Animosities were high in both England and Scotland. A raging storm of retaliation was brewing ... a retaliation that would be hazardous to their escape.

They reached Margarth Cove at last, coming to the gra.s.sy verge of the harsh rocky sh.o.r.e when the moon had begun to fade. Gazing out over the small secluded cove where Robbie's ship should have been anch.o.r.ed, they saw only the grey winter sea.

No ship rested there. Only white-capped waves, a few hardy birds. And emptiness.

Johnnie swore, a long, low steady stream of invective. Elizabeth burst into tears, hating herself even as she sobbed for being so susceptible to her emotions. The hours of the past night had been excruciatingly tense, each sluggish mile pa.s.sed in a nightmare of apprehension, fear in every sudden sound. And now that they'd reached their destination, now when they should have been safe, their vision of freedom evaporated before them.

Nudging his barb closer to Elizabeth's mount, Johnnie reached over and wiped her tears away with the back of his gloved hand, the leather warm from the heat of his body. "The British patrols must be out. We'll just wait. Don't cry, darling. Robbie will come."

"What if they've captured him?"

He stared out to sea for a moment, then shook his head. "They'll come for him later ... after I've been found guilty. As he's my present heir, they'll want him, too, but"-he paused, understanding how laws were often despotically managed-"even if I was convicted in absentia, Robbie would have had sufficient warning from Munro."

"Oh, G.o.d," she whispered at the word "conviction." It meant a hunted death, anywhere in the world. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she apologized, knowing strength and resolution would be more useful to Johnnie now, not a sobbing woman. "All I do is cry ... I never used to cry.... Really," she added in a hiccupy holding back of her tears.

"Lord, sweetheart, you've reason enough," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I felt like crying when that d.a.m.n ship wasn't there. But, look," he went on in a reasonable tone that belied none of his intense frustration, "there's an inn south of Saint Abbs-it's off the main road, local and secluded. It's only another few miles." His voice softened. "Are you tired of riding? Should I carry you?"

She shook her head and smiled at him, licking away a tear that had slid into the corner of her mouth. "Do they have good food?"

He laughed, her appet.i.te a constant now. "Better than yours or my cooking."

"An enormous incentive then," she said with an experimental smile she wasn't sure she could maintain. Sitting up a little straighter, adjusting her reins in her fingers, she said, "Lead on."

Within the hour, before daylight had fully replaced the dawn, Elizabeth was ensconced in a soft feather bed in Traquir's best bedchamber, contemplating her third boiled egg and crumpet with more pleasure than she should feel, considering their danger. Johnnie sat by the window, still dressed, his gaze on the sea beyond the low hedges, a pewter tankard of ale in his hand, the remains of his breakfast on the table beside him. He'd seen two British cruisers patrolling the coast in the past hour, indication of a near blockade. And on their arrival the landlord had heatedly related the recent news of the Alien Act, the capture of the Annandale, and the repercussions of both.

"The lobsterbacks are out in force, d.a.m.n their hides. Came up from Harbottle last week. And they don't always pay, b.l.o.o.d.y sods. As if we haven't been bled dry already by the d.a.m.ned English."

"Is anyone asking questions?" Johnnie had inquired as they'd waited in the small entrance hall while the maid had readied their room.

"Seems they're looking for a Lord and his Lady, dark like you," the heavyset tavern owner had answered, gazing at Johnnie with a smile. "And the lady has white hair, they say." His bright blue eyes twinkled as he'd looked at Elizabeth seated on a wooden bench against the wall. "Now even if we saw fine folks of that description," the landlord had gone on with a mischievous grin, "dinna seem to me that a Scotsman would tell a b.l.o.o.d.y lobsterback."

Johnnie smiled, relaxing for the first time in many hours. "If our horses could be stabled away from the inn," he had said with a mild insinuation. Standing caped and booted, he was a large, overpowering image, all in black from the top of his sleek head to his finely made boots. "They'd prefer the quiet...."

"Old George Foulis has s.p.a.ce." The innkeeper nodded in the direction of a farmyard across the road. "Out o' the way, 'tis. Secluded."

"How convenient," Johnnie had said, placing a well-filled leather purse on the table in the center of the hall.

