He had seen the Crow village by then, from the distance, and had steered a wide berth, and camped far from it, in a cave in the forest. He knew the ways of the woods well and was adept at them. He had been on the lookout for war parties, but there were none. He had seen through a telescope that everyone at the camp appeared to be busy. It was the end of summer, and he suspected they were getting ready for winter. He wondered if this girl in the lake had just slipped away to play instead of working. She looked young enough to do that, and if she was the chief’s daughter, perhaps they let her, as a kind of privilege. There was so much he wished he could ask her, so much he wanted to know about her.

He could see as she swam that she was naked again, and she didn’t seem to care. He kept his eyes on her face, and not the bits of flesh that emerged as she moved around under the water. She stood up in the water then, and it only reached her waist. Their eyes met and neither of them moved, and then she smiled and ducked under the water again. She was teasing him, like a wood nymph. He almost felt as though he had imagined her, but she was all too real, and such a beautiful woman. He couldn’t imagine any wood nymph prettier than she. And the look of innocence in her eyes overwhelmed him. He decided to introduce himself, although it seemed more than a little foolish here.

“Jean de Margerac,” he said, pointing to himself and bowing low. She looked puzzled for an instant, as though she didn’t know what he’d said. He said it again, pointed to his chest, and didn’t move, and then she got it.

“Wachiwi,” she said softly, and pointed to herself. He didn’t know enough about the local tribes to be sure which one she was from, and when he tried a few words, it was clear that she spoke neither English nor French. He spoke both, and had learned English since coming to the New World. He had learned Iroquois and Huron, but she didn’t seem to recognize those either. They were tribes far to the east of where they were. They were left with signing to each other and miming, which seemed to be enough.

They now knew each other’s names, although nothing of each other’s histories. There was a nobility to her that told him that she came of privilege in her world, but was a free spirit, just as he was. In an odd way, their histories were not so different. He had felt too confined in his own world in France. And out of love for him, his older brother, Tristan the marquis, had allowed him to leave France, with his blessing. She was signing something to him then, and it took him a while to understand that she was asking him where he came from, pointing to the sky with a question in her eyes, and then the forest. He pointed to the woods in answer, indicated that he was riding a horse, and tried to convey many, many, many days. Trying to explain to her that beyond was an ocean and an even longer journey was too much to translate into pantomime for her. He had come from France, Brittany, and was the Comte de Margerac. The fact that his older brother Tristan was the marquis, and lord of extensive lands, would have meant nothing to her. All they had to share was who they were at this moment, to each other, with no past and no future. All they had was now, which was a heady feeling for them both.

He took off his boots and waded into the water with her, feeling slightly crazy. If any of the braves had come, he would have been dead, without boots or a weapon. Like her, he wore a knife at his waist, for cutting his way through the woods, but he wouldn’t have wanted to engage in hand-to-hand combat with any of the braves from her village, and he had left his gun on his horse, so he didn’t frighten her. They were like two children, meeting in a forbidden place, taking an enormous risk, and he could see in her eyes that she knew it. She looked like a girl with a lot of spirit. Most women would have run screaming from him in her situation. Instead she swam naked in the water only a few feet away from him, tempting fate, or trusting him, he wasn’t sure which. And she didn’t look like a loose woman. There was no hint of invitation in her eyes, just innocence, curiosity, and friendship. She was a most unusual girl. And luckily for her, she was safe with him. And something told him she sensed that. But she was either very foolish or very brave.

She dressed again, while he turned away, and they sat on a log, trying to exchange small bits of information. He asked if she had children and she shook her head. He guessed that she wasn’t married then, although she seemed to be of a mature age. Perhaps she was a chief’s favorite daughter he couldn’t part with. She pantomimed then that she had been taken from her home and ridden many days. She showed him the scars from where she had been bound, since she still had them, and then pointed to the village from whence she came. What she tried to say to him made it sound like she was a prisoner there, but that made no sense to Jean since she was alone at the lake. He went to his horse then and showed her his drawings and sketches, of lakes, forests, a few of people, and she nodded. They were very good. He showed her one of his maps, but she didn’t seem to know what it was, having never seen one. She indicated that she liked his drawings better. And then it was time for her to go.

They had managed to form an odd friendship, curious about each other, from two entirely different worlds. An Indian girl, perhaps of rank, and a French nobleman, both far from home, who had happened on each other in this peaceful place. He stayed after she left and drew the waterfall, and wanted to give it to her the next day.

