There was a murmur of agreement in the crowd, and she heard more than one man curse Nicholas and call him aSassenach. More than a few had drawn their weapons, looked eager to spill his blood.
Then Nicholas took the linsey-woolsey of his shirt in his hands, tore it down the middle, exposing his scarred body.
The crowd fell into hushed whispers.
“I burned in the fires of the Wyandot. I know about living and dying and surviving. And I know about killing. If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed a hundred. And what you want isn’t justice—it’s vengeance!”
From deep in the crowd came a shout. “What’s wrong with vengeance?”
Shouts of agreement, curses.
Bethie waited until it was silent again, raised her voice. “I know you are angry. But more killin’ cannae bring back those you have lost. Is this what your loved ones would want—for you to endanger the lives of innocent people?”
For a moment there was silence as the men seemed to ponder this.
Their leader, the man who stood before Nicholas, spoke up. “Only those who oppose us need fear harm. We’ve not come to fight the people of Philadelphia, though they showed no mercy for us when we were being cut down!”
More shouts of agreement.
“You are brave men and strong, and I see you’re no’ afraid to fight. But you cannae overcome the entire city. If you march into Philadelphia today, you’re goin’ to die. Your blood will be spilled for nothin’! Is that what your wives and children would want?”
Silence stretched, heavy and pregnant, beneath the weight of the gray sky.
Bethie looked into Nicholas’s eyes, saw that his anger had softened.
Their leader’s gaze shifted from Bethie back to Nicholas. “What would you have us do, Kenleigh?”
“Choose men to represent you and present your grievances to the city fathers for redress. The rest of the men should go home to their families.”
“That might work for a man like you, an Englishman wi’ powerful friends.” The man nodded toward Jamie and Alec. “But who are we to trust?”
Nicholas’s father answered, his voice strong, unwavering. “Benjamin Franklin. I assure you he will listen to you, treat fairly with you.”
The men in the crowd seemed to consider this.
Bethie felt the tide begin to turn. “I have met him! He’s a good man, and an honest one.”
“And how do we know he’ll be willin’ to meet wi’ us?”
Alec answered. “I give you my word. I am Alec Kenleigh, Nicholas’s father. I am a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses and have the honor of calling Franklin my friend.”
Someone snorted. “Why should we believe an Englishman?”
Jamie raised his voice. “England is far from here, friend, and we are all colonists. What you suffer, if left unchecked, will come to our doorsteps soon enough. Besides, there will be plenty of time for killing later—if we’re lying.”
Bethie added her word to theirs. “If you cannae trust them, then trust me! I am a daughter of this frontier, and I promise you—”
“Believe nothin’ my stepdaughter says! She’s an Englishman’s whore!”
Bethie felt as if she’d been struck.
Malcolm!
He pushed through the throng on his horse toward the front of the line. “And dinnae believe him, either! Nicholas Kenleigh killed my son!”
It happened so quickly.
Malcolm raised his pistol, pointed it at Nicholas’s bare chest.
