Beginning again with kisses, he took her deeper into that swirling, unending vortex of sensual experience.

Her hands began to move over him, seeking and exploring the varied textures of him. Everything about him spoke a paradox; the silky rasp of his chest hair against her breasts, the soft hardness of his lips, the rugged refinement of his back and arms, the gentle power of his long, graceful body. She embraced him, urging him above her, reveling in his hard weight as his body engulfed hers.

She knew what happened next; she'd heard the bucks talk about it... from their brash, male point of view. But she had never realized what it truly involved for a woman, never imagined what it would feel like to be opened by a man, to take part of his body inside her. She felt his shaft hard and foreign against her belly as he lay atop her, and felt the dull throb of desire in her body's opening. The tantalizing rasp of his swollen staff against her clothes that morning in the woods came rushing back. How much better would it feel with nothing between them?

The passionate wriggle that wanton possibility produced in her brought his head up and his teeth flashed dimly before he kissed her nose, her eyelids, her chin. She was issuing the oldest invitation known to man and he was going to accept in the most emphatic way possible. He nudged her legs apart and felt her breath stop at the unaccustomed position. The tension underlying her eagerness finally translated properly in his steamy thoughts. She'd never done it before... that much filtered through the barriers of reason that passion had erected in his mind. He remembered that much, and wanted to remember no more. He would be her first. The knowledge washed through him in a possessive flood, inundating every part of his male psyche, rousing the primitive urge for ownership, for dominion.

"I don't want to hurt you, my hot little Whiskey," he began a litany of desire, spoken between kisses into her ear, along her neck, down the dewy valley between her magnificent breasts. "I'll make it as easy as I can. You must tell me what you're feeling... and if I hurt you." He fitted himself gently against her moist inner flesh and thrust slowly back and forth, rubbing against the little pearl of flesh that held the key to the mysteries of her response. He felt her breathing return, felt the racing of her heart against his chest. Her legs trembled as she braced and rocked beneath'him.

Over and over he stroked her, watching her passions rise, feeling her movements growing bolder as she clutched his back, her frantic hands devouring every bit of him they could reach. Never in his life had he exercised such restraint, nor imagined such pleasure could result from it. When her legs raised and slid around his, trapping them, pulling him closer, he knew the time had come. He moved slightly, sinking his arms beneath her as he began to sink his shaft into the tight silky sheath of her flesh.

Slowly, he pressed forward, pausing, allowing her to accept him, kissing away her tension. She stretched to enfold him, felt him rising in her, filling her trembling body by tight, breathtaking increments. There was momentary discomfort that made her bite her lip, but no rending pain, no harsh maidenly sacrifice. And soon the tightness gave way to a sense of fulfillment that escaped as a soft, tattered moan.

"Tell me, Whitney-" he demanded softly, withdrawing a hand from beneath her to stroke her warm face.

She nodded and her eyes fluttered open, glistening with wonder. "It's... you feel so... you fill me and it's so hot and tingling. And I just want-" she bit her lip and flushed violently.

"Want what, wench?" He felt the sudden heat of her blush against his lips as they rested on her cheek. "What?" He caught her chin and made her look at him as she whispered: "More."

Need exploded inside him and he crushed her to him, thrusting fully inside her in a single heart-stopping motion.

"Ohhhh-Whitney-"

He heard her groan and he soared at the seductive pleasure carried in the throaty sound. He began to move rhythmically, his powerful body flexing, caressing her, lifting her into a bright, steamy cloud of sensation that swirled around and within them, joining their separate experience. Each thrust carried her higher, faster along some unseen continuum of pleasure, along a vector that expanded magically as time slowed and reality was left behind. And as he ground sinuously against her tender flesh, she began to quake and contract, whimpering with tortured delight. Her senses exploded; her very body seemed to" dissolve into a fierce, white-hot blast of elemental heat. And in that boundless, exploding star of pleasure she felt his essence mingle with hers as he buried his face in her hair and erupted, pouring his passion into her soft, responsive frame.

Joined in sweet release, they floated a long time, shivering with aftershocks of pleasure. When he would have slid his weight to the bed beside her, she stayed him with a tight hug that reached far deeper than his ribs. For that splendid, glowing moment, his entire universe was contained in the circle of her arms, in the sweet, steamy bit of paradise they had created together.

