figuratively, Lyn thought with a bitter kind of humor, wishing she could share her inner confusion with Margaret, but knowing time was too short. Wanting to change the subject, she said, "I've never seen you so on edge before about Bernard getting back, Margaret. Is Raoul Duval still hanging around?" Margaret sighed, perching herself on the arm of the chesterfield. "Yes and no. I haven't seen him around here for five days. And in that five days there have been two major fire outbreaks: this one at Crow Lake and another farther west, near Kelocton."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Are you suggesting he started them?" Lyn asked in disbelief. " Nobody'd be crazy enough to do that in August - the woods are tinder dry." "I'm convinced he did it and I think he is crazy," Margaret whispered. "I wonder if Bernard has been able to get any proof of arson this time." Lyn glanced out of the window. "Well, here he comes, so you'll be able to ask him." Bernard was coming up the walk, his two sons swinging on his arms and chattering excitedly to him, while Tor followed behind carrying a couple of gunnysacks. Margaret got up, unconsciously straightening the skirt of her flowered cotton dress. Stephen and Kevin pushed open the door, but Margaret had eyes only for Bernard, and as he held out his arms she flew into them. Lyn had seen them kiss before, but now, newly attuned as she was to the needs of her own body, she could read into that kiss not only love and trust but a mutual physical hunger, an underlying sexuality that made her look away uncomfortably. Finally Bernard raised his head, gently ruffling his wife's soft brown curls. "You don't know how good it is to be home," he said. "Though you shouldn't have come near me until I'd had a shower, sweetheart. I'm filthy." "I'll risk it," Margaret said unsteadily, giving him a fierce little hug before moving away. Not until then did she notice a dirt-stained bandage on her husband's wrist. "You're hurt!" "Oh, it's nothing. Just a minor burn." He smiled across the room. "Hi, Lyn. You're looking as beautiful as ever." "Flatterer!" Lyn snorted, regarding him affectionately. Bernard was stockily built, with an untidy thatch of red gold hair and a pair of steady brown eyes. His face conveyed strength, determination and, normally, good humor. She had never seen him look as tired and strained as he did now; there were dark circles under his eyes, and even as she watched, he yawned unashamedly. His clothing was mud-stained, with black-edged holes burned through the cloth; streaks of dirt and ash marked his face and forearms. He smelled strongly of woodsmoke. "Any sign of Raoul, Marg?" he demanded. "No!" "The Crow Lake fire was set. We found a can of gasoline and some charred cloths. I'd be willing to bet the Kelocton one was, too, although we may never prove it." "Are they under control yet?" Tor asked. "Yeah. There was a heavy shower yesterday and that helped a lot. Next time we may not be so lucky." "Next time?" Margaret asked sharply. "If it is Raoul Duval, then you don't suppose he'll stop at two, do you? Particularly since we've put them out fairly easily." "Do you mean this guy Raoul Duval is going around setting fires?" Tor asked. "He must be off his head." "I forgot. You're not in the picture, are you?" Briefly Bernard recapitulated the story of the murder and the subsequent imprisonment of RaouPs brother Gilbert. "The trouble is, unless we can catch Raoul in the act, our hands are tied." He grinned humorlessly. "It's too bad I can't shove him in the clink for a month. I'm darn sure we wouldn't have any fires starting while he was under lock and key." "You'd need a miracle to track down one man in all that wilderness," Tor said. "Right. Although I'd almost prefer him to be somewhere out there than hanging around Sioux Lake. Once or twice Margaret caught him talking to the boys." He glanced over at his wife. "I still wish you'd reconsider, Marg, and visit your parents for a while." Margaret's chin tilted stubbornly. "My place is here with you." "I worry about the three of you when I'm off in the bush." "Bernard, I couldn't bear to be in Guelph, knowing you're in danger, fighting fires - and then afterward coming home to an empty house."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Margaret's voice was trembling, and Bernard put an arm around her shoulders. "Okay, love, forget it." This had given Lyn the opening she needed. Eagerly she spoke up. "I have the perfect solution. Do you remember, Margaret, last week you asked me to stay with you instead of going back to Lake of Islands? If I were to stay here, I could help you keep an eye on the boys, and I'd be company for you while Bernard's away." Tor said nothing, his eyes watchful as they moved from face to face. Bernard and Margaret exchanged a long look. By an unspoken consent, it was Margaret who spoke. "Of course I remember inviting you, Lyn, and it's sweet of you to offer. But I invited you before I'd met Tor---" As she paused searching for words, Lyn demanded, "What difference does that make?" "Quite a lot of difference," Margaret said steadily, her brown eyes pleading for understanding. "The reason I invited you in the first place was to get you away from Lake of Islands, now your father's dead. I thought Sioux Lake would be a better place for you. But when Tor,came here on his way to Lake of Islands and explained his errand, it seemed as though my prayers had been answered." "Margaret, you can't - " "Let me finish, Lyn. You deserve more out of life than you've had until now. I want you to see something of the world and meet people other than trappers and woodsmen. If you go with Tor, you'll have the chance to live in a city, maybe go to university - expand your horizons, anyway. You've got your whole life ahead of you. You can't bury yourself in a cabin a hundred miles from nowhere. Besides, Tor explained that if you wanted to, you could come back after a year." "It seems he did far too good a job of explaining," Lyn retorted. "Perhaps he should explain now that I don't want to go with him." "It's understandable that you'd be reluctant and a bit frightened. It's a big change," Margaret said. "But if you don't take this chance, Lyn, you'll regret it in the years to come. I know you will." "I wish I were as sure," the girl said grimly, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had been depending on her friend's support and Margaret had let her down. Her green eyes bewildered, she said, "Bernard, can't you see how much better it would be for everyone if I stayed here?" "I'm with Margaret on this one, Lyn. Don't forget it was your father's last wish that you go away, and surely you owe it to him to at least give it a good try." "You're all in league against me!" the girl burst out. "How can I fight three of you?" "Why fight at all?" Bernard said gently. Because I have to, she cried inwardly. Because I'm frightened of Tor Hansen, of the power he has over me. Because I'm frightened of myself and of what happens when I'm with him.... How could she put that into words? Baffled and frustrated, she stayed silent. "I'm sure Tor will see that you get back here for a visit before the year is up," Margaret said. "Won't you, Tor?" He nodded, his mouth a hard line as he looked at the girl backed defensively against the wall, every line of her body expressing hurt and betrayal. "Bernard," he said abruptly, "you must have a two-way radio, don't you?" "Yeah - sure." "So do I. So if Lyn and Margaret set up a time, they can contact each other on the radio." "I see," Lyn said quietly. This offer was small comfort beside the humiliating fact that Tor should have been a witness to the collusion between Margaret and Bernard. She had been so certain she could stay with them. "I guess I don't have much choice, do I?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "That's settled then," Margaret said with what seemed to Lyn like a heartless briskness. "Bernard, I think you should head for the bathtub^ - " she wrinkled her nose " - and leave those clothes by the washer. Tor, would you mind checking on the boys? They're outside on the swings. Come on, Lyn, we'll make an early supper for everyone, so you don't have to leave on an empty stomach." Once in the kitchen, Margaret turned to face her friend, resting an apologetic hand on Lyn's arm. "I know you're thinking that I've let you down, and I'm sorry I had to hurt you." It was so characteristic of Margaret to walk headlong into any problem that reluctantly Lyn smiled. "I'd already told Tor I'd be staying with you, so I felt pretty foolish," she admitted. "And honestly, I do hate to leave you now, Margaret, knowing how worried you are about Raoul Duval." "To be equally honest, I would have loved your company, but I truly believe it's more important for you to go with Tor. Can you understand that? And I promise to write every week. Will you write back?" She tilted her head to one side, her brown eyes coaxing. Some of the hurt eased around Lyn's heart. Perhaps if both Margaret and Bernard really believed she'd be better off with Tor, she would be; up until now, she had never had cause to doubt their judgment. Ruefully she said, "You always could charm the birds off the trees when you put your mind to it, Margie love. Yes, of course, I'll write." "Good! And as Tor said, we can always talk on the radio. I'll give you the call signal before you go. Here, will you slice the ham for me?" It was a couple of hours before Lyn and Tor were ready to leave. They all walked down to the wharf where the Cessna bush plane was moored, bobbing on its pontoons, its fuselage gleaming in the sun. "Whose plane?" Lyn asked blankly. "I rented it in Toronto," Tor replied, lithely climbing aboard. "Pass me your gear and I'll stow it in the back. Then I'll give you a hand up." Lyn did as she was told. Now that the moment had actually come to leave Sioux Lake, her palms were clammy and her throat tight with unshed tears. She bent and hugged the boys and landed a kiss somewhere near Bernard's ear; Margaret held her tightly for a minute, whispering, "Chin up, Lyn. You'll do fine; I know you will." In more normal tones she added, "Come and see us as soon as you can." Somehow Lyn clambered aboard the plane and seated herself, her fingers awkward on the unfamiliar clasp of the seat belt. The engine coughed into life. Slowly at first, then so rapidly that they became invisible, the propellers began to whirl and the plane taxied away from the wharf. Tor pulled back on the throttle, the engines roared, and the shore raced past the window with ever increasing speed. A strange sensation of buoyancy and they were airborne. Unbelievingly Lyn stared out of the window at the four tiny figures who were waving goodbye on the wharf. The plane banked, steadily gaining altitude; individual trees merged into a solid green carpet, while the blue waters of the lakes began to look like scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Although she strained her eyes, she could see nothing remotely like Lake of Islands... it was gone. Suddenly exhausted, and in no mood to make conversation with Tor, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. SHE MUST HAVE SLEPT for some time. Her first awareness was of the crick in her neck; her second of the gathering dusk. She yawned, stretching her cramped limbs, the corner of her eye caught by the sunset blazing in the sky over the right wing of the plane - a brilliant orb of orange sinking to the horizon, flinging its hue over the scattered clouds, tinting the sky with gold in a fiery salute to the end of day. "How beautiful it is," Lyn murmured, forgetting her intention of not speaking to Tor at all. "I'm glad you woke in time to see it."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "What limitless space...and such colors," she marveled. "I think it would be worth taking up flying just for the sunsets!" "It's more than the sunsets," he said slowly. "I always feel free when I'm up here - untrammeled, far away from earth and all its worries." She looked at him curiously, for he had spoken without artifice and she could not doubt his sincerity. "Worries?" she queried, unable to prevent a slight edge of incredulity in her voice. "What worries do you have?" "No one alive can be without cares and concerns," was his dry response. Because he seemed more approachable than he had been for some time, she asked, "Tor, are you rich? It must cost a lot to rent a plane." "Rich is a relative term. I'm very comfortably off." "Are you married? Or divorced?" "No." The unadorned monosyllable only increased her curiosity. "Why not?" Lightly he replied, "To get divorced one has first to get married - and I've never felt like doing that." "Do you live alone?" she asked naively. "Of course not. I keep a harem in the back garden." "Please, Tor." He relented. "I live with my dragon of a housekeeper and her husband Marian and Michael Hollman." That did not sound very encouraging. "What will they think of me?" she asked in a small voice. "They'll accept you as a member of the family. Marian will boss you and fuss over you, and Michael won't let you near his precious garden until you can convince him you know a hybrid carrot from a core-less." "Is it a big garden?" "Five acres more or less. A lot of that is lawn and trees, mind you. You'll like the rose garden - and I hope you' 1I like the house." "Do the Hollmans have their own room?" "They live in a separate cottage," he said, almost apologetically. "Oh!" She digested this in silence. "Where will I stay?" "In the main house. There are five bedrooms." "You mean you live all by yourself in a house with five bedrooms?" "And ten or eleven other rooms besides." . She stared at him aghast. "I'll never find my way around." "Sure you will." He glanced sideways at her, pure mischief sparkling in his blue eyes. "There's an incentive - the study has two walls full of books and a third lined with records and stereo equipment." "Will you let me use it?" she asked eagerly, her body unconsciously tense as she waited for his reply. He patted her tightly clasped hands with an odd gentleness. "Of course I will. You can listen to music to your heart's content." Her eyes bemused, she stared out at the darkening sky. She had never understood the all-encompassing power that music had held over her since childhood, simply accepting it as a part of her personality. Her father's bitter repudiation of it had hurt her more than she cared to admit. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad at Tor's, she thought with a slight lightening of her spirits. There would be music...and a garden--It was pitch-dark when they made the approach to Toronto. For some time Tor had been making cryptic comments on the radio, his attention fully occupied by it and by the illuminated instrument panel, although he did briefly mention that they'd be landing at Toronto Island airfield instead of the International Airport. He had already told her that there were retractable wheels in the pontoons, so he did not have to land on water - a difficult task in the dark. As they circled, steadily losing altitude, the girl gazed downward, her earlier optimism seeping away. Although she had read about cities and seen pictures of them, nothing had prepared her for the reality. A dazzling carpet of lights lay below, stretching as far as she could see in a bewildering profusion. Straight rows of lights: roads. Vertical towers of

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html light: skyscrapers. A slim red-tipped needle; clusters of flashing neon; a blackness that must be water. As the ground rushed up to meet them, she could distinguish tankers and yachts and then the neat rows of blue and red lights of the airfield. She held tightly to the armrests of her chair, while the plane bumped once, twice. Its lowered flaps caused its speed to diminish as it taxied toward the buildings at the edge of the runway and finally came to a halt. Tor turned off the engine. Unfastening his seat belt, he said, "You stay here; I'll be back in a few minutes. There are some formalities to be dealt with." He jumped to the ground and she watched his tall figure stride across the tarmac. For the first time since her ill-judged flight to Caribou Lake, she was alone. The ghostly sweep of the searchlight illuminated an alien man-made world of macadam and concrete. After, the continual reverberations of the plane's engine, the silence seemed to ring in Lyn's ears. Tor was out of sight now, and she felt a moment of pure panic. What if he didn't come back? What would she do? She began to have an inkling of how totally dependent on him she would be in the future and her soul rose in revolt. Fiercely she vowed to learn the rules of this strange and frightening new environment as quickly as she could, for it went against the grain that she should need him for every ' simple task; at Lake of Islands she had been competent to deal with nearly all contingencies, and largely independent of her father. Lake of Islands... the wind sighing through the thick green boughs where the birds sang, and ruffling the surface of the lake.... "Are you ready?" Tor swung open the door on her side. She swallowed hard, hoping he could not see how close to tears she was. "Where are we going?" "We must catch a ferry from here to the mainland where there's a taxi that will take us to a hotel downtown, which I've already booked. And I've got reservations on Air Canada for us tomorrow. I was lucky enough to get a couple of cancellations." She swung her legs around. The ground looked a long way down and as Tor held out his arms she knew she had no choice but to fall forward into them. However, he held her only briefly, his face as impersonal as a stranger's, and almost immediately stepped back. After unloading the suitcases he said curtly, "Let's go." Stumbling a little from the long hours in the plane, Lyn followed him across the tarmac to the nearby docks where, fortunately, a ferry was ready to depart. After an all-too-brief ferry ride, they were quickly loaded into a waiting cab. Lyn had never been in a car before; to her oversensitive nostrils it smelled of gasoline and worn upholstery and stale cigarette smoke. The driver could have done with a wash, too, she thought fastidiously. Whatever his state of cleanliness, or lack of it, it rapidly became apparent to her that he was intent on killing them all. At every corner he ritually screeched the tires. And as the traffic grew heavier he wove in and out of lanes with a total disregard for his or anyone else's safety. Time and time again she closed her eyes in mute anticipation of the crash of metal against metal, once even grabbing Tor's arm and burying her face in his sleeve as a huge cement truck forestalled them at a yield sign. The driver's language made her blush. Incredibly Tor chuckled under his breath. "You get used to this after a while. Relax. I've never been in an accident yet in Toronto." "There's always a first time," she said darkly, wincing as the driver shook his fist at a chauffeur-driven limousine.4'Do we have far to go?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html

"Nearly there." The taxi finally pulled up behind a rank of parked cars and Tor paid the driver. Lyn got out, looking around her in wonderment. Under a green-and-gold canopy a dark green carpet led across the sidewalk to the imposing glass doors of the hotel, where a liveried bellboy picked up their cases and an impressively mustached doorman ushered them inside. Thick carpeting of the same green and gold cushioned her feet, while discreetly placed around the tall Grecian columns of the lobby were thin-legged chairs of gold brocade and graceful tropical plants in marble urns. From the high white ceiling twinkled crystal chandeliers. There was a muted hush over everything. As Lyn blindly followed Tor across the vast expanse of carpet, a woman walked past them wearing a patterned dress of some floating fabric, a big floppy hat framing a bored and beautiful face. She was followed by a younger couple, he in a tuxedo, she in a strikingly severe black gown with a splash of diamonds on one shoulder. Lyn looked at herself. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and soft leather moccasins, all of which were as out of place here as the evening gown would be at Sioux Lake. Mortified color flooded her cheeks. As they approached the reception desk, her footsteps lagged, for in addition to her inappropriate garb, she was suddenly painfully aware of her ragged haircut and complete lack of makeup. In her oversensitive state it seemed as though everyone was staring at her, and indeed one woman did glance at her disparagingly and then whispered something to her companion. Tor had reached the desk. At Margaret's he had changed into tailored gray slacks and a pale blue shirt with a silk ascot tucked into the collar; these, coupled with his startling good looks and an inborn air of superb self-confidence, made him belong here in a way that she did not. Nevertheless, he was the only note of familiarity in otherwise inimical surroundings and unconsciously she stood a little closer to him than was necessary. He glanced down at her. "What's wrong?" Twin flags of color still burned in her cheeks and her green eyes were acutely unhappy. But she didn't see how she could possibly explain. How could he understand her feelings, he who would belong wherever he was? "I'm tired," she said, and while this was true enough, it certainly was far from the whole story. His shrewd gaze did not waver from her face. "As soon as we've checked in, I shall ask you again," he said evenly. "I'll expect the truth then." He turned back to the clerk, pulling out his wallet. In a matter of minutes they were walking toward the elevator and being whisked up to the sixth floor, where a long carpeted hallway lighted by slim golden candelabra led to their suite: three rooms with two immense bedrooms separated by a shared living room. Dazed by so much splendor, Lyn saw only details - the canopied double bed in which she was expected to sleep, the gold fittings of the sunken bathtub, the ceiling-high plate-glass windows through which the lights of the city glittered in stupefying array. The bellboy had brought their suitcases, she noticed vaguely, and now Tor was pressing something into the young man's hand and he was leaving. Then she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html and Tor would be alone---Panic darkened her eyes and she leaned against the back of the chesterfield, her fingers digging into its soft velvet covering. At the cabin and Lake of Islands, when she had been in her own territory, her isolation with Tor had not seemed to matter as much as it did here. Here, bewildered as she was by so many new and intimidating sights, she felt completely unable to cope with any more stress. However, when he turned to face her, his voice was reassuringly mundane. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. It seems a long time since we had supper at Margaret's." "Yes, it does," she said tightly. In more ways than one, she wanted to add. He flicked her a quick glance as he went over to the desk and rummaged in the drawer. "Here's a menu. What would you like? " She was hungry. But nothing on earth would induce her to go into the hotel dining room dressed as she was. "I don't feel like going out." He looked surprised. "I wasn't suggesting that we do. We'll get room service." "You mean they'il bring the food up here?" "Of course. Didn't you know that?" "No. How could I?" "Sorry, Lyn. I keep forgetting this is all new to you," he said apologetically. "Why don't you let me order for you? If you'll forgive me for saying so, you don't look in any state to make decisions." His understanding, for which she was grateful, brought her nearer to tears than she had been all day. There was a faint quiver in her voice as she said, "That's a good idea. Thanks." Looking away, she blinked furiously. He chose to ignore her distress and instead went to the telephone. Walking over to the window, she pulled back the filmy nylon drapes and gazed out over the city, fighting for control. By the time Tor had finished ordering, she had herself more or less in hand. "Why don't you have a shower while we're waiting and get into something more comfortable?" he suggested casually. All she had with her was the brief gray nightshirt. "No, that's all right," she said hastily. "I'm fine as I am." He eyed her sardonically. "Maybe we'd better get something straight right now. Whatever might have happened between us at Lake of Islands is not going to recur. As your legal guardian, Lyn, the last thing I'll be likely to do is seduce you. Is that clear?" He was leaning against the desk, the overhead lighting throwing shadows over the harsh planes of his face and the hard line of his mouth; he bore no resemblance to the man who, five minutes ago, had sympathized with her weariness. She said steadily, "That's fine by me." "Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, what was bothering you in the lobby?" There was no point in trying to deceive him - he would get the truth out of her one way or another. -"It was my clothes." His brow furrowed, he said, "What do you mean?" "Didn't you see all those other women and the clothes they were wearing?" "No, I can't say I did." "There was nobody else in that lobby with jeans on. And they all had beautiful hairdos and makeup and long red fingernails...." "I see. Well, if it makes you feel any better, I loathe long red fingernails. They always look like claws to me." "Oh!" She considered this, her head to one side. "Sort of predatory, you mean?" He smothered a smile. "Exactly." Stubbornly she refused to be sidetracked. "Just the same, they all looked soI elegant and sophisticated, not like me." "Well, if it's really bothering you, it's easy enough to deal with. Our plane doesn't leave until one-thirty tomorrow. We'll buy you something to wear in the morning."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html His words opened a whole vista of intriguing possibilities, which wistfully she tamped down. "I can't. By the time I'd paid dad's funeral expenses, I only had forty dollars left." He started to speak, but then seemed to change his mind. After a brief pause, he said quietly, "I'll pay for it." "No!" she exclaimed, not even giving herself time to think. "It would seem we have more than one thing to get straight," he said grimly. "After tomorrow you're going to be living in my house and eating off my table. Whether I buy you a few clothes is neither here nor there." The financial aspect of his guardianship had simply not occurred to her before. "You'll own me," she whispered, her eyes appalled. "For heaven's sake stop exaggerating." He stepped closer, his expression bleak. "At the risk of sounding repetitious - and I'm afraid repetition seems to be the only way to get anything through your head - I'm responsible for you, Lyn. And part of that responsibility will entail money, crude though that may seem to you. You might as well accept it, because that's the way it is. After all, who do you think paid for the plane that got you here, and for this?" With a sweep of his arm, he indicated the luxurious room. "I didn't ask to be brought here!" she spat. The next minute she was in his arms, an iron hand forcing her head back, a mouth of brutal strength claiming hers. For a moment she was rigid with outrage, conscious of nothing but blind fury that he should do this to her. With all her strength - and she was no weakling - she fought to wrench free of his embrace, ineffectively pounding her fists against his ribs. For all the effect that she had she might just as well not have bothered. His kiss deepened, his mouth searching for a response. As swiftly as fire sweeps through the forest, her passion of hatred was transformed into a passion of longing...to be held and touched and devoured. Pliant as a reed in the summer wind, her body bent backward, and the same fingers that had fought him now caressed the hard contours of his chest. Like a man possessed he groaned her name, raining kisses over her face, one hand entangled in her hair, the other cupping the softness of her breast. A discreet tap came at the door. For a moment they stood transfixed, then Tor drew a ragged breath and abruptly released her, rubbing the palm of his hand across his forehead. When he looked at her, his eyes held such a mixture of anguish and accusation that she involuntarily stepped back a pace. "I can't come near you without wanting to touch you," he said hoarsely. "What am I going to do?" There was another tap at the door, this time a little more peremptory. "Come in," Lyn said clearly, wanting only to be delivered from a situation she had no idea how to handle. A waiter entered, pushing a mahogany trolley with snow-white linen and an assortment of covered silver dishes. "Would you like me to serve, sir?" he asked, tactfully ignoring Lyn's pink cheeks and Tor's obvious discomposure. "No, that'll be fine. You've put it on my account?" "Yes, sir." And as Tor tipped him, "Thank you, sir. Enjoy your dinner." To be confronted with something as prosaic as food seemed anticlimactic, but thankfully Lyn seized upon it as a topic of conversation. She began investigating the contents of the dishes, exclaiming with an interest that was only partly feigned, "Oh, it's lovely! Look, Tor...come and tell me what everything is." "The soup is vichyssoise; it's chilled. Then the main course is lobster Newburg with rice pilaf and asparagus tips, and the dessert is honeydew melon." "Mmm...gorgeous. Can we start?" A reluctant smile relieved the somber lines of his face. "Sure. I'll move the trolley over to the table." With a feeling that she had been rescued from the brink of a deep chasm, Lyn chattered artlessly through the meal, sensitive enough to realize that her enjoyment of something that to Tor was more or less routine, was giving him

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html pleasure. She swallowed the last of her coffee and smothered a yawn. "Sorry. I guess I'm not used to being up so late. What's the time?" "Just past midnight." "Oh, dear! And I'm sure I'll be awake at six." She stood up, knowing that she was talking too fast. "That was a lovely meal, Tor. Thank you. It was just what I needed. I'll sleep like a log now." His eyes had been downcast, his fingers idly shifting the cutlery. Now he looked up, in one swift glance taking in the slender lines of her figure in the lamplight and the nervousness of her gestures. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet, his big frame moving with compact grace as he walked around the table toward her. Quite unable to move, she watched him come, her mouth dry. He seemed to tower over her. There was no mercy in the angular planes of his face, the cold eyes. Like a man who could not help himself, he bent his head to hers, his fists clenched at his sides. Trembling from head to foot, she felt the searing imprint of his kiss. Then, his eyes blind with a private agony, he pushed her away so that she staggered, and he went to stand by the window, his back to her, his body silhouetted against the dazzling lights of the city. "Go to bed, Lyn," he rasped. "I'll see you tomorrow." There was nothing she could say. Her moccasined feet soundless on the thick carpet, she went through the door that led to her room and closed it behind her. Like Tor she was drawn to the window, and like him she stared unseeingly at the city. She felt desperately tired, with a weariness that was bone deep, but at the same time her brain was racing and her emotions in such turmoil that she knew she would never sleep. Because her mind shied away from the recollection of those two kisses and of Tor's tormented mien, she began a deliberate cataloging of the contents of the room, examining the pictures on the walls, turning the wall lamps on and off, testing the softness of the mattress--- But it was no good...nothing could distract her from that glimpse of agony in Tor's eyes. Was it her fault? What had she done? Twice she walked to the door to ask him and twice she retreated, her courage failing her. He had not wanted her company; he had told her to go to bed as though she were a child, she thought bitterly, to be dismissed when she became a nuisance. She looked down, noticing how her fingers were clenched on the edge of the desk so tightly that the knuckles were white. The beautiful room, so impeccably furnished, suddenly seemed like a prison. Cushioned and opulent, it mocked her unhappiness. Longing for a breath of fresh air, she flung back the heavy velvet drapes but there was no way to open the windows; it was the discreetly humming air conditioner that cooled the room. Stifled and frustrated, she leaned her forehead against the cold glass. She had always lived in intimate contact with the outdoors; all summer the open windows of the cabin would allow the breeze to waft through, and she had only to step outside the door to touch the trees and watch the swaying ferns. Nothing in this room was real, she thought frantically, looking with loathing at the potted palm tree in the corner...while outside was only the spangle of lights, the ceaseless traffic, the claustrophobic piling up of building upon building. Then, two or three streets over, she saw a cluster of trees in a square - a park of some kind. She knew exactly what she was going to do - she had to get out of here. She'd find those trees and sit underneath them for a while, and then she'd feel better and be able to sleep. CHAPTER SEVEN

LYN LET HERSELF OUT of the room, making sure that the door shut without a sound, and hurried down the hallway to the elevators, pushing the button with a tiny surge of confidence because she knew how to operate it. It wouldn't take her long to get used to the city, she decided, for all she had to do was watch and imitate others in order to learn. The elevator carried her smoothly

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html downward. At the third floor she was joined by a white-haired gentleman with a rosebud in his buttonhole, and when the elevator reached the lobby he courteously gestured for her to precede him. He didn't care that she was wearing jeans, she thought, this small encounter adding to her confidence. Her head held high she walked across the foyer. "Can I get you a taxi, madam?" It was the doorman, the one who had welcomed them earlier. Trying not to stare, she noticed how the ends of his mustache were waxed and curled into two perfect arcs. "Oh, no! No, thank you," she replied. "I'd rather walk." She favored him with a generous smile, for above the undoubtedly amazing mustache his faded blue eyes were kind. He hesitated fractionally. "Is madam alone?" She nodded. "It's all right, I'm not going far." "I'd better get you a cab, madam. No city is absolutely safe for a young lady to be walking alone at night." Amused by his avuncular manner, for after all she had been looking after herself for a long time, Lyn said lightly, "There's no need. I'm not going far." Quickly she ran down the steps before he could carry out his intention. After the air conditioning in the hotel, the heat outside struck her like a blow. The humidity was stifling, and to her wilderness-accustomed nostrils the air was laden with an indecipherable variety of unpalatable smells. The traffic stirred up an artificial breeze, which whisked grit and paper scraps into the gutters. She walked down the sidewalk, wondering how people could live in such a fetid atmosphere, her eyes flicking over the pedestrians who were hurrying past, their faces intent upon private business, none of them paying her any heed. It was her first hint of the anonymity of the city; no one at Sioux Lake would dream of walking past you without a greeting of some kind. Crossing the street at a traffic light with a group of other people, she walked for another block, then turned up a side street, not sure whether she had gone far enough or not. In the confusion of buildings and doorways and display windows, it was hard to judge distances. The side street was quieter, not as well lighted and not as frequented by traffic. Maple trees had been planted in tiny open squares along the pavement, although their leaves hung limply in the heat. She turned left again, beginning to wonder if she had missed the park and not even noticing a heavyset young man propped in a doorway, his cigarette a tiny orange circle in the darkness. As she crossed the street he straightened and began to follow her, keeping unobtrusively in the shadows. From the main street came the wail of a siren, to Lyn's ears noisier and far more frightening than the cry of a wolf pack, while from above came the whine of a jet. Drenched in perspiration, her feet already aching from the unaccustomed hardness of the pavement, she was almost ready to give up and go back to the hotel, when between the rows of buildings she caught sight of a cluster of trees. It was only a small park, encircled with tall lamps that illuminated the wooden benches, neatly arranged flower beds and clipped bushes. Some of the trees were varieties she had never seen before, others the comfortingly familiar spruce and birch of home. She wandered along the gravel pathway, eventually sitting down under a tall cedar tree, her face and T-shirt pale gleams in the shadows. Leaning back, she closed her eyes. Some sixth sense warned her that she was not alone just as the young man reached down to grab her by the arm. Instinctively she twisted out of the way and got to her feet, annoyed, rather than frightened, that her newfound peace had been disturbed. In no mood to be polite, she said frostily, "I came here to be alone." He hooked his fingers in his belt, tattoos writhing across the muscles of his arms. "Sure, baby," he sneered. "A cute little thing like you walking in a park by yourself at night. You're looking for one thing, and that's trouble, aren't you, baby?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Whatever I was looking for, it wasn't you," she retorted unwisely. "No? That's too bad, because I think you and me could have some fun." He stepped closer so that she could smell the liquor on his breath and see the coarse red features and close-set eyes; belatedly she realized that he might be dangerous. Before he could get any closer she pivoted, ducked under the cedar tree and plunged into the bushes. She could hear him close behind her as she came out into the open by the flower beds; he was uttering a stream of obscenities that so sickened her by their violence that she looked around frantically for deliverance. A rough hand seized her shirt, tearing the srtoulder seam, and viciously she kicked out, hearing him grunt with pain. It was pure luck that a police cruiser turned the corner, the headlights full on the struggling girl. With a muttered oath her assailant released her, pushing her against the lamppost before he disappeared into the dark shelter of the trees. "You okay, miss?" Trying to get her breath back, she nodded wordlessly as a young police officer jumped out of the car, which sped off in the direction her attacker had taken. "Did he get your purse?" he rapped as he helped her up. "No... I didn't have one," she gasped. "You alone?" "Yes." "You're asking for trouble wandering around here alone at night. Don't you know that?" "I'm learning," she said dryly. "You from around here?" "No. I'm from northern Ontario - Sioux Lake." "Oh, that explains it. Well, let tonight be a lesson for you, miss, and be glad you got off as lightly as you did." As he was talking the police car had rejoined them, but there was no sign of the assailant. "Get in, and we'll take you home." Meekly she slid into the front seat between the two policemen. Now that it was all over she could feel her knees shaking, and she was perilously close to tears. All she had wanted to do was sit under the trees, she thought miserably. "Where are you staying?" She named the hotel and saw the driver's eyes widen, although he made no comment. They drove around the block and as the car approached the hotel entrance she saw with a sinking heart that Tor was standing under the canopy staring out at the traffic, his whole bearing conveying an overwhelming anxiety. Oh, dear...she'd really be in trouble now. The police officer stepped out of the car and leaned down to help her out, keeping a steadying hand under her elbow, for despite his gruff demeanor he had sensed how frightened she had been. She straightened and looked at Tor; as he saw the police car the color drained from his face and shock held him immobile. "Lyn...are you all right?" he asked hoarsely. "Yes, I'm fine." He expelled his breath in a long sigh. "You had me worried sick," he said. "Where on earth have you been?" The younger policeman intervened. "Are you with this gentleman, miss?" "Oh, yes," she murmured, nervously pushing back a strand of sweat-dampened hair from her face. "He's my guardian." "Perhaps you'd have a word with the young lady, sir, just to make sure she doesn't go out alone again," the policeman said respectfully. "I'll have a word with her all right," was the grim reply. "Well, good night then, miss. Glad we arrived when we did." There was a grin lurking in the policeman's eyes. "You'd better go in and face the music now." She giggled weakly. "I'm afraid you're right." Sobering, she laid her hand on his sleeve. "Thank you for your help. I'm sorry I caused trouble. I didn't mean to."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "No problem." He raised his hand in salute and got back in the car. Slowly Lyn walked across the carpet toward Tor, wishing she was anywhere but where she was. He grated, "We'll continue this upstairs," and in silence escorted her across the lobby and up the elevator, then unlocking her door. She preceded him into the room, which, far from the prison it had seemed earlier, now appeared a haven; a bed had never looked so inviting. Tor closed the door and advanced upon her, his face set and still without all its normal color. Fighting the urge to retreat, she held her ground, although her knees were quivering again; she hoped he wouldn't notice. "Where the devil did you go?" "I went out for a walk." Her reply was quite simply the truth, but it only served to infuriate him further. "And did you have a destination in mind? Or were you just planning to wander, as it were?" he asked silkily. Vowing she would not show she was scared of him, she said clearly, "No. I had a destination. I could see a park from the window here and that was where I was going." Deliberately needling him, she added, "I couldn't stand being cooped up in this room any longer. You can't even open the window. Besides, I needed to be among some trees again." "So at twelve-thirty at night you decided to go for a walk in a strange city," he said with heavy sarcasm. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind filling in a few of the details, such as why you arrived back in a police car?" She swallowed, trying to whip up a measure of defiance. "There was a man who accosted me in the park," she said shortly. "One of the policemen tried to catch him, but he got away. So then they brought me back here. After - you will be pleased to know - a lecture about the perils of going out alone at night in the city." "Your shirt is torn. Did he hurt you?" "No. I kicked him," she said with devastating simplicity. "And what if he'd pulled a knife? What would you have done then?" She stared at him in silence. "Or a gun? What then?" "Well, he didn't," she said stubbornly. "It's just as well, isn't it?" He rubbed at his forehead with his fingers. "Lyn, I don't know what I'm going to do with you. You hadn't been in the city for two hours before you got into trouble. I suppose it's partly my fault. I should have warned you. But it never occurred to me that you'd try to go out." He stared down at her, making no move to touch her, his blue eyes bleak. "Two days ago, just two blocks from where you were, the doorman told me a young girl was raped and stabbed." Horrified, Lyn made a tiny sound of distress. "Oh, no!" "Yes, an isolated case, perhaps, but why take a chance? I went through hell once I discovered you were missing. Not knowing where you'd gone or where to start looking. Even the doorman had changed shifts, so there was no one to tell me if you'd left the hotel or which direction you took." So that explained his strained look, his fear when he'd seen the police car. She never thought to ask why he had gone to her room in the first place. "Tor, I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I truly didn't mean to scare you like that. And I'll never do it again." He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes shut momentarily. There were lines on his forehead that she had not noticed before and in sudden concern she asked, "Are you ill?" "Headache," he muttered, then added, looking her straight in the face, "For ten minutes I had myself convinced that you were dead - lost, gone, raped, stabbed. And I was responsible, because I was the one who'd brought you to the city. Do you wonder that I have a headache?" Dumbstruck, she saw things from his point of view for the first time. From a sense of duty he had taken upon himself a guardianship that was really his father's. He had traveled to the wilds of Ontario to get her, and for thanks she had been rude and angry and uncooperative. She had wrecked his canoe, led

