"Yes, Senorita, forgive, I should remember not to call you Miss " Youshould remember to call me Father. I just hope the prison guards arenot going to wonder why an American who isn't even Catholic ispretending to be a priest. "

"Yes, Father," he said with a grin, and followed Catherine out into thecorridor. The house seemed empty. Nobody but Pharaoh and his oldfriend Topsy knew that Charles's guards, having tested their firstbottle of drugged wine, were sleeping off the results in the storage room.

It was only five o'clock in the afternoon, but December darkness hadalready fallen. The gloom of the day was made even worse by a heavyfog, which had emptied the streets. When they arrived at the prison atthe dinner hour, the food and drink they were carrying would lendcredibility to their pretended mission, so that the guards would accepttheir story that they'd come to hear the confession of the pirate Stonebefore his scheduled execution.

Catherine hoped what she was doing was right. Patrick was in prisonbecause of her foolhardiness, because she'd disregarded his wishes andgone to Charles for help. She'd never expected Charles to turn Patrickin. Nor had she seen anything in his quiet demeanor back in Petersburgto suggest the cruel streak of ambition that drove him.

Down the foggy streets they hurried, heads bowed, conversationhushed.

A rosary circled Catherine's neck, from which a crucifix was hanging.

Now she clutched it, praying silently that she wasn't making anotherfoolish move.

Inside his jail cell Patrick was also praying. This time there were no cellmates, no broken manacles with which to dig his way clear and nobird signals from beyond the barred window over his head.

His execution was scheduled for nine o'clock. Charles had bragged thathis marriage to Catherine would take place an hour before. There was nothing Patrick could do to stop the wedding. She wouldn't run awaythis time, for she believed that only by her wedding Charles wouldPatrick be freed.

Dear Catherine, who always believed in the goodness of man, had notlearned that some men couldn't be tmsted. There'd been no petition tothe governor for clemency. Charles had never had any intention ofcarrying out his part of the bargain.

Patrick rubbed his eyes. He'd faced death before, and faced it withoutfear. But now there was Catherine. Because of him she'd be married to a cold, calculating man who would never appreciate the gift he'd been given.

No, Catherine would do something. He didn't know how, but he knew thatshe'd make some last-minute desperate attempt to get away. She alwaysdid.

How had his life come to this? If only they'd never left their cabinin the swamp. She'd been safe there; they'd been safe there. He could still see her swimming among the lilypads, surrounded by pink blossoms, all satiny in the sunlight.

Sunshine and satin. That was how he'd remember her, for as long as hehad time to remember.

He still couldn't explain the feelings that rushed through him when shetouched him. He'd thought that hurt and pain had shriveled his heartlong ago. But she'd brought it back to life again, and made it longfor the promise of love. She never held back or pretended.

Catherine was what she was and she never hid her feelings.

Not like him.

He'd hidden his, shoved them so deep inside that he'd never allowedthem the freedom to be spoken. He was going to die without ever havingtold her that he loved her. He regretted that, almost more thandying.

He'd had nothing to offer her. But she'd wanted nothing. He'd givenher even less, for he'd held back the one thing she wanted, hisdeclaration of love.

His body shuddered and he slammed his fist against the wall, revelingin the pain that took away his thoughts. If only Charles had been whatCatherine had thought him to be. Patrick wouldn't mind dying so muchif he knew that Charles really loved Catherine. But he didn't. He never had. He'd bragged to Patrick about marrying the Caden name andusing Catherine's dowry to secure himself in a society where a man wasjudged on his financial worth.

Catherine had simply been from the right family, with the rightconnections to help his career, and he'd caught her at a time when shewas vulnerable and ready to get away from the pitying platitudes of herfriends.

God's blood, Patrick thought, he couldn't die and leave Catherine to aman who planned to use the reward for Patrick's capture to takeCatherine on a wedding trip.

Patrick swore again and closed his eyes. No point in looking forrainbows or leprechauns this time. He'd used up all his wishes and allhis luck. This time there wouldn't even be a pig.

At the practically new theater on St. Peter Street, the group of slaveactors gathered around the candle and listened to their leader. Months ago, along with the planters, they'd boarded Patrick's ship to escapethe uprising. Patrick hadn't known that they were not plantationslaves. Once in New Orleans, they'd fled the ship and used theiroccupation as stage actors to cover the darker practice of black magic.

They'd brought their power to this land from which their forefathershad come. Already they were becoming known for their secret powers.

"The time is soon," the leader said.

"The White Woman is here. She must be protected."

"But Simicco," one Indian asked, "how can this be accomplished?"

"We will watch her as we have done before. The American plans to takeher from the city tonight. This cannot be allowed."

"I don't know," the same Indian argued.

"Perhaps we should give up on this woman. We thought our tribe wouldbe mighty. Instead our people, the Natchez, are gone from this landalong the mighty Mississippi.

Those who have not been killed have joined with the other tribes.

Mona is dead and Jillico has joined with Stone. "

"No! Cease this talk. We have been returned to the land of our fathers. We have been provided with a purpose and we have this theaterin which to work to bide our time."

"But acting on the stage is all we know how to do, Simicco," the lonewoman in the group said.

"I have no wish to live in the village of the Green Mounds of Earth.That life is no more."

"You have grown soft, all of you. The lesser slaves worked the fields,grew the cane and forgot the old ways. But we were the chosen ones. We learned to read and recite. We have the ways of our people and thevoodoo of those on the islands."

