Part 10
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 1810 Local
Mac gritted her teeth and tried moving her shoulders again. Fiery pain lanced across them, making her squeeze her eyes shut. Dammit, her elbows were pulled back so far, it felt like her shoulders were coming out of the sockets. Holding her breath until the pain subsided, she went back to flexing her hands, trying to restore feeling. That hurt like hell, too, but compared to her shoulders, it was manageable. After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and let herself go limp as she exhaled. The only way to get out of this was to relax enough to bring her elbows even closer together. Caine had picked a particularly painful way to restrain her but he'd done it with a simple loop. If she could get her elbows closer together - without dislocating her shoulders - it might be possible to slide the loop down.
Resolutely, she continued to take calming breaths. This would be a helluva lot easier if she could just relax on command. It was a slow process, suppressing her anxiety and fear. Once, she'd been so close and then Atkins had bounced through what must have been the Grand Canyon of potholes. She'd been flung from one side of the trunk to the other, banging her head and body painfully into the trunk walls. It had taken her thirty-four minutes to get back to that relaxed state. Carefully, she tried easing her elbows together and felt a twinge across her shoulder blades. She stopped there and took another breath, willing herself to relax. Once more, she eased her elbows together and was rewarded with a slackening of the restraint.
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 1940 Local
Atkins pulled off the road and into a small clearing. The sun was setting and he wanted to make camp before it got completely dark. As near as he could figure it, he was close to two hours inside Rebel lines. He shook his head as he unharnessed his team, Ezra had been right. It had been ridiculously easy. Now all he had to do was wait for Caine and Garrett, collect his money and get out before first light. He didn't want to be anywhere near when they started having their 'fun' with the woman. Finishing with the horses, he pulled out his pocket watch and squinted at it in the fast dying light. He glanced at the wagon. It had been at least four hours that she'd been crammed in that little trunk. She probably wouldn't mind a little fresh air and he could think of a few ways to help loosen her muscles. Trussed up like that in the dark had to have taken some of the edge off her arrogance. She might even be amendable to a few 'suggestions' to keep from being put back in.
He smiled to himself, he'd be doing her a favor. A last little bit of pleasure to hang on to when Ezra started in on her. Caine was going to kill her but not before she begged to die. Moving to the back of the wagon, he pulled down a kerosene lantern and lit it. Holding it high, he climbed in and made his way towards the front. Finding the trunk, he put the light down and fumbled in his pocket for the key. Smiling in anticipation, he unlocked it and lifted the lid.
One hundred and twenty pounds of irate Marine slammed into him, knocking him backwards. Mac kept her feet moving, not wanting Atkins to guess how shaky she was. She had to finish this quickly or he was going to finish her. They slammed into the wall of the wagon, causing it to tilt and throw them both off-balance. Bouncing into some crates, they tumbled to the floor of the wagon. Atkins managed to twist around so that he landed on top, making her take the brunt of his weight. He heard her gasp and then she went slack underneath him. He smiled grimly in triumph as he pushed himself upright, So she wanted it rough? He'd be happy to oblige.
It was then that he noticed the crackling. Turning back, his eyes widened. The lantern must have been broken in the struggle, the front of the wagon was quickly becoming engulfed in flames. Oh god! His merchandise! Dammit! This was the woman's fault! He turned back towards her and just barely caught a glimpse of a fist before it slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back and he collapsed like a poleaxed steer.
Mac groaned as Atkins' full weight landed on her again. The passageway they'd landed in was narrow and didn't give much room for maneuvering. Doggedly, she began squirming out from underneath the sutler. She needed to get clear and get him tied up before he came to. The confinement had taken more out of her than she supposed. She didn't know what had distracted him but she knew she wouldn't get that kind of break again. Halfway out from underneath Atkins, Mac suddenly realized the wagon was on fire. Frantically, she redoubled her efforts to get clear, ignoring the protests from her abused muscles. By the time she kicked her legs free, the smoke had grown thicker. Coughing, she flipped over to her hands and knees. Grabbing a handful of jacket, she started hauling the sutler out of the wagon.
