Even as she walked toward Templeton House, she looked back over her shoulder and wondered if she wanted to be safe after all. She always had been, hadn’t she, and her life hadn’t been a rousing success so far. Then again, she had the unsettling feeling that she was thinking with her glands, not with her head. God knew that’s what she felt like now, one enormous pulsating gland.

That was a new experience, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to explore it further.

Before she could decide she stepped into the kitchen and all hell broke loose.

“Miss Laura. My God!” Ann leapt at her. While Laura goggled in shock, she was embraced fiercely, yanked back, patted down, and shoved into a chair at the kitchen table. “What did he do to you? That monster, that spawn of the devil. Where are you hurt, my baby?” Eyes wild, Ann smoothed Laura’s tousled hair, patted her pale cheeks. “I knew there’d be trouble with the likes of him around, but never did I imagine . . . I’ll kill him, kill him with my bare hands. See if I don’t.”

“What? Who?”

“She’s in shock, Mrs. Williamson. The poor lamb. Fetch the brandy.”

“Now, Mrs. Sullivan, calm yourself.”

“Calm myself? Calm myself? Would you look at what he’s done to our Miss Laura?”

After wiping her hands on her apron, the cook bustled over from the stove. “What happened, darling?”

“I was just—”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Ann interrupted, the light of vengeance sword-bright in her eyes. “That man happened, that’s what. Anyone can see she tried to fight him off. Oh, he’ll pay, he will. When I get through with Michael Fury there won’t be anything left to scrape off the bottom of a shoe.”

“Michael?” Maybe it was fatigue, Laura thought hazily. Hadn’t she just left Michael? “What did he do?”

Her lips in a thin, grim line, Ann sat, took Laura’s hands in hers. “Now don’t be ashamed, and don’t worry. None of it was your fault.”

“All right,” Laura said slowly. “What wasn’t my fault?”

“Sweetheart.” Obviously the poor girl was trying to block out the horror of it, Ann thought. “Let’s get your clothes off and see how bad things are. I’m praying that’s his blood on your clothes.”

“Blood?” Laura glanced down, looked at the mess of her cotton shirt and slacks. “Oh, Lord.” And it began to come clear. “Oh, Lord,” she said again and let out a long, wild laugh.

“The brandy, Mrs. Williamson. Fetch the brandy.”

“No, no, no.” Fighting for control, Laura grabbed Ann before the housekeeper could spring up to exact revenge. “It’s not my blood, Annie, or Michael’s either. The foal.” She hiccupped, managed to get a grip on herself. “I helped Michael birth a foal last night.”