"I don't know." Jason shook his head. "Just stay there. I'll find out."

He fastened his trousers as he moved briskly barefoot across the splintery, strawed floorboards of the loft. He wrenched open the door, revealing a very worried-looking Wurtzer at the top of the ladder.

"Oh, Herr Duke," Wurtzer said in German, relief apparent in his voice, but not staying long. "I just came back from the bonfire-or its ashes, as it died out. But Brauer was still there and very drunk, and he says he's going to come after the Englishman who stole his business."

Jason's mind, alert though it was, had to focus back to find Brauer in his memory (as his mind, during the bonfire, had been predictably elsewhere). A younger man, true, but a shorter one, too. Hell, Winn could likely best him in a fair fight. "I wouldn't worry too much about Brauer," Jason drawled in the man's language. "Drunken boasting has felled more than one man."

"It's not Brauer I worry about-he has brothers. Seven of them. And all are very protective of their 'little' brother-and their family's income, which is from the pub . . ."

Right then, Jason heard a noise. Some revelry, out in the distance, beyond the loft, beyond the street Wurtzer's establishment sat on. He rose and peered out the window. There in the distance, he could see the last embers of the bonfire in the town square, and a contingent of what had to be the burliest, drunkest men in the town. Awake, and walking directly toward them.

"Right . . ." Jason drawled, coming back down on his haunches to face Wurtzer, "we should probably go."

"I'll have my beloved Heidi try and distract them in the main court. You can take the back way out of the barn, and through the alley to the street below, yes?"

"Yes, but"-Jason narrowed his eyes and reached out, catching Wurtzer's arm, preventing him from leaving in all haste, as the older man obviously wished to do-"we haven't been paid yet for our services yesterday."

Wurtzer nervously patted his pockets, coming up with a small pouch, jingling with coins. "Here-this is all I have on me. The rest is in the safe, and I don't think there is time to get it."

Jason weighed the pouch in his hand. "This isn't nearly enough. We agreed upon-"

"I know, I'm sorry!" Wurtzer cried. "But please, you have to go-I told them you left last evening, but if they find you here, they will tear apart my barn, wreck my taproom . . . and Brauer's son is married to the mayor's daughter, I would not be able to . . ."

Jason rolled his eyes. Not only was he losing the argument, they were losing time.

"All right then, what about some horses?" he asked. "Just to borrow. I'll make sure they get back to you."

Wurtzer seemed to mull this for far too long a time, considering how much closer the angry voices of the brothers Brauer got with every tick of the clock. "Which direction do you go?" Wurtzer asked finally.

"Southeast."

"Take two horses. Head toward Regensburg. Leave them at the posting house on Hohenfelser Strasse. A man named Hecht runs the place, he'll make sure they get back to me."

That was fair, Jason decided, and considering the speed with which the drunken march approached them, it was a deal worth taking. He shook Wurtzer's hand.

"Remember-side door to barn, through the alley. Hurry!" And with that Wurtzer was gone.

Jason turned back, finding Winn already lacing up her boots.

"We have to go?" she asked, seemingly already knowing the answer.

"Yes," Jason said, locating his own shoes and socks. "He paid us what he could and has given us leave to borrow some horses, but yes, we need to go and go now."

"You mean horse, singular," she amended, grabbing Jason's coat off its makeshift hook and locating the packet of letters in the breast pocket. She gently transferred them to her dress pocket before tossing him his jacket.

"Winn, we don't have time to argue about your silly fear of horses-"

"You're right, we don't," she countered. "But believe me when I tell you that I have never sat successfully on a horse by myself, and if I have to ride one, I will fall off and break my neck. And while that would annoy, it would also slow us down considerably."

"So will riding two to a horse!" Jason replied in a rushed whisper.

"Then I will walk beside you," she countered. And brooking no further opposition, she marched to the loft door, wrenched it open, and proceeded down the ladder.

