"No!" She threw the balled garment to the grass and kicked it with a bare foot. "I will not! I will wear nothing of yours, Adam Rourke. If my body is so ugly, I will find my own clothes, but I will not wear yours!" She whirled and stalked off down the river bank. "Damn woodenhead," she muttered. "Stupid English. Matethi-i-thi, stupid woodenhead."

  "Where are you going? Rebecca! Come back here!"

  She broke into a run, not looking back but knowing that he was following her. She wasn't sure how far downriver they had been swept, and she hoped the horses were where she had left them, but it made no difference. She was going home! With or without the horses, with or without the English dress, she was going back to her people. She had saved Adam's life, and he owed her a great debt. His honor demanded that he release her and send her on her way with all his wealth. Even a stupid woodenhead must understand that. She would go home, and she would forget him. She would never think of him again, not if she lived for a hundred summers!

  Adam was hard pressed to keep up with Rebecca as she scrambled over fallen logs and waded and climbed in and out of the river. He was even harder pressed to keep his eyes from lingering on the delightfully feminine buttocks or the flash of a firm, upthrust breast. God, but she was beautiful! Her hair hung in thick, dark waves nearly to her waist. Her shoulders, her long shapely legs, and the grace of her movements all fired his imagination. A desire he couldn't ignore kindled in his brain and loins as he followed her. His breathing quickened, and the tightness in his groin reminded him with every step that he had never seen a woman so gloriously sensual in all his life.

  The black horse was grazing near the spot Star Blanket had last seen him; her discarded riding habit lay on the ground nearby. Still angry, she pulled it over her head and turned to scream at Adam. "Now I have dress! Now I am fit to look at, Englishman. Here is your horse. Do you have happy?"

  Adam fought for control of himself. God, it would be so easy to take her in his arms... to kiss that beckoning mouth, to bury his face between those soft breasts. He knelt beside the horse, running his hands up and down the slim legs, searching for injuries. He couldn't trust himself to speak to her, not yet. He swallowed hard. Even now, knowing what lay beneath the cloth, knowing every curve and hollow of her luscious body, he couldn't bear to look at her. A faint sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead as he stood up and checked the girth. "He seems fit enough," he said harshly. "I didn't think he'd be on this side of the river."

  "I leave the other two ahead," Star Blanket answered coldly. "Only the bay is on far side."

  Adam slipped the musket from its case and stroked it gratefully. The powder was bound to be wet, but it would dry. They'd been lucky, damned lucky. His gaze slid to her face, and he felt the blood rise up his neck and face. "I didn't thank you for saving my life," he said. "It was a brave thing you did."

  "I am Shawnee," she shot back boldly. "Shawnee do not let companions die so easily, not even Englishmen."

  "Shawnee or not, most men would have stayed safely on the bank," Adam continued. "Thank you, Rebecca. I'll never forget what you did."

  "I will help you find your other animals, and then I will go." She waited for him to offer the musket. It was his most valuable possession, and therefore the finest gift he could give.

  A sick feeling grew in the pit of Adam's stomach as he stared at her. She thinks I'm going to let her go. He moved toward her and caught her wrist, speaking with a forced harshness. "Nothing's changed between us, Rebecca," he said. "Nothing. I'm still taking you home to Maryland, to your grandfather." His muscles tensed for the struggle he knew would come, but he was unprepared for the clouding of her sea green eyes as their expression changed from bewilderment to cold fury and then to scorching hatred.

  She trembled in his grasp, not fighting his grip but shrinking from it. "You will not let me go?" she whispered. "I save you from the river, and you will not give me my freedom?"

  "I can't."

  "Then we are enemies," she said softly. "And I will take your life if I can, for you have no honor and are less than a mad dog. Until I cease to draw breath, Adam Rourke, I will hate you and curse your name."

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she made no protest when he set her on the black and tied her wrists together. His own anger rose within him and he wanted to hit out, to slap her, to hurt her as she had hurt him with her words. Instead, he walked ahead in silence and led the black gelding along the river, wishing he were a thousand miles away and had never heard of Rebecca Bradford.

