Disclaimer: None of the characters herewithin belong to either Loyce or myself.

Author's Notes: Chapter 2, finally!!! It's been a very busy time for both of us; the next chapter will be coming quicker because Kristen has no life;) Enjoy! And thank you for all the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. This is a challenging and fascinating time period to write GW in; as for Loyce and myself, our aim is not to offend anyone. We're both just kind of goobers who are like "Religion? Something to play around with! Fun!!" So, if you ever take offense, just know that ranting and raving will only make us raise our shoulders. Slightly.

****

And He Walks With Me
by Kristen Elizabeth and Loyce

****

She would never be able to get the smell of the ocean out of her clothes. There wasn't enough rosewater in England to help her rid the putrid odor from her nose, nor enough rinses to repair the damage the salt and wind had done to her blond locks.

Moving a hand through the rough, straw-like strands, Dorothy attempted to pull the knots out, but gave up after a few quick tugs. A few expletives completely unbefitting a lady escaped with a sigh as she focused on her new surroundings for the first time.

She was in Hell.

Seeing nothing but trees, Dorothy's gray eyes narrowed. Her father warned her not to disgrace the family name or she would be sorry. She should have listened to him. Now with the scandal hanging over them, she would never be able to show her face in England again. No more balls, banquets… Dorothy clenched her hands, letting the familiar sting of her fingernails bite into her palms.

Poor Otto. He'd been stupid enough to fall for her sweet and innocent seduction routine when in reality it had all been a ploy to get back at that little bitch for stealing him from her in the first place, even if she had wanted the fortune more than the man. Society loved Sylvia Noventa, the angel with golden hair and a sweet disposition. They loved her even more when she became an instant idol to all the girls for having a love-matched marriage.

Having been out on the marriage market for two years, and having been passed over by gentleman after gentleman was bound to turn a girl bitter; especially when the man she had been luring into her web was stolen away. So like any-well mannered English lady, Dorothy had decided to have her revenge.

A few innocent touches lead to a few smoldering kisses, and before too long Otto had taken her as his mistress, footing the bill for a townhouse in London for them to have their midday rendezvous, along with a monthly stipend to keep her quiet about the whole affair. She didn't know what Sylvia had seen in him; it definitely wasn't his prowess between the sheets, for Otto was sorely lacking in that department. Still, stealing the affections of the man Sylvia loved, along with pithing away part of his fortune was a sweet retribution that more than made up for the lack of pleasure.

Everything was going smoothly until the day Sylvia's father had Otto followed and discovered their affair. Literally caught with his pants around his ankles, Otto spilled his guts like a fish at the wharf, pinning total blame onto Dorothy. With a sly smile, she had gathered her clothes and simply walked out of the room, without a care in the world.

But she'd forgotten one thing: how powerful the Noventa name really was in England. In a matter of days, she'd been shunned by every wealthy family in London, taken off of society's list and regarded like a leper. Her parents, feeling the second-hand shame, shipped her off to live in the colonies with her cousin.

And now she was stuck here, in this God-forsaken country with its savages and lack of basic luxuries. Out of habit, she tried to smooth the wrinkles from her skirts, only to sigh in disgust at the course material under her fingers.

Gray.

Didn't these people believe in colors?

"How much further to the village?"

Turning around, Dorothy glared at the young man seated in the back of the cart. His blond hair glistened in the bright sunlight, and his pale blue eyes seemed to shine with a little more excitement with each passing mile.

The man goaded the horses to pick up the pace. "'Tis only another mile or so."

Mr. Winner. It was about time she finally found out his name. The man had infuriated her to no end. The whole awful time she'd spent on the ship, she had tried to win his favor. He was a man of power and wealth; she could see it in the way he carried himself, along with his expensive clothing. But to her endless fury, he consistently rebuked her with polite brush-offs.

She'd given it her every effort, but finally had to label him a complete loss. Dorothy put on her best smile and tilted her head to the side. "What brings you to the colonies, Mr. Winner?"