He finally lowered to the bed beside her and pulled her warm, pliant body against him so that their fronts were pressed pleasurably together at several points. She lay quietly in the circle of his arms, leaving both of his hands free to roam her back, to caress her bottom and explore her delights in more leisurely fashion. When his fingers drifted into a ticklish crevice, she tightened and wriggled to escape. He rumbled amusement and sent his hands to other regions that caused her to release a shuddering sigh. He kissed her tangled hair and felt her relax against him.

"I wish I'd known it would be like this," she whispered against his breastbone, moving his chest hair enough that it tickled. He shivered.

"I'm glad you didn't." He didn't want to have to explain the remark, even to himself, and was very glad when she just nuzzled the middle of his chest like a sleepy kitten and sank deeper into satisfaction's lulling arms.

"Charlie said I'd like it..."

"And did you?" His heart stopped briefly and began to beat again when she said: "Yes... ummmm, yes."

Beneath the gentle pressure of her cheek against him, his chest seemed to be melting, caving inward, exposing a strangely shaped void that he hadn't even realized was there until he came to Rapture Valley. Until that very moment, Garner Townsend hadn't known what to call the hollow feeling that made itself known in the dark of recent nights, in the pit of his stomach. He had mounted the stairs each night, dreading the solitude, the emptiness of his bed, not understanding it was pure loneliness that beset him.

But Whitney Daniels had been there tonight, in his dark, silent room in his cold, empty bed. She had filled his arms, invaded his polished, hollow self with her warm, inviting curves, her responsive mouth, and her delicious eagerness. And he knew this was exactly what he'd craved since the moment he'd first set eyes on her.

Sliding into a world of dreams, she felt him draw the quilts over them and felt his leg sliding up hers to lay possessively across her hip. And for some reason, that claiming motion pleased her. A dreamy, satisfied smile appeared at the corner of her love-swollen lips. It was a new kind of look, a potent blend of "Daniels" and "woman." It was her unique contribution to the Daniels repertoire of expressions of delight.

Chapter Eleven.

Kate Morrison sat at her kitchen table in the gray light of dawn, staring into the past with eyes that were red and swollen from crying. Across the years she again heard Whitney's mother, Margaret, confiding her undying passion for the restless and adventurous young patriot soldier, Blackstone Daniels. Margaret was destined for better things, their ambitious father had said, refusing to allow their marriage. And spirited Margaret had taken up the reins of her life herself and married the love of her heart anyway. Nothing could have dissuaded her from slipping from the house to go to him at night, from eloping with him, or from moving west with him after the War of Independence. Through hardship and sacrifice, Margaret had loved Blackstone fiercely, and had gloried in the devotion he bestowed on her in the years they had together.

Now Whitney was following in her mother's footsteps, casting everything aside for the wanting of one man. Only this time the roles were reversed; it was Whitney who had little standing or wealth to speak of, and the man came straight from Boston's elite society. The handsome, hard-nosed major had nothing to gain from an alliance with a wild and impetuous frontier girl... except a cynical bit of pleasure. Kate knew all too well the convenience of a gentleman's passion. And she ached to think of the pain her sweet, spirited Whitney would suffer when she learned the calloused major had only used her to slake his animal urges.

"Oh, Whitney," she whispered, burying her face in her hands, "forgive me for not warning you."

In the waxing predawn light, Black Daniels crept closer to his home, watching the soldiers as they watched his house. His eyes narrowed furiously. The wretches had found him out, he snarled silently. If they'd harmed Kate and his Whitney in any way, he'd see they paid for it with their very lives! He rolled his broad shoulders under his deerskin coat and lifted his musket to creep toward the back of the house in silent shadows.

There was a dim light coming from the small, glass window in the kitchen, and Black stroked his bristled chin as he evaluated it. Someone was up and about quite early. He tightened and launched himself from the grape arbor toward the kitchen door. He burst through the door like a typhoon and slammed it behind him, pushing a chair against it.

