They took. it slowly, very slowly, with eager Connor coming to understand Jilly's needs and hesitation. He sensed the way she tensed every time he moved near her, every time his face was within a few inches of hers, his lips and hers seeming to pull together as if magnetic.

But Jill inevitably turned away, her face flushed with frustration as deep as that which Connor felt. On those first few occasions, Connor took the rejection personally, as a slight, despite Jill's proclamations otherwise. He couldn't help but feel that she did not find him attractive, that he somehow revolted her. No novice in the ways of love, the nephew of Palmaris' baron was surprised and pained but also intrigued. Jilly was a challenge he had not before faced and one he was determined to overcome.

Gradually, as he came to see the light in Jill's eyes every time he entered the Way -- a more and more common occurrence -- the proud young man began to understand and accept that her problem was within the mysteries of her past and not with him. That realization didn't lessen the challenge, though, and Connor found he wanted Jill more desperately than he had ever wanted any woman. To Connor Bildeborough, Jill became perhaps the ultimate challenge of his young life. So he would be patient, would spend his nights walking with Jill and talking. His other needs could be taken care of in the many brothels that openly offered their wares in the city, but of course he didn't need to tell Jill, his Jilly, about that.

For Jill's part, her night always got better when Connor entered the Way. She found herself thinking about him constantly, even dreaming about him. She took him to her private place, the roof down the alley, and together they sat for hours watching the stars, talking comfortably. It was up there that she finally allowed Connor to kiss her -- actually kissing him back -- though she kept it brief and pulled away as soon as those dark wings of some past event she did not understand began to flap up around her. In kissing him -- in kissing anyone, she supposed -- Jill was sent back to a moment of pain, an event in her past too painful for her to remember.

But she suffered that pain, and let Connor kiss her, every once in a while.

It was up on that rooftop, under a sky that was streaked by clouds and stars, that Connor first mentioned the prospect of marriage.

Jill found it hard to breathe. She couldn't look at the man but kept her eyes locked on the stars, as if seeking refuge high above. Did she love Connor? Did she know what love was?

She knew it made her happy to be with Connor but also that it terrified her. She couldn't deny the longings, how parts of her body seemed to grow very warm, how she felt as if she were on did, verge of trembling whenever she looked upon him. But neither could Jill deny die -- fear of getting too close -- to Connor or to any man. The sweetness was there, but somehow just out of Jill's reach.

Her first instinct told her to refuse the proposal. How good a wife might she be, after all, when she wasn't even sure who she really was? And how long would Connor remain with her when even a kiss was a strained thing, something she had to force past this great black block that she did not understand?

But what of Pettibwa and Graevis? Jill had to consider. What of her duty to the couple who had taken her in and given her a home? How much better their lives would be to know that she was well wed! Perhaps her ascension into local nobility would even raise their own station in life, and Jill would treasure that above all else.

Jill finally found the nerve to look back at Connor, to stare into those marvelous brown eyes, sparkling more now in this starry light than she had ever seen.

"You know that I love you," he said to her, "only you. All these weeks, nay months, I've sat beside you, wanting to make love to you, wanting to wake beside you. Ah, my Jilly, do say you love me. If you do not, then I shall walk into the Masur Delaval and let the cold waters take me, for never again will this body know warmth."

The words sounded so beautiful to the young woman, except for his reference to her as "Jilly," which she really didn't like much, which made her feel like a little girl. She believed him with all her heart, and she had come to love him, so she thought: What else could it be called, after all, considering that her smile came so easily whenever he was in sight?

"Will you wed with me?" he asked softly, so softly that Jill really didn't hear the words but felt them as if they were transferred to her by his gentle touch as he ran the tip of his finger from the side of her nose and down her cheek.

She nodded and he kissed her, and she let him hold her close, their lips together for a long while, and all that time, while Connor was making soft, satisfied noises, Jill was beating back black wings, was furiously fighting to divorce her mind from the current situation, was remembering beer orders from her work in the Way, was thinking of the man she had seen get run down by a rushing cart the week before -- anything so that the moment would not send her careening back across the lost years to something, some horrible event, that she could not face.

The reaction of Pettibwa and Graevis to the news of the marriage was not hard to predict. The bartender nodded, smiling, and gave his precious Cat -- he still called her that -- a generous and warm hug. Pettibwa was distinctly more animated, hopping up and down, breasts and belly bouncing wildly, and clapping her hands together, her cheeks fast streaking with an outburst of tears. All that Graevis and Pettibwa had ever wanted for the girl was for her to be happy: as unselfish a love as anyone could ever know. And now that seemed so certain. To wed nobility! Jill would never want for anything, so they believed. She would dress in the finest gowns and attend the highest social events in Palmaris, even in Ursal!

