What Goes On In Her Mind

By Pam

Lord John Roxton's mischievous grin faded as he recognized the look in Marguerite Krux's beautiful - and very furious - blue-gray eyes. Too late, he realized it had been unwise to joke at this precise moment. He braced himself, fully expecting to either get slapped hard enough to make him see stars, or to get reacquainted with her very precise right hook.

Instead, Marguerite's booted foot connected sharply with his shin bone.

He howled in sudden pain, hopping, which made him trip on a large root. He fell onto the ground, jarring every bone in his body. By the time he sat up and straightened his hat off his eyes, Marguerite had stormed out of sight.

Roxton cursed under his breath, rubbing his now throbbing shin ruefully.

Well, that reaction had been different than he'd expected!

All he'd done was tease her about tumbling down the hillside behind him just to get to the bottom before him. Why the devil had she reacted so violently?! And why kick him, instead of her usual sharp slap?

It wasn't as if he had pushed her, or tripped her, or in any way been responsible for her fall! He had even tried his best to reach her, to halt her descent, but hadn't been able to reach her in time.

He'd been afraid she was hurt at first, and when he'd seen her pick herself up he had been quite relieved. So he had joked about it - big deal! Just because she was embarrassed by a little fall didn't mean she had the right to kick him so hard!

At that moment he spotted a rabbit.

Instantly, he grabbed his rifle and leveled it at the creature.

But then he controlled his ire, reigning in his temper sharply.

They weren't in need of meat right now.

John didn't believe in senseless kills . . . well, the occasional trophy, perhaps, for sport. But never an animal that wasn't a dangerous predator.

He lowered his rifle again. "You're safe, little fella," he muttered with a sigh.

"Well, I must say, that was refreshing!"

John spun, rising from his buttocks to one knee, rifle aimed again. He found himself looking into the sparkling blue eyes of a little old lady who stood only three feet high at best. She was clad all in gray . . . or was it gray? The colors seemed to be changing, he noted as he lowered his rifle again.

She hadn't seemed worried by his gun anyway, he noticed. "I beg your pardon, ma'am?" he said, wondering what she found refreshing.

At his respectful question, she beamed on him beneficently. "Oh, I do like you, young man!" she chortled. "First you are merciful to my little darling, and now you show respect for your elders! I haven't met such a nice youngster in a long while! I shall reward you!" she declared happily. "Name whatever you desire."

John gave a harassed look in the direction Marguerite had gone, and blurted out instantly, "I'd like to know what goes on in that mind of hers!" Then he gave the little old lady an apologetic look for speaking so bluntly. "A few words of advice about the fairer sex, perhaps, ma'am?" he asked with a humorous smile.

The little woman smiled. "It shall be as you wish. I grant you the gift of knowing what goes on in your lady friend's mind. You will be able to hear her thoughts, and even to search through her mind . . . but only for twenty-four hours, young man," she warned. "And you will not be able to tell her, or anyone else, about this gift. Otherwise, you see," she added kindly, "Everyone would be always asking me for gifts. Enjoy your gift, young man!" And with a smile and a giggle - she disappeared before his eyes.

John blinked.

What the -

And then he heard Marguerite's cries of pain.

He shot to his feet, and ran in the direction she had gone.

Stop being such a baby!

John stopped, and whirled as he heard her voice.

Where was she?!

It's not like you haven't had a measly dislocated shoulder before! You know what you have to do, so do it before John catches up with you, idiot!

John whirled again. Her voice was right here! Where was she?!

How could you kick him like that? Wretched temper! He didn't know you were hurt! Poor John, the darling man! Serve you right if he doesn't even come. Ow, the pain! Forgot how much this hurts! Have to put it back into place - getting worse with every bloody step! Have to fix it before I pass out! Where - there's a good place! That looks like the right size to hold my arm still.

John could hear her even more clearly now . . . and knew, in his mind, that she was seeing a tree with a crossed pair of branches.

Come on, do it - yeah, it will hurt, but then it will be better. Come on, Marguerite! You've made it through much worse than this!

She was cursing in half a dozen languages, at the increased pain, as she lifted her arm and jammed it between the two branches. Then she deliberately twisted her body, forcing her shoulder back into place. Her scream echoed in his mind.

In his mind?

The old lady!

He could hear Marguerite's thoughts! That was what was happening!

John began to run again. He made himself focus on her tracks, not allowing himself to be deceived again into thinking she was behind him when he was hearing her voice in his head. She wasn't right behind him - it was only her voice, not her presence.

Where is John? John, I need you! Oh, John, hold me! It hurts! It hurts! No, no, can't rely on anyone else. Get over it, Marguerite! Just get over it! You can control the pain. Concentrate! Not a sound, not a sound. Danger. Raptors. Why does it still hurt so badly?! It should be easing off! Come on, Marguerite, pull yourself together! If John came now he'd know in an instant -

John saw her footprints veer off the path, toward a small group of trees.

He knew before he saw her that she had eased her arm from the makeshift vise, and was closing her eyes, focusing on controlling the waves of pain.

"Marguerite!" he said as he actually saw her leaning against a tree, her slender back to him as he approached. He couldn't believe what he was hearing! Would she really try to conceal a dislocated shoulder from him? Why?

Don't tell him - he'll feel so badly if he realizes you were hurt when he laughed at you for falling! You can do it - you've done it before. Don't let him see that it still hurts. Come on, Marguerite, self-control. You already kicked him. Don't make him feel worse! If I just pretend to be annoyed, and ignore him, he'll think nothing's wrong - he'll think I'm just behaving like my usual irrational, nasty self. We can get back to the tree house, and I can go to my room till I fell better.

She would hide this, instead of seeking comfort? Just because she didn't want him to feel badly about laughing at her?!

She would. She turned slowly, giving him a long look from under her lashes. "John," she greeted him with a half-mocking tone. "I suppose you want me to apologize."

He was astonished to realize that there wasn't a single sign of pain - even in her posture. If he hadn't known, he wouldn't have noticed how still she held her left side as she faced him. Irrelevantly, it occurred to John that this was why she had kicked him, instead of hitting him; she hadn't been able to strike out at him with her shoulder dislocated, so she had retaliated by kicking him.

And even now she was reminding herself that she mustn't let him see, mustn't allow him to feel worse about having teased her. Just let him think it had only been Marguerite overreacting. Mustn't hurt John more than she already had.

"No, I don't want you to apologize," he said, startling her. "I want to apologize to you. I shouldn't have teased you, and I'm sorry."

Her eyes widened. He's apologizing to me? But I kicked him! For no reason - well, okay, not for no reason, but it's not his fault I tend to lash out at someone else every time I'm hurting. He still didn't deserve it. But how can I keep him from realizing - oh no! He's going to hug me!

John hugged her gently, feeling her tense. But he was careful to fold her close to himself by slipping an arm around her waist, and pulling her right shoulder and back against his chest, not jarring her injured left shoulder.

Marguerite shuddered at the warmth that spread through her at his embrace.

Oh, I needed this! How can I feel so safe in his arms? Maybe this is okay for just a little longer, since he's not touching my shoulder . . . Mmm. He can be so sweet.

John grinned against the top of her head.

So this was what went on in her mind!

She was noting in surprise that her shoulder seemed to hurt less now. Is this what it's like to have someone else to share the pain? Where have you been all my life, John Richard Roxton?

John smoothed her hair back off her face, intrigued by how much his simple touch meant to the heiress, and set himself to sooth her. "I really am sorry I teased you, Marguerite. I was just relieved to see you pick yourself up without being hurt, and it came out as ill-timed humor. Forgive me?" The irony!

He's asking me to forgive him, when it was all my own bloody fault again. I can't let him take the blame. "John, it wasn't your fault. I over-reacted." She lifted her head to reassure him, her blue-gray eyes sincere - and still showing no sign of the pain she was still mentally disciplining to manageable levels. "Are you alright?" she looked down at his leg in contrition, once again condemning herself for having let her temper rage without restraint just because she had been in a little pain.

"Yeah, sure."

