Chapter 10

They rode away from the cabin soon after nightfall. Charity left the beautiful gown behind and wore the remains of her wedding dress. A few miles from the hideaway, they met a black man leading four horses. He was hidden in the trees and nearly frightened Charity out of her skin.

They dismounted and exchanged Jamie's Ebony for the other horses. Charity never heard a word spoken. The only sound was the stallion's worried nicker as the man rode him away down the beach.

Jamie motioned for silence. "Shhh," he whispered. "Sound carries too easily over the water." He lifted her up on the wide back of a large bay gelding and put the reins in her hands.

"Is that why he didn't speak?"

"He can't talk. He's got no tongue." Jamie mounted and led the way back into the shadowy forest.

Charity shivered, holding tightly to the horse's mane as the bay followed the other animals. Leaves brushed against her face and arms. She hoped there were no spiders on them.

Finally Jamie called a halt in a clearing. "We're far enough from the water now. British patrols are watching the beach. I've other clothes for you." He helped her dismount and took a pack off one of the horses.

The sky stretched overhead like thick gray velvet, cloud-strewn and mysterious. Charity caught glimpses of a pale moon, shimmering like a cold pearl. The air felt moist; they'd left the breeze behind them on the narrow beach.

"Was he one of your slaves?" She took the homespun dress and plain leather shoes.

"He's a free man." Jamie added a shift to the pile.

"If he's not a slave then why..." She turned so Jamie could unbutton her gown.

His lips brushed her bare shoulder. "You ask too many questions for a smuggler's wench."

"But I want to know. Who is he? Why is he helping you, and who cut out his tongue?" She wiggled into the coarse stomacher and then the bodice, lacing it up over her breasts and tucking in the well-worn and none too white modesty piece of lace at the throat. Her hair was knotted at the back of her neck and covered with a large dust cap. "I could serve at the Red Boar without lifting an eyebrow, couldn't I, guv'nor?" she quipped.

Jamie turned to face her and Charity gasped. He'd covered one eye with a black patch and suddenly sprouted a mustache.

"Don't you want me to wear one of those too?" She giggled. "I feel like a child playing dress-up!"

"Don't talk if you can help it; your voice has a bit too much of London in it yet," he said seriously. "Maybe a patch might—"

"I'll not!" she protested, then blushed at how easily he'd tricked her when she saw him break into a grin. "I'm an honest girl and not used to such trickery. But I still want to know about the black man," she persisted.

Jamie tied the animals. "'Tis not safe for you to know too much. I trust him. He's smart and knows his way around the bay. He has a wife and children. What more do you want to know?"

"Who cut out his tongue?"

He handed her a roll of blankets. "Spread those under the tree. We don't need a fire tonight, but we can get some sleep before morning." He finished unloading the pack animals, then returned to squat beside her. "He used to be a pirate before he took up the smuggling trade, down in the islands. His captain cut out his tongue to keep him from telling where they buried their treasure."

"I don't believe you. How could he tell you that if he has no tongue?" She shook the dust from a blanket and laid it on the grass. "Pirates and treasure indeed! You take me for a babe to swallow such tales!"

Jamie chuckled. "It's true enough, all right. He doesn't have to talk, he can write. He buried his captain in the hole instead of the treasure and used the coin to buy his own boat." He lay down beside her and she snuggled close.

"I don't like your stories. It's dark out here, and I'm lost in the woods, and I'm tired." She shut her eyes and curled into a tight ball. "You're trouble, Jamie Drummond. I knew it from the first," she grumbled.

"Hush up, woman, and let me get some sleep." His hand slipped down to cup a full breast. "Tomorrow I'll take you where there are plenty of people."

She murmured something sleepily and pressed even tighter to Jamie. From far off came the cry of a night bird, then the answering hoot of an owl nearly overhead. Charity wished she were home in her bed at Widow's Endeavor. The woods was definitely not her choice of sleeping spots. She feared she would never make a proper Colonial.

The events of the past few days kept repeating themselves in her mind. She clamped her eyes shut, trying not to listen to the strange night sounds... the rustling and creaking. She was safe here in his arms, wasn't she?

Jamie's breathing was slow and steady. How could he sleep as though he had no cares, as though they weren't engaged in something that could get them both hanged?

