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Chapter One

Rain and sleet lashed Emma's cheeks and mingled with the tears of terror and despair coursing down over her cold skin. Stumbling through midnight darkness of the storm-lashed night of May 17, 1812, and casting furtive glances over her shoulder, she fled the glowing mansion on the hill behind her.

She knew the road she was on led to London and at the London docks there were ships. Among them she had to find one that would take her to the Caribbean and safety at her brother's mission.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the black sky and thunder rolled, shaking the ground beneath her scarlet slippers. She uttered a strangled cry and plunged ahead, glancing back over her shoulder once again into the darkness in a vain attempt to discern pursuers.

The next instant she hit what felt like a hard, hair-coated wall. The force sent her reeling backward and she floundered to her knees. As she struggled to right herself, she realized it was a horse; a big horse snorting and rearing and blocking the road in front of her. And the horse had a rider. One of Squire Falkner's men!

Panic brought her upright and she made a mad attempt to dash past the man's pawing, blowing mount. Her attempt failed. In an instant the rider had leaped to the ground and seized her by an arm.

"Let me go, you great brute!" Emma was kicking and clawing at him. "I won't go back, I won't! You'll have to kill me first!"

"Madam, at the moment I have no intention of taking you anywhere, back to whatever you're referring included."

Emma's thoughts suddenly cleared. So he wasn't one of the Squire's men. Then who? A highwayman. That was it. He had to be a highwayman. Surely no one else would be abroad at midnight in a raging storm. But if he was a highwayman and she told him who she was and why she was trying to escape, he might sense a reward for returning her. Such a man would have no qualms about trading her for a hefty purse. She must keep her true identity a secret for as long as she could. It was her only hope.

"I was at a fete," she said straining to get a look at the stranger in the darkness. He towered over her five foot six inch height by well over a half a foot and was wearing a full cloak and wide-brimmed hat. Other than that he was only a black outline. "I chose to leave before the others."

"An interesting tale. And, where, pray tell, are you going alone on foot in a storm?"

"I'm going to London."

"To visit the Queen?" His tone was jesting.

"Hardly. I'm taking passage on a ship that will be leaving the docks for the Caribbean."

"With no luggage? Not a single portmanteau? You intrigue me, madam. Allow me to offer you a ride. At least to the nearest inn. It's a most inhospitable night and from what I can discern, you're not prepared for travel. Perhaps once we become better acquainted you'll see fit to tell me the true story of your adventures."

Emma hesitated. Then above the howl of the wind and slash of rain she heard them. Baying like the hounds of hell, the Squire's dogs were on her trail.

"So someone had set his dogs upon you. Madam. You interest me more and more." He drew his horse to him and mounted. Then he held down a hand and kicked his foot from the stirrup. "Climb up behind me. We must ride like the wind if we're to elude them."

Still Emma paused. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

The barking drew closer, more intense.

"Do you need any more reasons to take a chance on me?"

"No." She grasped his gloved hand in a desperate grip. As he drew her upward with amazing strength, she managed to get her foot in the stirrup and scrambled into position astride behind him on the great horse.

"Hold tight!" he ordered and with a jolt that all but unseated her, sent their mount bounding off into the night.

It was a mad, violent dash through blinding rain, bruising sleet and nightmarish thunder and lightning. Clinging to the stranger's powerful body Emma lost the sound of the hounds' baying and wondered if they'd left them far behind or if perhaps their cries had simply been drowned out by the wind, thunder, and horse's pounding hooves.

Only the feeling of pure strength in the stranger's body and the powerful motion of the great horse racing beneath her gave her a sense of reality during that wild race through the storm-racked night. Otherwise the moments would have been purely a nightmare, an incredible dream in which, two weeks previous, Emma Prescott could never have imagined herself being a participant.

But she knew the danger was far from over. The horse had only to stumble or his rider lose control and all three would be doomed. She repressed a shudder as an image of what Squire Falkner's bloodthirsty pack might do to the fallen trio. In the case of such an accident she prayed all three would be killed instantly. Death appeared far preferable to being found alive and helpless by those vicious dogs.

Shortly Emma felt the rider slowing the horse, then its motion told her they were descending a bank of some sort. She slid sideways, all but falling over the animal's slick, wet rump.

"Hold fast!" the man ordered and she gripped his muscular body with renewed vehemence. Seconds later their mount's hooves splashed into a stream and she flinched as ice cold water showered up under her gown.

"Hold tight!" her mysterious rescuer ordered her again. His legs and thighs moved against her, urging the horse back into a gallop, only this time a slow and careful canter as they kept to the water.

She understood. The dogs would have difficulty following them along a stream, especially one swollen by the torrential rain. For some time their course followed the brook, then abruptly, the rider turned his mount up an incline. Again Emma struggled to keep from sliding to the ground as the big animal heaved itself up the bank and onto a road. She had never held another human being so tightly as she held this stranger. A moment later they were once more off at a gallop through the storm-torn night. Another brilliant bolt of lightning rent the sky and the horse snorted, but with encouragement from his rider kept on at his seemingly tireless pace.

Finally, the man drew rein. Glancing around his broad shoulder, Emma saw the dark silhouette of several stone buildings, an inn or farm she decided, and wondered why he'd brought her there and what would happen next.

"Get down," he ordered holding the blowing horse steady.

She stuck one foot in the stirrup he had freed for her, slid her other leg over the horse's wet rump, and, with the stranger's hand keeping her from falling into the mud, dropped with a bump to the ground. The man dismounted and paused to pat the horse's heaving sides.

"Thank you, my lad," he said, surprising Emma by praising the animal. "You've done me proud this night. I'll see you're well cared for shortly."

Then he turned to Emma in the driving rain. She could see nothing of his features under the brim of the hat that sprouted riverlets of water and felt a shiver run through her as horrible visions of her rescuer's possible physiognomy rushed over her exhausted mind.

"I'll make arrangements for us in this inn for the remainder of the night. Just follow where I lead and do not contradict if you wish to remain safe from whatever villains are on your trail."

Leading the horse he headed for the door. Emma hesitated, then followed. She had little choice. But what had he meant when he'd said not to contradict him?

He had to bang on the door several times before a short, disgruntled-looking man with heavy side-whiskers, drink-reddened cheeks and a bulbous nose opened it a crack.

"What do ye want?" he growled. "It's neigh on midnight, time all respectable folks were in their beds."

"Open the door, you miserable cur, before I break it in!" her companion shocked Emma by snarling. "My lady wife and I have ridden far this night from hell and we'll have food and shelter for us and our mount or you'll pay dearly."

Apparently frightened by his threat, the landlord opened the door wider. He was holding a candle and wearing a nightshirt that swept the stone floor.

"Come in, then, if you must," he scowled. "But, mind, I don't give cover to highwaymen and their doxies. Be you one of them?"

As Emma followed her companion into the candlelight, he swept off his hat and turned to look at her. She saw him start as he saw her clearly for the first time, then slowly a sardonic smile spread across a face she was astonished to find breath-takingly handsome. The deepest blue eyes she'd ever seen stared at her from a sun-browned face with the strong, regular features like those of the Adonis she'd seen in her father's books.

Then she swallowed hard as she realized what he saw. The crimson dress and cloak trimmed with ermine although now drenched and mud-splattered could give only one impression.

"Your wife, eh?" The landlord leered at her. "Didn't think gentleman married her kind. Ah, well, it's nothing to me. She's your choice, Mr...."

"Captain Morgan Reynolds," he startled Emma by declaring. "My ship lies at anchor in the Clyde. I'm eager to return to her. Thus, we'll be leaving early in the morning, at daybreak. Now, rouse your lady if you have one. We need food and drink. Then show my wife to our room while I stable our horse."

He turned and went back out into the night as a plump woman with a thatch of gray curls sticking out from under a nightcap came into the room pulling a faded robe over a nightgown.

"Bless my soul, child!" she exclaimed as she saw Emma. "Come and sit by the fire. Ben, build up the flames. Can't you see she's half frozen."

She drew Emma across the room to stand by the big stone hearth that dominated the far wall while her husband, grumbling, rekindled the embers languishing there. Apparently business flagged, Emma thought as she allowed herself to be led along. The only other customer apparent sat in a far corner in the shadows hunched over a glass and a bottle. He appeared too far-gone in his cups to notice the new arrivals.

"Take off that wet wrap." The landlady drew the drenched cloak from Emma's shoulders, then stood back, astounded at what was revealed. Embarrassed, Emma put a hand to her breast in an effort to cover herself where the plunging neckline did not.

"The gentleman said you're his wife, mistress...?" The woman was obviously now skeptical.

"Yes...yes, that's correct." Emma remembered the man who'd introduced himself as Captain Reynolds had ordered her not to contradict and she was beginning to understand the reason. As his wife she'd be less likely to be discovered by her pursuers. "Mrs. Emma Reynolds," she answered the woman's query.

"Well, well. Ben, go check on our guest and his horse," she ordered, and when he went out, pulling a coat over his nightshirt and muttering, continued, "I'll just hang your cloak near the fire to dry. Now sit yourself down nearby to warm your bones."

As Emma obeyed, the woman went to a sideboard and began searching out bread and cheese. These she placed on a table near the fire, then went into a pantry and returned with a bottle of wine.

"I'm afraid it's the best I can do at this hour," she apologized. "In the morning, I'll see to it you have a proper breakfast before you and your...husband take to the road once more. He isn't a highwayman, is he, dearie? Ben and me, we're terrible afraid of harbouring any of that lot. The Squire what lives several miles from here in the big house can be dreadful to anyone caught hiding robbers."

"No, he isn't," Emma said. Suddenly she was ravenous and exhausted and willing to say anything that would assure her food and a place to lay her weary head for the night. "He's a sea captain."

