Mark had left for school, promising not to forget the order from the smithy, and to pass by Miss Hattie's store. They had again agreed on calmly white-lying to the townspeople for when he was asked after Eirik's wellbeing.
Now Lucas was settling in with the books – it would be time to drive the herd to market in about two month's time.
But the silence which usually enabled him to work was hard fought for this time. Thoughts kept creeping in, questions that had been worrying at his subconscious since that dratted cave… The pale, pale face so torn over some memory, the feverish eyes, the slender body relaxing against his long limbs. The warm, silky head against his shoulder. The white breasts above the slender waist, marred by the long, ragged gash he had just sewn closed…. Her eyes, the expression in them, the relief when she recognized him, even half delirious…. How she calmed at his voice…
Was there a movement from the other room? No. The patient was still asleep.
Finally he managed to ban the errand thoughts and settle on his numbers.
Much too soon hoof-beats woke the yard – the boy was back early. Lucas rose lazily, he'd have to help Mark with the groceries.
Opening the door, he stood frozen for a moment. It wasn't Mark.
...
Sam Buckhart swung his leg over the back of his bright chestnut saddle breed. He turned to the door slowly, aware of McCain. Taking in his stony gaze, the dark hair spreading over squared shoulders, the native lawyer stood calmly, waiting.
"Lucas McCain."
All the fury he had thought buried, the anger, the hurt pride rose into his consciousness at once. "You've got some gall showing up here, Sam."
Hardly a muscle moved on the solid face. If anything, humour seemed to glint in the dark eyes. "What have I done to deserve this greeting, Lucas?" The melodic voice was measured.
He knew, Lucas raged inwardly, he had known all along, and had said nothing. This whole drama could have been resolved before it even started. Could have saved him and Mark a shit load of sleepless nights, of worries, of unanswerable questions, in all – an impossible situation could have been avoided. Lucas took a deep breath. His temper had brought him into one situation he deeply regretted in the near past. Slowly.
"You knew, Sam. Why not tell me?"
"Ah, Lucas." Amazing how the staid face lit up from inside with hidden mirth. "This would be a perfect moment to play the game of "who says it out loud first." Though I have the advantage."
Lucas frowned, thrown off track. "What? I have no nerve for game-playing."
"No games then. I had hoped to talk to your farmhand."
"Everybody want's to talk to him. He's indisposed." Lucas spat out the words, taking the steps one at a time.
"So word in town is true, he got hurt?"
"What do you want with Eirik?"
Now Sam frowned. "Lucas, there is no need for this. I mean no harm, neither to you nor to him."
"Him?" Lucas could not help the angry sneer. Sam had known from the day he met Emery. She'd even suggested he might have confided in Lucas…
Sam Buckhart's eyes widened.
"Don't fight over me."
Lucas turned, cold running over him. He had not heard her approach. She'd been asleep.
Emery was leaning in the door, hair gathered loosely at her neck, 'Eirik's' loose leather pants under the soft leather shirt. She was pale as a sheet, but seemed steady enough. She met Lucas' stare with eyes full of apprehension. He could watch her gather the old wariness around her, a defensive shield to guard her. Then she turned and took a step, so she could face Sam Buckhart full on, shoulders squared. One slender, long-fingered hand gripped the supporting beam with white knuckles, but only Lucas could see that.
"Sam Buckhart. You're looking for me?"
"Emery Donnelly, I take it?"
The girl hung her head for a moment, shielding her face from the piercing glance. Then she gave a smile that did not reach her eyes. "You know my name?"
"Daughter of Siobhan O'Donnel and Aks'Yamoria of the Sturgeon Lake tribe, formerly of the Chipewyan. Sister to Eirik Donnelly, who was killed in the fire that also took his father. Alumni of King's college, tough under your brother's name."
There was something so formal to the native's words, that Lucas took a slow, unobtrusive step back. This was out of his league.
The girl – she was a mere girl in this moment, weirdly adult-wise at the same time – gracefully sat down on the top step.
Buckhart was not done.
"Onari, adopted daughter of Kekoa-Neh of the Sturgeon Lake tribe. I come to offer you your heritage. I come to offer you justice."
Lucas searched his old friend's face with painful scrutiny. Did the man know what he was saying? The storm he would be calling forth in the young woman? The rifleman felt a rush of adrenalin – protective, defensive … angry. It left him breathless.
