Chasing the Sunset

chapter SEVEN



Maggie bit her lip as she hurried toward the stables. She had not realized that this was going to be so hard. It took every ounce of courage she had to go to the stables and see Ned. She had to try to explain, for she could not stand it if he thought badly of her. He was the only family that she had left, and she had not realized until last night how much his good opinion meant to her. How important it was to her.

Until it was gone, she thought gloomily. She would never, for the rest of her days, forget the look of shock in Ned’s eyes when he stood in that doorway and caught her in Nick’s illicit embrace. She was deeply ashamed. She should have known better. Nick had warned her how it would be, and she had not listened to him, she had just gone on and done what she wanted without a thought to the consequences. She had thrown herself at the man every chance she got, and she had no right . . . she was not free to love him, and she knew it.

Last night, after Ned had left them standing there, the look on Nick’s face had killed her tender heart. He was tormented by guilt and she could see the shame in his eyes. He had turned and left then, too, without speaking a word. Maggie had watched him go with all the frustrated love in her heart. She had spent the next four hours weeping into her pillow, only dropping off to sleep when exhaustion claimed her body.

Now, she called softly for Ned. She peeped into the tack room, and squeaked in alarm when she ran right into her uncle’s chest. He put two hands out to steady her, and frowned. Maggie felt a scalding blush rise up her face. She lowered her eyes, unable to meet the knowledge in his.

“Here now, what is this?” he said gruffly. “Something wrong, Maggie girl?”

Maggie felt the tears well up from some place deep inside her, some hidden crevasse inside her wounded soul. She tried to keep them at bay, but they came on anyway, an unstoppable flood. Ned pulled her forward against his chest, and cradled the back of her head with his hand.

“There, there, poppet. Do not cry, sweetheart,” he soothed. He patted her back as if she were a small child in need of comfort, and that made Maggie cry all the harder. She remembered when she was small and Ned would come to visit, how he had always brought her a gift, how he held her on his lap and kissed away her hurts. She felt like a child again as he tried to console her.

Ned led her to a bale of hay in a nearby empty stall and sat her down, gave her a handkerchief from his pocket, and waited out the storm of tears. When the flood had abated to a trickle, and she sniffled and blew her nose, he spoke.

“Has this something to do with the scene that I walked in on last night?”

Maggie nodded miserably, wiping her eyes.

“I . . . I do not want you to think badly of me,” she whispered. “I cannot bear it, Uncle Ned.”

His wrinkled old face gentled and he sank down beside her, patting her knee.

“I do not think badly of you, Maggie girl. I was just surprised, that is all. You are a grown woman, and the good Lord knows you are entitled to some pleasure in your life, and Nick is, too. I will not stick my shanty Irish nose in where it does not belong, if that is what is worryin’ you.” His arm crept around her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. “Just you be careful, Maggie. Do not get a babe if you do not want one.” His face reddened and he cleared his throat nervously. He twitched a little on the bale of hay, and his eyes had a hard time looking at her. “There is ways to prevent ‘em, you know. I will probably set the barn on fire with my face bein’ so hot, but I will tell you if you need to know.”

Maggie stared at him, and he squirmed a little at her direct gaze. “Uncle Ned,” she said in a faint voice, shocked all the way down to her toes. “You never behave as I think you will. Just when I have made up my mind about what you might do or say, you utter something outrageous. I think you do it just to confuse me.”

He smiled, showing slightly crooked teeth. “You must grab your joys where you can in this life, Maggie, m’dear. There is tears a plenty, that is for sure, so you needs grab happiness with both hands and wring every last drop out of it.” He picked up her hand and studied it, perusing the delicate bone structure, the trimmed nails and work-worn texture of the skin there as if some secret resided in the slender digits.

“Did your father e’er tell you about immigrating to this country, lass?" When Maggie shook her head, he smiled. "Ah, your father was ever one to ignore terrible events. He liked to discard the bad parts and keep only the good in his life. Well, never mind that. Let me tell you about it." He squeezed her hand affectionately and began again.

"We came here in the year of An Gorta Mor all together, Maggie, me and your father and all of our family. That was the year of The Great Hunger. It was the year of the potato blight. It started just as a little white spot on our tatties, and we thought nothing of it until we went to pick them and realized that it was fungus, and it had rotted through every potato in our field. And not just our fields, lass, it was through every field in Ireland. And people were starving to death before our eyes. We were lucky. Our Ma’s grandfather had been a wealthy man, and he still had jewelry that had been in his family for generations, and he left it to her when he died. Our Ma had hidden it, thinking that one day we might need it. And she was right, Maggie, for without the money she got for the jewels we would have all died. Our Ma brought our entire family here, my Da, me and your father, my aunt and uncle and their two little ones. She bullied them into comin’, and they all did as she said, e’en the ones who disliked the idea of moving so far away from our home. She forced us all to leave, in the early days of the famine, and thank the good Lord for that, for the famine lasted five long years. She got us out of Ireland, and gave us all a chance at a decent life, because there was no such chance in Ireland. For in Ireland, you see, the beauteous Irish countryside with its green pastures and wonderful farmland had long ago been taken away from the Irish and given to the English. They took it from its true owners and made the land into English plantations. Land-owning Irishmen, one of whom was my great-grandfather, who had worked for themselves for centuries, became English tenants overnight. The only money that changed hands for the transfer of the lands, of course, was the rent that was now paid to the new landlords. And that was not all, Maggie. All of Ireland had to contend with laws that were designed to break the backs of the Irishmen and make us ignorant. We were forbidden the exercise of our religion, or to receive an education, and to enter a profession. We could not hold public office, or engage in trade or commerce. We were forbidden to own a horse of greater value than five pounds, to vote, or even to purchase land. Laws like that were a disaster-in-the-making for the Irishman, and so you see, the potato crop was all that we had. We had to pay the rent with the proceeds of the potato crop, or we would be kicked off of the very land that we had owned for hundreds of years. And my Ma knew, deep in her bones, that bad times were there to stay, and so she made us all leave Ireland. We settled in St. Louis, a grand, wild place." Uncle Ned smiled, and squeezed her hand. "I wish you could have known my Ma, and my aunt and uncle and all of their children, but they died in a cholera epidemic when you were only a wee little girl."

"Mother did a portrait of them once," Maggie said softly. "From memory. It hung in our house for a long time, but I do not know what happened to it after my parents died. They all looked so happy together."

“Did I ever tell you about my wife, Maggie love?”

Maggie shook her head and stared wide-eyed at his words. She had not known that Uncle Ned had ever been married.

"She was as rough a woman as you e’er want to meet.” He smiled, staring off into the depths of the stable, his eyes seeming to see some distant picture that pleased him. “I met her when I was but a lad of sixteen, and she was three years my senior, and they were a hard three years, too, darlin’. Her mother was a dockside whore, as pitiful a slattern as you would ever want to meet, and her father was a useless, lying drunk who had just as soon cut your throat for a penny as look at you. She was a maid in a fine house, and she near worked hersel’ to death six days out of the week, trying to feed hersel’ and all the little ones in her family.”

He looked at Maggie, and she was astounded to see the sheen of tears in his rheumy eyes. He wiped them away unashamedly with his sleeve and gave Maggie a crooked little smile.

“Her name was Siobhan. She was short and stocky; the top of her head barely reached to my shoulder and you know that I am not a large man. She was bowlegged, to boot. Her hair was a tangle of wild red curls and she had a mouth on her that would put the roughest sailor to shame and cause him to blush. I was down on the east side of St. Louis, visiting with my aunt and uncle who lived down there, and I had decided to walk along the pier, not knowing how dangerous it was down to the docks. All of a sudden a man comes howling out of one of the shacks that were all along there, and this screaming virago follows him out, yelling curses I had never heard the like of. It was Siobhan, down visitin’ her younger brothers and sisters on her half day off. I stood and gaped, and when she turned around, and our eyes met, I gaped for another reason.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, and he closed his eyes momentarily, the better to see his memories... “Och, she was lovely to me, Maggie. Maybe she would not have been to anyone else, but to me she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I to her. I looked down deep inside her from the moment of our meeting, down past the worn clothes and terrible upbringing, past the anger, past all the terrible, terrible things she’d had to do just to survive, past all the surface of her . . . and I looked inside her heart. We knew each other, Siobhan and I, from that moment and nothing else mattered.”

