And as they rode steadily along, their horses beginning to stumble by then, she heard the sound of hooves in the distance. There was no mistaking it, and she turned to the boy beside her. He had heard it too, and he looked at her with wild frightened eyes, ready to bolt and ride hell-for-leather in any direction.
Stay still, she said harshly to him, grabbing his reins with one hand, and pulling his horse sharply into the deeper brush alongside her own. It was even darker there, and she knew their horses would give them away, but perhaps if the other horses were far enough away, they wouldn't find them. There was nothing she could do but pray, and she was as frightened as Will, but she knew she couldn't show it. She knew full well it was her fault they were lost, and she was sorry to have gotten him into this mess, but there wasn't a great deal she could do now to save them.
The sound of hoofbeats grew stronger very quickly, and their horses danced but made no sound, their eyes almost as frightened as the boy's were, and then in a rush of horses and men, she saw them. There must have been a dozen of them, Indians, riding hard through the forest, as though it were broad daylight. They must have known the trail like their own hands, but as soon as they hurried past, one of the men called out sharply and they stopped within twenty yards, their horses dancing wildly. She was not yet sure if they had seen them, and she wished that she and Will could dismount and flee, but she didn't dare, and she was sure that these men would find them. They were far too at home in the forest. She put a finger to her lips as she looked at the boy in the darkness and he nodded. The Indians they had seen were riding slowly back toward them, in single file, glancing to either side. They were almost upon them, and the urge to scream was overpowering, but with every ounce of will she had, she forced herself not to, instead she dug a hand into the young private's arm, and wished she dared to close her eyes so she would not see them kill her, but she couldn't. Instead, she watched wide-eyed and terrified as the Indians rode toward them, she could see the snowshoes tied to their saddles, now they were so close. They stopped on the trail not ten feet from them, as one of the men spoke, the others halted, and he rode slowly toward them. He rode swift and straight until he was barely more than an arm's length from diem, and Sarah could feel the hair on her arms and the back of her neck rise as their eyes met in the darkness. She knew him now. There was no escaping him this time. She knew that this time he would not let her flee him. He was the leader of the Iroquois she had seen at the garrison. She did not know his name, but she did not need to. She kept her hand on the boy's arm, but her eyes never wavered from the warrior's, and there was no expression in his eyes whatsoever. The men behind him sat very still as their horses pawed the ground. They were not sure what was happening, and she did not think he would protect her from diem. She was prepared to the at his hands, but not to beg. It no longer mattered to her. But she was prepared to bargain for the boy's life. He still had long years before him, if he was lucky.
The warrior looked as fierce as he had before, and when he spoke to her, she trembled. I told you, you did not belong here, he said angrily. You do not know this place. You are not safe here.
I know that, she said in a voice that was barely more than a croak in her dry throat, but her eyes never wavered, and she sat very straight in her saddle. He saw that the boy next to her was crying, but paid no attention to him. I apologize for coming here. It is your land, not mine. I only wanted to see it, she said, trying to sound calmer than she felt, but sure that he did not give a damn about her explanations, and then she did what she knew she had to do for the boy's sake. Let the boy go, she said, he will do no harm. He is very young, she said in a voice that sounded suddenly stronger as the warrior's eyes looked deep into hers. If she had reached out to him, she could have touched him.
And you? You will sacrifice yourself for him? His English was very sophisticated, and it was obvious that he had lived and studied with the white man. But his face, his hair, his dress, his fierce aura proclaimed his proud heritage as he glared at her in open anger. Why do I not save you, and kill him? he asked, demanding an explanation from her she could not give him.
It is my fault we are here. She wished that she knew his name but perhaps it didn't matter to him. The warrior and the woman sat locked together silently, their eyes never leaving each other's, and then he backed his horse slowly away. She wasn't sure what he was going to do, but it was as though she could breathe a little better with him not quite so close to her, and he made no move to pull her or Will off their horses, though she saw both of his muskets very clearly.