If she had a lick of sense, she'd demand he take her home to Widow's Endeavor first thing in the morning. He would probably be happy to be rid of her. He hadn't even tried to make love to her tonight. True, she'd said she was tired, but if he really desired her, he would have at least tried, wouldn't he?

She'd given him what he'd wanted. Charity chewed at her lower lip. What they'd both wanted. Their lovemaking had been wonderful. But she wanted more. She wanted Jamie for a lifetime—not for just a few lustful nights.

His touch against her breast was disconcerting. Even the slightest movement caused the rough material to rub against her swollen nipple. A sensation of warmth seeped down to become a glow. Sensuous thoughts tantalized her mind, and she blushed in the darkness. What had Jamie set loose? Had she no shame at all?

Angrily she pulled away and rolled herself into a tight ball. If he could sleep, so could she! And finally she did.

Charity was stiff and sore when she awoke in the morning. Jamie seemed his cheerful self as they saddled the horses and mounted up. "You promised me civilization," she reminded him wryly.

For once Jamie was as good as his word. They rode only a short way through the forest before coming onto a trail. That became a rutted road, and in less than an hour they were passing other travelers all headed in the same direction. They called friendly greetings and waved. Some asked where they had come from and if they were bound for the fair in Chestertown.

"We are," Jamie answered. "And a good day for it too!"

"We're going to buy a 'dentured girl fer me wife here," a farmer said proudly. His pregnant wife grinned, exposing two missing front teeth. "If they don't run too high."

"We got two boys at home," the woman added. "One jest startin't' walk. Tom thought I could use the help in the kitchen. We had a good crop this year, a real good crop." She tightened her grip around her husband's waist. She was riding pillion behind him on a huge gray workhorse. "We cut two acres of 'baccy."

"Oronooko," the farmer said. "We done it all alone too. Maybe next year I'll get a slave or two. It's a powerful piece of work fer me and Nance and my brother Jack."

"Be easier when the boys get big enough to lift a hoe," Jamie observed, in his best country voice. He touched his cap. "Maybe we'll see ya in Chestertown. Good luck with that oronooko."

"Thank ya. What's yer name and where do ya hail from?"

"John. John Powers, and this is my wife, Sally. We're from Easton." Jamie nudged the sorrel horse into a trot and avoided Charity's amused glance.

Charity waved, then concentrated on holding on to the horse. "Sally? Sally Powers? I'm glad they didn't ask me."

"Would ye rather I said ye were Caroline Smythe-Tarylton of Widow's Endeavor or Charity Brown of London?" He grinned. "No, I didn't think so. It's best that Jamie not be seen in Chestertown today either. We're poor oronookoes, tobacco farmers in for a day at the fair and indentured sale. I'll tend to my business and we'll be off for Philadelphia tomorrow. You'll like the fair; Chestertown knows how to throw a party."

Charity wrinkled her nose at him. Jamie looked positively rakish in that eyepatch in the bright light of morning. The child in her thrilled to the thought of a fair. "Will there be music?" she asked. "And sweets sellers?" Her gray-green eyes danced with excitement. "In London there used to be puppet shows. Anyone could watch, even if you didn't have a penny." Her cheeks glowed as she remembered the joy of those bawdy performances. "There was gingerbread like you've never tasted before, and little pies that would fit in the palm of your hand."

"Enough, wench! Must you remind me we've had no breakfast this morning? You'll have your gingerbread, or whatever else takes your fancy." He tossed her a bag of copper coins. "If you promise to stay out of trouble, you can see the fair while I tend to my affairs." The ready emotion on Charity's face troubled him. Where had she come by her carefree nature... the ability to see the best of any situation?

Once, when he was a child, his father had taken him to London Town. Hugh Thomas had been ill with the measles and unable to go. The poverty and stench of the city had been frightening, but the worst memory had been that of the gangs of urchins who roamed the streets begging for coins and bread.

A boy no bigger than Jamie had hobbled after Lord DunCannon's coach on a wooden leg, his dirty ribs standing out like staves on a barrel. Fear left a taste of copper in his mouth as he realized for the first time how precarious his own position in life was. He was a bastard, subject to the whim of his father's will. He had no rightful place. He and his mother could be turned out on the roads to starve without a second thought.

The nightmare of that crippled boy had returned again and again to haunt Jamie's sleep. He had told his mother finally, when she demanded to know the cause of his tears. But she had only laughed and hugged him.

