Brigands took Mark meals and saw to him the next couple days. No demand came from the Marquess for her to sleep in his room. So, she passed the days spending time with Brigands and even coaxed Tim into playing cards in the kitchen. He turned out to be quite the card player and entertained with stories of his world travels from his younger days. Becky always found an excuse to leave.

"I say she should be fired," Tim said in offense one evening when Becky left them alone playing cards, passing the final fifteen minutes of Brigands' shift.

"She does her work," she shrugged.

Brigands scowled at the door Becky had just exited. "And contributes to the gossip."

"I'm used to gossip, as is the Marquess. PEople choose to believe what they will." She laid down a card.

"I don't like it," Brigands grumbled and settled deeper into his chair.

"Makes my bowels crunch up," Tim muttered.

She laughed in shock.

"Manners, man," Brigands scolded.

"Sorry."

She looked at the older man. "Brigands, what is wrong with your wife?"

The man grew quiet and kept his eyes on his cards. "The doctor thinks it's cancer in her belly. He said not long now."

"Has the Marquess seen her?"

"No." He frowned in confusion.

"Have you had a second opinion?"

He shook his head. "The surgeon said it's obvious. Her belly is swollen with it."

"Didn't you say her sister has been here for a few weeks and is going home soon?"

He nodded. "She leaves tomorrow."

"Bring her here. There are plenty of rooms upstairs. Then you won't have to travel, and you can check on her during the days."

"No, thank you, my lady. The Marquess wouldn't agree."

She frowned. "It's my house too. Come, isn't it a brilliant idea?"

Both men looked at her like she had two heads.

"He said it was my bedchamber to do with as I wish, yes?"

"Yes..." He eyed her suspiciously.

"What do I need with the connecting sitting room?" She smiled. "The three of us can drag a bed in there."

"She seems so happy to have you around." She smiled as she left the woman to nap upstairs a couple days later.

Brigands turned to her with tears in his eyes. "Thank you for letting me bring her here. It means more time...five minutes here and there are worth a lifetime now."

Blinking back tears, she set a hand on his arm. "The Marquess is still in bed with his knee. Stay with her as much as you can."

"The doctor said she may not last until Christmas." A tear crept down the wrinkled lines in his cheek.

Swallowing hard, she envied him the closeness he had with his spouse. But it also brought him great pain at this stage in life. Pain that was apparent he would go through all over again rather than never have had his wife in his life. "All the more reason why I shall see to the Marquess."

Brigands took both of her hands and pressed a kiss to them, with tears dampening his cheeks. "Bless you," he whispered and then disappeared back inside the bedchamber.

She took Mark a breakfast tray.

"What is this I hear from Becky about Brigands and his wife living in your sitting room?" he demanded.

"Good morning to you too, and the babe and I are doing well, thank you," she retorted dryly.

"I'm completely aware you're doing fine without me," he snapped.

She set the tray in his lap and stared at him in surprise. He sounded...hurt. "You made it clear that you didn't want me around, so I've been keeping myself occupied."

"Good," he growled. He still wouldn't look up.

He was so heartless after how gentle he'd been the night the coyote attacked. "Next time, I'm not staying until you make me cry." He deserved to have to answer for how he treated people. When the man didn't move but continued to stare at the tray in his lap, she turned to go.

"I came to your door to apologize," he replied, his voice soft and sad. "As soon as I'm able to travel, I'll go to the country estate."

She spun around, anger rushing that now he chose to walk out. "I don't understand what I didn't that made you hate me all of the sudden!" When he finally looked up, her breath caught at the dark blue shadows under his eyes and grayness of his complexion. A five o'clock shadow darkened his jaw, as if he hadn't shaved in a couple days.

"I don't hate you." He looked away, his shoulders even slumped. "It's better for you if I go."

Oh no. He'd come after her and must've heard the conversation with Brigands. "Mark, have you been ill?" She walked closer and sank onto the edge of the bed. Brigands hadn't said a peep about him being ill.