"Nothing in particular, my lady," he said, before sticking his nose back into the book he had been reading the whole trip.

The blasted man had done it again, dismissed her with nary a word. Dorothy bit the inside of her cheek, the iron taste of blood touching her tongue. With grace practiced since her childhood, she turned around and feigned interest in the wretched wildlife around her.

It felt like an eternity had passed from the time she'd stepped off the boat until the time the cart pulled into Sanq Village. Though upon first sight of her new home, Dorothy wished she had been lost at sea.

The 'village,' if someone could even call it that, reminded her of the Cofter's village that surrounded her family's estate up in Kent. Everything from the crude structures that passed for buildings to the people clad in gray tones bustling about the 'street' screamed out one word to her. Poor.

The cart jostled to a stop, nearly tossing Dorothy off the small bench. She watched as Mr. Winner and the driver hopped down and began heading off in different directions.

"Excuse me! Where do you think you're going?" she called out to the driver. Placing her hands on her hips, she stomped her foot. "I demand that you take me to my cousin's home. He is Treize Kushrenada, er…" Dorothy corrected herself with a shudder, "Goodman Kushrenada." She motioned to the trunks in the back of the chart. "And do you expect me to carry my things, too?"

Looking almost properly sheepish, the townsman began to take her things off the cart. It was that moment when Dorothy caught first sight of *him* rounding the corner of one of the buildings. Upon first impression, his hair reminded her of the color of chocolates that her father had once brought home after a trip to Spain, while his eyes…well, there were no words to describe the blue of his eyes. They seemed to have been formed from a painter's pallet.

The somber tones of his clothing only seemed to accentuate the dark color of his skin, probably tanned by many hard days in the field. Dorothy shivered at the thought of what his callused hands might feel like running over her smooth skin. In a town that feared sin so much, she was surprised that she didn't burst in to flames on the spot. She watched him until he rounded another corner and disappeared. At least the dreadful little town looked to have one source of amusement.

"Dorothy Catalonia?"

Blinking, she turned her attention towards the source of the deep baritone voice. Her distant relative approached the cart; she recognized him only from family portraits. It was a good thing that their blood line ran so strong. They even had similar eyebrows. "Cousin, how are you this fine day?" she asked as sweetly as possible.

Treize extended a hand and held fast to hers as she climbed down from her perch in the cart. "Very well, Cousin." Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he started to lead her away from the center of town, with the driver following up, ladden with her valises and trunks. "And how fared thee on thy voyage?"

Stopping herself short of snorting, Dorothy lied through her clenched teeth. "It faired well, but having my feet on dry land again pleases me."

He laughed. "Tis a sin to tell an un-truth, Cousin. But come now, I shall give you a tour of my village."

They moved through the dirt streets at a leisurely pace, and as dust and dirt accumulated on the hem of the ugly gray dress she was wearing, she was thankful that her new gowns hadn't been subjected to this type of torture. Though from the looks of the people in this town, those dresses would never see the light of day.

Didn't these people do anything for fun?

As if fate had been listening, they passed by the wooden Meeting House where preparations were under way for what looked like to be some sort of celebration. Her spirits lifted. "Cousin, are you preparing for a party?"

"Nay, Cousin. Tonight, we celebrate the harvest with a feast. A corn-husking."

Corn-husking? These people actually had a party because they pulled the leaves off of corn? Rolling her eyes heavenward, Dorothy prayed for some type of divine intervention to strike her dead right then and there. There was no way she would be able to survive in a town that didn't believe in colors or fun, but was totally based on the fear of sin. Half the old biddies they strolled past would die of shock if they knew the real reason behind her visit.

They continued on their way through town, up a rolling hill, finally coming to a house that Dorothy could only hope was the one her cousin owned. It was bigger than most of the other cottages they had passed on their way and appeared to be made out of stone, not wood. Dorothy breathed a little sigh of relief when Treize lead her to the front door and pushed it open.

