Into the Wilderness (50 page)

"My
aide," clarified Mr. Schuyler.

"Just
when I had come to the conclusion that we'd all die of boredom or blisters
before another shot was fired. And here was this news that the boy had took off
from home and they suspected he was on his way to Saratoga. So I come up here,
and sure enough, the Tories had grabbed him when he showed up and stuck him
cold and wet in a barn. He had the good sense at least not to tell them whose
son he was. And that's where I found him, coughing and fever—rid."

He
paused to smile at Mrs. Schuyler, as if to remind her that there was a happy
ending coming to this story.

"Well,
short of it is—" He held up a palm to stop protests from the younger
Schuylers. "I got him back down to our camp near the lake, and we found
him a doctor, a woman tending the wounded."

"A
doctor or a woman?"

"Both,"
said Nathaniel.

"A
woman surgeon?" asked Elizabeth, confused.

"The
White Witch," said Runs-from-Bears. "I've heard tell of her."

"And
so has every soldier who set foot on that battlefield," agreed Mr. Schuyler.

"A
Kahnyen’keháka healer?" Elizabeth was curious enough to risk the
displeasure of the rest of the audience with another question.

Nathaniel
shook his head. "No, a white woman, and English by the sound of her. Ian
fetched her, and then it turned out she was his Auntie Claire. Brought her into
camp just when I was thinking we couldn't do much for the boy. And she hunkers
down next to him and listens to his chest and then she forces something down
his gullet, and she bundles him up. The thing to see, though, was the way he
settled down when he heard her voice, talking low to him, telling him to lay
his head. Like my own ma would have done if she had been there."

"How
old was this woman?" Elizabeth asked, and then ducked her head at the
good—natured laughter. "Out of curiosity—" she began feebly, but
Nathaniel had put his arm around her and he gave her a little squeeze.

"Well,
maybe it'll put your mind to ease if I tell you that her husband was there too,
came along to camp. A big red—haired Scot, wounded at Freeman's farm. I ran
into him later again on the Heights, and I was glad of it, too. I've thought of
them many times since that day."

He
turned to Mr. Schuyler. "Without her John Bradstreet would have died, so
maybe we should be drinking her health."

"And
so we should," agreed Mr. Schuyler, and raised his glass. "To
Nathaniel, who brought young John through the lines," he said.

"And
to the White Witch—”

“Claire
Fraser," Nathaniel reminded him.

"To
Claire Fraser, who brought him through his fever."

"What
happened then?" Elizabeth asked when they had touched glasses.

"Not
much. We settled him down at camp, far enough from the fortifications at Bemis
Heights to be safe, and there he stayed through the next battle, until he was
well enough to set up. By that time everything was said and done, Burgoyne
routed and this whole place burned on retreat. Mr. Schuyler came up when the
surrender was arranged, and fetched John. And that's the story."

"Nathaniel!"
scolded Mrs. Schuyler. "False modesty does not become you in the
least."

"That's
what happened," he repeated.

"Oh,
yes, of course," she said with a grim smile. "But you left out a few
facts. For example, that you had to travel eight miles through enemy territory
to find him."

"That
stands to reason," he agreed. "Wouldn't have been much challenge,
otherwise."

Mrs.
Schuyler turned to Elizabeth. "Imagine," she said. "Nathaniel,
himself just nineteen, walking into the hay barn—It stood right over there, you
see where the cows are grazing? That's where they were holding John prisoner.
And Nathaniel just picked him up and walked out as if he had been sent to fetch
him. They could have shot them right there, but Nathaniel never blinked. And
imagine he just keeps walking, past the troops and the officers and the artillery,
with a big twelve—year—old across his shoulders, and he walks overland, through
marsh and rough terrain, eight miles, until he gets to camp. For two weeks he
manages to keep this boy alive—remember, in the middle of this he went off to
fight in the Bemis Heights battle."

"I
wasn't alone on the Heights," Nathaniel muttered. "Anton over there
did his part, and so did others on this place."

"And
fought so that Morgan and Arnold both came looking for him to see if he could
be enticed to leave Sky—Wound—Round and join them. And through all this, he
made sure our John was taken care of. Can you imagine that?"

"I
can," Elizabeth said without hesitation.

Sally
Gerlach had been standing very still through the whole story, but now she came
alive, breaking the spell in the room with her laugh. "A bride ain't prone
to disbelieve any good thing you got to say about her man," she pointed
out. "Just happens in this case it's true."

Mr.
Schuyler was nodding. "So perhaps you won't wonder that we were pleased to
be of help to you today. And I will look after matters for you in Albany
tomorrow, so that you can rest assured."

At
some gesture from Mrs. Schuyler, the servants began to clear the table, and she
rose herself. "It's been a long evening. Perhaps you are ready to retire?"
There were grins around the table, which she extinguished like so many candles
with a single severe sweep of her head.

"Yes,"
said Elizabeth, wishing for some degree of poise that she didn't possess.
"Thank you very kindly."

"We'll
say good night, then," Nathaniel agreed.

"Ma!"
said Rensselaer. "What are you talking about? It's not ten of the clock
yet."

"Aye,
you're right," said Nathaniel as he helped Elizabeth up. "But we've
had a long day, you understand, and my bride is uncommon tired. As you can
plainly see."

Elizabeth
put a hand on his sleeve. "If you'd like to have a drink with the
gentlemen—"

He
hesitated.

"Please
go ahead," she said, quite sincerely wishing that he would, thinking that
right now it would be very good to have a few minutes to herself.

Nathaniel
wasn't grinning at her anymore; there was something else there, a kindness and
an understanding that made her breathe easier. She nodded and had begun to turn
away when he caught her by the wrist and pulled her up short.

