Into the Wilderness (57 page)

"Not
this afternoon," said Nathaniel. "There's other business to attend
to."

* * *

Robbie
was about to go out to check his trap lines, but he stayed a while to greet
Nathaniel.

"It's
good tae see ye, man," he said for perhaps the fourth time, clapping
Nathaniel on the shoulder. "I was wonderin' if we'd end oop goin'
doonriver after ye. But we managed, didn't we, lassie, we managed and then
some. She's a fine wee lassie, Nathaniel, and a unco braw one, make nae
mistake."

"I
haven't," Nathaniel agreed, and laughed out loud to see Elizabeth blush
with this, her pleasure at having him back again and teasing her. The urge to
put his hands on her was almost too strong to deny. As much as he liked Robbie
and wanted to talk to the man, he wished him away to his trap lines.

"Before
I gae," Robbie said, as if he had read Nathaniel's mind—a thought probably
not too far from the truth, he realized, for not much escaped the old
soldier—"There's sum thing ye need tae ken. Jack Lingo's been up in this
part o' the bush."

Nathaniel
turned quickly, raised an eyebrow. "There's nothing new about that."

"Sae
you've nae fear o' the man. Well, I dinna like the awd whoreson prowlin' aboot,
no' when there's a bonnie young guidwife here and in ma care."

Nathaniel
thought for a moment. He could walk out with Robbie, to talk. It wouldn't take
long. He looked at his wife where she knelt by the fire, tending to the
contents of the cook pot. She blushed and looked away, and his blood leapt at
that, at what she was thinking, for it was clear on her face. Even Robbie could
see it, for he blushed brighter than she did.

"Did
you speak to him?" Nathaniel asked. "No. But there's sign o' him, and
a lot o' it. And Dutch Ton wi' him."

Elizabeth
looked up at the mention of this name.

"I
know him," she said. "Dutch Ton."

The
men looked surprised, and so she told them the story of the letter from his
sister. Robbie laughed until the tears leaked down his face.
 

"Wha'
a daft storyteller Axel is," he said finally. Then he shook his head and
stood. "Dinna fash yersel', Nathaniel. I doubt they've mair on their sma'
minds than usual. And ye'll be safe come night, in the caves.

"Is
there more to tell?" Nathaniel asked, glancing over at Elizabeth.

"Naethin'
that canna bide a while." He was pulling at his roundabout, checking his
bullet pouch, touching the hatchet and the knife thrust into his belt in a
thoughtful way. Then he picked up his traps.

"I
wilna be back afore mornin'. I mun walk my far traps, an' there's nae avoidin'
it. But it comes tae me," he added, dropping his gaze and clearing his
throat. "I doubt ye'll miss me."

"But
I will," Elizabeth said quite sincerely, coming forward. She smelled of
wood smoke and her own musk, and Nathaniel reached out and put his hand on her,
pulled her in to him. She came willingly, and stood there tucked into his side.
They took leave of Robbie, and Nathaniel was pleased to see that she was
genuinely fond of the man. It was the right thing to have done, sending her
here. Given the goings—on in Albany. He grimaced a little at the thought of the
conversation they must have. But not now, not this afternoon, not even tonight.

"Come,"
she said, when Robbie was gone. "There's food. You must be hungry."

She
turned back toward the fire, but he caught her wrist, drew her up and back to
him.

"I'm
not hungry," he said. "At least, I don't want to eat right now."

There
was a glitter in her eyes, not of tears, not this time. She had wept the last
time he held her, but he was determined that she would not weep today.

"It's
raining," she said softly. "Perhaps we should go inside."

"Where's
Runs-from-Bears?" Nathaniel asked.

"He
went out this morning, hunting. Why?" she asked, and then she looked away,
knowing why. "It's full light," she said.

Nathaniel
caught her waist between his hands. "We've had this discussion
before," he said. "But the last time we were very rudely
interrupted."

"So
we were," she agreed. And then, with a frank gaze which pleased him
inordinately: "I wondered if you'd remember."