Although the house had promised great things on the outside, the inside of the home mocked her. There were no stylish couches for lounging, no paintings on the walls, no silver or gold accents. Everything was made from wood and pewter, stiff and practical. A child of no more than ten summers sat in front of the fire, reading from a schoolchild's primer. She only looked away from the book when her father addressed her.

"Mariemaia, put down thy lessons and meet your Cousin Dorothy."

Bowing her head slightly, Treize's daughter spoke in a small voice. "Tis an honor to finally meet you."

"I shall take my leave to let you get better acquainted." Treize disengaged Dorothy's hand from his arm. "I must go and ensure that the preparations for tonight's feast are in order." Tipping his brim of his hat, he turned and closed the door quietly behind him.

Silence filled the space between Dorothy and the child. For a few seconds, they stood there, staring at each other, not sure what to say. She'd never been around children before, and had no idea what they wanted or needed, or even what their purpose was.

Eventually, Dorothy broke eye contact and flopped down onto one of the wooden chairs, wincing in pain. "Is there not one comfortable chair in this place?" she complained, rubbing her sore hip.

"Shall I fetch you a pillow? A draught of water?"

The child looked back at her with huge eyes, eyes that seemed eager to please. Smiling slyly, Dorothy nodded and let Treize's daughter wait on her hand and foot. She even let her bring in her trunks when the arrived a few minutes after Treize's departure. Mariemaia's eyes danced as she asked question after question about life in England, though for the most part Dorothy ignored her constant chatter. Now she remembered why her parents avoided having another child.

Finally, she interrupted. "Tell me about this corn husking..." Dorothy waved her hands in the air, trying to come up with an appropriate word, "...thing."

Mariemaia sat down across from her and primly crossed her ankles. "Tis the one time each year that the entire village gathers together. Excepting, of course, Meetings."

"The entire village?"

"Aye. Every man, woman and child attends. 'Tis a wonderful night."

Dorothy's eyes narrowed as a cat-like smile played at the corners of her mouth. The man she noticed earlier with the dark blue eyes would be there. Her mind raced as she tried to remember what gowns she had tossed into her trunks in her forced haste to pack. One in particular came to mind, a dress that was bound to grab his attention, along with that of the whole village. "Come child, help me unpack my things and I'll tell you more about England."

****

Nothing could dampen his spirits. There wasn't a cloud in the blue sky, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, his feet were back on solid ground. Quatre Winner tilted his head back and basked in the warmth the sun provided on the chilly October day.

He was home.

Unlike many who feared the wilds of the colonies, Quatre had enjoyed the venture across the stormy ocean. He craved the purity of a land not yet tamed. It wasn't overrun by too many buildings in not enough space; it didn't have the overpowering stink of unwashed flesh and human excrement like London. The colonies were even more beautiful than his family's manor in York.

And best of all, he was safe here, far away from cloying, desperate unmarried girls and their scheming mothers.

Being on friendly terms with the new Protestant king, William III, the Winners wealth had only increased in the short year since James II's Catholic rule had officially ended ended. Add to this the fact that he was the only heir to the entire family fortune...he reached a point where he couldn't take it anymore, and that point was the day his father died. Leaving England to start a new life with his new inheritance had been the most appealing course of action. No more frivolous company, no more court functions, no more unscrupulous plots to force him into marriage. Just a normal, simple life.

He sighed and kicked a pebble from the middle of the dirt path. If only he were normal to go along with it.

Rounding the bend in the dirt path that was to lead to his newly bought land where a house, a field and that normal life were to be waiting for him, Quatre came across a small, but well-kept farm. The wood, on both the house and fence, showed little sign of weathering or repair. If you could say anything about the Puritans who were now his neighbors, it was that they were diligent in their work.

As he came closer, he watched a young woman emerge from the tiny doorway, her arms loaded with a wooden basket full of unshucked ears of corn. Her shoulders slumped under the heavy weight of her burden. She groaned with each step and upon approached the gate, kicked it open with her petite foot and made her way over to a very tired-looking horse hooked to a cart.

