Shay stood outside Kristen's room, listening to the rustle of her gown as she removed it. He heard the soft squeak of the wardrobe and knew she had hung up the delicate costume, hiding it for another day. He knew he shouldn't be there, but he couldn't leave her, not yet. He had to make certain she was able to go to sleep without any more tears.

He stood there for several minutes in silence, until the door down the hall opened and the image of Hattie in her flannel nightgown came into view. She carried a lamp in one hand, looking like a solid matron ready for battle, while she held a broken broomstick tightly in her other hand. Shay had to fight the urge to laugh.

"I don't think I'm hiding any dust balls," he whispered, his hands raised in defense.

"What the hell are you doing here this time of night?" she growled softly, lowering her weapon to her side.

Shay glanced back to Kristen's door assuring himself she was safe and nodded his head silently telling the woman to follow him out of earshot. They walked quietly into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He told Hattie what had happened, leaving out the details of his botched attempt of seduction but described the event as accurately as possible. He left off explaining her reaction and her running away from him.

"I know there's more going on than what she's saying," he told Hattie, accepting the cup of coffee she had warmed up for him. "I just wish she would talk to me about it."

"What do you think it is, Travis?"

"I thought at first she was running away from an abusive husband, but I can't accept that."

"You can't, or you don't want to?"

Hattie's wise knowing eyes bore into the man next to her.

"You always knew me better than you should have," Shay said as a half-grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Are you in love with her, Shay?" Hattie asked, using his nickname for the first time in years.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I just know I can't stop thinking about her and I want to be with her every minute. If that's love, then I guess I'm a victim."

"What are you going to do about her past? You can't force her to tell you what's happened."

"No, but I can keep at her until she volunteers the information."

"And what if it is a husband she's running from? What will you do then?"

Shay looked at the woman for a long minute, before standing and walking to the door.

"I'm not giving her back if that's what you mean. I won't let her go without a fight."

With that said, Shay left the house, closing the door quietly behind him.

Hattie moved into the living room and sat on the sofa for several minutes, smiling to herself. She didn't like the idea of Kristen being hurt. She was a gentle and loving young girl and the thought of anyone causing her pain or grief set about as well with her as it did with Shay. She did, however, approve of the way Kristen treated Shay and how she was making him reevaluate his current way of living. Kristen was beautiful and young, and Hattie knew she was just the sort of woman to turn Shay around. She chuckled to herself blowing out the lamp she left lit for the girl’s return.

"It's love," she whispered, walking quietly down the hall.

She stopped for a moment in front of Kristen's door, hearing the girl call seductively to Shay in her dreams. Hattie chuckled again, mumbling as she closed her bedroom door, "Yep, it's love alright."

Shay's muscles strained with the pull of force against his shoulders, as he continued to fight the beast on the other end of his lasso. The struggle to hold firm to the young colt's neck, pulled the thick cables snugly around Shay's forearms, causing long red burn marks to bite into his tanned flesh.

Midnight had sired three fine young colts and it was time to break them. This one held special interest for Shay. Not only was he an exact match for his father, even down to the white mark near his tail, but he also wanted to present it to Sean as a reward for his speaking. He hoped it would give the boy an incentive to continue learning and discovering all that had been lost these long years he'd spent in private seclusion.

As Midnight's offspring bucked and whined, the three men forcing him to obey shouted and yelled. This little black devil had the spirit of ten, twice his young size. Once broken, he would make a fine prize for anyone to own and well worth his weight in gold. Though the gratitude he would receive would be a greater price than all the gold in Montana.

Two hours they had been fighting with this colt and still he resisted. It seemed an impossible task. Shay's muscles ached, and he was certain his ranch hands were feeling the strain as well. He whistled for his men signaling to take a break. He tied the rope to the fence post, anchoring his side of the colt's restraints so there would be no chance of escape, no matter how desperately he fought.

