"Yes, isn't it?" she honestly murmured, enjoying all this night offered her, her life too long bereft of pleasure. "And now, if you'll just give me a minute," she went on, tumbling him off her and rolling from the bed, "we'll see how you respond to some suggestions...."

Lying on his back in an abandoned sprawl, he laughed out loud, the sound one of roguish pleasure. Turning on his side, he propped his head on his hand and, surveying her with a faint smile as she unfastened the closures on her robe, mildly said, "I look forward to the education. Was Hotchane a good teacher?"

"None of your d.a.m.n business," she sweetly replied. "Are men always territorial?"

Lifting his brows and the palm of the hand not currently supporting his head, he shrugged and said, "Certainly not me."

"Good." Too long under the dominance of a father or husband, touchy and thin-skinned regarding control, she wished to make her position clear. And slipping her arms free of the night rail and robe, she let the garments slip to the floor. Gloriously nude, slender and long-legged and feeling unreservedly free, she pointed out to Johnnie with coquettish innuendo, "Now you're overdressed."

He readily obliged her, divesting himself of his clothing with a prompt readiness. Lying on the bed some moments later, bronzed and powerful, a pagan G.o.d, half rogue, half sublime splendor, he opened his arms to her and caught her effortlessly in midair when she leaped at him in gamboling frolic. Tumbling over on the wide bed made in the days when families slept together, he rolled her under him and, amid giggles and laughter, kissed her while she wiggled and squirmed like a puppy and kissed him back.

She was by turns playful and serious that night, deeply moved at times by her new awareness of the pleasure two people could give each other.

"May I?" she'd asked once early in the night, her eyes on the object of all her pleasure. At his smiling accession she'd touched the thrusting tip lightly with her fingertip as though it were dangerous. It wasn't, she discovered as she experimented with a growing a.s.sertiveness. Such tentative sensuality brought back long-forgotten memories to Johnnie Carre, and his smile was like the one enjoyed by the young d.u.c.h.esse D'Artois during his schooldays in Paris.

"More, more ... more, more ..." Elizabeth joyfully demanded, long hours later, voluptuous and genial, sweet as marzipan kisses. And Johnnie Carre, young and captivated and willing, obliged.

Johnnie found himself curiously touched by her utter abandon and ingenuous appreciation, by the simple charm of her delight in him. Long after midnight, when the candles were burning low and the fire had almost died out, when she was once again momentarily sated and she lay in his arms, curled close to the warmth of his body, she told him, "I never thought I'd experience such pleasure. My measure of contentment was paltry in comparison. Thank you, Johnnie." Reaching up, she kissed him gently.

With such unsophisticated candor, childlike in its naivete, he found himself momentarily questioning all the casual entanglements in his past. And more than his usual self-indulgence affected his senses that night. He found his heart touched by the unreserved depth of her need.

"I never knew ..." she murmured just before she fell asleep. Smiling contentedly, she snuggled closer, her pale, fragrant hair draped over his arm, the warmth of her breath on his chest. "And now I do," she finished with a sigh.

She reached up in her sleep later to touch his face.

"I'm here," he whispered in rea.s.surance, taking her hand and gently kissing her palm.

She smiled in her sleep, content.

When she'd had enough of all he could give her and she no longer woke, he discovered he couldn't sleep.

Uncharacteristically for a man who could s.n.a.t.c.h a nap on horseback, sleep eluded him.

He didn't know why, or, more precisely, he didn't want to know why.

But he watched the sun rise before he kissed Elizabeth Graham awake, and when he made love to her before leaving, he experienced a poignant sense of sorrow.

A first for Johnnie Carre.

They said good-bye in the morning, because political factions didn't realign and age-old enemies reconcile in recognition of two people sharing a night of pleasure.

In any event, a world of differences separated them.

Nations separated them.

Cause and motive and protocol separated them.

They understood.

"I'd like to cordially thank you," she said at the end, when they'd both politely bid adieu to each other as if they weren't lying nude in each other's arms. As if they were parting instead at some obligatory afternoon soiree. "For a very enjoyable night."

He looked down at her quickly from under his lashes, gauging the exact.i.tude of her words. He'd never been precisely thanked before.

She smiled up at him, her cheek resting against his chest as she lay in the curve of his arm. "You aren't usually thanked, I presume, from the look on your face."

A sudden smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "You're the first, actually. But you're very welcome. And if the borders separating us weren't so vast, I'd say, Come and see me anytime...."

"And if some international incident weren't likely to occur because of my visit, I might be tempted."

And he was tempted, too, if he didn't hold her father in such loathing. "The discretion could be handled easily enough. We cross the border with great frequency. It's the rest...."

"My father, you mean." She spoke of him with a sudden coolness in her voice.

"He and his keepers both. The Sa.s.senach are looking for provocation since last year's Parliament. I don't intend to be their victim."

