Irene had not imagined coming across Charles Smith again. Of course she'd thought of him countless times since she'd left him in the middle of the night. Had she considered the possibility of running into him again, she would've expected to be faced with his anger. She would understand it, but she'd find it more forgiving than nonchalance on his part. What she hadn't foreseen was...this.

He'd begun their reunion guarded, and silent. Yet, his eyes had burned when they'd met hers. She'd at first misinterpreted that heat as anger, not passion. There was no mistaking it now.

He kissed her with brutal affection, holding her tight, as his mouth moved over hers desperately. She'd experienced Charles as a gentle lover, a giving partner, but this unrestrained passion was new, nearly overwhelming her as his hands roamed over her like he couldn't help himself.

She gasped, hardly able to suck in a breath as his mouth relentlessly kept hers busy. It had been so long since he'd last touched her, yet he awakened her body as if there had been no time away between them. It had been far too long since she'd taken pleasure in her own hands and this was everything. She'd missed holding him so near, breathing in his woodsy, leather scent.

Irene was helpless to this attack on her senses. She was only able to cling to his shoulders and then his fervor went further. He cupped her buttocks, lifted her a moment before planting her on the table previously at her back. He stepped between her legs, never breaking contact with their lips.

His mouth drifted down her neck and he pressed against her. She wanted to feel his naked chest, his torso, everything. She whimpered, swept away in her want as it matched his. There needed to be less clothing between them. She needed him, to feel him with no barriers between their skin.

As if he sensed her feverish yearning, Charles slipped his hands down her legs, hiking up her skirts. She clambered to lift them too and he switched to loosening his own trousers.

Not wasting another moment, Charles returned to his position between her legs. He steadied her with an arm braced at her back. She clutched his shoulders, hardly able to await him.

Charles lifted his gaze to hers, and he paused briefly, though it felt like an eternity. They stared at one another a moment, their breath mingling together, his dark eyes heady and eager, but still remarkably clear should she wish to object to going any further.

But there would be no rejections today. She was burning for him, and nodded to encourage him to continue.

He grasped her hips, pulled her closer, and sunk into her. She threw back her head as he moved, rapturous sensations eclipsing her over and over.

She raked her fingers through his hair as he thrust, losing control and teeming with a hunger for more, and more. More of him, of Charles taking his claim of her.

"Charles," she cried out, near breathless from the excess of pleasure convulsing through her body.

All too soon, she tensed, euphoria overtaking her in a magnitude she'd never known before. She moaned when she reached her cusp, all tension ebbing into an undiluted satisfaction. Seconds later, Charles joined her, reaching his own pleasure. He groaned, slowing his pace, and shuddered as he partially collapsed over her.

All the crackling energy between them abated, their sudden and heated appetites filled. Irene stroked a hand over Charles' dark hair as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck. She held him, listening as he caught his breath, appreciating the moment for what it was: a reunion of spirit, of matching pleasure, of shared relief, and contentment at having each other back.

After a few minutes, Charles tightened his embrace of her. "Don't..." he said in a ragged breath, "...don't leave again."

His pained tone wrenched at Irene's heart. She'd meant to keep Charles out of harm's way, but now she feared she may have caused him irreparable damage in her last misguided decision involving him. Why had she thought for a moment this intense, impassioned man would move on from her? Would forget her? He was hardly a fleeting enjoyment for her, so why had she thought he considered her a simple passing fancy either?

More than ever, Irene realized what a fool she'd been these past few years. Tears sprung to her eyes as she thought of all the time they'd lost between them, a couple of years that they could have experienced with each other instead of apart. Instead, she'd allowed her distress at the time direct her future. No longer were those fears in control of her life.

Irene hugged Charles tightly. "I will never leave you again."

She would need to make this time up to him. He'd offered to remain by her side once before, and it seemed he hadn't lost any of his conviction. She didn't carry the same worries she once had, only regrets she hadn't stayed faithful to her vow to trust him.

