Focus, he reminded himself, he needed to stay focused on just the conversation.

"Ask me whatever you'd like, my lady. I fear, I have no idea how to repress myself with you." And that was why he was so much better when he did censor himself. He'd just sounded like a rapist. Brilliant, indeed.

She bit her bottom lip, trying her best to cover a cough of a laugh.

"G.o.d, I meant-"

She held her hands out to him. "I think I understand."

"I meant-"

Just then the carriage jerked to a halt, sending the lady flying. In the little amount of time before impact, Will tried to scoot from his seat, tried to reach out to catch her. But she landed in a heap between his legs. Her head almost smacked into his groin. Her hands grasped onto his hips for balance.

And there she stayed for a second too long.

The woman was more than likely shaken from the fall, yet Will's mind filled with the indecent image of her being exactly where she was, only without so many clothes on. He could perhaps not have his clothes on either. Of all the times! Lord, he was pervert.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed her by her tiny waist and lifted her back to her side of the carriage.

"Ouch."

"Did I hurt you, my lady?" Yes, did my crotch a.s.sist in any way? Why couldn't his body simmer down?

He crouched before her, trying with everything in him to pull his hands from her abdomen.

"No, it was when I fell. One of my knees..." She leaned forward, letting Will have an awe-inspiring look at her decollete. Then the woman pulled up her skirts, and showed him her bleeding knee. A small trickle of scarlet oozed down her torn white stocking, and for that he should have stopped himself from ogling at her thigh, but for about two and-a-half seconds he did enjoy the view.

He gathered himself together though. Thank G.o.d the woman had never been with him during battles. She would have rendered him stupid in no time at all.

"May I a.s.sist you, my lady?"

She blinked down at him as he continued to kneel before her.

"I could bandage your knee, if you allow me?"

A very slow smile grew on her visage. "Only if you call me by my first name. I'm sorry, but I'm so tired of being called 'my lady' or 'the lady.' I'm not used-I'm-I think we're beyond formalities now."

He swallowed and looked down at the blood on her leg, reminding himself that she was hurt, and that was all that mattered-not her beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s that had been inches from his face, nor her thin, agile-looking leg, nor her warm, flirtatious words. Besides, he was more than likely misunderstanding her. She was a G.o.ddess, and he was...weary at best.

"Yes, my lady-Minerva."

She groaned, and he quickly removed his handkerchief from his waistcoat to soothingly wipe away the blood.

"I'm so sorry you're hurt, my-Minerva."

"Not Minerva." She sighed. "Call me Erva, please."

He nodded and kept his eyes on his work, cleaning her wound. It was already bruising and puffing about the skin. That was all he needed to pay heed to. Although, he wanted to know why the sobriquet? Why she didn't like her name? Then his eyes caught through her torn stocking the barest of a light mark on the inside of her knee. He'd heard of white birthmarks, but this-this was a bird. It was just a shade lighter than her skin, but there it was, a little flying bird.

He blinked and looked up at her. Before he could utter a word, a loud knock sounded upon the carriage door.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but one of the axels is broken. Is everyone in your party all right?"

Will was glad no one opened the carriage's door. He tied his handkerchief around her dainty knee, pulled her skirts down, covering her, and straightened as best he could, then opened the door.

"The lady is hurt."

"Oh, I'm fine."

"Shall I run for a doctor?" one of the footmen surrounding the carriage door asked.

"No," Erva hollered over his shoulder. "No, please, I'm fine. It's just a little cut, and it's all done bleeding now."

Will glanced at her, wondering if he should call for a doctor anyhow.

"Pardon again, my lord," the carriage driver said. "But the axel, it's-"

The carriage pivoted to the side roughly, like a ship in a storm. He then realized that the front axel had indeed broken and had somehow stayed in shape this long, but was now heaving to. Erva clutched at her seat, but Will acted quicker. Grabbing her as fast as he could, he jumped from the carriage as it shifted to its side and fell like a wounded elephant.

Only then did he think of his cargo. Her arms tightly held him around his neck. Erva's breath came in fast gulps against his chest. One breast pressed against him, and he thought he felt her heart beating against his. Her scent of night jasmine wafted about him like a spell and entranced him to look into her eyes. They were the color of dark wild clover honey. So breathtaking. Her gaze conveyed intense grat.i.tude. With her in his arms, he felt...n.o.ble. Gallant. When he was a boy, he'd run about his manor, saving the maids from dragons with a stick for his sword. Once rescued, they'd thank him profusely and lavish him with laughter, hugs, and tickles. It had been one of the happiest moments of his life. And that was how he felt now.

