Ride the Fire (20 page)

Tears blurred her vision. “And the chickens?”

“I decided I could either let the wolves and wildcats have them or I could catch an easy dinner. There’s grain for the horses in the saddlebags. It will help them keep up their strength until we reach the fort. The mares aren’t used to this kind of life.”

Her gaze shifted from the chickens to the saddlebags.

“Are you sure it’s right to be takin’ from the dead?”

His voice took a hard edge. “What’s the first rule of the wilderness, Bethie?”

She whispered, “Survival.”

His hands gripped her around the waist, and he lifted her easily into the saddle. “There’s a sheltered campsite up ahead. It’s not as secure as the place we camped last night, but it will do, provided no one has already claimed it.”

Then it occurred to her. “The Indians—did you see where they went?”

“They’ve headed southeast, and they’re moving fast.” She sighed with relief. If they were moving southeast, perhaps they wouldn’t be coming back this way. “I wouldn’t feel too safe just yet. That war party is headed straight for Fort Pitt.”

He set what felt to Bethie like a punishing pace, stopped only when there were tracks he needed to examine more closely or when the baby needed to be changed. He had draped a soft lynx fur across the saddle to protect Bethie’s chafed skin, enabling her to ride harder and longer than before. Yet she knew he wished they could move even faster. But caring for a baby in the wild wasn’t easy. Gathering moss, milkweed silk and thistledown to line Belle’s diaper skins had become a constant task in the evenings. Changing her slowed them down. Carrying her in the sling and nursing while sitting on horseback made Bethie’s shoulders ache. Still, Belle was a good baby, more prone to contentment than crying. The rocking movement of the horse seemed to lull her, the dappled light of the forest to enthrall her.

The hours of silence gave Bethie time to think, to worry.

The ride to Fort Pitt was only the first part of their journey. If they made it to the fort alive, they would have but a brief respite before setting out for Paxton. Unless she refused to leave the fort or . . .

What was she thinking? That Nicholas would give up his life in the wild, take her to wife and become a farmer and the father of her child?

She had only to put her unspoken wish into words to realize how silly it was. She was a woman without a husband, without a home, and Nicholas had never promised her more than passing protection. Yet she knew he had at least some feelings for her.

Hadn’t he called her beautiful? Hadn’t he shown her with his kisses and the heat of his hands that he desired her? When his touch had frightened her, hadn’t he kept his word and stopped? And didn’t he still hold her at night, keep her warm and safe, kiss her hair when he thought she was asleep?

Nicholas. Nicholas. How he confused her! How could he be this kind to her and not care for her? How could he care for her and yet simply ride away and leave her? And why was she even thinking of him in that way? Had she not decided when Andrew died that she would prefer to live as a widow than as any man’s wife?

But Nicholas was not any man. Nicholas had opened the door to mysteries she hadn’t known existed when she’d lain in Andrew’s bed. He had taught her to write her name, was teaching her to read so that she could someday teach her daughter. And most of all—more than any of the kindnesses he had shown her—he had not forced himself on her.

She didn’t know much about him, yet she knew for a certainty she’d never meet another man like him.

She watched him ride just ahead of her, his dark hair lifted by the breeze, his body so attuned to the animal beneath him, the forest around him. Regret, like the sharp edge of a blade, cut her heart. Why had she stopped him? Why had she become afraid? He hadn’t hurt her. He had done nothing but bring her pleasure. And yet when he had touched her there, she had been unable to control her reaction. Fear had surged through her, fear so strong it seemed to choke the light from the sun.

Her shame. Her taint. Her terror. Would it follow her forever?

If someone had told Nicholas six months ago that he and Zeus would soon be traveling through the wilderness with a woman, a baby and two pregnant mares, he’d have called that person a liar and a damned idiot. For six years he had wandered, seeking oblivion in the vastness of this continent. He’d kept to himself, refused to get caught up in other people’s lives. Their foolishness, their lack of planning, their ignorance were not his problem, and those who were unprepared for survival died. It was the way of the wild.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a sense of purpose, a reason for being. But somehow Bethie had crept beneath his guard, gotten past the wall he’d built around himself, and now nothing was more important to him than getting her—and her baby—to safety.

He glanced back over his shoulder, worried. She was all but asleep in the saddle. In his eagerness to reach the fort as quickly as possible, he had again pushed her too hard. He had just decided to scout for a place to make camp when he heard the sound of something crashing through the forest. It was coming toward them.

He leapt to the ground, grabbed the mare’s reins to stop her, lifted Bethie out of the saddle. “Get behind those rocks!”

Bethie’s eyes were wide with terror, but she kept silent, did exactly as he asked.

Quickly he tied the horses’ reins to a nearby tree and had just enough time to grab his rifle, drop to the ground and aim when a bull charged toward him out of the trees, a spear protruding from its back.

Nicholas held his fire.

Crazed with fear and pain, the animal bellowed, veered to avoid the frightened horses, then disappeared into the forest behind them.

He heard Bethie’s sigh of relief, whispered to her fiercely, “Stay back there, Bethie. Don’t make a sound, and don’t come out until I tell you to.” Then he stood, took up position behind a gnarled oak near the place where the bull had broken through the underbrush.

And almost immediately he heard it—rapid footfalls, labored breathing. Someone was running toward them. Every muscle in his body tensed, readied to make the most of a surprise attack. Into his mind flashed a vision of the slain mother, her eyes staring sightless at the blue sky. He would not let them hurt Bethie or little Belle. Then shouting echoed through the trees. “It got away, you fool. Isn’t one enough to fill your belly?” The language was Delaware. The voice came from a distance.

“I’m hungry, and this is my kill!” The man stood not more than twenty feet away.

