Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

They left Santos before the noon hour, each carrying a medical satchel, a white cloth bag with a large cross on the front. Jesse also slung the leather knapsack his mother had given him over his shoulder, unable to abandon the glass bottles and mortar and pestle of his profession, even though the bottles were empty. With no little qualm, he had left behind the handsome wooden case with the velvet-covered indentations for the tools of his trade. He had wrapped the bone saw, forceps, lancets, probe, and scalpel in a towel and stuffed them in the knapsack.

"You can always have another case made," Elinore had advised him when he mourned overlong at this task.

He nodded, and then felt embarrassed over his pettiness. She had nothing but the clothes she stood in, and he was suffering the loss of a velvet-lined box? He accepted the bottle of olive oil that Elinore handed him and added it to his pack.

Sheffield's nearly new boots dangled from a rope around Wilkie's neck. The private had felt too proprietary about his ham to relinquish it, so it hung from his neck as well, in a small cloth bag that caused no end of excitement among the dogs of Santos.

"Hey, there, you ought to give it to me, Wilkie," Harper said. "I'm a little farther away from the ground than you are."

Wilkie drew himself up to his full height. "You, Private, are a cutpurse, a sneak, and a soft-soaping opportunist. I do not trust you with my ham."

Harper just rolled his eyes. "And you are more trustworthy?"

"Really, gentlemen," Elinore scolded. In the satchel containing bandages and plasters, she placed the rest of the bread that Jesse and Daniel had earned at their clinic. She wrapped the cheese carefully in a cloth and added it to the satchel that used to be the chief surgeon's. She hesitated. "Jesse, should I ask Monsieur Leger to carry it?"

"Why not? He is probably planning to eat on this journey. Aren't you, sir?"

"I do not, as a rule, carry parcels," the Frenchman said.

"You will make an exception, won't you?" Jesse asked. "I do so dislike eating in front of people."

It didn't sound particularly threatening to him, but Harper gave him a look and straightened up, and Leger took the bag and slung it over his shoulder. Not glancing at any of them, the Frenchman started down the road to Salamanca.

Jesse watched him go. "My father took the Grand Tour of Europe once, before Napoleon, when people took such trips. He told me that without fail, every tour contained someone better left behind at a rest stop."

She laughed. "Imagine touring Europe just to see things."

"Would you like to do that someday?"

She considered the matter, and he liked the way she pursed her lips in thought. "No, I think not," she said at last. "I think I have seen enough of Europe."

He heard the wistfulness in her voice, and it touched him. He wanted to tell her about his parents and their home in Dunfermline on the Firth of Forth, and his own house in Dundee—legacy from a grandfather—waiting for him. She will think I am boasting, he told himself and said nothing.

He visited the patients one last time. Marlowe was sitting up and taking an interest in his surroundings. "I could come along, Captain," he said. "I hate to think that you have to depend on the soldiering abilities of the likes of Wilkie and Harper."

Jesse sat beside him. "Corporal Marlowe, you are all kindness, but I fear you are not quite ready for a long walk. I trust that you will be helpful here in Santos."

It wrenched his heart to leave his patients, even though he knew they were in Dan O'Leary's capable hands. He thought of Major Bones and the terrible deeds he had set in motion, and the pages from Souham's saddlebags that Elinore had tucked in the bit of doubled-over sacking that protected his lancets and bone saw. Hippocrates, was life so complicated in Greece? he asked as he stood still for Father Esteban to bless him, then joined the others on the long road that led to the Portuguese border.

The afternoon was calm and cool as they began their retreat. Father Esteban had told them to expect no shelter this night, because they were at least a day's walk to the next village. After a mile or two, they had adjusted to each other's strides, which meant that Harper and Wilkie began in front. Armand Leger was a speck in the distance. Jesse slowed his walked to suit Elinore's smaller step, but he could not overlook her frown. "What is it, my dear?"

