by Sara Donati
“Nathaniel?” she gasped, her fingers in his hair, her mind reeling in panic and shock and confusion. This could not be; there must be a mistake. But the rough caress of his cheek against her inner thigh was real and so were the hands that cupped her, spread-fingered. He murmured to her, soft words, as soft as the first touch of his lips and tongue, and suddenly all the questions and doubts and all the words in the world disappeared in a blaze of pleasure and Elizabeth let them go without any regret.
And when she had finally learned about satisfaction of one kind, when she lay subdued and sated, her flesh still pulsing and leaping, then he came to her and taught her about another. Arched over her, belly to belly and mouth to mouth, Nathaniel taught Elizabeth what she had wanted to know, and he took his lessons in turn.
When she slept, he covered her with a blanket and stood looking down at her. Carefully, gently, he smoothed damp curls away from her face, resisting the urge to kiss her temple because she needed her sleep, and because he wanted a few minutes to himself to think. But then, because he could not do otherwise, he sat carefully on the edge of the cot to watch her. Supporting his weight on one arm, he leaned in and lowered his face to hers, close enough to feel the heat of her on his skin. In the soft candlelight he traced the sweep of her eyebrow and the curve of lashes on her cheek.
Nathaniel wondered that she could be both women, this peaceful one and the one who had wound herself around him with such purpose, her mouth open in a circle of surprise and wonder. The close memory of her heat, her weight in his hands, her unapologetic desire, stirred him almost to the point of waking her. But he mastered himself by degrees and leaned slowly away to rise, feeling the cool air on his damp flesh. He blew out all the candles but two. One he left on its shelf on the wall, the other he took with him to the spring where he lit a torch.
With a soft grunt of appreciation he walked into the pool and submerged himself, holding his breath as long as he could in the heavy hot water, and coming up with an explosion of breath and spray, shaking his head. He floated, spread-bodied, feeling his muscles expand and loosen, his hair sweeping around him. With his eyes open or closed he could see only Elizabeth. This evening they would sit together and eat and talk; he had missed talking to her. Tonight he would sleep with her alongside him. In the night she would turn to him and he would have her again, because he wanted her already with a will that surprised even himself. He rolled in the hot water and submerged himself again and again, letting the images of her wash over him with the water.
In the morning they would emerge into the daylight and confront what waited for them. In the morning there would be no choice but to face it all, because by the day after, they would be on the run again.
XXIX
“You cannot be serious,” Elizabeth said, wiping a strand of hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand.
Nathaniel looked up over the edge of his tin cup, wondering exactly how angry she could get.
“I cannot, I will not believe this,” she said, stirring the porridge with such force that it jumped out of the iron cauldron to hiss and bubble on the rocks below it.
“If I understand this correctly, you are telling me that Kitty Witherspoon has forsworn herself against me in a public court of law, and along with her Martha Southern and Liam Kirby.” She glanced up at him, her mouth set hard. “Liam Kirby! The ungrateful—” She stopped, but reluctantly.
Nathaniel was silent. There was nothing he could say to make this news better; in fact, there were things still to tell her that she would not like at all.
Robbie sat to the far side of the fire, cleaning his traps and getting ready to deal with the beaver he had brought in, but his attention was primarily on Elizabeth. He caught Nathaniel’s eye now and shrugged sympathetically.
“What could motivate Kitty Witherspoon to do such a thing?” she muttered.
“Marriage,” said Nathaniel.
“Marriage?” Elizabeth cocked one brow, her mouth pursed. “Richard has offered to marry her?”
Nathaniel nodded. “And none too soon.”
She blinked, tugging at her plait and then flinging it back over her shoulder. “Kitty is with child?”
“Curiosity says she is.”
With hands that were less than steady, Elizabeth turned to the kettle and began to scoop out bowls of porridge. One of these she thrust into Nathaniel’s hands. The other she passed, absentmindedly, to Robbie.
“By whom?”
“Your brother, no doubt,” he said. “ ’Course, that ain’t common knowledge. Although Curiosity suspects, it seemed to me.”
She sat down heavily next to him, and stared into her bowl.
“I know that Kitty would be very glad to get Richard, but why would he want her, under those circumstances?”
Nathaniel waited, knowing that she did not really want an answer from him; she had a habit of thinking out loud when she was trying to work through something difficult, and he was learning to let her get on with it and not interrupt.
“I expect it was the price she set on her testimony,” Elizabeth muttered. “The man is really beyond all reason and propriety.” She shook her head, and began to eat. After two spoonfuls, she let her bowl rest in her lap, and turned to Nathaniel.
“What a terrible muddle this is,” she said. “What can I do, except deny them? I never told any of them that I was engaged to Richard, but they are three and I am only one. If I thought there was any chance of speaking sense to them—” She broke off.
“Come, lass, ye mun eat,” said Robbie. “Naethin’ ever looks sae bad wi’ a belly fu’ o’ parritch.”
“I hope you’re right,” Elizabeth said softly. Robbie had carved her a spoon of her own and she worried the end between her teeth, looking at Nathaniel in a distracted way.