"Never fear, me Jamie," Megan Flynn had crooned, running her fingers through his soft hair. "His lordship will never throw us out. You're more of a son than that milksop the lady has given him." She'd kissed away the tears and hummed an Irish lullaby that she hadn't sung to him in years. "DunCannon loves me, he does, and I him. Does not every fairy tale have a happy endin'? Never fear."

But he had feared. The uncertainly and shame of his illegitimacy had been carefully concealed behind an impish grin and a boyish bravado. Never again would he allow tears to give away his inner feelings. He had set himself to be such a son that must be recognized. If the earl admired bravery, then he would display courage; if his father wanted Jamie to be a horseman, he would be the best... no matter what risks must be taken, or how often he would creep into the bushes to be quietly sick after a bad fall.

Jamie sighed as his eyes caressed the upright form of the slight figure beside him. They were so much alike... and so different. Charity had suffered far more than he, and yet it seemed to have left no mark on her soul. He hoped their relationship wouldn't change that. He had no wish to add to her pain.

The streets of Chestertown were crowded with animals and people. They had to push their way through a flock of sheep to reach the livery stable. There were no stalls left; Jamie had to settle for a place in the pound for the horses.

"You're lucky to get that." The stable owner was a thin beanpole with an Adam's apple that bobbed disarmingly as he spoke. "Fair days are full up early. Chestertown will be bigger'n Annapolis soon."

Charity waited quietly as Jamie had instructed, unable to keep her eyes from the moving Adam's apple. Taking her scrutiny as admiration, the man gave her a leering wink as she followed Jamie into the street.

"Why were you staring at him?" Jamie demanded. "You couldn't have found that scarecrow attractive!"

Charity swore under her breath. "I wasn't staring. I was keeping still like you told me." She wondered if Jamie were jealous.

"You can see the fair without getting into trouble, can't you? I've got some things to attend to. I'll meet you in two hours in front of the customhouse. It's down near the river; you can't miss it."

A shiver ran through her as she watched him walk away down the dusty street. What he was doing was dangerous, so dangerous that he didn't want her with him. What if something happened to him? Would she even know? Suppose he just kept going and didn't come back for her?

The tip of her tongue flicked across her top lip. Should she follow him? An ox team came down the street and she dodged out of their way, ignoring the driver's rude shout. She wanted to see the fair, but... Jamie stopped and turned to wave at her. She went all mushy inside at the sight of his mischievous grin. She waved back, and then turned toward a gingerbread stand, her heart a little lighter.

Munching her sugarcoated gingerbread, Charity wandered among the crowd. She was amazed at the cleanliness of the wide shaded streets and fine brick homes. In London, slops were thrown into the thoroughfare with no concern at all. The air here smelled of baked goods and roast pork. Through an open gate, she saw a pig turning on a spit in a tavern courtyard.

In the town square, a platform had been erected for the auction of bond servants' indentures. It unnerved her to see dozens of men and women, most in their teens, waiting docilely for their fates to be decided.

Some were criminals; those were easy to pick out by the missing ears and scars of brandings. The women looked as hard as the men, features lined with despair and distrust.

Suddenly cold, Charity ducked her head and hurried past. She could have been one of them, still might be if anyone recognized her. She had nearly forgotten. Life as Caroline had become so real, the other seemed to have happened to someone else.

Were they still searching for Charity Brown? Was there a reward for a young white bondslave, no scars, hair yellow and eyes green? Her heart beat faster as the old fears rose to haunt her. She had changed her life, hadn't she? She had Jamie. The voices mocked her. You're his harlot, nothing more. He's not asked you to be his wife, and he will not. The son of an earl, even a bastard son, doesn't ask your kind to be his wife.

Charity walked faster. Jamie loved her. She knew he did. He must. Pain knifed through her. Jamie was quicksilver. Holding him might be like trying to hold bay water in your fingers. She wanted Jamie, but she also wanted security... a home... children. Was it possible to have them all?

She followed the groups of people moving down the main street. The whole countryside seemed to have turned out for the fair. Women were hawking berry pies and piggins of cider; a bearded Jew offered ribbons and shoe buckles and all manner of fancy gewgaws to the public. Charity fingered her coppers as she spied a little silver brooch in the shape of a wishbone, then decided against parting with Jamie's money unnecessarily.