And now with Elizabeth comfortable and their horses out of sight, he pondered the serious logistics of getting a message to Robbie, or finding him, or perhaps ... hiring a vessel to sail them to Holland. While it was possible to linger briefly at Abbs Inn, the longer they stayed, the more visible their presence. And while the innkeeper was a loyal Scots, some of his employees might be poor enough to be tempted by English guineas. When he'd seen so many in Scotland's Parliament selling their votes for modest sums, he had no illusions about an impoverished chambermaid or ostler.

But he kept his reservations to himself because Elizabeth needed a modic.u.m of tranquillity after their days on the run, and he couldn't venture out again until dark anyway. Sighing softly, he slid down lower in the wooden armchair, rested his tankard on his chest, and shut his eyes.

"Are you coming to bed?" Elizabeth asked, her green-eyed gaze traveling down Johnnie's sprawled form, wishing she could offer some comfort. He looked exhausted.

"In a minute," he replied, swiveling his head to send her a smile. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep?" he teased.

"For a week." Every muscle in her body ached.

Tipping the tankard up a moment later, he drained the remains of the ale and, setting the vessel down on the table, he hauled himself to his feet and stretched, his arms flexed high above his head. Then, relaxing again, he moved around the room, checking the lock on the door and windows, placing his pistols on the chair beside the bed, unhooking his dirk from his belt and hanging it on the bedpost above his head.

"None of that inspires restful slumber," Elizabeth said with a faint smile as Johnnie sat on the bed and began pulling off one boot.

He arched a brow at her over his shoulder. "I find loaded flintlocks d.a.m.ned soothing." His boot hit the floor, followed shortly by another, and seconds later he dropped back onto the pillow in a weary sprawl.

"You're not even taking your jack off?"

He grinned. "Not today. In Holland ask me again."

"Where do you think Robbie might be?"

He lifted his brows into perfect dark half-moons and then let them languidly fall over blue eyes that held a reflective speculation. "Staying out of the way of the d.a.m.n British fleet, from the looks of it. I've never seen such a tight cordon; two ships in less than an hour. They're practically sailing up each other's backsides. Robbie will have to come in at night, or we'll meet him off sh.o.r.e. Which means we have to settle on a rendezvous time and place."

"How?" It seemed impossible with the vast ocean outside and no idea of Robbie's whereabouts.

Johnnie shut his eyes, the pillow soft under his head, the bed blessed comfort. "I'll have to get word to him; I'll go to Berwick tonight." He was half-asleep already, his breathing slowing, his voice faint. "Wake me up ... if you need anything...."

He fell asleep as he often did, instantly, with utter release. And she was reminded of other beds and other days, happier times when he'd slept exactly that way, as though he didn't have a care in the world. And oddly, she felt less fearful now that they'd arrived at the coast, the sparkling sea outside the windows their means to freedom, the worst of their journey behind them. She felt a curious well-being in this sunny room, the warmth of the sun second only in comfort to the coal fire in the grate. And she gazed at the man she loved with a mysterious blind necessity and thought him even more beautiful in sleep, the perfection of his features in repose cla.s.sic, patrician, like those knightly effigies detailed to the minutiae of their armament, peacefully asleep on their marble sarcophagi in the cathedrals.

His long hair lay in dark, silken disarray, on his shoulders, framing his face in soft waves, one black lock drifting across his forehead, his heavy brows perfect counterpoint to his deep-set eyes, their lashes thick and long like a child's. His nose was fine-boned and straight with perfect chiseled nostrils, while his mouth vividly reminded her why he was irresistible to women. He had a sensual mouth, his upper lip fluid, graceful curves offset by a full pa.s.sionate bottom lip with almost a hint of lushness in its curvature. His beautiful mouth was framed by the shadow of a beard, the dark stubble drifting down his strong jaw, evidence of their rough accommodations the days past.

He slept with a curious dignity, his arms at his sides, his long legs almost closed although his tartan knit stockings in shades of yellow and black defied stately grandeur. But the word "grandeur" consummately defined the awesome strength of his hard, honed body. Dressed in the primitive severity of black leather jack and breeches, he took on an indomitable power.

Leaning over, she kissed him lightly on the cheek, and he moved in his sleep, drawing her close, settling her head on his shoulder. A reflex action, she thought, for a man popular with women.

"It's me," she said, a quiet but inescapable independence in her words.

"I know...." he drowsily murmured, giving her shoulder a pat. "You feel good...."

They woke much later to a pounding on the door, and Johnnie was instantly on his feet, both his pistols pointed at the threshold. "Yes?" A quick glance out the window to gauge the time.

