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her face, then stripped away her salt-stiffened, shredded garments. Once bare, she washed quickly and thoroughly with the cold water, down to the length of her hair. She dried herself and donned the new garments she had chosen, heedless of to whom they might belong. Perhaps Ian’s wretched Rebel cousin kept a mistress. Good. She hoped the woman would be furious that her clothing had been taken, and that she would make his life miserable.
    Yet perhaps this Jerome McKenzie had a wife of his own.
    Did a man with a wife act as he had tonight?
    She felt her cheeks begin to burn. She didn’t want to remember what had happened. She had to set her mind to her predicament. Just exactly what had she sworn? He had demanded her word, yet what had she promised …
    Not to give him anymore trouble.
    Well, he wasn’t here. She could, however,
cause
him trouble. She walked to the windows, drawing back the draperies to look out on the night.
    The moon had risen high, casting the sky into a strange, but very beautiful, indigo color. She wondered if she might crawl out the window and find some means of escape. She really couldn’t stay here, and surely, he couldn’t really expect her not to try to escape. Yet as she weighed her chances, someone paced by—a guard with a rifle resting on his shoulder.
    Surely, they wouldn’t shoot her. Nor would they hang Finn. Would they?
    She turned around and walked tentatively toward the door to the hall.
    As she did so, there came a tapping on it. She froze. “Yes?” she said cautiously.
    “May I come in?”
    A female voice had spoken. Alaina’s?
    She hurried to the door, throwing it open. She was met by a woman near her own height, slender, exotically beautiful. Her hair was raven dark, her eyes a golden hazel. Her features were finely formed. She moved into the room with a subtle scent of perfume and pure grace. She had Indian blood, Risa realized quickly, which was what gave her such rare and unusual beauty. Unnerved, Risa moved back slightly, aware that anyone here could be her enemy.
    “How do you do, Miss Magee, I’m Jennifer.”
    Risa didn’t move or reply.
    “Ian’s cousin. Jerome’s half sister,” Jennifer explained.
    Jennifer. Risa knew the name. Always a good friend to Alaina. Her husband had been killed at Manassas at the beginning of the war. The loss had devastated her.
    “Jennifer, of course … it’s a pleasure,” Risa murmured.
    Jennifer smiled. “Jerome said that you’ll be leaving with him as soon as he gets back. I thought you might be sleeping so I hesitated coming here, but I wanted to make sure that you had found fresh clothing—he said you’d had a boating accident, I’m so sorry. It was wonderfully gallant of you to come here on Alaina’s behalf, what a dear, good friend! No wonder Ian loved you so. And Alaina, too. Well, she was frightfully jealous of you at first, but then she wrote more and more frequently about how good you were to her. Oh, God, I’m babbling, but then war does that to people. Anyway, I’ve prepared a dinner tray for you. Since you’re still awake, I’ll have it brought in.”
    “Thank you, and please, stay, talk with me,” Risa said. A boating accident indeed!
    “Let me get your tray—”
    “No, no, please, don’t bother. I can come to the kitchen or the dining room—”
    “Don’t be silly, it’s no trouble whatsoever.” Jennifer turned, heading out of the room. Risa started after her, only to discover that one of Jerome McKenzie’s stalwart young seamen stepped between them when she would have followed. He was a handsome chap with wheat-blond hair and a chin full of whiskers—newly grown, she thought.
    “Excuse me,” she told him.
    “I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
    His voice was truly sorrowful but firm. Risa stepped back into the room, frustrated.
    A moment later Jennifer was back with a tray. The aroma arising from it was tantalizing. Jennifer set it on the foot of the bed with a flourish. “Fresh snapper,