“Are you sure about this, dear?” Agnes asked, regarding the ramshackle Morrisey house with distaste, then looking wistfully at Adam, who waited with the wagon.

“Very sure, Mama.” Clover rapped on the door again, wishing she had come sooner instead of allowing her mother and Ballard to coddle her. She had not been seriously injured in her ordeal, and it had been selfish to leave Willie in Morrisey’s brutal hands for four more days.

“You do not have the full sixty dollars,” her mother reminded her.

“I know.” She smiled at Bess when the timid woman eased open the door. “Mrs. Morrisey? You may not remember me, but I am Ballard MacGregor’s wife, Clover. This is my mother, Agnes Sherwood.”

“What do you want?”

“I would like to talk to you.”

“‘Bout what?”

“The boy. The one who is half-Shawnee?”

“My husband ain’t wanting to talk about him. He ain’t giving that boy up for nothing.”

Clover took the bag of coins from a pocket inside the folds of her cloak and hefted it in her hand so that Bess Morrisey could hear the distinctive chink of money. “I am here to do more than talk.”

Bess opened the door wider. “I will send one of the boys after my husband.”

As she entered the house, her mother following on her heels, Clover saw three young girls standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her closely. When Morrisey had mentioned his family that day in the Clemmons store, he had talked only of sons. She suspected the girls were treated almost as badly as Willie.

Bess tugged a small boy out of a dark corner of the room and sent him to get her husband. She then signaled Clover and her mother to sit at the long plank table.

“You got all sixty dollars?” Bess asked as she sat down across from Clover and Agnes.

“Not quite,” Clover replied, noticing how hard Bess stared at the sack of money she had set on the table in front of her.

“Then he ain’t gonna be agreeing with you.”

“There is no harm in trying, is there?”

“Reckon not. Still, if my man said sixty, then he means sixty. He can be stubborn.” Bess tentatively reached toward the sack of money, but did not touch it. “How much do you have?”

“Forty-two dollars.” She saw Bess’s tired eyes grow wide and knew she had guessed correctly in thinking that the Morriseys rarely saw any coin at all. She had held back some of the money and began to think she would be able to keep it. “I realize it is short of the fee your husband has been demanding, but ‘tis far, far more than he paid for the boy, and I suspect far more than anyone else has ever offered. After all, he is quite small and ill-fed. Judging from how often your husband feels it is necessary to discipline the boy, I would say that he must be a very difficult child.” She met Bess’s sardonic look and knew the woman was not fooled by her carefully chosen words. Clover also sensed that Bess would say nothing, however.

“Ma, we ain’t never seed that kind of money before,” said the tallest of the three girls.

“This ain’t none of your business, Lottie,” Bess said. “Your pa won’t want to be hearing from you. You three get back to the cooking.” She looked at Clover. “Why do you want the boy so bad?” she asked in a soft voice, glancing at the door as she spoke.

Clover realized that Bess was trying to find out something before her husband arrived. She wished she knew what it was. For a moment she hesitated, then decided to tell the truth. Since Bess clearly did not want her husband to hear the conversation, Clover felt certain that whatever she said would not reach Morrisey’s ears, to be used against her later.

“What I want, Mrs. Morrisey, is to get that child away from your husband before he kills him,” she replied in an equally soft voice. “I owe that boy my life. Four days ago he saved me from Big Jim.”

“Four days back, huh? That was the day my man came back spitting poison about you. He don’t like you much.”

“I suspect my threat to shoot off his manhood rather soured his opinion of me.” To Clover’s astonishment Bess briefly, timidly smiled.

“You did that?” When Clover nodded, Bess quickly grew solemn again. “That ain’t gonna put him in a humor to bargain with you.”

“I am hoping this will put him into a more reasonable state of mind,” Clover said, lightly touching the money bag. “Fifteen dollars was collected from the townsfolk. The rest is mine. I am not the only one who wants that child taken from your husband’s hands.”

Bess nodded. “It mighta been better if you shot him when you had the chance. He will be holding that agin you.”

“To be honest, I have never handled a gun in my life. I was lucky I aimed the right end of the musket at him. I will get the boy free of him. If not today, then another day. I will not give up. As I said, I owe the boy my life. I owe him my husband’s life as well, for our enemies meant to use me to draw Ballard to his death.”

“I ain’t gonna be able to help you.”

“I do not ask or expect you to.”