She was worried about his shins when she had just dislocated and then re-located her own shoulder, choosing to do it herself rather than wait for him just so that he wouldn't feel worse about having teased her? Well . . . at least partly for his sake. He remembered that she was used to dealing with pain alone.

"Hardly hurt at all." He added lightly, smiling gently down at her, "You should have stuck around; I tripped on a tree root, and fell right down." He ruefully rubbed his bottom, and added, "You would have gotten a chuckle out of seeing me go down, then we'd have been even." He meant to make her smile, and succeeded.

"Next time, I'll try to remember that," she smiled, resigning herself to the realization that there was no reason he should continue to hold her now that apologies had been exchanged. Her shoulder was feeling much better now, and they still had a long way to go to get back home.

Roxton knew she was right. She was still aching, but it wasn't anything that she couldn't handle as they walked home. He released her from his embrace. "Ready to head back?" he asked.

"Yes." She reached for her pack, which she had shrugged off and dropped to the ground before she worked on her shoulder. Ouch! That stung! Careful, or John will wonder what's wrong - and the man is too smart to fool twice in one afternoon! She switched her pack to her right hand casually, making no attempt to shrug it onto her shoulders. She was relieved that his keen brown eyes hadn't sharpened at her involuntary wince. Must be her lucky day.

Those wonderful eyes saw far too much, far too often. One of these days I'm just going to find that there's nothing left to protect me from these insane emotions this man keeps stirring in me. No matter how often I try to throw him off the trail, he keeps slipping past my defenses. And once he knows me, really knows me . . . will he really still want me, or will I only find out I've been an even bigger fool than I was when I trusted the others?

John listened to her mind processing all these thoughts as they walked toward the tree house. Her line of thought had her picturing men she had known before, shoving the unpleasant memories away almost as fast as the faces materialized.

John winced as he caught glimpses of cruel faces, twisted with anger, lust, greed, or ambition. Some of them were handsome, some she had trusted as friends or comrades, some just had a hold over her that put her into their manipulative hands. Each of them had hurt her, betrayed her, or used her for their own purposes.

There were probably a couple dozen men who flashed through her mind before she managed to suppress the stream of memories, in favor of thinking about the men she currently knew on the Challenger Expedition.

No wonder she had doubts about trusting John, after experience with men like he had just seen in her thoughts.

She wouldn't let herself dwell on John yet, focusing on young Ned first. Now there is a true innocent! He's such fun to tease, and so easy to provoke. Odd, I used to despise innocents like Neddy -

John cleared his throat to conceal a chuckle at her affectionate epithet for the young reporter who was always writing about their adventures in his journals. It was nice to know that she didn't hold the younger man in as much disdain as she still pretended. Apparently, Marguerite also didn't truly resent Ned's constant questions as much as she pretended these days.

A myriad of memories crowded her mind, war scenes mostly, John realized. He'd wondered how that German pilot had known Marguerite, but had never gotten a straight answer from the raven-haired beauty walking so quietly beside him now.

She was actually amused now, a tiny smile playing about her lips as her thoughts went on. Perhaps I should tell you, she glanced up at him consideringly, at least about my work during the war. Perhaps then you would see that what you've done is nothing worthy of death or damnation. Of course, you would never want to look at me again, once you knew how many people died because of what I did. But it would be worth losing you, to know you had finally found some peace about that blasted accident that gives you those nightmares.

Marguerite knew about his nightmares over his brother William's death?! How could she know about them?

She was amused at her train of thought regarding the weariness that tugged at the back of her mind, which she was pretty much ignoring in favor of focusing her mind on other things. But John was increasingly aware of that tiredness she compensated for through sheer will power, as he became more comfortable following her thought patterns.

She was almost always thinking of two or three things simultaneously, choosing now one and now another as her main focus, but continuing to process other lines of thought as well. He could "feel" the constant need for more rest that hovered behind her other thoughts.

So John paused, unhooking his canteen from his belt, and offering it to Marguerite. "Let's take a little break, okay?"

As usual, she was ready to take a break . . . though this was the first time he really understood why. All this time, and she had never even hinted . . .

She accepted the canteen with a smile, and lifted it to her lips. "Thank you, Roxton."

After she had taken a long draught of the water, and given back his canteen, she sank down against a tree trunk, and tilted her head back, closing her eyes. Perfect timing! John never stops for much more than half an hour. Good time to catch a little nap, since he seems to be in a quiet, reflective mood instead of wanting to chat. Not that I would mind talking with him . . . I love our verbal sparing matches . . .

John watched her gravely.

How often had he seen her put her head back like that, or rest it down on her arms wrapped around her knees, when they stopped a hike for a breather?

He and the others had always attributed it to an effort on her part to avoid having to go refill canteens or prepare a cold camp meal, or perhaps even just rudely refusing to make polite conversation, by closing her eyes and ignoring them.

But now, with this ability to know her thoughts, he knew she was simply taking advantage of time to really rest. He could tell that she had fallen almost instantly asleep. He had known others who could do this. It was a trick practiced by people who had to snatch sleep whenever and wherever they could, unable to get much regular rest time. Roxton had known one peer of the Realm, an advisor to the royal family who had been on call at all hours, who had been able to sleep standing on his feet, eyes wide open! He himself had managed to learn the trick of doing this, during the war.

Marguerite's mind was absolutely clear of active thoughts now; she had clearly developed the mental discipline to shut down every conscious train of thought and seize the moment to gain some true sleep.

John sat down beside her, holding his rifle in the crook of his arm, and considered what the old lady had said. He should be able to search her mind. While she was sleeping seemed like a good time to try.

He listened carefully to the quieter whispers of thought still echoing softly in her mind . . . her subconscious thoughts and memories. He had the feeling searching her mind would be a little like tracking elusive prey, following strands to the source the way he would follow a faint trail to the animal itself.

One by one he isolated the whispery threads, focusing in until he could tell what they were. He was impressed to find that she was subconsciously processing some scientific data she had been reading about from one of Challengers journals - but he wasn't interested in following that trail and moved to another thread. She was reviewing one of Ned's stories, analyzing its potential impact on her if details became known once they were back in "civilization"; she needed to maintain a certain reputation in order to continue to survive in her profession.

Now, that was more promising.

What exactly was her profession?

Then John pulled himself up sharply.

He had promised Marguerite that her secrets would be safe with him, when she was ready.

She wasn't ready.

She wasn't choosing to tell him her secrets, he was searching them out, deliberately and without her knowledge.

He couldn't help hearing her thoughts; he hadn't done that. It was a gift from the old lady. But to actively search for her secrets in her subconscious was a deliberate choice on his own part.

He couldn't do it.

Well, he could, at least for twenty-four hours, thanks to the old lady. But should he? No, he should not. It would be akin to reading her diary when she wasn't looking. It was cheating.

He wanted to earn her trust, not steal her secrets.

John nodded to himself, having made up his mind. He had no choice but to accept that he was going to continue to hear her conscious thoughts for the next twenty-one hours. But he would not violate Marguerite's mind just to fulfill his own lust to know her intimate secrets, any more than he would violate her body.

He contented himself with watching over her as she slept on. At least he could see that she rested safely.

***************

Marguerite woke suddenly, and held very still, eyes not open yet.

Something isn't right. Or maybe the strange thing is that something IS right. I'm not in bed, but . . . was I sleeping deeply and soundly?!

She tested the air she inhaled. Jungle. And John.

Ah! That explains the warmth and the comfort.

She was resting against John's broad chest, one of his arms about her, curled to his side as they both leaned against an ancient tree trunk.

What in the world are we doing in the jungle, sleeping?!

A break.

We took a break on the hike back to the tree house.

But the heat of the sun was gone. The sounds of the jungle were not daylight ones, but the ones that filled the jungle at dusk.

Did John fall asleep, too?!

His breathing was steady; she could feel warm puffs wafting over her hair. And beneath her cheek she could feel his steady heartbeat as well, strong and regular. But not the heartbeat or breathing of a man asleep, which was never so regular. Besides, John would never fall asleep on watch, on an open trail, leaving us both vulnerable to attack.

