He asked himself something she had not asked, and that was whether it was her or the land he had wanted more, wanted first. It was something he wondered about from time to time, but he couldn't remember anymore what had come first. Whatever had been in his head back then, the truth now was that he wanted her more than he needed her. The having of her would keep him alive.

Nathaniel came around a bend and heard a shout of laughter. Robbie, in the best of moods. And Runs-from-Bears, laughing, too. They were sitting there at the fire, cleaning a small deer, and deep in conversation. There was no sign of Elizabeth.

"Where is she?" he asked, without stopping to greet them.

"She's a wee thing, that lass of yours, but surely ye havna lost her betwixt the lake and here, have ye, man?" Robbie was grinning, but he saw the look on Nathaniel's face and his face went blank.

"Kát—ke?" Bears asked—When?—even as he stood and reached for his rifle.

"Two hours," answered Nathaniel.

"She headed up mountain."

They split up to look for signs. Of Elizabeth, or of Jack Lingo, or of the two of them together. There was no time or need to discuss the matter. All three men knew Jack Lingo and what he was capable of, Robbie had cleaned up after him on more than one occasion. Nathaniel and Bears had heard stories from Hawkeye, told in a low voice out of the women's hearing.

The fist in his gut, low and tense, reminded Nathaniel of the morning of his first battle, at Bemis Heights. When the fog still lay over the land and all was still, thousands of men quiet, waiting for the killing to start. He pushed away the thought of his own foolishness. He could not afford that now, not until this was resolved. He would not think of the worst, because it would unman him.

He ran upmountain, his rifle cocked and loaded and primed, ready in his hands. He could reload at a dead run, but he knew that if he needed to use it and failed, she would be dead already, and his life over. Jack Lingo was a formidable enemy.

Nathaniel ran hard, light—footed and focused, stopping now and then to listen and then run again. He wanted to be the one to pick up the trail. Unbidden, the feel of her came to him, her skin pressed to his, and her smell; he frowned and sought a prayer instead, any prayer. But Christian or Kahnyen’keháka, nothing came to him except the memory of her, how she felt to him.

Ahead he saw the forest give way to the upper meadow and he stopped. Looked harder around himself, and found her. Her heel print. Seeing it, its orientation, he knew the way she had come here, how she had traveled bearing east when she should have kept on north. Not that it mattered anymore; the outline of her foot was flanked by another print. A man's foot, with a drag to it.

Nathaniel stopped to listen, and hearing nothing, walked to the edge of the meadow where he saw the small huddled form of his wife.

* * *

It was uncomfortable sitting with her back to the beech tree. Not so much because of the bindings; she could not free herself but they were not excessively tight, either. But she itched, and she could not scratch. Soon, she thought, she would have to shout. She had waited for as long as she could bear for Nathaniel to come and find her, but it seemed a very long time indeed. Perhaps Robbie would hear her, if Nathaniel didn't. Perhaps she could convince him to keep this to himself. She was mortified at her own foolishness.

She looked up and saw Nathaniel at the edge of the wood. A great flood of relief and gratitude filled her, but before she could call out to him he had faded back into the shadows and disappeared.

For a while, she was patient. He must believe that she was in danger, that she was being watched. He couldn't know how innocent the whole thing had been, how politely Jack Lingo had spoken to her. Nathaniel was worried for her well—being, when all he need do was come and cut her loose so she could pass along Lingo's message and they could get on with things. Her stomach rumbled and her face itched abominably and the kestrel which had warned her—or tried to warn her—of Jack Lingo's approach had rewarded her stupidity by perching above her to void in a bright orange streak down the front of her overdress. She had borne many indignities for her thoughtless behavior, and she was ready to own up to her mistakes and to carry on. But still Nathaniel didn't come. Her irritation increased with the itching of her nose.

He startled her in the end, speaking to her from behind even as he cut her bonds.

"Swimming would have been a far sight more pleasant," he said.

"No doubt," she agreed, rubbing her wrists. When she could turn she saw his frown, and she answered him with one of her own, although she would have preferred touching him.

"I began to think you wouldn't come back at all."

"The thought crossed my mind."

"Oh, very amusing." She pursed her mouth. "He did me no real harm, if you're worried about that."

He cocked one eyebrow. "I don't expect you'd be so feisty if he had."

"He was very gentlemanly," she said.

"Then you're the first to think so," Nathaniel said, frowning.

"Most women who have made his acquaintance ain't seen that side of him." He turned away. "Let's go back," he said, and started off without looking at her. He was definitely in a bad humor.

"I was the one accosted," Elizabeth said lightly. "You needn't be so short with me."

Too late, she saw the error of this. He swung around on her, his face all thunder. "By God," he whispered. "You can be a stupid woman, Elizabeth. Do you have no idea what he might have done to you?"