The man shook his head. He'd never been this quiet and subdued.

""You look unwell." She set a hand to his brow and then his cheek, not minding the slight prickliness. He didn't feel hot.

He hand cupped over hers on his cheek, and he met her gaze. His eyes had a slight redness like he might weep. "You deserve someone who won't make you cry. Who will see your sunny smiles and want you around even when you're driving him insane. Who can't sleep without you and would do anything to protect you."

Her heart melted. He didn't seem to see that he described himself.

"Who knows how to be kind to the most wonderful thing that has happened to him in a long time." Tears shimmered in his eye. He pulled her hand away and looked down at his lap. "I'll send for divorce papers today. You can have the house and keep what staff you want." His voice cracked for a moment. "I'll send money for you and the babe every month."

She set her hand on his leg through the sheets with a soft smile. "Or maybe just an 'I'm sorry' and promise to work on your temper."

Wide eyes flew to her.

"I do not mind your temper. It's when you're mean that it hurts." She shrugged. "I sort of like it when you growl because it often means you're smothering sentiment."

He scowled.

She laughed, her heart feeling much lighter after days. "Like that. I know that is a 'yes.' Your voice doesn't have an edge to it when you're putting on a front."

His brow furrowed, the sadness fleeing his eyes. "I see being a Marchioness has gone to your head," he grumbled.

A smile bloomed. "Like that." Scooting her bulk closer, she slipped into his lap and wrapped her arms around in a hug, mindful of his sutures.

He held tight like he hadn't thought this would happen again. His hand cupped the back of her head and his voice fell to a deep baritone of solemnity. "I'm sorry."

Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she sighed in contentment. "If I say you're being mean, you have to stop right there. I promise that over time if it keeps happening, we won't be able to make the wound heal."

"I know," he whispered and stroked his fingers up and down her back.

"I think we should take a nap being you can't sleep without me." She smiled and sat back. "Or maybe it's your guilty conscience over making me cry. Or maybe both." She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Youd like that, wouldn't you?" he growled.

"Yes, dear, I think I would." Her smile grew.

"No climbing on me like a child, if I must put up with you in my bed again," he ordered.

"No, Mark."

He pulled down the sheets for her. "And no doing that soft little hum in your sleep," he barked.

"Yes, Mark." She giggled and presented her back to him to let her out of the dress. "Although I don't know how I'll make myself stop when I'm sleeping."

His unbuttoned the dress, grunting in response. Then he took the liberty of removing the pins from her hair so it cascaded down. "And you'll not wear your hair in a braid but loose to bed," he ordered.

"But it'll get tangled."

"Then I'll have to brush it in the mornings," he snapped.

She stood and pulled off the dress, leaving only her chemise on. "Should I sleep naked for you too?" She smiled and looked over her shoulder.

He stared, speechless. A second later, he sputtered. "No! Get in the damn bed!"

How she loved to make him speechless. She climbed in and scooted back against him, pleased that something poked her bottom as his arm slipped around and he spooned. "I like it when you want me." Her fingers laced with his over the babe.

"It's simply a reaction to a woman being in the bed! Go to sleep, dammit." But his need grew.

"If you need to make love, you can teach me. I think I might need to be scandalous and be on top because of my belly, though - "

A strangled groan and he jerked her shoulder to roll her onto her back. His mouth crushed down and his tongue dipped inside as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb doing something wonderful to the tip of her breast.

When he rolled her away and spooned her again, she panted as hard as him. "Quiet," he ordered.

Her fingers pressed to her swollen lips. He'd never kissed like that before. Heat flooded between her legs and he left the most exquisite tingling in her breast. Oh my. If this was any sign of how he'd be as a lover...he promised to send her up in smoke with the passion he could ignite.


"What is this Becky says about Brigand's wife living here?"

She stood before the mirror putting up her hair after the nap. "My, Becky is a gossip. I have no use for two rooms, and his wife is on her deathbed. Since you won't pay him to be home with her, I brought her to him." She patted a stray lock in place and glanced at him still in bed with his poor knee that had apparently become infected but was now beginning or heal.

