Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Copyright

“If I weren’t a gentleman, this would be the opportunity for me to say I could help keep you warm.”

“You’re not a gentleman,” she replied with a nervous giggle.

He had walked up to the circle of pines and was using one foot to scrape the pine needles into a pile. “You’d better hope I’m a gentleman, Hannah Forrester, because it’s going to be one hell of a long night.”

Something in his voice told her that he was not teasing. She walked timidly toward him and began to push the needles from the other side of the “bed.”

“So are you, or aren’t you?” she asked softly.

“A gentleman?”

She nodded.

He squinted to see her better in the dark. He spoke slowly. “I…don’t think so…”

Dear Reader,

Ana Seymour has been delighting readers and editors alike since her first book, The Bandit’s Bride, was published by Harlequin Historicals in 1992, and this month’s Frontier Bride is bound to do the same. It’s the story of a woman torn between her affection for the man who bought her indenture and her growing love for the rugged frontiersman who is guiding them to a new life in the territories. We hope you enjoy it.

And don’t miss the third book in award-winning author Theresa Michaels’s Kincaid Trilogy, Once a Lawman, featuring the oldest Kincaid brother, a small-town sheriff who must choose between family and duty as he works to finally bring to justice the criminals who’ve been plaguing his family’s ranch.

This month, Miranda Jarrett has written another of her delightful Sparhawk titles, this one, Sparhawk’s Angel, about a captain tormented by a meddlesome angel bent on matchmaking that Romantic Times calls “delightful, unforgettably funny and supremely touching.” And a sensible novelist brings love and laughter to the wounded soul of a neighboring earl in Deborah Simmons’s new title, The Devil Earl.

Please keep a lookout for Harlequin Historicals, available wherever books are sold.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Frontier Bride
Ana Seymour

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANA SEYMOUR

says she first discovered romance through the swashbuckling movies of Errol Flynn and Tyrone Power and the historical epics of Thomas Costain and Anya Seton. She spent a number of years working in the field of journalism, but she never forgot the magic of those tales. Now she is happy to be creating some of that magic herself through Harlequin Historicals. Ana lives in Minnesota with her two teenage daughters.

To my dear friends…

Bronwyn, Jan, Jeanne, Karen and Debi…

Frontierswomen all!

Prologue

Philadelphia—December 1762

Priscilla Webster was finally going to die. Hannah wiped cold sweat from the woman’s forehead, then straightened up, rubbing her own back. She looked out the window at the late afternoon darkness.

Through the thick panes of glass, the first storm of winter was howling, but inside, the small room was sweltering. Randolph Webster had insisted on keeping the fire stoked to the maximum all this week as they waited for his wife to take the last of her short, tortured breaths.

Hannah gave a deep sigh. She would miss Priscilla. When Hannah had arrived at the Webster household almost two years ago, she’d been apprehensive and weak from poor food and bouts of seasickness that had plagued her during the six-week crossing. She and the other hundred indentured servants on the Constant had been forced to remain below decks almost the entire trip, leaving her pale and dispirited. Priscilla Webster had greeted her more like a lost relative than a woman her husband had purchased. She had insisted that Hannah get sufficient rest and food those first few weeks until her spirits and her health were fully restored. After months of injustices and mistreatment, Hannah had drunk in the woman’s kindness like sweet water after a drought.

“Is it snowing?”

Hannah jerked at the sound. Her patient had not been conscious for the past two days, and Hannah had not thought to hear her voice again on this side of the grave. She looked down at the sick woman. Priscilla’s eyes shone unnaturally blue next to the red flush of her face.

“Aye, mistress. There’ll be snow for Christmas, I reckon.” The Websters were among the few in Philadelphia who celebrated the holiday, Hannah had been delighted to discover. The past two Christmases had been full of all the merriment that she had once longed for as a child back in England. But there would be little celebrating this year.

Priscilla gave a barely perceptible nod. “The bairns will like that.” Her voice was faint.

“Will you take some broth, mum?” Hannah asked, reaching for the bowl that had been sitting untouched on the bedside table.

Priscilla swallowed, and her chest moved in a feeble reminder of the violent coughs that had racked her for so many months. She looked up with a serene smile that made Hannah’s heart ache. “No, Hannah, lass. No food,” she said slowly, laboring over the words. “I’ll need no…earthly…sustenance…where I’m going.”

Tears stung Hannah’s eyes. When Priscilla’s coughing had become so bad that Mr. Webster had quietly moved his things to the spare sleeping room, the sick woman had not uttered a word of complaint. When her lace handkerchiefs had revealed a terrible black sputum, she had merely apologized to Hannah for the extra laundry. And when the delicate hankies had been replaced by rough cotton towels that more and more often showed bright splotches of red, she had gripped her servant’s hand with weak fingers and told her how grateful she was that Hannah had come from afar to take care of her family. Hannah had never met a sweeter soul.

“Let me call the master,” she said.

Priscilla’s eyelids drooped, shuttering her bright eyes. Hannah quickly crossed the room and opened the door, admitting a whoosh of cold air. She didn’t have to call. Randolph Webster was waiting in the next room and was on his feet the minute he saw her.

“What’s happened?” he asked, moving toward her.

“She’s come ‘round a bit. She spoke to me.”

Hannah turned back to her patient with Mr. Webster close behind her. “Priscilla?” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

His wife’s eyelids fluttered and she answered weakly, “It’s snowing, Randolph.”

“Yes, love.” He moved around Hannah to sit in the chair at the side of the bed. Taking his wife’s hand, he asked tenderly, “How are you feeling?”

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Randolph looked at Hannah. There was anguish in his brown eyes. His hair had pulled out of its binder and hung unkempt around his gaunt face. He leaned closer to his wife. “What is it, my love?”

“Dress…the bairns…warm.” The strength seemed to flow out of her body with each word. She looked up at his confused expression and desperation flickered in her eyes. She turned her head toward Hannah.

“It’s the snow,” Hannah explained gently. “She wants us to dress the children warmly.”

Randolph nodded briefly at his servant, then turned back to his wife. “Don’t fret yourself, Priscilla. Peggy and Jacob’ll not be going out in this weather. It’s blowing up a storm.”

Priscilla’s chest moved with another ghost of a cough. “Then…every…thing’s…just…fine.”

Her eyes closed, and her hand fell from Randolph’s to the coverlet. He quickly retrieved it and leaned over to bring it up against his cheek. “Everything’s fine, love,” he repeated, his throat sounding full.

Hannah blinked hard and turned to tend the fire. It was a moment before she felt she could speak. “Shall I leave you with her, sir?” she asked without turning.

There was no answer from behind her. She put another log on the huge blaze, then moved around to the opposite side of the bed. “Do you want some time alone, Mr. Webster?” she asked again.

Still clutching Priscilla’s hand, he looked up at her, and Hannah was shocked to see that his cheeks were wet with tears. She averted her eyes. “I’ll just wait m the next room,” she said.

She leaned over to tuck the coverlet around her patient. The body underneath it had become so frail these past few weeks that it was sometimes hard to tell the bed was occupied at all. Hannah’s hand hovered, then froze. There was no movement. The almost undetectable rise and fall of Priscilla’s sunken chest had ceased. A feeling of dread settled in Hannah’s stomach. She glanced at Mr. Webster, but his head was bowed.

She turned to the mistress’s wardrobe chest behind her and, with suddenly cold fingers, grasped the ornate handle of Priscilla’s prized silver mirror. Slowly she brought it back to the bed and held it over Priscilla’s mouth. There was no cloud. Hannah closed her eyes, and instantly the tears poured down her cheeks.

An anguished sound from Mr. Webster made her look up. He reached across the bed and snatched the mirror from her fingers. “Priscilla,” he said, then repeated his wife’s name, almost shouting.

“She’s gone, sir,” Hannah said, choking on a sob. “She’s gone to her Maker.”

The mirror fell from his hand and slid down the covers to the floor. He grasped his wife’s shoulders and pulled her inert body into his arms, rocking back and forth in silent agony.

Hannah’s own grief subsided for a moment as she witnessed her employer’s pain. Randolph Webster was not a warm man, and she had not grown close to him as she had to Priscilla. He had never made an effort to help her forget that she was his bondwoman, bound to him body and soul for three more years. But he was a good man and had loved his wife dearly. If Hannah dared, she would move to the other side of the bed and put an arm around his shaking shoulders. It was one of those moments when it seemed as if only physical contact could serve to comfort.

Her torrent of tears dried as she stood watching him, unsure of what to do next. “Shall I fetch the children?” she asked finally.

He shook his head without looking up, still cradling his wife’s body. “No! They’ll not see her this way.” His harsh voice ended Hannah’s urge to touch him. She took a step back from the bed.

“Do you want me to go for the MacDougalls?” Priscilla’s parents owned a public house just down the lane from the Webster home.

Randolph didn’t reply for a moment. He placed Priscilla’s body tenderly back down against the pillow, then looked up at Hannah and spoke in a weary tone. “I’ve lost my wife, not my wits, girl. I’d not send you out in a storm like this.”

“It’s not far. I’m willing to go.”

Randolph stood. “I’ll go myself. They’ll want to come be with the children. Then I’ll go on to Newbury.”

Hannah’s eyes widened. “All the way to Newbury…in this weather?”

He glanced at the bed. “She’d not want any but her brother to perform the service.”

“But the storm…” Her voice trailed off as Randolph’s expression hardened.

Neither spoke for a moment. Then Randolph bent to kiss his wife’s forehead. Without looking at Hannah, he said. “You will…tend to her?” His voice broke.

“Aye.”

Without another word, he was gone.

Chapter One

Philadelphia—April 1763

“I declare, Hannah lass, Randolph’s gone soft in the head. But ye do not have to go along with him.” The burr of her Scottish homeland gave Jeanne MacDougall’s speech a pleasant softness, in spite of her adamant tone.

Hannah shook her head and gave a swipe with the towel to the dish she was drying. She was helping Mistress MacDougall with the washing up in the big kitchen of the MacDougalls’ inn. “I’ve a contract, mum. With three more years to run.”

“There’s nothing in that contract that says he has the right to drag ye off to live in the wilderness with no one for miles around.” Mistress MacDougall’s ample chest heaved with indignation. In the past her relations with her son-in-law had always been cordial, but she was furious over his plan to take her grandchildren away from the culture and civilization of Philadelphia for an uncertain existence on the frontier.

“There are four families going,” Hannah replied gently. “I’m sure we’ll stay nigh one another.”

“And what about the savages?”

