Dazed, she studied the sketch, understanding none of it. And something told her the longer she stayed in this ancient place, the less she would understand it.

Then Gray saw the other sheet. A mere scrap, it had been torn from her sketch pad and tucked into the pocket of her flowered skirt. The charcoal lettering was as bold and restless as the sketch of the abbey.

She shivered as she read the two scrawled lines.

Tonight at midnight. By the witch"s pool.

If you dare.

CHAPTER FOUR.

GRAY"S BREATH CAUGHT.Raw indignation swept over her.

But in its wake came a fierce, forbidden curiosity.

She wouldn"t dream of going, of course. There could be no question of that. She had far too many other things on her mind to worry about an insolent caretaker with an attitude problem and a dislike for women who didn"t know their place.

Which for him probably meant the kitchen or the bedroom.

At that thought her cheeks flared with furious color.

Muttering angrily, she slapped open a new page, determined to complete her quota of sketches before the best of the sunlight was gone.

Yet her fingers, as she smoothed down that last, odd sketch, were surprisingly gentle.

"WHERE IS THE WITCH"S POOL?"

To Gray"s utter horror, the words burst from her lips the instant Marston finished pouring tea after dinner. Cursing silently, she glared down at her rose-strewn porcelain cup.

Horrified.

Infuriated.

But most of all gripped by curiosity as she waited for Marston"s answer.

Abruptly, she shook her head, her cheeks aflame. "Never mind. I can"t imagine why-" Her fingers tensed on the base of her teacup. "It-it doesn"t matter."

Of course it didn"t matter! She wasn"t about to go anywhere tonight!

"The witch"s pool." Marston straightened slowly, his brow creased. "Ah, now there"s a term I"ve not heard in years. Let me think." His expression grew distant. "Down on the far side of the moat, it is, Miss Gray. Spring-fed and surrounded by thick reeds. A strange place, sure enough. Water bubbles up crystal-clear there, warm all year round. The problem is that sometimes a swan gets caught beyond the reeds and can"t get back out. I hear them crying there sometimes, in the silence of the night. Several times I"ve gone down to carry them back to the moat, but they never seem to want to go. The crazy things just struggle back as if they"re searching for something."

The butler folded and refolded a damask napkin, his eyes fixed on the twilight shadows beyond the dining-room window. "Aye, it"s a strange place, sure enough. Some say it"s a haunted place. Legend has it that long ago a thane"s wife, distraught and despondent after her husband"s long absence, was found drowned there."

Gray swallowed. Suddenly she was finding it difficult to breathe.

Somewhere in the house a clock chimed seven o"clock. Marston studied her curiously. "But why were you asking, miss? You"re not going to work down there, are you? I can"t say as I"d advise that, for it"s an odd sort of place. And what with the mist always drifting about, you could find yourself lost before you knew it."

Lost?Gray felt as if she were hopelessly lost already!

Somehow she managed a lopsided smile. "No, I won"t be working down there, Marston. I was just...curious. Kacey must have mentioned the pool in one of her letters."

"I see. Will you have more tea?"

Gray shook her head. Speech was entirely beyond her. Dear God, what was happening to her in this strange place?

She started, realizing Marston was speaking to her again.

"...mousse. Or maybe some chocolate souffle, if you"d prefer."

She shook her head, feeling panic wash over her. Dear God, she could feel all the old vulnerability, all the raw, choking helplessness creep over her again. Only now it was worse, because now she wondered if her very sanity was in question.

"...quite all right? Shall I call a doctor?"

Around her the air seemed to hum and shiver, light and sound swirling together in odd, churning waves. And with it came the fear, like cold fingers inching down her spine.

"No!" In a sharp burst of movement, Gray tossed down her napkin and jerked to her feet, her hands clenched to keep them from trembling. "No, everything was lovely, Marston. Thank you s-so much. I"m-I"m afraid I had a bit too much sun this afternoon, though. I"d better make an early night of it."

Once again the keen sideways glance, the slightly pursed lips. "Of course..." The kind voice drifted in and out of her hearing. "...hotter than you think, no doubt...better in the morning...good night"s sleep."

But as Gray walked through the quiet courtyard and over the narrow stone bridge to the gatehouse, she had a sharp sense of purple shadows pressing close, menacing somehow.

And with them came an inexplicable sense of loneliness, of bitter regret and utter fatedness.

Almost as if the ancient abbey had been merely sleeping, merely waiting, guarding its dark secrets until the day she returned.

