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toward him. She was a sturdy little thing, heavier than he’d thought, but then again, he was weaker than he usually was. Still asleep, she snuggled against him, as though she was used to being carried by a man—and he knew she was. One of the reasons he knew who she was and about her life was because when he was small, his mother had read the letters from her mother, Edilean Harcourt, aloud to Alex and his father.
    It was after his mother’s death, when he was just nine years old, that he started exchanging letters with Cay’s brother Nate. They were born in the same year, and Mrs. Harcourt thought that corresponding with someone his own age would help with Alex’s grief. It had, and he and Nate had never stopped writing each other.
    In the fifteen years or so that he’d been corresponding with her brother, he’d learned a lot about the Harcourt family. When he and Nate were ten, they decided to keep their letters secret. For Alex that meant he’d not read Nate’s letters aloud to his father—but he’d told his father everything. But for Nate, living with his large family and sharing everything, that meant he kept Alex for himself. Only his parents knew of the correspondence between the boys.
    Alex remembered every word Nate had written about his young sister, and while he was in prison, T.C. had said the daughter was visiting him in Charleston.
    “But he didn’t have to send her to me,” Alex muttered.
    The girl stirred in his arms, and as he lifted her higher, her arms went about his neck. The cloak fell away, revealing her iridescent white dress, her bare arm, and the upper part of her bosom.
    When he tried to cover her, he almost dropped her. Weeks of little food and no exercise had taken a toll on him.
    Carefully, he laid her down on the straw in the stall, then stood up and stretched his back. He couldn’t help looking at her. Her dark red hair was spread out around her like a halo, and the beautiful dress sparkled in the fading sunlight coming through the roof. She lay on the big cloak, which spread under her like a blanket. She was indeed a vision of loveliness—and the sight made him groan.
    What the hell was he to do with her?
    To send someone as fragile and innocent as her into the world alone was not something he could fathom.
    He left her lying there, sound asleep, while he took care of the horses. He removed their saddles and the packs, rubbed them down with handfuls of straw, and gave them food and water.
    When he went back to the girl, she hadn’t moved, so he sat down at the rickety old table and chairs by the end of the stall and looked at her as he ate half of the meager meal Yates had set out for them. It took him only minutes to finish, and all he wanted to do was sleep. He wished he had his plaid with him so he could roll in it and cover his thin, torn clothing, but he didn’t.
    He was considering where to sleep when the girl moved to her side, leaving part of her big wool cloak uncovered. He knew he shouldn’t, but the comfort she offered was irresistible. He lifted one side of the cloak, stretched out beside her, and pulled the heavy wool over him. If he weren’t so dirty, he would have snuggled beside her, but he knew the filth of him would soil her dress. As he fell asleep, he wondered how she could ride a horse for so many hours and stay so clean. But then, in his opinion, an ability to remain clean was one of the mysteries of women.

Four

    Alex awoke with a start, but he lay still, his eyes closed, and listened. When he heard nothing, he got up and looked about him. On the surface, the barn was just as he’d left it, but he could feel that something had changed—or was about to change. His father said that Alex had inherited a wee bit of the Second Sight from his mother. She always knew when someone was coming. By the time Alex was six and he saw his mother scurrying about to clean the house, his heart began to race with anticipation because he knew something was about to