"I
won't be long," he said against her hair. "Don't go to sleep without
me."

It
was not so very dark that he needed a candle to find his way to her. There was
moonlight, and in it, Elizabeth asleep. He stood there and watched her for many
minutes, until he could believe what he was seeing: his own good fortune. She
slept deeply, her head turned hard to one side to reveal the line of her throat
rising up from the simple nightdress, her skin as white and as soft as the
light itself. Nathaniel watched her sleep, and then he lay beside her and
listened to the sounds of the house settling in for the night, and the way she
breathed, and the beat of her heart. And he lay watching Elizabeth sleep and
wondering at himself, how he had come to this place in his life, that he should
have this woman beside him as his wife.

He
slept, finally. Chastely and completely content.

She
woke in waves, coming up from her dreams reluctantly. It was colder; there was
rain at the window, drumming softly, a persistent spring shower in the first
filtered gray light. Elizabeth stretched, and turned, and there he was,
Nathaniel, watching her. Lying on his side, the bare skin of his arms and
shoulders covered with gooseflesh.

"You're
all cold," she said, raising the blanket so that he could slip under. And
he came up against her, his long body against hers, and put his forehead to her
temple.

"You're
all warm." His arms went around her easily and they lay quietly in the
pooling of their heat and breath, until she turned her face to him, her lips
just brushing the stubble on his cheek.

"I
fell asleep," she said. "You should have waked me."

"Aye,
well. You're awake now, and so am I." His hands were revolving in slow
circles on her back, and his gaze was low and steady and not in the least
sleepy.

"Nathaniel?"

"Hmmmm?"

"There
was a conversation we didn't finish yesterday."

"Forgive
me, Boots, but I don't want to talk about your father just now." His mouth
touched the crest of her cheekbone and she shivered.

"I
didn't mean that," she said, stemming her hands on his bare chest, feeling
the beat of his heart against her palms.

He
drew back a little, his teeth flashing. Her wicked, wolflike husband.

"What
you said about ... satisfaction," she managed to say.

"Ah,"
said Nathaniel, looking quite satisfied himself. "I knew you'd be thinking
about that."

"Well,"
she said, when it was clear that he was more interested in exploring the soft
flesh below her ear than he was in talking. "Are you going to
explain?"

"Explanations
at this hour of the morning?" He shook his head, one hand slipping down
the length of her thigh and starting its return, bringing the hem of her
nightgown with it. "But a careful demonstration, that's another thing
altogether."

"It's
daylight," she said quite softly, and without conviction.

"So
it is. But we've done this before in the daylight. In fact, we've only done
this in the daylight, and it's worked out pretty fine, I'd say."

She
pressed her mouth together hard, her brow furrowed.

"Must
you tease me?"

"Now
that you ask," he said, his hand continuing in his upward quest. "It
is my understanding that as your husband it's not only my right but my duty to
tease you. And it's a task I'll take to heart, in case you had any
doubts." He nuzzled her neck, and she arched against him as one hand
settled on her bare hip.

"Nathaniel,"
she said, pushing away. I need to— There's something—"

Reluctantly,
he let her go. "Aye, well. Then see to it, Boots, but my patience ain't
bottomless, you do realize."

"Oh,
yes," she said, grinning herself this time. "I do realize that
much." She slipped out of the bed and took her dress from its peg on the
wall, and pulled it over her head, nightgown and all. Then she stepped into her
shoes.

"You're
not going out in the rain," Nathaniel said, astonished. "Not when there's
a perfectly good alternate sitting right under the bed?"

She
glanced over her shoulder at him. "I am," she confirmed.

"But
why?"

"Because
for the next few weeks or perhaps more I'll have to do without the Necessary,
wont I. But today I can still take advantage of the privacy." She draped
her shawl over her head and around her shoulders.

"I
don't see that walking through the rain is an advantage," he mumbled.
"Seems like a damn inconvenience to me."

"You're
not a woman."

He
grunted. "At least you noticed that much." He rolled on his side and
held out a hand toward her. "Give me a kiss, before you go out into the
wet."

But
she was already at the door, fluttering her fingers at him.

Nathaniel
lay back against the pillows, his hands crossed behind his head, and watched
the rain misting. It was just sunup, but they would have to be on their way
within the hour. Less, if they could manage it. No time for lessons in
satisfaction, or anything else, for that matter. Sooner or later Todd or the
judge would think to look to Saratoga.

They
would have to lie low until Schuyler had a chance to deal with the authorities
and the paperwork in Albany, and then to wait at least two weeks beyond that
point, moving for the whole time. Todd would be after them; of that Nathaniel
had no doubt. With a sigh of regret he made himself throw back the covers and
get out of bed, stretching expansively. He used the pottery contrivance
Elizabeth had not wanted, noting with some amusement the elaborate motif of
flowers and angels which decorated it inside and out. Then, yawning, he reached
for his leggings, happening to look out the window. From this part of the house
he could see the kitchen garden, the new—tilled earth dark and damp and fertile
in the warm spring, and beyond it, the pastures that lay between the house and
the wood.

In
that moment, a man appeared at the edge of the forest where it gave way to the
cow pasture. He paused there, looking sharp, and started toward the house. He
was wearing a cap, but his beard glinted gold—red even in the faint light.
There was the spark of a knife at his belt and the barrel of a long rifle
protruded from over his shoulder. He was dressed like a backwoodsman, but he
moved like a Kahnyen’keháka hunter.

One
part of Nathaniel's mind knew what he would see before his eyes had followed
the trajectory: Elizabeth emerging from the outhouse, her head bowed under the
shawl to keep the misting rain off her face. Richard Todd was moving fast and
he would intercept her just as she reached the kitchen door. A minute was
enough time, but just.