Page 13 of Echoes of Twilight (Dawn of Alaska #4)

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T hey didn’t make it below the snow line before nightfall, but somehow Mikhail found a cave for them to sleep in. Bryony didn’t know how he managed to spot it on the side of the mountain, nor did she know how he managed to find wood to start a small fire near the opening so the smoke would vent out the front of the cave. All she knew was that Mikhail Amos somehow transformed what should have been a cold, wet place to camp into something that felt warm and comfortable.

The entire group was exhausted, and after they ate some of the venison and biscuits they’d saved from last night, they spread out their wet coats at the back of the cave, set their boots by the fire, and crawled into their bedrolls.

Or rather, everyone crawled into their bedrolls except Mikhail. He went back out into the storm, saying only that he would return after an hour or so. Then he pushed his arms through the thick sleeves of his parka and disappeared.

She wasn’t sure how long she lay in her bedroll, aware that Mikhail was still out there somewhere while the others all drifted off to sleep. She also didn’t know how long she stared at her brother, watching the even rise and fall of Heath’s chest, just to make sure he was still alive. Each time she tried to close her eyes, memories of the cliff rose to greet her, of Heath’s panicked gaze as he reached for her arm, of her looking down to find Heath’s feet scrambling for purchase on the side of the cliff, of the endless abyss of snowy gray that yawned beneath him. Of the moment when she realized she wasn’t strong enough to pull her brother up.

Then Mikhail had spoken. On the count of three. And she’d realized that she hadn’t been alone, and that saving Heath wasn’t entirely up to her.

Bryony threw off the top of her bedroll with a sigh, then rummaged in her pack for her journal. No good would come of lying abed and replaying what had happened over and over in her mind. She was better off getting up and trying to record the path they’d taken over the mountain. Her maps might be crude, but they were in completely uncharted territory, and maybe a cartographer or explorer or someone else back home would find them useful.

Before leaving on their expedition, she hadn’t even been able to find a reliable map of the Stikine and Iskut Rivers. She’d had to rely on written descriptions. A winding river that runs both north and south, extending into Canada in the north, with an outlet near Wrangell. Or A long river with multiple bends that is surrounded by mountains and runs from Canada to Alaska.

So she took out her pencils and charcoal, then sat against the wall and went to work, the light from the fire just bright enough for her to draw.

At some point, noise sounded from the front of the cave, and she tensed, only to realize the sound was Mikhail coming back from wherever he’d been. But she didn’t see a rabbit or squirrel in his hand. In fact, he didn’t have anything that indicated what might have driven him back into the storm after dark.

Their eyes met the moment he stepped inside, but he glanced at the others before approaching. “You should be sleeping.” His voice sounded low and serious, just like it always did, without any room for laughter or fun.

“I wanted to map the path we took over the mountain.” She looked down at her journal, only to realize she was no longer mapping the path but had turned to a new page and was sketching the cliff where Heath had almost fallen.

She snapped the journal closed, but not before Mikhail saw what she’d been drawing.

He didn’t say anything, just turned and moved away from her. He took the kettle from beside the fire, then headed back outside, leaving her sitting there with her arms wrapped around her knees.

He was back in under a minute, with what she guessed was a kettle filled with snow. Before he set it atop the flames, he unbuttoned his parka and spread it near the entrance of the cave, the large coat taking up almost the entire space of the opening.

Next, he went to his pack, where he pulled several large items out before retrieving a small pouch. He opened the pouch and dropped what looked to be some crushed leaves inside, then set the kettle over the fire.

This time when he approached her, he sat directly beside her, his back resting on the cold wall of the cave.

“Are you making me tea because I can’t sleep?” she asked.

“It’s ground fireweed root. Most of the tribes in Alaska use it to help people relax.”

Fireweed. Before leaving Washington, DC, she’d read about it being native to Alaska, and they’d seen plenty of it in bloom at the beginning of the summer. She’d drawn multiple sketches of the plant, and Dr. Ottingford had collected specimens. But she hadn’t known the roots were purported to have medicinal properties. “Does it work?”

He shrugged. “It usually helps me.”

“I...” She stared at the fire, where the kettle would soon be boiling. When was the last time someone had made her tea? Or cookies? Or even a sandwich?

The tea was a simple kindness. Nothing that had taken him too long or required too much effort, and yet, her eyes felt suddenly hot. “You didn’t need to go out of your way just for me.”

Mikhail angled his gaze in her direction, his eyes snagging hers.

She sucked in a breath, the air stilling in her lungs. What did he see when he looked at her? A disheveled girl who was lucky to be alive after being lost in the wilderness for almost two months?

A woman who was foolish for wanting to accompany her father and brother on an expedition to such a remote place?

Or did he see something else? Something even worse?

“Your brother almost died today.” His voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “A pot of tea is the least I can do.”

Now her eyes really did burn. She blinked and turned her head away before any tears fell.

“It’s okay to be upset. I’ve come close to losing people on the trail before. I know how it feels.”

“Will you have trouble sleeping tonight too?” Her throat felt raw, but she’d managed to stave off her tears.

“Without the fireweed, I would. Yes.”

She couldn’t quite say what compelled her to reach out and take Mikhail’s hand. She only knew that when she did, he didn’t pull away. Instead he opened it, wrapping his hand around hers until her fingers were engulfed in his warmth.

“Thank you for saving him, for leading us, for taking such good care of us.”

He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, the silence lingering between them while the dying fire cast dark shadows over them. Outside the wind howled and snow had piled near the entrance of the cave, but the space inside felt close and comforting, even safe.

Because of the man sitting beside her.

