"Rueben, someone is coming." Genessee stood with her hands shielding her eyes as she watched the far hill.

Straightening from where he had been butchering a deer he turned, watching intently. Four riders were heading their way, coming almost directly through the heavily wooded area to their lodge. Theirs had been a quiet life for a few years, and he had begun to think he would escape notice for what he had done during the war.

Though a loyalist when the War started, the things he had seen and been ordered to do during the war disgusted and disillusioned him. When the time had come to choose to be a good man or a good soldier, Colonel Rueben Lane had chosen his humanity. It was tantamount to treason, so deserting his regiment he had found himself among the Iroquois nation. During the bloody conflicts Lane had on occasion found himself amid a fight, and he chose to fight for the colonies. It didn't matter to him he used to be against them; he wanted nothing more than for the war to be over.

The war had not quite been won when he married the maiden Genessee, and they had lived happily and in peace, living far from civilization when their son Trevor was born. The years with his wife and child were the happiest in his life. Now, watching the approaching riders, he had a sick feeling of dread.

"Genessee, go back to the house, now. Take Trevor and go." He didn't like their approach, nor the silence that accompanied it.

"Rueben-"

"Now."

She obeyed, scooping up their son from where he sat playing in the dirt. Rueben stood quietly and watched them come, neither their clothing nor demeanor giving any clues as to who they were. His actions had been those of a traitor, regardless of doing what he thought was right, which left him with a single thought about the approaching riders.

The Crown had a long memory and was not forgiving, so while he had hoped to stay invisible, lost in the vast wilds of the New World, it had only been a matter of time. Unable to abide by having firearms after all he'd seen and done, his only weapons were those of the Iroquois nation. It wasn't enough, he knew, but Rueben did not move.

At last, the approaching riders broke through the tree belt and started straight toward him, their faces somber and hard. They wore no uniforms, no badges, but he instantly knew what they were. Stepping forward to meet them, unhesitating and unafraid, he waited for them to speak first. Seeing him, they angled their horses in his direction.

"Colonel Rueben Lane?" The man in the lead spoke as he came to a halt.

"You came a very long way to find one man,"

"My name is Lyons, and these are my brothers. Now, are you Colonel Rueben Lane?" The tone of the man's voice set him on edge. Fists clenching, he steadied himself.

"Yes."

"Colonel Rueben Lane you are hereby charged with the crime of desertion and treason, and traitorous acts against the king and great country of Britain. You are under orders to report to Sir Alistar Chambers, Governor of the Province of Quebec for trial. We are to escort you there. If you refuse, you will be shot and your body taken back for proof of capture. Are you going to resist, or are you coming along quietly?" Lyons spoke in a flat monologue, as if he'd repeated those word thousands of times, and hoped one day someone would opt to be shot.

"What of my family?" Options fired through his mind like cannonballs, each one discarded as too risky for his wife and son.

"Don't want them, Colonel, just you."

"Give me a few moments to tell them goodbye-"

"No sir. You come quiet now, no one gets hurt." His hesitation provoked a wry grin on the speaker. "Just try it, Colonel."

Rueben's heart thundered painfully in his breast, lungs tight. What option did he have? His family was the most important thing in the world to him. Their safety came before everything else.

"My horse," he managed quietly. "He's in the lean-to over there. Can I saddle him?"

"Move slow, Colonel."

Mingo was saddled and being led into the open when the door to the lodge swung open. Genessee stood there, wide-eyed and pale, watching as he stepped into leather, facing her. Feeling his entire world begin to crumble, he could only stare at her, nostrils flexing wide with each breath. Trying to calm himself. Trying not to go completely undone.

Genessee watched with growing horror and despair as the strangers surrounded her husband. She took a step forward but stopped when he gave a slight shake of his head in desperation. They eyes met, filled with tears.

"Daddy!" The young voice turned every eye as a small boy burst into sight from behind his mother. "Daddy, don' go!"