She opened her eyes, and tilted her face up slowly. "You didn't wake me," she said, as much a question as a statement, realizing he had deliberately let her sleep away the afternoon.

John grinned, and teased lightly, "I was enjoying the view too much to cut it short."

Does he mean me? Or is he just baiting me?

Marguerite glanced around, but there was nothing in sight that might have held his attention . . . other than herself.

He really can be romantic when he chooses, she thought fondly. And my shoulder feels so much better now, hardly even a twinge, as she reluctantly moved away from his warmth to sit straight up.

Whatever his reasons, she was glad he had let her rest. "Can we still make it home before nightfall?" she asked, pushing her heavy hair back from her shoulders and deftly fastening it into a knot in preparation for the rest of the walk back, using her left arm cautiously and pleased that it didn't renew the pain.

"I think so. We might still be out a little after dark, but it won't be so late that we need to stop for the night." John watched her work at her hair, with a look of lazy contentment about him and appreciation in his chocolate brown eyes.

How can the man look at me like that at the end of a long, hot day when I'm dusty and rumpled and windblown and a downright mess! He acts as if he still finds me attractive, even though I've probably rarely looked worse. What is he possibly seeing?!

John's lips twitched at this revelation of her self-consciousness. "You look like an angel," he said softly, startling her.

He's gone mad, she decided promptly, though her heart was warmed. Surely only an insane man can look at a woman who has spent the entire day in a jungle, and tell her she looks like an angel. Or a man in love.

Abruptly she shoved that thought away. That was nonsense! John Roxton couldn't love anyone like Marguerite No-Name. All his tempting promises aside, he was a very intelligent man. He would never really let himself fall in love with a woman like her. Would he? No, he was just being gallant again, playing the game.

She summoned a smile for his compliment, then carefully shrugged on her pack. "We should go, right?" Her tone was one of mild rebuke, though her eyes twinkled at him in deliberate contrast. "Coming?" she asked, with a hint of husky sensuality in her tone, turning toward the path. She knew he would follow.

John followed her down the trail to the tree house, thoughtfully silent.

So this was why she resisted his advances!

Marguerite knew John loved her - or suspected it strongly, though she resisted accepting it as really true.

But she believed that loving her was going to hurt John in the long run, and she was putting aside her own love for him to try to protect him from the future disillusionment she believed was inevitable once he found out about her past.

How was he going to convince her otherwise, without knowing these secrets?

At least the weariness hovering at the back of her mind wasn't so heavy now.

Her mind was so busy!

She was classifying the plants and trees they were passing, remembering things Summerlee, Challenger and Veronica had told her ( with none of them ever the wiser that she was actually paying attention enough to learn anything ).

She was also listening to the jungle sounds, and watching for animal signs, as John and Veronica had demonstrated time and again for her over the last three years.

Very aware of John behind her, she consciously suppressed the surge of warmth that spread through her every time she thought of him, and focused on staying to the path and watching for predators.

Meanwhile, she monitored her shoulder as the back pack straps put pressure on the recent injury. It's not too bad. I should be able to make it all the way back to the tree house without having to find a different way to carry the pack, provided we don't have any further adventures between here and there.

John shook his head in amusement as he caught a strand of thought that was calculating the value of the gem stones she had found so far on the Expedition.

That was his girl!

"Marguerite . . .?"

She glanced over her shoulder, briefly, to meet his curious brown eyes. "Yes, John?" How I love those expressive eyes of his! He's going to ask me something I dont' want to answer, I can tell already.

Neither of them stopped walking, but he did move up beside her on the trail and slow the pace just a little.

"I've been thinking about something you said a little while ago."

"Define a little while ago," she advised promptly, with a grin. Inside, she was more wary. Please, John, ask me something easy and harmless to answer.

"The day you told us about the oroborris."

He could see the shutters drop over her expression. And he could hear the disruption in every single thought strand as she brought all her awareness into focus on the topic. No! Anything but that!

A flood of memories swept through her mind, every one dealt with by Marguerite abruptly slamming doors over them, shoving them away. Every one was full of pain and soul-deep anguish, longing to be loved.

He caught a glimpse of her longing to have had an answer to give back to the children who taunted her because she never had letters, or visitors, or any place to go for holidays and summers.

There was a brief image of a handsome young man sneering at her as he withdrew his offer of marriage, blaming her for not making it clear that her lineage was unknown and questionable.

But there was only one flash with actual family in it; Marguerite was an adult - odd! He hadn't known she had spent time with them since she'd been a child! - and her mother was saying that even her father had ended up admitting there was something wrong with Marguerite, that she was evil from birth, that she didn't belong in this world.

This memory held the longest grip on the lovely heiress's mind, gave her the harshest pain, and was the hardest for her to banish.

Only when the image of her mother shattered and changed into John holding her, taking her gun from her hands, did John realize that this was the hallucination that had driven Marguerite to try to take her own life in the Cave of Fear so soon after they arrived on the Plateau.

She dealt with most of her other demons so quickly that he couldn't catch a real sense of them, other than to know that they had been unpleasant and hurtful. They were all jumbled, in no order of time or reason that he could discern. Must have been dozens, maybe hundreds of incidents related to her abandonment by her parents.

But Marguerite cleared them all away in under five seconds flat, with the ease of long practice dealing with bad memories, and had her voice under tight control as she asked coolly, "What did I say?"

He had to regroup, stunned by the magnitude of her emotional pain. He had known finding her real name meant a lot to her . . . but he had never grasped just how deeply wounded she had been by the way she had been left on her own.

"Uh . . ." How could she live with such pain day after day?! "Oh, yes, well . . ." he pulled himself back to the present. "You . . . er . . ."

"Are you all right, John?"

He stared down at her and shook his head. "I wasn't expecting you to respond as you did." At her puckered brow, he added quickly, "I mean, I didn't think you'd even consider answering. I thought you would avoid it, as usual."

Her eyes dropped from his. Honestly, she replied, "I still might. What do you want to know? There isn't much I can tell you about my parents. As far as I was ever able to find out, no one connected with my upbringing ever met them or knew their names." It was a major concession even to tell him that much. Her voice deepened to a husky flatness of suppressed emotion.

John reached out and took her hand. She looked back up, startled, meeting his eyes again. He smiled at her. "We'll take care of tracing them when we get back to England. I have a lot of connections. The words in your locket are English, so it makes sense that your parents were British or North American. We'll find them."

Her eyes widened.

Marguerite threw her arms around him, and hugged him tight - ignoring the stab of pain in her shoulder at her sudden incautious movement. "Oh, John, you have no idea how much it means to me that you would offer such a thing!" she whispered, eyes shimmering with tears of joy as she kissed his cheek tenderly. Could this day get any better?!

Since he could hear the threads now whirling through her mind as hope was renewed in her heart, he just grinned sheepishly. "Wish I'd thought to offer sooner," he apologized gruffly. He hugged her in return, patted her back soothingly, and kissed her forehead, then reluctantly let her go. "We can't stop. It's getting later."

Marguerite nodded, and resumed walking at his side.

Suddenly she felt lighter than air.

Perhaps he will succeed where I have failed. He's going to find my parents for me. Then I'll finally know for sure.

For the ten millionth time, she told herself that parents who left their three year old daughter at a convent school because they didn't want her, wouldn't have left her a locket that said otherwise. There has to be a good reason they didn't come back for me. They had to have cared, to have sent money all through my formative years, didn't they? And there would be a good explanation why they had suddenly stopped sending directions and money for my care when I had turned sixteen.

Of course there would.

Oh, she could almost taste a future! She had a future again! She had thought, with the loss of the oroborris, that there was no hope left at all. But if her parents turned out to be . . . even half way decent people, with a reasonable excuse for never coming back for her . . . why, then just maybe there was a chance that she might be someone John could accept.

Or - dare she even think it?! - There was even a chance that she could be someone John could be proud of! If she wasn't just a no-name, no-good, vamping, international jewel thief with four bad marriages and infinite mistakes behind her, but a woman with a future where anything was possible - then maybe, just maybe, it didn't have to be a game with John. Maybe this love stuff she was learning about for the first time in her life, with John, could last after all!