Emery slowly turned her head at him, the heart-shaped face – he'd never get used to that widow's peak transforming the handsome boy's face into an elegant, expressive young woman's.
No, he amended. Eirik's features could be sold for a boy's face, but with the hairline visible, there was no question of gender.
He met the green eyes levelly. Had she felt the turmoil inside him? But she had already turned back toward the lawyer.
"Yes, I am Onari – Emery Donnelly – beholden the sturgeon lake tribe, sister to Eirik Donnelly, daughter of Siobhan and Yamoria's Son." She squared her shoulders, ran a hand through her hair. Then her face transformed suddenly.
"Sam Buckhart, Lucas McCain, can we please drop the formalities. You both know the secret's out. I am yet too weak to go through everything custom dictates here. I owe both of you. You should be aware you are dragging me close to the abyss with those words of yours, Mr. Buckhart. Though please don't let this – my deceit – destroy your friendship."
The dry, if heartfelt words broke the tension that had had the air in the yard shimmering. Lucas felt grudging respect for the young woman – she had taken all the wind out of his remaining anger, and opened a spot for Sam to apologize without loosing face. He felt his face softening, and tilted his head at Buckhart.
"Care to step inside, both of you?"
Emery chuckled at his pronounced irony, and even Sam's mouth twitched.
The two steps toward the young woman sufficed to dry Lucas' mouth and summon a potato in his throat. This was his little friend Buckhart had come to claim!
He held out a hand to Emery, forcing a smile.
Her hand touched his, her eyes met his. Lucas startled at the pure, undisguised fear, yearning and childish helplessness that accosted him.
"Faith, farmhand." He murmured, pulling her upright gently. When she threatened to waver, cheeks going pale, he wrapped an arm protectively around her waist. To his gratification, her hand gripped his shoulder with desperate strength, and she stayed on her feet, the colour returning to her cheeks. A small, sweet smile answered his frown.
Lucas held the door open to their visitor, who had thrown his horse's reign over the railing and followed them into the house.
….
Sam opened the conversation: "How did you get hurt?"
The girl glanced at Lucas, who leaned against the sink and with short words retold the occurrences at the sulphur springs.
Buckhart's eyes never left the young woman.
McCain ended his tale with a measured question. "Sam, Emery here mentioned that you suspected … something. Why did you not say a word?"
The other man tilted his head slightly, glance passing between them, eyes alight. "'t was not my secret to divulge."
Lucas consciously stopped himself from scratching his neck. But the friendship between us is older than any obligation…. But no. This was not about obligation, about skin colour or profession. It simply was not Sam's secret to tell. Lucas himself might not have acted differently, had the roles been reversed. He flattened his hands on the tabletop, meeting the other man's eyes squarely. Sam would understand the unspoken question.
"I did not know anything. I might have suspected. But your farmhand did not seem willing to even discuss whatever issue I might see."
Lucas nodded slowly. He remembered that day well. He turned his head to look at the young woman, to find the green eyes filled with an expression of profound embarrassment. Narrowing his eyes at her, he crossed his arms over his chest. Served her right.
"What I need to tell you is for your ears only, Emery O'Donnel."
"If he's interested, let Lucas stay. He's owed an explanation."
The rifleman wanted to interfere, but a steely gaze held him quiet. Emery added a disarming: "I would be grateful for his opinion."
Sam Buckhart nodded slowly, focusing on the young woman.
"A case is being built at the district court in Albuquerque. A man came forward a few weeks ago, claiming the protection of the judicial system for himself and his new wife. He offered information about the dealings of a certain businessman who resides near Phoenix at the moment. In his elaborations, he told of travels from the very northern border of the united states, horrible stories about bodies left in his wake, of names changed like underwear and money made on the backs of ingenious."
Emery – Lucas had placed her in the fauteuil – was clasping her hands around the armrests, knuckles white.
"His name?" her voice was a rasp.
"He produced papers to the name Marius Cunningham. Claims the man he is informing on is a british individual, Wilford Maria Benton."
The girl leaned back, lips bloodless.
"Why would this Cunningham ask the court for protection?" Lucas felt compelled to ask – let Emery gather her thoughts.
"Seems he fell afoul of some local groups while dealing for Benton – who goes by the name of Sanderson in Phoenix. He's recently married, and did not expect their wrath reaching so far. Benton – I will call him by this name – was, by his accounts, not only unsympathetic, but also unable to offer protection. He's lost credibility, influence and thus the power he used to wield. He broke his word to Cunningham, who would rather face the consequences of aiding Benton than see done to his wife and unborn child…"
Lucas twitched. Emery beside him swallowed audibly. "How did you hear of the case?"