SHE WOULDN"T GO, of course.

Gray squared her shoulders.

She wasn"t about to be goaded and manipulated. Not again. She had learned that lesson too well with Matt.

And the first thing she would do to prove it would be to rip up the note. Then, after a long hot bath, she"d go straight to sleep.

Ten minutes later, steam twisted around Gray"s head. Lulled by the warm water, she shifted idly, stirring the crystal waters and watching mist rise in frothy white plumes.

For some reason the drifting shapes made her think of the moat, shimmering with heat beneath the noonday sun.

Glowing silver beneath the rising moon.

At midnight.

Jerking up with a start, Gray seized a bar of hand-milled lavender soap and scrubbed her arms with a ferocity that bordered on pain.

And still, the words lingered, haunting her.

At midnight. By the witch"s pool...

"I won"t go, do you hear?" Scowling, she rinsed off the white suds, wishing she could brush away the nagging voice with equal ease.

If you dare.

Muttering, Gray slid low in the heated water. Yes, let the bloody man wait in vain! She would just sit here and soak in sweet contented peace.

She stifled a yawn. Plumes of steam drifted up, twisted, enveloped her.

ONCE MORE THE BEACON FIRESwere lit.

The Lady of Draycotte watched numbly, clutching her shawl closer about her shoulders while the wind keened across the half-finished south tower.

Far below, dim laughter echoed up from the great hall, where her jailers sat to their ale, busy with belching and toasting.

If only Draycotte"s lord would return! If only she could be wrapped in his strong arms once more, safe and secure.

But he did not come. And here she remained, a prisoner surrounded by vengeful, cold-eyed spies.

Without warning, the first pain came. Sudden and racking, it bent her over double, made her clutch blindly at her swollen belly.

No, it could not be! Not so soon.

But nature had different plans, it seemed. Another spasm ripped through her and she slid down along the granite wall, her lips locked against the pain.

Something was wrong, very wrong. The child was not due for almost a month yet!

Too late she remembered the broth they"d forced on her at dinner. It had tasted odd, heavy with herbs and something else that left a faint, metallic taste.

Poison?

Slowly she slid to her knees. A terrible roaring filled her head. Wildly she clutched at her middle, where already the first terrible convulsions had begun.

She had promised him she would wait! Shemustbe waiting for him when he returned.

There by the silver-black glade when he came riding across the lush green Draycotte fields.

Tears wet her cheeks as she struggled to rise. Blindly, she felt for the wall"s reassuring bulk, even as her head throbbed with the malignant fury of a thousand war drums.

And then, as if from a vast distance, she saw a blurring shadow detach from the ragged edge of the south tower.

"Dear God, is that you, my love? Are you c-come back to me at last?"

But the torchlight danced lower, playing over flat, sullen eyes. Over thin, cruel lips.

Not the man she wished to see at all.

"No!"she cried, inching back along the cold stone.

The sullen eyes tightened; hard lips curved to an ugly smile. And the man in the darkness was still smiling as the Lady Anne fell senseless to the parapet"s cold granite floor.

Except that Anne wasnother real name, not to those who knew her best.

Back in her native Brittany, where she"d spent twenty summers before being summoned to Draycotte, she was called Griza. Griza for the iron tones of the wintry seas she loved. Griza for her velvet eyes the color of a cooing dove.

Griza.

Gray.

ABELL WAS CHIMINGover the hills when Gray awoke.

She shook her head, fighting her way up through angry dreams, feeling the clutch of terror and something else she ought to remember but could not.

Wind rushed into the room playing through her unbound hair, sending steam up in ragged eddies. Goose bumps broke out on her chest, across her shoulders, along her neck, where it rose above the warm water.

If you dare, Gray Mackenzie.The words echoed through her head.

"Forget it! Justforget it!"

Scowling, she sloshed from the tub and wrenched a towel embroidered with intertwined dragons around her trembling body.

The room beyond was silent, just as it should have been. Yet when Gray looked at the great gilt mirror on the wall, she saw it wore a light haze of steam.

And there in the mist hung a faint mark.

The lush, perfect outline of a densely petaled rose.

And beneath it hung three words, traced by the same phantom hand.

If you dare.

CHAPTER FIVE.

FURY CRACKLED THROUGH HER.

In its raw showering force Gray felt the long years of denial and regret burn away. Never again would she hide or give way to her fear. She would go or not go, but it would be byher choice and no one else"s!