A footrace was to be run from the courthouse square to the river; Charity won a halfpenny from a country wench on the outcome. Boys and dogs seemed to be everywhere, darting between the stalls, dodging bewigged merchants and officials, and avoiding their chastising mothers.

Jamie found her seated cross-legged on the grass before a Punch-and-Judy show, as engrossed as any of the children. He stood watching her for long moments; not even the rough country clothes and huge mobcap could hide her beauty. The verse of an old song rang through his mind: "...catch a pretty maid..." He swallowed hard. Better for them both if they'd not become involved. A man like the squire would be able to give her more than he could promise.

Charity's eyes lit up as she spotted him, and she waved him down beside her. He dropped an arm around her waist. "Watch!" she insisted. "Wait until you see the magistrate's wife."

Jamie slipped a hand in hers and pulled her away, stealing a sugary kiss behind an elm tree. "You look twelve years old, Mistress Powers," he teased.

"I could say the same about you." The shadows had gone from Jamie's eyes and he looked five years younger. "Did you find..." He nodded. "Good. Did you see the footrace? The wagoner's lad won. I knew he would, legs like a stork, hardly weighs six stone." Triumphantly she produced a copper coin. "I bet on him and won!" The green eyes sparkled. "I spent none of your money either."

"Do you think I'd begrudge you a halfpenny?" he asked huskily. He traced the outline of her lower lip with a finger. Trembling, she pressed herself against him and he kissed her, a long and tender caress that left them both shaken.

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. Another moment and he'd have been looking for a dark corner to pull her into. He'd known beautiful women before. What was there about Charity that ripped through his self-control? A man could lose himself in those innocent green eyes. He forced a light tone. "Since you've stuffed yourself with sweets, I suppose you're not hungry. The tavern keeper just took a pork roast off the spit. I thought I'd buy us a proper meal."

"I'm starved! But..." She paused. "There was a silver brooch I saw. If the money's really mine to do with as I like..."

"The rest of the day is yours," he promised. "I think we can afford a brooch and dinner."

"Good." She beamed. "I'll buy the pin, then we'll have dinner and some ale and maybe one of those small blackberry pies the goodwife is selling on the square."

They ate their meal at long tables set up outside to hold the overflow of people at the tavern. From there, Charity had a good view of the greased pig contest.

A half-grown sboat was liberally coated with lard, then turned loose in the square. Two dozen boys and one barefooted girl ran headlong after the squealing, dodging pig. It scrambled under stalls, between legs, and escaped down the street leading to the river with the shrieking children in hot pursuit.

One redheaded boy caught the shoat by a hind leg, then lost it as the animal twisted away. Two more boys fell on top of him, and a third jumped on top of the pig and was carried away down the street to the delight of the cheering crowd. The animal was finally captured, to Charity's satisfaction, by the lone girl in the contest. After a loud dispute among parents and judges, the beaming girl's mother led the pig away on a rope.

The sale of indentured servants was held, and then the crowd flowed to a meadow not far out of Chestertown to watch a horse race. "I've won many a shilling; on Ebony," Jamie said. "If I had him here, and I were Drummond today, instead of John Powers, I'd give them a run for their money."

The race included several high fences and a wide ditch. Three horses fell, but no one, horse or rider, was hurt, and Charity thought the whole thing very exciting. The horse she chose, a big gray, came in third. But Jamie's choice didn't win either, so she felt as qualified to pick horseflesh as he did.

"You probably would have bet against me if I did race," Jamie grumbled.

She thought a moment and then answered honestly. "No, if you had raced, I'd have bet my new silver pin on you." She polished it proudly with the edge of her modesty piece. "Ebony would have left those other horses like they were standing still."

After dark, bonfires were lit and the merrymaking continued far into the night. There were singing and dancing competitions. Parents tucked sleepy children under the trees with an older child to keep watch and made the most of a rare occasion in town.

Strains of music came through the windows of some of the finer homes, and Charity caught sight of elegant ladies and gentlemen dancing, enjoying the hospitality of liberal hosts. There was general dancing in the square, and Jamie pulled her into a lively romp called the Sir Roger de Coverley that left her both breathless and tapping her foot for more. Jamie was an excellent dancer, and she an able student. For over two hours, they didn't miss a single set.

