"That's what happened," he repeated.

"Oh, yes, of course," she said with a grim smile. "But you left out a few facts. For example, that you had to travel eight miles through enemy territory to find him."

"That stands to reason," he agreed. "Wouldn't have been much challenge, otherwise."

Mrs. Schuyler turned to Elizabeth. "Imagine," she said. "Nathaniel, himself just nineteen, walking into the hay barn—It stood right over there, you see where the cows are grazing? That's where they were holding John prisoner. And Nathaniel just picked him up and walked out as if he had been sent to fetch him. They could have shot them right there, but Nathaniel never blinked. And imagine he just keeps walking, past the troops and the officers and the artillery, with a big twelve—year—old across his shoulders, and he walks overland, through marsh and rough terrain, eight miles, until he gets to camp. For two weeks he manages to keep this boy alive—remember, in the middle of this he went off to fight in the Bemis Heights battle."

"I wasn't alone on the Heights," Nathaniel muttered. "Anton over there did his part, and so did others on this place."

"And fought so that Morgan and Arnold both came looking for him to see if he could be enticed to leave Sky—Wound—Round and join them. And through all this, he made sure our John was taken care of. Can you imagine that?"

"I can," Elizabeth said without hesitation.

Sally Gerlach had been standing very still through the whole story, but now she came alive, breaking the spell in the room with her laugh. "A bride ain't prone to disbelieve any good thing you got to say about her man," she pointed out. "Just happens in this case it's true."

Mr. Schuyler was nodding. "So perhaps you won't wonder that we were pleased to be of help to you today. And I will look after matters for you in Albany tomorrow, so that you can rest assured."

At some gesture from Mrs. Schuyler, the servants began to clear the table, and she rose herself. "It's been a long evening. Perhaps you are ready to retire?" There were grins around the table, which she extinguished like so many candles with a single severe sweep of her head.

"Yes," said Elizabeth, wishing for some degree of poise that she didn't possess. "Thank you very kindly."

"We'll say good night, then," Nathaniel agreed.

"Ma!" said Rensselaer. "What are you talking about? It's not ten of the clock yet."

"Aye, you're right," said Nathaniel as he helped Elizabeth up. "But we've had a long day, you understand, and my bride is uncommon tired. As you can plainly see."

Elizabeth put a hand on his sleeve. "If you'd like to have a drink with the gentlemen—"

He hesitated.

"Please go ahead," she said, quite sincerely wishing that he would, thinking that right now it would be very good to have a few minutes to herself.

Nathaniel wasn't grinning at her anymore; there was something else there, a kindness and an understanding that made her breathe easier. She nodded and had begun to turn away when he caught her by the wrist and pulled her up short.

"I won't be long," he said against her hair. "Don't go to sleep without me."

It was not so very dark that he needed a candle to find his way to her. There was moonlight, and in it, Elizabeth asleep. He stood there and watched her for many minutes, until he could believe what he was seeing: his own good fortune. She slept deeply, her head turned hard to one side to reveal the line of her throat rising up from the simple nightdress, her skin as white and as soft as the light itself. Nathaniel watched her sleep, and then he lay beside her and listened to the sounds of the house settling in for the night, and the way she breathed, and the beat of her heart. And he lay watching Elizabeth sleep and wondering at himself, how he had come to this place in his life, that he should have this woman beside him as his wife.

He slept, finally. Chastely and completely content.

Chapter 26

She woke in waves, coming up from her dreams reluctantly. It was colder; there was rain at the window, drumming softly, a persistent spring shower in the first filtered gray light. Elizabeth stretched, and turned, and there he was, Nathaniel, watching her. Lying on his side, the bare skin of his arms and shoulders covered with gooseflesh.

"You're all cold," she said, raising the blanket so that he could slip under. And he came up against her, his long body against hers, and put his forehead to her temple.

"You're all warm." His arms went around her easily and they lay quietly in the pooling of their heat and breath, until she turned her face to him, her lips just brushing the stubble on his cheek.

"I fell asleep," she said. "You should have waked me."

"Aye, well. You're awake now, and so am I." His hands were revolving in slow circles on her back, and his gaze was low and steady and not in the least sleepy.

"Nathaniel?"

"Hmmmm?"

"There was a conversation we didn't finish yesterday."

"Forgive me, Boots, but I don't want to talk about your father just now." His mouth touched the crest of her cheekbone and she shivered.

"I didn't mean that," she said, stemming her hands on his bare chest, feeling the beat of his heart against her palms.

He drew back a little, his teeth flashing. Her wicked, wolflike husband.

"What you said about ... satisfaction," she managed to say.