Chapter 93
My new husband had a run-in with the wolf pack over a beaver and required the repair of his arm. He disdained my laudanum as I sewed his flesh in neat stitches with a boiled needle and thread. He neither flinched nor made a noise. He was all man, this warrior of mine. Afterward he showed his gratitude by flanking me enthusiastically.
Shortly before the first thaw, the dogs warned of someone approaching. A party of four Indians appeared on the footpath at the far edge of the lea. Although they carried an ominous air—dressed in ragged buckskins and muttering among themselves rather than hailing the house—I ignored my better judgment and went outside to call off the dogs. They must have been unknowing there were two of us, because when I beckoned one man to approach, he shuffled forward and lunged at me once he drew near. His bear hug constricted me to the point I was unable to reach my skinning knife, and I would be in for it when the others joined the ruffian.