"Were you talking to a wolf?" Byron asked.
Hunter laughed out loud. "Yes. You saw him, too?"
"Biggest damn wolf I've ever seen. We're lucky he wasn't leading his whole pack."
Hunter knelt down beside Byron. "He hunts alone. Like me. That's what my Indian name means: He Who Hunts Alone. I learned something from you yesterday, and he came to congratulate me."
"You can communicate with wolves?"
"Only with that one."
Hunter got up and started to move away, but Byron called out to him. "What was it you learned?"
"That a man bent on revenge hurts himself and those he loves far more than the one he hates. I didn't realize I was trying to punish Melissa by refusing to raise our son, until I tried to reason with you. Now I want to go home and be a husband to my wife and a father to my son. I can't take Elliott's place, but I can be a brother to you, if you'll let me."
Byron shook his head. "Too much has happened for me to ever forgive you."
"For what, for loving your sister? You loved her, too."
"That was different."
"I thought Melissa and I would be together always, and you cannot forgive me because she chose to wed another man? I have forgiven her."
Byron stared up at Hunter, his expression devoid of understanding. "Would Melissa have forgiven you?"
"There was nothing for her to forgive," Hunter assured him.
"I told her love was no cause for shame, but clearly she was ashamed of loving me. Alanna isn't."
This time Byron watched Hunter walk away without making any effort to stop him. He had despised him from the instant he had learned that the Indian had fathered Christian. It had been so easy to blame Hunter for seducing Melissa, and he blamed him still. It was too early to rise and he lay back, content to rest where he was for the time being.
He missed Melissa terribl
y, but as he thought back to the first time Hunter had visited the plantation, he was shocked by the recollection of how quickly she had sidled up to the attractive brave. She had volunteered—too rapidly it seemed now—to accompany Hunter and Elliott when they went to speak with Alanna. The next day he and Elliott had left the Raleigh Tavern after only a brief stay, when he had begun to worry about the suitability of sending Melissa riding home with Hunter.
"I should have known better!" he moaned. He could remember that outing so clearly. Melissa had flirted openly with Hunter all morning, and then her brothers had foolishly allowed her to ride home with him. She had been radiant at dinner, her cheeks aglow with color from the morning's ride, or so they had all thought. Elliott had had to go down to the dock to find Hunter, and the Indian had been as reserved during the meal as he was whenever the family was gathered together.
Byron did not want to accept Hunter's version of his affair with Melissa, but his memories of that visit were still vivid. His sister had been her usual enticing self, while Hunter had shown a shyness neither he nor Elliott had expected from the confident scout. Had he been a challenge to Melissa? Had she viewed him as an exotic pet, and gotten more than she bargained for?
The more he thought about their visit home before joining Washington's troops, the more probable Hunter's story became.
He wished he could seek Elliott's counsel, but lacking that, he had Alanna's. She had been devoted to Melissa, and her marriage to Hunter proved she harbored no ill will where he was concerned.
Byron propped himself on his elbow, and had to force back a nauseating wave of pain. It had been so easy to hate Hunter, and yet clearly Hunter did not hate him, for he was fully capable of giving him a beating that would have left him badly scarred and perhaps crippled for life. Savage or not, Hunter was a remarkable man, and when he returned with jerky and biscuits for their breakfast, Byron found it difficult to discuss what was on his mind. Instead, he ate what he could, slept a while longer, and then, with Hunter's help, managed to walk the few miles those straggling behind with the wounded made that day.
It wasn't until Hunter had bid him good night the next evening, that he finally managed to speak what was on his mind. They were again in a secluded spot where their conversation would not be overheard. "I've been thinking," he began slowly. "Remembering. I'll need more time, but I've been considering what you've told me. I'm not saying that I believe it, but only that it's possible."
Hunter eased himself down into the grass. "Thank you, but it's Alanna and my son I'm worried about. They're part of your family, but your parents have turned against them. That's an awful thing to do to someone as dear as Alanna, or to an innocent babe."
That Hunter was more concerned about his wife and child than himself is what impressed Byron most. "I'll do what I can," he promised. "My father can be very stubborn, and my mother seldom crosses him, so it may take me years to affect a reconciliation, but I'll do my best. I owe you that much for saving my life."
"You're no longer angry with me for that?"
"I heard George Washington lost two mounts and had his clothes ripped by four bullets, without receiving a scratch. I'm not nearly that lucky. Maybe I would have survived without your damned interference, but most likely I would have died. Thank God that in all the smoke and confusion no one missed me. I'd surely have been charged with desertion, if they had."
"No, I would have taken the blame for your absence," Hunter assured him, "and because I'm only a scout, not a soldier, they would have had no way to punish me. Besides, I didn't desert, I fought the whole time. It just wasn't out in the open as Braddock demanded."
"That's why he's dead and you're alive."