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html him on a dangerous chase through the woods, cost him money and time and inconvenience. And now, by acting without thought, she had literally worried him sick. Bitterly ashamed of herself, she impulsively crossed the room and knelt at his feet, her hands clasped on his knee, her face raised in unconscious supplication. "Tor, I'm so sorry," she repeated. "I've caused you nothing but trouble from the beginning, haven't I?" He stared at her blankly, his face so close that she could see tiny flecks in the pupils of his eyes. She was swept by an absurd longing to press his face to her breast and hold it there, to stroke his hair and comfort him. Still he said nothing. Painfully she whispered, "You must sometimes wish you'd never laid eyes on me." As though suddenly awakened from his stupor he thrust her away with such force that she was thrown to the edge of the bed like a rag doll. Shocked and horrified, she saw him reach the door and then turn, his eyes like burning coals in his face as he gazed at her without pity or warmth. "Yes, Lyn," he said heavily, "sometimes I wish just that." The door shut behind him. Lyn thrust her clenched hands against her mouth to stop herself from crying out and discovered that she was weeping, the tears streaming down her cheeks like rain. She buried her face in the bed covers and wept for a long time, the harsh sobs tearing at her throat. Only when she was too exhausted to cry any more did she drag herself to her feet and go to the bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her tear-swollen face. Looking in the mirror, she saw dazed reddened eyes, wet cheeks, tousled chestnut hair...but more than all that, she saw a reflection of a burgeoning fear. Yes, she was frightened... how long had she known Tor - five days? And in those five days he had come to hate her, to wish he had never met her. Lyn could count on the fingers of one hand the people who had meant a lot in her life: her father, Margaret and Bernard, and now Tor. With the Whit-tiers she had shared a close and delightful companionship that had immeasurably widened her horizons, being something new in her experience; although for all that, they had still insisted she go to Halifax with Tor. Try as she might, she had never been able to break down her father's barriers to achieve the intimacy she had longed for; and now it seemed she had failed again, this time with Tor. Was there something wrong with her? Was there a lack in her of warmth or spontaneity, or some inability to communicate that would cripple all her relationships? She looked into the days ahead, knowing that inevitably she would be thrust into the paths of more and more people when she was under Tor's roof. What if she was as unsuccessful with them as she had been with Tor? Treated like an ignorant child, condemned, rejected... she would die of loneliness. No longer able to stand her own thoughts, she went back into the bedroom, undressed and got into bed, where she lay staring wide-eyed up into the darkness, her muscles knotted with tension, her whole body paralyzed by an all-consuming fear of the future. Not until the street lights dimmed far below and the early-morning restaurants started opening their doors, did she fall asleep. At nine and again at ten her door opened quietly as Tor checked to see if she was awake. It was after eleven when for the third time he opened the door, this time entering the room. For long minutes he stood still, his eyes fixed on the sleeping girl. She had kicked off most of the covers, her slim legs entangled in the sheets, her arms wide-flung and fingers loosely curled. ~"Lyn," he said softly. The slow even breathing continued without a break. "Lyn, wake up." Still no reaction. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, moving like a man in the grip of some force stronger than himself. Gently he stroked the silken hair back from her face. She stirred uneasily, muttering something under her breath, then turned on her side, one hand falling limply across his thigh. His hand moved to her shoulder. "Wake up, Lyn." Her eyes slowly opened as she fought free of the webs of a sleep that had enmeshed her in nightmares.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She was lying on a strange bed in a strange room with Tor, from whom she had parted so harshly the night before. He was stroking her shoulder; her palm was warm on his leg... it was like a miracle, a rebirth. She did not want to question it, or to speak, in case he vanished as precipitately as he had last night. She closed her eyes again, her whole being focused on the fingers rubbing her flesh. Heaven must be like this, she thought drowsily--"Don't go to sleep again. You'll have to get up if we're going to catch the plane," She yawned, stretching sensuously. "I don't want to get up." As Tor's fingers tightened around her shoulder, she looked up, startled. His eyes were raking her figure, and she flushed scarlet as she realized that the nightshirt covered her only to mid-thigh, its deep V-neckline revealing a creamy expanse of perfumed skin. His other hand left his side, hovering over her body, then like an arrow seeking a golden mark, it cupped the rounded swell of one breast and rested there, holding her flesh captive. He must have sensed the hardening of her nipple, the flutter of her heartbeat, even though she lay statue-still beneath his hand. His eyes had closed and to the watching girl his face looked like that of a man being tempted beyond endurance; his breathing was as harsh in his throat as though he were being tortured. She waited, not moving a muscle, her heart going out to him in a strange mixture of longing and compassion. The moment stretched into minutes, and she never knew what it was that caused him to snatch his hand from her breast as though he had been burned. He got to his feet and said roughly, avoiding her eyes, "I ordered your breakfast for eleven-thirty. Be ready to leave at noon. I'll knock on your door." In a graceful flash of legs she, too, stood up and tentatively stretched out her hand. "Tor, what's wrong?" she asked. "Are you still angry with me?" "Just do as I say, Lyn, okay?" "Then you are still angry with me." Not knowing what else to do, she pleaded, "Tor, why don't we drop this farce? Now - before it's too late. I'll make arrangements to go back to Sioux Lake and you go home to Halifax. You know as well as I do that you don't want me there. I'll cause you nothing but trouble because that's all I've done so far. I'll cost you money and I'll be underfoot all the time. You don't need me in your life. Catch that plane, Tor... alone." "No!" he exploded. "But you don't want me any more than my father ever did!" she cried passionately. "I'm a duty to you, just as I was to him. Can't you understand how I hate that?" "I don't give a damn how you feel. We made a deal, Lyn, that you'd live in Halifax for a year, and I'm holding you to that deal." He swung on his heel. "I'll see you at twelve. Don't keep me waiting." The door slammed shut. Lyn blinked back angry tears; she had cried enough for him last night, she'd cry no more today. Glancing at her watch she realized she had only fifteen minutes to get ready... she'd better hurry. The next few hours passed by in a blur of new impressions. They drove to the airport, where the ranks of parked cars and the hurrying crowds and the babel of different tongues made Lyn feel insignificant - just one person among hundreds, none of whom knew or cared that she existed. As they waited to board their plane, she was fascinated by the ceaseless landings and takeoffs; the runways shimmered in the heat like vast rivers, across which the jets skimmed like great silver birds. The poised and elegant hostesses made her painfully aware of her sartorial shortcomings, for she and Tor had not had the time to go shopping, and she was still in her jeans; however, she forgot all this as the jet lifted off the ground in a great burst of power that both frightened and exhilarated her. Tor soon fell asleep, but Lyn was too excited for that. Gazing out of the window at the white clouds that looked solid enough to walk on, watching the other passengers, listening to all the announcements, she found the time passing all too quickly and before she knew it they were fastening their seat

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html belts for the descent to Halifax. Another airport...a wait for their baggage...and then the walk to the car park. Tor's car was a dark blue sports model, with two leather-upholstered bucket seats. Lyn surveyed it - appreciatively. "This is much nicer than the taxis," she remarked. "It looks better." "The Ferrari manufacturers would no doubt be flattered," he said dryly. As she smiled uncertainly, he added, "It cost a lot more than the taxis, Lyn, so hopefully more than the look is better!" "How much more?" "A lot more." It was more rather disheartening evidence of his wealth. As she remembered what he had told her about the house, she felt her stomach begin to knot with tension. The whole journey up until now had merely been a preparation. Soon she would see her new home... and there the journey would end. THE REALITY of Oceanview filled her with wonder: the long curving driveway overhung with stately elms; the sweeping green lawns that stretched to the water's edge; the massed beds of roses that filled the air with their scent. And the house was imposing in its graceful proportions, yet nonetheless welcoming, its beauty far greater than she had expected. There was a car parked in the driveway, and when Tor saw it, he said expressionlessly, "Helena must be here; she's a friend of mine. She'll be company for you, Lyn, and I'm sure she'll show you around the city and the shops." He pulled to a halt in front of the paneled front door and went around to the back of the car to get out the luggage. Slowly Lyn climbed out. Now that the journey was over she felt tired and hot and dirty, totally disinclined to meet anyone new. The front door opened and a woman stepped out, a woman so beautiful that Lyn could only stare. Her dress was of a simple elegance that spoke of money, and its deep violet hue was reflected in the artfully made-up eyes. A cluster of blond curls framed a delicately pointed face of an entrancing prettiness. She looked both utterly feminine and totally confident of her welcome. "Tor, darling," she said warmly, "how lovely to see you back again. You must stay home for a while now. I miss you too much when you're gone." Walking past Lyn in a wave of delicious perfume, she ^raised her face to be kissed, sliding her arms around Tor's neck and clinging to him in an embrace that seemed to Lyn to go on forever. It was Tor who disengaged himself. "Hello, Helena. You're looking very lovely. Helena, I'd like you to meet Lyn. I hope you'll both be friends. HelenaThornhill, Lyn Selby." Helena's violet eyes slid over Lyn from head to foot in an appraisal that missed not one detail of the creased jeans, inexpensive T-shirt and untidy hair. She nodded to herself as though well satisfied and said cordially, "Welcome to Ocean view, Lyn." Oceanview was Tor's, Lyn thought crossly, not Helena's, and as such it was up to Tor to welcome her. However, she said stiffly, "Thank you." She had not missed the significance of Helena's appraisal and intuitively sensed that the other woman would be pleasant only as long as Tor showed no interest in Lyn; under any other circumstances she would become an antagonist. Helena tucked her arm confidently into Tor's. "Marian has dinner nearly ready." She glanced over at Lyn. "But perhaps you're tired, Lyn, and would rather go straight to your room." "Of course she'll want to eat," Tor said with faint irritation. "Well, there should just be time for her to change, then," Helena said lightly. Annoyed at being talked about as though she weren't there, Lyn said flatly, "You'll have to put up with me as I am. I have nothing to change into." "Really? How strange---" "Where Lyn comes from, you don't need a closet full of evening dresses," Tor intervened. "Ah, here's Marian. Marian, I'd like you to meet Lyn Selby. Lyn, Marian Hollman."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Shrewd blue eyes assessed the young girl's simple garb, the unconscious pride of her bearing, the wariness of the long-lashed eyes. In turn Lyn saw a pleasant-faced woman, no longer young, with carefully curled gray hair; she was wearing an immaculate house dress, "Don't keep her standing outdoors, now, Master Tor," Marian scolded. "'Come in, dear. I'll show you your room and you can freshen up before dinner." They were the first kind words Lyn had heard in what seemed like a long time. Ridiculously she felt tears crowd her eyes so that she stumbled a little as she went up the steps and into the spacious entrance hallway, and the soft hues of the antique carpet blurred her vision. Blindly she followed Marian up the curving staircase, down a long corridor, and into a room that quite literally took her breath away. Unaware that Tor had followed them with her luggage, she looked around her in silence. She felt as though she had come home, as though she had never left her forest dwelling place. At the far end of the room tall glass doors opened onto a patio that was surrounded by silver birch and maples, their leaves dappling the floor with shadows; through a window by the bed she saw more trees and a distant glimpse of the ocean. The moss-green carpet on the floor and the patina of hand-rubbed pine furniture reiterated the woodland theme. White-painted book-shelveSi a fireplace flanked by velvet-covered armchairs, a pewter bowl of pure white roses by the bed...everything in the room the expression of a taste with which she felt an immediate rapport. "Do you like it?" Tor had spoken. "Did you choose this room for me on purpose?" she asked. "Yes. Was it a good choice?" It was almost as though he needed reassurance. "Yes. It's a beautiful room. How will I be able to miss the cabin when I have all this?" She gestured around her. It did not need much discernment on her part to see that he was pleased. "I'm glad," he said, favoring her with his rare smile. "Now I'll let Marian show you where everything is. Come downstairs when you're ready." It was Marian who showed her the bathroom, decorated in shades of warm brown and apricot, with a trellis of hanging plants by the window, and Marian who opened the doors of the absurdly long closet. Lyn smiled ruefully, indicating the backpack on the floor. "That's the sum of my belongings, Mrs. Hollman." "Call me Marian, dear," the housekeeper said comfortably. "Why don't we unpack right now and then you can change for dinner?" "I have nothing to change into." "Oh, well, Tor will look after that tomorrow, no doubt." She hesitated, assessing Lyn's slender figure. "I believe Miss Madeleine - that's Tor's sister - left a blouse behind the last time she was here. Why don't I go and look?" In no time she was back with a cream-colored shirt and narrow leather belt draped across her arm. "There you are, dear. At least you'll feel a little more appropriately dressed." Warmed by the older woman's understanding, Lyn said gratefully, "Thank you, Marian." "I'll go and see to the dinner if you're sure you're all right. It will be half an hour before we eat." Left alone, Lyn examined the shirt more closely. Exquisitely tailored of raw silk with long full sleeves and a mandarin collar, it gave her a new confidence, a desire to look her best. She showered and washed her hair, drying it with the hand blower and trying to curl it around her ears as Tor had done. Then she put on her newest jeans and slipped the shirt over her head; the material had a sensuous coolness on her skin and draped her breasts in a way that was both virginal yet suggestive. The belt, of thin strips of intricately interwoven leather, made her waist appear impossibly small and allowed the fabric to fall in soft gathers over her hips. She gazed at herself in the mirror in fascination, wondering how one garment could so change her appearance. Her worn leather moccasins did not seem appropriate with the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html elegant shirt, so she left her feet bare. As she went downstairs she heard the murmur of voices from a room on her left. Trying to ignore the nervous flutter of her stomach, she entered the room. Tor and Helena were over by the far wall standing close together, laughing over some shared joke, and as they turned to face her she had the sensation that they were allied against her...she was the outsider, the discordant note in the beautiful room. She stood as quietly as if she were back in the wilderness stalking a deer; the lamplight gleamed on her burnished hair, mysteriously shadowing the fathomless green eyes. Tor walked slowly toward her, his eyes trained on the exquisite purity of her features rising flowerlike from the creamy fabric. He stopped scarcely a foot away from her and in spite of herself her breast rose and fell in sudden agitation and her lips trembled. He said huskily, "You remind me of the water lilies opening to the sun." He seemed to give himself a little shake and his voice was more nearly normal when he spoke again. "Have you no jewelry?" She shook her head; her voice seemed to have disappeared. "Just a minute...I'll be right back." Putting his drink down on the table, he left the room. Helena moved forward, violet eyes venomous. "That must be one of Madeleine's castoffs, is it? She always did have atrocious taste... and do you always eat dinner in your bare feet?" This open attack was all Lyn needed to know that the makeshift outfit was a success. There was a glint of genuine amusement in her voice as she replied, "Obviously not. However, I'm sure Tor will buy me some shoes." Helena let out her breath in a tiny hiss. "Tor has other commitments than skinny little waifs from the backwoods," she began. But then she must have caught sight of their host coming across the hallway because she smiled, catlike, and said clearly, "Of course I'd love to take you shopping tomorrow, Lyn. It would be fun---Oh, there you are, Tor. Lyn and I were just discussing clothes. I'm afraid she can't wait to start spending your money; she wants to go shopping right away. You don't mind if I take her tomorrow, do you, darling?" With just the faintest note of surprise in his voice, Tor said, "No, of course not. In fact I was rather hoping the two of you could be friends." Lyn blushed with mortification. "Tor, I wasn't - " He looked at her coolly and she was sure there was a shadow of disappointment in his eyes. "Don't start the argument about money again, Lyn. We've been through all that. I'll give Helena a check and you can get whatever you like. Is that clear?" "Yes, thank you," she muttered ungraciously, knowing that in a few skillful words Helena had ruined the rapport between them. "Good." He grinned suddenly. "Don't look so serious. Any other woman would be delighted at the prospect of a whole new wardrobe." He put his hand in his pocket, extracting a delicate gold chain. "This is what I went upstairs for. I'd like you to wear it - it was my mother's." She let the necklace slide through her fingers, watching the play of light on the tiny oval links. "It's lovely," she said softly. "But I'm afraid I'll lose it." "Nonsense - there's a safety catch. Here, turn around and I'll put it on for you." She did as she was told, lowering her head submissively. As his hands lifted her hair from her neck, a delicious shiver of response raced through her body and she closed her eyes, feeling the cold metal touch her skin--- It seemed to take Tor a long time to fasten the clasp. "You're being very clumsy, Tor. Let me do it," Helena said sharply. "No, it's all right; I've done it." Then his hands were on Lyn's shoulders, turning her to face him, and he was saying matter-of-factly, "That looks very nice. You may wear it as long as you're here, Lyn." Her eyes searched his face, for his act seemed to her strangely symbolic she had been bound to him by yet another chain. However, his expression was

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html unreadable, and his last pat on her shoulder could have been given to his sister. From the hallway came the hollow reverberations of a gong. "Dinner," Tor said casually. "You must be ready for it, are you, Lyn?" "I'm not really very hungry," she confessed as they walked across to the dining room. It was a room of intimidating formality, its ivory walls offset by the jade-green brocade drapes that swept to the carpeted floor. Gold chandeliers, which hung from the molded ceiling, glittered over the crystal and bone china. In the center of the table was an ornate silver bowl of rust-colored chrysanthemums. The mysterious array of cutlery alone was enough to take away the remnants of Lyn's appetite. Although she only pecked at the food, the meal was a succession of novel tastes for Lyn: chilled melon, shrimp in avocado, beef Stroganoff, cherries Jubilee. By watching Helena and Tor she managed not to disgrace herself, and by gulping first the white wine, then the red, she was able to quell some of her nervousness. She was almost glad that Helena dominated the conversation, knowing she herself was being purposefully excluded, but not really minding as much as Helena would perhaps have liked. Finally coffee was served in tiny gilt-edged cups and through a haze of overtiredness and wine, she heard Helena say, "I think Lyn had better pass up the liqueurs, Tor; they'd be too strong for her taste anyway, I expect." "I'd like to try one," Lyn said rebelliously, tired of being treated like a child among adults. Tor poured a small measure of thick dark brown liquid into a glass. "It's Tia Maria," he remarked. "A coffee flavor. I think you'll like it.'* Unaware that liqueurs were meant to be sipped, she took a large mouthful. It burned its way down her throat and the room wavered and dipped. Carefully she put the glass down, just as Helena said gaily, "Why don't we all move back into the study, Tor? Then Marian can clean up." Helena was not one to worry about the convenience of housekeepers, Lyn thought muzzily, trying to get to her feet. Helena had taunted her on purpose about the liqueurs, hoping Lyn would make a fool of herself---She sent a frantic look of appeal over to Tor. "You shouldn't have had that liqueur, should you?" he said severely. "I keep forgetting what a little innocent you are. It's my fault. You should have been drinking water." In utter humiliation she knew she could not stand up. Her head felt strange, floating, detached from her body, although she was still enough in control to notice Helena's derisive smile. "You two go to the study," Lyn said, trying not to trip over the words. "I want to go to my room, if you'll excuse me. Good night, Helena." "Sleep well, Lyn," the other woman said sweetly. "We'll leave about ten tomorrow morning." She got up in a graceful swirl of skirts, the light twinkling on the diamonds on her wrist as she picked up her glass. "Coming, Tor?" "Go ahead, and put some music on, why don't you? I'm just going to pour myself another drink," he said absently. Helena left the room and Lyn sat still, willing Tor to go as well. But instead he came around to her chair. "Get up," he ordered. "I'll help you up to your room." 4' Please, j ust go away, "she whispered. "Look, I'm not in the mood to argue - " "I can't get up!" He grimaced, pulling back her chair and lifting her by the elbows. A surge of dizziness drained the color from her face. She leaned her forehead against his chest, saying in a small voice, "I feel awful." "We both have a lot of learning to do, don't we?" he said grimly. "I suppose you've hardly ever had wine before?" "Never." In a single swift movement he gathered her into his arms. She buried her face against his shirtfront as she felt herself being carried out of the room

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html and up the stairs. She had done it again...disgraced herself... disappointed him, and made him angry. And now she was being sent to bed like a bad child, which would leave him and Helena alone together in the study, to enjoy their drink and listen to music--Cold fingers of desolation curled around her heart. The next thing she knew she had been lowered onto the edge of the bed, where she sat wordlessly, clutching Tor's sleeve, afraid that if she let go she would be unable to remain upright. The alcohol seemed to have removed all her inhibitions and she stared up at him, her eyes lingering on the straight dark brows, the deep-set eyes, the chiseled mouth. A strong face, she thought confusedly, controlled and hard. A very private face...he would reveal to others only what he wished to reveal. At random she said, "When you go back to the study, are you and Helena going to laugh about what I did tonight?" He frowned. "Of course not," he said sharply. "It's more my fault than yours, as I thought I made clear to you." "Oh." She digested this in silence. Then, appalled, she heard her traitorous tongue say, "Have you ever been in love, Tor?" For a moment she saw him at a loss for words. Finally he said, "Once. And I have no intention of discussing it now. I think you'd better get into bed, don't you?" He fumbled at her wrists and she saw that he had undone the buttons on her blouse. Her heart began to beat with thick heavy strokes... she knew what was going to happen and was powerless to prevent it. "The belt has to come off first," she whispered. The supple band of leather slid unnoticed to the floor as his hands moved to the fastening at her throat. He must have noticed the frantically beating pulse there, for momentarily he grew still, his eyes impaling her with their intensity. Then, one by one, with a deliberation that inflamed all her senses, he undid the buttons down the front of her blouse and it fell open, revealing silken skin. Their eyes interlocked; they could have been alone in the world. He slid the blouse from her shoulders and in a rustle of silk it fell about her waist. Then he raised her to her feet; she heard the metallic slide of her zipper and felt him easing the trousers from her hips. She lifted each foot and saw the jeans flung in a crumpled heap by the bed. Silently she waited for what he would do next, only brief white panties and a bra hiding her nakedness from him. Like a man caught in a dream, he said almost in-audibly, "I want to see your breasts, Lyn." She could no more have stopped him than she could have stopped the wind in the trees or the slow circling of the stars in the sky. Nor did she want to stop him. Her bra fell to the floor to lie with her jeans. In the soft gray light of dusk her breasts gleamed white, pink-tipped, proud and firm. He brought both his hands up, lean fingers shaking slightly, and cupped her flesh. Held captive and seared by his touch, she began to tremble, knowing in the depths of her being that all she wanted of life was to be held by him in this way. He bent his head, his tongue slowly climbing to the peak of one breast, a peak as hard as her flesh was soft and yielding. In pure wonderment that there could be such felicity, she pressed the black tangle of his hair against her skin. It was her first overt response and it broke the mute spell of silence that had encircled them both. With a passion that elated her, he flung her back across the bed in a sprawl of pale limbs and fell beside her, his hands plundering her body, his lips bruising hers, every movement fierce and sure and demanding. Frantic to feel his skin against hers, she loosened his shirt and then he was on top of her, his chest hard, crushing her softness in a pain that was no longer discernible from pleasure. From the hallway downstairs a voice drifted upward. "Tor? Where are you, darling?" His body shuddered as though struck, then slumped on hers. His mouth was buried in her neck, and against her skin she felt his strangled breathing.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Slowly he raised himself, his frame hovering over Lyn like a great bird of prey, his fingers taut as talons, the wildness in his eyes smoldering to extinction until his gaze was as cruelly empty as an eagle's. Moving like an automaton he stood up, fastening his shirt, running his fingers through his disordered hair, his chest still heaving as though he had been running. "Tor?" "I'll be right down, Helena," he called. Pitching his voice for Lyn's ears alone, he added, looking around at the gray-shadowed room filled with the rustle of leaves, "It would seem I can't come near you without wanting to make love to you. I don't know how to fight that, Lyn, but fight it I will." His voice was bitter with self-contempt. "You bring out the worst in me, the beast, the male animal who must have his way. The trouble is, I know you're willing. How I know you're willing!" He laughed, an ugly sound in the gathering darkness. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of my way. Or one of these days, I won't be responsible for the consequences---" The turmoil of her body, aroused but not fulfilled, gave her the strength to say coldly, "Very well. I shall stay out of your way. And by the same token you'd better not come in here again." Savagely he said, "How quickly you learn! And how quickly you move from passion to indifference! You lie there now like a statue. Are you as suddenly unmoved as you appear?" This was so manifestly unfair and untrue that she caught her breath in pain. "Would you prefer that I throw a fit of hysterics and bring Helena on the scene? Is that what you want?" "I'd like a little evidence of feeling." "Oh, you want it all ways!" she cried. "It's permissible for you to lust after me - because lust is what you called it - but not for me to feel the same for you?" Suddenly overcome by the futility of it all, she turned her face away. "Go downstairs and leave me alone. I want to sleep." "You're a heartless little bitch, aren't you?" he said evenly. "Yes, I'll go, Lyn. And I won't be back." There was a diminishing fall of footsteps and then silence. She was alone with the shadows of dusk and with the cold ashes of desire. AT THE SAME MOMENT two thousand miles to the northwest, a red-bearded man stood in a clearing. Although he knew there was not another human being within twenty miles of him, his movements were still furtive and he worked quickly, as though he wanted to be gone from the place. From an old metal container he splashed gasoline over the lowermost tree boughs and over the twisted undergrowth. Striking a match he flung it to the ground. Blue flames exploded into the air. He backed away from the sudden blast of heat, watching with grim satisfaction as the fire took hold, creeping across the dry grass, leaping through the shrubs, wrapping the tall trees in crackling orange flames. Sap hissed in the burning branches. Thick white smoke climbed skyward. Like an animal of voracious appetite, the fire began to spread, devouring everything in its path and growing even larger and more impossible to control. The man who had loosened the beast to feed his own mad appetite for revenge turned on his heel and ran for the lake and the waiting canoe---CHAPTER EIGHT

THE HOUSE WAS UTTERLY QUIET when Lyn woke the next morning. She had no clock, although as she gazed through the patio doors she decided it could be no later than seven by the slanting rays of the sun gleaming on the dewy grass. There was a tightness at her temples and a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach - too much wine and too little food, she supposed. Perhaps a walk to the shore would make her feel better. She pulled down the catch and pushed the heavy glass panels open, not realizing as they slid shut that she was locked out.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html After stretching her limbs, bared by the brief nightshirt, and inhaling the crisp morning air, she began to look around her from the patio deck, seeing a world in its own way just as beautiful as her wilderness home, yet very different, for it was tamed and cared for. Many of the trees scattered at random in the lush green of the lawn were unfamiliar to her; later Tor would tell her they were oak, beech and linden, chestnut and locust; down by the water's edge willows drooped and scarlet maples struck a more somber note. She walked through the wet grass, hearing familiar bird calls, responding to beauty as she always had with a mute gratitude for all the variety of creation. The slope grew steeper and to her ears came the first sounds of the sea, the lapping and bubbling of little waves on the shore. Childishly she raced toward the bank. Although it was only an inlet of the ocean - for the opposite shore was clearly distinguishable - it nevertheless smelled different from the lake - a sharp clean tang that strangely excited her. Her bare feet gripping the slippery wet rocks, she knelt and dipped her fingers in the water. It was cold and salty, her first taste of the sea. Two gulls winged slowly past, feathers a smooth pristine white, mournful cries like nothing she had ever heard before. Entranced, she perched on a rock, resting her chin on her hands, oblivious to the slow passage of time. To the man who came down the slope toward her some time later, she must have looked like a statue, her bare legs curled up under her, her slender body in a pose at once graceful and unaffected. Her absorption was so intense that she did not know he had stood there watching her for nearly five minutes; all she heard was a peremptory calling of her name. Startled, she looked around. Tor was standing by the willow trees. He was wearing tight-fitting suede trousers, his chest and feet bare, the sun beating on his browned skin and blue-black hair, his eyes as vivid as the depthless sky. Her first impulse was to run and meet him, so she could share with him her sense of wonder and her new discoveries. But then she remembered the clipped voice last night, the angry warning... "If you know what's good for you, stay out of my way." She sat still, folding her hands carefully in her lap. He came closer, stepping lithely over the cold rocks. The gold medallion dangled on his chest, and she fixed her eyes on it. He spoke first. "You realize you've upset Marian - not to mention me - by disappearing as you did?" She raised her eyes in surprise. "I didn't disappear," she said, stating what seemed to her the obvious. "I went for a walk." "Unfortunately neither Marian nor I is gifted with the ability to read your mind." Her temper rose. "All you had to do was look out of the window. I must have left a trail of footprints in the dew. That would have been easier to decipher than my mind, I would have thought!' "The dew has disappeared an hour or so ago. Don't you know it's nearly ten o'clock?" "It can't be!" she exclaimed in dismay. "It is. The second thing I shall have to give you of my mother's is her watch." Unconsciously she raised her fingers to the fine gold chain around her neck and slowly stood up. "Why do you give me anything of hers," she whispered, "despising me as you do?" The words seemed to be dragged from him. "I've never said I despise you, Lyn. And in answer to your question I suppose because I know she would have liked you." "You loved her." It was a statement rather than a question, but still he nodded, and this gave her the courage to continue. "Has she been dead long?" "Just more than a year." Slim fingers dropped to his bare arm. "I'm sorry," she said simply. Blue eyes and green met and held. For once his defenses were down so that she saw the remembered pain in his face; it gave him a vulnerability that touched her to the heart, and because of this, his next action seemed the most

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html natural thing in the world. His arms went around her and he held her gently, his bent head resting against the side of her face; it was as though he were drawing comfort or strength from her. It was a passionless embrace, and somehow, in a way she did not understand, their closeness was all the more intimate because of this. It was her first indication of the power of shared emotion, and in a tiny corner of her mind she got an inkling of what love between man and woman must be like: a mingling of emotion and desire that would destroy all defenses, so that two people would merge and become one--Tor drew away from her, in his face a new calmness. He held out his hand, she placed hers in it, and in silence they began to walk up the sloping lawn toward the house. They did not see the fair-haired woman looking out of the living-room windows, watching a bare-chested man and a briefly clad girl walk hand in hand across the grass; they did not see the narrowing of violet eyes, the ugly twist of painted lips. Half an hour later when Lyn met Helena in the living room there was no evidence of this conflict in Helena's wide-eyed smile and pretty gestures of welcome. "Good morning, Lyn," she said gaily. "I'm really looking forward to our outing. I love to shop and Tor has given me carte blanche, haven't you, darling?" "I'm sorry I'm late," Lyn said awkwardly, the other woman's undeniable charm only serving to make her feel gauche; her blue jeans seemed in the worst possible taste beside Helena's flowered off-the-shoulder sundress and thin-strapped sandals. "I didn't really expect you to be on time," Helena remarked, with a playful laugh that jarred on Lyn's ears. "Not after last night. You did rather overdo things then, didn't you, dear?" "If she did, it was through ignorance," Tor said abruptly. "Are you both ready to go? I gave you the money, didn't I, Helena? Lyn, I want you to make me a promise, and this is an order, not a request. You're not to look at any of the price tags. And you're to buy whatever you want." She bit her lip, her green eyes faintly unhappy. "Well, I'll try. But - " "No buts." He glanced down at his watch. "I must go. I've got an appointment in ten minutes. Have a good day, and I'll see you at dinner tonight." Helena's car was a massive American convertible with, to Lyn's uneducated eyes, rather ostentatious amounts of chrome and leather and gadgetry both outside and in; Helena's driving seemed based on the arrogant assumption that everyone else would get out of her way. As they drove along Lyn would have been content to watch the houses and pedestrians and passing traffic, but Helena had other plans. Without subtlety or prevarication the older woman asked, "Are you going to like living in Halifax? Or are you going back to Ontario the first chance you get?" "I can't go back," Lyn said bluntly. "I haven't much money. So I'll have to like living in Halifax, won't I?" "You mean you would go back if you could?" "I don't know," Lyri confessed. "I honestly don't know. But it's a theoretical question anyway, isn't it?" "I suppose so. You know, there are a great many people who would consider themselves extremely fortunate to be living at Oceanview with Tor Hansen." They came to a halt at a red light. "I'm not sure you quite realize just how rich and how famous he is." "You will have to forgive me if I say that neither his wealth nor his fame has much relevance for me." "Don't pretend to be such a little innocent!" The car leaped forward in a surge of power. "Why else would you have come here?" "Helena, I came because I had no choice!" "You mean Tor insisted that you come?" "Exactly." "I see," Helena said, cutting ahead of one of the lumbering silver-and-blue buses. "He takes his so-called responsibilities far too seriously, of course.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html He always has." Once again she was regarded as a responsibility, a burden, Lyn thought resentfully, one part of her brain recording Helena's use of "always." So Helena had known Tor for some time---She was quite unprepared for the next question. "What do you think of him?" "Of Tor?" She played for time. "Yes - of Tor." "I don't really see that my opinion of him has anything to do with you." Violet eyes flicked a sidelong glance at the girl in the passenger seat. "I wouldn't want you getting any of the wrong ideas," Helena said smoothly. Disliking this conversation more and more and only wanting to end it, Lyn retorted, "I don't like talking about Tor behind his back." In an effort to change the subject she added, "Where are we going?" "To one of the shopping centers. And I intend to talk about Tor whether you like it or not." They were caught in a line of slow-moving traffic approaching a major intersection. The car crawled forward and Lyn fought down a rising sense of claustrophobia. If she had had any idea of how to get home, she would have jumped out. "Why do you dislike me so?" she asked, recklessly abandoning any pretense at tact or good manners. "I don't dislike you, Lyn. Why should I? But I wouldn't want to see you hurt." A pregnant pause ensued. Fingers tipped with deep pink fingernails curled around the wheel. "Tor is a very attractive man, a man of the world. A sophisticated and...experienced man. Whereas you, I am sure, are quite without experience." "A virgin, you mean." There was a fractional pause. "You're not as innocent as you look, are you? But yes, you're right, that's precisely what I meant. You see, my dear, it's inevitable that you and Tor will spend a fair amount of time together; you're living in the same house, after all. What I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't want you to mistake his attentions toward you as anything other than those of guardian to ward." Into Lyn's mind flashed the image of Tor's black hair against her naked breast; the memory alone was enough to quicken the blood in her veins. Fortunately the light had turned green and momentarily Helena's attention was on the traffic rather than on the girl beside her. "Tor has great charm," Helena went on evenly. "When he's talking to you, you feel as though you're the only woman in the world." "Oh, you've noticed that too, have you?" Lyn said wickedly. It was probably a mistake, for Helena shot her a look of such calculated spite that Lyn shifted in her seat. This woman would make a bad enemy. Helena was speaking again. "Don't fall in love with Tor, Lyn - " "Nothing could be further from my mind." " - because he's mine." Feeling as though she had received a physical blow, Lyn said carefully, "Perhaps you'd better explain what you mean by that, in view of the fact that I'm going to be living in Tor's house, you understand." "By all means." Skillfully Helena edged into the right-hand lane. "Tor and I are lovers. And have been for some time." In her lap Lyn's hands jerked, then grew very still. "You are in love?" she asked in a voice that sounded far away, thinner than usual. The response was impatient. "Of course." "Why, then, are you not married?" Helena's ripple of laughter grated on Lyn's ears. "How deliciously old-fashioned you are, my dear! Tor and I look at such matters rather differently than you, I'm sure. However, if it will allay your puritanical mind, we do plan to be married in the near future. Perhaps by then you will have decided that for all concerned it would be better for you to go home to Ontario."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Lake of Islands... the cool winds of summer, the gaunt rocks, the rustle of the birches behind the cabin...simplicity, order, peace. Lyn's throat tightened with a pang of homesickness so strong that she almost cried out. And homesickness was mixed with another emotion, a powerful emotion that she did not yet recognize as jealousy. The lean hands that had roamed her flesh knew Helena's flesh more intimately...the male body that had throbbed against hers had found its consummation in Helena's. What had he said to her that afternoon by the waterfall, an afternoon that now seemed aeons away?... "How can I make love to you? There is no love, no commitment between us...." So he must love Helena, Lyn thought dully. And his commitment to her will be marriage--Unbeknown to Lyn, the violet eyes had been watching her shrewdly. "I hope you haven't been upset by my plain speaking, Lyn. It was done with your best interests at heart." Lyn was too confused to be able to argue with this. Fighting for composure she said, "Of course not; why should I be?" Why, indeed? She was not in love with Tor, nor he with her. Why then should it matter about his relationship with Helena? Why should she care that he undoubtedly must be in love with Helena? "Five more minutes and we'll be there," Helena said lightly. "I thought you'd prefer going to one of the big shopping mails rather than to some of the smaller specialty shops." Lyn hardly heard her, for her mind was groping its way through some of the implications of Helena's disclosures. If Tor was in love with Helena - and it seemed he must be - how, then, could he have been so attracted to herself? She had not imagined those searing kisses, the urgency of his hands and body. Lust was the word he had used - an ugly word - yet it must be the true one. She was not yet ready to analyze why she had responded to him so generously, so instinctively, but at least Helena, quite unknowingly, had given her a weapon with which to defend herself in the future. Knowing as she did now that Tor loved Helena, she would have the strength to repel him should he come near her again--"Here we are." Helena's brisk voice broke through her thoughts. "If you don't mind getting out first, Lyn, so I can lock the door from the inside?" Although Lyn could not help noticing that Helena's vehicle was the largest and most luxurious in sight, she was becoming more accustomed to the varied ranks of parked cars now, and to the conglomeration of buildings, brick and concrete and stucco, with their geometric rows of blank-faced windows. But the interior of the mall, cool and lofty, filled her with wonder, and in spite of her inner turmoil, with a sense of anticipation. There seemed to be throngs of people, and among the tourists in light summer outfits and the teenagers in jeans, she couldn't help feeling more at ease. "Don't wander away," Helena said sharply. "I don't want to lose you. Come along, we'll try in here first." Sportswear. Racks of shirts and matching tops. Shorts... swimsuits... slacks. How did anyone ever choose amid such a display? In her innocence, as she stared around her helplessly, Lyn had no idea that this was not at all the kind of place Tor had had in mind. With a ruthless efficiency Lyn could not help but admire, Helena riffled through the clothes, selecting a couple of skirts and blouses and two pairs of slacks. "Here, you can try these on. Then we'll know what size you wear." The dressing room was a tiny cubicle with a full-length mirror on one wall; the fluorescent lighting made Lyn's skin look sallow. Dubiously she looked at herself in the flowered skirt and bright yellow blouse. "Are you ready?" Helena's voice from the narrow corridor between the cubicles was impatient as she whisked aside the curtain. "That fits fine. We'll take those. Now try these slacks." Too uncertain of her own taste to argue with any of Helena's choices, Lyn found herself one hour later with the slcirt and blouse, a loose fitting pair of blue slacks with an equally loose fitting beige top, a plain pink

