CORNWALL, AUGUST 1799

Unable to postpone the moment, Doyle pushed open the door to Bodie's bedchamber. Taking in the state of the room and the reek of spirits and stale sweat, he stopped abruptly, then closed the door behind him and leant back against it.

"So you've finally deigned to put in an appearance," drawled Bodie in the soft, slurred voice that had become too familiar in recent weeks. "I'm grateful you were able to fit me into your busy schedule."

"I'm late, I know," Doyle acknowledged, his easy tone belying his prickle of anger. He quashed it before it could grow, determined that tonight would be different. Tonight he wouldn't lose his temper, although it was obvious Bodie wasn't going to make his resolve an easy one to keep.

"Why should you apologise?" asked Bodie, his hand sweeping out, his eyes bright with malice. "After all, you have so much to occupy your time these days. I hear the place is running smooth as clockwork under your delicate touch." There was a betraying edge to the soft voice now. "The Squire is most impressed. What activity of mine have you contrived to take charge of now - free-trading perhaps? For an artist you're possessed of some diverse talents." When he saw Doyle's mouth tighten he bitterly drained the contents of the glass he held.

"I do the best I can," replied Doyle as he came further into the room, seeking to diffuse the other man's anger.

Bodie's moods had been dangerously unpredictable over the last three weeks. He already knew better than to imagine Bodie was fully recovered from the bout of fever which had laid him low for more than a week. He was still too weak to leave his chamber for more than short periods and took his frustration out on anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with him. His drinking was a cause for concern to them all.

"I'm a poor substitute, you have been sorely missed about the place," Doyle added with truth. When Bodie gave a derisive whoop of laughter he knew he had misunderstood the source of the other man's anger yet again.

"What, while you're at hand? I find that hard to credit. You're doing an excellent job, both in bed and out of it. Although, I, of course, can vouch for only the former of your abilities." Bodie's voice was soft with insolence as he raised his freshly filled glass. "Are you sure you won't join me?"

Doyle clamped a work-roughened hand over his wrist. "You've had enough."

"So damn moral," Bodie sneered as he wrenched himself free, unconscious of the brandy spilling over his robe or Doyle's gasp of pain.

Flexing a numbed hand, Doyle sank onto the chair on the other side of the hearth and watched Bodie in a brooding silence as he searched for a way to reach the drunken stranger opposite him. His own anger was perilously close to the surface.

"What is it you seek, Bodie?" There was a trace of desperation behind the question.

Glittering blue eyes studied him in insulting detail before Bodie pulled a sad clown's face. "Well I imagined I wanted you at one point," he confessed, "but I find I was mistaken. You reek of the stables. I fear I'll have to make do with the Chegwidden chit tonight."

The glass was knocked from his hand. Neither man heard it shatter in the hearth.

"D'you suppose anyone would take you in this state?" demanded Doyle with contempt. Staring with near-hatred at the drink-slackened face, he was shocked by the jealousy which ripped through him, even though he was sure Bodie had no intention of doing what he had said.

The atmosphere between them had been worsening over the last few weeks. Their verbal exchanges were vitriolic and kept to the minimum: they both found it too easy to hurt the other. But at night desire drew them together to drown their unvoiced hopes in a driving lust which clamped them together in a writhing frenzy. They remained together only for as long as it took them to exhaust that need. It was an ugly, bitter existence that frightened them both into further excesses, further widening the gulf between them. Falling into an exhausted sleep, each in their solitary beds afterwards, both men knew it could not continue.

Bodie's hand shot out to cup Doyle's genitals, offering a brief, contemptuous squeeze. "You weren't always so nice in your requirements. Perhaps the novelty has worn off for us both. I - "

The sound of the open-handed blow Doyle delivered echoed around the room. "You want a change? Then by God you shall have one," he promised in a voice which shook with fury.

His hand locked in the cropped hair, wrenching Bodie's head up. The weight of his body drove the seated man back into the winged-back leather chair as his mouth took Bodie's with a bruising force. Bodie's response was immediate but he failed to dislodge the other man and was only half sure he wanted to as he caught Doyle in a merciless grip. The violence which had flared between them wasn't new and masked a myriad of other emotions, offering only mutual destruction.

The struggle was fierce but brief. Doyle felt a savage satisfaction when he made Bodie wince, tasting blood where he had bitten down. It was then that a measure of sanity returned. Wrenching free, he backed away, disgust on his face that he should have sunk so low.

Colourless and shaking, Bodie made no attempt to press his strategic advantage. Straightening his robe, he stretched out in the chair with every appearance of ease and reached for the decanter to erase the insidious taste of Ray Doyle in the only way left to him.

"So damn moral," he repeated in a soft, slurred voice.

Uncertain of what he had intended to achieve, Bodie knew that all he had done was hurt Ray in a way that had nothing to do with bruised flesh or that bloodied lip. Draining his glass, he refilled it immediately.

His clenched fists rammed in the pockets of his jacket, Doyle stared at him in sick disbelief. He wanted nothing more than to escape this madness and find some calm haven from this storm of ugly emotion. His rage ebbing, he was left with a vast weariness. Staunching the blood from his rapidly swelling lip, he realised how drunk Bodie was when he noticed the poor co-ordination and unfocussed gaze. Bodie must have been drinking steadily throughout the day to have achieved this level of intoxication so early in the evening. Frozen to the spot, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, he waited for this waking nightmare to be over.

The glass Bodie gripped visibly trembled. Intense concentration on his face, he steadied it with his other hand and carefully raised it to his lips to drain it with a steadfast determination. As he refilled the glass yet again his expression was completely unguarded.

Doyle had never seen such unhappiness on anyone's face before. His stomach twisting with the pain of it, he re-approached the chair to crouch beside the man isolated in his own private hell.

"What is it you seek?" he asked again, but there was a wealth of difference in his quiet voice.

Slowly becoming aware of the presence at his side, Bodie stared drunkenly into the face turned up to him, wanting to shatter that self-contained calm as his own had been destroyed. Held by Doyle's steady gaze, his upraised fist uncurled, his hand settling in the other man's hair before his fingers locked painfully in the curls beside the broken cheekbone.

Wincing, Doyle blinked away the tears of pain but made no attempt to escape or retaliate. The grip eased immediately, fingers soothing the small hurt they had unthinkingly caused.

"What are we doing to each other, Ray?" Bodie's bewildered but relatively lucid gaze took in the disordered room, the shattered glass in the hearth and Doyle's swollen bottom lip. Discovering himself to be clutching a full glass of spirits, he carefully set it down on the side-table next to where he sat.

"What are we doing?" he repeated with the hurt puzzlement of a child who has been chastised for no reason it can understand.

His hand rising to cover the one entangled in his hair, Doyle unwound the locked fingers and kept them in a gentle clasp. "I don't know," he said honestly, "but that's over now. Don't fret about it for a space. Come, rest." Rising to his feet, he urged Bodie out of the chair and supported the wavering figure against him when Bodie's legs gave way under him.

"You're not going to leave?" Bodie checked anxiously.

Mute, Doyle shook his head. There had been unmistakable fear in Bodie's eyes before he masked the expression with his lashes. Perhaps that was what lay behind the arguments and drinking; anything to eradicate, or at least camouflage, his need. How could he know his need was shared?

"No," he reassured Bodie gently, "I'm not leaving you."

Bodie stared at him for what seemed like forever before his head drooped.

Gripped by tenderness as he stared at the dark head resting against his shoulder, Doyle recognised that he might have sought refuge in a bottle if he hadn't had the escape provided by often hard physical labour on unfamiliar projects; they left him with little time or energy to think about anything else. That denied him, Bodie had begun to drink and so the pattern had been set, their insecurities blinding them to each other's needs. One of them must break the wall of silence which had grown between them and Doyle had the sinking feeling he knew which of them it would have to be.

Then Bodie stirred and would have fallen but for his continued support. Holding him more securely, Doyle was overtaken by a wave of love as he caressed the nape of the exposed neck. It was the first moment of gentleness they had enjoyed for some time. Longer than he cared to remember.

He placed a light kiss on top of Bodie's head. He'd become accustomed to regarding Bodie through defensive eyes, as if he was the enemy instead of his lover. He'd been fool enough to accept the facade Bodie presented to the world. Well, no more, Doyle promised himself with a fierce protectiveness for the man in his arms. From the even breathing and relaxed weight against him he knew the other man was almost unconscious on his feet.

Smiling ruefully, he untied Bodie's robe and slipped it from his shoulders before continuing to undress the dishevelled figure. Bodie remained passive under his hands, moving only when prompted. Every movement was clearly difficult for him to co-ordinate. Naked, he remained in the circle of Doyle's hands, the muscled planes of his body lit gold and amber in the flickering light of fire and candle. Old and new scars were softened as he stood unselfconscious under Doyle's appreciative gaze.

"Come to bed," coaxed Doyle. "We'll talk in the morning." His hands on naked flesh as he supported the other man, he curbed his desire.

A drunken, lop-sided smile of great sweetness crooked Bodie's mouth, as if he had become aware of Doyle's physical response to him. "No point, m'dear. 'M too drunk," he explained with sorrow. His hand moved in an over-large sweep of dismissal before it landed unsteadily on the other man's shoulder.

Doyle subdued a sigh of exasperation, knowing there was little profit in trying to reason with Bodie while he was foxed. "That's of no matter. Just come to bed," he coaxed when Bodie stubbornly resisted the gentle pressure.

"Can't. You're still dressed," Bodie pointed out with slurred reasonableness. He gave a reproving shake of his head, then had to clutch at Doyle when the room swung dizzyingly around him. "It's bad form to wear your boots in bed." The unsteady finger he had been pointing at Doyle slid down the line of his nose, coming to rest on the lush mouth before it stroked across the closed lips.

"I hurt you," Bodie discovered. Remorseful blue eyes anxiously studied the face inches from his own. "'M always doing that. 'S too easy," he explained, over-enunciating every word. "Get involved and you're lost. No hope. So sad." He cradled Doyle's bemused face between his hands.

"I know," soothed Doyle, fervently wishing Bodie was sober. But then if he was sober they would be unlikely to be having this conversation. Caught by the other man's intense blue stare, he couldn't look away, drowning in its depths. Wrenching his gaze away, he was caught and held by the tender vulnerability of Bodie's mouth. "You and I were involved a long time ago. We just refused to admit as much, even to ourselves. There's nothing to fear, I promise you. Trust me."

Blinking owlishly, Bodie gave up the struggle and lowered his head to rest his forehead against Doyle's. "I do," he said simply. "Stupid, but I do."

That simple admission was almost Doyle's undoing. Unconscious of his dazzling smile, he stroked down Bodie's naked back, less in desire than the need to offer whatever comfort it was in his power to bestow.

"Come and rest now. Come," he urged.

At Doyle's gentle insistence Bodie finally reached the disordered bed. He tumbled onto it, almost dragging Doyle with him. Sighing, Doyle drew up the covers as best he could around the huddled figure, then undressed, shivering in the cool air. Snuffing out the candles, he padded around to slide in beside Bodie. He couldn't leave him to sleep alone, as much for his own sake as for Bodie's, he admitted.

Drawn by the warmth, Bodie snuggled close with a contented sigh. Opening his eyes, their expression was deceptively lucid as he stared into Doyle's startled face. Bodie nodded wisely, as if confirming something.

"Love you so much," he mumbled, before he tucked his head beneath Doyle's chin. Hiccuping twice, he was asleep within seconds, leaving his bedmate to stare out into the darkness, holding him in a protective embrace.



Woken by a sharp sense of discomfort, Doyle peered blearily over the sheet, discovered the cause and pushed ineffectually at the weight pressing him into the mattress.

"Bodie," he hissed in exasperation. "Wake up. Or at least sleep on your side of the bed. God knows it's large enough." But his hands swept over Bodie more in caress than in strong protest.

"Mmngh?" Bodie flopped over onto his back as a result of Doyle's manoeuvrings. Opening blood-shot eyes, he attempted to focus before closing them again. His stomach rebelling, his mouth disowning him, he put a cautious hand to his pounding head and gave a heartfelt groan.

Leaning up on one elbow, Doyle gave a faint smile and traced Bodie's profile with his forefinger. "You look terrible," he announced cheerfully. "How do you feel?"

"Go away," Bodie pleaded in a muted whisper, taking Doyle's presence next to him for granted. "But if you have any regard for me, do it quietly." He eyed Doyle's widening grin with disfavour before his eyes drooped to a close again. "I've a notion I'm dying," he said with a touch of pathos.

Sliding out of bed to relieve himself, Doyle shrugged into Bodie's robe, his nose wrinkling at the reek of spirit which rose from it. "The wages of sin," he reminded his stricken lover unsympathetically. "You need some tea."

Bodie shuddered.

"Coffee, then."

Bodie groaned.

"I'll see if Bertha can't concoct something for you," Doyle offered, pity stirring in him.

Moving cautiously, Bodie sighed and hauled himself into a sitting position against the pillow Doyle presented him with. "Just tea," he said faintly. "Bertha would give me an interminable lecture while administering her potion and I'll be left with an even worse head. While I doubtless deserve it, pray don't point that out yet."

