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A WEEK LATER, THEY ARRIVED at the point where the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers met to form the mighty Ohio. Almost immediately, Cadence sensed the change in the air and picked up her hooves in a spritely dance that caused Raven to smile and hold tighter to Eben’s lean middle. It was almost as if the mare were on parade as she cantered down the dusty Pittsburgh thoroughfare, through the pedestrian traffic and around a huge, brightly colored wagon the likes of which Raven had never seen. It had a circular canvas roof, and Eben informed her it was a Conestoga. The enormous contraption had been negligently left in the street, all six horses—massive animals bred for hauling heavy payloads over the mountains to the east—standing in various stages of dozing. At intervals, their long tails would swish or their shoulder muscles quiver to chase away the biting flies.

Their harnesses were decorated with hame bells that flashed in the sunlight and jingled pleasantly with every movement of their heavily muscled frames.

As they passed the wagon, Raven craned her neck for one last look, and saw a woman and two children peeking out the back. The woman stared unabashedly as they rode by, but one of the children, a girl of above five, smiled and waved.

Raven waved back, but as she turned forward again, she found Eben’s sidelong glance turned on her.

“What ails, you, wench, that makes you twist and turn and fidget?” Despite the stern look on his face, there was a note of joviality in his voice that made Raven want to hug him. He was in a rare fine humor, and she tried not to dwell on the fact that it stemmed from thoughts of leaving her. Because of this place, and the bustling excitement all around, it was easy to push the meddlesome thought to the back of her mind, and just take it all in.

“I have never seen anything like it, and I don’t wish to miss anything!”

“There’s too much to take in at a glance, but you’ll see it all in due time, I don’t doubt. In fact, you may grow sick of it after a while. Diversion is fine in small doses, but there’s something to be said for the peace and quiet of home.”

She would have reminded him that it was her home, by his plans and machinations, and that he had given her no say in the matter, but she was strangely reluctant to spoil the jubilance their arrival had created.

Eben spoke to the mare, and she picked up her pace, gaily tossing her head. He liked Raven’s current mood much better than the one she’d been in since their departure from the Galloways. She’d been too often on the verge of tears, and she’d flatly refused to tell him why. Seeing her cry made him feel wretched, as if he had done something to cause her sorrow, and that triggered unaccustomed waves of guilt. For someone who lived by his own hand, depending on neither God, nor man for his survival, guilt and the responsibility for someone else’s happiness was a loathsome weight to bear.

Women were strange creatures, he thought. They laughed, or they wept at the oddest moments and never reacted rationally to anything. If he gave her a gift, she would weep, as she had when presented with Elizabeth’s quilt, and when he was in a towering rage about something aggravating, she snickered in his face. Her behavior baffled him, and it bothered him greatly that he was far more occupied with her than he should have been.

He was almost home, damn it.

He needed to redirect his thoughts to laying the foundation for his future. He needed to visit his attorney while here in the city, and see if there was news of Jase, and he wanted to visit the land office to see what acreage was available. Thinking about it, he should have been consumed with elation that achieving his dream was finally at hand. Instead, he found himself concerned with Raven’s reactions to her new surroundings, Raven’s excitement, Raven’s well-being. All of his focus centered on this confusing bit of femininity, and he wasn’t at all comfortable with that.

Blissfully unaware of her companion’s thoughts, Raven continued to enjoy the vivid spectacle of the city. Not every aspect of the scene was pleasing to the senses. They passed a large building with a sign swinging over a rough plank walkway proclaiming it “THE WHALE AND MONKEY.” Just before they reached the hitching posts, a woman emerged and threw a bucket of slops into the street. “Watch what you’re doing!” Eben warned.

“Aw, go screw yerself!” the woman threw back at him, then taking a second look, put on a ragged smile and fell into step beside them, hanging onto his stirrup, the slop jar swinging by the handle from her elbow. “Well, I’ll be damned! If it ain’t Eben St. Claire! I heard a while back you was dead!”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Sadie. Most of the gossip going around is horseshit, plain and simple.”

“Drop by later, and see us?” she said hopefully. “I’ve business to see to,” he told her, and trotted on.

Raven glanced back at the woman, who stood in the refuse- strewn street, shading her eyes with her hand and watching them. “A friend of yours, m’sieur?”

“An acquaintance. I am not a collector of people, Raven. A good friend or two is all a man needs, and far outweighs the worth of a few hundred who are not so good.”