Jean came the next day, but she didn’t. Both of Napayshni’s wives were sick from berries they had eaten, and she stayed in the village to take care of the children.

It was two days before Wachiwi came to the lake again, and she was disappointed to find that Jean wasn’t there. She wondered if she would ever see him again, or if he had gone back to where he came from. She knew that he hadn’t run into any of the Crow braves, because she had heard nothing about it in the village, and she would have if they had found a white man and killed him. They would have brought his scalp back to the village and given it to the chief. He had just vanished as he had appeared. But he seemed like a good spirit to her. He had done her no harm and seemed peaceful and friendly in every way.

She was quiet when she went back to the village that night. The men had a celebration to honor yet another hunt, and some of them got raucous. Napayshni had a lot to drink, which was rare for him, but he was in a festive mood, and he tried to come to her in her bed. She felt him near her after he came back to the tipi, she ignored him and pretended to be asleep, and he went back to his own bed. Before he did, he had touched her face and neck with gentle fingers, hoping she would wake. She was not ready for him, and didn’t think she ever would be. She had sensed his mounting passion for her recently, and it reminded her that she needed to get away. She was worried that soon he would force himself on her, frustrated by the long wait. He had been patient so far, but she knew he wouldn’t be forever. She knew from other women of the things men did, and in fact, like it or not, she belonged to him. He could do what he wanted with her. It was a miracle that he had never pressed the point.

It would be a long winter sleeping in the same lodge, and both of his wives would be heavily pregnant by midwinter. It was easy to guess that he would turn to Wachiwi for his needs, and want her to get pregnant too. Having many children was a sign of virility and importance for the chief. And he had wanted Wachiwi since she arrived. He had been restrained with her, but she knew. Soon he would make her his wife. She wanted to be gone before he did. She had vowed never to let him near her. The murder of her brothers and Ohitekah was too much for her ever to forgive.

There was talk of breaking up the camp soon, in the final days of summer. The buffalo were beginning to move on, and the Crow wanted to hunt some more before winter. They had had a long time in their summer camp, and Wachiwi had enjoyed the time she had spent at the lake, especially since she had met Jean. And she had enjoyed her time alone there even before that. The day before they broke camp, she went back to the lake for a last time. She thought he was gone by then, as she hadn’t seen him in several days, and she didn’t expect to meet him again.

She walked as she always did, at a good pace, so she would have enough time at the lake before she had to get back. The air had gotten a trifle cooler, and she could sense that autumn was coming. A few leaves were starting to fall from the trees, but it was still warm enough for her to swim. She took off her clothes as she always did, and even the water was a little cooler. Afterward, she put her dress and moccasins back on, thinking of Jean, and was startled when he suddenly appeared. It made her wonder if he really was a spirit after all. She hadn’t seen him in at least a week. He signed to her that he had gone away and come back. He couldn’t express it to her, but he had hoped to see her again, at least once. He felt he had to see her one more time before he left. He handed her the drawing he had done of the waterfall, and she looked pleased. She gave it back to him, because she couldn’t take it back to camp with her. And then he showed her a sketch he had done of her, which touched her even more. She smiled at him the moment she saw it.

They sat on their favorite log then, as they had before. She picked berries and handed them to him, and they were sitting there peacefully like two children, when they both heard a sound at the same time, like the stirring of leaves. Wachiwi started, and so did Jean, and before either of them knew what had happened, Napayshni walked into the clearing, looking as stunned as they did. For an instant none of them reacted, and then without a sound Napayshni lunged at Jean. Wachiwi didn’t know what to do. She had no idea he had followed her there, he never had before, and she didn’t know if he had come alone. What she didn’t know was that he was tired of waiting, and had decided to consummate his marriage to her at the place she loved so much, before they broke camp. He thought it was the right thing to do. And as she watched, terrified, Wachiwi saw both men locked in a deadly grip, their faces red, grunting, and their hands around each other’s throats. She stood helpless, afraid to interfere, and just as Napayshni seemed about to get the best of Jean, she saw Jean loosen his grip on the Indian’s neck, reach for the knife at his belt with one swift movement, and run Napayshni through. The man to whom she belonged stared at her in amazement and made a gurgling sound, as blood exploded from his throat, and he fell slowly backward onto the ground. Jean was choking and trying to catch his breath, as they both looked down at Napayshni. His eyes were open, he lay still, blood was gushing from his chest, he was dead.