“But they dinna ken yet—that he’s not dead and he is here?”

“They don’t.” Rachel closed her eyes and kissed Oggy’s small round head, soft with its scurf of silky dark hair. “I have been thinking how we might assist them and Friend Silvia, but I see no good way forward. Does thee have any notions?”

“I don’t,” he said. He went and looked out of the window. “I dinna see either of them. Not that I ken what the man looks like, but—”

“He limps badly and walks with crutches. The Shawnee who captured him cut half his foot off with an ax.”

“Jesus. No wonder he didna go home, then.”

“Silvia said she would speak with his—her husband’s master—I suppose she meant Joseph Brant. Perhaps they’re with him?”

Ian shook his head.

“Nay, they’re not. That’s what I came out to tell ye—Thayendanegea’s gone. I’d told him right off why I’d come, and when we’d finished wi’ eating, he said he’d go himself to Wakyo’teyehsnonhsa and arrange for me to see her.” He lifted his chin toward the window, where the pale afternoon light was coming in. “It’s eight miles, he said, but he’d be back for supper, if he left straightaway.”

“Oh.” The news was a shock, only because she’d quite forgot the small matter of Ian’s former wife. “That’s … very good of him.”

Ian lifted one shoulder.

“Aye, well, it’s manners to send word, if it’s a formal visit—and this is,” he added, glancing at her. “But ye’re right, it’s good of him to go himself. I dinna ken whether it’s respect for Uncle Jamie, or for Wakyo’teyehsnonhsa—”

“He thinks highly of her, then.” Rachel tried to make that a statement and not a question, but Ian was sensitive to tones of voice.

“She’s one of his people, his family,” he said simply. “She was with him in Unadilla, the last time I saw her. Long before you and I were wed.” He turned to the window again, shading his eyes against the light.

“Where d’ye think Silvia’s gone?”

No more than a moment’s thought supplied the answer.

“She’s gone to get her daughters,” Rachel said, with certainty. Ian stared at her.

“Is she in any condition to ride?”

“Absolutely not.” Agitation made Rachel stiffen, and Oggy dug his fingers into her breast in order to hold on. “Ow!”

“I’d best go find her then. Give Mrs. Brant my apologies about her dinner.”

85

A Moonlicht Flicht

IAN PAUSED TO PUT on his bearskin jacket—there was only a haze in the sky, but it was the lavender color that foretold snow, and the air was chilling fast—but didn’t bother to arm himself beyond the knife in his belt. Even if Gabriel Hardman was a lapsed Quaker, he didn’t think a maimed man on crutches would be a difficulty. He was glad that he hadn’t roached his hair for this visit; if he had to ride to Canajoharie and back in the cold and snow, his own pelt would serve him well enough.