Ride the Fire (38 page)

“What would your wife say, sir?”

Master Franklin tossed back his head, laughed. “Deborah would probably say she also wishes I were a young man again!”

Bethie looked up into Nicholas’s teasing eyes. “I’ll remember that.”

The evening passed in a whirlwind of introductions until Bethie was quite confused and could remember no one’s name. She’d never met so many people at once in her entire life. Almost everyone was very gracious to her, more so than she would have imagined.

Almost everyone.

The evening seemed to be passing smoothly when Nicholas cursed under his breath.

Bethie followed his gaze to a beautiful young woman dressed in a gown of yellow silk embroidered with bright, red flowers. Upon her head was an elegant powdered wig. Her skin was unnaturally white, and Bethie realized it was powered, even the swell of her breasts, which rose rather bountifully above her bodice. A dark beauty mark had been affixed to her cheek. She moved with the regal grace of a swan. And her gaze was fixed upon Nicholas. “Nicholas, my dear, I am so relieved to see you safely home again. You’ve no idea how I worried and prayed for you. But that’s not the first time I’ve lost sleep because of you.” She held out her hand to him, gazed seductively at him from beneath her darkened lashes.

Nicholas smiled, took her hand, kissed it. “Sylvia. Thank you for your prayers, though that is not usually what gets you on your knees, is it? May I introduce my wife?” But Sylvia ignored Bethie, tickled Belle under the chin and smiled. In contrast to her painted face, her teeth appeared almost as yellow as her gown.

“What a lovely child. She doesn’t look like you, Nicholas. I would think so vigorous a man would make his mark in his offspring.”

Nicholas’s voice held a hint of warning. “She is my daughter by adoption, Sylvia. Elspeth was widowed.”

Then the woman’s cold brown eyes fixed on Bethie. “A child—and a child bride. How pleased I am to meet you, dear.”

Bethie could tell that Sylvia was anything but pleased to meet her, felt her own temper stir, bit back her words for the sake of Nicholas and his family. “Tis a pleasure to meet you, miss.”

“She’s lovely, Nicholas. I can see why you fell for her. Her eyes are such a unique shade of blue, and her skin—baked brown in the sun like that of a wild Indian. Perhaps she shall start a new fashion and we shall all bake our faces, though I think few of us would choose to do so by working in our own fields.”

But Nicholas laughed. “Am I right in remembering that your thirtieth birthday has just passed, Sylvia, my dear? Forgive me for not congratulating you sooner. You don’t look as if you’ve aged quite that much these past years, though it is hard to see beneath all that paint.”

Jamie came up behind them, a devious grin on his face. “Well done, Nicholas. That was brilliant. But I believe they are calling us to dinner.”

“I’d like just a moment with Bethie, if you don’t mind, Jamie.”

“Not at all. I’ll eat your share.”

When they were alone, Nicholas took both her and Belle into his embrace. “I know her words hurt you, but you’ve no reason to feel shame for who you are, Bethie.” “But she’s right. My skin is brown, no’ white like hers. And my hands are rough from workin’. These people only speak to me because of you.”

He ran a finger down her cheek. “Her skin is covered with layer after layer of paint and powder, and her hands are flawlessly smooth because she’s never done a useful thing in her life. She is pampered and spoiled and—”

“You were lovers.” Bethie voiced what most troubled her.

“That was a long time ago, Bethie, and there was no love involved. There is only one woman for me now, and that is you. I adore every inch of your sun-kissed skin, from the tip of your nose to that tasty little beauty mark on your left nether lip.”

Bethie gasped, giggled, “I dinnae have a beauty mark on my—!”

He grinned devilishly. “I’ll show it to you—in the mirror tonight. Now let’s join the others.”

Nicholas watched proudly as Bethie made her way through her first formal dinner. She was an intelligent woman, and what they had forgotten to teach her she quickly learned through observation. She seemed to be enjoying the conversation, and Jamie, Ben and his father were making a special effort to include her. Nicholas would make a point of thanking them in private later.

The fare was outstanding, the wine superb. It had been so long since Nicholas had eaten any of these dishes that he had to fight to keep from moaning with each bite. He knew without asking that his father had hired additional cooks and provided much of the food for the meal. Ben was a prominent and powerful man, but he was not wealthy, at least not by Kenleigh standards.

They had just started upon the second course when there was a ruckus in the hallway and a well-dressed older man strode into the dining room.

Every man at the table stood. Nicholas followed their lead.

“Governor Perm. What an honor. Won’t you join us?”

“I’m afraid I’m here on dire business, Ben.”

From outside came the sound of tolling church bells.

“So it would seem.”

The governor looked around the table, acknowledged the other men by name, then turned to Nicholas. “Nicholas Kenleigh. I hear we have you to thank for the survival of many at Fort Pitt. Captain Ecuyer speaks quite highly of you.”

“It seems the troubles on our frontier have followed you to Philadelphia. Ladies and gentlemen, an army is upon our doorstep. Some fifteen hundred Scots-Irish frontiersmen from the area of Paxton are marching on our town. They’ve sent messengers demanding the garrison turn over the Moravian Indians to them for slaughter or face an attack. They’re expected to be here by morning.”

“Bloody Scots-Irish! They’re no better than barbarians!”

“What are we going to do?”

“We must arm ourselves, protect our wives and daughters!”

“Bloodthirsty Presbyterians!”

“Will the garrison stop them?”