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html nightdress and wraparound housecoat, and a full-skirted dress of figured chiffon with puffed sleeves. Her doubts about the dress had been strong enough that she had murmured, "Don't you think it makes me look a little young? And the bodice doesn't seem to fit quite right." "Oh, no, it's charming. Tor, I'm sure, wouldn't want you wearing anything too sophisticated." With this Lyn had to be content. None of the clothes were quite what she had visualized, but because Helena's own taste was so impeccable, she had to assume the older woman must know what she was doing. "Come along - shoes next." Quickly she acquired a pair of almost flat-heeled clogs, incongruously heavy on her small feet, and slip-on sandals with wedge heels that made her teeter as she walked. However, she had noticed other girls wearing similar sandals and decided to keep them on rather than wear her moccasins. By now she was starting to feel both tired and hungry, weighed down by the growing array of bags and parcels, although Helena seemed indefatigable. "Tor wanted you to have a respectable raincoat," she said crisply. "Brown perhaps, or gray. Let's go and look." There were three long racks of raincoats, a bewildering assortment of styles and colors. For the first time since they had entered the store, Lyn felt the stirrings of rebellion. She didn't want brown or gray, she thought, going through the coats one by one. A coat of a subtle shade of burnt orange, like beech leaves in autumn, caught her eye and she put her parcels down by the mirror and tried it on; her russet hair and the honey gold of her skin sprang into vivid life. It was too large, though, so she found the next size down; there was one the same color, although a slightly different style. It fitted her to perfection, its slim lines and neatly belted waist transforming her into someone else - a young woman who looked at home in this city setting. Delighted with herself, she turned around to tell Helena she wanted this one. But the other woman was not in sight. Lyn stood still, fighting down an irrational surge of fright. Helena must have wandered off to look at something for herself, she thought firmly. She would be back in a minute; there was nothing to worry about. Slowly she gathered up all her parcels, forgetful that she was still wearing the rust-colored raincoat, her eyes searching the crowd for Helena's blond head. No sign of her... the other people who pushed past, intent on their own business, all seemed to know exactly where they were going, and Lyn's frightening sense of isolation took deeper hold. She was surrounded by people, yet she'was alone in a way she had never been at Lake of Islands. Helena, come back, she prayed; she did not like the other woman but she would have given almost anything to see her appear. Lyn shifted her feet, already aching in the unaccustomed heels. In the shoe department Helena had been examining a pair of evening shoes, she remembered suddenly; maybe she had gone back there to buy them. The shoe department was that way---Confident that she would find her companion seated on the blue-upholstered chairs trying on shoes, she threaded her way among the counters. Perhaps they could have lunch before they did any more shopping, she thought; she had eaten very little breakfast and it would be fun to eat in a restaurant. There were half a dozen customers in the shoe department, none of them Helena. Panic-stricken and palms slippery with sweat, Lyn began to hurry down the aisles, ignoring the array of leather handbags, perfume, scarves and brushing against other people, yet not even seeing them. Her heels clicked sharply on the tiled floor. By chance she had nearly reached the entrance of the store and into her mind, clear and sane, dropped the obvious solution: she would go to the parking lot and wait for Helena by the car. Her footsteps slowed and she drew a deep ragged sigh of relief. She must learn not to panic in strange surroundings, she chided herself, her heartbeat slowing to normal as she approached the sliding glass doors. Then she felt a man's hand on her sleeve. She pulled her arm away, her green eyes frosty. He was young and well-groomed, with closed-cropped brown

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html hair and cool gray eyes behind gold-framed glasses. "Excuse me, miss," he said quietly but with unmistakable authority, "will you come with me, please?" On her sleeve she could feel the imprint of his fingers. "Please let me go." His voice still unnaturally low, he said, "I'm sure you don't want to cause a scene any more than I do." He must be mad, Lyn thought in puzzlement, although he didn't look it. In fact he looked eminently sane. "I'm on my way to meet my friend," she said, "and she's probably already waiting. So if you wouldn't mind letting me go----" From the pocket of his pin-striped suit he produced a card in a plastic holder with a photograph of himself and a meaningless jumble of printed words. "My name is Alan Taylor. I'm the store detective," he said. "You were noticed leaving the rainwear department with this coat, and I witnessed that you were about to leave the store. Shoplifting is an offense, and it is the policy of our store to prosecute to the fullest extent of the law." She had been so concerned with finding Helena that she had forgotten all about the coat. She smiled in relief, glad to solve this new dilemma so easily. She started to undo the belt. "I'm terribly sorry I forgot all about it. I was looking for my friend, you see, and - " "I'm afraid that won't do, miss. Just come this way, please." And inexorably he began steering her away from the glass doors. "Stop it!" she protested, aware even as she spoke that they were attracting attention. "I was telling you the truth - " "We will discuss the matter in my office." "Are you accusing me of stealing it?" she blurted. "I will be laying a formal charge, yes." "But you can't!" Appalled, she went on, "took, you're making a mistake. I was upset because I couldn't find my friend. That's why I forgot I was still wearing the coat. Sooner or later I'd have realized I had it on, and of course I would have returned it. I wouldn't have kept it." He was not listening, she realized in dismay. Or if he was listening he didn't believe a word she was saying. Unable to resist the firm hold on her sleeve, for the urbane young man was surprisingly strong, she was hurried along beside him. People were staring at them, perhaps attracted by her white-faced distress; she heard one woman remark loudly to her friend, "Shoplifting, I suppose...silly girl. They always seem to think they'll get away with it." Hectic red color stained her cheeks; she had never felt so humiliated in her life. It was almost a relief to reach Alan Taylor's office with its frosted windows through which no one could see. He closed the door behind them, gestured her to a chair and sat down at his desk, pulling out a printed form from a drawer. "Name, please?" She tried once more. "Please, Mr. Taylor, you're making a mistake. Truly I wasn't trying to steal your raincoat," she said earnestly. "Miss," he said wearily, "that's what they all say. Give me your name, please." She fought back the angry tears. "Lyn Selby," she choked. "What are you going to do now?" "We'll lay a formal charge and a date will be set for your court appearance." "Court? You mean I'll be accused of theft and have to go to court? Like a criminal?" "Yes, miss." It was apparent his patience was wearing thin. "Age?" "Eighteen." "Address?" She stared at him blankly. "The house is called Oceanview. I don't know the name of the street." His eyes narrowed. "There's no point in trying to hide this from your

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html parents, I'm afraid. You should have thought of that before you put on the coat. Your father's full name?" "I don't live with my father." She closed her eyes, feeling as though she were being pulled deeper and deeper into quicksand. She would have to give Tor's name - what other choice did she have? "I live with my guardian. His name is Tor Hansen." "Tor Hansen?" he repeated. "You mean, the artist?" She nodded. "Are you a ward of court?" Alan Taylor's voice was sharp. Puzzled, she said, "I don't think so. What does that mean?" "Have you ever been indicted of a criminal offense or bound over by a judge?" "I've never broken the law in my life, if that's what you mean." There was suspicion in the cool gray eyes. "Your guardian's address and phone number." "I've already told you. I don't know the name of the street. Nor the phone number. You see, I - " Abruptly his voice gentled. "Are you under psychiatric care, Miss Selby?" "No! Of course not." It was as though she and Alan Taylor were talking two different languages, she thought in complete frustration, perilously near tears. "Please, just let me explain...." But he had pulled out a thick book from his desk and was leafing through it. "Hansen," he murmured. "Ah, here we are. Hansen, Tor. Thornleigh Crescent." Picking up the telephone, he began to dial. Tor... oh, Tor, she thought blindly. You're going to be so angry with me again. Helena's right, I don't belong here - everything I do seems to go wrong. The sooner I go back to Lake of Islands the better.... Alan Taylor was saying, "May I speak to Mr. Tor Hansen, please?... Thank you... Mr. Hansen, my name is Alan Taylor. I'm a detective and security officer at the Northview Mall. I have a young lady in my office by the name of Lyn Selby---" A silence followed. Then the young man glanced at her. "Yes, that's right - red hair, slim, young. Is she your ward? I see.... Well, yes, there has been a bit of trouble. Miss Selby was apprehended leaving the store wearing a raincoat she had not paid for, so I had to take her into custody.... You will? Fine, we'll wait here for you. Thank you, Mr. Hansen. Goodbye." He replaced the receiver. "Mr. Hansen will be here in about fifteen minutes. If you'll excuse me, I must deal with some of this paperwork while we're waiting." He busied himself at his desk, the overhead light catching on the lenses of his glasses. Lyn sat quietly, outwardly composed, her knees crossed, her hands clasped rather tightly in her lap. But her thoughts were chaotic, alternating between hope and despair. Tor was coming and he would rescue her from this dreadful misunderstanding; he would convince the skeptical Mr. Taylor that she had been telling the truth... or Tor would be so angry that she had got into trouble again that he would make her pay for the consequences of her foolishness, leaving her to the mercies of this inexorable legal process that seemed to have her in its grip... and she would have to go to court and protest her innocence to a group of men all as disbelieving, as coldly analytical, as unmoved by her distress, as Alan Taylor. Jail. Maybe she would end up in jail---By the time a rap came at the door she was in a piteous state of nerves. Alan Taylor put the files neatly to one side. "Come in." Tor walked in, his eyes going immediately to the still figure of the girl in the chair with her bent head and white knuckles. "What's up, Lyn?" he demanded. "Look at me." After a perceptible hesitation she raised her head, although her eyes, after one quick look, flinched away from his. He was wearing a gray worsted suit and a shirt in a lighter shade of gray with a cravat at his throat; he looked very sure of himself, besides being also formidably angry.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "You haven't answered my question yet," he said heavily. "I asked you what happened. The coat you're wearing - is that the one that's causing all the trouble?" She gave a stone-faced nod. "Surely after shopping with Helena for more than an hour you must have realized that things have to be paid for. You can't just walk out of a store with whatever takes your fancy." "It wasn't like that," she said, raising mutinous green eyes. "I wasn't trying to steal the coat." "Then why the hell do I get a phone call - in the middle of a sitting, I might add - from a detective who says you've been caught shoplifting?" "Mr. Hansen," the other man intervened, "perhaps I'd better recount to you what happened and we can go from there." "Thank you. I'd be delighted to be enlightened." Huddling in her chair, feeling Tor's sarcasm like a physical blow, Lyn heard Alan Taylor say, "In our rainwear department Miss Selby tried on one or two coats, then put on the one she's wearing. She picked up her other parcels and waited for several minutes, looking around her, before going to the shoe department. Then she started hurrying out of the store. After this suspicious behavior, I naturally prevented her from leaving, and I'm prepared to lay a formal charge. The policy of this store, indeed of the whole mall, is that shoplifting is a very serious offense." "Rightly so," Tor said. His cold eyes raked Lyn from head to foot. "Now, Lyn, why don't you give me your side of the story?" "Everything he said is true," she said helplessly. "I did try on one other coat and then this one. I really liked it and wanted Helena to buy it. But when I looked for her, I couldn't find her - she'd disappeared." Tor eyes flickered ominously; she was to remember this later. "That was why I waited. I was hoping she'd turn up. I was so frightened of being on my own that I forgot about the coat. I thought she might be in the shoe department, but she wasn't. So then I decided to go to the car, and that was when Mr. Taylor stopped me." "I see," Tor said, his eyes narrowed. He didn't believe her, either, Lyn thought wildly. Dear God, what was she to do? How could she convince him? "Miss Selby apparently does not know either your address or phone number, Mr. Hansen. Or at least she would not give them to me. I found that somewhat peculiar. I was wondering if, er, she's been under the care of a psychiatrist." "No, of course not," Tor said impatiently. "I can explain quite easily; in fact, this whole matter is fairly easily dealt with." Briefly Tor recounted the relevant •details of Lyn's upbringing, her recent arrival in Halifax and her ignorance of so many facets of city life. "Under the circumstances, I can well understand why she panicked when she couldn't find her companion," he finished. Alan Taylor had listened without comment, occasionally jotting something down on the paper in front of him. Lyn waited with bated breath as he took off his gold-rimmed spectacles, polished them with an immaculate white handkerchief and replaced them on his nose. Then for the first time since their meeting he smiled at her. It transformed him from a severe-faced arbiter of her fate to an ordinary young man, indeed quite a handsome young man, if a touch pompous. "I think I owe you an apology, Miss Selby," he said. "There were certainly extenuating circumstances in your case. I'm afraid one of the hazards of my profession is that one becomes inured to all the usual excuses, and I thought yours were just more of the same. Please forgive me. Perhaps in time you will come to appreciate my point of view. In the meantime I hope this incident has not completely marred your shopping expedition." "Everything's all right? You mean I can go?" she faltered. "If you wish to purchase the raincoat, by the way, I'm sure I can arrange a substantial discount as a tangible means of expressing our apologies." In sudden revulsion she got to her feet, shrugging off the coat and throwing it over the chair. "I never want to see it again," she said

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html emphatically. Then, after more apologies, they were saying goodbye and she was walking out of the office with Tor. "Have you had lunch?" he asked. She shook her head, uncertain of his mood. "Want to go to a restaurant?" "No... I just want to go home." He stopped dead in the middle of the aisle, oblivious to the shoppers milling past him. "Home?" he rapped. "To Lake of Islands?" Bewildered, she murmured, "No, I didn't mean that. Just back to your house." The tautness in the strong face relaxed in-finitesimally. "Okay - let's go." In one hand he was carrying all her parcels, Lyn noticed vaguely; she had forgotten all about them. He tucked the other hand firmly under her elbow. "Come along." It was not until she was seated in the car, after the parcels were deposited in the trunk and Tor had started the engine, that Lyn knew she was safe. The nightmare was over. She ought to say something to Tor; she must thank him or apologize, but her throat was too tight to speak and her vision strangely blurred. Fist against her mouth, she tried to smother the rising sobs that threatened to choke her. The car engine stilled. Hard arms came around her, pressing her face against a gray shirt as she burst into tears. Then, when her weeping lessened, a handkerchief was pushed into her hand. "Feeling better?" "Mmm...thanks," she said shakily. "Oh, Tor, I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble. It was awful. He didn't believe a word I was saying; I know he didn't. I was terrified." She wiped her eyes. "I still don't know where Helena went - perhaps we should look for her car before we leave?" She felt his body tense. "You don't have to convince Alan Taylor now, Lyn, so why don't you tell the truth?" She had been premature; the nightmare had not ended. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," she said slowly. "Helena phoned me just before Alan Taylor did. She was very upset. She said you must have purposely wandered away even though she'd specifically asked you not to. She couldn't find you anywhere." Lyn stared up at him, her lashes wet spikes. "That's not true - it was she who wandered away. We went to the rainwear department together and by the time I'd tried on the coat, she had gone. Disappeared. If I hadn't been so frightened about being left alone, none of this would have happened." "Well, that's not what she said. I can't imagine why she should lie - " "So you'd prefer to think that I did!" He said carefully, "I would think it more likely that you would lose Helena rather than the reverse. This is, after all, Helena's home territory." Of course he would believe Helena, she thought bitterly, as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street; he was in love with her. He was still speaking. The moment of closeness when he had held her as she cried might not have happened, for his voice was totally impersonal. "Whatever happened, it's obvious we can't have a recurrence. So we'll spend this afternoon together and I'll take your education in hand. I'll give you a map of Halifax and we'll drive around some of the main streets. I'll show you how to use a public telephone, and I'll make sure you know my number. I'll show you how to call a taxi, as well. Then if you get lost again, you'll at least know what to do." "Do you have the time for all that?" she asked in a small voice. "Not really, no. But it has to be done. As I said, I had to interrupt a sitting this morning to come and get you, and I can't have that happening again." "I'm sorry," she gulped. She had been a burden again, a nuisance. How he must already be regretting her intrusion into his life! She vowed to learn as quickly as she could how to cope with this new environment, so as to be as independent from him as possible. And, she decided, from now on she would keep out of Helena's way. It would be her only defense against the kind of

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html deviousness that had caused Helena to deliberately lie and thereby put Lyn in the wrong. Tor switched on the car radio, effectively ending any conversation between them. The announcer was giving the news and numbly she listened to the litany of strikes, wars and disasters. Then she jumped to attention. "... A forest fire is raging out of control in northwestern Ontario, in the Goose Lake region. This is the fourth in a series of fires in that area; an R.C.M.P. spokesman is quoted as saying that arson is suspected. There has been below-average rainfall in the area over the past two months and it is possible that a nearby Indian reservation may have to be evacuated--- Also in Ontario, the Minister of Tourism...." "Goose Lake is only thirty miles from Sioux Lake," Lyn interrupted. "I'm sure Bernard is the policeman they meant." "Isn't it tonight you're supposed to get in touch with Margaret? You can ask her," Tor suggested imperturbably. "Oh, I can, can't I? I'd forgotten about that." "I have to go out this evening, but Michael - that's Marian's husband will show you how to operate the radio." Was he spending the evening with Helena, she wondered. Not that it was any of her business. But somehow some of the anticipated pleasure of the chat with Margaret was dimmed. CHAPTER NINE

THEY LEFT AROUND FOUR for their tour of the city. Lyn had put on the flowered skirt, yellow blouse and new clogs, tugging fruitlessly at the waistband of the skirt to try to make it fit better. She couldn't put her finger on what was wrong with the whole outfit other than it made her look far too young and somehow dumpy. Which was enough, she thought crossly. Tor's rather dubious look as she joined him by the car confirmed her suspicions."Yellow isn't your color. And Helena must have given you far too free a rein to allow you to buy that skirt. I told her to more or less supervise what you bought." There seemed little point in telling him the clothes were all Helena's choice. He certainly wouldn't believe that. She cheered up somewhat as he went on, "I've made a hair appointment for you later in the week at David's. You could go downtown a bit early and do more shopping if you like. But no more yellow blouses, all right?" "Very well," she said meekly, unfolding the map on her knees. She spent the rest of the afternoon fiercely concentrating on every word he said, not wanting a single detail to escape her. His manner completely businesslike, he demonstrated how to use a pay phone and the telephone book, showed her bus stops and taxi ranks, and took her to a restaurant, discussing the menu, the bill, the tip. By the time they headed back to Oceanview, Lyn knew the debacle at the shopping mall would not happen again; thanks to Tor, she would now be equipped to deal with any such contretemps. TOR DISAPPEARED after dinner in the Ferrari. Without him the evening stretched in front of Lyn, endless, empty. She, who had always been so independent, now seemed to need Tor's presence to fill the hours... not a very comforting thought in view of his low opinion of her. Trying to break away from this fruitless train of thought, she looked at the grandfather clock in the hall. It would soon be time to contact Margaret. She had not yet met Michael Hollman, and somewhat diffidently she walked down the lane that led to their house, guided by the tall antenna that poked through the trees. More roses...a charming gabled cottage with a purple-flowered vine twining up the wall...flowers of all colors and sizes, many unknown to her... and behind the house a vegetable garden, the plants in neat rows without a weed in sight. A gray-haired man in faded coveralls was

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html picking beans. "Hello," Lyn said shyly. "I'm Lyn Selby." He straightened and she saw that he was considerably older than his wife, his weathered skin a network of creases and wrinkles, veined as the leaves of the plants he so carefully tended. He looked doubtfully at his dirt-stained palm. "Well, now, I won't offer to shake hands," he drawled. "But I'm right pleased to meet you, miss. The missus has told me what a difference it makes having a nice young thing like you around the house." She blushed with pleasure and looking around said at random, "What lovely cucumbers! And look at all the melons! I never could grow them up north; we didn't have a long enough season." "You a gardener?" "Oh, yes." It seemed natural to stoop on the other side of the row and start picking the tender green beans, tossing them into his wicker basket, and they worked for some fifteen minutes, chatting comfortably about potato beetles and slugs and compost. The evening sun fell warmly on Lyn's back and to be working in a garden again filled her with contentment. Not even the thought of the abandoned garden at Lake of Islands could mar her pleasure. Finally Michael said, "That'll do. Marian wants to freeze some this evening and do the rest tomorrow. Tor mentioned to me you'd want to use the radio. Why don't I show you the setup so you can use it any time you want?" "Thank you," she said warmly, giving him the full benefit of her generous smile. The radio was in the basement, and its controls posed no problem to Lyn, used as she was to Bernard's set. Selecting the band number and frequency, in no time she was giving the call signal and hearing Margaret's response. "Margaret? It's Lyn." Tactfully Michael Hollman left the room. "Hi, Lyn. Lovely to hear your voice! How are you doing? I've been waiting for your call, and wondering how you've been getting along." "Oh, fine." It seemed as though the miles between them had vanished; Margaret could have been in the next room putting on the kettle before they settled down for one of their chats. Unexpectedly Lyn's eyes clouded with tears. "Homesick?" Margaret could always be counted on to understand; it was one of her nicest attributes. "Yes," Lyn sniffed. "I guess it's hearing your voice." She pulled herself together. "We heard on the news about the fire at Goose Lake." "It's a bad one. The wind came up today. Crown fires are spreading faster than the crews can contain them." "Is Bernard out there?" "Yes. I have no idea when he'll get back." Even through the static and the inevitable distortion, Lyn could detect the thread of loneliness in Margaret's voice. "No other developments?" Lyn asked, not wanting to use Raoul's name on the air. "No, absolutely none." "Cheer up, Margaret, something will have to break sooner or later." "I sure hope so. The boys miss their father. Not to mention me," she added ungrammatically. "Well, enough of my troubles. What did you do today?" Lyn gave a suitable abridged version of the shopping expedition, leaving out the unfortunate encounter with the store detective, and mentioned the proposed hair appointment. Then she described Tor's house and its surroundings, and her first impression of the sea, the enthusiasm in her voice now perfectly genuine. "It all sounds marvelous," Margaret sighed. "Oh, it's good to talk to you, Lyn. I'm so glad there's a radio there." They chatted for a few minutes longer, settling the time for their next call before signing off. A smile still on her lips, Lyn rejoined Michael Hollman, now clipping off dead roses by the house. Artlessly the girl began to question him about some of the flowers, and in no time he was off in full spate: hollyhocks, delphiniums, shasta daisies and lupines... she soaked it

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html all up, entranced by the scents and the vivid colors. She would enjoy having a flower garden, she thought, burying her face in the frilled petals of a rose. In perfect amity she and Michael later bade each other good-night, and Lyn went to her room. SHE SPENT THE NEXT DAY lazily around the house and grounds, helping Michael with the garden and chatting with Marian in the kitchen. Tor did not return for dinner, so she ate a delicious meal of fresh vegetables and homemade bread with the kindhearted couple. She soon found herself telling them about her life at the cabin, and they listened with keen interest. It was comforting to know that she had made two friends in an otherwise alien environment. She could not think of Tor as a friend, although what exactly he was she did not know. By the time she went to bed, he had not come home yet. As she fell asleep, she wondered vaguely if he was with Helena somewhere. The thought was the only unpleasant one in a day that had been surprisingly enjoyable. She saw little of Tor the next couple of days, days that gave her the chance to adjust to her new surroundings and deepen her friendship with the Hollmans. Then it was the afternoon of her hair appointment, and it seemed as though the gods wished to make amends for her first disastrous experience with Helena; everything went right. Lyn took a taxi downtown a couple of hours before her appointment, located the hairdresser's, and then began browsing through the specialty shops and boutiques that lined the same street. Even her uneducated eye could see that the merchandise was of far better quality than what she had seen that day with Helena: only one dress of each kind instead of a dozen, the fabrics more varied and of subtler hues. Taking her time and allowing her innate good taste to guide her, she purchased, with money given her by Tor, a pair of tailored off-white slacks and a jade-green silk shirt; a peasant skirt of crisp flounced cot-* ton and an off-the-shoulder eyelet blouse; a pair of shorts and a halter top. Then it was time to go to the hairdresser's. Dazzled by the expanse of mirrors, the tubular steel chairs, the stark white walls and shiny black flooring, Lyn gave her name to a supercilious and awesomely made-up redhead at the desk, itself a rectangular affair of plate glass and steel. Her appointment was with the owner of this emporium, an undoubted privilege, she was soon made to feel. She was led by a magenta-smocked girl to a private cubicle, hushed as a church confessional and in a few minutes David himself arrived accompanied by a flutter of smocked attendants. He was a willowy young man with Byronic black curls, exquisitely garbed in narrow gray slacks and a mauve shirt. He took one look at Lyn's hair and raised his eyes to heaven in supplication. "Mon Dieu! Who has done this?" He held out one roughly cut lock. The girls had all vanished, dismissed by a wave of his hand, and perhaps it was this that gave Lyn the courage to speak. "I have never been to a hairdresser in my life - " "I believe it." Another theatrical rolling of his eyes. "Can you make me look different...older, more sophisticated?" His peculiar light gray eyes met hers in the mirror; they were genuinely amused and she suddenly knew she liked him very much. "Ninety-nine percent of the women want me to make them look, younger, more ingenue - but you are different." Thoughtfully he studied her features, pulling back her hair ruthlessly from her face. "Older, more sophisticated... hmm...I don't know. But what I will do for you, mam'selle, is to allow your beauty to make its own statement; and that will be a pleasure. First the shampoo - Angeline!" Shampoo, scissors, blower, curling iron - in less than an hour Lyn was again looking at herself in the mirror. A stranger looked back at her, a slender-necked stranger with a head of russet curls framing wide-spaced green eyes and a heart-shaped face. They were her own features, yet not her own, enhanced and accentuated by David's skill. He gave a satisfied smile. "Do you ever use makeup, mam'selle!" "I don't know how to."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Ah! We have a girl, Louise, who could apply just a touch of eyeshadow, mascara, lip gloss - very little else." Suddenly excited, she said, "All right." She submitted to Louise's ministrations, during which she purchased a basic makeup kit and listened carefully to the girl's instructions. One last glance in the mirror at the delightfully poised young lady with the red hair, then she paid what seemed like an astronomical sum to the cashier. Her next move should have been to call a taxi and go home. Instead she went across the street to a boutique; earlier she had noticed a dress in its window. It was still there. She walked in and asked to try it on and it fitted perfectly, as somehow she had known it would. It was fashioned of white crepe, with a bordering of tiny turquoise-and-green flowers; the full skirt flared around her hips, rustling slightly as she walked, while the bodice, a wraparound style with a plunging V neck, was softened by gathered flounces of the same dainty floral pattern. The same flounce gave the effect of little cap sleeves. Keeping it on, she paid for it and hurried back across the street. In no time she had found a pair of high-heeled shoes with narrow straps over her toes and around her heels and ankles. Now she could go home. The taxi deposited her at the front door. Using the key Tor had given her she opened it and walked into the cool of the spacious foyer; already she was beginning to love the muted blues and pinks of the antique carpet. The house was still and somnolent in the summer afternoon. Quickly she walked up the stairs and down the hallway. One of her parcels slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor, so she put the others down in order to open the door. Tor stepped out into the hall. A dark towel was wrapped around his hips and moisture glistened on his bare chest and arms. "Marian, where did you put my---" His voice died away. As Lyn stood quietly, the light from the open door falling on her, he saw a poised and elegant young woman, as fresh and beautiful as one of Michael's flowers in her pristine white dress. Across the length of the hallway that separated them she regarded him, wide-eyed as a fawn, with something of a fawn's fragility of wrist and ankle. "Lyn..." he breathed, and she saw the sudden rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were blank, as though he'd had some kind of a shock. The silence after he spoke seemed to go on forever. Unable to bear the suspense, she said quickly, "Do I look all right? I'm afraid I've spent an awful lot of money." "Come nearer," he said huskily. In the shoe shop she had practiced walking in the high heels, and now she moved gracefully toward him, her full skirt swaying around her knees. "Did you choose the dress yourself?" She nodded, knowing she looked better than she ever had in her life before, yet knowing, too, that if Tor did not approve of her appearanee it would all have been for nothing.... "He's done your hair exactly the way I envisaged it," he said slowly. "Do you remember that day at the lake?" "Yes. It seems a very long time ago." "It does, doesn't it?" "So, do you mean I look okay?" "Okay?" A short laugh. "My dear, you look exquisite!" "Ohh..." She gave a long sigh of relief. "Did you doubt it?" He quirked one eyebrow, his rare smile lighting his face. "I think I look nice," she said with naive pride. "But when you stared so, I got worried." "No need to, I assure you. It's a pity Marian's already started dinner or I could have taken you out for a meal." Simultaneously they both heard the slow climb of footsteps up the stairs. "That'll be her now - with my shirt, I hope. I'll meet you in the study in half an hour, how's that?" "All right." In her room she hung up the other new clothes in the cupboard,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html shaking them out and removing the price tags, her unruly heart singing with anticipation. Tor had liked the way she looked - more than liked it, in fact. Somehow this caused her to forget his warning of a few nights ago and blithely she ignored the intrinsic seductiveness of the white dress. All she saw was the swirl of skirt and the innocence of ruffles. Possibly that was all Tor saw, too. When he finally appeared at the summons of the gong after Lyn had been waiting for him in the study for some twenty minutes, he barely glanced at her as he led the way into the dining room; his eyes were turned inward on thoughts of his own. Despite this, he maintained a steady stream of conversation throughout the meal, instructing her on the vintage of the various wines, the art of making crepes suzette and souffles, the distinction between sherry, port and liqueur; he was at his most didactic. Obediently she listened, storing the information away, knowing his aim was to make her more at ease in his world; yet she felt more and more conscious of a strange feeling of disappointment. Her beautiful dress, her new appearance they deserved more than the kind of teacher-pupil relationship he seemed intent upon establishing. Restlessly she shifted in her chair. "Am I boring you?" She blushed. "No...no, of course not," she disclaimed. He fell silent, his lean fingers twirling the carved stem of his empty wineglass so that the light caught and flashed in the facets of the heavy crystal. In repose his face was somber, and she suddenly realized that all his talk had been a smoke-screen to hide from her some private worry of his own. Gently she asked, "What's wrong, Tor?" He glanced up, his face wry. "Sorry. I'm not being very good company, am I?" He made an effort to smile at her. "You don't have to be good company all the time." "You'd be surprised how many women would disagree with you," he said, an edge to his voice. "Don't you remember we talked about friendship once, and you said friends share their real feelings? So why don't you tell me what's bothering you?" As though he had made a sudden decision, he shoved back his chair, leaving half the crepes uneaten. "Come with me," he said abruptly.

She followed him out of the room and down a hallway to a part of the house where she had never been before. He swung open a heavy oak door and she stepped into a room she immediately recognized as his studio: an austere high-walled room, vast and airy, the ceiling made of slanting panels of glass. There were easels, brushes, paints and canvases, all arranged with a tidiness far from the conventional picture of an artist's studio. Nevertheless, it could never have been mistaken for anything but a man's room. Tor gestured toward the easel standing in one corner beside a platform with a chair on it. "What do you think of that painting?" In silence she walked over to it. It was the portrait of a man in a business suit, his hooded eyes avaricious, his mouth and slack jowls expressive of self-indulgence. As a merciless exposure of character the painting was brilliant, its technique faultless. But Tor, she knew instinctively, did not need her to tell him that. Thoughtfully she studied the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html portrait again. "I wouldn't want to spend much time with that man," she said finally. "I wouldn't trust him an inch. He looks as though he'd do in his own grandmother if it suited him." "You're about right there," Tor said dryly. "You don't like him." "No, Lyn, I don't." "Are you painting him because he offers some kind of a technical challenge? Because his face interests you?" He picked up a brush, stared at it a moment, and put it down. "I don't know - " "Be honest, Tor." "No! I'm not painting him for either of those reasons." "Do you need the money?" "Heavens, no! My father left me enough so that I'd never have to lift a brush." She said with deliberate provocation, "Why do you bother painting at all then?" "Because I have to!" Between his fingers the handle of the brush snapped. He did not even notice. "That was the one thing my father could never grasp. Don't misunderstand me; he loved me and I him. But to him my painting was always a hobby, a pleasant gentlemanly pursuit by way of diversion from what he thought of as the real world." "Which was?" "Oh, the world of business, I suppose, Lyn. He was a brilliant entrepreneur. Started off as a penniless kid from the London slums and ended up a millionaire." "But you've made a real name for yourself with your painting, equal to or surpassing his as a businessman. After all, it's not the businessmen of this world who get remembered." In a flash of inspiration she added, indicating the portrait, "This man - is he famous?" "Indeed he is. He's rich, very powerful, one of the country's elite." "So by painting people like him you're still trying to prove to your father that your work is to be taken seriously." Mercilessly she continued, "The portrait you did of me at Lake of Islands, do you feel the same way about it as you do about this one?" "No, there's no comparison." "Why not?" "I painted you because I wanted to," he exploded. "Because I had something to say---" His voice faded to silence and sensibly she, too, remained silent. Black head bent, he gazed down at the broken halves of the paintbrush. She waited, her heart in her mouth. Finally he looked over at the portrait. "There's no soul in it, is there? No... involvement." "None whatsoever. But it's very cleverly done," she said, trying to be fair. "Yes. And if that's not damning with faint praise, I don't know what is." She looked at him uncertainly, but there was the faintest of smiles on the chiseled lips. "You're very discerning," he said. "Helena didn't understand what was wrong at all." So he had already discussed it with Helena, Lyn thought with a stab of jealousy. But of course he would have - she was his mistress, wasn't she? Unconsciously her eyes darkened with pain and she backed away from him, suddenly wishing that none of this had happened. "What's the matter?" As always he saw far too much. "Nothing. I'm just tired, I guess." He said stiffly, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been bothering you with my problems." "It's not that - truly. I'm glad if I was of any help." He hesitated, then apparently decided to take her word for it. "All right. I need some time to think over what we've said this evening, and to decide

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html what I'm going to do about paintings like this one." He indicated the portrait. "In the meantime, if you're not too tired, there's something I've been meaning to do - show you how to use the stereo. Now would be as good a time as any, I guess." "I'd like that." Five minutes ago they had been talking like equals on a subject that was as closely bound to him as breathing. Now they were reduced to making stilted conversation again...all because Helena's name had been mentioned. The study was a pleasant book-lined room with comfortable armchairs arranged invitingly around the fireplace. Lyn listened carefully to Tor's instructions about the stereo, starting and stopping it herself to make sure she understood how it worked. He extracted a record from the shelves, passing her the cover. "I think you'll enjoy this one." She sank back on the soft cushions of the chesterfield. Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in E minor, she read. The soloist's name was Diana Lynley and on the record sleeve was a photograph of her - a slender red-haired woman, no longer young but still beautiful, with the ageless beauty that comes from bone structure and pride of bearing. "She's a magnificent violinist," Tor interjected. "One of the finest in the world today." A simple enough statement, although it was one she was to remember later. But now she listened with only half her attention, for on the reverse side of the cover she had found a brief excerpt describing Miss Lynley's career, from her meteoric rise to fame while still in her twenties to the later development of a mature, emotionally rich style, always underlaid with faultless technique. Yet, thought Lyn, looking back at the beautiful haunted face, neither fame nor fortune had brought her happiness, for the deep gray eyes were almost tragic in their intensity. The concerto was begun by the soloist. Lyn leaned back, closing her eyes, and was soon lost to the lyric sweep of the music, so deeply immersed that it came as an almost physical shock when the record ended. Tor was sitting beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one arm resting along the back of the chesterfield behind her; he had been watching her. She could think of no words that would adequately express the profound effect the music had had on her as it had sung through her veins and danced in her heart, although something of this must have shown in the vulnerable curve of her lips and the soft glowing eyes. Her breasts rose and fell in a long sigh. His next move seemed inevitable. He leaned forward, his mouth brushing hers, his teeth nibbling her lips with an exquisite gentleness that played upon all her nerve endings. His kiss deepened, singing in her blood with the music. All the passionate tensions, all the yearnings that the violinist had evoked, became one with the yearnings of her body. Her heart pulsed with its own primitive rhythms as Tor's fingertips moved to her breast, pushing aside the flimsy white fabric. Afterward she never knew what it was that had brought Helena to mind... the rustling of her dress as she shifted position, reminding her of shopping... a transient recollection that not long ago Tor and Helena had spent an evening in this very room, also listening to music? Helena...the name alone rippled through her nerves, and suddenly she jerked away from Tor, her green eyes appalled. "Don't," she gasped. He reached out for her, a desperate hunger blurring the hard lines of his face. "Come here," he said thickly. "Lyn - " She sprang to her feet in a swirl of white skirts. "Don't touch me - ever again!" Lithe and powerful, he stood up, towering over her. "What do you mean ever again?" "Just what I said!" Her voice broke. "How could you?" "Lyn, you'd better explain yourself." His words were dangerously quiet. Livid with a pain she did not even understand, she lashed out, "Is that all