“What is that smell?”

“It’s the collective stink of humanity,” he said simply. “You’ll get used to it.”

Raven could not imagine getting used to the stench now rising around her. Rotting refuse combined with the malodorous stink of outhouses, pigsties, slaughterhouses, and an underlying layer of coal smoke assaulted her nose and soon had her gagging.

Her earlier excitement at new sights and sounds quickly waned, replaced by the knowledge that she would soon be abandoned in this rough-cut metropolis, with all its hustle, bustle and stink, while he would ride away, taking his fresh

outdoors smell with him. Would the man he chose for her smell of coal smoke? It wouldn’t be easy to get used to that.

They were heading away from the river now, down a narrow avenue toward another broad way called Liberty Street. If possible, it was even more congested than the one before. Draymen and their heavy wagons carried goods toward the wharves where they would await loading onto one of the many flatboats that plied the rivers, upstream to the smaller outlying towns and settlements, and down, to the broad flow of the Mississippi and the gulf.

Eben seemed oblivious to his surroundings now, and seemed not to notice the shining faces of the young women who strolled along the paved pathways on either side of the street. Bright as the flowers of summer, they looked, dressed in pretty pastel gowns and straw bonnets with streamers of pale ribband.

The subtle chafe of her buckskin garb reminded Raven of her own circumstance, and she struggled beneath a sharp twinge of envy. Dressed as she was, she looked more boy than girl, more savage than well mannered, and she would not have drawn a second glance from the beaver-hatted swains strolling along beside their female companions. More than ever, she mourned the loss of her gold. If only she possessed the means to purchase the trappings of a gentlewoman, she might turn the heads of men, making her more attractive to her rough escort.

Perhaps he would even realize that she was worthy of his heart?

Of course, there was no gold to procure these things and not even gold for a fitting dowry. She recalled his avarice when they first met—or at least that’s what it had seemed to be—and wondered if he would marry her if he stood to gain her lost fortune?

She doubted that even that could convince him, for the one thing Eben prized above everything was his freedom.

They had passed numerous buildings with brightly colored signs, advertising food and lodging, but the place where Eben finally stopped was a two-story frame house, its whitewash

dulled and weather-beaten. A small, discreet plaque on the gate proclaimed, SALLY SOURWINE, PROPRIETRESS.

Raven looked up at the windows above as she slid down from Cadence’s broad rump. It was easily ten o’clock in the morning, yet a young woman leaned over the window ledge, watching them, dressed only in a jade green wrapper.

“What is this place?” she wondered.

“Sally’s a friend of mine,” Eben said. “She’ll provide us room and board without picking my pockets. Not everyone here is to be trusted, Raven. Remember that.”

“How do I know I can trust this Sally?” she asked, a reasonable argument from where she was standing.

“Because I say so,” he replied.

“That might hold water if I trusted you to make sound choices.”

He shot her a frown and started up the walk. At the stoop, he took the knocker, but it never had the chance to fall before the door was jerked open. The same young woman Raven had seen hanging out the upstairs window crossed the threshold and threw herself at Eben, wrapping her plump white arms around him and kissing him passionately.

“Careful,” Raven muttered. “He will make your nipples jealous.” But neither of them seemed to notice.

The kiss went on for several seconds before he reached up to unlock her hands from behind his neck and set her from him. “Hello, Cassie,” he said.

“M’sieur?” Raven said, sweetly. “May I have a word with you?”

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk once we’re settled,” he insisted, and Cassie broke in.

“I didn’t know you had a little sister, Eben. Bring her inside and I’ll get her a nice glass of milk, while you and I go upstairs.”

“She’s not my sister, Cassie, and I don’t think the lady likes milk. Do you, sweet?”

“I like milk well enough,” Raven said with a tight little smile. “Now, if you are done trifling with this harlot, perhaps we can go seek lodging elsewhere?”

“You’ll forgive the slight, won’t you, Cassie? I’m afraid Raven has quite a temper.” Eben watched his ward with renewed interest. There was barely suppressed fury in her deep brown eyes. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought her was jealous. With his hand riding the small of her back, he guided her into the house. And though he did not know why, her sudden show of possessiveness pleased him.

THE YOUNG WOMAN WHO HAD thrown herself at Eben was the same woman who showed Raven to her chamber on the second floor. She opened the door, waiting quietly while Raven gawked. It was the most luxurious room she’d ever seen, beyond anything she might have imagined. Soft, lush velvet drapes hung at the windows, the same deep maroon that she’d sometimes seen at sunset in fair, warm weather.