"Later then, when you're feeling more the thing." Leaning back against the door, Doyle looked appallingly vivacious in the sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains. There was an expression on his face which made Bodie feel uneasy.

Plucking at the sheet, while taking pains to avoid Doyle's eyes, he said, "I've a notion I was exceedingly drunk last night."

"You were," confirmed Doyle.

"I cannot quite recall. Did I say anything - ? That is, I seem to remember..." He stumbled to a halt, his fingers clenching over the sheet.

Doyle came to sit next to him, taking Bodie's hands in his own as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Last night you were foxed. There was a short, unpleasant interlude which was more my fault than yours, then we went to bed. You fell asleep almost immediately." He appeared not to hear Bodie's sigh of relief. "Just before that you told me something."

Wary blue eyes rose to study Doyle's face, a hint of panic in their depths.

"You need have no fear," said Doyle with soft self-derision for the hope he had stupidly permitted himself to feel, "I'll not hold you to something you said when foxed. But if you believed yourself to be the only fool you can rest easy. I share your stupidity, if that's what it is. I love you, Bodie. Though God knows why. You need say nothing. I just needed you to know that."

Rolling onto his side, Bodie presented his back to the other man. "Oh, yes, there's been a deal of love between us," he said bitterly, as he recalled their violent couplings.

Firm hands drew him over to meet Doyle's steady gaze. "Little that has taken place between us in this bed has had to do with love, but that's not to deny its existence."

For all his seeming casualness Bodie was watching him with hawk-like concentration, to the point where he saw the erratic movement of the silver chain where it was caught crookedly in the hollow of the collar bone. For the first time it occurred to him that Doyle might not be so matter-of-fact as he might wish to appear. But the dispassionate face with its shuttered eyes gave him no clue as to its owner's true feelings. He ran a hand over his hair, afraid of uttering anything that could be construed as a desire for commitment while wanting to bind himself indissolubly to this one man. He yearned for such a union with a strength which frightened him.

Watching the play of emotions cross Bodie's face, Doyle gave a sigh of defeat. Patting a tense shoulder, he got to his feet. "It's of no great matter. I'll get that tea." But his control slipped fractionally, allowing Bodie to see his unguarded expression.

Before he was conscious of having moved he was standing in front of Doyle, holding him lightly by the flanks. "I would have preferred to remain silent but I cannot deny that... That I... Hell, I'm making a complete mull of this," he muttered. "Damn it, I do love you."

A tender smile lit Doyle's face, but no surprise. "I know you do," he said, holding Bodie loosely. "I finally realised that last night. I just wondered how long it would take you to admit the fact to yourself." His voice was suddenly unsteady. "I did not dare hope to hear you say it."

His nostrils flaring, Bodie glared at him.

"There's little point in your attempting to cow me into silence now," Doyle pointed out. "There's no shame in admitting it and you're not bound by it. Unless you want to be?"

Cupping Bodie's face between his palms, he stared steadily into those impossibly blue eyes. "I love you," he repeated, and felt the heat run up over his own skin. "Why should that be so hard to say?" he wondered, trying to deny his embarrassment.

"I wish to be bound," Bodie told him, his hands sliding up and down the tense spine. "And perhaps any declaration is so difficult to voice because we're not accustomed to admitting ourselves capable of such... such a... need?"

"Definitely a need," Doyle agreed, laughter and love spilling from his eyes.

Their bodies slid together the last few inches to merge with grateful familiarity, at first seeking only reassurance from the contact.

Bodie's hands massaging his rump through the silk robe he was still wearing, although it was unfastened by this time, Doyle raised his eyebrows when he felt Bodie's cock rigid against him.

"Your head?" he murmured innocently.

Bodie gave a soft, warm chuckle. "I'm not proposing to use that." His questing mouth smothered Doyle's answering riposte.



It was past midday when Bodie and Doyle finally left the bedchamber, having only just become conscious of the time. No one kept fashionable hours at Shambolt's Cove, tending to rise with the sun. There was always plenty of work and with the harvest underway the work-force was sorely stretched. Casual labour was easy enough to come by, but Bodie's financial resources were too strained for him to be able to take full advantage of the fact.

Closing the bedroom door Bodie gave a faint sigh. He had been guilty of neglecting his responsibilities for too long. While he had moped in a drunken stupor Ray had taken on the task of running the estate. The tanned, lean body which had wrapped itself around him earlier this morning had shown him that Ray, as was his own habit, preferred to work alongside those he commanded. That was the least of what he had learned this morning.

Unconscious of the smile on his face, Bodie strolled along the upper hallway, his easy movements belying the remains of a crashing headache. Loose-limbed and replete, Doyle was at his side.

Doyle gave his companion a questioning look when he noticed the contrast between the contentment in Bodie's eyes and the crease between his eyebrows. "I had supposed that your head had cleared. Should we renew our attempts to ease it?" he inquired innocently.

His palm in the hollow of Doyle's back as they descended the stairs, Bodie gave a relaxed grin. "You have the strength?"

"Only the inclination."

"That's a relief. I was beginning to wonder whether you intended that such delight be reserved only for occasions on which one, or both of us, is foxed."

"Not at all," said Doyle, all mock-sobriety. "Indeed, I've begun to wonder how improved your performance might be when you're completely sober."

Willing himself not to laugh for the sheer joy of it, Bodie raised a sceptical eyebrow. "You have some complaint?"

Pausing at the foot of the stairway Doyle brushed an imaginary speck of lint from Bodie's coat, needing to reassure himself this was not a dream. "No," he said placidly, having no objection to adding to Bodie's supreme self-satisfaction, "but no doubt one will occur to me by this evening."

"You do seem to be most inventive," Bodie agreed. Doyle's throaty chuckle was almost his undoing but his answering smile faded as they entered the kitchen.

Bertha pinned him with a forbidding glare. "This is a fine time to decide to start the day and no mistake. The men have been hard at work these past seven hours and more. And no, I ain't blamin' you, Master Ray," she added, interrupting Doyle. "You ain't used to the life. It's Master William that be in the wrong. And you know it," she scolded him. Her expression softened as she studied his relaxed figure, taking in the contentment on his face.

"Mind," she conceded, "you look better for your spell abed."

Bodie was overly conscious of the muffled choke from his companion as, his shoulders shaking, Doyle turned away, making the need to prepare tea his excuse.

Impervious to Bodie's imploring look, Bertha continued, "What might do for other folk ain't for you. This drinkin' must -"

" - stop," anticipated Bodie. Sinking onto a chair at the scrubbed table, he gave her a look of rueful affection. "I know. Don't scold me any more, there's a love, for I've the deuce of a head. I've already been subjected to a lengthy lecture on the subject from Ray." The memory of its circumstance made him smile again. He was careful not to look at Doyle, certain his expression would betray them both. It occurred to him that this present sense of well-being was one totally outside his previous experience; for some reason he could not seem to stop smiling.

"Just so long as it does stop," said Bertha severely, breaking into his happy abstraction. When he nodded, she turned her attention back to Doyle. The approval in the look she gave him made Bodie smile again. "I always thought Master Ray had more sense in his little finger than - And what in tarnation happened to you?" she demanded when Doyle turned into the light and she caught sight of his swollen lower lip.

Setting the tray on the table, he gave her a look of query. Bertha gestured to his mouth. His eyes widening in comprehension, Doyle placed a finger to it. The small wound had re-opened this morning when he had taken Bodie's prick into his mouth. He lowered his gaze in the hope of concealing their reminiscent gleam.

"Don't fuss, Bertha," he told her placidly. "I tripped over the rug in Bodie's room last night, but I have no wish to advertise my clumsiness to the world."

"Oho, is that a fact?" She gave him a look of patent disbelief, before directing a look of suspicion at Bodie, who was engaged in sipping his hot tea with every appearance of enjoyment. Sensing her gaze, his expression was one of supreme innocence.

Feeling totally at his ease for the first time in more days than he cared to remember, Doyle nodded, smiled, and sat opposite Bodie before serving himself with tea. He was determined that this new serenity between them would not easily be lost. This morning past mistakes had been left behind as unimportant irrelevancies as they gave their joy physical expression. Their shared passion was only one cause for delight. Sated, they had lain together; for the first time they had spoken of a future, certain there would be one they would share. Rather than an intense sense of excitement, Doyle sat sipping his tea while he watched all the small movements Bodie made and knew himself to be completely and utterly content.

Slamming the drawer of the dresser shut, Bertha gave one final snort of disbelief. With a muttered, "Have it as you will," she flounced out of the room, leaving the two men in a companionable silence.

Doyle drained his second dish of tea and served Bodie with a third. "This morning I was to have assisted John Joe in moving that batch of yearlings into the west pasture."

No more than mildly interested, Bodie crooked one arm over the back of his chair and continued to watch him with lazy pleasure. "There's always tomorrow. Or the day after."

Doyle gave him what was intended to be a look of severity. "I hope you plan to be present to defend me when I proffer that excuse to John Joe," he said with feeling, having fallen short of the irascible stableman's high standards in the past.

"He'll not scold you," Bodie assured him.

"I wish I could share your confidence. What makes you so sure?"

"The fact he's already confided to Jedediah that you're a fine young sprig who knows his own mind, but who's willing to listen to advice on occasion," paraphrased Bodie. "I can't say I've noticed much of the latter in your manner, but there we are. Perhaps if I adopted a little of John Joe's manner in my approach to you?"

"There's nothing wrong with your present approach," Doyle told him absently. "John Joe said that about me?"

"I had a notion you'd be surprised. He doesn't care to wear his heart on his sleeve but he's not shown you the rough side of his tongue, I promise you. You're his blue-eyed boy."

"Then may Heaven preserve anyone who is not."

"I haven't thanked you yet," added Bodie.

"For what?"

"The work you've undertaken on my behalf. I was sober enough yesterday morning to have a word with Jedediah. The clearing of the fields has never progressed so well. It will be an excellent harvest."

"You have good workers," said Doyle, dismissing his own efforts. "They give of their best."

"Agreed. But they might not have done so but for the fact you willingly work alongside them. There was no necessity for you to show any interest, let alone work as you are doing."

"I enjoy it," said Doyle in defensive half-truth. "This is a style of life I would never have associated with you. It is equally foreign to me. I welcome the new experience, so there's no need to continue to discuss the matter, is there?"

"No," said Bodie with suspect humility.

"Will you be serious? I'm but a green beginner. Inevitably I'll have made mistakes. I hope none of them prove to be costly. Honesty compels me to admit, much of John Joe's praise stems from the fact that he and I are very alike in some ways. Both stubborn," he added when Bodie looked disbelieving because he could think of no point of similarity between the man sitting opposite him and his dour stableman.

"Had I been about my duties rather than drinking myself under the table you would - "

" - still have joined you in the fields, like as not. Have done. Neither of us has conducted ourselves as we should have liked over recent weeks, but do you find me castigating myself for past mistakes?"

Only too happy to elucidate, Bodie nodded and began to speak. Waving him into silence, Doyle conceded defeat with a rueful shrug. "And I thought I was stubborn. We should at least ride out to the men." Bodie nodded with an obvious lack of enthusiasm and Doyle's smile widened. "But not today?"

Bodie brightened. "Definitely not today," he confirmed with alacrity. "Besides," he gave Doyle a critical once-over, "you scarcely look to have the strength to mount anything my stables can provide." He immediately realised his mistake in presenting such an obvious opening.

His eyes sparkling with laughter, Doyle crooked a disbelieving eyebrow. "Anything? Surely not."

"Well I lack the energy to put you to the test this minute." A speculative look entered Bodie's eyes. "But by this evening..."

"Incorrigible."

Unrepentant, Bodie cheerfully agreed with him as he shared out the last of the tea.

Staring into the unwanted drink, Doyle returned to his former point. "You need a bailiff to help you run the estate. The task is too much for one man."

"I do and it is. But a good man who would fit in with my style of life... Besides, I doubt if I could afford his services," Bodie added candidly.

Doyle looked faintly surprised. "The outgoings are so high?"

"Higher. We'll survive. Money had to be ploughed back into the place after so many years of neglect. I was guilty of neglecting it myself in my first few years here. But we keep our heads above water. Next year should be easier. While we are on the topic, I must be away tomorrow. There are arrangements that must be completed before the end of the month."

Doyle did not make the mistake of believing the arrangements had anything to do with livestock or crops. "May I accompany you?"

"No." Softening his instinctive denial, Bodie smiled ruefully and added in a more moderate tone, "I will not have you placing yourself at risk for something you disapprove of so strongly. Besides, as far as the world is aware you are no more than a guest of mine down for the summer months. Should anything untoward occur you will not be implicated. I would prefer the situation to remain that way."

Doyle gave him a look of exasperated affection. "Perhaps it has escaped your attention but I could not be more involved if I tried. Few people will believe me innocent, despite your enchanting faith in my acting ability. That aside, what other objections can you find to my accompanying you? I'm no longer blind, and I'm quite capable of defending myself if you fear I'll be a burden should the going get rough."

