Elizabeth had given each of the students a book, suited to their interests. Hannah had been so overwhelmed by her copy of Cowper's Anatomy that she had been struck speechless.

"You can get it from Falling—Day in the morning," Elizabeth said, glancing out the window into the darkness. "It's too late to read, now.

"Oh, please," Hannah said. "Please let me go get it. Grandmother won't mind."

Nathaniel glanced at Elizabeth, and raised a brow. She nodded, reluctantly, and Hannah turned and was gone. They listened to the sound of her bare feet on the floorboards and then the front door closed behind her.

"Where were we?" Nathaniel asked, pulling her back to him across the bed.

"You were about to kiss me."

He laughed. Against her lips he said, "Nothing gets by you, does it?" She kissed him back, warm and playful: she tasted of molasses and cider. Moving down the long column of her neck, he nipped and teased her until she captured his face between her hands and brought his mouth back to her own to draw him down into a long kiss that left her gasping slightly, and straining upward into his hands.

Nathaniel reached for the candle, but she caught his wrist. "I want to see you," she said. "Let me see you."

Her eyes were soft and slightly glazed with the look she had sometimes when they were alone, and sure of the time they had together. He undressed her, and her skin rose to his touch and the cool night air. When he had stripped down Nathaniel drew the covers over them: a different kind of cave, rich with their smells and echoing with the small sounds she made.

Elizabeth put her hands on him to pull him closer, wound a leg around his hip, and ran her mouth up his neck to find his ear. But he resisted her, holding back when a simple forward movement would have joined them.

"Boots," he said. "Slow down. There's no hurry."

She shook her head: whether in contradiction or dismissal, he could not tell. Twisting in his arms, she pulled away and then pushed him down. In a single movement she had straddled his belly and bent over to kiss him, all soft and warm, her breasts against his chest. There was a furious tide running in her, and he could not resist its pull, did not want to.

"Holy God," he muttered, his hands on her thighs, his thumbs seeking. "You're as slippery as the road to hell." And he lifted her. Helped her move, put her where they both wanted her to be, and arched up to meet her. Her hair fell around them in waves, pooling on his legs and belly. His fingers tangled in it where his hands gripped her hips.

He let her have her way, finding her own rhythm. In the flickering candlelight, he watched her face contort, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. And then her eyes flew open and her face dropped forward and she came with a shudder and a small, wordless cry.

She was content to let him lead, then. To be turned onto her back, her arms spread wide with his fingers intertwined in hers while he held her down and found his way into her again. Between them, the swelling of her belly where their child rested; Nathaniel was overcome with the need to cover them like a shield, to hide them from the world, to keep them safe at any cost, to keep them to himself alone, forever.

As was her habit, Elizabeth fell asleep straightaway, but Nathaniel lay awake in a cocoon of melancholy and worry. It happened sometimes, when they had been together; he bore it alone, knowing that it would be gone in the morning. The wind was high in the trees. There would be a strong frost.

He was thirty—five years old, but he had never spent a winter alone on this mountain without his father's guidance and support. At this moment, he could not deny that the thought frightened him.

Nathaniel curled himself around Elizabeth, listening to the sound of her heart, and let himself be lulled to sleep by its rhythm.

* * *

Suddenly and completely awake, Nathaniel sat up in the dark. Something was wrong. He shook his head to clear it. On his bare skin the air was frost—cold.

He blinked in the darkness, listening.

Two heartbeats, where there should have been three; he could not explain how it was he knew this, but he did. He reached for his breech clout in the dark.

"What is it?" Elizabeth said sleepily.

"Hannah."

He was pulling his shirt over his head.

Elizabeth sat up. "She'll have gone to sleep in the other cabin."

Outside, a faint sound: the rolling beat of hooves. Elizabeth was awake now, reaching for her own clothes, tripping after him into the other room.

The sleeping loft was empty. He dropped back down the ladder, his bare feet slapping hard on the floorboards.

"Nathaniel," Elizabeth said, trying for calm. She was struggling with the flint box and the candle. In the small new light, he grabbed his rifle from its rack over the door with one hand, his powder horn and bullet pouch with the other.

"Nathaniel, she'll be asleep with Falling—Day."

The sound of a single rider, closer now.

"Nathaniel Bonner!" A boy's voice, cracking with panic.

"That's Liam Kirby," Elizabeth said, dread flooding through her, cold and harsh.

They went out on the porch. Liam sawed at the reins, cursing. He whipped his head toward them as the horse danced away.

"The schoolhouse! Fire!"

And he wheeled, and was gone again into the woods. Nathaniel broke into a dead run for the barn as Runs-from-Bears appeared out of the darkness, racing in the same direction.

"Oh, God, my God," Elizabeth said. She bolted for the other cabin, toward the flame of a single candle, mumbling a prayer: Let her be there, let her be there safe." Her skirt caught on a root and ripped; she ran on, screaming Hannah's name. The women came flying off the porch to meet her as the horses thundered past, the men riding bareback.