"I don't like it," Nathaniel said. And then, after a longer pause: "There was no sign of Otter?"

"I described him quite carefully. She saw other Indians, but she is fairly sure that she did not meet Otter. And Richard did not mention him. Apparently," Elizabeth continued slowly. "Apparently Richard was paying court to a young woman."

"It's a good thing that Kitty's squared away, then," Nathaniel said, but his thoughts were clearly still with Otter. Elizabeth thought of pointing out to him—as her aunt had pointed out to her—that Richard might still marry Kitty, who had a much more attractive dowry to offer. But Nathaniel had already headed off in another direction.

"If he has any interest in Paradise, or the mountain, he'll be back here before winter settles in."

"Yes," Elizabeth said. "He mentioned to Will that he had business in Albany."

"Not anymore, he doesn't," Nathaniel said firmly.

"But he could not have known that at the time."

Nathaniel lay back on the bed and reached up to tug on Elizabeth's hair, which she was plaiting for the night. "He can't go after you anymore, in court at least."

She ran a finger over the stubble on his jaw, enjoying the rasp of it. "I had some chance of standing up to him," she said. "Kitty—well, I am not sure what will happen if he comes proposing marriage all over again."

"Maybe you could give her lessons in how to turn him down. Since you've got some experience at it."

"I think that perhaps I may have to do just that," Elizabeth said, leaning over to tousle his hair. "Thank goodness, I've got Aunt Merriweather and Amanda to help me, for I fear Kitty will be a reluctant student."

"So Amanda had more men to choose from, did she?"

She turned away to look for the rawhide string with which she tied her plait. "Not so many as her sister Jane, but yes, I believe she had three or four. But she accepted Will straightaway, once he got to the point."

Elizabeth gave in, finally, to his silence.

"Nathaniel. We were playmates, and I ... enjoyed his company as young girl. He was one of the few people who would talk to me of books, and did not scold me for my curiosity. He never had any interest in me, and he never knew I had any interest in him. In the end he married as his family hoped and wished, and all parties were most satisfied with the arrangement. If I felt any regret, it was for the friend I lost. And perhaps at first I was disappointed to see him marry to better his connection, rather than for love. But I soon came to see that he and Amanda suit each other."

"Do they?" Nathaniel asked. "He never even looks at her."

"I suppose when you and I have been married for six years we might seem the same way, to strangers."

At that he caught her by the plait, and pulled her down next to him. He kissed her soundly, and held her until she stopped struggling, and then he kissed her again until a small sigh escaped her and she lost track of the conversation, and everything but the taste of him, and the textures of his mouth and the feel of his shoulders under her hands. When Nathaniel raised his head they were both short of breath.

"Do you think you'll have enough of kissing me, in six years?"

She laughed. "Not in sixty. But must we judge them by our own standards? Amanda is a good wife to Will," she said with an air of finality.

"And I suppose he is a good husband."

"You do not like him. That is very sad, because I do."

Nathaniel lay back, his hands behind his head. The room was chilly, but he did not seem to mind the cold, for he lay there in only his breech clout Then he turned on his side to talk to her.

"I don't dislike him. It's just that he reminds me of someone I knew once," he said. "It was a long time ago, when I first went to live at Trees—Standing—in—Water."

"When you were first with Sarah?"

"Aye." He gave her a grim smile, and then cupped her face in his hand.

"I was spending half my time with her brothers and father—this was long before they were killed in the raid. The other half of my time I spent trying to convince Falling—Day and Sarah that I would be a good husband and that I deserved a place in their long house Do you remember, I told you back in the bush that I had been Catholic once?"

"Perhaps that is one detail of your past that we need not share with aunt Merriweather."

"Do you want to hear this story?"

"I do. But please take your hand away, because it is distracting me."

She was a little sorry to have him comply so willingly, but then she was also interested in what he had to tell.

Nathaniel said: "There was a priest living there then, a Frenchman who went by the name Father Dupuis. But the Kahnyen'keh'aka called him Iron—Dog."

She had to laugh, in spite of the seriousness of his tone. "What a strange name."

Nathaniel shrugged. "He had a beard which was ugly to them—they might have just called him Dog—Face, which is what they often call bearded O'seronni. But he also had their respect, because he lived and worked like a man among them.

"I got to know him pretty well, because Sarah wanted me to be baptized. It was one of the conditions she put on letting me come into the long house I can see you're uneasy with that, but it didn't mean much to me, Boots. It was just some water and some words, and I didn't believe any of it. I would have done and said a lot more than that to get where I wanted to be with Sarah."