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html part of your technique, Tor Hansen? Wine and music, and then seduction? I hope for your sake that Helena was more cooperative the other night." "Helena? What's she got to do with this?" "Everything! Oh, don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Where's all your fine talk of honesty now?" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her as he would a puppy. "Will you tell me what Helena's got to do with all this?" Her burnished head flopped backward. His fury, against which she was so defenseless, had drained away her anger and she felt suddenly weary of the whole thing. Her voice lifeless, she said, "I know Helena is your mistress. She told me so." His breath hissed between his teeth and there was a long silence. Perhaps in her heart of hearts Lyn had hoped he would deny it, but as the moments stretched to minutes, he did not. Numbly she took a step backward, her face pinched and pale. "It's true, then, isn't it?" she said. "I can't lie to you, Lyn - she was my mistress. But I swear to you she no longer is." "I don't believe you." He grasped her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Do you think I could sleep with anyone else since I met you? You're driving me crazy. I've never wanted a woman as I've wanted you." "Do you tell that to all of them? I'm sure it must be a most effective line." "Don't be a bitch, Lyn. It doesn't suit you." "I confront you with something you don't want to hear and immediately I become a bitch. That's a prime example of male logic," she said bitterly. "Lyn, I told you the truth. Helena and I were lovers, and I'm not going to apologize for that. But we no longer are." She stared up at him, an anguished question in her eyes. She longed to believe him but was afraid to. How could she trust him, he who was so much more experienced than she, so much a part of a world whose many moves were still a mystery to her? Into her mind came the words he had spoken that day by the lake... "I like my women willing, Lyn, and I like them sophisticated enough to know the score---" Women...a word in the plural. Was she to become just another of his conquests? And once he'd had her, would he lose interest, throw her aside? Perhaps he only wanted her because she posed a challenge - she was different from his usual women in her innocence and virginity.... Her voice thick with emotion, she blurted, "I'm not that gullible, Tor. Helena told me she and you were to be married." "Then she's lying." "One of you is lying, certainly. I'm not sure it's she." His eyes cold as ice, he snarled, "Believe what you will; I've told you the truth." Oh, how she wanted to believe him! But if she did - if she gave him her trust - she would be lost, she thought in sudden terror. He would only have to kiss her, to touch her traitorous body and she would fall into his arms... there could be only one ending to that for she knew only too well the power he had over her. As they confronted each other, she became aware of the silence of the big house. Marian and Michael would be down in their cottage by now; she and Tor were the only ones here. Her throat dry, she took a step backward. "Don't look so scared. I've already told you that rape isn't my specialty." Blushing, and furious with herself for doing so, she cried, "I hate you!" "You want to be careful, Lyn," he grinned wolf-ishly. "Freud has some interesting things to say about that kind of statement. I might be inclined to think you're falling in love with me." "Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped. "When I fall in love I'll choose someone I can respect, not someone with the morals of an alley cat!" As soon as she had spoken she could have bitten off her tongue, for deep

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html within her she knew she did respect him. "I didn't mean that," she began miserably. Ruthlessly he interrupted her. "You have a great deal to learn yet, Lyn. For a start, don't be so naive as to think love is a matter of choice. Believe me, the arrow strikes you where it may, and there's nothing you can do about it." There was a wealth of bitter knowledge in his voice. He had told her he had once been in love and she knew intuitively that it had not been the sweet romantic love eulogized in fiction. It had brought him pain; it had devoured him. How he would hate that, he who was so independent! Hate and love... those words again. He had turned away and was pouring himself a drink, his back toward her. When he spoke, it was with a lack of emotion that told her their confrontation was over. "I'm going away tomorrow. I'll be gone two days. I've spoken to the Hoilmans and they'll sleep here in the house until I get back." Bewildered by his change of subject, she knew she should be glad she wouldn't see him for two days, but she was not. "There's no need for that." "This is a city, Lyn. not Lake of Islands," he said implacably. "Furthermore, if you leave the house you're to tell Marian where you're going and when you'll be back." "I'm not a child, Tor!" Wearily he rubbed his forehead. "Lyn, I've had enough arguing for one night. Just do as I say." "Where are you going?" she blurted. He turned, one eyebrow raised. "Try not to be unnecessarily gauche, my dear. My destination need not concern you." Again she blushed, but nothing could prevent her next question. "Is Helena going with you?" "No, Lyn. Helena is not going with me." He glanced at his watch. "I must go and pack; my plane leaves early in the morning. Don't forget what I said about letting Marian know your whereabouts." "I won't," she promised in a husky whisper. He drained the drink and put down the glass. A curt nod in her direction and he had left the room. What had she expected? A tender farewell after all the bitter words they had exchanged? A passionate kiss? She was a fool...he had left the room as though he could not see the last of her soon enough. CHAPTER TEN

WHEN LYN WENT DOWNSTAIRS the next morning, Tor had already left. Through mists of sleep that had left her far from refreshed she had a confused memory of the thud of footsteps on the stairs, the diminishing roar of a car engine... although perhaps she had only dreamed it. She wished she had been able to say goodbye to him; somewhere she had read about the dangers of letting the sun go down on a quarrel, and in the soft morning light it seemed only too true. But why should their estrangement - which after all was surely only temporary matter so much to her? Restlessly she walked over to the dining-room window and stared out. Fog swathed the trees and shrubs and had sprinkled the grass with tiny silver droplets. A gray day... one that matched her spirits. From the next room came the insistent ringing of the telephone, then Marian's voice. "Hello...no, he left an hour and a half ago, Miss Thornhill...I see...yes, I'll be here all morning. I'm not sure if Miss Selby is up yet... fine, goodbye." With a swish of the door Marian entered the room. "Oh, you are up, Lyn. That was Miss Thornhill on the phone. She left something here the other night and wanted to get it." At Lyn's suddenly radiant smile, she added, "Well, you are looking chipper this morning. What would you fancy for breakfast, dear?" Tor had told the truth last night, the girl thought exultantly. He had left

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html over an hour ago and Helena was not with him; she was still in Halifax. Lyn closed her eyes for a minute, feeling as though all the brightness of the sun had flooded her with joy, driving away the mists of pain. "Are you all right, dear?'* Lyn chuckled. "Yes, I'm fine, Marian! How about grapefruit, bacon and eggs and coffee - I'm starving!" As she ate breakfast, she thumbed through the packets of tourist information about Halifax that Tor had obtained for her, wondering what she would do today. At eleven she had agreed to contact Margaret, but other than that the day was her own. The Historic Properties down by the waterfront looked fascinating, as did the military museum at the Citadel, and the massed flower beds of the Public Gardens... she would go out on her own as much as possible while Tor was away, and when he came back he would be impressed by her ability to cope with city life. By the time Helena arrived, Lyn had showered and dressed in her new peasant skirt and frilled blouse. Accustomed as she was to jeans, she loved the gathers and flounces of the skirt with its white lace edging and delicately flowered fabric; it made her feel very much a woman. She had brushed her hair as David had shown her, and experimented with some of Louise's makeup, so it was a very different Lyn who descended the curving staircase to meet Helena in the hall. The other woman's face tightened and for a moment the exquisitely painted mouth became an ugly gash as the wide violet eyes filled with spite. "Good morning, Lyn," Helena said. "Don't you look pretty this morning! Rather ingenue, perhaps, but very sweet." "Thank you," Lyn said evenly. "As you can see, I' ve been shopping on my own." "I'm surprised Tor allowed you." Lyn held tightly to her temper. "Would you like a coffee?" "No, thanks. I just came to pick up my shawl. I must have left it in the study the other evening." She laughed, her small pointed face looking undeniably smug. "Tor does have that effect on me - making me forgetful, I mean. Do you have any messages for him?" "Messages?" Lyn repeated stupidly. "Yes, I'm joining him later today. Didn't he tell you?" "No," she said her voice barely audible, "he didn't." "I'm not the only one who's forgetful, am I?" Helena's trill of laughter grated on Lyn's nerves. "Yes, we're meeting in Toronto. He had some business to conduct this morning, so I didn't want to be underfoot." "Toronto? He's gone to Toronto?" "He didn't tell you?" Helena raised her thinly plucked eyebrows. "How strange. I wonder why not." She had asked him his destination, Lyn remembered, and he had refused to tell her. Her green eyes stricken, she managed to say, "I have no idea." "He probably thought you'd want to visit your old home if you knew he was going to be that near," said Helena briskly. "Well, by the sound of things, we'd better keep this conversation just between the two of us. Perhaps I shouldn't have told you he was in Toronto. He must have wanted it kept a secret from you for some reason." So he had lied, after all, Lyn thought dully, her mind running back over that conversation. She had asked Tor if Helena was going with him, and he had said no. Strictly speaking, of course, he had told the truth, for he and Helena were obviously traveling separately. But to all intents and purposes it was a lie, an outright lie. He was not to be trusted.... Helena had left the room without her noticing, and now she returned, a lacy shawl looped over her sleeve. "I must go, Lyn, or I'll be late for my flight. I won't mention to Tor that I saw you." "All right." What difference did it make? "Don't look so upset, dear. After all, you can't say I didn't warn you." Lyn could not take much more of this. "Goodbye, Helena," she said stiffly.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Not going to wish me bon voyage?" The violet eyes narrowed, as intent on their prey as a ferret's. "Why, Lyn, I think you've disregarded my advice! How very silly of you." "What do you mean?" The words were dragged out of her. "You've fallen in love with Tor, haven't you?" "No!" Her voice raw with pain, Lyn stood at bay. Last night Tor had said her hatred of him could be akin to love, and now Helena was accusing her of loving him. She didn't! How could she love someone who ravaged all her senses against her will? Who lied to her? Who had another woman for his mistress? "How foolish of you," Helena said. "Because you'll never have him, Lyn. He's mine; I told you that." "Once and for all, I don't want him!" Lyn cried, putting all the conviction she could into her words. "Now didn't you say you'd be late for your plane?" "You're right - I must go. It wouldn't do for me to miss the plane, would it?" The other girl remained silent, white-faced, and Helena added abruptly, "A word of advice, Lyn. Go back to Lake of Islands. Forget about Tor - he's not for you." She fumbled in her handbag, extracted three or four bills and held them out. "Here, this should be enough for your fare." Lyn looked down at the crisply folded money. Fifty dollar bills: red and white with a circle of Mounties on black horses. Police...Bernard and Margaret... Sioux Lake, where the cool gray waters lapped a granite shore and the spruce grew twisted and tough, survivors in a cruel land. Dizzy with homesickness she heard the wild cry of the loon, the haunting lament of the coyote against the moon... without conscious volition her hand reached out and took the money. Because she was blinded by tears, she missed the flash of triumph that crossed Helena's face. "Now I really must go," Helena said. She patted Lyn's arm. "You've made the right decision, Lyn. Goodbye." There was finality in her voice. In a wave of expensive perfume she left the room and in a moment Lyn heard the front door close behind her. Lyn's fingers closed around the money; it was her passport to return to all that was dear and familiar, to a place where she knew and understood the rules. She could go home, home to Lake of Islands--In the hallway the clock struck eleven. It was time to talk to Margaret; she'd tell her she was coming home. Lightfooted, Lyn raced down the hall and into the kitchen. Marian had just removed some scones from the oven. "Hello, dear," she said comfortably. "Late for your call? Here, take one with you. They're nicest eaten right from the oven." A hot biscuit, laden with raisins and dripping with butter, was put into Lyn's hand. "Oh, thank you," the girl stammered, suddenly looking at Marian as though for the first time, seeing the kind blue eyes and motherly smile. She would miss Marian, she thought guiltily. "Yes, I'm late. I'd better run. Mmm, this is delicious." Out of the back door and down the lane, waving at Michael who was staking the hollyhocks. "Need any help with the radio?" he called. "No thanks, I can manage." Now she would never learn the names of all those flowers, or learn how to grow roses. Roses wouldn't grow at Lake of Islands--In the radio room she quickly turned the knobs to select the frequency and pulled the microphone toward her, repeating the call signal. Margaret answered immediately, as though she had been waiting. "Lyn, is that you?" "Yes. How are you, Margaret?" Across the miles Lyn heard Margaret's breath catch on something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "I'm so glad you called. I really need to talk to you. Oh, Lyn, everything is going wrong and I don't know what to do." Lyn's fingers tightened around the microphone. "Slow down, Margaret. I'm having a hard time hearing you. Now begin at the beginning and tell me what's up." A short silence followed and then Margaret began to speak again, her voice

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html more under control. "Sorry, I was upset. Well, to start with, the Goose Lake fire is still out of control and another one's started about fifty miles to the west. As far as I know Bernard's over at the second fire, but I haven't talked to him since yesterday morning. He keeps telling me not to worry but I can't help it. You know how dangerous fire fighting can be. He said he might be able to contact me last night so I stayed by the radio all evening, but he didn't call." "Bernard knows all there is to know about fire fighting, Margaret. I'm sure you don't need to worry." "That's all very well at nine o'clock in the morning," her friend retorted with some of her old spirit, "but you know how easy it is to lose your sense of proportion late at night." "I guess you're right." "The trouble is, Bernard's superiors in Ottawa are starting to ask questions about all the fires out here; they want him to find out who's behind them." Margaret laughed humorlessly. "You try tracking down one man in hundreds of miles of wilderness and then try catching him actually setting a fire - the odds are impossible." "Oh, dear." Lyn knew only too well how Bernard valued his career. Pressure from his superiors would cause him to driv" himself to the limits of his endurance, and Margaret was probably right to worry. "It is arson then, isn't it?" she asked cautiously. "Oh, yes. They brought in an expert from headquarters, and he found definite evidence that the Goose Lake fire was set. But whether it's Raoul or not is another matter." "Oh?" Margaret must be upset to be actually mentioning names on the radio. "You see, he's here at Sioux Lake. I saw him about ten o'clock last night, walking past the house. I didn't sleep very well because I was afraid he might try to break in or something. Then this morning when the boys went outside to play he was still out there, leaning over the fence trying to talk to them. I went out to bring them back indoors, hoping he'd go away. He didn't say anything, not a word. He just...looked at me." Her voice quivered. "I felt dirty, smirched, as though he'd undressed me. Lyn, I'm scared of him." "Is he still out there?" "Yes. There's nothing I can do. He's got as much right to be on the street as anyone else. But I'm so frightened he'll try to set fire to the house or do something to one of the boys. I wish Bernard were here." "He doesn't know about this? About Raoul being in Sioux Lake, I mean?" "No." "You'll have to tell him." "I guess so. But I hate to worry him; he's got enough on his mind as it is. The irony of it is that I'd pretty well decided to go to my parents' place in Guelph until all this was over, but I had a letter from my mother yesterday saying my father is ill with the flu and the doctor's advised a month of complete bed rest. So I can't possibly go there now, not with the boys." Lyn stared at the blank gray wall in front of her. "Look, Margaret, get one of the neighbors in for now, so you're not alone there. And by tomorrow you'll have someone to stay with you." "Who?" Margaret asked blankly. "Me, of course!" "Oh, Lyn, really? You mean you're coming for a visit?" "Not for a visit, no. I'm coming home to stay." Static crackled through the silence. "Is Tor bringing you?" "No." "Does he know you're leaving?" "No - not yet. But that's got nothing to do with it." "Lyn, what's going on?" Lyn shifted in her seat, knowing that even Bernard sat up and took notice when Margaret used that tone of voice. "I can't explain; not on the radio," she said evasively. "It's all too complicated."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Where's Tor?" "He's away. He's coming back the day after tomorrow." "So how did you get the money for your fare? I thought you were broke." Trust Margaret to think of that. "A friend of Tor's gave it to me." "She must want you out of the way." "How did you know it was a woman?" Lyn asked in amazement. "Pretty obvious, I'd say." Even though her mind was reeling with the implications of what Margaret was saying, Lyn was glad to hear a trace of laughter in her friend's voice. "It may be obvious to you," Lyn said warmly. "What are you wearing?" Taken by surprise, Lyn gave a brief description of her outfit and told Margaret about her new hairdo and her other new clothes. "I see," Margaret said, a wealth of meaning in her voice. "Lyn, listen to me a minute. You know how much I'd love to see you, especially right now. But you're not to come." "Margaret, I can't stay here - " "Yes, you can," Margaret interrupted ruthlessly. "Obviously I don't know all the ins and outs of the situation, but one thing I do know - if you leave now, you're running away." "Sometimes that's the sensible thing to do," Lyn said helplessly. "Nonsense! You've never been a coward in your life. Are you going to start now?" "Margaret - " Static drowned her protest. "I'll make a deal with you," Margaret swept on. "Give it another week or ten days, Lyn, and then see if you still feel the same way. If you do, then I'll be delighted to have you. Okay?" "I guess it will have to be." Margaret ignored this somewhat grudging response. "Good! And I'll take your advice and get one of the neighbors in until Bernard gets back. It's been so nice to talk to you, Lyn. You've taken my mind off my own troubles." "You're a very bossy woman!" Lyn said crossly. "Guess I am," Margaret answered lightly. "Just trust me, all right?" Trust. Even the sound of the word brought a stab of pain. Hurriedly Lyn said, "Say hello to the boys for me, won't you? And to Bernard when he calls." "I will. Take care of yourself, Lyn." "You, too. When will I call you again?" "I'll stay by the radio either at nine or at noon in two days' time - how's that?" "Lovely! Bye for now." "Bye." As Lyn stood up, she shoved the folded bills into her pocket. So that was that. She was committed to staying with Tor for another ten days - for better or for worse, she thought with grim humor. Either way, she found she didn't want to think about it anymore. She spent an hour weeding the flower beds with Michael, oddly comforted by his slow deep voice and deliberate movements. His blunt fingers and big hands moved with delicacy among the fragile plants; it was obvious that he loved his job. Marian had prepared a delicious crab-meat salad and an apricot flan for lunch. Afterward, as they sat with their coffee, Lyn said, "I was looking at one of the maps Tor gave me. I think I'll go to the park this afternoon." "Michael will drive you if you like." "Oh, no, thanks! I'd like the walk. I'm not getting enough exercise." AN HOUR LATER she set off. Tall green trees overhung the road. The day was still cool and overcast, the air scented with that faint salty tang that came from the sea. Wearing her jeans and moccasins she walked along the pavement at a brisk pace, past well-kept lawns and gardens, houses with fenced-in swimming pools and two or three cars in the driveway. What were they like, she wondered, the people who lived in these houses? Were they any happier because of all their possessions than the people who lived at Sioux Lake? Probably

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html not. Certainly Tor was not, she thought; in his painting, at least, he had lost his sense of direction. Nor would Helena make him happy, Lyn was sure. Helena would never understand - or even want to recognize - the dark side of Tor's personality: the artist's struggle for survival that lay beneath the cool self-assured surface he presented to the world. Why, then, did he persist in allying himself with a woman who would do her best to tame and emasculate him? She had reached the stone-walled boundary of the park and began to walk down one of the graveled pathways that led through the stately pines. Their needles scented the air and squirrels chittered among the branches. Teenagers jogged past; older couples wandered by with lethargic, overfed dogs; young mothers wheeled children in strollers... there were people everywhere. A few days ago this might have bothered her, but now she was only glad to see how everyone was enjoying the lush beauty of the park. Eventually she reached the shoreline of the peninsula. Gray and smooth, the cold Atlantic stretched as far as her eye could see; beneath her feet, its breakers splashed against the rocks. At the mouth of the harbor an immense oil tanker was headed out to sea and was soon swallowed by the mist. She scrambled partway down the slope, then perched on a boulder hugging her knees, her green eyes wistful as she watched the great ship vanish from sight. Where was it going? What strange sights would it see? If Tor were here, he would tell her... but Tor was with Helena in another city, many miles away. The distant waves blurred from more than the mist and her head drooped to her knees. "Pardon me, miss. Are you all right? Miss...?" Slowly she raised her head, green eyes tear-drenched. A long-legged young man was standing a small distance away, his face expressing mingled doubt and concern. She rubbed her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, embarrassed that she should be caught at such a disadvantage. "Yes, I'm all right," she gulped. Seizing on the first excuse that came to mind, she added with a watery smile, "Homesick, I guess." Squatting on his haunches, he asked, "Where's home?" His face was pleasant, his brown eyes without guile; he could have been no more than a year older than herself and still carried himself with something of an adolescent's awkwardness. "Northern Ontario," she said, and somehow it all came out: her unusual childhood, her father's death, her enforced trip to Halifax. He listened intently, asking the occasional question, his interest plainly unforced, and she warmed to him. "I've told you all about me," she said finally, "and I don't even know your name." "Keith Foster. And yours?" "Lyn Selby. Now tell me about yourself." "Oh, my life sounds very ordinary after yours. Born and brought up in Halifax, live with my parents in the summer, go to university in the winter." "Oh? What are you studying?" "Music - violin." "Really?" Her vivid little face lighted up. "I love music, although I'm dreadfully ignorant about it. Tell me more." Keith needed no encouragement. Wide-eyed she listened, drinking in the strange words: sonata, exposition, tremolo, baroque. A new and fascinating language. "I'm playing with a chamber group on Sunday afternoon - a free concert at the conservatory. You should come." "I'd love to!" She smiled at him with unaffected pleasure, the ocean breeze ruffling her chestnut hair. It seemed to give him courage. "You did say you'd never been to a movie before, didn't you?" At her nod he went on, "There's a replay of Dr. Zhivago tonight. Will you go with me?" "I'd like that," she said promptly. A faint shadow crossed her face. "I'd have to introduce you to Marian first, though. She's the housekeeper and Tor said for me to tell her before I go anywhere." It was the first time she had actually mentioned Tor's name.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Tor is your guardian?" "Yes, Tor Hansen." "The artist?" "That's right." Keith whistled. "You move in high circles, my girl. He's world famous, you know." She went back to her original remark, not wanting to talk about Tor. "So would you mind coming to the house first?" "Of course not. I'll pick you up at seven-thirty." Glad to have a diversion that would keep her from brooding over Tor's betrayal, and excited at the prospect of what was essentially her first date, Lyn dressed in her new slacks and jade silk blouse and when Keith arrived introduced him to Marian with a flourish. Keith having promised to have her home by eleven, they left for the cinema. The evening lived up to all Lyn's expectations, for the movie's haunting love story stirred her to the depths; afterward she and Keith had a quick snack at a restaurant and avidly discussed every aspect of the movie. As they drove down the narrow lane to Oceanview, Keith said diffidently, "I can get off work at three-thirty tomorrow. If the weather's good, would you like to go to the beach? We could take a picnic supper." The evening she had spent with him had shown her he was a thoroughly nice young man and she didn't hesitate at all. "I'd like to, but on one condition: that you let me provide the picnic." And so it was agreed. The next day everything combined in their favor: hot sun, a blue cloudless sky, low tide exposing a crescent-shaped sweep of smooth pale sand on which the white breakers curled and fell in a ceaseless rhythm. As soon as they arrived they were hailed by several other students whom Keith knew, and in a group they swam and played with frisbees, cooked hot dogs and drank pop and beer. While the sun slowly sank into the sea, they gathered around a camp fire and sang to the accompaniment of a guitar. Lyn hummed along happily. As Keith's friend she had been accepted unquestioningly by all the students and for the first time in her life she had experienced the fun of being part of a high-spirited group of peers. It was nearly eleven by the time Keith pulled up in front of Tor's house. Lyn turned to face him. "Thank you, Keith," she said warmly. "I really enjoyed myself. And I liked your friends." He smiled at her. "They liked you - a couple of the guys a bit too much!" His arm went around her shoulders and he pulled her toward him, ducking his head to kiss her. Trustingly she lifted her face, waiting for the explosion of feeling that always accompanied Tor's kisses. Keith's lips were warm, a little uncertain; his skin smelled of sun and salt water. It was pleasant being kissed by him, but nothing more. No ripple of desire along her nerves, no longing to be crushed and held, no pounding of her heart. "Good night, Lyn," he said, his voice husky. "I've got to work nights now until the weekend, but I'll see you on Sunday." He kissed her again, and again she was aware of her disconcerting lack of response. She scrambled out of the car, slamming the door and waving goodbye as he drove away. Then, thoughtfully, she began to walk toward the house. She liked Keith very much, whereas she was not at all sure that she liked Tor; yet it was Tor whose smile could fill her with joy and whose touch inflamed her senses. Helena had accused her of being in love with him; with a sick jolt of her heart she wondered if it could be true. Love...a word people use every day; yet what did it mean? She stopped in the pool of light by the front door, inhaling the heady scent of the deep-red roses that climbed up the trellis. Red roses, the symbol of love...she broke one off, gazing down into the whorl of petals, each one perfectly shaped. So much beauty in one small flower, she thought. Absorbed as she was, she neither heard nor saw the front door swing open on its oiled hinges. "How very romantic you look!" a voice sneered. "I do trust you're not imagining yourself in love with that young man?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Jerked back from her reverie, Lyn looked up. The rose fell unnoticed to the ground. "Tor," she breathed, wondering if she were dreaming. She had been thinking about him and now he was here. Had she conjured him up? She was soon to discover he was all too real. He took the steps in one leap and grabbed her by the arm. "You haven't answered my question," he said roughly. Bewildered by his presence, yet already conscious of that truant spark of joy that the mere sight of him could ignite, she repeated, "Question? What question? I don't understand." Angry blue eyes raked her up and down, missing not one detail of the wind-tousled hair, the honey-gold limbs bared by brief white shorts and a halter top, the glowing green eyes. "Did you enjoy being kissed by him?" he demanded. A faint flush heightened the peach-pink of her cheeks. So he had been watching. "I like Keith," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "What else did you let him do?" She gasped with outrage. "Nothing! What do you think I am? Anyway, Keith isn't like that." "Not like me, you mean," Tor said, his voice oddly slurred."That's what you' re trying to say, isn' t it? * * A moth, attracted by the light, fluttered against Lyn's face, and she brushed it away. "Keith is as different from you as...as a robin from an eagle," she said. "Let's go inside, Tor. We're letting all the insects in the house." In the coolness of the hall with the door shut behind them, she turned to face him. "It's late. I'm going to bed." "Oh, no, my dear - not yet," he drawled. "You're going to have a drink with me in the study." The first fingers of unease touched her nerves. "I'd rather not. I'm tired." "I'm not surprised. I've been talking to Marian and it sure didn't take you long once I was gone to pick up a man, did it?" "I didn't pick him up!" she denied furiously. "I brought him home and introduced him to Marian, just as you told me to." "Oh, Marian thought it was lovely - 'such a nice young man!'" Viciously he imitated Marian's turn of phrase. Shocked, Lyn whispered, "I believe you're jealous." The silence that fell was charged with things unsaid, for he did not deny it. She noticed that he was not quite steady on his feet. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Come into the study for a minute," he said abruptly. "I have to tell you something." In the study there was a half-empty bottle of Scotch and a glass on the silver tray. Tor immediately poured himself a drink, and she saw uneasily how he slopped a little of the liquid on the tray. "When did you get home?" she asked. "I didn't think you were coming until tomorrow." "I finished up the business I had to attend to sooner than I thought, so I got the late afternoon flight today." "Business?" She was unable to stop herself. "I'm not sure Helena would appreciate being called business." "How do you know Helena was up there?" "She told me." He swore under his breath, taking a long pull on his drink. "I didn't know she was coming. That's what I have to talk to you about. I told you the truth when I left here - Helena wasn't going with me. Nobody was more surprised than I when I bumped into her in the hotel lobby - it certainly wasn't planned." Another gulp of the drink. It was nearly gone, Lyn noticed with dismay. "I wanted to assure you of that. I didn't want you thinking I lied to you, should you happen to find out she'd been there." "You're too late," she said coldly. "You and Helena should have got

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html together on your story. She dropped in here the day you left and told me she was joining you in Toronto. I, of course, didn't even know where you'd gone." "The business was...confidential." He had trouble with the word. "I couldn't tell you about it." "I'm not the slightest bit interested." He laughed shortly. "You will be." Pouring himself another drink, he added, "But to get back to Helena, I had no inkling that she was planning to fly to Toronto." He shrugged his big shoulders. "I can't prove it, but it happens to be the truth." Wearily she said, "I don't believe you, but does it really matter?" "Of course it does." He started across the room toward her. "You've got to be able to trust me." "Why?" He stopped dead in his tracks. "Because I...because I - " He rubbed his forehead. "Why?" she repeated mercilessly. When he finally spoke, it was as though a dam had burst. "I want you, Lyn. I want you so much, I can't sleep or eat. No matter where I am or who I'm with, I can't get you out of my mind. You might just as well have come to Toronto, because everywhere I went you were with me." "And what did Helena think of that?" "For heaven's sake, leave Helena out of this. She's got nothing to do with it!" "I see! You're through with her, are you? And I'm to become the next mistress - is that the idea?" "Don't talk that way, Lyn. It's not like that. I need you, don't you understand? I'm going crazy without you!" Want, need...but no mention of love, she thought painfully. He had come closer and she was shocked by his appearance: the dark shadowed eyes in their deep sockets, the lines of strain carved from nose to jaw, the stubble of beard on his chin. She could smell the liquor on his breath and guessed that he had been drinking steadily ever since he got home. She could not help marveling at his seeming capacity, for all that she could notice was a slight slurring of his speech. No, she thought, amending her own statement, that was not all; the alcohol had removed some of his normal inhibitions, for the things he was telling her he would not ordinarily have revealed. She longed to put her arms around him and hold him close, exorcising the demons that drove him. "Tell me what's wrong," she pleaded, "then maybe I can help you." "I've told you." He ran an unsteady hand down the slender line of her neck, resting his thumb in the hollow at its base where the pulse beat like the heart of a trapped bird. "I've got to have you, Lyn. I can't live without you." He raked his fingers through his thick black hair. "I can't even paint. I pick up a pencil and when I look down the whole paper is covered with sketches of you." "I'll have to go away," she whispered. "What else can I do?" "No!" The word rasped in his throat. "That'll happen soon enough." Puzzled, she looked up at him. "What do you mean?" It was only as he stared at her in consternation that she realized he had been speaking more to himself than to her. "Nothing," he muttered. "I can't tell you now." He was swaying on his feet, his features ashen. She grasped him by the elbows in an effort to support him. "Did you sleep at all last night?" she asked. "No. I walked the streets of Toronto most of the night. Helena wasn't with me, Lyn." "No," she said soothingly. "I don't think she was. Look, you've got to get to bed - you're dead on your feet. Let me help you upstairs." As though he hadn't heard her, he said, "I haven't slept properly since you came to Halifax. I can't go on like this much longer. That's why I went to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Toronto." He wasn't making much sense, but at least Lyn was beginning to understand the exhaustion in his face, his air of being driven to the end of his tether. "Let me help you to bed," she repeated gently, moving a little closer to him in case he might fall. "I've drunk too much," he muttered. "I got home about six and you weren't here. I found out you were with another man. That was when I started drinking." "Keith is just a friend, Tor. Besides, we were with a whole group of students, eight or nine of us altogether." "I thought you were alone with him. So he's a student, is he?" "He's a music major, studying violin." The remaining color drained from his face. "A violinist... he would be." "What's so peculiar about violinists?" Lyn asked good-naturedly, deciding to humor him. "Tomorrow... I'll tell you tomorrow." For a moment she stared at him in perplexity, wondering what he was going to tell her tomorrow. As it happened, she never would have guessed in a thousand years--His arm fell heavily across her shoulders. "Let's go upstairs." Tor was a big man and normally as lithe as a mountain cat, but now, as his consumption seemed to catch up on him, all his movements were awkward and uncoordinated, and Lyn was breathless by the time they reached the door of his room. He pushed it open and they went in together. As Tor flipped on the light switch, the first thing Lyn saw was the portrait of herself that he had painted at Lake of Islands; it was hanging over the bed. Once or twice she had wondered what had happened to it, but she had never liked to ask. Now she knew...it somehow seemed peculiarly intimate that her face should be the last thing he saw at night, the first thing in the morning---"Put on the bedside light, Lyn, and I'll turn this one off - it's hellish bright." She did as he asked and as the soft light bathed them both, she noted other details of the room: its austere white walls and high ceiling, the long drapes of dark blue velvet and the matching spread on the vast bed. The only other notes of color were provided by the book jackets on the shelves that covered an entire wall. Her portrait was the sole painting in the room. Tor collapsed on the bed with a groan, burying his head in his hands. The sensible, rational part of Lyn's brain told her to leave now. She murmured, "Good night, Tor. I'll sec you in the morning." His hand closed around her wrist, pulling her so that she stood in front of him. "Don't go for a minute," he begged. Although she tried to harden her heart, it was useless. She stood acquiescently as his eyes traveled slowly over her. "You're so small, so fragile," he marveled. "Your bones are as light as a bird's. Yet you're driving me mad with your long slim legs and your beautiful breasts, i want to know every inch of your body, Lyn, all the secret places where no man has ever been." His voice had thickened. He had been unbuttoning his shirt and now he shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor. Slowly he stood up, his hands unbuckling his belt. Hypnotized by the tormented blue eyes, she tried to retreat. "I've got to go, Tor." "Stay with me, Lyn. Please." She dragged her eyes away from him, but all she could see was the tangle of dark hair on his chest, the smooth tanned skin taut over rippling muscles, the rib cage narrowing at his waist. "I can't!" "Nothing will happen. I swear it," he said hoarsely. "Just stay with me; lie down beside me until I sleep. Then you can go. Please." She could not deny him this; indeed, she longed to erase the lines of weariness and strain from his face. "Very well," she whispered. He had undone his zipper and now his trousers joined his shirt on the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html floor; he was wearing only a narrow pair of black briefs. His body was as beautifully proportioned as an ancient Greek sculpture. Deep within her a trembling began, an ache of desire, and she fought to subdue it. "You'd better lie down," she said. "Here, let me fold back the bedspread." She pulled back the pristine white sheets. With a long sigh Tor fell back on the bed, his hair coal-black against the snowy linen. He pulled her down beside him. "You don't know how often I've longed to see your head on the pillow beside mine," he murmured, stroking the soft curls back from her forehead. His eyes were slumberous with desire. She was lying on one side facing him, her face suffused with shy color. "You must try and sleep," she said, endeavoring to sound matter-of-fact. "I will." He ran his hand down her arm as though he were memorizing its rounded contours. "Do something for me," he said, his voice blurred with fatigue. "Takeoff your clothes." He must have felt the shock that raced through her body and seen her eyes widen with something akin to panic. As though he were soothing a frightened animal, he continued to stroke her arm, his voice calm and even. "I just want to look at you and hold you in my arms as I go to sleep." She could think of nothing to say; she could only lie there gazing at him with big eyes, achingly aware of the clean masculine scent of his bronzed skin, knowing she wanted to lie with her cheek against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Slowly, awkwardly, her fingers began to fumble with the catch on her halter top. As it loosened Tor eased it from her shoulders and tossed it aside. Her breasts gleamed palely in the soft golden light as he traced the edge of her tan in the valley that lay between them. Helpless to resist him she watched the lean fingers cup her flesh, rounded like a perfect fruit, her nipple hard as the stem. With a delicious slowness his hands traveled to her waist, gathering her body closer and sliding her shorts and panties down over her hips and thighs. Instinctively she moved to cover herself, but he stayed her hands with a gentleness that could not disguise his latent strength. "There's nothing to be ashamed of," he murmured. "Your nakedness is beautiful - as beautiful as your innocence. Someday I'm going to possess you, Lyn. Make you mine... take away your virginity. Not tonight, because I want everything to be perfect the first time I make love to you, and tonight I've had too much to drink. But someday, soon... now come lie with me." He opened his arms and she moved into their shelter, mesmerized by his words and by the feel of his body against hers. Her lips were buried in his throat while his cheek lay against her hair; their legs were entwined, and one of his thighs, heavy and rough, lay across her, pinioning her. It did not matter; she had no desire to escape. She felt balanced between heaven and earth, for the hard warmth of his arms seemed as near to heaven as she could get, yet she was earthling enough that his every touch aroused in her a desperate longing for more.... For a short while his hands continued their rhythmic stroking. Then he grew still. Scarcely breathing, she slid her arm over his ribs so she could feel the long indentation of his spine. He muttered something, convulsively holding her tighter. She glanced downward to see the satin curve of her breast crushed to his chest, flesh on flesh; the sight was as erotic as a kiss and sent a shaft of pure sweetness through her body. By tilting her head slightly, she could see his face. His eyes were shut and already it seemed to her some of the strain had gone from his face; his mouth was relaxed in sleep. It seemed strange to be studying his features so closely while he slept, almost as though she were invading his privacy. Yet it felt indescribably precious. As she lay there watching the sleeping man, something gradually became clear to Lyn, a truth that hitherto she had avoided, It came as no sudden explosion of feeling, no burst of fireworks, but rather as the dawning of the sun, slow, deliberate, inexorable. And it brought with it all the life-giving glory of the sun. It was simply this - she loved Tor. Body and soul she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html belonged to him, and would until the day she died. She closed her eyes, so attuned to the man she loved that his breathing became hers, the heat of his skin the heat of hers - she was no longer a separate being. Because she loved him, his body held all the passion and the promise that had awakened her sleeping senses; because she loved him she wanted to be with him day and night. Afterward she could not have said how long she lay curled in his arms, filled with the incredulous joy of her discovery. She wanted to stay there all night, so that when he woke it would be her real face he would see, not her portrait...but she knew that was impossible. With exquisite care she freed herself from his embrace and rolled to the other side of the bed. He stirred, turning on his back, the sheets tangled around his hips. She found her halter top on the floor, blushing a little with secret delight as she picked it up, but she dared not risk disturbing him to find her shorts; she could get them tomorrow. One last loving look at his face and she switched out the light, tiptoeing to the door and then to her own room. Happier than she had ever been in her life, she fell asleep almost instantly. CHAPTER ELEVEN