"I am going to slow down everyone," she said. "I don't mean to."

He clapped his arm around her shoulder. "Elinore, we can suit ourselves now."

"You are so certain?" she asked, her expression doubtful.

He looked around elaborately. "Who is there to tell us what to do? As senior officer commanding, this is my retreat, and I like it this way." She smiled at him, and he knew there was not a more beautiful woman in all Spain.

He hoped she would want to talk, but he felt shy then, as he invariably did when he thought of her beauty and kindness, and his own inadequacies. Harper and Wilkie were talking and laughing some paces ahead, and he wanted to tell her how long he had admired her, and his plans for their future. He wanted to describe each room of his home in Dundee, from the sunny little sitting room off the large bedroom upstairs that overlooked a flower garden and an herb patch, to the room down the hall that he knew would make an excellent nursery. No, no, that would embarrass her, he thought, then smiled to himself, thinking of the rough birth only the night before. I am an idiot. Maybe I should tell her of the blue saloon downstairs and the dining room, and the room off the main floor next to the book room that would make an excellent office and dispensary for my practice. You would never have to move again, my love.

He said nothing, too tied up in his thoughts. He glanced at her, and saw how she appeared to be struggling to say something to him. To his surprise, she stopped in the road. "I have to ask you something," she said in a rush.

"Please do," he said, and waved on Harper and Wilkie, who had stopped, too.

She shifted the satchel to her other shoulder, and looked down at the ground, for all the world a drab little figure in her brown cloak. He took in her shabbiness, and it pained him that she knew nothing better. When she would not look up, he touched her shoulder. She raised her glance as high as the middle button on his uniform.

"Captain, I don't know how to say this," she began, her words coming as slowly as though each one was pulled by the roots. "All that happened yesterday is my fault."

He couldn't believe his ears. "Elinore!"

"No. It is," she insisted. "If I had just gone with Major Bones, you know that the Chief would be alive. Number Eight would still be protected by a regiment, and Private Jenks would be alive. Major Bones would not have killed the alcalde, and his daughter would be safe." She looked at him then, and there was no disguising the anguish in her eyes. "Why did you have to be so kind? No one else in the regiment has ever given me a thought, or cared about my mother."

"Surely you did not want to go with Major Bones?" Oh, stop me, Hippocrates, he thought in desperation. I sound like a prude.

"How can you think that?" She looked at the ground again, and he knew he had humiliated her. "It's just that... that ... the wearisome Masons set something in motion, and we do not know how for those consequences will extend. I am sorry. I . . . I. . . suppose I just hope that you do not have too many regrets. I will do what I can to be useful, but I would never dream of holding you to any promises made in haste. Please believe me."

He took her by the shoulders, and peered into her troubled face. He knew he wanted to pull her as close as he could and tell her how much he loved her, but he also knew that in her present state, she would not believe him. He wondered what would be the right words, and feared to say anything. The distress grew on her face.

Slowly, carefully, he put his arms around her, and pulled her close against his body. She started in surprise at his nearness. "Elinore, you have to understand one thing right now," he said softly, speaking into her hair. "This was not your fault."

"It was!" she insisted, and he winced at the bitterness in her voice. "You and the Chief know that the Masons have always been bad luck."

"And didn't I tell you that you would have Randall luck now?"

It must have been the way he said it. The moment the words left his mouth, he could almost see them as animate objects, looking back at him, covering their little mouths and chortling. "God, what a stupid thing I just said," he told her. "Here we are in the middle of nowhere with hams and cheese around our necks and olive oil, and sugar for medicine, French everywhere, and I brag about Randall luck! You must think you have married the barmiest lunatic who ever broke loose from his muzzle and chain."

He knew he had stopped her destructive thought process by the wondering way she stared at him. "I should be locked up in a cage, Elinore, and only allowed out to . . . to piddle in a pot and drool into a washrag."

