A shiver of terror passed through her, but she tried not to acknowledge it. “W-were there children?”
He met her gaze, and the shadows in his eyes answered her question.
Tears blurred her vision. “And the chickens?”
“I decided I could either let the wolves and wildcats have them, or I could catch an easy dinner. There’s grain for the horses in the saddlebags. It will help them keep up their strength until we reach the fort. The mares aren’t used to this kind of life.”
Her gaze shifted from the chickens to the saddlebags. “Are you sure it’s right to be takin’ from the dead?”
His voice took a hard edge. “What’s the first rule of the wilderness, Bethie?”
She whispered. “Survival.”
His hands gripped her around the waist, and he lifted her easily into the saddle. “There’s a sheltered campsite up ahead. It’s not as secure as the place we camped last night, but it will do, provided no one has already claimed it.”
Then it occurred to her. “The Indians—did you see where they went?”
“They’ve headed southeast, and they’re moving fast.”
She sighed with relief. If they were moving southeast, perhaps they wouldn’t be coming back this way.
“I wouldn’t feel too safe just yet. That war party is headed straight for Fort Pitt.”
Chapter 16
For five more days they traveled southeast, keeping to the cover and coolness of the forest. They rode for the most part in silence, Nicholas in the lead, his gaze on the forest floor. It quickly became clear to Bethie how well he knew this country—every stream, every spring, every meadow and outcropping of rock. He knew the best fishing sites and where the deer would come down to drink at night with their spotted fawns. He knew which roots to eat, which plants would cure illness, and which would kill.
He set what felt to Bethie like a punishing pace, stopped only when there were tracks he needed to examine more closely or when the baby needed to be changed. He had draped a soft lynx fur across the saddle to protect Bethie’s chafed skin, enabling her to ride harder and longer than before. Yet she knew he wished they could move faster.
But caring for a baby in the wild wasn’t easy. Gathering moss, milkweed silk, and thistledown to line Belle’s diaper skins had become a constant task in the evenings. Changing her slowed them down. Carrying her in the sling and nursing while sitting on horseback made Bethie’s shoulders ache. Still, Belle was a good baby, more prone to contentment than crying. The rocking movement of the horse seemed to lull her, the dappled light of the forest to enthrall her.
The hours of silence gave Bethie time to think, to worry. The ride to Fort Pitt was only the first part of their journey. If they made it to the fort alive, they would have but a brief respite before setting out for Paxton. Unless she refused to leave the fort or...
What was she thinking? That Nicholas would give up his life in the wild, take her to wife, and become a farmer and the father of her child?
She had only to put her unspoken wish into words to realize how foolish it was. She was a woman without a husband, without a home, and Nicholas had never promised her more than passing protection. Yet she knew he had at least some feelings for her.
Hadn’t he called her beautiful? Hadn’t he showed her with his kisses and the heat of his hands that he desired her? When his touch had frightened her, hadn’t he kept his word and stopped? And didn’t he still hold her at night, keep her warm and safe, kiss her hair when he thought she was asleep?
Nicholas. Nicholas. How he confused her! How could he be this kind to her and not care for her? How could he care for her and yet simply ride away and leave her? And why was she even thinking of him in that way? Had she not decided when Andrew died that she would prefer to live as a widow than any man’s wife?
But Nicholas was not any man. Nicholas had opened the door to mysteries she hadn’t known existed when she’d lain in Andrew’s bed. He had taught her to write her name, was teaching her to read so that she could someday teach her daughter. And most of all—more than any of the kindnesses he had shown her—he had not forced himself on her.
She didn’t know much about him, yet she knew for certain she’d never meet another man like him.
She watched him ride just ahead of her, his dark hair lifted by the breeze, his body so attuned to the animal beneath him, the forest around him. Regret, like the sharp edge of a blade, cut her heart. Why had she stopped him? Why had she become afraid? He hadn’t hurt her. He had done nothing but bring her pleasure. And yet when he had touched her there, she had been unable to control her reaction. Fear had surged through her, fear so strong it seemed to choke the light from the sun.
Her shame. Her taint. Her terror. Would it follow her forever?
***
If someone had told Nicholas six months ago that he and Zeus would soon be traveling through the wilderness with a woman, a baby, and two pregnant mares, he’d have called that person a liar and a damned idiot. For six years he had wandered, seeking oblivion in the vastness of this continent. He’d kept to himself, refused to get caught up in other people’s lives. Their foolishness, their lack of planning, their ignorance were not his problem, and those who were unprepared for survival died. It was the way of the wild.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a sense of purpose, a reason for being. But somehow Bethie had crept beneath his guard, gotten past the wall he’d built around himself, and now nothing was more important to him than getting her—and her baby—to safety.
He glanced back over his shoulder, worried. She was all but asleep in the saddle. In his eagerness to reach the fort as quickly as possible, he had again pushed her too hard.
He had just decided to scout for a place to make camp, when he heard the sound of something crashing through the forest. It was coming toward them.
