His gaze met hers, and she saw there hard resolve. “I’m going to ride out, try to talk with them.”
“But you’re English! You heard what Malcolm said at the cabin. They hate the English!”
He checked the pistols, ran the cleaning rod down their barrels. “I have lived on the frontier among them. I fought beside them at Fort Pitt. I think they’ll listen to me.”
She stepped from the bed, went to him, heedless of her nakedness. “And if they put a ball through your skull instead?”
He tucked the pistols in the waistband of his breeches, turned toward her, rested his hands on her shoulders. “They won’t.”
“And how can you be sure?”
He pulled her against him, held her. “I can’t, love. But neither can I sit here and do nothing—not when innocent people will surely die.”
Her fear grew and became anger. “You once told me that war and slaughter are nothing new, that the only person a man can save is himself, that survival is the only rule that matters!”
He stepped back from her, tilted her chin upward. There was an almost sad smile on his face. “You’re the one who showed me how foolish that philosophy was, Bethie. Don’t ask me to forget that lesson.”
Then she knew she could not stop him. Tears pricked her eyes. “Why must it always be you? Why must you be the one to ride out and speak with them?”
“This time is different. At Fort Pitt, I went out because I was the best at killing, at surviving. But this time I have a chance to do something far better. I have the chance tosavelives, to stop the killing before it starts. I can’t let that chance pass by.” He kissed her, one gentle, slow kiss, then stepped away from her. “I need to go, love.”
“Then let me come with you! These are my people, my neighbors! Surely they will listen to me, to both of us!”
“Absolutely not! These men are armed and angry. I don’t want you anywhere near them.”
“But I can help! I know I can! If it’s safe enough for you—”
“No!” He seemed genuinely angry now. “Do not defy me on this! Stay here with Belle. My father and Jamie will look after you.”
Tears of fear and fury spilled over, ran down her cheeks. “Damn you, Nicholas Kenleigh! You’d best come back to me alive!”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Of course, love. I don’t want to miss my own wedding.”
Then he seemed to hesitate. He took his pistols, considered them for a moment, laid them down on the table. He spoke as if to himself. “No more killing.”
And then he turned, walked out the door, and was gone.
For a moment Bethie stared after him, too shocked to move. He was unarmed. He was on his way to confront an armed mob, and he was unarmed.
“That haggis-headed—” She threw on her shift and dressing gown, dashed down the hallway, knocked frantically on the door. After a moment Jamie answered, wearing nothing but a bedsheet, which he’d tied haphazardly around his hips.
“Bethie? What’s the matter?” He let her inside, shut the door behind her.
“Jamie, who is it?” Alec emerged from an adjacent room, clad in a black velvet dressing gown.
Fighting panic, she told them of Nicholas’s plan, of her fear that he would be hurt, perhaps even killed. “He is unarmed! We must do somethin’ to help him!”
Jamie and Alec exchanged glances, then Alec opened the door, wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Thank you for warning us, Bethie. Go back to your room. You’ll be safe there until we return. We’ll take care of Nicholas. I promise.”
She looked up into Alec’s eyes, so like his son’s. “I couldna bear it if aught were to happen to him!”
“Nor could we.”
***
Nicholas had almost finished saddling Zeus when footsteps and familiar voices interrupted him.
“Cold. Damp. Dreary. The perfect morning for a ride, wouldn’t you say, Alec?”