"My lady," he could only murmur.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"By G.o.d, my lord, but you are fast. I never saw a man so quick. You saved the lady."

Will didn't look up to see which footman was talking. He didn't care. Not while Erva's eyes spilled her potion through his veins. His blood pounded, pounded her name.

"Are you all right?" he finally asked.

She nodded. "You?"

He nodded as well, since words seemed a tad beyond his grasp presently.

"Shall I fetch the doctor now?" another footman asked.

Finally, Will forced his eyes from hers and was about to nod, when she said, "Oh no, I'm fine. Really. It's just a tiny cut."

It was more than that though. Will had seen for himself the swelling of her delicate joint.

"My lady, I believe you are more injured than you let on," he said, while not daring to look into her eyes again.

"I'm fine. I swear." She giggled. "I'll prove it to you. I'm sure I can walk."

"I'll get another carriage, then we can await a doctor at the manor."

He was surprised when he felt her cold, gloved fingers catch his cheek and force his gaze back to hers.

"Listen to me, please. I'm fine, William. Put me down, and you'll see for yourself."

Those words shook him more than he would have liked, more than he wanted them too. Listen to me. His wife, now pa.s.sed away for almost ten years, had repeatedly begged him to do the same. It took her death to understand the lesson of it, to not run about thinking he was acting for someone else's best interests, but to truly take heed of what those best interests could be. It was one of the reasons why he preferred to be quiet, so he could listen, so he could prove to himself that he wasn't such a bad husband. But no matter how attentive he was, he never felt free from the guilt.

He swallowed and nodded. "My apologies, my lady. What would you prefer? Shall I set you down? Or would you like to wait a bit? I won't fetch the doctor, unless you approve of it."

She blinked. Her smile was slow but grew wide and heated with something that cusped into...well, what it was he wasn't for certain. It seemed more than grat.i.tude. But he dared not hope for what he wished it to be.

"Thank you, and what did I say about calling me my lady?"

"My apologies again, my-Erva."

Someone cleared his throat. Somehow, Erva and he had created a cave that felt as if they were alone, as if the world didn't surround them. Will looked at the footman who smiled back, probably waiting for orders. Lord, one day it would be heaven to not tell someone what to do.

"Erva," he asked, "What shall we do about your knee?"

"Nothing." She grinned. "I want to go see your men."

He looked to the footman. "Call for another carriage, please." He gazed into Erva's wild honeyed eyes again. "You're sure about seeing my troops?"

"Yes, please." Erva's voice was husky yet smooth.

Raw energy shot straight for his groin at the sound of the lady's response. He'd have to think of...that field hockey sport that the Americans played, anything to stop obsessing about the way Erva smelled, looked, and worst of all, the way she felt against him.

The woman was cracking through all his toughened walls. And he'd only met her less than three hours ago. He was in trouble and knew it. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to do anything about it.

Chapter 4.

Will watched with prideful fascination as Erva poured a tiny amount of gunpowder down a Brown Bess musket's barrel, then tapped with the ramrod the bullet and powder. All the while a large rusty-haired Scottish sergeant, Abraham McDougal, tried to instruct her a little too late with what to do. A gigantic crowd of soldiers, too many to count-Lord, mayhap the entire British Army?-had formed around the targeting range where he and the sergeant stood close by Erva readying the musket.

Sergeant McDougal glanced back at Will. "Sir, she seems as though she knows what she's doing."

Will quietly chuckled. "I do believe the lady said as much."

Erva peeked at him after she'd placed the ramrod back on the belly of the musket. Grinning, she nodded. "I did tell him."

"You'll have to excuse the Sergeant," Will said. "I doubt he's ever seen a lady with a musket before."

"Nay, sir. This is my first time." The Scot leaned further away from Erva. "'Tis probably my last too, sir."

"I heard that, Sergeant," Erva said as she aimed at the scarecrow set up almost fifty yards from where she stood.

Will couldn't help but smile as sunbeams bounce off her un-hatted, flaxen hair, as if she had a halo. Her loose chignon whispered pale tresses across her cheeks and neck, making him wish his fingers could be those precious strands. Perhaps his lips.

She'd made the usual rounds of checking on his men seem something surreal and fantastic, even as she held a musket almost as tall as she. Erva caused a crowd wherever she went, being that she was an exotic creature in the bulwark. Oh, there were women in the camps. But not like her. She was so beautiful, especially those gigantic, dark inquisitive eyes of hers that made his lungs hurt when he stared at her too long. Further, Will's men more than likely were astounded the lady took so much interest in their muskets.

