It was the question Nicholas asked himself every day. A part of him thought he might have been wiser to take Shingiss’s offer of safe passage and lead Bethie away from all of this. But with so many warriors from so many nations traveling through the forest, they would have been running a gauntlet all the way over the mountains and beyond. As it was, they’d barely made it to Fort Pitt alive.
And though Nicholas had some store of pemmican, cornmeal, and salt pork in his gear, it wasn’t enough to feed the two of them for more than a few weeks. Besides, Écuyer would surely search the barracks once food ran out and press all personal stores into service. He’d already done as much with livestock. Those who had cattle or chickens had been forced to sell them to the Crown for coin they might not live to spend.
“I suppose Écuyer would be forced to abandon the fort and ask Shingiss and the other chiefs to let us pass in peace back over the mountains.”
“Would the chiefs allow this?”
He remembered Shingiss’s words in the garden. “I’m not sure. I doubt it. Still, Écuyer will have no choice but to trust them and risk the journey or to wait until we are so weakened by hunger that Shingiss and his allies are able to take the fort.”
“What would the Indians do to us?”
She felt so sweet, so fragile in his arms. He inhaled the lavender scent of her hair, pressed his lips to her brow. “If we abandon the fort and journey east, I suspect they will try to ambush us somewhere along the way. If they take the fort, it will follow days of bloody battle.”
“Nay, I mean what will theydoto us, to you, to the soldiers, to the women and children.”
He could feel her fear, but he had no honeyed words to assuage it. He would not lie to her. “This is war, Bethie. It’s a war such as I’ve never seen. I imagine they would kill most of the adult men and torture the rest. They would kill the smallest children and babies—those they deemed young enough to be a burden on the trail home. The women and older children they would either kill outright or take captive.”
She seemed to consider this for a moment, her gaze seeking out Isabelle, fear for her baby written on her face. “Annie says you were taken while trying to save the lives of two young soldiers and that you were forced to watch as they were burned to death. Is that true?”
Whatever he had expected her to say, it was not this. Her words felt like a fist to his stomach. It took a moment before he could answer. “Aye.”
“And they tortured you.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
“Aye.”
Screams. Burning pain. The stench of scorched flesh.
“Nicholas! For God’s sake, help us!”
Nicholas stepped back, tucked a finger beneath her chin, forced her to meet his gaze. “I won’t let them take you, Bethie. I won’t let them take either of you.”
He would kill Bethie and Belle himself before he let that happen. The last bit of powder, his last bit of lead, he would save for them.
“And that is why I need to lead the men out to the garden today.”
“When are you goin’ out?”
“Now.”
***
Bethie was in the hospital changing the bandages on a soldier who’d accidentally shot himself in the foot when the alarm sounded.
Nicholas!
He’d left for the garden little more than an hour ago and had not yet returned.
Dr. Aimes took the bandages from her hands. “Thank you for your help, madam. You’d best be off to your quarters.”
Heart pounding, Bethie removed her apron, hurried outdoors.
What she heard turned her blood to ice—hundreds of voices raised in war cries.
The fort was under attack.
Gunfire from the ramparts. The blast of a cannon. The bitter tang of gunpowder.
She’d truly intended to fetch Belle from the trading post and return to her quarters, as she had promised Nicholas she would, but he was out there, fighting for his life. Her feet turned instead to the east, and she ran toward the east ravelin, where men were rushing through with sacks and baskets loaded with Indian corn and vegetables.