She laughed. More than that, she obviously couldn't help herself. She didn't break away from his hold on her, but leaned into him now, laughing. He didn't know if he should be alarmed or not, but he didn't hear any high-pitched edge to her laughter. He realized with a start that he had never heard her laugh like that before, a hearty sound that made him want to laugh, too. He looked at the soldiers. They were grinning, even though they couldn't have heard their exchange. It was that kind of a laugh.

She laughed until she had to put her hand to her middle, then leaned away and sat herself down on a sun-warmed boulder by the road. She sat there with her legs apart and her elbows resting on her knees and looked up at him, her eyes merry. She looked worlds away from the quiet young woman who helped in the hospital tent.

He came closer and laid his hand on her head for just a moment. "Don't go assigning blame, my dear," he said quietly. There wasn't much room, but he sat beside her, their rumps touching. "We have bigger challenges ahead of us."

She touched his hand. "I just couldn't leave it unsaid, Captain." She hesitated, and again it was as though the words waited to tumble out. "I've lived my whole life so far with people who never said what they felt. I don't think it made them happy. I don't want that now. If I am boorish at times, if I fumble, please know this: I want to get it right."

She looked at him so earnestly that he forgot for a moment the precariousness of their present situation. The rock was warm, she was close, and he wanted to kiss and hang the fact that Harper and Wilkie were watching. To his serious irritation, reason prevailed, and he did nothing more than nudge her a little. "You'll get it even righter if you call me Jesse now instead of Captain. Or Jess."

She nodded, and he could almost feel her shyness. "Yes, I should." She smiled then in the familiar way she had in the hospital tent, where she would look down and smile as she turned away, a fleeting smile that had always seemed like a glimpse of paradise to him. "Yes, I should do it. After all, we are married."

"We are."

When night overtook them, the only sign of civilization was a crude shrine where two roads intersected. Signs of the retreating army were everywhere: a discarded canteen, paper caught in a bush, the deep tracks of wagons and cannons hauled through mud that was hardening now, but only waited another rain to turn it back into sludge. A sign indicated that the nearest town wouldn't be reached until after darkness fell.

Jesse asked the others about continuing on, but no one seemed inclined. He didn't have to ask them why. After what had happened last night, the idea of approaching another village at dusk had no appeal. Also unspoken among them was the fear that through every village, Major Bones was warning the citizens of stragglers to follow.

He gave grudging credit to Harper, because the man had an eye for a good campsite. With Jesse's reluctant permission, he asked to go ahead, and returned not fifteen minutes later. "I've found as nice a spot as anyone could wish."

He was right. A quarter mile from the road was a small meadow with a spring gurgling from rocks. Through some alchemy—perhaps because the meadow was protected by a decent-sized ridge—the leaves still clung to trees. Though not vibrant green anymore, at least the grass did not crunch dry and dead underfoot. Across a small river or large stream, depending on one's way of looking at things, he supposed, they could see an estate.

"Do you suppose this is their land?" Elinore asked as she unslung the two satchels she carried and removed her cloak. "I hope they do not mind."

Her words told him volumes, even if she had not faltered during the long afternoon of steady walking. He knew from long experience that she did not complain, but he also knew that she generally rode with the hospital baggage train or on horseback with her mother, at least when Mason hadn't gambled away the family's horses. With a look around, she walked into the bushes, probably in need of a moment's solitude to take care of personal matters. He made a point to stand between her and others until she came out of the bushes again, smoothing down her dress.

"Thank you," she said, too shy to look at him.

The sun went down as the night grew cool. Wilkie suggested a fire, and Jesse pondered the matter before agreeing to a modest one. "After all, Private, I do not know if we should be more concerned about the Spanish, the French, or Major Bones," he said.

"All three, Captain," Wilkie said emphatically as he cleared a circle, lined it with stones, and started a small fire.