It was Charity who noticed him first. She and Jamie had just finished a spirited reel, and he had gone to fetch them another mug of ale. She was leaning against a tree, trying to catch her breath, when she saw someone cross the square accompanied by two important-looking gentlemen.

Daniel Halifax! A feeling of dread crept through her. Why was Captain Halifax in Chestertown tonight of all nights? Had he followed them?

Halifax was not in uniform; he wore a handsome velvet waistcoat with matching breeches, and an expensive bag wig. His shoes were high-heeled with cut-steel buckles. Charity busied herself with her own shoe buckle as the three passed, close enough to reach out and touch. Whatever his reason for being here tonight, she didn't believe it was coincidence.

Jamie didn't think so either. "I believe we've had enough of the fair," he said. "Go back to where we watched the horse race. I'll get the animals from the stable and meet you. Walk slow. Don't attract any attention."

"I'm scared, Jamie," she admitted. "Can't you just leave the horses and come with me?" She was telling the truth. She was afraid... not for herself so much as for him. What if it was a trap? What if Halifax was waiting for him to come after the horses? "Suppose you've been betrayed?"

"It's possible, but I don't think so. And I can't leave the animals. Underneath that tobacco seed and wheat is the reason we're going to Philadelphia. Trust me, I know what I'm doing." He grinned. "If there wasn't a little danger, everyone would be doing it, right?" He clung to her for an instant and then vanished into the crowd.

Keeping carefully in the shadows, Charity moved away from the square and down a side street.

It seemed like hours before Jamie joined her at the appointed spot. They rode silently away from Chestertown. An hour from town, they turned north into trackless forest. When Jamie finally spoke, Charity started. "Oh!"

His chuckle was soft in the darkness. "I said, Elizabeth had packed you off to relatives in Virginia."

"She what?"

"She had to tell the neighbors something. You were prostrate with grief at the loss of poor Richard so she sent you south to recover."

"And if I don't?"

"I just hope they can find a priest to conduct the service."

"Don't blaspheme!" she answered sharply. "You've done enough damage to me soul!"

"If I did, I had some help. I didn't do it all alone." Jamie's voice was deep and plainly amused. "My mother was a Catholic girl and she never worried so much about her soul. Perhaps you should have been a nun."

"My soul is no jesting matter, James Drummond! Nor my faith! I may be a bad Catholic, but I'll be one until I die. And I'll have you nor no one else ridiculing it!" Charity stiffened in the saddle, unconsciously falling into the icy tones of an angry Tidewater lady. "It's not worthy of you," she lashed.

"You're right." He was suddenly apologetic. "I'm sorry. It was only a joke. I didn't think."

"There are many times when you speak without thinking. You've used your fair looks to get you out of far too many scrapes, I'm thinkin'."

"Enough, damn it!" He dug his heels into the horse and the animal leaped ahead. "I said I was sorry! Now let it drop!"

They rode in silence for the rest of the night.

In the rosy haze between dark and dawn, they stopped to rest the horses and to prepare a meal. Charity was so tired she'd nearly fallen from the saddle several times in the darkness. Still, she forced herself to gather sticks for the fire and took her share of camp chores, doing what Jamie instructed to the best of her ability.

The roast pork and bread that had tasted so wonderful in Chestertown was flat against her tongue. Charity kept her eyes averted, unable to meet Jamie's. Why had they fallen into such a silly argument? The devils of doubt began to push their way into her happiness. Why had she allowed him to carry her off into the wilderness? True, he had said he loved her once, but men are often easy with such words. He had called her his wife, but had not asked for her hand in marriage. Was she a fool to risk everything by coming with him?

As if reading her mind, Jamie sat the tin cup of tea on a rock and pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry," he said, kissing her hair, her eyelids. "I hurt you, and I'm sorry." Their lips met, and she hugged him as tight as she could.

"I shouldn't have said what I did," Charity admitted. "Oh, Jamie, I love you so."

Between kisses, he murmured, "And I you." He rocked her against his chest. "I do love you, Charity."

Jamie spread a blanket beneath a massive beech tree, and they lay down together in the early morning mist. "You get some sleep, honey," he ordered. "You're exhausted. I'll keep watch."

"Jamie, I..."