“Savages,” Hannah repeated under her breath, tightening her grip on the pewter bowl. She had dealt with savages before. The debt collectors back in London who had seized her mother’s bed from beneath her as she lay dying. The doctor who had refused to give Hannah even a little bit of physic to ease her mother’s pain. The magistrate who had declared that an eighteen-year-old girl who had just buried her only parent should be imprisoned or transported to pay the costs of her mother’s illness. “I’m not afraid of the savages,” she said with a grim smile.

“I can’t believe Randolph’s serious about this venture,” Mistress MacDougall said, wringing out a towel as if she wished it were her son-in-law’s neck.

“It’s hard to lose the children,” Hannah agreed. “But you should hear him describe the lands they’re opening up along the Ohio River—rich green meadows crisscrossed with silver nvers. The fish practically jump into your boat as you glide along, he says, and the crops grow themselves.”

“I suppose the deer shoot themselves, too,” Jeanne MacDougall huffed. “Ye’d better hope so, or ye’ll all starve to death. Randolph knows nothing about hunting.”

“I expect we’ll all help each other, at least until we get through the first winter.”

Mistress MacDougall shuddered and her voice became teary. “Sometimes I just don’t think I can bear it. First we lose Prissy…and now the children.”

Hannah dried one hand on her apron and put it on the older woman’s sleeve. “I’ll bring them back with me for a visit when my term’s done,” she said soberly.

She leaned over to look through the door to the front tavern where Peggy and Jacob were playing precariously on a hogshead of ale. She and the children had spent a lot of time at the MacDougalls’ these past months. The Websters’ roomy house at the end of the lane, which had seemed so welcoming to her when she first arrived in America, was now full of shadows and grief. The children preferred to be here in the bright, busy inn with their grandparents. Especially since their father was rarely at home these days.

“Mind that doesn’t tip over on your little brother,” she called to Peggy. The girl’s laughter stopped abruptly. She jumped to the floor and steadied the wobbling barrel. Hannah bit her lip and immediately regretted her words of caution. It was so seldom that Peggy played these days. Losing her mother at the age of eleven had given her an instant boost into adulthood.

“Go ahead and climb, if you like. Just have a care.” Hannah smiled at the towheaded pair then turned back to Mistress MacDougall. “They’re fine children. You should be proud.”

“They’re all I have left of my Prissy,” Jeanne MacDougall said. “‘Tis unjust of Randolph to take them so far.”

“Mr. Webster says that he needs a new start—that they all do. Or they’ll never get over Priscil…Mistress Webster’s death.”

Jeanne MacDougall’s mournful expression turned sharp. “Ye seem to be very well versed on what my son-in-law is feeling and saying.”

Hannah felt her cheeks flame. She hoped she was misinterpreting the direction of Mistress MacDougall’s comment. “I’ve heard him talk with the children. And with the other gentlemen who are joining us with their families. They’ve met often at the house these past months.”

Mistress MacDougall’s face softened. “Ye’ve had a lot of work, Hannah, and no female in the house to give ye a kind word.”

“Mr. Webster has been gone so much that it’s mostly been just the children and I. In truth, ‘tis not so hard as…” She stopped.

“As when ye was nursing my daughter day and night and caring for the bairns, as well.”

Hannah nodded. “The sadness weighed us all down those last weeks.”

Mistress MacDougall took the towel from Hannah’s hand and pulled her over to sit beside her on the rough wood settle by the fire. “I was going to have Mr. MacDougall talk to ye, Hannah. But ye know how men are—great for blathering until ye have something you really want them to say.”

Hannah hid a smile. She had never heard dour old Mr. MacDougall “blather.”

“The fact is, lass, it’s just not right,” Mistress MacDougall continued.

“Not right?”

The older woman looked down at her hands and shifted her bulky form on the hard bench. “When Randolph hired ye to care for Priscilla, that was one thing. But now, he’s a lone man, a widower. And ye are an attractive young woman. It’s not a proper situation.”

The color returned to Hannah’s cheeks. So she hadn’t misunderstood Mistress MacDougall’s earlier remark. She had no idea how to reply. The idea was so absurd. Mr. Webster scarcely spoke to her, rarely looked at her. When he noted her presence at all, it was to give some kind of order about the children.

“Forgive my speaking plain, Mistress MacDougall, but you’re very mistaken. Mr. Webster pays me less mind than he does one of his horses. He was devoted to Priscilla, and I warrant it’ll be a long time before he cares to cast his eye on any other woman.”

“I’m not questioning his integrity, Hannah, nor yours. It’s just that if ye head off together alone, folks are bound to talk.”

“We’ll not be alone…”

Mistress MacDougall held up a hand to ward off Hannah’s protest. “And so, Mr. MacDougall and I have decided to buy your contract from Randolph. We can use ye here at the inn.” She gave Hannah’s hand a pat. “We’re not as young as we used to be, ye know.”

Hannah sat back hard against the straight back of the settle. The offer was a surprise, and she was not at all sure that it was a welcome one. When Mr. Webster had first talked of journeying west, she had been disappointed and concerned. But now, after weeks of listening to him and the other men talk of their hopes and dreams for the new land, an odd anticipation had begun to smolder in her middle like a poorly banked fire.

“It’s overkind of you, Mistress MacDougall…” she stammered, then paused as loud male voices interrupted from the front room. “You have guests. I’d best see to the children.” She stood and picked up a tray of clean mugs to carry out to the taproom. Mistress MacDougall’s words had left her feeling dizzy. It was disconcerting to be presented suddenly with a choice about her own future. Her life had not been her own to manage for so very long.

She stopped in the doorway. Her glance went immediately to Peggy and Jacob. She had promised PrisciUa to care for them. Could she bear to send them off by themselves into an uncertain wilderness?

“Strike me blind, Webster! You didn’t tell me that in Philadelphia the barmaids wear the faces of angels.”

The smooth, deep voice made Hannah’s head jerk toward the group of men who had just entered. Randolph Webster was there, and some of the other men she had met at the Webster house. But it was the unshaven stranger standing at the front of the group who held her gaze. His dark eyes surveyed her with undisguised admiration.

“And not just the face. The whole of her is of divine making, I’d wager.” His smile flashed white against several day’s growth of dark beard.

He took two long steps toward her, then swept off his fur cap and gave her a little bow. “These gents need ale, mistress, if you would be so kind. And you may bring me a tankard, as well, though, I swear, a mere drink of your beauty could quench a devil’s thirst.”

Hannah’s eyes went past the man to seek out Randolph Webster, who was listening to the newcomer with a look of surprise. The other men in the group were grinning. She recognized Amos Crawford and Hugh Trask, a burly fellow who always made Hannah feel vaguely uncomfortable when he visited the Webster household.

She was about to make a reply to the stranger’s request when Trask shouldered his way through the man and put an arm around her waist, almost toppling the heavy tray to the ground. His body pressed heavily against the thin muslin of her dress. “The captain’s right,” he said, leaning over her. “We’ve a powerful thirst, sweetheart. For ale…and mayhap something more if the tap’s runnin’.” He looked back to the other men with a leering smile.

Holding the tray awkwardly, Hannah pulled herself out of his grasp. “I beg your pardon, sir!” she said with a grimace of disgust. The words came out less forcefully than she would have liked.

Suddenly the tray was plucked from her by the bearded stranger, who shot Trask an angry look, then steadied Hannah with a gentle hand on her elbow. “It appears you could use some lessons in treating a lady, Trask. Are you all right, mistress?” he asked.

Belatedly Randolph Webster shook off his dazed expression and came over to join Hannah and the two men. He moved between Hannah and Trask, then addressed the stranger. “She’s not a barmaid, Reed. She’s…ah…she lives with me.”

One of the stranger’s dark eyebrows went up. Then he smiled and threw his hands up in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry, mistress. I just assumed…I had been told that you were a widower, Webster.”

“Yes, that is…” Randolph cleared his throat.

Hannah took a step back into the relative security of the kitchen, then tipped her head up to look the tall stranger directly in the eyes. “My name is Hannah Forrester,” she said with quiet dignity. “I am Mr. Webster’s servant.”

The man shot a look back at Randolph, then said slowly, “Mr. Webster is a lucky man.”

He was different from the other men in the room. It wasn’t just the beard, since there were two or three others who looked as if it had been awhile since they’d felt the sharp edge of a blade. It was something about his height and the way he was…filled out. Hannah didn’t know exactly how to describe it. His shoulders almost blocked her view of the rest of the room. His breeches were not the customary wool or linsey, but rather a fine doeskin that clung to muscular thighs in a way Hannah had not seen in the ordinary gentleman who frequented the tavern.

She retreated one more step into the kitchen. The stranger hadn’t stopped looking at her. “I believe you wanted ale,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

Randolph Webster had recovered his poise. Still blocking Trask, he clapped a hand on the stranger’s back. “An honest mistake, Reed,” he said heartily. “And I’m sure Hannah would be happy to bring us something to drink if my mother-in-law is busy in the kitchen. Would you be so kind, Hannah?”

Hannah took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. “Of course. If I may, Mr…er…Reed?” She reached to take back the tray he’d been balancing easily on one arm.

“Ethan Reed, ma’am, at your service. I’m most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He bowed to her once again, a formal bow as though they were standing in the middle of St. James’s palace. Then his eyes sought hers once more. Hannah was sure that her face was the color of Mr. MacDougall’s finest claret.

She turned quickly back into the kitchen. For once the steamy room seemed cooler than the front taproom. Mistress MacDougall had removed her apron and was drying her hands. She had witnessed the exchange and said in a low voice, “I’ll see to them, Hannah, if you prefer.”

Hannah shook her head. “No.” She would just as soon stay busy. With Mistress MacDougall’s help, she prepared a tray of cheese, cold chicken and bread.

Her heart had resumed its normal beat, and she decided that her overly strong reaction to Mr. Reed had been due to the fact that she was tired. She’d been up much of the night tending to Jacob’s croup. “Who is that man?” she asked Mistress MacDougall.

“Marry, girl. That’s Captain Reed. He was with Rogers’s Rangers, you know. We had some of them here at the inn a couple years ago, and a rowdier bunch of wild men you’ve never seen.”

“He’s a captain?”

“Well, not anymore. The war’s over now, of course. The French have hightailed it up to Canada and the Indians have calmed down—except for that Pontiac fellow.”

Hannah lifted the heavy tray and glanced toward the door to the front room. “Were the Rangers all so… big?” she asked.

Mistress MacDougall chuckled. “Captain Reed’s not big, lass, he’s just bonny. A fine specimen of manhood, if ye ask me.”

“What’s he doing with Mr. Webster?”

The older woman’s smile died. “Well ye may ask, child. I’m very much afraid the captain is here to take ye, Randolph and my dear Prissy’s bairns so far from here that I’ll never gaze upon ye again.”

