"The sheet. You were a virgin. Why? He's never touched another woman since he's been coming here. Why you? Isabella isn't going to likethis."

Catherine was embarrassed. She stood watching while Sally quicklystripped the bed and remade it before leading Catherine back down thecorridor to her room. This time when the door was closed she heard the lock click.

Where was Patrick? What had happened and why had he left her here? Hadshe found Patrick only to lose him again?

Below the floor, in the escape tunnel, Patrick crouched, his headaching as he forced himself to make sense of what little he'd heard.

When the sound of voices announced the arrival of the soldiers, he'dawakened. The intruders had gathered noisily beneath Isabella's openwindow while the captain issued instructions to his men and discussedtheir plans with a stranger who seemed to be responsible for thesearch.

"Senor Charles, you wait here." The voice he'd heard seemed familiar.

"We have no way of knowing whether Stone is alone, or with his gang ofcutthroats. If your woman is with Stone, we'll find her."

Woman? In the darkness, Patrick had sat upright. He're cog beside thebed had been moved, exposing the corner of the trapdoor.

"Where is Stone?" he was demanding, "and don't tell me that he hasn'tbeen here. I know that he has."

"Why, Captain, I don't know what you're talking about. As you can see,there is no man here. Now, suppose we go back downstairs and leavethis poor frightened child alone," Isabella said, stepping between thegirl and the captain in an attempt to hide the escape tunnel fromdiscovery.

"Your niece is quite attractive." The captain gave Catherine apiercing glance that said he was not completely convinced that hewasn't being fooled.

Lopaz would accept Isabella's story for the moment. If this girl wasthe one the American claimed had been kidnapped by Stone, she wasn'tgoing anywhere--and neither was Stone. Come morning, Senor Forrestwould be on the flatboat heading down river. He didn't have to know about this girl just yet. Lopaz gave an imperceptible nod and allowedIsabella to draw him into the hallway. He could wait. Two rewards were better than one.

Once the soldier was gone and the door was closed, Sally rushed towardthe bed.

"Where is Stone? Isabella is going to have your hide for this, youfoolish girl."

"I don't know. And his name isn't" -Catherine broke off. She didn't understand what had happened. She'd gone to sleep in Patrick's arms,only to be awakened by the clamor in the hallway. She'd only justdiscovered that Patrick was gone when the door burst open.

"I think you'd better return to your room before Isabella gets back."

She pulled Catherine's arm, forcing her to stand, then let out a gasp.

"What's wrong. Sally?"

"Blood. On the sheet. What did you do to Stone? Is he injured?" She took a step closer, studying the sheet, then lifting her eyes inquestion.

"You--you made love with Stone?"

"No!" Catherine felt a flush of heat color her cheeks.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"The sheet. You were a virgin. Why? He's never touched another woman since he's been coming here. Why you? Isabella isn't going to likethis."

Catherine was embarrassed. She stood watching while Sally quicklystripped the bed and remade it before leading Catherine back down thecorridor to her room. This time when the door was closed she heard the lock click.

Where was Patrick? What had happened and why had he left her here? Hadshe found Patrick only to lose him again?

Below the floor, in the escape tunnel, Patrick crouched, his headaching as he forced himself to make sense of what little he'd heard.

When the sound of voices announced the arrival of the soldiers, he'dawakened. The intruders had gathered noisily beneath Isabella's openwindow while the captain issued instructions to his men and discussedtheir plans with a stranger who seemed to be responsible for thesearch.

"Senor Charles, you wait here." The voice he'd heard seemed familiar.

"We have no way of knowing whether Stone is alone, or with his gang ofcutthroats. If your woman is with Stone, we'll find her."

Woman? In the darkness, Patrick had sat upright. He recognized thatvoice. Lopaz! It was he, the man Patrick had been searching for,waiting for. Lopaz, the man who'd nearly beaten him to death. At last they were to meet again--at a time Patrick was not at his best.

Patrick would have to be ready. For now, he didn't want Lopaz to knowhe had survived. Patrick hadn't killed anybody then and Stone hadn'tstolen anybody's woman now. But that wouldn't stop the captain frompunishing him and anybody protecting him.

That included Isabella.

Patrick had realized that he wasn't alone in the bed, but if he rousedIsabella she'd try to protect him. Better he disappear, he thought,quickly and quietly.