"Shhh, do as I say. You need the rest." He covered her with his jacket. "Sleep now, just for a while."

Despite her protests, Charity was asleep in minutes. Jamie held her in his arms, listening to the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Thoughtfully he reached out and fingered a stray lock of her flaxen hair. "Maybe I envy you that faith," he murmured. "The faith I'll never have."

He woke her in midmorning and they rode on. At first Charity was so stiff and sore she thought she'd never last until noon, but after a few miles her muscles began to loosen up and she became aware of the beautiful country they were riding through.

The land was mostly wooded, but occasionally they came upon a sunlit meadow frosted with late-blooming wild flowers. Once Charity caught sight of a fox trotting across a clearing, and the glossy fur was near enough to the color of Jamie's hair to have been cut from the same bolt of cloth.

In early afternoon, he called a halt beside a wide, slow-flowing stream. "We'll camp here," he informed her. "There's bound to be some fish in that deep pool beyond the trees. I'll catch us a fish dinner."

Thankful to be off the horse and sitting on solid ground, Charity watched as Jamie cut a thin branch and fastened his fishing line to the end of it. She sat on the mossy bank beneath the chestnut tree and dangled her bare feet in the water as he fished. The water was warm and felt heavenly. "Maybe this smuggler business isn't so bad after all," she teased. The water looked so inviting, she wondered if she dare ask Jamie if it was all right to take a bath.

"I'm going to try around the bend. You can go for a swim if you like," he said.

Unnerved by his mind reading, she flushed. "How do you do that?" she demanded. "Have you the sight?"

He laughed. "Could be." A sudden tug on his line brought him to his feet with a cry of excitement. For the next few minutes, Jamie was completely absorbed in landing the trout. Even Charity was caught up in the tense battle between man and fish that ended only when the line snapped.

"Damn." Jamie stared stupidly at the limp string. "Lost him. Three pounds at least. I knew I should have bought heavier line."

"I'm glad he got away." Charity giggled. "He was probably a grandfather fish, tough as shoe leather."

"What's this? A traitor in the camp? You were rooting for the fish all along! Admit it!"

"I was." Charity's laughter was cut off as Jamie dropped the fishing pole and leaped on her, pinning her to the ground. Giving a fake growl, he nuzzled her neck. "Jamie, stop it," she protested.

"You like fish so much," he said, "you can join them!" Scooping her up in his arms, he attempted to throw her into the water.

Screaming, Charity clung to his neck. Her weight threw him off balance and they both tumbled into the stream. Splashing and gasping for air, Charity came to the surface, realizing, a little foolishly, that her feet were on the bottom.

"Jamie! Jamie, where are you?"He caught her around the waist and pulled her under again. In a minute, they were wrestling and splashing each other like children.

"You're insane," she taunted. "A crazy man! I've gone off into the wilderness with a crazy man!"

"Crazy about you." Jamie captured her and pulled her close. The kiss began with laughter and deepened into something more. A weakness seized her limbs, and Charity let her weight go slack against him. Her lips opened to give access to his probing tongue; she felt his hands caressing her flesh through the thin material.

Jamie cupped her face in his hands, kissing her eyelids, her cheeks and chin. He brushed aside the wet tendrils of hair to reach the warm places of her neck and earlobes. Pressing her against him, he turned her around so that his hands could stroke her breasts, teasing the nipples until they peaked into aching buds.

"You have the sweetest bottom," he murmured, rubbing against it with his loins. One hand rose to slide the gown free from her shoulder.

Quivers of excitement flowed down her body as Jamie kissed the exposed shoulder and the swelling of her breast. She could feel the growing hardness of his throbbing male sex.

"First, I'm going to take off your clothes," he whispered in her ear. "And then..." His lips closed gently over a rosy pink nipple. His hands fumbled with the ties of her gown. "Then we'll see if you favor me or the fish."

The dress floated away, followed by a torn undergarment. Charity clung to his neck as Jamie turned her again, lifting her, then drawing her down to encase his engorged manhood. She shuddered with delight, wrapping her legs around him, savoring the intensity of his passionate lovemaking.

Jamie reached the peak of his desire first, and she knew the effort he made to bring her to the same pulsating joy. Her tears, hot and salt against his chest, were tears of happiness.

He carried her out of the water and laid her on the blanket, drying her body tenderly with handfuls of grass. "I always wanted to make love to a mermaid," he teased, kissing first one pink nipple and then the other.