  * * *

  The wish echoed in his ears, silently damning him in the days and nights to come. The second crossing of the Susquehanna was almost child's play, and they found the bay gelding on the far side waiting for them. The weather turned gentle, losing the oppressive heat of August during the day, yet staying warm enough at night so that they didn't need a fire except for cooking. It seemed Adam's luck had turned, so why did he feel so miserable now that success was in sight?

  He kept Rebecca tied day and night, never letting down his guard for an instant. She had threatened to kill him. He didn't doubt she would try if she got the chance.

  Traveling with her after they crossed the river was like riding with a ghost. She didn't speak; she hardly looked at him. Her green eyes were open without seeming to see. She had shut him out of her world once more.

  "You've got to try and understand," Adam repeated as he lifted her into the saddle once again and tied her ankles under the horse's belly. "You've been away so long that you're mixed up. You don't know where you belong. Once you've been home for a while, you'll thank me."

  He might have been speaking to stone for all the reaction he received. She was like a wooden doll. She ate and drank, and slept when he ordered her to, but the teasing sprite was gone as though she had never existed.

  Wryly, Adam thought that this was what he had expected when he had accepted the mission. Rebecca Bradford would be frightened, quiet... perhaps even crazy.

  Adam urged the bay into a trot. It wasn't possible to lie to himself. He missed the snarling little savage almost as much as he missed her fey sense of humor. Even at night she gave him no peace; his dreams were disturbed by images of her unclad form and his own unfulfilled lust.

  Each day's ride brought them closer to civilization. They left the wilderness behind and entered an area of scattered farms and tilled fields. The game trail they had followed became a hard-packed path and then a wagon road.

  Adam's spirits lifted as they passed familiar landmarks. Had there been enough rain to keep the tobacco crop from wilting on Sheffield while he'd been gone? It was time to start cutting. The empty tobacco sheds would soon be full to bursting.

  He loved the smell of curing tobacco. He should have let someone else come after Rebecca; he was needed at home. There were a thousand things to do, and servants, no matter how responsible, couldn't be expected to run the plantation alone.

  He glanced back at Rebecca, wondering if she would find happiness at Sheffield or if she would remain caught between two worlds. He decided to remove the bindings. It would only shame her to be carried home like a prisoner of war.

  "You can't get away," he warned. "No one will know what happened between us if you don't tell them. Your grandfather loves you very much. You must give him a chance."

  Star Blanket watched through hooded eyes as Adam unfastened her wrists. Her anger burned as fiercely now as it had the moment she had cursed him on the Susquehanna, but she was no fool. She had not spoken to him because she knew her silence hurt him more than any words could have. Escape from this place wouldn't be easy. She would have to wait and watch. She would have to learn this land and these people, and she could not learn if she let them know how she felt inside.

  Why would she hate the grandfather who had gone to so much trouble and paid such a price to bring her back? Among the Shawnee, old people were respected. She would give him the respect he was due. Only Adam Rourke would she hate with all her mind and all her soul—only Adam, who had betrayed her.

  Not far down the road, they were met by a farm wagon. The driver, a white man, called out a greeting to Adam. Adam shouted back and broke into a grin.

  "It's John Brown and his wife Molly," Adam explained to Rebecca. "They work on the plantation." He urged his horse forward. "John! It's good to see you! Molly."

  Adam talked excitedly with the two people for a few minutes, then returned to Rebecca's side and lifted her down from the horse. "They've brought us clean clothes. That rider we met yesterday carried a message home to Sheffield. They're all expecting us."

  Rebecca's gaze met that of the woman. Slowly, she smiled and saw the fear leave the servant's face. "You are Molly?"

  The dark-haired woman found her tongue. "Yes, ma'am." She scrambled down from the wagon seat and bobbed a curtsy. "Welcome home, Mistress Rebecca."

  For an instant, Star Blanket wondered about this custom of bouncing up and down. Was she supposed to do the same? Adam's brown eyes flickered a warning. Servants... what had he told her about servants? Did it have something to do with her grandfather's honor? Oh, yes. She smiled and nodded gracefully. The woman gave a half smile in return. But she was waiting for something. "Thank you, Molly," Star Blanket said softly. The servant's smile widened, and Adam looked pleased.

