Patrick, already exhausted, reached inward and used the last of hisstrength to resist the push of those trying to get away from newdangers. Briefly, he considered throwing himself and Catherine intothe river to be carried downstream away from the fire. But there were too many people already in the water who had panicked. Suppose theygot caught by a person trying to save himself from drowning. No, thisway was safer. Besides, his pirogue was upriver, and they needed thedugout to get home.

Behind him Patrick heard the shouts of policemen, who were trying tomake order among the conflagration and resulting chaos. But they weretoo few to control this crowd, as well as try to prevent the spread ofthe fire.

By now, Patrick was practically dragging Catherine. He didn't have time to stop and reassure her. He knew that only luck had kept theriffraff from realizing they had the good citizens completely at their mercy. Sooner or later the criminal element would turn to more than theft and looting. Catherine wouldn't be safe until they were well outof New Orleans.

"Stay with me, Cat, darling'. You can do it..We'll get out of here."

Patrick put his arm around Catherine and hugged her close, trying toshield her strawberry-colored hair from the view of an unruly group ofmen just ahead. It was obvious that the looters had taken advantage ofthe burning warehouse and helped themselves to kegs of strongspirits.

Patrick wiped his forehead, smearing soot across his face. That gavehim an idea. Moments later Catherine's face was black and her hair was covered with a turban made from a section of one of her petticoats.

Finally he reached the end of the levee and the safety of the trees.

They were away from the fire and the crowd, yes, but traveling in thedarkness, through the liquid landscape ahead was a danger of adifferent kind. Though Patrick would willingly have taken on anEnglish army, the Louisiana swamp was an enemy that didn't always playfair.

Catherine tried to hurry, but she was exhausted, as was he. She hopedthat he could find a place where they could rest, or they'd perishbecause their fatigue would make them overlook some danger they'dnormally have seen.

There was her child to think about. Patrick still didn't know about the baby. She should have told him back at the house, when he'd toldher that he loved her. But she'd been so filled with joy at his wordsthat she hadn't been able to speak. Then the fire had kept her fromsharing their wonderful news. She'd tell him once they reachedsafety.

"Wait here, Catherine," he said finally.

"I need to find us a dry spot to spend the night. Traveling throughthe swamp by darkness isn't safe."

"No," she said desperately, "I'll go with you. I can't let you leaveme again, ever again."

Catherine clung to him. She was right, he knew. They were together,whatever happened.

Behind them the city of New Orleans blazed like an inferno in the nightsky. Explosions marked the warehouses where gunpowder was stored. The conflagration would have been an awesome spectacle if they had notrealized the tragic destruction.

By now, Patrick was almost carrying Catherine. She simply put one footin front of the other, trusting that there would be solid groundbeneath it. Sometimes there wasn't, and she stumbled into the inkywater. Both she and Patrick were cold and wet.

The moon cast a watery light on them. Filtered by the smoke, it was afool's light that turned the landscape into an eerie, unreal placewhere earth and sky came alive with slithery things that brushedCatherine's bare arms and slid over her feet and legs.

They circled a massive live oak, climbing the roots that had been leftexposed by the last flood. The scream of a wild animal suddenly brokethrough the night, cutting through Catherine like the cry of a pigshe'd heard being slaughtered when she was a child.

Catherine stumbled and fell.

"I can't go any farther, Patrick. Can't we rest?"

"We're almost there, Catherine, where I left my boat. I'll carryyou."

He lifted her and held her close, feeling the tremors rack her body andwishing he could take away the awful things she'd been forced to facethis night.

"Just a few feet more," he said, and was rewarded by her straighteningher shoulders and nodding agreement.

He wasn't surprised. Catherine had always astounded him with herstrength of purpose. She never wavered from what she'd set her mind to do. There had been no subterfuge, no false pretense before, and therewould be none now. He had asked her to keep going and she would.

