Even having such a discussion wouldn't be considered proper inPetersburg, but she was not in Petersburg now, and this was Patrick.

"Thank you."

"I won't intrude. Come."

Moments later they were in a private area, where moss hugged theriverbanks and silence stretched tightly across the clearing.

"I'll be beyond the tree limbs, Catherine, out of sight, and sound.

Don't be afraid. " And she wasn't. Feeling embarrassment with Patrick was foolish. They'dshared life's closest moment and soon they'd share more. Silly qualmswere out of place here in this wild country.

Catherine took care of her needs quickly and hurried back to Patrick.

At last they would have a moment of privacy, a moment to hold eachother and exchange a kiss. She felt her heart quicken as she saw himwaiting, so serious, so stiff.

"Patrick," she began, then stayed her step as his stern expressionfound hers.

"Aren't you pleased to see me?"

"I'd be lying if I said no, but you shouldn't have come here. It was dangerous for you to make such a journey unescorted."

"But I had proper chaperons. I came with the Weatherbys who run thetrading post up the river."

"I can't believe your mother approved of your actions. What about myold friend Rush? As your sister's husband he should have stoppedyou."

"Nobody could have stopped me, Patrick McLen- don. I had to find you."

"You should have remained on Cadenhill until..."

"You returned?" He was right. She'd promised. Telling him that she'dgiven up and agreed to marry Charles seemed wrong now. She'd gone backon her word, but the question about his fulfilling a promise hungbetween them.

"And I didn't," he finished, feeling the weight of his guilt. After his escape he could have sent word, but what would he have said? He'd been branded a murderer and until he could prove otherwise, he had hadno right to claim Catherine. He'd thought then that it was better ifshe believed him dead. He couldn't expect her to forgive him forbringing her pain, yet she had. But more than that, he had no right tocensure her for her actions.

Catherine wanted him to open his arms, to hold her and say that whatwas past was past, that they'd only go forward. But suddenly anotherlie was between them now, one of her making--her engagement to Charles.And she couldn't bring herself to admit that she'd lost faith inPatrick's promise to return, not if she expected him to believe in herpromise to wait. She'd hold her confession until they'd resolved thisstrange new barrier between them. When the time came, he'd understand,the same way she understood about Isabella.

She parried with a question of her own.

"Why did you let me think you were dead?"

"It was better that you should have. There are things you don'tunderstand."

But she understood more than he knew. The thing that came most clear was that Patrick had changed. His blue eyes weren't laughing anymore.

He was serious and staid. She desperately longed to find the man she'dfallen in love with and searched for a way to bring back only a glimmerof that glorious adventurer. Tension sliced the air and fed the anxiety that surrounded them.

"I understand," she improvised, "that Stone has been accused ofstealing some plantation owner's wife."

"Plantation owner's wife? Who told you that?"

Shaking her finger at his surprised expression, Catherine warmed to herploy and went on, "And I want you to know that I expect that sort ofthing to stop as soon as we're married. I won't have my husbandaccused of frivolous dalliances!"

Frivolous dalliances? That was too much. Patrick tried to remain serious, he did. The situation was serious. but this was Catherine and suddenly he was back on the banks of the Broad River with the womanwho disregarded every convention and stole kisses like a child stealingstrawberries from a berry patch. He couldn't contain his amusement.

At the sound of his laughter Catherine's heart melted. Nothing hadchanged. He was still her love. Her lips trembled as she tried tomaintain her serious position in the face of the absurdity of theirexchange.

"And another thing, Patrick McLendon, you're to stay away fromHeaven.

You will have no need for such a place in the future. "

Were it not for her dirty face and the devilish sparkle in her eyes,Patrick might have let her go on, giving orders, feeding her ownposition of authority like a banty rooster in a henhouse.

But they weren't on the banks of the Broad River, and the time forplaying was gone. It was the hardest thing Patrick had ever had to do,but Catherine must go back and it had to be willingly. He had no trust that she wouldn't jump in the river again if he returned her againsther will.

"Catherine, my love, I wish things were that simple. But everythinghas changed. My life is no longer my own and it may never be."

Catherine stilled. She didn't like the expression on Patrick's face and she knew he wasn't going to be dissuaded.

"You're right, Patrick. Your life is my life and there's nothing youcan do about that."

"I can see that you get back to Petersburg where you belong."

"I belong here!"

"No, this is a lovely dream, Catherine, but it isn't real and you can'tstay. I may never clear my name and you can't marry a murderer."

"And you can't send me back if I choose to stay."

"How will you live?"

"I have a job. I work for Isabella Angel, in Heaven."

"You work for Isabella? I don't believe it."

"Why not? You're a pirate. Why can't I work in a saloon?"

"Because you don't belong here. I don't want you here."

"You don't want me here?"

"I don't want you here."

And this time she believed him. The truth was that however much he might want her, he was rejecting her. Patrick knew how to walk away,he'd spent his life doing that, never allowing himself to believe thatsomeone could want him unequivocally.

She'd disguised herself as a man, rubbed that awful mud on her face andarms to keep from being eaten alive by mosquitoes as big as bats andcome through a swamp to get to him, only to be rejected. She'd been wrong in pursuing him. Now, all she could do was find a way to saveface.

