Silenced by the man’s big hand, her scream died before it could leave her throat. She watched in horror as Isabelle was lifted none too gently out of her basket, her gown lifted, her diaper cloth probed to see what sex she was.
Infuriated and desperate to save her daughter, Bethie began to fight. She twisted, kicked, scratched her attacker. Her elbow connected with his belly, and she heard him grunt. But he was much stronger than she, and she could not break free.
But then his hand slipped from her mouth, and she screamed.
A cry for help. A warning.
Where is Nicholas?
Something exploded against the back of her skull.
Shattering pain. Flashes of white.
She felt herself swirl to the edges of consciousness, felt her body go limp.
Nicholas watched from behind the barn, bit back a growl of fury as the warrior struck Bethie a second time. He crept closer, watched for a moment.
One misstep on his part and both Bethie and Belle would die.
There were two of them. Two to one—good odds. Then the man who held Bethie’s limp body turned toward his companion and Nicholas got a clear look at his face.
Mattootuk.
Something twisted in Nicholas’s gut.
The rules of the game had just changed.
“Mattootuk wishes to die today. That is why he mistreats my woman and child.” Nicholas spoke in Wyandot, then stepped out from behind the barn, his pistol fully cocked and pointed at Mattootuk’s head.
Mattootuk’s eyes grew wide and he gaped at Nicholas as one who has seen a ghost, his face suddenly ashen. Then he released Bethie.
Nicholas kept all trace of emotion from his face as Bethie fell unconscious to the ground. Then movement at the door of the cabin caught his eye as a third warrior emerged from the cabin, rifle in hand.
Nicholas wasted no time. He fired, hitting the warrior squarely in the chest. The man fell dead.
Frightened by the gunfire, Isabelle began to cry. The young warrior who had handled her so roughly gently lowered her back into the basket, his wide gaze fixed on Nicholas.
Nicholas pulled his second pistol from his waistband, cocked it. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill both of you where you stand?”
Mattootuk smiled, apparently recovered from his shock. “Ha-en-ye-ha,brother, it is good to see you.”
***
Bethie’s head ached as she struggled to wake up from her nightmare. She had dreamt three Indians had come out of the forest, had attacked her and Isabelle while Nicholas had been off checking his traps. She’d tried to free herself, had been struck on the head. And then...
Then she had heard Nicholas’s voice, but he hadn’t spoken words she recognized. There’d been a gunshot, and Belle had begun to cry.
It had been a terrifying dream.
From outside came the sound of voices, men’s voices. She could not understand what they said. Their words were strange, guttural. Somewhere nearby, Isabelle fussed.
A bolt of alarm surged through her.
She fought to open her eyes, heard herself moan. “Isabelle!”
“Easy, Bethie. Drink this. Isabelle is fine, though I think she’s getting hungry.”
’Twas Nicholas.