It was slow and painful going. Her arms felt leaden and her back and legs were screaming from the effort. She literally fell off the tailgate of the wagon and let her body weight pull Atkins off as well. They both landed with a thump. As much as she wanted to just lie there and suck in clean air, they were still too close to the burning wagon. Struggling up, she grabbed an arm and dragged Atkins out of the way. Once she figured they were clear, she dropped his arm and sat down with a thump. Pulling her knees up, she leaned forward and gave in to a fit of coughing. She'd breathed a lot more smoke than was probably good for her.
After the coughing subsided, she sat there a little longer with her head down, regrouping for the next effort. She needed to tie Atkins up but anything she might have used had just gone up in flames. The audible click of a pistol being cocked brought her head up. She turned to see Atkins pushing himself up on one elbow while the other hand held a large and lethal-looking derringer pointed at her. Mac stared at him for a long moment and then said hoarsely, "You're welcome, you ungrateful son of a bitch."
Ignoring him, she put her head back down and closed her eyes, the feeling of defeat overwhelming even the anger. She'd had her chance and blown it, it was going to cost her her life. Vaguely, she wondered how that would work. What happened when you died one hundred and three years before you were born? Were you born anyway? Did it just not happen? Would there be no Sarah MacKenzie in 2003? Or did this become some sort of giant cosmic feedback loop that she would be forced to live, and die, through again and again? She brought up her hands to massage her temples. If her head wasn't already pounding, thinking about this would have given her a helluva headache.
Caine would be here soon. The thought was enough to make her nauseous. She did have one option and that was to force Atkins to kill her before that bastard arrived. She'd be taking a chance, though. She would have to surprise the sutler and hope that he was a good, or bad, enough shot to kill her immediately. If he merely wounded her, the upcoming ordeal would be that much more hellish. Mac kept her hands pressed to the sides of her head. She kept waiting for the dizziness and nausea to subside and they weren't. Why should they, she thought to herself wryly. Dehydration, smoke inhalation and abject terror were a pretty potent combination. She should be surprised she wasn't curled in the fetal position.
"Why?"
Mac felt Atkins' presence beside her. She pried an eye open and squinted up at him. It was fully dark and the fire glow gave his face a demonic cast. She took a breath and waited a moment to see if the coughing would start again, "Because I wouldn't wish dying by fire on my worst enemy." She looked back down at the ground. She was beginning to feel curiously detached. Apparently, her mind was deciding on its own defense. Hope springs eternal, she thought bitterly, as if survival was even an option.
"I don't have a choice. I have to give you to Caine. He'll kill me otherwise."
Mac didn't bother answering. She couldn't care less how he justified this to himself. She wished he would shut up so she could continue her mental retreat. Mac was startled back to the here and now when he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. She found herself clinging to him to keep upright. He'd just made the dizziness a lot worse. He was saying something to her in an urgent tone and she forced herself to concentrate.
"Go, get out of here," Atkins repeated, looking at her anxiously. "I'll tell Caine you died in the fire. That I left a lantern in the wagon and it must have tipped over while I was tending the horses. I couldn't get you out."
"That's a real good story."
Atkins spun around, keeping Mac behind him. Ezra Caine and Garrett walked out of the darkness and into the light cast by the burning wagon. Caine smiled and nudged Garrett, "Wasn't that a good story?" Garrett nodded wordlessly, never taking his eyes off the sutler. Ezra continued softly, "I might've even believed it and wouldn't that'a been a shame? Ain't you worried 'bout your soul, Atkins? Lyin' like that could keep you outta Heaven." He took a step closer, "Cos I woulda found out, y' know, and then I'd a killed you. Now I'll settle for hurtin' you a mite. Jist a lil' lesson to keep you on the straight 'n narrow." He glanced towards Garrett and laughed, "Take it like a man an I'll let you watch when we start havin' fun with Colonel Mac. Hell, I might even let you play."
Atkins gave an inarticulate growl and brought the derringer up. Pointing it at Caine, he squeezed the trigger. Garrett was even faster. He had his own pistol out and fired just before Atkins did. The sutler's shot sailed harmlessly overhead. Caine spun back, pulling his pistol out as well. He stared in amazement as Atkins fell and Mac doubled over and collapsed with a gutteral scream. He looked back at Garrett, "Lord Amighty, you got two with one shot!"
Garrett looked at him wide-eyed, "I'm sorry, Ezra, I wasn't trying for her."