It was Patrick who had played games, who had refused to open his heartand his soul, to admit his desperate need to love and be loved. Even when he'd been with Catherine in their hut on the bayou, he'd refusedto accept what she was offering. They were lovers, yes. She loved him and he let her, because he knew that it was safe. He wasn't goodenough for her. His name would always be tainted. He ought to do theright thing--he'd send her home to her family. Rut- He needed Catherine. He wanted Catherine. They belonged together. Tonight hadtaught him how precious life was. But that was the selfish way tojustify his actions. Being with Patrick might be what Catherinewanted, too, but it wasn't the best thing for her.

Even Charles, in the end, had made his own sacrifice for Catherine. As badly as he'd behaved, he'd redeemed himself by saving Catherine.

In his mind's eye, Patrick could still see the flames licking at thebalcony, threatening to engulf Catherine any second. But they'd savedeach other, and now it was up to Patrick to save them one last time.

Because he loved Catherine. Because she demanded that he give to heras much as she was giving to him. She'd put her life, her heart andher soul in his hands, and it was up to him to accept her gift or throwit away. Tonight, until he got her to safety, he'd have these last fewprecious hours with the woman he loved. Then he'd send her back to Cadenhill.

They reached the place where he'd left the pirogue. After checking itfor snakes, he helped Catherine inside and crawled in with her. He wasn't comfortable with traveling the bayou at night, but at least theboat was dry enough to lie in.

"We'll rest for a few hours, then start upriver."

"Yes," was all Catherine could manage as they collapsed in each other's arms.

Patrick folded his arms around her because he knew how badly she neededprotection. Catherine, who'd never backed down to anybody or anything,was being asked to be strong again, and she was trusting him to keepher safe.

He cursed under his breath and swore he'd spend the rest of his lifedoing just that. He held her for a long time, waiting until he felther breathing slow.

They slept.

The next morning Catherine opened her eyes to a smoky overcast sky withdirty gray clouds that obscured the sun. But the fire had warmed the air and dried her soot-stained petticoat. For a moment an errant raycut through the mist and touched her skin. It brought a feeling ofhope with its brightness.

They were crossing the Mississippi, Patrick's strong arms poling theflat boat first one way, then another to make use of the current.

Sometime during the night he'd removed his shirt. She was wearing it now. She was sore and stiff. Their trek through the wilderness hadtaken its toll of their strength. But they'd survived the Decembernight and all the perils they'd faced. There were just the two of themand that was fine.

Catherine found great pleasure in watching the ripple of his muscles ashe worked. She knew now that the scars on his body had come from beingbeaten by Captain Lopaz and she winced. Just remembering brought backthe picture of the Spaniard who'd caused Patrick so much grief.

But that was over now, too. By all accounts Lopaz was gone, perishedin the bayou near the Indian village.

And she and Patrick had escaped. They'd come through so much, the twoof them. And now, finally, they were free to be together. For now she didn't want to think about what had happened. She wanted to simply liehere and watch him, watch his beautiful stern face and steady blueeyes. Unconsciously she laid her hand across her stomach, connectingwith the child in reassurance.

She'd been watching Patrick for a long time before his gaze dropped tomeet hers and the blue eyes began to crinkle at the corners.

"Good morning, darling'"

"Oh, yes, and it is a good morning."

That was when her stomach growled. She caught her lower lip betweenher teeth as she realized that Patrick had heard it as well.

"You're hungry."

"Yes, and I'm dirty, and I'm probably the worst looking thing since mylittle sister fell into the fireplace and came out smeared with sootand ashes."

"I think you're beautiful, ashes and all."

A seabird flew overhead, letting out a raucous cry as it dipped to thewater in front of them and picked up a small fish.

Even the birds eat. Catherine swallowed hard and tried to find something other than food on which to focus her attention.

"How are you going to get this boat upriver? I don't think your pole

is long enough to reach the bottom, is it?"

"In some places. But you're right. We're going up the bayou. That's easier than traveling against the current."

"How long will it take us to get back to Heaven?"