Nicholas saw Bethie blanch, felt the hurtful barbs as if they had struck him. This was what she had feared—that her class, her Scottish blood or her past would cause him and his family embarrassment. This was precisely why she was hesitant to marry him.

Determined to show Bethie where his loyalties lay and prove to her that they could not be shaken, he raised his voice above the din, stood, rested a hand upon her shoulder. “Excuse me, gentlemen! Might I remind you that my bride is Scots-Irish? I am surprised that any of you would condemn an entire people based on the actions of a few—or a thousand. Is that not exactly what these Paxton men are doing regarding the Indians?”

His father stood also and, beside him, Jamie. “Quite right you are, Nicholas. On behalf of my daughter-in-law, who has my affection, I demand an apology, sirs.” Ben stood.

“I apologize, sirs, for the ill-chosen words of my guests. Your lovely and gentle Elspeth is a guest in my home and quite welcome here. Madam, I am deeply sorry.” People cast one another sheepish glances, voiced their own apologies.

Nicholas, Jamie and his father resumed their seats, but Nicholas pulled his chair a bit closer to Bethie’s, grasped her hand beneath the table. She was trembling. But the smile had left Sylvia’s face.

It was Governor Perm who next spoke. “I want your advice, Ben. Already we’ve rolled cannon into the town squares, and some of the men are ready to organize into military-style units. The garrison, of course, is under arms and ready for battle.”

Nicholas listened while the Quakers, renowned pacifists, discussed their plans for war, suddenly felt overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all. He didn’t realize he was laughing out loud until Governor Penn turned to face him.

Shouts of outrage filled the room, but Ben held up his hand for silence.

“You’ve lived out there for six years, Nicholas. You’ve seen things we cannot imagine. I would hear more from you.”

“It’s quite simple, sir. The Scots-Irish settlers have suffered horribly in this war. When the government of Pennsylvania chooses to spend coin in sheltering Indians rather than helping to defend fellow British citizens against Indians who are slaughtering their families, the settlers get the impression no one in Philadelphia cares whether they live or die.”

The governor stared at him in horrified disbelief. “Are you suggesting, sir, that we turn peaceful Christian Indians over to them to be slaughtered?”

“No, sir. Nor am I defending their murder of the Conestogas—a reprehensible act. But I’m suggesting you take a moment to see this from their point of view. Men rarely act without reason, and barbarians are just as often English as Scottish or Indian. The killing must stop.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully. “Governor, we must proceed cautiously. We must think this through and not rush to fire those rifles, which until now have lain in happy neglect in our homes. Otherwise we shall make hypocrites of ourselves for all time.”

“And now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, this topic of conversation is distressing to my wife.” Nicholas rose, helped Bethie to her feet. “Father, Jamie, if you wish to stay, I can have the carriage sent back for you.” His father and Jamie nodded, and Nicholas could see they were both worried about Bethie and furious on her behalf. He had no doubt that franker, more heated words would be exchanged the moment she was out of earshot. He slipped his arm around her waist, thanked Ben for his hospitality and led Bethie out to their waiting carriage. Bethie laid a sleeping Belle in her cradle, felt Nicholas’s hands encircle her waist. They’d spoken little on the way home. Nicholas had been too angry and Bethie too near tears.

He turned her to face him, pressed her head against his bare chest. “I’m sorry, Bethie. No one meant to hurt you.”

She rested against his strength, felt tears sting her eyes, dreaded what she must say. “Whether they meant to hurt me or no’, they said what they feel to be true. And whether I love you or no’, I cannae be your wife.”

“You are my wife, Bethie, in every way that matters. I’ll not let you go.”

She looked up into his eyes. “And what of future parties, where people will tattle of the poor barbarian Scots-Irish girl Nicholas found on the frontier? What of your family if word of my . . . past reaches Virginia? What of our children, who will grow up in wealth and comfort to one day look upon their baseborn mother with shame and loathing? I couldna bear that!”

Tears poured freely down her cheeks now, and she fell across the bed.

She felt him stretch out beside her, did not resist as he pulled her into his arms, kissed her tears away. “That’s not going to happen. No child of my body could possibly feel anything but love for you.”

“ Tis sweet of you to say so, but you cannae know that for certain.”

“Aye, I can.” He pressed his hand against her belly above her womb. “I love you, Bethie Stewart. Any child you conceive of me will be born of that love. You’ll be a light to our children, as you are a light to Belle—as you are a light to me.”

She looked into his eyes, saw the full force of his feelings revealed there, felt as if her heart were singing.
He loved her.
Oh, how she had longed to hear those precious words! And yet . . . “I dinnae know if our love will be enough.”

“It will be more than enough.” Then he covered her mouth with his, and she forgot everything but him. Nicholas held Bethie in his arms, watched her sleep, the air still warm with the musky scent of sex. If he lived a thousand years, he would never grow tired of her.

How he wished they were already well on their way to Virginia. But they weren’t. They were here in Philadelphia in the middle of what promised to be a bloodbath unless the frontiersmen from Paxton could be persuaded to leave in peace.

God, he was sick of the violence! He was sick of killing. He was sick of watching people kill and be killed. For six long years, he’d been surrounded by death, immersed in it, coupled with it. No matter how many men he’d killed, there was always another. And another. And another. In this war, killing seemed always to lead not to peace, but to more killing. And as men struggled to survive, the innocent inevitably paid the highest price.