The first time he’d killed.
They’d been crossing the Monongahela. The French had been waiting in ambush, had opened fire. Nicholas had returned fire, hit the young French soldier in the chest—some mother’s son. He’d had brown hair.
Nicholas hadn’t slept that night. But as the years had passed, he’d almost grown accustomed to killing. He derived no pleasure from it, but he was long past feeling remorse. Killing was part of life on the frontier. A man killed, or he died. And Nicholas had killed so many.
But Bethie was a young woman. She hadn’t chosen to live here, but had been brought to the frontier by her fool of a husband. Until now she’d never had to take a life. Nicholas had hoped to spare her this.
He met her shattered gaze. “It’s never easy, love.”
The throaty squawk of a raven brought him back to the present. They were not safe here.
“Come, Bethie. We must move on. The sound of gunfire might well draw the rest of the Delaware down on our heads.”
***
They covered ground quickly, headed almost due east through unending hills and forest. Bethie tried to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach, tried to banish the image of the Indian she’d slain from her mind. She couldn’t think about it now, not when there might be thirty Delaware warriors on their trail.
Nicholas wanted to press on until they reached the fort, and she would do her best not to be a burden, though the road be long. She was tired of fear, tired of danger, tired of running. The sooner they reached the fort, the sooner she would be able to rest.
She adjusted Belle’s weight in the sling, tried to shrug the ache out of her shoulders. The baby was asleep again, her tiny thumb in her mouth, the fresh air and the motion of the horse better than the sweetest lullaby.
“Take this.” Nicholas slowed his stallion, leaned toward her, handed her a strip of dried venison. “You need to keep up your strength.”
She took the meat, though she had no appetite.
But he was watching. “Eat, love. For Belle’s sake as well as your own.”
She bit off a piece, chewed, watched the trees open to a wide blue sky as they reached the top of a rocky ridge. The June sunshine was bright and hot, and she found herself overlooking a lush valley, the rounded crowns of beech, maple, and oak like puffy green clouds floating below her. This was how birds saw the world, she realized.
“You’re smiling.” His deep voice interrupted her daydream. “A penny for your thoughts?”
Feeling foolish, she turned her head away, avoided his probing gaze. “I’ve never had a pennyworth of thoughts. Save your coin.”
“I know that’s not true. You’re an intelligent woman, Bethie.”
The tone of his voice was not mocking, but sincere, and she could not help but stare at him in amazement. A thick lump formed in her throat. She swallowed. “You’re a strange man, Nicholas.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His teeth flashed white as he grinned. “So what made you smile?”
“You’ll laugh. ’Tis nothin’.”
“I willna laugh, lass.” He mimicked her brogue.
“You’re a haggis-headed fool!” She shook her head, could not hold back her smile.
“A... a what?” His handsome face took on a look of exaggerated indignation.
She gestured to the valley below. “I was thinkin’ this is how birds see the world.”
To her surprise, he didn’t laugh. Instead, he looked out over the valley, nodded, his lips curved in a gentle smile.
Then, abruptly, his expression grew grim.
She followed the direction of his gaze.
A farmstead. But it wasn’t burnt down. Horses stood in the paddock. And tiny specks that were people went about their chores.
“We must warn them.” She pointed Rosa downhill.
