With a sigh she rested her forehead against the cold window. Who was she trying to fool? She was losing her head-had already lost it. She was already his, caught by bonds deeper than words or logic. And tonight by the snow-covered fir tree she had been well on the way to showing him just how much he meant to her.

She paced restlessly, remembering his laughter.

Ah, God, his wonderful, callused hands.

If not for the arrival of their late guests, he would have taken her there in the snow, and Hope would not have denied him. There in the night, only skin and pulse and heat had mattered. There was rare gentleness in the man, no matter what dark warnings he repeated. She knew he would not have hurt her.

But loving him might. Touching him tonight had made that clear.

Hope had survived many things in her life, an awkward adolescence, losing her family members one by one, and near bankruptcy. But she wasn't certain that she could survive Ronan MacLeod. He could be gone tomorrow in the morning mist, just as he had warned.

She lowered her head, arms locked at her knees while angry tears pricked behind her eyelids. Blast him for coming just when she was getting her life in order. Damn him for making her want more, for seeing dreams that only he could make real.

Hope rubbed her head, thinking of his manger and the figures carved with such exquisite skill. The project must have taken him weeks. What kind of man carved a manger in this day and age?

A man with a granite code of honor.

A man who would always choose his own road.

She thought of her desk, crowded with bills and menus. Only yesterday a fax had confirmed the upcoming visit of Detective Sergeant James Kipworth. If the snow continued, there would be calls to make, plans to change, extra food to lay in. At their present rate, they would run out of eggs and milk in four days, and fresh produce in five. That left her with- Nothing.

Her brain simply shut down, numbers and plans forgotten. Outside, snow whispered against the window like the voices of those she had lost in her life. Everyone Hope had loved most had died, first her parents and then her great, noisy uncle, a man she had been certain would outlive her by decades.

All she had were a few letters and a trunk full of faded photographs. Greece in autumn, Paris in spring, Minnesota in July. But memories didn't keep you warm. Hope had discovered that after one too many haunted dawns. Even Gabrielle, Jeffrey, the Wishwells and Archibald Brown, dear friends one and all, couldn't fill the void in her wounded heart.

It just wasn't the same.

Hope had always prided herself on her pragmatism and her ability to take care of herself. Now Ronan MacLeod slammed into her life and left her wanting a hard shoulder to lean on. The knowledge of her slowly unraveling independence left Hope terrified.

She didn't want to need him.

She certainly didn't want to love him.

Her shoulders bowed as strain and exhaustion took their toll. With firelight dancing around her, she closed her eyes, slipping into the dark wells where dreams began.

Why doesn't he come...?

THE SNOW FELL ON, silent and pure, waves of white against the dark sky. MacLeod circled the house, waiting for the sharp prick of danger between his shoulder blades, an instinct that had saved him on a dozen bloody battlefields.

But nothing moved in the night. No warning tightened his chest. Tonight the greatest danger lay inside Glenbrae, where one high, dark window mocked him. He thought of Hope. Pacing, asleep, waiting. Dressed in lace or sheerest silk.

The woman he loved.

The man MacLeod had been, hardened soldier and inveterate wanderer, urged him to find her there in the darkness and take her as he would have in the snow, fast and desperate. In the darkness there would be no time for questions or honor.

No time...

And time was the question, wasn't it? The person MacLeod had become was all too aware that taking would be only the beginning. With the heat of their bodies they would forge new dreams and a future that MacLeod barely dared to imagine.

He slid a hand across his brow, struck by a wave of exhaustion. His leg ached and the cold bit into his bones, but he did not move toward the silent house and the high, dark window beneath the roof.

Honor held him still. Honor made his hands fist as snow hissed over the heavy thatch. Hope had needed a miracle on the night he'd been brought here. She needed someone still to share the burdens of this beautiful, demanding house.

What she had was MacLeod, although he wasn't sure if his appearance in this time was a miracle or a curse for her.

Only time would tell.

Meanwhile, flawed or not, he was the only warrior she had.

HOPE HEARD THE WATER running next door and jerked upright. She hadn't been sound asleep, merely drowsing before the fire with her legs tucked beneath her and a tartan thrown across her shoulders for warmth.

She'd been waiting for MacLeod, waiting for what had seemed like hours. Maybe even lifetimes.

That would explain the instant familiarity she had felt with him.

But she wasn't going to get caught up in philosophical dilemmas. Tonight was a night for being practical.

And for being desperate.

Because tonight she was going to put them both out of their misery.

She took a long look in the antique cheval glass by the door. Her hair glowed, sleek and glossy, a smooth cap around her pale face. The gown from her anonymous donor spilled around her slender body, all lace and satin rosebuds. It clung, it hinted, it teased, as seductive as she'd imagined.

Time to go.

The tartan hit the floor. Her heart was hammering and there was a wild streak of color in her cheeks.

Fear, she told herself. Raw fear.

Head high, she pushed open the door to MacLeod's adjoining room. All was in darkness except for the gilt patterns cast by a dying fire. The air held a hint of steam from the open bathroom door.

Hope's bare feet made no sound as she crossed the room. Though her hands were trembling, she wouldn't turn back. She had found her dream tonight by the little manger and the tin star. Now she was going to reach out and make the dream come true.

The door opened without a sound. She could see Ronan behind the shower door, forearms to the wall, head lowered beneath a biting stream of spray. The exhaustion in his broad shoulders almost made Hope turn away.

Almost.

She took a deep breath and raised her chin. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she swept back the heavy glass door. "Three things, MacLeod. And don't interrupt me."

"What are you doing in here?" He lunged for a towel, but Hope blocked his hand, terrified if she didn't finish, the words would never come.

