And then the boy simply launched himself across the table, as if he were some kind of great cat dropping out of a tree. Lily moved fast, but not quite fast enough; he got her by the hair and yanked so hard that roaring pain wiped out everything else in the world.

The candles went out in the tumble and for a moment there was only the roiling dark of the storm. Then a flash of lightning filled the room in a tripling pulse, and in that bone-white light the boy's face looked like a skull.

He was grinning, a wide, panting grin, and he wrapped his hand and arm more firmly in her hair, pulled her head up to him and tried to press a wet kiss to her mouth. Still stunned, Lily managed to turn her head only a little, and felt his lips on her jaw like leeches.

He grunted at that, dissatisfied, and grunted again when she managed to use her elbow on him. While he wrapped her hair around his arm more firmly he used his free hand to sweep the table clear.

That sound roused her from her stupor. Lily used her arms and her legs as best she could; she twisted and bucked and screamed, once and then again, while he pinned her to the table with his body.

The lightning showed her his expression, resolute. Nothing much there, no anger, no lust: a workman thinking through a problem. That scared her most of all, and Lily screamed again.

Justus Rising made a shushing sound, as if she were a troublesome child and not a grown woman, about to be married. With a yank he pulled her down the table so that her legs hung off the far edge.

“I'll get a better hold on you like this,” he said. “Ride some of the rough off you.”

“Simon Ballentyne will kill you.” Her voice came in a harsh whisper.

He hummed agreement. “If he can catch me.” Then he hooked a dirty rag from the mess on the floor and stuffed it into her mouth.

“Rutting and talking don't go together,” he said. “Though I wouldn't mind a little moaning now and then, you want to urge me on.”

I am fighting for my life. The thought came to her, quick and clean, and with it anger roared up out of her and Lily rose up against him with every bit of strength she had.

The boy grunted once and then again and then frowned at her in the flickering lightning, pressed his arm across her throat.

“Stop,” he said. His tone a little breathless but utterly reasonable. “Stop fighting and maybe you'll like it. I'm not as big as your Scot but I'm no mean portion either.”

She coughed around the dirty rag and began to choke, the taste of lye soap making her gorge rise. He watched her choking and then seemed to come to a decision. With his free hand he pulled out the rag.

“You see,” he said. “I'm no monster.”

She spat in his face and saw all the good humor run out of his expression. Had time to think, Oh, no, and then his fist had buried itself in her gut and the pain took her down. He lifted her head and slammed it down against the table so hard that she almost lost consciousness.

Don't let him get the best of you. She heard Daniel's voice now, and closed her eyes and wished for him, for her father, for anyone at all, but she was alone and so she did what she could; she arched her back and hoped to push the boy off her long enough to catch her breath.

But Justus Rising was well grown and strong and he shook her like a puppy.

Don't let him. Sister, don't.

Her brother's voice did something for Lily, spurred her flagging strength and she arched up and managed to dislodge the boy—he was distracted by his fumbling at his breech buttons—long enough to slam her fist into his ear.

The boy grunted. “If that's the way you want it.” He was reaching under her skirts, and Lily lifted her head to snap at him, her teeth grazing the skin of his cheek, and saw what he looked like when a real anger came over him: like the devil himself.

“No!” she screamed into his face, her own anger roiling up out of her to match his. “No!”

Another crash of thunder, this one loud enough to wake the dead. The boy blinked, his expression shifting suddenly from determination to surprise, and then he collapsed forward, his whole weight on Lily until she bucked once more and he rolled off to crash to the floor.

Martha Kuick stood there, both hands wrapped around a length of firewood, her eyes wide and wild with fright and anger and a deep, abiding satisfaction. Behind her was Callie Wilde, a shovel in her hands, and then Curiosity appeared in the door. She pushed her way into the room, stepped over a broken chair, and put her arms around Lily, who had rolled herself from the table to stand, retching, at the hearth.

Over her shoulder she said, “Did you kill him, child?”

Martha was crouched on the floor next to the still form of the boy.

“No, ma'am, he's still breathing.”

“Too bad,” Curiosity said. She patted Lily's back while she retched.

“Callie, see if you can find the candles and get 'em lit. A fire would be a good thing just now too. And some water for Lily. I wish I had some of Axel's schnapps left over, I surely do.”

Lily wanted to talk, but breathing was taking all of her concentration and energy. Under Curiosity's stroking hands she felt her body begin to quiet, the rushing of her blood ebbing slowly. She began to shake.

“That's right,” Curiosity said. “You breathe deep, now. You safe, girl. I got you.”

“Should I fetch Jed McGarrity?” Martha asked.

“Simon,” Lily managed to say. “My father.”

“I know you'd like to have your menfolk just now, and your mama too,” Curiosity said evenly. “But let's think this thing through before we go running off half-cocked.”