Unable to watch her struggle any further, he picked up his pace and rushed over to help her. "Allow me, miss." Instead of helping, his voice startled her, causing her to drop the basket. Corn spilled out over the hard-packed dirt. "I am dreadfully sorry. I did not mean to cause you further problems." Without having to worry what anyone would think, Quatre bent down in the dirt and helped the young woman gather the vegetables.

He caught sight of her face then. It was nearly swallowed up by pale green eyes and full lips. Curls the color of highly polished mahogany escaped the white cap securely fastened on her head. Had she been in England, numerous gentleman would have asked for her hand in marriage; she was a rare beauty. It was a shame that she was unable to live in a society where it could be appreciated.

"'Tis quite all right, sir." She dusted her hands off on her apron as she stood. She watched him easily lift the basket, placing it into the back of the cart. It seemed to him that she desperately wanted to ask him his name, but feared being too bold.

"I am Quatre Winner," he introduced himself. "I've only just arrived from England; I'll be living up the road a bit." There was a pause. "And your name, my lady?"

"Catherine, we ought to be leaving soon," a deep voice answered for her.

Stunned, Quatre stared at the tall man to whom the voice belonged as he emerged from the little house. He pulled a hat onto his head, adjusting it until it sat correctly. A few stray strands hung over one of his eyes, which he quickly brushed to one side, revealing startling emerald eyes. His long legs ate up the distance from the door to the wagon, and he took a protective stance alongside the young woman.

"Brother, meet Mr. Quatre Winner." Catherine gestured towards him. "Mr. Winner, my brother, Trowa Barton."

"An honor to meet you." Quatre's own voice faltered somewhat as he extended his hand in an offer of friendship.

Trowa nodded and grasped his outstretched hand, giving it a good solid shake before slowly pulling back. His endless eyes held Quatre's for a moment, and Quatre feared that he had displayed too much in his own gaze.

"Come, Sister, or we shall be late." Turning, Trowa helped her up onto the cart's seat. He untied their horse, before climbing up as well and grasping the reigns. Each movement was performed with ease and an underlying grace that he likely had no idea he possessed. Better to keep it that way, Quatre decided. Unconscious beauty was the best kind.

From her perch, Catherine looked down and gave him a genuine smile. "If you are to be our neighbor, sir, we shall see you quite often. I hope."

Quatre replied to her, but looked at her brother. "That is my hope as well."

With a quick flick of Trowa's wrists, the cart lurched forward and headed off in the direction of the village, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.

****

"Here, Miss Relena. I have brought another pan of cheate bread from Goody Townsend." Hilde resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from her brow as she passed the food to her friend.

"Thank you, Hilde. Would thou be good enough to see if Goody Radcliffe requires assistance with preparing the table settings?" Relena's eyes were troubled as she gave out the order. It was hard, their friendship. Millardo Peacecraft was not about to let his sister fraternize with the help. So, out in public they had to pretend to be nothing more than mere acquaintances.

Hilde took it in stride, and turned to her attention to helping the remaining women under Goody Radcliffe's command set the tables for the feast. Before the corn-husking would take place, they would sit together and give thanks to God for the plentiful harvest, as was the tradition that had been passed down for the few generation that had made their home in the New World.

The cool air was filled with delicious scents. There were platters of roasted fowl, dripping with sauce and surrounded by boiled onions. Loaves of freshly baked bread, deep trenchers containing thick pottages of rabbit and deer. For the after-meal, a few of the townswomen had merged their resources and made a pile of prune tarts that looked monstrously tempting, as they were encrusted with imported sugar.

Taking a clay pitcher in her hand, Hilde began pouring fresh cider into cups for the children. It made her heart ache, watching each little boy and girl collect their drinks, thanking her with sweet smiles and shy words. She had always wanted children. One day, after Duo was released from his servitude, they could start a family. But now was not the time. Thinking such wistful thoughts could only lead to trouble.

A hundred happy greetings danced around the room, but then there was suddenly deafening silence as Goodman Kushrenada finally showed up to the celebration, bringing along his cousin, Lady Dorothy Catalonia. It was common knowledge that the girl was to be arriving all the way from England. But her entrance...it would be the stuff of stories for years.