Jason's brow came down. The last thing he wanted to do was argue with her right now. In fact, this is not what he had in mind for the morning after-he would have much rather have awoken with the sun, and awoken her with . . . other activities. But instead, a mad dash out the door was required, and therefore any other activities, as well as any arguing, would have to wait its turn.

"Fine," Jason grumbled (to himself it seemed, as Winn was already down the ladder) as he followed after her, "but the first thing I'm doing when we get back to England is teaching you to ride."

"Truly, Winn-riding is not that difficult. I'll have you seated on your own and at a gallop in a fortnight, three weeks at the most," Jason said nonchalantly, shading his eyes from the midmorning sun as he settled in more comfortably to his spot against the fir tree he had commandeered for a nap.

"We should not dawdle here," Winn said as she tugged at her locket, pacing back and forth in front of Jason. "We have to keep moving, get to Regensburg, then-"

"Then Vienna, I know." Jason sighed.

"Then why have we even stopped? We should be on the road!"

"And we will be-as soon as Wolfgang has had a bit of a rest. He's not a machine, you realize."

Wolfgang, munching on the bit of grass within his reach, tethered to the tree as he was, looked up in what Jason liked to think was agreement. Then of course, went back to his munching ways.

"You simply had to choose the one horse in the stables that wants to eat me," Winnifred grumbled.

"No, I simply had to choose the one horse in the stables that was of a size to carry both of us," Jason retorted. "And as he is carrying both of us, Wolfgang gets tired more easily and has to rest a bit, and we move slower than you'd like to Regensburg." He opened one eye and regarded Winn carefully. Her tense shoulders, her labored, sharp pacing-something was decidedly off about her today.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, making her stumble ever so briefly on her well-worn path.

"Nothing," she replied. "Just eager to be on the road."

But it wasn't nothing. Something odd had overtaken her almost since the moment they woke up. Ever since they managed to saddle and sneak Wolfgang out of Wurtzer's stables and through the alley, down the quiet streets of Lupburg and into the new day. Winn had said little to Jason once they were on the road, and he had more than once envied the position she had, sitting across his lap, thinking that she would use the time to sleep a few more hours. But instead, she was wide awake and unbearably stiff in her seat, as if she were trying to maintain some distance and decorum between the two of them. And as such, she wasn't really moving with them, she was moving against them. Every time they hit a bump in the road or he wanted to urge Wolfgang from a trot into a gallop, her stiff form would bang against him, knocking his chin into the back of her head or her temple against his nose.

It was trying, to say the least.

And how different from how she had been the night before!

Jason was not one to feel the after effects of only a few beers, and as such, he remembered the night before with amazing clarity. Every gasp, every moan, every inch of her body exposed to the moonlight was seared on his brain like a cattle brand. Every moment, every smooth, eager movement of said moonlit body belonged to him, and would forever. She had been so free the night before, giving herself to him, and he took it, every single inch that he could . . .

"Oh God, I'm an idiot," Jason scolded himself, scooting upright against the tree.

"Why?" Winn asked, not stalling in her pacing.

"Come, sit down," he said coaxingly, but only earning a cocked eyebrow from Winn.

"Again, why? I'll be sitting enough once we're back on that bloody horse," she retorted, earning her a hurt look from Wolfgang, whose admiration of Winn was dwindling by the minute.

"I am an absolute brute and a moron. Winn"-he looked at her imploringly-"you must be sore. After . . . last night. Riding a horse all morning must have been the last thing you wished to do."

But Winn only looked at him strangely, the continued pacing. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm fine."

"You are?" he replied skeptically. "I know it . . . I know I caused you some pain last night."

"Did you?"

"Yes, and by the stiffness of your pacing I'd say you can feel the effects of it."

She shook her head. "I've simply been sitting on a horse too long. Again, I'm fine."

Then a thought dawned on him. He might have a perfectly clear recollection of the previous evening, but she had drunk a great deal more, was a good deal smaller, and was less used to it than he. "Winn-last night, what we did . . . you remember what we did, don't you?"

