Here the light was less but so was the sound of the water. Elizabeth moved forward tentatively, starting at the feel of something furry brushing against her bare feet. She pushed up against Nathaniel and yelped softly.

"No, no," he said calmly. "Look. It's just pelts."

This cave, bigger than the one before it, was crowded. There were baskets and barrels, a makeshift table with a betty lamp at its center. Provisions hung from pegs driven into cracks in the walls, strings of dried squash and apples and braided corn. On smaller pegs nearest Elizabeth was a selection of clothing, bullet pouches, knives in their sheaths and powder horns. And everywhere, on every surface, were pelts tied into neat bundles.

"The winter's work," said Nathaniel, following the path of her gaze.

"Hidden Wolf," she said, finally understanding.

"Hidden Wolf," he confirmed.

Everything of value, everything they needed to get them through the next year, was here. Anybody who wanted to force them out would only have to find this place. And they had brought her here without a word of discussion or warning or caution. Nathaniel had claimed her, and she had become one of them. This made Elizabeth immeasurably happy and unusually shy; she didn't know where to look. And he was so silent; why didn't he speak? She glanced up at him, and saw that he was waiting.

"I came to tell you—" she began, and then faltered.

His grip on her hand tightened. He waited.

"I wanted to say—" she began again, and then stopped once more. When she managed to meet his eye, she saw something frightened there. She watched him try to control his expression. "Thank you so much, Nathaniel. For the schoolhouse." This came out sounding very prim and dry and it was not at all what she wanted to say. But he was being distant and reserved; thus far he had done nothing more than take her hand. Irritated with her own clumsiness and with Nathaniel's unwillingness to set her at ease, she pulled away and made a study of her bare feet.

"You've changed your mind," he said woodenly.

"No!" Elizabeth's head jerked up, surprise cutting through the awkwardness between them. "No. How could you think such a thing?"

"Maybe I was expecting more of a greeting," Nathaniel said, and now there was at least the hint of a smile. "From my bride."

All the fear and frustration of the past eight weeks had been pulsing close to the surface, and with one word Nathaniel had pricked it open. Very slowly Elizabeth leaned forward until her forehead rested on his shoulder, shuddering with pleasure and relief at the feel of him, at his smell.

His arms came up around her. Nathaniel knew that she needed comforting. He took his time, letting her get used to the feel of him again. He touched her hair lightly, her back. Little by little she relaxed against him.

"We leave on Wednesday," Elizabeth said after a while. "And I'm worried."

"About what?"

She shivered a little. "I'm worried that I'll have to make a binding oath to Richard in front of Mr. Bennett before my father will sign the deed." Nathaniel could tell by the rush in her voice that this was the very worst she could imagine. He felt more of the tension slip away from her, now that she had shared the burden.

"Todd is coming to Johnstown with you?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"Well," said Nathaniel, smoothing her hair. "We'll have to think of a way to change his mind about that."

She pulled away then, frowning. Nathaniel tensed, feeling the jealousies of the last weeks begin to simmer again. "Unless you're worried about hurting his feelings."

"Because I don't like him doesn't mean I want to see him hurt," Elizabeth said, with a look Nathaniel thought her students must be familiar with. "It just means I don't want to marry him. As you know very well."

"We ain't got much time," he said slowly. "And I don't see that we should spend it with Richard Todd between us."

"Then promise me he won't come to any harm."

Nathaniel said, very evenly, "He won't come to any harm unless he puts himself in harm's way."

"Are you always this sure of yourself?" she asked suddenly, her irritation showing in the way she suddenly met his gaze, unflinching.

"I'm sure of some things," he responded calmly. "One of them is that Richard Todd ain't to be trusted."

"I didn't say that I trusted him," Elizabeth said. "In fact, I don't trust him. But I still don't like the idea of his being hurt."

Nathaniel felt his temper rising to the surface. "You're mighty worried about the man's welfare, seeing that you don't like him much."

"You are not being rational," said Elizabeth stiffly.

"Maybe not," Nathaniel said. "But maybe rational ain't what's called for right now. It was damn hard, let me tell you, watching the man who has been doing his best to run me and mine off this mountain, seeing him lay claim to you as if you was a good horse. I told you he won't come to harm if he stays out of harm's way, and that's the best I can promise. Is that good enough for you?"

Her color had risen, and her fingers twitched as if she wanted to hit him, or touch him. She put her chin up with that same flick of the head she had shown him the first time he spoke to her, when he had called her a spinster. One part of Nathaniel wanted to remind her of this, wanted to see her ruffle and flush and become uncertain. Because on the other side of the teasing there would be peacemaking, and they could get on with what had been started in the stable back in February. Nathaniel wanted that, but he was cautious. In the next few days he knew he would need all his skill and wits to keep them together, and alive.