He
laughed then, and buried his face in her neck. "I couldn't forget if I
wanted to," he said against her ear. "Will you have me in the
daylight, Boots?"

She
nodded; it was all she could do, he could see that. And this pleased him, too.
Everything about her pleased him. Outwardly, she was hardly the same woman,
wearing buckskins with her hair plaited. Her eyes were all the grayer for the
browning of her skin in the sun. But when he touched her, when she spoke to
him, she was still there, the woman he had married. Elizabeth, with her warmth
and her smile, her intelligence and curiosity and bravery. Robbie had seen
those things in her, although she could not see them in herself.

With
a little shrug and a smile she had left him to take the cook pot off the fire
and cover it, and then scatter the coals. She would not look at him, although
he kept his gaze on her.

Elizabeth
went to the cabin and glanced over her shoulder at him, and Nathaniel followed
her into the dark, warm caverns inside the mountain.

* * *

They
were completely and utterly alone. Outside there might be winter, or a
hailstorm, or a world on fire, and they would not know, here in the middle
chamber, the one where Elizabeth slept. Nathaniel piled the packets and sacks
from the canoe in the space already crowded with the odds and ends of Robbie's
life. The torch in the corridor smoked a bit, but here the air was clear and
warm and flickering with the light of beeswax, for Robbie had left a brace of
candles, clearly his best and most precious supply. Elizabeth had hesitated
about lighting them, but Nathaniel had not, pointing out what she knew to be
true: that Robbie had wanted them to use the candles; this was his wedding gift
to them. They burned bright and they smelled sweet, and Elizabeth was glad of
them, here in the heart of the mountain.

"What
are you thinking?" Nathaniel asked, and she realized he had been watching
her face. He was crouched down, rummaging through the plunder from the canoe.

She
drew in a breath. "That we are more alone here than we were . under the
waterfalls." She looked down the corridor, and thought of something she
could offer him. "Would you like to bathe?"

"Later,"
he said, grinning up at her. "I brought you something."

"I
don't have anything for you.

"Ah,"
he said. "But you do." And he hooked her leg out from under her so
that she sat down hard next to him, her breath bursting from her with a
surprised whoosh.

"Oooh."
She laughed, rubbing her backside. "You might simply have asked,
Nathaniel."

He
put a small packet in her lap. She opened it carefully, feeling his eyes on
her. Inside the paper there was a handkerchief, a beautiful piece of the finest
linen embroidered white on white, edged all around with exquisite lace.
Elizabeth looked up at him, surprised.

"You
never got to use the wedding hankie you bought from Anna," he said.

"Did
you know about that episode with Anna?"

"Curiosity
told me."

"Curiosity."
She smiled. "We owe her a great deal."

"Aye,"
Nathaniel agreed. "We do. But she's pleased with herself and with you. She
said to tell you that you did good."

It
was Elizabeth's turn to laugh. "I doubt that my father agrees with her.
Her part in our getting away isn't known?"

"Seems
she managed that pretty well. You don't need to worry about Curiosity,"
Nathaniel noted. "And your father looks none the worse for wear, although
I didn't talk to him."

Elizabeth
didn't want to talk about her father just now. "How are things at Lake in
the Clouds?"

He
ran a knuckle down her arm. "You worried about Hannah?"

"You
are reading my mind again. I'm not so sure that is a desirable trait in a
husband," she teased. "But yes, I have been wondering how she feels
about all of this."

He
smiled. "She's taking full credit for the whole plan. You don't need to
worry about her, Boots. You'll be a good mother to her."

Elizabeth
looked down at her hand in his. She saw how rough her skin had become in such a
short time. It was sun—browned, the beginnings of calluses on the pads of her
thumbs. But these were stronger hands, and she was not ashamed of them.

Nathaniel
had seen her hands, too, and his face was suddenly drawn.

"You
weren't born to this life," he said, all of his playfulness and teasing
gone.

"Then
I'm very fortunate, aren't I?" she said softly. "To have come to it
the way I did."