Their reaction confirmed to Jill that she had made the right choice. Whatever her personal problems, the sight of Graevis and Pettibwa so animated and so sincerely happy warmed her heart. With all that they had done for her, how could she have ever chosen otherwise?

The wedding was planned by Connor's family, of course, since they had the wealth to do it right for late summer, and with all of the preparations ahead of them, Connor and Jill actually saw less of each other over the next few months than before the proposal.

"Finished already?" Grady called as he descended the wide, sweeping staircase of House Battlebrow, the most renowned brothel in all of Palmaris.

Connor, sitting back on one of the plush chairs in the lobby, turned an absent gaze his companion's way.

"What, only one this night?" Grady chided. "To be sure then, there are at least two disappointed ladies in the house!"

"Enough, Grady," Connor replied, his commanding tone leaving little doubt as to which was the dominant one in this relationship. Grady's standing was nowhere near Connor's, and the only reason the baron's nephew suffered the almost constant companionship of the upstart commoner was for the sake of his adopted sister.

Grady knew too much about Connor's nighttime pursuits for the nobleman to discard him, and though Grady had never even hinted at blackmail, Connor understood him well enough to fear him.

"What is wrong, my friend?" Grady asked, tying his belt and sliding into the chair beside Connor. "Your cheer has been left behind, I fear. Might the bonds of approaching matrimony be tightening?"

"Hardly," Connor replied. "Would that the day were the morrow! How long I have waited!"

Grady spent a long moment digesting those words, trying to find any hidden meanings.

"And do not doubt my, love for your sister," Connor went on. "She is surely the most beautiful, the most tantalizing and teasing . . ." He let it go with a profound sigh.

Grady put his hands in front of his mouth to hide his grin. "So it seems that she is driving you mad," he offered. "Her charms have put you into the arms of three women a night for, lo, these five months!"

Connor glared at him, hardly appreciating the sarcasm. "And if you tell her a single word of it, I shall stick my sword into your belly and wriggle it about," he warned, and there was little doubt he meant every grim word.

But Grady understood he had the upper hand and he would not back away. "You do so like sticking and wriggling," he teased.

"As any true man must!" Connor insisted. "Am I to let Jilly drive me to madness? But that does not mean I love her any less. Understand that. So fine a wife."

"Have you bedded her?"

Connor's expression forced Grady to lean the other way, fearing the man would slap him. "An honest question," Grady protested, "and not one aimed in protection of my sister's honor. Know that I would bed her myself, except for the consequences I would face from my parents."

"And from me." Connor's words sounded as a low growl.

"No longer do I desire such a thing, of course," Grady wisely conceded. Even hinting that he still had amorous desires for Jill to Connor would be akin to reaching under a crowning eagle to pull away its meal. "She is for you, and only you. A swooning girl, if ever I saw one. No man but Connor Bildeborough could bed her now, but by force.

"And what of Connor Bildeborough?" Grady bravely pressed. "Has Jill surrendered?"

"No," the frustrated nobleman admitted. "But the time is near."

"End of midsummer, I should say," Grady agreed, "or will you wait that long?"

"I give her until the wedding night," Connor replied. "She is fearful -- virgins always are -- but of course, my rights on that night are absolute. She will offer it, or I shall take it!"

Grady wisely bit back a remark questioning the virginity of his adopted sister. It really didn't matter; all that mattered was what Connor believed.

And indeed Connor believed! Grady could see that in his every fidget, in his almost animal-like intensity. Why, even the practiced whores of House Battlebrow were losing their charms for him!

"Dear Jilly," Grady mumbled under his breath as Connor rose furiously from the chair and stormed across to the exit. "You teasing little wench. Putting your maidenhead on a barbed hook and jiggling it before the baron's nephew." Grady silently applauded his conniving little sister, though his perception of her actions almost scared him; he had never thought her capable of such a beautifully treacherous play. "Ah, good enough for both of them, I say," Grady remarked more loudly, addressing a pair of ladies sitting on the bottom step of the wide stairway as he walked past in pursuit of Connor. The women cocked their heads curiously. "I'll be rid of you, dear sister," he went on; speaking to himself once more, "and let Connor Bildeborough learn in his own time that you were not worth the waiting!"

Another prostitute entered from the street just before Grady went out. He cupped her chin in his hand, drawing a smile from her. "The little teasing wench," he said, moving near the woman, who was one of his favorites: "Poor Connor will learn soon enough that she hasn't your charms nor your talents."

He kissed her, then rushed out behind Connor. The night was young but getting on, and Connor would soon enough have to get to the Way to meet Jill. But perhaps he'd have time for a few drinks and a dice game before.

It was a ceremony that had all of Palmaris talking; the women swooning, the men standing tall, feigning importance, wishing they were in the carriage in Connor Bildeborough's place as it made its winding way, through the streets. Any reservations that the nobleman's family had held toward the peasant orphan girl had been washed away when they met Jill, truly beautiful both inside and out. Now, seeing her adorned in a white gown of satin and lace, her long, thick blond mane pinned up on one side and hanging loose on the other, she seemed made for royalty. There were even whispers that the young woman was indeed of royal blood, end a host of rumors as to her past made their way through the crowds.

