Ride the Fire (21 page)
them.
Quickly Nicholas read the landscape. Unsure how many men were approaching, he needed a defensible position. Then he kicked in his heels, urged Zeus to a canter. “Hurry, Bethie!”
“We’re being followed. Quick. Up here.”
“Aye, but leave me one of the rifles. I can shoot, Nicholas.”
Nicholas had expected her to show fear, and there was fear in her eyes. But her face also showed grim resolve. An image of her standing before her cabin, alone, frightened and very pregnant, leapt into his mind.
I am no’ wantin’ far means to protect myself!
He’d been out of sight for only a moment when she saw them—five Delaware warriors crouched at the mouth of the gully.
Her stomach lurched. Human
scalps.
Bethie closed her eyes, muttered a silent prayer. When she opened her eyes again, the warriors were directly below her. They moved cautiously, their heads turning as they searched the hillsides.
Her heart stopped dead.
One seemed to look directly at her, his gaze sliding over her like a breeze.
She knew the moment they saw the horses. Their attention shifted to the animals, and, crouched and ready to fight, they moved forward with more confidence. One bent down, traced the footprints Nicholas had left for them to find, gestured to the others. Four moved forward toward the horses, while the fifth, the man with the scalps on his belt, backtracked, disappearing up the hill into the trees. Two pistol shots split the silence.
A cry. A grunt.
Three of the Indians fell to the ground.
Nicholas sprang from nowhere, grabbed a rifle from one of the men he’d shot, swung it at the fourth, who leapt out of the way.
It hadn’t been loaded.
In horror, Bethie watched as the Indian gave a hairraising cry and rushed in on Nicholas, war club in one hand, knife in the other. He swung the club, aimed for Nicholas’s head.
And then she saw.
The fifth man, the man she had forgotten, the man with the scalps, stalked Nicholas from behind. He stepped out from behind a tree. Raised his rifle.
Cocked it. Took aim.
Nicholas!
Nicholas stared up at her, surprise and fury on his face.
So did the remaining Indian.
Only then did Bethie realize the shot had been hers. Nicholas wrenched his attention off Bethie, back to the surviving Delaware, took advantage of the man’s distraction to deliver a skull-crushing blow with the rifle butt. The man fell to the earth, as good as dead. Nicholas retrieved his pistols, pulled his knife from its temporary sheath deep in one man’s chest, wiped it clean on the man’s breeches. As the rush of the fight began to fade, his anger fused to a sharp edge.
She had defied him. She had fired the rifle, given herself away, put herself and Isabelle in danger. Had he not been clear with her? She was only to fire to save her own life, not to protect him. He could protect himself.
He found her sitting beneath a tree, a crying Belle clutched tightly to her breast.
She met his gaze, her violet eyes bright with unshed tears.
She was in shock.
She had killed a man, and her mind was struggling to cope.
Anger turned into a fierce protectiveness. Nicholas pulled her into his arms, careful of little Belle, who was still crying, pressed his lips to her hair. “You foolish, brave woman. I know men who couldn’t have made that shot. You’re a lot stronger than you seem.”
“I-I dinnae feel very strong.” Her voice was thick with tears.
He stepped back, cupped her face in his hands, wiped her tears away with his thumbs. “Strong isn’t about how you feel, Bethie. It’s about what you do. It’s no small thing to take a man’s life, no small thing to risk your own. You just did both.”
The first time he’d killed.
They’d been crossing the Monongahela. The French had been waiting in ambush, had opened fire. Nicholas had returned fire, hit a young French soldier in the chest—some mother’s son. He’d had brown hair.
But Bethie was a young woman. She hadn’t chosen to live here, but had been brought to the frontier by her fool of a husband. Until now she’d never had to take a life. Nicholas had hoped to spare her this.
He met her shattered gaze. “It’s never easy, love.” The throaty squawk of a raven brought him back to the present. They were not safe here.
“Come, Bethie. We must move on. The sound of gunfire might well draw the rest of the Delaware down on our heads.”
Nicholas wanted to press on until they reached the fort, and she would do her best not to be a burden, though the road be long. She was tired of fear, tired of danger, tired of running. The sooner they reached the fort, the sooner she would be able to rest.
She adjusted Belle’s weight in the sling, tried to shrug the ache out of her shoulders. The baby was asleep again, her tiny thumb in her mouth, the fresh air and the motion of the horse better than the sweetest lullaby.
‘Take this.” Nicholas slowed his stallion, leaned toward her, handed her a strip of dried venison. “You need to keep up your strength.”
She took the meat, though she had no appetite. But he was watching. “Eat, love. For Belle’s sake as well as your own.”
She bit off a piece, chewed, watched the trees open to a wide blue sky as they reached the top of a rocky ridge. The June sunshine was bright and hot, and she found herself overlooking a lush valley, the rounded crowns of beech, maple and oak like puffy green clouds floating below her. This was how birds saw the world, she realized.
“You’re smiling.” His deep voice interrupted her daydream.