IT WAS MIDMORNING of the next day and Lyn was helping Michael husk corn when Marian came out to the garden, wiping her hands on her apron. "Lyn," she said, "Tor would like to see you for a few minutes. He's in the study." Her voice was carefully noncommittal, but her eyes avoided Lyn's and her hands kept on twisting the apron long after they were dry. "Is anything wrong?" Lyn asked, standing up slowly. Tor would ask to see her when she was wearing jeans and an old checked shirt, she thought-irrelevantly. "I don't know, dear. He looks a little put out about something, but I'm sure it's nothing to do with you. Just the same, I wouldn't keep him waiting." In the kitchen Lyn quickly washed her hands and ran a comb through her hair, wishing she didn't feel so nervous. There was nothing to be nervous about, she thought stoutly, as she tapped on the study door. After all, she loved him, didn't she? Holding to this like a talisman, she entered the room. Tor had been looking out of the window at the sloping green lawns, but as she came in, he turned to face her. He was wearing superbly cut corduroy pants and a pale silk shirt and as always she was struck by his casual, almost arrogant, air of elegance; she could not imagine him looking out of place anywhere. But his clothes did not hold her attention for long. Last night he had looked tired and tense, but today he looked positively haggard, the skin drawn taut over his cheekbones, a pallor underlying his tan. But worse than that she sensed he was furiously angry about something and was holding on to his control by only the frailest of threads. None of this, however, could totally quell the glow of pleasure she felt simply because he was there and she loved him. Perhaps some of this showed in her smile and the lilting, "Good morning," she offered him. 4'What's so good about it?" Her temper flared. "I'm sure your mother taught you better manners than that," she retorted spiritedly. "However, I suppose you do have a hangover." "If I do, it's the least of my worries." He looked her up and down, his blue eyes so brilliant with rage that she was frightened. "Shut the door, will you? I don't want Marian coming in in the middle of this." While she was doing as he asked, he began pacing up and down, his hands thrust in his pockets. She remembered a grizzly bear she had once seen caged at Sioux Lake, which had paced up and down with much the same air of baffled fury. He stopped with an abruptness that startled her. "There's no easy way for me to say this. When I woke up this morning, I found... garments of yours in my bed. I have no recollection of how they got there. Would you mind

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html enlightening me?" She flushed scarlet. This was far worse than anything she could have imagined. As she fumbled for words, he snarled, "For heaven's sake, get on with it!" "You were very tired, and you'd had a considerable amount to drink," she said faintly. "So you asked me to help you upstairs. I took you to your room and got you into bed and...." Her voice trailed away. "Goon." Hot with embarrassment she stared down at her hands. "Weil, you wanted me to get into bed with you, so I did. You looked so tired, I felt sorry for you." Which was very far from the whole truth. He gritted his teeth. "Don't make it worse than it has to be. What I want to know is how your clothes ended up in my bed." "You asked me to take them off." "God! Then what? What else did I do, Lyn?" "N-nothing," she faltered. "Do you expect me to believe that?" "You can believe it or not; it happens to be true. You were exhausted and you fell asleep. So I left and went to my own room." "What you mean is, I was drunk." "That, too." He stared at her, impaling her with his eyes. "You swear that's all that happened?" Bravely she met his gaze. "Yes, Tor, that's all." He let out his pent-up breath in a long sigh. "I see." Then he renewed his attack so quickly that she had no chance to prevaricate. "I dimly recollect that I talked rather a lot. What did I say, Lyn?" "You wanted to tell me about meeting Helena in Toronto. And I told you how I already knew she'd gone there to join you." Her sole urge was to escape. "Look, if there's nothing else, Tor, I was busy helping Michael - " "I'm nowhere near finished. What else did I talk about?" "Nothing much. You were very tired and your mind was wandering a bit." "That won't do, Lyn. Tell me the truth. You're not leaving this room until you do." She had never learned to lie. "I don't want to discuss it," she said as firmly as she could. "Your wants have nothing to do with it!" His clenched fist hit the coffee table so sharply that she jumped. "I have to know." "All right!" Her eyes like two emeralds, she flared, "If you really want to know, you told me I was driving you crazy, that you couldn't get me out of your mind, that sooner or later you were going to make love to me. 'Possess' was the word you used, I believe. Luckily you were too drunk last night to do anything about it." "You little witch," he seethed. "You ought to be careful making statements like that. I'm not drunk now." She paled, shrinking away from him, for he looked angry enough for anything. With an attempt at bravado she said, "Don't you dare threaten me!" "Don't worry, you've made it blindingly obvious, my dear, that the idea of making love is repugnant to you. Mind you, I'm sure I could convince you otherwise." As he took one step toward her, she gasped, "Don't, Tor!" "Such purity and innocence!" he sneered. "A little out of place after last night, wouldn't you say?" "I've already told you nothing happened last night." She added pleadingly, "We're just going around in circles, Tor. Can't we end this?" He made a visible effort to control himself. "Okay. But there's something else-I have to know. Did I say anything to you about why I'd been in Toronto?" "No." "Or of any future plans?" "No. Apart from getting me into your bed," she said sarcastically.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html He grimaced. "It would seem I said a lot of things that are best forgotten. Particularly in view of what I'm about to tell you." Absently he picked up an Eskimo carving, rubbing his thumb along the smooth gray soapstone. As she waited she had time to remember the oblique hints he had dropped last night and she had a sudden premonition that whatever he was going to tell her would change her life irrevocably. "What is it, Tor?" she asked, her mouth dry. He looked up. "I went to Toronto to see a woman," he said slowly. "Oh?" "Your mother." The floor rocked beneath her feet. She reached for the edge of the chair but her fingers only grasped empty air, and she would have fallen if Tor had not caught her. As he lowered her into the chair, she bent her head, fighting back dizziness and a wave of nausea. When she looked up her face was paper-white, blank with shock. "My mother...you mean she's alive?" "Yes. Very much so. She and I had lunch together yesterday." Her head was bursting with questions and her heartbeat threatened to suffocate her. But there was one question she had to ask before any other. "Why did she leave me? Me and my father?" she whispered, her green eyes burning with anguish. "All these years she never even tried to see me; she never once got in touch. I thought she must be dead." "It's a long story, Lyn, and one I think she should tell you herself." "She wants to see me?" "Yes." "I... I don't even begin to understand," Lyn cried helplessly. "How did you find her?" "From the first time I saw you, I was bothered because you reminded me of someone. But I couldn't remember who, and it was only a fleeting resemblance. The way you'd turn your head. The way you looked when you were concentrating on something. Then you told me how your father never let you listen to music and how he broke the radio one day when you were listening to a violinist - " "She's a musician," Lyn interrupted, knowing in her blood that it was true. "A violinist." Her eyes dilated. "The woman on the record cover the other night," she said incoherently. "The woman with red hair...." "Diana Lynley - yes, she's your mother." "But... she's famous, you said." For the first time something like a smile lightened his somber features. "Indeed I did. That doesn't stop her from being your mother." It was all too much to take in. Absurdly Lyn felt tears crowd her eyes. "I still don't understand how you made the connection." "Once I suspected Diana Lynley might be your mother, I had a friend check Paul Selby's marriage certificate. Twenty-one years ago he married Diana Elizabeth Lynley. So then I contacted her - she's on tour in Canada and has an engagement with the Toronto Symphony at the moment - and arranged to meet her yesterday. Nothing very complicated." "It was good of you to take the trouble," she said in a low voice. "Once you hear her story - she gave me the bare outline - you'll understand why she's never seen you all these years," he said gently. "When will I see her?" "She's playing with the symphony on Saturday night at Massey Hall and she gave me two tickets. She would like you to hear her play. And then afterward you will meet her." "You'll go with me?" It was somehow desperately important that he should. "Yes, I'll take you," he said, and if there was evasion in his reply, she did not notice it. She got up and began restlessly moving around the room, picking things up and putting them down, much as Tor had earlier. "I can hardly believe it... after all these years," she said. "Was she pleased to hear about me? Is she looking forward to seeing me?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "I'm sure she is. You must realize it was a great shock to her," he said guardedly. "Do you have any other recordings of hers? I'd like to listen to them." "I have several. I'll show you where they are. By the way, I think this afternoon you should go shopping for an evening gown." "To wear to meet my mother?" The last two words sounded strange on her tongue. "Yes. I'll take you out for dinner beforehand. In fact, I was wondering if you'd like to take an extra day and we could have a quick trip to Sioux Lake on the Friday." Her smile was radiant. "Oh, Tor, I'd love that!" Not looking at her, he said, "You still think of Lake of Islands as home, don't you?" How could she tell him that home was wherever he was? She couldn't. Instead she heard herself say, "I still miss it. But that's not surprising; I lived there nearly all my life, after all. And it would be lovely to see Margaret." She glanced at the gold antique clock on the mantel. "I'm supposed to call her in half an hour. When will I tell her we'll arrive?" "Thursday - late afternoon or early evening. Depending on the weather we'll leave Friday or first thing Saturday morning." "You're sure you can spare the time?" she said anxiously. "All these trips to Toronto. They must be costing you a lot of money, too." "We agreed not to worry about money, right? And I do happen to have time on my hands. Do you remember the night we talked about my painting?" She nodded. "I had two more portraits commissioned for this week - the same kind of thing as that one I showed you. I canceled them." She touched his arm lightly. "I'm glad, Tor. That's a start at least." "A start to what? I wish I knew." "To painting what you want to paint." "You make it sound so simple." "Perhaps it is." He moved away so that her hand fell to her side. "You'd better go and call Margaret," he said dis-missively. Margaret, as Lyn had anticipated, was delighted at the prospect of a visit. A third fire had been started, there had been no further sign of Raoul, and Bernard had spent less than twelve hours at home with his family in the past week. "Wear your new clothes," Margaret said. "And bring me something to read?" So IT WAS that when Tor brought the bush plane down on Sioux Lake two days later, Lyn was dressed in a lightweight suit of dove gray linen with a ruffled blouse of pale mauve crepe. Tor taxied to the wharf, turned off the engine, and tied up to one of the pilings. Doubtfully Lyn looked down at her dainty high-heeled sandals and nylon-clad legs. "How will I get out?" From his stance on the wharf he grinned up at her. "You'll have to jump. I'll catch you." With a devil-may-care smile on his lips and the lake breeze ruffling his hair he looked as tough as a woodsman and as reckless as a lumberjack. She said demurely, "I'm not sure I trust you." "Careful, or I might just leave you where you are." She giggled. "Margaret will be here any minute. So you'd better jump." She launched herself from the cockpit and the next moment she was in his arms. He lowered her to the wharf, his face losing its laughter. "You look very different than the girl who left here a short time ago," he said soberly. "I wonder if you'd be able to live here again." She shivered a little, glancing down the wharf toward the untidy cluster of houses among the spruce trees; everything seemed diminished, shrunk. She was suddenly glad they wouldn't be visiting the cabin, for she wanted it to remain in her memory inviolate and unchanged. Then she saw two towhead-ed little figures running toward her at the far end of the wharf. "Stephen and Kevin," she cried, "and oh, look, there's Margaret."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html As the boys got closer, they slowed down, looking uncertainly at the beautiful young woman in the elegant clothes. "You've got stuff on your face," Stephen accused. "And skirts," his younger brother lisped. Hovering between laughter and dismay, Lyn knelt down, bringing her face to their level. "But I'm still me," she said unarguably, "even though I look different. Haven't you each got a kiss for me?" Shyly they came closer. "You look pretty," Stephen said gravely. "Thank you, dear." "And you smell nice," said Kevin, not to be outdone. "I've brought you each something," Lyn whispered conspiratorially. "We'll unpack my suitcase when we get up to the house, okay?" "Is it nice?" "Is it a new truck?" "Yes, it's nice, and it's also a secret." Margaret had been quietly waiting, watching her sons' reactions with some amusement. When Lyn stood up Margaret hugged her fiercely and then held her at arm's length. "Well!" she exclaimed, noting her friend's sophisticated suit, the subtly applied makeup, and even more than that, the new air of assurance. "You look gorgeous, Lyn! It's lovely to see you! Thank you for bringing her, Tor. If you've both got everything, let's go up to the house - dinner's nearly ready and I expect you're hungry." Earlier in the day Lyn had brought Tor up to date about the fires, the pressure on Bernard and Margaret's concern at his continued absence from Sioux Lake. As the evening progressed, Lyn was touched to see how Tor conspired to give Margaret an evening of fun and relaxation. He had brought her some wickedly expensive perfume; he played with the boys, tactfully giving Lyn and Margaret the chance to talk; he insisted on cleaning up the supper dishes and reading the boys their bedtime stories. Then he taught the two women an ingenious variation of poker and proceeded to win all their money from them. He was to sleep on the chesterfield, which folded out to make a bed; Lyn was on a cot in Kevin's room. After she had cleaned her teeth and washed her face, she hesitated in the living-room doorway, watching him straighten his blankets. "Tor?" she asked. He looked up, his face inscrutable as he waited for her tov speak. "That was a nice evening. I think Margaret forgot all her worries. Thank you." He nodded curtly, all the charm and geniality of the evening gone as if they had never been. So none of this had been for her benefit, Lyn thought painfully; he had done it for Margaret. She tilted her chin defiantly, a slim straight figure in a long white housecoat. "Well, good night," she said stiffly. "Good night." He turned back to the bed. She crept to her own room, almost overwhelmed by a desolate loneliness, yet too proud to cry. All evening she had enjoyed herself so much, loving Tor for his ready wit, his tact and kindness to Margaret, his ability to abandon his dignity as he wrestled with the boys. And now he had snatched that memory from her. Perhaps love and pain always went hand in hand.... THE NEXT MORNING Lyn woke early, probably because of the time change. Kevin's bed was already empty; he must have gone outside, because the house was still wrapped in quietness. She slid out of bed, pulling on her new housecoat and padding out to the hall. For a minute she stood at the living-room door looking at Tor, who was lying flat on his stomach, his face buried in the pillows. Taking her unawares, all the love she felt for him rose up and consumed her in such a tide of joy that its retreat left her faint with longing. Frightened by the intensity of an emotion she was helpless to combat, she fled to the kitchen, hoping that breakfast would restore a measure of reality. But it was only when she glanced out of the window that she was shocked back to sanity. Kevin, still in his pajamas, was standing by the fence talking to a roughly dressed man with red hair and a red beard. Even as she watched the man unlatched the gate, holding something out to the little boy.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Acting without thought Lyn flung open the door and ran down the path. "Kevin!" she cried. Kevin gave her a gap-toothed grin, holding out a little plastic toy in his chubby hand. "It's a truck," he said gravely. Not wanting to frighten him, she said evenly, "Yes, it is. But you must give it back." "Let the little feller keep it - no harm in that." Green eyes clashed with the light blue. "Kevin is not allowed to accept presents from strangers." His eyes suddenly fell, then began a leisurely exploration of her body, its outlines clearly revealed in the filmy white robe. Her color heightening, Lyn moved back a step. A quick glance around ascertained that there was no one in sight but the three of them. Then a callused hand fell on her shoulder. She tried to twist free, but only succeeded in loosening her housecoat. He laughed, amused by her struggles. "Let go!" she snapped. "I know who you are and I'll report you." "There's no one here to report me to," he sneered. "The Mountie's off fighting fires, that's where he is. And that's where he'll stay." Her eyes widened with fear. "What do you mean?" On the red puffy face there was an expression of pure venom. "Never you mind. But that's a good place for him, off in the woods. Keeps him from sending guys like my brother to jail." "Your brother is a murderer." "Yeah? How come you know so much about me? Who the hell are you anyway?" As they had been talking, Lyn had noticed an ugly sore over one of his eyes and that he had lost most of one eyebrow. With a sick excitement she guessed it was a burn. "What happened to your eye?" she demanded. "Think you're clever, don't you? Don't get too clever or I might have to shut your mouth for you." He had pulled her so close that she could see the pattern of broken veins in his cheeks; his clothes smelled of woodsmoke, and again she felt that queer excitement. It made her lose all sense of caution. "It's a burn, isn't it? How did you get it, Raoul?" His palm struck her cheek and she reeled backward, only prevented from falling by his hand on her arm. Dimly she heard Kevin's shriek of outrage and sensed the child had flung himself at her attacker. Then she was shoved against the fence and there was a confusion of footsteps. Someone was holding her and a hard voice demanded, "Lyn! Are you hurt?" She opened her eyes, flinching away from the bright light. "Ouch!" she muttered. "My brains feel addled---" She struggled upright. "Where's Kevin?" "Right here. I heard you yell, that's what woke me up. What happened?" Her head was still ringing from the force of the blow as she briefly described Raoul's behavior. "I'm sure he must be setting the fires," she concluded. "He has a burn on his face and he smelled of smoke." "He could have been fire fighting." "Oh." She looked dashed. "I never thought of that." "But they must keep track of the crews, don't they? It would be easy enough to check up on him." "Yes, it would." She started to smile and winced, feeling her jaw gingerly. "It serves you right," Tor said callously. "Little idiot, why the devil didn't you call me?" "It all happened so quickly. I looked out of the window and he was talking to Kevin and I panicked." She shuddered, remembering the hot breath on her face. "Don't worry, I won't be in a hurry to meet him again." "Lyn! What are you all doing down there?" It was Margaret calling from the porch. The three of them walked back to the house and emotionlessly Tor related what had happened. Margaret listened in silence, her face pale. When he had finished she dropped on one knee beside her truant son. "Kevin," she said quietly, "you must never talk to that man again, or take anything from him. Is

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html that clear? He's a bad man, Kevin. Neither your daddy nor I wants you to have anything to do with him." "He is a bad man," Kevin said, his lower lip trembling. "He hit Lyn." "I know. So you stay away from him. And Stephen must do the same." She stood up briskly, taking Kevin's hand. "Now, there are Corn Flakes and Rice Krispies. Which do you want?" "Corn Flakes and lots of sugar," he said smiling. And eagerly digging into his cereal, the boy seemed to forget the morning's disturbing scene. The rest of the day passed without incident. Although Tor did a brief reconnaissance of the area later in the morning, he saw no further sign of Raoul. It was dusk and both boys were asleep when the three adults heard the descending whine of a bush plane. Margaret's hands clenched on the arms of her chair. "Do you think it could be Bernard?" she breathed. "Oh, I really hope so!" She went to the window, peering out into the gathering darkness. "Would you two mind staying with the boys while I go down to the wharf?" Assuming their consent, she was through the screen door and running down the path before they could speak. After she had gone, Tor stood silent watch at the window. "I hope it is Bernard," he said finally, more to himself than to Lyn. "Margaret shouldn't be alone here." Then he gave an exclamation. "Here they come and by the look of things I'd better lend a hand." He left by the front door and Lyn looked out. Bernard and Margaret were toiling up the slope, Bernard leaning heavily on his wife's arm; she was also attempting to carry his pack. Tor relieved her of the pack and put a supporting arm around her husband. As they approached the house, Lyn opened the door. It was an effort to keep the shock from her face - Bernard seemed to have aged ten years since she had last seen him. As Tor and Margaret lowered him into an armchair, his breath was coming in harsh rasps and it was several minutes before he was able to speak. "Sorry to be so much trouble," he muttered. "I'm played out." His eyes were sunk into their sockets and rimmed with black; his face had the same expression of dazed exhaustion Lyn had seen on photographs of coal miners rescued from an underground explosion. As Margaret hovered anxiously, Tor said in a low voice, "Where's your brandy, Marg? And Lyn, heat up a bit of that stew we had for supper." When Lyn came back, Margaret was unlacing Bernard's high boots and easing them off his feet. When she had finished, she laid her head on his knee, and his dirt-grimed hand came to rest on her curls. There were tears in Margaret's eyes and she was very pale. The food revived Bernard enough that a little color came into his sunken cheeks. "I haven't slept more than four hours in the last three days," he explained. "The third fire was out of control for nearly twenty-four hours and did a hell of a lot of damage. Ruined some of the finest stands of timber." He took another sip of the hot sweet tea Tor had prepared and grinned crookedly at Lyn. "I don't even want to think about it, let alone talk about it, so let's talk about you instead. You're looking very glamorous." "Thank you!" She explained to him, as she had already done to Margaret, about the future reunion with her mother, and described some of her experiences in Halifax, even managing to make a funny story out of her first disastrous shopping expedition. As she glanced over at Tor to corroborate something, Bernard asked sharply, "What happened to your face?" Quite suddenly he was all policeman. As she hesitated, Tor smoothly stepped in. "We'd better tell you about that. Lyn has a small piece of evidence that might be of use to you." Bernard listened intently and when Tor had finished, said, "Thanks. Every little bit helps. What I've got to do is catch him in the act, which may not be as hard as it sounds. Whoever's setting the fires is getting careless. We found a couple of footprints on the edge of the lake near where the last fire started, and we got casts of them." He looked down at his wife, who was still kneeling at his feet. "So Raoul was here this morning. Kevin must have got a fright."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "We all did," Margaret said tremulously. "I think that settles it, hon. You've got to get out of here until this business is settled." Addressing Tor, he went on, "You're leaving tomorrow, did you say?" "Yes, in the morning." "Your plane is big enough; there's a little seat folds down at the back, isn't there? I want you to take Margaret and the boys to Toronto with you. They can stay in a hotel - " "No, Bernard," Margaret interrupted raggedly. "Please, you can't send us away." As though the other two were not present, Bernard stroked Margaret's brown curls back from her forehead, his love for her unashamedly displayed in his careworn face. "I don't know what else to do. If it is Raoul that's responsible for these fires - and I'm almost sure it is - the man's dangerous, Marg. From what happened this morning, we know he's capable of violence. And I have to go back up north in a day or two, so you'll be alone again. I can't risk anything happening to you or to the boys. Don't you see that?" Margaret, brisk capable Margaret, was silently weeping, her fingers clutching Bernard's thigh as though she were drowning. "I worry about you constantly when you're off in the woods. At least here I can see you and talk to you on the radio; in Toronto I wouldn't even know where you are. I'd go crazy, Bernard, not knowing anything----" "Do you think it isn't like food and drink to me, to have you here when I come home?" Bernard said roughly. "I love you, Marg. But we've got to think of the boys." "I love the boys dearly, of course I do. But I'm your wife, and my place is with you." As she began sobbing unrestrainedly, Bernard gathered her into his arms, pulling her up into his lap and cradling her there, his face torn with indecision. Silently Tor beckoned to Lyn, who was near tears herself, and they left the room together, going into the kitchen and closing the door. "What do you think she should do?" Tor asked. He obviously wanted her opinion; inescapably Lyn was reminded of the occasion when they had, as equals, discussed his painting. Now as then his barriers were down. "I don't know," she said honestly. "It's a real dilemma. She's both mother and wife and the two roles are clashing. For the sake of the boys, maybe she should go to Toronto. But as Bernard's wife, I know she feels her place is here with him." "Split loyalties. What would you do, Lyn, in her shoes?" "Stay," she replied promptly, "If the man I loved needed me - and right now Bernard does need Margaret to be here - then I would stay." "I see." He looked down at her, his face strangely bleak. "He'll be a lucky man, the man you fall in love with, to have such loyalty." If only she could tell him that she was already in love, and that he, Tor, had all her loyalty as well as her heart. With a brittle laugh, she said, "That's pure conjecture, isn't it?" The kitchen was far too small for this kind of a conversation; he seemed to tower over her, dominating the room - and herself - effortlessly, his loosely knit body leaning against the counter, his eyes following her as she restlessly moved as far away from him as she could. "You're the only one who can answer that question. Are you in love with anyone, Lyn?" His gaze pinned her to the wall, as a butterfly would be pinned to a board. Her lashes fluttered down. "Look at me and answer my question." She could not, would not, lie to him. "This is a crazy conversation," she said angrilyv remembering just in time to keep her voice down so the couple in the next room wouldn't hear them. "Stop badgering me!" "A simple yes or no will do." As she glared at him in total frustration, his face hardened. "It would seem I am answered," he said. "So you lied to me about Keith. Because it has to be him, doesn't it?" His voice struck like a

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html whiplash. "Answer me!" "Why should I?" she retaliated. Cheekbones tinted pink, eyes like two green sparks, she was incandescent with anger. "The trouble with you is that everyone always jumps when you snap your fingers. Well, for once I'm not going to!" "So - " he straightened, his movements as slow and deliberate as a jungle cat that has sighted its prey. " - do you have any idea how beautiful you look when you're angry?" Soft-footed, he walked around the table toward her. She could not escape, for behind her was only the door to the living room. "If you lay a finger on me, I'll scream," she threatened, her voice rising in spite of herself. "Then you can explain that to Margaret and Bernard." His attack was as swift as a cat's. His mouth devoured hers, his hands, urgent on her body, ripped through her defenses like claws. As her tumultuous longing for him fought to be free, her puny resistance died. From the other side of the door Bernard said discreetly, "Marg and I are going to bed."

As swiftly as he had seized her, Tor pushed her away, his eyes dark with passion. Casually he said, "Come on in." Lyn turned her back, grabbing the kettle, putting more water in it, and putting it back on the stove. "Do you want more coffee, Bernard?" she babbled. "I think I'll have some." "No, thanks," Bernard said. "It'll boil quicker if you turn on the proper element." "Oh." She blushed, and did as he suggested. Margaret had joined Bernard in the doorway and he put an arm around her, holding her close; she looked very tired, the marks of tears still on her face, while Bernard himself looked as far from the romantic picture of a mounted policeman in red jacket and gleaming boots as it was possible to look. Yet in the tiny kitchen their love for each other shone like a beacon, tangible and real; it brought a lump to Lyn's throat. "Margaret's staying," Bernard said matter-of-factly. "Tomorrow we'll ask the Mansons - you remember them, Lyn, the couple three houses up - to come and stay here at night so Marg and the boys won't be alone." "That seems a reasonable compromise," Tor said. "Look, don't you two get up in the morning. We're going to leave at first light and we can let ourselves out." He held out his hand. "Good luck, Bernard," he said soberly. "And look after yourself." With a glint of mischief, he went on, "May I kiss your wife goodbye?" "You certainly may!" Margaret interjected, and suddenly they were all laughing and the strain of too much emotion was alleviated. Lyn hugged both her friends, promising to keep in touch by radio. Margaret added, "We'll be thinking about you tomorrow night, Lyn. I'm so glad you're going to be reunited with your mother. You deserve the very best. Take care of Lyn, won't you, Tor?" He hesitated a fraction before saying overheartily, "Of course I will." Last good-nights were said and Lyn and Tor were left alone in the kitchen. Lyn switched off the stove. "I don't really want a coffee, do you?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "No." He thrust his hands in his pockets. "Let's go outside for a few minutes. I feel cooped up. Besides, there's something I want to tell you." The confines of the house seemed to offer some kind of protection, although protection against what Lyn could not have figured. "Can't you tell me here?" "No. Come on." Unable to argue, she stepped outside with him. It was pitch dark, the limitless depths of the sky pierced by a myriad of stars, cold and unattainable. But the air was still warm, laden with the scents of lake and forest and the susurration of the leaves in the gentle night breeze. Their footsteps crunched on the gravel. Tor walked a little apart from her, his hands still in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. They passed the scattered houses, some still with rectangular patches of light shining through the windows, others in darkness. The road narrowed, becoming little more than a trail through the woods, and Tor gestured for Lyn to go ahead of him. Surefooted as a deer, her eyes accustomed to the dark, she kept walking until the trail ended in a small clearing on the lakeshore, hedged by spruce and alder. Tiny waves lapped against the rocks. Tor walked to the water's edge, picking up a stone and flinging it far across the water; they both heard the splash as it fell into the lake. "Did you skip fiat rocks when you were a child? My record was eighteen hits before it sank." "Yes, I did," she said shortly, knowing he had not brought her down here to talk about childhood games and sensing that what was to come would not be pleasant. However, she was still unprepared when the blow came. He turned to face her, his shirt a pale blur, his features indistinct. "Tomorrow when we get to Toronto, we'll book into a hotel and have dinner together. After the concert I'll take you backstage to your mother's dressing room so you can meet her. And then I'll leave. You won't want a third person around." "That's probably a good idea," Lyn replied gratefully. "I can always get a taxi back to the hotel." "No." Across the sky a meteorite blazed a brief trail of light as it fell to earth, but neither of them noticed it. "I don't understand," Lyn faltered. "I'm sure your mother will want you to stay with her." "Oh. I suppose so." She broke a branch from one of the shrubs and began stripping off the leaves one by one. "It'll be better when I've met her. I'm finding this whole thing so difficult to visualize." "That's understandable." "When's our flight back to Halifax?" "I'm going back first thing on the Sunday morning." She stared at him, wishing she could see him more clearly. "What about me?" He repeated patiently, "Your mother will probably want you to stay with her." The twig fell to the ground. "You mean for good?" "Yes." "To live with her?" "Yes. She's your mother, after all." "But then I wouldn't see you again." "That's right." His words stabbed her through the darkness as unerringly as knives. "Under the circumstances, that's probably just as well." She felt as though a black cloth had been thrown over her head and she was trying to fight free of it, not knowing whom or what she was fighting. "You can't just walk off and leave me. You're my guardian." "Your mother's claim would outweigh mine." He was right, of course. Terror engulfed her, so that she was ice-cold yet bathed in perspiration at the same time. Her voice sounded disembodied. "But I was starting to get used to Oceanview and to make friends there. I don't want to live in Toronto." "You won't. Your mother's engagement there is relatively brief. You'll

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html travel...to the United States and Europe and Britain...all over the world. Don't forget she's a very famous woman. It's a marvelous opportunity for you." In front of Lyn she felt a chasm open and she trembled on its brink. "You don't want me anymore," she said. He stepped closer; his eyes were twin black pits sunk in the wasteland his face had become. "It's best you stay with your mother," he said with cold finality. "Best for whom?" "For both of us." "I can't believe that." "You must," he said savagely. "Do I have to spell it out for you, Lyn? You know what happens every time we come near each other." He looked around him into the night's velvety darkness. "Do you know what I want to do right now?" There was anguish in his voice as he seized her by the arms. "I want to lie down with you on the grass. I want to take off your clothes and see your body naked under the stars. I want us to kiss each other, touch each other until we know every inch of each other. And then I want to make you mine." He released her so suddenly that she swayed on her feet. "You said I don't want you anymore. Nothing could be farther from the truth." It was the same vicious circle, made more painful by her knowledge that she loved him. He wanted her. She wanted him. But he did not love her, would not marry her. And because he had morals, principles, call them what you will, she thought wearily, he would not make love to her. The outcome of it all was that he wanted her out of his life... the temptation that she represented out of his reach. She said, knowing in advance what his answer would be, yet feeling she had to say it, "You can have me if you want me." "No." The single word was rejection, complete and final. For a moment she thought she would faint from the pain of it. Striving for breath and grateful for the concealment of the night, she focused all her willpower toward staying on her feet and hiding from him the devastating effect of his repudiation. She must have succeeded. He said lifelessly, "There's nothing more to say. Let's go back." This time she followed him, occasionally stumbling over the uneven ground; it seemed to take forever to reach the Whittiers' bungalow. Once indoors, Tor did not bother switching on any lights. "Good night," he said abruptly. "I'll call you in the morning." Her body felt as fragile as a piece of glass, as though it would shatter at a touch. She tried to speak, to wish him good-night in a normal tone of voice, but the words lodged in her throat, choking her. "Oh, Lyn!" he exclaimed, "don't look like that! I'm doing the best I can." She could not endure any more. Already she could feel the hot tears scalding her eyes. Retreating until she could feel the bedroom door at her back, she turned the handle and almost fell into the room. With the last of her strength she closed the door and leaned against the panels, crying soundlessly. He did not love her... he did not love her. Over and over again that single sentence reiterated itself in her brain; it was the death knell to all her hopes. CHAPTER TWELVE