Then, abruptly, her euphoria vanished, startling the man walking beside her in the dusk, listening to her humming thoughts.

Face it, she told herself sternly, reigning in her excitement firmly, this Expedition is going to be the closest I'm ever going to come to belonging to a family. I shouldn't let John squander his time, money, and effort searching for something that can only show more clearly how unfit I am to be with him. And I shouldn't start dreaming about being Lady Marguerite Roxton again, either, or encouraging John. It wouldn't be fair to either of us to build up false hopes. Especially John. He deserves better than this.

John shook his head, bemused.

No wonder her temperament was so mercurial, with her struggling over such opposite concepts.

Her heart longed for parents and family where she was wanted, where she belonged. But her head and experience insisted that such things were highly unlikely to ever come her way.

One thing was abundantly clear to John after these brief hours of hearing her thoughts; Marguerite was constantly torn between the world of true friendship and love which her Expedition friends were opening to her, and the world of isolation, abuse, and self-preservation she had known all her life until the Plateau.

The things the other explorers took for granted and valued - truthfulness, honor, compassion, loyalty, integrity, self-sacrifice, friendship and family - were all new to Marguerite as practical concepts in her daily experience - with the possible exception of loyalty to a country, which he suspected she understood quite well - But in her private life, such values were to be regarded with suspicion and skepticism.

With what he now knew, he could see how difficult it really was for his Marguerite to overcome the harsh realities of her past experience in favor of trusting the members of Challenger's Expedition.

Three years wasn't really a very long time, compared to her lifetime of having to survive in any way she could manage. She really had come a long way in outwardly conforming to the standards of her comrades. But inside, she was still struggling regularly to reconcile her past experience with the apparently impractical idealism the others lived daily. To Marguerite, it still seemed too much like a fairy tale to be real.

With a pang, he realized that he and Challenger gave more latitude to Finn than they had initially given to the raven-haired lady beside him.

They allowed the girl from the future time to adjust, and did not demand that she instantly accept their values. Instead, they explained things to her, and let her see it in their lives, and gently led her to their values. They accepted her as she was, though they hoped to lead her to change her values, over time.

But Marguerite they had taunted and scolded and impatiently pushed to change. Especially John himself, in his desire to see her live up to the potential he had sensed instinctively in her. Honestly, he admitted to himself, part of the reason he had been so hard on Marguerite was a need to justify his own attraction to the beautiful but often seemingly-shallow woman by forcing her to behave in a manner more acceptable to his own standards.

He could see now that it had only added to her hidden conviction that there was something not right with her, compared to the others, and increased her feeling that she didn't belong or fit in.

Aware suddenly that he had been lost in thought, he glanced over at Marguerite. She was trudging along quietly, eyes down on the path pensively.

She was wondering whether the others had saved anything for them to eat from whatever dinner they had pulled together.

She was also wondering how long her shoulder was going to keep hurting. Figures that a simple hug would set it to aching. Sentimental gestures are never worth while.

John cursed himself mentally for not paying more attention to her. "Penny for your thoughts? You've been pretty quiet the last little while. Thinking about finding your parents?"

Oh! He hasn't been regretting his offer to find my parents and be involved in my life after we leave the plateau, he was just giving me time to choose to talk to him. I keep forgetting John actually WANTS to know what I'm thinking, unlike - she shut off the unpleasant memory of a man yelling a her that she had nothing to say worth listening to. "Sorry, John. Yes, I was just thinking about family. Can we take a quick break?" She needed to take a detour for the call of nature.

He nodded, scanning the area, then indicating a clump of bushes near enough to be guarded and far enough away to provide some privacy. "Powder room," he grinned. "Ladies first."

Marguerite gave him a quick smile, and wasted no time taking advantage of the offer to give her first turn.

"So what were you thinking about family?" he called after her as she disappeared behind the barrier of shrubs.

She didn't answer right away, though her mind was pretty active on the topic as she considered all the things she had learned about family from watching Challenger, Summerlee, Veronica, Ned, and John since arriving here on the Plateau.

John had asked if she was thinking about her parents, but it was her friends who were really her family.

She finished and smoothed her skirt as she emerged into view again, choosing to reply "I was just thinking that even if I never find my parents, I'm lucky to have all of you." It's probably past time to let them all know I think of them as my family. Then maybe John won't blame himself so much if my parents end up being a disappointment.

John handed her his rifle, and paused to caress her cheek, surprised again that she was motivated not by what suited her, but by consideration for HIS feelings. "I think it's us who are lucky to have you, Marguerite."

John grinned to himself as he continued to walk past her to take his turn at the "powder room" behind the shrubs, leaving Marguerite on guard. Though he probably should keep his own guard up; she wasn't paying much attention to the jungle around them. Instead she was daydreaming about his touch!

Well, there was at least one strand of thought in her fertile mind that was keeping a cursory eye on the jungle . . . but mostly, she was remembering other caresses, cuddles, and kisses from the tall, handsome hunter.

As she indulged her memories, he took a peek over the shrubs, and was pleased at the rosy pink of her cheeks, the pleasure in her green eyes, and the smile playing about her full lips. She shifted position a little, and his own grin widened even more as he heard her chagrined thoughts when she realized that she was becoming aroused over the mere thought of John Roxton's tender touch.

Oh, face it, Marguerite! He owns your soul already, she admitted mockingly to herself. Your only chance to survive with any semblance of self-respect is to keep him from finding out, or he'll never stop laughing at you. He's too smug already, too sure of himself. Okay, so he has reason to be smug . . . he's a downright gorgeous man. And he's nice, genuinely nice. He's a decent, honorable man. I didn't know such men existed outside of the pages of a book.

Her voice?!

The voice that warbled unrecognizable tunes, to the despair of her fellow tree house occupants? Someone wanted Marguerite's voice?!

John filed that one away for further consideration as he returned to her side and carefully took the rifle. She fell into step beside him again, automatically, just following his lead as opposed to being consciously aware that they were again moving toward the tree house. She was still lost in thought.

John was surprised.

She was right. He was watching her instead of the path.

He was able to catch a sense of the images flitting through her mind. Oh, yes, Marguerite Krux had been watching him! He didn't miss the tiny sigh of pleasure that her memories provoked, either.

John held back a delighted grin. He had felt as if she was watching him, but rarely caught her at it. So he had written it off as wishful thinking. But now he knew she really did watch him, just as he was drawn to watch her. And she liked it!

Much as he was enjoying monitoring her thoughts, he was also aware of the growing darkness falling over the jungle. He increased their pace a little, wanting to be nearer the tree house before it was fully dark.

Marguerite matched his pace, noticing it, and understanding the reason for it. She was tired, and her shoulder was persistently aching. She was ready to be back at the tree house. Of course, with this cursed shoulder aching, I'll have nightmares tonight. But at least I had some sleep this afternoon. And since we're back late, maybe they'll have mercy on me and let me sleep in tomorrow morning.

John gave some thought to how he could ensure that she would be able to sleep tonight, but wasn't able to come up with a scenario that wouldn't raise questions from the pretty heiress . . . or the other explorers. He'd have to play it by ear, see what presented itself. For now, he could only try to redirect her thoughts to a more pleasant line of thought. "Not much further, my dear," he commented as he recognized a landmark. "You want the shower first?"

John constrained his indignation. He had been pretty sure she was doing that deliberately, the minx!

He had to admit it was, indeed, very effective against him. How many times had he refrained from taunting her, or done something he'd known she would like, just so that the beautiful, mercurial heiress would not deny him the privilege of going to the pond with her?

Still, he didnt really mind the simple manipulation. Marguerite was worth it.

The tree house lights came into view through the trees ahead of them, and they both instinctively picked up the pace.

Challenger greeted their arrival absently, managing a warm, direct look at each of them to be sure they were safe, before refocusing on his current project. He was working at the kitchen table, his gadgets spread over the entire surface.

Ned was relegated to the balcony table to work on his journal for the day's entry. He waved to them, and called out, "How was the trip?"

