Just when the pace of the march had begun to wear on Elizabeth, they stopped. There was a little clearing surrounded by scraggly pines, hard—packed earth and a well—used fire pit testifying to its ongoing use to travelers. Elizabeth hoped, although she would not ask, that they would rest here, and in fact Nathaniel flipped the canoe gently to the ground at the edge of the clearing.

"Best look after your own needs now," he said quietly as he took the pack from her shoulders. "Don't go too far, and don't use any leaves you can't put a name to."

She nodded, avoiding his gaze, and went off into the woods. Fumbling with the ties on her unfamiliar clothing, Elizabeth lectured herself sternly on the need for flexibility and self—reliance in new and challenging situations.

When she came back to them, the men were already eating. Runs-from-Bears handed her a hunk of corncake studded with nuts and cranberries and a piece of dried venison, which she accepted thankfully. Nathaniel was staring into the wood and seemed not to notice her. She sat cross—legged on the ground with her head bowed while she chewed, willing her eyes to clear of tears. They ate in silence and Elizabeth wondered miserably if they would ever talk again. When Runs-from-Bears got up and walked into the wood, she did not watch him go.

She felt Nathaniel's hand on her shoulder.

"Come," he said softly. "Come, you must be thirsty."

A few paces into the woods there was a small spring that erupted from a tumble of boulders, pooled and then ran away in a stream back toward the river.

Nathaniel lifted her chin with one finger. "I'm sorry," he said tersely.

"What are you sorry about?" Elizabeth asked, jerking her head away. "You haven't done anything." She knew how terribly bitter she sounded, but she was too unhappy to dissemble.

"You're ill at ease and I ain't helping much," he said. When she didn't deny this, he smiled.

"Don't have much excuse for it, though. Except things was pretty tense, and I'm quiet when I'm worried."

He crouched and leaned forward to drink from the spring, and then, wiping his mouth with his hand, he gestured for Elizabeth to take her turn. But his hair was bound back in a tail and hers was not; it swung forward and caught the water, spraying her with droplets. Concentrating, Elizabeth tried again with her head at another angle.

Nathaniel watched her grow furious with herself for her clumsiness. Knowing the danger of touching her, he hesitated but then caught up her hair to hold it for her while she drank. The heavy silkiness of it filled his hand and caught his fingers, revealing the slender white back of her neck. That sight made everything in him clutch in a fist of urgency and lust and protectiveness.

She managed it with his help and gurgled a little laugh, turning to him with water flashing in her eyelashes. Then she stopped, her own face suddenly mirroring the look he knew she must see on his own, the wanting, the tension of not enough time for wanting.

He dropped her hair as if it were on fire.

"Now you know how to drink from a stream," he said hoarsely.

"Nathaniel," she said.

She put her chin up at that angle that meant he had better listen. If it weren't for the fact that the sun was rising and that back in Paradise people might already be aware that she was gone, he knew he would take her right here. The stunned look on her face said that she would have him, and gladly.

She cleared her throat.

"They can't possibly be after us yet," she said. "Curiosity won't let them near my room until nine, at the earliest." There was a little catch in her voice, something strange in the way she related this. He met her gaze steadily and she blushed.

"Your brother knows you're gone," he pointed out.

"Yes," she said. "He does. But he can't exactly tell them that, can he? Nathaniel." She paused, and then that lift of her chin again. "It wouldn't hurt you to talk to me a little, you know. It won't make them move any faster, and it would be .. . a comfort. This is hard for me, if you hadn't realized."

"I realized," he said, less gently than he intended. "And you're right, it won't make them move any faster but it might make us slow down some."

Her face clouded at this, and Nathaniel swore softly to himself even as he watched his hand lift of its own accord. It slid through the tumbled hair and his fingers found the nape of her neck, holding her there. She closed her eyes and swayed toward him. Nathaniel met her halfway, dipping with his head to tilt her face up to him. He caught her mouth briefly, and then let her go.

"Tonight," he said. "Tonight we'll talk. Once we're wed. That is," he said, with the first full smile he had been able to summon up since she had come sprinting through the night to Lake in the Clouds. "If we don't find better things to do."

They were back on the water by mid—morning. The men paddled hard, and the canoe moved through the twists and turns of the Hudson with an agility and elegance which Elizabeth soon took for granted. Even the patches of white water came and went without causing her much concern; it wasn't until later, when Mrs. Schuyler asked about this stretch of their journey, that she came to realize how much she had assumed.

But it was hard to pay attention to anything but the incredible beauty of the river and the lands which bordered it, the mountains in the grip of spring. A good four weeks early, Nathaniel pointed out. And the warm weather was their good fortune. Elizabeth thought of this journey with the added burden of a snowfall or heavy rains and she said a silent prayer of thanks.