"Somehow I knew, but I wouldn't let myself believe. If I thought you were Isabella, it would be all right for me to want to love you."

She dropped the tunic and waited, her chin jutted forward with a

slightly downward tilt that said I dare you.

"I knew what I was doing, Patrick. I always knew. And now that you know, do you, still?"

His mouth was dry, his heart pounding.

"Do I what?"

"Want to love me?"

She ran her fingers through her hair, drawing it forward across the

tops of her breasts and waited.

But the time to wait was past. The words were gone, leaving only the

connection between them, the unseen glow that heated the air and wrapped them in a cocoon of rapture.

Catherine pushed the table away and knelt on the floor beside the

wooden bed.

"I think that the Indians were very wise about some things," she said

as she moved the panel of deerskin away and allowed his male part to spring free.

"Catherine."

"You are very beautiful, Patrick," she whispered.

"I think that I'm supposed to say that."

"Don't talk, Patrick," she said, rising from the floor and lying down

beside him.

"Just stay there and let me do the things I've dreamed of."

"The things we've dreamed of," he said in a low tight voice.

She supported herself on her elbow, gazing down at him with starry eyesand lips that seemed permanently crinkled in a smile.

In the sweltering heat of a July afternoon, in a crude cabin perched onthe banks of a lake pink with water flowers, Patrick McLendon andCatherine Caden loved each other. How fragile the moment seemed whentheir lips met. How timeless. How perfect.

Neither pulled away. Neither held back. Mouths met and opened,allowing tongues to taste, to slide away to find new points of heatoutside the honeyed sweetness they were just beginning to know.

Perspiration trickled from her face and fell to his chest. With her tongue she traced the scars across his body, gently as if she werehealing the hurts that had left them. In fact she was. Catherine was making Patrick whole, and she was learning that without him she'd neverbeen complete.

"Where did they come from, these terrible scars?"

"Captain Lopaz. He thought he'd killed me. He meant to kill me."

"That's what I was told, but I knew you weren't dead."

She kissed his cheeks, following the line of his strong jaw until she'dtraveled back to her starting place.

"How could you know I still lived?"

"Because," she answered, as she slid one leg over his thighs and restedher knee against that part of him that was hard, "because my heartstill beats in response to yours. It never would have, if you'd died.I would have known."

"Ah, Catherine." He felt her breasts pressed against his chest, herhair feathering his shoulders, her woman's scent tantalizing his nose.

"Were you always so sure?"

"No," she admitted honestly, pulling back so that she could look downinto his blue eyes.

"There were times when I doubted. I'm sorry."

Patrick felt a great surge of protective instinct sweep over him. What was there about this woman that made him feel invincible? How petiteshe was. How precious. He wanted to care for her, to make her lifesafe. Instead, he'd brought her into the swamp, exposed her to dangersthat even he couldn't control.

Other than his mother, he'd never thought much about giving to a woman,or trying to bring her joy. But now he wanted, more than anything, togive Catherine pleasure. His thumb was absently rubbing the spotbeneath her breast, while his lips were planting light kisses on herhair.

"I'm sorry I left you, Catherine. And I'm even more sorry that youfollowed me. You've linked yourself to Stone and that isn't safe."

"Why did you leave me?"

She moved over, was sliding herself up and down his body, catching hismanhood between them as she grazed his stomach, her hair mingling withhis, her perspiration becoming his, her desire feeding his. A sudden tightness squeezed his chest as he tried to explain, and found no wordsthat spoke the truth.

Fear. He'd left Catherine behind in Petersburg because he didn'tbelieve he could have her. He was afraid that she'd come to harm because of him, like his mother. He loved Catherine and he wanted her to be safe.

Love. It had hovered there, nudging him with the truth of its power,with the intensity of its desire, with the power of its control. He wanted her, not just for now, not for this moment in this enchantedplace, but for always--because he loved her.

And for the first time, Patrick couldn't control what and when thatalways was.

But for now, it didn't matter.

"Cat!" His hard mouth captured hers as his body sought and found theplace of softness where his hardness belonged.

"Catherine," he whispered over and over again, branding her with hisvoice and his touch.

He didn't feel the pain in his leg. He closed out the little voice that kept saying, "No." He had to touch her, to hold on tight, toprove that this was real.

He knew that he was hurting her, that the hard strength of his handsholding and pressing against her bottom caught and held her. So in tune was he to her response that he could feel it when the deep coil ofheat inside her began to erupt.