She
lifted the handkerchief to touch it to his cheek and, as she did, two pieces of
jewelry fell out: a hair clasp of silver, and a pendant, a long chain
slithering after it.

"Oh,"
she breathed, picking up the chain so that the single pearl enclosed in a
clutch of silver petals and curling leaves twirled to catch the candlelight.

"It
was my mother's," said Nathaniel. "And the wedding ring, too. She
left them to me to keep for Hannah, but I asked her and she thinks you should
have them for now."

Elizabeth
picked up the hair clasp, a wide lozenge of silver etched with a pattern of
winding flowers.

"Was
this your mother's, too?"

"No,
I bought that in Albany. I kept thinking about your hair, the color of it
spread out, how it put the fisher pelts to shame. He paused. "And so I
bought it for you. You'll be thinking me extravagant."

"I'm
thinking that you are a love," Elizabeth said, blinking hard. "Shall
I put it in my hair now?"

"No,"
he said firmly. "I don't want your hair up right now. But will you wear
this?" He touched the silver chain.

Elizabeth
was already turning, gathering her plait away to expose her neck. The pearl
touched the hollow of her throat and slid down between her breasts while
Nathaniel's fingers worked at the nape of her neck, his breath on her hair.
Elizabeth felt her skin rising, every nerve awakening. His hands moved to her
shoulders, and then there was his mouth, warm and open below her ear. She heard
herself gasping, a strange, inarticulate sound.

"Do
you like it?"

She
flexed and turned in his arms, rising on her knees to come closer to him, and
hugged him with all her strength. For once, she had no words and so she just
held him.

"I'll
take that as a yes." He grinned.

"Yes,"
Elizabeth said, taking his face between her hands to kiss him briefly, rubbing
her cheek against his, enjoying its roughness. "Yes, I like it. Yes. Thank
you."

His
hands were on her waist, where they moved up and down, slowly.

"You're
welcome," he said, pulling her even closer, leaning in and then away,
hesitating still.

Elizabeth
wondered at him, that he did not start what they both wanted to start. His
hands drew slow circles under her arms, the thumbs stretching out to trace the
swell of her breasts, but he was content to watch her face, it seemed. She was
not content, not at all. Now that he was here with her after so long.

"Is
there anything wrong?"

"Not
a thing in the world," he said huskily. But still he didn't kiss her;
there was just the sliding pressure of his hands, and the sweep of his thumbs.

She
met his eye and held it.

"There's
no hurry, Boots," he said easily, drawing her forward to kiss her,
finally, just a brushing and then he was gone. "There's no one in the
world to interrupt us, and nowhere to go." With his hand covering the
small of her back, he brought her up against him and pressed his mouth to her
temple, traced a path with his lips to her ear. The other hand slid up under
her shirt to cup a breast at that moment that he found her mouth and kissed her
in earnest.

"Unless
you'd like to talk, just now," he said a good time later.

"You
make me shiver so," she murmured.

Nathaniel
laughed and buried his face in her neck. "Shivering is just the start of
it."

"Of
what?" she asked.

"Of
this," he said, his hands moving again.

"This..."
Elizabeth echoed. "What do you call this?"

He did
not laugh this time, but she saw something else in his face, a kind of pleasure
and power and satisfaction. Her lack of experience and her curiosity aroused
him. She was aware of this, slowly. She could taste it in his kiss, feel it in
the way his mouth moved on hers.

"I've
read about it," she said. "But I'd like to know what
you
call this."

He
stilled suddenly, surprised. "What have you read about?"

"This—"
she said with an edge of impatience. "What goes on between men and women.
My uncle's library is very extensive, and I have read all of it. In the
Sumnia Theologica
Thomas Aquinas most
usually uses the term
carnal intercourse
,
and then there's
coition
, or
vera copula
, but it is hard for me to
think of—us—in those terms. I remember a medical text very clearly which used
the term venery. I think to the effect "The Passions of the Mind have
great Influence, as also excessive
Venery
."
Although more commonly I think that word is used to refer to love of the
hunt." Seeing the disbelieving look on Nathaniel's face, she stopped.