Ned squeezed Maggie’s hand between both of his own. “We stood and stared at one another for minutes, without moving, and then I walked over to her and took her hand, just like I am holding yours now. ‘Now,’ I says to her, ‘Tell me where I can be findin’ a minister, because I am thinkin’ I am to be married today.’ And we were.” Ned chuckled. “If you do not think there was an uproar at m’ Uncle’s house that afternoon . . . and again when I took my Siobhan home to my Ma. But we weathered it all together, because we loved one another and we stood together, and that is the way it was for the whole of the five years I had with her. She took sick, Siobhan did, when she was pregnant with our child, and she died of it, and our child along with her.” Ned pressed his lips together.

“Her last words to me were that she loved me and that she was grateful for having the chance to be with me. Grateful! As if she was not the savin’ of me. As if she was not the best thing that ever happened to me. The best moment in m’ whole life was the day I met her.”

Ned patted Maggie’s knee, and smiled enigmatically into her red-rimmed eyes. “But she knew, Maggie dear, that it is only one in a hundred who can look below the surface to the person

beneath. She knew that most people are too scared to see that deeply and feel that deeply, and much too frightened to love another that fully.”

He wiped his eyes again, and laughed a shaky laugh. “I am the one who is grateful, Maggie girl, grateful that I got my five years with my Siobhan, grateful that I did not stop with the surface of her but saw straight through to her gallant heart, and even though it like to killed me when she died, I do not regret one single minute of loving that rough, foul-mouthed, lovely girl.”

“I have got to get back to my work, Maggie.” He rose to his feet and Ned started out, then stopped in the doorway of the stall, his back still to her.

“You should think about something, though, something that Siobhan taught me. Love is never wasted, never without a reason, and you should clutch it to you with both hands whenever you find it. To throw love away is the only unforgivable sin, Maggie. Do not be afraid of it; do not spend the rest of your life wondering what if. Live now, and worry about the consequences later.”

And for the second time in as many days, he walked away and left Maggie speechless behind him.

Ned’s words resounded in her head for the rest of the day. Kathleen, too, seemed preoccupied, and they worked side by side most of the morning in silence. Maggie figured if Kathleen wanted to talk about what was bothering her, she would do it, and so she did not wheedle for information, did not ask her what put that worried look in her eyes. She, as well as anyone, knew that some secrets are not meant to be shared. Even the men at lunchtime could see that Kathleen was not up to their usual teasing, and left her alone. After the noon meal, Kathleen had volunteered to polish all the silver, a job that she ordinarily detested, and Maggie figured it was so that she could be alone in the small room off the kitchen where they usually sat together to do that nasty job. Maggie let her go without comment.

Nick had refused to meet her eyes all day; he was back to avoiding her and Maggie would have pulled all his hair out in a screaming tantrum if she thought that it would help. Unfortunately, she did not think that it would. He had made up his mind again and he planned on denying the feelings he had for her, but she was not going to let him get away with it, not this time. She contemplated her situation as she pounded bread dough a little more violently than necessary, and her mouth firmed. If this was the only chance she had, her only shot at happiness, she was going to take it. How much would Ned have missed if he had not had the strength to marry his Siobhan?

Tommy came into the kitchen to beg some leftover cherry pie, and Maggie laughed when he cut himself a slice as big as three ordinary ones.

“Why didn’t you just eat it out of the tin?” she teased. “There is hardly anything left now.”

He grinned up at her, and Maggie noticed that one of his eyeteeth overlapped just a tiny bit and that small imperfection in his otherwise perfect smile endeared him to her all the more. She sat down beside him; she could leave those dishes for later. They would still be there when she decided to go back to them, but Tommy might not.

“I figured you would yell at me,” he said. “You eat it. You have got time to sit and talk with me with me now, and that is good pie.”

Maggie figured that was good advice, and she did eat it out of the tin, much to Tommy’s amusement, but she did not see the point in dirtying another dish. She listened to Tommy chatter on about the stables, and Ned, and Nick, and any subject that came to mind, and she smiled internally. The boy must save up all his conversation all morning, waiting until he came to the

house to spill it all. He unconsciously inched his chair closer and closer to hers while they talked, so that eventually his leg was resting right up against hers. Maggie had noticed this habit of Tommy’s before, they had all remarked on it at one time or another, and his involuntary search for human touch pierced her tender heart with a sharp pain. She leaned forward a little and put her hand on his arm, and Tommy glowed at her, his animated gestures and conversation never slowing for a minute. Finally he sighed, and looked down at his empty plate.

“I guess I better go before Ned comes huntin’ me, Miss Maggie.” He peeped over at her shyly from under his lashes. "Miss Maggie? Can I tell you something?"

"Of course, Tommy," she said warmly.

"I am glad you ain’t scared of us no more like you was when you first got here. I knowed you was scared ‘cause I used to be that way, and I remember what it feels like. This is a good place, and I’m glad you come here. I kinda feel like, you know, since I don’t have one . . . I pretend sometimes . . . like you are my . . . my family."

Maggie’s eyes filled with tears. She stared at him for long moments without words, until he began to squirm uneasily, afraid that he had made a horrible mistake and that Maggie did not feel the same way about him that he felt about her. Then she grabbed him in a hard hug for so long that his face turned a bright red, and when he spoke again, his voice came out in a squeak.

"I love you, Maggie," he whispered, and she whispered the sentiment right back, then pretended not to see when he wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve. He gave her a wobbly smile that held all the joys of a day in the sunshine, then scurried out the back door quickly, before he could be forced to participate in any more mushy talk.

Maggie called a goodbye after him, and watched the gangly boy lope out to the stables. He was all arms and legs and showed promise of becoming a big man. At fourteen, he was already inches taller than her, and was still growing like a weed. He ate enough for two or even three field hands; Maggie had watched in astonishment one day as he ate the equivalent of a whole chicken, plus a huge pile of mashed potatoes, three slices of bread, and massive amounts of vegetables. The men were always taking bets on how much he could eat that day; Tommy took their teasing in stride, accepting it for the affection that it was.

Kathleen left for the day, the silver all done. She gave Maggie a half-hearted smile and headed out the door. Maggie frowned after her and sighed. Whatever was bothering Kathleen was her problem, and she would not meddle. Lord knows she had as many problems as she could deal with already, but she sure wished Kathleen would talk about it. Whatever it was, it was not like Kathleen to be so quiet about anything, and Maggie could tell that whatever was wrong was something big.

Dinner was a silent affair; Nick still was not talking, and Maggie toyed with her food. Ned ate quickly and left and even Tommy picked up on the atmosphere, his puzzled gaze going from person to person in silence.

Maggie went to watch the fox kittens, but Duncan did not show up, and she did not stay long. She stared morosely into the river for a little while. Its dark depths seemed to hold secrets tonight; the swish of the wind through the trees, the chattering of birds and squirrels, the tinkling of the water did not soothe her as it usually did. Maggie went home, resigned to an early bedtime.

She had a hard time falling to sleep that night; tossing and turning and trying to find a spot on the bed that was comfortable. The mattress that was usually so much to her liking seemed to have developed lumps and bumps overnight, and every time she turned over, Maggie found another one. Her soft feather pillow was suffocating, and she threw it on the floor in exasperation, putting her head on a coverlet instead. Her dreams, when she finally drifted off, were peopled with monsters hiding behind smiling faces in hazy, smoke-filled rooms. When she came awake with a start, having no idea why, her heart was pounding so hard she was certain that she could see it through her nightdress.

A heavy hand covered her mouth and kept in the scream rising in her throat. All Maggie could see was a shadow looming over her, and the dark, phantom figure reminded her so very much of her recent dreams that she fought wildly. Maggie twisted and flailed, trying to escape. The harsh, hoarse whisper finally penetrated her terror and she stopped struggling.

“Miss Maggie! Miss Maggie! Don’t be scared. It’s me, Tommy.”

He lifted his hand cautiously away from her lips, and Maggie sat up.

“Tommy? What the devil . . . “

”Ssshh. Do not wake Mr. Nick.” His eyes were frantic, and he was covered in sweat, too much sweat for so chilly a night. He was dressed not for bed, but in dark blue trousers and a navy shirt that Maggie had helped sew for him not too long ago.

“You have got to help them, Miss Maggie,” he pleaded from his knees beside her bed. “They will catch her and they will hang her. I told her not to go, I told her it was much too dangerous, but she went anyway, she said she had to.” He had Maggie’s shoulders in a death grip, and she eased his hands off, swinging her legs off the side of the bed.

