Into the Wilderness (107 page)

"I
can't let you waltz into a room of drunken men with bloodshed on their minds.
And it wouldn't do any good anyway, Boots. You know that yourself."

Elizabeth
let her head drop back against the wall of the church. Above her, the dark
shapes of the fir trees flexed against the night sky. For no reason she could
understand, Elizabeth thought of Kitty's mother hiding up in the branches of
one of those trees for two days after the Kahnyen’keháka war party had come to
call, afraid to climb down and face the rest of her life after what she had
learned about the cruelty of men, and how deep it could run.
Some folks sit tight and let life happen to
them,
Curiosity had said to her once.
No
matter what the cost
.

"But
I do not," Elizabeth murmured. "And never will I."

The
worry that etched Nathaniel's face in deep lines gave way to sudden curiosity.

"Have
you got a plan?"

Amazed
to realize that she did indeed have a plan, Elizabeth nodded. "Can you
raise enough of a fuss to empty the tavern? Get all of them out here for a
quarter hour or so?"

One
brow shot up, incredulous. "And what good will that do us?"

Elizabeth
smoothed her hand over his shoulder. "Quite simple. While you are out here
amusing all of them, I will be inside."

The
other brow went up, and with it, a flicker of a grin. "Elizabeth Middleton
Bonner," said her husband slowly. "Are you proposing to break a man
out of gaol?"

"If
you'll explain to me how to force the lock, well, then. Yes. I suppose that is
exactly what I am proposing."

Nathaniel
reached into his bullet pouch and pressed a knobby iron key into her hand.

"Where
did you get this?"

He
shrugged. "We've got some friends left in Paradise."

"Axel."
She nodded. "And I know we can count on Anna to look the other way, if it
comes to that."

"It's
going to take more than a little luck to pull this off, Boots."

"Pah."
She made a small flickering motion with her fingers. "Luck is for the
unprepared and the mediocre. What we need is a plan. And careful timing. And
quite possibly, a large gourd from Anna's garden."

Elizabeth
thought that if she let herself contemplate the enormity of the task she had
just taken on, she would begin to shake with fear, and so she spoke to him of
the details. Nathaniel was already more himself; she could feel it in the way
he ran his hands over her arms, see it in the distracted look on his face as
they discussed timing, and decoys, and meeting places.

"We
should wait another hour or so," he said, when they had sketched it out
between them. "Until they're good and drunk."

"You
won't burn anything down, will you?" She plucked at his sleeve anxiously.

"Nothing
so dramatic as that, Boots. No, I thought I'd give Billy Kirby what he really
wants, which is just a chance to beat me bloody in front of his friends. If we
wait, he'll be drunk enough to think that maybe he can do it. So we've got some
time on our hands here. Any ideas?"
 

She
had an idea, oh, yes. Pinned against this wall with Nathaniel leaning over her,
his warm breath stirring her hair and his fingers plucking gently, she had
notions in her head that a year ago were beyond her imagining. The warm summer
night and the smells of him, and the anxiety and excitement of what lay before
them, all came together to hum in her veins. She lifted her face to him,
knowing that he could read what was written there better than any words on a
page.

With
a small laugh, Nathaniel came in closer. He dropped his head so that his mouth
hovered just over hers.

"You're
full of mischief tonight, ain't you, Boots?"

Before
she could protest, he had closed the gap between them. She spread her hands on
his back and tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back, pressing
herself to him. Two days without Nathaniel had reminded her what it was like to
be alone. His shoulders flexed under her hands; she pressed her teeth to the
skin of his neck, tasting his salt and sweat and wanting more, wanting all of
him. But the combination of his hands on her breasts and the wall at her back
struck a chord she could not ignore.

"This
is the
church,
" she gasped when
his mouth left hers to move to her ear. "Nathaniel! Perhaps—"

His
hand slid inside her bodice, just as his lips closed over her earlobe.

"Nathaniel,"
she whispered, pushing him away.

His
thumb stopped its slow rotation on her nipple, and he lifted his head. "Boots?"

She
pulled his head to her, kissed him hard. "There's something sacrilegious
about this."

"Well,
then," he said thoughtfully. His hand continued on its quest beneath her
skirt while he kissed the corner of her mouth, his tongue flickering. "Quote
me something from the bible, if that will help. Because I want you."

She
gave in with a laugh. Because she wanted to, because she wanted him. She let
him bare her breasts to the night breeze. She took his kisses and gave them
back, put her hands on him, greedy for the evidence of his desire. With his
arms beneath her knees he lifted her against the wall, finding his way through
the tangle of her skirt, his fingers pressing into her rounded flesh, seeking.
He tilted her up and fit himself to her with a groan muffled against her arched
neck.

So
closely joined together that she dreaded ever having to let go,
Elizabeth
drank in the
words he murmured at her ear, sounding for all the world like a prayer.

They
found a pumpkin in Anna's garden that was just about big enough to serve as a
stand—in for Hawkeye's head, but they also found Jed McGarrity, who was using
it as a pillow. Sound asleep with his fiddle cradled in his arms, he was
snoring lightly and seemed not in the least uncomfortable.

"Maybe
we should help him home,"
Elizabeth
suggested.

"No
time," Nathaniel reminded her. "And Nancy wouldn't let him in,
anyway. He smells like he climbed right into the schnapps bottle."

"Is
Jed difficult when he is inebriated?" she asked thoughtfully.

"There
ain't a mean bone in the man's body."

"Good,
then maybe we won't have to make do with the gourd." When there was no
reply to this suggestion,
Elizabeth
glanced up at Nathaniel. But his attention was elsewhere, on what was going on
inside the tavern.