"Of course I remember," she said immediately, her face going up in flames. "But I don't know why you persist in talking about it."

"Fine," Jason replied, holding up his hands. "We do not have to talk about it." And then, while his male brain took a huge sigh of relief in that he did not have to chitchat about the meanings behind last evening's activities, his conscience, his damn moral soul, knew that he could not run from this conversation . . . and neither could she.

"At some point, however," he drawled, stalling Winn yet again in her stiff pacing. "It is a subject we should likely broach."

"I do not see why," Winn replied on a sigh.

"Because it changes things between us. That's why," Jason replied, sitting up. Then, with a smile, "Really, for someone so intelligent, you can be terrifically dense at times."

That did it. A light bit of teasing earned him her full attention. She stopped pacing then and regarded him through narrowed eyes. Then, deciding between delaying the inevitable and giving in to it, and obviously choosing the latter, asked, "How does it change anything?"

How does it change anything? Jason stared at her, nonplussed. It changed everything. And for some unknown reason, an act that should have brought them closer together only managed to have the skittish sparrow pulling away from him. It made it so he felt that he couldn't touch her-even though he had laid claim to taking her hand or letting his fingers fall on that spot at the back of her neck for weeks now.

"It changes things because it makes us . . . involved."

"And how were we not involved with each other before? You and I have been joined at the hip ever since leaving Dover. I'd say we are fairly involved."

"Oh for God's sake." Jason rolled his eyes, knowing full well that his explanations were inept at best. "Why the hell is it that women talk about their feelings all the time, and I get the one woman in the world who would rather do anything but?" He stood, brushing off his pants and came to stand in front of her. And then, testing her limits, reached out and took her by the shoulders. She did flinch, ever so slightly, causing Jason's nerves to prick up, but she did not pull away.

"I meant that . . . our feelings are involved. Something happened between us. Something basic and primal and-"

"And drunken," Winn concluded. She looked him dead in the eyes. "And it happened. And that's all there is to it."

"No, that is not," Jason countered, his voice taking on an edge of annoyance. "But in some respects, you are correct. It did happen. And we were drinking, and as such it shouldn't have, but it cannot be denied, so-"

"Wait." Winn held up a hand, stopping his speech. "Why shouldn't it have?"

"Because . . . you were . . . untouched, as it were." Goddamn but finding tentative words for this conversation was difficult, and as such, Jason decided to give up on it. "Oh, to hell with it. You were a virgin, Winn. You didn't know what you were doing. And I took advantage of that, and you."

Winn, still holding his eyes, her hand still up in the air, froze. Then, a giggle. Then another one. Then complete, doubled-over laughing.

"Not the reaction I was expecting," Jason replied, taking his hands off Winn's shoulders and crossing them over his chest.

"Oh, Jason. Did you honestly think that I didn't know what I was doing? Taking you by the hand and leading you back to the loft?"

"Well . . . sort of," he replied, his brow coming down. He remembered her glassy-eyed approach last night, her siren dancing, newfound and graceful all at once. It was the movements of someone stepping into a brave new world.

"Sadly, you have confused innocence with ignorance. Jason," she said, looking up at him, "I have read every book to be found in the Bodleian Library. I've read all the poetry and studied all the paintings. I knew exactly what I was doing." Then she looked down and gathered her courage before meeting his eyes again. "And there were no feelings . . . no emotions involved whatsoever."

She held his gaze as Jason felt something shift beneath his feet, and he fought to keep steady. "That cannot be true," he rasped finally, his voice coming back to him.

"Oh, I like you!" she cried, taking a step forward, but Jason, not wanting to be comforted at the moment, took a step back. "Of course I like you. I don't think I could do what we did with someone I disliked, surely."

"Surely not," Jason replied snidely.

