Tell me who hurt you, Bethie.
How did he know?
Beside her, beneath the bear skin Nicholas had laid over them sometime during the night, Isabelle had begun to stir.
By the time the baby was awake and ready to nurse, Bethie had drunk her tea, eaten her breakfast, washed her dishes in the stream. She picked up her baby and settled down for a feeding.
Nicholas smothered the fire with sand, began to scatter the ashes. “We need to travel far and fast today, make it difficult for anyone who finds signs of our presence here to catch up with us.”
She glanced down at Isabelle, worried. “I have only the one diaper cloth. Once it’s wet, she’s sure to start wailin’.”
Nicholas nodded, then began to dig through his pile of furs. As Bethie finished feeding Belle, he pulled out a couple of small rabbit skins, cut away bits and pieces until two small hourglass-shaped furs remained. “Try this.”
While Nicholas packed his saddlebags and rolled their bed of furs into a bundle, Bethie laid Isabelle on the trimmed rabbit fur and folded it around her like a diaper. The corners were thin and supple enough that Bethie was able to tie them to keep the fur in place.
Isabelle kicked and cooed, as if in approval, her chubby cheeks pink, her eyes bright.
“Line it with moss. I think the fur will absorb some of the moisture.”
Bethie tucked the dried moss in place. “We’ll still need to stop to change her.”
But he had already ducked beneath the arch, saddle and saddlebags in hand.
Bethie quickly fashioned her shawl into a sling again and tucked Isabelle safely inside it. Then she followed him through.
Without a word, he draped the heavy saddlebags across the stallion’s back and saddled Rona. Then he turned to lift Bethie into the saddle. “I know this won’t be comfortable, Bethie, but we need to cover as much ground as we can. Tell me if it becomes too painful.”
Strong hands gripped her around her waist, lifted her onto the mare’s back.
Bethie bit back a cry as she settled into the saddle and her raw thighs came to rest against the leather. The pain was already excruciating.
They rode at a quicker pace than they had the previous day, following the course of the river but holding to the shadow of the trees. Nicholas again took the lead, riding bareback on the stallion, dismounting every so often to search the ground for tracks, his mood pensive. Bethie rode behind him, Belle resting in the sling draped over her shoulders. Rosa followed them as Rona had done the day before, drawn down the trail by her loyalty to her tiny herd.
Bethie tried not to complain. She could tell Nicholas felt there was reason for haste, and she trusted his instincts to keep her alive. She didn’t want to slow them down. But it was not yet midmorning when the pain was so bad that she was close to tears. “Stop! Please!”
He looked back over his shoulder, reined the stallion to a stop. He dismounted with one easy leap and strode over to her. “We’ll walk for a while.”
Strong arms lifted her from the saddle, placed her on her feet.
And so they walked in silence. Nicholas led the horses, while Bethie carried Isabelle and tried not to step on thorns or sharp rocks with her bare feet.
It was late in the afternoon when Nicholas stopped abruptly, motioning for her to do the same. He crouched close to the ground, examined the forest floor, then stood and pulled his pistols from the waistband of his breeches.
Bethie’s heart began to hammer.
“Stay here. I’m going to scout ahead.” He handed her one pistol and took his rifle from his saddlebags. “I assume you know how to use this.”
“Aye.”
“Good. If anything steps out of the forest that isn’t me, shoot it, and don’t miss. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Nicholas, what—”
He pressed a hand to her lips. “And keep Belle quiet.”
Then he was gone.
For a moment Bethie stood staring into the forest gloom where he’d disappeared, her pulse racing. Then she chided herself for her lack of courage. “Think, Bethie! You willna be of any use to him or Belle if you cower at the first sign of trouble.”