He lifted his head and kissed her forehead lovingly before standing up straight. She fixed her skirts while he tucked his shirt into his trousers. As she adjusted her blouse, Irene felt a dark cloud moving away from her subconscious.

The guilt that once ate at her daily for leaving Charles without a word was alleviating, as easily as if he had lifted that burden from her himself. She had no illusions that they still had some things to work out, despite the tempestuous moment that had just occurred between them. But she was feeling better for it already.

She went behind the counter and removed a bottle of cider from the top shelf. She found a corkscrew and popped the cork. She took a few sips and then returned to Charles, offering it to him.

Without desire clouding her anxiety, it was difficult to face the past, but she would try to discuss it, to fully mend the trust between them.

In the quiet of the shop, Irene took a deep breath and admitted to him, "I shouldn't have left you, Charles."

He set the bottle down, his eyes never leaving her. He watched her, in a perceptive way she hadn't forgotten. "Then why did you?"

She swallowed, forcing herself to face him. "I was afraid you would be in danger if you stayed by my side, and I meant to protect you from Hahn."

He remained watchful as he asked, "And who you really are?"

Did he…? She stilled before shakily pressing a hand to her abdomen as her stomach curdled. "You...you know?"

Charles was never one to mince words and he made no exception when he answered her now. "You're Princess Isabeau of Luxembourg."

"Oh." She had to rest a hand on the table beside her, to steady herself. He did know. She hadn't heard that name directed at her since she was a girl. Neither Madame nor Josie had used it, in order to keep her secret. Charles using it now collided her life as Irene with that of the little girl she once was.

Unwillingly, old uncertainties arose, along with instincts she relied upon when she'd needed to flee. She remembered the vow she made to him only minutes ago and tamped down her doubts as best she could. This was Charles. She could trust him. She should have always trusted him.

She reached out to touch his arm, wanting to convey how much she needed his forgiveness. "I should have told you in the first place."

He didn't react to her touch, but neither did he pull away. His eyes were steel. "Then why didn't you?"

"I don't know." She squeezed her eyes shut, damning herself for creating this wedge between them. She tried to recall exactly what was going on in her mind that night. "Some stupid part of me thought it was for the best if you didn't get involved with me further. I didn't want to bring any danger your way."

"So you left."

"So I left," she conceded, sighing and reopening her eyes.

Charles dropped his chin to his chest, sinking into thought. She wanted to plead with him to forgive her, but she allowed him his peace to consider her actions and to hopefully find her worthy again. She wouldn't interfere with a fair appraisal of his judgment.

When he lifted his head again, he asked, "Where did you go?"

Irene released a breath that had been tightening her chest. She told him honestly, "I had no particular place in mind. From Annesburg, I rode the train until the end of the line. I didn't know where I was going. I believed the further you were from me, the safer you'd be."

"I could have protected you."

Despite her wanting his acceptance, Irene couldn't help pointing out, "There were already bounty hunters on our trail."

"That's...mostly true. But you've been safe since that day?"

"Yes." She'd taken a few jobs to survive, but nothing had stuck permanently until she'd been hired on as the second baker for Mrs. Wilson here in Blackwater. "Hahn has yet to catch up with me at least. I haven't seen nor heard from him since we left Saint Denis thankfully."

Charles asked, "And your brother?"

She crossed her arms. "I've yet to meet him again since I was a girl. Wilhelm would rather order his henchmen around from the safety of his manors. I can't say I know much about my brother, but I do know for certain he doesn't tend to get his hands dirty."

Charles seemed to contemplate her words for a few moments before he asked next, "What happened to the ring that was the cause of you leaving Saint Denis in the first place?"

"I still have it. I don't intend on giving it up."

"Why is it so important?"

Charles had figured out mostly everything at this point so Irene had no reason to withhold any information. "It's part of a collection that only a royal family member of Luxembourg would have. So, naturally, my brother wants it back."