“I ain’t even sure you will be safe in my house right now. My man purely hates you. I reckon he figures you shamed him. Scared him too, and he ain’t gonna forgive that. I ain’t gonna be able to help you if he sets on you.”

“You do not have to worry about us. As you saw, Adam Dunstan brought us here. At the first hint of trouble he will enter, gun in hand, and he knows how to use it.”

At that moment Morrisey slammed into the house, stopping just inside the front door to glare at Clover. “What the hell are you doing here, woman?” He glowered at his wife. “Why’d you let her in after all I been saying ‘bout her?”

“She done come to buy the boy.” Bess pointed to the sack on the table.

Morrisey strode over and reached for the sack, but Clover snatched it away. She did not flinch under his hard glare, not even when he raised his fists. He had come in the front door, so she knew he had seen Adam and understood what would happen if he touched her. Clover was not sure how long the threat of Adam would restrain Morrisey, however, so she hurried to get down to business.

“You do not get this money until I get the boy,” she said.

“Then show me your money.”

Clover tipped the coins out on the table. Morrisey stood there for a long time, staring at it and not saying a word. When she caught a glimpse of his lips moving, she realized he was struggling to count it.

“There ain’t sixty there,” he accused.

“I know.”

“I said his price is sixty.”

“And do you really think someone will pay that much for the boy? He is underfed, battered, and obviously troublesome. We both know a lot of people want that boy free. They have been trying to raise the ridiculous price you are asking for a year, and they still do not have enough.”

“They got this much together. They can get the rest.”

“That money does not come from your neighbors,” said Agnes, speaking for the first time. “It is my money. I sold nearly everything I had just before I left Pennsylvania, and this is all I could raise. The pot will not grow any bigger. Yes, a few dollars did come from others, but only a few and, as Clover said, it has taken them nearly a year to gather even that small amount. I doubt they will ever get a full sixty dollars together. You have overpriced the child, Mr. Morrisey, and that means no one here will ever pay your blood money.”

“Then I can sell him someplace else,” Morrisey grumbled, but his gaze remained fixed on the silver coins.

“I sincerely doubt that Mr. Morrisey. He is a skinny, dirty little boy and half-Indian. You know most people do not believe Indians can work hard. A number of people would not want him near them because of their dreadful fear and loathing of Indians. And, for sixty dollars, a person can get a good strong black man, perhaps even more than one black slave. I detest the business of buying and selling people, as does my daughter. Nevertheless, if we must stoop to meet your despicable demand in order to free that child, we will. We will not, however, pay a price you could get nowhere in this country. What my daughter is offering is more than generous. I suggest you think twice before you refuse.”

While her mother spoke, Clover carefully returned the coins to the pouch, determined not to reveal her astonishment at her mother’s boldness. The usually timid woman was talking in a firm voice, calmly facing the large, glowering Morrisey. She had also lied about how much of the money had come from the townsfolk. It was a clever lie intended to convince Morrisey he would never get his asking price, and Agnes Sherwood never lied.

Clover looked up at Morrisey as she dropped the last coin into the pouch and closed it. He really wanted the money. Just as she had hoped, showing him the coins had aroused his greed. She still had thirteen dollars in her pocket for bargaining, but it began to look as if she would not need it.

“Take the money, Jake,” urged Bess, tensing when he glared at her.

“This is my business, woman,” he snapped.

Bess flinched, but pressed on. “Folk ‘round here just ain’t got much money. They ain’t never gonna get sixty dollars together, not for no half-breed boy. The only reason this money is here is because these ladies done brought it with them to Kentucky. We got plenty of workers, Jake, but we ain’t got no coin.”

Morrisey scowled, then held out his hand. “Fine, then. Buy the brat. Give me the money and you can take him away.”

“I want to see the boy first,” said Clover. “Until he is in my hands, you do not get a penny.”

“Get the brat, Bess.”

Bess’s expression as she moved to do her husband’s bidding made Clover uneasy. When Bess pushed aside a thin rag rug on the floor and Clover saw the tiny trap door, she understood Bess’s shame. Clover struggled hard to control her rage as Bess helped a filthy, unsteady Willie up through the hatchway. He shielded his eyes against the light. Clover suspected he had been in that hole since he had returned home after helping her. She looked at Morrisey and knew that he could see the fury in her eyes.

“You already done agreed to the price,” he said.

“Come here, Willie.” Clover frowned when Bess had to help the boy over to her. “You are coming home with me. Is there anything you want to take with you?”

“The brat don’t own nothing,” Morrisey said even as Willie shook his head.

