"You could lie down beside me," she said wistfully. Strange how easily you could become used to strong gentle arms holding you lovingly.

He was shaking his head again. "I'm too bushed to risk it. It's been quite a day. I'll just sit here until you go to sleep. I have to go up and talk to Daniel later about our next destination, but 111 drop in and check on you periodically through the night. You won't be nervous alone?"

She shook her head. "I'm used to it. Compared to the rain forest, the Searcher is a small planet that has experienced a population explosion."

Beau's grasp tightened. Her entire life must have been a forest of loneliness. Not anymore. He was never going to let her be lonely or vulnerable again. "It slipped my mind that your alter ego is Sheena, the jungle girl." His gaze met hers with sudden gravity. "What shall I tell Daniel about Santa Isabella? Do you want to drop in on Julio and Brenden before we move on?"

"I'd like that very much but it's up to you." She met his gaze steadily. "It's your decision."

"Oh, yes, our bargain. I believe I'm getting exceptionally tired of discussing our bargain." He shrugged. "In any case I'll have a special courier pick up your carousel from Julio and deliver it to you at our next port of call if we don't stop at Santa Isabella." Her face lit up. "It's safe, then?" "Of course it's safe. You should know I'd never let anything happen to something that was so special to you." He paused. "Then you're leaving our destination up to me?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter where we go. One island is pretty much like another in the Caribbean." She suddenly frowned. "I have to warn you I may prove something of an albatross around your neck. There aren’t many ports where a woman without papers is welcomed with open arms. You might be better to go on alone."

"Oh, yes, your nonexistent passport. Well, we'll just have to do something about that, won't we?" He was playing with her fingers and he looked down at them absently as he spoke. "And as I have a fondness for this particular albatross, I have no intention of going on alone." A smile curved his lips. "I don't have your rain forest training, you see. I'd be lonely."

"Would you?" That admission of vulnerability from strong self-assured Beau brought with it a melting tenderness and a breathless spring of hope. "I wouldn't think you'd ever be lonely."

"I've been lonely all my life." He looked from her hand to her eyes. "That's why I need you to stay with me. You promised once you'd take care of me. It amused me at the time, but it doesn't now. I need you to take care of me, to guard me from that loneliness. Will you do that?"

Oh, she wanted to. She wanted to give everything to him. She wanted to nurture, protect, and love. Oh yes, above all, love. "Yes, I'll do that," she said softly. She tried to smile but found her lips trembling. "Isn't that the primary duty of a mistress? You'll have to coach me on all the nuances of the role, I'm afraid. But I learn most things quickly."

His face darkened in a troubled frown and he opened his lips to speak. Then he closed them again and once more looked down at her hand he was holding. His thumb rubbed absently at the smoothness of the nail of her index finger. "We're going to have to talk about that," he said. "But not tonight. You need a good night's sleep to get over that whack you took. We'll discuss it tomorrow. There is one thing you should know." He still wasn't looking at her. "The situation has changed now. I've found I'm not as strong as I thought I was where you're concerned. I wanted to play Galahad and Lancelot for you. Hell, I was even willing to try for that wimpy Ashley Wilkes."

"Ashley Wilkes?" she asked, puzzled.

"Gone With the Wind." Then, as she continued to look at him in bewilderment, "You missed that too?" His grin was gently teasing. "That's one classic you'll have to read. The lady author had the good taste to write about the glorious South. I may even make you memorize a passage or two." The smile faded. "Well, I'm not Galahad or Ashley Wilkes and I can't pretend to be anything but Beau Lantry." His lips twisted. "And he's a pretty selfish bastard. I'd like to be self-sacrificing and martyrish and all that bull, but it's just not in my makeup. Do you understand?"

"No, not at all. I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

He muttered a frustrated curse beneath his breath. "It's just that you're so damn vulnerable," he said harshly. "And you're so god-awful impulsive I'd go crazy worrying every minute what trouble you were going to jump into next. You may think you're a cross between Susan B. Anthony and Joan of Arc, but you could have been killed up on that deck tonight, damn it." He ran his hand through his hair distractedly. "For that matter you could have been killed any number of times in the last days."