Under that were sheer panels that hung full and snowy white between, and Raven knew that they would billow and dance in the slightest of breezes. And the bed—the bed was a true marvel. Raised off the floor by a full two feet, it was covered with a soft and silken fabric that matched the maroon of the curtains exactly, only it was quite slippery to the touch. Raven gave into the urge, and ran her fingertips over its surface. “Satin,” she said softly.

“The other rooms are a little less showy,” Cassie offered, “but Eben insisted you have the finest one.”

“Did he, indeed?” Raven tested the mattress. It did not rustle, nor did it feel jagged and stiff. “A featherbed.”

“Of course, it’s a feather tick,” Cassie laughed. “What were you expecting?”

“I didn’t know what to expect,” Raven replied. “I’ve never been in a place such as this.”

Some of the animosity between them bled away as Raven roamed around the room, peeking in dresser drawers, and looking out the window. Raven wished the girl would go, but she seemed in no hurry—waiting for Eben’s return, no doubt.

“The view don’t get no better, no matter how hard you look. It’s nice this time of year, when the leaves change, but winter is hard and ugly. I’ve been in this town all my life, but I’d sure like to see somethin’ different. Maybe a place where they don’t burn so much coal, where the snow is white in winter instead of gray and pockmarked.”

The whore’s eyes had gone dreamy. Maybe she wasn’t so bad, after all, Raven thought.

“Where’d you come from?” Cassie asked, finally. “If you don’t mind my askin’?”

“The territory of Indiana, a week’s ride from here. It is still very wild there, and nothing at all like this. In winter, the snow is deep and white, with only the game trails to mar it. It may take some effort, getting used to this.”

“Eben isn’t from here, either,” Cassie corrected. “He lives upriver somewhere. It’s wild there, too, still. They say the wolves come in the houses and steal the babies right out of their beds. I couldn’t live in a place like that. At least, not alone.”

“Wolves don’t steal children,” Raven said.

“Sure, they do!” Cassie said with a laugh. “But you won’t have to worry as long as you’re with Eben. He’d never let anything bad happen to his babies. He’ll make you a fine husband.”

“We’re not together in that way,” Raven said carefully. “And he will never marry.”

“But he’s your protector?” “After a fashion.”

“You’re lucky to have him, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” But not for very long. Soon, he would say his goodbyes, and she would never see him again. At the

thought, a fissure opened inside her, and a quiet grief spilled out, filling her heart until she thought she might die of it. “I am sorry I called you a harlot, before. You’ve been very kind.

Thank you for that.”

“You had a very pretty way of saying it, so it really didn’t sound so bad. Besides, that’s what I am.” A bell jingled somewhere in the bowels of the house. “Guess I should go see to that. Maybe we can talk again.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

The door opened then, and Eben walked in. Cassie was visibly flustered by his presence, but he only inclined his head in the direction of the door, indicating she should leave them alone. Cassie went out. The door closed, and Eben crossed to where Raven stood by the window.

She was gazing wistfully down at the street below, her small hand clutching the burgundy window hangings and the words he’d been trying to form for the past hour stuck in his throat. She was so taken with the sights and sounds of the busy town, what would make him think she would agree to accompany him to the quiet countryside upriver, away from the hurry and fuss?

“I never imagined that anything could be so soft,” she said, “or so lovely.”

She stroked the curtain, but the plush fabric in no way compared to the soft, peach bloom of her skin, or the velvety brown of her eyes. He wished very hard to be able to put his thoughts to voice, but she would just laugh and make him feel a greater fool than he already was. “Are you angry with me for bringing you here?”

“To a whorehouse?” she said flatly. “Yes, I am angry.”

Her words sounded clipped and cold to his ears. This was not at all what he’d intended. They had so little time left to them, and he wanted these last days to be special somehow. He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it did. “I meant no insult, Raven. ‘Tis only that I have an aversion to bedbugs. The beds here at Sally’s are clean, and the food is good. And you can

bathe all you wish—in a real tub, with scented soap and fluffy towels.”

“Bathe, he says!” she shot back. “Admit it, m’sieur! It wasn’t my comfort that concerned you. It was your own. I saw the way Cassie threw herself at you, and doubtless there are a dozen more lurking in the corners, waiting until my back is turned to sneak into your bed. How very convenient for you, to lodge in a whorehouse—full of—whores!”