"Damn," Caine grunted as he reholstered the revolver and then waved a hand, "Unlucky was all." He walked over and looked down at Atkins. The sutler was obviously dead. He moved over to Mac who was curled tight, eyes shut, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. He put his boot on her shoulder and shoved her over. He took in the bloodstained hands clasped tightly around her middle. Caine squatted down on his heels, next to her, "Gut shot, eh, Colonel Mac?" He reached out and slapped her lightly, "Open your eyes when I'm talkin' to you." When she didn't respond, he hit her a little harder. Mac slowly opened her eyes and squinted at him painfully. He smiled at her, "Hurts don't it? Yep, gut shot's a hard way to go. Takes a while to die, days sometimes, I've heard."
Caine pulled out his revolver and gently pushed the barrel against her forehead, "I've heard men beg their friends to put them out of their misery. I suppose I could do you a favor. You want me t'do you a favor?" She stared at him silently. He paused and made a show of thinking it over. Then he stood up, "No, I believe I'm going to enjoy thinkin' of you like this." He looked up at the sky, "Sun'll be fierce tomorrow, imagine you'll be a mite thirsty," He moved over and nudged Atkins' body, looking back to make sure she was watching, "Buzzards be circling in, in the mornin'. They'll be eating good tomorrow. You might wanta keep movin, sometimes they don't like to wait. A'course, that's supposin' a dog pack don't find you tonight. They can get pretty mean."
Chuckling, he turned to Garrett, "Go get the horses. We'll find us another camp. I don't wanta listen to whimperin' all night." Folding his arms, he stood and watched Mac while he waited for Garrett. When the Corporal returned, he walked back over to her and leaned down, "One more thing." He grabbed her by the collar and yanked her halfway off the ground. Mac barely had time to groan before his fist connected with the side of her jaw. Caine released his hold and dropped her in an unconscious heap. He stood for a moment, rubbing his own jaw, "I owed you that one." Returning to Garrett, he mounted and the two men rode back into the dark.
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 0530 Local
Mac felt something cool and moist touch her forehead and then slide around to the side of her face. She flinched when it touched her still-tender jaw. A deep, soothing baritone said something but she couldn't quite make out the words. The voice was familiar though... where had she... ? She forced her eyes open and took in the dark, kindly countenance above her, "Chaplain Turner? Oh dear god, am I home?!" Her voice came out in a rasping whisper. She tried to raise herself up but the darkness claimed her once more.
Thomas looked from the unconscious woman to Deacon Turner in surprise, "You know her?"
Turner shook his head slowly, "I've never seen this woman before." He looked around the clearing, "We can't leave her here. Let's put her in the wagon and then bury that poor soul."
Thomas stood up in alarm, "We cain't do that! She's white! Let her own folks find her!"
Turner sighed and repeated, "We can't leave her here. Go get a blanket from the wagon, we'll carry her in that."
"Deacon, no! You know what'll happen if some white trash finds us with her. I doan wanna be whipped fo somethin' I didn't do!"
"They won't find her." Deacon Turner kept his voice calm and reasonable. Thomas was a good man and a skilled carpenter but he wasn't all that smart. He belonged to the Simpson family down around Harrisonburg. They'd hired him out last month to the Fishers. Turner had offered to give him a ride back to the Simpsons so he could collect his weekly wages. Thomas had been intending to buy his freedom but with the Yankees closing in, it was no longer necessary. Now he was building a nice little nest egg and he was understandably nervous about surviving to enjoy his coming freedom.
Thomas remained stubborn, "It's not you they's gonna whip, Deacon! They know you's too old to be messin' with some white woman."
Turner raised an eyebrow and stared at the younger man. Thomas had the grace to look somewhat abashed, "I didn't mean I thought so. I was talkin' bout them."
Deacon Turner pointed towards the wagon, "Go. The sooner we get done here, the sooner we can be on our way. We'll drop her off with Miss Avis."
Thomas' eyes widened, "Miss Avis? But she's a ... "
Turner cut him off with a glare, "She's a fine Christian woman. She'll know what to do. Now go."
He watched as Thomas reluctantly went to the wagon and then looked back down. "Who are you and how did you know my name?" he mused softly. He put a hand out and gently fingered the necklace she was wearing, "And how did you come to have that?"
