At home he was most comfortable in a hunting shirt and leggings, though in the classroom he substituted breeches, a linen shirt, and a workday coat. Now neither of those options would do and so he had brought the clothes he wore on those rare occasions he had to go farther than Johnstown. He slipped on his best linen shirt, made for him by Curiosity’s daughter Daisy, a vest embroidered with leaves and twining vines Ethan had brought him from Manhattan, and his good dark blue broadcloth coat. Both the shirt and coat sleeves were cut unfashionably wide, which was the only way he could get them on. Daisy had also made his trousers, cut narrow from ankle to waist, with silver buttons to close the front fall. He hoped he wouldn’t be an embarrassment to Martha.

Finally washed and dressed, he folded and tied a fresh square of linen into a sling, eased his arm into it, and went outside to deal with the pain in the relative seclusion of Mrs. Cady’s garden.

The wind had picked up, and the sky was darkening fast. Daniel forced himself to breathe in and out at a normal pace and then he turned all his attention to his arm. The pain had come up full force on the ride from Paradise, and now it radiated down his arm and into his hand in jolts as resonant as a hammer striking an anvil. He had been pushing himself hard for days; the only real question was why it hadn’t happened sooner.

With his eyes closed and his face raised to the wind Daniel went through the exercises he had learned from Many-Doves and the healers at Good Pasture, turning inward to address the pain itself. Speaking to it like the living thing it was, and asking for peace. On this of all days. He pushed it gently and watched it retreating, along the nerves that ran through wrist and forearm to pool, for one excruciating minute, in the angles of his elbow. Sweat rolled down his face even in the cooling wind.

Another few minutes and it fell back into his bicep and finally it burrowed like a rat into the nest of nerves deep in his shoulder.

Cady came to the door and called his name. He wiped his face with his handkerchief and went inside to his bride.

She had washed and changed and put her hair up in a neat roll on the back of her head. A few damp strands lay against her nape and touched the lace collar of her gown. It was what his mother would call a morning dress, of some light fabric the color of rich cream, with lace along the layered hems of the skirt and sleeves. There was embroidery across the bodice, gleaming white on white, a pattern of small birds and flowers. Against the dress her coloring seemed almost flagrant, from the rich bronze of her hair, the deep pink of her mouth, to creamy skin that darkened to rose along her cheekbones and on her earlobes.

Her smile was small and anxious, but there was courage there too. He took her hand and kissed her lightly, just a brushing of mouths but he felt the jolt of it move through her as it traveled the length of his own spine.

Throughout the ceremony her hand trembled in his, though her voice was calm and strong when she spoke. His own caught a little and she glanced up at him. And then she squeezed his hand, and that made him smile. So they were both grinning like idiots when the final words were spoken.

While the lawyers and the notary were busy with the documents Daniel leaned over and whispered into her ear.

“Sorry you let me talk you into this?”

“No,” she said. And then, with a grin that was meant to be cheeky: “Not yet.”

It cheered him beyond all reason to see that she could tease. There was nothing of panic or unhappiness in her expression. What was there he wasn’t sure. Shock, perhaps, at how suddenly her life had changed. For his own part he felt relief and thankfulness and the distinct stirrings of his body in response to hers.

The next challenge was to feed her properly and find a place to stay the night. He said this to her as soon as they had taken their leave. Martha had changed again, this time into clothes suitable for riding. Because as much as they both disliked the idea, the wisest thing would be to stay the night somewhere other than Johnstown.

“If we push we can get there before the storm comes in.”

“Get where? Where are we going?”

“To Michael Allen, an old friend of mine. It’s a big house and I know he’d be happy to put us up.”

It was a big enough house to spare two rooms, but that was something he couldn’t say just at the moment. The truth was, some things didn’t have to be rushed. There were notarized copies of their wedding lines in Cady’s safe, in the courthouse, and in Daniel’s saddlebag, and so now they could take the time to stop and think. Or rather, Daniel admitted to himself as they set out at a trot, he would give Martha the time she needed to come to him of her own accord. He hoped it wouldn’t be too long. He hoped he would be equal to the business when that moment came.

Overhead the sky lowered and flexed, and all around trees bent with the force of the buffeting winds. The horses nickered uneasily, and broke into a cantor at the vaguest, lightest touch. The first fat drops of rain fell just as they crested a hill and Allen’s farm came into view.

An old woman with a twisted back answered Daniel’s knock. Behind her the house was in shadow, and silent.

“Mrs. Allen,” Daniel said. “It’s very good to see you, ma’am. May I introduce you to my wife?”

Beside him Martha jerked to hear those words spoken. He hoped not in displeasure.

“Daniel Bonner,” said the old woman. “Come in out of the rain, young man, and bring your bride with you.”

Chapter XXXV

Two miles out of Johnstown Callie’s mare threw a shoe and shortly after that, the storm came in, so they arrived at Mr. Cady’s home later than planned, and soaked to the skin. It was Mrs. Cady who told them that Daniel and Martha had left some two hours earlier. No, Mrs. Cady didn’t know where exactly the newlyweds had been headed, but could she help them in any other way?