When Alison awoke in the grey morning light, she was alone in the bed. McKay was already up and was washing in the bedside basin. She looked at him silently. He wore his boots and yellow-striped blue pants, suspenders hanging down on his thighs, and no shirt. When he straightened up to dry and run his hands through his hair she saw the tension and tiredness in his broad back.
    "Hey," she said softly.
    He turned and smiled at her. "Mornin'," he said.
    She remembered she was wearing nothing and stuck a hand out of the blankets to search the floor. He picked up her nightgown and gave it to her with a kiss. She looked around. The curtains she had put on the windows were a blessing, because there were already shadows walking up and down outside. Alison sat up, slipped her gown on, got out of bed and went to the stove. It was burning warmly and McKay had already put a kettle on it. While he finished dressing she brewed some coffee.
    He didn't sit at the table, he just dipped some biscuits in the coffee and drank it black. The yard was beginning to resound with shouts and hooves. This was one of the peculiarities of the fort - it was noisy, always, at an incredible level. He put the cup down and went to the door to get his belt that was hanging from the pegs. He was very silent.
    "You all right, Terence?"
    He nodded. "Just a bit of a headache."
    "You slept little."
    "I slept hard for some hours, it's enough. Don't worry." He put his belt on, head down. He looked pale.
    "You could plead sick," she said.
    This drew a half-laugh from him. "Today? Can you imagine what everybody would say of me? No - I never pleaded sick for so little. Really, I'll be all right, Alison." He embraced her nightgown-clad figure, awakening all kinds of memories in both of them. Then he sighed and recovered his hat. "I'll be home by lunch, be ready to get to the mess."
    "I'd like to cook for you."
    "Would you?" He put his hat on. "Well... that'd be great, but don't worry too much about it." He went to the door. "Oh, an' shut yourself in. There's a Mrs. Jenssen, comes to the barracks every mornin' to do a li'l cleanup, an' never knocks."
    Who does, thought Alison amusedly. She waved at him as he went out, then barred the door after him.
    She leaned against it and sighed. She stretched, then went to peer out of the back window. She had to go to the outhouse, but there were troopers everywhere - and in various states of undress. She didn't like the idea of dressing first, because she could get her gown dirty, and then anyway she would have had to take it off again to wash herself a little.
    She should have thought about it: she needed biffy clothes... a proper chemise or dressing gown to slip on when she went out in the morning or at night. Well, for the time being there was nothing to do than to put on her dress and be careful.

    Cursing that vague headache, McKay crossed the yard in fast strides. It was his turn to supervise the training of the recruits. He had barely met with the bunch of men, herded by Corporals Winters and O'Malley, when Private Travis came to look for him.
    "A visit for you, Sergeant," he said, a bit puzzled. He was a placid young fellow who had served in the Confederate Army during the war - some said even as an officer; his accent made McKay sound like a Bostonian. He had no problems with his comrades, but he preferred to keep to himself and nobody had many objections. McKay liked him.
    "A visit?" He gestured to Winters and O'Malley to start the training session on their own, and followed the private.
    "From Colorado Springs, sir. At the main gate."
    Travis liked suspense. McKay smiled to himself, thanked him and went to meet the visitor.
    At the main gate, a trooper was holding the reins of a smallish horse with a smallish rider.
    "Brian! Shouldn't you be at school?"
    "Today Ma an' Miss Teresa are checkin' us for lice. I've already been checked, so here I am."
    McKay blinked.
    The boy frowned uncertainly. "You know. The - the trilobite. Yesterday you told me..."
    "Uh, sure. 'Scuse me, Brian. Get down, I'll take you to Colonel Marlowe."
    "Sorry I didn't warn you, I forgot the visit was today."
    "No problem. Come with me."
    Brian handed Taffy to a trooper and trotted alongside McKay's long stride. The sergeant was sorry he had forgotten about it. He hadn't asked the colonel. What if he said no? The kid would have been sorely disappointed.
    Marlowe was reviewing the schedule for the periodic check on the Windy Creek miners. He lifted his eyes at the knock on the door, and was surprised to see McKay look in.
    "I was wonderin', sir, if you could show Brian your collection of fossils," the sergeant said. Behind him, the boy peered in primly.
    Marlowe looked askance at McKay. Then nodded at the boy. "Hi, Brian. Come in. You Dr. Quinn's son, ain't it?"
    "Yessir," Brian answered promptly, "an' Matthew's brother."
    "Matthew? The lawyer? I thought he was a Cooper."
    "So am I, sir."
    "I thought for all the world you were Brian Sully."
    "No, sir. That's my sister, Katie Sully."
    "Your sister? The young lady doctor who came to town for Christmas?"
    "No, sir, the little blonde girl. The young lady doctor is Colleen Cook, wife of Dr. Cook. She sure is my sister, anyway. Some call her Dr. Cooper."
    "Come to think of it, I always wondered why Dr. Quinn ain't called Dr. Sully."
    "'Cause Sully doesn't wear a ring, sir."