If the little devil wanted to bang his muscles against wood it would be his choice, but he wasn't getting free. He was going to be tamed whether he liked it or not, even if it meant Shay would have to hire another dozen men to help him out.

The sound of a buggy echoed up the drive, and the rise of dust told Shay without doubt he had a visitor. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes in time to see the tall thin frame of the town's richest man, as he stepped from his black and red carriage. He recalled telling Caroline last night to send her father out to the ranch if he wished to speak with him, but he didn't expect to see Ray Baker so early on a Saturday morning. Shay removed his handkerchief from his back pocket, running it across his forehead and neck before heading toward his company

Ray Baker was nearly as tall as Shay but much thinner. Even though he may have been the town's richest man and owned nearly everything of importance, Ray was a fair and decent man, and Shay respected him. He admired Ray and looked up to him for his fortitude for doing the right thing, with whomever he dealt with. He just had bad taste in women.

"Fine looking young steed," Ray said, stretching out his hand to Shay who took it in a strong grip, regardless how sore and shaky his muscles were.

"He'll be a real winner, once I can break him."

"That doesn't look too easy. How long have you been working on him?"

"Too damned long," Shay chuckled, patting the man on the back.

He led the older man to the porch and called to his housekeeper to bring them a drink. Five minutes later, the little figure of his Indian servant, Mira, appeared carrying a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. Not exactly what Shay had intended, but he knew how drinking hard liquor offended the woman.

Mira had been with Shay and his mother Anita, since she first married Owen Carson, twenty years ago. After their deaths, Mira chose to stay on and moved her son, White Wings, to town where she could better care for Shay and his sister, Tracy. Mira had married a white man, much to her father's disappointment, and lived so long among the so-called civilized world, that after her husband died she felt more welcome to remain than return to her own people. Shay's mother and step-father had always made Mira and her son feel welcome, treating them as equals rather than savages or servants. This was the one reason she stayed with Shay and Tracy after their parents had been killed.

Once Shay was old enough to rebuild the house, Mira insisted nobody could take as good of care of her little children as she could, so she moved back to the ranch and began setting up house. Although the aging Blackfoot Indian rarely said a kind word about anyone, Shay was grateful to her.

Mira was a proud woman and raised her son, as well as Shay and Tracy, to feel pride in themselves as well as the world around them. It was due in part to her unique love and ideas of keeping the three children together, which aided White Wings to fall in love with Tracy. They married last summer, and much to Mira's disappointment, her son returned to his Indian tribe. She was now anxiously awaiting the birth of her first grandchild.

The woman’s current mission in life – at least to her way of thinking – was to see Shay happily married before she died. It was an old conversation between the two of them, that he had the entire dialog etched in his mind forever. She may have been a stubborn old woman at times, but Shay loved her and realized he couldn't have made this ranch what it was today without her help...or her love.

"So, tell me Ray, what brings you out here so early? I thought Saturday was your only day to rest?"

Shay poured the sweet lemonade in one of his mother's fine crystal glasses and offered it to him.

"I don't know how to start," he answered, removing his brown hat to reveal a massive head of silver and black hair. "I like you Shay, but after the way you've treated my daughter, I'm not sure if I should knock your teeth out or drag you to the reverend with a shotgun in your back."

Shay stared at the man for some time, trying to piece together what he was referring to. The best he could come up with, was his refusal to dance with Caroline the night before, but that wouldn't upset this proud father. It had to be something more.

"If you're going to threaten my good health, the least you can do is tell me what I've done."

"After last night, I'm not sure if you deserve an explanation."

"Last night? What did I do last night, except refuse to dance with your daughter?"

"I wish it were that simple," the man said, setting his glass down and standing up.

He paced his way to the railing surrounding the wooden porch and leaned against it. Keeping his back to Shay as he continued talking.

"Caroline came home last night in tears. She told me she's carrying your child and you refused to marry her. I could have you arrested for what you've done, you know?"

