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he’d be a worthy opponent to any man. But Richard Maddox had been hurt, he was ill, and evidently he hadn’t eaten decently in a long while.
    He was a stranger, but Kirsten felt as if she’d known him all her life. Richard stirred feelings within her that she couldn’t explain. She was drawn to him, protective of him. While she’d doctored him, a bond had formed, a strong, intangible link that made her wonder if it was one-sided.
    â€œIs there anything to drink?” His deep voice shook her from her trance.
    â€œI’ll fetch you water from the stream.” She was startled to hear that her voice was hoarse.
    Richard nodded, watching her closely as she went outside with the iron kettle. Such a mystery this female, he thought. She’d proven to possess courage. What had made her return to help him?
    She came back with his water, hunkering next to him on the dirt floor, heedless of her petticoats and linsey-woolsey gown. He studied her face as she handed him a cup. Her lashes were long and dark, fluttering against her silken cheeks like the fragile wings of a moth. Their fingers brushed as she released the cup. Their gazes held fast. Kirsten offered him a trembly smile. Something kicked hard in the pit of his stomach.
    He stared at her over the rim of his cup and watched her flush from the scooped collar of her dress upward.
    â€œI have to go,” she said.
    â€œWhen will you be back?” He would be sorry to see her go.
    â€œAs soon as it’s safe.”
    Richard frowned. “Tonight?” She nodded. “Why did you come today?” He could tell from her expression that she knew what he was asking. Why had she risked her safety as well as the discovery of his hideout?
    â€œI . . . I was worried,” she admitted, and Richard felt a jolt. “Last night you were in a bad way.”
    â€œAbout last night . . .” he said.
    â€œYes?” She refused to meet his gaze.
    â€œThank you.”
    She looked at him then, surprised. “You already thanked me.”
    â€œLean closer,” he urged. “I want to thank you properly.” He had the strongest desire to kiss her.
    She appeared confused, but she obeyed, apparently without thought.
    Richard cupped her face with his hands and then kissed her, a tender soft meeting of lips that sent his heart tripping at a rapid pace.
    â€œWhy did you do that?” she gasped when he released her. He saw her flaming face and knew she, too, was affected by the kiss.
    He grinned, pleased. “Why do you think?”
    She rose, her basket in hand. “I must go,” she said gruffly. She wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll be back tonight with more food and some of my father’s garments for you.”
    He caught the hem of her gown, forcing her to meet his gaze. “He won’t mind?”
    She blinked. And then, to his amazement, she grinned. “He’ll never miss them.”
    Averting her gaze, she muttered good-bye and slipped from the shelter. He watched her block the doorway, smiling, anticipating their next meeting.
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    A week later, in the middle of the night, Kirsten tossed and turned, trying to sleep. In a drastic change of temperature, the weather had become hot. The humid night air was stifling within her bedchamber. She’d left the door to her alcove bed open in an unsuccessful attempt to relieve the heat. Later, she’d discarded her bedgown; the thin linen had clung damply to her skin. Now perspiration dotted her forehead and breasts. Her hair, curling into moist ringlets, lay wet against her neck. She groaned, searching for a cool spot on the feather-tick mattress.
    An owl hooted in the darkness, and a dog’s bark echoed in the far distance. Kirsten gave up on sleep and sat up, blinking, as she heard the two o’clock call from the rattle-watch. Not a breeze stirred within the bedchamber. She glanced toward the open window and saw that the leaves on the