It was long past sundown. The evening had grown so cool that it felt as if winter were attempting to sneak back. Hannah got up to close the tavern windows, then returned to her rocking chair with a yawn. At the far end of the room, the men were still poring over Captain Reed’s drawings and maps. Randolph Webster sat with Jacob on one knee and Peggy clinging to his side. The children had had so little time with their father lately that they both looked as if they would be willing to stay in his company all evening. But Hannah could see dark circles of fatigue on their pale cheeks. She wanted to take them and head back up the lane to the Websters’. Perhaps Jacob would sleep through the night tonight after taking some of his grandfather’s posset. The warmth of the fire felt good against her face. Her eyelids grew heavy.

“They’ve worn you out, Mistress Forrester.”

Again the rich voice jolted her. She straightened and twisted her head to find its owner. “It’s late for the children,” she managed to say.

“It’s not the children who I see dozing by the fire like a well-fed kitten.” His dark eyes teased.

Hannah was at a loss for words. She was not used to carrying on a conver-sation with a male. Though she had spoken a few times to the gentlemen who had visited Mr. Webster at his home, the conver-sation had always been circumscribed to her duties as a servant. Before that…well, her mother had made certain that Hannah’s exposure to men of any age was as limited as possible.

Hannah could still hear her voice. “I’ll not see you follow in the path of yer wretched mum, girl—flowery in the head after a few pretty words from a finelooking gent, then thrown over as neatly as an apple core pitched into the gutter. With a babe in my belly and not a farthing in my purse.”

It had been the litany of her childhood.

Captain Reed leaned closer. “They do feed you well, don’t they, mistress?”

Hannah found the question absurd. She straightened the rocker, almost knocking him in the chin. “I feed myself, Captain Reed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d best bundle up the children and take them home.”

He stepped around her chair and crouched down next to the fire. The position looked natural to him, as though he spent many hours in places where there was not a chair to be had.

“I was hoping to talk with you, mistress. It’s been a long, dry spell since I’ve been in feminine company.”

The words cajoled, but it was his smile that kept her rooted to her seat. She glanced across the room to where the other men still seemed engrossed in their papers. “Don’t you need to be over there—planning or routing or…something?”

“My routes are in here,” he said, tapping the side of his head with his finger. His hair was a deep, rich brown and he wore it long, not pulled back into the customary queue. His short dark whiskers emphasized the rugged line of his jaw.

“You know the wilderness well?” she asked after a moment.

He grinned. “Well now, I’m not a man to boast. Let me put it this way. Before I round a bend of the Ohio, I can tell you how many marsh rats we’ll find nesting on the other side.”

Hannah laughed. Ethan Reed’s utter lack of humility both irritated and fascinated her. Some of her nervousness subsided. Here was a man who actually knew this land Mr. Webster had described so glowingly and in such detail. “Is it as rich as they say? As beautiful?”

“The Ohio River valley’s richer than anything these colonies have seen. One of these days people will be clamoring to own a piece of it. You folks are lucky to be among those getting there first.”

“Do you ‘own a piece of it,’ Captain?”

He shook his head. “I’m not exactly the settling-down type, Mistress Forrester. I figure, why should I limit myself to a little piece of paradise when I can freely roam the whole thing?”

“But, surely, now that families are moving into the area, you’ll not feel quite so independent?”

“The tiny little chunks of land you folks will hack out of the wilderness won’t change things much.”

Hannah looked puzzled. “I thought Mr. Webster said that the tracts would be upward of two hundred acres.”

Reed laughed, rich and low. “There’s hundreds of thousands of acres out there, mistress. Your little portion of it won’t amount to more than a fly speck.”

Hannah shifted her eyes to the fire. “Not my portion, Captain Reed. I’m just going along to care for Mr. Webster’s children. At the end of three years I’ll return here to the city to seek employment.”

Reed was silent for a long moment. When Hannah turned back to him, he was looking at her with a half smile and eyes that had grown suddenly intense. “I’d not place a wager on that, mistress,” he said softly.

She wanted to look away again, but his gaze held hers. “Why not?” she asked. Her mouth suddenly felt dry.

“Webster’s not that big a fool.”

It was the second time that day she’d had to listen to insinuations about her relationship with Randolph Webster. Hannah gripped the arms of the rocker and said stiffly, “Mr. Webster is my employer, Captain Reed. He has just lost his beloved wife. And if we’re all to be traveling together, I’ll thank you not to embarrass the poor man with your preposterous comments.”

Reed was unruffled. “If not Webster, then some other man will snatch you up, Mistress Forrester. There’s a sore need for women on the frontier.”

Hannah stood briskly, setting the rocking chair swaying. “I’m not available to be ‘snatched,’ as you put it, Captain. I’m contracted to Mr. Webster, and that’s the end of it. In the future I’d appreciate it if you kept your speculations about my destiny to your-self.”

With no visible effort, Reed went from his easy crouch to a standing position. His broad chest was just inches from her face. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a grin.

“Thank you. I’ll bid you good-evening, sir.” She turned away with a flounce of her skirts.

Reed watched as she crossed the room to lift a drooping Jacob from Randolph Webster’s lap.

Hannah had cleaned the tiny office in the back of the Webster house many times, but this was the first time she had ever sat there in the stiff horsehair chair across the desk from Randolph Webster. It was after the noon meal. Peggy and Jacob were playing blindman’s wand with a group of children from the neighborhood. Hannah had been watching them from the front window, thinking that soon they would be leaving all their friends behind, when Mr. Webster had come up quietly behind her.

“Are you busy, Hannah?”

She’d jumped and a guilty flush had come over her. It was seldom that she could be found idling thus in the middle of the day. But Mr. Webster looked distracted and didn’t seem to be chiding her for her lack of activity.

“I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?” he’d continued.

He’d led her into the office that he used to keep his accounts and those of his in-laws and many other friends and neighbors. The neat rows of books and ledgers made Hannah question once again Mr. Webster’s decision to leave his home and comfortable city life. What did Randolph Webster know about carving a farm out of the wilderness? She sighed. It wasn’t her decision. And she supposed someday the frontier would need accountants, too.

Mr. Webster appeared to be studying her from his deep leather chair, and Hannah was just beginning to grow uncomfortable when he said, “I’ve not been the most attentive employer these past months.”

The remark surprised her. It had sounded almost apologetic. “You’ve had your grief to bear, Mr. Webster. ‘Tis understandable.”

“You’ve done a remarkable job with the children. They miss Priscilla, but I can’t imagine how they’d be faring if you hadn’t been here for them.”

“They’re very dear.” Hannah smiled uncertainly.

“Yes, well…” Randolph reached out to roll a marble blotter back and forth under his hand. “It’s been brought to my attention that it might be unfair of me to ask you to join us on the trip west.”

Hannah let out a breath. So this was what was on his mind. “My contract doesn’t specify where my services will be performed, Mr. Webster. I consider that you and…Mrs. Webster…have always been fair with me.”

Randolph gave the blotter a spin, then stopped the motion with a smash of his hand. “The MacDougalls want me to sell them your indenture.”

Hannah swallowed. She had thought of little else all morning. It wouldn’t be a bad life. The MacDougalls were honorable people, and Hannah had no doubt that her three years would pass pleasantly enough. But if she stayed in Philadelphia, she’d never see those silver rivers….

Randolph Webster watched her silently. His stern features had softened, and he looked almost like a little boy making a silent plea for permission to embark on an adventure.

All at once Hannah realized that her decision had already been made. “Mr. Webster,” she started slowly, “back in London when my mother became too ill to work, we moved to an almshouse. I lived with forty other people in a room the size of your Sunday parlor. On the crossing, there were over a hundred of us in a smelly ship’s hold not as big as this house. Now you tell me about a rich land where you can walk all day in the sunlight and never see another living soul. Just imagine!” Her blue eyes sparkled. “If you and the children want me, I’ll go west with you.”

Randolph seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. He didn’t smile, but the tenseness left his face and he leaned back in his chair. “We do want you, Hannah.” The slightest bit of red began to show from underneath his stiff white collar. “Er…that is…the children are very fond of you.”

“Then it’s settled,” Hannah said briskly. “Please thank the MacDougalls for their offer and their concern.”

Randolph nodded. He didn’t speak further, but continued studying her.

“Was there anything else, sir?” she asked.

“No. Ah…thank you, Hannah.”

She got up and started to leave, but Mr. Webster’s voice stopped her at the door.

“Hannah, there is one more thing. Would you please prepare the back room?”

She turned back to him. “The back room, sir?”

“Yes. Captain Reed will be joining us tonight. He has accepted my offer to stay here until we’re ready to leave.”

Much to her annoyance, Hannah realized that her heart had given a thump inside her chest at the mention of the man’s name. “Very good, sir,” she said a little sharply.

Randolph looked up at her curiously. “Reed seemed taken with you last night at the inn.”

“He said it had been a spell since he’d been around women, and judging from his manners, I believe he was telling the truth.”

Randolph smiled. “It’s hard to fault a man for noticing a pretty girl, Hannah.”

Hannah’s cheeks grew hot. It was the first time that Randolph Webster had made the slightest comment on her person. His eyes had an odd expression, too, as he watched her from behind his big desk. She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’d best see to getting his room ready, Mr. Webster.” Then she gave a bob of her head and escaped down the hall.

Chapter Two

Ethan Reed had spent the entire past year with a government survey party mapping the unknown territory along the Monongahela River north of the Ohio. The winter before that, he’d spent at Fort Pitt, the rough frontier stronghold that the English had built to replace the burned-out French Fort Duquesne. As he had told Webster’s servant yesterday, it had been a long spell since he’d been around a lot of women. It had been an even longer one since he’d seen any as pretty as Mistress Hannah Forrester.

He stood framed by the open doorway of Webster’s house and watched her as she bent dipping candles in a pan of tallow. She was too intent on her work to notice his arrival, and he took advantage of the moment to let his eyes roam over her long, slender body. Too slender, perhaps, for the rigors of the West. But with a willowy grace that put a hollow in his midsection. She wore no cap, and her bright blond hair hung in a thick braid down to the middle of her back.

She turned to hang a dripping row of candles on the drying rack, then stopped as she spied him. Her body stiffened. She was a skittish one, that was for sure. Like the fawn he’d tried to tame last fall when one of the members of the survey party had killed its mother. Ethan had patiently attempted to convince the little animal to trust him, but it had looked at him with big fearful eyes and jumped every time Ethan came near.

Mistress Forrester’s eyes were not fearful, but they were full of mistrust. He wondered if she’d been telling the truth about Webster’s lack of interest. The man must be daft…or blind. Of course, as she had said, Webster was still grieving for his wife. Ethan shook his head. If he had a woman like this living under the same roof, he’d do a lot more than notice.