"Good," John responded, taking off his backpack, and reaching to help Marguerite with hers as well. "We'll have plenty of spices to last several months, I think." He emptied both back packs onto the kitchen counter, dumping out the plants they had gathered yesterday before heading back today. "And I think we found all the ones Veronica wanted. Where is she?"

"Down in her room, I think," Ned replied. "She's looking for one of her mother's journals. She thinks there may be a Zanga legend recorded there that I can use in my journal."

"I'm headed for the shower, then," Marguerite said, relieved that she didn't have to wait for Veronica to finish before she could immerse her aching shoulder in the warmth of the running water.

"Okay. Let me know when you're done, so I can hop in," John gave her a grin, then added, "Oh, Marguerite . . ."

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, already moving toward the powder room. She was remembering thankfully how the men had labored three weeks to add this room onto the tree house. She knew it had been pretty much for the benefit of the two women, and was thinking how nice it was to have such considerate men around to look after Veronica and herself. "Yes?"

He lowered his voice a little, smiling at her. "You did really well on this gathering hike. I'm glad you came with me."

Her lips parted in startled surprise at the unexpected, sincere compliment. Then her green eyes lit up, and she smiled. "Thank you, John."

There was a renewed bounce in her step as she continued on to the shower, and her weariness fell away. John thinks I did well this time! John was glad I came - even though I kicked him! John is pleased with me! I wish I could just sing - really sing! - I'm so happy!

"Really" sing?!

John latched onto that thread of thought, and followed it as she disappeared from view. He leaned on the counter and concentrated, ignoring her thought strands about gathering clean clothing and bathing supplies, and the thoughts dwelling on the day's interactions with John.

In the singing thread of thought, she was regretting giving in to that instinct to play the joke on Veronica and Ned so long ago . . . well, sort of regretting it. It had been fun, over the last three years, to have her own little private joke on all of them. It had afforded her literally hours of amusement to see how they all went out of their way to pretend they weren't offended with her often obnoxious musical renditions.

And there had been days - many, many days - when this little private joke had been all that kept her sane as she had been trying to figure them all out. But there were moments, like this one, where she longed to just be able to burst forth in genuine song . . . And to do that would mean having to explain the joke to everyone.

She doubted they would consider it as humorous as she had . . . and still did, to be honest, some of the time, even three years later.

John was so startled by THAT little rabbit trail that he nearly forgot to focus on the rest of the story about how she had come to let them all believe she could not sing. He jerked his focus back to the singing thread of thought, a bit reluctantly.

John was beginning to see how it had happened. He could picture Veronica and Ned, caught exchanging appalled looks at Marguerite Krux's apparently talentless singing, then trying to keep her mercurial temper from exploding on their heads by back pedaling and pretending they admired the seemingly tuneless rendition they had heard.

John could still recall how Veronica and Ned had come barreling into the tree house, after accompanying Marguerite to the pond only a week into their stay with Veronica. The two youngest members of the tree house had hastened to warn the three older men that Marguerite was in a good mood.

No, they had shaken their heads earnestly, this was NOT good news. Marguerite in a good mood liked to sing - and they had best brace themselves, because they were going to have to pretend to like it if they wanted to KEEP Marguerite in a good mood.

And of course, at that point in their acquaintance, Marguerite mischievously had allowed them all to continue to assume she couldn't hold a pitch.

John shook his head and grinned.

Yup, that was his girl.

Well, maybe he could find a way to help her over the rough spots of revealing this one, at least, if opportunity presented itself. He was interested in finding out whether her assessment of her own talent was accurate. Just how good had she really been? It would certainly be a relief for all concerned if it turned out that she really did sing like an angel!

********************

John woke abruptly when his mind filled with the voices from Marguerite's nightmare. For a moment he struggled to grasp understanding of the images flooding him so vividly. Then he jerked upright in his bed. Marguerite was being hurt - beaten savagely by a man he somehow knew had betrayed her trust. She was seriously injured! She needed help!

John surged out of his bed, and shot down the hall to Marguerite's room.

Marguerite was still asleep, under control of the nightmare's reality, slender body tensed under the pain inflicted on her in the dream.

John hovered over her, startled to find that in spite of the intensity of the nightmare, and the pain, she made neither sound nor movement that would have betrayed her discomfort. Should he wake her?

There was another thought pattern, he realized even as he assimilated her remarkable control . . . It explained her stillness. Part of her subconscious knew she was having a nightmare, and he could hear her reminding herself to keep still and quiet, not to move. Bad dreams could be used against her. No one must know. Be still.

A moment more, and her eyes opened. She lay perfectly still, staring up at the thatched ceiling, willing herself to quell the terror and pain. Control the pounding heart beat. Banish the memories to a dark recess of your mind again. Control. Control. Don't let it win. Don't let it control your emotions. Don't let it force you to cry, or make you get out of bed and pace back and forth. Conquer it, or he wins again, even though he's long dead. Don't let him do this to you again, Marguerite. Control. Come on, Marguerite, you can do it. You've done it before. Think of John. John, that's right. Think of John.

John had instinctively moved back when she opened her eyes, hearing another train of thought that was crying Don't let yourself disturb the others! Don't let them know! Quiet! Still! in absolute panic. He understood why a second later, as he also saw, or felt, her humiliation when others had found out about her nightmares, and had mocked and ridiculed her instead of comforting her.

So she had trained herself not to cry out, protecting herself from further mortification. It had come in handy during the war, when nightmares might have allowed her to betray herself if not for her mental discipline.

And focusing her mind on John Roxton seemed to be helping her to banish the painful images conjured by the nightmare.

She was relieved, and closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath. Thank God! No need to pace tonight, no tears escaping, no one else alarmed or awakened to lose sleep over some idiotic dream . . . one of the lesser nightmares in my wonderful collection!

But she was tense. Too tense. It's making my shoulder hurt again. So much for getting any further sleep tonight. What have I managed so far? A couple hours? Well, with what John unknowingly granted to me this afternoon, it's better than many other nights. Maybe I should get up and read for a while. Or sort laundry. Or clean up George's lab.

John stepped forward. "Awake?" he asked, whispering.

She jerked upright, startled. "John?"

"Yeah. Listen, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering . . . Could we . . . I don't know . . . sit together on the balcony for a while?" he asked, feeling his way cautiously.

Bad dreams, John? Your brother again? With quick sympathy for him, and some relief for herself that she was not going to have to pass the rest of the night alone, she smiled up at him in the moonlit room. "Sure. Let me get my robe." She reached for her silk robe to don over the revealing white lace nightgown.

He grinned. "Don't bother just on my account."

Marguerite laughed at him, slipping her arms into the sleeves of the outer garment as she rose from her bed. "Self preservation, John, self preservation!"

His grin widened. "You don't trust me?" He offered his arm, gallantly. "I'll be a perfect gentleman, my dear. My word of honor."

Marguerite laid her hand on his arm. "Yeah, right," she snickered. "A perfect gentleman doesn't come into a lady's room in the middle of the night and invite her out."

John clapped a hand to his chest and sighed dramatically. "You cut me to the quick, my dear!"

Eyes dancing, she smiled as he escorted her from her room and up the stairs. "Nonsense, John. I just know you too well."

An hour later, she was sound asleep, curled at his side on the hammock Veronica kept hung on the east-facing balcony.

John nodded, satisfied that he had succeeded in relaxing her enough for her to fall asleep again, and closed his own eyes. He was pretty confident that she wouldn't have another nightmare, secured in his embrace like this.

*******************

Marguerite, as before, was alert before she opened her eyes.

John listened as she processed information.

His scent, soap and shaving cream . . . and gun oil, of course.

His strong arms around her, his long, lean body sheltering her from the morning breeze as they lay on the - what was this? Oh, yes, the hammock.

His heartbeat, strong and sure, beneath her cheek as her head was cushioned on his chest.

John.

John tightened his arms around her, wanting to ease her troubled emotions. "Good morning, m'lady," he said softly into her ear. "We finally slept together," he teased lightly, knowing humor would be her preferred way to handle tension.