Painfully, unsteadily, he'd dressed. Making as little noise aspossible he'd found the well-oiled trapdoor beneath Isabella's fancyPersian rug, and dropped into the secret space. From there he'd made his way to the hatch that led to the water's edge.

Isabella had shown him the exit long ago, but this was the first timehe'd ever made use of it. He'd laughed at her when she threatened himwith being sold into slavery if he tried to leave her, but now he wasgrateful for the means of escape. In Natchezunder-the- Hill, a man wasprotected from the law, whichever country the law represented.

Protecting oneself from others was the real danger.

Patrick wished his head didn't ache so. There was a nasty cut at thehairline, and a puffy area surrounding it. Even a casual touch set off waves of pain that clouded his memory and probably his judgment aswell.

Everything that had happened since he dived into the river was such ablur. There'd been someone trapped in a pirogue--a girl. He'd broughther to Heaven where he'd thought she'd be safe. Or had it been part ofthe vivid dream he'd had? In his feverish state he'd imagined that thewoman was Catherine, that she'd come to his bed.

Catherine Caden, his Catherine, the woman he'd planned to marry. He'd been so certain that it was Catherine he was kissing, making love to,holding in his arms. But that couldn't be. He'd left Catherine back in Petersburg. It was just another dream, triggered by his rescue ofthe girl in the river. He wasn't strong enough to meet the captaintonight.

He'd have to hope that the girl wouldn't be found and that Isabellawouldn't be implicated. His relationship with the owner of Heaven wasmore than simple friendship, it was a matter of honor. She'd taken him in and given him safe haven. Now that had ended. With Captain Lopaz'sarrival he couldn't even trust Heaven anymore.

Patrick McLendon dropped the final distance below to the riverbank.

Once he got back to his plantation, Rainbow's End, he'd decide what todo. Perhaps it was time to consider making a secret trip down river toNew Orleans. It was time he called on the American representative fromPresident Washington. If anyone could help him clear himself of thecharge of murder, President Washington could. Using the last of hisenergy, he stumbled down the bank.

"Stone?"

"Jillico?"

"Yes. You are hurt?"

"I seem to have had a lick in the head. I'm still seeing stars. How did you know?"

"I know."

"Yes, you're like one of the little people. I keep expecting you tostart wearing green and grow a long red beard."

"My people do not allow their facial hair to grow."

"I know and I guess you don't have a pot of gold, or an extra wish ortwo to be granted, do you? Never mind. Let's get out of Heaven, myfriend. I seem to be hallucinating about a hazel-eyed angel, and Iknow she isn't real."

Chapter Five.

Low spirals of fog wafted across the stage like smoke, circling theankles of the performers like disembodied fingers holding them to thefloor.

The humming of the drums was joined by a low wordless chant that ebbedand flowed like the beat of a heart. At first, the dancers seemed tocower from some unseen attacker, then as if seeking a way out, theypeered into the darkness outside the light. The drumbeat grew louder,the pace faster, the movements of the dancers more frantic.

Beyond the candles, the audience, made up of the more affluent andcurious of New Orleans's fledgling young society, eyed each other inalarm. What was happening here was no stage show, no bawdyentertainment. This was more like an eerie reenactment of some secret ritual.

This was all dance, chants without spoken words. There was a sense of unrest in the music, reminding the audience that many of their slavesbrought that same kind of dancing with them from their homelands.

Whispers began to be heard as the drumbeat peaked.

Nine months ago the dance director, a handsome, well-educated man had mysteriously appeared in New Orleans. His claim to be a stage actor and performer had quickly caught the fancy of oneof the local businessmen, who turned a store on St. Peter's Street into the city's first theater.

The stranger brought in refugees from islands in the Southern oceans tomake up his cast of blacks, and weekly performances were immediatelysold out. Soon, the theater was joined by the first newspaper, LeMoniteur de la Louisiane, which printed the playbill and brought insuch a response that the theater was enlarged.

What had started out as New Orleans's newest claim to civilized societyhad, this night, become something fearful.

Suddenly a puff of colored smoke ignited in the center of the stage,and under its cover appeared the man called the Dancemaster. There was much speculation about his nationality. He was tall, Indian perhaps,or some half-breed mixture, and a spectacular specimen of maleness.

Wearing only a scrap of cloth covering his male parts, the dancercrouched and waited, motionless until the whispers subsided.

