***
Richard watched from the shadows of the soldiers’ barracks as his dear stepsister’s man left their quarters and strode off toward the main gate. The big trapper would be tied up for at least an hour, talking with the heathen, interpreting their words for the captain. Richard needed less than half that time.
But first he had to get past Private Fitchie. The boy had become Bethie’s lapdog. Richard had seen the shy, adoring glances he’d tossed her way. She had seduced him, too, had probably taken him to her bed when that husband of hers was out acting the hero.
Richard watched, smiled when Fitchie clutched his belly. So the doctor’s curesdidwork. Richard had gone to him, complaining that his belly had turned to stone. The doctor had given him a tincture to make his bowels move—and Richard had poured all of it into Fitchie’s coffee this morning.
Within minutes, Fitchie had doubled over, and soon he seemed to be dancing.
“You’ll have to choose, lad. Is it to be duty or a trip to the privy house?”
Even as Richard spoke the words, Private Fitchie grabbed his breeches and ran.
***
Bethie sat down in the chair, opened her shift, lifted a fussy Belle to her breast, tried to reassure herself that Nicholas would be fine. This was not to be a battle, after all, but an exchange of words and gifts. There would be no gunfire, no warriors with war clubs, no arrows flying through the air. And if anything went wrong, he’d be well within reach of the marksmen on the ramparts.
But that wasn’t the only thing troubling her.
Nicholas had told her this morning that if this parlay led to peace, they would be free to leave the fort and continue on their way to Paxton. “You might even be home before the first leaves turn,” he’d said. “Don’t worry.”
But how could she not worry? She knew what awaited her in Paxton.
An image of the face she’d seen the other day leapt into her mind. She shuddered. Whoever it was had looked so much like Richard. But it couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not so far from Paxton. Not in a British uniform.
She had not told Nicholas yet, but she wasn’t going to Paxton. She would stay here with Annie, if Annie and Charlie would take her in. She could work as hard as any other woman, help them run the trading post. Just the other day Annie had said she was getting too old to handle it all herself. And if Annie and Charlie turned her away, she would plead with Nicholas to take her to Ligonier or farther on to Lancaster, where she could surely find a position as a seamstress or day maid. Now that she could read some and write her name, it would surely be easier to find work.
But just as terrible as the fear of facing her stepfather and his vile son again was the knowledge that Nicholas still intended to leave her. She’d thought perhaps that their time together would change his mind, that his desire for her might turn to affection. Living here in the fort, where everyone believed she was his wife, had made anything seem possible.
She knew he cared for her, or at least she hoped he did. Why else would he get so angry with her? Why protect her, provide for her, risk his life for her? Why make such tender love to her? Never once had he pushed her further than she’d been willing to go. Never once had he taken her as a man takes a woman. Did that not show he truly cared for her?
And yet he spoke of leaving her in Paxton as if it were a trifle, merely the next stop on his journey. His voice sounded in her imagination. “Farewell, Bethie. It’s been good to know you. Take care of Belle.”
Could it truly be that easy for him? Did she mean so little to him?
She didn’t realize she was crying until her vision blurred. And then she knew the terrible truth: She had fallen in love with him. She had fallen in love with Nicholas.
“Nay, Bethie.” She stood abruptly, carried Belle to her cradle, began to dress. “Dinnae be silly! He doesna love you.”
She had her back to the door when she heard it open.
“Little Bethie Stewart.”
She whirled about at the sound of his voice. Terror exploded in her breast. “Richard!”
“Good morning, sister.” He stroked the bulge in his breeches. “’Tis time you and I got to know each other again.”
Chapter 23
Even as he rendered the words into English, Nicholas knew Turtle’s Heart was lying.
“He says Ligonier has been destroyed and that the Ottawa and Ojibwa are advancing many hundreds strong toward us from the north. He says that, out of caring for us, they have persuaded the Six Nations to hold back their attack so that we might evacuate the fort and take our women and children east over the mountains. If we do not leave now, the Six Nations will come and destroy us.”
Écuyer smiled, seemed almost to be enjoying himself. “Tell Turtle’s Heart that I thank him for his kind warning, but the garrison at Fort Pitt is well equipped to defend itself. Tell him that three great armies are on their way here to punish those who have taken up arms against the Crown. Six thousand are on their way to Fort Pitt as we speak. Three thousand more have been sent north to punish the Ottawa and Ojibwa. A third is coming up from the south to destroy the Delaware and Shawnee. Tell him they should protect their women and children, for I fear for their safety.”
Nicholas translated those lies, as well, wondered if Turtle’s Heart understood the concept of a thousand. Wars among Indian nations rarely measured in hundreds.
Turtle’s Heart watched Écuyer through inscrutable brown eyes as the silence stretched. Finally, he spoke. “Tell him we will take his words to Shingiss and will consider all that has been spoken.”