"Ah, well, then, good." The woman seemed relieved by Emma's answer. "The Squire is a dangerous man, make no mistake."

"Yes," Emma breathed.

"What's that, dearie?" The woman was instantly alert again. "Do you know him?"

"No, of course not. My husband and I are only passing through this county. We know no one."

At that moment the man who called himself Captain Reynolds returned with the innkeeper.

"Food and a fire," he breathed doffing his hat and cloak. "Just what we need, Mrs. Reynolds. Innkeeper, you and your lady may retire. We're capable of eating and drinking on our own."

"Aye." The landlord headed for the stairs leaving a trail of muddy tracks across the board floor. "Your room will be the one at the top of stairs to the left. Come along, woman. We've lost enough sleep."

"We'll see you in the mornin', sir and madam." The woman bobbed a curtsy and followed her husband.

"Well, madam, shall we sample this elegant repass?" Captain Reynolds picked up the bottle and filled the two glasses on the table. Then he sank into the chair opposite Emma and proceeded to pull off his boots. They were high and made of rich leather, the footwear of a well-to-do man Emma thought. Were sea captains rich? She'd never previously met one.

The cost of his boots didn't seem to matter to him as he threw them carelessly beside the hearth and picked up his wine goblet. Then, with a weary sigh, he stretched his stockinged feet out toward the warmth. He took a long swallow before turning to Emma.

"Well, drink up, Mrs. Reynolds and if you've a mind, serve us each with bread and cheese. I'm weary but I don't intend to go to bed hungry as well."

"As you wish, sir." Emma moved slightly forward on her chair and began to cut the food into servings. She felt his eyes raking over her as surely as if they'd been his hands and she glanced up at him.

"You're staring, Captain," she said. "Do I interest you so greatly you cannot focus your eyes on anything else in this room?"

"You do, madam, you most certainly do interest me above all else at the moment." Glancing at the other occupant of the room who now lay face down on the table he shrugged him off.

"You have the deportment of a lady, yet that gown and the dressing of your hair all describe you as a woman of the evening," he continued turning back to Emma. "A courtesan, most likely, for no common doxy would be arrayed as you are. Were you mistress to some wealthy mi'lord? Did you fall from favor and were therefore forced to flee? Did you perhaps take one of his young lackeys as your lover and he discovered the fact? And, by the way, what is your name? You haven't yet introduced yourself."

"You ask an inordinate number of questions." Emma tried to appear haughty as she sliced into the bread. "My name is Emma...Smith. And if you have such a low opinion of me, why did you bother to rescue me? Why not leave this crimson woman to the mercy of the hounds?"

"Because no matter what you did, no one including yourself deserves to be left to the mercy of English dogs." The words were uttered with such sudden, dark anger they gave Emma pause and she stopped in cutting the loaf, the knife poised above it.

"Ah." She feigned an understanding she did not possess and returned to her chore. Shortly she was handing him a plate of bread and cheese.

"I don't imagine you want to tell me who and why you were fleeing this night, Emma...Smith?" His eyes twinkled wickedly at her as he drew out her name as she had. Breaking off a bit of cheese, he tossed into his mouth in a gesture both natural and yet suggestive.

"And I don't imagine you want to tell me why you were abroad at such an ungodly hour wearing a black cloak and hat?" She drew herself up disdainfully.

"Touché!" He chuckled and his handsome countenance previously grim and foreboding was suddenly transformed. "Let us remain exactly what we are...mysterious creatures of the night. Now eat, drink. I've ridden far and hard and I long for a couch."

They finished their meal in silence, Emma becoming alarmed at the amount of wine he consumed. What if he became demanding, what if once they retired to that room they would share he sought payment for rescuing her?

Ah, but she had more than one way of paying him she remembered as her thoughts went to the ruby and diamond necklace secreted in her bodice. Perhaps he'd be content with a single stone. Certainly she could not afford to surrender the entire piece. She would need most of it to pay her passage to the Caribbean.

"Come along, Mrs. Reynolds," he said finally arising. "Let us seek whatever form of bed this elaborate establishment has to offer us."

He picked up his boots and headed for the stairs. She hesitated.

"Well, come along, come along!" he said impatiently. "I'm too weary to show any interest in you this night. And even if I weren't, there's a lady whose affections I value much too highly to risk losing for a single roll in the hay with an Englishman's whore."

Emma nearly choked as she swallowed back her reflexive response. She dared not anger him nor attempt to change his perception of her station in life. As some rich man's mistress, she stood a better chance of escape than as the fiancée of a wealthy lord of the realm.

Holding a candle, Captain Reynolds lead the way up the narrow, dusty stairway and shoved open the plank door to the left at its zenith.

"Behold, the royal chamber," he muttered sarcastically as a raw-beamed room with a board floor, a bed built against one wall and a single chair and table was revealed.

"It appears clean." Emma advanced past him and ran a hand critically over the bedcover. "But where will you sleep?"

"Ah ha! So even though I saved you from marauding hounds and a fate probably worse than death, you still have the audacity to assume I'll allow you the bed to yourself. Madam, I admire your spirit."

"Sir, a gentleman would most certainly grant a lady a bed." She turned to him in the flickering candlelight and thought how satanically handsome he was. If she were in the market for a lover...but she definitely wasn't.

"But, madam, you're no lady."

Emma drew herself up angrily and turned her back on him to draw open the covers. She pulled the topmost one from the bed, grabbed a pillow from its head, and threw both into his arms.

"There!" she said. "We're sharing the bed."

He paused a moment, the blanket and pillow clutched as he'd caught them. Then he burst out laughing.

"Whatever-your-name-is, you've got courage, I'll give you that. Any man who chose to keep you would have his hands full, I've no doubt."

"Go to bed, " she ordered sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling off her delicate slippers. She paused a moment, then turning her back to him, raised her skirts to remove her wet stockings. Then she scuttled under the covers and removed her dress awkwardly. With the quilts pulled to her chin, she slid down the bed and hung it and her stockings over its end to dry. A moment later she was back at its head, covered from head to toe.

"Quite a performance." He drew a deep breath and threw his blanket and pillow against the closed door. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't demonstrate such modesty. I'm sure I won't be showing you anything you're not familiar with."

He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it over the chair. Emma caught a glimpse of a broad, lightly furred chest just before she pulled the covers over her head and rolled toward the wall. She heard him moving about and assumed he'd also removed his wet breeches. The man has no sense of decorum! Maybe he truly was a highwayman. Maybe the name Captain Morgan Reynolds was nothing but a lie to throw the innkeepers off his scent.

She heard him settling near the door and could only assume he did so to prevent intrusion during what remained of the night. Once she felt convinced he slept, she withdrew the necklace from her bodice and carefully extracted a single ruby. After she'd hidden the stone beneath her pillow, she returned the remainder of the necklace to its hiding place, praying the single gem would be sufficient to convince Captain Reynolds to guide her to London.

"Captain Reynolds," she called softly. "Captain Reynolds."

She knew she could not sleep until she'd at least tried to fix the bargain with him.

"Madam, I'm bone weary." He turned toward her with a muted groan and in the shaft of moonlight flooding across the room she saw his chest was broad, bare, and lightly furred. "Please be brief."

"I want you to take me to London." She felt her heart hammering at her ribs. If he refused she didn't know what she would do. "I can pay you."

"Oh, you can, can you?" He pulled himself up on an elbow and looked over at her. "And just what form of barter are you offering?"

His words implied a rude suggestion and she had to struggle to keep herself from coming back with an equally rude repudiation. She could not risk antagonizing the one person who at present appeared capable of helping her.

"This." She held out the ruby. It winked in the moonlight and he came quickly to his feet to cross the room. Naked to the waist, he was an earthy, virile creature and Emma felt her breath catch in her throat. This man did not repulse her, not in the least.

He held out his hand and she let it drop into his palm. He moved to the window and stared down at it in the moonlight.

"I assume this was a gift from a well-satisfied lover?" he asked, turning it over and over. "You must be quite a woman to warrant such a reward."

Anger surged through Emma but she forced herself to contain it. "Its source is of no importance. All I'm interested in is if it will induce you to take me safely to London."

"I believe it will, madam. I definitely believe it will." A smile creased his face in the moonlight. He stuck the gem into a small pocket in the front of his breeches and returned to his improvised bed. "Now go to sleep and rest assured I'll deliver you safely to London within the next two days or die trying."

It was the best she could have hoped for. Aching in every pore of her body, only the wine warming her insides did anything to relieve her discomfort. Emma rolled over and tried to settle for the night also. Something in the captain's manner had reassured her. He would take her to London he'd said and she somehow felt certain he'd meant it. Bone weary and now as reassured as she could be in the circumstances, Emma allowed exhaustion to overcome her and she slept.

* * *

When Emma awoke the next morning the first rays of a new day were slanting in through the window. For a moment she stared about trying to recall where she was and how she came to be in this strange, sparse room. As memory returned, she rolled toward the door where she'd last heard her rescuer settling for the night. He was gone, the blanket neatly folded atop the pillow on the table.

Clutching the covers to her throat she sat up, feeling her heart beat quicken. Had he deserted her? What would she do now, without any means of transport to London and a ship that could carry her to safety?

Then she heard noises arising from the courtyard. Clutching a quilt about her, she arose and made her way to the window. Below she saw the man who called himself Captain Morgan Reynolds arguing with the landlord. Tied to a hitching rail beside them were two horses, one the big black on which she'd ridden the previous night, the other a small sorrel mare.

"It's an exorbitant price for such a little horse," Captain Reynolds snapped. "She's too small to be of any value aside from a lady's or a child's mount. You'll be hard pressed to sell her elsewhere...especially as I believe you may not have come by her through honest means. It will probably be well for you if she's far gone from your premises and soon."

