Sam Lun shook his head so that his dewlaps trembled. "And his granny, too! Dinna forget his granny, Jock. Carted aff tae gaol like a sack o' oats."

Nathaniel's breath hitched. "All of them in gaol?"

"Aye, ever' one o' them sittin' in the Dumfries tollbooth," said Mump. "I canna understan' it. Mac Stoker nivver was a mannie tae lose his heid ower a woman."

"Did you see this happen?" Nathaniel asked, looking around the room. "Did anyone here see the crew taken away?"

"Georgie here saw it, did ye no', Georgie. Come and tell the American what passed."

A young man pushed through the crowd to stand near Mump. He had a shock of red hair on his head, more of it growing out of his ears, up his neck, and over the back of his hands. The sight of him made Nathaniel's own skin itch.

"Aye, I saw it," said Georgie. "Yestereen."

"Yesterday evening?" Nathaniel frowned. "Just this morning one of the excisemen told me he hadn't seen the Jackdaw."

Mump let out a great laugh, so that his beard danced on his chest. "And ye believed an exciseman? Are aa Americans sae simple?"

Sam Lun nudged Georgie. "Tell the rest o' it."

Georgie nodded and cleared his throat. "On the road fra Corbelly, it was, at dusk. A whole pack o' redcoats wi' baig'nets at the ready, marchin' the crew o' the Jackdaw up the road tae Dumfries. One o' the redcoats was carryin' Granny Stoker on his back, tied han' and fit like a calf. A mair crankit auld chuckie ye'll nivver see, swearin' and skirlin' and screechin'. It was a wonder tae behold."

"Did you notice two strangers among them?" Nathaniel asked Georgie. "Older men, tall and well built, both of them?"

The boy's brow furled itself down low. "I couldna say. Granny Stoker was makin' such a fuss cursin' Mac tae the de'il that I hardly looked at the rest o' them."

"And aa for a wallydraigle!" Mump moaned, rocking back and forth on his heels and hugging his bottle to himself.

"What of the woman? What do you know of her?"

Jock Bleek snorted. "What does it matter wha she is? Stoker's run aff tae find her, and he'll pay dear for it in the end."

That he will, Nathaniel thought. But first Giselle will lead him a fine chase.

He stood and tossed the last of his silver coin on the table. "A drink for every man here," he said. "And my thanks."

"Where are ye aff tae, man? Will ye find Stoker and bring him back here?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "I'm on my way to Dumfries," he said. "To pay a visit to the gaol."

When the bonfire was nothing more than a few dull embers and Tom Paine's ashes had floated away on the night breeze, Elizabeth could fight her weariness no longer. She climbed into the great ship of a bed hung about with curtains furled like sails, and for all her misgivings she fell away into a deep sleep without dreams.

When she woke suddenly the moon was close to setting and Lily was whimpering softly. Nathaniel had not yet returned.

Elizabeth wrapped a shawl around herself and found her way to the babies' baskets. Daniel slept soundly, suckling his fist in an easy rhythm, but Lily looked up at her round-eyed and held out her arms to be picked up.

She was glad of the distraction. Walking up and down the room with Lily's solid warmth under her shawl was much preferable to lying awake, listening for the sound of Nathaniel's step while she reckoned out for herself all the things that might have kept him so long: difficult roads, poor directions, lamed horses. Other things she would not put a name to.

The wind had risen. It whistled down the chimney and rattled the windows. "Like the night you were born," she whispered against her daughter's ear. Lily had already drifted off to sleep, but she made a humming sound in response to her mother's voice.

From the corner of her eye Elizabeth caught movement in the square below the window, but when she turned to look again, there was nothing but debris from the bonfire skittering aimlessly over the cobblestones. And still she watched, because if she had learned anything from her time in the endless forests, it was to trust her senses.

And there, a wolf.

The skin on the back of her neck rose in a shiver even as her rational mind corrected her in a prim tone: There have been no wolves in Scotland for a hundred years or more.

It trotted out of the shadows and into the middle of the square, silver-gray in the moonlight, long legged, with a tail curled upward. Elizabeth's breath came to her again. No wolf, but a wolfhound, and now a second one came louping out of the shadows.

Then a man stepped into the open square, and Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat again.

Hawkeye. She blinked, and there he was still, walking in a long, steady gait directly toward the inn. His head uncovered, his hair flowing, rising and falling white in the wind. He stopped and raised his face to the night sky and for one second Elizabeth thought that her father-in-law was going to howl at the moon.

He looked up at her in the window as if he knew exactly where to find her, and touched a hand to his brow.

Not Hawkeye, but the Earl of Carryck, come to claim his own.

And what choice did she have but to open the door to him when he knocked?

He brought in the smell of horses and the night air. Plainly dressed, tall and straight with a deeply lined face and an energy at odds with his age. In the light of a hastily lit candle his eyes were a deep, pure bronze in color, not the hazel that was Hawkeye's.