Hannah was quiet for a moment, her expression calm. Once she glanced at Liam Kirby, and then away.

“All the men?”

“Aye, all of them.”

Hannah nodded. “I will be glad to leave this place.”

Jennet said, “I'll go now and gather our things.”

“Then I'll speak to Daniel.” Hannah's gaze shifted back to Liam Kirby.

“We will move him,” Jennet said. She leaned forward to take her cousin's hand, squeezed it hard. “We won't leave him here to die alone.”

“It won't come to that,” Hannah said. “Go now, and be quick.”

Daniel, roused from his poor sleep, was fully awake by the time Hannah had finished telling him what he must know. The muscles of his jaw were tight with pain, but there was something new in his expression as well, hope or satisfaction or both. He went off to wake Blue-Jay and begin the spreading of the news.

Hannah forced herself to breathe deeply, once and then again. Tonight they would be free, or dead; in either case she would be able to put down the responsibility for these men, most of whom had accepted her help only grudgingly, and who would not look her in the face if they passed her on the street.

Liam jerked, and she started so that the bowl of water in her lap sloshed. “You're awake.”

He said, “He's a fool, your half brother. But a brave one.” Hannah wondered again that he was still alive, clinging to this minute and the next, though they brought him only pain.

“You think we will fail?” Hannah asked.

Liam grimaced. “He'll get away with it, and more. The luck of the Bonners.”

Hannah's fingers picked at her wet skirts. Liam was thinking of his brother Billy, who had died on Hidden Wolf, a bloody death and one he deserved. At her father's hands.

“You still want revenge?”

His lips were split and caked with fever, his smile a fearful thing. “No,” he said. “I'm long past that. Curiosity told me once that Nathaniel did me a favor the day my brother died, and I've come to see the truth of it.” He huffed a weak cough and spat blood, swore under his breath. “It's not revenge I want.”

Hannah leaned over him and put her hand to his cheek, rough with beard, and found that his skin was dry and warm; the fever had left him. It had boiled all the wet out of him and it was ebbing away, a fire without fuel.

She said, “Do you want me to send word to Jenny?”

He grunted, displeased. “You are a strange woman, Hannah Bonner. I'm talking love to you here and you bring up my wife.”

There were tears on her face, but Hannah didn't wipe them away. He should know that she would mourn him.

“What is it you want, Liam? I'll give it to you if I can.”

This time his smile was softer, boylike, almost innocent but for the fresh blood on his teeth. “All I want now is death. Can you give me that, Walks-Ahead? Will you help me with that?”

A whispering had come up all around them like the wind rising in trees, cooling and welcome. Men's voices stripped of anger and ripe with hope, passing news back and forth as they would share an unexpected gift of food.

Hannah said, “I can. I will.”

In the hour before dawn the garrison was already alive with movement. Jennet skirted the parade grounds where the troops were assembling, turned her face away; she wanted to know nothing of the battle they were going to fight, would not think about the friends she had made here, the men who would go off in the first light of day to kill and be killed.

There was a little path, one she was not supposed to know about, that ran behind the armory to a gap in the garrison fortifications. The soldiers used it to slip in and out to see the women in the followers' camp, risking floggings and worse for a few moments' pleasure. Jennet took it now so as not to be seen coming and going by the sentries. Later, when the prisoners had escaped, there would be an investigation, and she would not give the guards anything to report if she could help it.

If all went well.

Jennet's blood raced so that it hummed in the tips of her fingers and made them jerk.

Once away from the garrison she ran, light-footed in the dark. She stumbled once and then again and forced herself to slow down. Thought of Luke, and wondered where he was just now, whether he had gone off to meet with Runs-from-Bears and Sawatis. This very night she would be in his bed, but it made her tremble to think of that, like a girl who planned to sneak out after dark to meet a lover her father disapproved.

Instead she thought of the things she must secure, the things she dare not leave behind.

As she came into the camp a soldier shot past her, no more than a boy, really, tousle-headed and frantically buttoning his breeks. He had fallen asleep. After the battle was done, while the others stood in line to get their pay, he would be strung up for a flogging. And still Jennet did not doubt that he would be back here before the stripes had healed on his back, unless he died today on Lake Champlain. He barely looked at Jennet, who was the least of his problems.

She was thinking of the nature of men while she slipped from shadow to shadow, thinking of the things they risked for the people they loved, of Luke, who had put everything on the line for his brother, and for her. The certain awareness of her good fortune made her pause in the dark and offer a small prayer of thankfulness.

The dark had given way enough to show her the outline of shacks, which meant, hopefully, that she would not need to waste precious moments with candle and flint box to find what she wanted. That thought had just formed itself in her mind when she saw that there was a light already, flickering weakly around the bearskin that served as a door.