He nodded and tapped the razor slowly against the porcelain basin. “Exactly. But Gaho had a problem. Both her daughters were already married, and although sometimes men of their tribe would take a second wife, the women never take a second husband.”
“How unfair,” Beatrice said drily.
A smile flickered across his face and was gone. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“Humph.”
He turned back to the mirror over the dresser and said, “I spent that next winter recovering from my illness and injuries. In the spring, Gaho took me and tattooed my face with the image of one of her gods. She pierced my ear and gave me one of her own earrings. In this way, she signified that I was a good hunter, part of her band, and that she valued me. Then she sent word to another band of Indians whom she wanted to befriend. She sought to arrange a marriage between me and the daughter of a warrior.”
She saw the muscle in his jaw flex. “In this way, the two bands would make peace and become allies.”
“Was the girl pretty?” Beatrice asked before she could stop herself.
“Pretty enough,” he replied, “but she was very young, not yet sixteen, and I didn’t want to marry her. I didn’t want a wife and children who would bind me more firmly to Gaho and her band. I wanted to come home—it was the only thing I thought of.”
“What did you do?”
“I found a way to talk to the girl myself. It was forbidden in theory, but since we were supposed to be courting, the elders looked the other way. I found that the girl already had a secret beau, a slave like myself but from another tribe. After that, it was simple. I gave the other man everything of value I had, what furs and little trinkets I had saved up in two years’ captivity. The next night, my prospective bride disappeared with her lover.”
“That was kind of you,” Beatrice said.
“No.” He splashed water on his face and wiped away the last of the suds. “Kindness had very little to do with it. I was determined to escape. Determined to come home and recover the life that should’ve been mine. Had I been forced to marry that girl, it would’ve been easy to relax into that life. To become a member of Gaho’s family in truth. To never see England again.”
He threw down the cloth he’d used to dry his face and looked at her. His eyes were black and stark. “In fact, it was because of me that Gaho and her entire band were slaughtered.”
“What?” Beatrice whispered.
He nodded, his mouth twisting bitterly. “It took me five years to gather enough funds so that when the opportunity presented itself, I could escape. In my sixth year, a French trader began visiting the camp, and little by little, I persuaded him to help me flee, even though it meant risking his own life. We walked for three days through the woods until we came to his camp. And there I heard that Gaho’s enemies were planning to attack her band. I was half-starved and weary, but I tell you I ran back to that village. Ran back to save the woman who had saved me.”
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers.
“What did you find?” Beatrice asked, because he had to finish this awful story.
“I was too late,” he said quietly. “They were all dead, young and old, the camp a smoking ruins. I looked for Gaho. I turned over the bodies, looking into each bloody face.”
“Did you find her?” she whispered.
He shook his head slowly and closed his eyes as if to blot out a sight. “When I came to Gaho, I only knew her by her dress. I turned her and her brown eyes were staring up at me through a mask of blood. They were dull and lifeless. She’d been scalped.”
“I’m so sorry.”
His head jerked up, his face hardening. “Don’t be. She was an old Indian woman. She meant nothing to me.”
“But, Reynaud”—Beatrice sat up—“you said she saved you, treated you as a son. I know you were fond of her.”
“You don’t understand.” He picked up his knife and stared at it a moment—so long she thought he might never finish. Then he said softly, “The band that attacked Gaho and her family was the same one she’d tried to make peace with five years before. The one I was to marry into.”
Beatrice inhaled, not saying anything, simply watching him.
“If I was fond of her, I would’ve made that marriage. I would’ve ensured her village’s safety. I didn’t. I had only one goal the entire time I spent in her family—to come home. Nothing was more important.” He slid the knife into the sheath at his waist. “After I buried Gaho, I spent months tramping through the woods, evading Indians and Frenchmen alike until I reached British territory. And every step of the way, I reminded myself that I’d sacrificed Gaho and her family for this freedom.”
“Reynaud—”
“No.” He looked at her sharply. “You wanted to know, so let me finish. I had very little funds and no friends. When I reached a port, I signed on as a cook on a ship to pay my passage home.”
“You were ill and feverish when you got here,” she whispered.
He nodded. “I lived on dried meat and berries for months in the woods. By the time I made civilization, I was mostly skin and bones, and the fare on a ship isn’t particularly nourishing. I contracted some illness from the sailors and was feverish when we docked in London.”