Troth screamed as three gunshots echoed deafeningly around the courtyard. Logan spun about, blood blooming scarlet on his white shirt. Slowly, joint by joint, he collapsed, the rifle tumbling from his grip.

Troth threw the rifle to one side in case Logan still lived, then dropped beside Kyle as another blast of rain struck. "You can't die, my lord, you can't."

As she tried to roll him over to see where he was wounded, he dropped the pistol and wrapped his arms around her. "I don't intend to," he panted. "Dear God, Troth, are you all right? I thought my heart would stop on the spot when he began shooting at you."

They lay locked together, oblivious to the pounding rain. "He missed," she said unsteadily. "But how could he? He shot three times at point-blank range."

"Twice. I dived to avoid his bullets and fired my pistol at the same time." Kyle sat up, still holding her with bruising force.

The steely determination that had kept her going through the last hellish half hour collapsed. Troth began to shake violently, her tears mingling with the rain.

Kyle held her until her trembling had abated a little. "We should go to the chapel, it has the only roof up here. Can you walk?" When she nodded, he stood and helped her to her feet. "Wait here for a moment."

Numbly she watched as he checked the merchant's body for a pulse.

"Justice has caught up with Caleb Logan," Kyle said grimly. He rose and crossed to the keep, emerging a moment later with her plaid.

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he guided her down the slippery slope to the lowest castle level. She asked through chattering teeth, "How did you manage to shoot him at that range? I thought the pistol wasn't accurate over a distance."

"I'm a very good shot," he said simply.

She should have guessed that. Grateful to have an arm around his waist, she stumbled along at his side until they reached the sanctuary of the chapel. Not only was it a welcome respite from the rain, but the blessed calm of harmonious chi enfolded Troth like the long-ago memory of her mother's arms.

As soon as they were inside, Kyle started tugging off her sodden garments. Shocked from her numbness, she tried to stop him. "What are you thinking of?"

He smiled crookedly. "Not what you have in mind, you wicked wench. We're both soaked, and the way the temperature has dropped, we risk pneumonia if we don't get warmed up quickly."

Realizing he was right, she said, "I can manage. Take your own clothes off."

He obeyed, pausing only when she was down to bare skin to wrap the nearly dry plaid around her icy flesh. The scratchy wool helped, but she was still shivering from a chill so deep it was painful.

Then he stripped off the last of his own saturated clothing. Since he'd left the basket here earlier, the picnic blanket was dry. He pulled it around his shoulders, slid to a sitting position against the wall, and drew her down onto his lap. When she was cradled against him, he folded the blanket around them both, tucking it carefully around her feet.

She burrowed into his warm body and rested her cheek against the silky hair of his chest. His familiar scent made her feel safe.

He rocked her gently, and for a long time neither of them spoke, the only sound the drumming rain on the roof. She guessed that like her, Kyle was recovering from the shocking violence and death they'd barely survived.

He was far less chilled than she, and gradually his warmth began to thaw her. In a whisper, she said, "I can hardly believe that two men are lying dead out there in the rain."

"I wish to God this had never happened," he said tightly. "When I think that what I said in Canton caused repercussions that reached halfway around the world and almost killed you…" His embrace tightened.

She opened her eyes to free herself of the vision of Logan pitching backward, blood spurting from his chest. "But we survived, and I can't be sorry Logan is dead. If not for his false message, my father might still be alive."

He stroked her nape and back, kneading a little in a way that made her numb flesh come alive again. "I can't be sorry about either of them," he said. "I don't doubt that Scouse had committed more than his share of sins. As for Logan-not only was he indirectly responsible for your father's death, but his actions sent you into near-slavery in China when you could have been here and loved by your family."

She thought of what it would have been like to grow up with her father's family: scones and barley soup, cousins who would have become as close as brothers and sisters. Acceptance. "Living with them would have been wonderful, and far easier than my life in China," she said slowly. "And yet… I can't be sorry that my path took me to Canton instead. If I had not lived there for so many years, I would have lost most of my Chinese nature. Now I am truly both Chinese and Scottish."

He laughed a little. "And God be thanked for that. There's not another woman in the world like you, Troth Mei-Lian Montgomery."

"Probably not." And there was not another man in the world who would accept both sides of her nature as fully as Kyle did. The Montgomerys saw her as basically Scottish, with an odd but harmless twist to her gallop. Chenqua had seen her as odd but useful, deserving of his protection and respect because of her unusual skills and the fact that she was her father's daughter.

But Kyle had trusted her as an equal, sending her to fight the enemy because she could attack more effectively than he. And when she had faced certain death, he had drawn Logan's murderous fire to himself. He might have been killed…

Feeling her shiver, he said, "Are you still cold? "

"No, I'm fine." More than fine, for she was in Kyle's arms.

Her ribbon was long gone, so he brushed her damp hair back from her face. "Danger clarifies the thinking wonderfully. When I thought you were going to die, I realized how much I love you. Will you marry me, all right and proper this time?"

She pulled her head back so she could see his face. "I thought that you could not love again."

"I did think that," he said wryly. "Sometimes my mind works very slowly. I knew that with you I felt more passion and caring than I had known in years, and that I craved your company. But because what I felt was different from my feelings for Constancia, I was sure it couldn't be the kind of love you deserve."

She supposed that it was inevitable that the ghost of Constancia would always be with them. "I can be second best as long as you love me, my lord."

"You're not second best!" He cupped her face in his hands. "Love can't be measured and weighed, and it should never be compared. Constancia was my heart-and you, my dearest girl, are my soul." His mouth closed over hers, true and sweet with a declaration that went beyond words.

She caught her breath. "I've always loved you, Kyle." Needing to touch, she slid her hands down his bare skin under the blanket. "From the beginning you've been lord of my body, heart, and soul."

He hadn't intended more than a kiss, not in a holy chapel in the aftermath of terror and death, but passion flared into an inferno that could be quenched only by joining in a celebration of love and survival. As they kissed feverishly, his hands found her breasts under the loose folds of the plaid, and he felt the swift beat of her heart in the soft swells against his palms. Her movements in his lap drove him mad until she turned and straddled him.

As he kissed her throat, she slowly rocked back and forth, liquid heat caressing him until he could stand it no longer. She gasped as he sheathed himself inside her.

For the space of a dozen heartbeats they held each other without moving, trembling with tension. Then his hips began thrusting out of control. She ground into him as passion blazed into urgent fulfillment. They cried out together, their voices blending with the rain and the distant rumble of thunder.