“You startled me, Captain,” she said, putting the candles in their place.

“I beg your pardon, mistress. I should have announced myself. But you were standing there in that shaft of light, and I was trying to decide if that was your real hair or a halo of sunbeams wreathing your pretty face.”

Hannah wiped a wisp of hair from her forehead. “Captain Reed, it’s not seemly for you to address such remarks to me. I’m Mr. Webster’s servant.”

Ethan stepped inside the door and removed his felt tricorne. “I believe you’re going to find that west of the Ohio those kind of labels don’t make much difference anymore. Everyone’s as good as a servant out there. Those who don’t work hard won’t make it.”

Hannah’s eyes widened as he approached. He was clean shaven now and dressed in a well-tailored suit, tapered at the waist in the current style. He still looked big. His shoulders filled out the jacket in a way that she’d never noticed with Mr. Webster or his friends. With his whiskers gone and clean clothes, Captain Reed suddenly looked as if he could be one of the fine gents who had sauntered into Piccadilly back home in search of a good time and easy women. Her mum had always scurried away when one approached, dragging Hannah behind her. “They’ll not be after you with their fancy words, luv,” she’d say with that distressing look of desperation in her eyes.

“Perhaps you’re not aware that I’m indentured to Mr. Webster,” she told the captain. “I’m his servant not by choice, but by contract.”

His potent dark eyes watched her. “Contracts don’t mean a hell of a lot out West, either.”

“Nevertheless,” she said with quiet dignity, “I intend to honor my commitment to the Websters—Mr. Webster and the children.”

“It’ll not be a picnic.” He finally broke off his gaze and began looking around the large kitchen. “You’ll not be able to take much of this with you.”

Relieved to turn to a less personal topic of conver-sation, Hannah said, “The MacDougalls will be selling most of these things after we’re gone. Mr. Webster has spent the past few weeks packing up the essentials. We’re taking very little.”

“I saw his bundles out in the carriage house and told him to reduce the amount by two-thirds.”

“But surely…”

Ethan gestured impatiently. “As I told Webster, we’ll be traveling over little more than a mule track as far as Fort Pitt. From there we’ll move onto the flatboats, which will be a sight easier on everyone. You might be able to pick up some extra supplies at the fort.”

“We were hoping to take Priscilla’s vanity for Peggy,” Hannah said with a frown.

Ethan shook his head. “Tell her grandparents to save it for her. Someday the roads west will be broad enough to move a whole house, but not yet.”

Hannah nodded. She felt sorry for the little girl, who had lost her mother and must now leave almost every trace of her behind. But Hannah herself had gone through worse sacrifices during her childhood. Her mother had always said what didn’t kill you, made you strong.

“I’ll talk to the MacDougalls. They’ve plenty of room to save some of Mrs. Webster’s things for a future date.”

Ethan gave a smile of approval. “I like your attitude, Mistress Forrester. Most women put up a fuss about leaving their precious belongings behind.”

“I only asked for Peggy’s sake, Captain Reed. For myself, I’ve nothing precious to take or to leave.”

She spoke the words matter-of-factly, Ethan noted, without a trace of self-pity or bitterness. Webster’s servant was not only beautiful. There was an underlying strength to her character that would serve her well on the frontier.

Hannah’s back hurt again. She’d spent all day trying to prepare enough candles to last for the unknown number of weeks before she would be able to make more, and the bending and dipping had her muscles aching. Her unpredictable back was one of the curses of being tall and slender, her mother used to say. Of course, her mother had measured little more than a yeoman’s yard, which meant that Hannah’s height had to have come from the deserting black-guard who had fathered her. Her mother would see naught but ill in the trait.

“You’ve put in a long day, Hannah.” Mr. Webster stepped in the front door and clapped his hat on the wall peg.

Hannah smiled at him. Since their conver-sation in his office this morning, Mr. Webster’s remarks to her seemed to be subtly different. The day had gone much as most days, a busy combination of household chores and children, but more than once she had caught his eyes on her, and he had complimented her warmly on the supper, which had been nothing but an unpretentious beef stew. Of course, the presence of Captain Reed had made the meal more festive than usual. He’d regaled them with stories of the West until both Peggy and Jacob had jumped around in a circle and declared that they wanted to leave that very minute.

“I thought you would be staying up at the tavern with Captain Reed and the others,” she answered.

“The noise was giving me the headache. I decided I’d rather come home and tuck the bairns in their beds.”

Hannah’s smile dimmed at his use of Priscilla’s word for her children. It wasn’t a fair world that took a mother away from her little ones. “I’m afraid Jacob’s asleep already, but Peggy may be awake. She was working on her sampler.”

“I’ll just go upstairs and see. And then…” He glanced at the hand Hannah still held at her aching waist. “Are you too tired for a bit more work to-night?”

Hannah removed her hand and tried to straighten the crimp out of her back without being obvious. “Of course not. What would you like me to do?”

“Help me. We need to go through the household items I had planned to take and decide which ones can be left. Captain Reed claims that we’ll not be able to take such a load.”

“Aye. He told me the same thing.”

Webster looked annoyed. “When did he tell you that?”

“This afternoon. He surprised me in the kitchen as I was making the candles.”

“There’s no call for Reed to be telling you what to do, Hannah. He’s our trail guide, nothing more. If you wish, I’ll ask him not to speak to you unless necessary.”

“Oh, please no. He’s not a bother to me, Mr. Webster.”

“If he should become one, Hannah, kindly let me know. Mayhaps I shouldn’t say this to you, but I believe Captain Reed has something of a reputation with the ladies.”

“The ladies? To hear him talk, he’s spent the past two years with bears, wild Indians and even wilder soldiers.”

“Perhaps that’s all the more reason I should tell him to stay clear of you,” Randolph said grimly. “All I know is that they say he was raised in Boston of a good family and he left under somewhat cloudy circumstances that concerned a woman.”

Hannah sighed and stretched her back one more time. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Webster, but I don’t believe I need protection from Captain Reed.”

“Yes, well…” Mr. Webster looked at her with the odd expression that seemed to have developed since the incident in the tavern last night. “It’s my responsibility to take care of you, Hannah. If anyone tries to bother you, you must tell me about it forthwith.”

Hannah was bewildered by the proprietary tone. For almost three years she’d lived in the same house with this man, feeling of no more importance to him than a sack of turnips. Now all at once he seemed concerned about her. Mistress MacDougall’s comments came back to her, but she dismissed them impatiently. “I was raised on the streets of London, Mr. Webster, not at a convent. I can take care of myself.”

Webster nodded. “I believe you. God knows, you’ve taken care of all of us well enough these past months.”

“Yes, well…” Hannah felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’ll just go on out to the stable and start looking at the packs.”

“You’re sure you aren’t too tired?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You’re a hard worker, Hannah. But I intend to take a little bit better care of you in the future.”

She didn’t know what to reply, so she nodded and turned toward the door. But she felt Randolph Webster’s eyes follow her all the way out to the yard.

Hannah always felt a stitch in her heart when she walked by the big stone kiln at the corner of the Baker brickyard. It had been at that site over a year ago that carefree, young Johnny Baker had lost his life when an unbalanced load of bricks had fallen on him, crushing his throat. Johnny Baker had bantered with Hannah when she had first arrived in Philadelphia, and Priscilla had teased her that the handsome young man was sweet on her. But Hannah knew that Johnny flirted with every young maid in the area. He wasn’t likely to set his heart on an indentured servant with five long years to serve. Still, his death had shocked and saddened her. Johnny’s mother, Eliza, had been nearly crazy with grief, and Hannah had taken to spending some of her free moments with her. Johnny had been Eliza and Seth Baker’s only child, and in many ways it seemed as if their very future had died along with him.

Hannah walked up the neat brick path to the Baker cottage. Eliza’s beloved crocuses were making their first brave appearance, in spite of the continuing cold weather. The cheery splotches of yellow brought the natural smile back to Hannah’s lips. The Bakers would miss their home, she thought. When a recent German immigrant had made an offer to buy the brickyard, it had seemed to be the opportunity to flee from their grief. Some of Seth’s natural enthusiasm had returned as he joined in the plans to head west with the Websters, the Trasks and the Crawfords. But Hannah knew that Eliza would miss her crocuses in the spring, and she’d especially miss her daily climb up to the small cemetery behind the church.

“Hannah, my dear. What are you about so early?” Eliza’s kindly, weathered face poked out the front window.

Hannah smiled at her. “I’m just bringing around a message from Mr. Webster.”

The head disappeared and the cottage’s bright green door opened. “Come inside, girl. The morning’s still got a chill on it.”

Hannah ducked under the portal to enter the Bakers’ immaculate kitchen. It smelled of herbs and fresh bread. “Take off your bonnet and have some warm cider,” Eliza urged, bustling around to fill a mug with steaming liquid from the black kettle and slide a pan from the warming oven. “And you’ll take some bread, as well. It’s just baked.”

Hannah laughed and shook her head, but took a seat on one of the stools. “I can’t stay, Eliza. I have yet to visit the Crawfords and the Trasks.”

“You’ll stay long enough to put some warmth in your middle,” Eliza said firmly, handing Hannah the mug.

“Mr. Baker isn’t at home?” Hannah asked.

“He’s out in the yard with Herr Gutmueller.” Eliza’s expression dimmed. “I hope we’re doing the right thing. It’s tearing Seth apart to leave the business to a stranger. Yet, how could he stay on when every day he has to face that horrible spot where Johnny…”

Hannah gave a nod of understanding. “You’ve been over it a hundred times, Eliza. You yourself have said that Seth is feeling better now that he’s making plans for a new life. It’s probably for the best.”

Eliza sat across from Hannah, her full skirts puffing up around her. “I know, I know. I’ll not bother you again with my worries.”

Hannah reached out to take the older woman’s plump hand. “You never bother me, Eliza. I just wish I could do something to make the leaving easier on you and Mr. Baker. After all the help you gave me when Mrs. Webster died. I’d never have managed all those relatives and neighbors without your assistance.”

The two women shared a smile of friendship. “It was a heavy burden for a young thing like you, Hannah. Still is…the children to manage, and Randolph moping in his beer every night.”

“Mr. Webster’s doing better, too, I think, keeping busy with all the plans and preparations.”

Eliza withdrew her hand from Hannah’s and reached over to slice off a golden crust of bread. “Well, you see, that’s men for you. Give them an adventure and they’re willing to forget everything else. We womenfolk are left to grieve by ourselves.” Her eyes went to the back wall of the house, as if she could see beyond it to the brickyard where her husband was in the process of disposing of his life’s work.

