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in the last stages of pregnancy, dressed in clothes of a bygone era, sitting by a fireplace while a dark, handsome man looked adoringly at her.
    Isabel could feel the warmth from the lit fireplace, could see the vibrant color of the woman's auburn hair, could even feel the joy in the woman's heart as if she were the woman herself.
    Disturbed, Isabel turned her gaze to the man. His clean, male scent suddenly overpowered t h e more feminine bouquet of rosemary. A sudden desire to reach for him, to touch his bronzed face, to be the object of his admiration assaulted Isabel. A hint of jealousy rose in her. No man had ever looked at her that way, with such love, such pride.
    With her heart constricted to an unbearable pressure, Isabel's hands unconsciously tightened around the chalice. The vision was so real Isabel almost felt part of the ensemble, though she was only an unwitting witness to a picture-perfect family.
    Oh, what she wouldn't give to be in that woman's place! To belong, to be part of a family, to carry a child in her womb! The wish sprouted from deep within her heart, uncontrollable, undesirable, irrefutable.
    The vision suddenly wavered before Isabel's eyes, like an image reflected in water. The mist swirled faster and faster, enveloping her, its dizzying speed making her head spin.
    Image s — r eal and imaginar y — f used and separated in a hypnotic pattern. The chalice' s blue stones shone brighter as their light escalated from soothing blue to blinding white. Then suddenly the room plunged into total dark n ess as Isabel, robbed of her last vestiges of consciousness, crumpled to the stone floor.

    Windermere Castle
    Cumbria, England, 1315
    THE delicate scent of rosemary wafted into Hunter's dreams, awakening him with sweet promises. As he opened his eyes to the shadows of the early morning, lightning flashed through the bed curtains, illuminating his lady wife's sleeping form on the mattress by his side. Her vibrant auburn hair escaped the constriction of a tight braid to fall in fat curls over her fair face.
    Thunder roared in the distance as Hunter rolled to his side, bracing himself on one arm to face Détra. The bed frame's interlaced strips of leather complained loudly under his shifting weight, but his wife remained motionless.
    A morning chill filled the air, speaking of the need to add new logs to the hearth's dying embers. He shifted, and the coverlet slid off Détra' s shoulders, and the temptation of her bared skin, revealed by the disarray of her chemise, spoke of his need for her.
    Hunter responded to the latter and reached for Détra. As he touched her shoulders, her velvety skin seared his fingers and the heat traversed to the lower part of his body in lightning speed. He slid her chemise fu r ther down, unveiling the top of her generous breasts, the rosy, tempting nipples. His breath quickened and his eager member jutted forward, rigid and ready.
    As always, his body willfully responded with a mind of its own to the sight of Détra's beauty. Heartbeat drumming in his ears, Hunter leaned over and skimmed her shoulder with his lips, her sweet taste flaming his thirst of her, inflating his hope that this morning he could put an end to this miserable waiting.
    "Nay, Hunter. Not yet," Détra said, turning away from him.
    Disappointment clogged his throat. Since their wedding night, two weeks ago, Détra had denied him his rights. Bothered by her menses on the first few days of their marriage, a terrible aching head keeping her virtually abed for days afterward, she had held him at bay. But then, a week ago, Détra had finally confessed to her late husband's cruel treatment of her. Hunter had tried to reassure her he would never harm her, but Détra had been disconsolate.
    It was within his rights to demand her yielding, to force her submission, to make use of her body, but the mere thought of forcing himself on a woman, least of all his lady wife, was immensely distressing to Hunter. The horrible