"It seems we both have a bit to hide." The landlord squinted up at the captain in the brightness of the sunbeams rising over the stables. "You and your doxy have the appearance of avoiding the law as well and without another mount to bear her away from here, you could be in deep trouble."

"My good man." Emma felt her breath catch in her throat as Captain Reynolds reached out and grabbed the smaller man by his shirtfront, all but lifting him off his feet. His words were a snarl. "Don't threaten me. I assure you that, highwayman or no, I can be a very dangerous man. Now take what I offer for the mare, saddle her with that sidesaddle I saw hanging in your stable--no doubt another less than legal acquisition--and be grateful I have seen fit to pay you at all."

"Aye, aye, sir. No need to get nasty." As the little man capitulated, Captain Reynolds let him sink fully back on his feet. "I'll see to it while you and your good lady partake of the breakfast the woman has prepared for you."

So he was planning to take her with him. And for a single stone from the necklace. Excellent. Every economy she could effect was important. She had no idea what passage to America and then the Caribbean would cost.

As Captain Reynolds turned back toward the inn, Emma scuttled away from the window and looked for the dress she'd left hanging over the end of the bed. It was gone. In its place she found a dark green velvet riding habit, complete with matching plumed hat. She looked around the room. The gaudy crimson gown was nowhere to be seen.

As she heard the captain below, she realized now was not the time to waste speculating on where that awful dress had gone and how its replacement had appeared. She wanted only to be fully clad if he came back to the room. Hastily she struggled into it and was amazed at how well it fit. Turning about before a small glass on the wall, she discovered she looked well in it even with her hair a riot of undressed curls tumbling about her shoulders and down her back. She was endeavouring to pin it into some sort of order beneath the hat when she heard booted footsteps on the uncarpeted stairs and a moment later, a knock on the door.

"Mrs. Reynolds?" It was the captain's voice. "Are you ready for breakfast? We must eat and be on our way."

"Yes." She crossed the room and opened the door.

"Well." He looked her up and down, his gaze as sensual and tactile as if it were his hands and not his eyes raking over her. "The dress becomes you, madam. I only regret that the landlady, among her stores of no doubt ill-gotten booty, didn't have any suitable riding boots."

"My slippers will do." Emma returned to the bed, sat down on its edge and donned them over stockings that had dried during the night.

"Very well then. Come along. We must not give your pursuers time to regroup, refreshed from a night's rest."

"I saw you purchasing a mount for me," she said pausing at the door. "And I can only assume you also paid for this traveling costume."

"Aye, both of which you need if you're to ride with me," he said. "And don't forget you're paying, not me. I'll sell that gem you presented as passage money the minute we reach the city and I'll be more than sufficiently reimbursed. Now come along. The sooner we get on the road, the better."

She followed him down the worn stairs, her elegant skirts sweeping through the dust even though she tried to gather them about her. Below, the landlady waited beside a table laid with ham, bread, and tea. Her genial appearance of the previous night had vanished and Emma wondered what threats her companion had used to procure her new attire.

"There's food," the woman said sourly, then returned to her duties near the hearth.

"Come, sit." Captain Reynolds pulled out a chair for Emma, then after she was seated, took one facing her across the plank table. "Will you serve this elegant repass, madam?"

"Of course, my dear." Emma cocked her head coquettishly and proceeded to pour out tea into the cups provided. He was her only hope of escape she was coming to realize. She couldn't risk alienating him.

For a few minutes they ate in silence, then as Emma's gaze swept around the common room, she saw her ermine-trimmed cape and dress hanging near the door. She would pack these in something she thought. Even though she detested the outfit, it was all she had aside from the clothes on her back.

"Do you have a sack?" She turned to the sullen landlady. "I should like to pack my dress and cloak for the journey."

"There'll be no need, my love." Captain Reynolds finished his ham and bread, took a final swallow of tea and arose. With a few swift strides he crossed the room and bundled the clothing into a ball. Then he recrossed the room and flung them into the flames languishing on the hearth.

"Oh, no, sir!" The landlady gasped and Emma felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Such finery, sir! Such wanton destruction!"

"And you were thinking they'd fetch a fine price from another traveler if we left them for you." Captain Reynolds took a poker and shoved the blazing garments deeper into the flames. "No such luck, landlady. I've always detested that particular ball gown and have told my wife so on many occasions. When we reach civilization, I plan to buy her an entirely new wardrobe, one suited to her station in life."

He turned to the angry, distressed woman, the poker half raised in his hand. "Do you have any more protests to offer, mistress?" The threat, unspoken, was nevertheless heavy in the air.

"No, no, sir," she mumbled and turned away.

Emma felt her heart hammering at her ribs. Captain Morgan Reynolds apparently was a man not above using violence to get his way.

"Come, wife." He turned and headed for the door. "We have a long, hard ride ahead of us today if we're to get to Scotland before the Sabbath."

"Scotland?" Emma was taken aback. Surely last night he'd said he would take her to London.

"Aye, to where my ship lies waiting in the Clyde. Surely you remember, my dear."

He cast a conspiratorial glance at Emma and she understood. They must not let the innkeepers know in which direction they were actually headed.

"Certainly, my darling. Scotland by the Sabbath it is."

Chapter Two

In the inn yard the landlord waited with the two horses. His scowl told Emma he would be glad to see the backs of her and her companion. They'd been more trouble and danger than he reckoned they were worth.

"Many thanks, landlord." Captain Reynolds appeared to have fallen into good humor at the prospect of their eminent leaving. He tossed the little man several gold coins. Then as the innkeeper scrambled to retrieve them from the muddy yard, he turned to Emma. "Allow me to assist you to your saddle, my dear." He made a stirrup with strong, brown hands. "Put your slipper there and I'll hoist you aboard."

She hesitated.

"Well, come on, come on!" he barked impatiently. "We've a lot of ground to cover this day. Tarrying is not a part of my plans."

Quickly Emma put her slipper into his cupped hands, gripped the saddle and suddenly felt herself being propelled seemingly effortlessly upward. She landed indecorously in the sidesaddle and had to scramble to right herself in the unfamiliar appliance.

"Comfortable, Mrs. Reynolds?" The captain watched her adjusting herself with what she fancied to be amusement quirking up a corner of his mouth.

"Yes." Emma drew herself up with dignity and gathered up the reins, silently praying she wouldn't promptly fall to the ground the moment the mare began to move.

"Good." He turned away and swung easily into his own saddle. "Farewell, landlord." He touched the brim of his hat. "I will recommend your accommodation to any of my fellows who are passing this way."

With a disgruntled mutter, the man turned away and headed into the stables.

"It would seem the man does not welcome our custom." Captain Reynolds with a wry grin, clucked to his mount and headed out of the stable yard at a trot.

Emma remained immobile.

When he realized she wasn't following he turned back toward her.

"Well, come along, Mrs. Reynolds. We must be on our way if we're to reach Caledonia by Sunday next."

When Emma continued to sit atop her mount, unmoving, he urged his mount back to her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, exasperation surfacing in his tone.

"I can't ride " Emma whispered as loudly as she dared. She couldn't risk the landlord overhearing. He'd be highly suspicious if he learned her so-called husband didn't know she couldn't ride.

"Damnation! Just cluck to the animal and hang on. You'll soon get the knack of it." He swung his blowing stallion about and gave Emma's mare a sharp slap on the rump. The animal jolted forward into a brisk trot all but unseating her.

Clinging to mane, saddle, and reins Emma felt certain she'd be tossed at any moment as she bounced out of the inn yard and into the rutted road beyond.

"You'll soon get the knack of it, Mrs. Reynolds," he flung at her as he cantered smoothly past her. "Or else end up on your backside on the road."

Nasty, vulgar man! Bouncing so high and hard she feared she'd permanently injure private parts of her anatomy, Emma allowed her mare to follow the man masquerading as her husband out along the road leading northward, toward Scotland. She'd show him. She'd master riding or die in the effort. Certainly she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her land on the road on what he had so rudely declared her backside.

Emma soon fell in with the rhythm of the mare's gait. As she became able to relax somewhat, she realized they were still riding north. Surely, she reasoned, they wouldn't have to keep up the charade now that they were well out of the landlord's sight.

"We're still going north, sir," she said. "Shouldn't we be turning toward London by now?"

"I'm well aware of our direction, madam " he flung back over his shoulder. "However, I believe it's wisest to leave a good beginning of a northern trail for the hounds that will surely be reapplied to your retreat this morning after the rain. There's a stream up ahead. Once we reach it, we'll ride south instead of north along its flow. After a couple of miles in the water it will be safe to take the highroad to London. Unless, of course, you have a better plan."

He nudged his horse with his heels and sent the great animal forward at a canter. Emma was forced to likewise urge her mount and follow him, clinging to reins and saddle with all her might.

At noon they rode out of the stream and dismounted in a meadow to rest. Aching in every pore of her body, Emma dropped to the grass and drew a deep breath. Then she squinted up at him, a dark outline against the midday sun, and asked, "Why?"

"Why what, madam?"

"Why did you help me escape? Why did you purchase a mount for me and take me with you from the inn?"

"As I've already told you, I'm not in favor of anyone being pursued and attacked by hounds, especially English hounds." He pulled off his hat and sank down beside her. "And, after having declared you my wife at the inn last night I could hardly ride off this morning without you. Furthermore, you are paying for my services."

"Even more reason for you to desert me. You already had the ruby. You could have saved yourself the bother of my company and been the richer for it." Emma looked over at him, green eyes cool and appraising.

