Lord of the Wilderness Page 3

  Juliet grabbed Mary’s hand, skirted around the two men, and hurried along the sheep’s stalls where the sheep piled on one another to escape.

  Her cheeks burned from the cook’s rebuke especially in front of Joshua who seemed nice. Maybe he could suggest how she could escape and get back to England. To bring Baron Bearsted to justice.

  Chapter Four

  Orpha put out her best when business customers visited, but that night she exceeded her standard welcome for the handsome frontiersman. Under a chandelier lit with a myriad of beeswax candles, gleamed a fine cherry dining table set with Orpha’s polished silver, linen napkins and delicate rose china.

  Juliet finished serving Orpha a plate of roast pheasant, roast beef, braised cabbage, carrots and potatoes. With Horace’s plate in hand, she looked up at Joshua and caught him studying her intently. His perusal scrambled her thoughts and caused her skin to go up in flames.

  She dropped Horace’s plate on the table.

  Orpha glanced at her sharply. “Cease your clumsiness, Juliet.” Orpha pouted and leaned over to Joshua. “You can’t get good help these days.”

  The frontiersman ignored Orpha, and Juliet’s chest expanded with gratitude.

  Orpha pulled her shawl around her. “Juliet, stir the fire, I feel a chill and you know how I hate to be cold.”

  While stirring the embers, Juliet darted a glance at Joshua again. He was as elemental as the changing seasons, unrestrained power, with naught lagging or degenerated about him—no softness at all to his rock-solid and daunting frame, honed from living on the frontier.

  “The great surprise was when the principal chief of the Onondagas, Rozinoghyata chose Thayendanegea over Gucinge to fill the most important office over the Six Nations,” said Joshua.

  The discussion carried a surreal nature. So businesslike as if there had been no altercation between him and the master that afternoon. Horace had tried to punish her for throwing the candlestick by giving her more chores to perform. Juliet reminded him of Joshua’s aim. She smiled, thinking of the horror on her master’s face.

  Horace thumped his fist on the table, using his innate sense of drama to call attention to himself. “Gucinge’s bravery is unquestioned, his leadership qualities are considerable, his experience exceptional and his sagacity is consistent. But…his flaw is his impetuousness.”

  “I can understand Thayendanegea’s appointment. He has great knowledge of the whites, their ways, language and written word. The Indians who have aligned themselves with the King also required someone with more restraint.” Joshua sipped his wine.

  Juliet fidgeted with the dishes on the sideboard, paying attention to how the frontiersman shifted from casual conversation to pointed statements. Too nonchalant.

  Horace cut his beef, sticking a large piece in his mouth. He sucked at the juices and said, “I understand Colonel Butler has recruited and armed the Senecas and other Indians of the lower Great Lakes region and is assembling them at Fort Niagara to receive their presents and instructions.” He took a letter from his pocket and slid it across the table to Joshua. “This arrived for you a couple days ago.”

  Juliet pressed her back to the wall, waiting to be called upon. As a servant, she was almost invisible except for those hawk-like blue orbs of the frontiersman watching, but not watching her.

  She studied her tapestry, struck how every goal, motivation, conflict, every color, every figure, every feat and consequence, every part of earthly realism and the judgements it created, every bond made, every subtle moment of history and probability, every sword thrust and bush, every passion and birth and promise, every potential entity ever was intertwined into that infinite, expansive web.

  She inhaled, feeling the smolders in the whorls of the weaver’s fingers, and then caught the frontiersman slanting his head where her attention had been gathered. He nodded. Heat rose to her cheeks.

  Was he in agreement with her sentiments? No. Far from the sophistication of England, she found colonials smugly narrow, possessing an indifference to cultural and aesthetic values. To own was all they deemed necessary.

  “Bribes the Rangers and Tory militia use to cultivate the Indians against the colonials,” said Joshua.

  The frontiersman’s fingers curled around his fork. Anger? She straightened, weighing the information bandied at the table.

  Horace threw back his head and snorted. “In addition, Thayendanegea had been taken to England to be inspired by royal munificence with assurances after certain British victory, the Empire would help see to all Indian tribes in North America subjugated to the Iroquois.”

  “A tremendous carrot to dangle in front of the War Chief,” said Joshua.

  Orpha waved her crystal goblet and Juliet refilled it with wine. No doubt, the trader was intelligent and had been educated. But his accent intrigued her. How he cultivated the colonial inflection. A bit of a drawl, sometimes a burr.

  “Butler and his followers were the ones responsible for the attacks on Forts Fifty and Summermute along with several settlements in Pennsylvania, south of here,” said Joshua. “I should remind you, Horace, the Indians are on the move. No mercy will be allowed.”

  The news of a potential Indian attack sent shivers down Juliet’s spine.

  Nonplussed, Horace smoothed his velvet waistcoat. “You want us to bleat like sheep? We are Loyalists and protected by the King. Alliances have been made with the Indians swayed to suppress the rabble creating the insurrection.”

  Juliet studied Joshua to see his reaction to Horace’s bravado. He turned his eyes on her, his expression neutral. Difficult to read him.

  “You will not be immune. Many of the tribes you speak of, the Senecas, Onondagas, the Cayugas, and most Mohawks agreed to fight the Americans on behalf of the English,” said Joshua. “Plying my trade across the frontier, I am aware of the hostilities.”

  Horace slapped his wine glass down on the table. “Juliet, bring me more wine,” he ordered. “How you render a heated impression of apocalyptic danger, Joshua. I have no proviso to worry,” he said, allaying his wife’s growing alarm.