"I've no doubts on that score," said Bodie with a reluctant, reminiscent grin. "I see I was correct in one thing I said yesterday. For an artist, you're possessed of some diverse talents."

Doyle attempted to look suitably modest. "We aim to please." His humble tone was betrayed by the glint in his eyes.

"Oh, you do," Bodie assured him. "While I think of it, do you shoot?"

Doyle gave a lascivious chuckle, but sobered under the influence of a stern look. "Tolerably." Propping his chin on his hands, he studied Bodie thoughtfully. "I should give a lot to know how you see me. You seem possessed of a charming naivety where I'm concerned. Exactly what kind of a sheltered life do you imagine I've led? I'll wager I could out shoot you, even with pistols of your choosing."

"Done," said Bodie promptly, accepting the implied slur on his character without a blink. His face dropped. "I have little enough to wager in all conscience." A speculative gleam lit his eyes. "You'd not care to wager for love?"

Doyle eyed him with a lazy appreciation. "Not on this occasion," he said with regret, but he had no intention of surrendering the advantage he had gained for himself, determined he would be present to guard the other man's back.

"Faint heart," mocked Bodie.

Doyle rubbed his nose. "Amongst other parts. I believe you've worn me out."

"You are the grey-hair here," Bodie allowed, just managing to keep his twitching mouth under control.

"I might tell you that with age comes experience," said Doyle, refusing to rise to the bait. "As to our wager, if I best you then I accompany you on your travels."

The humour fading from his face, it was almost a minute before Bodie gave a reluctant nod. It would be good to have Doyle riding at his side, were it not for the element of risk involved. "And if you lose?" he asked silkily.

Doyle raised his eyebrows. "You're not trying to pretend you can't conceive of something you want from me?"

"Oh, I can suggest any number of things," Bodie conceded with a lecherous grin. "I've always been considered most inventive. But I'm damned if I can see why you should gain as much pleasure from any of them as I."

"First win your wager," retorted Doyle.

Bodie gave him a look of reproof. "I intend to."



Bodie stared with disbelief at the drilled playing card they had used as a target in lieu of a wafer. "Chance," he dismissed, his tone airy as he tried not to look impressed.

Doyle smiled. "It was no great test, I know. May I?" Strolling across the yard, he relieved Bodie of his pistol "These haven't been tended to as they ought," he reproved. "I'll clean them properly this evening." He tossed a coin to his suitably chastened companion.

Bodie caught it in automatic reflex, then eyed the worn farthing he held. "Thank you," he said politely, "but we're not yet in such dire straits that I need charitable handouts."

"Contrive not to sound a bigger fool than you need," begged Doyle, who had primed and loaded the second pistol. "Throw it."

"You can't be serious in this light."

"Just throw the coin, Bodie."

Bodie did as he'd been bidden, watching the narrow-eyed concentration which almost anticipated him. Powder hung in the air.

It took Bodie a while to find the misshapen coin, torn where the shot had clipped it. He stared at it with disbelief. At a distance of fifteen paces and in a poor light that had been an astonishing display of accuracy and speed of reflex.

"I'm out of practice," said Doyle with dissatisfaction. "Although the trigger of this pistol is out of true. Hair-line." He gave a derisive snort. "Although that doesn't excuse my - "

"You used your left hand on that occasion," said Bodie, finally placing what had been bothering him about that display.

"It seemed a useful skill to acquire." Faintly ashamed of the bravado which had made him show off in such a fashion, Doyle gave an apologetic grimace.

Shaking his head, Bodie slung an arm around his shoulders. "Don't tell me you fence as well," he said dolefully, aware that he was totally outflanked on the question of Doyle's ability to defend himself.

Collecting up the walnut case the pistols normally resided in and tucking it under his arm, Doyle led the way back into the house. "Ah, now there I will not even pretend any ability," he allowed. "Two left feet and no co-ordination to speak of."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," he confirmed, grinning at Bodie's look of astonishment. "Tutor me?"

"Thank you, but I've had all the shocks my system can take for a while. I admit I have my due share of pride, but you wouldn't be attempting to salvage some of it for me, would you?" asked Bodie with suspicion. It was difficult to believe that Doyle's impressive eye-to-hand co-ordination could not be successfully applied to any physical endeavour he chose to undertake.

Doyle ruefully shook his head, then nodded as he paused at the door of the gun-room. "A little perhaps, but in truth I am barely competent with a foil. I'll wager, for love, that you'll best me with ease."

"Ah, but then you claimed only to be a tolerable shot," Bodie reminded him as he set out oil and rags on the table before seating himself and stretching out his legs with a comfortable sigh.

Doyle began to clean the first of the matched pair of pistols. "Just as you neglected to tell me these drew to the left, I presume?"

"I would have told you," protested Bodie, injured. He allowed a pause of just the right length to develop. "After the wager, of course."

Laughing, he dodged the powder-stained rag Doyle tossed at him.

---

CORNWALL, MAY 1983

After a glance at Doyle's withdrawn expression as he bundled himself into the passenger seat, Charlie Lyme kept a prudent silence and applied himself to the task of flying them back to London. Maybe one day someone would tell him what this was all about. He could wait. He wasn't about to invite personal injury by asking Doyle. He'd always thought him a cold, self-contained bastard - he hadn't known the half of it.

His head hunched inside the collar of his borrowed jacket, Doyle did not even notice the man at his side. He was still simmering with an anger all the more dangerous for being banked. Cowley must be losing his grip if he thought he'd be permitted to screw up any chance of getting Bodie out of this mess alive. Doyle fidgeted on his seat as he relived the short, furious argument which had taken place over the phone. Apart from losing his temper and telling Cowley exactly what he thought of him he'd gained sod all.

Maybe not though. Cowley had agreed he should continue to follow Hodge's instructions, while he sent in the team of 'gas-men' to dig up the road outside the address Maurice Slade had given them. Get them in place and working long before the swap was arranged. Handy things, gas leaks. A well-known pain-in-the-arse to any Londoner.

Hodge had sounded bloody twitchy. If anyone screwed up before he got there...

Bodie wasn't going to be in any state to help when the time came.

His hands clenched in his jacket pockets, Doyle concentrated on anything but what might have happened to his partner. There had been pure agony in Bodie's voice, a muffled thud, then silence. He'd missed what Hodge had said next. It wasn't until he'd listened to the tape Cowley had played to him down the phone that he knew he'd continued to function, doing the job on some automatic level.

Thank christ Slade had been such a smug, gutless bastard. Knowing Bodie's location, the temptation to go in mob-handed was acute. But Cowley was right, to a degree. They had to take it slow and cautious. He was going in alone when the time came and bugger Cowley's thoughts on the subject.

Hodge must have lost it to think he could get away with a snatch this clumsy. He'd made no real effort to cover his tracks. This was a strictly amateur operation.

There again, Jack might get away with it. He had Bodie.

Christ, but he'd screamed.

Bodie.

Closing his eyes, Doyle made himself a silent promise. He'd get them both out of this mess alive somehow. They'd come through worse than this.

And if not both of them...

---

CORNWALL, SEPTEMBER 1799

"Is there anything you want in town?" asked Doyle drowsily, his head still propped on Bodie's shoulder.

As reluctant as his companion to leave the warmth of the bed, Bodie tightened the arm encircling his lover before beginning a slow exploration of already familiar territory.

"Bertha was muttering about needing candles last I heard," he said vaguely. "Why must you go into town today? You can't want more paints. No," he corrected himself, "you'd not go to town if that was so. You deprived Reynolds of his last item of stock on your last visit."

Leaning up on one elbow Doyle studied Bodie's relaxed face with its blue jaw, sleepy eyes and relaxed mouth. "And when do you imagine I've had the chance to paint recently?" He bent to nuzzle the new-pink scar which adorned Bodie's upper arm. "You heal fast," he noted with approval, his tongue tracing up the smooth flesh of the inner arm before it began to explore the curving muscle.

"Healthy flesh and clean living," explained Bodie smugly. Exerting himself, he drew Doyle down over him, revelling in the press of bone and muscle and the heat and hardness of his lover's prick as it rose to greet his touch. There was a sharp tingle of pleasure where an erect nipple scraped his chest. His hand swept over the beautiful buttocks, longing for the one intimacy they had yet to share.

Doyle groaned. "Not now. I must make an early start if I wish to catch the midday stage."

The languid stroking halted in the hollow of his spine, Bodie staring at him in silent question.

Kneeling astride him, enjoying the illusory sense of power the position gave him, Doyle shook his head in reproof as he balanced on the flat belly. "You have the most abominable memory. I'm proposing to send Bertha's portrait to London to be framed. If I miss the stage today it will another week before I can send it off and I hope to get it back for her birthday."

"You made no mention of the fact it was finished. Why haven't I been permitted to see it?"

"You'll see it on its return duly framed. Have patience," Doyle said severely. His expression grew cloudy as Bodie began to stroke down his torso, teasing his nipples into hard nubs, caressing his rib cage and belly before settling palm down on his upper thighs, having ignored his blindly seeking prick.

"I'm a very patient man," Bodie assured him in his smoothest tone, and with a scant regard for the truth. His thumbs held Doyle at the place where thigh and groin met, caressing him as if unaware of the effect he was having on the other man. "But why London? Surely Plymouth - ?"

Doyle struggled to keep his attention on their conversation. "There's a man in London unequalled in the skill. This is for Bertha. I intend she shall have the best."

Bodie's expression softened, and he made no attempt to tease when he recognised Doyle's embarrassment at having been caught out in a kindness. "You'll want to take the wagon then. A canvas of any size will be the devil to handle on horseback."

"You can spare it?"

"I can spare it," he confirmed.

His fingers offered slow, circular caresses up and down Doyle's inner thighs, making Ray shiver, then whimper before he bit his inner lip.

"You'd best make ready then, if you wish to meet the stage," Bodie reminded him, his eyes all blue, limpid innocence.

Still precariously balanced on Bodie's belly, Doyle stared at him in growing frustration, his very bones liquid with the wanting. "Like this?" he demanded incredulously, his voice husky as he gestured to his swollen prick.

Bodie just stopped himself from licking his lips with anticipation. "That would seem to be a problem."

"Bodie..."

There was a warning note in Doyle's voice, and the scent and warmth and beauty of him filled Bodie's senses. His crooked smile widened as he sat up, leant forward and ran a caressing finger from root to tip.

Doyle's face tautened, his head going back as he threw his hands out behind him for support, his beautiful prick jutting proudly.

Bodie took told of him, pulling on him slowly at first, letting the rhythm build to a crescendo. Mindless, Doyle surrendered himself totally to Bodie's hands. As if from a great distance he heard himself cry out as his warmth splattered over Bodie's wrists and forearms.

Collapsing bonelessly sideways onto the bed, he opened his eyes when he felt a moist, warm touch and saw Bodie delicately licking his belly and thighs clean. The small, lapping strokes were followed by luxurious swathes of a velvet tongue tracing along his nerve ends. Groaning with sheer pleasure, he stretched sleekly under that touch, blinking with sleepy satiation.

"That was - " His eyes smoky, he waved an expressive hand before resting it on Bodie's head.

"We aim to please." Bodie's voice was tight with need.

Hearing that hunger, Doyle saw the beautiful cock which strained to meet his touch. Crooking a loving arm around Bodie's shoulders he eased him onto the bed and knelt above him.

"A very patient man, eh?" He licked down throat, sternum and quivering belly muscles, avoiding the bobbing prick. But his hair brushed the ultra-sensitive head and Bodie arched with a choked sound, his expression openly pleading. "You're so beautiful," whispered Doyle, his throat tightening when he recognised the vulnerability on Bodie's face. "What I wouldn't give to paint you looking like this." He caressed a muscled flank, marvelling that skin, bone and muscle could produce such emotions in him.

"Ray, for pity's sake. I'll do whatever you wish. Anything. But later. Please."

"Hush, love." Lying next to him, Doyle slowly immersed the urgent flesh in the warm, wet sanctuary of his mouth, tongue caressing the head. Sucking strongly, one hand kneading the flesh of the lower belly in rhythm, he increased the pace. Eyes narrowed to pleasure-filled slits, he felt Bodie's first spasm and heard the soft sound he made as Bodie arched fully up into him, hands clenching in the final moment.

When at last the world righted itself Bodie gave an unsteady sigh, his sticky fingers entwined in Doyle's hair. He gave one heavy curl an imperious tug.

Delivering an absent-minded kiss to one side of Bodie's navel, scraping the tender skin slightly with his stubble-roughened chin, Doyle reluctantly raised his head; his eyes looked drugged with pleasure. "What?" he asked vaguely.

"If you ever decide to demonstrate your artistic temperament at such an inopportune moment again I shall - " The threat faded away when Doyle smiled at him.

"You will do what?" he asked encouragingly.

"I expect I'll contrive to think of something," said Bodie with a resigned sigh, still mildly exasperated.