    Marlowe nodded. "Makes sense. So, McKay." He turned to his subordinate, who stood there, hat in his hands, a little bewildered. "You told this young gentleman I own a collection of fossils?"
    McKay collected himself. "Well, sir, I didn't think it was a secret, since every time you move with the army you have to get a carriage just for it."
    "A carriage, come on now."
    "Slowed considerably the operations at Antietam, if I remember correctly, sir."
    Marlowe looked at the deadpan sergeant, then restored his attention on the boy, whose gaze kept straying from the trilobite on the desk to the glassed cabinet against the wall. "Tell me, Brian, how did a bright boy like you come to be associated with this fellow?"
    Brian stole a timid look at McKay. "He kept my father in a cave for six months, sir," he answered truthfully.
    "By God, I had forgotten about the damn cave." Marlowe rose from his desk. "So." He cleared his desk, putting the reports on the floor and spreading the latest Gazette on it. Then he opened the cabinet and started taking out a spiral-like object. Suddenly he found himself in the focus of two pairs of expectant eyes. "McKay, got nothin' better to do this mornin'?"
    "Left Winters to handle the recruits, sir. The lad gotta learn command. That one's an ammonite," he added as a side thought, nodding at the stony thing.
    "Good, Sgt. McKay!" exclaimed Brian.
    They both stared all bright-eyed at Marlowe. The colonel sighed. "I thought all my NCOs were grownups. Except for Winters, of course. All right, this one's an ammonite. It's one of my favourite pieces an' got nothin' whatsoever to do with the outcome of Antietam. But if you think this one is cute, wait till you see - this fragment of an egg. A friend of mine who works in a museum told me..."
    Two troopers walking outside Marlowe's open window looked at each other and shook their head.

    Once she was dressed, Alison washed the coffee cups and the kettle, then she stripped the bedclothes away and hung them on the clothesline out back. Finally she started out for Corty's store, mentally checking what she needed for lunch - and what she would tell Corty.
    She entered the store with the intention of making a clean breast of everything. It seemed there were always a couple of ladies posted there - not the same ladies of the day before, but they looked at her as meanly as the other two had done.
    Corty watched her with a mixture of worry and expectation. She planted her hands on the counter. "I'm Alison McKay."
    The man whitened. "You mean Sgt. McKay's wife? He'll kill me."
    She smiled. "Oh, no. He laughed about it. Actually he likes you much more than I do. So, are we going to get along together?"
    Corty smiled, a bit relieved. "Deal. You know, I was sorry to upset you."
    "Yes, I know."
    "Such a pretty lady as you..."
    "Now don't start again!" she warned him.
    "Sure," said Corty with a timid smile, looking fretful despite Alison's joking tone. "So, what do you need today?"
    Alison started listing the supplies she needed. Stealing a glance over her shoulders, she noticed the two women staring at her. No matter what - the cold look was the same as the day before.

    Brian came out of Marlowe's office into the sun, and almost lapsed back into skipping for joy. He checked himself because of Sgt. McKay's presence, and contemplated his new treasure, a small ammonite with a clean, graceful spiral relief.
    He stole a look at the soldier. "You were pullin' your commander's leg!"
    McKay looked at him, amused. "You know, Brian, I was eighteen when I enlisted. Marlowe was twenty-six an' was my first commandin' officer. I've known him since. I'm entitled to pull his leg."
    Brian smiled and put his fossil into his pocket. He took a deep breath and looked around with more assurance. "He's a nice man. I was so worried, I didn't know what to expect."
    "Ever been here at the fort?"
    "I've never seen a fort, Sergeant."
    Surprised, McKay looked around, wondering how the place would appear to clean, innocent eyes who had no idea of the blood and dirt hidden behind it. In the distance, Alison was crossing the yard in fast strides, nose in the air. His breath caught. He imagined he could hear the rustle of her skirts, and felt a tightening in his throat at the thought of what had occurred that night. He wanted so much to make everything perfect for her. He didn't want her to be disappointed. He pushed away that thought - he was giving too much weight to her presence at the fort. It was not a test or anything. It was just four days with her a little closer than usual.
    He turned to Brian. "Well, I can show you around, if you wish."
    "Would you?" exclaimed Brian. Then he checked himself. "You'll have somethin' else to do..."
    True, McKay had to go check how Winters was faring with the recruits. However, he could settle his conscience by considering the thin blond lad in front of him as a potential recruit. Sully would give him hell, he thought wryly...
    "Wanna start with the stables?" he asked lightly.
    Brian's face lit up.

    When Alison got back to McKay's quarters with her supplies, she was surprised to find the door wide open. She threw a look at the sentry, but he didn't seem to find anything unusual.
    She went in. A woman was making the bed, and Alison felt a rush of distaste. That was their bed, their sheets, and the idea of a stranger touching it was - offensive. And besides, she didn't want to look lazy.
    "Morning," she said. The woman turned, a tall, middle-aged lady who had been beautiful and now was sort of sucked in from inside. She wore a black skirt and a grey blouse, and a blinding white apron perfectly starched. She answered briefly and went back to work.