"Will Scotland really seek independence?" She recalled that in November, when the first Scottish Parliament to sit since 1689 had adjourned, several acts hostile to England had been sent south to London. With the succession in question after a hundred years of a common monarch and Continental courts once again interested in Scottish affairs for their own private ends, Scotland's opportunity for leverage against England had arrived.

Johnnie exhaled softly, reluctant to reveal any significant political intelligence; regardless of their intimacy, she was the daughter of his enemy. "There're many who feel that way," he neutrally replied.

"Do you?"

"Would I tell a Sa.s.senach that?" he said with a grin, touching the tip of her nose lightly with his finger. "Even if she's more fascinating than Circe herself."

"Am I really?" Her voice was filled with a girl's curiosity.

"Surely, other men have told you that."

She paused for a moment, as if considering. "Never," she said then, very simply.

Shocked at her answer, for her green-eyed, golden beauty was incomparable, he said, "Did Hotchane lock you away?"

"No, but I was his property."

"And no one cared to die over a compliment."

"Something like that." Her voice had gone very quiet suddenly. But only seconds later her chin came up, a small pugnacious gesture. "It won't happen to me again."

"You say that with some conviction," Johnnie said, his voice teasing.

"I've had eight years to become convinced of the merits of independence," she softly replied.

"I wish you much luck then." He knew the limits of female independence in the culture of his time and chose not to reply with complete frankness.

"You don't need luck with an inheritance like mine."

"Perhaps not as much," he ambiguously said, in no position after a single night in her company to presume to direct her life. But women alone were prey to coercion of many kinds; he'd seen his share of females used as p.a.w.ns by families with fewer scruples than avarice.

"Hotchane's Redesdale men are an additional aid to my independence."

"Of course," he said. But they wouldn't follow her; they required a man who'd proved himself their leader, who added to their coffers with occasional lucrative raids. He expected several members of Hotchane's family were already jockeying for that powerful position. "Do you have a personal guard?" he inquired, debating how much he owed her for the pleasure she'd given him.

"A small one."

"How many?" Trained to border-raiding, he was already calculating the number required for her safety.

"Sixty."

Not a small force in anyone's estimation; clearly she understood her peril. "Are they trustworthy?"

"Infinitely."

Sliding up on the pillows stacked behind him into a sitting position, he shifted her onto his lap in a swift, graceful movement that belied the enormous strength required to lift her weight so effortlessly. "You sound very certain," he said. "How do you know they're completely loyal to you?" Hotchane's bloodthirsty relatives occasioned in him a genuine concern for her safety. The extent of her wealth made her excessively vulnerable.

"They've been my personal bodyguard for eight years; I trust them implicitly."

Sixty lawless Redesdale men should prove sufficient, he decided, relieved at her certainty. "You know Hotchane's sons will be after your money," he cautioned.

"The list of persons anxious to relieve me of my money is extensive, beginning with my father. Are you sure you don't want any?" she facetiously inquired, comfortable in his arms, strangely secure even knowing she was theoretically his enemy.

"I don't take money from women," he quietly said, "even if I needed it-which I don't."

"A wealthy Scotsman? Surely, you're a rarity." She was teasing still, feeling curiously happy.

"There are a few of us, despite England's disadvantageous trading terms for Scotland," he dryly replied.

"I'm sorry," she instantly returned, aware of England's prejudicial policies and her recent uncharitable reaction to the Darien colony that had further beggared Scotland.5 "Forgive my tactlessness."

"Forgiven," he said with a smile. "And now, if you don't mind ... With a beautiful woman in my arms, I prefer a less political conversation." His mouth softly brushed the curve of her cheek. "We don't have to leave," he murmured, his breath warm on her skin, "for another ten minutes...."

"How nice," she whispered, lacing her arms around his broad shoulders, reaching up to nibble on his bottom lip. "But then," she murmured against his mouth, her words a delicate vibration on his lips, "I don't really care if Father waits for me...."

CHAPTER 8.

Harold G.o.dfrey didn't wait, as it turned out, because Johnnie Carre had a young brother to ransom, and he wasn't taking any chances. But the Laird of Ravensby's houseguest had no complaints, and the Carre troop arrived at the designated rendezvous point precisely as agreed.

Waiting for the English to appear, they sat their horses side by side in the open field at Roundtree, a chill breeze from the north promising rain. Swirling remnants of fog covered the low ground, twisted between the horses' legs on fitful gusts, mist from the nearby loch drifting by in wispy fingers. The sun, hidden behind lowering clouds, tipped the uppermost reaches of the overcast, as if silvery lace edged the vast canopy of sky.

Separated by a dozen yards from the Carre hors.e.m.e.n, Elizabeth and Johnnie waited in silence, the little they could say to each other of farewell having been said in bed that morning. Both were experiencing a novel sense of loss, unusual for two people who had long ago learned to hide their emotions. Both were paradoxically wishing for the Harbottle troop to appear more swiftly or not at all. Both were acutely aware of each other's presence.

