"It's a wonder," Nathaniel said. "How purely stupid Englishmen can be. Scairt off from a pretty face—don't you scowl that way, maybe nobody ever thought to tell you before, but you are pretty—because there's a sharp mind and a quick tongue to go along with it. Well, I'm made of tougher stuff."

"Why—" Elizabeth began, sputtering.

"Christ, Boots, will you stop talking," said Nathaniel, lowering his mouth to hers; she stepped neatly away.

"I think not," she said. "Not tonight."

Nathaniel laughed out loud. "Tomorrow night? The night after?"

"Oh, no," Elizabeth said, trying half—heartedly to turn away. "I cannot pardon me, I must get back."

"Back to England?" he asked, one hand moving down until he clasped mittened hand. "Or just back to your father?"

Nathaniel saw Elizabeth jerk in surprise. She looked up at him sharply, her eyes sparkling. At first he thought she was angry again, then he saw that it was more complicated than that: she was furious, but not at him. Not at this. This almost—kiss, the idea of it, had released something in her.

"It isn't right that my father misrepresented things to me, that he brought me here under false pretenses, that he made plans for me that I want no part of"

"You don't want Richard Todd," Nathaniel prompted.

"No," Elizabeth said fiercely, and her eyes traveled down to focus on his mouth. "I don't want Richard Todd. I want my school."

"I will build you a school."

"I want to know why you're so angry at my father, what he's done to you."

"I'll tell you that if you really want to know," he said. "But someplace warmer."

"I don't want to get married."

He raised an eyebrow. "Then I won't marry you."

Her eyes kept darting over his face, between his mouth and his eyes, and back to his mouth, the curve of his lip. He saw this, and he knew she was thinking about kissing him. Nathaniel knew that this was a conflict for her, one not easily reconciled; she did not want marriage, and in her world—in this world—there could not be one without the other. This struggle was clear on her face, and as he expected, training and propriety won out: she was not quite bold enough to ask for the kisses she wanted. This disappointed him but he was also relieved. He didn't know how long he could keep his own wants firmly in hand. And this was not a woman who could be rushed.

"I want ... I want" She paused and looked down.

"Do you always get everything you want?" Nathaniel asked.

"No," she said. "But I intend to start."

Elizabeth let Nathaniel turn her back toward the house. Her hands and feet were icy, her cheeks chafed red with the cold, but she was strangely elated her head rushing with possibilities. She felt that she could face her father now and that she must, she would, have her way. She had no intention of mentioning Nathaniel to him, of what had passed between them, although she recognized, she knew, that this was not over. She knew that it had just begun, and that it would take her places she could not yet imagine. It frightened her, how far she had come in just a few days, but it was also deeply exciting.

A strange thought came to Elizabeth: if her father would not give her what she wanted, Nathaniel might help her take it. He was a man such as she had never known before, and she wondered if he could be a part of her life and not an obstruction in it. She cast a wondering and speculative sideways glance at him, and shivered.

* * *

When Elizabeth stepped into the parlor with Nathaniel close behind her, she drew back in surprise, and her immediate plans for a private conference with her father were forgotten.

Most of the guests were gone. The few who remained were silent, their attention focused on the judge, who stood before the hearth with Hawkeye and two people Elizabeth had never before seen: a very old Indian and a young child. The judge was talking to the Indian, his head bent in a deferential and concerned manner. Elizabeth could not estimate the Indian's age: his form was still straight, but there was little flesh on him and a signiricant stoop to the wide shoulders. There was nothing fragile about the man, as was the case with most very old people; in contrast, it seemed that age had dried him to the toughest kind of leather.

Nathaniel drew in a surprised breath and then he moved past her to join this group. "Chingachgook," he said, and he bowed his head before the old man. "Muchomes."

The old man murmured in reply, reaching for Nathaniel's hands. His smile pleated his face into long folds that swallowed all the severity and distance in his expression.

Hawkeye spoke to the old man in the same language and Nathaniel replied to both of them as if they were alone in the room. Elizabeth realized that Richard Todd had come to stand next to her and she looked at him to see if he followed any of the conversation.

"Mahican," he said to her in a casual tone. "He calls Nathaniel his grandson."

Elizabeth was confused and a little shocked, but she could not ask for more details. Instead, she turned her attention to the child, who had stepped closer to Nathaniel. She was very striking, with hair like black walnut and eyes not quite so dark as those of the old man. But her skin was the glossy color of old honey, and her highly arched cheekbones left no question that she was Indian, in spite of her calico dress and the matching ribbon which secured the long braids which reached down her back.

She had moved up next to Nathaniel and stood close enough to touch him; in response he reached down without looking to cradle the child's head in one large hand. There was a sudden lull in the talking and the little girl's voice came clearly to Elizabeth, although she did not understand the language.