"And of course, I liked it," she continued in a bid to soothe his wounded pride, and yet somehow every word she said just plunged the knife deeper. "At least, I found the entire evening very . . . interesting. And, and nice. But it was just an experience." She looked up at him sadly, trying to find his eyes, but he gave her no quarter. "I just wanted to know what it was like. But I still want the independent life I'm fighting for. One night doesn't change that."

Jason looked over at her then, let his gaze rake coolly, dispassionately over her body. "You'll have to forgive me, Winnifred, but I don't take very well to being used."

Winn flinched backward, as if struck. "I wasn't . . . that is, it wasn't my intention-"

"Oh really?" he replied coldly, imbuing his voice with all the authority a dukedom gives it. "Are you saying you did not take my hand and pull me to the loft in an attempt to check me off your imaginary list?"

She blinked, unable to deny it, her inability to hold his gaze serving instead as an admission.

"You did," he intoned, understanding finally, finally breaching his thick skull. "Oh holy hell, you did. You thought, 'Here's something new I haven't yet accomplished, I'll do it and cross it off my list and be done with it.'"

"That's not fair-" Winn began, but Jason, for all his cold demeanor, was becoming remarkably hot underneath his collar.

"Goddammit, Winn!" he yelled, startling Wolfgang from his munching and Winn from her reasonableness. "Are you really this selfish? This unfeeling?"

"I told you last night, I don't think I have what it takes to love someone, so why are you-"

"Because, I, unlike you, have feelings." His anger was unparalleled, but it was more than that. It was pain, a slicing through his skin and deep into his chest, making his blood run thick and hot. He breathed deep, trying to keep his anger and his pain under control. "I knew, I knew last night, that I would regret my actions come morning, but I certainly didn't think it would be in quite this manner."

"I'm sorry," she said meekly, eliciting scornful laughter from Jason.

"And that's the true irony of it all!" Jason crowed. "I'm the one that's supposed to be begging forgiveness from you. If you were any other woman in the world, and if you were at all sane, you would be railing against me for my brutish, drunken actions!"

"For heaven's sake, are you mad at me now? For not being angry with you?" Then Winn threw up her hands. "Fine. Perfect. I'll just wait over here with Wolfgang until it's over, if you don't mind."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Jason spat out as Winn tentatively crossed to the besotted horse, who was more than happy to have his beloved closer and therefore under his protection.

Winn regarded him with an unnerving sense of calm. "It means . . . when is it my turn to be mad at you?" She sighed tiredly. "You yell at me on the deck of the Seestern, chide me at every opportunity, and nearly take my head off once we were outside of Nuremberg. And even though you've managed to make my journey a hell of a lot more complicated, I like to think I've kept my temper very even." Jason wanted to point out that she was glossing over the slap that echoed across lower Bavaria just two days prior, but held his tongue. "So since you have the protocol of argument down, do let me know when it is my turn to be mad at you," she concluded with a shrug, crossing her arms over her chest.

It was as if the world had turned upside down on him, Jason thought as he rubbed his eyes, which had suddenly grown oversensitive to the light, a sure sign of an impending headache. "Winn, you should be mad at me! I took your virginity last night."

"I offered it, fairly thoroughly."

"And I should have been gentleman enough to refuse what you offered! Because actions . . . especially actions like these, have consequences."

"If you mean a child," Winn countered, "I was aware enough to realize you spilled yourself on the straw. Therefore, I am not particularly worried about the consequences."

"For God's sake! Your relatives should be calling me out right now-they should be forcing us to the altar!"

"But my father is not here to do such a thing. And I refuse to be forced anywhere or into anything." She looked up at him, standing close to him-close enough to touch, but she did not reach out. "I wanted to find out what they write poems about-what inspired the masters to take up their brushes. And so I did. And now, we move on."

"We move on," he repeated dully. "Winn, you think of yourself as free from society, living just below its notice, but you are not. You and I should be mar-"

"Don't you dare say it," she said, putting a hand over his mouth. "I would never do that to you. I would never . . . trap you in that way." Her eyes became suspiciously bright. "So don't you dare do that to me."