“Calm down now,” she whispered. “I do not know what you are talking about, Tommy.”

Maggie had a sinking feeling that she knew who the ‘she’ was in this story, and she came to her feet and started rummaging in the wardrobe for clothes.

“Turn your back while you tell me, Tommy,” she said, and calmly began dressing in the pants and loose shirt that she had been using for her riding lessons.

“It is Miss Kathleen, they are hard on her heels, and I do not know what to do.” Tommy’s voice trembled, tears thickening his voice. “I did not know who to get. When I . . . when I found the hidey-hole in the stables, Miss Kathleen made me promise never to tell Nick, but she never made me promise not to tell you. They had a slave locked up at Drizzell’s, and they was gonna hang him tomorrow. They said he attacked a white man, a guest of the Drizzells, for no reason, but Drizzell’s slaves all say that guest of theirs was hurtin’ the man’s daughter, and that he did not do nothin’ but run to help her when she was cryin’ out for him. Kathleen said she was gonna get him loose, and the daughter, too. I told her not to go, I told her not to,” he said, and rubbed fiercely at his eyes, where the tears seemed to spurt out without his permission. “Something went wrong. Kathleen got both of ‘em, and they are on their way here, and Ned’s waitin’ there to hide them in the place that they have, but they are right on her, I tell you, right on her, and they are gonna catch her comin’ in, I know they are.”

Tommy hung his head, weeping, his whole body shaking with the sobs he tried valiantly to repress. “I was not supposed to go, but I followed her to make sure she was okay, and somebody set up a hue and cry right after they left the plantation. My horse is faster than hers and Kathleen is leading them around in circles so I got here first, but we ain’t got much time, Miss Maggie. Somebody has got to help her.”

Maggie finished tucking in her shirt. “So that is what is been wrong with her all day,” she breathed. “You can turn around now, Tommy. Let’s go to the stables, and we will try to figure something out.”

They crept down the stairs and out into the blackness of the night. There was hardly any moon tonight, and Maggie shivered in the darkness. Tonight, instead of being her friend, the darkness seemed to cloak evil; each shadow was malevolent and must belong to some twisted being that was here to catch Kathleen, catch her and hang her if they caught her. Goosebumps covered Maggie’s skin, and she quivered. What was she going to do?

They entered the stables through the double doors, and Maggie squeaked when a giant cloaked figure grabbed her by the shoulder. A quick shake and a hissed, ‘Quiet!’ in a familiar voice had her stilling her struggles. It was Duncan, minus his cane, dressed in the strange clothing that he had been wearing when they first met, that he had later told her was made in the Indian fashion, that one of his aunts had sent to him. He turned to look at Tommy.

“Go take the horse you used to the place where you usually keep them and stay there with them until sunrise, then sneak home without the horses. Ned can collect them later. I led them here, away from Kathleen. If they find the horse here, warm and obviously just ridden, they will know for sure instead of just suspecting. Tie up my horse right out front, to make sure they see it when they come in.” His arched brows drew together. “And hurry, boy, I do not want this to be all for nothing. I do not want them catching you, either. We do not have much time.”

Tommy obeyed without question, hurrying off into the shadows. He could not have been more than five feet away when the dark swallowed him up as if he had never been.

“Where’s the most obvious place, if you were going to meet your lover here?” he asked Maggie urgently, grabbing her arm.

“The tack room,” she said without hesitation. “They keep a small bed out there, so they have someplace to catnap when one of the horses is foaling, or needs round-the-clock care.”

“Lead me there,” Duncan said grimly. “And hurry.”

Maggie headed for the tack room, nearly pulling Duncan along behind her in her haste. In seconds, they were inside. Maggie shut the door behind them, and a sudden flare of light had her turning. Duncan held a stub of a candle in his hands, and Maggie realized he must have had it in his pocket. The candlelight threw flickering shadows across his face, highlighting his scar and his blade of a nose, making him appear almost demonic. Duncan put the candle in a holder he found on the shelf, then laid out his cloak on the narrow bed, and turned to her. The light of the candle fell full upon his face and he was once again the familiar Duncan that she trusted. Maggie breathed a sigh of relief and forced herself to stop trembling. Even though she would bet her life that Duncan would hurt them, it was only human to have a moment or two of doubt, especially when a person had gone through what she endured in her life.

Duncan pulled his shirt over his head, exposing a nearly hairless, heavily muscled chest. He threw the fringed shirt on the ground, then sat on the edge of the small cot to pull off his knee-high soft boots, which he had told her were called moccasins.

“Come over here, on the cot and loosen up some of those clothes,” he said quietly, not looking at Maggie. “You don’t have to take them off, but if we are going to convince them that we are lovers, you are going to have to appear at least a little unclothed and a whole lot closer to me than across the room.”

Maggie paled. “What good is that going to do Kathleen?” she whispered, but her nimble fingers were already unbuttoning her shirt.

“They are going to think that it was me that they followed through the forest from the start, and not Kathleen,” Duncan said patiently. “If they think they picked up the wrong trail, and followed me here where I was having an assignation with Nick Revelle’s housekeeper, it will take the suspicion off of everyone here. It will give Kathleen time to hide the slaves and get home. They will waste precious time checking everything out here, and Tommy will have plenty of time to get to the place where they stable the horses in the woods and hide them. He will stay there with them, for I doubt seriously that they will check his room or that they will consider a fourteen year old boy smart enough to figure out how to get a heavily guarded man and his daughter off a plantation.”

"And Uncle Ned?" she asked breathlessly.

"Safe in his room," he said briefly.

Maggie threw her boots atop Duncan’s, and slid under the covers, avoiding his eyes as she went to pull her shirt off. She wore nothing underneath it, having dressed in too much of a hurry to worry about such niceties. He stopped her with one hand on hers, and smiled gently at her.

“I do not think that is necessary.” His big fingers tilted her chin up. “I am your friend, Maggie. I have never hurt you, and I never will. You do not have to worry.” He wrapped the blanket around her. "Here, sit on my lap, I am too big to lie down on this cot."

She nodded, and he slipped the blanket around her, putting his arms with it. Even sitting up, they were a tight squeeze on the small cot.

"You are as big as a mountain,’ she grumbled in a shaky voice. Maggie laid her head on his broad chest and realized that he was chuckling without sound in the way that he had. She marveled at the way she felt in Duncan’s arms versus the way she felt in Nick’s. She felt warmed, protected, and somewhat embarrassed at being in Duncan’s arms, but if Nick were here instead, she would have been trembling with desire, not cold.

"How did you know that Kathleen was in trouble?" she asked quietly. "How?" He did not answer her at first, and Maggie peered intently up at him in the dark, giving him an insistent shake when he did not answer her right away.

"I heard . . . Kathleen calling me,” Duncan whispered slowly. "She was afraid and she needed help. I lay in my bed and I heard her cry out. So I came here to help. I cannot explain it any better than that." Maggie opened her mouth to say something, wondering how he could have heard Kathleen from miles away. "Sshh. I hear them now,” he whispered, and Maggie resolved to drag the whole story from him later. Then Nick’s furious tones came to her ears, and her heart fell to somewhere around her toes. Duncan’s eyes met her suddenly stricken ones, and he laid a hand on her cheek.

She had not thought about Nick being with the men, but of course he would be. They would have woken him first. He was going to find her here, in another man’s arms.

And he would hate her forever for it.

“I am telling you, there are no escaped slaves here! And that is not one of my horses. Do you think if I was stealing slaves I had be stupid enough to leave the horse out front? Look around, if you want. There is no-one here.”

Just as someone flung the door to the tack room, Duncan put his mouth on hers. The kiss was warm, and sweet, and Maggie was dying, dying, dying. She could feel Duncan’s compassion for her as she jerked her head around to look at the men standing crowded in the doorway. Nick was never going to forgive her, and no explanation was going to be good enough to cover this. Maggie squeezed her eyes shut against the light of the lanterns they carried and to shut out the sight of Nick’s face. Someone began to laugh in a coarse way. Duncan sat up in a way that shielded her body from the prying eyes of the men who crowded in the doorway of the small tack room.

“What are you doing here, Murdoch?” growled Nick, but Duncan did not answer.