"Yes, I could have." He placed his hands behind him on the grass and leaned back, supported by them. "But you intrigue me. A woman running alone through the night pursued by dogs. What could you possibly have done to inspire such a vindictive response? I've known men to turn out their mistresses when they became old or fat but you're neither. Did you take another lover, a younger man perhaps? Did you have him living on your master's favors as well? That would enrage a man."

"No!" Emma swung away from him. Her mind was racing. She had to come up with some reason for her strange circumstances, something he'd believe as surely as he believed her a lady of the evening.

"What then? I've exhausted my repertoire of reasons."

"There are some things..." Emma hoped she wasn't flushing as she conjured the lie. "There are some things...certain acts even a mistress cannot countenance."

"Ah." He pulled himself upright. "You must be new to the profession indeed. In my experience, women like you will do anything for money."

Before she realized what she'd done, Emma whirled on him, her hand shot out, and she would have slapped him soundly across the face had he not been quicker.

"Easily offended are you?" He caught her upraised hand and bent it cruelly backward until she cried out in pain. Then he released her. "Behave yourself, madam, or I warn you, I'll take your mare and ride off leaving you to make your way to London the best way you know how."

"You're no sea captain!" Emma raged nursing her fingers. "Sea captains are men of honor who wouldn't treat a woman so despicably!"

"A lady, woman. But you, my girl, are by your own admission, no lady." He arose and took a sack from a bag behind his saddle. He tossed it in her direction. "There's food inside. We'll eat and be on our way."

@

As he watched Emma Smith laying out their noon repass, Morgan Reynolds studied her carefully. She moved and spoke like a lady but her physical response to his questioning branded her quite ready and willing to fight like the doxy she declared herself to be. Was the man a complete monster to have inspired his obviously well-kept mistress to desert him? That crimson gown and cape had been of the best quality. Yes, Mistress Emma Smith was indeed a puzzle; a puzzle he would try to unravel before they reached London and he parted company with her forever.

London. He turned his back on Emma and went to loosen the horses' girths to allow them to rest more comfortably. London meant Vanessa and all of her charms he'd been missing so acutely. He thought of his rooms there; elegant rooms that taxed his purse but that were such a haven of love and physical pleasure even he, frugal Scot that he was, could not regret a single penny. She would join him there shortly and the thought made his pulses quicken, his body harden. He thought of the fine home he'd built for her in New Brunswick. Built but not furnished. He touched the gem in his pocket. This fortuitous trinket would buy a fine collection of elegant pieces finish off their home in a style befitting Vanessa MacKenzie, soon to be Vanessa Reynolds. He ran his hand over his stallion's arched neck and drew a deep breath in an effort to still his rising lust. He imagined he could even now smell her alluring scent on the slight spring breeze. This time tomorrow she'd be his bride.

To distract himself he turned his thoughts to the mission that had brought him to the north of England in the first place. It wouldn't be easy facing his sister with the news that he'd failed to find her long-lost son. Or that he'd had no opportunity to rake revenge on the man who'd stolen him from her so many years ago.

He turned back to Emma, feeling suddenly impatient with her. If it weren't for this unplanned traveling companion, he could ride like the wind and shortly be completing his wedding arrangements.

"You appear vexed, Captain."

"Eat up," he snapped. "I plan to be in London no later than tomorrow noon."

"As do I." Seemingly unperturbed by his shortness, she simply indicated the food she'd set out. "But you won't be in top form to pursue that goal unless you're properly nourished. Come, sit, eat. The sooner you do, the sooner we can once more be on our way."

Her very coolness rankled him. With a disgusted sound, he sank down beside her and snatched up a slice of the proffered bread. He bit into it angrily.

"Much better." Her tone was placating with a ring of self-satisfaction that reminded him of a governess Vanessa had once had.

"If I did not know better, I'd think you were a vicar's daughter turned governess," he muttered. "You have much of the same annoying manner."

"You flatter me, sir. I can assure you my education had been largely self-acquired and I've not been trained to tutor children." She began to gather up the food.

"Ah, well, no matter. Perhaps you can affect that persona once you get to the Caribbean and it will enable you to get decent employment."

She arose and snapped the cloth sharply almost under his nose to clear it of crumbs. "Perhaps I will, sir, perhaps I will."

Shortly they were once more on the road to London and as he watched her struggling to manage her mare and keep apace with him, he felt a reluctant admiration for her. Alone in the world, riding into an unknown future with a man who saw fit only to snap at her and belittle her, she nevertheless demonstrated an unrelenting courage he could not help but admire.

That night they stopped at a much better inn than on their first night together. The meal provided consisted of venison stew and fruit tart with thick cream. Afterwards they were shown to a large, freshly scrubbed room with a wide, white-sheeted bed, dresser, and armoire, and even, in one corner, a tub for bathing.

"Would you or your lady want hot water?" The landlord indicated the tub.

"My wife would appreciate the opportunity," the captain responded. "Please see that it is provided. She can enjoy it while I return to your common room and a few tankards of your excellent ale."

"Certainly, sir. Immediately, sir." The landlord left quickly and Emma turned to the captain.

"How can you know if I would enjoy a bath?" she asked sharply. "And how do I know I can trust you to stay out of the room while I bathe?"

"Madam, we've been on the road for a full day now and last evening our accommodations offered scant opportunity for ablutions. Also, I can quite rightly assess the fact that you must be stiff and sore after a long day in the saddle, a condition I've observed you're not entirely familiar with. As for my returning at an inconvenient moment, rest assured I will stay away long enough for you to have bathed and the water to have gone cold. And of course, you will have bolted the door so that even if I chose, I could not return unexpectedly."

With that he turned and left. Emma opened the buttons on her Spencer and stretched stiff limbs. He had been correct. She needed a long, soothing soak in a tub of warm water. The thought of its medicinal effects took away the last of her apprehensions about the captain and when the steaming buckets of water arrived, she could barely wait for the landlady and her serving girl to leave before she bolted the door and began to pull off her dusty clothing.

She slipped into the tub with a sigh of pure pleasure. Nothing could have been more appropriate she thought stretching out. Traveling with Captain Morgan Reynolds certainly had its good points. Then, as she relaxed, her thoughts turned to the morrow and what she would do once they arrived in London. She'd have to divest another of the jewels from the necklace and try to find some place to convert it into coin. Then she had to find a ship to take her to the Caribbean. And if that ship were not sailing that day she would have to find lodgings until it did. It was all a huge muddle, something she didn't want to deal with at the moment. Satiated by a fine meal, good wine, and now this lovely bath, Emma closed her eyes and dozed.

"Mrs. Reynolds, can you hear me? Let me in. I'm tired and need my rest."

His voice brought her back to the moment with a start and she scrambled upright in the tub, clutching a wash cloth to her breast. The water had cooled and she realized she must have slept for some time.

Hastily she scrambled from the tub, and shivering, wrapped one of the large bath sheets the landlady had left on the chair about her body.

"Mrs. Reynolds, will you open this door or must I kick it in?"

Emma felt a shudder run through her body. He sounded inebriated. But if she refused to let him in, he'd do exactly as he threatened, she had no doubt.

"I'm coming." Tripping over the long, dragging wrap, she went to the door and slid back the bolt.

"Much better." He strode in, pulling off his coat and flinging it over the chair. His cravat hung loosely about his neck and he had the look of a man who'd been in his cups. "Now, madam, I suggest you climb into our bed and turn your face to the wall if you feel propriety won't countenance your watching your husband bathe. I'm tired and dusty, too. The landlord and his manservant will shortly arrive with fresh water and I intend to take full advantage of it before I seek my couch."

"Surely you jest!" Emma clutched the towel to her chin and stared at him aghast.

"Surely I do not." He sat down on the chair, pulled off his boots, and flung them across the room. Then he arose and began to unfasten his vest and shirt.

"Oh!" Emma fled across the room, climbed into the bed, and with the towel still clutched about her turned her face to the wall. "You have no sense of decorum whatsoever, sir. I cannot imagine..."

"Oh, I'm quite sure that given the nature of your trade you have no need to imagine. I'm quite sure you've seen a naked man before this night."

Stifling a retort, Emma could only burrow into the bedcovers and fume. To say he was wrong would make everything she'd allowed him to believe about her to be a lie and that would open a whole new area of inquiry she didn't want him to explore.

He was singing, singing some sort of ribald sea chantey. Emma tossed in the bed and found much needed sleep impossible with him belting out the tune. The smoke from the cigar he was smoking tickled her nose and made her sneeze and she assumed he was also drinking from a tankard the landlord had brought for him with the water. By the time he sought his couch, he'd be roaring drunk, she thought, more angry than apprehensive. In the short time she'd known him she'd decided he wasn't a man to take advantage of her and she felt this moral fact would hold even when he was inebriated.

"Can't you please bathe more quietly?" she snapped when she felt she couldn't stand it any longer. "You've said we must ride hard and fast tomorrow to reach London. We both need our rest."

"Ah, madam, don't worry about me. I feel as fresh as a daisy. I can switch to a lullaby if that would be of any help in your finding Morpheus."

"No, no, no!" In her annoyance, Emma rolled over and sat up, holding the covers to her throat. "Just please finish your ablutions and go to bed!"

She saw him stretched out in the tub, water to his waist, bare feet sticking out over the end, cigar in one hand, drink in the other. He was grinning at her.

"Ah, go to bed, not come to bed. A not-so-subtle distinction about where I may seek my rest. Very well, I'll go to bed."

He started to rise out of the tub and Emma with a stifled cry of annoyance, whirled back to face the wall. She heard his deep, throaty chuckle and felt an involuntary tremor wash over. He was an incredibly handsome man with a kind of dark charm she had to struggle to deny had any effect over her. If she admitted it, she thought, she'd be no better than the doxy she was impersonating. Decent women did not fantasize about naked men, surely.

