She righted herself and looked at Scott, who was meant to be her husband, who had spent a year looking for her.

She said, “Not his child, Luke. Yours. Our son. And he’s not dead. I know he’s not.”

Scott’s face went very still as her voice came stronger.

“I gave birth to him right there, in that room. A month ago he was smuggled away. I bribed them, and the captain took him away, because he wasn’t safe here. He wasn’t safe.”

All the color had drained out of Scott’s face, all tension out of his body; he swayed and bent forward over his knees, his head hanging low.

“Oh, Christ,” he said softly. “Oh, merciful Christ.” Spasms ran through him so that his shoulders jerked. “Where?”

Jennet reached out a hand as if she thought he might collapse under her touch.

“A town called Pensacola, in Spanish Florida.” She stroked his hair, and then he raised his face to her and he did collapse and she opened her arms to catch him, arms that circled closed.

Hannah had turned away, and Kit caught her gaze. She walked out onto the porch, and he followed her.

She said, “He’ll want to question the men who were taken prisoner.”

“I can do that.” Kit rubbed his eyes. “I’ll go do it now.”

“Most of them are off the Badger,” she said. “They probably won’t know anything about the boy.”

“Probably not,” Kit agreed. He didn’t want to look at her. From her tone he knew what she was feeling, and he knew, too, how little she would welcome his intrusion. “But I’ll find out for sure. You’ll talk to the women?”

He turned to leave her and felt her hand on his wrist. Paused, and waited.

She said, “Thank you.”

It was the most he would allow himself to expect.

There were injuries among the men. Not many, and none very serious, but enough to distract Hannah while Jennet and Luke talked.

She took off her weapons and put them aside, tried to clear her head of the last hour and the lingering stink of gunpowder. There were splinters to be drawn and burns that needed salving, and one of the men had taken a knife wound to the cheek.

When she let herself remember why they were here, she looked up to see that Luke and Jennet were gone, and the door to the room she had pointed out to him was closed.

The men had seen it, too. They got up, one by one, and wandered out toward the settlement.

Hannah thought of Wyndham, gone off to question prisoners. A man in search of a miracle. He would bring it back to offer to her on an outstretched hand, his quiet self-mockery held in front of him like a shield.

Chapter 4

“Luke,” Jennet said. “Major Wyndham is in love with your sister, I hope you realize.”

They stood at the rail of the schooner Patience. All around them the ship was in the turmoil that went with the last hour before sailing, a great rush of boxes and barrels and trunks marched up the causeway and into the bowels of the ship, like a calf being fatted for slaughter. The noise was such that Jennet had to raise her voice to be heard, but she kept her eyes on Kit Wyndham, who paced the wharf below them. He had given up leather jerkin and homespun for the dark green coat and silver lace of the King’s Rangers; the sun glinted on his buttons and epaulettes and sparked the blue of his eyes. He was waiting for Hannah. They were all waiting for Hannah.

“I don’t know if love is the issue, in this case.” Luke covered her hand on the rail with his own. “Certainly he’s infatuated.”

In the full August sun Luke’s own hair had worked almost white, while his skin had gone an even middle brown. There were deep lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but when he looked at her she still saw the seventeen-year-old boy he had been when he first came to Carryck, so many years ago.

“He’s in love,” Jennet said. “If he were not, he would be on his way back to Canada at this very minute. I am sorry for them.”

Luke made a noise that meant he was sorry, too, or would be, if other matters hadn’t had such a hold on his attention. News of the war was everywhere, and while it had put the British who swarmed over these islands in a grand mood to hear that their army had burned Washington to the ground, the Bonners took it in with sober detachment. Now Luke watched sailors carrying a gunboat out of the warren of boat works, his expression severe and distant. He was wondering how much the war in the Gulf of Mexico would hinder their own journey.

Jennet touched his arm and watched him try to find the thread of the conversation: Wyndham, who was in love with his sister but must leave her. He said, “You mustn’t forget that Kit isn’t a free agent. And he has a fiancée at home in Canada.”

“I’m not the one with the faulty memory,” Jennet said. “Truth be told, he doesn’t want to leave Hannah. No matter what noises he makes about having enough of detached duty.”

Luke bent his head to her and spoke directly into the shell of her ear. “Why don’t we go below where we can discuss this in private?”

At that, Jennet laughed. It sounded nervous to her own ear, as if she were a young girl unaccustomed to flirtation. Luke heard it, too; she saw that in the veiled expression just before he turned his face away.

Very soon they would have to put words to the things they had not yet had the courage to discuss, an idea that unsettled Jennet greatly.

“There’s Hannah,” Luke said. “I was starting to worry.”

The wagon that stopped below them on the wharf was crowded with baskets and boxes. Hannah was involved in a discussion with the driver, a tall black man who seemed surprised at the number of coins she had put in his hand.