TOUCH OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

And Braden had come after her. No apologies, no words of explanation, only action as relentless as ever before.

They flew toward Greyburn, over the fells and haughs and burns, avoiding the roads and tended park. Always the horse seemed to know his rider’s unspoken will. They took a wide arc around the great house itself, skirting even the familiar woods. When Braden drew his mount to a halt at last, it was before a small, neat cottage at the foot of a hill. The place was deserted save for the sheep on the upper slope behind.

Braden jumped from the horse’s back and reached for her. Cassidy slid down, half tripping over her torn skirts. Braden caught her.

“Where are we?” she asked.

He simply scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the cottage threshold. He kicked at the door with one booted foot, and it swung open.

Inside it was warm and pleasant and plainly furnished. There was no need for a fire, but the fireplace had been made ready for one. There were two chairs and a rough-hewn table and cupboards against the wall. A clean but tattered blanket divided off one end of the single room.

Almost at once Cassidy recognized the scent of the place: it was Matthias’s. Matthew’s. Faint and several days old, but distinct. This must be his cottage.

Braden set Cassidy down in one of the chairs and strode back to the door. He slammed it closed and barricaded it with his body as if he expected her to try to escape.

“You left with Quentin,” he said. “Why?”

A week ago she would have done nearly anything to win his favor. But now her blood was high and her body sizzled with anticipation, and she was ready to fight back.

“Why did you come after me?”

He stared at her, silent. She started toward the door, and he moved just enough to block her way.

Cassidy’s pulse throbbed in her ears. He truly would not let her go if she tried to escape. The new, still-foreign anger told her to resist, that he had no right to impose his will on her yet again.

But she was tingling with excitement, moist and aching in the secret places other body. She didn’t want to escape.

“Why?” she repeated.

Braden’s scent was stronger now, as if a new element had been added. “Can’t you guess?” he said. “Or are you still too much a child?”

“I’m not a—”

He caught her face between his hands and kissed her. It was different from both times before, hard-edged and rough. She reveled in it.

“Do you want me, Cassidy?”

Her mouth was too dry to form words. Slowly she took his hand and raised it to her breast. It felt good, better than good, to feel his touch there. “See how fast my heart is beating,” she whispered. “Braden, can you—”

He gave her no chance to finish. He lifted her again and carried her behind the blanket hung at the end of the room.

Behind it was a bed, as simple as the other furnishings but equally neat and clean. Braden laid her down on it.

Cassidy knew what was about to happen. Isabelle had tried to explain, but her body already understood. This was what had begun with the kiss in the woods, a union free of shame and sadness. A man and woman alone together in spite of all the rules.

Almost before she could settle on the bed, Braden’s fingers were working at the buttons at the front of her bodice. “You liked what happened between us in the woods,” he said, breathing fast.

“Yes.”

A button snapped from her bodice and bounced onto the coverlet. “There is something I must do, Cassidy. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve tried—”

She covered his mouth with her fingers. “I want to learn,” she said. “I want you to teach me.”

Without further hesitation he tore open the front of her bodice in a shower of buttons. He pushed the stiff edges to either side, exposing her chemise.

“No stays,” he said gruffly.

“I was waiting outside your door for hours,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it that—”