"How did he know you had it?"

She was somewhat surprised he had to ask. "Because I was wearing it the day I fell off the carriage. He must not have realized it until later, when it wasn't found among the belongings within his possession." She sighed. "Although, I must say, some days I'm tempted to send the ring back, and be done with it."

Charles nodded silently.

"But then I remember the fiasco in Van Horn when I used to live there. I don't know my brother's true intentions towards me, should Hahn manage to secure the ring. I can't say if he means to kill me after, or he's merely driven by greed and retrieval of the ring would be enough to stave his hunt." She finished bitterly, "Once Wilhelm has what he wants from me, will there be any reason for him not to throw me out of another carriage?"

"Hmm..." Charles responded, his forehead wrinkled in thought.

"Why are you being so reasonable?" Irene asked suddenly, unable to help herself. After all, she had lied to him, left him without a word and had disappeared. "Doesn't it bother you that I'm not who you thought I was?"

Charles eyed her, lifting a brow. "Do you...want it to bother me?"

"Well, no, of course not," she denied, growing flustered. "But you're taking the notion that I am of royal blood remarkably well."

He chuckled a little and the tension in the room swept away. "I have had time to give it some deep thought."

Guilt ate at her again. "How did you figure it out?"

"I didn't. At least, not on my own," he admitted. "The bounty hunter who was on our trail in Van Horn is a friend of mine. She showed me your missing persons poster and put it together. It wasn't easy to accept at first."

"Oh." Charles had known her secret for so long by now. She might as well have confessed everything that night and seen his reaction in person. She tensed up at what else he'd told her. "You're friends with bounty hunters?"

"One or two." He noticed her reaction. "They're not the worst of my associations."

She frowned and eyed him strangely. "Who else are you associated with?"

"I didn't lead so mundane a life up until I lived in Saint Denis. For a long time, I had to steal to survive. It was impossible to find anyone who would hire me. Most wouldn't overlook the color of my skin or the nature of my upbringing."

Her heart lurched for him, for what he'd had to suffer from the hands of the ignorant. The merits he brought to the table surpassed most men, but he'd had to fight to gain the esteem of most people. Charles had to prove himself even to her former co-workers at the Café Belle Helene too.

Charles grew reflective. "But that didn't matter in the Van der Linde gang."

Van der Linde. The name sounded vaguely familiar. "Weren't they causing trouble in Saint Denis a few years ago?"

"Heaps of trouble, in fact. With the local law, Angelo Bronte, and the federal government."

She did remember the stories around Angelo Bronte's death. While the police chief claimed it was a random attack done by outsiders, the rumors had been that he'd suffered a coup from within his own enterprise, that his second-in-command Guido Marteli had schemed against him to gain power. Others had claimed it had been an assassination ordered by Mayor Henri Lemieux, which would explain why he fled Saint Denis soon after.

There were a few months during that time where Irene only went from home to work and nowhere in between. The streets had grown dangerous to travel. Every day there had been something new: the trolley station held up, random citizens threatened, Bronte murdered, the mayor fleeing the city, and the largest bank in Lemoyne being robbed and swarmed by federal agents.

The events were all the more remarkable in that they'd all occurred in the same time frame. "That turmoil in the summer of 1899 was you?"

"Not only me. But, yes," he told her in all seriousness. "We've done all sorts of things. I won't lie. I have blood on my hands. It took me too long to want to change."

She asked carefully, "So you're not still in this gang?"

"No. We've disbanded. I'm working on a farm now. Beecher's Hope. It's owned by a good friend of mine. We're trying to start over."

Irene was relieved to hear it. "That's what you've been doing lately? How long have you been in town?"

She'd heard that shack and the land surrounding it had been purchased. She'd even caught sight of the scarred man riding through town who had bought it. That man and the lumber he kept sending out there were all anyone talked about in town. Most had concluded he must have a lot of money and ambition to want to turn that empty field into anything worthwhile. How long had Charles been so close to her and she'd had no idea?