“Perhaps their way is better,” Hannah said gently. She, herself, had found that learning a new land had helped her deal with the crushing loss of her mother. And she found herself looking forward to the west-ward adventure as much as the men did.

Eliza’s eyes had misted over. “Perhaps. I’ll do my best to make this work for Seth.”

“From what Captain Reed says, we’ll all have to do our best.”

The tone of Hannah’s voice had changed subtly and Eliza looked up sharply. “Captain Reed’s a spell-binder, isn’t he?”

“The children certainly seem fascinated by his stories.” Hannah looked away from her friend.

Eliza cocked her head. “Indeed,” she said dryly.

Hannah picked up the piece of bread Eliza had pushed toward her and jammed it into her mouth. “I have to be on my way,” she said between chews. “I just came to tell you that we’ll all be meeting tomorrow evening at the MacDougalls’ for a farewell party.”

“Good. We’ll bring Herr and Frau Gutmueller.”

Hannah jumped up from her seat and reached out to give Eliza a quick hug. “We’re all going to be just fine, Eliza. You’ll see.”

* * *

Hannah waved to Mr. Baker as she hurried along the east edge of the brickyard to the Crawfords’ tiny house. It was in need of paint and the front stoop had been broken since Hannah had first arrived in town. The boards slanted to one side at an odd angle that forced Hannah to hitch up her skirts and look down to keep from falling. She had wondered about the ability of Amos Crawford to keep up with the hard work of a wilderness farm, but at least he would be another man to serve as protection. There was safety and comfort in numbers, she supposed. Besides, young Benjamin Crawford was Jacob Webster’s best friend, and the two boys had been playing at being frontiersmen for weeks.

It was Benjamin who answered her knock, but as he started to open the door he was pushed out of the way by his seven-year-old brother Thomas. “I said I would get the door, Benjie,” he shouted, giving his older brother a push that sent him sprawling into the cluttered room.

Benjamin leapt up and dove for Thomas’s knees, which put both boys on the floor, pummeling each other.

“Mama, Tom and Benjie’s fightin’ again,” cried little Patience Crawford, while her twin sister, Hope, jumped up and down in excitement.

Martha Crawford appeared in the doorway to the back room. She was a slender woman who had been one of the town beauties a few years back, but who now looked drawn and weary. She clapped her hands together and yelled, “Stop this!”

The words had no effect whatsoever on the commotion, but the woman didn’t appear to care. She made her way around the tumbling boys and gave Hannah a tired smile. “Good morrow, Mistress Forrester.”

Hannah glanced at the floor where both girls had now jumped into the fray, and quickly relayed her message. As she finished, Amos Crawford came out of the back room. Without so much as a glance at the fighting children, he said heartily, “Aye, we’ll be there. We’re chomping at the bit to get started, I can tell you. Out on the trail…out where a man has room to breathe.”

His wife didn’t look his way. “Should I bring something for the party?” she asked Hannah softly.

Hannah shook her head. “The MacDougalls will be fixing the victuals,” she said, her voice raised to carry over the children’s shouts. “Ah…fine, then. We’ll see you tomorrow. Good day to you all.”

Hastily she backed out the door and down the precariously tilted stoop.

Hannah had left the Trask house for last. She was not looking forward to seeing Hugh Trask after his insulting gesture at the inn the other night. She could still feel the man’s sweaty hand pressing painfully into her waist. It was not the first time Trask had made her feel uncomfortable. It seemed that every time he came to the Webster house, he had taken some opportunity to make a sly comment or look at her with a lewd expression. She couldn’t help but be sorry that the Trasks would be accompanying them on this journey. Nancy Trask appeared to be a nice enough woman, though, and their two daughters, Janie and Bridgett, would be good company for Peggy. The poor child needed the diversion.

Hannah was relieved to find Nancy Trask alone at her home. She relayed her message quickly, then hurried away with a sigh of relief. But her relief was shortlived. As she started up the small hill that would lead back to the Websters’ road, she saw that Hugh Trask was coming down the path directly toward her. There was no way to avoid an encounter.

“Halloo, Hannah,” he called. “What were you doing at my house?”

He planted himself in front of her in such a way that she couldn’t continue on up the path without pushing against him, so she stopped. “I just came to tell you that we’ll all be meeting tomorrow night. Mistress Trask has the message.” She kept her eyes down.

“You needn’t run away so fast. My wife could use some company these days with another brat growing inside her.”

Hannah had suspected that Nancy Trask was with child, but the quiet woman kept so to herself that it seemed no one in town knew for sure. Now that it was confirmed, Hannah was appalled. How could Hugh Trask bring his wife on the dangerous journey ahead of them in such a state? If she weren’t an indentured servant, she would give the man a piece of her mind. As it was, she just wanted to make her escape. “I… I’m sorry,” she said, trying to edge around him up the hill. “I have a lot to attend to yet…the packing…”

Trask grabbed her elbow. “You don’t think you’re too good to set awhile at my house, do you, missy?”

Hannah tried to pull away, but his hold on her was firm. She could feel the warmth of his pungent breath. “Of course not, Mr. Trask. But we have only two more days to get ready. I’m sure you and your wife have much to do, as well.”

Trask pulled her a step closer and moved his leg so that his thigh touched hers. “I’m never too busy for the right kind of company,” he said with a chuckle that gurgled in his throat.

Hannah felt sick. She swallowed hard and said, “Please let me by, Mr. Trask.”

He leaned his face nearer and she closed her eyes. “I’m not sure I want to do that….”

Suddenly Trask’s hand was jerked from her arm. He went stumbling several steps down the path. Hannah opened her eyes and found herself looking up at the handsome, angry features of Ethan Reed.

“What’s going on here, Trask?” he asked.

Trask rubbed his shoulder where Reed had wrenched it. “Nothing’s going on. What the hell’re you shoving me for?”

Ethan turned to Hannah. “Was this man bothering you, Mistress Forrester?”

Hannah looked from Reed to a sullen Trask. She wanted to say yes, but a servant had no right to complain about a man taking her arm. She’d heard tales of many who’d suffered much worse than that. “I’m fine, Captain Reed,” she said finally. “Thank you for your concern.”

Trask glowered at Reed. “Why don’t you mind your own business, Reed? We’re paying you good money to guide us on the trail, not to interfere in our lives.”

Reed took a step toward Trask. “Once we get on that trail, Trask, your life and the lives of everyone in your party will be in my hands. You play by my rules. And my rules say that you’d better mind your manners.”

Trask looked as if he were about to make another retort, but in the end he just turned and stalked away down the path to his house.

Ethan watched him go, then smiled at Hannah. “Now, tell me the truth. Are you all right?”

She nodded and made an attempt to return the smile.

He reached out to take her hand. “You’re shaking,” he said with a frown.

“No…it’s just…” She couldn’t come up with the right words.

Ethan slipped an comforting arm around her shoulders for just a moment, then stepped back. “If that man bothers you, I want you to let me know.”

“Yes, sir,” Hannah said, her voice shaky.

“Do you want me to see you home?”

“No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

He tipped his hat. “Until this evening, then,” he said, and started off down the road.

Hannah turned toward home with a bemused expression. It was ironic. She’d never looked to a man for protection in her entire life. Now she had Ethan Reed offering her protection from Trask and Randolph Webster offering her protection from Reed. But as her mother used to say, Hannah could do just fine on her own. She didn’t intend to take either gentleman up on his offer.

Chapter Three

Peggy Webster carried the basket of fritters into the public room, the proud tilt of her head showing that she felt grown-up serving as hostess along with her grandmother and Hannah. Janie and Bridgett Trask were watching her closely. They all attended the same school over on Mulberry Lane, but the Trask sisters rarely played with the other children, and Peggy had never gotten to know them well. The two sisters sat demurely on a low bench alongside their mother, Nancy, none of them saying a word. No one except Peggy seemed to even notice that they were there. Hugh Trask, as usual, was noticed by everyone. He’d already had several pints of Ian MacDougall’s corn ale. Peggy wished the Trask family was not going west with them.

“The beans are ready, Peggy,” her grandmother called from the kitchen doorway. “Just give them a final stir and bring them on out to the table. Mind your hands on the pot.”

Peggy smiled shyly at Janie Trask, the older sister, and turned to go back to the kitchen. Her brother, Jacob, tugged at her skirts as she passed. “Where are the Crawfords?” he asked. “Benjie and I were gonna build a fort out back. Now it’s almost dark.”

“I don’t know where they are, Jacob. Probably busy with last-minute packing.”

“Do you want to build one?” he asked without much hope.

“I’m serving the supper, helping grandmother.”

“Can I, too?”

Peggy was usually patient with her eight-year-old brother, but tonight there was too much anticipation, too much uncertainty in the air for patience. “You’re too little, Jacob, and, besides, you’re a boy,” she said shortly, stepping over him to make her way to the kitchen.

Jacob looked around forlornly. His father was busy in conver-sation with Mr. Trask, Mr. Baker and Captain Reed. That’s where he should be, Jacob thought—with the men.

He jumped to his feet and walked over to the group who stood around the fireplace smoking long pipes that sent trails of blue smoke drifting up into the rough beams of the public room ceiling. The four men were laughing at something Captain Reed had said. Captain Reed was just about the most fascinating person Jacob had ever met. He’d been everywhere. And fought the Indians and the French and even a bear.

“Will there be bears?”

The four men looked downward at the sound of Jacob’s puny voice. His father picked him up and balanced him on one arm, which Jacob felt was not at all a dignified posture for a boy who was about to become a frontiersman. He squirmed until his father put him back on the floor.

“There are lots of bears, Jacob,” Reed answered, giving him a serious man-to-man look that made Jacob feel good. “We’ll have to be on the lookout, because it will be up to us men to be sure that none of those bears come near our womenfolk.”

The other three men smiled down at Jacob, but Reed stayed serious, and Jacob directed his answer to him. “I’ll be a good lookout, Captain. I’ll be looking out all the time.”

Reed nodded his approval, then motioned with his pipe. “I don’t suppose you smoke quite yet, Jacob?”

Jacob shook his head, his eyes fixed on the pipe. Ethan nodded once again. “Probably just as well. It’s not such a great habit anyway.”

In the kitchen Eliza Baker and Jeanne MacDougall were taking the turkey out of the big roasting oven built alongside the huge kitchen hearth. Hannah lifted the bean pot off its hook with her apron. “I’ll carry these,” she told Peggy, “and you bring out the crock of turnips. It’s not quite so heavy.”

“The Crawfords aren’t here yet,” Peggy informed the women.

“Well, the food’s ready, so we’re just going to have to eat,” Jeanne MacDougall said. “I’ve never known Amos Crawford to be on time for anything in his entire life.”