"No!" Rueben shouted the word as his son ran toward him. "Trevor, stay back!"

"Daddy!"

"No!" Genessee grabbed for him, but too late. Running toward his father, the boy nimbly dodged the forest of horse legs to grab at the high stirrup.

"Daddy!"

"Trevor, get back to your mother!"

"No-!" the high-pitched protest came with a flood of tears. Heart breaking, Rueben leaned down, hand out.

"Get back!" One of the Lyon brothers was suddenly there, grabbing at the child's collar to hurl him aside. "Stay out of the way, whelp!"

Horses neighed, Genessee screamed, shouts ringing in his ears as Rueben came out of the saddle, fueled by a father's love. His son's little body tumbled to a stop, covered in dirt and scratches. From the corner of his eye, he saw his wife running toward him, her expression frantic. One of the riders spurred his horse to meet her-

"Not so fast, Colonel!" A jarring blow staggered him but instead of falling he turned. Catching the man by the wrist, he yanked hard. His fist hit like an axe, splitting skin, breaking teeth. Another blow followed, then another before he let go. The man sagged half-conscious.

A scream whipped him around, turning fear to rage. One of them had his son by the scruff, Trevor's small feet kicking in protest. Genessee lay on the ground, unmoving. Another stood over her, panting. The last sat astride his horse, just watching.

"No!" The boy writhed and twisted; his little face scrunched in angry protest. "Put me down!"

"Your daddy's a traitor, whelp, nothing but a pile of useless horse-" he dropped the boy with a grunt, swaying. Blood dribbled down his face as his brother whipped around in surprise. Rueben hauled back and chucked another large stone, catching the man who'd held his son directly in the face. He dropped off the horse this time. Dead.

"Why you no good-!" Lunging the horse at Rueben, the mounted bounty hunter tried to run him down. Nimbly dodging aside, Lane grabbed him by the arm, ripping him from the saddle as the horse bolted past.

Trading blows, they rolled to their feet, arms up. Edging toward his family, Rueben kept his guard up, ducking his head to take a wicked blow to the shoulder. He lashed out, a stiff left that rocked the man on his heels. A short right jab snapped the bounty hunter's head back just as a high-pitched wail spun Rueben around.

Trevor was writhing on the ground, his little body spasming in pain as the last bounty hunter stood up, blade dripping crimson. Shoving the man from him, Rueben rushed forward with a guttural roar, slamming into the Lyon brother like a charging bison. They hit the ground rolling but Rueben was half-crazed and never slowed down. He beat the man to death with bare hands, his vision clouded with hate. Something hit him across the shoulders, but he shook it off. Only when he was forcibly yanked to his feet did Rueben's focus shift to the last bounty hunter.

"I'll kill you-!" but Rueben Lane was far past caring. Or listening. Or reasoning. All his hate and grief fixed on the only person left alive to feel it. The struggle was short but brutal.

Breathing raggedly, Rueben's senses slowly returned. Looking around, he stared with detached anger at the bodies lying motionless all around him. A limp little boy, his throat cut wide open, eyes staring unblinking at thy sky. What had once been an active, thriving child suddenly no more than a bag of skin.

Trembling, still unmoving, he shifted his gaze. She lay where she'd fallen, her body limp and quiet in the tall grass. Beautifully dark eyes were wide and vacant, her head twisted at an unnatural angle. Killed in her attempt to save her son.

Slowly kneeling, Rueben felt himself break. His family. His life. His world. Shaking, lips pulling back in a fierce, twisted snarl, he let out a feral roar. Birds scattered, frightened by the sounds. How long he sat like that he didn't know.

Twilight descended, casting the area into shadow, pulling vibrant color from the world. Bits of thought flitted through his mind. Bury his family. Avenge their murder. Then... there wasn't anywhere he could go, no horizon too far that they wouldn't find him. Lips trembling, he tugged the skinning knife free of his belt, slowly pushing to his feet.

