Ride the Fire (28 page)

“They’re trying to draw our forces outside the walls, trying to provoke a battle,” Nicholas warned Ecuyer. “The animals will return on their own.”

But the captain, outraged over the substance of Shingiss’s remarks to Nicholas, didn’t listen. Instead, Ecuyer waited until the Indians had seemingly gone back into the forest, then sent a small party of men out to round up the animals under military escort.

The results were predictable. The Delaware poured out of the forest, and though a few were killed, shot by retreating soldiers, they managed to capture one of the militia, James Thompson, whom they killed and scalped within sight of the walls.

This provoked outrage from the entire garrison. Soldiers and militia gathered on the ramparts to curse the Delaware. Only when the air sang with arrows was it clear that Thompson’s killing had been a distraction, one that had enabled warriors to creep within the shadows of the riverbanks and surround the fort.

Ecuyer told his men not to fire, afraid they would not be able to hit the Indians, who still lurked in the shelter of the steep riverbanks. Instead, he ordered several rounds to be fired from the howitzers and the cannon. Within two hours, the attack was over.

But no one celebrated. Looking out over the landscape, it was now perfectly clear.

Fort Pitt was under siege.

For two days, nothing happened. Indians were spotted prowling around the fort, checking the walls for weaknesses, reconnoitering. On the third day, just after midnight, two Delaware leaders approached the fort and pleaded to speak with Ken-lee. A guard went to wake Nicholas, who quickly dressed and hurried to meet the Indians outside the gate. As Nicholas left the safety of the fort again, Bethie knelt beside her bed and prayed.

“Are they sincere, or is this just another ruse, another attempt to provoke us?”

“I would guess the latter. They are desperate. They will use any means at their disposal to win.”

Ecuyer took another sip of tea. “So must we. Tell them they may approach the fort safely. You and I will meet with them and hear what they have to say. We will give them gifts, of course, some small token of our regard. And we shall see.”

“Why does it have to be you, Nicholas? Why? Is there no one else in this bloody garrison who can speak their tongue?” She felt his strong arms surround her, turned to face him, rested her hands on his shoulders.

“The Indians have asked that I be present, and the captain has commanded it. I have no choice, Bethie.” Bethie laid her head against his chest, listened to the strong rhythm of his heart. He was so alive, so strong.

“Promise me you’ll no’ take foolish risks. I couldna bear it if you should be hurt, Nicholas.”

She heard his deep chuckle, felt his fingers in her hair.

The sun was barely up, and she’d not had time to braid it. “There is still time before I must go, and Belle is still asleep.” The husky tone of his voice told her just how he thought they ought to spend that time.

But first he had to get past Private Fitchie. The boy had become Bethie’s lapdog. Richard had seen the shy, adoring glances he’d tossed her way. She had seduced him, too, had probably taken him to her bed when that husband of hers was out acting the hero.

Richard watched, smiled when Fitchie clutched his belly. So the doctor’s cures
did
work. Richard had gone to him, complaining that his belly had turned to stone. The doctor had given him a tincture to make his bowels move—and Richard had poured all of it into Fitchie’s coffee this morning.

Within minutes, Fitchie had doubled over, and soon he seemed to be dancing.

“You’ll have to choose, lad. Is it to be duty or a trip to the privy house.” Even as Richard spoke the words, Private Fitchie grabbed his breeches and ran.

But that wasn’t the only thing troubling her. Nicholas had told her this morning that if this parlay led to peace, they would be free to leave the fort and continue on their way to Paxton.

“You might even be home before the first leaves turn,” he’d said. “Don’t worry.” But how could she not worry? She knew what awaited her in Paxton.

An image of the face she’d seen the other day leapt into her mind. She shuddered. Whoever it was had looked so much like Richard. But it couldn’t be he. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not so far from Paxton. Not in a British uniform. She had not told Nicholas yet, but she wasn’t going to Paxton. She would stay here with Annie, if Annie and Charlie would take her in. She could work as hard as any other woman, help them run the trading post. Just the other day Annie had said she was getting too old to handle it all herself. And if Annie and Charlie turned her away, she would plead with Nicholas to take her to Ligonier or further on to Lancaster, where she could surely find a position as a seamstress or day maid. Now that she could read some and write her name, it would surely be easier to find work. But just as terrible as the fear of facing her stepfather and his vile son again was the knowledge that Nicholas still intended to leave her. She’d thought perhaps that their time together would change his mind, that his desire for her might turn to affection. Living here in the fort, where everyone believed she was his wife, had made anything seem possible.

She knew he cared for her, or at least she hoped he did. Why else would he get so angry with her? Why protect her, provide for her, risk his life for her? Why make such tender love to her? Never once had he pushed her further than she’d been willing to go. Never once had he taken her the way a man takes a woman. Did that not show he truly cared for her?

“Nay, Bethie.” She stood abruptly, carried Belle to her cradle, began to dress. “Dinnae be silly! He doesna love you.”

“Little Bethie Stewart.”

She whirled about at the sound of his voice. Terror exploded in her breast. “Richard!”

“He says Ligonier has been destroyed and that the Ottawa and Ojibwa are advancing many hundreds strong toward us from the north. He says that, out of caring for us, they have persuaded the Six Nations to hold back their attack so that we might evacuate the fort and take our women and children east over the mountains. If we do not leave now, the Six Nations will come and destroy us.”