Marguerite couldn't conceal the shiver caused by the delightful sensation, and tilted her face to his, accepting the brief, tender kiss he was waiting to give her. "Milord," she greeted him with mock affection, and a glimmer of challenge. "Don't get used to it."

He grinned, and drawled, "Au contraire, my dear! I intend to get very used to it, and I mean to see that you get used to it, as well!"

She gave him a disdainful sniff, and tried to move out of his arms.

John merely tugged her closer, knowing her heart was already racing and her body already tingling with stirring desires. "Not just yet, my love. Stay with me a little longer," he whispered tenderly.

John kept a tight reign on his own raging desire, and just held her. "Shh, just relax, Marguerite. Relax. Trust me," he whispered.

Summoning all her self-control, she brought forth a wicked smile that made him catch his own breath sharply. "Are you so sure you can trust me?" she purred, letting a predatory light show in her green eyes.

What might have happened was left undecided, as they were both startled by sudden sounds from the kitchen.

Veronica was starting breakfast.

John met Marguerite's eyes in disappointed resignation, to find amused resignation in her own expression. He touched his lips to hers once more, tenderly, then loosened his embrace. "Later," he whispered.

Marguerite slipped off the hammock, and straightened her robe, then ran one hand - her right hand - through her disheveled curls. She gave John a questioning look.

"Gorgeous!" he whispered his approval, brown eyes twinkling.

She made a face at him, then left the balcony to return to her own room.

Not many hours left to his "gift" now, he reflected, getting off the hammock a little stiffly. His own left arm was tingling, having fallen asleep with Marguerite's body atop it as he held her.

He grinned as he heard Marguerite choosing to don the purple silk blouse, because John had once told her it was his favorite. Who would ever have suspected that so much of what the contrary-seeming heiress did and said was done with John's interests at heart? Had to love the woman. She was incredible.

She was cautiously using her injured arm now, as she did her hair.

He kind of liked being able to tell what she was doing, and where she was, even though they were in different rooms.

He was going to miss this.

Now she was thinking about the day ahead, anticipating working with George on his experiment during the morning, then actually planning out how she would tease Ned about whatever story he was currently concocting in his journal this afternoon . . . and asking Veronica to help her with her turn at cooking tonight.

John grinned at her frustration.

She really was a lousy cook.

That was true, John realized. She did do fine cooking over a campfire when they were on the trail. None of them ever worried about eating anything Marguerite cooked when they were away from the tree house.

John was surprised to see her picturing her workshop cavern, where she had spent large amounts of time working on her gem stone collection before she had moved her collection here to the tree house when Roxton had built shelves in her bedroom to store her tools and stones. If he was gathering correctly from her memories, she had used the cavern to practice cooking as much as she had used it to work on her stones.

She hadn't had much opportunity to continue harmless practicing on her cooking since she stayed here now. She was thinking ruefully about how many eggs she had wasted trying to practice cooking secretly there, where the others didn't know about her efforts, and couldn't laugh at her - but most of all, wouldn't feel obligated to try to eat the results!

Even the raptors hadn't been interested in eating some of her efforts, he realized in amusement as she remembered raptors once actually FLEEING from a clearing after sniffing at the pile of burnt food stuff she had disposed of there. I had to bury the evidence of that failed attempt, instead of the raptors eating it as usual.

John laughed till tears rolled down his face, but knew this was not something he was ever going to be able to share with his fellow tree house dwellers.

Marguerite would never forgive him if he did.

She so sincerely wanted to cook well!

But the thought of those poor raptors - !

When he finally emerged from his room, her inquisitive look nearly set him off again, and the mirth in his brown eyes drew curious looks from all the others as well. But he kept silent as he joined them at the table for breakfast.

Veronica had been pleased to agree to help Marguerite with dinner, seeing the perfect opportunity to protect everyone's appetite by preventing the heiress from adding the wrong ingredients or burning something. Though, somehow, even when the others helped the raven-haired beauty, something always seemed to go wrong with something in the meal.

Everyone, including Marguerite, ate a hearty breakfast. John choked on an extra mouthful of his food when he heard Marguerite thinking that she knew they were all tucking away extra in preparation for eating sparingly tonight when she cooked.

Ned pounded on his back, and Finn jumped up to pour him more water.

Marguerite was wondering What happened? Now, if this was my cooking, I could understand him choking on it, but this is Veronica's. I didn't go near it. All I did was watch. It's delicious! What has gotten into this man today? He looks like he's going to explode!

He avoided everyone's eyes, so near to bursting out laughing again that he had to excuse himself and retreat back to his room. He flung himself onto his bed and covered his head with his pillow to muffle his guffaws of laughter.

She had been right! That was exactly why they were all eating extra helpings! They always did eat extra at other meals on days Marguerite was going to be making dinner, the big cooked meal, knowing they would not be able to stomach much of her food. Even Finn had quickly learned to tuck into meals more heavily when Marguerite's turn to cook came around, and that girl could eat things the rest of them could only gag at! John and Challenger had discussed it and decided it must have something to do with the scarcity of food, or the changes in food after the radiation, in her future world. At least she had never said anything to Marguerite about her cooking, simply eyeing it askance the first time she ate Marguerite's cooking, then giving the two men a knowing look. She had followed their example afterwards, and tactfully avoided confronting Marguerite. But John had never suspected Marguerite noticed it, let alone that she would react to it with such resigned acceptance.

Oh, but she was precious!

Life was never going to be dull with his Marguerite around!

********************

"Are you sure you're alright?"

He grinned good-naturedly. "Yes, Neddy-boy, I'm fine," he answered patiently, shifting his armload of firewood so he could elbow the elevator control.

Ned didn't look convinced, but let it drop. "The tree house is still standing," he noted instead, grinning. "I guess Challenger isn't working with anything explosive today."

John could have enlightened him, since he had been listening to Marguerite's thoughts all the while he and Ned had been out collecting and chopping more firewood to replenish the tree house's supply.

She had been kept hopping this morning. Not only had she been doing the assigned lab tasks George had asked of her to aid in his experiments to enhance their unreliable windmill power source, but she had been keeping an eye on George's secondary experiments as well. They were much more volatile in nature, and she had three times noticed dangerous reactions, and tossed the mixtures out the window John and Ned had finally installed in the lab for just such occasions as these.

This was why Marguerite worked in here with George. She had the capacity to stay alert, whereas the scientist tended to get so absorbed in one thing that he forgot the other. The tree house had suffered many a near miss, and quite a few lucky in-house explosions, before Marguerite had been drafted to become George's lab assistant. The others had figured her instinct for self-preservation would come in handy, forcing her to stay alert and hopefully giving them all a better chance of retaining the roof over their heads.

Of course, none of them had known that she actually liked the work and was perfectly capable of making serious contributions to it. George had discovered it quickly, and had made free use of her surprising skills and knowledge, but had never thought to share that discovery with the others. He'd soon grown comfortable with the idea of giving her work to do and knowing it would get done correctly without his supervision. He'd always suspected there was more to Marguerite than met the eye at first glance. He and Summerlee had both noticed that she had a surprisingly vast range of knowledge for a supposedly lazy woman. They had been harder to fool than the other members of the Expedition, since both men understood that anything the heiress might mention meant there was a foundational knowledge underlying it as well.

Only when they had fought the cobalt people had the others realized that Marguerite's geological knowledge really did go beyond her gemology and had a scientific benefit. After that, they had been more skeptical of her claims that she was reading Veronica's parents' books and journals, or Summerlee and Challenger's, purely because she was so bored.

But not until today had John realized how much she truly enjoyed discovering new things, and loved working with George Challenger. She really had a vast respect for George Challenger, and admiration for his work and genius. And his trust in her work meant a great deal to Marguerite.

Marguerite seemed to delight in devouring the learning of new things, the way some women devoured fashion magazines or novels. Nearly every train of thought had been focused on some aspect of things happening in George's lab that morning. This was the first time in her life that she had enjoyed the opportunity to expand her study from just general science to specific areas of science. It wasn't as easy as languages, and she was having to work at it, but it was satisfying to get hold of a new concept and learn how to apply it.

