"What else did you hear?"

"What?"

She was fighting the unbidden rise of an illicit passion, and he was still seeking information.

"Did you hear-"

"No," she said, adding firmly, "stop. This isn't right, Ian, stop." She pressed her hands firmly against him, opening her eyes, ready to face him.

"No-"

She broke off, suddenly dead silent and completely shocked. She was captured within arms that seemed to have the power of steel. Whose arms, she had no idea.

She'd been hearing him speak, his voice deep, low, and husky, yet a whisper in the firelit shadows. She'd stared at his back, seen the way that he stood, the breadth of his shoulders, the rippling bronze of his back.

It wasn't Ian.

This man's eyes were blue, like Ian's. His height and build were nearly identical…but his face…

His features were different; his cheekbones were higher, slightly broader. And he was very bronze. Though his dark hair carried a hint of red that wasn't just the firelight, she realized, it was very thick and straight. His nose was straight, his forehead high and smooth, his mouth well sculpted, very full, sensual. Damp from their kiss, curved in a curious, mocking smile as he stared down at her. His features, she realized, betrayed Indian blood, strikingly combined with classical European lines.

"Oh, my God!" she breathed at last in sheer dismay.

She fought to free her arms, straining desperately against him. "Let me go! This instant! You're not Ian, ah, God, you're so much like him-"

"Stop it, calm down!" he commanded, drawing her harder to his frame as she fought wildly to free herself.

"Calm down?! I will not calm down. Let me go, let me go. My God, who are you? Oh! You have to be related to Ian, and if so---oh, God! Then you're a Rebel, the enemy…"

She kicked at him, trying to aim high in an effort to truly immobilize him, catching a kneecap instead. He grunted, and swept her up off her feet, striding back to the sofa where she found herself slammed down as he crawled atop her. She tried to pound his chest, strike out against his face. He neatly caught her wrists, forcing them down to the arm of the sofa just above her head. She was left with nothing to do but gasp for breath and stare up at him, stunned and horrified. He was built so very much like Ian, it was uncanny. But he was different as well. He carried Seminole blood. She'd known, of course, that Ian had kin here, Rebel kin.

"Let go of me. I thought you were Ian!" she gasped, struggling to dislodge him. But his hold upon her was as fierce as his temper. He didn't budge.

"Yes, you thought I was Ian. Sorry. I'm afraid that I'm the despicably wretched Rebel captain with the intent to take the Maid of Salem - my men will have nothing to do with me now. Obviously, I'm related to Ian. I'm his cousin-Miss Magee. There is a startling resemblance among many of our generation."

Miss Magee. She felt so incredibly stupid. He knew who she was. But she had never imagined that Ian and his kin could be so very much like him that she could mistake a cousin for him! "Which cousin?" she demanded through clenched teeth.

"Jerome McKenzie, Miss Magee," he said, a sardonic tone to his voice. "I'm trying to imagine the situation had you stumbled upon Ian's brother Julian. The two of them are so much alike, you might have bedded with him for an hour before discovering your mistake."

"Oh!" she gasped, so infuriated that she suddenly had the strength for Atlas. She freed a wrist with a wild wrench and brought her hand crashing against his bronze cheek. He recaptured her wrist so tightly that she let out a soft cry, her heart beating a staccato rhythm of pure panic as he leaned low over her.

"So tell me, were you really trying to save Alaina-or were you perhaps trying to make sure that my cousin was aware that his wife was an enemy agent?"

He stared at her, dark blue eyes hard and mocking, and she felt a chill sweep through her, adding to her fury. What in God's name did she care what he thought? Throughout everything, she had behaved with incredible maturity and restraint. After his marriage, she had shared nothing more intimate with Ian than compassion for the war's victims. Yet here she was, caught in this one moment's weakness…

"You bastard!" she hissed, shaking. "I don't give a damn what you think, but don't you see? If other Yankees catch Alaina, they'll hang her! I came here to save her life, and someone must do something quickly. If you can find your cousin out here, find him. And if not, let me go, and I'll damned well do it myself!"

"Oh, really? How incredibly arrogant, Miss Magee. I'm afraid that you couldn't find my cousin in the swamps if I handed you a bloodhound and a detailed map."

"I came this far! And you, sir, are an arrogant oaf, so you can just let me up---and I'll be on my way!"

"Oh, no, Miss Magee. I don't think so. I'll find my cousin and Alaina. But you won't be going anywhere."

"What? You can't possibly stop me---"

"Oh, but I can."

Risa froze, a renewed sense of alarm and deepening dismay arising in her. "You can't mean to keep me prisoner---"

"I'm afraid that I can and I do. You are a grave risk to national security, Miss Magee. Besides, just what do you think you're going to do? Survive the swamps?"

"Do you know, Mr. McKenzie---"

"Captain McKenzie, if you please. Confederate States Navy."

"Well, my father is a general-United States of America-and he'll hunt you down and annihilate you on the seas---"

"Will he?"

"Indeed, I swear it! And I have been raised around military men all my life, McKenzie. I can survive damned well, no matter what the circumstances. And I will get away from you, and I will tell the Union Navy-"

"Oh, really? I don't think so. Not now, you won't."

He smiled pleasantly and leaned close. She was painfully aware of her ragged state of undress, and of his build, so like Ian's. Long, hard, honed as tight as a drum. A savage drum. An Indian, and a Rebel.

"You will let me go now!" she whispered desperately.

He shook his head. Dark hair fell over one sharp blue eye. He assessed her in a sweeping gaze. She felt the pressure of his body.

"Miss Magee, your pardon, but we are at war, and you are very definitely the enemy."

"You are the enemy!"

"Perhaps, the way you see it---but now you are a prisoner of the Confederate States of America."

"I will not be a prisoner of the Confederacy! I will be damned before I will be a prisoner of the Confederacy. I will escape!"

He smiled grimly. He leaned even closer. "Miss Magee, you will be my prisoner. And I promise you, I'll de damned before I let you escape!"