Jeanne had been snapping all night, Hannah thought sadly. She was fighting their departure up to the very last minute. Hannah couldn’t blame her for her resentment. It must be terrible to lose your only grandchildren this way. But in some ways it was hard for Hannah to identify with the forceful Scotswoman. Except for her mother, who had sometimes lived in a dreamworld where Hannah could not reach her, Hannah herself had never had a family to cling to. She had tried over these past few days to be tolerant of Mrs. MacDougall’s bad humor, which had worsened when Hannah had turned down the MacDougalls’ offer to buy out her indenture. Hannah suspected that Mrs. MacDougall had secretly hoped that when Hannah refused to go west, Randolph would abandon the idea.

She left the kitchen and started toward the tables, holding the solid iron bean pot awkwardly with both hands. Ethan Reed’s eyes went to her instantly, and he stopped m midsentence to cross the room to her. “I’ll take that, mistress. It’s too heavy for a slender young lady like yourself. And, besides, you’ll ruin that lovely pinafore.”

His hands brushed hers as he took the pot from her. “It’s just an old apron,” Hannah murmured in embarrassment, noting that every head in the room was turned to watch them.

Randolph set his pipe deliberately m its holder on the mantel, then walked over to Hannah. “I didn’t realize that you needed help, Hannah. Just let me know what you would like me to do.”

“Goodness, Mr. Webster. We’ve more than enough hands in the kitchen as it is. Everything’s ready as soon as we bring out—”

The door opened and the tardy Crawford family came trooping in. Amos held one of the twins in his arms. Hannah didn’t know if it was Hope or Patience. It was impossible to tell them apart. Benjamin and Thomas followed him, their expressions glum, and Martha came last, holding the other girl. Jacob ran immediately over to Benjamin and thumped him on the back. “We’re going to be lookouts for the bears,” he blurted to his friend.

“Evening, Amos, Mrs. Crawford,” Randolph said with a nod. “Come on in. We’re just ready to eat.”

None of the Crawfords returned Randolph’s welcoming smile. Amos’s eyes darted nervously around the room. “I reckon there’s something I need to tell you all first,” he said.

“What’s the matter?” Randolph asked, immediately alert. He and Amos had been schoolboy friends together and knew each other like brothers.

“There’s no easy way to say it.” Amos set his daughter down, then straightened up slowly. “We’re not going to be able to go along with you.”

There was a moment of silence, then Hugh Trask said loudly, “You’d better be joking, Crawford. There’s no way you can pull out of this now.”

Amos kept his eyes on Randolph, who looked as if he shared Trask’s sentiment. “What’s the problem, Amos?” he asked quietly.

Martha Crawford had let down the other twin, and the two little girls went running over to Peggy, who was their particular favorite. “Mama was crying,” one of them said before Peggy motioned them to be silent.

“We just can’t do it,” Amos said, his own voice breaking. “I was fooling myself to think we could handle this. The girls are no more than babes, and the boys aren’t old enough yet to be of much help. Martha says she’s tired all the time as it is.”

Seth Baker was still leaning against the mantel with his pipe. “You signed on like the rest of us, Amos. We agreed to pay the captain, here, among the four families.”

“We’ll pay if we have to,” Martha Crawford said, coming forward to support her husband. “But we’ll not be going. I’m not taking my babies out to be slaughtered by wild Indians.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying,” Jeanne MacDougall hollered from the kitchen.

“Well, why didn’t you say that months ago when we started making all the plans?” Trask asked Martha, his face florid.

She took her husband’s arm. “We didn’t think it through. I’ll admit it. And if we have to pay the price, then so be it. But we’re not going west.”

Amos looked helplessly at Randolph, who tried to reason with her. “The Indian problem is mostly over now, Martha. The killing was back when the French were out there urging the Indians to kill the English, sometimes paying them to kill.”

“Well, the French are gone. Nobody’s paying them now,” she retorted. “But they say that Pontiac’s Ottawa warriors seized a British fort just last month.”

Ethan had been listening to the exchange in silence, but now he stepped forward. “The British wouldn’t be allowing settlers to stake out land if they didn’t think it was safe, Mrs. Crawford. Though I grant you, there’s always a risk. Pontiac’s the strongest leader the Indians have had in some time. And he’s unpredictable.”

“They can’t back out now, can they, Reed?” Hugh Trask asked him.

“I don’t see how you’re going to force someone to enter into an expedition like this one,” Ethan answered calmly. “You need to have people who are able and willing.“

Trask looked around the room. “My wife’s got a kid in the oven, but you don’t hear us bellyaching about how tough it’s going to be.”

Everyone except Hannah looked over at Nancy Trask in surprise. “You’re with child, Mrs. Trask?” Randolph asked.

Nancy turned beet red and looked down at the floor.

“Is this wise, Trask?” Randolph asked. “Are you sure you want to take your wife away from civilization at a time like this, away from all medical care?”

Trask shrugged. “I reckon the tyke’ll be born just as well there as here.”

Randolph shook his head and turned back to the Crawfords. “All the more reason we need you folks. Isn’t there anything we can say to change your minds?”

Hannah felt a pang of sympathy for Amos Crawford, who looked as though his life’s dream had just been ripped away from him. But she had had her misgivings about the Crawfords from the beginning, and the haggard circles under Martha Crawford’s eyes attested to a hard-fought decision made over many sleepless nights. She hoped Randolph would not press his friend too hard.

“We’ve decided,” Amos said firmly. “I’m sorry to leave you one family short on such little notice, but I’m afraid our decision is final.”

Ethan looked around at the solemn faces. “Do you want to postpone the trip until we recruit another family?” he asked. “It might mean waiting until next spring.”

Randolph was already shaking his head. “No. We’re all set to go. The Bakers and the Trasks have already sold their places. We’ll just have to make do with the ones who are left.”

“I’m sorry,” Amos said again. Martha gripped his arm more tightly, and he patted her hand. The two boys looked down at their shoes, and Tommy wiped his hand across his nose.

Ethan broke the silence. “If it’s all decided,” he said, giving Hannah a quick wink, “then I say it’s time to eat.”

It was more wrenching than any of them had anticipated to leave the rambling white clapboard house at the end of Stratford Lane with all its memories of Priscilla and happier times. Peggy had clung to her grandmother with heartbreaking sobs. Jacob, whose dreams of conquering the West with his friend Benjie by his side had been abruptly crushed, had been sullen and untalkative. Randolph had spent a few last minutes in the bedroom he had shared with his wife and had emerged with red eyes.

They’d ridden all day mostly in silence—a motley-looking train of horses and mules and one jackass that Randolph had purchased, claiming that he had heard of the animal’s reputation as a strong pack animal. It pulled a small two-wheeled cart that they had decided to bring along against Ethan Reed’s recommendations. Hannah thought the beast looked mean and did her best to stay out of its way.

Their midday rest had been brief, so Ethan had allowed them to stop and make camp early in deference to those who were not used to an entire day on the trail, which was all of them.

Hannah stood looking out at the small river they’d been following and pulled her cloak more securely around her. It was a wool cloak that had belonged to Priscilla. She’d been reluctant to take it, but Randolph had told her that if they were to be pioneers, they couldn’t indulge in foolish sentiment. The cloak was practical and warm and would serve her well on the trail.

The sun had already set on the other side of the river, and the night promised to be chilly. Randolph had explained that it was necessary to leave as soon as possible so that they would have plenty of time to build secure cabins before the next winter, but Hannah was wishing that they’d been able to wait at least until May.

She supposed if she got busy, she’d warm up. There was firewood to gather and food to prepare and tents to pitch. But for just a moment more she wanted to stand and watch the rushing waters—waters that were rushing west. To a wide open land where perhaps no white woman had ever trod. It raised bumps on her skin just to think about it.

“Hannah, are you all right? You’re not too weary from the ride?” Randolph came up beside her. His voice sounded tired.

She turned to smile at him. She was starting to get used to this new, more solicitous side of her employer. “I’ll admit that I’m a bit sore…er…where one might expect after all day on a mule, but other than that I’m fine. It’s all of you I’m worried about.”

Randolph rubbed two fingers along the bridge of his nose. “It’s been a wearying day, I vow. The bairns have held up bravely, but it’s hard…”

“I know,” Hannah said softly, putting her hand on his sleeve. “‘Tis hard to leave behind the memories. I had the same problem leaving England. But soon the children will be involved in their new life—and so will you.”

“And we’ll be so blamed busy we won’t have time for self-pity,” he said with a sad half smile. “It’s too bad about the Crawfords. Jacob was counting on being with Benjamin.”

“Aye. We didn’t need another disappointment.”

Their gazes went over to the camp fire. Ethan was showing Jacob how to tie up a turkey by the neck and hang it over the open fire. “Now take this piece of bark, Jacob,” he told the boy. who seemed to hang on his every word. “Try to catch the juices as they drip off and then pour them back over the bird.”

“What’s that for?” Jacob watched intently as the big man who knelt beside him demonstrated his basting technique.

“It makes the turkey tender and juicy. Your sister and Mistress Hannah are going to be downright pea green with envy when they taste what a bird you’ve cooked.”

Jacob grinned and took the curved piece of bark from Ethan.

Hannah turned back to her employer. “At least it looks like he’s happy for the moment.”

Randolph was watching his son and their guide with a frown. “He’ll burn his hand off if he doesn’t have a care.”

Hannah was surprised at his hostile tone. “Captain Reed appears to be watching him closely enough.”

“It’s not Captain Reed’s job to be watching my son,” he snapped.

Hannah’s jaw dropped. After all his kind remarks to her, she couldn’t believe that Randolph meant his comment as a reprimand from employer to servant. Yet it was her responsibility to be watching his children.

“Would you like me to tell him to move away from the fire?” she asked, her voice tightening.

Randolph looked down at her in surprise. “No! That is…I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t doing your duty, Hannah. What a preposterous idea. I’ve told you before—the children and I would be lost without you.”

“I thought you sounded irritated, sir.”

Randolph looked over again at Jacob and the captain. “I’m just tired, Hannah. I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult day.”

“I’m sure we’ll all feel better as soon as we leave the goodbyes behind us and get farther down the trail.”

Randolph smiled at her. “Just talking to you makes me feel better, Hannah.”

By the third day out, Hannah started to wonder if her prediction would ever come true. Instead of leaving behind the memories, it seemed as if they were becoming stronger. Much of the talk around the camp fire that evening had been about warm home fires and soft beds and Jeanne MacDougall’s apple pies. Hannah had assured the children that they would be picking up such supplies as flour and lard at Fort Pitt before they started down the Ohio. She promised them that when they had their own homestead they would make pies of their own. She didn’t know about apples. How long did it take to grow an apple tree, she wondered?