Ecuyer smiled, seemed almost to be enjoying himself. “Tell Turtle’s Heart that I thank him for his kind warning, but the garrison at Fort Pitt is well equipped to defend itself. Tell him that three great armies are on their way here to punish those who have taken up arms against the Crown. Six thousand are on their way to Fort Pitt as we speak. Three thousand more have been sent north to punish the Ottawa and Ojibwa. A third is coming up from the south to destroy the Delaware and Shawnee. Tell him they should protect their women and children, for I fear for their safety.”

Nicholas translated those lies as well, wondered if Turtle’s Heart understood the concept of a thousand. Wars among Indian nations rarely measured in hundreds. Turtle’s Heart watched Ecuyer through inscrutable brown eyes as the silence stretched. Finally he spoke. “Tell him we will take his words to Shingiss and will consider all that has been spoken.”

Nicholas repeated Turtle’s Heart’s words in English.

Ecuyer nodded, motioned two young soldiers forward. “Tell them we appreciate their warning and concern for our safety. Out of our regard for them, we offer these blankets and handkerchiefs as tokens.”

As Nicholas interpreted, the soldiers placed a neatly folded woolen blanket and a small linen handkerchief into each of the two Delaware warriors’ arms, looks of terror on their young faces as if they expected to be killed at any moment. Turtle’s Head nodded. “Thank him for these gifts and tell him that Turtle’s Heart holds fast the chain of friendship with the English.”

Then Turtle’s Heart and his companion turned and walked down the Monongahela bank toward the forest, where Shingiss was no doubt waiting.

As a drummer began a retreating beat and Ecuyer’s escort disappeared behind the glacis and back toward the drawbridge, Nicholas watched the warriors walk away, feeling vaguely uneasy, then turned and followed Ecuyer. Ahead of him, Trent and Ecuyer were talking in low tones.

Ecuyer chuckled. “Within a month we could be rid of them all without having fired a shot.”

“Let us hope the blankets have the desired effect. What of the two privates?”

“Both have already survived smallpox, and the doctor assures me they cannot contract the disease again. Still, we’re taking no chances. Their uniforms will be burned, and they shall be quarantined for a fortnight.”

Nicholas stopped in his tracks, stared at the two officers backs, almost unable to believe what he’d heard. “You gave them blankets infected with smallpox ?”

Ecuyer turned to face him, a smile on his arrogant face.

“Aye. Rather ingenious, don’t you think, Master Kenleigh? My idea, you know. Given that the savages cannot withstand the disease, this simple act could mean the saving of Fort Pitt.”

“And it could mean the horrible deaths of countless innocent Delaware and Shawnee!” A spectacle of horror unfolded in Nicholas’s mind—women, children, elders convulsing with fever, dying by the hundreds, their bodies covered with pustules.

Ecuyer fussed with the lace at his wrists. “Really, Master Kenleigh. Is there such a thing as an ‘innocent’ Indian? I should think you, more than most, understand their savagery.” Nicholas turned, started after the Indians and was immediately restrained by two soldiers, who dragged him back inside the fort at gunpoint. He glared at Ecuyer.

“Who’s the savage now?”

Ecuyer’s face reddened. “You forget yourself, Master Kenleigh.”

“And you’ve just made me an unwitting accomplice to murder!”

“Step outside the gate without authorization, and I’ll have you shot for treason.”

“Go to hell!” Fists clenched, Nicholas shoved away the soldiers who restrained him and pushed past Ecuyer, ignoring Trent’s shocked gasp.

With no way to warn Shingiss, Nicholas strode off in a rage toward the ramparts, determined to pick up a shovel and slam it into dirt before he slammed his fists into Ecuyer’s arrogant face.

This could not be happening!

He’d come to her almost every night, touched her, hurt her, rubbed himself against her. He was ten years older, so much stronger. She had tried long ago to fight him, knew she could not win, knew he would only hurt her worse if she tried. If she cried out, Malcolm would come with his leather strap and beat her again, and her mother would know her shame. She’d bitten back her screams, tried not to feel it, waited until he was done to let the tears come.

“P-please, Richard! P-please dinnae do this!”

“You’re afraid. Good. I always liked that. Lie down, little one, unless you want me to tup you on the floor.” A baby cried.

Belle!

Bethie blinked, woke from her living nightmare. She was not in her bed. She was not in the loft. She was in Fort Pitt in the quarters she shared with Nicholas. Nicholas, who had taught her to read. Nicholas, who had saved her life. Nicholas, who had made love to her, who’d brought her bliss.

She hardened her heart against Belle’s weeping, hoped he wouldn’t notice her daughter, walked forward on trembling legs until she stood between him and the cradle. “N-nay, Richard! I-I am n-no’ a frightened little girl, but a woman. Get out!”

His step faltered. His smile became a look of mild disgust. “Aye, ‘tis true. You are no’ the bonny wee lass you once were—all yellow hair, big eyes and long legs, thin and wary like a wild rabbit. I remember when you started to grow paps. Small and sweet they were, but no’ now. Still, a woman or no’, I want to finish what we started.”

At his words, tendrils of nausea snaked through her belly and bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, her mind racing for some way out of this. “H-he’ll kill you! If you touch me, he’ll kill you!”

Richard reached out as if in defiance, grabbed her arms, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh as he dragged her against him. He looked down at her through flat brown eyes. “And how is he goin’ to hear of it? Do you want him to share in our family secrets?”

And in one terrifying instant, she saw the awful choice before her. She could submit, suffer Richard’s touch and keep her taint hidden. Or she could fight him, knowing full well he would hurt her, knowing that her bruises would betray her disgrace to Nicholas, to the whole world. The breath left her lungs in a single sob, and she closed her eyes against her fear, her dread, her grief.
Nicholas!