Ray turned as he spoke the latter of his statement to see Shay's reaction to his knowledge of the situation. Shay's mouth fell open and his eyes grew as round as saucers. His features revealed the shock of the man's statement and he had to tighten his grip on the glass, so it wouldn't slide from his hand.

"Pregnant?" Shay said, looking away from his visitor.

Was it possible? Could Caroline Baker be carrying his baby? Then he remembered the woman in question. She was sneaky and conniving, perhaps even enough to try and rope him into an unwanted marriage. Shay knew as well as the rest of the town, if Caroline Baker were pregnant it would be nearly impossible to say who the father was.

"You sound surprised," Ray said, inspecting the man's expression.

"I am. Caroline never said anything to me about any of this, Ray. That much I can swear to, but how can you be certain I'm the guilty one?"

"Are you calling my daughter a whore?" the man growled, his hands curling into tight balls of fists.

"You know better than that, Baker. I don't call any woman names, even if they deserve it. Let's face it, we both know Caroline is far from being...an angel."

"Why would she lie?"

"I don't know, but it wouldn't be the first time she was caught by her own stories. Have you checked with the doctor to see if what she says is true?"

"I didn't think to doubt her," Ray said, his anger slowly being replaced by logic. "If she is pregnant, Shay, can you honestly tell me there's no possible way you can be the father of her baby?"

Shay knew what it was he was asking, but how do you tell a father you've slept with his only daughter – along with half the men in town?

"I haven't seen Caroline in over two months and I haven’t been with her in more than four. How far along did she say she was?"

"She didn't, and I didn't bother to ask."

"I think perhaps you should ask, and not just about that. Find out how many other men she's...courted, in the past few weeks."

"And if it proves you are the father, what then? Will you marry her?"

Shay thought for a long time before answering. He didn't want to marry Caroline Baker, especially after his passionate encounter with Kristen the night before. He barely closed his eyes all night, thinking of how her lips had felt pressed against his and how warm and tender her flesh had felt. He had given her, what could have been, her first orgasm. How could he possibly marry another woman after experiencing something so...innocent and pure?

"Why don't we get some answers before we start making any kind of plans?"

Ray paced off the porch but paused and turned around again. His eyes were filled with sorrow, both for his daughter, whom he wanted to think of as perfect, and for this man, whom he'd always considered to be fair and decent – a true friend in a sea of freeloaders and liars.

"I'll let you know what I find out," he told Shay as he set his hat back on his head and left.

Shay sat watching as the buggy pulled out of sight trying to remember exactly how long it had been since he had shared his bed with Caroline. Was it four months ago or more? He just couldn't seem to recall the exact date.

"That little tramp is lying," Mira growled as she appeared in the threshold of the door. "Who does she think she is, accusing you of such out and out lies?"

"Were you eavesdropping, old woman?" Shay scolded, feeling more than a little embarrassed.

"How else do I find out what's been going on around here? You certainly don't tell me anything, and you're hardly ever around, except to bring that little boy out to play with the horses. I don't even see you for supper anymore."

"Jealous, my love?" Shay teased, knowing the woman's heart was filled with nothing but kindness.

"Hell no, and don't be calling me your love. I'd sooner jump from a speeding carriage than be your lover, good or bad. One thing I'd like to know though, is who it is that has been taking up your time if it's not that Baker brat."

"Let's just say, I've been to heaven and it’s hard coming back to earth."

With those words, Shay stood from his chair and walked back to the young colt, still bucking and whining his complaints. Mira stayed on the porch the rest of the morning watching her young friend trying to break that little black devil.

"Just where the hell has he found this heaven?" she asked herself aloud. "And who's been taking him there, that's what I'd like to know."

Hattie's house was just far enough outside of town, that the sounds faded away before they reached the little white structure, allowing the songs of birds to filter through the morning air. Kristen rolled over and stretched, looking out the open curtains. It was beautiful. Instead of seeing a building outside her window as she had at the hotel, she saw a tree with a nest of little birds. The green leaves rustled in the warm morning breeze and the aroma of blooming flowers filtered their way through the window.

