Wasn't a man in the place who wouldn't have killed a whole Tharyngian regiment to have a woman look at him that way.
Me, included. Nathaniel smiled, thinking of Rachel. The cavalry would arrive in Temperance long before the rest of the soldiers. She'd know he survived. Word would get to her somehow, despite her husband's doing his best to hide it from her. That had worked once, and she'd vowed that it never would again.
Nathaniel would see her when he got to Temperance. She'd be there, somewhere, in a crowd, and he'd see her. Her husband would be watching her like a hawk, but it wouldn't matter. He could have all the Branches and Casks in the world set between Nathaniel and his wife, and it couldn't keep them apart.
He laughed to himself. Nathaniel never had been much of a one for whatiffing, but Zachariah Warren had done him more of a service than he could have imagined, and likely had saved many lives. Had he not tricked Rachel into marrying him, she would have married Nathaniel. He would have moved to town and probably would have gotten fat. He'd have learned a trade, turned his back on the wilderness and hunting and trapping and exploring.
I'da become one of them men what looks up to me. He shivered and felt a bit of an ache in his belly. He wasn't a hundred percent sure that he'd have been saddle-broke so easily, but the prospect scared him. Both because of who it meant he would have become and because his inability to be broken meant he'd be denied certain pleasures in his life.
It struck him that here he was, in a room jammed with people, and yet he found himself utterly alone. They thought sure they knew him-and some did, far better than most. Yet men like the Bone brothers had a bond with each other that he really didn't have with anyone else. Maybe Owen, there near the Prince; sort of with the Prince, but otherwise, his closest connection had headed off to Saint Luke as the sun went down.
Realizing he was alone among many didn't provoke melancholy. Nathaniel wasn't inclined that way, and certainly wasn't going to tolerate that sort of a mood. A man gave in to melancholy, he figured, if he wanted to, or he wasn't smart enough to figure out what it was that made him happy.
Right now that would be getting some fresh air, relieving my bladder, and figuring out where I'm going to bed down for the night. He wasn't really feeling that tired, but it was getting to the time in August when shooting stars would pour through the night sky. He'd enjoyed watching that ever since he was a boy, when his father had shared that wonder with him. Even with the full moon and thin clouds, the show would be grand.
He squeezed back through the crowd and went out the back door. He headed toward the privy, but all of a sudden the ache in his belly stabbed front to back. He doubled over and dropped to a knee. His guts had gone liquid and he clenched his teeth against the pain. Then something slammed hard against his head and he pitched forward.
He blacked out, but for how long he couldn't really tell. Couldn't have been long because his stomach still hurt and he stank. His bowels had let go and his arms and legs trembled. He'd been poisoned. In the ale. He tried to remember who had given it to him, but it was just a hand through the crowd.
Rough hands jerked him into a sitting position against a wall. A dark silhouette backlit by the full moon hovered above him, then a stinging slap snapped his head around. "Wake up, Woods."
Nathaniel forced himself to focus. "Rufus."
"Mr. Warren, he don't want his wife mooncalfing after you no more. Kinda hoped you'd get it in the fighting, but you is damned lucky. Have to do it myself." Rufus straightened up, swimming out of focus. Two more silhouettes stood center and off to the right. "Now you die, sitting in your own shit. Make it easy to forgit you."
Nathaniel tried to get to his feet, but Rufus hit him with the butt of his musket square in the chest. Nathaniel sank back, smacking his head on the wall. "You hurtin'?"
Nathaniel spat. "Not 'specially."
"Too bad." Rufus reversed the musket and pressed the muzzle to his belly. "Mr. Warren, he wanted you to die in pain."
Nathaniel forced a smile onto his face. "When I get my hands on you, I'm going to learn you all about pain. Him, too."
"Ain't gonna happen. Your time on this earth is up."
Nathaniel's vision began to dim as Rufus dropped his thumb on the firestone. The pain in his stomach spiked. Nathaniel screamed. The musket boomed, and Nathaniel's world went black.
Nathaniel had never attended much church, and when he had, he'd not paid particular attention to what was being said from the pulpit. Most of it involved Hell and damnation, so as he returned to consciousness, he was expecting demons to be stabbing him and lakes of fire and the unending cries of souls in torment.
What he got was the creak of a bed and the crunch of fresh straw. He opened an eye and while the preaching hadn't much talked about Heaven, what he did remember gave him cause to be thinking that it wouldn't much look like a room in Gates' Tavern.
And Justice Bone, he wasn't looking much like an angel. He sat at the foot of the bed, a small pistol in each hand, watching the door. He glanced over when Nathaniel shifted his weight, then nodded. "Water there in the mug iffen you is thirsty."
Nathaniel groaned and rubbed his hands over his belly. "I ain't shot."
"Nope."
"Mouth tastes like I been eating burned leather and bitterroot."
"Yep."
Nathaniel eased himself on to his right side and took the mug of water. He sipped, ready for his guts to protest, but they tolerated the water well enough. He took a mouthful but let it slowly trickle down.
He rolled onto his back again. "Morning?"
"Afternoon."
"Want to be telling me what happened?"
Justice nodded. "Noticed you going out. The weaselly little Branch followed. Time I got out, you'd been drug off a-ways. Rufus was a-jawing at you. He went to shoot you, but I shot him first."
"Kill him?"
"Hit him in his sit-down parts. He done run off while I took care of his brothers. The weasel's dead. Gutted him. Other one will probably live, but ain't going to be using his right arm none." Justice shrugged. "Men choosing up a squad to be going after Rufus."
"Tell 'em no." Nathaniel had to catch his breath. "I will be finding him."
"I reckoned you'd say that. Trib told them all we was having to wait for you to give your blessing." Justice smiled. "The Prince, he done figured what they poisoned you with. Make you drink a tea of crushed charcoal and bitterroot. Stunk to heaven. You threw up a bit. Got you cleaned up and put to bed."
"Thank you."
"I told you I would be watching out."
"You did." Nathaniel nodded slowly. "You hear what Rufus said?"
"Didn't need to. I seen enough to know. What you want to do about it is your business. Want help, I'm in."
Nathaniel nodded. He could lay charges against Zachariah Warren and most all folks would believe him. But a jury would hear Warren deny he had ever hired Rufus to do anything. Some would think that Warren was defending his wife's honor against Nathaniel's advances. Even those who knew the true story would still be thinking Nathaniel had brought this on himself.
"I reckon I will be thinking on that for a bit." He smiled. "Which cheek?"
"Left."
"I once shot him in the right." Nathaniel laughed. "Next time, more to the center, and a lot higher."
Chapter Sixty-Seven
September 17, 1764
Temperance, Temperance Bay, Mystria
W ith their desire to be home swiftly, the Mystrian troops set out from Hattersburg on the fourteenth and made very good time along the road they had previously hacked out of the wilderness. The wounded-including Caleb Frost and escorted by Princess Gisella-traveled ahead down the river on barges and then by ship to Temperance. The wounded reached Temperance before the bulk of the Norillian cavalry, though Rivendell and his staff joined them on board.