Bethie opened her shift, brought her nipple to Belle’s mouth, but the baby turned her face away and cried harder.
Nicholas stopped, looking back over his shoulder.
Fearing his rebuke—he had warned her that a baby’s cries, so out of place in the wild, would attract predators, especially the human kind—Bethie tried to explain. “She’s wet.”
He nodded, his brow bent in a slight frown. “If you can quiet her for just awhile longer, there’s good shelter ahead.”
“I’ll try.” Bethie lifted Belle out of the sling, held her upright against her shoulder, patted her back. “Shhh, Belle. Just awhile longer now.”
The change of position seemed to help. Belle began to suck on her hand and gazed at the shadows of the forest. But the terrain became increasingly hilly, forcing Bethie to hang on more tightly with her tortured thighs, until she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. Then the slope pitched sharply downhill, and Bethie heard the sound of running water.
In one fluid move, Nicholas dismounted and withdrew his knife from its sheath. “Wait here.” Gaze on the ground, he moved forward in silence, swiftly disappeared down the hill.
Bethie’s pulse raced. Had he heard something? She dared not ask. She strained to listen, heard nothing but water and the twitter of birds.
Belle began to squirm, and Bethie knew she was about to begin fussing again. She jiggled her baby, kissed her cheek, did her best to distract her.
“Shhh, little one. Shhh.”
Then, just as suddenly as he had vanished, he was back. “We’ll make camp here for the night.” He mounted the stallion again and led Bethie downhill to an outcropping of rocks, one of which seemed to have toppled against the other, forming a kind of arch. They stood just above a rushing creek.
“We’ll have to dismount and tie the horses here. It’s not high enough for them to pass through.” He leapt lightly to the ground and reached for Rosa’s bridle.
Now that they had finally stopped and she had the chance to get out of the saddle, Bethie found she hadn’t the strength to move. Where her legs didn’t hurt, they felt as dead and heavy as rotted logs. She tried to shift, to lift her right leg back and over the horse’s rump, and could not stop the moan that passed her lips.
She didn’t realize Nicholas was beside her until he lifted her from the saddle.
“Hold on to Belle.” His voice was soft, reassuring. “Can you stand?”
“Aye.”
He placed her on her feet, his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
But twelve hours in the saddle had left her weaker than she’d imagined. Her legs buckled, and she sagged against him.
Nicholas bit back a curse. He’d known this would be tough on her. He hadn’t realized quite how tough. It had been a lifetime since his first days in the saddle, so long that he couldn’t even remember ever being saddle sore. Clearly, he’d pushed her too hard.
He scooped Bethie into his arms, ducked under the arch, carried her to the other side, set her down on a cushion of dried moss. This wasn’t the safest place in the world to pass the night, but it was reasonably secure and offered them both protection from the elements and a defensible position should anyone come across them in the night. To the north, the rocks created a natural barrier, passable only through the easily defended arch. The creek itself, though shallow, offered some protection to the east. A sheer wall of stone almost forty feet high guarded them to the south and west. At its base, water had created a small alcove deep enough for a few people to spend the night out of the rain and out of sight from above.
“Just rest. I’ll tend to the horses.”
Nicholas ducked back through the arch, found the horses at the water’s edge slaking their thirst. He quickly stripped the saddle from Rosa’s back, rubbed her down with the currycomb from his saddlebags. Then he gave Zeus and Rona a good rubdown, as well, and staked the three within distance of both grass and water.
“Keep an eye on things, old boy.” He gave Zeus a hearty pat on his withers. The stallion, so protective of his mares, would alert him should man or animal approach.
Nicholas picked up his saddle and saddlebags and ducked back through the arch. There he found both Bethie and Isabelle sound asleep. Bethie had solved the problem of the wet diaper cloth by simply removing it and draping it over a rock to dry. Thanks to the forest fire, they had only the one. Isabelle lay naked as the night she’d been born on her mother’s breast, covered only by the thin woolen shawl.
Nicholas wasted no time. First, he laid out a soft bed of furs in the alcove. Then he lit a small fire, built a tripod of sturdy sticks over it, took out his cook pot, put water on to boil. Last, he slipped off his moccasins and strode down to the water’s edge, knife in hand.
By the time Bethie awoke, he had a cup of tea waiting for her and three spotted bass sizzling over the fire.
“That smells good.” She tried to sit, gasped, bit her lip.
“Easy, Bethie.” He picked up the tea, carried it to her. “I’ll have supper soon. Drink this. It’s made from willow bark. It will help take away some of your soreness. Be careful. It’s still hot.”
She laid Isabelle down gently on the bed of furs, took the cup from him, sniffed its contents, and wrinkled her nose.
“It’s bitter, but it really does work. Trust me.” He watched as she took a sip, smiled at the face she made. “Drink it.”