She cried out and began to tremble. And then his own feeling tookover, selfish and rough and indescribably potent.

Together they soared through the hours of the afternoon, closing outwhat had been and what was to be, until at last Catherine fell back tohis side, exhausted, sated, languishing in the aftermath of what they'dshared. Later, as Patrick held her, he felt tears gather in his eyes.He should never have let himself give in to loving her.

How would he survive when she was gone?

How could he bear to send her back?

How could he keep from loving her again?

He moved his leg and groaned. It wasn't healed enough yet for travel,and so long as they were here he'd be fooling himself if he thought hecould stay away from this woman who was such a part of his heart.

They slept that night, together, bodies slick with perspiration andsmeared with the root of the plant that kept the biting insects away.

The moon shone through the hole in the roof, casting a glow of silveracross their bodies, anointing them with beauty and peace.

In the woods beyond, the animals went about their regular nightlypursuits. They were not disturbed by the presence of their enemies,nor did they call out overloud to wake the lovers.

Morning brought a new acceptance. No longer did either worry aboutclothing. Cool air kissed their bare skins, giving a new touch offreedom. Breakfast consisted of coffee and berries. Catherine washed Patrick's wound in water so hot that it practically burned. Then she sloshed more ale into the area that was beginning to lose its angrycolor.

Cleansing and soaking the ankle was causing the swelling to diminish,and by midday, Patrick was able to hobble about with less pain.

"I think I'll shoot us some meat for dinner," he said, loading thepistol with lead and powder.

"I don't think you need to go into the woods without clothes,Patrick.

What about the blankets? We can fashion some kind of garment for you.

We'll cut a hole in the center and you can drape it over your head. "

Quickly she used Patrick's knife to chop a circle out of the middle ofthe blanket. She draped it over his body and, using the cord from theloincloth, tied it around his waist.

"There. Perfect!"

"Just like a shepherd. All I need is my staff and sheep."

"You need a staff, all right. You can barely walk, Patrick. Let me have the pistol. I can kill something for our supper."

"Have you ever shot a gun before?"

"No, but I couldn't sing, either, until I tried."

"Catherine, darling', to those men back in Heaven, it wouldn't havemattered whether you could carry a tune or not. To kill a bird does take skill."

"All right, then, I'll go with you."

"No, you'll stay here. Let me find a green limb with a fork in itsbranches. I'll do fine."

Patrick managed to get out the door and to the edge of the woods. He couldn't talk. He hurt too badly. The wound was healing, but therewas still great pain in his ankle, pain that rolled around his head andtook his words away.

"No, you won't. At least let me help you find some n thing to leanon." Catherine slipped her arm around his waist and was rewarded withhis weight against her.

Together they found a young sapling with two limbs exactly oppositeeach other. Patrick chopped the extraneous limbs away and was leftwith a crutch. Using the cloth cut from the center of the blanket,Catherine padded the limbs, tying the fabric to the crutch with stripsof blanket cloth.

In the end Patrick settled for sitting on a dead log and allowingCatherine to walk along the shore, flushing the birds feeding in astand of wild rice. He killed two birds. The noise of the shots scared a rabbit from the end of the log on which Patrick was sitting.He got that, too.

"Now we can eat," Patrick said, his voice tight with pain."Let's get back to the cabin and you call tell me about Cadenhill.""Cadenhill?" Catherine questioned."What about Cadenhill?""What happened after I left? Did Rush get his cotton planted along the river?"

"Yes, and Amanda planted more tobacco."

"And your mother? Is she well?"

They were making their way awkwardly back to the pond, filling the

moments between steps with questions meant to distract.

"Mother married Judge Taliferro and moved to his plantation with thegirls.""And Cadenhill?""Is prospering. Rush and Amanda have a baby.""And you, Catherine? How did you fill the time, when they told you I wouldn't be back for you?"

There was something different in Patrick's question.

"I don't know what you mean?" But she did. She'd allowed a man to

court her, a man who'd asked her to marry him. She'd forgotten allabout that, it had been so unimportant. She had to tell Patrick about Charles.

"Captain Lopaz. He said he'd found Stone and the missing bride. Whose bride, Catherine?"

They'd reached the cabin. And they'd reached the moment of truth. "He came to Petersburg after we received word that you were dead. He was on his way to New Orleans as President Washington's emissary."

"Yes, I'd heard about an American who was to deal with the tariff problem the Americans were having. Do you love him?"