"This is my house - "

"And you gave me two rooms to do with as I wish." She turned to face him and folded her hands over her belly.

"Not to store people!"

"And you will examine his wife."

"What?!"

"Give a second opinion. I looked in your books, and her cancer could be a female problem. You were one of the best female doctors, so you will check her."

"No. Englewood already diagnosed her," he growled.

"And you will verify it."

"No!"

She held his eyes. "You couldn't do anything to save Anna, but what if you can save this woman? Save Brigands from the same pain you went through?"

He didn't have an answer for that.


Brigands came in to the library the next afternoon where she read another one of Mark's university books. She looked up and her smiled died upon seeing the tears on his face. "Oh god, is she...?"

He dropped into a chair and sobbed. "The Marquess...h, he thinks...he can cure her."

"What?"

He grabbed her hand and kissed it. "You did this."

"What do you mean he can cure her? I thought - "

"He examined her and said it's tumors in her womb, not cancer. Surgery to remove her womb will save her."

She hunted Mark down in his chambers digging through his medical bag a bit later, sobs of relief coming from her chambers. "You can save her?"

The man didn't turn. "She has fibroids in her uterus that are taking up a great deal of her blood supply and causing the symptoms. If not removed, they will kill her. A hysterectomy - removing her uterus - will cure her."

"So you're operating?" This was too good to be true. It was like an early Christmas miracle.

"No."

She blinked. "What?"

He set his bag aside and looked at her. "I have no license and Englewood disagrees with my diagnosis and won't operate."

"You're just leaving her?!"

"My hands are tied." He shook his head from where he sat on the edge of the bed.

Her jaw dropped. "Mark, you can't let her die!"

"They just need to find another surgeon who will do the surgery."

"Who?"

He looked away. "The disease is rare, likely often misdiagnosed as cancer, and few believe that it's a true condition. The closest surgeon I know of who would operate is in France."

"France? It'll take weeks for him to get here!"

"He can't come anyways."

She sank onto the bed beside him. "Have you told them?"

"I just did," he said softly.

It hadn't been sobs of relief heard a minute ago but grief. She swallowed hard. "Mark, just do the surgery. Even if something happens to her, I don't think Brigands would report you to authorities. At least give her a chance."

He shook his head. "Tanya, I need tools that only a hospital has. I'm banned from hospitals. If I go, I'll be arrested because they'll know I'm practicing without a license."

"Send someone for you."

"They know everyone here, and Englewood can't get tools for me without losing his license and head too."

She pursed her lips in thought. "But they don't know me."

"I can't believe you talked me into this damn hairbrained idea," he griped and tied dresses around her to hide her belly.

"No one will notice. I'll pretend to be an overweight nurse. I'll get in and out."

"This is theft." Tension creased the corners of his eyes.

"Not when you leave money behind."

He stopped and looked at her. "You've done thieving?"

"I plead not guilty."

He sighed and shook his head. "I don't even want to know." Then he continued the disguise.

"When your father squanders food money, you learn how to feed yourself as a child."

"Goddamn bastard," he mumbled under his breath. "If you get caught, tell them I said I'd kill you if you wouldn't do it."

"What?" She laughed.

But he looked at her from beneath his brow in all seriousness. "Do it. You and the babe would die in prison, if you even made it long enough to give birth."

"No one is going to catch me, Mark." She kissed his cheek, her heart twisting that he'd take the fall for her idea going wrong. She pulled on a sheet made into a decent rendition of a nurse's uniform. "How do I look?"

"Like a fat, foreign, completely obvious thief."

"So, do something!"

He studied her face and dipped his finger in the fireplace soot. "Hold still." He dabbed at her eyes and cheeks and pinned up her hair in a tight bun. Then he turned her to face the mirror.

