Mattootuk smiled, bared his teeth. “We shall see, brother. All of the People now make league together. We follow Obwandiyag, whose cousin you killed today. If we join together, who can stop us?”
Nicholas chewed, pretended to mull over the question, swallowed. “Today I stopped you.”
For a moment Mattootuk’s face twisted into a scowl. Youreh, who’d been but a boy when Nicholas was taken prisoner, gaped in astonishment at Nicholas’s insult.
Then Mattootuk laughed and nodded at Nicholas, but hatred gleamed in his brown eyes. “Let no one say you are not a man of courage. Did we not witness your bravery in the face of fire and torment? How I wanted to partake of your heart! It would have been sweeter meat than this old goose.”
Now it was Nicholas’s turn to laugh. “Ah, Mattootuk, but I have no heart.”
The warrior glanced over at Bethie, his gaze raking her in appraisal.
She withdrew deeper into the shadows.
“I’ve seen how you look at your woman. You protect her like a sow bear protects her cubs. You have a heart, brother, and she has the keeping of it.”
Nicholas fought to keep his reaction from his face. Was Mattootuk implying that he was in love with Bethie? “She is my wife. It is my duty to protect her and our child.”
A look of triumph came into Mattootuk’s eyes. “Just as Lyda was your wife.”
Nicholas had known the moment the words left his mouth what Mattootuk would say. He had walked into a trap. “I did not wish her death.”
“You did not wish the child’s death. For Lyda you cared nothing.” Mattootuk’s face was a scowl, his gaze daggers of ice.
All pretenses had fallen. No more games.
Nicholas preferred it this way. He smiled. “If you wish to challenge me, Mattootuk, do it. I would gladly kill you with my bare hands.”
Bethie could not understand what was being said, but she could tell Nicholas knew these men, or at least the older one. She could also tell that words had brought them to the edge of bloodshed. The glint in Nicholas’s eyes, as cold and sharp as the tip of a blade, told her that.
The forest seemed to wait.
Then the older Indian laughed, said something that made the younger one smile, and the tension was dispelled. Except in Nicholas’s eyes.
“She good wife?” The older man spoke in broken English pointing at Bethie and startling her. “Strong, brave wife?”
“Aye.” Nicholas’s gaze touched her for the briefest moment. “Bethie, go back inside. Shut the door.”
Something was happening here she didn’t understand. She was about to do as Nicholas had asked when the older Indian spoke in English again.
“You tell her? You tell her you kill your wife, my sister?”
Bethie stopped still, met the older Indian’s gaze and saw there a dark, seething hatred.
“He kill my sister and her baby—his baby.”
Stunned, Bethie sought for the truth in Nicholas’s eyes.
What she saw there froze her blood.
***
It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.
He kill my sister and her baby—his baby.
Bethie treadled her spinning wheel, watched the wool slip from between her fingers without really seeing it, her mind in turmoil, her nerves on edge.
The men were still outdoors, though the sun had set. They were still talking, their voices a deep murmur beyond the closed door. Every time one of them raised his voice or laughed, she jumped. She was terrified they would kill Nicholas and then come for her and Belle.