"I didn't intend to tease," Doyle assured him as his fingers traced an abstract pattern across a pectoral muscle, making it twitch in response to his touch. The small pink-brown nipple tautened as he circled it, just before he licked it with a thoughtful appreciation. "But you're so damn beautiful."

Moments later Bodie found himself half-buried under Doyle's not-inconsiderable weight. He wasn't given the opportunity to complain.



Turning away to ready his own mount, Bodie idly wondered if Ray would contrive to get to town in time to meet the stage. He was still smiling as he paused just inside the stable to whisper a soft greeting to Cleo. The chestnut mare whickered at him in greeting, nuzzling his caressing hand.

"I need a word with 'ee," Jedediah said, his truculent voice shattering the moment.

"What's amiss?"

"You saw Tom on Friday, the same as allus."

Knowing better than to try and rush the older man, Bodie gave an encouraging nod.

"While he wuz leaving by the path off the old stables - t'wuz a rare ol' night, you'll recall - he sees Master Ray and that bastard Ross leaving the stables together, deep in conversation."

After a moment Bodie continued to stroke the mare, but all his attention was elsewhere.

Shifting his weight to his other foot, Jedediah dug his hands into the pockets of his shapeless jacket. "I told 'ee," he said with a trace of angry desperation. "He ain't to be trusted. The men be afeared for their lives with him around. I just heard, they've something planned. And if they mean Master Ray harm there ain't anything you or I can do to stop them. You can't guard his back all the time. They kicked when 'ee brought him along last month, but they trusted you. Still do, I think. But not Master Ray. Not any more."

"Where's their cause for complaint? Ray did all that was asked of him." Knowing there was something amiss in the stables, Bodie tried to place what it could be.

"Oh, he did that right enough," acknowledged Jedediah sourly. "Mebbe it's not dawned on 'ee. You've allus been trusting where friends is concerned. Last month the trawler came in early and took us unawares. What chance did he have to act the Judas?"

Bodie turned to face him fully. "You believe Ray means to betray us?"

Jedediah kicked aimlessly at the straw by his feet. "I dunno, Master William. I just dunno. What do we do?" he added helplessly.

"Do?" Bodie gave a crack of humourless laughter. "Why, we guard Ray's back, of course."

"And if he decides to inform on us?"

"Then we all swing together."

Intimidated by the cold ferocity in the gaze turned upon him, Jedediah had the sense to leave well alone. It wasn't until a couple of hours later that he thought to inform Bodie that Tom Chegwidden had borrowed four of the working nags for the day so that he and three of the men might go into town on unspecified business.



His last purchase completed, Doyle stowed the sack in the back of the wagon, checked that he had fulfilled all Bertha's commissions and fixed the tailboard. He was whistling tunelessly between his teeth as he lightly flicked the reins to set them on the way home.

All in all it had been a successful day. He had managed to get the portrait on the London-bound stage, although he hadn't anticipated the argument required to get them to accept the securely wrapped canvas; the fee they initially proposed was iniquitous. But at least that, and his latest despatch to Cowley, were both safely on their way. Bodie had kept his part of the wager and Raymond Doyle was now an active free trader.

Riding at Bodie's shoulder he had felt the antagonism bristling under the masks of the men who rode with them, and the eyes which followed his every move. Their elementary attempts at disguise had not prevented him from identifying every man from his build, eyes and voice. Most of the village was represented in the band of men Bodie controlled and they had not welcomed his presence.

He had ridden straight-backed, sweat prickling down his spine in anticipation of a 'stray' shot, but had permitted none of that to betray itself in his manner. Only Bodie had guessed how terrified he had been, as he should have expected. They were coming to know each other well, small pretences falling by the wayside now they had stopped trying to hide themselves from the other.

Humming to himself, Doyle smiled. Despite his fear of assassination it had been a worthwhile exercise. He had remained with Bodie all the time and had seen every step of the operation. The cargo had been a large one, but it had contained only brandy, lace and tobacco, which were now safely stored in the cache under the floorboards of the old stables. There had been no papers and no despatches, either bound from or to London.

Doyle had taken inordinate satisfaction in preparing his last report for Cowley, which had itemised the extent of his findings and his suspicions as to who might be involved in traitorous activities along this coastline; Stewart was the man for his money. He had tendered his resignation at the same time, feeling a mixture of regret and relief for what he must do. But he couldn't continue to function as he had been doing. While his loyalties were torn, he was in no doubt that, should the worst be true, he would get Bodie to safety somehow. He could only trust that his report would be enough to clear Bodie from suspicion. If it was not... He had some useful contacts of his own and would use them shamelessly in Bodie's service should it become necessary.

The cold aroused Doyle from his abstraction, but despite the chill, damp atmosphere he was whistling contentedly as he took in his surroundings. The thick, early morning mist had never fully cleared, low cloud seeming to skim the roofs and tree tops.

The road was deserted now he had left the outskirts of town behind. The mist that closed around him muffled all other sound except for the distant roar of the sea. Oppressed by the silence, he stopped whistling, scanning the road ahead with unease. The fog rolled in off the sea, blanketing everything in fine droplets of moisture.

When the high hedgerows gave way to flat common ground again, he chided himself for his over-active imagination. His face and lashes sparkled with the fine rain which had began to fall, so softly as to be barely perceptible. He had not thought to take up his greatcoat and his jacket and breeches clung to him damply, his once crisp neckcloth limp and clammy around his neck. He unfastened it with a sound of impatience, then began to hum, the unpleasant weather unable to dampen his spirits.

Steaming in the chill air the horses continued stolidly on their way. Except for the rattle and jolt of the aged wagon on the uneven track and the jingle of the harness there was no sound at all, even the sea muted by a rise in the land and the muffling effects of the fog. There was an eerie beauty to the landscape under its blanket of soft, shifting grey. Eyeing the vague shapes through its folds, Doyle wondered if it would be possible to capture such elusive beauty on canvas. But first he would sketch Bodie, whether he willed it or not.

Five riders loomed out of the fog, effectively blocking the road. Silently cursing his inattention, Doyle brought the wagon to a halt and applied the brake. The riders fanned out as they approached him.

"Good day to you," he said pleasantly, assessing the threat they posed as he spoke. "If it's robbery you have in mind, I must tell you that you've come too late. My pockets are to let. I've not so much as a farthing about my person. The wagon is full, should you have a pressing need for candles."

There was no response.

"I thought not," said Doyle in the same deceptively mild tone. His bland expression offered no hint of his intention.

No one in the menacing group encircling him spoke but they continued to press in upon the wagon, one approaching him from either side, three remaining in front to block the track. He could see two stout cudgels, a length of chain and another of knotted rope; there was no sign of firearms. He preferred not to speculate whether they might be carrying knives. No doubt he would soon find out.

"Right, get him," growled one man.

"You're welcome to try," Doyle invited coldly.

Judging his moment to a nicety he launched himself from the wagon onto the rider sidling up on his left. Having recognised the mare, he knew her placid disposition would offer him the best chance of success. It was the work of seconds to straddle Megan's broad back, one arm locking around the rider's throat. Grasping the man's right forearm, his grip changed until he held it in an elbow lock behind the man's back. He gave a cry, more of shock than pain, and lost the reins.

The mare sidled and snorted, unsettled by the dark apparition who had caught her eye and the double weight shifting on her back. Feeling herself freed from restraint, she side-kicked indignantly, then broke into a canter.

Doyle swore with feeling as the rider redoubled his efforts to free himself at the same time. Feeling himself lose his balance, and having no wish to break the rider's neck, he changed his grip, dragging the man off Megan's back with him and contriving that it was the masked man and not himself who bore the brunt of the fall.

The rider's companions had been slow to react, obviously not having considered he might attempt a counter-attack, but their surprise fading, they were coming to his aid. Twisting around, Doyle locked his arm around the man's throat.

"Come any closer and I'll snap his neck," he promised, tightening his grip. The man choked, his face turning puce as he panicked, one hand reaching back in a futile attempt to reach his captor.

The men stopped in their tracks.

"If I'm to die I intend to ensure I don't go alone," Doyle added. His bruised hip and elbow throbbed angrily, the cold and damp sapping his strength. The odds against him were too high for his liking and for the first time he wondered whether he might end his existence in this unprepossessing spot. The cold glare he had directed at the men held them off for a pace before they edged forward again. None of them had spoken but their mounts were all known to him, he realised, making the connection. Relaxing his grip, he was torn between a desire to laugh and to swear.

"God rot you, Tom Chegwidden, your theatrical display has made me rip this jacket. You'd better have a good reason for this nonsensical show."

The thickset figure in front of him started, before recovering some of his confidence. A low mutter of surprise spread around the small group of men.

"How did you know it wuz me?" demanded the blacksmith aggressively. He peeled off his mask now the need for it was clearly gone.

"Do you take me for a simpleton? Your mounts alone betray you. I groomed Megan myself only last week."

The man Doyle held was taut with pain, unable to move in his strong grip. Without warning, Doyle released him and got to his feet.

"On your way, Ned. Your throat will be bruised but you've taken no lasting harm." His gaze remained on Chegwidden. "That's the only gesture of good faith I intend to make," he warned. "Perhaps you'll have the goodness to explain what this is in aid of." There was an unmistakable command in his voice.

"You don't cozen me with your smooth tongue, Revenue man," Chegwidden snarled. As he stepped closer he was aware that his companions had stepped in the opposite direction. "Sell us out, would 'ee?"

He lumbered forward, his cudgel raised. Grateful for the flat ground behind him, Doyle retreated, ducking to avoid the first swing. In two swift moves he had disarmed the other man. Tossing the cudgel behind him, he stared icily at Chegwidden, who was clambering to his feet with obvious surprise at having been bested by a man half his size.

"Who claims I'm a Revenue man?" demanded Doyle.

"I seen 'ee with my own eyes. You and Ross. Last week. You wuz plotting together as you came out from the old stables," Tom answered sullenly as he flexed the hand numbed by Doyle's grip.

"That makes a fine place for an assignation, of course," said Doyle with contempt. "Good God, man. If I intended to betray you sorry excuses for men, I should contrive to find somewhere more private than that, I promise you." He could see for himself that the other men were here only at the blacksmith's insistence, but Tom had their loyalty, so it was Tom he must take pains to convince.

"What you undoubtedly failed to notice," he continued, "was the fact I was endeavouring to get rid of Ross before he noticed the hole I'd just made in those damn floor boards. They're rotting even as we speak. The old stables provide an excellent storehouse, but only if they're kept in a good state of repair. I was under the impression that was your job," he said to Chegwidden. "Is such a simple matter beyond you, or have you been too busy worrying about my concerns?"

Chegwidden fought the urge to excuse himself, and just stopped himself from shifting his weight from foot to foot. "That's what 'ee say, but I know what I see," he insisted stubbornly. "'Tis all right for a fine gentleman such as yourself," he added with heavy irony, "but it's our lives at stake here an' I've no mind to lose mine fer the likes of you."

"Very right and proper," agreed Doyle. "But in case it has escaped your notice, my neck is as vulnerable as yours."

"Huh! You tellin' me Ross would turn 'ee in? I know what I seen," Chegwidden repeated. "You an' he looked tighter than - "

"What would you have me do?" snapped Doyle. Losing all patience he stalked forward to stand in front of the angry and bewildered blacksmith. "You think I should turn him off the place for trespassing? Rouse his suspicions even higher? Use your head, if you are able."

"And if I permit him to keep it," drawled a cool voice from behind the group.

There was an uneasy silence before the men parted ranks to allow Bodie and his mount through. His cocked pistol remained trained on the blacksmith, only his narrowed eyes betraying his fury. The remaining men tried to appear inconspicuous; one contemptuous glare from furious blue eyes told them they had failed.

Doyle looked at the mounted figure in angry disbelief, of no mind to be rescued by his ever-competent host. Ignoring their audience, he said, "How did you know what would be happening out here?" There was no trace of relief or welcome in his voice.

"The fact that so many of my nags were missing, and from something I was told."

"By Jedediah?" Doyle's voice was too soft to carry to the others.

Bodie gave a reluctant nod.

"I wish he'd seen fit to inform me at the same time. No doubt he hoped to be rid of an unwanted guest."

"You believe that of him?" said Bodie incredulously.

Doyle rubbed his throbbing elbow and pulled a wry face. "No, of course not. I spoke in the heat of the moment."

"That seems to be something of a habit around here at present," said Bodie, his gaze sweeping the group of men. "Perhaps you'll have the goodness to tell me exactly what you intend by this?" he invited Chegwidden. For all his stillness, he was clearly on the edge of violence.

Stepping forward, Doyle's anger spilled over. "When I require your assistance to deal with the situation, I'll be sure to ask for it. Until then, I should be glad if you would continue about your business and leave me to mine."

He succeeded in disconcerting everyone present.

"While you're a guest of mine, you're my concern. I wouldn't have expected to have to remind you, or anyone else, of that fact," snapped Bodie, once he had recovered his breath from the sheer arrogance of the damp and dishevelled figure.

