Nicholas grasped her reins, stopped her. “There isn’t time.”
“We cannae just ride off and leave them to die!”
His voice took on a hard edge. “They knew what they were getting into when they came here, Bethie. War and slaughter are nothing new on the frontier. Either they’re prepared to defend themselves, or they’re not.”
“How can one family defend itself against so many warriors? Do you no’ care if they die?”
Her question was like a fist to his gut. “I’ve seen more death than you can imagine, Bethie. I’ve looked it in the face, slept with it, broken bread with it. Hell, I’ve been dead! The only person a man can save is himself.”
“You’re no’ so coldhearted as that, Nicholas. You saved Belle and me.” She looked at him as if he were a knight in shining armor, her violet eyes imploring.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he’d never intended to get involved in her plight, that his feelings for her were an accident, that the last time he’d tried to save someone they had died in agony, cursing his name.
He released her. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? There’s still plenty of time between here and Fort Pitt to die.”
Silent tears slipped from her eyes, ran down her cheeks. She drew in a shaky breath. “Then we leave them to be butchered?”
Bethie’s words lingered in the air, made him feel like a cold-blooded bastard.
“Damn it!” He jerked Zeus’s reins, headed down the hill toward the cabin, certain he was making a terrible mistake.
***
It took longer to reach the cabin than Bethie had expected. It hadn’t seemed so far away from the hilltop. Only when they drew in sight of it did she remember how she was dressed. She’d gotten so used to wearing only her shift and Nicholas’s shirt that she’d forgotten to feel half naked. But the people who lived in this house were strangers. Not only that, her shift was travel-stained, her braid unkempt, her feet bare as an urchin’s.
Nicholas reined in the stallion. “Stay here. Let me speak with them first.”
She nodded.
He had just urged Zeus forward again, when a voice rang out.
“Stay where you are, you bloody heathen!” A wiry man with gray hair stepped out from behind the barn, a long rifle in his hands.
Nicholas stopped. “I mean you no harm. I just stopped by to warn you about an Indian—”
“To warn me about an Indian? You are an Indian!” The man peered from behind his rifle, squinted.
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, my son Johnny here says you are.”
“I’m no’ so sure now, Da’. He looks like a white man.” A boy of about eleven, all blond hair and freckles, peered out from behind his father.
Despite the grimness of the situation, Bethie fought a smile.
“That’s because I am a white man.” There was a strong note of irritation in Nicholas’s voice. “I’ve come to warn you there’s an Indian uprising under way. There are war parties attacking up and down the Ohio River Valley. We’ve passed a half-dozen massacred families in the past few days, didn’t want to see you become the next.”
“I see only you, stranger. You said ‘we.’ Who’s with you?” The voice came from the other side of the barn, and a young man stepped forward. Apart from darker hair, he was a bigger version of his brother.
Nicholas motioned Bethie to join him. “We were attacked about a week ago, burned out by a forest fire. We escaped to the river and are on our way to Fort Pitt.”
She urged her mount forward, stopped beside Nicholas, tried not to care that the two boys stared at her.
Their father squinted. “What is she wearin’?”
“She no’ wearin’ much, Da’. And she’s got a wee bairn.”
Bethie felt herself flush to the roots of her hair, was about to stammer something, when Nicholas spoke. “The fire happened at night. We fled with no warning and no time to prepare.”