LYN WAS HEAVY-EYED and pale the next morning and disinclined to talk. Tor looked as though he'd had equally little sleep and his manner was brusque enough to ensure that she would keep her distance. As the plane forged up into the sky and Lyn watched the wharf and houses grow steadily smaller, she wondered when she would return - or if she would return. If Tor was right arid she was to live with her mother, it might be a long time. Famous violinists, she was sure, did not visit places like Sioux Lake. She leaned back in her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html seat as the engine settled down to a steady droning and closed her eyes. What would she be like, this unknown woman whose picture adorned the covers of countless records... who had played for kings and queens and presidents around the world? Why, so long ago, had she abandoned her baby daughter and never sought her out? For it was Tor who had done the searching, not Diana Lynley. Maybe this evening she would find out the answers to some of these questions. As they winged steadily southward, she drifted into an uneasy sleep, punctuated by nightmares... she was sinking into a muskeg, a sea of black mud, and one by one her father, her mother, Tor, bade her mocking farewells and left her to die alone.... A hand was shaking her sleeve. "Wake up - you're dreaming." Her eyes flew open and beside her was the face of the nightmare, corroded by bitterness, harsh and withdrawn. She shuddered uncontrollably, jerking her arm free and staring out of the window so she would not have to look at him. It was with deep relief that she saw below her the sprawling network of roads and buildings that was the outskirts of Toronto. The journey was nearly over. The taxi drive downtown and the arrival at the hotel had an eerie sense of repetition to the girl. Only a short time ago she had stood in this same lobby, ill at ease and afraid. Now she fitted perfectly into her surroundings, her well-cut suit and chic hairdo giving her the outward assurance she had lacked. But she was still afraid... afraid that Tor meant what he had said last night and that this was the last evening she would spend in his company... afraid of the meeting with that unknown and frighteningly accomplished woman, her mother.... Their dinner together could not have been called a success. Lyn by now was in a pathetic state of nerves and ate scarcely anything, while Tor had retreated behind a barrier of good-mannered impersonal conversation. She could have been anyone, Lyn thought bitterly. Their arrival at Massey Hall was a welcome distraction. It was a vast red brick building with gold light spilling out onto the sidewalk. The crowd moved decorously up the stairs, carrying Lyn and Tor with them, and within a few minutes the couple was seated in the front row of the balcony, one of the most expensive seats in the house, had Lyn but known it. She looked around her, greatly impressed by the tiers of rapidly filling seats, the high ornamented ceiling, the hum of conversation and the crackle of programs. The program showed a picture of her mother, quotes of highly commendatory reviews and then brief notes on the music Lyn was to hear: Tchaikovsky's Pathétique symphony and his Violin Concerto in D. So she would not have the first glimpse of her mother until after the intermission. Poised as Lyn was on the brink of losing the man she loved and meeting a mother she could not even remember, the symphony seemed to speak to her alone - of futility, longing and despair. After the last lament had died away and the silence had been broken by what seemed to Lyn as an incongruously loud and satisfied outburst of clapping, she sat quietly, her hands in her lap, unable to shake free of the dire foreboding the music had instilled in her. Respecting her silence, Tor muttered a brief excuse and left her alone, his tall figure soon merging with the crowd. Before she knew it he was back, his eyes resting momentarily on her white knuckles clenched around the program and on the pallor of her exquisite features. The members of the orchestra started wandering in with the usual cacophony of tuning. The first violinist and the single note of the oboe... then a hush, forceful and expectant, fell over orchestra and audience. It was a moment Lyn never forgot, that first sight of her mother. From the wings came two figures, a woman and a man. As both bowed to the audience's tumultuous welcome, Lyn had eyes only for the woman. A slender figure, not tall, wearing a long dress of unrelieved black, full-skirted and tight-sleeved, above which her face rose pale and incandescent under the high crown of auburn hair. Silence fell and into it the conductor, a portly black-bearded figure, spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "Miss Lynley has an announcement to make." Clear and bell-like, Diana Lynley's voice reached the farthest seats at the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html back of the hall. "I would like to dedicate this performance of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto to my daughter, Lyn, who is in the audience tonight." It seemed to Lyn as though that regal figure was looking straight at her; her eyes blurred with tears as the audience, after an instant's mute attention, again began to clap. Then the conductor raised his baton and the concerto began. Afterward Lyn had no recollection of time passing. Orchestra, conductor and soloist wove a spell of dancing, exultant music that would remain in her heart forever. Added to this was a series of images: flashing white fingers pulsating on the strings, a graceful black-clad arm wielding the slender bow with absolute sureness, a bent head and listening attitude as the orchestra played without the soloist. Diana Lynley...her mother. Somehow, because of the spoken dedication and because of the sparkling radiance of the music, Lyn's fears had left her. Through the vehicle of music Diana Lynley was welcoming her only daughter, speaking to her of the love and laughter they would share, assuring her she was wanted. All would be well--Still uplifted by this assurance, Lyn followed Tor confidently down the dark passageway backstage. It was only when they halted a short distance from a closed brown-painted door beneath a dim overhead light that her spirits quailed. Tor turned to face her. He was wearing full evening dress, a black tuxedo and immaculate white shirt, in which he looked devastatingly attractive. But his blue eyes were hooded and remote and when he spoke his voice was clipped to the point of arrogance. "In a couple of days perhaps you could give me a phone call, just to let me know your whereabouts and your plans." "Do you care about either one?" she whispered. "Don't start that again, Lyn. Your place is with your mother. I've already told you that." "So this is goodbye." In the grip of a force stronger than herself, she walked up to him and standing on tiptoe, deliberately kissed him on the mouth. Then she stepped back, her green eyes liquid with unshed tears. "Goodbye, Tor," she said huskily. Knowing she could not even think of the implications of his departure, she added, "I shall never forget you." Moving with the same strange deliberation, she turned her back on him, walked to the door and tapped on its panels. Behind her she heard the echo of his retreating footsteps, while in front of her, from behind the door, a voice called imperiously, "Come in." She took a deep steadying breath and opened the door. The dressing room was dingy and cramped, and the flowers that covered every available space looked completely out of place, nor could their heavy scent quite mask the staleness of the air. Diana Lynley had been seated at a small table in front of a mirror. Now as Lyn entered she stood up and faced the girl. She was shorter than Lyn, but even so she dominated the room, the regal bearing she had exhibited on the stage as much a part of her as the wide-spaced gray eyes that now surveyed her daughter dispassionately. "So you are Lyn," she said, each word clear and beautifully modulated. Lyn stood still, her first impulse to rush across the room and throw herself into her mother's arms dying stillborn. "Yes," she heard herself say, "I'm Lyn." "Mr. Hansen did not wait?" "No." "How very tactful of him. But then the man was obviously a born diplomat." There did not seem any reply Lyn could make to this. All her emotions suspended, she watched her mother extract a cigarette from a jeweled gold case and light it with a matching gold lighter, each movement imbued with natural grace. Finally Lyn could stand the silence no longer. She said awkwardly, "The concerto was beautiful. Thank you for dedicating it to me." "How much do you know about music?" Lyn blushed. "Virtually nothing." Before her courage could desert her, she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html said, "My father would not allow any music to be played all the years I was growing up." She had all Diana's attention now. "Would he not? I suppose that's understandable under the circumstances." "What circumstances?" Lyn burst out. "What happened anyway? Why did you leave and never even write to me all those years?" Until now she had not even realized the depth of her resentment. "He told you that I left?" "He told me nothing!" Diana's face was pale. "Not... my name, or what I was doing or anything about me?" "Nothing. It was as though you didn't exist. When I was very young, I used to ask questions about you but he got so angry I was frightened and had to stop. He wouldn't have answered anyway." For a moment Diana rested her head on her hands, her face convulsed with a spasm of some violent emotion. Grief? Anger? Lyn could not have said. Then the moment passed and the beautiful face was as impassive as before. However, for the first time Lyn saw the signs of age in her mother's face: the tiny wrinkles at the corners of the artfully made-up eyes, the faint looseness of the fine pale skin, and she remembered that only a short while ago her mother had given a taxing public performance. "Perhaps we should leave all this for now," she said gently. "You must be very tired and it's late." "No. You have waited long enough. It would seem both Paul and I have done you harm and it is time the truth was told." She glanced at the slim figure in the flame-colored dress and there was the slightest of smiles on her lips. "Let us at least be as comfortable as is possible here. Why don't you sit down?" Lyn pulled out the hardbacked wooden chair Diana had indicated and sank down on it, her skirts falling in heavy folds to the floor. Quietly she waited for Diana to begin. "When I met your father I was twenty-three. A shy, innocent, solemn girl, utterly wrapped up in music. He was easily the most handsome man I'd ever seen; he was fifteen years older than I, already established as a geologist, with a growing reputation in his field. He seemed to have a genius for discovering unknown sources of oil, so of course he was also very wealthy. We met, we fell in love, and in three weeks we were married." She paused, her eyes focused on the opposite wall but actually seeing something very different that brought a soft reminiscent smile to her lips. "How young I was! And how happy...so many years ago." She looked over at her daughter. "Have you ever been in love?" Startled, Lyn stammered, "I - well, I - " "So you have. Then you know what it's like." Wanting only to change the subject, Lyn asked bluntly, "What went wrong?" Diana grimaced. "Reality. Cold hard reality... that's what came between us." There was more than a trace of bitterness in her voice. "At first, you see, we lived in Toronto. I was with the symphony, doing the occasional solo recital in small towns in the area and studying under Klaus Erjavec, who then lived in Toronto; and Paul's work was centered at the university here. So there were no conflicts. But then a violinist who was booked in a concert series that was to travel across eastern Canada became very ill, and they needed a replacement. Klaus put my name forward. It was my first big chance." Her face was suddenly lighted by the same passionate intensity of the Diana of twenty years ago. "I had to take it. But it meant I would be away for two or three months. When I told Paul, we had a terrible quarrel. He accused me of putting my career ahead of my marriage, and I accused him of trying to box me in, of turning me into a housewife. How I stormed and raged and wept!" She smiled faintly. "I was very young." She reached for her cigarette case and lighted another cigarette. "In the end we effected some kind of a compromise and I went. But of course the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html trouble had started. I did well on that tour and so it led to another, more prestigious one. Our life became a series of violent battles interspersed with equally tempestuous reconciliations... until I discovered I was pregnant." Breathlessly Lyn waited. "I wanted you, Lyn, don't ever doubt that. For I still loved Paul, you see. But I couldn't give up my career. Music was like the breath of life to me." Her voice again became dry, matter-of-fact, as with slim ringless fingers she tapped her cigarette on the ashtray and said, "I was very ill after you were born, so altogether I was home for over a year. An idyllic year - Paul and I and our baby daughter. But all the way through those months I knew we were only biding our time. Call it fool's paradise, if you like. "Klaus came to see me one day when you were about fourteen months old. Dear Klaus...he's been my agent for years now, I don't know how I'd manage without him. You'll meet him later, no doubt. For him, as for myself, music has always been as important as air. Well...Klaus had wonderful news, a chance for me with the Berlin Philharmonic, but I'd have to fly to Europe immediately for auditions. It was unquestionably the opportunity of a lifetime. To make a long story short, I said yes and Paul said no. Within two days you and I and a hired nanny had left for Europe. I don't think Paul ever forgave me for that, even though we both still traveled back and forth across the Atlantic and the same old pattern of quarrels and reconciliations continued. Finally that engagement ended and a new one, in London, was to begin in three months. I flew home, determined to try and patch things up. I still could not believe that marriage and music had to be irreconcilable - that was how naive I was." She fell silent, her eyes shadowed with the ghosts of old memories and Lyn knew they were coming to the crux of the matter. She spared a moment to marvel at this new image of her father, a man driven across two continents by his all-consuming love for his beautiful and talented wife. Diana went on slowly, "When I got home, Paul gave me an ultimatum. I could have one or the other: marriage or a career. Not both. I would have to choose once and for all which was more important to me." She took a long-stemmed rose from one of the bouquets and began pulling off its petals; they drifted, blood-red, to the floor. "That was the worst three months of my life. How could I choose between music and my family? It was impossible. Even so, I knew we could not go on as we were, tearing each other apart, destroying each other. Finally I told him I was leaving him, that I would take you to England with me and set up my own household there. He took it far too quietly. I should have been warned. "The next morning I had to go out to settle some financial details and to see a lawyer; it was your nanny's day off. When I got home, the house was empty. Paul and you were gone." She shivered, tearing the petals into shreds. "I'll never forget the utter silence of the house, pressing on me like a weight... smothering me---When I managed to pull myself together enough to look around, I discovered he had taken nothing with him except you, and had left no note. Not a word. "I won't go into detail about the next few weeks. Through Paul's lawyer I discovered he had left instructions for the house and all its contents to be sold and the proceeds to go to charity. But no one knew his whereabouts, and although I tried every means I could think of to trace him, they all ended in failure. You had both vanished. I never found out where he'd gone or what happened to either of you---" A thorn pricked Diana's finger and she gave a tiny exclamation of pain. It seemed to bring her back to the present and she said with an assumption of briskness, "Well, the rest you know. I made a career for myself in music and you were brought up in the wilds of Ontario. It took Tor Hansen to bring us together." Not looking at Lyn, Diana got up and went over to a built-in wardrobe by the door, where she pulled out an outfit of street clothes. Lyn sat stunned, her mind grappling with her mother's revelation. It had explained so much: the isolation of the cabin, Paul's violent rages when his red-haired daughter showed a love of music, his inability to give her the love and affection she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html craved. More than all this, though, she now understood why she had never heard from her mother all those long years and the last vestige of an old resentment dropped from her. Wanting to share this with Diana, longing to hold her close and to be held, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time, Lyn said tentatively, "Mother...?" Diana had stripped off her long black gown and was now wearing a severely cut dark gray suit, the blouse with a froth of lace at wrist and collar. She made a last-minute adjustment to the belt, eyeing herself objectively in the long mirror, before saying coolly, "I would prefer you to call me Diana, I think." With a tiny brush she touched up her lipstick, then glanced at the silent girl in the chair. "Well, this has been a long day. It's probably time you went back to your hotel, isn't it?" Although visibly Lyn did not move, her spirits shrank within her and her half-formed visions of establishing a loving closeness with her mother were shattered. Once again she was not wanted. Paul Selby was dead now, but still he lay between mother and daughter like a sword, his presence as real in the tiny room as if he had stood there in the flesh. The past had won...she, Lyn, would always be alone, as distant from her living mother as from her dead father. She never knew what she would have said, for as she sat there frozen in her chair, there came a three-note tap at the door; she was too wrapped up in her own feelings to see the wild relief in Diana's eyes. A man entered, a short stout man in a tuxedo. "Are you ready to leave, Diana? They want to lock up." Shrewd gray eyes under bushy eyebrows noticed what Lyn had not - the tremor in Diana's fingers, the tension in her slim throat, but he ignored these signs as well as the strained atmosphere, adding impetuously, "So this is the long lost daughter!" With firm hands he lifted Lyn to her feet, kissing her in the European fashion on each cheek and then standing back from her. "I would have known you anywhere," he said, tactfully ignoring the pale cheeks and the tears that sprang to the wide green eyes. "You are very like your mother - not quite as beautiful, perhaps, but then I'm prejudiced." His kindly eyes, the warmth of his grip, enabled Lyn to find her voice. "Never as beautiful," she said, glancing at the slender, elegant woman by the door. "And I cannot play a note!" "Ah, she plays like an angel, does she not?" Then Diana also found her voice. "You are an old flatterer, Klaus!" she said, and suddenly all three were laughing and some of the tension evaporated. "Now," said Klaus briskly, "we will go back to the hotel and both of you will go to bed. We can find Lyn a room in your suite tonight, Diana." He patted Diana's shoulder. "You must rest, dear heart, for soon we will be traveling again. Come now, I have a taxi waiting outside." They went to a different hotel than Tor's, Lyn was glad to notice, although it was equally luxurious in a more modernistic style. She was not at all surprised to find that Diana had a suite of rooms on the top floor, with glass doors leading to a small enclosed garden on the roof, for her mother, she had already realized, was a wealthy woman. Diana showed Lyn a smaller room off the living-room area; standing by the bed was Lyn's suitcase, which, she supposed, Tor must have had sent from his own hotel. It seemed like a final symbol of his abandonment. He was finished with her; Diana did not want her. Where was she to go? As all this had been flashing through her mind, Diana had been moving around the room, drawing the drapes, switching on the bedside lamp, unnecessarily shifting the telephone; in another, less graceful woman, it would have been called fidgeting. From the opposite side of the bed she said brightly, "Well, I hope you'll sleep well, Lyn. Your plane doesn't leave before noon tomorrow, does it?" "No," Lyn said bleakly. "Good! Then we can all have lunch together." She came around to the door, passing within two feet of her daughter, but making no effort to bridge the gap. "Good night," she said, briefly losing

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html that all too perfect poise to add, "I...I truly am glad you're here." A quick, overbright smile and she was gone, closing the door softly behind her. The weight of the whole day suddenly fell upon Lyn: the departure from Sioux Lake, the glorious concert, the agonizing estrangement from Tor, followed so soon by the tragic story of her parents' marriage and by the realization of the unbridgeable gap between her and Diana. It was all too much. Listlessly she hung up the gorgeous taffeta dress and pulled on her nightdress. In these elegant surroundings in a city of more than two million people, with her mother only a few feet away and Tor within walking distance, she felt more alone than she had ever been in her life. MORNING CAME TOO EARLY. Still feeling that dead weight upon her heart, Lyn showered and dressed in a cool uncrushable dress of pale yellow jersey. Today, as always, she wore the slender gold chain that had been Tor's mother's. It seemed important that outwardly she look her best, so she took time over her makeup and grooming, and only when she was satisfied with her appearance did she walk into the living room, where Klaus was sitting in an armchair reading the newspaper, his genial face wreathed in smoke from an ancient brier pipe. "Ah! Good morning, Lyn. I was waiting for you. I hate to eat alone in a restaurant, so will you indulge me by having breakfast with me?" "I'd like that," she said sincerely. If only her mother could exhibit even a fraction of the natural warmth and friendliness that was such an integral part of Klaus's personality! As they were whisked downward in the elevator, Klaus remarked, "While we eat, we will talk of such matters as the weather and the latest political scandal; I cannot deal with more serious topics on an empty stomach." He patted his waistcoat, his eyes twinkling. "But afterward, we will go for a stroll and I will tell you more about your mother, which will help you to understand her...ah, here we are." He gestured for Lyn to precede him. After a delicious meal of chilled melon followed by waffles soaked in syrup, Klaus relighted his pipe. "So! Are we ready?" There was still a trace of early-morning coolness in the air as they strolled along University Avenue; instead of the trees of Lyn's home in Lake of Islands, there was a forest of tall gray buildings; instead of the lakes and streams, the splash of fountains. No wilderness silence, only the ceaseless roar of traffic. No untidy tangled wildflowers, but geometric patches of color flanking the monuments. A different world, the girl thought keenly, but an exciting one, one whose energy and drive she was only just beginning to appreciate. They had turned onto Queen Street and Klaus steered her toward the open expanse of Nathan Phillips Square with the flowing curves of the new City Hall, the arches of cement over the water, and again the fountains, flags and gardens. "The heart of the city," he said contentedly. "Let us sit down." The sun shone on his grizzled hair and stocky frame as he puffed away at his pipe, which was, Lyn thought with amusement, decidedly strong-smelling. When he finally had it going to his satisfaction, he said, "Now tell me about yourself. About this lake where you grew up, about your father and your friends. And how you came to be in Halifax." His interest was so genuine that Lyn could not refuse him. Slowly at first, but then losing herself in the narrative, she described the life she had led for so many contented years until its disruption by Paul's death. But when she tried to explain the conflicts that Tor's arrival had caused and some of the upsets of the early days in Halifax, her words began to stumble and finally she stopped. "There is more here than meets the eye," Klaus said shrewdly. "You are in love with him, hein?" She blushed, staring at the fountains. "Is it that obvious?" she said miserably. He patted her knee. "It is nothing to be ashamed of, being in love." "When it is so completely one-sided, then I think it is." Her voice was so low that he had to strain to catch the words.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "So, he does not return your love?" A shake of the down-bent head. "A formidable man, Tor Hansen. I met him briefly when he first came to see your mother. And of course, a magnificent artist. But they are never the easiest of people to live with.... You are sure he does not love you?" "Quite sure." Her lip trembled. "You see, he's more or less kicked me out. He's expecting me to make my home with my mother from now on." She glanced at the clock on the old city hall. "He's already left for Halifax by now, I should imagine." "Tcha! And Diana, I am sure, is expecting you to go back to Halifax." "Exactly." Her figure drooped forlornly. Choosing his words carefully, Klaus said, "You felt your mother was perhaps cold,'uncaring?" "Yes." She met the kind gray eyes. "Yes, I did." "She would give that appearance to one who does not know her well. I wonder if I can explain it to you?" He paused thoughtfully. "You mentioned being in love. I have always loved your mother from the first day I set eyes on her, and I always will. She - well, she is fond of me. But she loved Paul Selby passionately, holding nothing back. And she loved you the same way. But for her the result of that love was turmoil, conflict and pain. In the end she lost both husband and daughter, and this in a most terrible way, never knowing what had happened to either of you. She nearly lost her reason for a while, and if she had not had the solace of music I think she might have killed herself." Lyn must have made a tiny sound of distress. "Were you there then, Klaus?" "Always... how could I leave her?" Lyn laid her hand over his blunt fingers, her eyes misted with tears. "I am glad you were there when she needed you." He cleared his throat. "I could not have stayed away. But you see, the way she coped with that dreadful loss, those months of searching and searching and never finding, was to throw herself into music. Love had betrayed her, music would not. So more or less subconsciously, I think, she decided never to love again, never to trust strong emotions. She closed that side of her nature that was woman and mother, and now we only hear it through her music." "I heard it," Lyn said quietly, "when she played the concerto for me." "Yes. But afterward, face to face with you, she was helpless. Frightened. I do not think 'terrified' is too strong a word. She is afraid to love you, for love to her means loss." "I understand." And indeed she did. "But - is there anything I can do?" "My only advice is not to push her. Let her take her time. This has been a tremendous shock to her and I am sure it has revived many memories, both good and bad. Be patient, Lyn - which is never easy advice for the young, is it?" Lyn was able to laugh again. "It's good advice, nevertheless. Thank you so much for telling me all this, Klaus. I really appreciate it." "A pleasure, Liebling. But now the question becomes what you arc to do next. We fly to Vancouver tonight - " "So soon?" She was dismayed. "But we will be back in Toronto by the end of the week. Could you stay here until then, and we will arrange another meeting with Diana?" "I don't see how. I have very little money." "Pah! That is no problem." He shrugged his heavy shoulders. "I have more than I know what to do with, and who better to spend it on than Diana's daughter? There is another possibility: perhaps you would prefer to go to your old home for a few days?" "I could do that. I could stay with Margaret and Bernard. You remember I mentioned them to you." "Good! I will make your reservations at the hotel for the whole weelc, anyway, and then you can come and go as you please. Now let us go back. Diana should be up by now." Strengthened by her new understanding of her mother's manner, Lyn was able to be friendly and warm with Diana without making any emotional demands on

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html her, and she was rewarded by seeing Diana relax and respond to her company. Klaus arranged for a taxi to take him and Diana to the airport that evening and when the bellboy came for the near-bursting suitcases, Diana got up from her chair, picked up her alligator bag and slipped into matching pumps. She walked steadily over to Lyn. The kiss she placed on the girl's cheek was featherlight, only a brush of lips, but to Lyn infinitely precious. "Goodbye, Lyn," she said. "I'll see you in a few days." Although Lyn longed to throw her arms around Diana, she knew she must not, for it would destroy the delicate balance of communication that she had been so careful to establish. She contented herself with saying, "Goodbye, Diana. I'll look forward to that." As Klaus kissed her on both cheeks, she could see the approval on his face and knew she had done well, and she carried this warming thought with her all evening. NEXT MORNING when she called the airport, she was unable to charter a flight to Sioux Lake until Thursday morning at the earliest; she made the reservation and hung up, frowning thoughtfully. Three days alone in Toronto, where she did not know a soul, before she would see Bernard and Margaret - or perhaps only Margaret. She had bought the morning paper and the fires were still raging through the forests north of Sioux Lake, so Margaret was probably alone again. How frustrating, to be so near and yet so far! Because she had no choice in the matter - she could not possibly go to Halifax - she made up her mind to try to enjoy the next three days. At the main desk of the hotel she gathered a pile of tourist literature, then she put on her most comfortable shoes and set out. She wandered through the waterfront parks, gaped at the splendors of Casa Loma, was intrigued by the wonders of the Science Centre. She traveled on buses, subways and taxis; heart in her mouth, she climbed the CN tower. The days were busy and interesting; the evenings she did not enjoy. She did not like eating dinner alone, for instance. She could have had company, she was not so naive that she did not realize that; in a city of elegant and lovely women, she attracted attention not only by her beauty but also by a certain quality of freshness that was unusual. But she did not want to be with just anyone. She wanted, she thought despairingly, to be with Tor. As the hours of waiting went by, she found him almost continually on her mind. It started simply enough. Images of him would flash across her memory... the easy swing of his shoulders as he paddled the canoe, his loose-limbed walk, the characteristic turn of his head with its thatch of black curls...his body. At night she would remember his body...the taut lines of chest and belly, the long muscular legs, the lean well-kept hands. She would ache to feel those hands caress her flesh... to feel his lips on her breast, his hips crushing her into the bed. In the darkness, her eyes wide open, she would whisper his name and it seemed impossible that across the miles that separated them he would not hear her. But perhaps he was consoling himself with Helena; the bitter jealousy this aroused kept her awake for hours. Then somehow the quality of her emotion changed. From needing him, she began to feel anxious about him...worried. More and more convinced" that something was wrong. She tried to shrug this off, telling herself she was becoming neurotic and morbid, that her imagination was playing tricks on her. When on two or three occasions she found herself in a telephone booth prepared to phone him, something - a queer kind of pride - stopped her from actually dialing. The last person on earth Tor wanted to hear from was herself. He had said goodbye to her; he was finished with her. But some deep feminine intuition would not allow such dismissals, and her sense of foreboding increased. On Wednesday afternoon, a cool overcast day, she was in one of the downtown markets, surrounded by vegetables, fruit and fresh flowers, by bargaining shoppers and gesticulating salesmen - a busy and fascinating sight for the girl from Lake of Islands. She had picked out a crisp red apple and was just paying for it, when from nowhere her whole body

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html was suddenly invaded by an anguish, a physical agony that she knew was Tor's. The color drained from her face and she gasped as though the pain was her own. "You okay, lady?" She opened terrified green eyes. "He's hurt - he must be hurt," she stammered incoherently. "Please, do you have a telephone?" "Over there - behind that leather-goods stall. Sure you're okay?" She muttered something and fled to the phone, forgetting her apple. There was only one booth and it was already occupied by a long-haired, not very clean, teenager who seemed to be having an overly intimate conversation with her boyfriend. In a fever of impatience Lyn waited. As she stood there, blind to the bustle of activity all around, the urgency of Tor's call - for she did not doubt that he had called her - slowly faded. Her hands stopped shaking and her heartbeat returned to normal, although she felt desperately tired. The teenager, with a final chorus of protestations and giggles, hung up and Lyn moved into the booth. Without consciously having made a decision, she dialed, not Tor's number but the number for Air Canada reservations. It came as no surprise to learn that there had just been a cancellation on the evening flight to Halifax, and yes, she could have a seat. She put down the phone and marshaled her thoughts. Back to the hotel, pack, leave a note for Klaus and Diana, cancel her flight to Sioux Lake, have a quick snack and get a taxi to the airport... she would have to hurry. She ran out to the street, and as though she had been doing it all her life, hailed a taxi.... CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SEVERAL HOURS LATER another taxi left Lyn at the head of Tor's driveway. It was late, pitch dark, the street deserted. She picked up her suitcase and began walking down the lane between the tall trees. Even from here she caught a hint of roses, the scent carried on the summer breeze. The Hollmans' cottage was shrouded in darkness, and in the main house only one light shone, from Tor's studio. Now that she was here, Lyn was seized by a paralyzing doubt: what if she had imagined that desperate appeal in the marketplace? What if she were to go upstairs and find Tor contentedly painting? How would she explain her presence? Worse still, what if he were there with Helena? She, Lyn, would be the last person he would want to see. Panic-stricken, she hesitated, her suitcase as heavy as lead, her body aware of all the strains and tensions of the past few days. Then to her ears came the wash of the sea upon the shore; its endless rhythmic sighing calmed her and she knew she could not have imagined that wave of agony that had crashed upon her only hours ago. Somehow, for a reason she could not know, Tor needed her.... She took her key from her handbag and quietly opened the door. As she walked into the hall, she had the immediate sensation of having come home; the house welcomed her back. Moving with a calm deliberation she went to her room, where she took off her suit, delved into the back of her closet, and pulled on the pair of jeans and the soft knit T-shirt she had worn on her first trip from Lake of Islands to Halifax. Then she brushed her hair back and scrubbed her face clean of makeup; it was as though she wanted to shake off the city, to become the girl Tor had first known. At last she was ready. Wraithlike, her slender figure glided down the hallway until barred by the closed door of the studio. There was utter silence from within. No footsteps. None of the tiny sounds that would indicate Tor's presence. Only a dead waiting silence. Lyn turned the knob and on oiled hinges the door swung open. Appalled, the girl stood in the doorway. The place was in a shambles. Used brushes and drifts of torn-off sketch paper, white as snow, were scattered over the big oval table. A chair was overturned. Jars of turpentine and linseed oil had spilled on the bench, and their heavy pungent odor wafted to her nostrils. The air was stiflingly warm,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html redolent of yet another odor that she could not place, while across her bare arms the faintest of breezes moved gently, insinuatingly, and around the single lamp on the bench brown-winged moths fluttered in a dance of death. No windows open, yet a breeze.... Moving with instinctive stealth, she walked over to the far wall, made entirely of glass. The first row of windowpanes was shoulder height and two of them were smashed, each with a gaping jagged-edged hole as though a rock or a fist had been driven through them. Then, and only then, did Lyn turn her attention to the bunk built into the wall in one corner. Tor was lying on it, as she had known he would be. All her emotions suspended, she approached him, picking her way around heaps of scattered canvases, and noticed by the bed an empty glass and a bottle of whiskey, three-quarters empty. He stank of alcohol. Sprawled face down, breathing stertorously, his half-naked body was glazed with sweat, his hair in damp curls. One arm hung limply over the side of the bed and in his sleep the fingers twitched. The other hand, loose on the pillow, was wrapped with a blood-stained bandage. Emotion could be suspended no longer. Such a powerful mingling of compassion and tenderness swept over her that she almost cried out. What unbearable pain had brought him to such a state, driving him to drink himself unconscious? What had so subdued his proud, arrogant spirit? Purposely not touching him - for she knew once she did, that she would be lost - she backed away and began walking around the room, her brain racing. Tor, and Tor alone, was responsible for the chaos she saw everywhere; he had driven his fist through the windows and there were drops of dried blood in a trail from the window to the sink. Berserk as a caged animal, he had gone on a rampage of destruction. Why, why, why? Still another shock was in store for her. She had halted by the table, brow furrowed in an intensity of thought, and idly her eyes had skimmed the scattered papers. Her own face stared back at her. Slowly at first, then more rapidly, she sifted through the papers. All of them had sketches on them, sketches of herself: laughing, serious, face tilted in inquiry, drawing after drawing. Then her eyes saw the only easel left standing, which, because it had been shoved against the wall, she had missed until now. Turning it around so that she could see the canvas resting on the rack, she found the beginnings of a portrait. Blushing slightly, she saw herself rising out of the waters of the lake, her naked body bathed in golden sunlight, the same light flashing from the ripples and gilding the reeds like metal spears; behind her the sky was a brilliant, aching blue. Lyn righted the fallen chair and sank down on it, her knees weak. All around her was the evidence of a man obsessed, driven to the brink of madness by a woman - and that woman was herself. Love seemed too mild a word to express the violence that hung in the air, palpable as the stench of paint and turpentine and alcohol. Shaken and humbled, she rested her head on her arms.... A movement and a muffled groan jolted her awake. She raised her burnished head, eyes still drowned with sleep. Across the room Tor was staring at her, his face a rictus of despair. "Lyn! You look so real, as though I...I could touch you." Something that was almost a sob racked his big body. "Can't you even leave me alone in my dreams?" At the base of her throat the pulse began to beat, fluttering like the wings of the circling moths. Sleep fell from her; every detail of the room had the painful, burning clarity of one of Tor's paintings. But when she spoke her voice was low-pitched and soothing, "lam real." "Real!" he groaned. "No, it's a nightmare...an endless nightmare...I wish to God I'd never met you." He had heaved himself half-upright, and now he sat on the edge of the bunk, his dark head buried in his hands, the line of his back defeated, broken. The raw pain in his voice had made her flinch, and her assumed calm became even more of an imposture. "Tor, I'm really here. This is no dream."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Slowly he looked up, his face ravaged by a private agony. "No---" "Yes." She clasped her hands in her lap to stop their trembling. By a superhuman effort of will he got to his feet and stood there, swaying. "Lyn...?" That single word was so tentatively, so despairingly spoken that the girl threw caution to the winds. She did not understand the cataclysm that was destroying him. All she knew was that for her to withhold her help and compassion now would be the most bitter wrong she could do him. She, too, stood up and swiftly closed the gap between them. "I am here," she said, speaking as slowly and clearly as if to a child. "You're not alone anymore." He almost fell on her, his arms a stranglehold, as though he wanted to imprint his flesh on hers for all time. She staggered under his weight. "It's you," he muttered. "It's really you. You came back." His breathing was hoarse in her ear and his embrace was almost smothering her, but none of this mattered, for her heart was beginning to sing within her. He must love her... mustn't he? What else could explain this desperate clinging, as if he were afraid she would disappear if he let go? Just as she thought her ribs would crack, he loosened his hold. She looked up, her eyes as bright with promise as a springtime leaf, and in his eyes she saw the first shock of reality. His face tightened and suddenly he pushed her away so roughly that she fell against the table, its hard edge catching her side. He drew his hand across his eyes and shook his head like a tormented animal. "What the hell's going on?" she heard him whisper, and then, his voice roughening, "I've had too much to drink; you shouldn't be here." She was not to be deflected. "Maybe not, but I am." She could see the struggle he was having to pull himself together and resume that iron control that was so much a part of him; it was an effort that brought beads of sweat to his forehead and made rivulets of sweat run down the corded muscles of his throat. His skin had a deathly pallor under its tan. It was not only his abused body that he was fighting to marshal; she knew he was working equally hard to clear the mists from his brain and beat back the debilitating effects of the alcohol, he had consumed. It was a struggle that lasted only a minute or two; yet to the watching girl it seemed an age and she felt his exhaustion as her own. Finally his eyes were clear and sane and he was able to hold himself upright. "What time is it?" he muttered. She glanced at the tiny gold clock almost hidden among the papers on the table. "Two o'clock," she said, surprised that it could be so late. "What day?" "Thursday - just." "I've lost a day somewhere." He looked around the shambles of his studio and repeated angrily, "You shouldn't be here." "Why did you do it, Tor?" He answered her question with one of his own. "Why are you here?" Then, in a lightning-swift change of mood, his face became irradiated with a strange mixture of hope and amazement. "Your mother...things didn't work out with your mother? Is that why you're back?" "Well - not altogether." "What do you mean? Does she or doesn't she want you to live with her?" She couldn't understand the urgency in his rush of words. "Maybe eventually she will," she said carefully. "But not right away." Already his manner had grown more withdrawn. "You'd better explain." "It's a rather long story," she said apologetically. "Do you mind if I sit down?" His impatience was just barely under restraint. "Of course not. Now go on." So she recited the story of her parents' marriage and separation, and of Klaus's interpretation of her mother's coolness. "He says it will take time for her to learn to love me and that I mustn't rush her. I'm seeing her again

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html this weekend." Throughout her recital his face had grown steadily grimmer. "So you haven't really come back to stay at all?" he said with dangerous quietness. "You're just killing time, as it were?" "No, that's not so," she disclaimed, valiantly trying to hide her growing unease. "Then why did you come back?" he demanded. "Answer me!" This was not going at all the way she had thought it would. A few moments ago she had been half-convinced he loved her; now he was looking at her with something akin to hatred. She heard herself say defensively, "I came back because.... Tor, this will sound crazy, but it actually happened." She plunged on. "I was at the Kensington Market - you know where that is - buying an apple when...when I felt you calling me, as though you needed me. You were in pain. I know you were." Her words barely audible, she finished, "So I came home," and waited for him to laugh at her, to swamp her with ridicule. "When was this?" His own voice was strained. "This afternoon, at just a little after three." "Four o'clock here. At five minutes after four I smashed these windows. I know the exact time because I broke my watch doing it." Their eyes interlocked. Lyn shivered, feeling as though she had been brushed by the supernatural, the inexplicable. "I've read about things like that," she said, trying weakly to joke about it. "But I never thought they'd happen to me." "I don't like it," he said flatly. "And I don't find it in the least bit funny. It's as though we're bound together by forces I don't understand - and can't control." His voice had the bite of steel. "I wanted you out of my life, Lyn. And now here you are again." Feeling flayed by his cruel words, she got to her feet. She picked up a sheaf of the sketches and flung them across the table at him. "It doesn't look to me as though you want me out of your life," she said. "Judging by the look of this room, I would have said the exact opposite." He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table, the light casting deep shadows over his face and naked torso. "You little witch!" he grated. "Don't you remember one word of that conversation we had down by the shore at Sioux Lake? For the sake of my sanity I told you to get out of my life. I have to learn to live without you - and I'll do that my own way. I don't want you to come running every five minutes to pick up the pieces." He came around the table and shook her as he would a rag doll. "Is that clear?" Her head swimming, she could see only blazing blue eyes, a slash of mouth. But some core of strength from deep within her forbade her to give in to the tears that were clouding her eyes. She choked, "You're like my mother - you're afraid of emotion. So you're running away, aren't you? Hiding from - " "Afraid, am I? Running away?" His voice was savage and she knew she had touched some deep inner nerve. "I'll show you I'm not afraid!" Helpless against his strength, she was hauled bodily over to the bunk and flung down on it. Then he was beside her and she heard the rip of cloth and felt the air on her naked breasts. He had flung the remnants of her T-shirt to the floor and his hands were at the zipper of her jeans before she found her voice. "No, Tor!" she gasped, "Don't!" "Shut up!" He began shoving the jeans down over her hips and she pounded at his back with her fists, trying to twist free. Then her legs were bare and the lace panties were ripped from her body and she was naked. He held her down with one hand while with the other he pulled off his own jeans, and within her the trembling began before he threw himself on her, his mouth stifling her whimpers of fear, his hands ruthless marauders of her flesh; they travelled the soft curves of her throat, cupped the hard-tipped breasts, swept over her soft belly and silken thighs. It had been so long since she had been held by him, touched and kissed too long. Her body, traitor to her mind, arched and leaped under his touch. Her breasts swelled against his fingertips and her hips moved under his hard

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html flesh, glorying in the pulse and throb of his masculinity, wantonly inviting it. He broke free of her mouth, his eyes glittering with desire. When he spoke his voice was hoarse with triumph. "You said I was afraid. I'm going to show you I'm not afraid. I'm going to take you, Lyn." He let his weight fall on her, his hips pinioning her to the bed. Deep in his throat he laughed exultantly. "I'm going to possess you." He hung over her like an eagle over its prey, his hands as cruel as claws, his eyes as empty of love as those of the king of the sky. It was revenge he wanted, Lyn thought dazedly...revenge against her words, but more than that, revenge against his own weakness. She searched his face for some small sign of tenderness, but there was none. And then his mouth was on her breast, bruising her flesh, and his hands had seized her waist, grinding her body into his. Her mind exploded with panic. She wanted him, there was no question of that; the very blood in her veins throbbed with her longing to become part of him. But not like this...not in hatred. Not out of revenge. Fierce as a wildcat she began to fight him, using teeth and nails, kicking and clawing. Again she heard that exultant laugh and sensed that her struggles were only exciting him more. Abandoning all her pride, she cried out, "Please, Tor, let go of me. Don't take me like this - please!" But his heavy thighs captured her thrashing legs and with one arm across her body he held her down so that she was helpless. Her heart banging against her ribs, her green eyes mute with fear, she pleaded one last time, "No, Tor. You mustn't...." It was the wrong word. "Don't tell me what I must or mustn't do," he seethed. "I told you to stay away from me. But, oh no, you had to come back, didn't you?" Mercilessly he tightened his hold. "You shouldn't have done it, Lyn." She had begged him, pleaded with him, and he had refused her any mercy. The passion and fire in her blood that was Diana's heritage rose up in revolt. "You don't know the meaning of love or tenderness, do you?" she spat. "You only know how to hate... how to be cruel!" She felt him flinch and for an instant his hold slackened. She steeled herself, knowing she had to get away, yet hating herself for what she was about to do. His bandaged hand was slack on her wrist and with the speed of a striking snake she slammed it against the wall. She felt the shock rip through his body and heard the groan that burst from his lips. Flinging himself off her, he pressed the arm against his chest, his face contorted with agony. She got off the bed, wrapping his paint-stained shirt around her body, and stood waiting. She felt physically sick. She had never in her life caused willful harm to anyone, and that it should be to Tor, whom she loved.... Grimly she fought back waves of nausea. When he spoke his voice was still thin with pain. "There's a first-aid kit under the sink. Get it, will you?" She did as he asked, approaching him warily. "You don't have to worry," he added bleakly. "I won't touch you." She knelt in front of him and as he looked down at her he must have seen the sick horror in her eyes and the tremor in the fine-boned fingers as she began to unwind the blood-soaked bandage. "Don't look like that," he said harshly. "It's not your fault. You did the only thing you could do to stop me." He winced as the bandage came free of his hand. "I assume too much. Because you came back I thought you wanted to make love. Weil, you didn't. I was wrong." "It wasn't - " "Don't bother to explain," he said wearily. "Here, put another of these pads on and then a new bandage." He had two ugly cuts across his palm. As Lyn smeared on some antiseptic ointment, she said, "You should have stitches in one of these - it looks deep." "I suppose so." He waited until she had finished and flexed his fingers

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html carefully. "Thanks." She subdued an urge to hysterical laughter. "Don't thank me, I'm the one who did it to you," she said shortly. She felt like weeping that they should have come to this, and she turned away, blinking furiously. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Go to bed, Lyn." She picked up her jeans from the bed, and the ruined T-shirt, seeing a spasm cross his face at the sight of it. "I'm sorry," she blurted. "Yes - so am I." He lowered his head into his hands, his face gray. "Now go away." After all that happened between them, she had no choice. On bare feet she padded to the door. One last glance behind her showed him sitting where she had left him, motionless, and she had to force herself to pull open the door and walk through it, leaving him alone. She walked down the hall to her own room, feeling the slow tears slide down her cheeks. It was hopeless...no matter what she did, it was wrong. There was no possibility of a future for them, for they could not be together without hurting each other. He was right - they must separate once and for all before they destroyed each other. The first gray light of dawn was in the sky before she slept. A vigorous tapping at the door woke her. Still feeling sodden with sleep, she croaked, "Come in." "Lyn, how nice to see you again, dear." It was Marian, and tactfully she ignored the girl's tear-swollen eyes. "I've brought you breakfast, although it's almost lunchtime!" She indicated the little bed- side clock which said eleven-thirty. "I was so pleased - and surprised - when Tor told me you'd got in last night." "You've seen Tor this morning? How...how is he?" Somehow she knew there was no need for evasion with Marian. "Not very good, I'm afraid." Delicately she continued, "Lyn, dear, I don't know what's wrong and I'm not going to ask, but I do know this much. Right now the only place for him is his wilderness camp." "The one at Skocum Lake?" "That's right. You must have heard him mention it." "Yes, I have. You think he should go there?" "I think both of you should." "Oh, Marian, I can't - " "One shouldn't give advice, but that's exactly what I'm going to do. Take Tor to Skocum Lake, Lyn." " He may not go with me." "You can manage it somehow." Although she was still convinced Marian's confidence was misplaced, Lyn could not help smiling at the woman, and she was able to start her breakfast with something of an appetite. Later when she went downstairs wearing the flowered peasant skirt and a frilly white blouse, she found Tor in the study. Not giving herself time to be afraid, she said, "Tor, will you do just one thing for me before I go back to Toronto?" He bore very little resemblance to the man she had left hunched on the bed a few hours ago, for he looked immaculate in dark trousers and a light gray shirt, his face dean-shaven; there was a neat square of plaster on his cut hand. "What do you want?" he said, not giving her any encouragement. "I need a day in the woods, away from the city. Will you take me to Skocum Lake?" "You mean now? Today?" "Yes - please." "Well, I suppose so." Grudgingly. "You could ask Marian to pack up some food. But we'll come back this evening." There was no arguing when he used that tone of voice. "Very well," she said meekly and escaped from the room. As THE DAY WORE ON, Lyn was to wonder about Marian's advice. Skocum Lake itself enchanted her for it was in many respects a miniature replica of Lake