She stared at the the stranger. He'd disguised the shape of her eyes and redrawn the shape of her eyebrows. He'd even done something to her cheeks to hide the high cheekbones and created an illusion of her olive skin being a sickly gray. She frowned. "I look like an ugly English woman."

"You look more common. And ugly will prevent attention being drawn to you," he mumbled.

Her eyes landed on him in the mirror in question. "Why, Mark, are you saying you had to make me ugly because I'm pretty?" She smiled.

He just grunted.

"How did you know how to do this?" She turned her head this way and that. No one would recognize her.

"Anna was too weak to paint her face but insisted she looked too ill without it, so I learned how to do it," he replied quietly.


He rode with her to the edge of the forest just outside of town, the hospital in view just a couple blocks away. The damn chit didn't seem the least bit worried about getting caught. His stomach clenched. If she got caught thieving, she'd be thrown in some filthy prison where she'd catch disease and starve and probably be beaten and assaulted by the guards... He slammed the door on those horrid thoughts. "Tanya, we're not doing this." Reaching over, he grabbed the reigns of her horse.

She frowned. "We're not going back now. I go in the back door, down the hall and to the supply room on the right, fifth door, right?"

Jesus, he was going to throw up. "That was six years ago! They could've changed the layout of the hospital! Fuck no, I'm not sending you in there! This is goddamn insane! We're going home."

The chit jerked the reigns from his hand. "Stop cursing. I'll be fine. I know how to blend into the background." Then she nudged the horse forward.

Pure panic seized every muscle - just long enough for her to disappear into the city crowds. Kicking his horse forward, he pulled down his top hat and tugged up his cape collar to mask his face, his eyes scanning for a patch of white moving through the crowds. His heart beat faster with every step that she remained gone. He kicked the horse into a trot, the animal snorting and prancing in distress because the thick swarm of people prevented faster movement. Then his heart stopped.

A block ahead, a lone figure in white slipped up the back steps of the hospital and disappeared inside so fast that if he hadn't known better, he'd have thought it his imagination. Oh shit. The more he kicked the horse to move faster, the more the animal pranced and turned in circles in distress. For the first time in six years, he prayed.


She returned to their spot in the woods less ten minutes later. But he wasn't there. With a frown, she looked around. He came trotting from the direction of town, his face ashen. She grinned. "Got them."

He didn't say anything but looked around and then grabbed her reigns, urging her horse forward at a quick walk but not quick enough to jostle the baby.

Her smile faded when she looked down at his hand. It shook. "Are you alright?" But the man didn't respond. It was almost as if he'd been terrified she'd be caught. She set a hand on his arm in reassurance. It took a long time before he stopped shaking.


As soon as Cook and Becky left the house for the night, Mark set everything up in the bedchamber for surgery. Brigands lit every lantern he could find to brighten the room and draped sheets over the curtains to help dim the light from looking suspicious outside.

Then Mark turned to her and spoke quietly. "I need you to hand me tools."

"Wouldn't Brigands be better?"

"And have him fall apart if she goes downhill? No. I need someone who can keep their head in an emergency."

She scrubbed with him in the kitchen using steaming hot water. "My skin is starting to hurt from scrubbing."

He scrubbed up to his elbows beside her with an apron around his waist. "Good. One more minute."

"Mark, this is more scrubbing than any doctor - "

"And that's why so many patients get infections," he growled.

So she continued and followed him upstairs, holding her hands up to keep from touching anything, like he said. He had Brigands give his wife the chloroform and then he booted the man into the hall.

Her knees grew weak the moment he cut the woman open low on her distended belly.

"Sit," he ordered.

So she plopped in a chair next to the bed. "Is that how you have to cut the baby out if I can't birth him?"

"No." He said it a little too quick. "Suck it up, Tanya, because I need you to take the organ in a moment."

His brisk demeanor made it easier to focus on the task at hand. She handed him tools and then grabbed the towel for him to set the organ on.

He lifted out a pinkish-red, slimy circular thing about the size of a ball. "Ready? It's heavy."