Armand Leger had been walking ahead of them all afternoon, and Jesse had forgotten about him. While Elinore was slicing cheese and Harper peeling sticks for toasting bread, he joined them again, standing on the edge of the clearing until Jesse motioned him over.

"You should not have let me walk on like that," he accused.

"Oh, you speak English," Jesse said, refusing to let the man disrupt the serenity that was beginning to settle around him. "Perhaps in future you could stay closer to us."

"You could walk faster if the woman did not slow you down. You should have left her in Santos. How will we ever get to the border?"

Bastard, Jesse thought. "I would leave you first," he replied, turning to add more wood to the fire.

He hoped Elinore had not heard, but the vigorous way she started slicing the cheese told him otherwise. "He's right, you know," she said in an angry voice.

"No, he isn't," Jesse contradicted. "I'm depending on your Spanish, and also the fact that you are a woman. Soldiers must surely be less suspicious if there is a woman."

She made no comment, but he could tell she was thinking about his words. In another minute, she began to hum as she stacked the cheese on a flat rock by the fire.

When it was full dark, they sat by the fire eating bread dipped in olive oil and toasted cheese. Wilkie provided the ham. No one talked. They had not eaten since Santos, and the food went down like a six-course banquet. Elinore sat closer to the fire, expertly turning the cheese fork that Harper had made for her, careful not to set the stick blazing, or allow the cheese to drip into the fire. He moved closer to her, content to prop himself against the small boulder she sat on, and watch her graceful motions.

"I haven't had cheese toasted so well since I was home in Dunfermline," he said, accepting the piece she held out to him. "It's almost as good as my mother's."

She smiled that fleeting smile he enjoyed so well, and looked at Harper. "Another, Private?" she asked, then attached the slice when he nodded. "Jesse, I would have thought your mother had a cook."

"She did—still does, I imagine—but it never took too much urging to get her to give Mrs. Aiken the night off and tote out the cheese and sausages."

She finished toasting the cheese and held the stick out to Harper, who took it with his thanks. When no one else indicated a need for another slice, she brushed off her hands on her apron and pleased Jesse's heart by sitting beside him. She closed her eyes, and he could tell how tired she was. He also knew that she would never complain.

"Do you miss Dunfermline?" she asked, her eyes still dosed.

"In some ways, yes, although at the moment I am hard put to think of any."

"Tell me, then. Was it heaven to live in one place when you grew up?"

He chuckled. "I didn't know any difference!" He thought a moment, then felt the need of her closer. "Elinore, come closer. I'm getting chilly." He held out his arm to her. Without any hesitation, she moved into that space he already knew she inhabited so well. "I know you will think this strange, but I had a childhood you might have been familiar with."

"Oh, I doubt that," she murmured, her voice a little muffled by his greatcoat.

"Hear me out. My family was one of two Catholic families in the entire district. I'm sure that the McDonalds, Campbells, and Fergussons wondered why we Randalls didn't follow Bonnie Prince Charlie after Culloden, but the Randalls are a stubborn bunch."

"I would wonder, too."

He shrugged. "There was a lot of land involved. Well, my brothers and I were on the outs among the neighborhood's children. I don't know what their parents thought they would catch from us, but they were determined not to find out."

"I do know how that feels," she told him in a small voice. "You wonder what you have done wrong, and is it your fault."

"Precisely. I think it made me shy." He grinned in the dark. "Have you noticed?"

He was rewarded with a chuckle of her own and a light slap on his chest. He covered her hand with his. She did not pull away, but sighed and moved closer. He rested his chin lightly on her hair, and wondered briefly if he had ever been happier. It struck him then. "Elinore, do you realize this is the first time in ... oh, let me think . . . twelve years—twelve years!—that I have not been half listening for a call to the charity ward in Milan, or a barracks somewhere, or a battlefield, or a marching hospital."

Elinore tightened her grip on him. In a moment he felt her other arm behind him as she encircled him in her warmth. "I suppose we should feel frightened or worried," she whispered into his uniform. "We're one hundred and fifty miles from the border, and I fear the Spanish are looking at us like guests who have stayed too long at a banquet and drunk all the sherry."