The pitcher nearly slipped from her hand as Hilde caught her first glimpse of the new girl. Never in her life had she seen such colors, outside of the evening sky itself. The young woman's gown was velvet in all different shades of purple. The fabric looked soft and delicate compared to the rigid, colorless dress of the village. Although, Hilde couldn't help but be appalled at the same time she was amazed. The gown might have been stunning, but partly because it was practically indecent. Slits in an outfits sleeves were something that had been banned by God Himself for both men and women; they were frippery, unnecessary and decadent.

But Dorothy Catalonia's long sleeves had no less than five slits each; through the slashes, her delicate white chemise was visible, causing some of the village's women to look away, ashamed for the new arrival, as well as embarrassed by their own drab dresses.

Hilde felt it, too. Like a weed compared to the vibrant flower that had just arrived from England. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to wear something like that dress, just once. Placing the pitcher back on the table, Hilde wiped her hands on her apron, chastising herself for her thoughts. Envy was one of the seven deadly sins. And she'd broken enough of them already. An image of the night she spent with Duo in the woods flashed in her mind, a constant reminder of this, and the punishment that was likely lurking just around the corner.

Treize introduced his cousin to the curious and startled villagers, finally stopping in front of Hilde's mistress and friend. Although Dorothy stood out in the crowd, she could not outshine Relena's beauty and grace, even if the latter was clad in course cotton rather than expensive velvet. And it seemed that Dorothy was well aware of this fact, too, even after only a few minutes. Part of her wished to be closer, just so she could find out what her mistress and the newcomer were saying to each other. But the conversation didn't last long before the magistrate escorted Dorothy towards another group of people.

"Hilde, goodly eve to you."

Jumping, Hilde turned around, clutching the fabric of her dress over her heart, only to see Heero standing directly behind her. "Goodly eve, Master Heero," she recovered quickly. Her eyes scanned the space behind him, searching.

"If you look for Maxwell, he lags behind, somewhere in the midst of the square. Perhaps in back of the blacksmith's."

Heero moved away from her before she could thank him, or ask him if he had been reading her thoughts. She watched as he made his way through the throng of villagers and took a spot as near to Relena as possible. They made a handsome couple, and everyone agreed it was a matter of time before he asked for her hand. Though, there was one person who seemed determined not to let the union happen. Millardo Peacecraft. Good it was that village law was not on his side, and a young woman of marriageable age need look nowhere but her own heart when choosing a husband.

Slowly skirting away from the celebration, Hilde made sure that no one paid her any mind, checking one last time to see that the eyes of her master were focused elsewhere.

She wasn't sure exactly why Duo had chosen to hide in the dark, open-air workplace of the town blacksmith, but she headed for it, her heart beating fast. As she walked, a hand snaked out and pulled her into the alleyway between the magistrate's office and the leather worker's.

"Hello, love." His violet eyes shone brightly, despite the dim light. Duo's mouth descended onto hers, stealing not only the air in her lungs, but all sense of logic and reason she possessed. Hilde whimpered as his tongue toyed with her lips, coaxing them open bit by bit. He was hot and demanding; she yielded to him, giving them what they both desired. The kiss became consuming, causing the small embers inside of her body to ignite into a wildfire. Hilde knew she had to break the contact before things got out of control, or before they were discovered.

"Duo…" she murmured, breaking the kiss. Her skin felt flushed and she was positive that her lips were swollen and bruised. Lifting her hand, she touched them, finding them still moist from his kiss. "Tis true I wanted to see thee, but I must not dally long. I shall be missed and..."

He placed a quieting finger on her lips. "I know. But I can't help myself when I'm around you." His hand moved away to stroke a glossy curl that had escaped her cap. "One day, we won't have to hide or lurk in shadows."

"Oh, how I look forward to that day." She wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"As far as I'm concerned, love, we already are man and wife." Duo pulled her back and tipped her face up to see his. "Those people, in the garden of Eden...what were their names?"

"Adam and Eve," she supplied.