“Must I go back and face these charges, and Kitty Witherspoon? Or Kitty Todd, perhaps by then.”
Nathaniel tipped his bowl to his mouth while he considered the best way to reply. “Eventually,” he said. “But you won’t go alone, Elizabeth.”
She noted his rare use of her name. He was looking at her with a calm affection; there was nothing of humor or teasing or lust in him at this moment, just the wish to reassure her. This was a comfort, because since the encounter of the previous evening, Elizabeth often found herself lost in thought and suddenly blushing furiously for no clear reason. He might have teased her, but he seemed to understand how much his lessons in satisfaction had rocked her sense and understanding of herself. It would require a great deal of thought, the whole business of being together with him. This evening they would talk it through. If she could find the words, if they could keep the talking separate for a while, from the rest of it. In the meantime there was news of home.
Nathaniel tugged on her plait to get her attention. “We have to give my father some time to see what he can manage.”
“Hawkeye?” she asked, confused. “Manage what?”
“Hawkeye is a skilfu’ negotiator,” Robbie offered. “Gi’e him time tae talk sense tae nonsensical folk, and see if aught comes o’ it.”
“He won’t persuade Kitty Witherspoon if Richard Todd is willing to marry her on the strength of her testimony,” Elizabeth pointed out. “She’d testify against God and King—or President, in this case—for that particular reward.”
“You sound as though you’re regretting the loss of the man.” Nathaniel grinned at her.
“Not in this world, or the next.” She laughed, reluctantly. But she recognized that this idea of Richard marrying Kitty irked her, although she couldn’t say why, and didn’t want to think about it overmuch. Not with the way Nathaniel was looking at her.
“What power would Hawkeye have with Martha Southern or Liam Kirby?” she asked. “Or better said, Moses Southern and Billy Kirby, for I doubt Martha and Liam volunteered their testimony without considerable encouragement.”
Robbie was waving a great beaver tail as if it were an outlandish new fashion in fans. Elizabeth could
hear that he had a story to tell by the way he cleared his throat.
“Hawkeye once persuaded a rantin’ Huron war party that it wasna a guid notion to cook his Cora for their dinner, and tha’ wi’oot a weapon on him,” said Robbie. “And they walked awa’, the twa o’ them, wi’ their scalps. He’s a sieht tae see and hear when he’s in a persuasive frame o’ mind, is Hawkeye. I dinna believe that Moses can stan’ fast. And young Billy—” He laughed softly. “He hasna a chance.”
Nathaniel was watching Elizabeth closely, wondering how much information he could give her at one time. She had her chin in the air, her eyes flashing with anger and frustration. In spite of the bad news that would keep them on the run, in spite of the trouble that might still take Hidden Wolf from them, Nathaniel could not look at her without a very real satisfaction and joy.
“What are you thinking?” she demanded.
“Well,” he said slowly. “I’m thinking that you’re my wife, scowl on your face and all. No matter what comes, nothing and nobody can change that fact, Boots. And I’m glad of it.”
“Oh,” she said, her anger draining away to be replaced by a softer smile.
Robbie cleared his throat. “It’s a fine day on the water and I for one wad be glad o’ fish for my supper. Ye realize, Nathaniel, that this lassie o’ yours canna swim? Little Lost is the richt place to larn the art o’ it, shallow as it is wi’ a guid sandy bottom.”
“So it is,” Nathaniel agreed.
“You’ll need help with the beaver,” Elizabeth pointed out to Robbie.
“Aye, weel, I hae made my livin’ wi’ these beasties, an’ they wi’ me, for muny a lang year, aye? So I’ll make do. And the truth o’ it is, lass, that trout wadna taste sae bad after the venison.” He was skinning a beaver as he spoke, and he squinted up from this work to grin at her.
Nathaniel was glad of an excuse to have Elizabeth to himself again. There was more to talk to her about, and it would be easier if they were alone. And Robbie was right: she needed to know how to swim. When he pointed this out to her, she listened to his logic, but he could see that the idea was causing her some uneasiness. The sight of her flushing was enough to make Nathaniel’s blood leap with wanting her, although it had been just a few hours since he had left her last.
“I have nothing to wear,” she said in a low voice and out of Robbie’s hearing. And seeing his grin, she pushed him, hard. “Will you behave?”
He caught her up against him. “Do you want me to behave?”
“In company, at least,” she said firmly. With a little shake of her head, she pulled away from him and turned to Robbie, who was looking into the innards of a beaver as if something of immense interest were waiting there, his color the shade of poppies in bloom.
“If you can manage,” she said, “we’ll go down and see about those trout.”
“Ach aye, lass, gae on wi’ ye.” He did not look up from his work. “I can manage if you can.”
The lake was smooth and clear and shone like a sheet of beaten silver in the sunlight. The forest came down to its shores for almost three quarters of its irregular shape, giving way reluctantly to broad banks of deep green moss. A series of coves were hidden from view; Elizabeth had been here with Robbie, and he had pointed them out at good distance, warning her to keep away.
“The loons are nestin’,” he had told her in hushed tones.