She heard him drying himself, pulling on his undertrousers, then she felt a quilt yanked from over her. A second later the pillow beside the one on which she rested her head was snatched away.

"Forgive me, madam," he said at her grunt of displeasure. "But since you've made it abundantly clear you won't allow me to share the bed, I must be allowed some level of comfort on the floor."

Shortly she heard him making a place by the door, then heard him grunt as he lowered himself onto the makeshift couch. Within seconds he was snoring.

Emma arose on one elbow, glared over at him in exasperation, pounded her pillow into another shape, and sank back into the bed to fall exhaustedly into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Emma awoke the following morning, he was once more gone from his place by the door, his quilt and pillow neatly piled on the chair. She listened to check if he was perhaps just outside the room but meeting with silence, arose hastily and dressed hurriedly. She was pinning her hair beneath her hat when she heard his booted footsteps on the stairs and then his knock at the door.

"Mrs. Reynolds, it's well past dawn. Make an effort to get down to breakfast as quickly as possibly." The last sentence rattled with annoyance and before Emma could retort, she heard his footsteps retreating down the stairs.

He was totally insufferable, she thought, stabbing the last pin into place. And yet she dared not rankle him. He was her only means of getting to London and even though she'd paid him for the service, he would have no difficulty deserting her somewhere along the way. Like just now for instance when she'd overslept.

But he hadn't. Surely that said the man had some integrity. And he had left her unmolested these past two nights while sharing a room with her. She patted her hair into place and stared at the young woman in the glass above the bureau. Without being immodest, Emma judged herself not unattractive.

What was she thinking? She whirled away from her reflection, annoyed. Did she want this handsome, devilish stranger to make advances to her, to try to seduce her into bed? Certainly not. And just because he'd made no effort to do so was no reflection on Mistress Emma Prescott's charms. He'd told her there already was a lady in his life, a lady to whom he was devoted. So there!

With a whirl of green velvet, Emma pulled open the door and started regally down the stairs.

A half hour later they were once more on the road. At mid-morning they paused beside a stream to rest the horses and Emma took the opportunity to rub her mare's velvety nose and plant a kiss on her cheek. "Good Bonnie," she murmured thinking Captain Reynolds had wandered off to stretch his legs.

"You've named her?" His voice close behind her made her whirl.

"I've always fancied the name," she said, trying to not appear startled.

"A fine Scottish name it is," he surprised her by replying, a sudden burr entering his speech. "Aye, she is a bonnie little lassie, I'll grant you that."

"You're a Scotsman." Emma looked up at him, astonished.

"And is that a crime in dear old England?" His words became suddenly bitter and sarcastic. "If it is, it will only be another offense in a long line of offenses your people have seen fit to heap upon us."

"My people?"

"You are an English wench, are you not?"

"An English lady, sir." Emma drew herself up proudly.

"Really?" His expression hardened as he stared down at her. "Not by my definition. Now mount your Bonnie and let's be on our way. I plan to reach London by evening, no matter what. And if you can't keep up, that'll be your hard luck."

He turned away from her and went to mount the stallion she'd learned he called the Lad.

* * *

Emma's first glimpse of London was through a haze of fog, smoke, twilight and exhaustion as she clung to her saddle, barely able to stay upright after the hard pace Captain Reynolds had set for them in the proceeding hours. She should have been amazed and agog at the immensity of the buildings and crowded populace but she could only cling to her mount and be deeply thankful he'd slowed to a walk on entering the city.

His lady must be waiting for him here, she reasoned. And he must be very much in love with her. Well, that fact had served her. He'd never once made a move toward her during their journey, although he'd been free with ribald remarks on occasion.

"Hurry up, madam," he said glancing back at her then and turning his horse to her. "We've only a few more streets to traverse and then we'll be at my lodgings."

"Your lodgings?" She'd expected him to deposit her somewhere, anywhere but there. What would his lady say when he arrived with her?

"Of course. Just where did you think I would be bound? Once I've settled in, we'll find you a suitable room in the same vicinity, which is quite a respectable one. That gem you gave me to bring you here will just stretch to pay for your accommodations for a week or two...until you can find passage to America or the Caribbean or wherever...or you decide to return to your lover."

"I will not be returning!" How dare he suggest such a thing! If he only knew...

"Very well. Once I deposit you in safe lodgings, it matters little to me what you decide. Now come along. I'm weary and anxious to enjoy the comfort of my own rooms."

"But your lady..."

"My lady is not due to arrive in London until tomorrow. At present, she's visiting friends at a manor house in Surrey. You will be long gone before she darkens my doorway, never fear."

With that he turned his horse about and set off at a trot through the crowded streets. Emma had no choice but to follow him as best she could.

Captain Reynolds's rooms on the second floor of a large brick house were spacious and comfortable. In fact, thought Emma, they bordered on elegant and she wondered again if he was very rich. Were sea captains wealthy men? Since he was the first she'd ever met she had no way of knowing. She'd heard, however, that some who practised less than honourable behaviours at sea were.

"Make yourself at home, Mistress Smith," he said, waving his arm to indicate the comfortably furnished drawing room into which they'd stepped. "Remove your slippers and jacket. Take a seat. My landlady Mrs. Bradley will be along presently with refreshment. There's a bedchamber yonder if you'd like to refresh yourself in privacy. I'll have her bring hot water for you. I'm sure she's already laid out clean towels. She's most solicitous of our needs."

He'd said "our". He and his lady must share these rooms as lovers. Then another thought struck Emma. Perhaps this lady was his wife. Although he hadn't referred to her as such, Emma could only assume this was case, given his unabashed description of their living arrangements.

"The lady you refer to...is she your wife?" Emma could not resist confirming her suspicion.

"Presently, no. But in the very near future." He went to the ledge above the fireplace and took a cigar from the humidor. He bit off an end, then took a faggot from the fire on the hearth, and proceeded to light it before continuing. "I've waited long enough. Before we sail for America next week, I plan to see her wed...to me."

"I congratulate you, sir, and wish you every happiness." Emma lowered her gaze to her hands clutched demurely in her lap and wondered why she felt such a strong pang of something that felt strangely like regret.

"Well, thank you, Mistress Emma." He turned to look at her, at first with a hint of surprise, and then with a slight grin twitching a corner of his mouth. "Very prettily put. I wonder what your past was before you became a rich man's whore. If we had more time, I'd take it upon myself to explore that avenue. As it is, we'll soon be parting company." He strode over to a window, smoked thoughtfully for a moment, then continued, "And we'll no doubt never see each other again."

"No doubt," Emma replied softly and felt again that strange sensation that, in any other circumstance, would have been regret.

"Yes." He turned to face her and in the last light of day filtering in through the lace curtains, his expression was enigmatic as he paused to gaze at her.

"Well." Finally he broke the static hiatus by tossing his cigar into the fire and snatching up his hat and cloak. "I have errands to do this evening, paramount of which is finding you lodgings. I know a respectable house on the next street. I will arrange for you to stay there. Then I must see to securing our wedding license and the purchase of a ring. You will be safe here. Prepare for bed. You can have the room yonder, I'll sleep here. First thing in the morning I'll remove you to your new quarters. I think it best you're gone before Vanessa arrives."

"Vanessa. Is that her name?" Emma stopped him as he put his hand on the door.

"Yes. Vanessa Cameron, soon to be Reynolds."

He paused to look back at her.

"Very pretty." Emma arose and began to unpin her hat before a glass. "It means butterfly, did you know? Let us hope your lady is a lot less flighty than her namesake."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Emma regretted them. She had no reason to be snide with the man. He'd been nothing but a faithful guide and caretaker. What was wrong with her?

"I assure you, madam, my intended is as constant as the sun, moon, and stars. Perhaps someday you'll find someone who inspires you to feel likewise." His words were heavy with anger and he went out slamming the door on her.

As he strode through the crowded street outside his rooming house, he struggled to swallow the outrage that twit of a girl had aroused in him. He'd saved her from a pack of hounds and guided her safely to London and this was how she repaid him. Well, what could one expect from her kind?

He made arrangements for her to take up residence at a nearby house the following day, then proceeded to a well-known jeweler. He planned to purchase the finest wedding ring he could afford. He could almost feel the exhalation he knew he'd experience when he slid it onto Vanessa's slim white finger the next day. He'd loved her for so long, since he'd first laid eyes on her as a gangly lad of sixteen. And now finally the time had come. He'd take her back to New Brunswick with him and build her a home finer than that of her lumber baron father, much finer than the one he'd built for his sister and brother-in-law years earlier. He had to take a deep breath to contain his exuberance as he thought that this time tomorrow she'd be his wife and they'd be sharing the big, luxurious bed in his rooms as husband and wife.

"A fine choice," the jeweler said a half hour later when he'd finally made his decision. "Your lady will be delighted, I'm sure."

"I'm hopeful." Morgan drew the ruby from his pocket and held it out to the little man. "I'm also hoping you can appraise this for me."

The jeweler stuck a loop to his eye and examined it carefully.

"A near perfect stone," he said, finally removing the loop and looking up at Morgan. "French cut I'd say, like something from the collection of their late Queen. How did you come by it?"

"You can't mean Marie Antoinette?" He felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Of course. Many of her jewels disappeared during the revolution. Some are just now surfacing here in England where they've been sold to the highest bidder. I ask you again, sir, how did you come by it?"

"Since I don't look wealthy enough to have purchased it legitimately?" Morgan quirked a corner of his mouth sardonically. "If you must have the truth, sir, it was given to me by a lady for services rendered."

The little man batted his eyelids in confusion and turned away. "I'll just put your purchase in a box, sir. I wouldn't want you losing it."