    "You don't need to do this, Mrs. Jenssen," Alison said, as gently as she could. "I meant to do it myself after I got back."
    "I always do this," Mrs. Jenssen said. "You'll thank me, when you start doing the laundry every morning like the other women."
    Laundry? thought Alison. Well, no one was going to die if she did the laundry in the afternoon, and besides, there was nothing to wash. As she thought of a reply, the woman finished the bed, took her broom and duster and went out, leaving the door open.
    Alison was a bit annoyed by it all. She looked around. She had left her nightgown laying on the mattress: now it was folded on one chair. She growled to herself. Her nightgown was a pretty intimate item too, in her opinion - just the thought of it made her feel McKay's hands lightly sliding up her thighs. She sighed and decided she had to leave the room in a better order. This was the Army, after all.
    She put her basket of supplies near the stove. Now she had all she needed to cook, but it was not easy to navigate the tiny cooking space. She made the most of the shelves and the sideboard, which, she noted, were satisfactorily clean, thanks to the obnoxious Mrs. Jenssen; then stoked the stove, to have it ready for cooking. The pots were dusty, so she took them outside to the pump. As she held one of them under the faucet while she pumped the handle with her other hand, getting thoroughly spattered by drops, she thought that the arrangement at her farm, with the pump and the tin sink in the kitchen, due to Sully's and Robert E's thoughtfulness, was pure luxury. No matter: she'd fix a nice meal for McKay and prove to everybody she was a good Army wife. She started humming happily. "Beautiful dreamer, king of my song..."
    When the pots were more or less clean, she brought them back inside filled with water, one at a time, covered them and put them on the stove to heat. One was for the meat, the other for the potatoes. She flung open the window; the sun did not shine directly in it, but it was a warm day, and the earth of the yard gave back its heat. The air was full of spring scents. Her voice was not much - all musical endowments had gone to her sister Susan - but the feeling made up for it. "Gone are the cares of life's busy throng, my beautiful dreamer, awake unto me..."
    "Someone's in love," said a cheery voice outside the window.
    She lifted her eyes, caught in such a corny moment. It was Corporal Winters, his hat pushed back from his forehead, dark locks falling on his smiling eyes.
    "Oh, hi," she stammered, avoiding his gaze.
    The young man's face fell immediately. "They told you," he sighed.
    Well, so the cards were all on the table. Alison pressed her lips together and shot a look at him. "They did," she said curtly. "Are you out of your mind?"
    Winters snorted. "Oh, now, just because she's older."
    "No, just because she's married!"
    He looked at her defiantly. "That's actually the point of it all. Especially when you consider what a moron her husband is. He can't take care of her an' keep her happy, he deserves what he gets."
    "Does she love you?" asked Alison, bluntly.
    He smiled again, like a child. "She got every reason to."
    "That's not what I asked."
    She was dismayed to see him cloud up again. "Why must you be so mean? I think she does. She doesn't complain 'bout my age." I bet, thought Alison cynically. "We have a good time. She's kind to me."
    Alison stared at the corporal. He was such a steady, smart trooper when he wanted, more mature than his - Heavens, just how young was he? - let's say twenty-five years. Probably at his age and with his disposition it was still natural to lapse into this kid talk. Yet it was worrying all the same, especially when she heard all the need in his voice, all the potential pain.
    "An' I thought about the future," he went on. "When she leaves her husband, I'll take care of her. Some of my brothers could give me a hand with money. You thinkin' she ain't gonna leave him, eh? Well, I'm ready to take the risk. Otherwise I'll never know."
    Alison didn't tell him there were cases it was easy to know from the beginning. She couldn't help but wish him luck - though she wasn't sure how much the lady was worth. She looked at him with affection. "Just what is it with you and older women anyway?" she teased him.
    He smiled once again and opened his arms wide, then sauntered away. If he was at large, thought Alison, then McKay wouldn't be so far behind, and she had to get the meal done quickly.

    When McKay came back at noon, a flustered, red-cheeked, smiling Alison was waiting for him. The room looked gorgeous, with the new tablecloth and the meal on the table. Yet it had the faintest air of a place that had been a complete mess just a few seconds before. The sideboard probably hid things which were better left unknown. But Alison was happy. Compared to that, he could even skip the meal. He noticed she immediately barred the door behind him, but didn't pay much attention to it.
    "Hmmm, meat and potatoes," he said, sniffing around as he took off his hat and belt and hung them behind the door. He came close to her and fondly patted her hindquarters, then escaped the flick of a napkin on the nose by a hairbreadth. He threw his jacket on the bed and sat down with her at the table. "Cat?" he asked.
    "Ate some leftovers, then disappeared. Not that you care about him, do you?"
    "Not in the least. You gave him his bowl of milk?"
    "Sure."
    "Alright." He lifted the cover of the pot and sniffed again. "Gorgeous. Here, gimme your plate." He poured a generous portion of meat and potatoes for her, then took the same for himself. "Brian came to see Marlowe's fossils. You shoulda seen him - " He took a bite. "Hey, this is good. I was - " He stopped a moment, because he was talking with his mouth full. "Really good. I was afraid you wouldn't find the provisions you're used to."
