Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I'm trying to get back on track with writing on Fanfiction. :)

I listened to Yours by Russell Dickerson for this chapter. It's one of my favorite chapters because we see Yours from Mark's perspective and then from Tanya's, both saving each other from themselves without quite realizing how deeply their love is growing until Grandmama speaks to it at the end.


The hollow echo of nails going into the wood house frame echoed in the surrounding forest. If the outside could be built before the snowfall came, the winter months could be spent working on the inside...and be able to keep Tanya warm in her delicate condition, as well as Charles.

The late summer sun beat down on his bare back with intensity that rivaled the African deserts. Dragging an arm across his wet brow, he grabbed another nail and began hammering.

Pound, pound, pound. Another nail. Pound, pound, pound. Nail. Pound, pound, pound.

The hits drowned out all other sounds. Weight of the hammer slamming and arm and back muscles flexing only drove the anger. This hypnotizing rhythm welcomed unwanted memories from a week ago...

Pound, pound, pound. Pound, pound, pound...

"What do you mean the Elders are reconsidering the marriage?!"

Tiger looked around and ushered him to the edge of the tribe for privacy. Regret filled Tiger's eyes. "There is still slaughter happening to the tribes farther West. The Elders do not like the white man but are trying to accept you, and they've seen you trying to keep up with the men and helping me care for our people. Tanya's situation, however, is being blamed on you - they're convinced it's white man's incompatibility with our people making her ill - "

"You can goddamn tell them any woman can get severe morning sickness!" He jammed a finger against his own chest. "She has a feeding tube and is beginning to take broth by mouth - I'm doing everything I can to make sure she and the babe are sound! Her weight is coming back, and she's able to do everyday tasks without issue! Charles has transitioned to table food so as not to add more strain on her body! I'm going to build a goddamn cabin - that none of them will help me with - because she's not used to the sub-zero temperatures of America's winters! What the hell else am I supposed to be doing?!" He flung out his arm while leaning on a cane with the other.

"They are ignorant." Tiger set a hand on his shoulder. "I know you're taking care of her, and I'm trying to explain it to them. One of the Elders brought up divorce and bringing Bear back into things."

"What?!" he roared.

"Hold on." Tiger held up his hands. "Bear was at the meeting and spoke up. He wants what's best for Tanya and knows she loves you. He said she's improving and asked if I agreed with your medical care. When I did, Bear said you have the same rights to her as any one of them have to their wives. Until you prove to not have her interest at heart, the marriage won't be dissolved. Plus, divorce can only be if you or Tanya do not stay under the same roof."

"Oh, well I feel so much better - Bear and the Elders are simply waiting for the moment I slip to rip my family away from me." A deep, primal growl vibrated his chest. "I need a goddamn boxing ring to take out this anger would be damn helpful."

Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound, pound.

"Mark!" a beautiful voice called.

Jerking his head up, the rage cooled upon seeing Tanya standing below with Charles on her hip.

A beautiful smile lit up her face as she waved and got Charles to copy the motion with his little fist. With the first trimesters of pregnancy over, she seemed to need the feeding tube less and less. Another few days, and she would be ready to have it removed. "Lunch is ready," she called.

Dropping the hammer to the dirt directly below, he held the beam he sat on and swung down, letting his legs buckle to land on his good knee so the prosthesis wouldn't break. Standing up, he brushed off his knees and hands and walked out to the front yard where they waited.

Her glorious, fairy-like laughter welcomed his kiss on the lips. "You should not be doing acrobatics until we know how well your leg can tolerate the prosthesis without a cane."

He grunted and then pecked a kiss on Charles's downy hair. "My leg is fine. You shouldn't be carrying around two babes." Taking Charles himself, he set a hand on the small of her back to go back to the tribe.

She sidestepped and held his hand instead on the walk back, her smile not fading. "Liar. I am well enough to carry him, and you are not using the cane out of pure stubbornness to try to prove the Elders wrong."

His eyes remained forward. "What are you babbling of, woman?"