Simicco stood and walked about the table, studying the small band ofIndians he'd trained and prepared for this moment. They'd enjoyedtheir places of power on the island, but here, they were losing theirconviction. He couldn't allow that to happen.

"The white man believes that we are entertaining him, but in reality,he is following where we lead. We will survive and claim our place asrulers once more, for we are the children of the Sun. And we will soon claim the glory that is ours. It has been seen in all our dreams for all our lives. Is this not so?" Reluctantly they murmured theiragreement. And then he announced his final argument.

"The White Woman of Mona's vision is carrying a child."

It was the smell of Topsy's fish stew that overcame any reservationsthe prison jailers might have had, that and the jailer's noticing thejugs of wine the priest's servant carried.

"Confession from the prisoner?" he said, nodding his head. "Then the last meal. That seems reasonable, even for a murderer. Why don't wehold the food and wine until you've finished, Father?"

Jillico slid the jugs from his shoulder and handed them to the Spanish official, who also took the container of food Catherine was holding.

Jillico made the sign of the cross and waited by the door with his head bowed.

The jailer motioned to the guard, who took the ring of keys from a peg

by the desk and opened the iron door.

"This way. You have ten minutes, no more."

With the same key, the guard unlocked the cell door and waited until

the two robed figures were inside. Then the door slammed closed behind them.

Patrick pushed himself to his feet.

"What the hell? I didn't send for you.""When did that ever stop me?" Catherine said and flung herself intoPatrick's arms, drawing him to the floor.

"Catherine?"

"Oh, Patrick, I'm so sorry. I thought Charles would help us. Now lookwhat's happened.""Hush, Catherine." He drew her close and kissed her hungrily. They had only a few minutes. Minutes that would be all he'd ever have.

"I don't blame you. I don't even blame Forrest. Hell, I'd probablyhave done the same thing myself."Tears rolled unashamedly down Catherine's face. If she'd done what Patrick had asked her to do they'd still be at Rainbow's End and he wouldn't be about to die.

"I've placed everything in your name," Patrick was saying.

"You'll have the land, and the men will follow you."

"Stone! Listen!" Jillico interrupted."We have a plan, listen to--the Father." He went to stand watch by thedoor.

"Pretend to be praying." Catherine directed and dropped to her

knees.

Patrick assumed the same position, head bowed, his hands clasping hers in the shadows.

"How'd you two get in here? No, don't tell me. Just tell me that you

have a way to get out.""Of course. We've brought you food and wine, which, with any luck, theguards are already enjoying. They're both drugged. Later, we'llreturn and free you."

"Not we. It's too dangerous. You go back to For- rest's house andwait. You'll be safe, because he'll be coming here for the hanging.

After I'm out of here I'll come for you. There is a little somethingthat President Washington's representative has to know. "

"What?"

"Don't worry. Just wait there."

"But what if--something happens?"

"Nothing will."

"The guard is coming back," Jillico said and knelt on the floor besidethem.

The door opened. Jillico and Catherine rose, making the sign of thecross one last time. They walked slowly out of the cell and past thejailer's desk.

The man hadn't even waited for them to leave before diving intoPatrick's last meal. He nodded to them as they passed and raised hisglass of wine in salute.

On the street, Catherine let go of the the breath she'd been holdingsince they'd left Patrick's cell. Her knees were shaking so that shecould hardly stand.

"Hurry now," Jillico said.

"You must be there if Senor Forrest returns, and I have much to do."

"I'm not going back there," she said.

"And suppose Charles returns and finds you gone. Pharaoh and Topsywill be blamed, and he'll come immediately to the jail, before the timehe's expected."

Jillico was right. Only by returning could she make certain thatnobody else suffered because of her actions, or that Charles wasn'talerted to the escape. She turned and hurried back along the street.

Through the open windows she could see people at prayers. The HolySeason of Christmas was approaching and the city would celebrate.

A brisk wind swirled in from the river, blowing the fog away andcooling the air. By the time Catherine reached Charles's house she waschilled. She slipped into the courtyard and hurried to the kitchen,shedding her priest's robe as she went. Pharaoh and Topsy were waitingby the fire as she nodded and hurried up the stairs.

Soon the guards would awaken. With any luck each would assume he wasthe only one to have fallen asleep, and her absence would have goneunnoticed. She began pacing once more, praying that the wine taken tothe prison worked as well.

It was after supper on Rue Royal, less than five blocks from the housewhere Catherine was being held, and four children were playing in thehay barn. They were rolling leaves of tobacco that the oldest boy hadswiped from the dock.

"Are you gonna do it, Pierre? I dare you."

"Course I'm gonna do it. Just get me one of them dry sticks from thehearth."

The younger boy scurried to the cook house and played around the hearthwhere the cook was banking the fire for the morning meal, until hecould grab a stick and run away without being seen.

"Got it."

"You better not do that," the little girl said, watching balefully fromher place near the door.

"Papa will punish you."

"You're just a babe, Adalaine. Even I'm old enough to smoke," therunner with the stick bragged.

"Let me have a leaf, Pierre."

But Pierre was having his own difficulties. The wind swept through theopen door to the hayloft, lifting the sparks from the burning branchand slinging them into the dry hay. Moments later the entire loft seemed to burst into flames.