"A small tribe of Yavapai are involved – Benton tried to deal with them over an issue with gold on their lands. I was contacted by a friend, and found that character witnesses are sorely looked for, that are not scared to death of the man Benton, and even better – still alive."
"How would you connect me with… I never mentioned his name…"
She did not even realise that she had just now given away her involvement, and Sam's correct assumption. "Do you have proof?"
Buckhart frowned. "Of my words?"
"No, I trust your word. But of the case? That Cunningham will speak out? That…"
Lucas noted the slight change in Sam's countenance – the fact that the woman trusted him, and admitted it so openly, meant something to the native.
Buckhart finished her sentence: "That you might gain your rights, and justice for your family?"
"Aye."
Displacement rushed through Lucas – that was Eirik's word, and yet the slender fingers were female, the profile with the now down-turned, drawn mouth and aquiline nose, the long, sweet-smelling hair… everything about her was female.
Sam Buckhart pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. "I have this."
"What is it?" Emery made no move to take the piece of paper. She sat up with an effort, and a grimace. "How can I make a useable witness? Everythin' I can account for happened in British North America."
"The provincial court of the Northwest Territories has already promised its support of the case."
For a long while nobody spoke, then the young woman reached for the envelope slowly, getting up in the same motion.
Involuntarily the rifleman took a long step toward the table, ready to offer his support. But the stubborn twist of her lips held him back.
"If you don't mind, this is quite a lot to take in. I would like to read this in private." And she slid by him without a second glance at Buckhart.
She was not returning to the room, but headed out the main door for the corral. Lucas frowned deeply. The hand searching for the backing of the railing was proof of her weakness, but it seemed her need to get away from them was stronger. The young woman padded all the way across the yard until she slipped through the bars. Spirit was nosing her enthusiastically, and when she sat down on the grass, the big horse settled at her back. It was a peaceful picture.
The tall man took a step back into the room, turning to meet his old friend's dark eyes.
"How much danger would she be in?"
"Hopefully less than if she were main witness. This could be a preliminary trial. Open up every possibility if she went to the courts of the Northwestern Territories in her own name and cause. Nobody expects the girl-child from fifteen years ago to be alive and down here in Albuquerque, to speak out against a business man."
"Yes but after she reveals her name and background – won't Benton come after her?"
"She will be under my protection. The lawyer from Yellowknife promised his support, and she'll have the Yavapai looking out for her, too. As soon as Benton's real name was dropped, the stories started appearing. He did despicable things, this man, and ever escaped justice." Sam Buckhart had gotten up when Emery stood and now took a step toward the door. "Benton is at his end, Lucas. He's lost his followers. He used the end of the war to move around and loose his backstories. But now that Cunningham found his personal peace, in this woman, its over for the old man. And this young woman is where it all started."
"Sounds like this has become personal for you."
They both stood now in a way that they could watch the slender figure against the backdrop of the pale stallion's hide. Sam's usually so calm voice deepened.
"I mentioned that stories as the one of Onari's father were told with pride, with admonishment, carried between the tribes. The end of the story of this mixed blood family has been used for fear-mongering and war-cries against white man's duplicity, stealing our land. War only means more death. My education… Cases like this are exactly how I repay my people."
Lucas understood.
"You're in the middle, see both sides. You believe in the law."
"I do."
….
It was Mark's return from school that brought a sorely needed disruption to the tense silence that had settled over the McCain farm. Lucas had returned to his books, Sam Buckhart was lounging in the rocking chair, hat over his face. Emery had not moved, still poring over the few sheets of paper.
The boy swung off BlueBoy in the middle of the yard and, alerted by the stallion's lifted head, saw the young woman sitting in the corral.
"Ei – Emery! You must be feeling better!"
Lucas leaned back in his chair, all senses alert. Until this moment he had mostly tried to keep his son from conversing with the young woman alone. The weird rollercoaster of emotions the past days from the discovery in the cave had put him through, he had tried to answer Marks questions honestly. And now the situation was taken out of his hand…
"Hello Mark!" her voice sounded slightly muffled. "All well downtown?"
"Yes. Miss Schuler asked after you, as did Miss Hattie and… I never told nobody that you are really a... woman."