Morgan felt a chuckle rising in his throat. He'd been called many things in his life but this would be the first time he knew he was silently being labeled a gigolo. “How much will you give me for it?” he asked.

* * *

"I've brought your tea."

Emma arose from where she'd been sitting before the fire, dozing, and went to open the door for Captain Reynolds's landlady. A pleasant-faced woman with neat white hair and soft pink cheeks, Mrs. Bradley bustled in with a tray laden with a pot of tea, scones, jam, and clotted cream.

"I trust this will suffice until breakfast tomorrow," she said, setting it on a low table before Emma. "I wasn't expecting the captain until then."

"It all looks wonderful." Emma pulled herself upright and smiled at the woman. "And more than adequate until the morrow."

"Shall I pour?" The woman straightened up and looked askance at Emma. She had more pressing questions in her mind than that, Emma reckoned, but was not about to satisfy her curiosity.

"No, thank you, that will be all, Mrs. Bradley." Emma picked up the china pot and smiled a dismissal.

"You'll find a robe and nightgown on the bed." Mrs. Bradley rubbed her hands on her snowy apron, reluctant to be so easily dismissed. "I was expecting Miss Vanessa and so I laid things out for her...as usual."

"Thank you." Emma turned her attention to pouring the tea, and the landlady, seeing she'd learn nothing further from her tenant's new companion, left, shutting the door a bit more soundly than necessary.

My, my, thought Emma, a sly little smile tipping her lips as she stirred milk into her tea. I do believe I'm beginning to appear quite as scandalous as I've portrayed myself to be.

Chapter Three

Captain Morgan Reynolds whistled as he started up the steps to his rooming house. A happy man, he could feel the small packet that contained his bride's wedding ring pressed to his heart in his waistcoat pocket. He'd waited years for this event and now it was almost upon him.

"Captain Reynolds!" A thin, short whisp of a boy ran down the street toward him in the twilight, waving an envelope. "Be you Captain Morgan Reynolds?"

The boy caught up to Morgan as the captain paused on the top step and stopped breathlessly.

"Aye, lad." Morgan, in an exuberant frame of mind, let his Scottish accent break through. "Is that for me?"

"Aye, sir. A lady told me to watch for you and deliver it. She said to wait until you were alone, sir, and earlier you had another lady..."

"Yes, yes, very well. Just give it to me." Morgan took a coin from his pocket, flipped it to the lad, and snatched the envelope. He recognized the soft lavender colour and drew it to his nose so he could catch its familiar fragrance. A love letter from Vanessa. Ah, she could barely wait as well.

"Thank you, sir, thank you." The boy looked down at the coin in his hand and broke into a grin. "Bless you, sir, you and your lady...ladies."

"Be off with you." Morgan chuckled. He turned and stepped into the lighted entrance before he gently slid a finger beneath the flap and opened it. A smile still across his face, he carefully unfolded the single sheet inside and began to read.

His smile faded slowly as first incredulity and then outrage took its place.

"God damn you!" He crumpled the mauve sheet into a hard ball and flung it with all his strength against a far wall. "God damn you, you deceiving, mercenary little bitch!" He slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand, then threw back his head to gulp in great gasps of air. He felt light-headed, caught in some sort of mad nightmare. She couldn't have done it. He'd loved her since he was a boy. He'd worked and slaved and planned to be able to ask her to be his wife. And now this!

He whirled and headed back out into the fast falling darkness. He hadn't gotten drunk, rip-roaring drunk, in years, but tonight definitely was the time.

* * *

Alone in his rooms Emma prepared for bed, humming a little tuneless ditty. She knew her challenges were far from over but she'd gotten this far by her wits and a single one of the gems she possessed. The fact gave her confidence she'd be able to manage to make the remainder of her journey to safety and freedom. Reassured in this belief, she fell into his wide feather bed and, exhausted from their journey, soon fell asleep,

"Get up, madam, damn you get up!"

Emma awoke to his words breaking over her like a great, roaring wave. Sleepy and disoriented, she struggled up on one elbow and stared at the big, outraged man looming over her. His face reddened from drink, his person stinking of spirits and cigar smoke, his shirt minus cravat and waistcoat hanging open, Captain Morgan Reynolds for a moment appeared a stranger.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, trying to equate his changed appearance with the man she had come to trust. Now he frightened her.

"Get up and get dressed, madam." He staggered back a step to catch his balance. "I intend to marry you."

"What did you say?" Emma sat up, clutching the covers to her throat. "Are you mad?"

"No, no, not mad, just unwilling to be a cuckold. I need a wife and you need passage to the Caribbean. Once we're married, I'll take you there. I will make it my sole mission in life to take you there. And it won't cost you a single gem or a single night in my bed. I simply need a display wife, one I can show off on my arm in place of the blatant bitch who has seen fit to marry another man on the eve of our wedding."

"Vanessa married someone else?" Emma stared at him, aghast. "But you were affianced. Are you certain? Who did she marry?"

"Of course I'm certain." He sank into a chair, his bluster suddenly leaving him. "She sent me a note. 'Forgive me, Morgan, but you must understand. Lord Peter can give me a title and an estate here in England such as you never could.' Lord Peter, Good God! A stinking English aristocrat!" He dropped his head into his hands and his broad shoulders shook.

Instantly Emma jumped out of bed and, pulling on a wrapper she'd found in a closet about her, hurried barefooted to his side. She hesitated a moment, her fingers working indecisively over his shoulder, then she dropped her hand comfortingly onto it.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly.

"Don't be sorry!" Her touch brought him leaping to his feet, raging again, but she saw pain more than anger distorting his handsome features now and wasn't afraid. "I don't want your pity. I want..."

"Me to save face for you by marrying you." Emma faced him squarely. "Very well, I will."

"What?" He stared at her incredulously.

"I will marry you...in name only...in return for your taking me safely to the Caribbean."

"Why?"

"Because you recently saved my life...before you knew I was capable of paying you to do so...and because I have seen what this woman, this butterfly means to you. You don't deserve to be humiliated by such as her. And you won't be. In public I will be the most besotted, the most loving of wives. You may tell all and sundry that you jilted Vanessa to be with me."

"Hmph." He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "You would do that for me, Emma Smith?"

"Yes." She stuck out her chin. "I repay all debts as best I can."

"A woman of honor." He looked up at her and in the light of the single candle he'd placed on the bureau when he'd come into the room, he looked up at her and she saw a hint of humor entering his expression. "Ironic is it not that I find such a virtue in a woman of the night and none in a so-called lady?"

"Go to bed." Emma found herself weakening, feeling an urge to go to him, to hold him, to soothe away some of his misery and that she knew could spell disaster. "I left a blanket and pillow on the sofa in the drawing room. You look weary. And tomorrow," she paused and drew a deep breath, "will be our wedding day."

With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself to his feet and started toward the door.

"If you change your mind in the light of day..."

"I won't." Emma faced him in the flickering candle light and thought about the madness of marrying this satanically handsome man that she'd known a scant two days. Dear God, help me, she prayed silently. "Now go."

* * *

"Well?"

Emma awoke to find him standing in the bedroom doorway dressed in a white shirt, neatly tied cravat, and freshly brushed and pressed coat and breeches.

"Well, what?" She struggled up to a sitting position and tried to rub sleep from her eyes.

"Is this our wedding day or not?" He crossed his arms on his broad chest and remained looking squarely at her, a gleam of a twinkle in his eyes.

"I said I would marry you and I will." She came fully awake, remembered her bargain, and faced him. "Just let me wash, dress, and fix my hair and we'll be off to whatever site you've chosen for our nuptials."

As she made to get out of bed, wrapping the robe she'd used the previous evening around her, he stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"What?" She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"I thank you most sincerely, Mistress Emma, but I cannot possibly allow you to marry me simply to save my pride." His voice, soft and gentle, startled her. "Last night I was hurt and angry, self-centered in my chagrin when I accepted your offer. This morning in the harsh light of day, I realize how wrong that would be. Instead," he turned away and went to gaze out the window into a street Emma could hear bustling with activity, "I would like to propose a compromise. Simply pose as my wife for a few months until I can see you safely to your chosen destination in the Caribbean. Your pretense will be more than sufficient to pay your passage."

"But how...?" Emma couldn't believe her good fortune. Passage to freedom and being truly free as well.

"This morning we'll go out and purchase you a wardrobe befitting my lady wife. Then we'll return here to inform Mrs. Bradly that we were quietly wed. Each morning until we sail, I'll make certain my couch in the other room is restored to order before she arrives to clean, allowing her to believe we share this bed. And once we set sail it will be even easier. I will take another cabin while you use my captain's quarters. I will inform the crew that my young bride has fallen victim to a seasickness that has robbed her of all amorous interest. In New Brunswick I have my own house. No one need know what our living and sleeping arrangements are aside from we two. Well, what do you say, Mistress Emma Smith? Are you willing to enact the part of Captain Morgan Reynolds's spouse?"

"Yes." Emma got up, pulling the robe over the nightgown she'd found in a drawer. "Yes, of course, my dear." She dropped him a mock curtsey and headed into the connecting dressing room.

Morgan watched her until she quietly closed the door behind her. Then he drew a deep breath, rubbed his hands together, turned and went back out into the drawing room. So for all intents and purposes he had a wife to flaunt before anyone who might feel inclined to question his failure to have the beautiful Vanessa as his bride. No one need ever know his sudden new choice of a spouse had been an Englishman's fancy woman. No one at all.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Mrs. Bradly had left ready for them and sat down with a sigh, all the feeling of smugness suddenly draining out of him. This certainly wasn't going to turn out to be the day he'd been planning for weeks, months, even years.