The truth was that, with the possible exception of Ethan Reed and young Jacob, all of them were in varying degrees of physical misery.

Peggy and the two Trask girls giggled over their oddly placed pains in secret, and Hannah could see that a slow bond was beginning to form among them in the way that it does with young girls. The friend-ship was good for Peggy, who had been isolated for too long, but it left Jacob more alone than ever.

Seth and Eliza, by far the oldest members of the group, had ridden along without complaint, quietly protective of each other and unfailingly cheerful with everyone.

Nancy Trask had also made no protest at the long hours on the trail. The previous afternoon Hugh had loudly proclaimed to the entire party that his “arse” was as raw as a skinned chicken and he wasn’t going another mile. Ethan had calmly invited him to follow at whatever pace he liked and then had continued on up the trail with the rest of the group following docilely behind.

As for Randolph, Hannah wasn’t quite sure what to think about her employer’s condition. He had not complained, certainly, but neither had he been the buoyant adventurer who she had watched plan this journey. His enthusiasm for the trip seemed to have disappeared, and when he spoke to her at all, it was with a diffidence that she had never before noticed in him.

She didn’t know exactly when it was that she had begun to suspect that Randolph’s uncharacteristic churlishness toward Ethan came from a kind of jealousy of the frontiersman’s attention to Hannah her-self. It was hard to believe, because it implied that Randolph held some sort of regard for Hannah beyond that of an employer, which he had never before given her reason to suppose. And, of course, any thought of jealousy was absurd, because Hannah was sure that Ethan Reed’s compliments to her and smiles and winks meant nothing. He treated gray-haired Eliza Baker with the same mockingly flirtatious manner.

“A penny for your thoughts, mistress.”

Hannah jumped as Ethan’s voice came out of the darkness. Most of the group had retired for the night. Hannah had tried to go to sleep earlier in the little tent she shared with Peggy and Jacob, but had been unable to find a comfortable position for her jolted bones. Finally she had given up and come out to sit by the fire. She turned as Ethan approached carrying two logs, each one as big around as her waist.

“These will burn through the night,” he said, putting them on the fire. He dusted off his hands, then dropped down beside her. “Now, tell me. What has put that furrow into your lovely brow?” His hand neared her face but didn’t touch her.

Hannah tried to pull her thoughts away from her speculation about Randolph and Ethan. She hoped mind reading was not among the captain’s many talents. “I didn’t know anyone was awake,” she said, avoiding his question.

“So why are you still up?”

Hannah shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. Too sore, I think. I’ve never ridden before, at least not like this.”

“You’ve been a brave girl about it. All of you have done well, really. Before long you’ll all have calluses in the places you need them the most.”

“I never thought I’d find that idea attractive,” Hannah said with a little chuckle, “but I can’t wait.”

Ethan laughed. “I’ve a bottle of whiskey that could ease some of those aches, but I’m afraid if I bring it out there’ll be no handling Trask.”

“You seem to handle him well enough.”

“I’ve dealt with his type before along the trail. I can’t imagine how a woman as sweet as Nancy Trask ended up with a lout like him.”

Hannah felt a sudden unfamiliar twist. She’d just been thinking about jealousy, but that surely could not be what she was experiencing at this moment. Nancy Trask had a kind of fragile beauty that she imagined was appealing to men. Her glossy black hair and creamy white skin made her stand out among people whose coloring was not so extreme.

“Mrs. Trask is lovely, isn’t she?” she commented, looking back at the fire.

Ethan turned his head toward her sharply. “She’s fair enough. I just hope she’s a lot stronger than she looks, and that her babe holds off until we reach our destination.”

Hannah gave an exclamation of dismay. “Oh, but it must! She’d not have the baby out here on the trail.”

“Babies have a way of coming into the world on their own schedule.”

The very idea of Nancy Trask giving birth in the middle of the wilderness drove all thoughts of jealousy out of Hannah’s head. “What would we do?”

“How many babies have you helped birth?” he asked her.

Hannah’s eyes grew round. “None. I suppose Eliza may know more about it.”

“Well, we menfolk aren’t likely to be of much help, so it will be up to you two.”

For the first time it really hit Hannah what it meant to be leaving civilization. In London she and her mother had often had to forgo necessities for lack of money, but at least she had known that help was available if it came to an emergency. And in Philadelphia, caring for Priscilla, she had lacked for nothing, except the divine power to overcome an incurable disease. “We’ll just have to make do,” she said, trying to sound confident. “I’ll talk things over with Eliza tomorrow.”

“Good. As I’ve said before, Mistress Hannah. I like your attitude. It will serve you well in the West.”

Unlike the frivolous compliments the captain was wont to disperse, this one seemed sincere. “Thank you,” she said, her voice grown hushed.

He had leaned close to her. “I find that I like lots of things about you, Mistress Hannah.”

The fire grew brighter as the bark burned off the giant logs. She hoped the sudden blaze was the reason why her cheeks had grown so warm. But the height of the fire would not explain her cold hands. Hannah rubbed them together. “Now you are bantering with me again, Captain, and as I have explained before, it’s not seemly.”

An expression of annoyance flickered briefly in his eyes, then passed. He leaned even closer to her, until she could see the reflections of the flames in the dark centers of his eyes. “Do you like sweets, mistress?” he asked very softly.

“I beg your pardon?” Hannah was finding it hard to breathe normally with his face just inches from hers.

Abruptly he sat back and pulled a paper packet from inside his buckskin coat. “Horehound drops,” he said. He pulled something out of the paper and reached over to her. His fingers pushed the candy into her mouth, then lingered ever so briefly on her warm lips.

The slick, minty candy felt good against her tongue. After a moment of surprise, she smiled.

“The Creeks say that if you fall asleep with something sweet on your lips, you’ll have sweet dreams the whole night through,” Ethan said, popping one of the drops into his own mouth.

“I thought we were only supposed to bring essentials along on this trip, Captain Reed,” Hannah said with mock disapproval.

“Horehound’s an essential as far as I’m concerned. It’s the main reason I head back east every now and then. There’s not much else in so-called civilization that interests me.”

“You have a sweet tooth?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But surely there are some other things you miss from the city?” she asked, talking around the piece of candy still in her mouth.

As she waited for his answer, a log cracked, sending sparks up into the velvety blackness of the sky. Her gaze followed them upward, then scanned the clearing Ethan had chosen for their campsite. The woods seemed to enclose them in their own little world, smelling of smoke and moist, spring-scented earth.

“No, I can’t say that I miss much,” he was saying, his eyes on the fire. “Sometimes I miss reading. Books are hard to come by out West, and newspapers are already history by the time we get them.”

“Don’t you have family, friends that you miss?”

Ethan’s head came up. “I have friends at Fort Pitt. They’re all I need.”

His tone had grown colder, as if closing off discussion about anything personal. Hannah sat uncertainly for a moment, then said. “I should try to sleep now.”

Ethan stood with her and offered the paper of candy. “Would you like another one?”

Hannah took one of the drops. “Thank you. So now we’re guaranteed to have sweet dreams tonight. Is that the idea?”

Ethan’s dark eyes held hers. “I already have mine planned.”

Chapter Four

Ethan had driven his inexperienced party from Philadelphia as hard as he thought possible over the past two days. He knew that tempers were growing short. Both the people and the animals needed a rest. But this particular section of the trail was Seneca territory, and he wanted to get through it as soon as possible.

The Seneca had been peaceful of late, but just before he’d left Philadelphia, he’d had word from an old Rogers’s Rangers comrade that Pontiac was urging the Seneca to join with his Ottawa and the Potawatomi in an alliance against the increasing numbers of British settlers moving into the Ohio River valley. He hoped the report was just another alarmist account like the ones they constantly used to hear at Fort Pitt. He certainly was not going to frighten his charges with vague possibilities. But he wasn’t willing to completely ignore the report when the lives of women and children could be at stake. Once they were out of range of the Susquehanna River and closer to Fort Pitt, he’d slow down the pace.

In the meantime, he made it a point to be in the lead during the day with his musket close at hand and to sleep as little as possible each night. He had hopes that Hannah Forrester would have a another attack of insomnia and join him at the camp fire late at night, but he had seen no sign of her for the past four evenings. It was just as well. His mind was sharper when it wasn’t fixed on an attractive woman. And Hannah was definitely attractive. Even after more than a week on the trail, her hair shone as bright as a field of spring buttercups. And each morning she awakened fresh and blooming, her eyes sparkling like the waters of the river they followed. He had not heard a single complaining word from her. When the others became sullen as he urged them on for an additional mile at the end of a long day, she did her best to put heart back into the group.

As if his thoughts had conjured her up, Hannah suddenly appeared at the edge of the circle of fire-light. Her thick blond hair was out of its customary braid, falling loose around her shoulders. Ethan had an almost uncontrollable urge to touch it.

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked.

Ethan smiled. “Fits and starts. You get used to it out on the trail. A full night’s sleep is rare.”

Her hands were at her waist, pulling on her shawl, unconsciously stretching it tightly across her full breasts. Ethan felt his body stir. “Would you sit with me a spell?” he asked.

She nodded and stepped around the fire to sink down next to him on a large log. “I see you here every night, long after everyone else has gone to sleep. Yet you’re always the first one up in the morning, though I myself have awakened before dawn.”

He shrugged. “We’ve an eternity to sleep, I reckon. No sense trying to get it all in at once.”

“I thought perhaps there was some reason you were keeping watch. Some danger?”

He could tell her the truth. She didn’t seem to be one of the hysterical-type females he’d known so well in Boston. But she might feel it her duty to tell her employer, and before long he’d have a whole train of overly skittish charges ready to shoot off their rifles at the belching of a squirrel.

He grinned at her. “Mayhap it’s those sweet dreams of mine that are keeping me awake.”

“Captain Reed…” she began in an admonishing tone.

Ethan held up his hand. His face became serious and he said, “Actually, I do have a problem.”

Hannah was instantly attentive.

“I’ve finished my horehound drops,” he said. His eyes fixed on her mouth. “I’ve nothing sweet to put on my lips before I sleep.”

Hannah had seen Captain Reed sitting by the fire each evening since their first late-night encounter, but she had deliberately kept to her bed to avoid another meeting. She was afraid of him. Or rather, she was afraid of the odd feelings he engendered in her head and in her body. Her mother had warned her off all men, and since her mother’s death her status as a servant had precluded any kind of relationship. She was twenty-one years old. By that age most of the girls back on the East End had half a dozen babies to raise.

The captain closed the distance between them on the log and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “There,” he said, now smiling. “That should be enough to sweeten my dreams this night.”

