It was a long time before they were recovered enough to release each other.  Only their awareness of dawn's imminent arrival finally strove to separate them.  Sully drew on his shirt and buckskin coat, but then took her in his arms again.

     "I love you—oh, I love you," he whispered, stroking her hair over and over and covering her eyes, cheeks and lips with kisses.

     "I love you," Michaela answered as she clung to him, wondering how she could let him go and face yet another separation.

     "I hate to leave you now," he said huskily, his eyes once again glimmering with the hint of unshed tears.  "I think its harder this time than it's ever been."

     "Then don't!" Michaela said suddenly.  "Stay with me Sully—please stay!"

     "Michaela—“ he began.  She could read the conflicting emotions in his eyes:  his overwhelming urge to remain, struggling with his fear of the risk to them and to himself.

     "It will be all right," she told him.  "The soldiers have no idea you're here.  We can hide you—we can do it!  Is your horse tethered in the woods?  We can send Matthew to collect him and take him back to the cave."

     "No—no, I came on foot," he answered.   "All day I had this overpowerin' feelin' I had to see you—I had to be with you.  I didn't want to risk any chance of gettin' caught."

     "That's perfect then!" Michaela said.  "There's nothing to betray your presence here."

     "Maybe so, Michaela, but—“ he started to protest again.  But she wouldn't let him finish.

     "Sully, your instincts were right," she said.  "You knew you had to come here.  You were meant to be here tonight.

     "Don't you see?  It's that bond we share—that bond without words that connects us no matter how far apart we are.  It's what helped you find me when I was taken by the dog soldiers.  It's what lead me to you just weeks ago when you were on the brink of death.

     "It's what brought you here tonight," she added softly, smoothing a lock of hair off his forehead.  "Because there's something I still have to tell you.  Something this entire night has led up to.  Something wonderful!"

     For a fraction of an instant Sully hesitated.  Then, his face breaking into a smile, he swept her into a bear hug.  "All right," he agreed.  "You win!"

     "No Sully--*you* win!" Michaela said.  "We *both* win!"  A peal of delighted laughter escaped her.  She laughed with the joy of having him with her, and with the knowledge of the remarkable secret she was about to share.

     Sully, mystified but gladdened by her suddenly light-hearted mood, could only shake his head and laugh with her.  Dropping into the nearest chair, he pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her.

     "See here, Ma'am," he said gruffly.  "You're *my* captive now—and I ain't gonna turn you loose till you tell me what this is all about!"

     Michaela wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.  He responded with ardor.  Pulling away from him reluctantly, she said, "I'll be your captive forever—but you have to 'turn me loose' for just a moment—it's part of what I need to tell you."

     Cocking an eyebrow and assuming a mock-suspicious expression, Sully let her up, then watched with curiosity as Michaela quickly pulled on her blouse and skirt, and then bent to pick up something from the floor nearby.  She reseated herself in his lap, clutching the mysterious object in her closed hand.

     "What have you got there?" he asked, reaching for her hand.  But she eluded him deftly and slipped the object in her pocket.

     "In a moment," Michaela said.  Her face was flushed and her eyes sparkled with barely concealed knowledge.

     Abandoning his teasing manner, Sully gazed at her with a mixture of hope and perplexity.

     "Michaela, please," he entreated.  "Just tell me.  What is it?"

     "I'll tell you—I promise!  But first, I need to ask you one more question,"  she replied.

     He stared at her.  "You're jokin'."

     She smiled at him apologetically.  "I know I've asked a lot of you tonight.  And I don't mean to try your patience.  But Sully, this is important.  Will you  indulge me just once more?"

     He sighed in resignation.  "When have I been able to refuse you anythin'?"

     Michaela arched an eyebrow.  "We-e-l-l-" she said.  "I seem to recall the matter of a wedding ring, and the time you didn't want me to come along to collect water samples, and . . ."

     "MICHAELA--!"