“I need your mark on this piece of paper, Mr. Morrisey,” Clover said, and pulled a small bill of sale she had written up out of a pocket inside her cloak. “It simply says that, for the sum of forty-two dollars, you will relinquish all claim to the child.” She pointed to the bottom of the paper. “I want you to make your mark here and make a thumbprint right next to it.”

Even as she pulled from her bag the ink, quill, and paper Morrisey needed, Clover asked Willie, “Are you hurt?”

“Just some bruises. Ain’t nothing broken. I just be a mite stiff ‘cause that punishment hole ain’t too big.” He looked at her in awe. “Am I free then?” His eyes widened when she nodded. “I could hug you, ma’am, but I’m powerful dirty.”

“You can hug me after you have had a bath.” She smiled when he grimaced at the word bath, revealing that, despite his sad condition, his spirit was undaunted.

“Where am I going now that I be free?”

“Well, you can come and live with us, but since you are free, it must be your own decision.” When she saw that Morrisey had finished putting his marks on the paper, she held the man’s belligerent gaze and asked Willie, “Were you being punished for spending time with me?” Morrisey lowered his hand to his loins and Clover smiled coldly. He had not forgotten her threat that day at Ballard’s.

“Nope. I forgot to do the milking.”

Clover suspected that the milking had not been done because the boy had been with her and his punishment was for that visit as well, but Morrisey had had enough wit to claim another reason. Since she had no weapon and probably lacked the backbone needed to shoot a man anyway, she decided to let well enough alone. The important thing was Willie’s freedom.

Morrisey thrust the paper at her. Clover took it, studied his mark, and put it back in her pocket. She signaled her mother to take Willie out to the wagon and then tossed the money onto the table. Morrisey snatched it up so quickly she was not sure it even touched the surface of the table.

“I have found this transaction extremely distasteful, Mr. Morrisey,” Clover said. “The child is no longer yours. If you ever touch him again, I will see that you pay dearly for it.” She nodded at Bess. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Morrisey.” She hurried out of the house, briefly wishing there was something she could do to help Bess and her children and knowing there was nothing.

As she climbed onto the wagon seat next to Adam, waving aside his offer of assistance, she looked at her mother and Willie seated in the back. Willie was eating a scone Molly had packed for him, struggling valiantly to obey her mother’s gentle commands to eat slowly. Clover almost dreaded cleaning him up, for she knew that once the dirt was washed away, she would see the results of Morrisey’s brutal hand all too clearly.

“Lord above, did he crawl out of a mudhole?” cried Molly as she gingerly helped Willie from the wagon.

“Actually, Molly, you are almost right,” Clover said as she hopped down from the seat and went to help her mother out of the wagon. “He has been in a punishment hole since the day he rescued me. He needs a good scrubbing.”

“He does that.”

“I should go and thank MacGregor.” Willie tried to squirm free of Molly’s grip on his arm.

“Mr. MacGregor be doing some business. He will not be wanting a dirty little boy rushing over and interrupting.” Molly towed him toward the house. “You can thank him when you are clean, though I be thinking he might not recognize you.” She looked back at Clover. “Your man said to come and join him when you get back. He be in the stables with a Mr. Potsdam, talking horses.”

“I think some of the twins’ clothes will fit Willie,” said Agnes as she followed Molly into the house. “We will burn those rags of his.”

Clover laughed softly as she watched Molly drag a reluctant Willie into the house. She then looked toward the stables. It was not going to be easy to meet Ballard’s best customer when she was still feeling somewhat shaken from her dealings with Morrisey. She would much prefer to have a long hot bath, but Ballard was eager for her to meet Mr. Potsdam, a member of the area’s small society.

“Adam?” she called, halting the farmhand as he started to drive the wagon back to the barn. “What is Mr. Potsdam like?”

“Good man. Money. Pretty manners. A gentleman,” he replied before continuing on to the barn.

“Succinct,” she murmured and, taking a deep breath, headed for the stables.

Although Adam’s reply had been terse, Clover felt she knew the sort of man she was about to meet. It was to feel equal to and comfortable with men like Mr. Potsdam that Ballard had been seeking a wife with her particular qualifications. She wished she had thought to ask Ballard just how much of a proper lady he wanted her to be.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the stables. She spotted Ballard at the far end, discussing the merits of a yearling whose stall they leaned against with a slender, silver-haired gentleman. She was just nearing Ballard’s side when he turned toward her.

