"Squirrel," he said in Kahnyen'kehâka, hugging her so hard that her ribs creaked. "I am mighty proud of you. Thank you."

"Is there word of Grandfather?" she whispered back.

A sudden wave of cold air and an eruption of voices at the door pulled Nathaniel's attention away. He patted her back as she let him go, but not before she saw the flash of worry move across his face, only to be carefully masked as he turned to greet his father-in-law.

Elizabeth Bonner believed herself to be a rational being, capable of logical thought and reasonable behavior, even in extreme circumstances. In the past year she had had opportunity enough to prove this to herself and to the world. But next to her, soundly asleep in the cradle beside the bed, were two tiny human beings: her children. She could not quite grasp it, in spite of all the evidence to hand.

Look, Curiosity had called, holding up first one and then the other to examine by the light of the rising sun. Look what you made!

The day had been filled with visitors and good wishes, the demands of her own body, the simple needs of the infants. She was tired to the bone, but still Elizabeth looked. She lay on her side, watching the babies sleep. Her children, and Nathaniel's.

"Boots," Nathaniel said from the chair before the fire. "You think too hard."

"I can't help it," she said, stretching carefully. "Look at them."

He put down the knife he had been sharpening and came to her. She had seldom seen him look more weary, or more content. Crouched by the side of the cradle with his hands dangling over his knees, he studied the small forms.

"You did good, Boots, but you need your sleep. They'll be looking for you again before you know it."

She nodded, sliding down into the covers. "Yes, all right. But you're tired, too. Come to bed."

Now Elizabeth's attention shifted to Nathaniel. She watched as he shed his buckskins, thinking what she must always think, and always keep to herself: that he was as beautiful to her as these perfect children. The line of his back, the way his hair swung low over the wide span of his shoulders, the long tensed muscles in his thighs, even his scars, because they told his stories. When he lay down beside her she moved closer to his warmth instinctively. But instead of drifting to sleep, she was caught up in his wakefulness.

In the year they had been together she had at first been amazed and then slightly resentful of Nathaniel's ability to fall instantly to sleep--it was a hunter's trick, a warrior's skill as important as the ability to handle a gun. But not tonight.

"Now you are thinking too hard," she said to him finally. "I can almost hear you."

He sought out her hand. "You knew about the twins. Why didn't you tell me?"

She hesitated. "Falling-Day thought you would worry overmuch. So did I. After what happened to Sarah--" Elizabeth looked into the cradle. Hannah's twin brother had died in Nathaniel's hands. Sarah had borne him one more son, and he had buried that child, too, in his mother's arms. It was inevitable that he would think of those losses, even on this joyful day.

He said, "I should have been here."

"Nathaniel--"

"You must have been scared, when the storm came down."

He was determined to hear it, and so she told him.

"Yes," she said. "But soon after the pain started in earnest and I had little energy for anything else. And no choice, as you had no choice. But we managed, did we not?"

He made a sound in his throat that was less than total agreement. Elizabeth brought his hand up to rub against her cheek.

"Shall we name them for your father, and my grandmother? Daniel and Mathilde. Would that please you?"

"Aye, it would. And it will please Hawkeye." He turned to her, but his thoughts were far away. Gently, he fit his face to the curve of her neck and shoulder. He smelled of himself: honest sweat, leather and gunpowder, woodsmoke and the dried mint he liked to chew.

"You've been thinking of Hawkeye a lot today."

She felt the tension rise in him, coming to the surface of his skin like sweat.

"What is it? Tell me."

"There was a letter down at the tavern for me," he said, his voice muffled. "From Moncrieff. He's in Montréal."

She waited, slightly tensed now. "Moncrieff found your father?"

"Aye. In the garrison, under arrest."

Suddenly very much awake, Elizabeth sat up and winced as her sore muscles protested.

"Somerville's men took him for questioning," Nathaniel continued. "There's rumors about the Tory gold."

"Oh, Lord." With a glance toward the cradle, Elizabeth folded her hands before her. "Tell me all of it."

Nathaniel recited the letter; he had had nothing to do in the long hours of the whiteout but to read it again and again, and the words came to him easily.

When he had finished, she lay back down. "You'll have to go."

"You believe Moncrieff, then?"

She raised a brow. "I doubt he would make up such a thing. To what end, after all. It is true that we do not know him well, Nathaniel, but in this much I think he can be trusted." She paused. "We both know that you cannot leave Hawkeye locked up."

Nathaniel let out a hoarse laugh, but his look was troubled. "I can't leave him in gaol, and I can't leave you here alone. And you can't travel."

Elizabeth shifted to a more comfortable position. "It's true that I don't like the idea of your going so far, right now. But I don't see you have any choice."