She sat up and looked around the room. Sean was gone, and the door was closed. His cot had been made up and his nightshirt was hanging in the open wardrobe. Apparently, Hattie had come in and tidied up before going into town and opening her shop. Kristen stretched again. She'd have to get up and find out what happened to Sean; perhaps Shay had arrived early and picked him up. The thought of the man brought a sudden knot to her stomach and a tingling to her skin. She laid back in her bed and looked up at the white ceiling.

Kristen's lips still throbbed from Shay's kisses and if she held very still, she could swear she felt the gentle touch of his hands as they worked their seductive miracles on her delicate flesh. She longed to be with him and to feel his arms around her again, but after the way she acted last night she was certain he would never want to see her again.

As she lay silently trying to convince herself it was fear from what happened at the hotel that made her overact; images of the true reason she had run away filtered through her memory. It wasn't just yesterday she tried to hide from, it was the past seven years; four of which were pure hell. How could she ever love Shay when the Baron refused to vacate her every waking hour? Even after all these weeks of hiding, Kristen could still feel his touch, as he tried to ravish her. She could smell his breath as he forced her to kiss him. How could Shay ever respect her after the way she had allowed herself to be treated? How could they ever find love together after all of that?

"Love?" she said, sitting straight up in bed.

She didn't love Shay, did she? How could she tell for sure? How could she find out if love was what she was feeling, or if it was just appreciation for all the man had done for Sean?

No, it was more than simple appreciation. When she thought of Shay Sinclair, her brother never entered her mind. She thought of him for herself. Was that so bad? Was it wrong to think of her future, when Sean's was the only one that mattered?

Emotions drove Kristen from the bed and over to the wardrobe. She wanted to see Shay and to put these feelings in order. It had to be an infatuation. She couldn't possibly be in love with the man. After all, Shay wasn't the sort of man to settle down and she couldn't jeopardize her future here in Montana by causing a scandal. Sean's future was all that mattered. He had to grow strong and reclaim his title, so they could go home.

Kristen hurried and slipped on her blue cotton gown and petticoats, made her bed and snatched up her shoes. She had to get to Hattie's. Out of all the weeks she'd spent working for the woman, she had never taken a day off or ever once arrived late. Most days she was at the shop waiting when Hattie arrived to unlock the door. How could she explain herself to the woman, and where was Sean?

Kristen's question was answered the minute she opened the door. She could hear Sean in the other room, his voice echoed through the quiet of the morning like rain in an empty bucket. Kristen's eyes swelled with tears as she listened to the boy's rambling. She owed Shay so much, how could she possibly repay him? He gave her back her brother and helped him find the right road to his reclaiming more than just his title; he helped him reclaim his life.

"Oi loike ‘oecakes an’ syrup," the boy was saying, " an’ bacon, an’ eggs, an’ sausage, an’ spuds, an’ apple pie, an’ crumpets. an’ tay, an’ ‘orses."

He seemed to be speaking in one endless sentence, barely taking a breath between pauses. He had stored up so much over the years that he had to say it all at once to catch up for lost time.

"Tell me about yourself, Sean," Hattie said as she sat the dishes on the table. "Where do you come from?"

"Kristen an’ me are from Oirlan’. Me mommy an’ daddy ‘av a castle dare. Kristen says Oi ‘av ter grow strong loike Shay, so we can go back ‘um an’ take it away from de Baron."

"Sean!" Kristen snapped rounding the corner to the dining room.

Her face paled as she realized just how much the boy was saying. She looked from Hattie to Sean, then rushed to his side, hugging him tightly. Nobody could know about the Baron, not even Hattie. There was too much at risk.

"Kristen, luk," Sean told her excitedly, pointing to the hot bread on a plate in front of him. "’Attie made me, me own. Innit jist gran’?"

