Ride the Fire (26 page)
Private Fitchie pushed the door open, and two men entered, supporting a third between them.
Twas the man who had touched her.
He wore no shirt, and blood was spattered on his arms and shoulders.
“He fainted, Doctor. They had to wait until he came ‘round again to finish it. Thirty-nine lashes and not a peep. He can be right proud of that, so he can.”
“Thank you, Private. That will be all.”
The two soldiers turned and left, casting Bethie furtive looks.
Thirty-nine lashes.
“Madam? Water and bandages?”
“Oh!” She grabbed several bandage rolls, placed them on the bed beside the unconscious soldier, then poured fresh water in the copper bowl the doctor used for such things.
“Does the sight of blood upset you?” He began to wash the blood and bits of torn flesh from the soldier’s back.
“Nay. Tis no’ the sight of his wounds that startled me, Doctor, but knowin’ that this happened because of me.”
“Nonsense! Private Huntley was punished because he behaved in a manner unbecoming a British soldier. As it is, he got off lightly. I’ve seen men receive as many as a thousand lashes.”
Her stomach rolled. “A thousand!”
“Aye. Most often the blows are delivered over a period of days, allowing the prisoner some respite but greatly increasing his dread of the pain. Of course, such a beating can prove fatal. The trick in meting out punishment is to remember that a hardened scoundrel cannot be reformed no matter how hard you beat him. But a young soldier, such as this one, can still be turned to good if his spirit is not crushed.”
Something fell out of the man’s mouth. The doctor picked it up, held it out for her to see. “A lead ball. He’s bitten it flat, his attempt to preserve his pride and keep from crying out, I expect.”
Sweat ran down his bare chest as he dug. It was only about nine in the morning, and already the sun was blazing. He pitied the soldiers in their heavy woolen uniforms. It was hard to believe that he’d ever worn one. How far away that life seemed now.
He should have felt more ill at ease here amid the trappings of his former life. But there were too many echoes. Too many memories. He hadn’t spent this much time in a fort or taken orders from anyone in six years. Yet here he was among people who had known him, however briefly, as Lieutenant Nicholas Kenleigh. Such circumstances ordinarily would have driven him deeper into the wilderness, as he much preferred being nameless.
What had changed?
Nothing. Nothing had changed. He was simply repaying his debt to Bethie, making certain she and her baby reached home safely. That meant staying in the fort until the road east was again safe. His presence here was an unfortunate matter of obligation, nothing more.
Even as the words formed in his mind, he knew them for a lie. Nothing would have kept him within these walls if he hadn’t wanted to be here, if he hadn’t wanted to be with her. There were others he owed far more than he owed Bethie, and he had turned his back on them and ridden away.
I regret to inform you, madam, that your son is dead.
Lord, he wanted her. No matter how many times he touched her, tasted her, he could not get enough of her. She was like a fever in his blood, an obsession. He enjoyed just watching her come, enjoyed watching her lovely face as the sweet shock of climax surged through her, enjoyed knowing he could bring her pleasure.
And though he’d not taken her in the usual way, she was a fast learner and becoming quite clever with her tongue and hands. The first time she’d brought him to orgasm, he’d feared the force of it would wake the entire garrison. He could not deny that he dreamed of burying himself inside her, feeling her hot and slick around him, but it was better this way. This way he could not get her with child. For he knew this could not last. One day, reinforcements would arrive and disperse the Delaware. Then he and Bethie would resume their journey to Paxton, where he would leave her and her baby in her family’s care. He’d left home to protect his family from the man he’d become. He would leave Bethie for the same reason.
“I want the accursed pet wolf and the bear turned out of the fort or put down immediately! And if the settlers can’t keep their dogs tied up and quiet at night, I want the dogs shot! They’re ruining my sleep. Offer half a crown in bounty to any man who kills a loose or barking dog.” Ecuyer’s voice preceded him as he walked along the ramparts.
“Aye, Captain.” The quartermaster ran after him.
Ecuyer stopped at the bottom of the wall below him.
“And make certain that those who are selling Indian corn are not making too much profit. I can’t have the king’s subjects slaughtering one another over grain. I should think that six shillings a bushel is sufficient in time of war.”
“Aye. You are dismissed.”
The quartermaster—Clark was his name—hurried away.
“Master Kenleigh, I should like a word with you.” Nicholas handed his spade to Ian Calhoun, then climbed down the rough embankment to the ground. Ecuyer looked him over with a frown. “You are not properly attired, Master Kenleigh.”
Around him, men laughed.
Ecuyer’s cheeks turned a blotchy shade of red. He lowered his voice. “Do not show insubordination before the men. As a gentleman, Master Kenleigh, and as a former officer, you ought to understand the need for maintaining discipline.”
Nicholas reached for his shirt, slipped it over his head, ignored the ties. “You came over here to ask me to put my shirt on?”
“Of course not! I came to get your assessment of these colonials. Will they be ready to fight when the time comes?”
Nicholas climbed the embankment, saw a column of thick, black smoke rising from the forested hill to the east. Ecuyer labored up behind him, stood beside him, fought to catch his breath. “They’ve attacked another farmstead.”
Nicholas shook his head. “They’re just trying to get your attention. I suspect they’re hoping you’ll order a detachment to repulse them.”
“Aye.”
Lieutenant Trent shouted from below, “Should I sound the alarm, Captain?”
Nicholas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Women, Captain? You would send women outside these walls?”
Ecuyer glared at him. “Under armed escort, Master Kenleigh. Is it not their job to do such chores at home on their farms? Let them prove their worth by offering some service to their sovereign.”
Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest, looked down at the older man. “I doubt there’s a man here who would willingly send his wife—”
“Any woman who refuses is to be locked in the guardhouse. Be ready by noon. Is that understood?”
“No, sir. If I do this, I do it my way: colonial volunteers, men of my choosing, and no bloody drum and fife. There’s no reason to warn Shingiss we’re on our way out.”
“You try my patience, Kenleigh.”
“I’m certain I do. But you don’t know these ‘colonials,’ as you call them. I do. Lock their wives up and you’ll have a riot. Send women up against seasoned Delaware warriors and you’ll lose the respect of every frontiersman here.”
Ecuyer’s jaw clenched, and he lowered his voice. “Very well, Kenleigh. Noon.”
“Two hours. No more.”
Annie cuddled Belle against her shoulder, patted the baby’s back. Her face grew grave. “All I know is what I’ve heard others say. Tis said he was taken captive by the Wyandot while tryin’ to save the lives of two young soldiers.” Then she lowered her voice, leaned toward Bethie. “The two young soldiers were burned alive, they say, while he was tortured and made to watch. They say he’s lived alone in the wild since, mad from pain and grief.”
Bethie felt her temper quicken. Who dared say such a thing about Nicholas! “He’s no’ mad!”
“What?” Bethie’s stomach dropped to the floor.
“Didn’t ye know, lamb? He’s leadin’ a force of men out to cut the spelts and harvest what food they can. They left at midday.”
“He didna see fit to tell me.” Bethie stood, torn between fury and fear. “Can you watch Belle for me, Annie? She won’t be hungry again for a while.”
He likely kept it to himself so as no’ to worry ye.”
Bethie scarce heard her as she hurried to the door.
“Thank you, Annie.”
She opened the door and froze.
Richard!