The irony of the situation made his mouth quirk up at one corner. Perhaps he was getting no better than he deserved. After all, he was only a crude Highlander who'd allowed himself to get so deeply in debt to finance his romance with an elegant woman that he'd have to work like a demon to right himself again.

Fool! He branded himself looking around at the expensive apartment. Worse than a fool. A Scotsman who couldn't exhibit the frugality for which his race was supposed to be famous.

He reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out both the wedding ring he'd purchased the previous day. He'd sell it. That would be a start at getting him out of his indebtedness. But only a start. He'd have to conjure some way to cover the unpaid accounts he'd face when he returned to New Brunswick. The money from the sale of the ruby would only keep his creditors at bay for a short time.

And today he'd have to incur more debts as he purchased a wardrobe befitting the bride of a well-pleased groom. He drew a deep breath. Such was the price of pride he could almost hear his half-sister Iona extolling. Nearly twenty years his senior, she exhibited all the economies attributed to their race. She'd have been appalled if she'd known how he'd allowed himself to spend beyond his means simply to satisfy Vanessa's tastes.

"I'm ready, Captain."

Emma Smith or whatever her true name was brought him out of his reflections as she stepped into the drawing room, her riding habit brushed, her hair neatly pinned beneath her small plumed hat. For the first time he looked at her, really looked her with a degree of scrutiny. Formerly enamoured by Vanessa's memory, he'd barely taken note of her as a woman. Now as he sat staring at her, he realized she was a remarkably pretty little creature with a lovely complexion, large green eyes with long dark lashes, and golden brown hair that curled quite charmingly in a few errant trendles about her face. Dressed by one of the skilled seamstresses he'd come to know during his experiences with Vanessa, Emma Smith could well pass as a refined, even beautiful lady.

"You're staring." She began to don her gloves. "Am I in some way unacceptable?"

"No." He arose and brought himself back to the moment abruptly. "You look...quite acceptable. I was only about to remark that there is no need to hurry. We have all day. Sit. Please. Enjoy some of this excellent coffee and a bit of the breakfast Mrs. Bradly will bring when I ring for her."

"Thank you." She sat down in a lady's chair across from him. "I must admit, I am hungry."

"Well, then." He stepped to a bell chord beside the fireplace and pulled it twice. Then he returned to the table hosting the coffee pot and poured her a cup. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Cream." She offered him a soft, demur smile and he thought, oh, yes, Mistress Emma Smith, you'll do very nicely.

* * *

Emma had never seen anything like the London to which Captain Reynolds introduced her that morning. In the bright May sunshine it appeared a melee of humanity such as she'd never seen as they walked through the business district. He must have caught her amazement mirrored in her wide eyes when he glanced down at her on his arm.

"You've never been to the city before today?" he asked.

"No." She gazed about, a trifle breathless from the excitement of it all.

"Then you must see the market." At the next corner he turned right and suddenly they were among crowded stalls, the occupants of which were crying out the merits of the items they offered for sale. For a moment, the noise and energy of the place caught Emma off guard and her grip tightened on his arm.

"Enjoy it, Mistress Emma Smith." He looked down at her and smiled. "You're quite safe."

And suddenly Emma felt she was safe; safe by the side of this man she'd known a scant three days and to whom she'd agreed to play wife.

Reassured, she relaxed and began to enjoy the excitement of the place. Fish were thrown on scales, fruit and vegetables critically examined by prospective buyers, game birds, rabbits, and domestic fowl hung dead on hooks ready for sale. Other stalls offered farm equipment, furniture, freshly baked pies and breads, and even ropes and nets.

Captain Reynolds paused before a booth that offered colourful nosegays of various varieties of flowers.

"Violets for my lady," he said throwing a coin onto the board that served as a counter.

"Aye, sir," the ragged old woman in attendance agreed with alacrity as she looked at the size of the coin. "Thank ya, sir. God bless ya, sir."

As they walked away, Captain Reynolds touched the blossoms in Emma's hands and she noticed, not for the first time, that his fingers were scarred. He hadn't always been a man of wealth, she thought.

"In New Brunswick, in spring, the fields and forest edges are blue with these minuscule marvels," he surprised her by commenting. His tone grew bitter as he continued, "It's a beautiful country but much like a lovely woman...as dangerous and cruel as it can be alluring and fascinating."

Emma guessed he was thinking of the woman who'd jilted him and remained quiet as they walked on. She could think of no appropriate comment as he turned her around a corner and up the steps of an establishment that bore the legend "Mistress Mildred Mason, Seamstress" above the door.

Inside, Emma was confronted by such an array of fabrics, of hustle and bustle, for a moment she felt disoriented. A number of women bustled about spreading out material and cutting patterns while others huddled over the tasks of sewing them together. A tall, stately looking woman came quickly forward to greet them, her dark eyes taking Emma in a single sweeping and not altogether approving appraisal.

"Captain." She offered him her hand in such a business-like manner Emma was startled. No curtsy, no humble vendor seeking custom appeared to lurk in this middle-aged woman's soul.

"Mistress Mason." Captain Reynolds took her hand and raised it gallantly to his lips.

"How may I be of service, sir?" Her tone was cold, again brooking no cowing before a prospective client. "Have you come to order more gowns for Mistress Vanessa? I have her measurements on file. We can make up anything you might fancy in a day or two."

Again she cast her cold gaze over Emma and instantly she understood. This woman had been dressmaker to Captain Reynolds's intended and she didn't appreciate him arriving at her shop with another woman on his arm.

"No, thank you, Mistress." He straightened up and looked directly at her. "I would like you to prepare several gowns for my wife, Mrs. Emma Reynolds. Five, I think, suitable for a voyage and travel in the colonies and a ball gown of some sort of golden silk or satin with an overlay of your finest white lace. Also a matching cape. And I shall need it ready by Monday next when we are to sail for New Brunswick."

"Your...wife?" The woman's eyes widened to the point they looked in danger of popping out of her head. "Your wife? But surely..."

"But surely such is the case. We were wed yesterday and plan to sail to New Brunswick within a week. Can you fill my order or will I be forced to take my custom elsewhere?" His bruskness left no doubt of the sincerity of his threat and Emma remembered it as the same tone he'd used on the innkeeper in purchasing her little mare.

"A tall order, sir." The woman struggled to resume her composure, the shock of his announcement obviously having a major effect on her. "And although it's a matter of some delicacy I'm sure you'll wish to update your account before you take on more credit in this establishment...especially when a new lady is involved." The word "new" reeked with sarcasm.

"Of course." Captain Reynolds stepped away from Emma and drew out his purse. "If you'll give me an accurate accounting of my indebtedness and the proposed cost of my wife's outfitting, I'll gladly settle with you."

For a moment a startled look shot over the woman's face as she viewed the money. Then she smiled primly.

"Well, of course, Captain. If you'll just give me a moment..." She turned to two of the women laying out fabric on a nearby table. "Lily, Charlotte! Look smart and measure this lady for dresses and undergarments. Captain Reynolds has commissioned a deal of work that must be done post haste."

She turned back to Captain Reynolds. "Now, Captain, if you'll just see fit to leave your lady in our capable hands for the next hour or two, we'll see to her complete outfit."

"Very well." He drew a deep breath. "But for the first bit of that time, Mistress Mason, you and I will adjourn to your office and I will make good my promise to pay."

As Emma was measured and shown various fabrics, she wondered about the cool reception they'd at first received from the seamstress. There could be only one explanation. Captain Reynolds had allowed himself to be drawn into debt to satisfy the fancies of the lady Vanessa. And now her ruby had enabled him to pay his bills and buy her much-needed clothing. She wondered how much that ruby had fetched. If it would cover large amounts it must be very valuable. Then what of the rest of the necklace she'd left hidden under the mattress in his rooms? Could she be carrying a small fortune? A small stolen fortune a little voice in her head reminded her and she flinched.

"Did I stick you with a pin, Mistress?" Lily asked, concerned as she stepped back from measuring Emma's waist. "I'm so sorry, Mistress."

"No, no, definitely not." Emma was instantly solicitous of the nervous little shop girl. "I just had a sudden twinge." Of guilt she continued silently in her mind and wondered what the penalty of the law would be if she were apprehended. Suddenly she could barely wait to be on Captain Reynolds's ship and safely on her way to America.

Then she overheard one of the women working behind a nearby screen whispering, "The captain finally came to his senses and got rid of the stuck-up piece of baggage what was running him head over heels into debt. Married for money, looks like. Able to settle his account all of a sudden. And he's a lucky beggar. She's quite a pretty little thing."

* * *

"You're very quiet." Captain Reynolds remarked as he guided her back through the streets toward his rooms two hours later. "Did you not find any fabrics or designs to your liking? I assure you Mistress Mason is one of this city's best seamstresses."

"And most expensive?" Emma glanced sideways up at him.

"And most expensive. But you don't have to worry on that score. As you observed, your outfitting has all been paid for."

"That's not what I was thinking." Emma decided to venture onto dangerous ground.

"Then what?" He stopped and turned her to face him. Intense blue eyes stared down into frank green ones.

"I was thinking that you had perhaps purchased gowns there previously for Vanessa...expensive gowns that you could not really afford."

"I could afford, woman, I could afford." His face darkening, he caught her by the arm and began to walk forward so quickly she had to trot to keep apace with him.

"I just thought..."

"Well, then don't. It no longer concerns either of us."

They'd reached the house where he lived and he strode up the steps with her in tow so swiftly she nearly tripped and fell. That would teach her to question him, she thought, as she stumbled along beside him.

