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Kansas Territory anymore, Toto,” Marissa
muttered.
    Kansas Territory? When had Kansas become a state? 1861?
Yes, definitely post-1861, which meant the spoon had landed her sometime before
then, probably the late 1850s.
    Slowly she walked across the nearby field to a sturdy oak
tree, reverently reaching out to touch its rough bark. Judging by its size, the
oak was probably several hundred years old. In her time—her old time,
she amended—it would have been an absolute giant.
    Now that Marissa knew when and where she was, could she find
a way to fit in? The thought occurred to her that she might stay at Montford
Hall, but she quickly banished that line of thinking. Best to move on, to find
honorable employment, than to live her life skulking around as mistress to a
baron.
    She squared her shoulders, looking around to get her
bearings. Rhys had mentioned the nearest town was six miles away. She just
needed to keep walking down the road. Marissa hesitated, glancing to her left. Across
those fields somewhere lay Montford Hall in all its grandeur. Rhys would return
there today. She wondered if he would miss her.
    The sound of hoofbeats broke into her musings. Had he come
after her? She peered around the other side of the tree trunk shyly, hopefully.
    Immediately Marissa shuffled back behind the oak. Five
rough-looking riders had reined in their horses at the edge of the field. She
prayed they hadn’t seen her. Were they highwaymen? Bandits?
    “Now listen!” The leader spoke in a guttural voice, his
accent so thick Marissa could barely decipher the words. “Move in. Wait by the
rear entrance to the Hall. The cook will open the door to us after breakfast. Then
we can steal the jewels and leave.”
    “What if they put up a fight?”
    The leader glared at the man who had just spoken. “Those
London-bred chits? They’ll be too busy squawking and fluttering. Now get a move
on! I bribed the cook well and I’ll not have that money wasted. Remember—we’ll
make a quick escape and then meet up later to divide our spoils.”
    Marissa stood as still as possible, barely breathing, as the
men moved across the field. When she was sure she wouldn’t be noticed, she
backtracked and began jogging toward the cottage.
    If she hurried, she could warn Rhys in time.
    * * * * *
    She was no longer in bed with him. Rhys knew this even
before he opened his eyes. Her side of the bed still held some residual warmth,
so she couldn’t have been gone long. Fear rose unbidden from somewhere deep
within him, fear that she had left him permanently. He couldn’t— wouldn’t —let
her go.
    Unless, of course, she wanted to be free of him. The
thought gave him pause. Yet she had enjoyed last night. He’d made certain to
see to her pleasure. And she was unattached, and a virgin, so he doubted there
was someone else in the picture.
    His frown intensified. In one fluid movement he was on his
feet, stomping into his boots, pulling on his coat, heading out the door. He
was determined to get to the bottom of why Marissa had left him. For the second
time.
    The footprints in the melting snow led east toward the main
road. Rhys studied them briefly, then went to ready his horse. He didn’t bother
saddling the gelding, merely slipping a bridle over its head and swinging on
bareback. His muscular thighs gripped hard as the horse cantered off.
    He caught up with Marissa far sooner than expected. Oddly,
she was running toward him, her eyes wide and urgent.
    He swept her onto his thigh without preamble.
    “What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
His voice was rougher than he meant it to be. He softened the unintended
harshness with a brief kiss on her neck.
    “I went down the road and ran into some bandits,” she
replied breathlessly. “Rhys…they’re heading for Montford Hall. I overheard one
of them saying the cook was going to open the back door for them.”
    “The devil he is.” Rhys reined the gelding around. “Hold on, cariad