"Oh-h-h!" Kate startled and whirled, clasping her throat as her heart leaped into it. "B-b-black!" She launched herself at him, clutching his arm and his coat front frantically. "Oh, Black, thank God you're home... and safe- Oh, Black-"

"Kate-are you all right?" he took her by the shoulders, searching her rumpled hair and night clothes and her tear-ravaged face. "Holy Heaven, what's happened? What have those monsters done to you?"

"N-not me," Kate said, swiping at her eyes in order to see through her tears. "I-it's Whitney... she..."

"Merciful Moses!" he swore, giving Kate a compelling shake, "What have they done to her?!"

"She's gone, Black," Kate shook her head and tried to get a grip on herself. "She's gone to be with him. I had no idea. He's a gentleman, and rich and handsome... and they've fought like cats and dogs-"

"Who, Kate?!" Black demanded, his entire being igniting with righteous flame. While he was off protesting and bargaining for their freedoms, the jackals had invaded his home to abuse his family! The cold and fatigue and hunger of the perilous trek from Pittsburgh- hiding in the hills by day, traveling at night-were suddenly forgotten. His Whitney was in danger! "Where have they taken her?!"

The desperation in his voice made Kate realize she had to explain more to prevent compounding the disaster. She dragged him to the table and made him sit. "They haven't taken her anywhere, Black. She went on her own, of her own free will... at least I think so."

"Went where, Kate?" Black's dusky features, so like Whitney's, darkened in confusion. "Tell me!"

"She wasn't in her bed when I checked tonight, and I think she's gone to be with their commander, Major Townsend. He's staying at Harvey's inn, and his soldiers are camped beside. Black... Whitney's a full woman now and the major is so handsome and so arrogant. And I've seen what passes between them. She's tried to protect your still and the valley folk, but she's no match for him, Black. He's a great, cynical beast of a man who'll use her own passions against her and gobble her up for a morsel. Then he'll cast her aside! Oh, Black, if only you had been here!" Kate dissolved into tears.

Kate's anguished revelations filtered brokenly through his own sense of guilt at having left them. The soldiers... Whit had been overpowered by some fancy -ankled officer! The knowledge slammed into his gut like a fist.

"But Whit always held her own with a buck."

"She's never met a gentleman before. She has no idea how treacherous they are. And her damnable Daniels pride-she honestly thought she could best him. He's all she's thought about for two weeks, and it was painfully clear what he wanted from her." Kate's anguish turned outward. "It's part my fault, all my talk of elegant life and fine gentlemen, but you bear the blame as well, Blackstone Daniels. Raising her like a buck, letting her talk and bargain her way through everything in life."

Black thrust himself up, goaded savagely in the most vulnerable areas of his being, his pride as a father and his love for his precious daughter. His face bloated with righteous fury, his fists trembled at his sides.

"If he's dishonored her," Black vowed tightly, "I'll kill the bloody bastard!" He lunged for his musket and the door.

The early wisps of dawn slid through the cracks in the shutters, stealing around Garner Townsend's room like thieves bent on pilfering the dreams and pleasures of the naked lovers entwined on the sturdy rope-and-post bed. The pair slept soundly, unaware that the bargain they'd consummated in the quiet of the night was dissolving in the light around them. When the first sounds of the angry commotion reached through the doors, both stirred, still wrapped in their shared warmth.

The major opened his eyes and let the reality of Whiskey Daniels's naked body ensconced cozily against his bare frame sink into his senses. The sensations were marvelous... her soft, warm curves, the gentle pressure of her hip against his loins, the ripe swell of her dark-tipped breast against his palm...

Whitney was confused at first, wakening to the feel of a hard male body pressed against her bare skin. But a slight turn of her head brought her languid gaze to his beautiful gray-blue eyes, his boldly sculptured mouth, and patrician cheekbones.

Their gazes locked as the pounding reverberated around them, coming from the hallway. Each tightened, feeling a vague but growing sense of alarm at their location and at the intimate juxtaposition of their naked bodies. Then the harsh sound of arguing assaulted them,rattling exposed nerves.

Blackstone had run most of the way from his farmstead, with Kate's heated accusations burning inside him. Laxault and two of his men trailed doggedly behind, but were no match for his emotion-spurred speed. He charged into the tavern and up the still-dark steps to assault the first door he came across. Harvey sprang up in his bed, gasping, and Black snarled and backed out, headed for another door.