Kristen sighed. Her brother wasn't even aware of what he had said, all he cared about was talking, which he was doing – much too much of it in fact.

"’ Tis bonny, me love. Why don't we gi washed up an’ ‘elp ‘Attie, before we ‘av ter open de shop?"

"’ Attie's not weurkin’ t’day," Sean exclaimed, before the woman had a chance to speak for herself. "She says she never weurks de day after a party. She's weurked too ‘ard gettin' ready for it an’ she takes de day off, so yer ain’t weurkin’ either. Ken we go ter Shay's? Oi want yer ter see de ‘orses. ‘E ‘as lots av dem, big wans an’ wee wans. Al’ kinds av colors too."

"Maybe later. Roi nigh, let's ‘elp ‘Attie, shall we?"

Kristen turned and looked at the woman who smiled. So much noise from a boy who had been silent for so long seemed strange. Hattie just chuckled softly, shaking her head as she took the boy’s empty plate into the kitchen.

The rest of the morning advanced much as it had begun, with Sean chattering away about one thing or the other. He laughed and giggled at the birds playing around the front porch and sang songs their mother had sung to them as children. Though the words were jumbled, the melodies were the same, proving that even as young as he had been, he never lost sight of the love their mother had for them.

Sean chattered away until Kristen was certain her head would explode from listening. Desperate for some quiet, she slipped silently out the door and down the steps to the back of the house where Hattie's garden stood. There, she sat down and began to pull the weeds threatening to overpower the thick stalks of rose bushes.

The quiet of the early afternoon was relaxing, but Kristen could still hear the chatter of her little brother. She sighed in disbelief. To think she wanted to hear him speak again. Slowly, she stood and walked toward the hills encasing the back of Hattie's house. They were filled with green foliage, lush and beautiful, beaconing her feet forward until her dress became tangled among them. Kristen slipped off her shoes, pulling the hem of her skirt free, and ran stocking footed along the tall grasses and wildflowers. The soft ground tickled her feet and made her giggle like a child.

This was too sinful to be good for her. Kristen could hear the rustle of the birds in the trees and looked up to see two small squirrels scurry along the trunk of a large maple tree. She licked her lips softly, thinking of the syrup the tree would produce come fall. ‘This was heaven’, she told herself. This must have been what Eden looked like, alive and fresh and flawless. The only thing missing in this Eden of hers was Adam, or in her case...Shay.

Shay tied Midnight's reigns around the post out front of Hattie's house and smiled with delight at the endless chatter escaping the open window. He stepped up to the porch and listened as Sean rambled on about everything and nothing. He heard the boy tell Hattie all about their trip from back east and the trains he had ridden on. He told her of the green hills he could see from his window back in Ireland and how he had always longed to ride a horse. Then he told Hattie about his days with Shay and how much he loved going to his ranch. This made Shay smile. Had he made such a lasting impression on the boy that it had filtered through to his heart?

"You said something about the Baron," Hattie said, finally getting a chance to speak. "Who is he?"

"’ E's mean," Sean said, pulling his feet up to hide behind his bent knees. "’ E did brutal tings ter us."

"Like what?" she insisted, looking up to see his sudden shyness return.

"’ E used ter belt me an’ lock me away, an’ ‘e'd...make Kristen cry."

"Did he hurt her too?" Hattie asked him gently, hoping to learn more, yet praying not to upset the child.

Shay listened silently as his friend cautiously interrogated her young guest. His interest in the conversation was peaked. Was this why Kristen had run from him the night before? Had this Baron abused her, or worse, raped her?

"’ E yells at ‘er an’ calls ‘er rank names. ‘E drinks al’ de time. Kristen ‘ad ter block ‘er dure at noight, ‘an’ tell imself ter go away. We're afraid av ‘im. ‘E's so mean, an’ he does mean tings ter us."

Sean's words grew quiet and his voice began to quiver. How could any man cause such a gentle boy to cower?