    "I did. The store's fairly well stocked."
    "How'd it go with Corty?"
    "He eats from my hand." Actually she thought he was frightened to death by her, which wasn't exactly the result she had hoped for.
    McKay smiled, took the hand in question and pressed it. "Brian was so excited. We made his day. The kid's got a future as a naturalist or somethin' like it. Although he was pretty enthusiastic 'bout the fort too."
    "You showed him the fort?"
    "Yeah. He was curious about it. You think I shouldn't have?"
    "Guess it didn't hurt," said Alison wonderingly. "I thought he hated the Army."
    "No, that's Matthew," McKay said with a vein of bitterness. He drank some water and shrugged.
    Alison looked critically at a forkful of meat. "How's your headache?"
    "Gone. Musta been the fitful night."
    She nodded, chewing her bite. He looked less haggard than that morning, a healthy tan on his cheeks. "You have those nightmares often?" she asked in a casual tone.
    McKay didn't answer at once, his gaze lost in the transparent pitcher. "No. In fact I never had nightmares like that."
    She pressed on, gently. "And what's that like?"
    "It felt true," he said, shaking his head. "It still does. It didn't go away with wakin'. Right now, if they hadn't told me nothin' had happened, I'd still think it had happened... it felt like it. In the dream, I knew it was true. Can't explain it." He reached for an apple. "Well, nightmares are usual in this trade..."
    "I'm sorry."
    "One gets used to 'em. I kept havin' 'em for the whole winter, last year - you know, after Black Moon's death." He raised his eyes on her, as though he realised what he was saying for the first time. "I never have nightmares when I'm home with you."
    She smiled. "Maybe here you're worried that I could be a troublemaker."
    "No," he said softly. "No, if I have to say what I'm worried about..." He trailed off. He blinked at nothing, and when he resumed, his voice was lower, more distant. "It's the - waiting. You know, the war was the most horrible time of my life. No question of it. Four years of hell. Yet one day it was over, completely, forever. There were so many wounds to heal, there still are, but the pressure, the twistin' of the soul, the sanctioned killin' was over.
    "Now, these Indian wars... they're not over. God knows when or if they'll ever be. Been more 'n ten years, now. Most of Brian's lifetime. An' I'm just talkin' 'bout the worst, after Sand Creek, when the Indians decided to make us suffer all the horrors we had inflicted on their women an' children."
    His look had grown haunted. Alison was sorry she had asked about the nightmare. And yet, not talking didn't make things any better. "You were not at Sand Creek," she said softly.
    "No. Nor at Washita. But I work side by side with people who were. I know the limits at which I'd stop - hell, I risked the firing squad to set those limits with Morrison. But I know I'm gonna get tested again, an' again, an' again, until this war is over. An' I know I'm doin' good, just by bein' here. I know if the need arises I'd make a difference. But the waitin' - that's tough, Alison. Sometimes I get so tired." He pressed his lips together, blinked away any thought that was giving him that forlorn look, and got up quickly from the table.

    They placed the dirty plates in a bucket to wash afterwards and gathered the trash to bring to the garbage dump behind the fort. Alison shook the tablecloth out of the back door. McKay followed her and looked out, at the troopers leaving the soldiers' mess or reaching it or going about their errands. When she got back inside, he shut the door like he wanted to leave all that outside.
    At home, they usually spent the time after dinner sitting in the porch and chatting, or reading and knitting in a comfortable silence. Alison had noticed some of the women doing it, but it was always so vociferous outside. She still wasn't used to it. McKay fished in his trunk for a couple of books, then let them fall inside again. "Guess I'd better rest a li'l," he said, slipping his suspenders from his shoulders. "Tonight I'm on guard duty - sorry, love. I'll have some time off tomorrow mornin', though."
    "Don't worry, I know how it goes," she said.
    He sat on the bed and pulled out his boots. "Have to put 'em back on in half an hour anyway," he grumbled. He lay down on the bed, hands behind his head, eyes closed. Then looked at Alison and beckoned to her.
    "That's dangerous," she smiled, sitting on the edge of the hard mattress.
    "Ours is a dangerous life," he answered.
    She untied the laces of her shoes as fast as she could, and stretched herself beside him. She really meant just to cuddle a little until he had to go. But he smelled good, and looked like heaven that way, laying on the pillow with eyes half closed. She held out a hand and touched his mouth. He lowered his eyelids, gasping when her fingers reached the corner of his lips. He took her hand and pressed it to his mouth, then turned it and kissed its back. When he sucked the knuckle of her index finger, Alison shivered. She lay over him and kissed his mouth, enjoying the intimate contact even through layers of cloth.
    "Heavens, you're sweet," he sighed.
    Remembering what time it was, she thought better of it and tried to pull away. He lifted his head from the pillow to follow her movement and seize her mouth again. She ran her hands through his hair and covered his face with kisses.
    "Alison," he managed to get out when his mouth was free, "please - " Little more than a breath, begging her to let him go or to take him there and then, she didn't know.
