And if she didn’t want to leave?
Unthinkable. No woman would choose to stay out here.
He strode to the cabin, resolved to put other thoughts behind him and begin discussing plans with her tonight. But when he opened the door, he found her lying sound asleep on her bed, little Belle asleep beside her.
He lifted the covers over them, added wood to the fire, pulled in the door string. Planning would have to wait for morning.
Chapter 8
Bethie tried to keep the shock from her face, put down her spoon, and buried her hands in her apron to hide their sudden trembling.
Nicholas continued to speak. “We dare not tarry. If we leave by the beginning of June, we should be able to reach Paxton by the first week of July.”
Her heart beat so fiercely she could scarce hear his final words. Her mind was fixed on one thought only: He wanted to take her to Paxton. He wanted to take her back to Malcolm Sorley, back to Richard, back to the mother who hated her, back to the hell that had once been her life.
I will no’ go! I cannae go!
Even as the panic cut off her breath, shards of hope, like shafts of sunshine, broke through her sundered thoughts.
Four long years had gone by, years of war and deprivation. She couldn’t be sure her family still lived on the farm. Perhaps they had fled farther east to avoid the slaughter.
For that matter, she couldn’t be certain Malcolm and Richard were still alive. And even if they were, there was every chance that Richard, who was a good ten years older than she, had married and gone off to farm his own land. That would still leave Malcolm to contend with, but he no longer ruled her. Bethie was now a grown woman and a widow, not a defenseless young girl.
Besides, she didn’t have to go all the way to Paxton. She could ask Nicholas to leave her at one of the forts or settlements along the way. He held no power over her. He could not force her to go to Paxton. And yet she knew she ought to be grateful. He was offering her his help in escaping the frontier—no small favor.
“Bethie?” The sound of his voice pulled her from her thoughts. He sat across from her, gazed at her with those piercing blue eyes, his dark brows furrowed.
Unable to bear his scrutiny, she stood, her breakfast uneaten, and busied herself mindlessly at the hearth, her back to him. She tried to keep her voice cheerful, free of the sickness that gnawed at her stomach. “Isabelle is too little to travel, nor can I yet make the journey. And you can scarce sit a horse such a long way with your leg still healin’.”
She heard the scrape of his chair on the wooden floor, knew he stood right behind her. “Another month is more than enough time. We cannot remain longer than is necessary. I’ve told you why.”
Aye, he’d told her the Indians had banded together in hopes of driving settlers back over the mountains. ’Twas every settler’s greatest fear. “Y-you said they wouldna attack yet, that they are gathering to the north.”
“Aye, but they will come. They will not leave this valley in peace. ’Tis their hunting grounds, the land of their grandfathers, and they want it back. You must seek safety with your family.”
Bethie choked back a panic-stricken laugh, felt tears fill her eyes. She wanted to scream, to shout at him, to tell him there was no safety anywhere near Malcolm Sorley or his accursed son, but she could say nothing without revealing her shame.
“Bethie?” The tone of his voice told her he could see her distress. “What is it?”
“What is what?” Dismayed that he was able to perceive so much, she snapped at him. “I dinnae know what you’re bletherin’ about, Master Kenleigh.”
“I think you do.”
She sought for excuses, kept her back to him, blinked her tears away. “’Tis such a long journey, and... it pains me to think of leavin’ the home I shared with Andrew.”
’Twas a lie, of course, but she had to say something.
“You loved him?”
The question took her by surprise. She hesitated. Loved Andrew? Certainly, she’d come to feel affection for him and gratitude. He had rescued her from hell, shown her kindness, and he hadn’t hurt her in any way. “H-he was my husband.”
“I’m sorry.” Nicholas didn’t sound particularly sorry.
But when she at last turned to face him, she saw an emotion in his eyes that might have been concern. He lifted a hand, cupped her cheek, his gaze locked with hers. His touch was warm, a gentle caress, and for the space of a heartbeat the storm inside her stilled. Then her mind flashed on the image of him standing naked in the river, so breathtakingly male, and her gaze dropped first to his lips, then farther still to the wedge of dark hair revealed by the loose ties of his shirt.
And suddenly it was too much—her family, Indians, Nicholas. She took an instinctive step backward. She needed to get away from him until she was herself again. With a quick glance to make certain Isabelle was safe in her cradle, Bethie picked up the water pail, and almost ran to the door. “I’ll be needin’ water for dishes.”
She’d just stepped outside when something hit her hard from behind, threw her onto her stomach on the ground, knocked the air from her lungs. A hard body held her down, and she both felt and heard the cloth of her skirts being ripped from her.