"Hello there," Shay said, walking the rest of the way into the room.

He didn't want the boy to feel afraid, but he needed to know more about this Baron. Who was he and what had he done to Kristen?

"Shay!" Sean shouted, jumping off the sofa and running into the man's strong arms nearly knocking him off his feet.

Shay chuckled happily as he hugged the boy, then looked to Hattie, whose eyes told him she knew he had been listening.

"Ye bring Midnoight? Ken we go for a ride? Oi towl Kristen we shud come out ter yer ranch."

"Easy son," Shay said with a smile, setting the boy down on his feet. "I can't answer everything at once. If you want to see Midnight, he's hitched up out front, but first, you need to tell me where your sister is. I need to speak to her."

"She's somewhere, ken Oi take Midnoight for a ride?"

"Not right now, but I promise you can ride him back to the Double Arrow when we go, alright? Now, where is somewhere?"

"Wat? Oh, she went outside a while ago. Can I give Midnoight an apple?"

Shay chuckled again, handing the boy an apple from the bowl on the sofa table. Sean squealed and hurried out the door.

"What a hurricane," he laughed.

He watched Sean through the window as he slowed his pace to the horse as Shay had taught him, so he wouldn't frighten the animal.

Turning back to Hattie Shay asked quietly, "Do you know where she went?"

"I think she's in the garden. The boy hasn't stopped talking since he woke up. Travis," she said, stopping his departure. "Did you hear what Sean was saying about the Baron?"

"I heard."

"Who do you think he is?"

"I don't know, but I think it's time I found out. If he did cause Kristen to run, there's a chance he's still after her."

"Will you let him take her back if he finds them?"

Hattie's habit of coming right to the point and making a man feel on the spot was little less than annoying. Shay didn't have to answer; his eyes said all Hattie needed to know. Like he said the night before, there wasn't a chance in hell he would let her go without a fight. Now, if she could just get him to admit he was in love with her.

The room was dark and unusually cool for this time of year, causing the man's spirits to worsen. Charles had arrived nearly twenty minutes ago and had yet to see any sign of his brother-in-law. He growled his discontent to the silent room. The fat slob was no doubt feeding his face in the horse trough he so commonly referred to as his private dining room, keeping a man as important as the Duke of Cheshire waiting.

Waiting, however, was not one of Charles' finer points. He began to pace the room again. He wasn't accustomed to being left alone in anyone's sitting room, especially by the likes of Baron Andrews, the phony Lord of Drake's Crest. This castle was Lilith's Irish home and Sean’s birthright; not the fat liar who was residing as head of the manor.

A soft lilting laughter filtered through the closed door bringing Charles out of his momentary state of aggravation. He recognized the voice, even the smell of lilacs weaving its way under the door. It was Michelle, his Michelle. Charles stepped quietly to the closed barrier, listening with interest at the conversation out in the hallway.

Michelle’s being here was his idea, but an idea he found himself struggling to conform to. The thought of a man such as Andrews touching the woman Charles felt belonged to himself, didn't sit well with the young Duke. The ugly head of jealousy reared forcefully as he thought of how he was using her to get information.

What could he have been thinking of, allowing Michelle to prostitute herself to obtain information about Kristen and Sean? Were his own needs greater than those of a young woman's, a woman he cared for with more passion than his own life?

"Me Lord," the girl giggled with a burst of sweet laughter. "Yer mustn't keep ‘Is Grace waitin'."

"Let ‘himself wait. Oi’m master av diss castle. Wat's de worst ‘e ken do? Leave withoyt spakin’ ter me? Me heart bleeds for ‘imself. Nigh, come back ‘ere an’ gie me another kiss, before Oi ‘av ter attend ter me duties."

The girl giggled again as the rough tone of the Baron growled his intentions.

"Me Lord, please, Ye must go nigh."

"Pure well, but only if yer promise ter be in me bed whaen Ah’ve finished wi’ me business?"