"No one will ever forget what you took from me."

He jerked awake, heart pounding, sheathed in sweat. Trembling. Tears burned his eyes as he looked around in confusion. Bright sunlight told him it was midday, the cloudless sky a vivid shade of blue. Pangalia held him in his arms, as a father would comfort a weeping child.

"You 'memberit, Rueben Lane, but safe now."

"My family," his voice broke, memories flooding back in. Gasping he tried to sit up but couldn't, his limbs weak. Pangalia's leathery hands stroked his head, patting him soothingly.

"'Memberit, Rueben Lane. Not 'fraid."

"My family... my family..." guttural moans turned to ragged cries, then to bitter screams of grief. The memories were too real. Too vivid. Had he wept for them? Had he grieved? He couldn't remember.

"Ova," the thick accent was comforting. "Ova, Rueben Lane."

"I don't," panting, he clung to the body next to his. Tears fell unashamed. "I don't want to remember... I don't want it,"

"Ova. Is past," Pangalia continued to soothe him. "Not gonna hurt you."

"I know why I was so horrible," gathering the strength to sit up, he faced the tribesman, wiping his eyes. "I was full of such hate, such sorrow... The men who took my family from me. I killed them, skinned and gutted them like prey, then hung their bodies from a large tree near our home. They took everything from me. I hurt them like they hurt me, but my family is still gone,"

"Killing neva bring us peace. Killing only make us hard."

"It made me hard," he admitted, feeling sick. "I stopped caring. Stopped... feeling. I couldn't bear to. It hurt too much. It still hurts,"

"We tink anga is what make us do bad. Not true. Sorra, Rueben Lane. Sadness. It put a black hole in you heart so deep noting can touch it. We carry sorra longtime, longa den anga."

"I have carried it far too long."

"Udda tings wait for you now."

"I should have listened to her, I should have stayed,"

"Not too late, Rueben Lane."

"No," wiping his eyes with a half laugh, he shook his head. "It's time to go home, to my new happiness."

"Good." Smacking his lips with a satisfied grin, Pangalia stood up. "Dis good, Rueben Lane. We go."

"No," brushing off the dust, he stood, offering a hand. "I go alone, but thank you, my friend. I will never forget you."

"Take care our sista, Rueben Lane."

"I will. Goodbye-"

"We no say goodbye, Rueben Lane. See you on da pad ahead."

"Very well," he grinned as they shook hands. "See you on the path ahead. Stay safe."

It took only minutes to saddle Indigo, and he gratefully took a bundle of provisions Pangalia held out to him. Soon, he was heading south, trying to figure out how to manage all the promises he'd made that he now meant to break. Harmony was his one purpose now. Nothing else mattered.

Coming across the wagon track, he paused, semi-curious, semi-cautious. Had it been Prescott's men? Why the wagon? Patting Indigo's neck, he stepped down.

"A short break, old boy. Don't wander."

Following the furrows in the ground he found a place they had stopped to rest. The earth over the scorched stone was still warm from their fire. Looking over the area, Rueben was about to move on when something caught his eye. Kneeling, he carefully pulled it free of the threads of bark.

Silk. Fine, soft fabric against his fingertips. From a woman's dress. Temples pulsing with each heartbeat, he shifted, looking closer. A few long red hairs were caught in the tight weave, and his stomach dropped. Olivia.

A careful search told him she'd been taken against her will. Droplets of blood where she sat, the way her feet stayed tightly together told him they were bound. Jaw clenching, he took a deep breath.

"I said I'd keep you safe," muttering a vicious oath, he stood, facing north once more. Indigo clopped over to where he stood, nudging his morose companion for a treat, but Rueben gently caught his nose. Lifting it to look into deep purple eyes, he frowned.

"He took her, old boy." Staring at the gelding, he felt anger stirring to life inside him. "I was ready to walk away, but now he's made certain I won't. If Prescott wants to do this hard, let's do this hard."