After a moment, Jesse began to silently remove the saddles from both mules, and Amanda took custody of the food sacks Deborah had prepared for them. Along with cornmeal cakes, there were pieces of dried fruit and some kind of salted meat. She arranged the crude meal on the top of a rough wool blanket she spread over a tree stump, looking up when Jesse joined her. "No fire, I presume," she said as he sat down, and he nodded.

"No fire. Can't risk the smoke. It's too hot, anyway."

Jesse ate silently, flashing her an occasional piercing glance that she found extremely unsettling. The light had dimmed, and it was difficult seeing much beyond a few feet in front of her. The black silhouettes of trees and brush slowly blended into an anonymous, blurring line.

"So tell me," she said when the silence threatened to stretch into uncomfortable infinity, "how long have you known the Brandon family?"

"Most of my life." Jesse ate the last of the wild blackberries they had picked, then washed them down with water from a leather flask. "Our fathers attended the same university as young men."

"You know," Amanda said slowly, "I've always been confused by the relationship of Michael Scott and James Brandon. I mean, I know they're half brothers, but I cannot recall who came first."

Jesse shrugged. "It's simple enough. James Senior wed Clare Scott, a widow with a young son named Michael. She gave birth to Jamie the next year. But it was always Jamie who was his father's heir, not Michael."

"And that obviously made no difference to Deborah," Amanda mused.

"Obviously," Jesse said lightly, "my sister married for love."

After a moment, Amanda asked, "If the unthinkable should happen and the South loses this war, what will you do afterward?"

"Do?" He looked startled. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, though I have to admit there are times I wonder just how long the Confederacy can hang on without ammunition factories. Our only hope is to convince England to support our cause. After we win, I'll go back to my studies at the university, then maybe finish my grand tour."

"And if we should lose? What will happen to you?"

"Why the sudden curiosity?" Jesse leaned to one side, propping up his weight on an elbow. "Do you have any suggestions? Or are you predicting that the South will lose?"

She looked down at her clasped hands, then up at him. "Let's just say morbid curiosity prompted the question."

"I see." A patch of pale light shifted, falling across his face and casting it in muted shades of dark and light. A faint smile curled his mouth. "Go to South America, I guess. I've heard it's almost like the South. A man can make his own life down there."

So that was what had happened to him after the war, why he'd disappeared from family history along with most of the Scotts. Amanda drew in a shaky breath, wondering if she was doing the right thing. What if she failed? What if she couldn't prevent the feud from happening?

"All right," Jesse said, "I've answered your questions. Now you answer mine. Who are you really?"

Amanda hesitated. Did she dare tell him the truth when she wasn't even certain what the truth was anymore? "I really am a Brandon," she said vaguely, "but distantly related to Jamie. It's a long, boring story, and it's hard to untangle all the bloodlines."

"All right," Jesse said after a moment, "I guess I believe that. What about your late husband? Was he a Yankee? Is that why you prefer going by your maiden name?''

"No, he was from Memphis. I suppose I've just always considered myself a Brandon. And I've always loved Oakleigh, so I want to see it stay in the family. It's my belief that Grandfather James did leave a portion of the land to Michael as well as to his own son. Is that true?"

"Yes. Of course, once the war started, Michael had to put off his plans to build his own house on his portion. He and Jamie got along well enough until-"

He broke off, and Amanda said softly, "Until Michael wed Deborah. Now there's tension between them. Is that what you didn't say?"

"Yes, damn you. But don't go blaming my sister. It was something planned by our parents, not her. Jamie never did say anything one way or the other. Who knew he'd take it so hard?"

"There have been words between Jamie and Michael?"

"Once or twice." Jesse sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "They'll work it out. There's more to think about now with the war. The Yankees hold Memphis, and if they have their way, they're going to keep Forrest busy protecting the Mississippi grainnelds and supply lines when we really need him to strike Sherman's flanks."

"So Jamie and Michael are both riding with Forrest?"

"Yes," he answered slowly. His eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "I thought you knew that."

"I just wondered why neither of them were there when I-I arrived, that's all. I'd certainly like to meet Jamie. Again. Meet him again, of course. It's been a long time since we've seen each other."

After a moment of taut silence, Jesse shrugged and said, "So many Yankees have been coming through Holly Springs lately that it's too risky to spend much time at Oakleigh."

"Deborah said several patrols have stopped at Oakleigh, but at least they left it standing."

"After they'd cleaned out the larder and livestock. Good thing I ran across one of the supply wagons they abandoned when they were running from Forrest."

"You did?" Amanda laughed. "That's sweet revenge."

Jesse grinned. "Very sweet. None of the Yankees were able to get close enough to catch me, and they chased me almost all the way back to the Coldwater Bottoms."

Coldwater Bottoms. Why did that sound important to her? Amanda fell silent, trying to remember. Wait-that was it. The news article in the attic had said Michael Scott was killed in the Coldwater Bottoms. But had it specified when Michael died? Her head jerked up suddenly. ' 'What is today's date?"

"It's June the fourteenth. Why?"

Her heart leaped into her throat. The news article she'd found in the attic flashed in her memory with wrenching clarity: June 16, 1864. Now it was June 14-two days before Michael Scott died exactly one hundred and thirty years ago. She could stop it. She could keep Michael from being killed and prevent the feud between the Scotts and the Brandons. Oakleigh would remain in the family.

Surging to her feet, Amanda said urgently, "We have to find them. We have to find Michael and Jamie before it's too late!"

Chapter Eight

“What the devil are you talking about?" Jesse snapped, rising to his feet and grabbing Amanda by her shoulders. She shrugged free and took a step back. A loose strand of pale hair fell over her forehead and into her eyes, and she shoved it back. Her eyes in the dim light were wide and dark as jade. He recognized the anxiety in her expression. Her words tumbled over one another, and she put out a hand as if to keep him there.

"Jesse, I know you don't understand, and I don't really, either, but I know something terrible is going to happen. We have to find them before it does…"

"For the love of-I was right. You're deranged." Jesse shook his head, wondering what he was going to do with her now. This went beyond simple shock from fear. Now she'd crossed the boundaries into uncharted territory that was far beyond his first suspicions. How could he help a woman who claimed to predict the future, yet knew little about her own past?

"Please believe me," Amanda was begging. "I know it sounds too fantastic to be true, but it is. They're in danger. Michael Scott will be killed if we don't intervene, and James Brandon will be blamed for it."

"Would it be too much to ask just how you know this?" Jesse asked skeptically. "Unless maybe you know a lot more about the Yankees' plans than you've said, I don't know how you'd know Jamie and Michael are in danger when we aren't even certain where they are."