Nicholas repeated Turtle’s Heart’s words in English.
Écuyer nodded, motioned two young soldiers forward. “Tell them we appreciate their warning and concern for our safety. Out of our regard for them, we offer these blankets and handkerchiefs as tokens.”
As Nicholas interpreted, the soldiers placed a neatly folded woolen blanket and small, linen handkerchief into each of the two Delaware warrior’s arms, looks of terror on their young faces as if they expected to be killed at any moment.
Turtle’s Heart nodded. “Thank him for these gifts and tell him that Turtle’s Heart holds fast the chain of friendship with the English.”
Then Turtle’s Heart and his companion turned and walked down the Monongahela bank toward the forest, where Shingiss was no doubt waiting.
As a drummer began a retreating beat and Écuyer’s escort disappeared behind the glacis and back toward the drawbridge, Nicholas watched the warriors walk away, feeling vaguely uneasy, then turned and followed Écuyer.
Ahead of him, Trent and Écuyer were talking in low tones.
Écuyer chuckled. “Within a month we could be rid of them all without having fired a shot.”
“Let us hope the blankets have the desired effect. What of the two privates?”
“Both have already survived smallpox, and the doctor assures me they cannot contract the disease again. Still, we’re taking no chances. Their uniforms will be burned, and they shall be quarantined for a fortnight.”
Nicholas stopped in his tracks, stared at the two officers’ backs, almost unable to believe what he’d heard. “You gave them blankets infected with smallpox?”
Écuyer turned to face him, a smile on his arrogant face. “Aye. Rather ingenious, don’t you think, Master Kenleigh? My idea, you know. Given that the savages cannot withstand the disease, this simple act could mean the saving of Fort Pitt.”
“And it could mean the horrible deaths of countless innocent Delaware and Shawnee!” A spectacle of horror unfolded in Nicholas’s mind—women, children, elders convulsing with fever, dying by the hundreds, their bodies covered with pustules.
Écuyer fussed with the lace at his wrists. “Really, Master Kenleigh. Is there such a thing as an ‘innocent’ Indian? I should think you more than most understand their savagery.”
Nicholas turned, started after the Indians, was immediately restrained by two soldiers, who dragged him back inside the fort at gunpoint. He glared at Écuyer. “Who’s the savage now?”
Écuyer’s face reddened. “You forget yourself, Master Kenleigh.”
“And you’ve just made me an unwitting accomplice to murder!”
“Step outside the gate without authorization, and I’ll have you shot for treason.”
“Go to hell!” Fists clenched, Nicholas shoved away the soldiers who restrained him and pushed past Écuyer, ignoring Trent’s shocked gasp.
With no way to warn Shingiss, Nicholas strode off in a rage toward the ramparts, determined to pick up a shovel and slam it into dirt before he slammed his fists into Écuyer’s arrogant face.
***
“Itwasyou!” Bethie’s legs turned to water, her heartbeat a roar in her ears, panic like ice in her veins.
This could not be happening!
“Aye. I thought you saw me. I’ve had my eyes on you since the mornin’ you arrived, watchin’, waitin’. Now lie down on the bed and spread your thighs for me like a good little whore.” He strode toward her with the confidence of a predator, that familiar lewd smile on his freckled face.
Terror choked her, blurred her vision. The years melted away, and she suddenly found herself back in her stepfather’s cabin, in her bed in the loft—afraid and alone. She could feel Richard’s hands groping her, feel his fingers thrusting inside her, hurting her.
He’d come to her almost every night, touched her, hurt her, rubbed himself against her. He was ten years older and so much stronger. She had tried long ago to fight him, knowing she could not win, knowing he would only hurt her worse if she tried. If she’d cried out, Malcolm would have come with his leather strap and beat her again, and her mother would have known her shame. She’d bitten back her screams, tried not to feel it, waited until he was done to let the tears come.
“P-please, Richard! P-please dinnae do this!”
“You’re afraid. Good. I always liked that. Lie down, little one, unless you want me to tup you on the floor.”
A baby cried.
Belle!