"Right, Adam and Eve. They didn't stand in front of a church in order to be married. Love bound them together, as it has us." He took her hands into his. "When you're alone at night, remember that I love you." Smiling wickedly, he continued, "And I'm wishing you were warming my bed instead of the dog."

Hilde playfully smacked him on his arm. "Thou art a horrible man, Duo Maxwell."

"Aye. And you love me for it." Placing a chaste kiss on her lips, he ushered her out into the moonlight. "Go on ahead. I'll follow."

"Duo." She touched his cheek. "I love only you." Straightening her rumpled clothing, Hilde picked up the hem of her dress and dashed all the way back to the Meeting House, hoping she hadn't been missed. She slowed to a fast walk as she got nearer and entered the building as calm as a saint and just in time to join the rest of the town as they took to their seats.

She felt the blood rise up to her cheeks again when Duo sauntered into the Meeting House and sat down next to Heero, a mischievous twinkle in his violet eyes. Beside her, Relena cleared her throat, breaking the spell he cast over her and reminding Hilde that other people were watching.

At the head table, Millardo stood up and gave the blessing. "O Lord our God and heavenly Father, which of Thy unspeakable mercy towards us, hast provided meat and drink for the nourishment of our weak bodies. We humbly beseech Thee, good Lord, that as we do hunger and thirst for this food of our bodies, so our souls may earnestly long after the food of eternal life, through our Lord and Savior. Amen."

A hushed 'Amen' echoed from the villagers before the men filled their plates, followed by the women and then the children. Subdued conversation buzzed about the tables. Recipes were exchanged, the health of family members enquired after, the year's harvest discussed. A fair number of times it was mentioned that it looked to be an early winter, and to punctuate the fact, the wind would blow through the paneless windows, causing a few women to clutch their shawls closer to their bodies.

Hilde observed it all through her lowered eyes. Unless she was spoken to directly, she was not expected to speak. Lifting a piece of roast fowl to her lips, she let her gaze drift over to Duo, watching as he continued to talk to his friend, and master. Heero had no replies to whatever Duo was saying, but the pulsing vein and clenched jaw proved that he was at least listening. Hilde stifled a giggle; she was going to have to tell Duo to stop teasing Heero about her mistress. One of these days, he was bound to get more than just a black eye.

Soon the meal was over and the arduous chore ahead of them commenced. As the women cleared away the dishes, the men began hauling in huge baskets of the freshly picked corn. Sinking her hands into soapy water, Hilde brushed an old piece of cloth across a trencher before passing it off to another woman who would rinse the suds off, before passing it down to be dried. Across the way, Relena collected the extra food, which would be divided up and passed out to the families who needed it the most.

She watched Relena's cheeks turn pink; to counter the blush, her mistress threw herself into her work. Looking in the same direction, Hilde smiled. Of course. The sight of Heero and Duo lifting the heavy baskets, muscles flexing under their white shirts would make just about anyone have sinful thoughts. She glanced back at Relena; a secret smile was shared between the two friends, and Hilde had to feign a coughing fit to stifle the giggles that erupted from her.

Soon, the tables were clean and all had been prepared to begin the husking. Being that she was technically part of the Peacecraft family, and thereby part of their place in village society, she would sit on the blanket beside Relena, Noin, with Goodman Kushrenada's daughter and cousin.

Relena helped Noin down on a stool that someone had provided before sitting down herself. Right next to Dorothy. It was a bold move; anyone could tell that there was already no love-loss between the two young women, although most of it seemed to be stemming from Dorothy's side. In fact, it was very likely that Relena was completely clueless to the fact that she was wholy disliked by the girl at her side. "Would thou care to learn how it 'tis done, Miss Catalonia?" Relena asked.

The English woman sniffed, disdainfully. "I suppose I might as well, since there is little else of interest with which to occupy my time." Her gray eyes drifted over to a group of men and instantly focused on Heero. "Yet."

