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the fireplace. “Answer me.” Rachel’s voice shrilled higher. She wanted to take him by his naked shoulders and shake him. She wanted to grab his head and box his ears. She wanted to—
    Before Rachel could even think of the consequences she jerked her leg back and kicked him. It hurt her toes as much as it did his leg, she imagined... possibly more. But that didn’t seem to be the point.
    She had a fleeting image of his face looking up at her in shock before something circled her ankle and she was sprawled on the hard, dirt floor, his damp body on top of her.
    Her palms flattened against his chest, pale against sun-darkened skin, trying to push him off. But he did not budge. If anything he settled more firmly.
    “I will not put up with this from you. Not in me own house. Not when I neither asked nor want you here.”
    If her tongue were given free rein she would tell him exactly what she thought of him. But something in his expression warned her against it.
    She lay there, staring at him, feeling the pull of his eyes to the tips of her toes. Her heart pounded and her breathing became shallow as he came closer. She could feel the heat of his breath on her mouth. And he was right. There was no scent of rum to sicken her stomach.
    Rachel wasn’t certain when she realized he planned to kiss her. She only knew she should be enraged. And that for some reason she wasn’t.
    And then he was pushing to his feet, pulling her up with him. Rachel grabbed for her wig but it toppled off her head, landing on the floor in a shower of white powder. They both stared at it a moment before Rachel shoved away from him and scooped it up with a flourish.
    He let her go, acting as if the entire incident hadn’t happened as he tossed a log onto the revived fire. But Rachel couldn’t forget what he’d done. She slapped at the dirt on her gown with one hand, holding the wig with the other, sniffing the entire time trying to keep tears of frustration from showing. She wouldn’t let him know how much he upset her. She wouldn’t.
    After all, she was here to save him. Had saved him. He should be thanking the heavens that she came when she did, rather than treating her as if she were some sort of pariah.
    But he didn’t seem to care at all. Once he turned away from her, back toward the hearth, it was almost as if he forgot her existence. With his hands he scooped some manner of crushed grain from a nearby sack, dumping it into the pot. To this he added water, gave it a stir, and swung the whole over the now blazing fire.
    It was warmer now. Rachel stood, holding the obscenely disheveled wig. Not knowing exactly what she should do. Which in itself was a frustration. She always knew what was expected of her. And she always managed very nicely. But now she had no idea what to do. So she did nothing. Only stood watching as the man retrieved a loose-fitting shirt of coarse material from a peg on the wall and yanked it over his head.
    At least he was covered, though by no means suitably garbed. But he was covered. She found his nakedness disconcerting.
    “How did you become so wet?” The heavy length of dark hair dampened the shirt.
    “’Tis my habit to bathe when the need arises.” The look he slanted over his shoulder suggested she might consider the possibility.
    The idea of soaking in hot, fragrant water was so appealing Rachel failed to take offense. “A bath would be heavenly. If you’d prepare the tub, I think I can manage the rest on my own.” At least she assumed she could. Of course she was used to being pampered and waited on, but she certainly didn’t want him assisting her.
    Rachel was so enthralled with the idea of being clean she didn’t notice his reaction till he loomed over her. “You spend your day doing naught but warming your backside on my chair... my chair. You fail to fix even the basest of suppers. You allow the fire to die out so ’tis freezing when I come back from a soaking in the creek, and you think ’tis my