It was all nonsense, all pretension, but in Honce-the-Bear in God's Year 821, that was the way things were done.

For Jill, her face was a mask of paint and false smiles. She looked a princess but felt like a little lost girl. On the one hand," she couldn't deny the pleasure of dressing so beautifully, of knowing she was the center of attention. On the other hand, being the center of attention truly terrified her. It was bad enough that the carriage would roll through every part of the large city, bad enough that more than five hundred people would be in attendance at the church when she and Connor were wed, but the thought of what would come later, after the grand ball . . .

"I have waited long enough," Connor had said to her that morning, following the words with a kiss on the cheek. "Tonight."

And then he had left Jill with the thought. She hadn't even been able to kiss him yet without those black wings of that awful past flapping up around her, but she knew what he expected -- one of his house servants had described it to her in great detail.

She had smiled at Connor before he left, trying to be comforting. She dreaded the night to come.

The ceremony went off perfectly solemn yet joyous, ladies crying, men standing tall and handsome. After the carnage ride, the newlyweds came to a hall filled with music and drink, with ladies and gentlemen spinning about, twirling and laughing. It was loud and rushing, exhilarating. Jill rarely drank more than a single glass of wine, but this night, Connor kept foisting glasses upon her, and she kept taking them. He was trying to loosen up her inhibitions, and she was, too.

Or maybe she was just trying to blur the terror.

She found herself in the arms of dozens of men whom she did not know, gentlemen all, by blood if not by deed. More than one whispered something lewd in her ear, more than one tried to get a hand somewhere it should not be. Even a bit drunk, Jill was agile, and she got through the dancing with her purity intact.

The ball ended far too soon, at Connor's insistence, which brought more than a few randy comments.

Jill suffered them as she had suffered everything else, quietly and privately, looking at Graevis and Pettibwa as they stood beside the Bildeboroughs. This was for them, Jill constantly reminded herself, and in truth, she had never seen them, particularly Pettibwa, looking so happy.

When the guests were excused, Connor took Jill across the town to the mansion of his uncle, the Baron Bildeborough. They entered quietly through a side door of the west wing, proceeding to the guest quarters, which were empty; save a pair of handmaidens Baron Bildeborough had put at Connor's bidding. The two young women -- younger than Jill even, though she had just passed eighteen - - took Jill to the private chamber, a room that made her feel tiny indeed! The ceiling was high, the walls covered in grand tapestries, and both the bed and the hearth were of heroic proportions. For Jill, who had spent her life so simply, it seemed somehow obscene; a dozen people could sleep comfortably on that bed, and she needed a stepping stool to even get onto it!

She said nothing as the handmaidens helped her to get out of her great gown, making suggestions all the while as to how she should proceed, of this trick or that trick they had heard about. "A lady must be well practiced in the ways of lovemaking for royalty," one of them remarked.

"Is there a girl in Palmaris that Connor Bildeborough could not bed?" the other added.

Jill thought she would throw up.

When the tittering pair finally left, Jill was sitting on the edge of the great cushiony bed, wearing only a simple silk nightgown that was too low cut, both front and back, and didn't go nearly far enough down her legs. The night was chill for late August and the room drafty, but the handmaidens had lit a small fire in the hearth. Jill was just moving for it when the door swung open and Connor, dressed in the black pants and white shirt he had worn for the wedding and ball but without his boots, without his jacket, and without his belt, entered.

She started for the hearth; he cut her off and wrapped his arms about her.

"My Jilly," he whispered, the word lost as his lips brushed against her neck.

Connor backed off almost immediately, his face crinkled in confusion. He could feel her tension, she knew, and that notion alone allowed her to relax a bit. Connor knew her so very well; he could sense her fear. He would be gentle With her, she believed, would give her all the time she needed. He loved her, after all!

Even as that thought cascaded down through Jill's body, easing the muscles, Connor grabbed her and pulled her to him roughly, crushing his lips against hers. She hadn't even time to consider the rush of passion, so surprised was she. She didn't fight back, not at first, just stood there perfectly still.

She tasted his lips, felt his tongue brushing through.

In her mind, she heard a scream, agonized. The scream of a dying child, of her mother, of her village.

"No!" Jill growled, pushing him back.

She stood before him, panting.

"No?"

Jill could not find the breath to answer, to explain. She just stood there, shaking her head.

"No?" Connor yelled again, and he slapped her across the face.

Jill felt her knees buckle and she would have gone down, except Connor was on her again, squeezing her tight, kissing her all about the face and neck. "You cannot deny me," he said.

