It shouldn't have come as a surprise anymore, but Julian was struck almost dumb by the sight of her. Many-Doves —a ridiculous name, but it suited her. He couldn't think of her as Abigail; Abigail was a name for a girl like his sister, proper and boring and without a clue about men. No, Many-Doves reminded him of the madonnas the Italians painted over and over again: dark and light at the same time, silent, but with eyes that looked right into a man and wouldn't let him go. As if she knew everything there was to know about him without a lot of questions and discussion. It was no wonder so many white men went native, he thought. Another luxury he couldn't afford.

Many-Doves stood focused on the approaching players and Julian watched as her expression suddenly lost its usual remoteness. He noted with some regret that her look was for the player walking toward her, the big pock—marked buck who had dominated the game. Even from fifty yards Julian could see that he was covered with gooseflesh, and still breathing hard. Many-Doves stood waiting for him like a queen for a knight who had just championed her.

She didn't step toward him or even smile, but it was there on her face, her eyes fixed on his. Many-Doves lifted her arms, sending a red—striped blanket into a billowing arc over his head to settle it on his shoulders. She stepped up close to draw it across his chest.

Once or twice Julian had had women look at him that way, the way women look at men when they imagine themselves in love. The way Elizabeth was looking at the next man.

Julian watched astounded as Nathaniel Bonner, half—naked and painted like a savage, came to a halt in front of his sister. Elizabeth stepped forward with a blanket and she raised her face up, showing herself to be more like Many-Doves than Julian would have ever imagined. His tight—hearted, self—sufficient, don't—come—near—me sister. Looking at Nathaniel Bonner with her eyes like torches in the night.

"Where the hell have you been hiding yourself?"

Startled, Julian turned to find Richard with Kitty trailing behind. "We won't be home before dark at this rate," Richard said.

"Do let's be off." Kitty said, in a less angry tone, glancing uneasily between Richard and Julian.

Julian turned the two of them away from the long house and toward the sleigh.

"Go on, tell Galileo we're on our way directly," he said, pushing them off. "I'll get Elizabeth and follow you."

Kitty hesitated, but Richard was walking off already with great impatient strides.

"Go on, Kitty my dear," said Julian with a smile. "We'll be right there."

Chapter 16

When the parlor clock struck midnight, Elizabeth rose. What she was thinking was madness, and yet she imagined doing it so clearly that it felt inevitable. It would take her an hour, now that she knew the way. She could find Hidden Wolf: the skies were clear, the moon near full. It didn't matter that she had been up since sunrise, or spent ten hours on the road. She could be back before the moon set. Who would know?

With her dress half buttoned and one stocking on, Elizabeth lay down again and buried her face in the pillow. She was so vexed and irritated that she could easily cry, or shout, or throw something.

When Elizabeth had last seen Nathaniel this morning, he had been shivering with exertion and cold, his face bloodied under the paint. But he had smiled when she put the blanket around his shoulders, an ecstatic, ravenous smile, a smile that steadied her in her resolution.

I'll come to you, he had whispered when Julian stood waiting impatiently, watching. I'll come as soon as I can.

He might not even be back from Barktown; perhaps he wouldn't be back for days.

Elizabeth found the candle on her bedside table and went to the hearth. She crouched before the banked fire and held the wick to the pulsing scarlet embers until it caught, a single small flame. Then she sat there on the cold floor with her arms around her knees and stared as it began to consume the mixture of tallow and bayberry.

Tomorrow she would go to the cabin. She would go alone, to see to the last preparations for school. In two days she would teach her first class. All those children, in her care. She recited their names to herself, in a rush: Ian and Rudy McGarrity, Liam Kirby, Peter Dubonnet, Praise—Be Cunningham, Ephraim Hauptmann, Obadiah and Elijah Cameron. And the girls: Dolly Smythe, Marie Dubonnet, Hezibah and Ruth Glove, Henrietta Hauptmann, and Hannah Bonner.

He would find her there; of course he would.

I must sleep now, Elizabeth thought. Tomorrow, when I'm rested, tomorrow I'll see Nathaniel. Sleep's the thing, she told herself firmly.

She put the candlestick on the mantelpiece and went to her window. The moonlight lay like a quilt of blues and pearl—grays over the woods and the hills, painting the village in stark lines. Hidden Wolf rose like a protective specter, silent but benevolent and watchful. Elizabeth followed the path with her eyes as far as she could, and then imagined it where it disappeared into the woods. Lake in the Clouds, in shadow.

Something moved on the path, just a speck at first. She blinked, thinking she had imagined it, but it was steady, as steady as a candle flame, growing larger. It disappeared into shadow and then emerged again. Elizabeth stood utterly silent, her fingers cramping on the windowsill as the speck grew into the indistinct shape of a man. Another five minutes and the moonlight lay like a cloak on his bare head and shoulders; a tall man, moving fast, silent as the woods. Nathaniel.

She held her breath as he approached the house, her heart beating loud enough to wake everyone. Loud enough to wake the dead. Nathaniel stood below her window, his face cast half in shadow, the moon picking out one cheekbone, one half of his mouth, one eye.