Three soldiers were thumping up the steps, roused by Black's charge through the taproom where they'd been sleeping. Harvey threw himself into the thick of them, demanding they retreat, even as Black stormed out of the second room.

"Curse it, Harvey-where are they?!" Black whirled and lunged for a third door over Harvey's frantic objection. The planking slammed back, startling the room's two occupants, a portly man in the small rope-and-post bed and another fellow bedded on the floor. They jerked upright, bleary-eyed, to find Black standing, braced, inside the door with his musket trained on them. "Where the ragin' thunder is she?!" he stormed. "What have you done with my little girl?!!"

The fat fellow sputtered outrage and the skinny one on the floor tried to rise to his commander's defense. Black's gun lowered menacingly to the skinny one's nose and shortly both were denying anything, everything... and threatening that they'd have him shot for such a heinous violation of their governmental sanctity. Black growled and stalked out, headed for the fourth and final door.

The old uncles, Whitney's melted mental processes managed to deduce as she huddled under the quilts and stared helplessly at the door. Noah's knees! They'd come too late! She'd already spent the night in the major's bed-aghhhh!-in his arms! She turned a panicky look on the major, who had just risen from the bed, catching sight of his bare buttocks and thighs as his gentlemanly breeches slid over them. Her eyes slammed shut, but not soon enough to keep the sight of his bare chest, his powerful arms... and other manly parts... from invading her mind. Every muscle, every line of him had burned into her very body during the night just past. Into her body. Oh, Lord!

The door slammed back and she startled, grabbing the quilts tightly around her as pure chaos burst into the room. Garner instinctively jolted to spread himself between Whitney and the open door as tussling and flailing and grunting surged into the room. And at its head, wielding a gun, was Blackstone Daniels, with blood in his eyes.

Everything froze for a long, seething moment as mutual shock bore in on the three of them. Instead of the old uncles, Whitney reeled, there stood her own pa, gun in hand, quaking with righteous anger! There she was, Black craned his neck to see, and recoiled; his little Whitney, her hair atangle and obviously naked... in a man's bed... a federal jackal's bed! God, Garner Townsend swallowed convulsively, there was no doubt of the identity of the wild man braced in the doorway, ready to blow him to kingdom come! The fellow bore a weathered, male version of the very face he had spent the night making love to; it had to be her father!

"Pa... ?" she choked.

"DAMMIT!" Blackstone Daniels cursed for the very first time in anybody's memory. "You foul, blackhearted fiend of the devil's own seed! You plunderin' spawn of perdition! Dishonorin' my own flesh and blood!" he thundered loud enough for the entire settlement to hear. "No need to say prayers, cur," he spat, his eyes wild, his frame trembling, "whatever you've got to say to The Maker you can say in person!" And he raised the muzzle of his gun.

"NO!" Whitney just managed to grab a quilt about her as she lunged from the bed to stand between them. "You can't, Pa! It'd be murder! It's not what you think, honest, please just listen to me-"

But turmoil erupted at Blackstone's back and he lurched to the side, planting his back firmly against a wall as three half-clad forms grappled past Uncle Harvey to shove into the room. And for a second time, everything seemed to still.

"Get him-arrest that man!" shirt-clad Colonel Gaspar shouted, pointing at Black. But when the unarmed soldiers jolted forward they were stopped in their tracks by the bore of Black's musket as he ordered them to stay back. Gaspar swept a hot gaze past Whitney's alluringly-exposed form, as he braced and rounded on his half-clad major. "Just what in the hell is going on here, Townsend?!"

"He's gone and disgraced my daughter," Black growled before Townsend could speak. "And I'm here to kill 'im for it!"

"No, Pa-"

"The hell I have," Townsend protested vehemently, feeling a sickening wave of angry humiliation pouring over him. Caught... again... by a furious father and by this nasty little weasel of a shopkeeper. "I returned after night patrol and found the little witch in my bed! Ask her... go on!"