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html of Islands, with the same rough-hewn gray rocks and dark-needled spruce, the same ruffled water. But it seemed as if Tor, having brought her there, felt he had done all that was required of him. Once he had unpacked the car, he disappeared up the shore with his painting gear, leaving her to her own devices. She wandered disconsolately around the cabin, for once blind to the beauty of wildflower and birdcall. She ate her meal alone. As the sun, an orange globe, sank closer to the jagged edge of the trees, so sank her hopes. The conviction that had gripped her last night, seemingly so sure and simple that Tor must love her, gradually wavered and died, and as the sunset's fire blazed a trail across the lake she knew what she must do: she would obey Tor and get out of his life. She would go back to Toronto, see her mother and then return to Sioux Lake and Lake of Islands. She never should have left.... She could bear inactivity no longer. Walking down to the shore, she stripped off her blouse and skirt. About to wade into the lake, she stopped and hesitated for a long moment. Then, her fingers moving with a will of their own, she pulled off her lacy undergarments and threw them on top of the pile of clothes. One last chance... one last attempt to break down the barriers between her and Tor. Steadily she walked into the lake, its waters welcoming her into their cool embrace. Diving underwater, she swam strongly outward. Her sleek head broke the surface and still she swam, finding release in the slide of water over her skin and in the vigorous exercise. When she finally paused for breath, the sun had become a half-circle and the clouds were flinging back the colors of its descent. It was time to go back.... Treading water, she turned to face the shore. It came as no surprise that the first thing she should see was the white blur of Tor's shirt. She had known he would be there. Not giving herself time to think, she swam toward the bank in a smooth steady rhythm. Her feet touched bottom. Tor was still standing on the shore, the last glow of the sun highlighting his strong cheekbones and deep-set eyes; his black hair merged into the black of the spruces behind him. He was watching her intently, his body as still as a statue. Knowing all this had happened before, she stood up. The water molded her hair to her head like a helmet and sluiced off her shoulders and arms. She began to walk toward the waiting man, and as she did so, her confidence ebbed and she was grateful for the obscuring dark. Why had she ever started this? She was only leaving herself open for one more rejection. Another hurt to add to all the rest.... She was out of the water now, and to the watching man her figure was silhouetted against the pale rose of the sky and the reflected light on the lake: narrow shoulders tapering to a waist his hands could span... rounded curve of hip and long slender legs. He walked down to meet her, his footsteps rattling the stones on the beach. Finally they were only a foot apart. Lyn stood still. If he told her now to get dressed because they were going back to Halifax, then she would have lost, and once back in Toronto she would never see him again. But if he did not.... Dizzy with fear, she waited. The silence seemed interminable. When he spoke, his voice was husky with emotion. "So you remember the first time I saw you?" She nodded. "How could I forget?" she whispered. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, wrapping it around her body, his big hands gentle. "You'll get cold," he said. "Come up to the cabin and get dry." An arm around her shoulders, he helped her over the rough stones. The cabin door creaked open. He had been there earlier, for a fire was burning in the open stone fireplace, the flames casting shadows on the walls. The room seemed very small; Tor seemed to tower over her. Her movements jerky with nervousness* Lyn went over to the fire, holding out her hands to the blaze. "The evenings are getting cool, aren't they? Summer's nearly over." "No, Lyn. Summer's just beginning."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She gazed at him wordlessly, wondering if she could trust the deeper meaning of his words, but he had turned away and was getting a towel from the cupboard. First he rubbed most of the wetness from her hair, combing it back to bare the exquisite bone structure of cheek and forehead. Then, every movement invested with a tenderness that brought a shy glow of warmth to her eyes, he slid the shirt from her shoulders and began drying her body. He rubbed her back and arms, her breasts and belly and legs, and it became a slow, sensuous exploration of her body that she wanted never to end. Finally he was kneeling, tracing the fine-boned ankles and feet with his hands, and she held his head, burying her fingers in his thick hair, feeling the tremble and throb of desire burgeoning within her. When he rested his cheek against her waist, she pressed his face to her flesh so that he would know how much she wanted him. And then he was standing in front of her, and color scorched her cheeks as he took off the rest of his clothes. But when he held out his arms, she walked into them without an instant's hesitation, her head held high, a small proud smile on her lips. He gathered her close and her arms slid around his body, her fingers pressing into his spine. She had never been held so closely, so intimately before, and a host of sensations flooded her with wild delight: the warm male smell of his skin; the heavy pounding of his heart against her breast; the strength of his hands as they molded her hips to his, so that she could not escape the powerful body that told its own story of passionate need. She raised her head for his kiss and in her eyes he must have been able to read both her innocence and her burning need of him, her shyness and her naked desire. He kissed her once, twice, his lips brushing her own, teasing them apart. "We've waited a long time for this, haven't we, Lyn?" he said softly. "Dearest Lyn...I want to make love to you the whole night through. I can't fight it any longer, Lyn. I have to have you. I'll be as gentle as I can...will you trust me?" She moved her hands up the hair-roughened chest to cup his face. "Yes. I would trust you to the ends of the earth," she said simply. Fie kissed the palm of her hand, and then one by one, her fingers. He said, with a note in his voice she had never heard before, "Then let me take you with me on a journey...and together we will conquer the world." Picking her up, he carried her to the bed. And it was a journey, of exploration and discovery and mutual pleasure; a mingling of gentleness and wildness, of softness and hardness, of whispered words and harsh outcries. And it was a journey that could have only one ending. There was the pain of their union that was lost in the fire and wonder of it all. There was the gathering of all her body's forces, demanding, uncontrollable until she was seized and all their rhythms merged and her cry of ecstasy mingled with his own--Afterward, held in the curve of his arm, she wept a little and knew there was no need to explain to him that they were tears of joy. And then, held close, she slept. She woke the first time to darkness and his hands and lips upon her flesh. He made love to her in utter silence, letting his body speak for itself. She was the sky and his wings were beating through her. She was the lake and he the sun on her surface, the deep currents through her depths. And the storm gathered her to its center and the waves swept over them, and flung her, spent, upon a quiet and sunny shore.... She woke the second time to the same sun falling across her face, its warmth caressing her skin. Her body was filled with a delicious lassitude and a smile curved her lips as she remembered some of the events of the night. Shifting a little, she turned to share her happiness with Tor, wanting once again to feel his arms around her. But he was not there. There was only the indentation of his head in the pillow and the thrown-back blankets to show that he had shared her bed. The sheets were cold to the touch, so he had been gone for a while. In the hearth the embers had died, and the ashes, too, were cold. Cold and gray. Burned out.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Suddenly frightened, she got out of bed. Her clothes that had been left on the beach the night before were now neatly laid across a chair; she dressed as quickly as she could and went outside. Tor was over by the car, loading his painting equipment into the trunk, and all at once the world seemed a brighter place. "Good morning!" she called, an irrepressible lilt in her voice. He straightened slowly but did not come to meet her. His eyes were frighteningly remote. "I'm glad you're up - we'd probably better get going. What time's your flight to Toronto?" "This afternoon - around four, I think. But... am I still going?" "Of course. You're meeting your mother, aren't you?" Already there was a clash of loyalties. "Yes," she said slowly, "I am." Her face lighted up. "You could come, too, couldn't you?" "No, Lyn. You and Diana must work out your relationship on your own. It's nothing to do with me." "Nothing?" Her voice was a forlorn echo of his. He glanced at her swiftly. "Lyn, you must listen to me and try to understand. Last night was beautiful and I'll always remember it. But I never meant it to happen. I don't have to tell you that." "But it did happen. You can't change that," she said defiantly. "And I'm glad it did." It was on the tip of her tongue to add 'Because we love each other,' but before she could do so, he had gone on. "As soon as you get back from Toronto, we'll be married. But I don't want you to think - " "What did you say?" "I don't want you to think - " "Before that." "We'll get married." "You'll marry me?" "Well, of course. It's the least I can do, under the circumstances." Carefully she said, "Under what circumstances, Tor?" "Do I have to spell it out for you?" "Yes. You do." "We made love last night, Lyn. To put it bluntly, I took your virginity. And for all I know, you may be pregnant. Have you thought of that possibility?" She flushed. "Yes." "Well, then. I'm not particularly proud of myself this morning. So I'm going to make what amends I can." She said fiercely, "You took nothing from me that I didn't want to give." "That's neither here nor there. We'd better get something straight right now, Lyn. I'll marry you, there's no question of that. But we won't live together as man and wife. The relationship with your mother must take precedence, Lyn. You do see that, don't you?" There was an anguish in his voice that Lyn did not understand. "Then why marry me at all?" "I've explained that," Waspishly she said, "Wait a couple of weeks; after all, I may not be pregnant. And then you can save yourself all this trouble." "Don't make this any harder than it has to be - " "You're making it so painfully obvious that you don't love me, or care for me at all!" she cried, too upset to notice how his fists clenched at his sides. "You're just doing this out of duty, aren't you?" "There are worse motives for getting married." "Not for me. What happens if you fall in love with someone else?" "I won't." Frantic with pain, she retorted, "No, of course not. I'm beginning to think you're incapable of loving anyone but yourself!" "Stop it, Lyn!" "No, I won't! What will you do if I fall in love with someone else?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "I said stop it, Lyn." He had not raised his voice but there was something in the ice-blue eyes that she dared not disobey. "Let's put the rest of our stuff in the car and head back." The drive home was accomplished in almost total silence and this same strained silence must have told Marian all she needed to know. She served them lunch and then it was time for Lyn to go to her room and pack; for someone who a short while ago had not gone farther than Sioux Lake, she was becoming a seasoned traveler, she thought wryly. When she went downstairs, Tor was waiting in the hallway. She said crisply, "I'll call a taxi and get the airport bus at the hotel." "No. I'll drive you." Again, there was no arguing with that tone of voice. She sat beside him in frustrated silence as they drove through the city streets and out onto the four-lane highway. It was only a forty-minute drive, but it seemed interminable. Finally Tor was parking the car and taking her suitcase from the trunk. "Got your ticket?" he asked. It was the first thing he had said since they had left Oceanview. She fished in her handbag, handed the ticket in at the counter and checked in her bag. She had twenty minutes to wait. Searching his face, she saw no sign of the tenderness he had surrounded her with last night; in the cold light of day, it seemed impossible that only a few hours ago they had been lovers. For she had felt loved, she thought, as she blindly followed him to the main lounge. Inexperienced as she was, she knew Tor had guided her with exquisite care into the world of physical intimacy, doing his best not to hurt her, yet wanting for her ail the glory and passion he could give. He had been tender and gentle, fierce and demanding, both a dove and a hawk. And she, in her innocence, swept into realms of emotion beyond anything she had ever imagined, had mistaken his ardor for love. Silently she studied the straight line of his back as with uncompromising profile he stared out on the tarmac. He did not love her. The bitter, inescapable truth once again hit her like a blow. Not once through the long night had he spoken to her of love: it was she who had been foolish enough to read into his actions an emotion that did not exist, never had existed, and never would. He turned to face her. "You'll be boarding in five minutes," he said. "Please, will you phone me from Diana's hotel to let me know when you'll be coming back to Halifax? Then I can make all the necessary arrangements." "Yes." It was a lie. She was not coming back. Somehow that decision had made itself in the last few minutes and she knew it was irrevocable. She could not marry him, knowing that he did not love her... not even if it meant never seeing him again. Maybe something in the wide green eyes warned him. "Don't look so worried," he said quietly. "Everything will be all right." "Yes," she repeated dutifully, feeling as though her heart were breaking. "Everything will be all right. I'd better go, Tor. I've got a window seat, so I like to be at the front of the line." "Okay." He took her face in his hands. "I hope the visit with your mother will go well, Lyn. Take care of yourself." He bent and touched his mouth to hers. Feeling as though her face was about to fly apart, she jerked free, muttering something, and fled into the queue. She was shaking as though she had a fever. Not once, as she walked out onto the runway and climbed the metal stairs to the plane, did she look back. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SHE SLEPT ON THE PLANE, the kind of sleep that was her body's refuge from an intolerable pain. All too soon the stewardess was requesting her to buckle her seat belt for the descent to Toronto, and then there was the bump of wheels on the runway and the decelerating scream of the jets. Because her face still

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html felt pitifully naked and defenseless, she hid behind a stylish pair of dark glasses. Swept along by the crowd, she went to pick up her suitcase. She was not expecting to be met, so she did not even see the red-haired woman waiting by the barricade. One of her fellow passengers, a businessman who had already tried to strike up a conversation with her, tapped her arm and she looked up frostily. "Yes?" "There's a woman over there trying to get your attention, miss." She glanced in the direction he had indicated. "Diana!" she exclaimed. With the graceful, confident bearing that had carried her into hundreds of performances, Diana moved through the crowd, her simply cut charcoal gray suit and vivid teal blue blouse merely emphasizing her innate elegance. She stopped within a foot of her daughter. Under the harsh fluorescent lighting she looked tired, but somehow at peace with herself. "Hello, Lyn," she said gravely. Lyn had not expected to be met at all. But to be met by Diana.... She had been so wrapped up in the misery of her parting from Tor that she had given no thought to the second meeting with her mother, and to have her suddenly appear like this was disconcerting. "How did you know I'd be here?" Lyn stammered. "I phoned Tor's home and the housekeeper told me you were on your way. So I took the chance of meeting this flight; I thought you'd come direct, rather than via Montreal." "I see," Lyn said faintly. "No. I don't think you do," Diana contradicted gently. "But this doesn't seem to be the place to talk. Let's go back to the hotel." Diana's car was an immense air-conditioned limousine, which she handled with skill and verve. The traffic required most of her concentration so that she and Lyn exchanged only occasional remarks as they headed downtown. To a stranger Lyn might have appeared perfectly relaxed as she sat quietly with her hands in her lap, although had Tor been there, he would have seen the anxiety lurking in her eyes, the tension in the line of her jaw and the stiffly held shoulders. She'd had little sleep the night before, and then there had been the slow wrenching realization that for Tor the night had been only an interlude...pleasant, even beautiful - was that not the word he had used - but nothing like the expression of love that it had been for her. He did not love her... he did not love her. Again and again the five devastating little words began clicking through her weary brain. She fought them back, knowing she now had a new crisis to deal with. Diana...her beautiful talented mother, so sure of herself, so frighteningly distant...why had she taken the trouble to come to the airport? The car swung down a side street and into the entrance of the hotel's underground parking lot. "The attendant will park it and send up your case," Diana said crisply. "We'll take the elevator." It was the same suite as before. Two violin cases and a sheaf of sheet music rested on the big desk, along with a brandy decanter on a silver tray, but otherwise there were no signs of occupancy. '"Klaus went out for the evening," Diana remarked. "He knew I wanted the chance to talk to you." She poured each of them a generous measure of the brandy and passed a snifter to Lyn. Then she sat down in the armchair facing Lyn and made a business of lighting her cigarette. The room seemed very quiet. Exhaling a cloud of blue smoke and following it with her eyes, Diana said slowly, "This has been a very long four days, Lyn. I've done a lot of soul-searching since I saw you last... dredging up things I thought I'd forgotten, reliving things that I've never really faced. I know I must have hurt you last weekend, and I'm sorry. J just couldn't seem to help myself." "It's all right," Lyn said, putting all the reassurance she could into her voice. "It must have been a great shock for you, when I just turned up out of the blue. And even though I did feel you were a long way away most of the time, I kept trying to remember the concert. You welcomed me most beautifully in your music." Diana gazed down at the glowing tip of her cigarette. "I don't deserve such understanding. Bless you. I said it was a long four days. It was long enough

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html for me to hate Paul for taking you away from me so many years ago, and long enough to forgive him, for he has brought you up to be brave and honest and true." Her voice was not quite steady. "I'm proud that you're my daughter, Lyn. And I'm so glad that we've found each other again." Her slender musician's fingers rested, light as thistledown, on Lyn's knee. "So am I," Lyn responded with heartfelt gratitude, smiling into the face that was so like her own. "And how can I help but to be proud of my mother?" "I was not very proud of her last weekend." Diana said frankly, her body visibly relaxing in the chair. "It was a shock when Tor got in touch with me and told me that the young woman in his care was my daughter. I had buried so much from those days, and after Tor's visit it all rose clamoring from the grave. All the pain and fear and betrayal." Unknowingly she repeated Klaus's words. "Love to me meant loss. Knowing that, how could I welcome you back?" "I understand; truly I do." Again Diana's rare smile lighted her face. "I believe you do. You're a very sensitive young woman, or else you've already experienced some of the same loss." Lyn flinched and tried to cover it by taking a sip of her brandy. "There's something I don't understand," she said, wanting to lead the conversation away from herself. "You've changed since last weekend - opened up so much. Did something happen since then?" "Yes, indeed." Diana gave a rueful laugh, and Lyn found herself laughing in company, "Tell me," she invited. Diana gave her a conspiratorial grin that made them confederates, and Lyn had a sudden heady sensation of all the delights that could be in store as Diana's daughter. "It wasn't funny at the time, believe me," Diana said. "It was Klaus - he lost his temper." "Oh?" She was puzzled. "You don't know about Klaus's temper! He loses it on the average of once a year, and it's a phenomenon worth observing, provided you're not on the receiving end. In all the years Pve known him, he's never lost his temper with me. Never, that is, until Monday night." "He seems so kind; it's difficult to imagine." "Well, I hope for your sake it remains in your imagination," Diana said dryly. "I was desperately tired after last weekend, and I was worried about the concerto I was to play in Vancouver - I just wasn't satisfied with the cadenza - and I made the mistake of regretting out loud that I'd agreed to meet you so soon again. That was all Klaus needed. He exploded like dynamite. He went up one side of me and down the other, in English. German and Hungarian; and the gist of it was that I didn't deserve to have you back, that I was nothing but a coward who had used an old tragedy as an excuse to turn myself into half a woman. Oh, you should have heard him!' * She broke off, frowning thoughtfully. "You know, it certainly made me see a new side of Klaus that's only just occurred to me. I guess I really respect him for what he did!" Lyn could not help remembering the hopeless devotion in Klaus's face as he talked of Diana. Maybe there would be changes in their relationship, too. Diana was continuing her story. "Once I'd got over the shock, I knew Klaus was fight in everything he'd said. I haven't loved anyone in ail these years. I've been scared to. I'm still scared, Lyn, but I want you to know how happy I am to have you back, and how much I love you." Somehow they were in each other's arms, hugging each other, laughing and crying at the same time. Then for almost an hour afterward they sat talking, beginning to fill in the gaps of the seventeen years or so they had spent apart, and beginning also to build a new kind of companionship between them. It was Diana who brought up the subject of Tor again. "You know when I say this that I'm not trying to get rid of you, Lyn. I'm delighted to have you here. But I expect you'll be anxious to get back to Tor, won't you?" A perfectly innocent question...Lyn's hand jerked, knocking her glass from the arm of her chair so that it fell to the floor, the liquid soaking into the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html thick carpet. "Oh, look what I've done," she said foolishly. "Lyn, what have I said?" Lyn stared at Diana's appalled face. In the joy of this reunion, the girl had managed to forget Tor. Now everything came sweeping back, making a desert of her new-grown happiness. "You must tell me what's wrong," she heard Diana say. And suddenly it was all too much to bear alone. In a flurry of skirts she fell on her knees by her mother's chair, her face hidden in Diana's lap as the sobs burst from her throat, as violent and uncontrollable as a summer storm. Her body shaken by the intensity of her grief, she cried until there were no tears left. Only then did she become aware of a hand gently stroking her hair, of another hand resting on her shoulder in a wordless gesture of comfort. Her mother's hands... she gave a long, shuddering sigh as something denied to her from childhood was now granted - a mother's comfort, freely given, without question or condition. The pain eased from her heart and she grew still under the touch of those healing hands. She closed her eyes, her lashes still wet with tears. "Do you feel like telling me about it?" Diana asked softly. "I'm in love with Tor," Lyn said with the brevity of despair. "But he doesn't love me." "How do you know?" "He thinks I should live with you, not with him, even after we get married." Diana looked understandably confused. "You'd better explain." Trying to keep her voice as matter-of-fact as possible, Lyn described as best she could her turbulent relationship with Tor. Her cheeks flushed, she even told about their overwhelming physical attraction for each other, which last night had led them to make love. "At least, I thought it was making love," she said bitterly, "but it wasn't really. Not for him. It was just technique, I guess. This morning he said we'd get married when I go back to Halifax, to make amends or because I might be pregnant; those were his exact words. Not because he loves me. But I'm not going back, Diana. I couldn't bear to marry him for those reasons." "What will you do?" "Go back to Lake of Islands. Fra going to write him a letter tomorrow and tell him what I've decided. He won't care. He's only marrying me out of a sense of duty." "I hate to see you unhappy like this, Lyn." "We don't seem to do very well in our love affairs, do we?" Lyn said miserably. "Have you ever told him you love him?" "No! Of course not. Leave me a bit of pride." "Pride makes a cold bedfellow; believe me, I know." Lyn shivered. "I can't tell hirn. He'd laugh in my face," "You know him much better than I, but somehow I can't see him doing that. Won't you reconsider, Lyn, and give yourself one more chance?" Lyn's mouth set stubbornly. "No. I can't go back. Because if I do, I may not be strong enough to resist him, and I might end up marrying him. And that would be a disaster for both of us." "You seem very sure of that." "lam." "Oh, dear...perhaps you are better off going to Lake of Islands for a while, then. And you never know; things might work out." "I wish I could believe that. At least I'll have time to think about what I want to do next - go to school, get a job...." Her voice wandered off. Diana's voice became practical. "I'm going to assert a mother's authority now and send you to bed. You look dead on your feet. Things will look better in the morning; they always do. Good night, Lyn dear, sleep well." "Good night, mother," Lyn said, so naturally that no one would have believed she was saying it for the second time in her life. "Thank you for listening."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "That's what mothers are for," Diana replied with a briskness that fooled neither of them. "Off you go." As Lyn trailed off to bed, Diana walked over to the plate-glass windows that overlooked the city, her brow furrowed in thought. She stood there for almost ten minutes before going back to the desk, pulling out a sheet of hotel notepaper, and beginning to write. After covering two pages in her neat, decisive handwriting, she stopped, staring into space and nibbling her lip indecisively. Picking up the phone, she called the long-distance information service, wrote down a number at the top of the letter, and replaced the receiver. After tucking the letter into her handbag she, too, went to bed. The first thing Lyn did the next morning was to write a letter to Tor. After tearing up the first three attempts, she finally managed to finish one. Dear Tor, I am not coming back to Halifax, as I don't feel it would be right for us to get married. I don't expect I shall see you again, so I would like to thank you for everything you have done for me, in particular for reuniting me with my mother. That has made me very happy. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she added, "Take care of yourself, dear Tor," and signed it simply "Lyn." It was the best she could do. As she dropped it in the hotel mailbox, she wished she felt less as though she were cutting her own throat. That done with, she spent a quiet day with Diana and Klaus, walking, talking and doing some leisurely sight-seeing. The next day the two accompanied her to the airport where she was to catch the charter flight to Sioux Lake. It had already been arranged that in a week's time they would both spend three days at Lake of Islands, for Diana was anxious to see where her daughter had grown up. As Diana chatted with the pilot, a tough, burly young man who apparently had every one of her records, Klaus said quietly, "You have done wonders, little Lyn. I have never seen Diana so open, so relaxed, so loving. All is well then, is it not?" "Yes, indeed. Thanks to you, I gather," she replied, a twinkle in her eye. "Ach, don't thank me. Instead I thank you. Already Diana begins to look at me with new eyes. Maybe - just maybe - you will have me as a stepfather. How would that be?" "It would be lovely," Lyn said warmly, kissing his cheek. "Good luck." He grinned amicably. "Maybe I will need it! Auf Wiedersehen, Lyn. We will see you next week." As Lyn and Diana embraced, Diana whispered, "Look after yourself, won't you, dear? I'm so looking forward to visiting you once these next two concerts are done. The time will fly, I know... keep your spirits up." They kissed, and then Lyn boarded the plane and the propellers started to whirl. As they taxied up the runway Lyn saw Klaus put an arm around Diana, who was still waving goodbye. Then the two tiny figures were lost to sight as the pilot turned the plane and revved up the motor for takeoff. They lifted off the ground. Lyn found she was not thinking of Diana and Klaus, whom she would see in a few days, but of Tor. She had written that she would not see him again and the actual meaning of that phrase suddenly hit her as the plane began to gain altitude - this departure for Lake of Islands was the end. It was unbearable and somehow it had to be borne.... The trip to Sioux Lake seemed to take forever. The pilot, whose name was Mick Jones, was obviously intrigued by the fact that he was carrying the famous Diana Lynley's daughter, and patiently Lyn tried to answer his questions when all she really wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep. They ate a box lunch, which she had to force herself to down; then finally the contours of lakes and hills started to look familiar and they began to lose altitude. From the forest's green mat emerged individual trees, while the houses of Sioux Lake grew from matchstick models to actual dwelling places.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html The pontoons kissed the surface of the lake in a hiss of spray and they taxied slowly toward the wharf. Mick had friends in the community whom he wanted to visit, so he carried Lyn's suitcase as far as Margaret and Bernard's bungalow before continuing on his way. The boys had been playing on the swings and when they saw their visitor, they came running down the path and flung themselves at her, their shrill voices echoing on the cliff face behind the house. The front door opened and Margaret came running. "Lyn! What a lovely surprise!" she cried. "You look more beautiful than ever! Are you alone? Have you come to stay for a while?" "Thank you, yes and yes," Lyn chuckled, genuinely pleased to see her friend again. "I'm going up to Lake of Islands for a few days to clean the place up. Diana - my mother - is flying up next week to see it, so I want it to look its best." Margaret accepted this at face value. "You must tell me all about her. I'm dying to hear." They had been joined by Bernard, who gave Lyn a hearty kiss as he listened to his wife's somewhat garbled explanations. "Come on in," he said, picking up her case. "We'll put the teapot on." The kitchen seemed the natural place to gather. "You look a lot better than when I saw you last, Bernard," Lyn said, noticing how the strain had gone from his eyes and the worry lines from his face. "I could hardly look worse, could I?" he grinned. "Things have settled down since then. No more fires. No sign of Raoul. I was on patrol yesterday and the day before - just got back this morning - and everything's quiet. So I'm going to take two or three days off and stay home with my family." He slipped an arm around his wife and they smiled at each other, both so obviously looking forward to spending some time in each other's company that Lyn could not help feeling a stab of envy. "My guess is that Raoul's left the area," Bernard went on, stealing a cookie from under Margaret's nose. "He's probably gone north. He must have known we were getting pretty hot on his trail, so he did the smart thing and vamoosed." He raised his mug of tea. "Let's drink to his continued absence!" As Lyn described at some length the delightful new relationship with her mother and her own excitement over Diana's proposed visit to Lake of Islands, she managed to avoid the subject of Tor altogether. To Margaret's casuai question about him, she replied that he was working on commissions in Halifax and couldn't spare the time to come with her - all the explanation she was prepared to give with Bernard present and the boys milling around. If only it were true.... But she closed the door on such fruitless thoughts and threw herself into a rowdy game of tin soldiers with Stephen and Kevin and then helped Margaret get supper. She spent the night in the spare bed, sleeping better than she had expected. Margaret convinced her to stay one more day, which she finally agreed to. Her presence in the house seemed to lessen Margaret's strain and, in turn, Lyn was able to block all disturbing thoughts of Tor from her mind as she played with the energetic boys and chatted lightly with Margaret about Halifax and Toronto. After another surprisingly good night's rest, she felt refreshed enough to begin her trek to Lake of Islands in the morning, and began the arduous job of loading the canoe with all the supplies she would need, realizing she would have to make at least three trips at each portage. Once she was ready, all the Whittiers came to the wharf to wave goodbye, and she raised her paddle in an answering salute, glad to know that all was well with them; they'd had a bad stretch for a while. Then she dug her paddle into the water and began the long journey back. It was unseasonably warm and the air was hot and very still, with the surface of the lake so smooth that it reflected like a mirror the scattered white clouds and the deep blue of the sky. The only sounds were the repetitive splash and drip of her paddle. As the day wore on, she found that the physical exertion was somehow

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html helping to settle her mind; although she carried with her - and maybe always would - the ache of Tor's absence, she grew more and more sure that if she could not be with him, then this was the next best place to be for now. Better than Halifax, where his nearness would be impossible to bear. Better than Toronto, where she still felt a stranger. Better even than Sioux Lake, where Margaret and Bernard's closeness would be a continued reminder of what she was lacking. Somehow she would survive, she thought firmly, as she lowered the canoe into the lake on the last lap of the second portage. Not far to go now. Her resolve wavered when she came in sight of the cabin; it looked forlorn and abandoned. No one there to greet her and no one coming for another week. As she hauled the canoe up on the beach, for a terrifying moment she felt as though she were a total stranger here, an alien, an intruder. There was no sense of welcome, no feeling of having come home. Home, she thought sickly, was where Tor was.... Across the lake echoed the mad laughter of the loon, wild and eerie, and it set the seal on her loneliness. The cabin was dusty, the corners hung with cobwebs, and it took her the best part of an hour to remove the shutters and let the late afternoon sun stream through the windows. Then she primed the pump and brought In several armloads of wood. Cleaning the lamps, lighting the stove and cooking a meal, helped reestablish a primitive sense of belonging, although she still found herself listening to the silence, almost as though she were expecting to hear footsteps. Her father's? Tor's? Neither one would come, she knew, for each was equally dead to her. Darkness came early, and with it a chill in the air, the first presage of autumn. Autumn, she knew, was followed by the long cold months of winter, when the lake was gripped by ice as hard as granite, and knife-sharp snow crystals were driven across its surface by the bitter winds, which would wail around the cabin seeking to steal away its warmth. The frozen months of winter, when the heart would ache for spring.... Lyn stared out into the unrelieved blackness, her face pinched, her eyes filled with nameless fears. She would have given anything to see Tor's tall figure materialize out of the dark; he could be angry, he could be withdrawn, it would not matter. All she wanted was his physical presence here beside her to drive away the ghosts of night, to assure her she was not alone... to hold her, to comfort her, to love her.... Oh God, please help me, she prayed despairingly, leaning her forehead against the cold glass and feeling the slow bitter tears trickle down her face, / love him so much. I can't live without him. I'll go crazy here alone all winter. Her earlier confidence was gone, banished by the silence and the blackness, by the knowledge that for miles around her there was no other human being. She was alone... she should never have sent Tor that letter, she knew that now now that it was too late. She'd had to come back to Lake of Islands to discover how wrong she had been to think she could live without him. She couldn't. Blindly she gazed into the night. She could not live without Tor beside her. Frantically she tried to remember the wording of the letter she had written; she had said she couldn't marry him and that she would not see him again, she knew that much. She never should have sent it. Into her mind flashed a picture of the chaos in his studio that night she had returned from Toronto, and of himself, driven to seek oblivion because of a woman he could not possess. What would he do when he received her letter? Her fingers tightened on the window ledge. Maybe Tor didn't love her...although she was no longer sure she knew the meaning of the word. Maybe it was just passion or lust or obsession...how could she know? Whatever name she gave it did not seem to make much difference. He was tormented, tortured by emotions that sprang from his need of her, and by writing that letter she had willfully removed herself from his reach. A few minutes ago she had come to the realization that she could not live without him; what if this were equally true for him? What might he destroy this time? No longer able to stand still, she began prowling around the cabin, past

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html long-familiar objects that she looked at as if seeing them for the first time. Across that chair, Tor had hung his shirt. In the bed that had been her father's, he had slept. He had browsed through her books, he had carried armloads of logs to the woodbox. He was all around her. yet he was farther from her than he had ever been. Tomorrow he would probably get her letter, and then it would be too late. It would be finished...and al! because of her own stupidity, her foolish assumption that if she could not have ail of him, she would have none of him. She had been wrong... how very wrong! But was it too late? Fighting back the waves of terror and despair that threatened to flood her reason, she cudgeled her brain into action. Tor could not possibly get her letter before tomorrow, and it could well be the day after If she left Lake of Islands at dawn ana went straight to Sioux Lake, Bernard could send a message for her,, and maybe, just maybe, it would arrive before her letter. She would say she had made a mistake, that she had changed her mind, and if he still wanted her, she would marry him whenever and wherever he wished... her pride would be in ruins, but what did that matter? Diana had tried to tell her that love was more important than pride, but she had not listened; now she knew Diana was right. She, Lyn, wanted only to be with Tor. Nothing else mattered. She sat down suddenly in the rocking chair, feeling as tired as if she had run ten miles, yet also conscious of a kind of peace and calmness gradually seeping through her veins. She knew deep in her soul that to go back to Tor was the right thing to do. No matter what happened, she would be with him. She banked the fire, turned out the lamp, and got into bed, falling asleep almost immediately. THE SUN had climbed well over the horizon when Lyn woke, and immediately she knew she had overslept. With an exclamation of annoyance she jumped out of bed and ran to the window. Past nine o'clock. She should have been halfway there by now. Not bothering to light the stove, she ate a couple of pieces of bread and jam and had a glass of orange juice. Then she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, locked up the cabin, and ran down the beach to the canoe. It was a bad day for canoeing, for the wind was blowing in sharp gusts and the lake was already choppy, meaning she'd have to stay close to shore, and that, too, would take extra time. She was possessed by a feeling of urgency; she wanted to get to Sioux Lake as quickly as possible. As the morning wore on, she berated herself more than once for her late start, for the journey had become a battle against wind and waves; because she dared not venture too far from the shore, she also had to keep a sharp eye out for rocks. At the first portage she concentrated on walking as fast as she could, carelessly trampling the white meadowsweet and the cranberry bushes. Shoving the canoe back into the water, she dug in her paddle and began a slow maneuvering along the rocky shoreline; the wind had changed direction and was behind her now, so at least she could be grateful for that. She came around a slight promontory, capped with two windblown spruce trees, and into a sheltered cove with a shallow beach, and there, moored on the beach, was a dark green canoe. Sheer surprise kept Lyn motionless and her own canoe swayed into the trough of a wave and spray splashed over the gunwales. Hurriedly she steered to shore, managing to leap onto the beach without getting her feet wet. There was no one in sight. She veiled, "Hello!" a couple of times, but the wind whipped her voice across the trees and there was no response. The other canoe held only two paddles and a stained orange life jacket; it was badly in need of a coat of varnish, she thought critically. Then she wrinkled her nose, suddenly tense. Falling on her knees beside the canoe, she sniffed. Gasoline. , .that was what she smelled. Picking up the life jacket, she sniffed again, knowing now that she had identified the stains on it. Gasoline... she sat back on her heels, thinking furiously. There was only one reason that she could think of for anyone to be carrying gasoline in a canoe in wilderness areas where there were no motors, no pumps, no houses. Raoul...ii had to be Raoui, setting another fire. Her heart began to thud in her breast and her first instinct was to get

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html back in the canoe and head for Sioux Lake as fast as she could, to warn Bernard; with the wind in this direction a fire could race down on the tiny settlement with lightning speed. Then she stopped irresolutely, her hand resting on the prow. With any luck she might catch Raoul in the act. And then she could end this nightmare of revenge and arson...just one witness was all Bernard needed. Taking a deep breath, she swung her canoe up on her shoulders and hoisted ii into concealment among the alders. Then she skirted along the edge of the woods until she found what she was looking for: a broken branch, a footmark in the deep grass. Her every sense alert, she followed the trail through the woods, knowing it was a mark of Raoul's confidence that he had made no effort to hide his tracks. Abruptly she stopped, again sniffing the air, every nerve tense. This time she smelled smoke. She began to run up the hill, suffused with an anger that made her totally careless of any danger to herself. How dare he, she thought furiously. All around her the green boughs of the trees swayed in the wind and the bracken rustled. The forest, verdant and cool, home of deer and rabbits and birds... the forest, green and beautiful and frighteningly vulnerable... Raoul must not be allowed to destroy it, although how she was to stop him she had no idea. She could see the smoke now, ragged and gray in the wind, and she could hear the crackle of flames, and still she ran, panting for breath. She stumbled into a clearing and they saw each other at the same moment, and for another instant each was frozen into position: the red-haired girl, her green eyes ablaze with rage, and the red-bearded man crouched on the ground by a metal gasoline canister. Behind him the fire had taken hold, wreathing the tall spruce trees in twisted columns of flame that already threw a fierce heat. "Damn you!" the girl choked. "Look what you've done! You must be out of your mind!" He stood up and his rough voice cut through the smoke-laden air. "What the hell are you doing here? I've seen you before, at the Mountie's place." "That's right. And that's where I'm going now. I'm going to fix it so you'll never start another fire in your life!" "Yeah?" He gave an ugly laugh, his eyes hot and crazed with naked threat. "You think I'm gonna let you go back to Sioux Lake and tell tales to the Mountie? Think again, lady." With a vicious swing of his arm he flung the metal can at her legs. She leaped to one side and was caught off balance as he grabbed for her arm; she heard her T-shirt rip, but miraculously she Was still free. Feinting, so that he lunged for her clumsily, she pivoted and ran the other way, heading downhill for the lake. Dodging the trees, avoiding snags with the agility of desperation, she could hear him crashing along behind her and it gave wings to her feet. All too clearly she sensed his murderous rage. He could not afford for her to escape, for she had the power to send him to prison. Thank God he didn't have a gun! From behind her came a thud and a muttered oath. Risking a quick backward glance, she saw Raoul had fallen. Angling to the right, she ducked through a thicket of young evergreens, so close-grown that scarcely any light filtered through the boughs and the forest floor was full of shadows. There was a sharp pain in her chest and twice she almost tripped over protruding roots. But temporarily, at least, she had lost her pursuer, and she dared not stop to rest. Hardly able to see where she was going, she stumbled on, each breath a stab of agony, her legs turning to lead. There was a gaunt outcrop of rock to her left and suddenly her outstretched foot touched only air and she was falling, tumbling through the pliant spruce limbs, scraping against boulders. By pure instinct she protected her head with her hands, making herself go limp; and when her leg scraped brutally against a granite ridge, she did not cry out. Then she was shrouded with dry bracken, rough-fingered on her skin, and there was total darkness all around. With one final numbing blow her body thudded to the ground. Blackness. Silence. Pain. Lyn lay still, partially stunned, totally disoriented. For one wild moment she wondered if she was dead. But if she was