Eben didn’t hear the hurt in her words. He never got past the accusation. He wanted this young woman with something akin to desperation, and had for quite some time. Yet, he was stymied as to how he could have her and his dream of an empire, as well. And here she was, accusing him of lusting after Cassie and the other girls, as if he could not have paid for their services a hundred times over if that was what he’d wanted. But, he could not buy Raven’s loyalty, or her affections. His pride was smarting, and he lashed out in kind. “Sneak, mademoiselle?” What need is there to sneak? I have no claims on me, no vows to say if I sleep with one woman, or with ten!”

“That would be very like you!” Raven flung at him, turning back to the window. She didn’t want to quarrel, but she could not seem to help herself. The words came pouring out, sounding vindictive and mean.

“By the thunder, I did not come here to be badgered!” he growled, raking a hand through his unshorn locks. “Sally wanted to know if you wanted a bath brought up, but since you’re in this hellish mood, I’ll leave you be. Maybe you’ll be more reasonable when I return—if I return!”

He turned to leave but stopped when he heard her words pounding at him. “Reasonable! I’m supposed to be reasonable? Who, I ask you, ensconced me in a whorehouse?” She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you call yourself my guardian?”

Eben frowned. “No harm will come to you as long as you heed my advice.”

“When have you advised me concerning anything? You don’t advise! You command and insist that I obey! Well, let me remind you of something. You are not my father! You can tell me what to do all you want, but that does not mean I have to listen!”

Eben’s eyes narrowed. Her barb had struck its mark. “You’ve just hit on the crux of the problem between us. I am not your father, and I have not had one fatherly thought about you since I laid eyes on you. But then, being a parent often means being blind to a child’s faults, and I am certainly not blind to yours. You are willful and spoiled and self-centered, and thanks be to a merciful God that you are not my daughter! Had I given life to a child like you, I would have drowned it at birth.”

“Get out!” she screamed at him. “Go to your whores and stay clear of me! I hope that tongue of yours blackens and falls from your head! What would you know of fathers and children, anyway? You never had a father, did you? Did you? Well, I did, and if willful and spoiled is part of being loved, then I can claim it all. What about you, Eben? Have you ever been loved, or wanted in all of your life?”

He stood there staring at her, even after her tirade had worn itself out and she fought to still her trembling. His expression was hard as granite, and his voice came low and grating to her ears. “You’ve hit on the cold, hard truth at last. I have never known anything like that, and never will I. But maybe it’s just as well. This way, I have no need of anyone, Raven. Not even you.”

He turned and left the room, closing the door softly. He went down the stairs without making a sound, and he thought that it was as if a spirit were passing, leaving no echoing footfalls, no trace of his ever having been here, for all the world as if he had never existed at all. When his life was spent, there would be no more left behind than that. Such thoughts triggered a sharp wave of melancholy, and he could not find his way to The Whale and Monkey fast enough.

She had brought this on, Eben thought angrily, this keen awareness of her, and the emptiness of his life until she came

into it, and he hated her for it. Before he met Raven, he’d been content to fill his days with backbreaking labor, with no more than a hard bed on the ground as his reward. His own sparse comfort and safety had been his only concern—besides making a living—and all seemed simple and right.

But from that first day, when he had looked down at her with wonder, he had begun to hunger for something more. From that moment on, she’d been uppermost in his thoughts. Now, he wanted all of that to change, and for one instant, he saw himself as the selfish one.

“Damn you for a softheaded fool!” he grumbled. “She’s no better than any other female, and if you let her, she will run you to ruin! Why, she already has you doubting what it is you truly want when weeks ago you knew!”

Before, his dream had been to make a name, a life for himself, to build a reputation—now, he suddenly had thoughts of sharing it. And that bullheaded black-haired beauty was at the root of it all.

She had possessed him with her loveliness, and with her fiery nature. And like a man possessed, he was in need of a sound cleansing. There was no River Jordan to wash away these sinful thoughts, but there was The Whale and Monkey, where the whiskey was cheap and plentiful. His angry strides got him there before he could change his mind. Pushing through the door and into the greasy gloom, he walked up to the bar and all but bellowed, “A bottle, Virgil!”

Virgil set a stone jug on the plank bar. “That’s pure Monongahela whiskey, my friend. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

Eben didn’t answer, just tipped the jug and drank.