"So could you," she protested. "That's different," he said with a royally arrogant lack of logic. "I can take care of myself." Then as he saw the indignation begin to smolder in her eyes, he shrugged helplessly. "Lord, I did it again. Look, I know you've had to be independent and you've done a hell of a good job raising yourself." He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. "You're a beautiful person, Kate. It's just that I'm not going to be able to stand by and watch you fight your battles all alone." His drawl softened to velvet urgency. "I nearly went crazy when I saw that blood running down your cheek. It scared me, sugar. I don't think I've ever been that frightened in my life." He drew a deep breath and a hint of steel appeared beneath the velvet. "I can't let that happen again. Wimpy Wilkes can go drown himself in his mint juleps for all I care."

Her clear blue eyes were wondering. "I hope you know what you're talking about, for I certainly don't."

"I know you don't," he sighed. "I sound like a first class passenger on the Disorient Express." He put her hand down and patted it. "Forget it for now. We'll talk about it in the morning. I shouldn't have said anything to upset you. I've probably given you more of a headache than you had already."

"You didn't upset me." He'd confused her, touched her, filled her with hope. "And I don't have a headache. I want to talk right now."

"No," he said firmly. "Go to sleep." Suddenly his eyes flickered gold with mischief. "Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"

"Would you?" she asked, intrigued.

"Only if I was feeling particularly sadistic. Unfortunately, I can't carry a tune and I've been accused of sounding like a howling bloodhound on the trail. No, upon weighty consideration I think it would be far more relaxing if I told you a bedtime story. Would you like that, little girl?"

"Yes, I think I would." She couldn't remember anyone ever taking the time to perform that cozy little ritual. She settled back more comfortably against the pillows and gazed up at him eagerly. "What story are you going to tell me, Beau?"

"Well, I was considering Dr. Zhivago, but that's a little heavy going for a soporific." He tucked the sheet more firmly under her chin. "So I think we'll go for Gone With the Wind. Okay, sugar?"

He was so beautiful. His smile was that warm lopsided grin that tugged at her heart and his eyes… "Gone With the Wind sounds fine."

"It's just as well that I start inundating you with the glory of the South anyway. Now let's see, where shall I start? Once upon a time there was a magnificent plantation called Tara and living within its stately portals was a lovely Southern belle whose name was Scarlett O'Hara-"

"But who was Ashley Wilkes?" she interrupted.

"Hush, I'm coming to that. He's not the hero anyway. "

"He's the wimp, right?"

"Right. Now Scarlett was a very spoiled, strong-willed lady who had a yen for our boy Wilkes, who was equally hung up on his cousin Melanie.

The knock on the cabin door was soft and unobtrusive but it aroused her immediately. She sat bolt upright in bed and then snatched the sheet that had fallen to her waist and hugged it to her chin. She glanced instinctively at the smooth unrumpled pillow next to her own. She hadn't really expected to see Beau's bronze head there. She had a vague memory of drifting off to sleep some time after the burning of Atlanta. She'd been conscious of Beau once again tucking the covers around her, then lips as soft as orchid petals brushing her forehead. It had all been so lovely- Beau's half-cynical rendering of his tale of the Southland, the rich low murmur of his drawl, watching the vivid flickering expressions on his lean mobile face. Lovely.

The knock was repeated a little more insistently this time. Beau wouldn't knock, he'd stride in with that royal air of dominance she'd become so accustomed to. She'd been drowsily aware of him coming in several times during the night to check on her as he'd said he would do. "Come in."

Jim, the seaman who'd carried the first-aid kit down to the cabin the night before, had a different burden this morning. He bustled briskly into the cabin carrying a round metal tray with a napkin draped over its contents. "Good morning, Miss Gilbert. I've brought you a bite of breakfast. Mr. Lantry says you're to eat everything on the tray." He set the tray carefully down on the bedside table. "He'd like you to join him and Captain Seifert on the deck as soon as it's convenient. The clothes you were wearing last night have been freshly laundered. I'll bring them right down." He grinned. "I didn't want to chance juggling them with that tray of food. I'm not known for being particularly dexterous. I'd probably end up by having to wash them again."