“Mmm. Twenty-eight miles from here. Some of our men were discovered foraging and taken prisoner. God knows, maybe they’ll fare better with the Brits than they do here, but most men still count the cost of freedom high.”
“Why are you telling me this!” she exclaimed.
“Because someone is getting information through to the British.”
She gasped, astounded. She’d barely been away from the place, except to ride out with Damien one afternoon. Her voice was low and trembling with fury when she spoke. “I do not believe that you would dare to accuse me again!”
“Amanda—”
She shoved at his chest as hard as she could, feeling tears well behind her eyes. “Don’t! Don’t speak to me, don’t come near me, don’t you throw your foul accusation at me anymore! Damn you!”
She ran away from him, ignoring his voice as he shouted to her to come back. She didn’t care who saw them, she didn’t care who heard. She was certain that most of the camp knew that he spent his nights away from his wife anyway.
Gasping, she tore back to their hut. Jacques was within, sitting on a bench, cleaning muskets. He looked up sharply when she entered.
“What is it, milady?”
She shook her head. The tears spilled onto her cheeks anyway. “Oh, Jacques! How can he be so blind! I have done everything that I can and still…”
She rushed to the bench, glad of the arm he set about her to comfort her. He had been with her so long. Always so quiet, and always there. No matter what the tempest of her life, she felt that she had a defender. He whispered gentle words in French to her, soothing words. Suddenly the door burst open. Eric had followed her home.
And there she was, in Jacques’s arms. She wondered if he wouldn’t fly into a rage at that and accuse her of more awful things.
But to her amazement, he was absolutely silent. Jacques didn’t even pretend to move away from her—he stared at Eric over her head.
And Eric didn’t say a word. He closed the door and left.
That night she lay awake in bed, cold despite her flannel gown and the rough blanket and the fire. Her teeth chattered miserably. Suddenly she heard a commotion in the outer room, the door bursting open, voices rising, then falling.
Then there was silence.
And then the door to the bedroom seemed to shatter open upon its hinges. Eric stood in the doorway in his high boots and heavy cloak and plumed hat. She sat up instantly, afraid and wary. He was drunk! she thought. But he was not. “Tell me that you are innocent,” he said, his voice low and husky.
“I am innocent,” she replied, her eyes wide and challenging and level upon his.
He smiled and strode firmly into the room. She leapt from the bed, backing away to the fire. “Eric! Damn you! Don’t you think that you can come swaggering in here—”
“I do not swagger, my love. I stride.”
“Well, you cannot stride—”
“Ah, my love, but I can!”
And he could. He was before her, catching her wrist, spinning her into his arms. She protested, crying out, swearing as the best of the soldiers might, and pummeling his chest. He laughed, ignoring her efforts, and swept her up into his arms. Her fight, however, off-balanced him, and they crashed heavily down upon the bed together. “Eric Cameron—”
“Shush up and pay attention, Amanda.” She had no choice. His sinewed thigh was cast heavily over her hips and his hands were taut upon her wrists. His words touched her lips, warm, soft, beguiling. The tone of his voice was deep and quiet and richly masculine, reaching deep inside of her. “I believe you. I believe that you are innocent. Now, listen to me, love, and listen this once, for I shall not make a habit of explaining. I am innocent, too, of all charges. I admit, there were times when I would have bedded another woman if I could have for the sheer loneliness of this life. Yet I could not, you see. There is no other woman with a cascade of rich silken hair the color of fire, and no other woman anywhere to charm the soul with the steady gaze of emerald eyes, the velvet caress of her voice. I have never faltered once, Amanda. From the night that I first saw you, I wanted you and no other. It shall never change. No matter what I have believed, I have wanted you. And I have loved you. Now, lady, if you would, cast me out again. Into the snow.”
A slow, sensual smile curved lazily into her lips. “If I cast you out, will you go?”
“No.”
She sighed extravagantly. “I did not think so.”
“So?”
“Let go of my wrists.”
“Why?”