John didn't understand most of what she had been thinking about this morning, but he was proud of her that she did understand it.

He dropped his armload of wood into the bin, stepped back to let Ned add his to the pile, then grinned as the younger man headed right for the balcony, where Veronica and Finn were hanging laundry to dry over the rails. Ned was drawn to Veronica the same way he was drawn to Marguerite.

But he didn't think he should interrupt his lady just now. He could hear her thoughts as she monitored another of Challenger's volatile mixtures with some concern, and he didn't want to distract her. She was aware of the elevator rising, and behind her focus on George's bubbling brew she already knew Veronica and Finn had come back from doing the laundry before, so this must be Ned and John coming back from collecting fire wood.

She would be coming up from the lab as soon as she made sure this one wasn't going to blow the lab to smithereens. She had missed him, and was hoping for a chance to join him if he opted to cool off from the morning's exertions by going down to the pond for a swim. The window in George's lab unfortunately did not provide a much- needed flow of fresh air to the sometimes quite malodorous room. She would be glad of the breeze she could hear outside, as well as the opportunity to be alone with John.

John decided the pond would, indeed, be a good idea. He was very conscious that his twenty-four hour time with the gift of knowing what went on in Marguerite's mind was almost over now. He didn't want to miss a moment of it. It was going to seem lonely without her voice constantly in his mind.

He went to the kitchen and began gathering some fruit and dried raptor. A little picnic by the pond would make a nice way to spend the next couple hours.

She had thought about something yesterday that he wanted to follow up on; her reminder to herself that John wanted her to talk to him, as opposed to some other guy who had not wanted to hear anything she had to say. If he could convince her that she could talk to him about anything, any time, it would go a long way to opening avenues to further their relationship.

If he was to overcome her fear of hurting him with future disillusionment, then he had to get her to open up with her secrets.

He had to show her that there was nothing she could have done that would make him love her less.

Though he did admit to himself that he felt some trepidation about how angry he might be once he knew some of the things she had probably done in the past. Still, he couldn't conceive of anything that would cause him to stop loving her, and he'd imagined quite a lot of scenarios since he'd realized he had fallen irrevocably in love with this woman. Chances were, he had imagined far worse than she had actually experienced.

He heard her booted footsteps on the stairs as she came up from the lab, and turned to smile at her. "Hey, work all done?"

She ruthlessly banished the thoughts of things that would take weeks to complete, and smiled. "Yes, John. What's all this?" She looked at the bag he was packing with food and blankets, then back up to his face. You're not going away on a hunting trip, are you? Without me?

"Oh, I was thinking you might need a break from the lab. Care to join me down by the pond for a little picnic?" he asked with a boyish grin and a lifted brow.

Instantly her fear and loneliness were vanquished, and she smiled. "I'll get my hat and my gun." She spun away eagerly. John planned a picnic for us! Alone, together! Yes! Could this day get any better?!

"Sounds like a great idea! Can the rest of us come, too?"

"Yes, it's been a while since we had a family picnic," George agreed as he came up the steps, rolling down his sleeves.

Marguerite had skidded to a stop at Ned's words, and turned slowly to face the younger man and the scientist, masking her disappointment carefully. "That's will be fun." She tried to cheer herself up. It really has been a while since we had a family picnic. Finn has never had one with us, and she'll enjoy it. The others deserve a break, too. Don't be selfish, Marguerite. At least you know John meant it to be a time for just the two of you.

Disappointed himself, John none the less appreciated her tact. So he grinned, and called, "Hey, Veronica and Finn, we're going on a picnic. Coming?"

The young blondes came in from the balcony. Veronica had a sparkle in her blue eyes. "A picnic? Great idea! I'll help pack the bag."

"What's a picnic?" Finn wanted to know.

Challenger undertook to explain it to her.

John was pleased that Marguerite's disappointment was eased by the pleasure each of the others exhibited at the opportunity to share a picnic together. She joined in the preparations, and tossed John a grin. Figures! We're just fated never to have enough time alone together to get ourselves into trouble!

He grinned back, and managed to work it out that he walked beside her as the entire group moved toward the pond. He took her hand, and she didn't pull away. That in itself was progress, he pointed out to himself as he listened to his lady justify it by noting - mentally, of course, not aloud - that Ned was holding Veronica's hand, too, and no one was making any fuss about it.

They spread the blankets out on the pond shore, and sprawled informally on them, eating at leisure, then laying back under the pure blue sky and playing the game of identifying shapes in the clouds. Finn had never done that before either, and considered it pointless until Marguerite and Veronica got really silly about it and Finn started to laugh, too.

Then Ned got Veronica to join him for a walk around the pond's far side, on the pretext of asking her to come and identify a flowering shrub he had noticed over there the other day. George settled his hat over his eyes to take a nap. Finn decided to try to catch fish by using her crossbow, practicing her aim at downward angles and incidentally providing provender for the evening meal that she knew from past experience was the only thing Marguerite could cook quite well. And John invited Marguerite to take off her boots and join him in dangling her feet in the pond as they sat side by side.

She was remembering the many times he had followed her here, that first year on the Plateau, to guard her from predators as she bathed or swam. How difficult it was for me to accept that he just wanted to protect me, not control my every move. He's so different than any of the other men I've known. No matter how often I've provoked John, he has never given up on me. But even John must have a limit to his patience.

He took her hand, and smiled over at her. "Remember the first time I caught you bathing?" he teased.

She blushed. "You saved my life. That caimon would have eater me alive if you hadn't jumped into the river on top of it." It was the first time she had ever admitted it aloud to him. She should have admitted it sooner. It's taken me a long time to understand why a man would risk his life to save a rude stranger. How odd that after going my whole life without meeting any one who would do such a thing, I end up in a lost world with a whole group of them! Even Finn is learning.

"And then you saved mine. It would have eaten ME alive if you hadn't picked up my rifle and shot it." John pointed out, touched, and wanting to be fair.

Her eyes lit with laughter. How much he hated the idea that I had saved his life when he was trying to save mine! And then on top of that, I had to go and shoot those two ape men who nearly killed him. It was a good thing he saved my life during that cave in, or we might never have become friends after all.

That bloody cave in. Her amusement faded to pensive sadness.

John squeezed her hand gently. "Hey, penny for your thoughts?"

When she hesitated, he gently added, "Talk to me, Marguerite."

She looked into his warm brown eyes. What an incredible man you are, John Richard Roxton. You are so open, so honest with me . . . and you really want me to do the same with you. All right. We'll give it a try. She took a deep breath, then asked carefully, "Do you remember when the cave fell in on us? You said, when we got out of there, that greed had its own rewards. Did you mean that it was my fault?"

John was glad he was able to shake his head truthfully. Had this been preying on her mind all these years? He could see that it had, and regretted not admitting his realization sooner.

"No, Marguerite. I knew as soon as it happened that it hadn't been specifically your fault, or mine, that the cave in occurred," he assured her sincerely. "I actually talked with Summerlee about that very thing, worried that I had caused it by some incautious movement when I was climbing up the wall. Remember when you and he had noticed the instability of the formations? What was it you said about it?"

"Carbon based," she whispered, eyes clinging to his. What did Summerlee say?

"George overheard us discussing it, and both he and Arthur agreed that it was probably caused by the vibration of so many pair of feet at once that set off the cave in. I felt the same tremors before I fell; it was what made me lose my grip. That's why I looked over at you, afraid you would fall, too. That's why I saw the rocks about to fall on you, and was able to get to you in time."

Marguerite closed her eyes in relief, and was glad when John put his arm around her and hugged her gently. She leaned against him. "It wasn't me," she breathed, so glad that she had remembered correctly, and not just remembered what she wanted to remember instead of the truth.

"No, it wasn't your fault. I thought you knew that. Have you been worrying about that all this time?" he teased lightly. She nodded hesitantly against his shoulder, and he touched her cheek with the lightest of kisses. "Silly girl."

John tilted her chin up and studied her eyes. "What's still troubling you?" he coaxed patiently, trying to encourage her to keep opening up.