     She laughed again.  "I'm sorry—I know I'm being unfair.  But I'd like to be serious again, just for a moment.

     "Sully," she went on, looking at him earnestly.  "Do you recall your mother ever speaking of *her* family?  That is, did she ever talk of the family she left back in England?"

     He considered her question, reaching back into his memories for any recollection of his mother talking about her past.  Finally he said, "Only once that I can remember.  She used to get letters pretty regular—about once a month.  The envelopes were kinda foreign-lookin', like they came from a long way off.  I was curious, and asked her once who they were from.  She said they were from her sister, back in England."

     "Did she tell you about this sister—her name, or any other information about her?  Or did she perhaps mention any other family?"  Michaela's expression was curiously intense, and Sully wondered why she seemed so driven.

     "No, nothin'," he replied.  "When I asked about the letters, she got this sad expression on her face, and it seemed like she didn't want to talk about it.  So I just let it go, and the subject didn't come up again."

     "After she died, and you decided to go West, did you ever think about trying to contact her sister?  She might have been your only surviving family."

     He shook his head.  "Like I told you before, I was angry.  I didn't want to think about my ma anymore, let alone tryin' to find any of her relatives.  "Besides, I didn't know nothin' about this person—not even her name.  I wouldn't have had any idea where to begin lookin'."

     "So you never read any of the letters?" Michaela persisted.

     "No," he answered.  "I couldn't have, even if I wanted to.  My ma had 'em hidden away—where, I never knew.  Anyway, by the time she died, a bunch of old letters from some long-lost relative was the last thing on my mind.

     "So what's this about, Michaela?" he asked her directly.  "I can't figure why you're so interested in my ma's past, or some sister who's probably long dead by now."

     The moment had finally come.  Michaela slipped her hand into her pocket, and caressed the cameo.  Looking into her husband's eyes, she said softly, "Sully, I want to thank you for sharing so much with me tonight—the painful memories of Will's passing, and the hurt that you went through because of your mother.  I'm so glad that you were finally able to make peace with her memory, and rediscover the love that you felt for her.  And I deeply understand your regret that you could never tell her you forgave her."

     She drew a deep breath, and continued, "There's no way I can ever bring your mother back to you.  But—what if I was able to do the next best thing?"

     "What are you talkin' about?" he asked, totally mystified.

     "What if I could bring you together with someone who knew and loved your mother as much as you did-someone who wants to know and love you as well?  Would that make you happy?"

     He shook his head, still unable to understand.  "Michaela, you're talkin' in riddles.  Someone who loved my mother?  The only people besides me who loved her are dead now."

     She smiled at him.  "Your father and brother are gone, yes.  But there *is* someone who's very much alive who had a very deep connection to your mother—and who wants to meet you very much.

     "I have something to show you," she said.  She took out the cameo, and pressed the hidden catch.  It opened, and she placed it in his hand.  "Do you recognize the person in this picture?" she asked gently.

     He looked at the tiny portrait, unsure for a moment and then visibly paling as comprehension dawned.  "My ma," he whispered.  "She looks so young—no more than a girl, but . . . "

     "She was just sixteen when that was painted," Michaela told him softly.

     "I—don't understand," Sully said slowly.  "I ain't never seen this before.  Where did you get it?  How . . . ?"

     Michaela placed her hand against his cheek as he looked up at her in helpless confusion.  "It belongs to the person I've been telling you about," she said gently.   "Not dead—but very much alive.  The person who's been wondering and praying about you for over twenty-five years.  Your mother's sister, Sully.  Your aunt."

     He looked down at the cameo again, shaking his head.  "No," he murmured.  "It ain't possible . . . "

     Michaela put her hand under his chin, tilting up his face so that their eyes met.  "Sully—it *is* possible," she said quietly but firmly.  "It's true.  Unbelievable as it may seem, your aunt is alive, and she's here.  Not just in Colorado Springs, but in this house.

     "Sully—Rosalind Sutcliffe is your aunt."