"Three hundred seventy—five dollars."

"Cash?"

"You know I have no cash!" she fairly exploded. She lowered her voice with considerable effort. "I will write you a note on the bank."

Nathaniel looked thoughtful. "There's no paper or ink in camp."

Elizabeth turned to Robbie, who held up both palms in a gesture to ward off any part of the discussion.

"I suppose we could write it out on buckskin," she said through clenched teeth. "With my blood, if that's all that will settle this."

"No need," Nathaniel said at last, one brow cocked. "Your word is good, until we can draw it up legal, like. Three hundred seventy—five dollars plus ten percent interest per week until you pay the balance in cash."

"That is usury! It could be weeks until I can get to the bank." She knew she was sputtering but could not stop herself. "You can't ask over a hundred dollars a month in interest—”

“I can," said Nathaniel. "But it's high, you're right. So I'll offer you a straight cost of four hundred dollars, no interest."

He raised a brow at her, mocking. Her wolf of a husband, flashing his teeth as if he would eat her whole.

"Done," she said, in strangled tones.

Nathaniel was up on his feet instantly, holding out his hand. Elizabeth took it reluctantly, as if it were an ill—used handkerchief. But he held on to her, looking down into her scowling face.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said dryly.

"Now come to bed because I have things to say to you." His fingers trailing over her palm.

Behind them Robbie rustled, and spoke softly to Treenie.

"No," Elizabeth said. "Not tonight." She looked off into the darkening woods, and would not meet his eye.

"Then I'll say it now, like this. I shouldn't have said that, about what happened. I ain't holding a grudge."

She nodded.

"I apologize."

"Thank you." She hesitated. "You are nothing like Richard Todd."

"Thank God," he said, with a grin. He still held her hand. "Will you come to bed now?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

Nathaniel took her chin between his fingers and turned her face up to his. She met his gaze reluctantly. He was frowning, the straight brows drawn together. Then he let her go.

"Please yourself, then."

Without a backward glance, she walked to the other corner of camp, and rolling herself in her blanket, she lay down.

Above Elizabeth's head, the clouds closed in over the stars. There was the soft sound of the water on the shore and the ticking of the fire. Inside her there was a ticking, too; she wanted her husband. She wanted to draw him down to her and make him sweat, bring him into a fever of trying to please, because he had hurt her. The look on his face when he held out the rifle to her—it was not something she could bear to think about for long.

She wanted him to come to her and wipe it away, but there was Robbie, and more than Robbie, there was her pride. Elizabeth put the corner of the blanket in her mouth and bit down hard.

She rolled onto her side and covered her ears, but she could not block out the melody or the words of Robbie's fine, deep baritone:

Oh the summertime is comin'

and the trees are sweetly bloomin',

and the wild mountain thyme

grows around the bloomin' heather.

will ye go, lassie, go?

She was heavy—eyed with wanting the refuge of sleep, and yet she could not quite go where she wanted to be. Long after Robbie's song had faded away, the words echoed in her head. will ye go, lassie, go?

On the other side of the camp, Nathaniel lay as awake as she was. She could see him, the way he sought her out, the whites of his eyes flashing toward her like a beacon calling her home. With a small grunt of effort, she turned on her side so as not to have to look at him. Between herself and the fire, Treenie lay like a great hissing log, wheezing in her sleep.

The bullet graze on her haunch was healed now.

I ain't holding a grudge.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes and she squeezed them shut hard to banish them. Pushing against a wall of hurt and indignation, she forced herself downward toward sleep.

A shuffling. She opened her eyes to see Treenie sitting up, her ears pricked forward and her head cocked at an angle. Elizabeth watched silently, as the dog trotted toward the shadowy curtain of the forest and froze, a low hum issuing from her throat. She moved forward in liquid steps, the growl escalating slowly.

Elizabeth felt the hair on her nape begin to rise. She glanced at the great mass of Robbie, snoring softly in his tattered bearskin blanket, and then, without moving her head, at Nathaniel. There was no indication that he heard anything; he lay with one arm bent under his head as he often slept, his face in shadows.

Treenie still advanced, her whole form compacted now into one tightly wound muscle. Elizabeth felt herself go slightly dizzy with fear, staring into the darkened forest.

She cleared her throat, a small sound that woke no one.

It might be wolves, although they had not seen any signs of them while they were canoeing down the lakeshore. None of the large cats would attack them like this, in a group around a fire, and bears disliked wood smoke.

Treenie could not manage a pack of wolves on her own.

Elizabeth called to Nathaniel, softly, and then finally, on her hands and knees, she moved toward him as Treenie moved toward the wood.

* * *