Marguerite searched his face. You were so angry with me, so often, back then. And I was such a shrew to you. If you didn't say it because you thought the cave in was my fault, then why would you have made such a comment? Well, there's only one way to really find out, isn't there? He's waiting . . . "What did you mean when you said that about my greed?"

John smiled tenderly at her. "Oh, that. Do you remember what you had said when we got out of the cave alive?"

She shook her head after a moment of reflection.

"We barely made it out of there with our lives, and your first comment was to mourn all those jewels laying in there, out of reach forever under the cave in. I was thinking what a shame it was that you were so consumed with greed that you could only think of that, instead of being thankful that we were all alive. The reward your greed brought you was disappointment, instead of delight in life. That's what I meant, Marguerite."

John interrupted her attempt to evaluate it by adding, "I didn't bother explaining that any further to you that day, my dear, because I could see that you wouldn't understand what I meant. You've come a long way since then. I think today you'd be glad we were all alive, first - then regret the jewels later!"

Marguerite laughed at his teasing, and admitted to him that he was probably right. "I guess I'll always love beautiful stones," she sighed, not able to envision a time when she wouldn't value the security and prestige garnered by having them.

He seized the chance to ask another question. "Why is that, Marguerite? Why do you value material things so much? Don't you have enough wealth? I know you probably have a couple million in diamonds alone."

She didn't want to ruin this rapport she was experiencing with him, and considered her reply carefully instead of rejecting an answer outright, which pleased John immensely. The time of hearing her thoughts was rapidly drawing to a close now, but he could still hear the many thought trails as she sorted through the memories that were related to this issue.

She knew exactly why she needed the wealth, but how could she explain to John her determination never again to allow herself to be at the mercy of people who could use her as she had been used in the past?

Marguerite reigned in her bitter memories with a shudder, and focused on John's face. He was watching her with such concern in his expressive face, almost as if he was somehow aware of her demons.

Marguerite summoned a hint of a smile for John, to reassure him. He was still patiently waiting for her answer. This would have to be a very edited version of her reasons, of course.

But she would be as truthful as she could without worrying John unnecessarily about her past. He would be hurt if he knew that she had been through so much, and there was nothing he could do about her past. Carefully, she began.

John listened attentively, careful not to show how heartsick he was at what he had learned. She had endured so much, in the name of survival! She was right that it hurt him to know even a bit of what it had been like for this delicate, beautiful woman. Yet she had risen above it, and managed to use those very survival skills to benefit others in the war.

"I won't trouble you with details, but making ends meet before the war was challenging," she was saying to him. "Life after I finished school wasn't easy. Suffice it to say that I thought, at the time, that marriage would provide security. That didn't quite work out," she deliberately glossed over the pain and disillusionment of discovering unfaithfulness, debts, beatings, and abandonment with that simple understatement, and continued, "And I decided it was better to rely on cold hard cash. You already know I was a thief . . ."

"An international jewel thief wanted on five continents," he interjected dryly, keeping his tone light instead of condemning. After all, he'd accepted the truth about this fact of her life quite some time ago now.

"Yes, I was a very GOOD thief," she quipped, appreciating his effort to play along. "Well, I made quite a few enemies in those days, and even more during the war when those same skills came in quite handy. Unfortunately, my efforts during the war were not often lucrative, and then chasing around the world looking for some clue to my heritage required quite a bit of resources. So when I heard about Challenger's Expedition to this plateau - what?"

John had suddenly looked as if he was recalling something. "This is what I was going to ask you about yesterday, the thing you mentioned that day you told us about why you had really come to the plateau. I wasn't actually going to ask you anything about your parents yesterday. What I was going to ask about was the comment you made about having spent your last pound to fund the Expedition."

Non-pulsed, she blinked. "I told you that?" She didn't remember having said that - but then, she had been pretty upset, and hadn't been thinking very straight at the moment.

And you, John, looking at me with such disdain . . . almost as much as you did when we first started on the Expedition. It hurt so very much to believe I had been right, that my past was going to cost me any future we might have had. It would have been easy, in the midst of all that, to blurt out that I risked everything to come along on this trip, to find my name.

"Well, it was true," she admitted now. "I did spend every pound. I also borrowed heavily. And since we've been gone so long, there's going to be quite a pile of interest due by the time we make it back." Especially since no reputable source would lend money to a mere woman for an expedition half the world thought was futile. I ended up going to some contacts who will be rather vindictive about the fact that I was not entirely honest about the security I offered in exchange for the loans.

John nodded thoughtfully. "So that's why wealth is so important, then. For your personal security, and to pay for the Expedition."

Marguerite nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. That wasn't so bad. He seems to understand, and he's not mad at me, or disgusted with me, or scolding me. Maybe this talking stuff isn't such a bad idea.

"I owe you an apology, Marguerite," he offered, startling her with his regret-filled expression. He met her eyes ruefully, "I've been quite a pompous fool, and have taken a lot for granted. I assumed it was just greed, you see, that you just couldn't get enough to satisfy you."

She had to grin. "Well, I don't think I'll ever be a woman who could have enough jewels to satisfy her," she replied, tongue in cheek. "So you weren't that far wrong, John. What can I say? I love to surround myself with beautiful things."

John waited to hear the kinds of beautiful things that she loved to surround herself with, though he already knew about quite a few of them. Silks, vivid colors, classical music, jewels . . .

Wait.

No more voice in his mind.

It was over.

"John?"

He pulled his attention back to her questioning eyes. "Sorry. Just thinking about the beautiful things I would like to surround you with, my dear," he grinned. He had recovered his ground nicely, he decided as her eyes lit up.

Marguerite leaned against him comfortably. "Really? Do tell," she purred, willing to listen to his ideas about how to surround her with luxuries.

Lord John Roxton spent the next half hour indulging Marguerite with a creative list of things he could envision giving to her for her comfort, pleasure or amusement. He kept back only one item, knowing she wasn't ready yet to hear this one, but sure that it was the one gift he would one day see her accept; his unconditional love.

It would require all his patience to continue to draw her out, about both her past life, and about her present thoughts and feelings. But he could do it, and she was worth the time and effort.

And there was still the little matter of her singing to clear up with everyone else, and further exploring her amazing gifts as the Chosen One, and watching her learn to cook, and seeing her learn to believe in family and love.

Some day, a very, very long time from now, when they were safely off the plateau, and Marguerite was his wife - and they had two or three cooks, so that she would never have to go near a kitchen - he would tell Marguerite about this twenty four hours when he had been able to hear her thoughts. Then he would explain what had made him laugh so hard this morning. By then, it would be so long ago that she would be able to laugh at it, too.

For today, he was very thankful to a certain little old lady for her gift that had allowed him to find out just what went on in Marguerite's mind.

********************

Across the pond, Ned Malone knocked Veronica's arm down as she started to aim her knife at a rabbit munching peacefully on clover nearby. "No!" he said, the loudness of his protest startling the large rabbit into hopping away.

Veronica glared at him. "That would have made a marvelous rabbit stew!"

"It was too cute to kill, and we have enough meat right now. See, Finn's been killing fish left and right over there," the tender-hearted reporter pointed to where Finn was taking yet another speckled fish from one of her steel darts and placing it beside the first twelve she had already "speared".

The jungle-raised blonde was not happy with his action. "It also would have been a good hide to replace material wearing off my boots!" she pointed out in irritation, hands on her shapely hips. "Do I tell you how to write in your journals?!"

"No, but then that makes sense. You don't know anything about writing. I, however," he pointed out reasonably, "Have learned a couple things about hunting since coming here, don't you think?"

That didn't seem to resolve her ire. "Are you trying to tell me you think you know better than I do how to survive here now that you've been here, what, a whole three years?" her voice was rising.

"Uh, no . . ."

"MEN!" Veronica stormed away, and joined Finn on the pond bank.

Malone looked after her in chagrined bewilderment. "I wish I could figure out what goes on in her mind!" he growled to himself.

Behind a nearby tree, a little old lady clad in a curiously colored garment, standing only about three feet high, giggled. "As you wish . . ."