"Who are you to tell me what to do and how to live?" Richard asked woodenly.

Throws—Far blinked. He opened his mouth to speak again, but his words were uncertain, and even his voice was different, higher and younger: "I am your brother," he said in English. "I was once called Samuel."

* * *

Just above their sleeping platform, there was a break in the roof of the Wolf long house that would displease Made—of—Bones greatly. Had she known of it, she would have sent one of her grandsons immediately to climb to the roof and repair it. But she didn't know, and Nathaniel was glad of the view of the heavens, on their last night with the Kahnyen’keháka.

He lay on his back watching the stars in the sky. They had a knowing glitter, like the eyes of the great cats when they lie in wait in the bush. Cold and hot all at once, something too bright to comprehend.

Elizabeth shifted her head to a more comfortable position on Nathaniel's shoulder. She was nowhere near sleep, which surprised him given the long events of the evening. There was a hollow feeling under his ribs when he thought about it, what Todd had tried to do. What he was still trying to do and would die trying to do, if he persisted.

"It's over now," she said softly, reading his thoughts, or the tension in his shoulders.

He let a finger trail over her temple and down the side of her face. "You don't think the man has changed because his brother tried to speak some sense to him?" He didn't like the bitterness in his voice, but it was there all the same.

"People change," she said. "I have changed."

Nathaniel grunted. "Tomorrow morning when we take this business before the sachem, then we will see how changed Richard Todd is."

She rubbed her cheek on his chest, put her mouth softly against his neck. His skin flared in an arc from the touch of her lips to his groin, and he turned carrying her with him. Richard Todd was banished: in the faint light of the moon and the embers of the hearth fire there was only the outline of her face, her sweet, strong face in the shape of a heart. In the shape of his own heart.

He kissed her cheek and found it wet. "Why do you weep?" he asked, astounded.

"I want to go home."

"We start tomorrow."

She nodded, but she was not with him in her mind.

"Tell me," he said against her mouth. "What is it?"

"Nathaniel. It is over. You needn't fear Richard's claims about you—they are not true. And there is proof, now." She took his hand and carried it down to press it flat on her lower belly. "There," she whispered, her forehead against his. "We have made a child, you and I."

At first the words were as meaningless as birdsong. He heard himself draw in breath and let it out again. Under the curve of his palm her warm skin rose and fell on the tide of her breath. It was her face that told him clearly, the joy in it and the fear in equal measure.

"Are you certain?"

"It has been six weeks since I bled—" she whispered. He put a thumb against her lips, and his forehead against hers.

In that instant Nathaniel knew the depths of his self—doubt. Exposed suddenly to light and air, the fear that he had lived with for ten years simply withered away to be replaced by an elation that clenched his heart, and would never let go.

He said something he had never admitted to himself before: "I didn't believe it was possible."

She was pushing closer, winding her arms and legs around him to make a cradle of herself. With her voice and with the body which sheltered his child, Elizabeth rocked the breath of hope back into him.

"I never doubted you," she said softly. "Never for a moment."

Chapter 42

The Strawberry Festival ceremonies required a great deal of preparation from the Kahnyen’keháka of the Wolf long house so that well before dawn hearth fires were stirred and torches lit. Half asleep, Elizabeth lay quietly listening to a muted argument between Crow—Flying, Spotted—Fox and their son, Little—Kettle, who would be taking part for the first time in the Feather Dance. He had particular notions about his face paint, it seemed, which did not suit. He was threatened with a consultation with the clan mother and the conversation took an abrupt end, just as Made—of—Bones appeared beside their sleeping platform with her usual bowl for Nathaniel.

Her mouth was set in a harder line than usual, and she did not meet Elizabeth's eye. The outcome of the discussions in the Bear long house clearly did not please her in the least, for while she was always short and sometimes rude, she had never before failed to respond to a greeting.

"Splitting—Moon will prepare enough medicine for your journey," she said to Nathaniel as he sat up to take the bowl. "Bone—in—Her—Back can make an infusion?"

"I can," Elizabeth answered for herself

Nathaniel drank, and then handed the bowl back to the old woman. For a moment they both held it fast, his strong brown fingers and hers, a few shades darker and twisted with age, the nails ridged. "There is no way to repay you for the gift of my good health," Nathaniel said. Elizabeth watched Made—of—Bones take in this message: I am thankful, but I will not deliver my daughter to you.

She made a flicking gesture with her fingers, as if to brush away his words. "When are you leaving?"

"You know that we have unfinished business with Cat—Eater after the Feather Dance."

"This morning Throws—Far left us," she said. "His brother went with him."