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 1810 Local
Mac gritted her teeth and tried moving her shoulders again. Fiery pain lanced across them, making her squeeze her eyes shut. Dammit, her elbows were pulled back so far, it felt like her shoulders were coming out of the sockets. Holding her breath until the pain subsided, she went back to flexing her hands, trying to restore feeling. That hurt like hell, too, but compared to her shoulders, it was manageable. After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and let herself go limp as she exhaled. The only way to get out of this was to relax enough to bring her elbows even closer together. Caine had picked a particularly painful way to restrain her but he'd done it with a simple loop. If she could get her elbows closer together - without dislocating her shoulders - it might be possible to slide the loop down.
Resolutely, she continued to take calming breaths. This would be a helluva lot easier if she could just relax on command. It was a slow process, suppressing her anxiety and fear. Once, she'd been so close and then Atkins had bounced through what must have been the Grand Canyon of potholes. She'd been flung from one side of the trunk to the other, banging her head and body painfully into the trunk walls. It had taken her thirty-four minutes to get back to that relaxed state. Carefully, she tried easing her elbows together and felt a twinge across her shoulder blades. She stopped there and took another breath, willing herself to relax. Once more, she eased her elbows together and was rewarded with a slackening of the restraint.
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 1940 Local
Atkins pulled off the road and into a small clearing. The sun was setting and he wanted to make camp before it got completely dark. As near as he could figure it, he was close to two hours inside Rebel lines. He shook his head as he unharnessed his team, Ezra had been right. It had been ridiculously easy. Now all he had to do was wait for Caine and Garrett, collect his money and get out before first light. He didn't want to be anywhere near when they started having their 'fun' with the woman. Finishing with the horses, he pulled out his pocket watch and squinted at it in the fast dying light. He glanced at the wagon. It had been at least four hours that she'd been crammed in that little trunk. She probably wouldn't mind a little fresh air and he could think of a few ways to help loosen her muscles. Trussed up like that in the dark had to have taken some of the edge off her arrogance. She might even be amendable to a few 'suggestions' to keep from being put back in.
He smiled to himself, he'd be doing her a favor. A last little bit of pleasure to hang on to when Ezra started in on her. Caine was going to kill her but not before she begged to die. Moving to the back of the wagon, he pulled down a kerosene lantern and lit it. Holding it high, he climbed in and made his way towards the front. Finding the trunk, he put the light down and fumbled in his pocket for the key. Smiling in anticipation, he unlocked it and lifted the lid.
One hundred and twenty pounds of irate Marine slammed into him, knocking him backwards. Mac kept her feet moving, not wanting Atkins to guess how shaky she was. She had to finish this quickly or he was going to finish her. They slammed into the wall of the wagon, causing it to tilt and throw them both off-balance. Bouncing into some crates, they tumbled to the floor of the wagon. Atkins managed to twist around so that he landed on top, making her take the brunt of his weight. He heard her gasp and then she went slack underneath him. He smiled grimly in triumph as he pushed himself upright, So she wanted it rough? He'd be happy to oblige.
It was then that he noticed the crackling. Turning back, his eyes widened. The lantern must have been broken in the struggle, the front of the wagon was quickly becoming engulfed in flames. Oh god! His merchandise! Dammit! This was the woman's fault! He turned back towards her and just barely caught a glimpse of a fist before it slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back and he collapsed like a poleaxed steer.
Mac groaned as Atkins' full weight landed on her again. The passageway they'd landed in was narrow and didn't give much room for maneuvering. Doggedly, she began squirming out from underneath the sutler. She needed to get clear and get him tied up before he came to. The confinement had taken more out of her than she supposed. She didn't know what had distracted him but she knew she wouldn't get that kind of break again. Halfway out from underneath Atkins, Mac suddenly realized the wagon was on fire. Frantically, she redoubled her efforts to get clear, ignoring the protests from her abused muscles. By the time she kicked her legs free, the smoke had grown thicker. Coughing, she flipped over to her hands and knees. Grabbing a handful of jacket, she started hauling the sutler out of the wagon.