Blushing, she turned her face away.

"Look at me, Charity," he entreated. He wrapped his arms about her and buried his face in her damp hair. "Sweet Charity."

She turned sea-green eyes, heavy-lidded with passion, up to his. "Do you love me, Jamie? Truly?"

"Truly."

Then why don't you ask me to marry you? The silent question caught in her throat. Why? Was it because of her birth? Or was she too poor?

"Charity."

"What?"

"I'm wet."

"And what am I supposed to do about it?"

Jamie rolled over on his stomach, exposing lean buttocks and sinewy thighs. "Do you want me to catch a chill and die?"

"No, but..." With a sigh, Charity picked up a handful of grass and began to rub his back.

"Ummm, that feels good. A little lower:"

Using both hands, she began to massage Jamie's lower back and bottom. His chuckle of pleasure and her own kindling desire left little doubt as to where this activity would lead. Charity pushed aside the inner doubts. Jamie had said he loved her, that was what counted. And if he loved her... in time he would make her his wife.

* * *

The journey into Pennsylvania took longer than Charity had imagined it could. How big was this country? She lost all track of direction and marveled that Jamie seemed to know where he was without map or road to guide him.

"What are we carrying?" she had asked him finally. "Wouldn't it have been easier to take it by ship?"

"Easier if Halifax hadn't thrown such a net around the Eastern Shore."

"But what can you carry on two horses that could be worth so much trouble?" Jamie frowned, and she continued firmly.

"My neck's as much at risk as yours and well you know it!" She laughed. "In for a penny, in for a pound!"

"Samples, a trader's ware. A roll of silk, spices, silver earrings, shoe buckles, and ivory forks. The spices from Java are the most valuable. I've a ship off the Delaware coast waiting for the signal to roll her kegs ashore." He sighed. "Satisfied? Now you know enough to hang me a dozen times over."

"I have for weeks." Charity reined her horse close enough to lay a hand on his sleeve. "You asked me to trust you, Jamie. Now I say the same to you. If there's no trust between us, there's nothing else. I'd not betray you, not if they branded me with hot irons... not if..."

"Enough," he laughed. "You've convinced me. It's riches or gallows together. I had one woman as a partner, I guess I might as well have two." Her intense vow moved him more than he wanted to admit.

"I have no wish to be your partner in any way save one," she assured him.

He motioned her to rein in the big horse and he swung down from the saddle to tighten her cinch. "Didn't you notice it was loose?" he asked. "You could have taken a bad fall. Watch your horse's feet and your saddle. Your neck might depend on it."

Charity fought the urge to run her hand through his soft hair as he stood beside her horse, intent on the cinch. There was a clean spicy smell about him that excited her. Her thoughts raced ahead to the night's camp and their time together by the fire. She felt the blood rise in her cheeks and she turned her face away so that he might not see. What kind of woman was she to revel in a man's lovemaking? Was it unnatural?

Jamie grinned up at her and patted her knee. How handsome he was with his square chin and straight, well-formed nose. His mouth was perhaps a little wide, the lips full and sensual. No, she decided, his mouth was perfect. She sighed. Jamie was too good-looking! Women had thrown themselves at him all his life and would continue to do so.

"How do you like the moccasins?" he asked.

Charity wiggled her foot. It was encased in a soft leather shoe, almost a boot, that reached nearly to the knee. Jamie had bought them for her from a trapper and his Indian woman on the trail. Her own square-toed shoes had rubbed a blister on her foot the first day. "I think they're wonderful," she answered. "I love the flowers on the toe." Beadwork covered the top of her foot, blue and yellow petals carefully sewn onto the deerskin.

She had been disappointed in the Indian woman—a squaw, Jamie had called her. She had looked just like anyone else in her homespun dress and shawl. She was as dark as a gypsy, but otherwise Charity could have passed her on the streets of London without a second look. She had expected feathers and paint at least.

"You'll be able to buy yourself an armload of pretties with your share of this venture," Jamie teased as he swung back up on his horse.

"I told you," she repeated. "I want no profit from your illegal smuggling."

"You will," he promised, mischief twinkling in the cinnamon-brown eyes. "In time you will... it's a game, one that gets in the blood. And I fear you will be a very competent player."