Riding through knee-high water that soaked her dress and made her uncomfortably aware that slithery creatures still inhabited the swamps, Amanda kept her gaze fastened on Jesse's tall silhouette. They had ridden part of the night and all day. She'd thought when she woke again that she would feel shy with him, but his easy smile and the light in his blue eyes had quickly eased her fears.

The sense of urgency was on them now, as it was dark again. The mules were weary and plodding. At least the rain that had plagued northern Mississippi in the past weeks had stopped. There was an almost full moon to provide light. Tree stumps and sluggish pools smelling of rotting wood and stagnant water were everywhere. Dry land seemed a thing of the past.

"It hardly seems likely the Yankees would come this way," Amanda ventured to say once, but Jesse pointed out what were to him obvious signs of their recent passage.

"The water here has been stirred up with a lot of mud, which indicates horses and men have passed through within the last few hours. It takes a while for that much mud to sink back to the bottom of the swamp."

"I don't know how you can tell the difference," Amanda said, peering at the cloudy water. Patches of moonlight on the water's surface were distorted and murky.

It was a relief when they finally reached comparatively dry land, and she slid from the mule onto the marshy bank with a sigh. One of the mules shook much as a dog would do, spraying her with foul-smelling swamp water. Looking down at her borrowed dress, Amanda had the rueful hope that it was not one of Deborah's best. It was certainly ruined now. If she'd known that their trip would entail sloshing through swamps, she'd have insisted upon borrowing men's trousers instead of the dress. She was grateful she'd refused the corset and most of the petticoats as being too uncomfortable and cumbersome. Maybe modern clothes didn't have the romantic appeal of the nineteenth century, but they were definitely more practical.

"Here," Jesse said, holding out a hand, and Amanda put her hand in his strong clasp as he helped her up a steep bank. There was something to be said, however, for the definite romantic appeal of the men in the nineteenth century, she decided when he swept her from her feet to lift her over another water-filled gully.

She took advantage of his gallantry by putting her arms around his neck and holding tightly, and he laughed softly. "If I didn't know better, Miss Brandon, I'd think you were a delicate creature."

"What makes you think I'm not? Just because I have endurance doesn't mean I'm not as fragile as the next woman."

"There's nothing fragile about you," Jesse remarked as he stopped and swung her to her feet on solid ground. "You have a determination that would put most men to shame."

"Do I?" She looked up at his shadowed face, and saw that he was smiling. "Why do you say that?"

"If you didn't," he replied softly, placing a finger under her chin and lowering his head to brush his mouth against hers, "I sure wouldn't be traveling through the swamps in the middle of the night on a wild notion."

"Don't you believe me?"

He kissed her again, then said, "Let's just say that I'll reserve my final judgment until later."

"Then you're doing this for me, not because you have any faith in my prediction." When he frowned and started to reply, she put a hand over his lips. "No. It's all right. I find it very gratifying that you have enough regard for me to agree to do this even when you don't really believe it."

Jesse stared at her in the dappled moonlight. "You're an odd little thing," he said after a moment. "You almost make me believe in destiny."

"Almost? Don't you believe in fate?"

"No. I believe man controls his own fate by his actions. Or I did until I met you, that is. Now I wonder if there aren't sometimes inevitable conclusions."

Amanda asked, "Do you mean kismet? Preordained destiny? One man for one woman? That kind of thing?"

"You must admit," he said wryly, "that there could be few other explanations for our ending up in the swamps like this. It's not exactly a rational thing for me to do, and I used to think I was a very rational man."

"This is very rational. You're going to keep your brother-in-law from being killed." She glanced up when a cloud passed over the moon and shadows darkened the night. "We must hurry. I'm not certain exactly when it will happen, but any time after midnight tonight is a risk."

Jesse helped her mount the mud-covered mule and looked up at her. "You know that if you're wrong, Forrest will probably have me shot for disobeying orders."

She smiled. "No, he won't. For one thing, I'm not wrong. For another, Forrest would never be foolish enough to shoot a valuable soldier for such a trivial thing-though he might not mind giving you the very devil for a while."

"If that's intended to be comforting," Jesse muttered, "it's not. I've seen Forrest's brand of chastisement, and it holds no appeal for me."

Amanda laughed, but she couldn't help feeling a twinge of self-doubt. What if she was wrong? Or they didn't find Michael and Jamie in time? All manner of things could go wrong, and she might be risking a lot more than Jesse's pride. As she had been reminded earlier, these were perilous times. Anything could happen. She might even end up being a footnote in history: the death of a mysterious woman in the Cold water River Bottoms at the hands of the Yankees. It was hardly a comforting thought.

Doubts plagued her as they rode along in silence and the moon drifted in and out of clouds, providing fitful light for them to see their way. They'd reached Panther Creek when Jesse jerked his mule to a halt and put up a warning hand. Amanda's heart lurched into her throat.

Through the trees ahead of them, she could see the faint flicker of a fire on the opposite banks of the creek. Shadows grouped around the flames, but she could not discern if the men were Federal or Rebel. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs when Jesse motioned silently for her to dismount.

He'd drawn his pistol; moonlight gleamed dully along the long, lethal barrel. Amanda reached his side, averting her eyes from the weapon. It was a too vivid reminder of their danger.

"Who are they?" she whispered when the tension grew too heavy for her to bear.

He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the campfire. "Yankees," he said softly. "No sentries that I can see, but those men sitting right in front of the fire are prisoners that you should recognize."

"I should?" She stared at the fire, slowly able to detect the firelit forms of two men with their hands bound in front of them. It struck her who they must be. "Michael and Jamie," she breathed softly, and Jesse nodded.

"Yes. You were right, it seems. I'll do what I can to get them out of there before the Yankees kill them. I want you to stay here-"

"No." Her quick response made him jerk his head around with a frown, and he glared at her.

"I refuse to allow you to be endangered any more than you already are. For the love of God, don't be stubborn."

"It isn't stubbornness. It's determination, remember?"

Jesse swore softly, then growled, "I suppose we don't have time to argue about this. Can you fire a weapon?"

Startled, she said, "If I have to. I took a course at the shooting range at the penal farm."

"These are not wooden targets, but live ones. If nothing else, I suppose you can at least put the fear of God into them," Jesse muttered as he withdrew another pistol from beneath his shirt. "It's loaded and fires to the left. Try to remember that. Pray the powder has stayed dry and the cartridge isn't jammed."