Elizabeth had thought it unusual that Robbie would be so concerned about the privacy of these birds, but in this as in other things she had taken his direction, and now when she came with Nathaniel to the edge of the lake they were rewarded. A pair of loons paddled past with their eyes blazing like rubies, each with a fuzzy chick nestled comfortably on a checkered black-and-white back.
“So simple in their coloring and still anything but plain,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Geometric detailing to the point of gaudiness.”
Nathaniel lifted his head and called across the water, “Whooo whooo whooo,” until one of the pair raised its daggerlike beak and gave back the call. They watched the birds disappear around the corner.
“Come, Boots, there’s a warmish patch over there that will suit.”
Elizabeth hung back a little, for she was worried, in spite of the emptiness of this corner of the world and their isolation, about the public nature of swimming. Nathaniel glanced back at her and grinned.
“You can leave your shift on,” he called, once again reading her mind with an accuracy which she was starting to find somewhat irritating.
“Am I so predictable?” she asked when she caught up to him. At the water’s edge a series of flattish boulders cooked in the sun, extending out in a jumble into the shallows where small fish darted. A bloodred lizard with a speckled back flexed and disappeared into the cracks. Nearby, a blue heron paced long-legged on the shore, ignoring them completely.
Nathaniel had set his rifle to one side and stripped down to his breechclout in a few movements. “About some things,” he conceded.
She dared not look at him as he stood there in the warm sun, his skin glowing and his hair moving in the wind, for on her face would be evidence of what the sight of him did to her.
“I like your hair plaited,” he said, surprising her. When she looked up, one brow raised, he continued. “You tug at it when you’re thinking.”
“Do I?” she asked, amazed to find that he was right, she had her plait in one hand and had been pulling at it. With one hand she undid the silver clasp that she now wore to secure it at the top; this she wrapped in her handkerchief for safekeeping, hesitating for a moment while she traced the flowers etched into the metal.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
She turned away from him to undress. Peeled the moccasins off her feet, untied her breeches to step out of them and then pulled the long overdress up and over her head. There was a breeze and it felt good on her bare arms and legs, pressing her shift to her back. She curled her toes against the warmth of the rock under her feet, and then she faced him, trying to smile but unable to.
“All morning,” she said. “All morning I’ve been feeling you—the evidence of you—on my thighs, and I have not been able to think of much else. What that means—what it might mean.” She could not bear to look at him anymore, and she dropped her gaze. “I may be with child, already.” He was standing very close to her, but he didn’t touch her.
“Well, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying,” he said calmly. He paused. “Is it that you don’t like the idea of a child, or you don’t believe I can give you one?”
Her head jerked up at this, and she found a look she did not recognize on his face, a vulnerability that he had never shown her before.
“I like the idea very much,” she said, answering only one of his questions. She watched him struggle with what he was feeling, the way the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed.
“It would interfere with your teaching,” he said finally, and he raised one finger to push a strand of hair away from her face.
“But only for a while,” she said. “There is no reason, given the way we shall live, that I should have to give up teaching completely.” This proposal which she put to him with such thoughtfulness was one which had woken her in the night; she had watched him sleep and worked through how best to present it. She knew that the fine perspiration on her brow and the tremble in her hands did not escape him. But she held his gaze until he nodded, slowly.
“If that’s what you want.”
Elizabeth sensed his hesitation, and her spirits fell. He did not want her to teach once she had children to look after; aunt Merriweather had been right.
“You would prefer not to share me,” she said, and then added hastily: “With other people’s children.”
“Elizabeth,” Nathaniel said, crouching and pulling her down to sit next to him. “I won’t ask you to give up your school, no matter what comes, and I won’t resent the time you put into it. There’s womenfolk enough to look after affairs at Lake in the Cloud
s, including children that come our way. But it’s no good, pretending that there’s nothing else on your mind. We have to talk this through or it will fester. Ask me what you want to know.”
Elizabeth looked out over the lake. A loon was diving, disappearing in a smooth arc to drop into the belly of the lake and come up and repeat the process over and over again.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Hannah is my child,” Nathaniel said after a long pause.
“I know that,” Elizabeth said softly. “But Richard—”
“He knows nothing of me,” Nathaniel said, and for the first time there was an edge of anger in his voice. “Except what he imagines and wants to be true.”
“And what Sarah told him,” Elizabeth added and she regretted it, for he stiffened beside her.
“And what Sarah told him,” he acknowledged. “But what she told him and what he heard ain’t necessarily the same things. You know that from personal experience with the man.”
Elizabeth glanced at him. This had not occurred to her, but the truth of it was obvious.
“Did he make up the whole thing?” she said, remembering even as she did Curiosity’s troubled face when she spoke of Sarah and Richard.
“No,” said Nathaniel, the muscle in his cheek working. “I can’t claim that, either. He tried to take Sarah from me, and he came close to getting her.”
“Why? Why would she turn to Richard?” This question hung in the air for a very long time, until Elizabeth turned to Nathaniel and saw the stony look on his face, the unresolved anger and the hurt.
“I don’t know,” he said. “She didn’t explain herself to me.” It was the first thing he had ever said to her which was untruthful, and they both were aware of this.
She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her face.