He poured himself a dram of whiskey, then turned to stare thoughtfully at the closed bedroom door behind which she'd vanished in a swirl of green velvet the moment they'd reached his rooms. He'd annoyed her with his harsh treatment and all because she'd dared to question his finances. He didn't want her to suspect much less know the tangle of debt in which he'd gotten himself enmeshed in his attempts to impress a woman who'd apparently jilted him without a second thought.

None of it was Mistress Emma Smith's fault, however, and he knew he should knock on that securely shut panel and apologize. In fact, because of her and her ruby he'd been able to settle a good many debts he hadn't anticipated on squaring away so soon. But he couldn't. A pride at once fierce and stubborn held him in its grip. He was, after all, a man and a proud Highlander at that. He couldn't go crawling to any woman. Not even one who'd shown all the courage and charm of Emma Smith.

Emma Smith. He turned away and strode across the room to sink into his favorite wing chair with a sigh. Surely that wasn't her true name. But who was she really and where had she come from that dark night he'd found her on the road? And how had she come by that exquisite French ruby? Had it been a gift from a well-pleased lover or...he paused over the possibility...had she perhaps stolen it? Was Emma Smith perhaps a thief fleeing the scene of a crime? He shook his head in an effort to clear it of the tangle of questions that surrounded the woman in the next room.

And he'd convinced her to pose as his wife and promised to take her to New Brunswick with him. Yesterday and even this morning, suffering from his excesses, it had seemed a good idea. Now he wondered. She was a pretty woman, a beguiling woman in many ways. She had an innocently seductive manner of casting mischievous sideways glances up at him when she was by his side that alerted his male instincts, that made him all too aware of how attractive the minx could be. Even now, thoughts were stealing across his mind, thoughts best saved for an actual wife or consenting lover. But Emma was neither. Yet.

He caught himself up on that last word. Damn! Don't start thinking along those lines, laddie, he admonished himself. He finished off his whiskey in a single swig and arose to get more. Twilight was sliding across the room and he paused to light a lamp before he returned to his chair. He had to admit it. He missed Vanessa to the quick of his soul. Had she been here with him now, she'd be coming out of the bedroom in one of those elegant, unaffordable negligees, her golden hair a soft loose cloud about her shoulders and down her back. She'd cross the room slowly, seductively, a sly smile tipping her full lips and slide softly onto his lap. She'd slide her soft white arms about his neck and...

He leaped to his feet and with a roar, flung his glass into the fireplace. Then he buried his head in his hands and slid them back until his fingers tore at his thick, black curls.

"Captain, are you all right?"

Suddenly Emma was standing in the bedroom doorway, swathed in one of Vanessa's more conservative dressing gowns. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders and for a moment, just a moment he saw her predecessor. But it was only for a moment.

"Yes, yes, I'm quite all right." He regained his composure and turned to look at her.

He saw her gaze go to the fireplace where shattered glass glinted in the light of the lamp he lighted.

"It's perfectly normal for you to feel anger." She stood where she was and he understood why some rich laird would want her as his mistress. In deshabille, Mistress Emma Smith or whatever her name might be, was an enchanting woman. But he didn't love her, could never love another woman as he'd loved Vanessa. Nor did he want to be given the pain that love had caused him.

"Go to bed, Mistress." He turned to the sideboard to find a fresh glass and more whiskey. "I've found a way to deal with the situation."

"Hardly a wise one." He felt her gaze on him as he splashed the amber liquid into another glass. "One that never truly helps."

"And you'd know all about such matters?" He swung on her, annoyed.

"More than I care to, sir, more than I care to." She turned and went back into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Emma Smith became more of a puzzle each time they spoke. He looked down at the liquid in the crystal glass and gave a disgruntled grunt as he set it aside. She was right he realized as he removed his coat and unbuttoned his vest. Drinking himself into oblivion night after night would never quell the pain and longing (he avoided the word lusting even though he knew it was a more accurate one) that Vanessa Cameron had left him to suffer.

* * *

"Mrs. Reynolds, our supper has arrived." He knocked lightly on the bedroom door and glanced back at the table Mrs. Bradly had laid for them. The pheasant and champagne looked more than tempting but he found himself wishing the woman would show a little economy. But then why would she? He'd always instructed her to bring the best available when he'd been sharing the apartment with Vanessa. The woman would expect no change in his wishes now that he had another lady in residence.

Emma stepped out into the room wearing her riding habit minus the Spencer and hat. She looked charming with lose trendles of hair framing her heart-shaped face. Her complexion was what he believed he'd heard described as peaches and cream, her figure excellent in the high-waisted style of the day. Any normal man would find her delightful, nearly irresistible he thought. But not Morgan Reynolds with the image of Vanessa Cameron and her infamy indelibly etched in his heart and soul.

"It looks entirely tempting." Emma gave him a disarming smile and headed for the table.

He moved quickly to pull out a chair for her and seat her carefully. Then he took a place opposite her. Then, as he reached for the knife to carve the pheasant, he paused.

"I'm sorry for my behavior earlier." He looked squarely into beautiful green eyes that met his unabashedly. "I have yet to heel from my supposed fiancee's betrayal. I will try to be a more civil companion in future. Or," blue eyes suddenly lighted up with a small twinkle, "you will be seeking a false dissolution of our false marriage."

"I gave my word, sir." She cocked her head and he caught the return of humor in her eyes. "But I must admit, I can live without bad humor, no matter what its cause."

"Well said. That makes two of us. Now let's get to this delectable looking bird. I trust you're hungry, Mrs. Reynolds?"

As they enjoyed coffee before the fire a half hour later, a knock sounded on the door. Emma looked askance at Morgan but he shook his head. "I wasn't expecting anyone."

He arose and opened the door to admit a big, burly man his equal in height but older, sporting bushy side whiskers and a ruddy complexion. As he pulled off his cap, a thatch of gray curls came into view.

"Morgan, my boy, where have ye been? We've been loading the Ula daily. Will ye not be coming to the dock to oversee us at all? I know you're in love but..."

Then his gaze fell on Emma.

"Beg pardon, Captain." The man's attitude of friendly camaraderie changed instantly and he looked over at Captain Reynolds, confusion furrowing his weathered brow. "I wasn't aware ye were entertaining a lady."

"Come in, Angus." The captain held the door wide. "I would like you to meet my wife, Emma. We were wed two days ago."

"Wife?" The man looked as if he'd been hit by a plank. He stood staring and only moved into the room when Captain Reynolds took him by the arm and drew him inside. "But Vanessa...?"

"Vanessa took a sudden fancy to become the wife of a wealthy laird, Angus, and I took a fancy to Mistress Emma. Enough said." Captain Reynolds turned away and went to a side board where he splashed a generous serving of whiskey into a tumbler. "Here you go, man. Drink to our health."

He thrust the glass into the visitor's hand as he continued to stand transfixed, staring at Emma.

"Come, come, man. Don't look like a death has just been announced." Morgan picked up his coffee cup and clicked against the newcomer's glass. "Drink to Emma and me and wish us much happiness."

When the man still made no reply, Morgan turned to Emma and addressed her.

"My darling, this astounded man is my first mate and my brother-in-law Angus MacLeod. He is married to my sister Iona and lives in New Brunswick with her when he's not serving on the Ula. Generally he's a good man, not nearly the slack-jawed, gaping individual you see before you now."

"A great pleasure." Emma arose and went to offer the man her hand although she, too, was experiencing shock. Morgan hadn't mentioned any sister living in New Brunswick, or anywhere else, for that matter.

"Mistress." The mariner snapped back to himself and accepted her fingers gently.

"Forgive my behavior. It is no reflection upon you, I assure you. I am simply amazed by Morgan...the captain's abrupt new choice of a spouse."

He took a long drink of his whiskey, then turned to Morgan.

"I'm sorry, laddie, truly sorry...about Vanessa. I know--"

"Enough, Angus." Morgan took Emma by the arm and led her back to her seat by the fire. "Just be happy I've found such a lady to fill the void."

"Aye, indeed, laddie, indeed." After Morgan and Emma had been seated, he sat down abruptly in a chair near the door. "I never believed you and Vanessa were suited. I never..."

"Angus, enough!" Again Emma saw the quick, hard anger that seemed to surface so quickly in her companion and she stepped in to smooth the way.

"You live in New Brunswick, Mr. MacLeod," she said, smiling over at him in her most beguiling manner. "Do you like it there? Does the climate agree with you and your wife?"

"Aye, mistress, both Iona and I love the new country." He took another sip of his whiskey and appeared to relax. "It can be harsh at times but the changing of the seasons are beautiful. And we're free to do as we choose."

"And were you not free on this side of the ocean?" Emma couldn't help inquiring.

"We're Highlanders driven from our lands to make way for English sheep." The mariner's tone became embittered. "We nearly froze to death after our cottages were burned from over our heads. In the colonies there's none of that. A man can make a life for himself confident it will be there for his children and his children's children. Speaking of which..."

He turned to look hopefully at Morgan.

"No." He shook his head.

"Ah." Angus looked down into his glass, his expression falling into one of deep regret. "She'll be disappointed and no doubt in that."

"I did my best."

"I'm sure you did, laddie, I'm sure you did. Still..."

"Enough of this unhappy talk." Morgan arose and went to his humidor to get two cigars, one of which he gave to Angus. "Tell me of the Ula. Is she well loaded? Will we soon be ready to cast off?"

"You must see for yourself." Angus accepted the end of the faggot Morgan pulled from the fire and allowed him to ignite the cigar. He drew a deep inhale, blew smoke, then continued, "You've been neglecting your duty to her and her crew, Captain. You'd best get yourself down to the dock in the morning."

"I will, I will. I want to sail as soon as possible. Emma is eager to see America, aren't you, my darling?"

Emma nodded demurely and returned her attention to her coffee cup. Angus MacLeod had brought more questions than answers into her life it appeared.

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