"Grandfather told me what the Elders said last week. You've been a surly dragon ever since - I'm the only one brave enough to go near you. No one is going to steal us away from you. Besides, if the Elders even had the power to decree a divorce, you can sweep me away to the mountains." The wench gave a bold smile.

Clenching his teeth, he gave a long-winded growl. "Provoking a dragon isn't wise."

Others in the tribe found reason to avoid him and escape into their huts when he passed. She, however, simply giggled and stopped to stand on her toes and wrap her arms around his neck. "I like my dragon fierce and his fire hot."

"Wench, you aren't in any condition to withstand my wrath." The words rumbled in a husky snarl.

Pulling him down, she stopped a breath away. Her tongue darted out and gave a slow, agonizing caress across his bottom lip. "I'm perfectly fine; you're afraid of getting caught and being accused of not having my 'best interests' in mind." Then she let go and slipped Charles from him. "Grandmama wanted to feed him lunch."


"You don't hurt?" He reached up and stroked her hair from her face a bit later.

Profound happiness lit up her face as those brown eyes gazed down amid the field of wildflowers. "The babe and I are sound, even after your ravishings. You must not worry so much. No one could ever convince me to leave you."

His fingers bumped the feeding tube when he tucked the lock of hair behind her ear. Pride and happiness grew when self-consciousness didn't cloud her eyes. "I'd do anything for you," he whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too." Mischief sparkled in her gaze, and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "It's been forever since we've played." She shot up and tugged her dress down in place. Then she dipped down and tapped his shoulder. "You're it!" The minx took off running, leaving her laughter to follow.

Pulling his pants shut, he stood and adjusted the prosthetic leg. His heart beat faster over her vivaciousness. The last time she'd been this playful had been at the rabid wolf attack.

She slowly backed up several yards away, clasping her hands under her chin and letting free a beautiful laugh. "Chase me!"

"I can't run!" he called but began walking in her direction. A smile threatened.

"I think you're lying, Dr. Johnson!" Her smile widened as she began taking faster steps backwards through the knee-high grasses and flowers.

"No," he chuckled, "I don't know if I can run on this."

A gust of wind blew across the field and pulled apart her braid. She tugged out the ribbon and shook her hair free, letting it blow around her face as she spun in circle with her arms outstretched and head thrown back. "Come get me!"

God, she was so alive and beautiful. Taking quicker steps that melted into a slow trot, his heart sped up in excitement when it didn't cause pain from the prosthesis. When she laughed and danced through the flowers, her intoxicating spell captured. He picked up speed.

The muse danced in abandon, letting her locks whip around as she shook her head and ran a hand through her hair to get it out of her face. Her movements weren't at all conventional like the slow, proper dances in England's ballrooms. Neither did they have the calculated rhythm of the tribal dances. She was as carefree as a child dancing to her own beat.

She shrieked in surprise when he grabbed her around the waist, bursting into laughter the moment he did. "Did it hurt to run?" Her arms wrapped around his neck as those radiant eyes turned up to him.

"No." A frown took hold as he shifted his weight onto the prosthetic and off again. "I didn't pay attention til now, but it feels cushier today." When her smile brightened, he eyed her. "Did you do something to it?"

"It is fortunate that I cannot cook over a fire. I tried to make porridge for Charles. It overcooked and took on a firm, yet squishy form. Curious, I added some other compounds I've read about in medical texts."

Sitting in the grasses, he pulled up the pant leg and disconnected the prosthetic from the straps connected to his thigh and waist to hold the leg on. Then he peered in the hollow cavity that she'd filled more and more with pads as muscle atrophy continued to shrink the thigh. Tilting the leg, a wad of opaque, gelatinous material fell out. The smooth, pliability of it would prevent ulcers, as well as continually conform to the stump to offer protection and comfort. "Tanya, this is ingenious." He turned it over and over. "The density is perfect."

She scooted closer, at some point having sat. "The only downside I can see is you'll need to take off your leg and wipe the inside mid-day being there is no cloth to wick away moisture on hot days."