There was nothing remotely safe about their situation, nothing remotely safe about being trapped in a snowstorm in the middle of an uncharted wilderness.

If Mikhail wasn’t here, she’d be a mess, certain they would all freeze to death on the top of this mountain.

But Mikhail Amos didn’t seem to even consider the possibility they might not make it back to Sitka.

And that made her wonder just how many other times he’d found himself in similar situations. “What’s the worst thing that happened to you on the trail?”

“I beg your pardon?” Mikhail looked down at her, his golden eyes softened by the flickering firelight. Then his gaze drifted past her to the cave entrance, where the storm raged.

She could tell that memories were swirling in his mind, as certainly as she knew there’d be another foot of snow piled outside come morning.

“You said you’ve come close to losing people on the trail before. Did something happen on one of your other expeditions that was worse than what happened today? Oh, never mind. It was foolish of me to ask.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “Of course worse things have happened. Everyone except for one person died on your first expedition.”

“It wasn’t my expedition.” He released her hand. “I was just there to assist, mainly because I could speak Athabaskan.”

“Was it helpful? Your knowledge of the language?” Again, she couldn’t say why she wanted to know, only that something about the strong, brooding man beside her made her intently curious.

“There was a woman. She was accompanying her husband on the trip, but he died early on.”

A woman? Like her? “Did she survive?”

“No.”

Bryony turned to look at him. “I read the account of your first expedition, but I don’t recall ever reading about a woman in the group. I’m certain I would have remembered.”

“I asked Herbert to remove her from the story. There were things that I didn’t...” He shook his head. “Things I didn’t want spoken of.”

“I’m sorry.” She pushed herself away from the cave wall, then stood. “It smells like the tea is done.”

He didn’t say anything as she retrieved the boiling liquid from the fire, then poured it into two tin cups. Nor did he say anything when she returned, holding one of the cups out for him. His mind was obviously caught in those long-ago memories of his first expedition, and she should have known better than to bring it up. No one wanted to relive a trip where half a dozen people died.

She took her place beside him, assuming they’d drink their tea in silence before heading to bed. But after Mikhail took his first sip of tea, his voice rumbled out beside her.

“Olivia was pregnant. She didn’t realize it when she left on the expedition, but it became apparent a few weeks in. Livy almost survived, and we nearly—” He clamped his mouth shut and rubbed his hand over his face.

Pregnant. Oh, dear heavens. She couldn’t imagine being pregnant and stuck in the wilderness as winter approached. “How did she die?”

“She fell into a river.” He spoke flatly, his eyes once again telling her that he was digging up memories that had long been buried. “She was strong and gripped a tree branch, and Herbert and I managed to pull her out, but...”

“But she had already drowned,” she finished.

“No. She froze to death after we pulled her from the river. I couldn’t get her warm quickly enough. I didn’t have an extra parka, and her clothes were wet. I built a fire, but...” He swallowed, the muscles of his throat working. “I didn’t know how to treat hypothermia back then. It was the first thing I asked after I got back to Sitka, but I learned too late.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She reached out and settled her hand over his, where it rested on his leg. “You need lots of quilts and a warm fire, and you didn’t have either of those.”

“You need those in a house, yes, but not in the wilderness. In the wilderness you treat hypothermia by building a roaring fire, then having the wet person and a dry person both take off their clothes and climb into a bedroll together.”

She choked on her tea. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m very serious.” He took a sip of his own tea, his eyes pinned on the fire. “The body heat from the warm person will restore the body heat of the hypothermic one.”

“But... but... she was a woman. And she was with men. And... and you weren’t married. Don’t tell me you would have?—”

“Yes, I absolutely would have climbed into a bedroll in nothing more than my undergarments in order to save her life.”

“You would have had to marry her after doing such a thing!”

Mikhail shrugged, his grip on the mug tightening. “I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

Bryony took a sip of tea, letting the mild flavor fill her mouth fully before swallowing. “Did you love her?”

“Maybe, yes. At least a little. But it doesn’t matter, because she never made it back to Sitka.”

She studied the man beside her for a moment, his strong jaw and straight nose, his prominent cheekbones, the light brown hair that fell in golden waves until it brushed his shoulders. She could imagine him sitting at home on a night like tonight, drinking tea at a kitchen table and smiling at his wife before the two of them retired. Could imagine him kissing a little girl with a mop of golden curls good night before sending her off to bed. Could imagine him waking in the morning and setting the coffee percolator on the stove for his wife before she woke.

She could imagine all those things, yes. But she couldn’t imagine him doing them and being happy, not this man who thrived in the wild. “If you had married this woman, then you wouldn’t have spent the past decade leading government expeditions. You wouldn’t be famous.”

He turned to her then, his golden eyes boring into hers. “I never asked God to make me famous. But I ask God every day to help me save lives. So you’re right. Had I married Livy, my life would have looked far different. But it’s not what God wanted, and when I think about it, it’s not what I wanted either. Still, I would have married her out of duty and made the best of things had the situation called for it.”

“I’m sorry she died, but I’m glad you’re here now, with my father and his team.” With me. For some reason she didn’t quite understand, she couldn’t bring herself to say that last part. “I know I asked if you could get us safely back to the river when we first met, but after watching you the past three days, I realize how foolish that question was. There’s a reason you’re famous, and I have no doubt you’ll lead us all back to safety.”

He pushed to his feet, a short, dry chuckle bursting from his mouth. “That only tells me how little you understand of the wilderness.”

Then he turned and stalked to where his bedroll lay on the other side of the cave—leaving her to stare into the fire by herself.