The colonel is very worried about you, he said angrily, still staring at her. There have been Mohawk here recently. You could start a war with your stupidity, he said, barking at her as his horse danced. You do not know what you are doing. The Indians need peace, not trouble caused by fools. There are already enough of those here. She nodded silently, moved by what he said, and then he shouted something to the others in the dialect they spoke. And she saw the others glance over at them with interest. His voice was quieter when he spoke to her again, and she waited to hear their verdict. We will lead you back to the garrison, he said, glancing at both of them, you are not far. And with that, he turned, and led the others ahead of her, all but one who followed behind them, so they would not get lost again.
It'll be all right, she said softly, to the boy next to her who finally stopped crying. I don't think they'll hurt us. He nodded, speechless at what she had tried to do for him, and deeply ashamed at the same time, yet very grateful. She would have traded her life for his. He couldn't imagine ever knowing another woman who would do that for him.
Less than an hour later, the garrison came into sight as they left the woods, and the Indian party paused, watching them, and then after a brief exchange amongst themselves, they decided to ride all the way back with her. They had already lost hours, and it seemed just as easy to stay there for the night now, and leave in the morning. And Sarah felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her as they passed through the gates and the sentry called out, and Will started grinning. But she was still feeling too shaken to even smile. A horn sounded then somewhere, and the colonel came rushing out of his quarters with a frantic look, which turned to relief the moment he saw her.
We have two search parties out looking for you, he said, glancing from her to Private Hutchins, we thought you'd had an accident, he said, and then glanced at the group of Indians standing all around them. Some of them had started to dismount, and the warrior in charge got slowly off his horse and walked over to them. She dared not even leave her saddle yet, for fear that her legs would not carry her, but the colonel helped her gently down, and she prayed that the warrior who had brought her back would not see how weak and frightened she was, or that her legs would buckle beneath her. It was far different facing him here than it had been bargaining for her life with him in the forest. Where did you find her? the colonel asked him bluntly. There was an obvious respect between the two men, and they seemed well acquainted with each other, but Sarah had not been sure how benevolent the warrior was. He had seemed quite warlike to her from the first moment she saw him, but he was clearly an educated man and she got the odd feeling that the colonel liked him.
I found them less than an hour from here, lost in the wood, he said with disgust, and then he looked straight at Sarah. You're a very brave woman, he said with the first mark of respect she'd seen from him in either of their encounters, and then he looked back at the colonel. She thought we were going to kill her, he said with the same trace of accent she'd heard before. She tried to trade her life for the boy's. He had never known a woman who would do that, and doubted there were many in the world. But he still thought she didn't belong here.
Sarah, why did you do that? Private Hutchins was there to protect you. What the colonel had just heard truly shocked him, and at the same time filled him with admiration. But he could see that there were tears in her eyes now. She'd been through an awful lot since that morning. And she was, after all, onl
y a woman.
He's only a child, she said, her voice sounding hoarse for a moment. It was my fault we were lost ' I dallied near the waterfall ' and I read the signs on the road wrong ' I thought I remembered the way we'd come, but I didn't. She was full of apologies now, and confusion, and then remembering why they'd been delayed, she looked at the colonel, and told him of the clearing. But she did not say yet that she wanted to buy it. That would have to come later.
The colonel thanked the young Indian again, and then as though remembering his manners, turned to Sarah. I assume you two have met, though in rather an odd way. He smiled, as though introducing them in a drawing room, rather than on a freezing night after she had thought he was going to kill her. Frangois de Pellerin ' or should I say count? The man she had thought was an Indian glared at him, and Sarah stared at them both in utter confusion.
But I thought ' you are ' what ' how ' how could you? she asked, looking suddenly livid. You knew what I thought ' you could have said something last night, or at least tonight when you first found us' . She couldn't believe he'd let her think that they were going to kill them, even for a moment. The sheer cruelty of it almost made her want to hit him.
