* * *
She was running. The anger lasted only a few minutes after she left the study, and then the pain enveloped her in shimmering waves. She wasn't conscious of the tears streaming down her cheeks as she tore across the courtyard. She was only aware of the need to escape from that pain in any way possible. But there wasn't any escape. She knew that, even as she climbed the pasture fence and jumped to the ground on the other side.
Oedipus neighed softly. His dark coat shone in the moonlight with a silken luster. So beautiful. So powerful. So much like Philip, with his complexities and his remoteness. However, Oedipus wasn't remote tonight. He was warm and accessible as she threw her arms about his neck and buried her face in his mane.
"How about a run?" she said brokenly. "I need it. I want to outrun the wind tonight." Maybe she could outrun some of the pain as well. She slipped on Oedipus s back, and he stood like a statue until she nudged him forward. "Not the pasture tonight." She leaned far down and opened the gate, then urged him into a trot. "We need freedom, don't we?" In a few minutes she was away from the compound and on the road that led to the hills.
"Now." She was bent low over Oedipus's mane. "Run, boy!"
The wind was tearing at her hair as he stretched out at a blinding pace. She couldn't breathe, but for a little while she couldn't feel either as the scenery flashed by on either side of her. Oh Lord, how merciful it was not to feel. The moonlight shone on the road and she could see the hills looming dark in the distance.
The hills. She suddenly remembered sitting on the cliff overlooking those hills yesterday morning. Philip had been laughing and teasing her, his face lit with a rare warmth. She felt a bolt of pain rip through her. No, she couldn't go there now!
She tried to pull Oedipus in, but she had no reins. He was running faster now, covering the distance between the valley and the foothills with great speed. Then he was climbing, and she had to tighten her knees to keep from slipping off his sleek back. The cliff where they had stopped was much closer and she felt a sudden panic. She bent low, her arms encircling Oedipus's neck, pulling and trying to halt or break his stride.
The action only served to confuse him, and he suddenly reared, pawing the air. Her arms were torn from his neck and she felt herself slipping, falling. . . .
She struck the hard, rocky ground with a jar that knocked the breath out of her. For a moment she was only conscious of the struggle to get air. Then the pain in her lower back washed over her with an intensity that made her cry out. She was dully aware of a dampness between her thighs and a mist that surrounded her with ever increasing darkness.
She tried to lift her head and found she couldn't see any longer through the mist. How odd. It wasn't that dark tonight, she thought. Then the mists overwhelmed her, and she was no longer conscious of anything at all.
* * *
She was lying on something hard and unyielding, and the blanket that covered her was of rough wool. She heard Philip's voice fading in and out of the mists, but it was hoarse and rasping. She had never heard him sound like that before.
Yet when she forced her lids to open, it was undoubtedly Philip's face looking down into her own. His eyes were turquoise bright and glittering strangely. "My fault," she whispered.
He bent closer. "Don't try to talk. We have you back in the first-aid room. You're going to be fine." His hand, brushing a strand of hair from her temple, was trembling slightly. No, that must be her imagination. Philip was always rock firm and absolutely unflappable. But he was going to be angry. So angry. She must make him understand. "My fault," she murmured again. "Not Oedipus. I was stupid. It wasn't Oedipus."
A muscle in his jaw jerked. "No, it wasn't Oedipus's fault. I know that. Close your eyes and try to rest. Your father will be here soon, and we'll get you taken care of."
"My father?" She shivered suddenly. "Cold. I'm so cold, Philip."
"Hush, I know." His hand tightened on her own, as if trying to transmit his warmth to her. "It won't last long and then you'll never be cold again. I promise, Pandora."
Philip always kept his promises. She knew that. Yet even Philip couldn't perform miracles. How was he going to bring spring to a winter world? "My father doesn't know about spring." Her voice trailed away as her eyes closed again. "He doesn't know, Philip."
"Then well have to teach him," Philip said huskily. "I promised. Pandora. Just hold on for a little while longer and then I'll take over."
"All right, I'll try." Had he heard her? His hand was tightening on hers, as if he were trying to hold her back. Back from what? The darkness was warm and friendly and she was floating away on a gentle surf that cradled her like strong arms. Like Philip's arms carrying her back from the vineyard that night so long ago. Such a lovely memory ...
"She's unconscious," Karl Madchen said from just behind Philip. His face was expressionless as he took a step forward and picked up her wrist. "Raoul said it was a fall from a horse in the hills.How long was she lying there before you found her?"
"Not more than two hours, perhaps less. I got together a party and rode after her as soon as Oedipus returned to the stable. We were very careful. We brought her down on that stretcher, but we reinforced it with special supports. I don't think there are any bones broken." He touched her jean-clad thigh gently. "However, she seems to be in shock and I think there's some bleeding."
"So I see. Well, we'll have to run a few tests. It may be nothing." Madchen was rapidly unzipping Pandora's jeans as he spoke. "I will let you know shortly. My assistant is waiting in the hall. Send her in, please. I will join you in the library when I have a report for you."
"I'm going to stay," Philip said hoarsely.
"As you like, but you'll be in the way. I can function more efficiently with you out of the room."
Philip muttered a curse and reluctantly released Pandora's hand. "All right. But hurry, dammit. I want to know right away."
"You will learn my diagnosis in good time. There are tests and perhaps X rays to be taken. I know my job, Sheikh El Kabbar."
Philip was aware of that. Madchen might be as emotionless as the Sphinx, but he was an exceedingly thorough, competent physician, or Philip never would have retained him all these years. "I want to know right away," he said again. "I'll be waiting."
He strode quickly from the room and proceeded directly to the library, pausing only to send Madchen's assistant into the first-aid room.
In the library he crossed to the cellarette and poured himself a stiff drink. Then he dropped into the large wing chair by the desk and stretched his booted legs out in front of him. He was filthy, he realized vaguely as he sipped the brandy. He should probably go to his suite and shower and change. There was even a smear of blood on his gray riding pants. Her blood. His grip tightened on the glass. Then he forced his hand to relax, one finger at a time. He had to keep his mind blank. Heaven knew when Madchen would see fit to come and give him the report on Pandora. If he let himself remember that nightmare moment when he'd found her lying crumpled on the stony mountain path, he'd go to pieces.