Maggie slowly put her head up, her hands clenched on the sheet she held up to her chest for comfort, not for hiding behind. She felt tears burning hard behind her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. She watched Nick’s expression change from threatening to incredulous to angry in the space of a mere second. His eyes reproached her; he seemed to have lost his ability to speak, merely staring at them both with an expression that tore Maggie’s heart in half. Maggie felt a lump rising in her throat and a scorching pain somewhere in the vicinity of her heart, and she pressed her hands harder against her chest, trying to make it go away. She could not hold his gaze for long, and dropped it before the cold scorn in his. He spoke, finally, without taking his eyes off of her.

“Gentlemen, this is our new doctor, Duncan Murdoch,” he said darkly, without a trace of the emotion boiling in his guts. “I think it was he who you followed here and not any escaped slave at all. You have obviously made a mistake. I suggest that you leave my property and search for

your prey elsewhere, for it is not to be found here.”

One of the men chuckled, and Maggie burned with a blush all the way to her toes.

The men left, grumbling and talking among themselves. Snatches of their conversation drifted back to Maggie, and still she sat upon the bed with her eyes downcast, with Nick’s eyes on her, burning a hole in her, crushing her heart.

“Do not know where . . . damned thieves! . . . back on the trail . . . “

Even after the voices disappeared and were heard no more, they were all frozen in the tableau of misery. Duncan was the first to move, reaching for his boots and shirt. He pulled the shirt over his head, then looking at Maggie’s down bent head, spoke quietly.

“Let’s leave Maggie alone for a moment, shall we?”

Nick spoke not a word, just stood there in silent recrimination, his gaze damning her silently. He had thought she was different, that she was not like his wife, and then she had done this. The realization twisted like a dagger in his guts. He wanted to kill Duncan; he felt the dangerous emotion snaking through his body and he knew that the other man was very well aware of his desire to pound him into the ground. He clenched his fists, his eyes hot.

Duncan gestured toward the door, and Nick turned and left, striding angrily off. If he stayed here one more moment, he would attack the bigger man. He would try to kill him for taking the woman that he wanted for himself. Nick felt his heart grow cold as he walked away. Maggie’s betrayal was freezing his soul.

"It is not what you think," the big man called after him quietly, but Nick knew what it was. He did not need any explanations. He ignored him and kept walking. He had no desire to hang for murder, and that is what would happen if he stopped just for a second.

You should never have believed in her, he told himself harshly as he slammed into the house, rattling the door in its frame with the strength of his fury. You let her frailty and those big eyes, those eyes that seemed so honest and trusting, fool you . . . but her eyes were lying

just like the rest of her was.

He had thought that she was different; he had wanted to believe in her, to believe that at least one woman was capable of sustaining an emotion for longer than a few weeks. That is what you got for caring–a knife to the guts. She was ripe for some man to sweep her into his arms, and when she could not get him to do the job, why, she had just gone on to the next available one. He went to his study and poured himself a huge drink, slamming that door behind him with enough force to rattle the paintings on the wall.

Maggie blew out the candle and sat in the dark, her heart in tatters. She felt numb. Every word Nick had spoken with his eyes hit her like a blow. She wrapped her arms around herself and sank to the floor, rocking back and forth like a hurt child, a keening noise coming from her throat. The tears that she had been repressing slid unbidden down her face, and she wiped them away angrily. Crying was not going to help her now. Nick had been all but looking for some reason not to trust her, and now he would be certain that all women were liars and cheaters.

Maggie felt a flicker of anger begin to invade the dullness that shrouded her mind. He certainly had not waited around to see if there was any kind of an explanation, had he? He had jumped to the neatest conclusion and never even asked her about anything, he had just automatically assumed the worst. She jerked her boots on angrily. Admittedly, it looked bad, but he had known her for months. Could not he at least have asked her one question?

Duncan was waiting for her outside the door. His eyes studied her face, and Maggie knew he did not miss the grief that was crippling her. She tried to smile at him, but it was a pitiful expression at best. Nick was nowhere to be seen; Maggie assumed he had gone on up to the house.

“All right?” he asked sympathetically. When Maggie nodded, he put an arm around her shoulders and walked her up to the door of the house. “I am sorry, Maggie,” he said quietly.

“More sorry than you know. Do you want me to stay?”

“Not unless you want him to try and kill you,” she said wryly. “He will not hurt me, Duncan. The worst thing that he will do is yell at me,” she reassured the big man. And kill my heart. All those accusations in his eyes . . .

“Thank you,” Maggie said simply, putting her hand up to Duncan’s face. “I cannot think what we would have done without you tonight. I did not have any idea of what to do when Tommy came and got me tonight.”

Duncan’s smile twisted up on one corner. “You would have thought of something. I have got to go,” he said, his words little more than a whisper. “I have got to make sure . . . Are you going to be all right? “

”I will be fine,” she said firmly. “Go on now.”

He turned and left, his stride rapid. Maggie’s steps dragged as she entered the house. A light was on in Nick’s study, and she knew that he was in there. She was glad to miss the scene that she had been imagining, and so she made very little noise as she climbed the interminable stairs to her room. Once there, she fell across her bed, suddenly weary beyond belief. She fell asleep still fully clothed, and did not realize until days later that she had forgotten in all the confusion to ask Duncan just how he had heard Kathleen call for help when they were miles apart.

*********************************************************

“Let me tell him,” Kathleen said, carrying a pail of water over to the kettle. “I hate this, Maggie. Let me tell him.”

“No.”

Kathleen threw her a venomous look over her shoulder. “What is the point of making

yourself and everybody else miserable? Let me tell him.”

Maggie shook her head, panting slightly as she stirred the kettle of boiling water. Steam rose up around them, and though it was relatively cold outside, they both wore short-sleeved, thin gowns, and they were still warm. Maggie irritably tucked up strands of hair that kept falling out of the knot behind her head and clinging to her damp skin. It was wash day, the hardest day of the week, and she wished Kathleen would just shut up about the whole thing. They had a wash house to use, but it was just so hot out that they couldn’t bear to be in there with the boiling water.

It was over and done with; no use crying over spilt milk, her Ma had always said.

The man and his daughter that Kathleen had rescued were long gone, on to the next stop in their long trip to freedom. Maggie had not asked how Kathleen had gotten them out from behind locked doors that night, and Kathleen had not volunteered the information. She had also not said anything about what had happened the rest of the night or about Duncan, and Maggie had not asked about that, either. Kathleen had told her only that the girl was only twelve, and that the Drizzell’s guest should have been the one scheduled to be hung, not the girl’s father. All Maggie knew was that she had been filled with joy when Tommy had come down the stairs for breakfast the next morning and when Kathleen had showed up for work none the worse for wear. And that was all she wanted to know. She was not cut out for a life of intrigue. It was much too wearying.

Kathleen squinted at her through the steam, and took her turn in agitating the clothes around in the water with the dolly that they used, which was really just a handle with four fingers at the end for moving the clothes around. Her muscles strained and sweat popped out on her forehead. Maggie started transferring the clothes to the kettle they used for rinsing.

"Oh," Kathleen panted. "I will be so glad when that newfangled washing machine that Nick ordered finally gets here. Can you imagine just turning the handle on the drum and getting the clothes clean? If it works well, I am going to make Pa get one for Ma to use, too."

“He has not said one personal word to me since that night,” Maggie said suddenly to Kathleen, who made no sign that she had heard the very same statement at least ten times already today. “He tells me what to do, stares straight through me with that cold glare of his, and then he turns and leaves.” She heaved the wet clothes into an empty basket, and together, she and Kathleen twisted the water out of a pair of Tommy’s pants, clucking over the holes that the boy had put in them already. “If he wanted to know anything about it, he would have said something by now. It has been long enough for him to get over his mad.”

Kathleen shook her head. “It has only been three days, Maggie. I have known my Pa to carry on a sulk for weeks at a time. The point is, you did not do anything wrong. I am sure that Nick will understand what I have been doing, and even empathize. Everyone knows what his views on slavery are.”

“Then why have not you told him before?” Maggie shot back. “I will tell you why. You did not want to put him in that position. He is a landowner, and he is known to disapprove of slavery. That makes him suspect enough already. He makes his living here, and he has to deal with all these people, and you did not want him to have to choose. What he does not know about your ... activities cannot hurt him.” She flung a wet shirt over the line and pinned it on with the wooden clothespins that Ned had carved for her the first week she was here. “And besides, he could have had a little trust in me. He could have just asked me. I would have told him. I swear, right then I would have, Kathleen, I would have told him everything to keep from seeing that look on his face. I would have spilled the darkest secrets of my soul, and yours along with them, and I would not have been sorry, nary a whit...”