Then like a snake he writhed and twisted, uncurling himself, withoutmoving from the spot where he'd appeared. The chains of hammered copper and strands of pearls around his neck caught the glow of thecandles like the eyes of some jungle predator in the night.

From somewhere outside the shadows a ghostlike figure moved slowly andmajestically onto the stage. This figure, a woman wearing little morethan a length of gauzy fabric wrapped around her body, seemed to movein a trance. Her face was concealed by her painted mask, to which afall of long white animal hair had been attached.

She began quick little movements around the circle, as if she, too, were searching for someone, then, disappointed she would turn away,always keeping her back to the man in the center. After several passesshe cried out and collapsed to the floor in what appeared to be afaint.

The Dancemaster let out a scream, leaping into the air and coming downon his knees at a spot near the woman's body. He brandished a spearover her, lifting both arms as if in a signal to the dancers that thetime had come to attack. Then, as if awakening from sleep, thewhite-faced woman rose. The man held out his hand. She clasped it andwalked toward the front of the stage where she pulled the mask from herface, faced the patrons, then held the mask up in clear view.

There was a shriek from the audience.

The theater owner started down the aisle, got a closeup look of themask and came to an abrupt stop.

The woman's real face was painted as white as the mask. But every eyein the house was riveted on her disguise. For it wasn't a mask at all,but a human head.

The drums suddenly stopped. The dancers fell to their knees with their arms extended before them on the floor as they blew out the lights.

Chapter Six.

t i 0 Oo your name is Cat O'Conner, and you knew Stone before you camehere? "

"Yes," Catherine said bravely, "he and I were... acquaintances."

Isabella was standing by the door, more angry than she'd ever been inher life. She just couldn't figure out this girl Stone had rescued andput in her care.

Sally's bizarre explanation of why the girl wound up in her bed--thatStone had reopened his wound and called out, drawing the girl tohim--made no sense. This time Isabella intended to get to the truth.

"Strange, Stone never mentioned you. How well did you know him?"

Catherine debated her answer. She sensed that Isabella cared for Patrick. If Catherine told the truth, she might cause Patrick furtherharm and hurt the woman who'd befriended her. Still, if she lied, shemight anger Isabella and find herself ejected from the one place whereStone was likely to return. Catherine didn't hesitate. Better placateIsabella than be sent away before she found Patrick again.

"I didn't know Stone as well as I would have liked," she admitted,mixing truth with fiction as she went.

"I was running away from a man I chose not to marry, when I was caughtby the storm. Stone saved my life. Nothing more."

"But you were in my bed."

"I went to your room to thank you for my life. Stone was already gone.

Before I could get back here, I heard the captain come. I thoughtStone might be hiding from the captain so I--I blew out the candle andtook Stone's place. I'm very sorry if I caused you any grief. "

The girl's explanation still had holes in it that Isabella could climbthrough, but for now, she decided it was better to accept it thanassume that Stone had brought her there because she meant something tohim.

"And what did you plan to do when you ran away from this man you wereto marry?"

"I--I was coming here. I thought perhaps you might--might--give me ajob. I believe I could be an asset to your... establishment."

Isabella bit back a laugh. The girl had a way about her, as if shewere ready to take on the world. She was interesting, with her livelyface and proud manner, but she was obviously wellborn. Isabella didn't want to agree to her employment until she'd spoken with Stone.

Catherine saw Isabella's disbelieving expression and hastened to add,"Oh, I didn't mean with the men. I'd thought to play the harpsichord,or perhaps cook or clean. I'm very experienced."

Isabella took one look at Cat's hands and confirmed her suspicions that Miss Cat 0"Conner was making up her story as she went. She might playthe harpischord, but hard labor was not a thing of which she couldclaim experience.

"Do you sing?"

"Some," Cat agreed, hoping privately that God wouldn't strike herspeechless for her lie. She could at least play the harpsichord,thanks to her mother's insistence that at least one of her daughterslearn the kind of social graces expected of a lady. More than that,she'd have to improvise.

"And you're Irish. Well, we might work something out there, at leasttemporarily. Cat 0" Conner, the Irish colleen. My clients mightappreciate something a bit different. What about dancing an Irish jig?"

"No, I don't dance." Enough was enough. Cat didn't expect to stayaround long enough for Isabella to find out how badly she sang. If dancing was required she was sunk.

"You've already told them she's your niece--why not let her stay?"

Sally asked.

"Having somebody new to entertain them might just divert the sailorsfrom turning her in for the reward."