"They all know she is a Campbell now. The ones who do not know her grumble. The others defend her."

It was the most he could have hoped for.

He went inside the tower and up the stairs. He hesitated, knowing he should just go to his own chamber.

Yet he could not do that. He felt intolerably alone. He knew she must feel the same.

He went to her room. A guard stood outside. "You may go," he said.

Rory knocked lightly after the man left, then opened the door.

Felicia stood in front of the fireplace, her arms crossed in front of her as if she were cold. The flames from the fire made her cropped hair glow like copper.

She did not turn and look at him, though by the tightening of her body, he realized she sensed his presence.

"Is it true?" she asked in a small, uncertain voice.

The uncertainty was so unlike her, the words pierced his heart.

"That your cousin has escaped? Aye, it is."

"You did not find him?"

"Nay."

"And Lachlan? Did Jamie take him by force?"

"I think not."

She turned then. "You are not certain?" Distrust was in her eyes. Distrust and despair.

"I am not certain of anything." Which was probably the first honest words he had spoken. He was startled at her question about Lachlan. She appeared nearly as dismayed about him as her cousin.

"Jamie gave you his parole," she said. "He would not have dishonored himself."

His silence was a condemnation of the honor of James Campbell. He knew the Campbell had understood that, but it was more than a little difficult to condemn a man who did not deserve it, even by omission.

"He would not violate it," she said. "Nor would Lachlan act dishonorably."

"Lachlan marches to his own beat," he said. "I do not know about your cousin."

"I do," she said. "I do not believe it. Not of either of them." It was a statement of fact.

He realized she had put trust in Lachlan, far more than she had placed in him.

She was wiser than she knew.

He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her that Jamie had not left her, nor had Lachlan betrayed his clan. But he did not trust what she might do.

So why was he here?

He told himself it was because he owed it to her. He and Lachlan and James Campbell. All of them had lied to her, at least by omission, and he knew she must feel abandoned and betrayed. Under her bravado, he detected the same uncertainty that deviled him. She so much wanted to believe in her cousin. In Lachlan. Yet there had to be painful doubt.

He thought he was doing the right thing but was not sure. Sending others into danger while he stayed safely behind stone walls went against everything he valued.

"You do not, either," she said suddenly.

"Do not what?"

"You do not believe it, either."

God's eyes, but she could see right through him. Although she didn't know the cause of his uncertainty, she saw something. He had to divert her thoughts before she sensed the truth.

"It does not matter. They are gone," he said shortly.

"Jamie would not have left me," she protested stubbornly.

"He is a Campbell," he said, wincing at the cruelty in his words and tone. But she had to be convinced so that others would be, and underneath that need lay that festering jealousy for a man who was both enemy and ally. And a self-hatred for what he was now doing, making her believe that someone she loved would leave her.

"And you are a Maclean. Your clan kills children. They chain women to rocks," she struck out in anger.

"Aye. Remember that."

Tension radiated between them, a tension born of need and betrayal, of trust lost. Of his poor attempt to create a wall that was altogether too flimsy, and he sensed she realized it. Their pure need for each other was like a noose relentlessly drawing them together, no matter how hard they struggled against it.

Then she was in his arms. He was not sure who made the first step, or whether they made it at the same time. He only knew they needed each other, and that need was explosive.

He closed his eyes as his arms folded around her. He wondered whether her need was for him, or to assuage her sense of abandonment by someone she trusted with her whole being.

He wanted it to be for him, even though he knew how unwise it was. Still she warmed his soul, and he only now realized how much he had needed that heat.

When he opened his eyes again, she was looking at him with surprised wonder, as if she were as confused as he at the fire that continued to rage between them, obliterating every obstacle.

He muttered an oath.

Her lips parted in an impish smile. She never ceased to surprise him. When she first arrived, she had displayed a courage that startled him. He was even more surprised now that he knew who she was and the fear she must have had upon entering the walls of Inverleith. Instead of turning away from them, she had nursed Macleans and endeared herself to his family.

She had brought life to a place that had lost it.

He traced the lines of her face with his right hand. He had done it before, but each time he found something new there. It was a mobile face, full of feelings.

She stood on tiptoes and looked up at him with an invitation.

She was not pledged to a Campbell, but to a man she did not know.

He knew he was justifying the unjustifiable, as his lips met hers hungrily.

He had known it when he had taken the steps. He'd known it when he knocked on the door.

Yet she was alone in an enemy keep. She thought she had been abandoned by those she trusted. She needed ... reassurance. Comfort. Or at least that was what he told himself.

Now he knew it was something altogether different. He could no more stay away from her than he could stop breathing.

It was a humbling realization. He'd always considered himself an honorable man and, in the past few years, a disciplined one. He had loved and been loved, and thought he had experienced all there was to know.

He had known nothing.

When his lips touched Felicia Campbell's, his world exploded into sensations.

Rory was torn between tenderness and violence, between the warmth he craved and the bitter harvest he knew his actions would sow. His lips sought hers, invaded her mouth, seduced. Demanded.

Part of him wanted her to be outraged. Wanted her to pull away, as he could not.

Instead, her mouth welcomed his with fevered intensity, with a need that was as strong as his own.

And once that happened, there was no retreat.

His lips bore deep upon hers, their tongues playing a sensuous and frantic game, as if each sensation would be the last either would have with the other.

He drew her closer to him, and she fitted into his body until every nerve ached and yearned. The kiss turned fiery, fed by their mutual need. He fumbled with the ties at the back of her dress. It fell, leaving a chemise and yards of petticoats to shield her body.

In seconds, they were gone as well. He ran his fingers down the soft angles of her body, lingering at her breasts. His lips brushed her breasts, and he felt them respond to his touch.

