Ride the Fire (33 page)

Nicholas kissed her, leapt from the bed, his face grave.

“Stay here.”

But as he drew on his breeches, there came a knocking at the door.

Nicholas felt a warm rush of relief, saw tears well up in Bethie’s sweet eyes. She didn’t know it, but he’d been planning to leave the fort with her tonight, to sneak out under cover of darkness, to take his chances with her and little Belle in the wild.

Now he wouldn’t have to.

He shucked his breeches, crawled back into bed beside her, pulled her against him, stroked the tangled silk of her hair.

She sniffed back her tears. “It’s over, Nicholas! It’s really over!”

Nicholas turned his back and walked away. The day after his arrival, Bouquet gave the orders that all women, children and other useless people should prepare to leave two days hence for Ligonier under heavy military escort. It was on that day Bouquet summoned Nicholas to his office for a private meeting with him and Ecuyer.

“In light of your courage, knowledge and skill, I am prepared to advance you to the rank of captain and charge you with creating your own company of rangers.” Bouquet spoke the words as if he were offering Nicholas all the kingdoms of the world. “It is a great honor, one I do not offer lightly. Your wife and daughter will, of course, be escorted safely to Ligonier and housed as comfortably as possible until this rebellion has been quashed. What say you?”

Nicholas looked both men in the eyes, allowed his contempt to show. “I’m afraid I must decline. I’ve seen enough death and brutality—on both sides, gentlemen—to last until the world’s ending. What I cherish travels east, and I go with her. Good day to you both. I leave you to yourselves.”

The night before they left Fort Pitt, there was a commotion on the walls, and the colonel sent for Nicholas. “One of the faithless savages is standing across the river. We’ve fired at him, but he won’t budge. He has asked to speak with you.”

Nicholas climbed to the top of the ramparts, looked across the Monongahela.

Taking only his knife, Nicholas paddled a canoe left by the retreating Delaware. Across the river Atsan stood alone, his war paint washed away.

“You tried to warn me. Why?”

“I do not wish you dead, Sa-ray-u-migh. Had you stayed with my people, I would have treated you as an honored son.”

“I know.” Nicholas had to tell him. “Mattootuk is dead.”

“You killed him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Aye. He tried to kill my wife and daughter. He left me no choice.”

“There was a time when you would gladly have killed her.”

“Not while she carried my child.”

“No, not while she carried your child.” Atsan lifted the talisman that hung around his neck, the sign of his house, draped it over Nicholas’s head. “Mattootuk was my last surviving son. It is right that you take this. Go in peace, Long Knife. Father many children.”

“Go in peace, Atsan.”

Atsan looked at him through eyes that seemed older than the forest. “There will be no peace for us now. Only war. It is over.”

Then the old man turned, disappeared into the trees, leaving Nicholas to sort out the tempest inside him.

“But I must. I must tell them about Richard. And I . . . I want to see my mother.”

“Then let’s get it over with.” Nicholas gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, released it, took the reins, snapped them over Zeus’s rump.

They had left Fort Pitt with everyone else deemed a burden by Colonel Bouquet and traveled to Ligonier, where Nicholas had somehow managed to buy a wagon. Then Bethie had bade her new friends a sad farewell. Most would remain in Ligonier until the frontier was safe once again.

They had poured too much blood and sweat into their farms to leave them—and they had no place else to go. Hardest of all had been saying good-bye to Annie.

“I’ll never forget you, Annie. You’ve been so kind to me.”

“Nor I you, lamb. But ye’re in good hands. That strappin’ man of yers will take good care of both of ye. Come next summer, ye’ll have another babe, as sweet as this one. Oh, let Auntie Annie hold you one last time!”

Talk of another baby had startled Bethie, but she’d smiled, handed Belle into Annie’s arms, her vision blurred with tears as Annie kissed Belle’s chubby cheeks. Reluctantly Annie had handed Isabelle back. “Be off wi’ ye now. And may God bless and protect ye.”