“Clover, did everything go weel?” he asked, taking her hand and drawing her close.

“A complete success. Much better than I expected.”

“Good. There is someone here I would like ye to meet. Clover, may I introduce Cyril Potsdam. Cyril, my wife, Clover.” He grinned and winked at her. “How was that?”

“Very proper.” She smiled and shook Cyril’s hand. “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”

“I have been eager to meet you.” He kissed her hand and smiled when she blushed. “I am pleased to see that you have recovered from your ordeal.”

“Thank you. I am very resilient and my kidnappers were not the most intelligent men.”

Cyril laughed, then grew serious again. “We are all looking for the rogues. Rest assured, we will find them.”

“I hope so, although there must be a lot of places for them to hide around here.”

“Not as many as there used to be, loving,” Ballard said. “I ken it might look wild and empty to ye since ye have always lived in a town, but there are nae so many free and open places as there were in the beginning. Those men will eventually chance being seen. We just have to wait until they are and hope they are seen by the right folk, ones who will come and tell us.”

“Your husband is correct, Mrs. MacGregor,” said Cyril. “It will not be long before we put an end to this threat.”

Clover smiled and thanked him, but did not share his confidence. She had grown somewhat fatalistic about Thomas Dillingsworth and whatever twisted plans he had concerning her and Ballard. Nothing they had done so far had stopped Thomas, and she did not believe they would suddenly get lucky.

After a few moments of pleasant conversation, she left the men to dicker over the yearling. She smiled to herself as she walked back to the house. Mr. Potsdam was a pleasant gentleman, refined and well-mannered, and he did not care a jot about Ballard’s lack of bloodlines or education. One thing she had learned while a part of society was how to see the person behind the fine manners and social niceties. Cyril Potsdam held none of the prejudices that often cursed the upper classes. He liked Ballard MacGregor for the man he was.

She briefly considered telling Ballard he did not have to learn fine manners to be accepted as an equal by men like Cyril Potsdam, then decided it would not make any difference. Ballard was learning everything he could to please himself. Mr. Potsdam did not care if Ballard knew one wine from another, but Ballard wanted to be able to stand toe to toe with any man as an equal. He sought to avoid those painfully awkward moments that so often occurred when one entered an unfamiliar world.

Clover’s musings came to an abrupt halt when she entered the house and found Willie sitting at the table. Molly and her mother had wasted no time in scrubbing him from head to toe and dressing him in clean clothes. Clover doubted she would have recognized him, except that he was eating with his distinctive lack of restraint.

She sat down opposite him and studied him carefully. His skin had a faint coppery tone. His hair, a thick rich black, fell past his shoulders to ragged ends. Several faint scars marred his body from past beatings, and more vivid bruises recalled his recent ordeal. She could also see that, with a little care and plenty of food, Willie would grow into an extraordinarily attractive man.

“You are very handsome,” she said, and smiled when a hint of color bloomed in his high-boned cheeks.

“I ain’t never been so clean. Molly and your ma sure do know how to scrub a feller till he fair squeaks.” He took a drink of cider, then asked in a small voice, “I am really free of Morrisey?”

“Yes, you really are free of him.”

“You ain’t gone and paid him the whole sixty dollars he asked for, has you?”

“No. I suspected that if he saw a goodly pile of silver coins, he would agree to a lesser amount just to get his hands on them. He did. I put forty-two dollars on the table and let him stare at it until he was tempted into agreeing to my offer.”

“So now I belong to you and MacGregor.”

It was flattering to see how pleased he was with his new situation, but clearly he did not understand the concept of freedom. Either he had not listened to her back at Morrisey’s or he simply did not understand. She put the paper Morrisey had signed on the table between them.

“You belong to no one, Willie. I recalled that you cannot read and took the chance that Morrisey cannot read either. Yes, I paid Morrisey some money, but I did not buy you. This paper says Morrisey accepted money to release you of all obligations. It is rather like the manumission papers some slaves get from their masters when they are made freemen. You belong to no one, Willie. You owe no one. You are your own man. You can go or stay as you please.”

“I ain’t rightly sure I understand this. Can I stay here?”

“Of course you can and for as long as you like. You are welcome to be a part of this family. I just want you to know that you do not have to do anything unless you want to.”

He nodded. “I will pay you back, ma’am.”

“I do not expect you to.”

“I know that, but I will.”

He turned as the twins burst into the house. In a moment he was off and running with them. Clover hoped that was how it would be from now on. Willie would have to do his share of the chores, as the twins did, but he would also get to be just a child.

