Finding herself alone, Rachel shook herself violently, trying to dislodge her memory of the last few minutes, so as to let her feelings settle in some way. She went into the privy, and despite its dankly malodorous nature, she dropped the latch and felt a welcome sense of privacy and quiet surround her. The gentle workings of her own body eased her, too, with their quiet reassurance. Her brother, Denny, had told her once that Jews—a race much given to prayer—had special brief prayers to be recited on private occasions such as this, thanking the Creator for the untroubled working of bladder and bowels. That had made her laugh at first, but she thought now that there was good sense in it.

The tingling of her slowly re-engorging breasts made her aware of other workings, and she gave quick thanks for her child as she came out into the biting air.

“And for wee Chastity and her sisters, too,” she added aloud, realizing suddenly that the terrible scene she had just witnessed between the Hardmans was certain to draw three innocent children into its vortex. “Lord, they don’t even know about their father yet!”

She looked anxiously toward the house, but neither Silvia nor Silvia’s erstwhile husband was in sight. The door opened, though, and her own husband came out, his face lighting when he saw her.

“There ye are!” He lengthened his stride to reach her sooner and clasped her in his arms. “I thought maybe ye’d met a snake in the privy, ye took so long. Are ye all right?” he asked, looking at her face with sudden concern. “Did ye eat something that disagreed wi’ ye?”

“Not the food,” she said. She wanted to cling to him, but her breasts were so sensitive at the moment that she detached herself. “Ian—”

“The wee man’s roarin’ for ye,” he said, cocking his head toward the house. He was; Rachel could hear Oggy bawling from where they stood, and her breasts at once began to leak. She ran for the door, Ian on her heels.

“See,” Ian said to Oggy as she snatched him up, “I told ye Mammaidh wouldna let ye starve.” They were in the guest chamber Catherine had given them when Brant had delivered Wakyo’teyehsnonhsa’s message, and Rachel sank down on the bed, fumbling her stays loose with one hand. Oggy lunged for her, seized the available nipple like a starving alligator, and the shrieks abruptly stopped.

“The Sachem’s taken a fancy to my mother,” Ian said, in the sudden silence. “He’s challenged her to a contest—pistols at ten paces.”

“A contest, or a duel?” Rachel inquired, closing her eyes in the bliss of relief as her milk let down. The free breast was dripping, but she didn’t care.