But I could have been, he said with the same accent she'd heard before, and now she realized he was not Huron, but French. He was a Frenchman, although she did not understand how he had come here. He looked like the fiercest of warriors to her, but if she tried, she could imagine him in knee breeches and all that went with it. Dressed as he was, he appeared to be Iroquois, but in other garb, he could in fact have been a very handsome Frenchman. But the cruelty of his deception was something she knew she would never forgive him. I could have been Mohawk, he said without apology. She needed to understand the dangers of the land she was visiting. This was no game to them. She could have been marching to Canada by then, tied with ropes, and killed on the trail if she did not walk quickly. We could have been Mohawk, or worse' . He had recently seen what the Shawnees had done, on his trip west, and none of it was pretty. They were completely out of control, and the government, thus far, had been unable to stop them. Even last night, I could have stolen over the fence while the sentries weren't looking. You are not safe here. You should not have come. This is not England. You have no right here.
Then why are you here? she challenged him, braver now, as the colonel watched the exchange with interest. Will had long since gone back to his barracks, and had already had two stiff whiskeys.
I came with my cousin, thirteen years ago during the revolution, he said, although he did not feel he owed her an explanation. He also did not tell her his cousin was Lafayette, and they had both been formally forbidden to come by the king, but had come anyway. Lafayette had gone back ten years before. Unlike his cousin, Fran+oois knew his destiny was in America, and he could not bring himself to leave his friends here. I have fought for this country, and bled for her. I have lived with the Iroquois, I have every reason to be here.
The count has been negotiating for us with the tribes in the west for the past two months.
Red Jacket, the chief of the Iroquois, regards him almost as a son, the colonel explained, with obvious respect, but he did not tell her that Fran+oois had once been the chief's son-in-law, until Crying Sparrow and their son were killed by the Huron. He was traveling north tonight, on his way to visit the Mohawk chief in Montreal and he said he would look out for you on the trail. We were very worried when you didn't come back by nightfall.
I'm very sorry, sir, she said contritely, but the peace had not yet been made between her and the French count masquerading as an Indian brave. She could not imagine the sheer audacity of his not telling her who and what he was either the night before, or when she had met him on the trail. He had terrified her, and he knew it.
You should go back to Boston, the Frenchman said, looking at her. He did not look happy either, although something in his eyes said he had been impressed with her, and he had said as much to the colonel when he was told she was missing.
I will go exactly where I want to, sir, she said sharply to him, and I thank you for escorting me back this evening. She dropped an elegant curtsy to him, as though they had been in an English ballroom. She shook the colonel's hand then and apologized again for the confusion she'd caused, bowed to him, and walked back to the cabin where she was lodged, without saying another word, or looking back at either of them. Her legs held her unsteadily as she made her way across the garrison, and she quietly opened the door, and stepped into the darkened room, closed the door, and slid slowly to the floor sobbing in relief and anguish.
Frangois de Pellerin had looked after her as she went and said not a word, but the colonel was watching his face, curious about what he saw there. He was a hard man to read. There was more than something a little wild in his soul, and at times the colonel wondered if he wasn't part Indian by now. He certainly knew how they thought, and at times he behaved like them. He had disappeared with them for several years, and only resurfaced when his Indian bride had died, and the colonel understood he never talked about her. But everyone else in the area knew the story.
She's quite remarkable, the colonel said with a sigh, still puzzled by a letter he had received from his wife only that morning. Says she's a widow ' but Amelia heard a remarkable story from a woman she met in Boston, just arrived from England. It seems she's a runaway, the husband is alive somewhere ' not a very pleasant sort apparently. The Earl of Balfour ' that makes her a Countess, doesn't it? Bit of a coincidence, you a count, and she a Countess, sometimes I think half the nobility of Europe winds up here. All the misfits and the runaways, and the mad, wild boys. But that still didn't explain Sarah's story. But Fran+oois was smiling at him wistfully, thinking of his cousin years before ' the men he had fought beside and known ' and now this girl ' willing to trade her life for that of a stranger ' she had been so brave and so bold in the forest that night. He had never seen anything quite like it.
No, Fran+oois said, they don't all come here, Colonel ' only the best ones.
He said good night to the colonel then, and went back to his men. They were sleeping as the Indians always did, outside, under the shelter of the garrison, and without a sound, or a word to them, Fran+oois joined them.