  Star Blanket's heart beat a little faster. Why should she care what these crazy English thought of her? Still, it gave her satisfaction to know she had passed some kind of test. Adam had been surprised. She pursed her lips and concealed her eyes beneath her lashes. Did he expect her to give a war whoop?

  She allowed the Molly woman to help her into the wagon. If this was the English maid who liked to watch women take off their clothes, she would soon learn to play a different game.

  "We've brought fresh things, Mistress Rebecca," said Molly. "There's a place a few miles back where you can change. I'll do your hair, if you like. I know you want to look nice for your homecoming." She opened a trunk and held up a peach-colored gown. "I think this will fit, ma'am. It was your mother's. It's a little old-fashioned but still beautiful, don't you think?"

  Molly talked so fast, with such a heavy accent, that Star Blanket could hardly understand what she was saying. She fingered the heavy English dress absently as one word lodged in her consciousness—mother. Her mother. Her English mother. She had not thought of her in many years, but long ago they had walked together in dreams.

  She had died in the day of blood. Rebecca winced as a ribbon of pain wound around her heart. She blinked to keep back tears; her chest felt strangely tight, as though she could not breathe. Images of her mother's death flashed across her brain. So long ago... so long and yet so clear. She drew in a ragged breath and straightened her back.

  "I will ride," she announced. "I ride this far, I will ride the rest of the way to... to Sheffield." She glanced at Adam; he caught the black horse's reins and walked over to the wagon.

  "If you wish," he said. "We'll make faster time that way. John and Molly can follow in the wagon, with the extra horses."

  Rebecca met his dark eyes stubbornly. "I wish."

  He lifted her down from the wagon and helped her back into the saddle, and they set off at a brisk trot along the dirt road. Rebecca kept her eyes on the trail ahead, unwilling to let Adam see the fear that was creeping over her. What would the grandfather think of her? Would he be ashamed? Would the English laugh at her? She sneaked a look at Adam. He was her enemy, yet in some twisted way he was her only friend in this foreign land.

  Would she remember anything of the home of her childhood? Faces? Sounds? Or would it all be strange and terrifying?

  The fear grew within her with every thud of the horse's hooves. Could Adam smell it? Star Blanket gripped the leather reins tighter to quell the trembling of her hands. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. She was Shawnee! The English could do nothing to break her spirit if she did not let them. If they imprisoned her, she would escape. If they scorned her, she would scorn them. She would never forget who and what she was.

  Adam turned in the saddle and smiled reassuringly at her. "It will be all right, Rebecca. I promise."

  Her laughter was low and bitter. "Your promises, English-manake, are like autumn leaves in the wind. I put no trust in them or in you."

  Chapter 8

  Sheffield seemed to grow out of the land as though it had stood on the banks of Chesapeake Bay for five hundred rather than only fifty years. Built of stone carried in the holds of sailing ships as ballast and of brick fired of Maryland sand and clay, Sheffield was a blending of England and this brash new world... a blending that had produced a graceful manor house as lovely as anything Adam had ever seen.

  Sheltered by towering oaks, surrounded on three sides by water, the house dominated the landscape. The solid stone center structure was flanked by graceful twin additions. By English standards, Sheffield was a modest country estate. In the colonies, it was a home fit for the lord governor himself. And in wealth and breeding, Thomas Bradford was a match for any powdered lordling. Sheffield was a kingdom unto itself, and Rebecca Bradford would be the crown princess. Did she remember? Adam reined in his horse and gazed at her.

  Her face was a study in porcelain; her hands trembled so that her horse sensed her distress and began to toss his head and dance nervously.

  "Rebecca? Are you all right?" Adam guided his mount beside hers. "Rebecca?"

  His voice came to her faintly, fading in and out as though a great distance separated them. Waves of memories swept over her; her head spun, and she felt empty inside, as though her soul had seeped out of her body.