    She started to undo his buttons with thick hands. He reached up her skirts, fumbling at her undergarments. Neither of them could control their senses for much longer. It escalated wildly, seemingly for an eternity, and then it was over even before they could realise it, leaving them stunned by the peak of pleasure, and McKay had to be out in five minutes investigating the broken telegraph line.
    She felt his throat pulsing warm under her lips, and tasted his sweat. She had left a very visible suck mark on his neck, and knew she had to have some small bruises on her shoulder blades. "I want to stay here with you," she sighed.
    He let out a groan of distress. He turned to kiss her hair, then gently pushed her away and tried to make sense of his state of disarray. His shirt was sodden. He discarded it, got up and took the one hanging behind the door. He put his face in the washbasin and finished dressing. She got up from the bed and pretended to busy herself around the room.
    "I'll see you at dinner," he said, trying to sound sensible. "Wanna come to the troopers' mess?"
    "Sure."
    He stopped her a moment. "Your collar's inside out," he explained, straightening it for her. Their faces almost touched, she could feel his breath on her cheek. She put her hands behind her neck to check her buttons and turned away. She didn't dare to turn again until she had heard the door close.
    She barred the door, then quickly took off her dress and changed her camisole. Thankfully the creases on her dress were not so obvious - they more or less fell back into place when she put it back on. Now it was painful, working up all that emotion and not having the time to sort it out. Don't do such a thing again, she warned herself.
    Although she felt sleepy, she went out to throw away the garbage and wash the plates and the pots she had hidden in the sideboard, then went back in and put them away. McKay's shirt had fallen on the floor. She bent to retrieve it and discovered a sack under the bed. She pulled it out: it contained more dirty clothes. She wrinkled her nose, then smiled. McKay was a scrupulous man, and his mind must really have been elsewhere to make him forget it. She put the shirt inside and started out.
    Halfway, she was intercepted by Ma Hopkins. "Where ya goin', girl?"
    "Laundry."
    "Better do it tomorrow mornin', with the other women."
    Alison snorted. "Sorry, ma'am... but why? Who cares when I do my laundry, as long as I do it?"
    "'Cause you better do things with the other women. In the beginnin', at least."
    "Mrs. Jenssen hinted as much to me," admitted Alison, thinking wistfully about the loss of a quiet morning with McKay.

    It was long past sunset and the night was dark, when McKay turned up from his round to take her to dinner. She was overwhelmingly glad to see him. She threw her arms around him and let him hold her a little. She had occupied the rest of the afternoon with small chores; she should remember to bring something to do - she didn't think Corty would object to selling cakes and works of embroidery, like those she brought to Loren. She just hadn't imagined she would have so much free time, thanks to the absurdities of military life.
    Now she was anticipating a nice evening, so that the night without him would not be so hard to bear. When they got to the mess, most tables were already full under the torches. Protracting the dinner so late was not encouraged, but with so many people it was practically inevitable. McKay led Alison towards a table which had still some empty chairs. There was Corporal O'Malley too, waving at them, so they sat down gladly. The rest of the table was occupied by some troopers and their wives, and by Corporal Morrow. There was no love lost between him and McKay, Alison had noticed as much, but he was seated far enough not to be a nuisance.
    McKay went to get the plates. Alison was trying to make small talk with another lady, when somebody asked: "Can we sit here?"
    A chill fell on the table. She lifted her head and saw Corporal Winters, arm in arm with Mrs. Wainwright. She stared at them, speechless. Winters looked at her with pleading eyes, seeking sanctuary and understanding. "Those chairs are free," she heard herself saying, and they sat down in front of her with their plates.
    The young man looked relieved. The lady, on the other hand, was a cipher. She was about Alison's age and not ill-looking; but she was Mrs. Marlowe's exact opposite - dressed and coiffed like she was ten years younger, she looked ten years older. Winters must have read some book about courtly love, because Alison couldn't possibly understand what appeal the woman could have, besides being unhappily married.
    McKay came back with two plates. "Fried chicken an' peas," he announced cheerfully to her, "this should be really..." He saw the two newcomers and froze. Alison took the plates from his hands. Winters gave him the same silent, defiant, imploring stare he had given Alison. McKay sat down slowly, answering with a look that meant "Talk to you later."
    Just as uneasiness was threatening to kill the evening, up popped Sgt. Flaherty. "My my, double treat tonight!" he exclaimed, balancing his plate like a waiter. "Terry and Allie themselves, and look what we have here - our very corporal Corporal and his latest conquest!" He put down his fried chicken and peas and sat down at the head of the table.
    Alison heard McKay exhale softly, actually reassured. Maybe playing it for laughs could save the situation. "What've I done to find myself consorted with such fools," he said aloud. Some of the other troopers laughed. O'Malley looked outraged.
    They started eating. "So," Winters asked Alison, trying desperately to act normal, "how's your stay?"
    "Not bad, thank you," she said. She understood how important it was for him to be there with his lady. She tried to involve her in the conversation. "We ladies have a lot to do, don't we?" Goodness, that was lame.