Grimly, she reached for the next thing in the basket, and then wiped the sweat out of her eyes with the corner of her apron. “For the first two days I felt just awful for him, because I know he has been hurt in this way before. But now, I am not feeling hurt and breaking my heart over him anymore. Now I am just plain mad. What right has he to stand in judgment of me? Oh, I know he was hurt by what he thinks I have been doing behind his back. But I also know that part of him is glad that he has an excuse not to feel anything anymore, and part of him feels justified in not trusting me. He is as stubborn as that old mule he keeps in the barn, and I am not speaking to him, either.”

Kathleen looked at her from the opposite side of the clothes line. “What are you going to do, Maggie?”

“I am going to let him stew a while in his own juices. It must be gratifying to be right all the time, and I am just going to let him be right for a while.”

Kathleen was filled with guilt and misery, and it was evidenced in her posture. Her normally straight shoulders drooped, and she seemed smaller, more fragile than she ordinarily did. Fine lines that Maggie had never noticed before fanned out from her eyes.

“Oh, Maggie, I hate seeing you so unhappy, and I hate seeing Nick unhappy, too. Even if he is acting like an ass, I have known him all of my life. That coldness he puts on sometimes hides a lot of pain, and I would bet money that he is drinking himself to sleep every night, just like he did after his parents died, just like he did when Mary died . . . “ She shook her head. “He thinks that he is doomed to lose the people he loves, over and over, and he tries not to love anyone, but it does not work. He has convinced himself over the years that he does not need anyone, and if it was not so ridiculous, it would be laughable. He has always been the kind of person who needs a lot of affection. Do you ever notice how many times in the day he goes by and pats my shoulder, hugs Tommy, or grips Ned’s arm? He has been that way since he was a child. He collects people the way that my mother collects hats. Tommy, you, me, Ned . . . “Kathleen shrugged her shoulders.

“He needs us as much as we need him and the only difference is that we all know we need him. Now he is cutting himself off, not just from you but from everyone. I have not even seen him so much as ruffle Tommy’s hair as he walks by. He is hurt, and he is scared, Maggie. Do not be too harsh with him. He needs you to love him. He is trying to drive you away but do not let him. These last few months, Nick has been the happiest that he has been since before his parents died.”

“I do love him,” Maggie said forlornly, her mouth turning down at the corners. She gave a half-hearted tug to a sheet that hung crookedly. “But he is still a stubborn jackass. And he will not let me get close.”

“Do not give up,” Kathleen said.

“I will not,” Maggie said in a whisper. “I can’t.”

Maggie picked up a basket and headed back inside, Kathleen right behind her. It was early yet; they still had plenty to keep them busy inside while they waited for the wash to dry. They had several hungry men to feed in about two hours, for starters.

“Someone is coming up the drive,” Kathleen said, and then Maggie heard the rattle of carriage wheels as they traversed the tree-lined lane, and the creak when the carriage stopped right in front of the house.

She hissed a curse under her breath; why did it have to be now? They dropped the baskets inside the back door, Maggie ripping her wet, stained apron off and wiping her face with it just as the doorknocker sent a rat-a-tat-tat through the house. Maggie raced through the house, hair flying, and opened the door to the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Her blond hair was coiffed perfectly in some intricate structure with not a hair out of place, and Maggie’s hand went self-consciously to her own straggling strands. The woman’s coiffure was not only perfect, it framed a face that came straight out of a fairytale. Thickly lashed bright blue eyes, a perfect, straight little nose, and a cupid’s bow mouth, all set in a skin so white and perfect it looked like porcelain.

“I am Martha Fawcett,” said that red mouth now in an accent that seemed to slide all over her like warm honey. “You must be Maggie. Is Nick around anywhere? I need to talk to him something terrible.”

Maggie stared at her, and Kathleen spoke from behind her.

“Hello, Martha,” she said dryly, gripping Maggie’s arm and giving one sharp, hidden tug.

Maggie flushed brilliantly and moved out of the door so the woman could come in.

“Would you like to wait in the parlor while I go and get him?” she asked stiffly. “I will bring you some tea or lemonade if you like.”

“Tea would be fine,” Martha said, stripping the white gloves from her elegant hands. Her apple green dress swayed enticingly as she bustled ahead of Maggie into the library. “I will wait in here, though. I want to see Nick’s new books.”

Evidently she needed no help finding her way around in this house, Maggie thought resentfully.

“I will get us both a cup of tea and sit and chat with you a minute, Martha. I have not seen you for a while, and you can catch me up on all the latest gossip.” Kathleen said cheerfully, shooting Maggie a look that she had trouble reading and pretending not to notice when Martha Fawcett sent her dirtied clothing a look of disgust. “You go find Nick, Maggie. I am sure that he is down to the stables.”

Nick was, indeed, at the stables, knee-deep in blood, or so it seemed to Maggie’s horrified gaze. He and Ned were in the birthing stall with a very pregnant mare, and Nick had one arm plunged inside her up to the elbow. He turned his irritated gaze on her, his black brows drawn together.

“What is it?” he snapped. “I am a little busy right now, or can’t you tell?”

Maggie’s soft mouth became a hard line. “You have company up at the house. Martha Fawcett is here to see you. I am delivering the message, that is all.”

Having got the foal turned and headed in the right direction, Nick withdrew his arm and began wiping it with a towel, ignoring Maggie’s presence.

“She should come out just fine now,” he said to Ned, who nodded. “Call me if there is any more difficulty. I will send Tommy over to you.” He spoke to Maggie without looking at her. “Tell Martha I will be there as soon as I clean up a little.”

Maggie marched back to the house with her fists clenched at her sides. How dare he treat her like some . . . like a . . . servant, she finished ruefully, her anger dying off a little. Why, oh why, did Martha Fawcett have to show up today of all days? She was wearing a castoff dress that Kathleen had given her especially for laundry day so that she would not ruin her new, pretty clothes. It had belonged to some aunt who had stayed with them briefly and left the dress, probably on purpose, Maggie thought dryly. The material was thin enough to read through and the color was a dull, faded pewter that put her in mind of a dreary, rainy day. She had sweated right through it, too, and half her hair was falling out of its pins. Martha probably had never raised a sweat in her life; someone else did the sweating for her and all she had to do was lie around and look pretty. And she did that very, very well.

Maggie scooted off to the kitchen and started on the noonday meal, her mind in an uproar. Lord, she was so jealous she could just . . . just claw the face off that woman down there in the library! She wanted to smack her and knock that pretty hairdo all awry, and then she wanted to scratch Nick’s eyes out for him, for even daring to look at another woman. Maggie groaned, and bent her head down to lay it on the counter.

“What is wrong?” Kathleen asked behind her, and Maggie kept her eyes closed for a moment as she straightened up.

“Nothing,” she said calmly. “I felt dizzy for a moment, that is all. It is past now.”

“Lie to somebody else,” Kathleen said, snitching a piece of cheese from the half wheel on the counter top and popping it into her mouth. She leaned against the cabinets and crossed her arms. “Do not lie to me. I thought your eyes were going to pop from your head when Martha asked for Nick in that sicky-sweet voice of hers. Is Nicky heah?” she mimicked savagely. “I have been dying to slap that woman since we were children and she told my mother I had gone skinny-dipping with Nick and a couple of other boys. I got the whipping of my life, and I did not get to come here for months after that. She conveniently forgot to mention that she was the one who dared me to do it, and then she got Nick to herself for a while after that, the jealous little cat. She always was a sneak, twisting things around to suit herself.”

“Well, evidently she is the kind of woman that Nick is most comfortable with,” Maggie said, tying on a clean, white apron. “I cannot do anything about that.” She whirled around suddenly, her eyes blazing. “Is . . . is she his lover?”

Kathleen avoided her eyes and mumbled something.

“Is she?” Maggie insisted. “Tell me, Kathleen.”

“She used to be,” said Kathleen reluctantly. “If they are not now, it is Nick’s idea and not hers. She has always wanted him. He has not been seeing her lately,” she added quickly, seeing the stricken look on Maggie’s suddenly white face, and then she made the mistake of adding: "She has been staying with her cousins in New York for almost a year."

