Disclaimer: Ian Howe, Riley Poole, Agent Sadusky, Patrick Henry Gates, Benjamin Franklin Gates and Abigail Chase Gates do not belong to me. . .they belong to Disney and Jerry Bruckheimer. However, Cameron McDowell, Agent Danae Marini, Special Agent Broceliande Carter, Jocelyn Ramsey, Annie Ramsey-Howe, and anyone else who didn't appear in National Treasure DO belong to me. As ever, I don't mind if you borrow 'em, but ask first, give credit where credit is due, and return them intact (they don't have to be unscathed, but intact and alive).

Heart Bound in Chains

Prologue

Catalysts

When she thought about it, years later, it seemed to her that her life began the night it almost ended. Perhaps it was better that way. . .perhaps it should be far easier to remember the pleasure she found at the hands of her blond-haired, green eyed rescuer than the terror caused by the attack in the city. She was twenty years old that night, a child in some ways. No one else caused her such fear before. And no one else gave her such pleasure.

Even now, she couldn't be sure if the pleasure was from his touch, or from the knowledge that a man such as him could want her. Her, of all people! They were together for three years, and he had only to look at her to turn her knees to water. His eyes would darken, and her heart would skip a beat, seeing the passion, the desire there. For her. Not for the most beautiful or the smartest girls in the city, but for her.

He would advance toward her, his eyes never leaving her face. And his expression would cause an ache to begin between her legs, spreading up into her middle. She would wrap her arms around her waist, an unconsciously protective gesture that was totally unnecessary. This man would never hurt her. Then he would kiss her, pinning her to the wall. His mouth hot and demanding on her own. It terrified her, such passion. Such want.

It exhilarated her, that passion, that want. She, who was terrified that no one would ever feel that way about her. Quiet little Jocelyn. Jocelyn, who was improperly named. Until she met him. It amazed her, that this extraordinary man could need her so. As if she possessed something that was necessary to him. To his well being, to his very sanity. Because when they lay in bed together, arching and writhing under each other's weight, there was desperation in him, a want that only she could fill. She didn't know how she did it. It was just. . .there.

Sometimes, he would even weep and her arms would wind around him, drawing his head to rest against her chest. He never seemed to mind that she had small breasts. It never stopped him from worshipping those small mounds as he did the rest of her body. And he worshipped her body, with such tenderness, such reverence, it spoiled her for many other men. How could she find pleasure and joy in coupling again, after such a man?

He taught her that she was beautiful, that her imperfections and her flaws made her beautiful. She shivered, whenever she remembered the feel of his wine trickling down her body. And the feel of his tongue against her skin as he lapped it up. It sent a jolt through her system. . .that touch and his eyes never breaking contact with hers. It was the one thing he insisted on. . .he wanted her to look at him when he touched her.

That played a part in his seduction of her. And he did seduce her. He seduced her with his smile, with his warmth, with his touch. He seduced her by believing in her. And to a girl like Jocelyn, that was more seductive than even his touch. He believed in her. He believed she could do anything in the world, and that remained with her long after they parted. It wasn't meant to last, not the two of them. That's what he kept telling her.

But she was young, only twenty-three when it came time to say good-bye. Young, and she saw no reason to believe they couldn't continue to love each other. He was ten years older than she was, but that was hardly important. . .was it? She loved him. And she knew he loved her. But as the song said, sometimes love wasn't enough. He saw what she couldn't, not right then. He saw, and he sent her home to the US.

Quite apart from missing him desperately, her greatest regret was that he didn't see his daughter for such a long time after she was born. Seven months pregnant when he sent her home, he told her many times that she was even more beautiful with child. Many times, in those weeks before their child was born, she could feel the ghost of his hand moving in slow, possessive circles on her rounded belly. In those months after he sent her home, she could almost see him lying beside her, a slight smile on his lips as he gazed down at her.

Years later, he returned to her life. By this time, her daughter was five years old, and her resemblance to her father sometimes took her breath away. Two weeks after their daughter's birthday, she received a call from him. He was in the States, in South Carolina. He wanted to set up a meeting, he wanted to see her again. She walked into the restaurant chosen for their meeting place, their daughter holding her hand tightly. And the father fell to his knees, the first time he saw that precious little girl. He saw himself in that little girl. She had red hair, red hair and dark green eyes. She was a beautiful child, and her mother would have willingly died for her. Both of her parents would have.

And in a way, her father did die for her. Wishing to protect his child, he introduced Jocelyn to his younger brother and allowed nature to take its course. In his brother, she found the healing she so desperately sought. Her lover knew this. Then again, he was a smart man. She was happy, at least for a time. The quiet, painfully shy little girl who believed no one would ever love her, found two extraordinary men.

So, when an old enemy returned to destroy her life, taking her precious child and the new man in her life, there was only one person who could help her make things right. That man's older brother, the father of her child, her first love. . .the criminal mastermind, Ian Howe.