The girl's giggling was getting on Charles's nerves. He never knew her to giggle – pant and scream perhaps – but never churlish giggling.

"Oi canny me lord, Oi ‘av ter go into town an’ git supplies for de cook, but Oi promise ter be back in de mornin’."

Aha! Thought Charles. Michelle had been giggling as a means of getting his attention. She had something to tell him and the town was their secret code; a private place in which to pass on the information.

Quickly and without waiting to hear the Baron's response, Charles swung the door open startling the two bystanders in the outer hall. He first glared at the Baron, then nodded and winked at Michelle assuring her he had heard and understood her message. He was anxious to get this over with, so he could see Michelle in private, not just for the information she held. Her luscious breasts swelling above the low bodice of her gown was playing on his libido as heavily as his own conscience.

It had been two months since he last held her or spoke with her. He wasn't quite certain which he preferred more, her ability to make him lose control, or her ability to open him up, to make him talk to her and tell her his concerns and problems. Besides being the most desirable woman, he'd ever known, Michelle was an intelligent, exciting conversationalist. No doubt the real reason Charles was in love with her. Love? Good God, where had that thought come from, he cursed silently.

"I hope you've finished your entertaining Andrews," Charles growled. "I've been far too patient with you as is."

"Yer Grace, wat a pleasure ter see yer again," the Baron replied, smoothing his jacket across his fat stomach.

"I'm not in the mood for your polite amenities. I've come to find out what you've learned of my niece and nephew."

"Let us spake inside," the Baron suggested as he edged his way past the towering man who blocked his entrance into the room.

Michelle bobbed obediently and scurried down the hall, disappearing into the kitchen. Time was of an essence. She would be leaving any moment and although Charles knew he couldn't follow right behind her, he didn't want to waste time hunting her down in the busy city.

"Tell me what you know and do it quickly," Charles demanded, shutting the door with a hard thud. "I'm losing my patience with you," he added as he turned his intent gaze to the overweight man standing in front of the liquor cabinet.

"Ah’ve sent yer messages, Yer Grace, tellin' yer al’ Oi nu. Ah’ve not ‘ad any ward since de last time yer were ‘ere."

The Baron's attempt to pour brandy into a glass was weakened when his hand began to shake, causing him to spill the dark liquid onto the table and the expensive carpet beneath the cabinet.

"I'm not interested in messages, I want the truth."

Andrews may have thought himself successful in fooling Michelle of his bravery, but his actions showed his deception. The Baron knew more than he was telling, and that made Charles's temperament darken, like a storm building over the horizon. He never wanted to choke the life out of a man as badly as he did this pompous bastard!

"Oi ‘av towl yer de truth. Oi nu nathin' more den Ah’ve already sworn ter yer. We ‘ave foun’ several different paths leadin' ter every part av de world. Each wan ‘as proven ter be a waste av time. Oi ‘av men searchin' in tree different countries as we spake, but Oi ‘av nearly jaded me allotment financin' dis root. Oi ‘enny de funds ter continue dis wild goose chase."

"I'm not interested in your excuses, or your problems. I want results and I want them now!"

Charles slammed his fist to the desktop in front of the old man. He felt like a cannon ready to explode and damned close to strangling the man right there and then. His anger ripped through the room causing the Baron, fifty-two years of age, to feel like a child of three condemned for breaking the cook's treat jar.

"If I do not get some answers by the end of the week, I am going to order an immediate investigation. If I find out you've so much as harmed one hair on either of their heads, I'll not wait for the king's order; I'll hang you myself!"

With that said Charles left the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving a shaking, quivering Baron to tend his nerves with liquor.

Charles met Michelle a few short miles from town. He pulled his horse to a halt and ordered his guards to go ahead without him. Once they were alone, he snatched the woman around the waist and led her into the foliage. Answers could wait, but his need for her couldn't. She was the salve to heal his pride, to cure his ache of guilt, and to mend his soul of the rage ripping him apart.

