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claim, there isn't anything to worry about, is there? In fact, I could ravish you right here and now, and nothing would come of it. It's the privilege of rank...the same as it is in France, but of course you don't remember anything about that, do you?"
    Sophie gasped, took a hurried sip and choked. When she finished coughing she took another sip, and another, until she finished it.
    He took the glass from her and placed it on the table. "You don't drink wine like it's medicine. I would think a citizen of France would know that."
    "Perhaps I don't care for wine." She stretched and slipped her feet into the depths of the enormous feather mattress and gave a gasp of shock. "Brrrrr. I do not think the wine is warming me at all. It's still very cold."
    Jamie mumbled something about being a maid and strode to the fireplace, only to return a moment later with a warming pan. "Move your feet," he said, and after he thrust the pan beneath the covers, he began to move it around slowly.
    After a short while, - he carried the long-handled pan back to stand it against the hearth.
    "Mmm," Sophie said as she pushed her feet down into the warm sheets of fine Holland linen. Before she realized what she was about, she said, "All I need now is a nice hot bath."
    "I stop at warming pans," he said and then, as if he had realized the harshness of his tone, his voice softened somewhat. "Perhaps you can have a bath tomorrow, if you are feeling better."
    "Oh, yes, a bath! The thought of it makes me feel better already."
    "It's a good thing you had the wine. Your cheeks are getting some color."
    She hated to tell him it wasn't the wine at all that brought the flush of color to her face, but for some reason she could not seem to find her voice. It only made things worse feeling the burn of his green gaze, hot upon her skin.
    He picked up the glass and stood. "I will bid you good night, lass. We are an honorable clan. Ye have nothing to fear from us."
    "Unless I am not telling you the truth."
    His eyes searched hers. "Aye, unless you are not telling us the truth. Sleep as long as you like on the morrow. I will rise early to hunt."
    "Thank you, for your help, and your kindness."
    He started to blow out the candle. "Leave it, please," she said, "until you have quit the room, and then I will douse it." "Don't forget and fall asleep first." "I won't."
    She watched his long-limbed body as he left the room, and continued to stare at the door, long after he had closed it, until the sound of his retreating footfalls faded away completely.
    She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, until the fire in the hearth was dying and the sheets were growing cold again. Her hand clutched the golden medallion, and she rubbed her thumb over the raised image of a fleur-de-lis.
    Was he familiar with the icon? she wondered.
    She prayed Jamie Graham had no knowledge of the heraldic symbol, with its three tapering petals tied by a surrounding band, long used by the kings of France.
    A sigh escaped her lips. If he only knew...
    Visions came to her... Of a ship foundering in the storm and breaking up against the jutting rocks, the icy cold of the water as she was thrown into it, and the heavy burden of her clothes, like leaden weights pulling her down... down...down...
    And then she could see her father's face before her, calling out to her, much as he had done when Sophie had fallen out of a boat when she was a small child, and her father watched helplessly from the shore.
    "Take off your dress, Sophie. You cannot swim because of the weight. Remove it! Quickly, child."
    Sophie had obeyed her father's command and swum to shore and into his loving arms.
    She did not want to think about her father or the shipwreck. She closed her eyes and wished for sleep, but all she saw were the dark, icy waters of the North Sea closing over her head, and the way she struggled to remove her clothes, so terrified that she would drown before she could do so. By that time, she was already so very cold