That stopped him for a moment. He could have told her that since he'd awakened with her in his arms, he thought they were already there.

"We'll be at Isabella's place tomorrow, providing I can find the man

I'm looking for."

"Man? What man?"

"He's a Frenchman, one of the Acadians who lives out here in the bayou.

He knows this country better than I do. He's going to get us back.""How do you know him?""We've done a spot of business now and again.""Does he have food?""Oh, yes. He has about anything anybody needs."His name was Louis and he had a real house and real food, or at least he was getting food ready when they arrived.

"" Allo, Stone, mon ami. You bring the black-faced pichouette withyou? ""Black-faced?" Patrick looked at Catherine and laughed."Yes she does seem to have a dirty face, and an empty stomach. What are the chances of some soap and a little food?"

"Good! Come inside, we will make a feast."

The big dark-skinned man was holding a trap, filled with dark-colored

moving creatures. Catherine, wiping her face on her petticoat, followed the two men onto the porch where she caught sight of her reflection in a piece of broken mirror hanging on the log wall.

She'd been more right than she knew when she com pared herself to her little sister. Her face was black and her hair tied with a white kerchief, like one of the New Orleans street vendors.She began to laugh.

"Oh, Patrick, I can't eat like this. Where is that soap and water?"

Moments later Catherine was using the square of fabric from her head,first as a washcloth and finally as a towel. At least now her face was clean, though the rest of her was pretty sad looking. She thought backto how proud she'd been in her new dress when she attended her firstball with Patrick.

And she thought of how little that mattered now. She'd been only achild playing at being a woman. Now she was a woman.

Louis gave her a big smile and pulled out the iron pot hanging over thefireplace by the long arm on which it was hooked. He opened his woodentrap and held it over the pot, allowing the contents to fall into theboiling water.

"What are those things?" Catherine asked.

"Crawfish. The delicacy of the bayou. First we boil them, then we addthem to the stew and eat them."

"I don't think I want to know any more," Catherine said, turning herbackside to the fire.

"I'm hungry enough to eat almost anything, but I don't want to know thedetails."

By the time the sun was straight overhead they'd filled their stomachswith the highly seasoned stew and beans and all three of them wereclimbing into the pirogue.

Patrick was right, Catherine thought. It was better to have a guidewho knew where they were going. Louis kept up a steady commentary inthat strange way he had of talking, all the while cutting acrosswaterways, heading up one and down the other until they were completely enclosedin a world of cypress trees and moss.

"You are Stone's lady?" Louis asked.

"I am Stone's lady," she agreed.

"We're going to be married."

"Ah, yes, it's good to have a woman. My woman, she died. I have not found another so good."

"He's too scared to look," Patrick explained, avoiding a response toCatherine's comment on marriage.

"Louis is a good catch. He owns all the land between New Orleans and Necktie Bend on the west side of the river. He grows vegetables,tobacco and oysters."

"Oysters?"

"Oui, cherie, but I don't grow them, I just harvest them and remove thepearls from their shells. They thank me an' the ladies in New Orleansthank me."

"Pearls? Here in the swamp?"

"Oui, here in Louis's oysters."

Catherine took another look at their host. He appeared fierce becauseof his size, but it was obvious that he had a great deal to offer awoman who wanted her own home and-"Patrick! Sally!"

"What about Sally?"

"Oh, I was just thinking that she'd be just about perfect for Louis,don't you think?"

"Who is this Sally?" Louis asked with a scowl.

"I don't care much for the Spanish ladies. And those society women,they wear my pearls, but they have no wish to share my bed."

"Sally is an angel, Louis, a real angel with golden hair, a heart ofgold and a strong wish to have her own home with her own bed."

Maybe it was the sense of well-being that came from knowing thatPatrick wasn't wanted for murder. He was still wanted for being apirate, but she'd worry about that later. Or, perhaps she wouldn't.

Patrick was her world. If it took being a pirate's wife, so be it.