She swallowed back the bile. "What is that?"

"Her womb."

Her eyes flew to him in shock.

He cracked a smile. "Yours is about that size right now with the babe." He turned back to the woman.

Oh dear heaven, she was going to throw up. "Now what?" she squeaked out the words, still holding the thing with the towel.

"Eat it."

"What?!"

"Put it in the trash over there. Lord, woman." But the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.

"If I vomit, I'll be sure it's on you." She carried the thing over to the trash and returned to him.

"If you do, you won't do it anywhere near her so she doesn't get infected," he ordered.

It was disgusting and horrifying and yet fascinating. She peeked over his shoulder as he stitched something inside. "How can you even look at women? This is gross."

He chuckled. "So don't look."

"What are you stitching?"

"Her birth canal where we cut her womb off." He seemed so patient and calm during surgery.

She frowned and watched what he did.

"Ask."

"Hm?" She looked at his profile.

"You have a question."

Her cheeks burned. "I think you lied that you wouldn't have to cut me like this if the babe gets stuck. I've heard rumors that the womb is cut out if bleeding won't stop. If you have to do this to me, does it mean you need to...satisfy your needs elsewhere?"

His eyes met her for a moment, his brow furrowed. "I don't follow."

"Does this mean that we couldn't have sex because you wouldn't...fit anymore?"

He frowned. "We would still fit."

"I mean, my womb wouldn't be there anymore for you to go in."

His head turned to her and his eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "A man doesn't go into the womb. That would be as damn painful for you as giving birth."

"Oh."

He dropped his chin to his chest. "Tell me that someone taught you about sex."

She scowled. "I know what goes where, obviously." She touched her belly.

That blue eye glanced from the corner at her belly. "You have no idea what's going on in there either, do you? And don't touch tools anymore - you contaminated your hand."

"I'm not stupid. I know there's a babe," she huffed.

The man heaved a sigh. "After this, we're getting out one of my books. What time is it?"

It might be fun to read a book together before bed. "Eight." She looked over his shoulder again. "What are you stitching now?"

"The abdominal muscles." The man proved to be an excellent teacher, full of knowledge and superb skill. Minutes later, he said, "Go to the washroom to clean up."

She glanced down at a spot of blood on his upper arm that peeked out under his sleeve. A stitch had torn, the site red where the skin had been ripped through by the stitch. "Mark," she said weakly. The room spun.

"Go. I can't catch you when I'm full of blood."

The urgency in his voice made her drag her feet to the washroom, with him hot on her heels. He scrubbed fast and then grabbed her hands and scrubbed even though there wasn't a spot of blood on her.

The torn flesh on his arm glistened from the tear as a bead of blood formed. Her vision grew patchy as he yanked off his apron and bloodied shirt. His voice came through as a distant, tinny ring. Then she blinked, her vision returning.

"Tanya? Tanya, answer me."

She looked up at him as he laid her on the floor and pressed a hand to the pulse at her neck.

"Well, you held up far better than I expected."

"I think your arm did me in."

"My arm?" His head followed her gaze to the torn stitch. "You've got to be kidding. You made it through major surgery but a torn stitch makes you faint?" His eyes rolled and he helped her sit up.

"Is she going to be alright?"

"She should start improving now not having something sucking up all her blood flow. If she can make it through the next few days without infection, she'll be fine."

"You're a good surgeon." She smiled and let him check her pulse again.

"One surgery doesn't make a good surgeon," he grunted.

"If they let you get your license back, would you practice?"

He helped her stand. "Go tell him the news."

"Mark?" She frowned.

"Go."

So she went into the hall where Brigands paced. "It's done. Mark says if we can keep infection away, she'll be fine."

He crushed her in a hug and wept tears of joy as he raced into the room and took his sleeping wife's hand.

She followed and looked across the bed through the crack in the washroom door. Mark leaned his hands on the counter and stared hard at his reflection as if deep in thought. Somehow it seemed like he despised what he saw. Then his eyes flicked to her in the mirror. He turned away, his reflection disappearing.