“You, too, Annie.”

They had traveled from Ligonier east toward Philadelphia, stopping in Harrisburg, where they’d stayed at an inn. Never had Bethie enjoyed so lavish a roof over her head or so soft a bed. When she’d protested to Nicholas that she’d never be able to repay him and that he was surely well on his way to becoming penniless or landing in a debtor’s gaol, he’d only kissed her and told her not to worry. She had asked Nicholas only to take her as far as Ligonier, but he’d shaken his head, told her it wasn’t safe, insisted that he go with her all the way to Philadelphia. When she’d asked him if he thought she’d be better able to find work there, he’d frowned, mumbled something about leaving the future to take care of itself.

Although that future was fast approaching and so much lay unspoken and unfinished between them, Bethie hadn’t pushed for an answer. She hadn’t even had the courage to ask Nicholas what he intended to do once they reached Philadelphia. She feared his answer. Did he care about her enough to stay with her? Or would he turn his horse’s head west and return to the wild that was so much a part of him? She told herself that, either way, she would be fine. She was not the girl Richard had violated, nor was she the frightened young woman Andrew had taken to wife. She was stronger now, braver. Whether Nicholas was with her or not, she would do her best to build a good life for herself and Isabelle. But she knew in her heart that, although she could survive without him, the only place she was truly alive was at his side.

Stopping in Paxton had been her idea. She told herself it was her duty to let Malcolm know what had become of Richard. But a part of her wanted to see her mother, to show her Isabelle, to ask her to come with her to Philadelphia to start a new life free from Malcolm and his fists. As they rolled to a stop before the cabin, Bethie found it hard to breathe, found herself wishing she had let Nicholas talk her out of doing this. She clung to him as he lifted her and Belle to the ground.

“I’m right here, Bethie. I won’t let him hurt you.” She met his encouraging gaze, felt some of her fear melt away.

The cabin and barn looked more worn down than she remembered. Weathered clapboard shingles hung loosely from the roof. The parchment window was torn. Beside the barn, flies buzzed around a pile of manure, the stench of which was overwhelming. Chickens pecked listlessly in the dirt.

She’d taken one step toward the door when it was thrown open and Malcolm Sorley stepped outside. The years had been cruel to him. His coppery hair was dulled with gray, his face haggard and covered with gray stubble, his skin ruddy and mottled by the sun. He seemed a man bent and old, as if bowed under the weight of his own dourness and cruelty.

The look of shock and loathing on his face might have made Bethie laugh had her fear of him not run so deep. His gaze traveled from her to Isabelle to Nicholas and back again.

“I’ve brought news, and I’ve come to see my mother.”

Bethie heard her mother’s reedy voice call from within.

“Who is it, Malcolm?”

“It’s that bedeviled daughter of yours come back to stir up trouble, Greer. She’s brought a strange man wi’ her. Who is this?”

“Her husband.” Nicholas’s voice, so strong, helped steady her.

“She’s already got a husband.” Malcolm’s gaze shifted between them. “So it’s an adulteress you’ve become, Bethie Stewart?”

Nicholas stepped out from behind her, one aggressive stride, and for the first time in her life, Bethie saw fear in her stepfather’s eyes as he measured Nicholas’s strength and found himself outmatched.

Nicholas’s voice was soft as silk—and deadly. “The old man you married her off to died and left her alone and unprotected in the middle of a war.”

Malcolm looked at the baby. ‘Whose get is she?”

“She is Andrew’s child.” Bethie held Belle closer.

“She doesna look like him.” Malcolm sneered, lifted his gaze to Nicholas.

“She doesna look like either of them.”

Bethie ignored the insinuation. “Doesna Christian charity demand you invite us in, Malcolm?”