"I've no intention of being kept on leading reins by you or anyone else. Is that clearly understood?" demanded Doyle, who was at his most imperious. He was too furious to give a thought to the hurt his unequivocal rejection of any assistance might be giving to the other man.

This a conversation that could not be continued in so public a place, Bodie contained his own anger. His face schooled, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and said curtly, "As you wish. You must forgive my untimely arrival. I had supposed you to be out-numbered."

"By these sorry excuses?" There was scathing contempt in Doyle's voice as he gestured to the group of men. "Ezekiel Newbold, Ned Pollock, Tom, of course, Abel Harris and - " he stared thoughtfully at the fifth figure. "I confess, you have me stumped. Ah, no. I have it. Will Simmons, is it not? Another recent addition to our happy band of freetraders. I see you're welcomed more warmly than I. Consider yourself fortunate. You've not yet been accused of treachery." He was too angry to notice the man's guilty start.

Glancing up, he spared Bodie a disparaging glance. "I'll join you back at the house shortly. I have some unfinished business to complete with Tom here, then I propose that the matter be forgotten." His tone was pointed.

"Who am I to argue?" said Bodie, a sick apprehension for Doyle's safety clenching his belly.

Doyle was peeling off his damp jacket; he gave the torn seam a look of disfavour. "Damnation! You've cost me dear already, Tom Chegwidden."

"And not only you," Bodie told him as he re-cocked his pistol. Slipping it into the pocket of his greatcoat, he knew his peace of mind depended on this man's continued existence. It would be a battle royal to shackle that wilful independence - or come to terms with it. "You seem determined to make your point in your own way, so I shall leave you to do so."

Doyle paused uncertainly when some quality in the muted voice reached him. "Bodie?" He reached up a questioning hand, then let it fall as the other man looked through him with the eyes of a stranger. "I'll see you shortly," he repeated in a warmer tone.

"Oh, you'll certainly do that," Bodie agreed with cold promise.

The blacksmith had been watching Doyle's preparations with unease and he turned an appealing gaze to Bodie. "If it's a duel he's intendin' then it's me that'll be murdered."

"Should I care?" wondered Bodie, his lack of concern obvious. "You weren't so nice in your reckoning of the odds when first you set out. Five men against one. You contemptible bastards! Ray, are you armed?"

Doyle didn't spare him a glance. "No, but that's my concern." While Bodie's clipped tone told him how angry he was, he didn't appreciate how much of that anger was due to his own intransigent attitude.

"So you've been at great pains to remind me," Bodie acknowledged without emotion. He leant forward in the saddle, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. "I'll take the wagon and leave Challenger for you to bring home."

His expression remarkably changed, his gaze swept icily around the small ineffectual group. Needing no further urging they hastily returned to their mounts and soggily began the journey home. They weren't looking forward to their forthcoming interviews with the Master. Ned Pollock started off down the track after his mount, still massaging his bruised throat.

Dismounting and looping the reins around a convenient gorse bush, Bodie stepped up into the wagon, pausing to toss Doyle his hat which lay, forgotten, upon the seat.

"Yours, I believe," he said with a faint smile - the first he had given since arriving upon the group. Resisting the temptation to say more, he drove the wagon off at a brisk pace, leaving Doyle and Chegwidden alone in the clearing.

Doyle peeled off his wet gloves and viewed his hands thoughtfully.

"You must be mazed to have spoken so," Chegwidden accused him, his sense of grievance finding a new outlet. "Now the Master's mad clean through with the pair o' us. You'll not escape a reckoning with 'un, no more than I will."

"Perhaps not," acknowledged Doyle, shivering in the damp air, "but at least both of us will now survive to regret the experience." His anger had worn itself out, leaving him able to see the futility of what he proposed. Shaking his head, exasperated with his own hot temper, rain-water sprayed from his soaked hair. "What in God's name possessed you to set up such a mad-brained scheme? I know you have no great love for me - the affair with the saddle," he reminded him. "But couldn't you have checked with me? Or am I such an obvious villain? You forget, if I betray you, I must needs betray my host."

Chegwidden's gaze did not soften. "So 'ee know about the saddle. I did wonder. I didn't intend to kill 'ee. Just to frighten 'ee away once and fer all. Looks like that wouldn't have worked no how. But I don't trust 'ee. You may fool the rest o' them with that soft tongue and fine manners. I trust none of thee and I'll not swing because of 'ee. For 'ee maybe," he conceded, a gleam of anticipation lighting his eyes. "Is that what 'ee intend? A mill - with me?" Incredulous, he glanced from his own powerful frame to Doyle.

"If it will settle our differences, why not?" shrugged Doyle. "I've no mind to find cold steel in my back one night. And I've no intention of leaving Shambolt's Cove."

Chegwidden's scowl lightened as he peeled off his heavy coat. "Well, t'will be murder right enough," he told Doyle cheerfully. "You've more pluck than sense, I'll grant 'ee that much." He rolled up his sleeves to reveal brawny forearms and shook his head as he stared at the other man. "Right, we settle existing scores here and now. But if I find 'ee be agin us..."

"Oh, for God's sake let's have done with it," said Doyle impatiently. He wasn't looking forward to what was to come and wanted it over with.



It was dusk before Challenger stepped into the yard, disdainfully carrying his half-unconscious burden home, making for the open stable doors. Stirring as he was enfolded in the horse-laden warmth of the stables, Doyle painfully straightened before he slid with a distinct lack of grace from the saddle and gasped, grasping the pommel for support.

Tom had been quite correct, he admitted with a trace of rueful amusement. It had been murder right enough, unfortunately it had been he who had been murdered. His body just didn't know it had died.

When he felt able, he stripped off his soggy jacket to reveal a torn and bloodied shirt that was liberally streaked with mud. Cursing his cold, numb fingers, he fumbled with the girth. Challenger bore his clumsiness with unusual patience but Doyle could have sworn he saw amusement in the large eye that turned inquiringly to watch his halting progress.

"And don't think I'll forget your part in this fiasco," he told the stallion thickly as he wiped his running nose on the back of his hand and sniffed, wincing when pain shot up the side of his face.

"Well, you look in a sorry state and no mistake," said Jedediah with gloomy satisfaction as he stepped out from the shadows. "Still, at least Tom took it easy with 'ee."

Giving him a look of silent disbelief, Doyle grasped the saddle and tried to summon the strength to lift it free. Jedediah gently brushed him to one side. "I'll tend to Challenger. You'd best start tryin' to clean yourself up afore Bertha catches sight of 'ee. But you've had one piece of luck. The Master's just gone out for the evening."

Turning too quickly, Doyle's face mirrored his discomfort. "Gone out? To where?"

"He said you'd have forgotten. Other things on your mind, no doubt. The Squire's place. You and the Master wuz both invited but he said to tell 'ee he'll present your apologies." Jedediah paused to take breath. "Oh, an' he said to tell 'ee, no, to suggest - he wuz most particular about that - suggest that 'ee went straight to bed. He'll see 'ee in the morning. He's not best pleased," he added, pregnant with unvoiced questions.

"You surprise me," murmured Doyle dryly. He knew he had a number of apologies to make about his behaviour today before he began any other explanations. "I was - er - a trifle annoyed by the time Bodie came upon us," he explained defensively.

"You sent him off about his business in no uncertain terms." There was a trace of reproach in the older man's eyes.

Doyle's smile faded, then he frowned. "Is that how it appeared? I suppose it must have done. Damnation!" His hands hanging loosely at his sides, he gave a weighty sigh. "Oh, Jedediah. Sometimes I wonder..." His voice trailed away as he realised what he had been about to say.

"What?" inquired the older man as he led the stallion into his stall and placed a piece of sacking over him until he should have cooled down.

"How with a temper like mine I have contrived to survive to this great age," said Doyle evasively. He would make his peace with Bodie in the morning; admit that while he had been right in substance, his manner had left much to be desired.

Jedediah gave him a sharp look. "Well, there's no sense frettin' about it now," he said in rough consolation, making no attempt to pretend he understood what lay behind that soft statement. "He's an independent bastard hisself, so if'n he stops to think... Go get yourself cleaned up."

Doyle shot him a look of surprise, then gave a faint smile. "I thought you disapproved of me?"

The older man paused. "You ain't perfect, that's fer sure," he said gruffly, "but you'll do, I suppose. Now will you do as you're told?"

"Yes, Jedediah." His legs unsteady, Doyle made his uneven way over to the bucket of water. Staring at it unenthusiastically, he tore off a portion of his ragged shirt and dabbed gingerly at his bloodied nose.

"Gimme that," instructed Jedediah with resignation. Deftly taking charge, he seated the younger man on a bale of straw before he should collapse. "You're foxed," he accused as he inhaled the fumes rising from Doyle's water-logged figure.

"Merely a trifle bosky," Doyle assured him, ignoring the protestations of his abused stomach. "That bastard animal," he gestured at Challenger, who was placidly munching hay, "took himself off while Tom and I were fighting. We spent almost an hour trying to catch him. We needed something to warm us."

"Tom helped 'ee?" Jedediah fixed a cold compress to the swelling lump on Doyle's previously unmarked cheekbone and nodded for Doyle to hold it in place as he continued to clean him up,

Beginning to feel distinctly unwell, Doyle nodded in muzzy agreement. "After I explained that Bodie was unlikely to be in the mood for excuses should his favourite mount be lost, of course Tom did."

"You'd charm the birds from the trees, you would," Jedediah told him with sour admiration.

"I wish I could have succeeded with Tom sooner," Doyle admitted, one hand pressed to his bruised belly.

"You couldn't have done too bad a job. Tom's been County Champion these past five years," Jedediah told him comfortably.

Doyle groaned. "I should have known. You should have been present, for my pride undoubtedly went before a fall. Several falls as I recall."

"It didn't occur to 'ee to stay down after the first, I suppose?" said Jedediah dryly as he tilted Doyle's head. He answered his own question. "No, not with you. Piece of foolishness, the pair of 'ee. I'll be givin' Tom a piece of my mind tomorrow."

Doyle's sympathy for the blacksmith vanished. His face parchment-coloured, he rose abruptly and vanished to a corner behind some bales of straw, already heaving.

Jedediah tactfully ignored the muted sounds of distress, leaving Doyle to his own devices. When he finally emerged, looking wan and damp, he held out a brimming tankard.

Doyle shuddered and made no attempt to take it as he sank back onto the bale of straw. "No. My guts are in ruins as it is."

"'Twill settle 'ee. And as Bertha's waitin' in the house to give you a piece of her mind, 'ee'd best be sober."

Doyle drank the potion without further argument.



Chastened, Doyle eventually made his way upstairs to bed. Standing in the middle of the hallway, he paused between two doors. They had taken to sharing his bed, for it was by far the most comfortable, but tonight it might not occur to Bodie to come to him. His behaviour might have made Bodie suppose he wouldn't be welcome.

Doyle headed into Bodie's room, peeled off his ruined clothes and dropped them at the foot of the bed. Crawling in between the sheets he wondered if he would be able to remain awake until Bodie came home.



Bored, a trifle foxed and more than a little disgruntled, Bodie made his way up the darkened staircase. Events of earlier in the day were overshadowed by the monumental tedium of the evening he had been forced to endure alone. He'd seen Ray's less than triumphant return or he wouldn't have gone out for the evening. But the period of waiting until that moment had given him time to reflect on what Ray had told him so forcefully.

The trouble of it was that Ray had been right. He mustn't permit himself to become over-protective of his lover; he had a tendency to treat Ray as if he was still blind. He'd seen Ray's fleeting irritation before, but they hadn't yet spoken of the problem. Today it had been brought home to him in no uncertain terms. He had never done anything so difficult as leaving Ray alone with Tom Chegwidden. Ray's fierce independence and his own possessive attitude would both have to be accepted and dealt with. A compromise must be possible.

A wistful expression on his face, Bodie paused in the hallway. Ray wouldn't welcome company tonight. Giving a faint sigh, he pushed open the door to his neglected bedchamber. The sprawled shape in the centre of the bed was instantly recognisable. Relief lighting his eyes, Bodie stared at the sleeper.

It wasn't the most gracious apology he had ever received, but if he knew Ray Doyle this might be the most he would get until Ray's temper had cooled. Having already discovered that his own pride wasn't the most important thing in this relationship, Bodie swiftly undressed and slipped in beside Doyle. Edging him over, he gently moved the hand which rested on the empty side of the bed.

Doyle stirred, mumbled and curled around the warm body beside him, one arm curving possessively over Bodie's broad chest.

"I'd a notion I'd be asleep by the time you came home." He winced when a hand found one of his many bruises. "Next time," he mumbled, "I intend to insist that you stay right by my side."

The last of Bodie's anger melted away. He gave the tousled head an indulgent, unseen smile. "You seem very sure there will be another such occasion," he said mildly.

Doyle gave a soft choke of laughter, his breath warm and damp against Bodie's shoulder. "With you and I it's inevitable. I shouldn't have spoken to you as I did. Mmn. You feel so good."