"Ye wanted me to tell ye when it was five o'clock."

A great whooshing exhaled breath signaled Johnnie's recognition of the proprietor's voice. "Thank you," he called out. "We'd like supper in half an hour." Swiveling his head toward Elizabeth, he lifted his brows in query.

She nodded, making washing motions with her hands.

"There's water over there," he murmured, tipping his head toward the west wall.

"A bath," she whispered, putting her palms together in entreaty.

"We'll need bathwater too," Johnnie shouted.

And when the proprietor replied, "Yes, my Lord," followed by the sound of receding footsteps, Johnnie set his pistols back on the chair and collapsed on the bed.

"Feel my heart. The man woke me from a dream. Lord," he softly exclaimed, throwing his arms above his head, "that was stimulating."

Placing her hand over the leather above his heart, she felt the frenzied thudding like a soft echo in her palm. "We need a watchdog," she said, smiling down at him.

"We need a b.l.o.o.d.y ship."

"Maybe you'll discover Robbie's whereabouts tonight."

"I'd better."

"Is it possible ... he's been captured?" The words half stuck in her throat.

He stared at her for a moment. "I don't know," he said with a small sigh. "The troops and ships are out in force. The timing could have been better on the pa.s.sage of the Alien Act."

"Could we stay here until you find him?" There was a curious restfulness to the small inn.

"We can't stay anywhere long. Everyone realizes we're not travelers simply pa.s.sing through when we're five miles off the main road."

"Would Berwick be better? It's larger-we'd be less conspicuous."

His dark head moved in a negative motion. "Too English down there," he muttered. "I'll know more by morning."

Her brows drew together. "I hate having to wait ... not knowing where you are, what you're doing...."

"I can't take you to Berwick." A quiet authority touched his words.

"I know, I know...." She sighed. "I can't ride, I can't run, I can barely move, I can't help you. It's so d.a.m.ned inconvenient, so aggravating."

"Hush, hush now," he soothed, reaching up to touch her cheek with a gentle hand. "Just a few more days now, darling," he whispered.

"Really?" Her voice held a hopeful poignancy.

They had no choice, he knew. They couldn't afford to wait with the number of troops in the vicinity. "Really," he said.

The bath water and tubs were brought up first. Placed before the fire, the tubs were filled with steaming hot water carried into the room in tall covered copper pails. Sinking gratefully into the heated water after the maids had left, Elizabeth eased her body down. Leaning back against the dented headrest, she exhaled a satisfied sigh. "This is very close to heaven, or at least my current view of heaven after days on the road. Wake me," she said, shutting her eyes, "when the water begins to cool."

"Stay as long as you want," Johnnie replied, stripping of his clothes. "They're going to leave more hot water outside the door. I'll bring it in when you need it."

And while Elizabeth half-dozed in the blissful luxury of a bath after their rough days in the hills, Johnnie stepped into his bath. Rested, energetic, his plans to contact Robbie that evening animating him, he immediately submerged himself, coming up with water streaming down his face, and then briskly scrubbed and washed. Although the copper tubs were large, they weren't comfortable enough for a man his size to lounge in, so a short time later he climbed out, dripped across the floor to the door, and brought in the extra pails.

Using one to rinse, he poured the water over his head as he stood in the tub, the streams sluicing down his lean rangy body. After rubbing himself dry with a large linen towel, he sank into a nearby chair. Generally optimistic about Robbie's imminent appearance, he was determined to find a way tonight to send a message to him. Stretching out his long legs, he relaxed into a comfortable sprawl, his gaze dwelling on his wife's alluring image. With her head tilted back against the headrest, the graceful curve of her throat drew his eye; pale, elegant; it swept into the dip of her collar bones, a small pool of water in the hollow above one. And just breaking the surface of the water were the shiny mounds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the sleek tops gleaming white in the darkening room, her gentle breathing sending small ripples over the surface of the water, stirring the floating tendrils of her blonde hair.

He felt oddly at peace, considering troops were scouring the countryside for them and their departure had been delayed. It was enough to be with her, he thought, as if the world outside didn't exist.

He rose to light the candles after a time, when the failing twilight shrouded the room in shadow; their supper arrived as he was going about the small domestic task. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he answered the door, taking the trays from the serving girls, not wishing them to enter the room and disturb Elizabeth. Oblivious to their appreciative glances as well as their flirtatious giggles, he retraced his circuit three times, thanked them in a detached way, and pushed the door shut.

