Through a foggy haze, Amanda heard herself say, "Yes. You're right."
But neither of them relinquished the other. Her fingers were tangled in the material of his shirt, caressing his muscled back. Heat and humidity only added to the inferno that raged inside her, and she wondered vaguely if she'd truly lost her mind. This was even more unbelievable than finding herself in another century.
When Jesse finally pulled away, his chest was rising and falling rapidly and there was a pinched look on his face. "It will be dark soon," he said thickly. "I know a place where we can camp for the night."
It was crazy and she knew it, but her entire world had careened out of control. Amanda shivered. Sexual tension only added to the physical strain of hours of unaccustomed riding. It felt as if every muscle in her body were protesting, and all her internal organs were in revolt. She briefly closed her eyes.
"Are you all right?"
Amanda glanced up to find Jesse's night-blue eyes resting on her. She managed a smile. "I'm fine. I can keep up."
"I've no doubt of that," he replied in a murmur. "You seem to be full of surprises."
"I'm not nearly as fragile as you may think. I take all the proper vitamins, read all the right magazines-never mind. I'm fine."
Giving her a half smile, Jesse turned his attention to the narrow road a short distance ahead. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone, standing still and silent in the shadow of a huge elm. Finally he motioned for her to remount and follow him. Wagon ruts were the only indication that it was some sort of road, and Amanda could barely see them in places. Apparently, Jesse knew exactly where he was and where he was going. She only wished she did.
Night was closing in around them, and Amanda had no idea how far they had gone. Jesse seemed to be taking a circuitous route, weaving in and out of thickets, back onto the road, and then into the woods again. None of which added up to a feeling of security. Or did it? Odd, but she felt safe with him despite the gravity of their mission. Even when she'd seen the Yankees, she'd not felt as threatened as she should have. As a child she'd sensed strength and promise in the handsome man in the photograph. That impression of the man in her dreams was not lessened by the reality of him. Jesse Jordan exuded a strong sensuality and strength of will that could never have been totally captured by mere photographic equipment or even imagination.
"This is where we'll camp for the night," Jesse said finally, dragging his mule to a halt in a small thicket surrounded by well-laden blackberry bushes. He dismounted with an agile leap, apparently suffering no ill effects from their daylong ride.
Amanda dismounted stiffly, silently cursing the uncomfortable, restrictive clothing she was forced to wear. Of all the things in the twentieth century she missed, shorts and trousers were at the top of the list. How had women ever managed to get around in long skirts and these wretched undergarments? The pantalets went to her knees, and Deborah had been so horrified when she'd suggested cutting them off she'd quickly said she was only teasing. Now here she was in the middle of the woods in hot summer weather wearing enough layers of clothing to smother her mule.
Jesse eyed her with a lifted brow, apparently misreading her discontent. "I know this isn't exactly the Gayoso House, but it'll do."
"Gayoso House? Oh, I remember. It's the nineteenth-century equivalent of The Peabody."
As he reached for her reins, Jesse gave her a speculative glance from beneath the thick bristle of his lashes. "I never heard of the Peabody. Is that a Memphis hotel?"
"It will be the South's finest one day," she replied with an amused smile. "Don't look so worried. That's just a prediction."
Resting one arm across the saddle, Jesse studied her in the late light. His face was dark and shadowed, highlighted only by a hazy glow from the setting sun. "A prediction," he repeated slowly. "Are you saying that you can predict the future?"
"Let's just say that there are certain things I may be able to predict correctly. And I don't need a crystal ball or pack of cards." She stretched her arms to ease cramped muscles, well aware of his intent gaze. How much should she say and how much should she let him discover for himself? He probably wouldn't believe her if she said the Southern cause was doomed, and might even consider her a traitor. No, best to allow him to think whatever he wished.
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?"