About to lecture him, Bodie realised with a trace of incredulous amusement that his companion had fallen back into an exhausted sleep. He gave Doyle a gentle poke, just to make sure; in response his companion gave a faint snore and a leg draped itself over his calf. Giving a resigned sigh, Bodie pulled up the covers as far as he could. Moving with care for the bruised body lying half over him, he settled down to sleep himself, still smiling faintly.



Stirring at last, Doyle stared groggily around him at the unfamiliar bedchamber with initial puzzlement. The space on the mattress next to him held an impression on both sheet and pillow to demonstrate he hadn't spent the entire night alone. He vaguely remembered Bodie coming to bed, so that was all right.

Pausing mid-stretch, his breath caught as pain from his stiffened body caught up with him. The County Champion, he remembered wryly. Next time Bodie could take over.

Knowing that if he wished to be able to move at all the only course open to him was to work off the stiffness, he crawled out of bed and labouriously began to dress. Moving slowly, he made his way down to the stables.

He didn't see Bodie all day, and upon reflection was glad of it.

They must talk tonight but he did not look forward to the confession he must make. Bodie had trusted him utterly and now he must tell him that trust had been misplaced from the first.



Clean, changed and decidedly more mobile, Doyle quietly entered the library in the early evening, his decision made. The large black hound looked up in welcome but did not move from his master's feet.

Bodie watched Doyle cross the room and seat himself with care. Making no attempt to break the silence, Bodie took another sip of his wine and continued to study the other man. The worst signs of the fight had been removed but some interesting colours had appeared down one side of a face which seemed slightly swollen. The care with which Doyle was moving told its own story.

Some of Bodie's angry concern returned.

Doyle essayed a faint smile which faded as, unsmiling and severe, Bodie continued to study him in brooding silence. Feeling like a truant schoolboy brought to account, Doyle felt a prickle of righteous indignation.

Damn it, he had been in the right of it. He would brook interference in his affairs from no man, not even Bodie. Fidgeting, he tried to accommodate his bruises in more comfort.

"If you're proposing to sit there glowering at me for the remainder of the evening, I give you fair warning, I shall seek more congenial company," he said, his tone sharper than he had intended.

"My apologies," said Bodie quietly. "I was trying to decide whether to congratulate you or commiserate with you."

There was something in his subdued manner that made Doyle spare him a second glance. Gnawing the inside of his bottom lip, he stared pensively at the flickering fire, as if seeking inspiration from an external source. He had behaved badly yesterday, without a thought for Bodie's feelings, or how he might have felt if it had been Bodie in such a position of risk. The thought brought him to his feet and standing in front of the other man's chair.

"I didn't pause to consider how difficult it must have been for you to leave yesterday," he said quietly. "I should have done. I doubt if I could have done it. I am truly sorry. My behaviour was abominable."

"Yes, it was," Bodie agreed unemotionally. Scanning the damaged face, he was able to guess at the injuries hidden beneath the voluminous shirt. "Well, honour having been called into play, did you manage to convert Tom Chegwidden with your brave show?" There was the merest flick of contempt in his voice now.

Doyle accepted it. "I doubt it, but he certainly ensured that my pride received a set-back," he conceded ruefully.

A brief flash of anger escaped Bodie's controls. "Did you really expect any other outcome? Oh, yes, you would, of course. Supreme arrogance. You bloody fool," he added wearily. "Such grand gestures might serve you well enough in London, but you'll not survive long down here if you intend to rely upon them. This is a small, close-knit community. Even after more than nine years here I am considered an outsider and not to be trusted in most matters." Draining his glass, he stared into it. "I should never have permitted you to accompany me. The reaction of the men wasn't unreasonable in the circumstances. I neglected to spare them a thought. It's easy for us. They have more at stake. Families to consider. If the breadwinner should be lost, some family members might not survive."

It was a side of the other man Doyle hadn't been permitted to know before. He seated himself on the floor in front of the fire in the cross-legged pose that Bodie had come to realise he habitually adopted.

"You take your responsibilities as a leader seriously. I already knew that. I'd wondered at your difficulty in making ends meet," Doyle mused, "but no more. How many of the village families do you support?"

Bodie's indrawn breath was audible. "That's none of your concern," he said repressively.

"Is it not?" returned Doyle, turning to him with a faint smile. "I think perhaps it is, for we are involved, are we not, or are you to be as guilty as I of forgetting that?"

The face Bodie pulled was answer enough.

"It shouldn't be this difficult but we're both too accustomed to going our own way alone. No doubt we shall learn by our mistakes," said Doyle. "I wonder if I'll ever fully understand you. I'm not the most perceptive of men, you'll have to bear with me." He fingered his suddenly tight neckcloth. "Bodie, there's something I must tell you."

"You have my undivided attention," Bodie told him flippantly, but there was an intent expression in his eyes as he watched the tense back presented to him.

Hating what he must now admit, Doyle turned to study the handsome face that could conceal so successfully whatever its owner might be feeling. He could find no easy way to explain.

"Tom Chegwidden wasn't totally wrong in his suspicions of me," he said into the silence.

The crackling of the fire seemed very loud to him.

"In what way?" asked Bodie quietly.

"I have been - " Doyle drew his crumpled neckcloth free with an impatient gesture, " - working for the British Crown for a number of years. Until recently in fact," he added, determined to be completely honest where it could compromise no one else's safety.

His face uninformative, Bodie sat staring at nothing in particular. "How recently?" he inquired, his calm voice betraying no more than polite interest.

"Until yesterday morning," Doyle admitted without looking up.

Engrossed in unhappy thoughts, he was not aware of movement until Bodie sank onto the floor next to him, sitting so close that his shoulder and thigh brushed his in a companionable way.

"Your resignation was rather sudden, was it not?" queried Bodie, his mouth quirking at the corners.

"I haven't officially resigned yet," Doyle told him absently, lost in gloom. "I sent my resignation off with the London stage but I'm not even sure if I can resign."

Surfacing from the guilt which had been assailing him, Bodie's matter-of-fact acceptance of his announcement penetrated his consciousness. He gave his companion a look in which suspicion and awareness mingled. "Why is it that I have the notion you already knew that?"

"Perhaps because it's true," Bodie told him placidly.

"You knew?" Pole-axed, Doyle could only stare at him.

"Ray, I know I sometimes seem obtuse, but I do eventually contrive to reason things out," Bodie told him with a trace of exasperation. "Ten years ago it was many months before I could bear to think of you at all, given the circumstances in which we parted company. Incidentally," he broke off to say severely, "if you ever again do anything as stupid as the arrangement you made with Pêche - "

"That's over, done with," Doyle said firmly. "Besides, I was fortunate. Pêche was called away before he could - " He visibly shook himself from unhappy memories and reached out to take Bodie's hand in his own, needing the reassurance of touch.

Bodie's fingers tightened around his before the pressure eased. "Just don't look to me to sympathise with his loss," he said with forced lightness.

"I won't," Doyle promised him fervently, and they both laughed.

"But..." Bodie paused to stare at Doyle's wrist, half-hidden by the lace ruffles cascading over it, then at the bruised and skinned knuckles and calloused fingers. He tightened his grip. "Even in France - The charges of espionage against you weren't false, were they?"

Doyle shook his head. "No. But I couldn't tell you anything about my purpose there then and I can't tell you now."

"I can guess well enough - particularly in view of events that have taken place over there in the last ten years. So you work for the British Crown. What brought you to this coastline?"

"Some things don't change. Espionage," Doyle added briefly, sliding his hand free of Bodie's grasp. Rising to his feet, needing to release some of his tension, he paced the room; unconscious of what he did, he unlaced the strings of his shirt, fiddling with the long ties.

Swivelling around, Bodie stared at him with dawning comprehension. "Well, that explains how you came to be on a French ship and washed up in the cove below. But why did you remain at Shambolt's Cove after you had recovered?"

"I was ordered to remain by my employer." The bald statement sat there, Doyle offering neither explanation or excuse.

"Ah, yes. Your mysterious lawyer who travelled down to see you," nodded Bodie. Accepting everything Doyle's confession encompassed, he stared sightlessly across the room. Eventually he nodded to himself, got to his feet and crossed the room to face the man who had been watching him all the while.

"I take it I'm under suspicion of treason," said Bodie calmly.

Doyle nodded.

"And you were to obtain proof of this?"

"That's right. Your smuggling activities were already suspected, but of no concern to us. The despatches passing between London and Paris were another matter. The night you showed me the cave I overheard you with your visitor from France. Your French hasn't improved much," Doyle added. His crooked smile faded, leaving the bleak expression in his eyes.

"So eavesdropping is another of your talents. Raoul's English is more than adequate for our purpose. Yes, I can see it was unfortunate you should overhear that particular conversation. It must have made things a trifle awkward for you. But should you be telling me this?"

Dull-eyed, Doyle looked at him, too caught in misery to see much, or care what became of him. "Why not?" he shrugged.

Bodie placed a gentle hand over a bared collar bone and pushed back the edges of the lawn shirt. Doyle flinched at the first touch but made no attempt to stop him. Moving closer, Bodie brought his free hand to rest over the other collar bone and slid his hands around to encircle the powerful throat. He could feel the kick of Doyle's life-blood against his hand, and the movement when the other man swallowed.

Passive, Doyle stood between Bodie's hands; his unblinking expression hadn't changed throughout. He steadied himself by resting his hands at Bodie's waist as the pressure at his throat verged on the uncomfortable.

"So even ten years ago you were lying to me," said Bodie conversationally. "It was you I heard speaking so vehemently of the need for honesty between us, was it not? Or did I imagine that?"

Life flashed into Doyle's eyes. "Do you imagine I'm proud of my behaviour?" He raised his chin, as if daring Bodie to do his worst.

It was only then that Bodie realised Ray had misunderstood his purpose from the beginning. A wave of love swept over him when he appreciated how complete a trust he had been offered. "No, I don't think that," he murmured. "You trusting fool."

The surprise on Doyle's face when gentle fingers ruffled the curls at the back of his neck betrayed him. Then he saw the loving warmth in the eyes smiling at him, recognised the unconventional touch for what it was and gave a wry smile.

"That over-fertile imagination of yours will probably be the death of us both," Bodie told him ruefully as he felt the tension in the other man's body ease. "What in heaven's name did you imagine I would do? What can I do? Two months ago I admit my reaction might have been more heated, but now? There are more important considerations. But - " he gave Doyle a slight shake " - would you please consider forgiving yourself for having failed your own high standards - or must we both go through recrimination and counter-recrimination?" His thumbs stroked the sharp press of bone at the base of Doyle's throat.

"You may rest easy, I'm no traitor," he added, almost as an after-thought. Their physical proximity was a serious distraction by this time.

"I'd contrived to grasp that simple detail," Doyle told him with exasperation.

"On what did you base that assumption?"

"Nothing but irrefutable fact," Doyle told him with dignity, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Whatever William Bodie might consider doing in one of his blacker moods, John Brown is no traitor."

Bodie repressed the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth and dancing in his eyes. "That's little enough to base a decision on in all conscience. Are you usually so trusting?"

"Not usually, no," said Doyle, leaning into the body brushing his own. "There were other unusual - " he searched for and failed to find an appropriate phrase " - factors at hand."

"Meaning me," said Bodie with evident satisfaction, still caressing the warm, brown flesh of Doyle's throat.

"Meaning you," Doyle confirmed. A warm smile lit his face. "Bodie, you're quite abominable. I was going to explain this sorry mess so rationally and here you are, treating me as if I were some schoolroom chit entering upon her first flirtation." His throaty chuckle met his companion's look of wounded innocence. "That wouldn't be so bad were it not for the fact that, at the moment, that's exactly what you've reduced me to." He cupped Bodie's face between his hands, his fierce kiss that of a hungry man who knew exactly what he wanted.

The need for air finally drew them apart.

"Like no schoolroom chit I've ever encountered," Bodie whispered, his mouth brushing Doyle's ear.

"You're so familiar with the species," Doyle mocked, his hands urgent against the firm buttocks to draw Bodie closer to his burgeoning erection as he nipped at Bodie's ear lobe and nuzzled the strong neck.

"Not recently, no," conceded Bodie, his breath catching in his throat. "They tend to be in short supply down here."

Doyle was busy unfastening and parting Bodie's coat and waistcoat and unlacing the strings of his shirt. "I must introduce you to my nieces," he murmured.

"Bring 'em on," said Bodie confidently. A faint doubt assailed him and he drew away to study his lover's face. "How many are there?"

There was a short pause while Doyle worked it out. "Twenty-one, at the last count."

Bodie swallowed. "Twenty-one? Well, no doubt I could cope," he said, confident it would never be put to the test.

"No doubt you could," agreed Doyle, "but not, I believe, while I'm at hand."

"Decidedly not while you are, so fortuitously, at hand," confirmed Bodie, answering the silent question in the gaze travelling over his face. Bending to the already parted mouth, there was nothing languid about his kisses.

The vastness of the dog moving from rabbit-strewn dreams by the fire to waking frenzy at the closed door of the library almost bowled over the two lovers where they stood in a close-entwined embrace.