“Ballard?” Clover called, frowning as she sought a glimpse of him among the apple trees.

She stopped and, with her hands on her hips, looked around. Someone was playing tricks on her. Damien had told her that Ballard wanted to see her in the orchard, dragging her away from a discussion of Willie’s future with her mother. Yet now there was no sign of Ballard. She was about to go find her mischievous little brother, and give him a scolding that would leave his ears ringing for the rest of the afternoon, when she whirled around, took a step back toward the house … and walked right into a grinning Ballard’s arms.

“You wretch!” she cried, and swatted at him. “You scared me half to death.”

“Is your heart pounding?” he asked, pulling her tighter against him.

“Of course it is. It always pounds when some great fool terrifies me.” She slipped her arms around his neck as he lifted her up in his arms so that their faces were level.

“And is your blood running swiftly through your veins?” He slowly dotted kisses over her face.

“I should say so.”

“Feeling a wee bit light-headed?” he asked as he steered them toward a thick knot of trees.

“A touch.” She squeaked with surprise when he stepped behind a clump of birches at the far end of the orchard and set her abruptly down, so abruptly that she stumbled and landed with a thump on the blanket spread out at their feet.

It was hard to hide her amusement when Ballard yanked off his boots, gracefully sat beside her, and then tumbled her onto the blanket. There was a certain gleam in his eye that told her exactly why he had lured her there.

She looked around and saw nothing but trees: the neatly set out orchard in front of them, and the encroaching forest on the other three sides. It was a beautiful sunny day, warm but not hot, and a perfect place to make love, as Ballard so clearly wanted to. She did not feel even the smallest tickle of shyness or embarrassment over the thought of indulging in such intimacies in the bright glare of day. Instead, a swift, heady rush of excitement made her head spin.

Clover smoothed her hand over the blanket they were sharing and gave Ballard a look of sweet, wideeyed admiration. “I did not realize what a skilled farmer you are, husband. ‘Tis not every man who can grow blankets, ones already woven and seamed.”

Ballard gave her a disgusted look before he kissed her. After his meeting with Potsdam, he had been wandering through the orchard, checking the apple trees, enjoying the peacefulness and fine weather, and suddenly he had wanted Clover—badly. It had been easy to draw her out to the orchard, but he wondered if she would want to celebrate the beauty of their surroundings the same way he did. She was responding to his kiss with all her usual passion, but he was not sure if that meant what he hoped it meant. Although she rarely allowed modesty to disrupt their passion anymore, making love under a tree in the middle of the day was very daring, even for him.

He finished kissing her and rolled onto his back, tugging her up against his side.

“Potsdam invited us to his home for dinner a fortnight from this Saturday,” he said.

“That will be nice,” Clover murmured, a little confused. She had been so sure Ballard wanted to make love, but now he acted as if he just wanted to sit with her privately for a while and talk.

“Ye did a fine job of getting Willie out of Morrisey’s clutches. I was worried ye would come away empty-handed. I ken weel how that would have upset ye.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm and wondered how long he should spend putting her at her ease before he let her know what he really wanted.

Clover caught him looking at her. That gleam was still there. He did want to make love to her, but was holding back for some reason. She shifted slightly so that her body was partly sprawled on top of his and kicked off her shoes.

Ballard talked about how young Willie would fit neatly into their lives. She replied in all the appropriate places, but her focus was on how to turn his thoughts to more passionate subjects.

Ballard had never before been reticent when it came to lovemaking. In fact, he had freed her of the restraints of her own well-taught modesty, and she knew she had learned the lesson well. It was amusing now to realize that she was eager to make love in such a beautiful place while Ballard was hesitating.

She was just going to have to show him, she thought with an inner grin. Part of her was shocked at how daring she felt, but it was a good feeling and she wanted to revel in it. The only word she could think of to describe the mood she was in was wicked. She was not sure she had the skill to do so, but suddenly she wanted to put Ballard into such a state of passionate confusion that he did not know which way was up. All he would know was that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Clover smiled faintly as she slowly began to unbutton his shirt.

Ballard tensed, not sure of Clover’s intention. He wanted to be sure. For once he wanted her to initiate the lovemaking, with the same passion and eagerness with which he made love to her. He did not want to have to seduce her, cajole her, or even ask her. She had grown deliciously free in her lovemaking and now he wanted her to take that final step, to have the courage to ask him to share her desire.

