I slip one hand behind her neck and plant the other on her hip. Touching her heals something in me. I dip my head down to her shoulder and breathe in the smell of her. “I ran into Ralph Mulch,” I say. “Excepting for that, I would have been here earlier.”

She holds my face in her hands and, pulling me to her, brushes her lips over every battered inch of it. Feather soft. Like a dream. She takes off my shirt and runs her fingers over my cuts and bruises. My skin sings. As much as I ache when I move, I want her badly.

“He got your ribs,” she says. “Let’s wrap you up.”

Slipping back through the cellar to the bolts of cloth, she takes a fine shimmering blue and wraps it snug, round and round my ribs, tucking the end underneath. It eases the pressure.

She unties her dress strip from my arm and sees the knife cut and the chewed leaves.

“Yarrow?”

I nod, and she reties it firmer.

“I’ll make you something for the pain later.”

“I already feel a good sight better,” I say. And I do.

She lays her hands on the skin of my waist, just under the blue bandage. I’m almost embarrassed at how I respond to her touch.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she says.

I run my hands up her arms. “I made a plan, and I got us some help,” I say. “The Quaker from the green house.”

She nods her head, her eyes dancing. “You think we can run?”

“Not running,” I say. “He’s going to buy you legal, so we’ll not be looking over our shoulder, hiding from the law.”

“You trust this man?”

I know what she’s thinking. If Aaron Newman decides to double-cross us and keep her as his slave, bought with the money I gave him to buy her freedom, there’d not be a thing in the world we could do about it. I don’t trust anyone enough for that.

“He’s already signed change of ownership papers back in Culpeper, so the minute he buys you, ownership’ll pass to me. And the first thing we’ll do is go down to the courthouse and get your free papers.”

She lets out a long, shaky breath, letting that all sink in. “How many days till he comes?”

“He’s already here. I’d have warned you earlier if it weren’t for Mulch.”

She shakes her head, worry drawing up her eyebrows. “Master’s got a timber man from Tennessee up there with him.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s the Quaker.”

Her mouth falls open. She backs up against the cellar wall clutching herself like she’s the one with the busted ribs. “I thought he was going to take me to Tennessee.”

“It’s all right,” I say. “He’s on our side.”

She shakes her head as her face crumples. “I didn’t know,” she says. “I was afraid you’d come back and I’d be gone. I begged Master to let me stay, and he agreed.”