"I suppose," he agreed, "but I am disinclined to care." He breathed deep of the wood smoke—it smelled like cedar—and the pleasant odor of sun still trapped in Elinore's hair. Her breast was soft against his chest, not so much arousing him as comforting him. She relaxed against him and in another moment was breathing evenly.

His eyes were closing when he heard horses on the other side of the river. Harper was already on his feet, and then looking at him. "Elinore, wake up," Jesse whispered.

She was on her feet in a moment, too, and he wondered how soundly any of them would sleep until they were safe behind the barricades of Torres Vedras. She did not cry out or try to cling to him, but stood still, her hands clasped together, probably exercising the control she had learned since her youngest years with the British army.

When they came closer, he counted ten riders, all of them armed. "Quien es?" asked the cloaked figure at the head of the column.

"Somos soldados y un médico," he said, every nerve alert and aware that he stood apart from the others of Number Eight, a target as sure as the Chief had been a target.

Elinore was at his side then. He wanted to push her away from the horsemen, but he pulled her close instead. "Y este es mi esposa," he said, gesturing to her, and hoping that he could be understood.

Trying to appear calmer than he felt, he looked into the faces of the men. As he watched, they lost their wary edge. One of them dismounted and came toward him, to bow courteously and extend his hands to them both.

"He says he was wondering about the fire on his land, and hoping that it was not the French again," Elinore whispered. "He wants to know how we came to be alone here. I will tell him we were separated from our division." She spoke to the landowner. If her language was halting, he did not seem to mind.

She turned back to Jesse. "He has invited us to his estancia." She hesitated. "He wishes some advice on his old dog, who has very bad breath." She held up her hands. "I think that is what he said! Don't you dare laugh."

He didn't, even though he wanted to. "Elinore, do I need to get a more reliable translator? One that I will have to pay?" he teased. "Tell him we accept with pleasure."

While the horsemen spoke among themselves, Jesse turned back to Harper and Wilkie and explained where they were going. Harper insisted upon accompanying them, relenting only when Jesse said he would be safe with Elinore, and besides, who was there to keep an eye on Armand Leger?

"I don't like it, sir," Harper stated flatly.

"You're determined to be my bodyguard, aren't you, Private?" Jesse said. "Thank you for that, but I need you to remain here. I promise we will return before midnight. If we do not, you have my permission to storm the castle and take all prisoners."

"Don't think I won't, sir," the private replied, and Jesse almost believed him.

When he turned his attention back to the horsemen, Elinore was already seated behind the landowner, one arm around his waist and her hand holding onto his belt. Another man held out his hand, while someone else boosted him up behind another rider. They crossed the river, and in a matter of minutes were on a road that led to an estate.

Few lights shone, and he felt a momentary uneasiness that was relieved by Elinore's laughter at something the landowner said to her. They rode through the gates. Even in the darkness illuminated only by the moon, he saw the scars of war and neglect.

Dinner was held in the great hall. Beyond learning that this was the Maldonado estancia, and that two sons fought with the Duke of Santander, one of Wellington's staunchest allies, there was little conversation. The Maldonados preferred to eat, although Elinore did carry on a halting dialogue with Se?ora Maldonado that involved simple phrases on Elinore's part, and much smiling between the women.

Calling them courses was generous. The Maldonados, like most of Spain's minor nobility, had suffered under Napoleon's efforts to keep Spain. The food, served on beautiful silver plates, was plain, the wine barely more than grape juice. In fact, Se?or Maldonado had lifted his glass and made both a face and a toast: ‘To the French, who knew good wine when they came here in 1806 and cleaned out my cellars."

