“Of course. All shall be sworn to secrecy. Tell me, Master Kenleigh, does your father know of your marriage?”
“I’ve had no contact with him for six years. Why do you ask?”
“I should think my question obvious. You are heir to your father’s estates. I’m certain he would have preferred you to make a dynastic match and marry a woman of your own class, not the daughter of Scottish rustics, no matter how lovely or pleasant she might be.”
“You go too far, Écuyer.”
“Perhaps. But bad blood will out, as they say. Now I must be going. We are at war, and I’ve many duties.”
Bethie heard the sound of a door shutting, felt a cold cloth against her aching forehead. Warm lips brushed over hers. Nicholas.
She tried to speak his name, but it came out a moan.
“Bethie? Bethie, can you hear me?”
She tried to dig her way out of the darkness, put all of her strength into saying one word. “Belle...”
“Belle is fine, love. She’s safe, and so are you. I won’t leave you, Bethie.”
She felt him warm beside her, smelled his scent, sensed his strength.
Then she surrendered and slept.
***
Nicholas gazed down at Bethie’s sleeping face. Dark bruises and lacerations marred both of her cheeks. There were bruises on her throat, arms, and inner thighs as well, the marks of a predator.
Damn it!
He ought to have been here. He ought to have prevented this.
Instead, he’d been unwittingly helping Écuyer murder the Delaware, who were intent on killing the English. And while he’d been caught up in the drama outside the gates, a man—no, an animal masquerading as a man—had beaten and tried to rape his own sister, or stepsister, as it now seemed.
So much violence. So much brutality. He thought he’d seen everything both the wilderness and the so-called civilized world had to offer. And then he’d seen this.
Why hadn’t she told him?
As soon as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He had secrets, too—memories so terrible that even the act of recounting them was unbearable.
He shuddered to think what would have happened to Bethie had he not arrived just then. He’d been on his way to work on the ramparts, ready to spend his rage in the dirt, when he’d noticed that Private Fitchie was not on duty outside their door. Still haunted by a vague sense of uneasiness, he’d come to investigate. If only he had come sooner.
“Nicholas?”
She was awake.
“I’m right here, love. How do you feel?”
Her violet eyes were clouded by pain. “My head... hurts.”
He reached for the laudanum, poured a small amount into a cup, lifted her head, held the cup to her lips. “Drink this, love. It will take the pain away.”
Her nose wrinkled as she swallowed the bitter liquid.
Nicholas lowered her head gently back to the pillow. “Just rest, Bethie.”
For a moment she lay silent, then tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Nicholas. Please forgi’e me.”
He wiped the tears away with his thumb. “Forgive you for what, Bethie? None of this was your fault.”
