Gently he scooped Bethie’s bruised and trembling body into his arms, laid her head against his chest, let her tears soak through the cloth of his shirt. “It’s over now, Bethie. None of them will ever harm you again.”
“I—I am no’ deservin’ of such kindness. I am tainted, do you no’ see that?”
“All I see, Bethie, is the woman I—”
Love.
“—care deeply about and wish to protect.”
The word had come to him so naturally, had slipped onto his tongue as if he’d meant it.
And to his astonishment, Nicholas realized he did.
He loved her.
He was in love with Bethie Stewart.
Chapter 24
Bethie awoke in Nicholas’s arms the next morning, aching with milk and longing to hold her baby again. Though her head throbbed and her entire body ached, she felt a strange sense of lightness inside, as if something dark and heavy had been lifted from her. And it didn’t take her long to realize why.
Last night she had told Nicholas everything, every horrible detail, and he had not pushed her away. Instead, he’d held her, comforted her, assured her no one would hurt her again. And as the laudanum had taken hold and she’d drifted off to an untroubled sleep, the last thing she remembered him saying was that he still cared for her.
All I see, Bethie, is the woman I care deeply about and wish to protect.
’Twas not a declaration of love, to be sure, but it was far beyond anything she’d dared hope for. And when he’d looked at her, it was not pity or shame she saw in his eyes, but tenderness, concern. Nicholas knew, and still he stayed by her side.
Nicholas. Nicholas. She loved him. With everything she was, she loved him. Uncertain though their future might be, she felt some peace in knowing that much.
He stayed with her, refused to let her get out of bed for three days, except when absolutely necessary. Private Fitchie, much embarrassed by the cruel trick that had been played upon him and blaming himself for her suffering, was back on duty outside her door, ferocious in his devotion. Annie paid several calls each day, bringing what gossip she had—which was considerable, given that she was the hub of the fort’s gossip mill.
But no one ever spoke to Bethie about Richard. When she finally asked Nicholas, all he told her was that Richard would never trouble her again.
***
The court-martial of Richard Sorley convened three days after the attack. Nicholas watched in disgust as Sorley accused Bethie of seducing and bewitching him, described how she’d seduced him when she was but a child. His words were so revolting that Nicholas spied the officers giving Sorley blatant looks of contempt. Nicholas was the only other person to testify. The officers reached a verdict within minutes: guilty.
Écuyer rendered his sentence immediately. “Private Richard Sorley, you are hereby sentenced to be executed by firing squad at dawn tomorrow for the reprehensible and capital crimes of assault and attempted rape. And only God will have mercy on your soul.”
There was no shortage of volunteers for the firing squad among either the soldiers, who seemed to have despised Sorley, or the militia, who had apparently grown to respect Nicholas for his woodcraft and bravery. But when Sorley was led, weeping, from the guardhouse the next morning, taken across the drawbridge and bound to a stake, only one of the dozen rifles aimed at him was loaded.
“Ready!”
Nicholas lifted his weapon, thought of a young girl who had lain, terrified and alone, in the darkness.
“Aim!”
He aligned the front sight with Sorley’s black heart, heard the sound of that young girl’s desperate pleas, her weeping.
“Fire!”
He pulled the trigger, killed the bastard who had hurt her.
And later, those who were there told how Nicholas Kenleigh, after firing the single, fatal shot, strode angrily over to the man who had tried to dishonor his wife, ripped the blindfold off the man’s face, glared into his dying eyes—and cursed him to eternal hell.
***
After four days of lying abed, Bethie was restless and wanted nothing more than to scrub their quarters from one end to the other. Her head no longer ached, and her bruises were beginning to fade. Between the sticky July heat, Nicholas’s healing salves, and the lingering feel of Richard’s hands upon her, she also longed to take a bath.