Jesse followed Elinore's lead, assuring their hosts, when the dishes came around again, that they were full and couldn't possibly eat any more. He hated to think that they might be eating the Maldonados' food for the week. Dessert was a simple plate of almonds, probably from the groves they had walked past earlier in the afternoon. As he sat in the company of new friends, with Elinore by his side, Jesse felt a great exhaustion cover him. His temple was starting to throb again. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, but there was one more event, if he could believe his wife.

He made the attempt. "Uh, Se?or Maldonado, uh, time for un perro viejo."

He expected a blank stare—Elinore couldn't have translated that properly—but his host smiled, put two fingers to his lips as Se?ora Maldonado winced, and whistled.

From the gloomy interior of the next room came an enormous dog. "My stars, he was serious," Elinore whispered, her eyes wide. "Jesse, he weighs more than you do."

"Well, more than you, at least," he replied, unable to take his eyes from the dog. He looked vaguely like a Saint Bernard—he had seen those in the Italian alps on holiday from medical school—but with a benign air, and all the good nature in the universe. He reminded Jesse of an old Jew in the Milan marketplace, a mountain of a man in a black Astrakhan coat, with flowing earlocks and beard, who moved slowly or not at all, depending on the weather.

The dog walked to his master and sank at his feet. Senor Maldonado beckoned to him. "Ven acá, se?or."

Jesse did as he was bid, unable to keep the smile off his face. Hippocrates, I hope you are busy elsewhere at the moment, he thought. This will be my first four-legged patient. He knelt by the dog, which turned his massive head slowly, and breathed on him.

"Oh, my," Jesse said, when he could talk. He dabbed at his eyes. "Elinore, please tell Se?or Maldonado that I see what he means." When she said nothing, he looked around to see the two women dissolved in silent laughter. Even Se?or Maldonado was looking away, a smile on his face. "If it isn't too much trouble, Elinore, that is ..."

He could tell that his bride, the woman of his dreams and hopefully the mother of his children, would not prove entirely useful in the examination. After giving her a glance that should have dissolved nails, but only made her gasp and look away to study a painting, he indicated to the landowner to hold his dog's head and try to open his mouth.

"Nothing simpler," Se?or Maldonado said. He pried open the beast's mouth. "A su servicio," he said, and winked at Jesse.

Taking a deep breath, Jesse moved closer and cautiously stuck his hand inside the cavern with teeth, all the while anticipating a sudden chomp that would end his surgical career forever, and fit him for selling matches on some street comer in Dundee. He called for a lamp, and when it was situated close at hand, took a good look. These are old, he thought, fascinated in spite of himself. He ran his fingers lightly over the worn teeth.

"Cual es su nombre?" Elinore asked.

"Lobo," Se?or Maldonado said.

There may have been a time when the old gentleman looked like a wolf, but too many years and good meals had come and gone since then, Jesse thought. "Lobo," he said, and was rewarded with several thumps of the big dog's massive tail. "You, sir, are in dire need of a toothbrush. Oh, turn your head, por favor."

He was hard put to describe what he needed, but Elinore rescued him, describing a kitchen brush for pots. Se?ora Maldonado finally understood. The two women left the table and went down the hall, where Jesse heard them erupt in pent-up laughter.

Se?or Maldonado looked at him and shrugged. "Mujeres," he muttered. "You understand."

He did. Oh, he did.

The women returned with a new pot brush, a paste of soda and salt, and an apron for Jesse. Lobo, a most obliging patient, had no objection to keeping his mouth open while Jesse scrubbed from front to back. It might have even felt good, because Lobo wagged his tail and breathed happily and without discrimination on both his master and his private physician. He also leaned against Jesse, pressing his great weight until Se?or Maldonado noticed what was going on and straightened up the dog before Jesse toppled.

When he finished, Jesse blotted the great teeth with a damp cloth. "I must say that is rather fine," he said. He looked at Elinore, whose eyes were merrier than he had ever seen them before. "I may have learned a new trade, my dear, in case surgery gets slow. Do find a way to tell Se?or Maldonado that I recommend he feed Lobo a generous handful of parsley with each meal. Mint would also be nice."