"Don't interrupt, just listen." She shoved back her hair, and there was no way she could know how vulnerable the gesture made her look. The single light frosted her skin, all hollows and curves, though she could not know that either. "First, this." She pointed to the froth of lace draping her body. "Is this from you? Did you send it here?"

His surprise was genuine. "It was not my gift."

"I thought not. Two, did you mean what you said tonight by the manger? Did you really...want me?"

His head bowed. Hope began to suspect the exhaustion she had seen was regret and the tension of some internal battle he was fighting.

He took a harsh breath. "Go away, Hope."

"After you answer me."

His eyes clouded with anger. "I wanted you. I still do," he said grimly. "In my present state, that's all too obvious. Contrary to what your experts say, cold water is of no help in this situation."

Hope looked down and felt her legs melt. That tall, lean body glistened, slick with water, all ridged muscles and angry control. Even as he stood with his side to her, Hope saw the hard inches arrowing from a nest of dark hair, testimony to the battle he was waging-and losing.

"You see now?"

"What am I supposed to see? That you're a man and not a machine? That some things even you can't control?" Hope reached past and shut off the water. She wasn't going to back down now-and she wouldn't let him back down either.

She held out her hand, relieved that it shook only a little. "Here."

He stared down at the small packet resting on her palm. "A Christmas gift? There was no need."

Hope stared at him. "Take it, MacLeod. And don't pretend you don't know what it is or why I'm offering it." Color filled her cheeks as he lifted the small foiled square. "I haven't had a lot of experience with these things, but I know what's right."

She waited for recognition, for the rebuff that would crush her. Her uneasiness grew, racing into panic. "Well, say something."

He stared at the packet. Frowning, he turned it back and forth in his fingers.

With every passing second, Hope's willpower fled. She was making a fine mess of this. What had made her think she could carry it off? Where men were concerned, her life had always been a complete disaster.

"What kind of experience do you lack?"

Surely he didn't expect details. She wasn't about to make a litany of her bungled relationships, not when she had worked so hard to forget them.

"Give that to me." She lunged for his hand, but MacLeod pulled away, frowning. She spun nervously, bolting for the door.

Her cheeks flamed as MacLeod trapped her against the wall. His body was rigid with demand, but his hands were surprisingly gentle. "Talk to me, Hope."

"I don't walk to talk. I wanted to s-seduce you, damn it, but I've changed my mind. L-let me go,"

she blurted, awash in embarrassment. Why was it things like this never happened in the movies?

There was simply a knowing glance, a soulful smile, then a swift cut to beautiful bodies moving in perfect symmetry.

But life never worked out like the movies, Hope thought bleakly. She had proved that just now.

She twisted wildly, all too aware of his thighs pressed against her fragile lace gown. "I s-said forget it, MacLeod," she hissed. "I've changed my mind."

"I don't want to forget it." He whispered a kiss against the curve of her neck.

Hope's heart pounded. "I don't want your pity."

He eased closer. "Does that feel like pity pressing against your hips?"

Hope swallowed. "N-no."

MacLeod still held the packet in his locked fingers, the foil unbroken. "Why did you run from me just now?"

Hope made a strangled sound of embarrassment. "I told you I wasn't good at this. But right is right, MacLeod. This is 1998, and there are...ramifications." Hope realized he still didn't understand.

"Explain what you've given me."

"It's...just what it appears to be," Hope said, rigid with embarrassment. "You must know."

MacLeod drew a sudden breath. As he stared, his mouth twisted. "This is meant for a lover. It is to protect both of you."

Hope shrugged. She wouldn't answer what had to be completely obvious.

"I said nothing because I did not understand you, Hope. Such things were managed differently in my time."

"Come on, MacLeod. You don't actually expect me to believe-"

"In my time," he continued flatly. "Back before television or municipal bonds. Back before plastic or cardboard or latex. When there was no queen on the throne, only a king who harrowed the Highlands. That is what I've been trying to tell you, Hope. This is not my time. This...protection you offered me was nothing I had ever seen." He slanted his lips over her cheek and cursed softly.

"I've never had a woman offer me protection before. You take my breath away."

Hope closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his body stealing into her. She was suddenly aware of her hammering heart and his utter nakedness. "You...don't need to use it for me," she blurted. "I'm not -I can't-" She drew a ragged breath. "I can't make a child inside me, MacLeod. Something went wrong a while back. A minor glitch, but irreversible, I'm afraid." She stared at the center of his chest, unable to look up. "There's no need to worry about the possibility that we could-that I would-"

"Make a child," he finished gently. "Dearly would I love to watch a child grow within that sweet body of yours, my heart." He drew her hands around his waist until she was holding him tightly.

Only then did he release her, slanting her face up to his. "I wish you would stop studying my chest."

"This isn't exactly easy for me," Hope said unsteadily. "I've never owned one of these things before. I've certainly never offered one to a man whom I've just propositioned."

"But you did now. With courage and wit that were singular." He traced her bottom lip with his tongue. "I've wanted you like this. I've wanted you against my mouth, trembling while I made you forget every reason this is a bad idea."

"You don't have to make me forget. You don't even have to convince me. I want you," Hope said gravely. "I want what we'll have together, even if it's only for a week, a month." Her voice shook.

"A night. Even that, I don't mind."

"But I do," MacLeod said savagely, resting his forehead against hers. "I want you tonight and all other nights. I want to stay and watch you work miracles with the house I never had time to make into a home. But I cannot," he said bitterly.

"Why?"

Something dark filled his face. And still he hesitated.

"Tell me."

"Better than that, I'll show you." Barefoot, wearing only his tartan at his hips, he strode to the door, tugging Hope behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.