  The smells of Sheffield... it was the smells that tantalized and frightened her. Fresh-cut honeysuckle... bread baking on a dozen hearths... the earthy scent of stables mingling with the odors of ducks and geese, pigs and cattle. A brisk wind from the bay carried the smell of salt and seaweed and the faint, unmistakable scent of wood and canvas. And with it pine and cedar, late summer roses, and crushed mint from the herb garden all forced their memories on Rebecca at once.

  Pictures whirled in her head, and she swayed in the saddle. From far away, she heard her little brother's lisping voice as shadowy children played hide-and-seek in the boxwood maze....

  "Rebecca!" Adam caught her as she fell. "Rebecca, for God's sake! Are you..." His voice cracked and trailed off as her arms tightened around his neck and she clung to him, pressing her warm body against his. Shaken, he dismounted, still holding her, unable to thrust her away from him. "Rebecca," he repeated hoarsely, "are you all right?" His mouth went dry as he tried to ignore the sensations that raced through his flesh and bones.

  A cloud of dark hair brushed his lips and chin; he could feel her warm breath against his chest. Her breasts were pressed against him; as he had swung down out of the saddle, his hand had grasped a softly rounded bottom. "Rebecca." Reason told him to push her away. In another minute, he would be unable to keep himself from tipping up her chin and tasting that beguiling mouth. "Rebecca?" he begged.

  She stirred against him, staring up with eyes so green that a man could lose his soul in them. Her lips formed his name soundlessly, and her soot black lashes wavered.

  She held fast to him, unwilling to let go of the only solid reality in her existence. Adam was like a rock that grew from the heart of mother earth. She could feel his strength flowing into her blood and sinew, pushing back the weakness and uncertainty, pushing back the icy shards of fear that numbed her brain and shattered her hard outer shell. Her body was seized with cold trembling, and she sensed the empty shadow of death brush against her. Feeling herself slipping away, she knew that this time there would be no return. And in utter desperation, she tightened her arms around her enemy's neck and strained upward to meet his lips with her own.

  For half a heartbeat, Adam gave no response. Then he groaned deep in his throat and crushed her against him. His mouth was tender against hers, almost questioning, but the iron-thewed arms molded her body to his until she could hear the beat of his heart and feel the heat of his throbbing loins.

  Her lips parted of their own volition, welcoming the touch of his tongue against hers. The fear washed away, replaced by a shining wonder and an inescapable knowledge that she had known from the beginning it would be like this.

  That he was her enemy meant nothing. The force that drew them together could not be denied by mortal flesh. Surely the gods were laughing at her. Even as her body thrilled to Adam's kiss, her mind accepted that they had known each other in another lifetime, not once but many times. They had been lovers, perhaps even man and wife. She knew it as surely as she knew the sun would rise in the morning.

  Their kiss deepened as a rush of heat enveloped her, and she tasted the sweet recesses of his mouth and felt his soul touch hers. She was no callow maiden; she had known the embrace of men. She had been a wife. Yet Adam's kiss was a thing apart, as unlike the kiss of other men as honey is from pine sap.

  "A-dam" she whispered in the old way. "A-dam." And their lips met again, drinking love as the earth soaks up rain after a summer drought. "A-dam."

  His fingers caressed her cheek and tangled in her hair; soft moans of joy rose in his throat and were met with muffled cries from Rebecca.

  Then, abruptly, the echo of hoofbeats and a man's shot shattered their embrace. "Adam! Damn your eyes! You did it!"

  Adam broke away from Rebecca, grabbing her when she would have fallen. Half dazed, he shook his head to clear away the madness. For an instant her gaze met his, and he could have sworn he saw amusement in those enigmatic depths.

  "Adam!" the man called again.

  "Can you stand?" Adam demanded. She nodded, and he let her go. Reason flooded his brain as he turned to mee the horseman. "Jock! I wish you'd come along. I could have used you." In more ways than one, Adam thought. "This is Mistress Rebecca Bradford."

  Rebecca leaned against Adam's horse as the Strange weakness drained away. Her lips still tingled from his kiss; would the stranger notice they were swollen? If he had not come... if they had been alone... She shrugged imperceptibly. It made no difference. Adam could deny his desire for her; he could pretend it did not exist. But if they were meant to join as man and woman, his struggle would be in vain.