Her heart lurched. Behind her, frightened women and children screamed.
A war party stood beneath the eaves of the forest behind them, dozens of warriors, their faces painted with vermilion.
The Delaware war party.
Bethie’s heart gave a sickening lurch. Her mouth went dry.
A shout went up from the grassy walls.
The soldiers had spotted them.
Shots rang out.
Abruptly the arrows ceased.
Bethie hazarded a glance at the riverbank, saw the war party running for the cover of the trees. Then she felt the stallion’s hooves strike ground. The horse labored through the chest-deep water and was soon fighting its way up the steep, muddy bank.
Ride for the sally port.
She glanced back over her shoulder, saw the Magee boys right behind her, followed by the Calhouns, with the Wallaces and Nicholas taking up the rear.
Ride for the sally port.
An arrow whistled through the air.
The Indians were firing from the cover of the trees!
More shots from the fort.
She turned the stallion’s head toward the fort, kicked in her heels. The horse sprang forward at a full gallop.
From the earthen ramparts above, soldiers shouted encouragement, waved them on. “Ride! Hurry! Ride!”
She was close enough now that the walls of the fort blocked the light of the rising sun.
“Ride!”
The sally port was before her.
“Ride!”
Thirty yards. Twenty. Ten.
She guided the stallion through the portal, saw the drawbridge, which the soldiers had already opened for them.
Cheers went up around her as, one by one, the horses and their wet riders crossed the bridge, entered the safety of the fort. Last of all came Nicholas riding with Goody Wallace and her little girl.
The bridge rose behind them.
Weak with relief, Bethie bent over the stallion’s neck, patted its wet shoulder, sent a silent prayer of thanksgiving winging skyward. In her arms, Belle wailed indignantly, a beautiful sound that made Bethie smile.
They were alive. They were all alive.
Strong hands reached up, lifted her from the saddle, lowered her to the ground.
And then Nicholas was before her, his wet hair clinging to his chest, his chin dark with stubble, his eyes full of concern for her.
Later she would not be able to say whether he’d kissed her first or she had kissed him. But as they claimed each other with lips and tongue, she knew she’d never tasted anything sweeter.