She did as he said, obviously trying to hold back that big laugh he knew she was capable of. She kept her demeanor calm, and Se?or Maldonado nodded at her words. "He said to tell you he is most grateful, Jesse, and that he wishes— oh, my stars!—that you lived in the neighborhood all the time. He asks if you are also proficient with cattle."

"Tell him no." Jesse sat back and scratched Lobo's massive head. "If you were a cat, you would purr," he told the dog. "But thank God you are not a cat. I would be in shreds and tatters right now, gargling out my life with a great hole in my throat." He looked at Elinore. "I have an idea. Let's see how grateful Se?or Maldonado is. Ask him if he could take us in a wagon to the next town tomorrow."

It turned out that the landowner was quite grateful, promising to have his bailiff meet them tomorrow morning. As Se?or Maldonado prepared to return them to the clearing, his wife insisted on giving them two blankets, and more bread and cheese, as well as a sausage that Jesse thought would fit well enough in Wilkie's bag. She also draped a woolen shawl over Elinore's shoulders.

They rode back to the clearing the same way they had come. Wilkie and Leger appeared to be asleep, but Harper stood by the fire. When he was on the ground again, Jesse held out his hand to his generous host, who chose instead to grasp him in a firm hug. He spoke to Elinore. "He says to tell you that you are a most obliging man, and he hopes we have no trouble from the French. His bailiff will be here in the morning."

"Gracias, se?or," Jesse replied.

"Por nada. Vayan con dios. " The horsemen left the clearing, and soon were across the river.

Jesse stood close to Elinore. She turned to look at him, rose up, and kissed his cheek. "My hero," she whispered. "I could smell that dog's breath across the table. I think you're marvelous."

"I think you're a great tease," he said. "You mustn't make fun of my patients."

She laughed and took one of the blankets from him. The fire had burned down to coals now. With a sigh she took out the pins and shook her hair loose. Jesse joined her by the fire. Harper had curled up next to Wilkie, and Armand Leger lay by himself, his cloak clutched around him. Jesse took the other blanket the Maldonados had given him and spread it over the Frenchman, who sat up in surprise. "Merci," he said. "Merci."

"I suppose you are expecting me to share with you," Elinore whispered, when she returned to the fire.

"I am. It's the least you can do for an amazingly proficient animal doctor."

She laughed and spread a smaller blanket by the fire and took off her shoes, then turned away from the sleeping men and unbuttoned her skirt. She lay down then, and Jesse joined her, pulling the blanket over both of them. She turned to face him. "How far do you think we came today?"

He thought a moment. "Probably no more than ten miles."

She was silent then, and he thought she had fallen asleep. He knew his own eyes were closing when she touched his face with her fingertips, and put her lips close to his ear. "Thank you for listening to me."

"Mmm." He wanted to say something profound that would melt her heart, but his brain seemed to be melting and sliding out his ears.

"Jesse?"

"Mmm."

"Was that Randall luck? If so, I think it is odd, indeed."

He woke, hours later, to the sound of horses. Whether they were across the river or closer he could not tell. He knew he should look around, but Elinore was close against him and his hand had somehow found its way inside her unbuttoned waist. If I move, I will wake her, he thought. He lay still, enjoying her warmth and the feel of her.

He listened more intently, and convinced himself it was but one rider, two at most. Se?or Maldonado is a conscientious host, he thought. Let us pray, though, that he left the dog behind.

Jesse's eyes began to close. Elinore sighed and burrowed closer. I must be imagining things, he reasoned. Perhaps I imagined horsemen, or Harper would be on his feet by now. Funny about Harper. Perhaps I have been underestimating him. He breathed in the fragrance of Elinore's hair and closed his eyes. I wonder, Hippocrates, how many others I have been underestimating. Am I in that census?