Nicholas held his breath, hoped the bull’s crashing and bellowing had been enough to cover the whinnies of the startled horses, prayed the baby would not make a sound. “Forget it, and come back to the fire. They’ll cook and eat all the meat by the time you catch up to that old animal. Besides, I don’t think you sank your spear very deep.”

“Listen, friend. When I sink my spear, I bury it all the way. Ask my wife.”

Both men laughed.

“Well, you chase it down if you want. Go chew on its old hide. I’m going back for juicier meat.”

Go back. Go back.
Nicholas willed the warrior to heed his friend’s advice and give up the chase. The seconds ticked by, each as long as eternity.
Go back.

Nicholas let out the breath he’d been holding, didn’t move until he was certain both men were far out of earshot. Then he strode silently over to Bethie, who sat behind the rocks, clutching Isabelle to her breast, a rock gripped tightly in her free hand. He knelt before her, pulled her into his arms, whispered, “It’s all right, Bethie. They’ve gone. But we need to hurry. Can you ride farther tonight?”

She nodded, looked at him questioningly. “Are they the same ones—?”

“I think so. We need to get out of here.” He helped her to her feet, took her arm.

But she didn’t budge. “W-why didn’t you kill them?”

“If I had, the rest of the Delaware war party would know we’re here, now, wouldn’t they? And they would come after us. Trust me, Bethie. We must go!”

They rode until Nicholas was certain Bethie could ride no more, headed for a site he knew ensured them protection from the Delaware. An ancient burial site made up of several mounds and surrounded by a heavy growth of trees, it was a place of loathing for most Indians, who believed dark spirits stalked among the mounds. The war party would not follow them there.

“Come, love.” Nicholas lifted Bethie from her saddle, steadied her until she found her footing. He laid out their bed of furs, while she changed the baby. He had no sooner covered her with the buffalo skin than she was fast asleep. Quickly he tended the horses, rubbed them down, gave the mares each an extra ration of grain, picketed them at the edge of the glade, where a little spring fed into a tiny stream. It had been a hard day’s work for the animals, and tomorrow would only bring more of the same. But it wasn’t the horses that worried him. It was the Delaware. Though he had hinted at it, he hadn’t spelled out for Bethie what he feared lay ahead of them or why it was so necessary for them to move swiftly. The war parties were slaughtering every settler they encountered. But they weren’t taking any supplies. That meant only one thing—they were in a hurry. Why?

It was this question that filled Nicholas’s mind each day, kept him awake at night.

Then there was the recklessness with which they seemed to be traveling. They left clear tracks plain enough for a child to follow. And just this evening, two Delaware warriors had shouted to one another in what ought to have been dangerous territory. What had given them such confidence? There was one answer to both questions that made sense. They were on their way to an important gathering, and they believed themselves surrounded by allies. Was it possible that they were converging with other war parties for an attack on Fort Pitt? Were they so certain of victory that they felt the Ohio Valley was already secured? Had they joined together in such overwhelming numbers that their boldness was driving them to carelessness?

Shingiss, the Delaware leader, had warned him last winter that the nations of the northwestern wilderness were joining forces to drive whites out. Nicholas was now certain that if they didn’t hurry, they would arrive at Fort Pitt only to find it already under siege—and their access to it blocked. But even if they reached the fort, they would not be safe. If Fort Pitt was not already under siege by the time they arrived, it soon would be.

Nicholas had wanted to lead Bethie and her baby to safety. As the days passed, he began to fear he was only leading them into greater danger.

By the time she’d finished her breakfast of roast chicken and corn cakes and fed Belle, Nicholas had the fire out, the saddlebags packed and the horses ready.

They followed the river as it made a sudden sweep northward toward its joining with the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers, keeping as usual to the cover of the trees. But they hadn’t ridden far when they came across the burnt ruins of another farm.

Nicholas dismounted. “Stay here, Bethie. I don’t want you to see this.”

But Bethie didn’t need to get any closer to understand the full horror of the scene. Lying in the grass around the charred remains of a cabin were several human bodies, the air above them thick with flies. She turned Rosa’s head away from the slaughter, drew air deep into her lungs, fought to keep her breakfast.

Nicholas was soon back, his face grim. He strode over to his stallion, mounted. “This happened a few days ago.”

She fought her queasiness, tried to be strong. “D-do you think it’s the same ones?”

He drew alongside her. “No. This band is much larger—I’d say perhaps as many as thirty warriors. But they’re headed toward Fort Pitt just like the others.”

“Tis the uprisin’ you spoke of, is it no’? These attacks cannae be mere chance.”

He nodded. “It’s time we forsook the river and rode cross country straight for the fort. We can reach Fort Pitt by dawn if we ride hard. Can you manage it, Bethie? It will be long and rough, and there’s likely to be trouble.” She looked at him through eyes filled with trust.

“I will go where you lead and do my best no’ to be a burden.”

He reached across, cupped her cheek. “You’re not a burden.”

They turned their horses to the east and rode through hilly, forested country. Despite the need to cover ground quickly, Nicholas kept the horses at a walk, unwilling to risk riding headlong into an encampment of warriors or finding themselves in an ambush.

They passed two more burnt farmsteads before noon, though there were no bodies at the second. As the two farms were located fairly close together, Bethie suggested that perhaps the occupants of the second farm had heard what was happening to their neighbors and had fled. They had fled, but they hadn’t gotten far. Nicholas spotted their bodies a half mile from their home, led Bethie in a wide arc around the carnage.

It was early afternoon when he motioned for Bethie to stop.

Something didn’t feel right.

Zeus snorted, jerked at the reins. The stallion’s ears twitched, faced back.