Maggie bustled around the kitchen slicing bread, ham, and cheese, and warming vegetables for the noon meal. The muscles in her shoulders tensed as musical laughter floated to their ears. Her mouth tightened and she slammed a bowl down on the table, making Kathleen jump.

“I am going for a walk,” she said shortly, flinging the apron over the back of a chair. “Lunch is ready, the table is set, and all you have to do is serve it. I need to get out of here for a while.”

Maggie flounced out the door, letting it slam behind her. She was tempted to open it and slam it once again for good measure, but she resisted the temptation and stomped across a pasture into the forest, then took off at a run.

She ran for what seemed like forever, paying no attention to the scenery flashing by her, ran until her breath grated harshly in her lungs, until her legs cramped, ran until she was so tired that she had to stop or fall down. Maggie leaned against the rough trunk of a maple tree, gasping for breath, her leg muscles trembling from the exertion. She hung her head and wrapped her arms around her knees, and the sobs that took her unaware suddenly wracked her whole body. She lay down in a pile of leaves and wept miserably. After a while, after she had cried out all her anguish and tumultuous emotion, the crying bout eased, and she sniffled and wiped her face on the tail of the gray dress. Maggie uncurled her body to lie flat on her back and stare up at the sky.

The trees around her all wore a mantle of brightly colored leaves, the blaze of gold, bronze, orange, and red making them look for all the world like women dressed in evening finery. The brilliant hues framed a clear sky, and Maggie stared up into the heavens, enthralled. The sky was so endless; it made her feel so peaceful to watch a lonely streak of cloud drift slowly across it. Her problems seemed somehow less significant after she had stared up at the sky for a while. Maggie let herself be lulled into a dreamy state, neither awake nor asleep. She lay there in a trance state, her brain dormant for a while. She lost track of the time as her muscles relaxed and her brain shut down.

The colorful leaves fluttered in the wind, and Maggie shivered. She had not thought to grab a cloak, and now that she was cooling off from her hard run and the hard work of laundry day, it was cold out here. She sat up slowly, her muscles protesting, noting the position of the sun in the sky. She had stayed out here a lot longer than she had intended, she thought, a frown marring her face as she checked the position of the sun in the sky. It would be dark in about an hour. She had left Kathleen to do the rest of the day’s work, just ran off and never came back, with the wash still flapping on the line.

Maggie had been walking for about ten minutes when she suddenly realized that she did not know where she was. She had come so far, so fast, and she had not been paying any attention to where she was going. She had just been running, wanting to somehow leave her problems behind, and she had wandered onto land she had never seen before. Nothing here seemed familiar.

She found an overgrown path that seemed as if it led in the general direction of the house and took it, but it meandered around and took her deeper into the forest, and then the path just stopped. This part of the forest seemed darker somehow, the vegetation thicker and lusher even though it was mid-October, and Maggie doubted if anyone had come this way in years.

She was sincerely cold by now, and starting to get frightened. She had forgotten that she was in the middle of the wild; having been raised in St. Louis, she was not used to being cautious. But there were wild animals out here, and perhaps wild people, too. Nick had warned her more than once about staying close to the house. How could she have been so stupid? She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The best thing to do, she thought, was to find someplace where she could warm herself up and stay put. When she did not come home, someone would be sure to come looking for her . . . after a while. Something rustled the bushes behind her, from the sounds of it a big something, and Maggie looked around uneasily and took off walking. She did not want to be around if that something decided it wanted her for dinner.

Ten minutes later, she had found a small clearing and was leaning against a tree there. This was as good a place to wait as any, and it was nearly pitch black now. In a few minutes she would not be able to walk around without stumbling over something. She made an enormous mound of dried grasses and leaves and pulled them around her. They helped cut a great deal of that cold wind that was beginning to whistle around, and she actually felt warm and secure for the moment. A screech owl called right above her head, and Maggie started, and then realized what that terrible, scary sound was. She put her hand on her heart and puffed out a laughing breath, trying to relax.

The mournful howl of coyotes drifted to her on the wind, and Maggie looked around

nervously. Coyotes did not bother people . . . did they? Uneasy, she tried to remember any stories she had heard about coyotes, but she had grown up in St. Louis, and the only thing that came to mind were horror stories that she had heard about hungry wolves, and those did not ease her fears. To top it all off, it was beginning to rain, drops falling only lightly, but Maggie suspected gloomily that this light rainfall was just the beginning. The sky that had been so clear earlier was now filled with clouds that diffused the little light from the moon that there was and obscured the stars from view.

Leaves crackled as something moved across them, and Maggie’s heart about jumped out of her chest. She was chilled to the bone now, and soaking wet to boot, and the colder she got, the more frightened she became, it seemed. A twig snapped, and Maggie sank down farther into her bed of leaves and grasses, dry-mouthed with fear. The unmistakable snort of a horse had her sitting back up again.

“Hello?’ she said tremulously, despite thoughts of wild men and outlaws... “Is anyone there?”

“Maggie!” said an unmistakable, angry voice, and she closed her eyes in vexation. Oh, this was perfect.

Why did Nick have to be the one to find her?

The rain was coming down in earnest now, and Maggie called out to him.

“Over here,” she croaked, and the next thing that she knew, Nick was standing over her with a scowl on his much too handsome face, delivering a blistering lecture as he wrapped her in a blissfully warm blanket.

“I did not get lost on purpose,” she finally snapped after he had boosted her up on Jet and climbed on behind her, still scolding. She had been determined to say nothing in the face of his recriminations, but he went much too far with his reprimands. The last straw was when he referred to her as ‘an idiotic, scatter-brained female who did not care if she made others sick with worry.’

“I went for a walk, that is all, and lost my way. I am sure that has never happened to you–you being such a paragon of all the virtues, that is,” Maggie said nastily, driven to the edge not only by his words, but by the feel of his hard body behind hers on the saddle. “But I occasionally make mistakes.”

Nick made a growling reply under his breath, and Maggie was sure that she did not want to know what he had just said. He hauled back on the reins, and Jet stopped obediently. The rain was a thick, cold curtain around them now, and the previously warm blanket wrapped around Maggie was now soggy and cold. The only part of her that was warm rested against Nick, and his heat seemed to burn her through the thick wool.

“We are going to have to find someplace to shelter for a while,” he said grimly. “I can barely see a foot in front of my face, and this rain is cold as a witch’s . . . well, anyway it is cold. I do not want you coming down with an inflammation of the lungs. There is an old cabin about a mile from here, and if we are lucky, the walls are still standing.”

“But we cannot be that far from the house,” Maggie said, her teeth chattering together. “How long could it take to get there?”

“We are at least five n miles from the farm, through heavy forest,” he informed her coldly. “I do not know how you got so far off track, but I for one do not intend to suffer any more than is necessary. We are stopping until the rain quits. The others who are searching will have sense enough to go home out of this weather, and when I do not show up soon they will be smart enough to figure out that I found you.”

His voice left no room for argument, and Maggie said not another word, though words of

protest rose to her lips. The thought of being trapped with Nick in some crude cabin sent her

pulse fluttering and her heart pounding, and not necessarily with fear.

The cabin did indeed have walls and a roof, and that was about the best thing that could be said about it. It was filled with dust and cobwebs, and precious little else. After seeing the inside of the one-room shack, Nick brought Jet right into the cabin with them. He shrugged when Maggie looked at him skeptically.

“Why should he suffer?” he said, throwing the wet saddle over a three-legged table propped against the grimy wall. “It is not going to hurt the inside of this building, that is for sure.” He wrinkled his nose. “Or make it smell any worse.”

The cabin did have a strong smell of old sweat and mildew, but it was dry, and Maggie was determined to make the best of this situation. She wiped down the two rickety chairs with her wet blanket, then held the blanket out the window in the rain to rinse it. Then she wrung the water out of it. Since the window did not even possess a piece of oilcloth to cover it, that was not hard to do.

Nick peered up the chimney and pronounced it clean enough to use without setting the building on fire, and proceeded to rummage through the pack he’d had tied on behind the saddle. Maggie looked at the contents of the pack in astonishment. It was an assortment of bandages, medicines, foods, and blankets. Nick looked up and caught her looking. He shrugged his shoulders, and then turned his head away.