Johnnie shifted his gaze from the southern horizon over which G.o.dfrey's hors.e.m.e.n would appear and turned to Elizabeth. He found himself drawn to her as though minutes were ticking away in some internal timepiece that would break forever when they parted. Framed by the softly draped lavender wool of a hooded cape, her exquisite face was pinked from the breeze; pale wisps of her hair, loosened by the wind, blew across her cheeks. She had faint blue shadows under her eyes, he noted, her fair skin bruised by fatigue.

"Forgive me for keeping you up all night," Johnnie murmured, reaching out to gently touch her gloved hand where it rested on the saddle pommel, the embroidered violet leather a vibrant touch of color in the misty landscape. "You must be tired."

Her smile when she turned to him held that particular winsome innocence he found so captivating, and he almost said, "I'm keeping you," the impulse instant, powerful. He could have, too ... and taken his chances at overcoming G.o.dfrey's troopers guarding Robbie. But he didn't confess his transient urge to possess her, nor did Elizabeth express the tumult of her emotions. "I'm pleasantly tired," she simply replied, "and there's no need to apologize."

She could have been a.s.suring him the hospitality of his dinner table had been adequate, so temperate was her tone.

Her words strengthened his brief lapse from practicality. "In that case," he said with a charming nonchalance she immediately suspected came effortlessly to a man reputed to be accessible to all the beautiful women pursuing him, "I'll save my small reserves of gallantry for the coming confrontation with your father. I'll need whatever politesse was beaten into me by my tutors to keep from strangling him." His grin mitigated the threat of his words.

Her own grin was equally casual. He had the capacity to inspire cheer no matter how dismal the circ.u.mstances. It was his lighthearted smile, she decided. "Never fear, your brother's safe," she a.s.sured him. "Father is intent on having my inheritance."

"Will you be all right?" Genuine concern colored his words; he knew the ruthless character of Harold G.o.dfrey.

"My money's hidden; Hotchane understood my father well."

"After hammering out the marriage settlement, no doubt," Johnnie dryly noted.

"Exactly."

"You're sure you're safe then?" His need for a.s.surance surprised him. Women rarely interested him beyond the immediacy of lovemaking.

"I'm not sixteen anymore," she whispered.

One dark brow rose wolfishly. And his voice, too, was hushed. "No argument there."

"You project an outrageous s.e.xuality, my Lord," she murmured, as a tingling heat raced through her senses. Dressed in a black leather jack, worn chamois breeches, and riding boots, his sleek, dark hair lying free on his shoulders, he exuded an intense virility, his lean, athletic body relaxed, graceful in the saddle.

"But no match, Lady Graham," he quietly whispered, his dark brows rising in gentle emphasis, "for yours...."

"Is that a compliment?" she flirtatiously replied, wanting to dispel the melancholy of their leave-taking, taking her cue from Johnnie's easy smile. "Do well-bred ladies respond to such personal comments?"

"It's definitely a compliment, my dear Bitsy." His eyes, the color of summer skies that morning, leisurely perused her. "As for well-bred ladies ..." he went on, his gaze returned to her face. And as he debated what to tell her, a cheer erupted behind them. The English troopers had ridden over the horizon. And issues of good breeding were instantly displaced by more pertinent issues of politics.

"Pardon me," he said, his voice suddenly changed, chill, businesslike, and he gathered her reins into one of his large gloved hands. "A precaution only ..." he added, no smile on his face this time, his glance dismissive as he raised his free hand briefly to bring his men up.

She watched him become Laird of Ravensby before her eyes, a sudden transformation from the warmhearted, teasing man she'd spent the night with, whom she had only seconds before regarded with pleasure. Grim-faced now, commanding, he directed his lieutenants with brisk orders, his gaze sweeping the ranks of English troopers, searching for his brother. And moments later, when he caught sight of Robbie in the midst of a strong English guard, he murmured, "Thank G.o.d," in a gruff, relieved utterance. His eyes intent on the advancing English, he twisted Elizabeth's reins another turn tighter around his hand and pulled her mount closer. Swiveling away from her in his saddle, he turned enough so his voice reached all of his men. "Now watch the b.a.s.t.a.r.d G.o.dfrey," he said. "Watch his eyes and his hands and his deceitful face. Pay attention to the men in the farthest ranks, take note of any unusual hand signals. You can't trust a Sa.s.senach," he softly finished, "to keep his word."

It was as though she no longer existed, Elizabeth thought, the past week forgotten, last night not even a memory. The animosity between English and Scots ran too deep, centuries of hatred a powerful deterrent to personal feelings. She could as well have been a herd of cattle being traded back or a prized mare stolen in a midnight raid.

"Robbie looks well," someone remarked.

"He'd better," Johnnie replied, curt, decisive.

"The lad's carrying a lady's scarf tied round his arm," another clansman noted, surprise in his voice.

"And a smile on his bonny face," a voice from the back jovially declared.

A ripple of laughter ran through the ranks of armed men.

"Sa.s.senach hospitality's improved," Adam Carre said.