“I know that’s not true. You’re an intelligent woman, Bethie.”
The tone of his voice was not mocking but sincere, and she could not help staring at him in amazement. A thick lump formed in her throat. She swallowed. “You’re a strange man, Nicholas.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His teeth flashed white as he grinned. “So what made you smile?”
“You’ll laugh. Tis nothin’.”
“I willna laugh, lass.” He mimicked her brogue. “You’re a haggis-headed fool!” She shook her head, could not hold back her smile.
“A . . . a what?” His handsome face took on a look of exaggerated indignation.
She gestured to the valley below. “I was thinkin’ this is how birds see the world.”
To her surprise, he didn’t laugh. Instead, he looked out over the valley, nodded, his lips curved in a gentle smile. Then abruptly his expression grew grim.
She followed the direction of his gaze.
A farmstead. But it wasn’t burnt down. Horses stood in the paddock. And tiny specks that were people went about their chores.
“We must warn them!” She pointed Rosa downhill. Nicholas grasped her reins, stopped her. “There isn’t time.”
“We cannae just ride off and leave them to die!”
His voice took on a hard edge. “They knew what they were getting into when they came here, Bethie. War and slaughter are nothing new on the frontier. Either they’re prepared to defend themselves or they’re not.”
“How can one family defend itself against so many warriors?
Do you no’ care if they die?”
Her question was like a fist to his gut. “I’ve seen more death than you can imagine, Bethie! I’ve looked it in the face, slept with it, broken bread with it. Hell, I’ve been dead! The only person a man can save is himself!”
“You’re no’ so cold-hearted as that, Nicholas! You saved Belle and me!” She looked at him as if he were a knight in shining armor, her violet eyes imploring.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he’d never intended to get involved in her plight, that his feelings for her were an accident that the last time he’d tried to save someone they had died in agony, cursing his name. He released her. “
That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? There’s still plenty of time between here and Fort Pitt to die.”
Silent tears slipped from her eyes, ran down her cheeks. She drew in a shaky breath. “Then we leave them to be butchered?”
Bethie’s words lingered in the air, made him feel like a cold-blooded bastard.
“Damn it!” He jerked Zeus’s reins, headed down the hill toward the cabin, certain he was making a terrible mistake. It took longer to reach the cabin than Bethie had expected. It hadn’t seemed so far away from the hilltop. Only when they drew in sight of it did she remember how she was dressed. She’d gotten so used to wearing only her shift and Nicholas’s shirt that she’d forgotten to feel half naked. But the people who lived in this house were strangers. Not only that, her shift was travel-stained, her braid unkempt, her feet bare as an urchin’s.
Nicholas reined in the stallion. “Stay here. Let me speak with them first.”
She nodded.
He had just urged Zeus forward again when a voice rang out.
“Stay where you are, you bloody heathen!” A wiry man with gray hair stepped out from behind the barn, a long rifle in his hands.
Nicholas stopped. “I mean you no harm. I just stopped by to warn you about an Indian—”
“To warn me about an Indian? You are an Indian!” The man peered from behind his rifle, squinting.
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, my son Johnny here says you are.”
“I’m no’ so sure now, Da. He looks like a white man.” A boy of about eleven, all blond hair and freckles, peered out from behind his father.
Despite the grimness of the situation, Bethie fought a smile.
“That’s because I am a white man.” There was a strong note of irritation in Nicholas’s voice. “I’ve come to warn you there’s an Indian uprising under way. There are war parties attacking up and down the Ohio River Valley. We’ve passed a half-dozen massacred families in the past few days, didn’t want to see you become the next.”
“I see only you, stranger. You said ‘we.’ Who’s with you?” The voice came from the other side of the barn, and a young man stepped forward. Apart from darker hair, he was simply a bigger version of his brother.
Nicholas motioned Bethie to join him. “We were attacked about a week ago, burned out by a forest fire. We escaped to the river and are on our way to Fort Pitt.” She urged her mount forward, stopped beside Nicholas, tried not to care that the two boys stared at her. Their father squinted.
“What is she wearin’?”
“She’s no’ wearin’ much, Da. And she’s got a wee bairn.”
Bethie felt herself flush to the roots of her hair, was about to stammer something, when Nicholas spoke. “The fire happened at night. We fled with no warning and no time to prepare.”
The father nodded in understanding. “Johnny, get indoors. Search the chest, see if your ma has somethin’ this poor lass can wear.”
The boy shuffled past, casting Bethie shy glances. She didn’t realize how much she had missed another woman’s company until the man spoke of his wife. “You’re very kind. Are you sure she willna mind?”
“Aye, lass, I’m sure. She died last spring.” The man gestured for them to dismount. “The name’s Magee—Donnie Magee. What’s mine is yours. Stop a while. Callum will tend your horses, and Johnny will have supper on soon.”
Nicholas shook his head. “That’s very gracious of you, Master Magee, but I’m afraid we can’t stay, and neither can you. There’s a large party of Delaware headed this way.”