"Only a month or so."

She had to stop herself from asking if he'd discovered she was in Blackwater sooner than today. She didn't want to know if he'd hesitated in making contact. She wouldn't have blamed him if he'd chosen to turn on his heel and walk away when she recognized him in the street.

"Speaking of," Charles glanced out the window. "The guys are probably wondering where I am. I should get back before the sun sets."

"Oh." Now that he was back, she didn't want to be separated from him.

He stepped up to her and kissed her warmly, heating her up again. "Can I come by tomorrow?"

She had to swallow in order to speak, and her stomach fluttered. "Of course."

Irene smoothed down her skirt, checked her hair, which she would have to pin up again before she re-opened the store. In the meantime, she went to the door and unlocked it. Charles stepped outside and whistled for his horse.

He paused next to her in the doorway. He reached over and touched her cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, Irene?"

He asked it rather than stated it, as if he needed her confirmation. His eyes searched hers, and they revealed a little bit of trepidation. She hadn't fully regained his trust yet. But she meant to do so.

She leaned into him and said firmly, "You will."

He kissed her again, quickly, and then moved to the sidewalk where his horse was coming up. She leaned against the doorway watching him, but straightened up again as she caught sight of his horse.

Her mouth dropped open. "Is that Falmouth?"

"Yes." He smiled.

Her feet were moving before she realized what she was doing. She ran up to Falmouth and threw her arms around her neck, burying her face in her auburn mane.

She was in true shock at this new revelation. "I-I thought she had been lost."

"My friend—the bounty hunter—found her in the woods before she came to any harm." Charles patted her. "I can leave her here if you want."

Irene held Falmouth tightly for a moment, before Falmouth shook her head. Irene stepped back, studying her beautiful Nokota, how shiny her coat was and how well she'd been taken care of.

She said softly, "I think she belongs to you now, Charles."

Charles stole one last kiss, promising, "I'll see you soon." He mounted Falmouth, turned her around and left.

Irene watched his departure until he disappeared up the hill north of Blackwater. She re-entered the bakery and then leaned against the front door, her mind swirling at this exciting and unexpected afternoon.

Her eyes strayed to the eagle feather on the counter. She walked over to it and picked it up, examining the golden color, but not really seeing it.

She remembered then what she had been doing just before her day had been turned upside down for the better. She'd been brushing it across her lips and making a wish.

Charles.

XXXXXXXXX

Charles visited her the next three nights. Somehow, he always managed to time his arrivals at the bakery just as she was closing up the shop. At the end of the week, her and Charles had fallen into a natural routine. She would work until dinner, Charles with Falmouth would pick her up, and they'd spend every evening together at the shack she was renting, rediscovering one another, but this time with leisure. In the mornings, he'd wake her with kisses before returning to Beecher's Hope to work on the farm.

However, it didn't pass her notice that Charles had quite a few new scars on his body, particularly his fists, arms, chest, and face. She made two attempts to ask him about them, but each time he led the conversation elsewhere. She couldn't find a way to bring it up to him again. It left her confused that he'd be so evasive, but she decided to bide her time in pressing him. A part of her wasn't ready to ask him outright, having withheld so much from him on her part. She didn't want to cause strife between them when they'd started getting close again.

In between their bouts of love-making, he told her what had been occupying his time. How he had come to Blackwater on behalf of a friend. They were building a house and a barn at Beecher's Hope. He seemed content with the work, much more so than when he'd been at the docks in Saint Denis. She was truly happy for him.

She'd found her own calling at the bakery. She'd thought when she first began working with Mrs. Wilson that she was merely lucky with her timing. But the baking ended up coming naturally to Irene. It didn't take her long to figure out why. While Josie had shown her how to serve customers at her tavern, before that Madame had taught Irene how to cook and bake.