“Did ye think I was feeling a wee bit warm?” he asked, a little surprised when she tugged off his shirt.

“I was rather hoping you were,” she murmured as she ran her hands over his chest.

“Actually, lass, it does seem to be getting a wee bit hot.”

As she touched her lips to his, she whispered, “Hot is very good, is it not?”

He had no chance to respond before she began to kiss him. Her kiss was deep and hungry, and Ballard wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. She was acting very boldly, far more boldly than he had imagined she would, but he had no inclination to stop her. Although it was what he wanted, it was a little confusing, for it was as if she had become someone else, and he could not be sure what she would do next. Her daring behavior had his passion running hot, but he struggled to restrain himself and see just how far she would take them. However, he could not resist undoing her bodice so that he could feel her silken skin beneath his hands.

She ended the kiss and sat up, straddling him. As she held his gaze, she unpinned her hair and shook it free until it tumbled around her shoulders. His hungry, surprised expression encouraged her. She slipped out of her bodice and tossed it aside. As she stood up, she untied her skirt and petticoats and let them fall, kicking them away. She rested her foot on his chest, untied her garter, and slowly rolled her stocking down. Ballard’s breathing visibly increased as she did the same with the other stocking. After shimmying out of her underdrawers, and laughing softly at Ballard’s groan, she sprawled on top of him again. It felt good to see that hot desire on his handsome face and know that she had caused it. She wondered when she should take off her chemise, trying to decide what would be the sultriest way to go about it.

Clover kissed Ballard, but when he tried to put his arms around her, she grasped his wrists and pinned his hands to the blanket. He could break her hold easily, but he did not try. Often when he stared at her as intently as he was now, she began to grow uncertain, wondering if she was doing something wrong. This time his look only inspired her. She slowly began to kiss her way down his lean body.

He shifted restlessly beneath her soft, warm kisses and caresses. He groaned and tried to speak his pleasure when she drew idle designs on his stomach with her tongue. She began to undo his breeches, and when she started to tug them off, he shifted his body to help her. As she slid her hands up and down his legs, then placed shy kisses on his inner thighs, Ballard feared he would soon lose the ability to lie calmly and enjoy her every touch and kiss. He ached to touch her.

When she placed her warm lips on his erection, he gave a hoarse cry and reached down to thread his fingers through her thick hair. He lost control rapidly as she caressed him with her lips and tongue. The last thread of that control snapped completely when she took him into her mouth. His body bucked from the force of the pleasure that ripped through him. Clover hesitated, but cupping her small face in his hands, he silently urged her to continue. He had the strength to savor that delight for only a moment before he grasped her under the arms and tugged her up his body.

To his surprise, Clover still kept control of their lovemaking. She eased their bodies together and then grew still. Ballard was breathing hard and fast as he watched her seductively shed her thin linen chemise. With her delicate hands on his chest, she began to move. He tried to keep some rein on his needs, but his body wanted no more of his self-imposed restraints. As his release tore through him, he gripped her slim hips and held her tightly against him as he tried to bury his body as deeply within hers as he could. Her cry of satisfaction quickly followed his, and he held her close when she sagged against him.

For a long while Ballard just held Clover, staring up at the sky, listening to their breathing slow to a normal rhythm and feeling the lingering tremors of their sated bodies begin to fade. When she eased the intimacy of their embrace, he allowed her enough leeway to shift into a comfortable position, still keeping her close. He suddenly wished he had some skill with pretty words so that he could tell her how much pleasure she had given him.

Clover peeked up at Ballard and caught him watching her. She expected to suffer at least some embarrassment over her wantonness, but she did not. Today she had wanted to be bold and daring, and she had heartily enjoyed herself. Making love to Ballard had soothed something else inside her.

From the moment she had recognized how much she loved him, the words to tell him so had sat on the tip of her tongue. Every time she talked to him, she was afraid she would say those words. Theirs was a marriage of mutual convenience, with the welcome addition of a strong passion. He had not spoken of love, however, and she could not bare her heart and soul to the man until she had some clue that he wanted or even sought such an emotion. But in their lovemaking, she could show him how much she loved him. She did not need to keep her feelings locked away.

“Weel, loving,” Ballard murmured, “‘tis clear ye can be powerfully inspired by a fine, sunny day.”

She laughed. He appeared extraordinarily content.

Her desire for brazen lovemaking might not come upon her often, she mused, kissing Ballard again, but when it did, she could be sure he would eagerly accommodate her.