It was slow and painful going. Her arms felt leaden and her back and legs were screaming from the effort. She literally fell off the tailgate of the wagon and let her body weight pull Atkins off as well. They both landed with a thump. As much as she wanted to just lie there and suck in clean air, they were still too close to the burning wagon. Struggling up, she grabbed an arm and dragged Atkins out of the way. Once she figured they were clear, she dropped his arm and sat down with a thump. Pulling her knees up, she leaned forward and gave in to a fit of coughing. She'd breathed a lot more smoke than was probably good for her.
After the coughing subsided, she sat there a little longer with her head down, regrouping for the next effort. She needed to tie Atkins up but anything she might have used had just gone up in flames. The audible click of a pistol being cocked brought her head up. She turned to see Atkins pushing himself up on one elbow while the other hand held a large and lethal-looking derringer pointed at her. Mac stared at him for a long moment and then said hoarsely, "You're welcome, you ungrateful son of a bitch."
Ignoring him, she put her head back down and closed her eyes, the feeling of defeat overwhelming even the anger. She'd had her chance and blown it, it was going to cost her her life. Vaguely, she wondered how that would work. What happened when you died one hundred and three years before you were born? Were you born anyway? Did it just not happen? Would there be no Sarah MacKenzie in 2003? Or did this become some sort of giant cosmic feedback loop that she would be forced to live, and die, through again and again? She brought up her hands to massage her temples. If her head wasn't already pounding, thinking about this would have given her a helluva headache.
Caine would be here soon. The thought was enough to make her nauseous. She did have one option and that was to force Atkins to kill her before that bastard arrived. She'd be taking a chance, though. She would have to surprise the sutler and hope that he was a good, or bad, enough shot to kill her immediately. If he merely wounded her, the upcoming ordeal would be that much more hellish. Mac kept her hands pressed to the sides of her head. She kept waiting for the dizziness and nausea to subside and they weren't. Why should they, she thought to herself wryly. Dehydration, smoke inhalation and abject terror were a pretty potent combination. She should be surprised she wasn't curled in the fetal position.
"Why?"
Mac felt Atkins' presence beside her. She pried an eye open and squinted up at him. It was fully dark and the fire glow gave his face a demonic cast. She took a breath and waited a moment to see if the coughing would start again, "Because I wouldn't wish dying by fire on my worst enemy." She looked back down at the ground. She was beginning to feel curiously detached. Apparently, her mind was deciding on its own defense. Hope springs eternal, she thought bitterly, as if survival was even an option.
"I don't have a choice. I have to give you to Caine. He'll kill me otherwise."
Mac didn't bother answering. She couldn't care less how he justified this to himself. She wished he would shut up so she could continue her mental retreat. Mac was startled back to the here and now when he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. She found herself clinging to him to keep upright. He'd just made the dizziness a lot worse. He was saying something to her in an urgent tone and she forced herself to concentrate.
"Go, get out of here," Atkins repeated, looking at her anxiously. "I'll tell Caine you died in the fire. That I left a lantern in the wagon and it must have tipped over while I was tending the horses. I couldn't get you out."
"That's a real good story."
Atkins spun around, keeping Mac behind him. Ezra Caine and Garrett walked out of the darkness and into the light cast by the burning wagon. Caine smiled and nudged Garrett, "Wasn't that a good story?" Garrett nodded wordlessly, never taking his eyes off the sutler. Ezra continued softly, "I might've even believed it and wouldn't that'a been a shame? Ain't you worried 'bout your soul, Atkins? Lyin' like that could keep you outta Heaven." He took a step closer, "Cos I woulda found out, y' know, and then I'd a killed you. Now I'll settle for hurtin' you a mite. Jist a lil' lesson to keep you on the straight 'n narrow." He glanced towards Garrett and laughed, "Take it like a man an I'll let you watch when we start havin' fun with Colonel Mac. Hell, I might even let you play."
Atkins gave an inarticulate growl and brought the derringer up. Pointing it at Caine, he squeezed the trigger. Garrett was even faster. He had his own pistol out and fired just before Atkins did. The sutler's shot sailed harmlessly overhead. Caine spun back, pulling his pistol out as well. He stared in amazement as Atkins fell and Mac doubled over and collapsed with a gutteral scream. He looked back at Garrett, "Lord Amighty, you got two with one shot!"
Garrett looked at him wide-eyed, "I'm sorry, Ezra, I wasn't trying for her."