Jill squirmed arid twisted, not wanting to hurt him, even sympathetic to him, but simply unable to comply with his needs. Finally she worked her arm up under his and broke the hold enough so that she could move back a step.

"I am your husband," Connor said evenly. "By law. I will do as I please with you."

"I beg of you," Jill said, her voice barely a whisper.

Connor threw up his arms and spun away from her. "You have kept me waiting all these months!" he roared. "I have dreamed about you, about this night. Nothing else in all the world matters but this night!" He spun back to face her, now several steps away.

Jill felt as if she must be the most horrible person in the world. She wanted to give in to Connor, to give him what he deserved for his patience. But those wings, those black wings, that distant scream!

Connor's demeanor changed again, suddenly. "No more," he declared, his voice low, even threatening. Jill watched helplessly as he tore open his shirt, leaving it back on his shoulders, then squirmed out of his pants.

She had never seen a nude man before, and certainly not like this! But whatever feelings the sight of Connor's body -- and he was indeed a beautiful main -- might have inspired were washed away by the fear, by the black wings, by feelings that Jill could not understand.

Even worse, there was no love, no tenderness in his face as he stalked back to her, just heated desire, an almost angry passion. "Look at me!" he demanded, grabbing Jill by the shoulders and turning her roughly, forcing her to face him directly. "I am your husband. I will do as I please, when I please!" As if to accentuate his point, he reached over with one hand and tore down the side of Jill's nightgown, pulling it low enough to reveal one of her breasts. The sight of it, round and firm and creamy white, seemed to calm him for a moment.

"You approve of my appearance," he concluded.

Jill looked down. Her nipple stood hard, but it was not for love, not for excitement, just fear and a cold sensation that coursed through her entire body. Connor brought his hand to it and pinched it hard.

Jill winced and pulled away. "I beg of you," she whispered again.

Her hesitance incited his rage once more. Connor grabbed her and pulled her down, and before she could move to protest, he was on top of her, his knee between her legs, forcing them apart.

"No!" she begged, and she could feel him prodding at her, tearing at her nightgown to get the material out of his way.

His passion seemed to mount, driving him on, forcing him closer, rougher.

Jill gasped for air that would not come. She heard the flapping wings, the screams, the dying. She pulled and turned, looking away as his hungry mouth descended, but he only pursued, pinning one of her arms, putting all of his weight atop her.

The screams, distant, agonized. Her mother dying!

Jill scraped her forearm on the sharp edge of the stone hearth. She looked up to see she was trapped by the raised hearth, no room to squirm, her head close to the stone. And Connor would not relent, prodding and pushing.

Her mind was lost to the swirl of the past to the screams, to the sights, the smells of torn bodies swelling, growing thick with decay. She was there again, in that most horrible place, with no escape, with the death and the fire.

The fire.

She saw the ember fall from a log, orange glowing like the eye of some hideous night creature. She closed her. hand on it and felt no pain, was beyond pain.

And then she turned and stuck it into the face of her attacker, into the face of this thing that was atop her, this thing that had killed her mother, had murdered all of her village. It howled and fell away, and Jill rolled out from under it and scrambled to the bed.

Her surroundings confused her. She saw the man -- it was a man, it was Connor! -- rise to his feet, clutch at his face, and run screaming out of the room.

Waves of pain assaulted her suddenly; she threw the ember back into the fireplace.

What had she done?

She fell upon the bed, crying, clutching her burned hand in the other and pressing both of them under her, against her breasts. Her sobs did not relent for many minutes, for half an hour perhaps, for all of an hour. She did not stop, did not look up when she heard the door open, when she heard the sound of footsteps -- more than one set -- approaching.

She did not stop crying when she was grabbed roughly and turned about, her arms pinned out wide to the sides, her legs hooked under the knees and similarly pulled out wide.

The handmaidens had her securely, and Connor, the burns on his face mercifully not so bad, approached, wearing only his shirt, and with that garment open wide.

"You are my wife," he said grimly.

Jill had no more fight left in her. She looked up pleadingly at the two women that held her, but both seemed impassive, even somehow pleased by it all, by the sight of her, and of Connor -- seemed pleased by her helplessness and their part in it.

She looked back as Connor climbed up onto the bed, moving right atop her.

She shook her head. "I beg," she whispered.

Connor thrust against her, but she felt no stabbing point.

Connor lifted his head up from her, and he seemed to her truly hurt and saddened. He spun away in frustration, shifting off the bed right back to his feet.

"I cannot," he admitted, looking back sharply, his eyes reflecting a simmering rage. "Take her out of here and lock her in a room," he demanded of the handmaidens, who immediately and none too gently moved to comply. "We shall let the magistrate, Abbot Dobrinion, determine her fate in the morning. Take her!

"And then return to me," Connor added, speaking to the handmaidens, but aiming the words at Jill's heart. "Both of you."