"All right, Patrick. I understand. You don't want me. I'll go, butnot back to Petersburg. I like this land and its people and if I can'tstay with you, I'll find another way to live. Because I'm a survivor,just like you."

With every moment she stood there, her soul reflected in her eyes,Patrick was finding it harder to hold back. But he couldn't let himself give in to a promise he couldn't keep yet. Lopaz was tooclose. One more touch, however, and he'd not be able to send her away.

"No, Catherine. As soon as I can make arrangements I'm sending youback to Petersburg and safety."

Back? He would send her back? She refused to believe that until she saw the determination in his eyes. But he was wrong about that. She hadn't come this far to go back. Catherine Caden lived in Petersburg.

Here, she was Cat, and Cat wouldn't be dictated to.

"Try it," she warned, the pain of his wanting to get rid of her forcingher to hurl words before she stopped to consider.

"I'm staying. One thing you don't know, Irishman, is that I ambetrothed.

You didn't want me. I found someone who did. My future husband mighthave something to say about where I reside. "

"Your future husband?"

Catherine had reached out, finding the first thing she could think ofto hurt him as his words had hurt her. But she'd found the one thingthat might stop Patrick. She could tell that from the sudden tensingof his body. So be it. If Patrick wouldn't keep her, Charles would.At least that would stop her being sent back to Petersburg until shecould sort out the mess she'd made.

"Yes, his name is Charles Forrest and he's in New Orleans, waiting forme to arrive. He's asked me to marry him."

"Then it's true? You're the woman being sought by the American? But you were running away from him the night of the storm."

"I wasn't running away," she snapped.

"We had a misunderstanding and the boat was swept away. Then you tiedme up and took me to Isabella.

I found that I liked working there more than I did being promised toeither one of you. "

Catherine blinked back the tears and whirled around.

"Catherine, wait. You can't be serious."

"Who's giving the orders now, Stone, or Patrick?"

She swung around and sprinted into the forest, heading back towardtheir temporary camp, losing her battle with the tears as she foughther way through the thick growth of honeysuckle vines. Finally,winded, she stopped and leaned against a tree, gasping for breath.

She'd thought she was alone, until there was movement in the brush, andthe dark-haired woman called Mona stepped out from behind the tree.

"Forget Stone! You have a higher mission."

"I had a mission, and I've fulfilled it. Stone has been saved. Now I'll return to Natchezunderthe-Hill."

"No. That cannot be. I do not understand why you are the chosen one,but the legends foretell your coming and I know you to be the woman forwhom we've waited."

"What kind of nonsense are you spouting? All I want to do is get outof this swamp and wash myself with sweet-smelling soap."

Mona glanced around, took note of the curses coming from the brushwhere Patrick was searching for the woman he'd said he would protect.

Mona was torn between her desire to take the woman away and her fear ofwhat would happen if she interfered in what had been prophesied.

But she was the only one who knew the full prophecy. The Natchez were her people. Only she could help them, not this outsider. She'd followed the Sun King's wishes. But now, Mona would make her owndecisions.

"Quickly," she whispered.

"Follow me. I'll get you away."

If Catherine hadn't been hurting so badly she would never have followedthe strange woman, never have gotten into her boat. But her heart was shattered. All she wanted to do was wound Patrick, as he'd woundedher. He didn't want her. He was sending her back. If Patrick trulyloved her, he would never send her back to Charles. Perhaps that washer mistake.

Men were different from women. Men didn't love so deeply or socompletely.

"How long will it take us to get back to Natchez?" Catherine asked.

But Mona didn't answer. Instead she seemed to be listening,concentrating intently on some sound that Catherine couldn't hear.

Perhaps she did have some magical powers, for the bushes seemed topart, allowing them to travel down tributaries that were not therebefore the dugout nudged a path.

Catherine had never seen any human being remain so still. At first Catherine had thought she was old, but now she realized that she'd been wrong. An old woman couldn't move the boat as Mona was, effortlessly,skillfully. Her thick dark hair fell down her back like the black water beneath their boat, reflecting the threads of light that siftedthrough the trees. In the shade she appeared dark and elusive. In the light she radiated strength like the blade of a knife.

And always she was silent. Like a chameleon, she adapted herself toher surroundings as needed.

By late afternoon Catherine began to realize that something was very wrong.

"Mona," she began, try n ing not to give in to the fear that was mounting, "please, talk to me.

You're making me worry. "

"There is no need for you to worry, White Woman. You will soon understand everything."

"Why do you keep calling me White Woman? I have a name--Catherine.""You had a name. Now, White Woman, you must wait. The Sun King willanswer all your questions."

Chapter Nine.

Q^zAps^Q t "Where is she, Jillico?"

Patrick charged back to the riverbank, his expression murderous.

The Indian looked up in surprise. He'd been gnawing on a piece of

dried meat and washing it down with water."Who?""Catherine. She ran away from me. I thought she'd be here."Jillico frowned and looked around."Mona went to find berries.Perhaps they are together. " He quickly gave instructions to the natives to begin a search. Soon they learned that Mona, Catherine and one of the pirogues were missing.