"I'm really sorry you lied for me, Mark. I owe you a sincere apology for deceiving you for so long."
There was a pause. "You know," Mark's voice sounded different, "it doesn't make much of a difference, does it? You're still you. Only the why of it I don't understand."
"That's a longer story, and one I would rather tell your father and you together."
"So you won't have to repeat yourself, I get it."
A dry chuckle. "Indeed."
"But how is your wound?"
"Better, thank you. You have been taking real good care of me."
"Well, we owed it to you after the way you got Pa well again."
"Nah, Mark, you did not owe me anything after what I did."
Again, a pause. Lucas held his breath.
"You know, Pa was really upset, because the way he – I guess we, and everybody in town too, we treated you like a boy, not like a lady. You know how Pa is."
"Mark, the way I chose to live, I was asking to be treated as a man."
"I thought so, too. How should he have known? But now, do we treat you like a lady?"
"Ah, boy-"
The laughter swinging in the deep voice carried so many fond memories that Lucas wiped his hand over his face.
"- I hardly know how if I am a lady. You were always courteous to me, so could we just go on as before?"
"I guess… I mean I could. You look different, sure, but you're still you."
Lucas could visualise Mark's innocent shrug.
"I've been thinking a lot, you know? You never behaved like the other farmhands, nor like Cade. You never swore, nor acted funny with the girls. You were always polite and honest… except that one thing. You kept your hair covered, but I thought that was because of your religion. Mostly you were a normal, nice person. More like a friend, not like most adults. You made Pa laugh."
"You must have been angry, too. Friends don't keep secrets."
"Mostly curious. I don't understand what made Pa so mad, except he does not like lying. But it was just the one lie. It must be an adult thing. And it had been weighing on you, I could see it in your face when you woke that first time. I guess I was angry for a short time, but not any more."
"Well, thank you. I'm glad we're still friends."
Emery's voice was studiedly even.
"How come you don't smell?"
"What?"
"Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, you never washed… here…"
Lucas could imagine the boy's face turning beet red.
"I bet if you think about it, you'll figure this one out. How often did I have breakfast with you?"
"Hardly ever, you most always checked the lifestock in the… ah. So where did you go?"
"There is a place if you follow the small tributary up into the crevice. It is a magical place, with a waterfall… like a rich man's shower."
Lucas, hidden behind the curtain and the wall, felt heat run through his body. The image presenting itself to him, the memories of her slender body snuggled against his, shivering under his arm…
"Will you be leaving now?" Mark's voice carried an undercurrent that spoke of the heavy heart.
"Yes, Mark, I will be leaving soon. You understand that, don't you."
"Aye. Though it's too bad about my homework. You're really good at explaining things."
Lucas had to smile – the way his boy's mind worked...
"Pa said you would have left earlier. That you stayed because of… his accident."
"Mark… yes, it's true. I could not leave you both alone to fend with the stock and the farm with your Pa so badly."
"But did you not like it here?"
"Oh, Mark. I liked it immensely here. Your homework, the farmwork, the animals… I would not have stayed otherwise."
"Too bad about the wheel…"
The rifleman frowned in his hiding place. What wheel?
"The wheel is finished, Mark. And I have the sketches for the final contraption finished. Your father…"
"See, that would have betrayed you. I've been thinking about the difference in behaviour lately. Women touch my face, and men rather put a hand on my shoulder, or push my hat down over my ears."
Emery's laughter rang out over the quiet yard, a sound so silvery and melodic…
...
Lucas stepped out of the door then. "Except your Pa, who will put you over his knee if you forgot the groceries from Miss Hatties'."
"Pa, no, I did not forget anything, and she told me to tell you that she'll put aside a packet of chocolate when it comes next week. And you might have to help me with the bag of nails, it was so heavy that even Freddy and I together could not put it on the wagon. And Miss Schuler gave me extra homework because Carl got me in trouble."
"Mark." Lucas could not help the grin. The boy had crept into the corral to kneel at Spirit's head, his shoulder almost touching Emery's. "Wash your hands, say hello to Mr. Buckhart, and then set the table. I'll deal with your shopping."
"I can-" said Emery at the same moment as Mark's: "Emery can help you, Pa."
"No." It came out shorter than intended. "She's still too weak, Mark. Don't even think about it." The last was directed at the young woman, who had made a move.
"Hello Mr. Buckhart! It's good to see you again!"
"Hello Mark. That is a kind greeting."
