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tumult in her mind.
    She shook her head in disgust at her so foolish reaction. By Saint Igor! It was only a kiss! Bestowed upon her by a rough, hairy peasant, no less. Of a certainty, she’d been kissed before. Many times. By her husband...and by one or two of the courtiers who’d danced to her merry tune before she’d run off with Aleksei. She had no reason to remember the press of the American’s lips every time she closed her eyes, or taste him on her tongue at odd moments, as she had for the past few hours. Kisses weren’t worth a copper kopeck. Had she not learned that lesson all too well from her husband?
    The memory of Aleksei’s perfidy sent a lance of regret and pain shafting through her. He was dead, she reminded herself stonily. Strangled before her eyes at the orders of a vengeful tsar... as she might be, if she did not fulfill her mission. Shuddering, she forced her thoughts back to the American.
    “Tell me about him,” she demanded again of Re-Re-An.
    Sighing, the tired woman rolled over to face Tatiana. “I don’t know more than I have told you. He lived with us three winters ago and contributed much meat to the cook fires with his long rifle. He took no wife, although he shared his blanket with several willing women.” Re-Re-An slanted her a sideways look. “As he would share it with you, should you wish it.”
    Wishing had little to do with the matter, Tatiana thought starkly. Was she prepared to lie with the American to get to Fort Ross? That was more properly the question she must answer.
    This Josiah Jones wanted her, in the way a man wants a woman. She’d tasted his want on his mouth. Felt the strength of it in his hard grip. Seen it in his physical arousal. As he’d made clear, if Tatiana truly desired to go with him, she must offer the use of her body in exchange for his escort.
    Could she do that?
    Holy Mother above, should she?
    It would be only her body that she offered, she reasoned bleakly. Not her soul. No matter what occurred between her and this crude American, her soul remained hers and hers alone. It had survived Aleksei’s perfidies and the tsar’s unrelenting fury. It would surely survive the act of lying with a stranger.
    That much she’d learned from her father. In his scholarly wisdom and simple faith, he had taught her well. The outer vessel mattered not if the inner core was pure and strong.
    The thought of her father stripped Tatiana’s dilemma to its most essential element. He’d looked so frail when last she’d seen him, his shoulders stooped as he watched her carriage drive off. He would not last a week in one of the tsar’s dank prisons.
    She must get to Fort Ross.
    Tatiana’s inner turmoil subsided. Her father was all she had left in the world. All she’d ever had, really. Whatever she must do to spare his life and hers, she would do.
    Unlacing her fingers, she eased down onto the elk hide that served as her sleeping mat. She’d best get what sleep she could. Once she left the Valley of the Hupa with Josiah Jones, she would not rest easy again. Squeezing her eyes shut, she commanded herself to ignore the sounds of laughter and male voices drifting from Cho-gam’s main lodge. She would not think more. She would only sleep, and do what she must.
     
    Tatiana rose before the sun, as did the others in the lodge. She dressed quickly and snatched a hurried meal of boiled acorn mush. From all reports, the outsider planned to leave the village early, and she intended to leave when he did.
    With Re-Re-An’s assistance, she rolled a few essentials into a small bundle and tied it with rawhide thongs. Then she pulled on several layers of borrowed outer garments, promising to send gifts in payment. Re-Re-An accepted her promises with a nod and pressed a cloak of thick fox pelts on her.
    “No,” Tatiana protested, pushing the silky fur back into her friend’s hands. “It is too fine, and the air is not as chill as it was a few weeks ago.”
    “The mountains still