Hilde bit her tongue, ripping the leaves as hard as she could. This explained the hostility. Surely the rumors of Heero and Relena's unofficial courtship had reached the Kushrenada household. And with the looks that she had seen Dorothy shooting Heero's way during the meal....it seemed to her that the newcomer had set her sights on the man her mistress loved.

Noticing nothing, or perhaps being far too much of a lady to create a scene, Relena simply showed Dorothy how to pull back the thick, green leaves that protected the ear of corn. Once it had been shucked, she gathered up as many of the silky strings that wrapped around the yellow vegetable, dropped the husk and the silk into the refuse pile and the ear of corn into another basket. "Tis a very simple process."

Mimicking the motions, Dorothy pulled on the outer leaves of an ear she plucked from the largest basket. "Ow!" She looked down at the thin line of blood that welled up from her finger. Tossing the ear of corn back, she stood. "The delicate hands of a lady should never have to do such menial labor."

The loudly spoken barb went ignored by most of the women, but Hilde saw Relena flinch. It made her blood boil that this newcomer had the nerve to imply that Relena was not a lady, just because she hadn't been raised in London. Though if Dorothy was any indication, all of the ladies in England lacked the inner beauty that was supposed to go along with the title.

Dusting off her dress and pulling her gloves back on her hands, Dorothy rose. "My trip has left me extremely exhausted. I believe I will retire for the evening." With a swish of her skirts, she left the small group and headed over towards her cousin.

Hilde watched as Treize introduced her to a number of the men standing around, but paid particular attention when she was presented to Heero. Dorothy extended her hand, palm down, as if waiting for something. Heero simply looked at it before nodding his head and returning to the task of husking.

"Think you that God is punishing us by sending up the Devil's daughter?" Hilde whispered in Relena's ear.

"Hilde!!" Relena's chastising tone caused her to blush and go back to her work.

Grabbing another ear of corn, Hilde settled in for a long night that held the promise of sore, cut hands for the morning.

***************

The moon was full and bright. Stars dotted the night sky overhead, lighting her way as she moved through the thick grass. Each blade held the beginnings of morning dew. They tickled the bottoms of her feet and her ankles.

Chilly air swept across her skin, causing her flesh to goose-pimple. She probably should have worn a shawl, but the simple white shift was what she had been wearing when the moon woke her up and called to her. The delicate woven material skimmed her calves with each step she took as she got closer to her destination, the growing place for herbs on the south side of the hill. As was the tradition taught to her by the Iroquois Indians, these certain herbs could only be harvested on the first full moon of fall.

She balanced a misshapen clay bowl on her hip as she strolled through the evening. The symphony of the night lulled her into a relaxed state, and she found herself humming along with the wordless song.

She was at peace. Too many memories of her life long ago, a life which was stolen away from her in the most brutal manner possible, plagued her thoughts during the day. But the night belonged to her. Even though this harvest moon belonged not only to her, but to the village. The people in the village, the ones who had robbed her of so much.

It took the lone cry of a wolf to bring her to her senses and release her death grip on the bowl. Taking a few deep breaths, she tossed the memories aside and continued to walk, this time in silence. The natural garden was bathed by the moon, and a few flowers, fooled by the intense light, had opened their buds. She knelt on the ground to collect them.

A happy smile bubbled onto her lips, surfacing from the part of her that still loved to play in the dirt. They hadn't been able to take away that simple pleasure from her. Her eyes drifted closed as she sunk her hands into the dark, rich soil and began her work. This was not a chore to her, but something that was part of her soul, something that she enjoyed. Carefully, she moved from plant to plant, gathering the parts of each that could be used for food. Or other purposes.

Halfway through picking heartsease, she froze. The song of the night had stopped. No birds, insects or other animals could be heard. It could only mean one thing; someone was nearby.

Dusting off her hand, she stood and turned about, surveying her surroundings. She should have been paying closer attention, instead of being caught up in the harvest. Whoever it was, they were closer than she initially thought, and she had no way of defending herself.

"Make your presence known!" Breaking the rules she had been taught by Whispering Waters, she shouted as panic, fear and anger waged war inside of her. She couldn't yell for help, since the nearest Iroquois village was a good day's walk away. So, she stood her ground and waited.