"Yes, but it's worth it if it means no more ulcers." His eyes flew to her. "Would you make more? To line the entire cavity?"


"Ugh," his eyes rolled back as he stood in the hut a few hours later, "it feels so much better." The lumpiness of the pads was no longer there, and it was like walking on a pillow. It filled in for the missing muscle without taking up space like the pads, thereby not causing a limp and back pain from continuously changing leg heights until the atrophy stabilized.

When the woman leaned down and set her hands on his hips, she frowned. "It's still slightly too thick. Take it off. Don't argue - I know the pads were worse. I've been trying to figure out something else."

So she had noticed the uneven gait. No sense in being embarrassed about it now. Sitting on the bed, he pulled off the leg with a yank from suction. His eyes widened. "No." Shoving the leg on again, he stood and took a step without the straps connected. "It stays on by itself!"

She frowned in confusion and watched. The dear man hurried back to the bed.

Dropping down, he pulled off the leg and then yanked down his pants to reveal the cumbersome leather straps around his thigh and hips. They even looked uncomfortable. He practically snapped the straps in his hurry to get rid of them. Her heart broke as he jerked on the leg again and took a few steps. The gel was too dense, the risk of skin infection too great to leave it as is. Tears welled in realization that he hadn't thought of that...and didn't know he'd forever be confined to the heavy straps that bit in and left marks on his body.

That smile out the sun to shame. "Tanya, I - " The words died when he turned and looked at her.

"Mark, it can't be left like this. I filled it so we can mold it and then cut out sections. It doesn't have anywhere to breathe. It'll cause Staph or other skin infections from moisture feeding bacteria." Stepping forward, she took his hand in comfort. And a tear fell to see his eyes grow misty as he nodded, looking so crestfallen.

His gaze dropped to her waist as his fingers fidgeted with hers and he forced a weak smile. "You're right. I got caught up and wasn't thinking." A tear trembled in the outer corner of his eye.

For a split instant, it hurt to even breathe. Squeezing his hand and cupping his cheek, she bowed her head to meet his moistened eyes. "I wish I could bear this for you. I wish I knew how to make it easier." Her lip quivered. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head and pulled her into his arms. "This is not your fault. I'm thankful it's me instead of you. And you do make this easier in so many ways. Sometimes I just get overwhelmed. In a few years, we'll know every single quirk about it, and it'll just be part of every day life. It's still new and frustrating. We'll figure it out." He rested his cheek atop her head.

Simply holding each other helped heal some of the pain.

When he spoke, his voice was gentle and peaceful. "Is that why you've been rubbing my back in bed lately? You noticed my gait was off?"

"It wasn't enough to see it, but your brow furrows slightly more in concentration when you walk. When you don't think anyone is looking, you roll your shoulders and lean side to side like your back hurts." The calm drumming of his heart under her cheek only added to the intimacy of being in a private world where self-consciousness and humiliation couldn't exist among so much love. "Telling me that you're having trouble doesn't make you less of a man in my eyes. Or a burden," she added when he took a breath to speak.

"We've only been wed eleven months - less than that with the fake divorce. I'm still learning how to have a wife who is a partner."

She leaned back in his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "There is no 'learning how to' anything. You have a backache from your leg not fitting properly, so you say, 'Wife, I need a back rub, and we need a new technique for my leg.' If your self-confidence is shaken by the Elders questioning if you're good enough, you say, 'Wife, come to bed and remind me that you want to grow old with me.' It's really quite simple, Mark."

One corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. "That simple? Next you'll tell me that I worry like an old woman."

"Well..." When his mouth dropped open, speechless, she pulled out of his arms and covered her mouth with her hands in playful laughter. "You do enough worrying for both of us, so..."

"Come, wench," he growled and caught her arm to pull her against him. He glanced at Charles still napping on the pallet, and then back at her. "Come remind me that you want to grow old with me." Those strong arms wrapped around her waist, his voice falling to a deep, gentle timber.