"That damn animal," snapped Bodie when the noise showed no sign of abating. "Quiet, Dog. Quiet, I say."

Naturally he was ignored and the volume of sound increased. In self-defence, Doyle opened the door.

"Damn, a carriage has drawn up outside," he reported with disgust, seeing his frustration mirrored in Bodie's face and body. Resolute, Doyle drew his gaze from temptation.

"At this hour?" exclaimed Bodie, aggrieved. "Hell-fire. We could always pretend we were not at home."

They heard Jedediah's voice at the door at that precise moment.

Bodie gave a rueful grin and started to rearrange his disordered clothing. "Later?" he checked with Doyle.

"Later," he agreed. A familiar voice in the hallway brought a ludicrous expression of dismay to Doyle's face.

"Ray? What's amiss?" asked Bodie, touching him on the arm.

Opening the eyes he had scrunched shut, Doyle gave a resigned shrug. "The fates must be against us. It's nothing wrong really, merely that our visitor is George Cowley, my lawyer. Also my employer."

Bodie reached past him to push the door to a close. "You work - worked - for George Cowley?" There was an odd note in his voice.

"Yes. Why? Do you know him?" After the revelations so far this evening, Doyle was prepared to believe it.

"Of him, certainly," replied Bodie in an absent voice. "Well, well, well. George Cowley." He gave a small sigh of satisfaction. "The evening promises to be most enjoyable. Go out and greet him while I make myself presentable. No one expects you to look other than..." He allowed his voice to trail away.

But Doyle had more immediate concerns, mistrusting the gleam in his companion's eye. "Enjoyable?" he enquired doubtfully.

"Enjoyable," repeated Bodie with unmistakable anticipation.

"I'm beginning to believe you have the oddest taste," Doyle told him severely. Bracing himself, he went out to greet their unexpected guest.

---

BERMONDSEY, MAY 1983

"He's come," said Ken, his voice rising in disbelief as he peered out of the rain-soaked window. "By christ, the stupid bastard's turned up alone, like Jack told him."

"Maybe, but 'e's likely to have the rest of CI5 behind him, isn't he?" pointed out Alec. Standing at Ken's shoulder, he scanned the puddled forecourt.

So that was Ray Doyle. As the rain-sodden figure passed the workmen busy just outside the perimeter fence, a suspicion formed. It was too late for gasmen to be working on anything but a major emergency. He tried to catch his partner's eye.

"Maybe he has. Maybe he had the sense to keep quiet. Either way it'll do him no good," crooned Hodge. His nose pressed against the glass, he peered with something close to affection at the man approaching the entrance to the office block, seemingly unconscious of his audience.

"That's all very well, but what about us? How do we get away?" demanded Alec.

Going over to the desk, Hodge activated the television screen which offered a view of the lobby and drew up a typist's chair, altering its height so he could use the intercom in comfort. Glancing up in response to Alec's question, his expression was blank before he thought to produce a bright smile. It was obvious to everyone present that he had failed to consider their escape, every thought and all his energy given to getting his revenge on Doyle.

Watching Hodge's eyes, Ken wished fervently that he and Alec had scarpered when they'd had the chance. Now he thought about it, Dave had been a hell of a long time getting them food. Glancing at his watch, he was surprised to find it was just gone six. He'd thought it must be later; they seemed to have been here for ever. They should never have got rid of their shooters. Jack was visibly cracking up, almost drooling over the counter as he studied Doyle on the screen; the glitter in his eyes made Ken feel distinctly uneasy.

About to voice a vehement protest, Alec bit off what he had been about to say when Rowe trod on his foot and shook his head. Hodge didn't notice the interplay because the intercom had just crackled into life.

"Hodge? It's Ray Doyle. Here on time, just like you said. Where's Bodie?"

Hodge glanced at the barely conscious figure slumped on a chair next to him and gave a grim smile of satisfaction. It hadn't been difficult to keep that one out of action. "He's sitting right next to me. Why don't you come up and see for yourself?"

The picture on the television was a grainy black and white and it flickered a lot but there was no mistaking who it was. Apart from the longer hair Doyle didn't seem to have changed; if anything he looked younger. Conscious that he had withstood the test of time less well, Hodge felt a renewed surge of bitterness.

Doyle leant nonchalantly against the wall, his hands at his sides, his watchful eyes cold. "Come up?" he echoed with scorn. "You must be joking. I don't leave this lobby until I've got proof Bodie's alive and on his way down. That was the deal." No need to add he hadn't believed a word of it at the time it had been made; his options had been limited.

Smiling at him, Hodge felt giddy with the heady satisfaction of having Doyle within his grasp at last. "Oh, I think you'll change your mind," he said, his smile widening, "because if you don't I'll put a match to Mr Bodie here. And as he's soaked in petrol..." He allowed his voice to trail away.

Stirring, Bodie opened his mouth to deny that and warn Doyle away. He gagged when a hand gripped his throat, the fingers tightening inexorably. Blood pounded blackly in his ears, his vision blurring. Eventually the grip eased; by then he was in too much pain to notice.

Hodge shook his head sadly. "Over-enthusiastic, that's your trouble," he told Bodie.

"What?"

Even through the tinny sound of the intercom Bodie recognised the tight note of horror in Ray's voice. They had both seen victims of a petrol-bomb attack; winos doused in petrol by a bored kid.

"Nothing that need concern you, Doyle. Just your partner here, feeling his oats. You coming up?"

"When I get proof Bodie's alive," reiterated Doyle, fighting his instinct to rush in.

"My pleasure," said Hodge smoothly as he reached under the desk. "This is a two-way system, you know. Switch on the TV and watch closely."

Sensing what Hodge intended, Ken leapt forward, horror on his face. "Jack, you can't go doing that to - "

Hodge knocked him to the floor, his head impacting with the edge of the desk. Alec stepped protectively in front of his partner, a cold warning on his face. Hodge gave a dismissive shrug.

"No one tells me what to do any more, Alec. You might remind Ken of that. You might want to keep it in mind yourself."

Still gasping for air, Bodie gagged, fighting to remain conscious as the heady fumes of petrol encircled him. Cold and deadly, it brought every cut and scrape to burning life as it soaked through shirt and jeans, trickling down his ribs onto belly, groin and thighs as the petrol can was emptied over him. He knew a moment of unadulterated terror when the last of the petrol dripped from his cropped hair, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut.

His face all stark muscle, Bodie fought the panic, trying to block all thought and starve the imagination of what would happen to him if Hodge carried out his threat. Already in shock from prolonged pain from his dislocated shoulder he stifled the imperative to cough because he knew the agony the movement would bring and he needed to be conscious for Doyle's sake.

Standing behind Bodie's saturated, pain-immobilised figure, Hodge reached inside his jacket pocket and brought out a box of matches, shaking them gently. Bodie flinched, then froze, trying to convince himself the other man was bluffing.

"Can you still hear me, Doyle?" Hodge called out, raising his voice a little.

Bodie blinked, focussing on the small screen. His bruised throat prevented speech, a sick dread twisting in his stomach when he saw the determination on Ray's face.

"I hear you," confirmed Doyle. He appeared unaffected by what he had seen, except that the colour had drained from his face.

"That's good. I wouldn't want you to miss a thing. Unless you want your partner to fry, you'd better get up here. Ninth floor, take the lift."

Doyle shrugged his acquiescence and moved towards the door. He almost got away with it.

"Nice try, Doyle. But first get rid of the hardware. I don't like surprises. Take off your jacket and holster and leave them where I can see them. Oh, and your boots," Hodge added in an afterthought, remembering the number of films he had seen where the villains secreted guns in the most unlikely places.

Not having spent so many hours in the cinema, there was a flicker of puzzlement on Doyle's face. "My boots?"

"Just do it instead of querying every friggin' thing I say."

Doyle spread out his hands in a placating gesture. "OK, Jack. Boots as well." Trying to buy himself some time, he tugged at his left boot, making a production out of its tight fit and the difficulty of keeping his balance.

On his feet by this time, one hand to his throbbing head, Ken Rowe's expression was murderous when he looked at Hodge. Alec made a calming gesture and mouthed, "Later."

Wincing against the pain in his head, Rowe nodded.

They glanced back at the television screen to see that Doyle was bare-foot, wearing only faded denims and a tee-shirt that clung wetly to him, revealing nothing but an elegant economy of bone and muscle.

"Now that's more like it," said Hodge with approval. "Right, come on up. I've been looking forward to the chance for a chat about old times for a while now. Take the lift. You'll be met."

Doyle nodded. "And Bodie?"

"Christ, but you're persistent. He's here. You do as you're told and he'll be all right. He's goes free once I get my hands on you. Mind," Hodge shook a reproving finger, "it's no good expecting much help from him. He's not feeling too good, are you, mate?"

Helpless to stop it, Doyle watched as Hodge slung an arm around Bodie's curiously hunched back and squeezed a muscled shoulder.

Bodie convulsed with a strangled cry before his body went limp, slumping against Hodge. Releasing him, Hodge let him slip from the chair to land on the floor.

His face all rigid control, Doyle gave no outward reaction because he knew it would only make things worse for Bodie. He could see that Hodge was too close to the edge for threats or reason to reach him. Forbidding himself to look at his partner's unconscious figure, he did his best to keep his manner easy and his voice light and non-threatening. His unblinking eyes gave no hint of the monumental rage building within him.

"I see what you mean," he said flatly. "Bodie always was a stupid bastard. I'm on my way." Walking into the hallway, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, he strolled towards the lift, his spine braced as if anticipation of a bullet in the back.

Seeing that Hodge's attention was far away, Rowe nudged his partner and murmured, "If he feels like that about him, what's Doyle doing here?"

Alec spared him a look of mild exasperation. "And you believed him, I suppose? Listen, if a nutter like Jack got hold of me, what would you say?"

Ken pulled a face. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Those workmen outside have been working too long and too hard to be the real thing. I reckon CI5 could be here already, waiting for Doyle's signal. I want out even if they're not. Are you with me?"

"What do you think?" retorted Alec.

"It looks like we might need to help them out," Ken warned.

Sparing Hodge a look of contempt, Alec shrugged his acceptance at the necessity of breaking the code of a lifetime. "For once that'll almost be a pleasure. He lied to - "

"That's enough whispering, " said Hodge sharply as he became aware of the air of conspiracy around him. "Alec, go and wait for the lift. Cuff Doyle and get him in here. Ken, get behind that door. I don't trust Doyle further than I can throw him."

Neither man moved to obey him.

"Listen, you either do as I ask, or you do it because I tell you to, but either way, you'll do it. Got it?"

Alec and Ken stared appalled at the Magnum which had appeared in Hodge's hand.

"You told us to get rid of the shooters with CI5 being involved," said Alec as calmly as he could. The large muzzle wavered somewhere between Ken's shoulder and belly. He could see the tension on Hodge's face and knew how little it would take to make him pull the trigger.

"So you got rid of them," said Hodge, nodding his approval. "And now I'm telling you to get Doyle and bring him in here - if you know what's good for Ken. Clear?"

Sweating profusely, Ken swallowed. "Do it, Alec. Please."

Turning to him, Alec met his partner's fear-bright eyes and read their dual message. Nodding, he went out to the lift.

---

CORNWALL, SEPTEMBER 1799

"Mister Cowley, I did not look to see you here again so soon," said Doyle with as much warmth in his voice as he could contrive.

The Scotsman's acute, disapproving gaze made him instantly aware of his unlaced shirt and dishevelled appearance. He tilted his chin, the light of battle entering his eye.

"Good evening, Doyle."

Cowley held out his caped greatcoat with an expectant air. Doyle meekly took it from him, gathering from the other man's tone that he was out of favour. It was with some relief that he heard the sound of booted footsteps. Bodie, he noticed wryly, looked neat as a new pin.

"Mister Cowley, may I present your host, William Bodie. Bodie, George Cowley."

There was a moment of mutual assessment before Bodie said easily, "Good evening, sir. Welcome to Shambolt's Cove. You'll dine with us, of course?"

"Thank you, Mister - er - Bodie but I - " Cowley paused to eye the understated elegance of his host with mild approval. To Doyle's surprise he gave a faint smile. "I should be delighted, sir."

"Then if you will excuse me, I will ask Bertha to lay an extra cover at table," Bodie murmured, winking at Doyle as he passed him again.

"And perhaps after dinner you and I might have a word in private," Cowley said to Doyle. It was not a request.

"No doubt," agreed Doyle, his voice colourless as he led the way into the library and poured the older man a generous measure of brandy.

"You're not joining me?" queried Cowley as he took in the evidence of recent bruising.

"Not at the moment," replied Doyle, barely concealing his relief as Bodie rejoined them. He was ready to hazard that he would be in need of several large drinks after Cowley had done with him. He had few illusions as to what could have brought his employer down to Cornwall. In retrospect, he was only surprised Cowley had been so forbearing with him.

"I'm delighted to have this opportunity to meet you at last, sir," said Bodie politely into the uneasy silence which had fallen. "I've heard much about you."

"From Doyle?" Cowley's tone was icy.