Erva took a deep inhalation, held it, then fired. Will rushed to her side. Not that he feared anything was wrong, but it seemed a good opportunity to once again be as close as he could get to her. When the white-gray smoke cleared, he and the crowd saw the scarecrow's head obliterated. A cheer sounded, then many huzzahed. Someone began to beat a drum. Bagpipes exploded as well. Lord, his men were smitten too.

Not that Will blamed them. As he gawked at Erva, standing tall with one hand grasped around the musket, garbed in an aetherial-colored dress, smiling widely and waving to the crowd, looking like a brilliant incarnate of her namesake, he realized it was more than just his body that wanted her to be close. He liked her. Her eagerness was infectious. No, it was more than that. He knew he'd been living in a self-imposed desert, dry from many emotions. But being less than a foot away from her, he thought he'd been a man dying of thirst, and with just her presence she quenched it.

Erva carefully returned the musket to Sergeant McDougal.

"She's a right good shot, sir," the Scotsman said.

"You can talk to me too, Sergeant." Erva scoffed.

McDougal shook his head. "Nay."

Erva laughed. "Why not?"

The sergeant smiled at Will. "Well, the General here has the power within him to whip me hundreds of times, even to hang me, if he deems it. But I feel more comfortable talking to him, than ye, begging yer pardon."

Erva smacked one of his large shoulders with her ungloved hand, which Will could tell was the point of the all too clever Scotsman's. Jealousy simmered through his hands and legs. Although he'd had only the greatest esteem for the sergeant, he thought about hitting him. d.a.m.n, he wished he could be as smooth and nonchalantly charming as McDougal.

"That's monumentally unfair," Erva protested, taking another limping step closer to the Highlander. "Is it simply because I'm a woman, and you think, like some Neanderthal, that women can't shoot guns? As you can see, I've proved that theory wrong."

The sergeant glanced at him, then down at Erva with a mischievous grin. "I don't ken what a Neanderthal is. But I agree with ye. Women can shoot. My own wife shoots better than I."

"Then why can't you talk to me?" Erva challenged, lifting her chin so she could better glare at McDougal.

"Well, I'll try to explain." McDougal kept his smile while he continued. "Ye see, I ken my limitations. I'm a fighter. And a good one at that. I'll fight until the bitter end for my general, not just because I gave my oath to, and not just because I like the general. And I do. But, ye see, my lady, General Hill is so much smarter than the lot of us. He'll fight, aye, but he'll ensure that we win. As he has all along.

"Since he's so smart, I'm sure the general kens already how to perceive ye, where ye fit, but because I'm just a simple man, I have no clue, no idea how to wrap my head 'round what ye are."

"She fits no molds, Sergeant." Will found himself saying. Out loud. d.a.m.nation. There he went again without checking himself first. And then, he did it once more. "For she is perfect as-is."

Erva glanced at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks blooming with pink. She blinked, then looked down with a tiny grin. Will's heart exploded in a burst of beats, like the Forty-Second Highlander Regiment of Foot's drums. Under his ribs, a spasm of electricity ran through his body, hedging dangerously close to his groin. Again. Lord.

Helplessly he glanced at the Scotsman who stood back smiling all too knowingly. Ah, so that was the game the sergeant had played. Matchmaker. d.a.m.n, he was good at it too.

"Can't talk to me simply because you don't know where I fit, huh?" Erva asked.

Obviously, the Highlander could and would, but he noiselessly snickered all the same.

"And what if I...fired off at least seven rounds in a minute? Would you talk to me then?"

McDougal made an odd guttural noise. "No one, not even the General, who's a ma.s.sively good shot himself, can shoot seven rounds under a minute."

Erva arched a blonde brow. "I wasn't talking about shooting a Bessie." She indicated with a tilt of her head at the musket the Highlander still held. "Do you have an Ordinance rifle, Sergeant?"

"I do." Will offered, utterly amazed but happily so. She not only knew muskets, but also breach-loading rifles too. "I actually have it close by-"

"It's still on display, sir," said an eager Private from the crowd. He postured himself from the red mob proudly, bowing and saluting simultaneously, then grimacing at his combined actions. "I-er, sir, I could go and fetch the rifle, sir, for the lady." He beamed at Erva, but ripped his gaze back to Will. "It's still at Colonel Braddock's quarters, where he shows it off quite regularly."