Across the clearing that joined the road to the river, Patrick's housewas slowly taking shape. He wasn't certain why he'd even begun tobuild a manor house, unless it was a part of the illusion he stillmaintained in his secret heart--the dream of Catherine.

The plan to return for her had died, but not the memories of the timethey'd spent together. Those remembrances had haunted his mind unmercifully, but never so vividly as during his night of pain inIsabella's bed. He'd imagined that Catherine had come to him, lain inhis arms, joined her body to his. Even now, it seemed as real as if ithad actually happened.

Patrick was tired, so damned tired. Nothing in his life was turningout the way he'd planned. He'd had dreams, but never in his grandesthope had he expected to meet a woman like Catherine who'd want to marryhim.

The adventure of the sea had always lured him because it representedmovement and change. Perhaps becoming a planter was a false dream thathe was never supposed to realize.

But, damn it, why did Catherine still fill his mind and his heart?

Catherine was the sunshine and Captain Lopaz was the nightmare, a fogof darkness that seemed to follow him and cloud his dreams with pain.

Now, just as Patrick was in a position to seek revenge, Jillico wassuggesting that they give up their foraging for a time.

"Perhaps you're right, Jillico. Now that Lopaz has returned I have tomake plans. I do not want to fail. For now, we'll become planters,and let him look for Stone. We'll let him live with failure for a time."

Jillico looked at the man he'd come to know as Stone, curiously. It wasn't like him to back away from a fight. Perhaps his head had beenhurt more seriously than it appeared. That, or Stone was up tosomething. Either way, Jillico had followed the golden-haired manfaithfully, ever since Jillico had been beaten and thrust into the cellwith Stone, who'd protected and cared for him.

Jillico would have brought him to the swamp when they'd first escaped,but Mona had forbidden it. Instead, he'd taken both men to his friendIsabella in Natchez-under-the-Hill, where he knew nobody would askquestions.

On recovery Stone had made up his mind to recoup his losses by robbingfrom the Spanish who'd stolen his ship. Jillico, tired of the life hispeople were forced to live, joined in the cause. But Stone wasn't a true thief. Many times he gave back the goods and sent the traders ontheir way. Even then Jillico had known that their continued foraysalong the river were a mask for some purpose that he had not yetlearned.

"Planters?" Jillico questioned suspiciously.

"We must do something to feed our friends. Every day more of themcome, hiding from the pirates who've stolen them and the owners who'vebought them. Like us, they deserve their freedom."

Stone's assessment of the situation was accurate. The Spanish turned ablind eye to the pirates who plied the Caribbean, stealing men andwomen, and labeling them as cattle on the cargo bills. For a fee, theSpanish allowed them to be taken upriver to be sold as slaves to thegrowing number of local plantation owners.

The idea of owning men was abhorrent to Stone. He'd seen his father live and die as little more than a slave on a rich man's estate in Ireland. Stone offered the men asylum and a share in what he had. In return they began clearing the land and building a barrier along theriver to protect the land from flooding.

What they were building was nothing like Cadenhill, the Georgiaplantation where Catherine had been reared. But it would be--someday.

Patrick didn't know why he measured everything in terms of Catherine.

She'd never see the primitive plantation he'd laughingly dubbedRainbow's End.

What he really needed was some of the luck of the Irish, maybe a few ofthe little people to guide him. What he settled for was a pint ofstrong, home-brewed ale.

The drink didn't help his head. It didn't even help him resolve a planto deal with Captain Lopaz. What it did, after several pints, was sendhim back to a state of sleep that brought no dreams and offered nopromise of Catherine.

Catherine watched Sally wrestle with the curly mass of hair that wasneither red nor blond. It had never been easily styled. She'd thoughtto pin it up and cover her scraggly attempt with lace, but Isabella haddecreed otherwise.

"She can't be angelic, Sally. And she doesn't have the kind of body to vamp. So you must make her into an innocent coquette, pouting andchildlike. Otherwise the gents will think I've put the cleaning ladyon stage as a joke."

Catherine winced. Cleaning lady? No matter that she'd asked for justsuch a job, being so described only eroded the meager confidence she'dbeen trying to build. Singing to her little sisters was different fromentertaining a boisterous gang of rowdy thieves. Back home in Petersburg she'd never felt dowdy. She'd been a Caden and that made people see her differently.

"Hold still, Cat. You're going to be surprised at what I can do withthese rags and a little hot mud."

"Hot mud? You're going to put hot mud in my hair? She said make me look like a flirt, Sally, not a pig."

"I've heated the mud until it's pliable, like dough. Now I'm rollingit in squares of calico. I'll tie it in your hair and let it drycompletely. When I take it down, you'll be beautiful."