Mark exited a moment later. "She'll be weak for a couple weeks. Give her laudanum when she wakes up." He headed for the door, limping heavily on his cane.

"Thank you, my lord - "

"Stay here tomorrow and care for her," he snapped over his bare shoulder.

She hurried down the hall after him. "Wait, Mark!" But he didn't stop. She caught up to him. "Thank you. You saved her life - "

"I did what you wanted. Not another word about it," he snapped, his eyes piercing.

Stopping in her tracks, she stared at his retreating back in confusion. Giving him a few minutes to cool down, she entered the bedroom. He stood in the washroom trying to bandage his bleeding arm. "I can do that."

But his look stopped her. So she got ready for bed and curled up to him when he got in. The man said not a word but held her hand tight. "Mark, are you angry with me? Even if she does get infection and die, you gave her a chance, which was more than Dr. Englewood gave. Brigands won't fault you for trying."

"When a woman is aroused, sex shouldn't hurt. The man..." He continued explaining things like she hadn't spoken. And he explained childbirth and what to do if certain things went wrong almost as if he didn't expect to be there.

As she laid on her side with him curled up with his arm around her, she laced her fingers with his that stroked the babe. "I'm scared of giving birth. I'm glad you'll be there, Mark. You make everything feel safe." She turned over to face him, the moonlight casting a very faint glow.

"Sleep naked with me," he whispered, the words somehow so mournful.

"What's wrong?" But without hesitation, she sat up and shed her clothes.

The man didn't answer but slid off his pants under the covers. He turned onto his back so her belly could rest over his side, and he slid an arm under her to rest her head on his shoulder. His hand stroked her bare belly, and he didn't flinch when her scarred breasts pressed against his chest.

It was so beautiful and peaceful and intimate, just being held and accepted for who she was and not being worried about scars. This is what it meant to be intimate with a man, what it meant to be married to a good man. Closing her eyes, she basked in his warmth and protection. "I love you," she whispered.

His hand stilled for a split instant and then resumed the soft caress.

Even though he would never reciprocate the words because he loved Anna, it felt so wonderful to say them to him. The fact that he didn't get angry because of them was his gift in itself - an acceptance of her affection and a promise to not leave her side until his dying day.


He was already gone the next morning when she woke up, so she went into the sitting room to figure out how to knit some baby clothes.

"You did a damn operation?!" The surgeon's voice boomed through the house. She got up to go see what on earth was wrong.

Dr. Englewood stood at Mark's desk and Mark sat back lazily in his chair behind the desk. "The woman had fatal fibroids and you weren't going to lift a damn finger." He shrugged.

"Who helped you?" The doctor snapped in a temper beyond anything she'd imagined for him.

"No one." Mark held his gaze.

"Who?! You know damn well it was illegal and you couldn't have done it alone!" The doctor slammed a fist down on the desk.

"No one," he growled.

She marched in. "I did. He did perfectly fine - "

Mark shot to his feet, his face suddenly pale.

"You?!" The doctor whirled around and then glared at Mark. "You dragged her into this?! You know I have to report this! Goddamn idiot!" he roared at Mark.

She blinked. "Report what?"

Mark leaned across the desk, his eyes dangerous as he growled, "She did not lay a finger on her. I did the surgery."

"What's going on?" she demanded. A terrible feeling sank in.

The surgeon looked at her. "If he violated the agreement with the Court to not practice, he goes back for trial."

"You can show them you're competent." She smiled. "You can - "

"To be hanged," the doctor explained.

She stopped dead in her tracks and her eyes flew to Mark.

"Get out," he snarled at her. "This conversation doesn't involve you."

"But, he saved her! She's already looking better!" The shock trapped the tears in her throat. God, this couldn't be happening.

"Doesn't matter. My hands are tied." Dr. Englewood shook his head, looking sad himself.