His body was on fire. As if sensing that, or feeling the same irresistible need, Felicia's body melted into his. Her arms went around his neck and played with his hair at its nape.

He could resist the fire in his groin. He had done it before. What he could not resist was the radiance she brought into his life. He had not realized how dark and bleak it had been these past years.

Still, he tried. "I do not want to hurt you."

"I am already hurt," she said. "And not by you."

He knew that was not true. His lies had hurt her. He saw it in her eyes. "Felicia," he said. "I..."

She put a finger to his lips. "I want to know what it is like... to--"

He touched her lips before she could continue. Her eyes were wide, the sapphire blue deep and riveting. They were, he realized, searching his for a response. For a truth he could not give her.

Neither could he turn away, nor ignore the wistful, almost desperate plea. He touched his lips to hers again, lightly at first, relishing the tender sweetness of them, but it was she who demanded more. He deepened the kiss, searing them both with a brand he knew he would carry forever.

He did not know where this would go, could go, but he did know he needed her. And she needed him.

'Could it be so wrong then?'

His hands moved tenderly along her body, feeling it tremble slightly. His eyes feasted on the slender, firm body that glowed in the flickering light from the fireplace.

For the first time, he mourned the loss of so much of that glorious hair. In his mind's eyes, he saw it curling down her back, and he longed to tangle his fingers in it. But even without it, she was irresistible to him, the shorn hair curling around her face in ringlets, her eyes bright with the wonder of the sensations she was feeling.

He wanted her. "You are sure?" he asked again.

"Aye. It might be all I ever have."

He did not want that to be true. He wanted her to have everything. But he could never give it to her. He 'could' see her to France. He could help her escape Morneith if his plan did not work. He would take care of her. He made himself a promise.

Her hands went to the large buckle at his waist, but they were too small and too unfamiliar with it. He quickly unbuckled the belt and let the plaid fall to the floor, leaving only the long linen shirt.

He wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly, allowing her to grow familiar with his body as he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and finally her lips with infinite tenderness and promise. He felt the sensations building in her, and his body grew taut as he sought to control his own needs.

Her body moved compulsively closer to his, seeking an even more intimate union. He marveled at her lack of coyness, or fear, or modesty. She was open and honest.

He was not!

God's eyes, but he would not, could not, think of that now.

His kiss became more violent, even desperate. Somewhere inside he hoped she would back away, that she would solve the moral battle raging inside him.

There was both innocence and instinctive knowledge in her every response. He realized she probably did not know how her touch aroused him, brought him almost to the point of madness. It took every bit of control he could summon not to throw her on the bed and take her.

Instead he caressed her breasts, playing against the sensitive flesh that changed, hardened under his fingers. He continued his seduction, moving his hands along the lengths of her body, bringing it to a readiness to take his. He knew he had gone past the point of stopping. But he wanted to give more than he wanted to take.

Felicia's legs nearly gave way. Sensations slammed her like winds in a highland storm. The need in her increased unbearably. As she touched and caressed him, and felt his arms tighten around her, she did not care about anything except satisfying the exquisite ache that had haunted her since she had met him.

He stepped back and pulled off his shirt, then sat in a chair and removed the soft leather boots. Then he stood.

She was stunned by the raw, rugged beauty of his tall hard body, by the muscles and dark hair curling on his chest. Shy and eager both, she reached out a hand to him in invitation.

He took it and led her to the bed. He guided her to a sitting position, and leaned over and kissed her lips, then moved downward, his lips lingering, inciting small blazes wherever they went. Then his mouth found her left breast and nuzzled it.

Any hesitation Felicia might have had vanished in the magic of his touch, the yearning she felt in him as much as in herself. Her heart thudded, the noise pounding in her ears. She felt his strength, and she relished it. She felt his need and responded to it. She felt his passion, and all her doubts and fears dissolved into a cavern of immense longing.

Her blood rushed like a storm-swollen river through her as he turned her body and again stroked her with hands that were pure sorcery. Though the room was cold, she felt the dampness of his skin and wondered whether it came from an inner boiling heat like her own.

All thoughts disappeared as his tongue roamed and stroked and seduced her body until every nerve in her body sang with life and expectation. When she thought she could bear no more he lowered himself. He did not enter her, but teased her body with his until it was her arms that pressed him into her. First there was an odd fullness, then an unexpected pain. She could not stop a small exclamation.

He stopped, withdrew. But through the pain, Felicia was consumed by need and the promise of some unknown pleasure. Her arms brought him back, and slowly, very slowly, he started to fill her again.

The pain receded, replaced by a yearning so overwhelming she could not comprehend it. There was pulsing eagerness and fierce expectation.

He hesitated, the warmth of his skin touching and brandishing, setting off even more sparks. Her body instinctively moved up to him, desperate to relieve the pressure inside, the terrible, driving craving that consumed her.

His kiss deepened as he probed deeper. The sensations were so new, so unbelievably delicious that her body responded, seeking more and more of him.

He moved in her, slowly, giving her time to get used to the feel of him, then the movements became a sensuous dance, a slow, hypnotic rhythm that her body joined. Her hips rotated in circular movements, even as she wondered at her own boldness, the new instinctive knowledge of what exactly to do.

He thrust deeper, and she felt he was almost at the core of her. An urgency seized her, and she pulled him even closer to her.

Then another thrust, and she felt an explosive ecstasy rock her, splintering into waves and waves of pleasure that surged through her. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, and she heard him mutter something. He collapsed on her, his breath coming quickly. She relished the gentle abrasion that continued to send tremors through her body.

He rolled over, carrying her with him, then clasped her tightly against him. She heard their hearts beat in tandem. Their breath intermingled.