"I'll be ready for an apple in my mouth and a serving platter," Catsaid crossly. She had made up her mind not to complain. She'd allowed herself to be laced into soft white leather boots without comment. The high tops and lace stockings were elegant indeed. When Sally hadtrussed her in a garment that drew in her waist and pressed the air outof her lungs, she'd kept quiet. The lacy corset had pushed her breastsup so that they peeked out from the top of her low-cut dress, makingCat swallow hard and remember how Patrick had touched her there so intimately. But tying mud-filled rags in her hair and forcing her towait patiently while the mud dried had to be the final insult.

The dress that Isabella had provided was a deep emerald-green, a colorthe like of which Catherine had never seen. It picked up the green inher eyes and hugged her body, nipping in at the waist and drapingitself along her bosom.

"Close your eyes," Sally instructed as she helped Cat sit back downbefore the mirror.

"Don't look until I tell you."

Catherine complied. Anything to get this evening behind her. She'd agreed to sing and entertain so that she could stay until Patrickreturned. But now that she was going to have to actually perform shehad butterflies the size of buzzards flitting around her stomach.

"Why are you helping me, Sally?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because not much happens in my life and Iadmire anyone who goes after what they want. I've been here three years, Cat, and I've seen all the other girls marry and move on. I keep waiting and hoping" -- "For what?"

"I don't know. But I think you're my good luck charm. There's something about you that makes me smile. You're like sunshine."

Sunshine. That was what Patrick had called her. Catherine's mind rushed back to Patrick and their time together. Why had he left herwithout speaking? Had he been horrified to find her in his bed? Whyhadn't he returned? Why was he pretending to be a pirate? Nothingmade sense. But nothing had made sense about her feelings for Patrickfrom the start. She'd loved him from the first moment she'd seen him. She trusted him.

Patiently Cat waited while Sally ministered to her hair, untying therags, pulling a large-toothed comb through her tresses and poking andpinning until at last she stepped back and said, "All right, have alook."

Catherine gasped. The woman staring back at her from the wa verymirror was a stranger, a beautiful, provocative stranger.

"I swear my hair has grown. I must be wearing a wig."

"Nope, it's just the curls. I sprinkled them with starch water beforeI rolled them in the hot mud. Now they stand alone. Inside and out, you're truly beautiful, Cat. I can see why Stone cares for you."

"You can? I--I barely know Stone."

"You can tell Isabella that, but I saw the evidence of how well youknow him. And I know Stone. He would never have bedded you, even ifhe was sick, if he didn't care about you."

But he thought I was Isabella, Catherine wanted to say. Still, shebelieved that in the deepest part of his heart he'd known that it wasshe, not Isabella, he'd been with. And he'd come back for her, she wascertain.

On that high note, Catherine allowed herself to be escorted down theback stairs and around to the door at the back of the large area thatIsabella called her drawing room. She waited in the shadows for Isabella to introduce her.

"Tonight, my friends, straight from the halls of the most famous pubsin Dublin, the Irish colleen, Cat O'Conner."

"Sure, and I'm the king of England!" a patron called out.

Catherine took a deep breath and wished she'd never volunteered thefact that she could play. Washing the dishes seemed infinitely moreappealing.

The slave called Pharaoh stood in the hall behind her.

"You just let 'um look at you, Miss Cat. Dey'll love your playing."

He was right, she was Cat O'Conner and she would make them all sit upand take notice. That ought to get Patrick's attention. Cat squaredher shoulders, gave a tug to the top of her dress and stepped into thelight. She took her time arranging herself on the bench before theharpischord, took a deep breath and began to sing.

Chapter Seven.

V_/at O'Conner's first song was "Barbara Alien," a folk song about agirl who didn't appreciate the man who loved her until it was too late.Her voice was as weak and thready as worn-out sackcloth. She knew that she was much too tense and if the expression on her face was areflection of her desperation she must look more like the grim reaperthan a dance hall entertainer.

The sound of Pharaoh's words snaked from behind the piano like awhistling wind.

"Your name is Cat. Play with them, girl, like a ball of yarn!"

Cat straightened her shoulders, tilted her head and pretended the mansitting nearest her was Patrick. She gave him a flirty wink andlaunched into a boisterous rendition of a song she'd heard Roman, thegrist mill operator back home, sing about a drunken sailor. The mood of her audience changed from indifferent to jovial. By the end of herhalf hour of entertainment, the bright-eyed girl with the sunshinesmile had her audience in the palm of her hand.

Catherine Caden let her fingers trill across the keys for the last timeand stood. She bowed her head, stunned by the exuberant appreciation of the men, and backed into thehallway behind her.

"I did it, Pharaoh. I really did it, didn't I?"

"Dat you did, ma'am. And a right lively performance it were."

"I never knew that I could sing."

"A fine voice ain't always the measure of entertainment, ma'am, it's despirit of the heart that counts most."

