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effected a nonchalance he was strangely far from feeling. He looked down at the nail she held, willing his concentration to turn from her to the nail.
    She brought the mallet down on the nail with a light tap. The wood barely dented. She hit harder. A small hole appeared in the wood. She licked her lips and bit her tongue again. Andrew felt his heart lurch again. She hit the nail a third time. This time it stuck in the wood, but not far. She moved her hand out of the way and hit the nail as hard as she could. The nail fell over sideways.
    A tiny mew of despair came from Loreanne. She sat back on the floor, her chin in her hand.
    Her reaction released the coiling tensions he'd felt. Andrew laughed, and pulled her back up beside him, giving her a reassuring hug.
    "No," she said, trying to pull away. "It is a human thing and I am only a mermaid."
    He shook his head. "That makes no difference. It takes practice, that's all. And hammering a nail is not considered an occupation for a lady," he said dryly. "But if you really want to do it—"
    She eagerly nodded, and her faith, her trust, and her expression captured him.
    Overwhelming emotion nearly wracked his body. His hands shook slightly as he took the hammer and nail and hit the nail securely into the wood. He handed the mallet back to her. "Now try," he said.
    This time when she hit the nail it went further into the wood. She looked up at him and smiled, delighted by her success. She looked back at her nail and hit it again. It sank deeper. She kept hammering. When it was all the way in, she jumped up, laughing, and hugged Andrew.
    He swung her around, laughing with her, heady with her excitement, delight, and something else that he wasn't certain he wanted to name. Slowly, he set her on her feet.
    "I did it! I did a human thing!"
    He grinned. "Yes. And why not? Out of water you have a definitely human body."
    "That's why I watch human kind. So many things they do. And wear!"
    "I don't see you lacking for things to wear," he said, gesturing toward her attire.
    "No. But I know it is not always done right. I do not look the same as the women I see." She frowned. "Sometimes I sit for hours and watch them, wondering what their lives could be like with so many of their kind about."
    Andrew's brow furrowed. He trailed one callused finger down the side of her face. "It's not right for you to remain here as handmaiden for Margareen. You deserve a life of your own, a family of your own."
    She looked away. "Perhaps," she said quietly.
    "There is no perhaps, Loreanne."
    She glance slid up at him. "If Margareen lives, will you stay?" she asked guilelessly.
    Andrew felt he'd been slammed in the gut. He sat back on his heels. "I have a choice?" he asked, his voice deep and thick with roiling emotions.
    She solemnly nodded. "So long as Margareen lives, I cannot bind you."
    He looked down at his callused hands. They were a worker's hands, the hands of a doer. They never acquired calluses in England, and never would have in his old life. He turned them over to study the hard ridges at the base and the tips of his fingertips. They represented all the changes in his life, and all he'd become in the last year. He could not remain idle, no matter how he might tell himself otherwise. The past was gone, the future irrevocably changed to a different road. He had to return to England, to be the old man's heir, and to save those of his family who stayed behind from sharing Loreanne's fate. He knew that now. It was his responsibility.
    He cupped the side of her face with his hand. "Less than a week ago I would have stayed, for I saw no future. Now I do. I know what I must do, and I have you to thank." He lowered his head and kissed her. It was meant to be a light, brief kiss, but the touch of her lips on his fired his soul. Slowly he raised his head and looked at her.
    Her eyes turned bright and brilliant silver, their centers blacker than night and rife with shadows that he could not name. She visibly