The press of his lips lingered on her face. It had been her first kiss from a man, and it hadn’t been the least bit evil, as her mother had always warned. It had been gentle and tender and made her feel pleasantly quivery inside.

Unconsciously she lifted two fingers to touch the spot he had kissed.

“Your skin is softer than a babe’s,” he said, his hand lifting to cover hers.

She jumped back. She hadn’t come out to the camp fire for more of Captain Reed’s audacious flirting. She had wanted to talk with him seriously. But around this man her normally intelligent conver-sation turned to mush.

“Please, Captain Reed. I must ask you once again to behave more decorously. I’m not used to…this kind of teasing.”

“You’ve had too serious a life, Mistress Hannah. I could see that from the first day I met you there in the tavern. You’d the look of a beautiful lass who was living away her life doing for other folks without ever knowing—without ever exploring—what it would be like to live for herself for a change.”

“I find a great deal of satisfaction in ‘living for others,’ as you put it. And even if I didn’t, I’m bound by contract to do so for a good long time yet.”

“How long?”

“My indenture with Mr. Webster runs another three years.”

Ethan gave a low whistle. “You’ll be an old woman by then. You’d better start doing a few things for yourself right away.”

“I’m perfectly satisfied with my life the way it is, Captain Reed.” She made her voice aloof, trying to put an end to the direction of their conver-sation.

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Things such as not feeling guilty about wanting to come sit out under the stars with a fine fellow like myself. And giving yourself the liberty to feel the pull between us. It’s one of the oldest feelings of mankind, and it’s tugging mightily at my innards right now. Tell me you don’t feel it, too, Hannah.”

She sucked in a gulp of smoky air. “Captain, I came here tonight because I needed to talk to you—no other reason.”

Ethan pulled back and surveyed her. Her expression was hostile and, yes, afraid. It was hard to believe that a beauty such as Hannah Forrester had reached this age without becoming involved with any men, but he didn’t know what else to make of her fear. She was not shy in any other aspect of daily life that he had seen of her. In spite of her status as a servant, she had no trouble speaking her mind to him or any other member of the expedition on any number of subjects. A dark thought entered his head. Perhaps some unscrupulous lout like Hugh Trask had hurt her in the past, and that was what made her look at him like a rabbit caught in a trap.

“What was it you needed to talk to me about?” he asked gently.

“Nancy Trask. This pace is too much for her. She’s growing weaker each day, and Eliza says if she doesn’t rest, she’ll not have the strength left for the birthing when the time comes.”

Ethan tore his thoughts away from Hannah and her past. “I warned the Trasks before they came that it would be difficult for her.”

“Perhaps it was a mistake for them to come, but that doesn’t alter the fact that she’s wearing out, and we have to do something about it.”

Ethan stood and paced to the other side of the fire. “We can’t stop yet. I have to think of the welfare of the whole group.”

Hannah stood up, indignant. “So ask them. I’m certainly willing to stop. And I’m sure Mr. Webster and the Bakers will not object.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Hannah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Just a few moments ago Ethan had sounded caring and tender. He’d implied that he had some feelings for her, and she had begun to believe that those feelings involved more than the male lust her mother bad talked about. But perhaps her mother had been right, after all. She glared at him across the flames. He looked big and menacing as the firelight flickered red across his dark face. “I can’t believe you won’t stop and let her rest for just a day. Why should there be such a hurry?” Hannah asked, her voice pleading.

“I told all of you who signed on this trip that my authority on the trail has to be absolute. We head out tomorrow as usual.”

Hannah would have shouted at him if she hadn’t been afraid of waking up the entire camp. Instead she put her hands on her hips and said as forcefully as she could, “Mrs. Trask’s life is in your hands!”

“All of your lives are in my hands,” he replied with irritating calmness.

Hannah removed her hands from her hips and crossed her arms. Then she uncrossed them. She tried to think of something more to say. Ethan continued to watch her silently. Finally she gave a huff of irritation and marched back to her tent.

Hannah was not willing to give up and let Captain Reed have the final word. He might be their guide, but he evidently didn’t have the humanity to see that one of their group was suffering. She approached Randolph as he was leading two of the horses down to the river for a drink. He turned to her with the new, special smile that seemed to be just for her and that still startled her each time she saw it. “Good morning, Hannah. Did you and my bairns sleep well last night?”

“Good morrow, sir. We slept fine, but I’ve a concern I’d like to discuss with you.”

Randolph dropped the horses’ leads and let them move to the river’s edge. “What is it? You look up-set.”

“It’s Mrs. Trask. She needs some time to rest before we move on. I talked to Captain Reed about it last night, and he absolutely refuses to stop.”

Webster frowned. “You talked to Reed?”

“Aye. He gave me no reason whatsoever, simply refused to slow down our progress for any cause.”

“When did you talk to him, Hannah?”

Hannah had the impression that her employer was more concerned about her conver-sation with the captain than about the health of Mrs. Trask. “Last night by the camp fire. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to take the opportunity to approach him after everyone else had retired.”

“I don’t like you talking with him alone.”

Hannah shook her head in exasperation. She had yet to sort out her feelings about her meeting with Ethan Reed. But it frustrated her that Randolph was focusing on that rather than the matter at hand. First the captain, now Randolph. Why was it so difficult for them to pay attention to the health of a pregnant woman? They seemed to have everything else on their minds but what she was telling them.

“Mrs. Trask is too weak to travel,” she repeated in a slow, deliberate voice. “I’d like your help to convince Captain Reed that we should take a day of rest.”

Finally Randolph seemed to grasp what she was telling him. “Is she sick?” he asked.

“No. But the babe is weighing heavily on her. Eliza says that if we’re not careful, she could have it right out here on the trail.”

Randolph grew pale. Hannah remembered that in the first year of her indenture Mrs. Webster had suffered a miscarriage. Her disease was already in evidence by then, and Hannah had privately thought the loss was a fortunate thing for the health of her mistress. But Mr. Webster had been extremely upset. “Then we must stop and let Mrs. Trask rest,” he said.

Hannah gave a wan smile. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

They left the horses drinking and went to find Ethan, recruiting Eliza along the way. The captain was at the back of the campsite fixing a broken cinch. He looked up as the three approached him, his smile fading when he saw the determined expressions on their faces.

“Good morning,” he said mildly.

“I understand that Hannah talked with you yesterday about Mrs. Trask’s condition and you refused to listen,” Randolph started out bluntly.

Ethan put the saddle to one side and stood, towering over all of them, even Randolph. “I listened to her. I just wasn’t able to accede to her request.”

In the harsh morning sunlight he looked every inch the woodsman, his broad chest filling out his buckskin jacket and his dark brown hair flowing freely down to his shoulders. Hannah felt her pulse quicken as she watched him facing her employer, his full mouth set in a pleasant smile that did not reach his eyes. She couldn’t believe that last night he had pressed that mouth to her skin.

Randolph appeared not the least intimidated by the captain’s size. “It so happens, Captain, that we are paying you, not the other way around. Which means if we want to stop a day, then that’s our decision.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “You’re wrong, Webster. I take it you’ve never been in the army? You can think of this as a campaign. You all are the soldiers…and I’m the general.”

“You can call yourself a captain if you like, Reed, but we’re not in any damn army. You’re a hired hand, and we’re your employers. You’ll do as we say.”

There was no longer any pretense of a smile. “That’s not the way it works, Webster. If you feel that way, I have no choice but to take you all back to Philadelphia.”

The two men sized each other up like rival bulls, but Hannah could see that, whereas Randolph was losing his temper, Ethan kept his on a careful leash. There was no doubt in her mind who was the more dangerous. And she was not about to let their antagonism flare into open combat.

“Gentlemen,” she said sharply. “It’s not doing any good to have the two of you glaring at each other. Can’t we sit down and discuss this like civilized people?”

Ethan turned to her. His voice was calm enough, but it was obvious that his irritation now extended to her. “There’s nothing to discuss, mistress. Perhaps I should have explained to you more fully last night, but it seemed I had other things on my mind.” His eyes skimmed briefly over her face. Hannah tried to hold steady, but finally dropped her gaze and engaged herself in smoothing her cotton skirt. After a moment, Ethan continued, “I also did not want to alarm the group.”

“Alarm us about what, Captain Reed?” Eliza Baker asked.

Ethan turned toward her, instantly respectful. “There are Seneca through this stretch of the trail, ma’am. They aren’t normally any trouble, but there’ve been a few rumors lately, and I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Of course not,” Eliza said. She had the slightly quavery, calming voice of the grandmother she would now never be. “How much longer will we be at risk, Captain?”

“We should be out of their territory within two days, maybe three.”

“Let’s get moving then,” she said briskly. “I’ll give Nancy Trask some of my tonic this morning, and tonight I’ll brew her some sassafras tea to make her sleep. We’ll keep her going until you decide on a safe place for us to stop.”

Ethan gave the round little woman a grateful smile. Then he nodded curtly to Randolph and Hannah and strode briskly away.

* * *

Randolph kept his horse in line next to Hannah’s mule all that day, except for a short time around noon when he rode back to inquire as to the condition of Nancy Trask. The pregnant woman had appeared to be embarrassed that an argument had taken place on her account, and before they started out that morning she had assured everyone that she was perfectly fine. And, indeed, whether it was sheer power of will or Eliza’s tonic, her cheeks did have a bit of color for the first time in several days. Hugh Trask had been irritated at all the fuss, apparently feeling that it implied that he couldn’t take care of his own wife. He told Randolph as much when he came to inquire, and said brusquely that he’d thank him and the rest of the party to stay out of their affairs.

Hannah also found herself regretting the morning’s confrontation, and she wanted to find a moment to talk alone with Captain Reed. She did not intend to apologize exactly. After all, if he had explained to her about the Indians when she had first come to him with the issue, she would have understood and would never have gotten others involved. But she did feel bad that the morning’s incident had not helped the frosty relations between the captain and Randolph. An unspoken rivalry had grown between them even before they had left Philadelphia, and Hannah was still hoping that it had nothing to do with her. Both men were capable and intelligent. Both had congenial personalities and got along well with others. She couldn’t understand why the antagonism had developed.

The long day passed with Captain Reed pushing the party an extra hour to try to cover as much territory as possible. It wasn’t until they had pitched camp and eaten a cold dinner of salted pork and corn cakes that Hannah finally was able to talk with their guide. He was alone staking down the animals for the night. Randolph was busy in the tent playing with his children before saying good-night. Hannah walked in the darkness over to Ethan.

He smiled at her as she approached, but his welcome was not as warm as it had been on their previous meetings.

She did not waste time on preliminaries. “I’m sorry about the problems this morning,” she said. “You should have explained to me about the danger right from the beginning.”

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