Catherine hurried past the drawing room and up the stairs to thebedroom, considering Pharaoh's words. When she'd sung "The Girl I LeftBehind" there hadn't been a sound in the place. She knew without beingtold that every man there was picturing someone, somewhere, he'd leftbehind--mother, wife, sweetheart. From a distance, she heardIsabella's deep voice singing a song in French and heard the menclapping enthusiastically.

Heaven was a special place and she was learning it meant differentthings to different people. For her it was a waiting place, a safehaven where she'd stay until Patrick returned.

Later, when she heard the heavy thud of feet come up the stairs, shetried to close her ears to the sounds of the man in the room next to hers. Now she understood what was happening. She'd learned in Patrick's arms. But the guttural moans and the haste of the act seemedat odds with what she'd felt with Patrick.

As the room beyond went silent, Catherine felt the flutter of herheartbeat. Her arms were crossed across her breast, her hands holdingher forearms as if it were she experiencing the passion that hadexploded beyond the flimsy wall of her bedchamber.

"Oh, Patrick, where are you? Are you all right? Did you leave mevoluntarily or were you taken away from me?" She'd asked Sally aboutPatrick, but Sally replied that nobody had heard of him.

Stone came and went as he wished.

Her questions went unanswered, filling her with anguish, yet all thewhile she was forced to remind herself that it was likely that Patrickdid not know the true identity of the woman he'd bedded. He'd been caught up in some fever-induced dream. She had no excuse for her actions. Even now she could scarcely separate reality from themind-numbing passion of what she'd felt. Was it always thus?

Did her sister, Amanda, share the wonder of her body's response withher husband, Rush? If so, why had she fought the idea of marriage sovehemently, giving in only when it became necessary to save theplantation? But Catherine had no one to ask. The miracle that she'd experienced with Patrick remained with her constantly and her bodyyearned to experience the sensation once more.

There was a knock followed by Sally's quick entrance into the softlylit room. A frown on her face spoke more of reluctance than delight.

"Men! I'll be so glad when I can leave this place behind and submitmyself to just one man. At least I can choose."

"You find it so very awful?"

"Yes, mostly. Though sometimes" -- "I found it very pleasant."

Sally looked at her curiously.

"It can be, with the right man. And heaven knows" -she stopped andlaughed lightly at her own choice of words before she corrected them"--at least some people in Heaven claim that Stone is considered agentle man, for a pirate."

"Tell me about him, Sally... please. Has he always been a pirate?"

"Nobody knows for sure. He escaped from the New Orleans prison andcame here. He was hurt. Isabella took him in. It was after he recovered that he began to rob the Spanish and their friends."

Catherine felt her heart lurch.

"He was in jail?" He was in jail. That was why he hadn't come backfor her. He couldn't.

"For how long?"

"How long was he in jail? I don't know. I only know that the Indian,Jillico, brought him, and Pharaoh here, and he's been coming here eversince."

Patrick had been in jail. The ship captain who'd sailed Patrick's shiphad said Patrick had killed someone. Catherine hadn't believed it then and she didn't believe it now. Patrick might have killed someone inself-defense, but he was no murderer.

"He's innocent, of course," Cat said with utter conviction.

"I mean, he may be a pirate, but I'm certain he has good cause."

"Maybe, but the men he robs don't take kindly to losing their cargoes,to say nothing of their purses."

Catherine was assimilating the information she'd gathered. Patrick had been falsely accused of murder, put in prison and had his ship stolen,forcing him into a life of crime. She had to do something to help.

Charles! If Patrick could take his case to Charles, she was certainthat President Washington would intercede to clear Patrick's name.

Sally stood by the door, watching the myriad expressions ripple acrossher new friend's face. Sally was well liked by the other women in thehouse, but the secret she shared with Catherine made their relationshipmore like that of sisters. Still, she recognized the innocence of thegirl and the stubborn determination that she'd already shown by makingher way to Patrick's bed.

"I don't know what you're thinking, Cat, but these men are the mostvicious, untrustworthy villains on the river. You may have known Stonebefore, but he is still an outlaw. Why don't you go back to that niceman who was looking for you and forget about Stone?"

"Charles? I can't marry Charles. I'm certain he is a very fine man,but... he doesn't like this country and-he can't even swim."

"Well, I suppose that could be important. But I wouldn't turn down a respectable man like that for an outlaw."

"Yes, you would, Sally. When you love someone, nothing elsematters."

There was another knock on the door.

"Come in," Cat called out.

Isabella stepped into the room.

"Never invite anyone in. You never know when one of the guests willslip up here, and unless you wish to perform a different duty, you mustalways make certain who is knocking."

"I didn't think."

"Working here is pleasant and rewarding, my little one, but there arecertain things you will learn. Please leave us. Sally."

Sally scurried out the door, giving Cat a reassuring smile as it closedbehind her.