“I’ll never forget you, Annie. You’ve been so kind to me.”
“Nor I you, lamb. But yer 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’d 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. Flies buzzed around a pile of manure on the side of the barn, 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 Sorely 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.
“What are you doin’ here?”
Bethie’s heart hammered in her breast. For a moment she was ten years old and terrified. Then she felt Nicholas behind her. She was not a little girl. She was not helpless. She was a woman, a mother, and she would not let Malcolm frighten her.
She met her stepfather’s hate-filled gaze, lifted her chin. “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?”
“He is Nicholas Kenleigh, my...” She hesitated.
“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.”
“Nicholas saved my life and Isabelle’s.”
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.”