“We wouldn’t dream of it.” Nicholas offered Bethie his arm, and she took it, grateful to feel him beside her. They followed Malcolm through the door. Bethie stared about in shock and dismay. The cabin was filthy, the floor covered with dirt, dried leaves, crumbs, dead flies, mouse droppings. A rancid smell that could only be rotten straw from bedding gone sour permeated the air, together with the stench of unwashed bodies. Grease, melted wax and bits of food stuck to the surface of the rickety wooden table that in her childhood had been bright and newly hewn.

Most shocking of all was her mother. She sat at the table, paring potatoes, fear in her eyes, an old and weary woman who was not yet forty. It hurt Bethie to see her like this, care-worn and aged and afraid.

“What’s wrong, Bethie? Do you no’ like what you see?” Malcolm went to stand on the opposite side of the table beside her mother. “Your daughter’s lookin’ down her nose at us, Greer.”

“Why have you come here, lass? Why?”

Bethie tried to ignore her mother’s rejection. “We’re on our way to Philadelphia, Mother. I-I wanted to see you again, to show you your granddaughter. This is Isabelle. She was born at the end of March.”

The words hurt like a blow, cut much deeper. “W-would you like to hold her?”

“I’ve supper to prepare. Can you no’ see that?”

Bethie swallowed the tears that welled up inside her, chided herself for ever thinking things could be different. Her mother had never loved her.

“I’ve come with news of Richard.” She saw and felt Malcolm go rigid, and her stomach knotted.

“How come you by news of him? He went back east to find work as a seaman.”

Bethie steeled herself against the rage she knew would come. “I saw him at Fort Pitt. He was wearin’ a British uni—”

His fist would have hit her squarely on the cheek if Nicholas had not caught Malcolm’s wrist in midair. Nicholas wrenched Malcolm’s arm behind his back, forced him up against the far wall, knife at his throat. “Men who hurt women are my favorite men to kill. Touch her, and I’ll send you straight to hell—with a smile on my face!”

Malcolm struggled, but Bethie could see he was no match for Nicholas’s greater strength. “My son would never join the English!”

Bethie started to answer, but it was Nicholas who spoke first.

“Your son was serving at Fort Pitt under the command of Captain Simeon Ecuyer. Ecuyer tried him in a court-martial and sentenced him to death by firing squad after he beat my wife and tried to rape her in our quarters. Your son, Master Sorley, is dead.”

“ Tis her fault! She bewitched him, seduced him, led him to a path of sin!”

Bethie squeezed her eyes shut against his vile words. It seemed like only yesterday she’d stood here, bleeding and beaten, as he shouted similar words at her, then sent her away.

“Leave Bethie out of this! He found that path on his own, and he paid the price.” Nicholas sounded enraged, and Bethie feared for a moment he might truly kill her stepfather.

“I dinnae believe you, English! He cannae be dead! Tis lies meant to torment me!”

“It’s the truth, old man. I fired the shot that killed him. I watched him die. Live with it.” Nicholas released him, and Bethie watched as her stepfather crumpled to the floor, a broken man.

Then her mother stepped forward from the shadows, met Bethie’s gaze, pointed a bony finger at her. “Get out! Go! Is it no’ enough that you shame me before my husband! Will you now destroy our hopes, bring grief into our home?”

Bethie blinked back her tears, even as the pain caused by those words blossomed in her breast. She tried one last time. “Come with me, Mother. Come away from here. Come away from him. You dinnae need to live with him any longer. I’m goin’ to find work in Philadelphia and—”

“He is my husband! I’ll no’ go wi’ you! Get out! You are no’ welcome here!”

Bethie felt Nicholas slip his arm round her waist. “Let’s go, love. You’ve done all you can. Leave them to the life they’ve chosen.”

With one last look at her mother, Bethie allowed him to guide her out the door and back to the wagon. Numb, she said nothing as he lifted her into the seat, nothing as they rolled down the rutted road back toward Harrisburg. But when they rounded the bend and were out of sight of the cabin, Nicholas reined the horses to a stop and took her into his arms.

Then Bethie let the tears come.