A warm smile came from the depths of her soul as she linked her hands behind his neck and fell into those calm blue orbs looking back at her with love. "I would chose no one else, my cuddle bear who has become a dragon," she whispered and welcomed his kiss.


"He's very handsome, but he has such a temper," one of the women whispered to another in native tongue at the stream on laundry day. "She doesn't seem afraid of him and never has bruises. He's been in a temper for two weeks. I asked him if he needed the Medicine Man when he walked past yesterday with his bloody hand wrapped from cutting himself building one of those white man homes. He answered in white man tongue, but I think I'm glad I don't know what he said because he looked like he would've eaten my head."

"I know," the other woman answered. "I don't think he'd hurt anyone, but I don't want to speak to him when he's in a fit. She walks right up to him and even hugs when he's in the middle of a rant. Sometimes I wonder if she's right in the head. But then, he also seems to calm when she does that. They're an odd pair."

Silence for a moment. She glanced from the corner of her eye to where the other women washed laundry in a group, and she remained alone on the outskirts.

Another one of the women standing in the stream studied her. "I see why he chose her - the English women I've seen look like all the blood has been sucked from them. She's not as dark as us but has the delicate bones of the English. I think she's pretty."

Her heart beat faster. Perhaps Mark did truly see beauty.

The two other women stared at the other. "I think she looks odd - she's a half-breed, and it's apparent."

"I feel sorry for her. She doesn't fit in with us or the English," the second joined in. "And she has no sense of propriety, as if she grew up in the wild with wolves."

Bowing her head in shame, she furiously scrubbed the last nappie to get home as fast as possible.

"I feel sorry for those who are so unkind as to find fault with and not welcome one who has done nothing but try to be accepted," an older, elegant female voice spoke.

Looking up, she stilled to see Grandmama standing over the women with a disapproving frown.

The other women muttered apologies and bowed their heads at a scolding from an Elder's wife.

Before Grandmama could make it over, she scooped up the basket of wet laundry and hurried away. A couple of the older girls adored Charles, so she left him for now to continue playing with them and the other children. Brushing at her eyes, she headed in the opposite direction of the hut to where Mark was building the cabin half way to town.

The women were right - she fit in no better here than in England. Always a half-breed, never belonging anywhere. Mark suffered prejudices here. At least living in town it would only be her segregated. Charles looked English enough that he could be passed off as Mark's child from a former marriage. The baby hopefully would take on his characteristics. It was better to live in town and be seen as his slave than stay and both struggle with prejudices. Her lip quivered as the tears came faster. He'd be forced to see her lack of desirable physical attributes, but he was a man who would still love for what lay beneath.

He stood on the porch, with his back to her, nailing up walls on the bare framework.

The hurt swelled, needing the safety of his arms now that he was in sight. Dropping the heavy basket, she ran across the dirt road as the sobs burst free.

It must've caught his attention because he turned in surprise just in time to catch her throw herself at him.

"Tanya? What's wrong?" He tried to pull her back to meet her eyes, but she clung, unable to speak through the sobs. "Did someone harm you?"

She shook her head.

"Is Charles alright?"

A nod.

"The babe?"

Again, she nodded.

So he held tight until the sobs calmed to hiccups. "Tell me what happened, my lady love."

Once she relayed the events that caused renewed tears, she pushed away from him. "Why do you keep trying to tell yourself I'm pretty?! Why do you keep lying?!"

Sadness softened his face and he remained quiet, as if realizing the storm needed to pass before any words would be heard.

"If we live in town, you won't be forced to jump through hoops just because you're a white man! Charles can be passed off as yours from another marriage, and," she cried and set a hand on her belly, "God willing the babe will look white too!" Setting her hand to her forehead, her face crumpled from the panic. "No one will question their parentage if I'm hidden in confinement once I start to look pregnant. Tell them I'm your slave - "

Mark stepped forward and guided her hands away to hold his. "You're the mother of my children, and I won't have them growing up to believe otherwise. I won't move us to town where you'll learn to be ashamed of yourself even more than in England."

"But - "

"Quiet, wife," he said gently. "Do these women's opinions matter more than mine?"