Lucas was about to ask the young woman after the 'wheel' she and Mark had been talking about, but the boy interrupted.
Something must have connected for Mark, for he hesitated, eyes going back to the young woman over the yard. He said to Sam Buckhart: "You came for her? To take her away? Has she broken the law?"
"Mr. Buckhart offers me a chance, Mark." Emery had gotten up labouredly and interrupted what threatened to become a heated conversation.
"Are you in trouble?" Mark retraced his steps and offered her his arm in a motion that made Lucas bite down on a grin – it was like looking into a tiny mirror. Bless the boy, he could act as if nothing was different.
"No more than before. But I might go home."
"To the wild mountains and the grizzly bears?"
"Aye. Come, I'll help you set the table."
"Do you think you could help me with my trigonometry homework?"
"Depends on why you got in trouble."
Lucas watched the two cross the yard and into the house, and exchanged a glance with Buckhart.
What had been in the letter?
…
The tension was still there when they sat down at the table. But all four tried for a livelier tone and varying subjects. When Lucas got up to fix some coffee, Sam Buckhart touched the subject that seemed to be hanging low above the table.
"Maybe this would be easier if you would tell us the … relevant … parts of your life's story, Miss Donelly."
"The name's Emery, please."
Motioning with a broad hand, the native lawyer conceded. The young woman waited until Lucas had put down two glasses of Whiskey and four cups of coffee, then she tilted her head.
"After the fire, my father's adoptive tribe took me in. No-" she interrupted herself, "I have to take one step further back.
My mother was of mixed heritage already, irish and dutch, mixed religious background. My father left his original tribe before the war, he wanted to use the opportunities white man brought to his country, find the middle path and not participate in even more bloodshed. Kekoah-Neh, the wise man of the sturgeon tribe, was known for his diplomatic skills. They got along like real blood. So you might imagine how… diverse… our upbringing was, even living in the wilderness." She let her head fall back against the fauteuil's backrest. "Then Benton happened. You know what he left behind. I was a traumatized ten-year-old. The sturgeon tribe scooped me up, tried to do their best with me – it's not the most uncommon thing to loose your parents at such an age. But what broke me then was that white man – who was half of my cultural background – did nothing to set right what had happened there. Sure, it's wild country up in the Northwestern Territories, but as the name says, white man claims the land for himself, so should take care of it's people there."
Lucas had been watching Emery and his son with equal intensity from the corner of his eyes. Now Mark blurted out what had had his eyes widen succinctly.
"You speak as if you are native. As if you hate white man."
Emery turned fully to him, smile singularly sweet. "Mark, back then, my brother and I never thought of ourselves as white or red. We were neither true sturgeon tribe, nor were we the prim, frilly, so hapless white children we saw on our trips to the bigger settlements. We played with either, had friends on both sides, so to speak. Only when I turned to the white population for help, the way my father had done, I was turned down – not only for being half native but more for being a girl. There are not many options for a girl without family, without money."
Mark nodded, a little placated.
"When I became a woman in the eyes of the tribe, I fled to the city. A friend of the family, so I thought, would know to help me through a… transition and maybe, maybe show me a path I could take. I…" it was the first time the young woman hesitated.
"He was the priest you told us about? Why you don't believe in church any more?"
Sam Buckhart's eyes narrowed at the boy's words, but he did not interrupt. Lucas felt his hands twitch at the expression in Emery's eyes.
"That's how I came to Montreal. And the moment I became a boy to all eyes. As a girl, no money, no family, I saw no future I was willing to follow." For a moment she rested her face in her hand, but less to find strength or hide an inner turmoil, more to gather her thoughts, it seemed to the rifleman.
"I will skip over the next years, suffice it to say that I was… taken in by somebody, who looked to the… diverse education of several waifs like me."
"What's a waif?" Mark had hung onto every word.
"A dirty, homeless ghost of a child, like Huck Finn."
"Ah."
Or like her. Lucas felt the corners of his mouth twitch at her words. But his heart clenched – the warmth and compassion that swung in her voice spoke of so much hard-earned life-experience. For a moment he was taken back to the years of the war, to the empty, soul-less eyes of the younger soldiers, those the war had cost their life or liveliness, those that never recovered. Emery had fought her own war, and had recovered. His glance fell to the slender, long-fingered hand so versatile on the guitar, gentle with the animals, strong while working on the farm. Those hands that had supported him through his convalescence... now they where white knuckled, cramped around the hand rests, sinews standing out harshly. Right, she was talking.
