They kissed, and then sat quietly for a long while, holding each other tightly.  Finally, when he was more composed, Sully said, "So what were you doin' sleepin' down here?  Did you have a long day at the clinic?"

     "No, nothing like that," she replied.  "Actually, I was up late because we have guests."

     "Guests?" he repeated, momentarily alarmed.   Michaela hastened to assure him that there was nothing to fear.

     "It's all right Sully.  Marjorie came to visit unexpectedly.  She was in Denver, traveling with a friend of hers—another women's rights advocate from England.  You needn't worry—Mother told Marjorie about what happened to you and why you need to stay in hiding.  She was very sympathetic.  I must tell you that Marjorie told her friend as well, trusting her to keep the secret.  I was slightly alarmed at first, until  I met this lady, and got to know her.  She's entirely trustworthy."

     Sully looked less than convinced.  "Well, if you say we can trust her, I'll accept your word.  But I don't feel too confident about tellin' our private business to strangers, Michaela."

     "But she's not a stranger!"  Michaela said.  At Sully's look of surprise she said quickly,  "That is, she doesn't seem like one anymore.  We had many hours today and tonight to learn about each other, and I feel as if I've known her all my life.  In fact, that's why I was down here when you came.  We had stayed up talking till very late."  After a moment she added,  "Remember Sam Lindsay, and how quickly we became close?"

     "Sure I remember Sam, and how much she meant to you," he replied.

     "Well Rosalind—that's her name, Lady Rosalind Sutcliffe, though she insisted I call her Rosalind from the start—reminds me very much of Sam.  She's a very special person, Sully.  I know you would be as fond of her as I've become."  As Michaela spoke Rosalind's full name, she watched Sully carefully to see if he showed any sign of recognition.  His expression didn't change, however.  If his mother had ever told him anything of her sister in England, she had apparently never revealed her name.

     Sully smiled at her, visibly relaxing.  "Well, I'm glad you've found a new friend," he said.  "Though I don't think I'll have the chance to meet her.  How long will she and Marjorie be stayin'?"

     "For a few days," Michaela answered, a trifle vaguely.  "They're on their way to San Francisco.  Rosalind has been giving talks about womens' rights in several cities across the country."

     "And this new lady friend of yours really *is* a lady—like a queen or a princess?" Sully asked.

     "Yes, she really is," Michaela told him, glad of the opportunity to describe Rosalind's special qualities to Sully.  "But you would never know it from her demeanor.  She puts on no 'airs or graces.' She's warm and kind and—“ she paused, searching for the precise word to capture Rosalind's personality.  "—genuine.

     "Her *title* is just a part of who she is, how she was born." Michaela went on.  "Just as I was born the daughter of a doctor, and you were born . . . the son of English immigrants."  She cast a side-long look at her husband, trying to gauge his reaction to her mention of his parents.

     "I see what you mean, I guess," Sully replied.  His tone was detached, and he turned away slightly, as if the subject no longer held any interest for him.

     "I'm correct aren't I—your parents were both English, weren't they Sully?"   She felt him stiffen.

     "Yeah—they were.  I told you a long time ago—when you was fixin'  to go to Boston. "

     "So you did," she said lightly.  Michaela sensed Sully emotionally withdrawing from her.  As if something inside him—whether consciously or unconsciously—was resisting her attempts to probe into his background.

     As if in confirmation of her thoughts, abruptly he spoke, changing the subject.

     "I'd best be gettin' ready to leave.  It's gonna be light soon."  He disengaged himself from her and rose to his feet.  Moving to where their clothing lay in a scattered heap on the floor, he grabbed his buckskin trousers from the pile.  With his back turned toward her, he began to dress.

     Michaela slowly followed his lead, pulling her camisole and pantaloons from the tangle of garments.  As she slipped them on, she struggled with her conscience.  She hated causing Sully any distress.  She felt guilty for deceiving him, even if her *dishonesty* simply amounted to her feigning ignorance about his background.  But it was vital that she learn more of what he knew about his past, so that she could find the best and most delicate way of telling him about Rosalind.

     He had put on his boots by this time, and was reaching for his shirt.  As he was about to slide it over his head, she came around to face him and placed her hand gently on his chest.

     "Sully—please wait," she said softly.  The tension in his posture relaxed, and he dropped the shirt on the chair.  He smiled down at her, and caressed her bare arms.  Then, folding her hands into his, he bent to kiss her fingers.

     "Michaela—I wish I could stay longer.  I'd give anythin' to make love with you all night long and all through tomorrow.  But—“

     "I would love that too," she told him earnestly.  "I love you so much Sully, and the time we have together means so much to me.

     "But there's something else I need from you now.  I need to talk to you, and I need you to talk to me.  We still have some time left.  Please—sit with me a moment."

     A wary expression had crept into his eyes, but he allowed her to lead him over before the hearth.  They sat cross-legged on the rug, facing each other.  Sully's hands rested lightly on his knees, and she reached out and grasped them in hers.

     "What's on your mind?" he asked slowly.

     She could see he was apprehensive, and she mentally chastised herself for making him feel that way.   But she couldn't allow herself to be dissuaded from her task.

     "Is there somethin' you haven't told me?" he asked.  "More bad news from the army?"

     "No," she said.  "It has nothing to do with the charges against you, or the children or me.  What I want to talk about concerns only you."  She drew a deep breath, and said, "Sully, why do you never talk about your family?"

     He gazed at her, perplexed.  "*You're* my family, Michaela.  You, Katie, the kids, Cloud Dancin' . . ."

     "Yes, of course," she said.  "But you had another family before us, Sully, and before you found the Cheyenne—a mother, a father, a brother . . .  and yet you never speak of them."

     "They been gone a long time," he said.  "Besides, there ain't much to tell."  His face wore a neutral expression.

     "But you must have memories," she persisted gently.

     He shrugged.  "Some," he said.  "But that part of my life ended long ago.  There don't seem to be much point in dredgin' up the past.  Besides, I was just a kid when they died.  It feels like a lifetime ago—almost like it happened to somebody else."

     "Still," she said, "They were part of you, Sully.  They helped make you who you are.  I know you must have loved them, and that they loved you.  And yet you've told me almost nothing about them—not even their names.  It would mean a lot to me if you would share some of your memories with me."

     He sighed.  "I know you mean well, Michaela, but—“

     "Is it because the memories are painful?" she said  quietly.  He pulled his hands away and stood up.  Wandering to the window, he stared out at the pre-dawn light.

     "Why do you care about this?" he asked finally.

     "Because I love you," she said.  "Because everything about you matters to me.  And there are—other reasons.  We pledged to always be open with each other, Sully.  Besides, I can see that thinking of your family troubles you.  Perhaps talking about them will help to take some of the sadness away."

     He was silent.  She waited, willing him to breach the wall he had built around his past.

     After a minute or two, he came back over to her and sat down again.  "I don't know where to begin," he said.

     Michaela inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.   "Why don't you tell me about your mother," she suggested quietly.