    "Oh, well, I wouldn't say so," Mrs. Wainwright answered. Great, so she was dumb on top of it all. Of course an officer's wife had got nothing to do all day, but couldn't she just try to help her put the others at ease?
    Flaherty was wolfing down his dinner. "Guess yer busier since ye bagged yourself our young stud," he said. Mrs. Wainwright giggled. Alison blushed to the root of her hair, in shame and fury. She felt McKay at her side flinch and control himself.
    Winters stared in his untouched plate. "I'd take it back if I were you, Sergeant," he said coldly.
    "Oh, come on, we're all adults here. We all know that when ye disappear for hours from the fort ye don't go exactly pickin' flowers. Although it depends on the nature o' the flowers."
    Winters shot a smouldering look at him. "Stop this."
    "Yeah, both of you," said McKay, low, dangerous.
    "Oh, come on, Terry, we're discussing it civilly," Flaherty said. "Besides, the lady likes to be the centre of the attention, don't you, ma'am?"
    The lady didn't seem able to produce another complete sentence, whether it was out of embarrassment or, as Alison feared, of sheer idiocy. It was clear that, whatever other part of him had guided him up to then, Winters' remarkable brain was rebelling to that show. He looked from the lady to the sergeant. "You let her be," he said, a bit shrilly.
    Flaherty looked at him with a wide smile. "I'll let her be when she asks me to," he said. "Till now, she seems to be enjoying herself."
    "Listen, Flaherty," said Winters, half-rising from his seat, "you know what you need just now? You..."
    McKay had risen so smoothly that Alison hadn't felt him move. He walked around the table, grabbed Winters by the nape of his neck and drew him back, toppling the chair. Without a word, he dragged the young corporal out of sight behind the barracks.
    Alison jumped when the back of the chair hit the hard floor.
    Flaherty just lifted his eyebrows. "My, my. What a mess. An' all for this fair lady here."
    Mrs. Wainwright smiled coyly at him.

    "Get your hands off me!" protested Winters, vainly trying to escape McKay's grasp.
    The sergeant pushed him against the wooden back wall of the barracks. "Get your hands off me, sir!" he told him menacingly.
    "Hey, what's got into you?" replied Winters, furious.
    McKay gave another hard push in the smaller man's chest. "What's got into you, sir!"
    The corporal hit the wall again and remained there, lifting his chin. "You ain't gettin' no sirs from me till you mind your damn bloody business!"
    McKay cooled down a little. "You havin' a good look at the backside of your career, Winters. Improper behaviour, brawlin', insubordination. Only one of these 'd be enough, if somebody's in the wrong mood."
    "Go ahead." Winters shrugged and looked down. "For all I care."
    The sergeant snorted, and his shoulders fell. "What the hell is that woman doin' to you?"
    The young man lifted his eyes and looked steadily at him. "I have five older brothers, I don't need another one. Can I go now, sir?"
    McKay's eyes were as cold as new ice. "Don't wanna upset Alison. Go back to that table an' behave like a grownup. We'll get back to this tomorrow."
    As the corporal picked himself up from the wall and started back towards the yard, dusting his clothes with dignity, McKay felt a shiver. Brawls had been common during the war, but since he was a sergeant with command responsibilities he had not raised his hands on another soldier, let alone Winters. First the nightmare, now this. No, first came the catfight at the saloon, when he had almost snapped Harmon Fraser's neck. What had got into him, indeed?

    Alison thought her discomfort couldn't get any greater. She hoped they weren't fighting. No, they couldn't, they were both in uniform. She hoped McKay didn't punish Winters. She hoped Winters didn't lose that look of respect and admiration that always lit up his eyes when he looked at his sergeant.
    Mrs. Wainwright didn't seem as much upset. She kept picking daintily at her plate. Flaherty leaned towards her. "You don't deserve a brat, ma'am. You deserve somebody with experience."
    She turned towards him. "Really?"
    Flaherty smiled smugly and leaned back. "I sure know how to treat a lady, if you know what I mean," he said, winking. She tittered. The other troopers laughed aloud, except O'Malley. Alison all but froze.
    "She needs a good whackin', if you ask me," said Corporal Morrow with a leer.
    Another soldier Alison didn't know elbowed him in the ribs. "She got enuff of that, I reckon." They roared with laughter. The lady herself seemed delighted by this. Alison was appalled.
    Winters emerged from the shadows. The laughter died down into snickering. The young man looked around in disgust, then turned to Alison and bent his head. "Forgive me for any discomfort, ma'am," he said. He went to Mrs. Wainwright and took her hand. "Let's go."
    She rose reluctantly and followed him. The men looked at her as she went, without disguising their lustful stares. Alison's heart was bursting in her throat out of rage. Where was McKay?
    "Hot stuff," said Morrow.
    "Ain't she now?" said Flaherty. "Boy, that woman sure likes it. She's like a cat in heat. But then again, they're all like that, given the chance."
    "Shut it, Flaherty," said O'Malley. The old corporal looked as thought he had had one too many, and the sergeant didn't acknowledge the disrespectful tone.