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html dead, surely she would not have been aware of a sharp stinging on one cheek, a dull ache in her leg? As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she saw above and behind her a faint gray glow of light. Somehow, she realized, she had fallen through a crevice in the rocks into a tiny cave, its entrance hidden by ferns. Carefully she shifted position and then her breath caught in her throat and she stayed utterly still, her eyes straining through the gloom. For she had heard the scrape of boots on rock. Raoul had arrived at the cliff. Immobile as a trapped animal, she still could not control her heartbeat; it banged against her ribs so loudly that it seemed to her overwrought nerves to be echoing in the cave, and she was sure he would hear it. If he found her here she was as good as dead, for there was only one way out of the cave - the way she had come in. She stuffed her knuckles against her mouth, biting hard to prevent herself from whimpering with fear as she heard the unmistakable sounds of Raoul's descent. His hoarse breathing. His grunt of pain as he struck a rock. An obscenity as his boot slipped. Then silence. Certain that he had discovered her hideaway, Lyn cowered into the darkness, knowing that if this went on much longer she would begin to scream and nothing on earth would be able to stop her. In the extremity of her fear, expecting momentarily to feel a heavy hand fall on her shoulder and haul her out into the light, her mind screamed out for Tor. And miraculously his image filled her mind. It was as if he were with her in the claustrophobic confines of the cave, his big body protecting her from any danger, his presence driving away her terror. Her body quivering with strain, she was able to remain quiet and still. Outside there was a rustle of bracken and then a diminishing shuffle of footsteps. Once again all was quiet. Raoul had gone. She eased her cramped limbs, remaining where she was for at least ten minutes, afraid that it might be a trap and that Raoul might be waiting just out of earshot for her to emerge. But finally she could bear it no longer. Wincing from all her scrapes and bruises, she eased her way out of the crevice, pulling herself up over the rocks with her fingernails. Cautiously she raised her head, ready at the slightest sign of movement to run for her life. Nothing. Only the darkened woods, the swaying trees... and the acrid smell of burning. Slowly Lyn pulled herself upright, testing her surroundings as cautiously as a wild creature. Still no sign of Raoul...her knees like water, she sat down for a minute on a boulder. Raoul, she could only presume, had headed down to his canoe to make his getaway. And now she must go in the same direction, for the canoe was the swiftest way to get to Sioux Lake. She would have to be careful, very careful. With a sound like the crackle of lightning, she heard flames snap through the trees. Appalled, she gazed upward, her face lighted by the flickering tongues of orange. Crown fire...she had never seen it before but there was no mistaking it. Carried by the gusting wind, flames were leaping from tree to tree, high off the ground, spreading the fire with deadly speed. If she didn't hurry she'd be cut off. Spurred on by her childhood dread of fire, she began to run again, heading downhill so that sooner or later she must reach the lake, and always keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of Raoul. In only a few minutes the trees thinned and through them she saw the choppy gray water. Stealthily she edged her way along the shore until she came to the beach. Raoul's canoe was still there, in exactly the same spot. So he had gone overland...why? Surely the last place he would go was Sioux Lake, not now, knowing that she was still at large. To her nostrils drifted the hazy gray smoke, and swiftly she pulled her own canoe out of the bushes and down to the shore. Only as she began to paddle down the lake, driven by a tail wind, was she able to gauge the full immensity of the fire. It had swept along the ridge and was far ahead of her, spreading with a demonic energy, devouring everything green and leaving only charred black stumps and seared earth in its wake. For the first time it occurred to Lyn that she might not make it to Sioux Lake, and as she gazed upward she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html could not help wondering if Raoul was trapped somewhere in that maelstrom of leaping flames. She shuddered, for it was a fate she could not bear to contemplate, not even for him, who had started it all. It took her nearly an hour to reach the second portage, and in that hour her situation had grown infinitely more dangerous. The air was as hot as a furnace and her eyes were smarting from the smoke, while the fire itself was racing toward the neck of land that separated the two lakes. As her canoe approached the bank, she saw two moose come crashing out of the woods and run into the water, beginning to swim strongly toward the opposite shore. There was a splash as a lynx leaped to safety; her heart ached for all the animals who would not make it to the sanctuary of the lake. She must hurry--Swiftly she lashed the paddles to the gunwales and hoisted the canoe up on her shoulders, where it offered some protection from the sparks that were flying through the air. Forcing her weary body into action, she began trudging along the trail. The heat was intense. The fire sounded like a voracious animal, hissing, roaring, snapping at her heels. And then suddenly ahead of her the dense shadows were pierced by a tongue of flame that licked greedily at the trees. Her heart stopped. Made awkward by panic, she dumped the canoe on the ground, her eyes darting in all directions like those of a panic-stricken rabbit. From behind her came the crackle of flames. A burning ember fell on her bare arm and the pain made her cry out. But her cry was lost in the terrible clamor of the fire. She abandoned the canoe without a second thought. In the next lake there was a tiny island not far from shore; if she could make it that far, she would be safe. Dodging around the burning trees, for the second time that day she began to run for her life. Although she flung her arms over her face to protect it, the flames and the scorching heat seemed to pull the air from her lungs so that her legs began to falter. In front of her a tree crashed to the ground, shooting fire into the air, and she screamed out loud as sparks landed on her skin. Beating at them with her hands, she felt hysteria bubbling within her. Then, through bloodshot eyes, she saw a man's dark figure emerge from the smoke... Raoul. Raoul had found her. He would only have to knock her unconscious, and the' fire would do the rest. A shriek of sheer terror burst from her lips. Mindless with fear, blinded by the thick pall of smoke, she turned to run back the way she had come. But she was at the end of her endurance, and the heavy footsteps quickly gained on her. He grabbed her shoulder and she kicked out viciously, but still he held on and she began to scream and scream, beating at him with her fists. She sensed, rather than saw, the raising of his arm and tried to duck. But she was too slow. There was the shock of a fist against her jaw and the sparks and the whirling smoke were in her head and she was plummeting to the charred ground into a blackness that would have no end--CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WATER, COOL AND REFRESHING, was running over her face and trickling down her parched throat. She coughed and sputtered, pushing feebly at the hand that was holding a canteen to her lips. Dazedly she opened her eyes. Tor was bending over her, on his face an expression she had never seen before. Tor... her eyelashes fluttered down and she gave a tiny whimper of pain. It couldn't be Tor. She must be dreaming... or maybe she was dead, and this was paradise, to awaken in his arms.... And then memory came rushing back and she fought against his hold, pushing herself upright. "Raoul!" she croaked. "What happened? He was going to kill me - " "You've seen Raoul?" Confused though she was, there was no mistaking his sharp interest. "I saw him set the fire," she mumbled. "He was chasing me, but I got away. Then at

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the portage I saw him again...." She faltered to a stop. "It wasn't Raoul. It was you." "So that's why you tried to run away." There was a trace of grim humor in his voice. "I couldn't understand it. I thought for a minute you preferred being burned to death to being rescued by me." Her mind was a jumble of questions, but instead of asking any of them she reached out a tentative hand and laid it against the side of his face. His skin was warm against her fingers, his hair thick and silky. "It's really you," she whispered, "I thought I was dreaming, or dead." "You nearly were dead." He crushed her to his chest, burying his face in her neck, his voice muffled and shaken. "I thought I was too late, that I'd never find you. Oh, Lyn, if you'd died...." She could feel his body shuddering and wordlessly she put her arms around him, holding him tightly. "It's all right," she murmured, "I'm safe and so are you. It's all right...." All the questions could wait. Everything she needed was here and now - Tor's arms around her, holding her close. Nothing else mattered. Eventually he loosened his hold. In control of himself again, he gave her a quick preoccupied smile and looked back over his shoulder. She shifted in his arms and looked around her. They were on the island, with a canoe moored to the rocks, bobbing on the waves. Three deer were crowded under the stunted spruce trees, their wet flanks trembling, their dark eyes reflecting the red glow of the fire, while a fox skulked among the rocks and even as she watched, a bear and her half-grown cub lumbered ashore, shaking the water from their fur. Across the water she saw a depiction of hell, the scene bathed in flickering orange light even though the sky was overcast with heavy gray clouds that blended with the rolling clouds of smoke from the ridge. The portage site was a solid sheet of flame, its reflection like an infernal dance on the ruffled waters of the lake. It was Tor who spoke first, and it was as though he understood that words were superfluous to describe the fire's terrible hunger, its nightmare of destruction. All he said was, "We'd better get to Sioux Lake as fast as we can. Are you able to paddle?" "Yes." She smiled at him reassuringly. Although every muscle in her body was aching, she felt a surge of new strength flow through her, and knew it stemmed from his presence. She was no longer alone, and with him beside her she would go to the ends of the earth. "Good. Let's go." He cast a knowledgeable glance at the sky. "With any luck we may have rain soon, if not they'll probably have to evacuate Sioux Lake. We'd better get moving." She sat in the bow of the canoe and they started off. Tor set a killing pace, and from that and the heat of the blaze, Lyn was soon sweating, her shoulder muscles bunched with agony. The first drop of rain fell on her flushed face like a blessing. Her paddle dragging in the water, she waited. Another drop. Then another. Faster and faster, the rain fell from the sky, bouncing on the surface of the lake, cooling the overheated air. "Thank God," Tor said quietly. She echoed his prayer in her heart as she began to paddle again. The rain continued in a steady downpour, and although she was soon drenched to the skin, not even that discomfort could quench her deep relief that the fire would soon be under control. It was dusk by the time they reached Sioux Lake and tied the canoe to the wharf alongside the plane that Tor had flown from Toronto. Considering that a forest fire had been threatening the community, the place looked strangely quiet and peaceful, Lyn thought; there was no one in sight save a small knot of men standing in the rain at the end of the wharf. She had half expected Margaret or Bernard to be on the lookout for their arrival. She and Tor walked down the wharf, and one of the men nodded at her. It was Tom Barnes, a friend of her father's. "Glad you made it here, Lyn," he said

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html gruffly. "Bad fire, eh?" "It certainly was. But the rain's putting it out, thank goodness." He nodded dourly, and she added, puzzled by his manner, "It didn't get anywhere near here, did it?" "No, it didn't," one of the other men intervened. "But the guy who started it did." "Raoul Duval? You mean he's here?" "Yeah."

The two men exchanged a look and Tor said sharply, "Something's wrong. What is it?" Not sparing them, Tom said succinctly, "Duval's got one of the Mountie's boys, Kevin. Up in a shack in the woods." "Oh, no!" Lyn gasped. "Where's Bernard? And Margaret?" "Margaret's home with the other boy. Bernard's up in the woods, trying to strike some kind of bargain." "Not much use trying to bargain with that guy," the second man said sourly. "Clean off his rocker, if you ask me." "We'd better get up to the house and see what we can find out," Tor rapped. "Come on, Lyn." Half-running, he pulled her along behind him. There was a cold knot of fear in her stomach as she followed him up the path to the bungalow, past two of Bernard's friends who were standing unofficial guard at the gate. Margaret was sitting on the chesterfield in the living room, her arm around Stephen; two of the women from the village who had been keeping her company discreetly left the room as they saw Lyn and Tor come in. Margaret did not even seem to notice them arriving, for she was staring ahead of her blankly. Stephen was asleep, the marks of tears still on his face. "Margaret?" Lyn ventured. With a visible effort Margaret dragged her attention away from whatever thoughts she had been contemplating. She looked up. "Lyn! Oh, Lyn, you're safe! We didn't know if you'd try to leave the cabin or not." Abruptly Lyn remembered why she had left the cabin - to send a message to Tor. Tor, who was miraculously already at Sioux Lake. But that would have to wait. "Is there any news?" she asked gently. "You know what's happened?" Lyn nodded. "Bernard's up there now." Margaret bit her lips. "I'm so frightened, Lyn," she whispered. "The boys were outside playing, and Stephen suddenly ran in saying that a man had grabbed Kevin and taken him away. By the time we got on his trail, he'd already holed up in that old shack." It would almost have been easier if Margaret had broken down and cried; her white-faced calm and small dead voice tore at Lyn's heartstrings. Helplessly she said, "I'm sure everything will work out." "I feel so guilty," Margaret went on tonelessly. "Bernard wanted me to take the boys away and I insisted on staying. I didn't want to leave him, you see. But he was right, wasn't he? I should have gone. And then none of this would have happened." "You did what you thought was best, Margaret," Tor intervened quietly.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "It's always easy to look back afterward and see what you should have done." Margaret shook her head, her brown eyes mirroring a fear too deep for words. "If anything happens to Kevin, I'll never forgive myself." From outside came the sound of footsteps and a wild hope irradiated her face. But as soon as Bernard walked in the room it was obvious from his bearing that the situation had not changed, and Margaret slumped back on the chesterfield again, her fingers knotting the fabric of her skirt. "Did you see him?" she asked, and there was no need for her to explain whom she meant. "No. Raoul kept him out of sight. But he let him talk to me, so I know he's okay." Margaret got up, putting a hand on her husband's wet sleeve. "But something's happened, hasn't it? Tell me, Bernard." He rested his hand on hers, putting his other arm around her shoulders. "Okay," he said steadily. "Raoul will do a straight trade. Me for Kevin." Margaret moaned something inaudibly, and Bernard tightened his embrace. "Hush now," he murmured, "and listen a minute. He knows about the plane at the wharf. He wants me to fly him out of here and land him somewhere - he didn't say where, of course - some place he figures he can disappear. He knows damn well he's a wanted man now; arson and kidnapping are enough to take him out of circulation for quite a while." He paused, resting his cheek on Margaret's tousled brown cutis. "I'm going to do it, sweetheart." Convulsively Margaret's arms held him close. "No!" "Come on, love," he said firmly, and Lyn had never admired him more. "You're not thinking. Once he no longer has Kevin, it's a whole new ball game. But as long as he has the boy, I'm helpless." "But he has a gun," Margaret whimpered. "You told me he stole one." "I know he does," Bernard said patiently. "You're forgetting something, though. He needs me. He can't fly a plane, and that plane is his only way to safety. Once we're in the air, I'm the boss." Margaret began to cry, her desolate sobs bringing tears of sympathy to Lyn's eyes. It was the same choice that had faced Margaret before: husband or son. Except that this time, she really had no choice. Then Tor spoke. "I'm a pilot," he said abruptly, running his fingers through his soaked hair. "Maybe he'll trade Kevin for me, instead." "I won't let you do that," Bernard snapped. "I'm the one who's responsible here!" "Don't be a fool, man! You've got a wife and family to think of. I haven't." Lyn stood still, the color draining from her face as Bernard hesitated irresolutely. She wanted to scream out, "Tor, I love you! I beg of you, don't do it!" but knew she could not. Then Bernard said, "Raoul won't do it; it's me he wants." "Let's go and see," Tor persisted, his iron will very much in evidence. "All right," Bernard capitulated. "But I'm sure he won't." Gripping Margaret by the shoulders, he looked soberly into her eyes. "We'll be back in a few minutes; try not to worry." "All right," she whispered, reaching up to kiss him on the lips. "I love you, Bernard." "I love you, too. Lyn, look after her for me." "Yes, I will," Lyn replied, her eyes fastened on Tor's tall figure. But he did not even glance at her as he left the house with Bernard. Not for her any embraces, any avowals of love. And once again that bitter little refrain danced through her head: he doesn't love me, he doesn't love me. "Oh, Lyn, whatever's going to happen?" Margaret cried. "Either way, one of us is going to be in trouble - because you're in love with Tor, aren't you?" There seemed no point in hiding the truth. "Yes, I am," she acknowledged ruefully. "Head over heels. For all the good it does me." Margaret opened her mouth to say something, then just as quickly shut it. Finally she said in a noncommittal tone, "Well, he was in an awful hurry to find you today once we knew about the fire."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "He couldn't risk his ward disappearing - my mother would have his head," Lyn said with an attempted lightness that didn't quite succeed. "Let's go and make a cup of tea, Margaret. I haven't had anything to eat since this morning." It was the best thing she could have said for, full of concern, Margaret immediately busied herself in the kitchen, making tea and a thick sandwich and producing a chocolate cake. Lyn was too upset to be hungry, but she did her best to eat, glad to see Margaret occupied. Then once again they heard the sound of footsteps and the low murmur of men's voices. Bernard came straight to the point. "I was right. He wants me to fly the plane, not Tor. We're going back up there right away and Tor will bring Kevin home. Raoul and I will go down to the wharf. You're not to come anywhere near, Marg. He says he'll shoot anyone who comes in sight or who tries to stop us. Tom Barnes is passing the word around; his wife's in the hall, by the way." Margaret had grown paler, but otherwise had herself under control. It was too late for tears or recriminations. She said quietly, "I understand. I'll do just as you say." As though there was no one else in the room, she said evenly, "In case anything happens, Bernard, I want you to know you've made me very happy. I've been proud to be your wife. My love and my prayers will go with you." Bernard kissed her tenderly, lingeringly, as if they had all the time in the world. "I love you, too," he said. "And I'm coming back to you, Marg, believe me." A quick glance at his sleeping son, and he said matter-of-factly, "Ready, Tor?" The expression on his face unreadable, Tor followed Bernard out of the room and the two women watched them walk down the path. In the silence the ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to Lyn's taut nerves like the ticking of a time bomb. She knew how much Raoul hated Bernard, how his crazed mind longed for revenge. It seemed out of the question that Raoul would ever let Bernard come back to his family. Once the plane had landed at the destination Raoul had chosen, then Bernard would be of no more use to Raoul alive. Dead, he would tell no tales. Even as these thoughts were racing through her brain, she was, praying that they would not occur to Margaret. It was a welcome diversion when Magda Barnes stumped into the living room. Lyn had known her for as long as she could remember; plump, jolly, red-faced, Magda always had a piece of fudge or a cookie for any of the local children and a drink of bootleg whiskey for their parents... a habit toward which Bernard had wisely turned a blind eye. Now, although there did not seem to be anything to say, she furnished a sturdy kind of confidence and optimism, and Lyn was grateful for her presence. Five minutes... ten... fifteen... the waiting dragged on. As Margaret gave a choked cry, Lyn saw Tor's tall form coming out of the woods. For a terrifying moment she thought he was alone, before she saw that he was carrying someone in his arms. Someone small - and still. Her heart thumping like a trip-hammer, she felt Margaret's fingers fasten on her arm and dig into her flesh. Tor had reached the gate now. He bent his head, saying something, and the child looked around him, the light from the house falling on his tousled blond hair. Margaret did not move, keeping strictly to Bernard's directions, but Lyn could hear her shallow, rapid breathing and knew what it was costing her in terms of self-control. The front door opened and closed and Tor came through the archway. Not until then did Margaret let go of Lyn. She ran forward and Tor put Kevin in her arms. Fiercely she hugged her son, tears streaming silently down her face, and when he saw them Kevin burrowed his face in her neck. "That bad man took me away/5 he wailed. "It was dark and I didn't like it." "He is a bad man," Margaret said, rocking Kevin back and forth. "Daddy was outside - I heard him. And the bad man wouldn't let me out." There was such outrage in his muffled voice that Lyn saw a reluctant smile tug at Margaret's lips. But his next words erased it. "Where's daddy? I want him."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Daddy will be back soon. He's going to take the man away from Sioux Lake, so that you'll never see him again." Because Kevin could not see the pent-up anguish in Margaret's eyes, he trustingly accepted her explanation, for he was used to his father's absences. "Will daddy be home tomorrow?" he hiccuped. "I hope so." "Good." Kevin wriggled to be put down. "I'm hungry. And thirsty." He eyed his mother guilelessly. "Can I have pop and cake?" "Once you're in some dry clothes." Through the partly open window came the whip-crack of a gunshot, followed by another. And another. Then there was only the steady drumming of the rain and the drip of water off the roof. Margaret gave a choked cry. "Bernard!" Thrusting Kevin toward Magda, she said, "Magda will get you some pop in the kitchen. I'll be right back." In a flash she had grabbed the torch from the table and was out of the front door. "Something's gone wrong," Tor snapped. "Come on!" He and Lyn ran outdoors into the rain, their feet slipping on the mud and loose gravel as they followed the wavering yellow beam of the flashlight. Then they were in the woods, ducking under branches, twisting among the trees, Tor seizing Lyn by the hand to guide her. Finally, ahead of them, they saw Margaret's torch illuminate a scene Lyn would never forget. The trapper's shack was only a shell of dark boards with a moss-encrusted roof, encircled by the gently swaying boughs of a stand of balsam fir. In front of it, sprawled face down on the ground, arms outflung, was a man's body. It was Raoul. Bernard was leaning against the wall, clasping his sleeve in his other hand. From between his fingers a slow trickle of blood ran down his arm, mingling with the rain to a red sheet against his skin. "Bernard!" Margaret's desperate cry snapped his eyes open, and he tried to stand upright. "It's all right," he muttered, "it's only a flesh wound - looks a lot worse than it is." In horrified fascination Margaret stared at Raoul's still body. "Is he...dead?" "Nope," Bernard said with a wide grin that included the other two. "But he'll be out for a while." "What happened?" Margaret demanded. Abruptly he sobered, his eyes only for his wife. "I didn't tell you this, but I had no intention of getting on that plane with Raoul. I wouldn't have trusted him not to take a potshot at me in midair. And that would have been the end of both of us. Once Tor had taken Kevin to safety, well - " he rubbed his knuckles ruefully " - I jumped him and we had a kind of tussle. Apart from this," he said, indicating the wound on his arm, "I came out on top." "Thank God you're safe," she breathed. "And thank God it's over." From among the trees the other men converged on the scene, Tom Barnes in the foreground. Raoul was carried off to the lockup and Bernard was helped down the slope to the bungalow and his wound was dressed. Magda had put both boys to bed, and finally the four adults were left alone in the kitchen, where Lyn related to Bernard how earlier in the day - it seemed an aeon ago - she had witnessed Raoul setting the fire. "Good for you," Bernard said. "We needed something like that, although after tonight there's not much chance of him getting off any of the charges." Tor said sharply, "Lyn, you sure took a chance following him up into the woods like that. You were lucky to get away. Why were you coming to Sioux Lake anyway?" The one question that she couldn't answer for him. "I just wanted to visit Margaret," she mumbled. "And very nice of you, too!" Margaret said promptly. "Tor, I don't think either of us has really thanked you for your help today." She glanced at her watch. "Or I should say, yesterday!"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "No, we haven't," Bernard concurred. "Thanks." He extended his good arm and the two men shook hands, exchanging a wholly masculine look of perfect understanding. "Men!" Margaret sputtered. "You never use two words if one will do." "I think I covered it quite adequately," Bernard grinned. He put an arm around Margaret's shoulders. "It's been one hell of a long day. Let's go to bed, woman." Her quick loving smile spoke volumes. "I thought you'd never ask!" she teased. "Good night, you two. I just hope the boys don't decide to get up at the crack of dawn." Arms around each other, she and Bernard left the room. "You look worn out, Lyn," Tor said, his voice with the chilling impersonality of a stranger, yet also with an undertone of anger. "Go and get into your nightdress." "I haven't got one." "Well, get undressed. Before you go to sleep I want to put something on those burns on your arms." "They'll be all right," she protested. "Don't argue." He left the room and she heard him rummaging in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Argue, she thought muzzily. How could she argue when she didn't even have the energy to get up from the table? For like a crushing weight, exhaustion had fallen on her, and when she tried to push back her chair and get on her feet, she found she could not move. Her head fell forward and she jerked it back, fighting an overwhelming need to sleep and sleep and sleep. Just for a moment wouldn't hurt... she pillowed her head on her arms and her eyelashes flickered down to lie on her bruised cheeks. When Tor came back into the kitchen she was deeply asleep, her breathing soft and regular. He hesitated fractionally before gathering her limp body into his arms and carrying her into the spare bedroom. Her head lolled against his shoulder; her hair and clothes smelled of woodsmoke, and she was far from clean. He laid her on the bed and eased the torn charred T-shirt over her head. She muttered something, feebly pushing his hands away. But not until he tried to slide the jeans down over her hips did she awaken. She made a tiny sound of protest. "Stop it...." "Don't be silly. I just don't want you sleeping in those clothes - they're filthy." Feeling naked and exposed in her lacy underwear, she lay still as he smoothed an antiseptic ointment on the red blisters on her arms. She kept floating in and out of consciousness so that his dark head hovering over her and the gentle touch of his fingers were like a dream from which she never wanted to awaken. Without her even knowing it, her hand moved to his thigh and lay there, palm down, her fingers loosely curled. Her head fell sideways on the pillow. It was a long time before he removed her hand, gently placing it on the sheet as he got up from the bed and went to his own room. Oblivious to the normal household noises, Lyn slept until midday. She awoke slowly, her body reluctant to move, her mind traveling back over the chaotic events of the previous day, not the least of which was Tor's unexpected arrival. Eventually she got out of bed and after catching a horrified glimpse of herself in the mirror, she scurried into the bathroom, where shampoo, soap and liberal quantities of water did wonders for her morale. Someone, presumably Margaret, had laundered her clothes, and when she entered the kitchen she looked slender and unconsciously provocative in the tight-fitting jeans and low-necked T-shirt, her hair a gleaming russet cap, her eyes still violet-shadowed. Tor was sitting at the table, wearing narrow-legged cords and a light blue shirt, the sun glinting on his black hair, his blue eyes hooded and unreadable. Suddenly shy, she murmured, "Is there some coffee? Where's everyone else?" He poured her a mug of coffee. "They're down at the lake - the boys are

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html having a swim. I think they're all sticking pretty close to one another today." She sipped her coffee slowly, her mind a complete blank. She had longed for Tor's presence, and now that he was here, she was tongue-tied. Meekly she ate the piece of toast he passed her, very much aware of the constraint between them and wondering if he felt it, too. Maybe he did. At any rate, his voice was strained when he spoke. "You've got food up at the cabin, haven't you?" She nodded wordlessly. "Good. We're leaving whenever you're ready." "To go to the cabin?" "That's what I said, isn't it?" "But... why?" "I'll answer that when we get there," he said brusquely. "I've got a canoe at the wharf and my gear's already down there. Let's go." There was no sense in asking any more questions, she knew him well enough for that. She followed him to the wharf, where they said goodbye to the Whit-tiers, none of whom, Lyn noticed, seemed at all surprised that she and Tor should be going back to Lake of Islands. Why were they going, she wondered, as they began paddling up the first of the chain of lakes. What had brought him back here in the first place? The answer clicked neatly into place: physical need. He wanted to make love to her again, alone at the cabin just as they had been alone at Skocum Lake. And, loving him as she did, she would be powerless to resist him. The knowledge filled her with a bitter-sweet emotion. Less than two days ago she had decided to accept from him whatever he offered, on whatever terms, knowing she could not live apart from him. Yet now that he was with her, she wondered if that would ever be enough. To love without being loved in return - would it always be this seesawing between joy and misery, hope and despair? Tor had to speak to her twice before she heard him. "Sorry," she called back over her shoulder. "I guess I was daydreaming. What did you say?" "The island where we were last night - it didn't burn." She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she had paid no attention to their surroundings. Now she saw the tiny island like a green jewel in the lake, its setting the blackened circle of hills; it seemed impossible that the actions of one man could have led to so much devastation. As they portaged to the second lake, her nostrils were filled with the acrid fumes of scorched earth, of ashes and charred wood. Acres and acres of green and beautiful forest had been laid to waste, the growth of years destroyed in hours. As they finally approached Lake of Islands, it was like the lifting of a dreadful curse to see ahead of them the area untouched by fire. The cabin was still nestled in its grove of birch, the pale sand of the beach dappled with the dancing shadows of the leaves. The sandpipers bobbed along the shore and from the hill the ravens cawed a raucous welcome. Lyn walked slowly up the beach, aware of nothing but gratitude that her old home had been spared from the flames. The myriad greens of the trees, the waving fronds of the ferns, the damp springy moss underfoot - all had a poignant dnd miraculous beauty. Unconsciously her hands caressed the silver-barked trunk of one of the birches, her eyes reflecting the green of its crown. She would have lingered, but Tor said abruptly, "Come inside." She waited as he unlatched the door and followed him into the cabin. Today, because she was with Tor, it felt like home again. If only she could share that feeling with him, she thought as she hung up the life jackets. He had been unpacking his gear and now he extracted a rectangular paper-wrapped parcel that he held out to her, his blue eyes watchful. "This is for you," he said evenly. "Thank you." Mystified, she gazed up at him. "Will I unwrap it now?" "Whatever you like," he replied with an indifference belied by the clenched fists thrust in his pockets. She tore off the paper. It was the finished painting of the rough sketch she had seen in his studio: the gilded water shimmered around her nude body, as though the sun itself was giving life to her. She looked unearthly yet very

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html real, a woman of spirit and sensuality, her jade eyes filled with dreams. As though he could not wait for her to speak, he said roughly, "It's your wedding present." Her eyes widened. "You mean you still want to marry me?" "Yes, of course. I thought we had decided that?" "Didn't you get my letter?" "No. What letter?" "Once I got to Toronto I wrote to you, saying I couldn't marry you," she explained in a low voice. "Why?" His face was white with shock. "I - well, it all seemed so cold-blooded. Like a business arrangement," she said defensively. She frowned in puzzlement. "But I don't understand. If you didn't get my letter, why did you come up here?" "Your mother phoned me." "Diana?" She said incredulously. "Yes. She was worried about you and she wanted to make sure that I would continue to act as your guardian. She felt you needed a stable environment, with perhaps the chance to go to university, for the next couple of years, rather than gallivanting around the world with her." Restlessly he moved around the room and finally stopped in front of her, his eyes hard with determination. "Lyn, you've got to marry me!" She backed away a step. "Why, Tor?" "This is why," he snapped. Removing the painting from her nerveless fingers, he put it on the table. Then he slid his hands around her taut body, pulling her close and imprinting on her lips a kiss of such savage need that her senses reeled. He thrust her away, his chest heaving. "Will that do for a reason?" Throwing caution to the winds, she cried, "No, it won't! Lust, that's all it is. That's the only reason you brought me up here, isn't it? You're just like an animal!" He grew very still. "Is that really what you think?" "Yes - of course!" She flung the words at him, her voice raw with pain. "How can I think otherwise?" "Why do you think I came to Sioux Lake yesterday?" She stared at him. "You said something about Diana phoning you." "Yes, she did. And what she said about my continuing the guardianship was a tremendous weight off my mind. You see, Lyn, once I found out who your mother was, I felt you should have the chance to live with her rather than with me, for her sake, yours and our possible future. And then, in time, I could be sure that your feelings for me weren't just a kind of dependence or a need for security, and only then would our marriage stand a chance. You hadn't had much parental love until then." "So that's why you kept pushing meat her." "Yes. I didn't think I had the right to make any claims on you, although to give you up almost drove me crazy. However, after she phoned I knew I could marry you in good conscience. I wouldn't be depriving either one of you." He paused. "You asked me why I came to Sioux Lake. I couldn't stay away - I had to be with you. I had to make sure I brought you back to Halifax and married you, because I knew until I did that I wouldn't be able to rest." Her mind was reeling, but there was still one all-important point she had to understand. "Tor, you still haven't said why you want to marry me." As though pulled by a magnet his eyes flickered to the portrait on the table. "Because I love you," he said with a quietness that carried absolute conviction. "I would have thought it was obvious." "Obvious?" she repeated blankly. "I thought you hated me." "Oh, I fought it," he said grimly. "I hated losing my independence. I hated being so vulnerable. And all for a slip of a girl whose waist I could span with my two hands. Do you wonder I fought it?" He resumed his restless pacing. "I came up here that first time expecting to find a skinny little fourteen-year-old, and I found you instead and fell in

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html love with you, and I couldn't keep my hands off you. But I was your guardian and you were so innocent. How on earth could I tell you I loved you? I hadn't even been able to inform you that your father had left you an allowance. You see, I was afraid that if you had money, you'd leave...." "I took some money from Helena to do just that when I thought you didn't really want me around. I'll have to give it all back." "Helena gave you money?" he asked, visibly stunned. At her nod he said with regret, "Oh, Lyn, if only I'd realized how devious she was, if only I'd told you how I felt, we could have saved ourselves from so much misery. But then your mother came on the scene and I knew I couldn't tell you. So I sent you off to Toronto to be with her and I tried to go on living as though you'd never existed." He laughed bitterly. "You were in the studio that night; I don't have to tell you I failed, do I? You were in my blood. I couldn't sleep at night for wanting you. I couldn't pick up a brush or a pencil and put it to paper without having it turn into a picture of you." He gripped the edge of the table, lines of strain around his mouth. "I suppose what happened at Skocum Lake was inevitable." For the first time since he had started speaking he looked full at her, and in his voice was a note of humility she had never expected to hear. "Lyn, I'm begging you to marry me. I can't expect you to fall in love with me right away, but I'll be patient. I'll wait as long as you want, and maybe in time you'll be able to love me." She could not bear to see him humble himself, her proud, arrogant Tor. She said, "You only made one mistake, Tor." "What's that?" "You never asked me how I felt." "What do you mean?" he said very quietly. "I mean that I love you." Her eyes shone with a joy she could no longer contain. He reached her in three swift strides and they fell into each other's arms. "Tell me again," he demanded. "I love you, Tor." Her voice was proud and sure. "But a minute ago you said you'd written me a letter saying that you wouldn't marry me." Secure in his embrace, she knew she could tell him the truth. "I didn't think I could bear to marry you, loving you as I did and so sure you didn't love me. That was when I wrote the letter. But then I came up here and I was so desperately lonely I knew I couldn't live without you. I was on my way to Sioux Lake to try to get in touch with you when I saw Raoui." "And I nearly lost you in the fire." Convulsively he held her close. His embrace started as a need for reassurance, but as he kissed her, like dry tinder they both caught fire. Tossed aside like autumn leaves, their clothes fell to the floor, and naked, Tor carried Lyn to the bed, His first lovemaking had been tender and gentle, marked with restraint, but this time he hid from her none of his desperate hunger... and her own need leaped to meet his, as fierce and elemental as a storm. His mouth and hands and body were filled with an urgency that only she could slake. Joyously she opened to him, as a water lily opens its petals to the sun, and like the sun's rays he reached to the very heart of her until she cried out with ecstasy and then he, too, shared her fulfillment. Afterward they lay in each other's arms, contented and at peace, murmuring little love words to each other, recalling some of the misunderstandings that had befallen them, marveling at the difference those three small words 'I love you' could make. Finally Lyn murmured, "Thank you for giving me the painting. I shall always cherish it, because every time I look at its I'll remember how we met." "I, too...you were so beautiful. But apart from that, that painting represents something to me - a breakthrough, a change from the mold I'd set for myself." He paused, his brow furrowed in thought. "Do you remember that portrait I showed you in Halifax of the businessman?" At her nod he went on

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html slowly, "Back then I'd let myself get trapped into painting people I didn't care about, even people whose life-style I actively disliked. In effect I was committing slow suicide. It was meeting you that changed all that - you were the catalyst that brought me in touch with myself again." "I don't quite understand - " "You were so real. So integrally a part of your environment. So completely honest. You made me face the truth - that I was selling my soul by going against my own integrity as an artist. I had to get back to my roots, to what was most real to me. And by that time, of course, it was you - you had become all the mystery and wonder of life to me, and I was driven to try and express that on canvas. I had no choice, Lyn, not if I was to survive. But as I already said, you were the catalyst. To say thank you sounds hopelessly inadequate, but from the bottom of my heart I do thank you, darling." Numbed and shaken by the intensity of feeling in his voice, she said, "I'm glad I was able to help." She smiled at him, finally unafraid of showing all the tenderness she felt, and between them there was a wordless moment of perfect communication. Then she saw his eyes glint with mischief. "By the way," he drawled, "you never did say you'd marry me. With an entrancing mixture of shyness and boldness, she looked down at their naked bodies, so intimately twined. "I think I'd better, don't you?" she murmured wickedly. "I think you'd better, too." His voice deepened. "I want to be with you night and day. I want you to be the mother of my children and the only woman in my bed." He kissed her with a lingering thoroughness that brought a delicate pink to her cheeks. "And as you happen to be in my bed right now, I'd be crazy not to take advantage of you, wouldn't I?" "I was hoping you'd say that," she teased, and in laughter and joy they began their lifelong journey together.