He turned on her, his entire being in turmoil, his gentlemanly standards in complete shambles. Last night he'd loved her, held her, adored every delectable part of her. And his first impulse just now had been to protect her, to shield her from the scrutiny and shame of this invasion with his very body, if need be. But it had turned out to be her own father, and Colonel Gaspar was standing there demanding an explanation, and suddenly his chivalrous impulses horrified him. Protect her?! He was the one in imminent danger of life and limb... caught in a debacle of lust.

Oh God. It was happening again! Just like he feared it would. He'd felt it coming, watched it approach, felt its hot breath on his neck every time he encountered her. Disaster in female guise... in the person of quixotic,irresistible, and treacherous Whiskey Daniels! And as he stood, like a great granite statue, staring at her vulnerable, girlish form, he forced himself to recall their other encounters; the modest humiliations, the small spectacles she enjoyed making of him, and that last, all-too-calm, threat. He'd be sorry, she had said, and she'd meant she would make him sorry!

He shuddered visibly, revolted by his own weakness, by the unthinkable desire for her that lodged even now in the middle of him. He knew this humiliation all too well.

"Tell them!" he raved, his voice hoarse with pain-spawned anger. "God, you probably planned this little exhibition, didn't you?! Having your father break in on us, wielding a gun, after the fact!" As he spoke, the awful certainty of it drilled through him. It was perfectly in keeping with her crass, unthinkable ethic: everything has its price. And the price of escaping this disgrace was undoubtedly to be his withdrawal from the valley!

The sight of his disgust, his anger, after what had passed between them in the night, slapped every possibility of response from her faculties. All she could do was stand there, feeling crushed and defenseless, feeling the weight of her own plot on her bare shoulders. It was true. She'd come to his bed as a Delilah, to ensnare him, to get him to leave the valley. And in seeking his ruin, she'd somehow found her own.

"Liar!" Black jolted forward, outraged by the arrogant major's charges and stunned by the pain and disbelief in his daughter's face, in her very body. He'd never seen her look so small and pale... and hurt. "You miserable bastard! Blaming my daughter for the perfidy of your own deceitful lusts! I'll kill you for stealin' her innocence!"

"She's no innocent," Garner snarled, feeling his stomach turn and his chest squeeze at the pain that seemed to be draining the spirit, the very life from her. "There's not a more scheming, deceitful Jezebel on the face of this earth."

Whitney stood, naked and wrapped in a quilt, still bearing the traces of his loving on her body, feeling their hot eyes on her. Caught in her own wretched plot, undone by her own hand. How could she tell her pa?

"Blackstone?!" came a familiar voice, "Whitney-is she there? Is she all right?!" Her aunt Kate struggled and wriggled through the soldiers that clogged the hall and doorway and stopped dead at the sight that greeted her. "Precious Lord."

Whitney saw her aunt's horror through a blurry haze, felt Garner Townsend's hatred like a suffocating hand on her throat, felt her pa's bewildered rage, and the others' lurid curiosity. And she burst into tears... great, awful, gulping sobs of them. She ought to think, ought to talk, to parlay this humiliation into some advantage. That's what a real trader would do, she knew. And all she could do was cry, like a weepy, weak-kneed woman.

Kate gasped dismay and ran to cover Whitney's exposed form and shield her against prying eyes. "Oh, Whitney, what did he do to you?" she choked.

"That's bloody well obvious," Black raised his musket again and found himself staring down it at the short, squat man with the bullfrog face.

"Shoot him and I'll hang you for murder," he croaked.

"And just who in blazes are you to be giving orders?" Black spat, churning inside at the sight of his Whit in such anguish.

"I'm the major's superior, his commanding officer. And if a wrong has been done here, I'll deal with it!" Then he turned on the major with wicked fire in his eyes.

Colonel Oliver Gaspar had watched the bizarre proceedings with vengeful fascination. His gaze narrowed ominously on the handsome, pedigreed Bostonian. It was exactly the sort of thing to expect from a lordly, calloused rake... the seduction of a poor farmer's daughter.

"It's clear you've disgraced both yourself and your post, sir," the little round colonel tore into Townsend like a human cannonball. "I've a notion to cashier you out and send you packing! I'll not allow such a blot on the record of my command!" He whipped a glance at Kate leading Whitney to a seat on the bed and his resentment of what could only be termed the major's "carnal opportunism" was fanned to furious heights.