The Baron was one demon he must contend with, but his feelings of disgrace, shame, and remorse were far worse than confronting the devil himself.

"What news have you, wench?" Charles asked sometime later, as his fingers toyed with her still hard nipples.

His lust and anguish curbed, for the time being, he could now concentrate on the reason he had sent her to this part of hell. The sooner he ended this trouble, the sooner he would have her back in his arms and his life – not to mention out from under this bush and back in his bed.

"Not much I'm afraid," Michelle answered, her feigned servant's accent vanished as she moved back into her lover's arms. "I did overhear the cook telling the stable master, Baron Andrews has hired on a bounty hunter from Scotland. McFerrin, I think she called him."

"Robby McFerrin?"

"Aye, that's it. D'you know him?"

"He's an outlaw and a highlander. He's got a very large bounty on his head. Why would Andrews have need of a man like that, just to hunt down two runaway children?"

Charles laid back in the grass, as Michelle sat up and straddled his hips. Her hair fell across her naked breasts, cascading down to mingle in the mass of hair covering the Duke's chest. She traced the dark circles of his nipples with one hand, as her other caressed his satiated manhood.

It had been too long since she had this magnificent lover and she wasn't finished with him just yet. She teased him to an aroused state of renewed excitement, wrapping her hand around him and slowly, torturously massaging him with a grip of gentle firmness.

Charles moaned softly enjoying the pleasure she was creating. He closed his eyes and lavished in her touch anxious to withstand her playing, prolonging the passion until he had her begging for him. He was certain he could withstand her love play until she slid down his long body; her hot, wet lips brushing over the length of him. He moaned as she began kissing and tasting his hard shaft, taking him into her mouth with torturous vigor.

"You won't like what else I've heard," she continued a few moments later, hoping to keep him calm with the caress of her tongue. "The cook told me Mistress Kristen was all but a prisoner in her own home. She also claimed little Master Sean was locked in his room almost every day 'n was even ordered to take his meals there, away from the others."

"That son-of-a-bitch!" Charles growled, sitting up abruptly and knocking Michelle to her backside as he grabbed for his pants.

The fat Baron had gone too far this time. He would see to it the man paid for his actions, even if it meant the price would be his fat greasy neck.

"Wait, Charles, you mustn't. If McFerrin is on Kristen's trail, only the Baron can call him off. You may be signing your own niece's fate if you go after him now."

Michelle knew the Duke well enough to recognize the blood lust in his eyes and the sneer of vengeance on his lips.

"I can't allow him to get away with this," Charles snapped in response.

"He already has."

He looked at Michelle still naked, sitting on his riding cape. She was right, there would be no use fighting a man over the past when it was one word against another, but he would have his revenge. That much he promised himself.

"Tell me what to do."

Charles needed to hear this woman's logic and needed more than anything for an intelligent resolve to his torment.

"You have to wait. The Baron tells me everything. He will tell me where Kristen is once he knows for sure. All he knows at this point, is that the last trail McFerrin was tracking was taking him to America. He's at a loss, Darling. He's desperate for their return and their silence. Once I know more I will contact you."

"I don't know what I would do without you, my little lover," Charles said, falling back to their make-shift blanket.

"Well, you'd better be prepared to show me. Do you have any idea what it's like to have that slob touching me? I can barely contain my stomach from retching every time he kisses me and when he makes love to me..."

"Enough! I'm still regretting the idea of sending you to that bastard, don't make me feel any more of the guilt."

"Then love me instead. I fear it will be a while before I can feel your arms around me. Love me now, love me strong so I can think of you when I’m in his bed."

Charles lowered her to his cape and quickly covered her tender body with his own. He would love her, love her hard enough that she never again remembers the horrors that old slug produces. He would love her now and let her go, but once this was over he would never again release her. He would never allow her out of his arms again. Never!