Her once-stylish gown was now tattered and worn. She'd lost her frayed cap, and her long curls were a mass of tangles. None too clean, she tried to avoid their scrutiny by concentrating on the slits in her boots. Hunter had told her repeatedly that he could afford whatever she desired, and she certainly hoped the trading post stocked women's shoes.
Goaded by his friends, one of the trappers came to the bottom step. "You're an awful pretty girl to be all alone. Wouldn't you like some company?" he asked.
Had Alanna been walking along the street in Williamsburg, she knew his type would never have dared speak to her, but considering how disheveled she looked, she wasn't surprised at being approached. Deciding her best option was simply to ignore him, she looked away.
"She thinks she's too good for you, Wickert," one of the others called out, "but I'd make her pay me unless she took a bath."
His comment was met with hilarious laughter, and while Alanna had misinterpreted the first man's remark as friendly interest, she had no difficulty comprehending his companion's slur. Horrified to have been mistaken for a woman who sold her favors, she rose and started up the steps, but before she could enter the trading post, Hunter came through the door. Moving to his side, she silenced the trappers' laughter with a defiant glance.
"That your woman, Hunter?" Wickert asked.
Hunter had just sold the two muskets he had taken from the dead Abenaki, but he still had his own slung over his shoulder, along with two bows and two quivers. He slipped one arm around Alanna's waist and rested his other hand on the hilt of his knife. So they would not mistake his meaning, he enunciated his words clearly.
"No, she is my wife, so take care not to insult her."
"Your wife?" Obviously shocked by the unusual match, the trappers pulled their beards, whispered amongst themselves for a moment, and then, convinced none wished to argue with an Indian who had never been beaten in a fight, they shook their heads in silent dismay and shuffled away.
They had had so much trouble, Alanna wasn't even tempted to reveal she had already been insulted, and let them go without comment. "Have the Abenaki been here?" she asked instead.
"No one has seen any. I think they must have turned back and continued on their way, when they didn't overtake us yesterday. Come, let's go to my house. I can heat water to bathe, and make us something to eat."
"Do you think we'll be safe there? The dwelling is clearly an Indian's, and if I were searching for an Indian, that's the first place I'd look."
Hunter was tired and he wanted to go home. "That's where we planned to live, Alanna. Have you decided it isn't good enough for you?"
"No, of course not. What an awful thing to say. I just don't want us to be murdered in our sleep."
"I'll set traps by the doorways. Will that make you feel safe?"
To be reminded that he did not even have doors to lock didn't increase Alanna's sense of security, but she was too tired to argue the matter. "I'm sorry. I'm sure we'll be fine."
Hunter could see she had no such confidence, but he gave her a hug rather than call her a liar, and took her home. After encouraging her to lie down and rest, he borrowed a copper tub from the trading post, but by the time he had heated water over a fire, she was sound asleep, and he did not want to wake her. Making good use of the water himself, he then dressed in another set of buckskins.
He intended to cook supper, but first he wanted to make certain Alanna had a change of clothes. He sat down with the valise she had left there, and sorted through the contents. There were several sets of lingerie, toilet articles, and he was relieved to find another gown folded neatly in the bottom of the bag. She had left her petticoats lying across a storage shelf, so her change of attire was complete. He shook out the dress, and placed it atop the petticoats.
Her boots would have to be replaced, but he didn't want to even attempt that without her being there to try them on. With no shopping he could see to alone, he drew her brush through his own damp hair, and tried to imagine how his house would look when they returned with all of Alanna's possessions. Believing she would have too many pretty gowns to heap on a shelf, the house that had been perfect for him, now seemed maddeningly small. He could lengthen it, but he couldn't help but wonder if he ought not to start over, and build Alanna a brand new home of her own. It would be a great deal of work, but he wanted her to be happy.
For now, his immediate need was for a coffin and cart to fetch Elliott's body. That would surely be the saddest of chores, but there was no one else he could trust to do it. Believing he would have plenty of time to make those arrangements before Alanna stirred, he left to do so.
Not ten minutes later, Alanna awoke from her nap. Finding herself alone, she got up and hurriedly pushed aside the hides hung over the front doorway, to scan the adjacent woods for Hunter. When there was no sign of her new husband, she lowered the flap. While telling herself over and over that she was safe, Alanna filled the kettle to heat water for a bath. She first washed her hair, and had just eased herself down into the tub when Hunter returned. Startled by the sounds of his approach, she reached for the knife she had left within easy reach. After recognizing him, she dropped it quickly, but not before he had noted her fright.
"I'm going to build you a house," he decided in that instant. "Not like this one, but a sturdy structure of logs with shutters for the windows and doors you can bar. Will that make you happy?"
"I've only spent one night here," she reminded him. "I'll get used to it in time."
"You won't have to. You're a fine lady and deserve a real house." He had brought corn cakes and venison from the trading post, and set them aside before sitting down on a platform several feet away, to provide her with the privacy he thought she required. After all, she had been raised in a mansion, rather than a one-room house made of bark.
Sorry that he had misinterpreted her apprehension as criticism of his home, Alanna hastened to complete her bath. She scrubbed herself clean and used what was left of her old chemise to dry off. She donned fresh lingerie and the gown Hunter had set out for her. After spending nearly two weeks in the woods, the waistline was noticeably loose. Designed for travel, it was dark blue rather than one of the bright colors she knew he admired.
"I'm sorry this isn't a prettier dress. Does the trading post carry fabrics for women's clothes?" she asked.
"Nothing you'd wear. We'll have to buy you a new pair of boots, but you can throw them away and have others made when we get back to Williamsburg."
Alanna tousled her hair with both hands in an effort to dry it. "I don't need a lot of fancy clothes, Hunter. I used to wear very simple gowns, and that's really all I need."
Her expression and tone were sincere, but Hunter saw a fragile beauty who had already suffered through far too much to be with him. He did not want her again dressing in as hu
mble a fashion as when they had first met. "No, you have pretty clothes now, and I want you to wear them. Earning money has always come easily to me, and I can afford to dress you in fine clothes."