It didn't take too long before the intruder showed himself. Her blue eyes narrowed as the shadowed form took on the shape of a person. The only people she tolerated visiting her were the family that had taken her in when she was sixteen summers old.

Finally, the person stepped into the moonlight, and the silver rays of light illuminated his features. His lanky body had a sleek hidden power, reminding her of the mountain cat she had seen early in the day. His dark eyes trailed over her, making her feel like she wasn't even wearing what little clothes she was. Crossing her arms over her breasts, her fingernails bit into the smooth flesh of her hands. It was a man, and men could not be trusted.

"What are you doing here?"

The venom in her voice was returned with a haughty smile. The arrogant man had the gall to smirk at her as he closed the distance between them. "Unaware was I that anyone lived so deep in the wood. Until I came 'cross a house two moons ago."

"So...it was you who snooped 'round my cottage the other morn'." Grinding out the sentence between her clenched teeth was hard, but she managed. It was when he stopped on the other side of the garden that she noticed his clothing for the first time. She knew the style of his garments, probably better then the man wearing them. And she knew what they stood for. Evil.

There was no denying the fact that the man had come from Sanq.

"Leave now!" she ordered. Bending over quickly, she retrieved her bowl of herbs and when she stood she motioned in the direction of the village. "You and your kind are not welcome here."

"I have done naught to deserve this from you, woman." He took a step forward, "In faith, all I cared to do was discover who would make their home so far from the village, if they were not a savage."

She took a few retreating steps back, but still the man continued to advance. Shaking her head, she refused to listen to his words. Her feet moved as fast as they could, taking her back with each step, but her heel hit a raised tree root, sending her to the ground.

The jarring motion caused her to drop the clay bowl, scattering all the herbs across the floor of the forest. Torn between picking up her ruined harvest, rubbing her bruised hip, or backing away from the man who had moved directly in front of her, she chose the latter.

The damp grass stained the white material deeper with each push of her arms. A look came into her eyes that he seemed to know well, the same look a wild animal has when staring down the arrow of a hunter. Her pupils grew wide as she watched him extend his hand down towards her arm. "Do not touch me!" she cried.

Thunder rumbled across the sky, making him jump back, his arm coming to rest slack against his side. Bewildered by her independence and possibly resentful of it as well, he stared at her. "Have it your own way, woman. I thought only to keep thou from hurting thyself. There are wolves in the wood; how they would love to sink teeth into you."

Tucking her feet beneath her body, she rose, her legs trembling and barely strong enough to hold her weight. Her blue eyes burned with warring emotions. "Never come back to this place again. Or you'll have more than me with which to reckon."

Overhead, a thick layer of clouds moved across the moon, extinguishing its glow. Using the blessed darkness to her advantage, she turned and ran back to the cottage, her feet flying across the uneven ground.

When the clouds parted and moved away on the night breeze, she had completely disappeared from sight. Wufei Chang stood in the middle of the forest, shaking his head. If there was a woman on Earth who could be understood, it would truly be an act of God.

His hunter's eye caught motion behind him. As quietly and as swiftly as possible, he unhooked his bow from his arm, fixed an arrow into it and turned, letting the weapon fly. It struck the deer he had sensed exactly where he wanted it to, straight through the heart. The animal died instantly.

As he went to retrieve it, he couldn't stop thinking about the blond woman with piercing eyes, collecting herbs alone in the dark forest. She wasn't an Indian; he had more savage blood running through his veins that she could possibly have. But what was a white woman doing alone so deep in the primitive wilderness?

Could she be the medicine woman the villagers twittered about? The non-believer, the savage lover, the spawn of Satan. He slung the deer over his shoulders and started back to Sanq. The meat would be appreciated as so much of their supply went into the ridiculous corn-husking he had refused to attend.

The medicine woman. He snorted softly. Whoever she was, it was better off that she didn't live in the village. He liked his women spirited, but insane...that was another matter entirely.