“I did not know what condition you would be in when I found you. We all thought you might have had an accident,” he said, and Maggie felt a burst of guilt as she realized they had probably all been envisioning her dead or hurt badly at the very least. “You should not have bothered cleaning those chairs,” he told her. “I am just going to bust them up and use them for

firewood.”

“Use the table,” she protested. “I do not want to sit on this filthy floor.”

“I will burn the table, too,” he said. “Spread out one of these blankets, or sit on the saddle. I will pull it over in front of the fire after I get it started.”

Maggie gave up the chair without a struggle, for she was getting awfully chilled in her sodden clothes. A fire did sound good, and when Nick broke up the chair and thrust it into the merrily blazing flames, she was not sorry a bit. She held out her hands to the blaze from her perch on the saddle, and soaked up the warmth like a flower soaks up sun.

“You are going to have to get out of those wet clothes and wrap yourself in a blanket if you want to get warm,” Nick said. He held up a hand to forestall any opposition Maggie had, before she had even opened her mouth. “I am not trying to seduce you, Maggie,” he said harshly. “It is the very last thing on my mind right now. I do not want you getting sick, and there is something to cover you up with. It is not like you will be sitting here naked with me.”

Maggie blushed a fiery red at his words but gave in quietly, and Nick turned and stared down into the fire, and marveled at what a convincing liar he could be sometimes. He did have seduction on his mind because the thought never left his mind when Maggie was around. He could hear Maggie undressing behind him right now, and his ever-ready body was springing to life at the rustling sounds. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, but all that did was bring up a picture of the way Maggie had been in the library, sprawled wantonly across the table with her clothing in disarray and her eyes begging him to take her. Lord, but he wanted her that way again!

He had told her again and again to find someone else, that he was off limits to her, but he had not meant it and had not actually thought that she would go out and do it. He could not sleep for remembering her with Duncan Murdoch, could not get the image of her passion-tousled hair and reddened lips out of his mind. No matter what he had told her, he did not want her to be with anyone else but him. He had been nearly incoherent with rage that night and it was a pure wonder that he had not shot the man. If he had been carrying a gun at the time, he probably would have. He had hated her in that moment, but that feeling had not lasted. He could not blame her for wanting somebody else–had he not known all along that all she felt for him was infatuation? Now he felt a sharp sorrow at losing Maggie, and he was afraid that his feelings for her went much deeper than lust. He was very much afraid that he felt more than infatuation, more than just wanting her in his bed. His mind shied away from that thought.

“You can turn around now,” said Maggie’s husky voice, and Nick turned slowly, sucking in his breath at the sight of her. She had taken off that rag of a dress and draped it over the chair he had not broken up into firewood yet. Wearing only a chemise, wrapped in a blanket, with her hair down around her shoulders, she was the loveliest thing that he had ever seen and all of a sudden, Nick had to tell her so.

“You are so beautiful, Maggie,” he said quietly, his eyes seeking hers. He wanted to touch her; his hands ached to fill themselves with her flesh.

“Stop it,” she said. “I am wet, and dirty, and disheveled. There is nothing beautiful about me right now.”

He smiled a crooked, tender smile at her. “I am not going to argue with you. Come sit by the fire and warm up.”

Maggie perched gingerly on the saddle, clutching the blanket around her, and Nick sat on

the floor right beside her. They stared into the crackling flames, with Nick throwing in an occasional piece of wood from the broken-up table, not saying a word.

“Martha Fawcett is very pretty,” Maggie said suddenly.

Nick shrugged. “I guess she is, if you like that type. She is always going on about how wonderful New York is, and I get tired of hearing that. To hear her tell it, it is the next best thing to Paradise. She is too fussy for me sometimes, will not ride because the wind musses up her hair, does not like to go fast in the buggy, does not like to be outside . . . She is pretty, but she is like a doll, one you have got to keep inside all the time so that you do not get it all dirty.”

“If you do not really like her, why is she your lover?” Maggie asked sharply.

Nick silently cursed Kathleen and her big mouth, because he just knew she was the one who had spilled it; Kathleen and Martha had hated one another for years, not that you would ever know it to be around either one of them. They did their best to out-sweet each other, and it was enough to give a man a stomach-ache when he was trapped in the same room with both of them.

“She is not my lover anymore,” he said, and then felt angry that he was explaining himself to her. "She has not been for a long time."

She had no right to question him, not anymore. He poked viciously at the fire, making sparks flare up and rain out onto the floor beside them. Nick moved his boots out of the way hurriedly.

"Because she’s been gone for a year!" Maggie said sharply. "Do you plan to take up right where you left off?"

“No, I do not, and why would you even care?” He turned to her, his eyes glittering with suppressed emotion. “You have got a lover, why shouldn’t I have one?”

“You are such an idiot, Nick!” Maggie cried.

He turned to her, grabbed her shoulders fiercely and shook her until her hair flew wildly about her face. Maggie cried out, and he put his face down close to hers, almost touching, then, goaded beyond endurance, pulled her up to her knees to meet his impassioned kiss. He crushed her mouth beneath his, his hands hurtful as he tangled one in her hair and pulled her hard

against him with the other. Maggie gave a little whimper of mixed fear and desire. He let her go, his face horrified, and slumped to the ground in front of her with dejection in every curve of his body.

“I am sorry, Maggie, I am so sorry,” he whispered stiffly. “I would not hurt you for the world. I do not know what happened.”

Tears splashed out of her eyes and Maggie put up a hand as if to try and hold them in.

“It is all right,” she said, but her voice quavered, and she did not resist when Nick drew her down onto his lap. She turned her face into his chest as he crooned to her, irrationally drawing comfort from the very one who had just hurt her. His big hand stroked her hair and cradled her against him.

“I do know what is wrong,” he said eventually, his voice not quite steady. “I want you to want only me.” When Maggie made some movement, some protest, he slid his hand over her mouth. “Please let me finish. I know I told you over and over that I did not want you, but I was wrong. I told you to go away, but I lied. I know it is my fault that I drove you away, but Maggie, I wish you would give me another chance. It will be different this time, I promise.”

He tilted back her chin and pressed his lips tenderly to hers, stroking and caressing, and Maggie felt a heat rise up in her that had nothing to do with the fire in front of them. She made an inarticulate noise of pleasure and felt him smile against her mouth before he pulled away.

“That was an apology for that last kiss,” he said.

“Oh, Nick,” Maggie breathed, putting both her hands around his face. “I do want you. Duncan and I . . . “

”You do not have to explain,” Nick said swiftly. “I forgive you, and I want you to be with only me. He is a good-looking, intelligent man, and I can understand you being tempted by him.”

Maggie went very still. “You forgive me?” she asked quietly.

He looked at her quizzically, picking up some nuance in her voice. “For being with Duncan, yes. I know that I drove you away from me. I thought that it was what I wanted. I told you again and again to find someone else”

Maggie pulled herself off his lap and stood up, drawing the blanket back tightly around her. She paced to the window and peered out. The rain showed no signs of letting up, and she bit her lip in vexation. If she had to stay in this room very much longer with him, she was going to beat him in his thick head with the wood from the fire.

“What is wrong?” Nick asked.

Maggie whirled around, fire in her eyes. “What is wrong? What is wrong?” She paced the length of the room, uncaring that her blanket flared open with each step and showed the long length of leg not covered by her chemise. She leaned forward to stab the startled Nick in the chest with a forefinger and took a deep breath.

“Not once, not one time, did you ask me about what happened that night. You never asked me for my version of events, never spoke another word about it. You just pretended that it never happened, froze me with your oh-so-polite conversation, and now, now, you so magnanimously forgive me. What a good man you are, Nick,” she finished derisively, flinging one last scornful look at him from over her shoulder as she went to stand at the window and look out at the driving rain. She kept her back to him to hide her look of pain from him; she did not want the man to see her cry ever again. She had already cried a river in front of him.

“So what happened that night, Maggie?” he asked softly from behind her.

“You are so smart,” she flung at him acidly, not moving from her position by the window,

clenching her trembling hands on the blanket. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I am asking you, Maggie,” he said from a spot so close behind her that she could feel his breath on her neck. Maggie shuddered as craving for him lurched through her body.

“Maybe it is a few days too late, but I am asking, Maggie.” His voice was even. There were questions about that night he wanted answered. The distance of days had taken some of the blinding anger out of the way of his reasoning powers, and he wondered why Tommy had not been in his room when he had gone to check on him, afraid that the youngster might have been frightened by all of the noise. And he remembered, now that the flush of fury and hurt had passed and he could think about it a little more clearly, that he could swear that three of his horses had been missing from their stalls.