The t.i.ttering laughter had brought Elizabeth from her drowsy repose. "You have admirers everywhere," she mildly said after they'd gone, her gaze drifting over his tall, muscled body. The draped towel left little to the imagination.

"I didn't notice; only one admirer interests me," Johnnie said with a lazy smile, "and she's the soaking wet nymph in my bedchamber. Do you want to bathe now before you eat or eat before you bathe?" he asked, still holding the last tray. "Or both?"

"Both, I think, because the water is still luscious and as usual I'm hungry."

"You'd conform well to a harem, then. The eastern houris amuse themselves primarily with eating and bathing. Which languid activities develop the plumpness relished by their masters."

"And how exactly do you know that?" Her words held a wifely tone of censure.

His expression was inscrutable. "One gleans these tidbits of culture in the Levant trade."

"I hope you also gleaned an appreciation for plump females since I can no longer see my toes."

"I definitely have," he courteously said. "The plumper the better. So tell me now, do you want dessert first?"

After five months of marriage, he knew she did and was already pulling the table near her tub.

He fed her as one would a baby, so she didn't have to move her arms from under the warm water. They ate gooseberry pie with cream first, then nibbled on an excellent fresh b.u.t.ter cheese. During a short rest between courses Johnnie poured in an extra bucket of hot water to maintain the temperature of Elizabeth's bath and padded over to the hearth to build up the fire.

He'd discarded the towel he'd put on for the maids. Elizabeth's glance followed him as he went about his tasks, his dark hair still damp on his shoulders, the power of his biceps and pectorals fluid beauty as he lifted and poured the heavy pail of water into her bath. Unconstrained in his nudity, he moved with a natural grace-broad-shouldered, fine-honed, athletic.

As he crouched in front of the fire to add more coal to the grate, the muscle and sinew of his back and b.u.t.tocks rippled as he moved, and his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es swung when his weight shifted from one foot to the other, their undulating outline limned by the glow of the fire.

"I need a kiss," Elizabeth murmured, the splendid sight of him stirring her senses, enticing her, his conspicuous virility irresistible.

He glanced at her over his shoulder and smiled. "I'm almost finished." After shoveling in two more measures of coal, he rose and walked over to her. Placing his hands on both sides of the tub he leaned over to kiss her.

And stopped midway in his descent when her wet palm cupped him and her fingers gently squeezed. "Let's not start that," he softly said a moment later after he'd fought back the leaping flame of response. "It's only been a few days since your fall." Easing her fingers loose, he stepped back beyond her reach.

"I feel perfectly fine. I feel extremely fine. You look-wonderful," she added in an appreciative murmur, her eyes on his rising erection.

He was helpless against his body's instant response but resolute in his decision, the memory of Elizabeth's crisis in the shepherd's hut still too fresh.

"Bathe me," she whispered.

"Only if you behave." His voice was rough, hoa.r.s.e with a self-imposed discipline.

"I'll try." But she had the look of a breathless young siren.

His stern glance impaled her.

"I'll really try," she promised.

He exhaled, discomfited, his spirit at odds with his body. "As you can see," he softly said, "I'm more than willing to-"

"Come in here with me...."

"Or come in you anywhere," he said, emitting another frustrated sigh. "But I'm worried about the child...."

"I don't feel sick though, I feel rested and warm and amorous and you look-" Her eyes rested on his arousal and he saw the familiar tempting eagerness.

"No," he said with soft emphasis. "I won't."

His refusal was flat, unequivocal. "I understand," she said to the forbidding words. "I'll be good."

After rummaging through his pack to find the bar of soap Mrs. Reid had sent along, he began with her hair, working up a l.u.s.trous lather so the fragrance of clover filled the room. He kept his distance though, maintaining a kind of detachment, not leaning in too close, not making intimate eye contact. And after he'd scooped out the suds from her tub and rinsed her hair with fresh water, he said, "There," with the inflection of a man who'd wrestled a bear to the ground.

"It feels wonderful to have clean hair again," Elizabeth said with satisfaction, raising her arms to run her fingers over her damp tresses. Her gesture lifted her b.r.e.a.s.t.s partially out of the water so they floated like luscious half-moons, the nipples peeking out, water running in trickles over their slippery whiteness.