The whiskey was raw and potent, and by the time the sun was resting on the western hills, Eben was ready to face his wildcat again. He leapt from the chair where he’d been lounging with an agility amazing for someone who’d just drunk two-thirds of a bottle himself—or so it seemed to him. In truth, he stood slowly, swayed a little, then toppled sideways into the nearby wall. He was righted by one of his

newfound companions, and sent on his way with a few raucous calls of encouragement floating out behind him.

SELMA ABRAMS AND HER SISTER Cally had just locked the door of their shop when a thunderous pounding threatened to crash it in. Cally was in the back, putting the kettle on the fire for tea, but at the racket, she emerged and looked at Selma. Selma hesitated.

Cally had always been a more adventurous soul than Selma. She’d even been as far as New York State to visit their cousin, Ned. Now, she took the initiative once again. “Don’t you think we should let him in? The door won’t withstand such a battering for long, and he seems determined.”

Selma paled as she peered out around the curtain at the young ruffian who banged again at their door. “What would a man like that want with a woman’s clothier—unless of course he’s bent on rapine.”

“Just a moment!” Cally called out, loud enough for him to hear. Stepping around Selma, she unlocked the door.

“Evenin’, ladies. Sorry to disturb, but I find myself in dire need of some female trappings.”

“Truly?” Cally said. Selma just looked worried. She wrung her hands and stayed well back, ready to run in case he lunged for her.

“Aye. Trappers—um—apparel. A gown, something pretty for a pretty wench, and whatever goes under it.”

“We do have a few gowns that are ready to wear, but first we need to know the proportions of the young lady in question,” Cally said. She saw that her words caused him some consternation within his muddled brain, for he frowned in deep thought.

“She’s not as well-fed as you, and I believe a good bit taller.” His bleary gaze fixed on Selma. “More like this one, here.” Before she could hurry away, he grabbed Selma’s arm and dragged her close to him.

Selma was too scared to even breathe. The tall, rough frontiersman was obviously a westerner—perhaps even one of

those dreadful Kaintucks she’d heard so much about. But he only rested his chin atop her head for a second, then held her at arm’s length, nodding to her sister.

“She’s the right height. The lass’s head just clears my chin when I hold her close.”

He released Selma, who nearly swooned, then raked her with his frigid gaze. “Aye, and thin like her, too, though not as scrawny, with padding in all the right places.”

“How much padding?”

“Enough to entice a man, but not too much to spare.” “Then the lady is petite and gently curving.”

“I see I’ve come to the right place.”

“We have some items over here, if you would care to look them over?” Cally showed him three gowns that were hanging on hooks on the adjacent wall. “A day dress, perhaps?” She held out the skirt of a sprigged muslin gown. It was white, with a pale blue sash.

“It’s too washed-out,” he said.

“It’s all the fashion these days,” Calla said, but he was already shaking his head. He knew just what he wanted. “I wish all of our customers were this decisive.”

“Something fit for dancing,” Eben said suddenly, hardly believing his own ears. “Aye,” he repeated, liking the idea of Raven in swirls of satin and lace. “A gown fit for a full-dress ball.”

“The kind of dress you are describing is usually commissioned. However, a young woman did recently commission one that might do, and then decided not to take it. I’ll be only a moment.”

Eben waited patiently while the woman disappeared into the rear of the shop. In a moment, she returned with the gown he needed for Raven draped over her arms. It was a rich shade she called “bittersweet,” and was neither rust nor truly red.

Vibrant and rich, it was exactly what he had imagined. It would suit Raven’s vivid good looks perfectly. His little cat

was no milk-and-water miss, but a woman worthy of the name, sparkling with life and needing something to accent her best attributes. This gown would set off her pale golden skin without overshadowing her blue-black locks and her luminous dark eyes.

“How much do you want for it?” he asked. Not that it really mattered. He would have it for her if it took his last copper penny.

Cally murmured a price, and he counted out the coin with a little extra for their trouble. He was feeling much lighter of spirit as he left the shop and made his way to the corner of Virgin Alley and Wood Street where Sally had her house. In fact, he felt so good that he began to sing. Every off-color song he’d learned in the army came pouring out in a slightly off-key baritone until windows along the street were flung open and calls and curses mingled in the evening air. Eben didn’t notice. He was going to so overwhelm his lady that she would forgive his earlier behavior without his even having to ask.