"C-colonel-" Townsend's blood boiled up into his face. "Dammit-you can't take the word of a- a- against a Townsend!"

"Of a what, wretch?!" Black stalked forward, trembling with fatherly fury. "You steal her innocence and then call her foul names-"

"Silence! All of you!" Gaspar grasped command at the center of the room, seizing the chance to wield a blow against his "betters." "Like most men of your ilk," he turned on Townsend, "you believe your wealth and standing insulate you from the consequences of your licentious and immoral behavior. Silence, major!" he jabbed a pudgy finger when Townsend started to rebut. "You've compromised both yourself and your unit. And it is only in their interest that I shall see the situation repaired. Now-either marry the girl, or I shall allow this man to shoot you. And though I personally favor the shooting, I suspect you may find marriage the lesser evil."

Every muscle in the room stilled in shock at the ultimatum. Marriage, it rumbled through the teary haze in Whitney's head, the lesser evil. She lifted her blotchy face from Kate's shoulder, her reddened eyes wide with horror.

"Marry-no! You can't make him marry-"

"He will indeed, girl," Gaspar growled. "And you must face the consequences of your action as well, submitting to the yoke of marriage."

"No!" she jumped to her feet, "I won't! You can't make me... or him! It was just a bit of bedding." She wiped at her wet face frantically. "Nothing of importance... I... I do it all the time!"

"See there?!" Townsend first seized her unthinkable admission, then startled and turned on her with the turmoil of his being in his stormy face. She'd had other lovers? The very idea of it poured through his middle like molten lead.

"A bargain, we just struck a bargain. He's probably already got a wife," she protested, the very idea making her sick to her stomach. She had slept with him, given him her whole self in loving, and didn't even know whether he was married or not.

"He's an unmarried man," Gaspar's dark eyes glowed nastily.

"Well, I won't marry the likes of her," Townsend declared, feeling his insides ripped asunder by the conflict she generated in him. It was pure madness, the ache to possess her, the desperation to escape her! "The little trollop... she drinks like a man, lies through her teeth, and runs the countryside at night with a pack of men. You heard her, she does it all the time-"

A choked sound came from the bed, beside Whitney. She turned and found Kate staring at a small dark stain on the ticking. Black's eyes found it, too... and then the colonel's. And when Kate rose and backed a step, Garner Townsend saw it, too.

"You'll marry the girl," Gaspar sneered with righteous malice, "or you're finished, Townsend."

There were a few further attempts to dissuade the vinegary colonel, all futile. The little man's determined prejudice against the son of an aristocratic house bordered on the fanatical. And when it became clear he could and would force them to go through with it, they tried to use the problem of arrangements to forestall it. There was no preacher in Rapture Valley; no one to tie the knot. The colonel smiled wickedly and sent for his aide-de-camp... a newly ordained preacher, and his own son-in-law.

It was an hour later that Whitney was summoned down the stairs to the tavern and her wedding. The nuptials were only delayed that long because of Kate's insistence that Whitney be permitted to "freshen up" and that she be allowed to send for a dress to wear at her vows. As she washed and dressed, she couldn't meet her aunt Kate's doleful looks. And as she descended the stairs, she couldn't bear to look at her pa or the neighbor folk who had crowded into the tavern to witness the spectacle of her being hastily wedded to the Iron Major.

Half the tavern was filled with locals, the other half with soldiers of varying hues and classes. Townsend stood by the blazing hearth, towering dark and smoldering with resentment. Kate had to nudge Whitney across the room to his side and had to stay beside her to keep her from bolting.

Whitney hardly saw the fellow that married them, except for his boots. She couldn't raise her eyes past the crude bone buttons on the major's splendid blue coat. The military preacher said the words and waited patiently for the major to take her hand and repeat them. Garner's voice was deep and his touch was hot on her fingers. "Love," "honor," and "protect," she heard him say with a strange tenor to his voice. And when she was asked to make similar promises, she had to fight a terrible squeezing in her throat to speak at all.

She raised her face to him, her eyes luminous with apology as she spoke those awful words that sealed their fate. To love him... to honor him... and to obey. They were good and decent words, meant for the binding of lives, for the hallowing of loving bargains. They were meant for decent women, she ached at the thought, not for Delilahs.