Her stomach dropped to her feet and her gaze shot to Mark. "You knew when you did the surgery. That's what last night was about too." Tears welled and she cupped a hand over her mouth to hold back the tears. He'd been explaining childbirth to keep her safe because he knew he'd be dead before the babe came.

"Tanya, get out." Mark's gaze didn't waiver.

She shook her head, the motion jerky as she choked on sobs. "You can't report him. She's fine - "

"Tanya," Mark said quietly.

"Please." She grabbed Dr. Englewood's lapels. "As long as she recovers - "

"Tanya," Mark said again.

She turned to face him.

"He's a surgeon for the King's Military - he was assigned to watch me in exchange for me getting out of the asylum," he said with a heavy heart. "If he doesn't report me and someone finds out, he and everyone in this house could lose their heads."

"Why did you do it?"

The doctor turned to him. "Yes, after six years, what compelled you to break the rules?" He frowned.

Mark sank into the chair in defeat. "What have I done with my life the last six years? Someone pointed out that I could save a life. Why not do something for someone who has been like a father to me?" His eyes met the surgeon's. "Why not do something to make one or two people proud of me before I go?"

"No one wanted you to trade your life for hers," she sobbed.

Those deep blue eyes met hers and seemed so human and vulnerable instead of hard and cold. "She is more deserving of life than I am," he said softly.

She ran and flung herself into his arms. "We'll escape to America. I'll go with you."

"You're too heavy with child, and you don't deserve a life on the run." He eased her arms off. "Enough," he said softly. "I left papers and directions for accessing accounts in the ledgers. There's enough money to provide for you and the babe for the next ten years. Go to Spain where you'll blend in better and start over. You'll be accepted as a widow and can find a suitable husband - "

Shaking her head, she clung to his hands.

"Let's go," the doctor said sadly.

He pulled his hands free and started to follow the doctor.

"Mark?" Oh god, he couldn't go. This had to be a nightmare.

He turned, his heart heavy and eyes filled with a lifetime of regrets.

She ran to him, flinging her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. "I love you. Please, I'll runaway with you."

Drawing a shaky breath, his finger hooked under her chin to turn her tearstained face up to his sad eyes. "I wish for you to remember me in moments like this - when I wasn't a burden to be married to or a beast who made you cry," he said in a thick voice.

Tears streamed down. "I won't let you go."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "Take care of that babe and yourself." Then he stroked her cheek and looked into her eyes. Slowly leaning down, he held her tight and whispered in her ear, "I asked for a change to our marital agreement ecause I was falling in love with you."

A choked sob escaped and gut-wrenching sobs took over.

He brushed a kiss over her lips and then pulled out of her arms.

She dashed away the tears to see and raced to the front door. Yanking it open, her heart thundered in a panic to see him and Dr. Englewood riding horses down the drive. "Mark!" He didn't stop. The scream of pure terror ripped out of her throat, "Mark!" Holding her belly, she ran but the babe weighed down too much. "Mark!"

He looked over his shoulder, the sunlight catching the tear on his cheek. Then he turned away, his head bowed.

"Mark! No! Mark!" She pushed through the pain in her belly. Just a few minutes. Just one more minute to convince him to run away together, that he didn't need to die to protect everyone. "Mark!" She screamed it from the very core of her being, fear and darkness creeping in.

An arm wrapped around and stopped her. "My lady, stop. The babe." Brigands locked his arms around her.

"No! They'll hang him!" She twisted and fought to break free, the sobs making speech impossible. It must've been sheer madness from grief that made her fists pound his chest.

A larger body took hold, catching her wrists and forcing her to stop. "He said to keep you from going after him so you'll be safe," Tim said. He hugged her tight to still the flailing.

Flinging her head to get the wild stands of hair from her eyes, she looked down the road. They were gone. "Maaaaark!" She screamed with every fiber of her being, the cry ringing over the hills. Her voice gave out. She sank to the ground, letting the pebbles bite into her hands as she sobbed grief so deep that no sound came.