    Alison thought about rising from the table. She didn't want to look like a spoilsport, but this was getting too extreme. The worst was that the other ladies were laughing like the men.
    "Ah, not all women," said Morrow. "My wife at home was cold as a dead fish. Coulda been with a wooden plank, for all the fun she was. Nagged an' bugged all day long."
    "Never trust a little woman," said another soldier. Alison couldn't understand whether this was their idea of witty banter or whether they were chillingly serious.
    "You just didn't know how to take her," said Flaherty. "All women like it. Ain't it so, Mrs. McKay?"
    "Don't think it's any of your business," she said, forcing herself to be calm.
    "Come on, it's a natural thing, we can talk about it. Yer havin' a good time with that husband o' yours, no?"
    The women cheered loudly. Alison had never felt so embarrassed in her recent life. She searched desperately for an answer that did not make her look like a fool.
    "Sure you do," went on Flaherty, leaning towards her in a patronising way. "Guess yer the kind who likes it rough, ain't it?"
    Alison's ears buzzed. Who - who was this man to dare to...
    "Flaherty," said McKay's voice, deadly.
    Alison couldn't even show relief. She couldn't admit she couldn't take care of herself without him, and moreover she was scared that he could do to Flaherty what he had done to Harmon at the Gold Nugget.
    "Ye just got the guts to take on subordinates, McKay?" said Flaherty, but in a joking tone.
    "You're a moron, Flaherty, as usual." He turned to Alison. "Shall we go?"
    She nodded, getting up as he pulled back her chair. She took his arm and looked at the empty faces around the table. They were not worth a salute.

    When they reached the quarters she was shaking with rage and shock. She hadn't realised how much the distasteful conversation had upset her. She had believed she was tough, she could blend in with them, and maybe she even had, not giving anyone the satisfaction to react in fury; but now she felt horrible.
    She lit a lantern and flopped down on the bed. A hundred answers to Flaherty's obscene bantering were coming to her lips, too late. "I should have stopped him," she said. "It's my fault. I let him talk. I should have said something, I should..."
    "Alison!" McKay exclaimed, appalled. "Don't you even think that! You did nothin' wrong."
    "No, I should have defended myself and all women. I just remained there in silence. I should..."
    "Please, stop it, love," pleaded McKay, sitting beside her and trying to draw her comfortingly in his arms. She remained rigid.
    "What happened?" he asked. "I got only the end of it. Please, tell me."
    She didn't want to talk about it, to look like a fool once again, no matter that it was McKay who asked her. Then she felt as stupid not talking. She shrugged. "It was not just Flaherty. All the men at the table, excepted O'Malley. And the women." She shivered. "Talking about Mrs. Wainwright, about her... ways, and extending them to all women."
    McKay tightened his jaws. "What a damned bunch of bloody fools."
    Alison almost smiled. This amount of profanity was refreshing, after the conversation she had been forced to endure.
    "Does it happen all the time?" she asked.
    He thought about it. "Not really. This time there was that woman at the table. They felt it as a breach of etiquette, if you wanna call it so - an officer's wife with a corporal. There should be no mixin', for no reason. An' then, I suppose Mrs. Wainwright just calls for such a behaviour. They wanted to shame her."
    Alison couldn't help but sneer sarcastically. "Sure, shame her. But Flaherty seemed to have no qualms about taking Winters' place, did he? No mixin' in the mess, but all's allowed in bed?"
    "Alison... there are unspoken rules here."
    She ran a hand through her hair, starting to pull out pins. "I know. But what does this mean? That since she behaves like a slut, all men have the right to treat her as such?"
    McKay fell silent. It was clear that his answer would not have agreed with Alison.
    "It's unfair," she added. "Men behave in the same way, and are cheered for it. And what's worse - they like her for behaving that way."
    "I don't like her," he said softly.
    She looked at him. "Every man at that table was undressing her with his eyes."
    McKay shrugged. "The less I see of her, the better. I can't stand her." He was talking earnestly now, holding her hand and staring deep into her eyes. "I want only you."
    She was touched. She opened her hand, so that they were palm to palm, and smiled, lowering her eyes. "You are not real," she whispered.
    He let her hand go and gently took her chin between his fingers. He made her lift her face, with firm tenderness. "I'm as real as you are," he said assuredly, and brought tears to her eyes. He leaned in...
    Alison stiffened suddenly and backed away. Seeing his astonished look, she shook her head awkwardly. "Terence, I - I just don't feel like it."
    He blinked, lowering his gaze in confusion. "I only wanted to kiss you, I have to be on the ramparts in..."
    "I know, I know. Sorry. It's just that... all that talk... made me feel like it's a dirty thing."
    A mortal coldness crept into his eyes, a look that said Flaherty's dead. She grasped his hands again. "Please, don't be angry, Terence. It'll pass. I have to get used to this kind of thing here, don't I? You said so yourself, when you talked about your list. Hey... I'm just tired. I'll wait for you when you come back, all right?"
    He shook his head painfully. "No, it ain't all right! I don't wanna leave you like this, Alison, knowing you're unhappy!"
