CHAPTER 1

Cumberland County, Pennsylvania, August 1758

For too long now, she had lived on the edge of fear and uncertainty.

By pure force of will, Mara Dupré roused herself from the numbness that weighed her down. She was tired, so tired. For months she had lain awake at night, listening to the sounds of the forest, wondering if she would survive the morrow.

Blinking to ease the burning of her dry eyes, she shook off her morbid thoughts and scanned the edge of the clearing. It was her turn to keep watch, listening for strange noises, while her husband, Emile, weeded the small vegetable garden they had planted beside the crude, one-room log cabin they called home.

She glanced his way. As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked up at her, his hazel eyes squinting in the sun, and smiled before turning his attention back to the soil. His face and hands had darkened over the summer, and there were new lines in his face. He no longer resembled the schoolmaster she had married nearly five years ago, but the farmer he'd become.

Awkwardly, she shifted the musket she held in her arms. Though it was not heavy, barely ten pounds, her shoulders ached from the strain of holding it for long periods. But she did not complain, for she was comforted that it was loaded and ready to use if need be.

Mara hated living in the wilderness where enormous trees shut out the light, creating a barrier that cut off each frontier cabin from the sight of its neighbors. She longed to return to her Swiss homeland, the bustling city of Geneva, and their cozy rooms above the bakery. It had been lovely to wake up every morning to the aroma of freshly baked bread. Instead, she and Emile struggled to eke an existence from this unforgiving land. She grimaced at the thought and then glanced over her shoulder at the cabin.

Home, she thought scornfully. Here, there were no busy streets filled with people, just the dark encroaching forest that begrudged every square foot of land they cleared so laboriously. Even the light seemed different here. Back in Geneva, the sunlight would glint off the lake and brighten the snowcapped peaks of the Alps in the far distance. Here, tall trees and trailing vines blocked the sunlight, creating ever-present shadows.

And danger, Mara knew, lurked in the shadows.

A flock of birds flew up out of the trees, twittering excitedly. A chill rippled down Mara's spine. "Emile," she called in a soft voice. "Something is wrong."

Emile stood quickly and took the musket from her just as a group of soldiers emerged from the woods. Mara and Emile stared at them, relieved to see that they were dressed in British scarlet. The officers wore breeches with their waistcoats, but the men were curiously dressed in knee-length skirts. All carried muskets and swords.

"Emile, Mara." One of the officers took off his black felt hat and waved it. Sunlight glinted on his blond hair.

"Gideon," Mara cried out and ran to embrace her brother.

He hugged her to him with one arm, then released her to shake Emile's hand. "It is good to see you both." He motioned to one of his companions. "This is Lieutenant Shaw, who kindly allowed me to join his expedition."

The young officer swept off his hat and bowed to Mara. His auburn hair reminded her of maple leaves in the fall.

"Major Harcourt did not tell me he had such a beautiful sister," he remarked in fluent French.

Mara felt herself blushing under the compliment.

"Behave yourself, Shaw," Gideon warned half seriously.

The lieutenant smiled, his green eyes twinkling. "I meant no offense."

"None taken, young man," Emile said, offering his hand. "But I am curious to know what brings you here."

Gideon turned to Mara, concern written on his face. "A French and Indian war party has been reported in the vicinity. A man was killed yesterday not far from here."

"My God," Mara exclaimed, her hand at her throat.

Copyright © 2002 by Linda McLaughlin