Sarah was in bed by then, thinking of the man she had been so sure would kill her. All she could think of were his fierce dark eyes, as he looked at her in the forest, the dancing of his horse, the powerful movement of his arms as he controlled it ' his guns flashing in the moonlight' . She wondered if their paths would ever cross again, and as she closed her eyes and tried to force him from her mind, she hoped not.
Chapter 15
CHARLIE HAD READ Sarah's journal for an entire day from morning till almost midnight that night, and when he put it down, he smiled reading of her meeting with Francois. How little she knew of what was to come. But just as Francis had been, Charlie was overwhelmed by her bravery during their meeting in the forest in Deerfield.
Charlie couldn't even imagine knowing a woman like that, and it made him lonelier than ever when he thought about her. He realized then that he hadn't called Carole in a while, not since the Christmas Day fiasco, when he had called her while she was entertaining friends with Simon. It made him feel lonely again thinking of her, and he decided to step outside and get a breath of air. It was a cold, clear night, with a sky full of stars. But everything he did seemed to make him feel more lonely. There was no one to share things with anymore, no one to talk to now about Sarah. He didn't even wish he could see her ghost again, if there was such a thing, he wanted something so much more real than that, and as he went back inside, he could almost feel the air squeezed out of him, thinking about what he had lost in England. There were times when he thought he would mourn his lost life forever. He couldn't imagine loving anyone again, sharing his life with someone else. And it was impossible not to wish she'd tire of Simon. He knew he'd have taken her back in a second.
But all of that was irrelevant as he walked slowly up
stairs, thinking first of Carole, and then of Sarah and Francois. How lucky they had been, how blessed when their paths had crossed. Or maybe they had been special people, and each of them had deserved the blessing. He was still thinking of them that night, as he lay in bed, wishing he could hear some sound, or believe that they were still near him. But there was no sound, no breeze, no sense of spirits in the room. Maybe it was enough to have her words ' just to have found the journals.
He, drifted off to sleep, dreaming of them again, they were all laughing and chasing each other through a forest ' he kept hearing odd sounds through the night, and thought it was a waterfall ' he had found it ' the place she'd been the day she got lost ' and then when he woke in the morning, he realized it was raining. He thought about getting up, and the things he could have done that day, but he realized he didn't want to. He made himself a cup of coffee instead, and went back to bed with her journals.
He was faintly worried about himself. Reading Sarah's journals was becoming an obsession. But he couldn't stop now. He had to know everything that had happened. He opened her journal to the place he'd marked the night before, and lost himself in it again, without pausing for an instant.
The trip back to Boston, for Sarah, had been uneventful. And as though to punish her for worrying them, Colonel Stockbridge had sent the still-infatuated Lieutenant Parker with her. But he was impeccably behaved, and she was far more tolerant of him than she had been. Before she left the garrison, she had had a long talk with the colonel, and although he disapproved of it, she had gotten from him exactly what she wanted. She returned to Ingersoll's in high spirits, and it took her several days to learn that someone who had recently arrived had been spreading rumors about her. They ranged from the vague to the absurd, and one rumor had her directly related to King George III of England. But it was clear that someone had come through town who knew that she'd been married to the Earl of Balfour. Some said he was dead, others that he was alive. Some spoke of a terrible tragedy where he'd been murdered by highwaymen, others said he was insane and had tried to kill her so she fled. Most of the stories were quite romantic, and the town seemed to be buzzing with them, but if anything they made her even more desirable than she had been, and she admitted nothing to anyone, she simply went on presenting herself as Mrs. Ferguson, and left the rest to their imaginations. But one thing she knew, if the news of who she'd been married to had come out, it was only a matter of time. before Edward learned she was in Boston. And knowing that made her even more intent on her plan. The colonel had introduced her to some good men, and they had promised to start their work by spring. She had ridden out with several men before she left Deerfield and found the clearing very quickly. And this time, the ride back had been much shorter and far less exciting. She still had not forgiven Francois de Pellerin for his deception.
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