Maggie’s bravado was returning, even though her hair was falling down around her shoulders and her dress was torn. Remembering how low cut it was, she raised her hands to cover her breasts, just in case. “First,” she said imperiously, “you must tell me who you are.”

The stranger hesitated for a very long time, so long that Maggie began to fear that he’d rescued her from Duncan just so he could ravish her himself. This little room would be the perfect place for it, and even if Maggie screamed, no one would come to her aid. “James,” he said finally. “My name is James.”

Remembering what Reeve had told her at Parramatta, Maggie gasped, “Jamie?”

Jamie let out a long sigh and leaned back against a grimy wall, his arms folded across his broad chest. “Aye,” he said very reluctantly. “Jamie McKenna.”

Maggie forgot all the danger and sank down to sit on the rumpled bed, her knees weak. “Do you know,” she began in a whisper, “that your brother’s been searching for you for twenty years?”

“I know.” Jamie sighed. “Believe me, it hasn’t always been easy to keep from being found.”

Maggie thought of Elisabeth, but some instinct warned her not to mention Jamie’s little girl just yet. She stared at him, baffled. “But why would you hide from your own brother? Do you hate him?”

“God, no,” Jamie breathed. “I could never hate Reeve.”

“Then, why—”

“I ’ave me own reasons,” Jamie broke in, lapsing into that lilting brogue the way Maggie had once heard his brother do. “Now, you’ll be answerin’ a few questions for me, lass.”

Maggie’s lower lip was protruding; she folded her arms stubbornly and fidgeted a little. “I asked first,” she complained.

Jamie threw back his head and shouted with laughter, and even when he’d recovered himself, his eyes were still glistening with amusement. The brogue, with Reeve a sign of stress or passion, was gone as quickly as it had come. “Where are you from, anyway?” he demanded. Before Maggie could answer, he waggled an index finger and said, “No, wait—I know. You’re from the rebel colonies. By God, you’re a Yank!”

Maggie jumped, startled, then sagged. She was always irritated when Reeve called her “Yank,” but now she’d give anything to hear him say that word. “Will you take me to your brother?”

“Not on your life,” Jamie answered immediately. “Right now my big brother is the last person on earth I want to see, with the possible exception of that heavy-handed no-gooder you were sharing a carriage with tonight. We ain’t seen the last of him, I’ll wager.”

“It’s ’haven’t,’” Maggie pointed out primly, “not ’ain’t.’”

Jamie looked annoyed. “You’re his boys’ nanny, miss, not mine, and I’ll thank you to remember it.”