If she had thought Nathaniel thin, Richard was skeletal. Minus the great mass of his red—gold beard his face was an unhealthy white. His strong nose stood out like the spine of a supine bird, his cheekbones like arched wings. His cheeks were sunken, and his lips cracked and scabbed.

Although she had not intended to, Elizabeth approached him, noting that he smelled of sweat and herbs but not of decay.

"My wounds heal, slowly," he said, reading her mind, as well as the look in her eyes as they traveled over him. His voice was softer than she remembered. Perhaps the fever had broken his anger as it had broken him physically.

"Are they treating you well?" she asked.

"You and I have business to discuss," he answered.

Elizabeth flushed suddenly with a particular memory. "Yes. Let us begin with the lie you told in yet another attempt to keep me from my husband."

Richard waved a hand dismissively, and made a mulish mouth.

"You are here, are you not? You promised to answer my charges in a court of law," he said quietly.

She had begun to turn away, and now she turned back. "I did," she said. "And I will. Before the sachem and his council, I will answer your charges."

Richard's pale cheeks flared suddenly. "I meant the court of the state of New—York."

"But you did not specify that," Elizabeth pointed out.

To her surprise, Richard smiled.

"As you wish it. We will lay this matter before Made—of—Bones and Two—Suns and She—Remembers."

"Those are the clan mothers," Elizabeth said, caught off guard and feeling somehow that she had been outmaneuvered, but not quite seeing how.

He spread out his hand, palm upward, to reveal a horrible wound, only half healed. Elizabeth looked at it because she could not make herself look away.

"Of course," said Richard. "This is not a matter of war, but of the clans. It is for the clan mothers to decide. We will only go to the sachem if they cannot reach a conclusion."

"Do you think they will tell me I picked the wrong husband?" Elizabeth asked, almost able to muster a smile at this idea. It was clear in what high regard the village held Nathaniel, and how well disposed they all were—men and women—toward him.

Richard leaned his head to one side, looking suddenly tired. "I know this. I know She—Remembers: for seven years I called her Elder Sister, and slept at her hearth. I know that Made—of—Bones is Sarah's grandmother and held her very dear. I know that she told Sarah to put her husband aside, because he could not give her great—grandchildren to bring to the council fire."

"And I know that Sarah refused this," Elizabeth said, wishing that she could stop the shaking in her voice, but failing. "And that she did bear Nathaniel children, in the end."

He raised one reddish eyebrow. "Then you know more than Nathaniel does himself. More than Sarah knew. The question is, who will they believe? You, the O'seronni woman, or Irtakohsaks. Who has returned home to them."

"Against your will," Elizabeth pointed out.

"I beg to differ," he said slowly. "They have heard no such thoughts from me."

"You are bluffing," said Elizabeth.

"Let us wait and see," Richard said, suddenly much paler. He swayed slightly as he rose, and grabbed onto the wall of the long house Elizabeth watched without extending a hand as he limped toward the door.

She was still standing there when he had disappeared into the shadows.

Chapter 41

More tired than she could remember being since that day on the trail when Otter had found her at Robbie's. Elizabeth wanted only the sleeping platform she shared with Nathaniel. And Nathaniel. But he was still with Spotted—Fox and the others, and so she made her way back to the long house and crawled alone into the pile of bearskins, falling asleep even before she could consider removing her moccasins. She slept deeply, and woke staring at the endless rows of dried corn hung in the rafters, ravenously hungry.

She sat up, and found Splitting—Moon directly before her. They were alone in the long house with the exception of a very young child playing naked in the ashes of a cold fire, singing tunelessly to herself. Outside there was a game going on that seemed to involve the whole village. All except Splitting—Moon.

"Do they play baggataway?" Elizabeth asked, her mouth sticky with dryness.

Splitting—Moon nodded and handed her a bowl of water, which Elizabeth accepted gratefully. The younger woman began to turn away.

"Splitting—Moon." Elizabeth used the woman's Kahnyen’keháka name. Just her name, but it was enough to make her pause. "Why do you watch me?"

For a moment Elizabeth feared the woman would not answer at all, thus closing the door between them for good. But a tremor moved her mouth, and a look of uncertainty came over her face.

"Because you have a magic that is new to me," she said finally. "I would like to understand it."

Elizabeth smiled, relieved. "I have no magic."

"But you have bound Wolf—Running—Fast to you," said Splitting—Moon.

"I married him," Elizabeth said. "There is no magic in that, just—" She paused, lacking the right Kahnyen’keháka word. "Bonne chance."

The younger woman blinked at her, and then reaching out one finger, she touched Elizabeth's face. With some effort, Elizabeth held herself very still while Splitting—Moon traced an invisible mask lightly around her eyes.