Doyle deemed it prudent to remain silent on the sidelines until he had determined exactly what his companion was about. He had learned to mistrust Bodie in this sparkling mood.

"From Ray?" Bodie achieved a look of faint surprise. "On the contrary. He made his first reference to you earlier this evening. No, I first heard your name from other sources entirely. Major Cowley, is it not?"

"I ceased to use my rank some years ago," Cowley informed him, a hint of frost in his voice.

Refusing to be snubbed, Bodie raised a polite eyebrow. "I seem to recall Lawson mentioning something to that effect," he admitted, his expression innocence personified.

Cowley set his glass down with a decided click. "Lawson? Maurice Lawson of the Admiralty?"

"You know him? But of course you must, you have so much in common."

"Do we now, Mister Bodie?"

"So I have been led to believe, although of course I have not had cause to visit your office," mused Bodie. He took an appreciative sip of brandy.

There was no question about it, Doyle decided, Bodie was enjoying himself.

"In Lincoln's Fields?"

"No, the office off Horseguards Parade," Bodie reminded him, as if wishing to be helpful. Suppressing a smile, he watched Ray's jaw sag.

Cowley's expression did not change. He stretched out an appreciative hand to the blazing fire before picking up his glass again and surveying his host's imperturbable figure from over the top of it.

"It would see you and I have much to discuss, Mister Bodie," he said finally, his voice smooth.

Bodie smiled, showing white, even teeth. "I believe you may be correct, sir," he agreed politely. As Jedediah appeared, scowling, in the doorway, he rose to his feet. "Shall we go into dinner?"



By the time they had reached the port Doyle had begun to wonder if he might have become invisible for all the notice that either of his companions had taken of him. The meal had been an informal affair. Bodie having dismissed Jedediah from the first, the conversation had been almost entirely between Cowley and himself; a delicate verbal sparring which taught them both to be wary in their dealings with each other.

Sitting back in his chair, every bruise making its presence felt, Doyle experienced a surge of irritation and decided it was time he became better informed on certain topics.

"Who, exactly, is Maurice Lawson?" he asked with seeming idleness into the silence which had fallen.

Cowley shot him a quick glance, obviously disapproving of his still unlaced shirt. "Persons in some quarters would consider that a pertinent question, Doyle." His tone made it plain he considered it an unwarranted intrusion.

Refusing to be intimidated, Doyle continued to stare at him until Cowley gave a grim smile. "Mister Lawson is loosely affiliated with the Admiralty," he told the younger man.

"Very loosely, I would have said." Bodie's voice was as smooth as the fine brandy they were drinking.

"You appear to be well acquainted with the gentleman," prompted Doyle, casting his provoking companion an interrogatory glance; he could guess much about Lawson from Bodie's uninformative voice.

"I have performed a minor service for him on occasion," admitted Bodie.

"He employs you?"

Bodie gave Cowley an admonishing stare. "The word 'employ' denotes payment."

"I stand corrected," murmured Cowley sardonically. "Forgive my curiosity, but I cannot conceive why Mister Lawson should have need of your services," he pressed.

"I aid him in the field of communications," replied Bodie evasively, by no means determined to trust this sharp-witted Scot with anything, least of all Ray.

Issues were becoming at once clear and muddied. Caught sipping his port, Doyle choked slightly. "You passed the smuggled despatches to Lawson?"

He was subjected to attack from two very different pairs of blue eyes.

Refusing to be intimidated, Doyle shared his glare impartially between the two men. "Let's have done with the niceties. I'm weary of innuendo. We all know what I'm referring to. Can we now be adult enough to admit as much?"

"So you're weary of innuendo, are you?" said Cowley with acid disapproval. "By all means let us speak plainly. I shall want a word with you in private. We have any number of urgent matters to discuss. Not least your dereliction of duty and apparent willingness to breach the security of my department." A bite to his voice now, his expression was one of icy displeasure as he held Doyle's gaze. He paused to sip from his glass, and to be certain he had contained his jubilation at having his suspicions about the man at the head of the table confirmed.

Unmoved, Doyle refilled his own glass before pushing the bottle in Bodie's direction. "Hardly dereliction of duty," he said with cheerful unconcern. "I've resigned."

"Have you now? I've seen no sign of your resignation on my desk," Cowley told him, knowing the younger man was capable of such quixotic foolishness if the mood took him.

Doyle gave a faint grin. "It only left on the London stage yesterday morning. It will be something for you to anticipate on your return to London."

"As you say. The decision was rather sudden, was it not? May I ask what prompted it?" Cowley's voice was deceptively mild.

"You may not," snapped Doyle, because he hadn't concocted a reasoned argument that would satisfy Cowley's insatiable curiosity.

"How long have we been acquainted - fifteen, sixteen years, yet you decline to answer a simple question," mused Cowley. "Your reasons wouldn't have any bearing on your current assignment, would they?" His face was as bland as warm milk.

"They would not," snapped Doyle, refusing to feel guilty but experiencing an unexpected regret anyway.

"Ray." Bodie gave an exasperated sigh and turned to Cowley. "I don't know how well informed you are about me, sir, but I believe it to be more than I would care for. Ray and I first met in the Bastille, when I went under the name of - "

"John Brown," anticipated Cowley smoothly. "Aye, I managed to ascertain that much."

"You did?" Setting down his glass with a force that threatened to break the stem, Doyle stared at him. "When - exactly?" he demanded.

"Will you have the courtesy to let me finish what I was saying before you snap my head off?" reproved Cowley. He nodded with satisfaction when the younger man sat back in his chair. "Thank you. Naturally I took steps to investigate what I could of Mister Bodie's past." He turned to give the dark, powerful man at the head of the table a faint smile. "You led an eventful life until you took up residence in the West Country." His disparaging tone made his opinion of the country plain.

"It's had its eventful side since - even in the wilds of Cornwall," Bodie replied absently, not caring overmuch for the notion he had been investigated.

"I'm sure it has, particularly of recent months," agreed Cowley in his plummiest tones. "Doyle sometimes contrives to have that effect on situations. When did your association with Lawson commence?"

"Perhaps you should ask him." There was a faint edge to Bodie's voice by this time.

Cowley gave the tight-lipped smile Doyle had learnt to mistrust. "I already have," he said placidly. "Lawson denied knowledge of any acquaintance with you."

"He did what?" Each word was clearly enunciated as Bodie stared incredulously across the table. He took a steadying breath, forcing himself to think this incredible piece of news through to its natural conclusion. "Why should he object to - ? There can be no harm in admitting to a passing acquaintance." A number of pieces of the puzzle slid into place. "Espionage I believe you said?" he looked down the table at Doyle, who took his point immediately.

"If the information you've been sending to London has been falling into the wrong hands, I believe we have just discovered the source," he told Bodie lightly, sensing the other man's immense, banked rage at the betrayal he had suffered. He knew how he would feel were he to discover George Cowley had betrayed him so completely and sold out to the enemy. "You've been duped, m'dear. As have I," he added with a clipped savagery when he realised what Cowley had chosen to do instead. He spared the sandy-haired man an angry glance. There were times he wearied of the Scotsman's propensity for treating those who worked for him as pawns to be manipulated for his own convenience.

"Is that supposed to help?" snapped Bodie, rejecting sympathy out of hand.

Doyle shook his head. "Not at all. I just thought you might care to know you're not alone," he said quietly.

The hard glitter faded from Bodie's eyes. Ignoring Cowley, he raised his half-filled glass in a silent toast. "I already knew that, but you were right to remind me."

His gaze impartial, Cowley was watching the pair of them. Noting how well they interacted, he experienced a faint sense of shock when he realised the extent of their commitment. That was a contingency he had not considered. He made no effort to quell his inner satisfaction despite the small set-back. His initial speculation, begun ten years ago when he had first heard Doyle speak of his cell-mate had been correct. These two would make a superb team; there were times when a rugged individualism was insufficient, he needed men who could work together as one.

"Lawson's activities have been under suspicion for some time," he told them. "His information route was traced to this coastline. The fact Doyle was cast upon your doorstep, in a manner of speaking, was merely a fortuitous accident." Cowley's satisfaction was obvious.

"For whom?" inquired Bodie dryly, believing he had received all the shocks he was prepared for in one day.

"George Cowley, of course," interrupted Doyle tartly as he tried to contain his anger. Leaving the table abruptly, his hands were deep in the pockets of his breeches as he strode the length and breadth of the room in an attempt to dissipate some of his anger.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly, sir. You came down here in May, already knowing of Bodie's dual identity, but did not see fit to enlighten me when you assigned me the task of spying on my host."

Having accepted that Bodie was probably better informed about both himself and Doyle's purpose here than he would have chosen, Cowley nodded.

"Essentially correct."

"Essentially - " Doyle paused to control his breathing. "Didn't it occur to you that I might have some thoughts upon the subject?"

"It occurred to me, yes. But your preferences are unimportant in light of what was at stake. I had every confidence you would rediscover the truth for yourself. Why do you suppose you were selected for the task?" Cowley reminded him.

"Because I was all that was available," Doyle snapped, rounding on him. Glimpsing the amusement Bodie was making no attempt to disguise, he pulled an angry hand back through his dishevelled hair and visibly collected himself. "In the event, your confidence in my abilities was misguided. I became - "

" - emotionally involved," completed Cowley when Doyle showed no sign of continuing. "I contrived to gather that much. Most regrettable." He gave Doyle a look of severity.

"It would have been the more so had I been the traitor you supposed," interrupted Bodie, anger sparkling in his eyes at the older man's ruthlessness.

Cowley waved that irrelevancy to one side. "Your probity was never truly in question," he dismissed. "But I did hope to gather certain other information." He was aware of a slight disappointment when neither man picked him up on that.

Doyle was literally speechless by this time. He stalked stiff-legged with rage to where Cowley sat. Slamming his palms flat on the table top, his gaze blazed across the space between them. "You already knew Bodie to be innocent of treasonable activities?"

"Of course. You didn't suppose I would risk your undoubtedly valuable services in such a reckless manner, did you?"

There was a short, stunned pause while Doyle absorbed the oblique compliment. Its rarity made him neglect to ask why he had been instructed to remain at Shambolt's Cove. Dazed by all he had learned, he sank onto a chair facing Cowley. Leaning back, he began to chuckle helplessly.

"It's priceless," he announced as he wiped his streaming eyes. "Just how am I supposed to follow your convoluted thought processes? Apart from which, I have never noticed you to be slow at putting me in a position of risk when it suited you." There was no rancour in his voice, only resignation.

"You've managed well enough for fifteen years. No doubt now you have recovered your - " there was an infinitesimal pause " - emotional stability, you will continue to function with your normal efficiency."

"I have resigned, if you recall."

"You cannot," Cowley told him simply.

"No?" Hauteur slipping away, Doyle shrugged as he acknowledged the truth of what the older man had said. "No, I suppose I can't." He cast Bodie a speaking glance, then smiled. "What did I tell you? How do you suppose you'll enjoy being associated with George Cowley?"

Straightening where he sat, Bodie gave him a look of disbelief. "Let us understand one thing here and now. Having made one monumental error of judgement I'm not about to compound that stupidity by making another." His brooding gaze settled on the lined face watching him. "I shall be slow in giving my trust again," he added, making it plain to whom that remark was addressed.

"Very wise," said Cowley comfortably. "I can see we shall deal well together."

"I've heard as much about the manner in which you conduct your affairs as I care to. If you imagine for one moment that I trust you enough to - "

"Och, you'll fit in perfectly, lad," Cowley told him cheerfully, interrupting what promised to be a lengthy diatribe.

Gathering his dignity about him, Bodie refused to respond to the deliberate provocation offered to him. He vowed to have a word with Ray in private, wanting no further dealings with this devious Scot.

Studying Doyle as he watched Bodie, Cowley felt a vague regret at having to disturb the relative calm which had fallen. But time was short and he had expended a great deal of effort on bringing this team together. It occurred to him that there might be benefit in making them aware of the fact. He knew that Doyle, at least, would have a lot to say after his next revelation, but he believed - hoped - the younger man's sense of the ridiculous would enable him to accept his reasoning - once he had calmed down, of course.

"There is one small detail I neglected to tell you, Doyle," he said into the silence.

Groaning, Doyle covered his face for a moment. "I don't believe I wish to hear this," he said, only half-joking. "You'll grow accustomed to this," he assured Bodie. "There's always 'one small detail' with George Cowley. Very well, sir. What is it this time?"

For the first time Bodie became aware of the depth of affection between the two men.

"Your thought processes have slowed, Doyle," Cowley reproved. "Didn't it occur to you to question why, if I already had sufficient evidence of Lawson's guilt, and knew that Mister Bodie was your former cell-mate, I should leave you here enjoying an undeserved spell of leave when we have been exceedingly busy elsewhere?"

Doyle's look of suspicion turned to unease. "You didn't - Even you couldn't be that devious," he murmured, hesitating even to voice the thought.

Cowley nodded.

His expression incredulous, Doyle parted his hands. "All this, just for