She whirled on him, lifting her chin pugnaciously. His eyes held a plea, and she hardened her heart against him. If she did not stand her ground on this, nothing would ever change between them. She would not settle for second-best, not this time. She had come much too far to let that happen ever again.

“And I am asking you to trust me,” she said levelly. “To trust me, Nick, when I say that I cannot give you any explanations, but it was not what you thought.”

“That is asking a lot from me, Maggie,” he said slowly, his brown velvet eyes never breaking away from hers.

“Yes,” Maggie said. “It is. But that is what trust is all about, Nick. Not evidence. Faith in each other.” She did not back down, would not be the first one to look away. “I believe you when you say Martha Fawcett is not your lover. I do not ask you for proof, because I trust you. I have faith in you. Please do me the same courtesy, Nick." Her eyes pleaded with him, and looking at her, he was lost in their shimmering depths. "Trust me.”

And just like that, he did. He realized that he would believe whatever Maggie told him, no matter what evidence his eyes might have collected, because he did have faith in her. The revelation perplexed him. And because he could not think of anything else to do and because he so wanted to, he reached out and drew a sensuous line along the swell of breast revealed by the damp chemise and coarse blanket.

“You are the most honest woman I have ever met. It is hard going against what my experience has taught me, Maggie, but I have discovered that you are like no woman I ever met, and I cannot categorize you. You change like quicksilver in my hands,” he said hoarsely. “I feel like a green boy when you are around. With you, I feel as if this were all new to me, as if no woman ever came before you.” He cradled her soft cheek in his rough hand. “I do trust you, Maggie.”

Maggie felt a spurt of shame at his words. Her conscience smote her; she was entreating him to trust her when she did not trust all of her own secrets to him. He did not deserve that from her. She bit her lip. She would tell him, right now, she would tell him what had really happened with her husband and they would work it out together.

“Nick, I . . .”

His hand went to her mouth. “Ssshhh. No more words. No more explanations. Just you and me, together here and now.” His eyes were full of promise, of the words he could not bring himself to say.

He reached out for her, and the words that Maggie wanted to give him died in her throat. She could not think when he stroked her like this. He pulled her close, his arms clasping her gently. His hands slid down and cupped her buttocks in his hands, lifting her up, and she drew in her breath, her eyes flying to his, when she realized that he was already aroused and ready for her. He smiled wryly at her.

“Oh, yes, Maggie, I have been like that the whole time. Since I put you on the horse in front of me. I burn for you. Feel how I burn for you,” he whispered into her throat. Maggie moaned and threw her head back, forgetting all about the confession that she wanted to make to him. Nick took full advantage of the position that exposed the long lines of her neck. He buried his face in the sensitive hollow there, biting and caressing as Maggie quivered in his arms.

“Lie down with me,” he beseeched her. “Let me love you.”

Maggie nodded, incapable of speech. She, too, was on fire for him, burned for him, ached for him to be inside her. She thought that she would die soon if she did not have him, thought that her soul would wither and perish in the fiery heat of her passion if she did not find an outlet for it. Her eyes clung to him, loving him, caressing him avidly when he spread out blankets in front of the fire to make a bed for them to lie upon.

When he pulled off his shirt to expose his muscular chest, her mouth fairly watered to touch him. The hair on his chest grew in a V and disappeared into his trousers, and her fingers itched to explore him. She went to him without protest when he held out his hand, and she did not demur when he pulled her chemise over her head and divested her of her drawers, leaving her naked to his view.

Nick trembled. He could not believe that she was here like this with him. He was afraid that he would wake up in his lonely bed and this would just be another dream, and he would be once again unfulfilled. He put out his hand and touched the warm silk of her skin. He felt almost reverential at this moment, and he wondered if she realized just how gorgeous that her body was. She was a tall, long-legged beauty, with curving hips and a tiny waist. She had the sleekest, smoothest skin that he had ever touched, and her breasts, ah, her breasts . . . he sucked in his breath as he looked at the coral tips of her beautiful bosom.

“You are so beautiful, Maggie,” he breathed, and cupped her breasts in his hands. “I have wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed. “Since I first met you. You have the most beautiful breasts that I have ever seen.”

Maggie’s hands went shyly to the opening of his pants. “You, too,” she said. “It is not fair that I am naked and you are not.”

He laughed softly. “You do it,” he said, and lay down on the blankets, his eyes glinting at her wickedly.

Maggie pulled his boots off and threw them carelessly away, her impatient fingers going straight back to the fastening of his pants, nearly ripping them off in her haste to free him from them. Her hands trembled, and she panted as she finally got them off of his long legs. Full of wonder, she put out a hand and stroked the lustrous skin of his stomach, then let her hand wander slowly downward. Nick groaned with pleasure, so she did it again, slowly, liking the way his skin felt to her touch.

“Your skin is so soft,” she said. “And you are so hard underneath.” She could see the beat of his heart in his stomach and his hands were shaking, and it filled her with a sense of her own power. She could bring this man to a quivering mass, just with a touch, and she liked it. She liked it a great deal. “Do you enjoy it when I do that?” she whispered.

“God,” he moaned. “Do not stop or I will die.”

She bent to lick a path down his chest, evading his grasping hands, her breasts brushing against him, and he moaned again.

He pulled her up instead to lie on top of him, one leg slightly bent and inserted between

her thighs. The friction of his hair-roughened leg against her softer parts made her cry out, and Nick drank the cry from her mouth. He delved deep into the depths of her mouth, his hands cupping her face, his tongue thrusting against hers in an imitation of the act he intended to commit. Maggie’s hands delved into the hair on his chest, stroking, touching, learning the various textures of his body.

“Silk,” she murmured to him. “The hair on your chest. It is as soft as silk.”

“It could not be as soft and smooth as your skin,” he whispered into the perfect shell of her ear, and then licked it, making her quiver. When he slipped a finger inside her warm, wet depths, she writhed and bucked against him, crying out, and Nick felt his own passion leap in response.

Maggie moaned and rode his leg, unconsciously bucking her hips. Nick deliberately shifted his leg and she bit him, hard. He laughed, delighted with her untutored response to him.

“Just like that, darling,” he said. “Take what you want. Take me,” he whispered into her ear. “Tonight you are the master, Maggie, for I am your slave,” He kissed her swiftly. "I am yours. Do with me as you will."

Maggie stared at him, shocked, but he could see the speculation in her eyes. He lifted her and put her astride him, then fitted himself to her entrance, moaning as her sweet essence flowed over him. He filled his hands with her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the tips.

“We’ll do it this way. Take as much or as little of me as you wish,” Nick told Maggie tenderly. “You are in control, you decide.” Then he smiled a wicked smile that could have enticed an angel out of heaven.

Even in the midst of her passion, Maggie felt tears stab at her eyes for his thoughtfulness.

Though she had never alluded to it, she had wondered how she would feel when his body first covered hers; wondered if it would bring back bitter memories of her husband and the nightly rape that she had endured. Now she did not have to worry, for her body would cover his instead, and she could stop whenever she wished.

She rocked back and forth a little, experimenting, and he groaned and grasped her body a little tighter. Maggie smiled. She liked this. She sank down farther upon him, his hands grasping her hips now, and they found a slow rhythm together, smiling into each other’s eyes with the pleasure of it all, and then she could think of nothing but how he filled her, how he stroked her. She arched her back, taking all of him, loving the feel of him inside her, the feel of his hand on her body, rubbing and caressing. Maggie leaned over to press her breasts into the hair of his chest, loving that, too. Loving it all. Loving him. She loved him so, this man. It swelled inside her, and she kissed him with her tears of joy sparkling in her green eyes.

He bit her lip, and then soothed it with his tongue, and Maggie went wild for him. She began to pant and jerk, making small urgent cries that would have mortified her if she had known, then Nick rolled them both over and lifted her, cupping her buttocks in his hands. She wrapped her legs around him, her nails scoring furrows in his back, and he moved faster and faster, until she cried out his name and he felt her spasm around him. His release seemed to come all the way from his spine, and he rolled to his side, carrying her with him, never wanting to loose her from his arms. He pressed trembling little kisses all over her face as they lay there together, and he thought that he wanted to stay here like this with her forever, this precious woman that he had found.