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Nathaniel looked down, then back up, the teasing nature fleeing from his expression. “That is why we are here. To secure her freedom to do just that.”
Freedom. A single acknowledging hum bumped through Joseph’s chest. That was why they were there. To ensure the freedom of them all.
He glanced to Nathaniel, who studied the matted grass at his feet. Joseph’s gut twisted. He’d never revealed everything that had happened between him and Hannah. Should he tell him? Perhaps ’twould be good to finally relieve his heart of the swelling pressures of the past.
He took a deep breath, piling the courage it would take to form the words, let alone hear them on the air. Opening his mouth to speak, he snapped it shut when a soldier burst through the tent door.
“Doctor.”
His tight mouth and rigid stance brought both men to their full height.
“You are needed immediately.”
Nary a moment’s pause, Nathaniel hurried to the door, speaking over his shoulder as he left. “I shall be back shortly.”
Joseph stared after him, his feet at the edge of the cliff he nearly attempted to clear. Speaking aloud the things he kept inside would have been fatal. Hannah was a beautiful, dangerous memory he oughtn’t to indulge. If he did, the pain might bring him to that place he loathed to linger. Love—the love he had given and felt in return, the love whose shattered pieces still littered his soul—that love was no friend to anyone.
* * *
Shouts and pillars of color surrounded her body, which cried out in pain, as her mouth could not. Every movement, every breath stabbed with the spears of cold.
Unable to open her eyes, Hannah slumped against the horse’s neck, gripping hard to his mane. Frozen, after hours upon hours of riding in temperatures far too low, she wanted only to sleep. But the blissful black evaded her. Willing her mouth to speak the words her lips were too cold to form, she groaned as best she could. Did she actually voice Nathaniel Smith’s name or merely dream it?
Someone neared and strained her fingers from their grasp on the horse’s mane, but they were frozen in their solid grip. “You there,” he yelled, “bring me your knife!”
An unfamiliar moaning grated from her throat as she attempted once again to call for Nathaniel. Sounds around her grew. More talking. More shouting. More hands grabbing at her waist. Was she even in Cambridge, as she hoped? Were these friends or foe?
One slash, then another, and suddenly her hands were free.
“You are safe, miss. Someone has run to fetch Dr. Smith.” The kind stranger gripped her sides and slid her from her mount, lifting her in his arms.
“Thank…you…” The words she produced sounded naught more than a woeful whisper.
As if her body understood what her mind yet did not, the tension, the building terror she’d borne since the moment Ensign’s life was taken, began to drip from her muscles, and she closed her eyes, resting her head against the stranger’s strong shoulder.
The man quickened his pace, his tone a calming stream of warm vibrations. “My name is Henry Donaldson, miss. Dr. Smith shall be here straight away. Jack, clear off that cot. You—bring me some hot water.” The warm stranger rested her on something firm and soft, when his volume suddenly rose. “Someone get me a—”
“Henry, what’s happ—oh dear Lord.”
Praying for strength to raise her eyelids, Hannah groaned with the pain of it. Lord be praised. “Nathaniel.”
“Hannah.”
He knelt in front of her, and she lost the strength to keep her eyes open.
He placed a hand on her shoulder as a shiver consumed her. “What’s happened, dear friend? Why are you here? Henry, I need three heavy blankets and strong coffee.”
A grunt of assent and shuffling sounds filtered through the room as Nathaniel’s hands covered hers. “We shall warm you up quickly. Not to worry.”
If moments or hours passed before a welcome heaviness weighted against her body, she could not tell. The slow, even warmth that started to bring an angry buzz into her fingers and toes was a welcome acknowledgment of a fact she had almost been unwilling to believe. She had made it.
Chapter Five
“There, boy. You did well. As always.” Joseph moved his hands along Anvil’s foreleg and lifted his hoof for inspection. Happy sounds of boyhood laughter brought to mind the boy he’d left behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed several lads jostling for position in muster practice. Some were men, aye, but several were not much older than Jacob. With a quick shake of the head, he turned back to his mount and examined the next leg.
“You miss him too, don’t you.” He stood and patted Anvil’s neck. ’Twas Jacob who had given the horse his name. He’s strong and black like the anvil in your shop, Uncle. So that must be his name, mustn’t it? No other name could have suited him better.
“Joseph! There you are.”