Irene hadn't fully realized how much she enjoyed baking sweet cakes, breads and candies until she was engulfed in doing it daily. The skill had come naturally to her. Irene had always believed it was only Madame who had had a dream of running a bakery. But Irene now shared in that dream as well. Maybe she always did and only now realized it. Perhaps Mrs. Wilson had been more perceptive in her hiring than Irene had originally given her credit for.

One afternoon, Charles surprised her by coming by the bakery at the tail end of the morning. As she wasn't expecting him, she had immersed herself in bread-baking, up to her elbows in flour and dough.

The shop was empty and Charles came around the counter to hug her from behind and kiss her cheek. "Irene."

"Well, hello, sweetie,"' she greeted, leaning against him, but keeping her arms outstretched so she didn't touch him. "Careful. I don't want to get any flour on you."

"It doesn't matter," he murmured in her ear, arms wrapped around her waist.

"In that case…" She turned and faced him, circling her arms around his neck. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I didn't expect to see you until later."

"We finished the barn," he told her, some pride in his tone.

She tilted her head. "So quickly?"

"Well..." He shrugged. "Having a crew made a difference."

"That's wonderful."

"John's back and we plan on celebrating tonight." His mouth turned downward. "I've been wanting you to come to the farm and meet John and Uncle, but tonight…"

"Might turn rowdy?" She chuckled. "I don't take any offense, Charles. It wouldn't be the first time I've been witness to men sinking into their drinks. However, I can meet your friends when everyone's sober."

He loosed a half smile which broke apart his somber expression. "Then you may never meet Uncle."

Irene returned his smile and kissed him lightly. She encouraged, "You three have fun tonight. You've earned it."

He nodded and then his tone shifted. "Listen, I've been thinking about your situation."

"Oh?" She quirked a brow, still feeling playful. "Which situation is that?"

"With your brother."

She frowned, instantly subdued. "How do you mean?"

"I think you should contact your brother. Agree to meet with him for a talk, but on your own terms."

"What?" She shook her head and pulled away, boggled at his suggestion. "Charles, no, I can't do that."

"Why not?"

The very notion flustered her. She turned her back to him and returned to kneading her dough. "I—he's the Duke of Luxembourg. He could have me killed."

Charles moved to her side, insisting, "But he hasn't. And he's found you before."

"Hahn's found me," she argued, "but I managed to get away each time."

"Irene, do you want to run the rest of your life?"

"No." She furrowed her brow, still not looking his direction. She could feel his gaze locked onto her. "But I don't see how else it can be."

He explained with patience, "I want you to be able to spend your days not looking over your shoulder."

"It's been fine here."

"But for how long?" he asked pointedly. "Do you really think he's going to stop unless you put an end to it in some way?"

She fell silent, not able to look at him.

Charles grasped her chin lightly and turned her to face him. He told her earnestly, "I believe this is the way, Irene. We meet him directly and resolve it. I can be there with you and we can finish this."

Charles kissed her, and she was helpless to resist. She felt she could do anything when he kissed her with all of his reassurances. "I have to get back to the ranch. But I'll see you tomorrow night."

She nodded, unable to answer him. She continued with kneading her dough well after what was necessary, deeply distracted by what Charles had suggested.

She'd been avoiding Hahn all her life, to the best of her ability. By extension, that included her brother. But now Charles had her wondering if some kind of reconciliation was possible.

She'd never considered facing Wilhelm. Hahn had always been the one to carry out her brother's orders, and they had always been in a threatening manner. She had no reason to believe Wilhelm wanted it any other way.

Yet, denial of her royal lineage had only gotten her so far. The possibility of other outcomes kept coming to surface throughout the evening. Would her brother come to America? Could she risk it?

But she had Charles by her side again, and she trusted him with her life. With the right stipulations, and Charles with her, maybe it was possible. Charles wanted her to be able to live free, and she trusted his judgment. After much contemplation that night, Irene rose early the next morning and set her mind on writing a letter.