"Damn," Caine grunted as he reholstered the revolver and then waved a hand, "Unlucky was all." He walked over and looked down at Atkins. The sutler was obviously dead. He moved over to Mac who was curled tight, eyes shut, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. He put his boot on her shoulder and shoved her over. He took in the bloodstained hands clasped tightly around her middle. Caine squatted down on his heels, next to her, "Gut shot, eh, Colonel Mac?" He reached out and slapped her lightly, "Open your eyes when I'm talkin' to you." When she didn't respond, he hit her a little harder. Mac slowly opened her eyes and squinted at him painfully. He smiled at her, "Hurts don't it? Yep, gut shot's a hard way to go. Takes a while to die, days sometimes, I've heard."
Caine pulled out his revolver and gently pushed the barrel against her forehead, "I've heard men beg their friends to put them out of their misery. I suppose I could do you a favor. You want me t'do you a favor?" She stared at him silently. He paused and made a show of thinking it over. Then he stood up, "No, I believe I'm going to enjoy thinkin' of you like this." He looked up at the sky, "Sun'll be fierce tomorrow, imagine you'll be a mite thirsty," He moved over and nudged Atkins' body, looking back to make sure she was watching, "Buzzards be circling in, in the mornin'. They'll be eating good tomorrow. You might wanta keep movin, sometimes they don't like to wait. A'course, that's supposin' a dog pack don't find you tonight. They can get pretty mean."
Chuckling, he turned to Garrett, "Go get the horses. We'll find us another camp. I don't wanta listen to whimperin' all night." Folding his arms, he stood and watched Mac while he waited for Garrett. When the Corporal returned, he walked back over to her and leaned down, "One more thing." He grabbed her by the collar and yanked her halfway off the ground. Mac barely had time to groan before his fist connected with the side of her jaw. Caine released his hold and dropped her in an unconscious heap. He stood for a moment, rubbing his own jaw, "I owed you that one." Returning to Garrett, he mounted and the two men rode back into the dark.
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 0530 Local
Mac felt something cool and moist touch her forehead and then slide around to the side of her face. She flinched when it touched her still-tender jaw. A deep, soothing baritone said something but she couldn't quite make out the words. The voice was familiar though... where had she... ? She forced her eyes open and took in the dark, kindly countenance above her, "Chaplain Turner? Oh dear god, am I home?!" Her voice came out in a rasping whisper. She tried to raise herself up but the darkness claimed her once more.
Thomas looked from the unconscious woman to Deacon Turner in surprise, "You know her?"
Turner shook his head slowly, "I've never seen this woman before." He looked around the clearing, "We can't leave her here. Let's put her in the wagon and then bury that poor soul."
Thomas stood up in alarm, "We cain't do that! She's white! Let her own folks find her!"
Turner sighed and repeated, "We can't leave her here. Go get a blanket from the wagon, we'll carry her in that."
"Deacon, no! You know what'll happen if some white trash finds us with her. I doan wanna be whipped fo somethin' I didn't do!"
"They won't find her." Deacon Turner kept his voice calm and reasonable. Thomas was a good man and a skilled carpenter but he wasn't all that smart. He belonged to the Simpson family down around Harrisonburg. They'd hired him out last month to the Fishers. Turner had offered to give him a ride back to the Simpsons so he could collect his weekly wages. Thomas had been intending to buy his freedom but with the Yankees closing in, it was no longer necessary. Now he was building a nice little nest egg and he was understandably nervous about surviving to enjoy his coming freedom.
Thomas remained stubborn, "It's not you they's gonna whip, Deacon! They know you's too old to be messin' with some white woman."
Turner raised an eyebrow and stared at the younger man. Thomas had the grace to look somewhat abashed, "I didn't mean I thought so. I was talkin' bout them."
Deacon Turner pointed towards the wagon, "Go. The sooner we get done here, the sooner we can be on our way. We'll drop her off with Miss Avis."
Thomas' eyes widened, "Miss Avis? But she's a ... "
Turner cut him off with a glare, "She's a fine Christian woman. She'll know what to do. Now go."
He watched as Thomas reluctantly went to the wagon and then looked back down. "Who are you and how did you know my name?" he mused softly. He put a hand out and gently fingered the necklace she was wearing, "And how did you come to have that?"