"No."

The pad of his thumb swept away another tear. "Then why do you choose to favor their opinion of you over mine? Do you believe me to ever be untruthful with you?"

Pressing her lips together and bowing her head at the sting of fresh tears, she clutched his hands tighter. "Because you were blind to Anna's failings for so long." Raising her eyes to gauge his hurt and realization of that truth, another tear fell. Perhaps facing that would open his eyes to what herself truly was.

But his patient expression didn't change. "Tell me what you see that you think I don't."

Swallowing hard, he blurred behind welling tears. "A half-breed who is too heathen even for a tribe's convention."

His brow furrowed. 'Where on earth did you learn 'half-breed'?"

That part of the story had been too humiliating to repeat until now.

Such a fierce scowl wrinkled his brow. He remained silent for several moments, with his jaw muscles visibly clenched even through his short beard. Then he grabbed her hand and marched across the field.

"Mark?"

His determined, quick pace didn't slow as he entered the tribe and stormed straight to the center where most everyone gathered on this day of rest for all. Every pair of eyes turned to them, but he didn't seem the least embarrassed. Then he turned and pulled her against him, giving a passionate, scandalous display of affection.

Her cheeks burned in embarrassment, but it was impossible to not feel the pleasurable warmth spreading from her heart to realize that he truly thought her beautiful and didn't give a wit about what others thought of her because he saw a woman he was proud of.

Then he grabbed her hand and stormed toward the kind woman from the stream. "You who said she pretty?" he asked in broken native tongue.

When the woman stared with wide eyes at him and nodded, he added, "Come." He grabbed her arm and tugged both of them along, ignoring the gasps and whispers of a non-relation man speaking to a woman, much less touching her. Then he set them both before Grandmama and Grandfather standing at the edge of the gathering. "Lily, help them become friends. Sunflower speaks highly of Tanya whenever I help Tiger with her daughter's colic. Those women destroyed what was left of her self-confidence in making friends."

Grandmama tried to suppress a smile and kept her quiet, regal posture. Grandfather looked uncertain what to do. "You realize that you've just created several scandals." Grandmama's tone didn't hold censure or condescension.

"How is Tanya to understand convention if her husband thumbs his nose at it?" He turned on his heel and left, just as brusquely as he'd come.

Grandfather's jaw practically dropped.

Grandmama set a delicate finger to her lips and cleared her throat, clearly trying not to laugh as she watched Mark storm toward the cabin. "Your husband does not hesitate to make a spectacle of himself in order to help you."

"He gives me so much, Grandmama," she said quietly. "More sacrifices that he must make because of me," she breathed in shame.

"No more than you do for him. Besides, love does not see it as sacrifice. The man was almost in tears the other week when he told me that you'd figured out a way for him to run, and you're close to finding a way for him to not need the leg straps. Do you not see it, Tanya?"

She frowned and looked in question at Grandmama.

Those wise, kind eyes shined with happiness. "He's already proven that he'd given up everything and follow you to the ends of the earth, without a moment of regret. You think him blind, but he sees your soul in ways that you cannot yet. That's a man who worships the ground you walk on because he believes with his whole heart that - flaws and all - you're worth walking through Hell for."

"He does not worship the ground I walk on," she whispered, the declaration filled with doubt for the first time.

"Are you certain about that? How ironic that you both fear not being good enough. Yet, you both bring out the best in each other and are loved by the other with depth that withstands even death."

She turned to watch Mark walk down the road.

"Tanya?"

Pulled out of the daydream, she turned to Grandmama, who stood with Sunflower a bit away and waited. A knowing smile touched Grandmama's lips. "Are you coming? We shall have lunch with Sunflower and all get to know each other better."

Sunflower gave a shy smile and held out a hand of encouragement.

"Yes, I'm coming." With one final glance over her shoulder as Mark disappeared past the trees, she hurried over and took Sunflower's hand to follow through the throng of children who ran past, with Charles happily screeching in a wagon that Mark had made for him to be pulled in by the children.