She
put a hand on his arm. "Be careful."

He
grinned down at her, cupped her cheek in his hand. "You, too." And
then he disappeared around the corner to enter the tavern by its front door. Elizabeth
wound her hands in her skirt to keep them from trembling, and she glanced at
Jed McGarrity's long face, half lit in moonlight. She crouched down next to
him, shook him slightly.

"Hmmm?"
He opened one eye and then closed it again. "Miz Elizabeth. Kind of you to
come and call."

She
stifled a smile. "Jed, wouldn't you be more comfortable in a bed?"

"Yas'm,
but there ain't one handy," he mumbled.

"You
stay put and I'll find one for you. If you're not fussy about where,
exactly."

He
fumbled at his head for a moment, as if he had a hat to tip. "I ain't a
fussy man, miss. Thank you kindly."

His
snoring resumed just as the first shouting erupted from the tavern.

* * *

Liam
had left a betty lamp alight on a pickle barrel when he went out to watch the fight,
and Elizabeth was very glad of it as she threaded her way through the trading
post, around washtubs, boxes of Daffy's Elixir of Life, stacks of folded
huckaback and dried tobacco leaves. The trading post was unnaturally quiet in
the deep of the night, in contrast to the noise outside. It seemed that the men
of
Paradise
enjoyed a fistfight. She just
hoped they didn't take it into their heads to join in.
Elizabeth
put that idea firmly away, and felt
once again for the key in her pocket.

There
was a window cut in the pantry door, a dark square as big as her hand.
Elizabeth went up on tiptoe, but she could see nothing. With the sound of her
own heartbeat so loud that she could barely concentrate, she fit the key to the
lock, wincing at the small scraping noise.

"Nathaniel?"
came a whisper.

"No,
it's
Elizabeth
."
She swung the door open and found Hawkeye standing there, fully dressed. He put
out a hand to grab her shoulder, and leaning over, touched his forehead to her
hair.

"By
God," he whispered. "I knew you two would come through."

Overcome
with a rush of affection,
Elizabeth
grasped his free hand, and pulled him into the room. His face was rough with
beard stubble; his hair clung damply to his temples. Blinking and squinting in
the light, he looked at first like a confused old man. Then he shook his head
and his gaze, razor sharp, focused on
Elizabeth
.

"Is
that Nathaniel out there fighting Kirby? Aye, I thought so. He's been looking
for an excuse for a while, but I guess he didn't think it would come like this."
He paused, and ran a hand over his chin so that the bristles crackled. "My
father?"

"He's
alive, but the women think he's very close, Hawkeye. I'm sorry."

He
nodded, as if he had been expecting to hear worse. "Not too late, at
least."

She
put out a hand. "We need a dummy of some sort for your cot, so they don't
realize right away—”

“No
time, lass." He shook his head. "I'm away up the mountain."

Elizabeth
knew
he was right, but having come so far so quickly, she was suddenly almost
paralyzed with worry. She forced herself to say it, anyway. "Go on, then,
I'll cope here."

At
the door, Hawkeye paused. "You're a fine woman, Elizabeth. I'm proud to
call you daughter."

She
pushed at him, her anxiety almost at the breaking point. "Go," she
said. "We'll come after. Just go."

He
didn't need more urging.
Elizabeth
watched him running across the garden, as elegant and quick as a deer in
flight, his hair fluttering silver in the moonlight. He disappeared into the
woods without a sound.

Drenched
in sweat, she set off into the garden, listening as she went to the sounds of
the fight out front.

* * *

If he
had ever seen a sure thing, a fight worthy of a wager, this was it, thought
Julian. Nathaniel Bonner in a white fury, and sober, against Billy Kirby with a
half bottle of schnapps in him. Billy might weigh a few stone more, but it
would do him little good tonight. More bad luck, to have put all his money into
drink and cards before Bonner showed up. Up to that point, it had been a boring
affair, this Irish wake. The memorial toasts for a man few had liked and fewer
still would miss were only vaguely amusing; the singing had set more than one
dog to howling. It was almost enough to make Julian appreciate the empty house
he had waiting for him. He had been on the point of going when things got
interesting.

Of
course, Billy had brought the fight on himself. He could no more keep from
bragging about tossing Hawkeye in the gaol than he could stop breathing.
Bonner, cold bastard that he was, hadn't blinked. He just listened to Billy
rant on and on, and then asked in a conversational tone if the sheriff had the
balls to stand up with somebody his own size and age, or if it was only old men
he felt safe taking on, and that at the end of a rifle. That stare of his was
like a poke in the chest; drunk or sober, a man couldn't walk away from it and
call himself a man.

They
had all trooped out after Billy, bellowing encouragement and calling out
wagers. Drinking men would put coin on any absurdity in the name of friendship;
sober men—or men who could handle their schnapps—could profit. If only a man
had the necessary funds. But since the accident that had sent Moses to his
comeuppance, with the old Indian to follow soon after, the judge had not handed
over a copper penny. Hadn't even shown his face at home. Julian still hadn't
figured out how to get past Galileo and into the money chest and he was feeling
the pinch. But still, he couldn't quite stay away from the fight. He thought
Bonner would put Kirby down clean and neat; there might be a free round,
afterward.

Fifteen
minutes into it, it was clear that neatness wasn't on Bonner's mind. He had a
long reach and hands like iron hooks, and he knew how to hurt a man without
taking too much out of him. Standing aside from the crowd safe from the dust
and the occasional spattering of blood, Julian might have enjoyed the show if
he'd had anything to invest in it.