    She pressed a hand on her eyes. Luckily her tears had gone back to where they came for. Not wanting to leave her unhappy, sure... But he hadn't been with her the day the coyote had taken her pet hen, or when little Polly had hurt her hand with Bella's stove because she was too slow to understand that fire burned, or when Susan had written to her on the anniversary of their parents' death, and Alison had been seized by a fit of sobs in the middle of her kitchen, wondering if they could see her now, if they were happy she was married to the good, caring man they had always envisioned for her. She had told him about these things, later, days later, when the pain had faded; but whenever she had really felt like crying, she had been alone. She couldn't tell him this.
    She smiled. "I'll be fine, really. Now go, or you'll be late for the night shift."
    He nodded, uncertainly. He pressed her fingers, then got up, took his greatcoat from behind the door and left the room.
    Alison exhaled slowly, as long as she needed to clear her lungs from all her breath. She fell back on the pillow and started breathing regularly to calm herself, to swallow the rage.
    "Damn," she said quietly.

    The night was cool with a wet humming breeze. McKay pulled his coat on while he mounted the stairs to the ramparts, followed by his men. He posted three men each in the four turrets; one of them would patrol one side of the fort, up and down with rifle in hand, until relieved. He made the round of the turrets once, checking that nobody was sleepy or drunk. He stopped on the East side, looking out in the darkness to see if he could make out some light in Colorado Springs, not to mention Alison's farm. But the night had grown dark, the stars were hidden, and just as he was staring up at the unseen clouds some droplets of rain began falling on his face.
    Even as he finished the round, reaching the North turret, the rain was falling down hard, pattering on the brim of his hat and on his shoulders. He stopped under the wooden roof and joined the private who was looking out in dismay. "That's bad, sir," he said. "Poor Kilson will be drenched."
    "Hope it goes away soon," McKay answered.
    With the darkness and the noise - thunder had begun to break out over their heads - their watch was all but useless. The other private, sitting in a corner of the turret, began strumming idly on his guitar. How he had managed to smuggle it up there, the sergeant didn't know - but it made no big difference, and right then McKay was not really inclined to strictly enforce the rules. He followed his own thoughts for some moments, then he recognised the tune. "Oh, come on," he said, exasperated.
    The man lifted his eyes. "Sir?"
    McKay realised he had spoken aloud. "Got nothin' more cheerful to sing?"
    "Kilson an' the men love it, sir," said the man. "But if it's an order..."
    The sergeant shook his head. "No, it ain't an order." He crossed his arms and resumed staring in the rain.
    "I'll take you home again, Kathleen - Across the ocean wild and wide - To where your heart has ever been - Since you were first my bonnie bride. - The roses all have left your cheek.- I've watched them fade away and die - Your voice is sad whene'er you speak - And tears bedim your loving eyes."
    No, McKay told himself, it was no coincidence. It was indeed one of the most popular songs among troopers. He had heard it sung a thousand times. But never before it had pulled so much at the strings of his heavy heart. He almost felt like joining in the chorus.
    "Oh! I will take you back, Kathleen - To where your heart will feel no pain - And when the fields are fresh and green - I'll take you to your home again..."
    Shrugging, he resumed his round of the turrets, unmindful of the rain that now came down at a vicious angle, whipped by the mountain winds.

    The night was still dark when McKay came back to his quarters. He had to knock, because Alison had shut herself in, and the small quarters were not worth a more elaborate lock which could allow both of them to have the keys. She heard him through her sleep and sat up in bed. She felt dizzy. She put down her feet on the cold wooden planks, then got up, wrapped herself in her shawl and went to open the door. Despite his hat and greatcoat, McKay was drenched. A thin drizzle was still falling on the fort. He smiled awkwardly. "Sorry," he said. "Go back to bed, I'll try to get dry."
    Alison tilted her head. "Hmmm." She went to the smouldering stove and put a couple of logs in it. Meanwhile, McKay put a chair close to the stove and started draping on it the clothes while he undressed. Alison lit up a lantern, dislodged the cat from the second chair and used it to spread out McKay's coat. The cat seized the occasion to jump onto the bed.
    McKay gave himself a summary drying, then wrapped himself into a spare blanket. He sat down on the bed and started rubbing his head with his now useless towel. His tired muscles tensed, and he grimaced. Alison took one of her towels from her trunk, climbed silently onto the bed behind him and took the sodden towel out of his hand. "Let me," she said, and gave a good rubdown to his hair. He attempted a protest, then groaned with relief and leaned back against her. Now the room was warmer, so in a moment she could run her fingers through his hair and feel it completely dry and soft. She loved that. She looked at him, his head leaning against her shoulder, eyes closed, his chest falling in a sigh of pure pleasure. Tentatively, she kissed his forehead. He smiled and nuzzled her, turning to embrace her.
    They slipped under the blankets together. Alison's heart jumped at his closeness. She was finally releasing the breath she had been holding, she was relaxing in his arms and beginning to feel that warm and intimate mood, that sweet desire always underlying and now building up steadily - but the moment he laid his head on the pillow, he was asleep.

End of Day Two