"…fled from the city and returned to my father's tribe. I refused to be put into the category "female" after that. I refused to be helpless. My parents in front of my eyes… they had not held to the traditional way white women are treated, I was not going to fall into that trap. So I watched the young men fighting, and honed my skills myself, until the old teacher surprised me and made me give up my secret."
What secret? Lucas had missed something crucial here. "That man in montreal taught you the way you fight?" he questioned.
"Aye. Called it martial arts. From Asia." She shrugged, momentarily disconcerted by his glance. "The wise man of the tribe took me on. The natives are much more open with women who don't fit into a woman's body, or men who would rather have a woman's. While I am comfortable with my sex, I would not follow the predesigned paths, any of them. My grandfather was still a member of the elders – he still insisted in cultivating relations with the whites. When it became clear that I could not stay with the tribe-"
"Why not?" Mark would not let her skip over the details so easily.
"I… there were two young men who wanted me as their wife. Fights broke out, dissonance within the tribe… I was Onari - a wildling, even to them.
You must understand: I had the choice to stay with the tribe, who were family, but not my life. As a woman in white man's civilisation, I saw few paths open. As a man, there was freedom.
Anyway, Kekoa-Neh gave me my brother's papers and his blessing and sent me to the friend of his who got me inscribed at university. I had helped design a water pipe including heating system for the tribe's winter settling, so there was no question of my admittance – as a man."
"Your previous education allowed that?" Sam Buckhart's eyes burned.
"Yes."
The tone of her voice raised all the protective instincts. Lucas reached out and touched the cold, cramped hand. The long, slender fingers disengaged. A harried glance changing to wary gratefulness, and she shyly surrendered her hand to his grasp.
"Since I do not look native, and had learned to hide my sex well, I took it as a game in the beginning. See how far I'd get. Then I got caught by the subject of my lectures and began to study in earnest."
"What about the law?"
Heat and anger filled the green eyes suddenly. "The law never fazed me. The law had failed me, me brother, me family, so I owed white man's law nothing, especially nothing concerning my sex. What I saw in Montreal of the law… forgive me, Mr. Buckhart, it was written by men and for men. Where it concerns women, we are not much better than cattle. I know there are changes afoot, and have happened, but slowly, so slowly…"
"And yet now…"
Here a mirthless smile crossed her face, her hand relaxed in Lucas' grip. Self-derision rang from her chuckle. "Yes, now. Now I find myself relying on white man's law." Her fingers reached for the corner of the letter just visible in her shirt.
"So you'll do it? Stand witness?" The rifleman did not hide his mixed feelings.
"Stand witness? Pa?"
"In a moment, Mark. Sam, could the law come after her for the engineering title?"
Buckhart was unmoved. "If somebody knew about it, maybe. But to stand witness, you will have to be Emery Donelly. Who is not listed in any university raster."
Lucas considered first his friend, then his farmhand for a long moment, thoughts churning.
Emery bore his gaze tiredly, and finally pulled her fingers out of his grasp.
Lucas startled at the loss he felt, flexing his digits mechanically.
"Lucas… in town, you lied for me."
"Nobody knows, except the Doc, and he'll keep a secret. I'm of a mind to tell Micah, if you agree, because we might need his help in all this." And because he would like to ask his old friend's opinion on his farmhand. "Otherwise, I think Eirik Donelly is leaving North Fork, called home to the northern border suddenly."
"By a letter delivered by Sam Buckhart." Mark jumped onto the wagon with glee. "And Emery Donelly is free to travel to Albuquerque. But what about Spirit?"
The young woman was clearly a bit overwhelmed by their plans. "I'm not leaving Spirit."
"We would have to travel by horse or carriage anyway, there is no direct train."
"I'm taking him. I can't take a carriage."
Mark shook his head impatiently. "Why?"
"I get sick from the motion."
Lucas sneered, amused. "You're an acrobat on that horse, yet you get queasy riding a carriage?"
Ah, her chuckle was so tired that the tall man sobered.
"Em'ry, you need to rest. You're almost see-through."
Sam Buckhart stood slowly, catching Lucas' eyes. "I need to ride into town. May I call here in the morning again?"
"You'll be welcome, old friend. There's always a place for you, if you need a bed. Though it would have to be the barn, these days, the house is full." Lucas could not help the grin spreading over his face. It must be his boy's excitement spreading to him.