  A subtle tightening came to Joshua’s jaw. “It is the most unprepossessing declaration of war ever made by the Six Nation Iroquois. But others have rejected the alliance with the King and remain neutral or fight for the Patriots who they have lived peaceably with for years.”

  There it was again. He had slipped without realizing his vernacular mirrored a higher station. Definitely English born. Nobility? No. Surely, a highborn wouldn’t wear buckskins nor would he risk his neck in a wilderness that offered him nothing. The son of a professor? A merchant? A bastard? The pieces didn’t fit.

  Juliet’s fingers came up to toy with her necklace. What was he really doing here?

  He tilted back his chair on two legs. Was it a departure of ingrained manners vital to hide his secrets?

  Horace remained silent for a long while and when he continued it was with unmistakable hardness. “In the present dispute with the mother country and the Colonies, I’d sooner have my head cut off than lift my hand against the King or sign any association.”

  Horace closed his fist over Juliet’s hand and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “You will find the elderberry wine here to be the sweetest and most lush, Joshua.”

  Juliet shook and pulled back. His flaccid fist held fast. To throw his wine in his face had appeal but, as a result, Orpha would delight in punishing her.

  Joshua tossed back the contents of his glass. He frowned, staring at the bottom as if the wine were too bitter for his liking.

  Joshua glared at Horace. “As I mentioned in the library this afternoon, I can trek through the forests with no sign of my presence. My prey has no idea when I will strike and—with precision.”

  Horace choked on his food and Juliet wished he’d keep on choking. She jerked from his hold.

  Orpha clapped her hands. “Oh, Joshua, your excellent marksmanship is extolled over the frontier, conceivably the entire Colonies. I’d love to
see a demonstration of your skill.”

  Juliet hid a smile.

  Horace blanched the color of a yellow-hued cadaver. “Point well taken.”

  Joshua cut his beef in exact pieces. “From a Royal Grant, I see you have amassed four thousand acres, twenty-five horses, sixty black cattle. The times have been good and well-disposed to you. A quid pro quo for favorable services to the Crown?”

  Like a cat licking its paws of salmon paste, Horace gave a hint of a smile, all thoughts of his indiscretion to Juliet forgotten. “Petitions not sweetened with gold are but unsavory and often refused. The King needed a man of integrity and honor and has rewarded him well, as with others who are dedicated to his cause.”

  “Juliet, give our guest more wine and bring out the dessert,” said Orpha.

  When she returned from the kitchen, she served Joshua his pie and poured his wine. He leaned into her, his shoulder next to hers. She inhaled sharply and dropped a china plate. Joshua scooped it up before it hit the floor and handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. If the precious china had broken…he had saved her from a beating.

  “Of course, there is a Patriot rascal busy moving through the New York wilderness offering many Indians money, blankets, tomahawks, paints and anything else there was to help fight the King’s troops,” said Joshua.

  “Bah! A lot of good it did him. Most refused, others agreed to fight, took his presents and disappeared.”

  Horace’s grunt showed the depth of his contempt for the Patriots. Juliet herself had always shown her allegiance to King and country. Other than Horace’s and Orpha’s conversations, the conflict in the Colonies had been remote. Juliet’s concern was not to get swept up in anything that would make it difficult for her to return to England. She hadn’t worked out how she’d have Baron Bearsted punished for his crimes. Not yet, but she burned with a fever to make it happen.

  She stifled a yawn, counting off the many chores to perform before retiring. The night was cloudless and she yearned to snuggle beneath the quilts high in their attic bedroom and gaze on the heavens. Mary was busy in the kitchen and she loved sharing with Mary everything she had learned viewing the constellations with Moira. And then memories of assisting Moira, a midwife with the joy of bringing babies in the world brought a pang to her heart. Not a typical upbringing for a girl of nobility, but then she did not have a normal life.

  Juliet removed the dishes and wrinkled her nose. What were the frontiersman’s true political inclinations? She was going to ask if anyone required anything else, then stopped short when a pair of blue eyes from across the table questioned her. She couldn’t look away.

  Orpha sat up, heaved her great shoulders like a crow would lift its wings delighted with fresh carrion to pick. “Juliet, the cook has gone to bed with a cold. Our guest seeks a bath. So while you are cleaning the kitchen, you can prepare his bath.”

  “But Mistress—”

  “I order you to stay in the kitchen and see to all of his wishes.”

  Joshua drummed his fingers on the table. Juliet had proven to be a delightful diversion, and to his disappointment, Orpha’s crassness had caused her to scurry into the kitchen.

  When Horace had put his hand on Juliet, his gut blazed with the indignities the girl suffered. When Orpha offered Juliet’s body to him, his blood raged through his veins. He debated how long it would take to geld and hang Horace. One hour? Two hours?

  How long would it take to hang the fat crow, Orpha? He’d string her up next to her husband. Of course, he’d require a thicker rope and Two Eagles’ assistance.

  He pushed the crust around his plate, and contemplated the evening’s discussion while Orpha prattled, cringing at the rasping sound of her voice every time she opened her mouth. He glanced at the tapestry he had seen Juliet regarding and wondered why. The weaving was a unique piece. In Belvoir Castle hung a superior version that would hold her in greater awe.

  He was quite taken with how Juliet flushed under his perusal. Her mouth was both generous and beautiful; the lips had color and warmth, possessing none of the narrowness he’d witnessed in many women’s faces, where jealousy or avarice flourished—like Orpha holding court at the end of the table.

  How easy it had been to manipulate Horace and gather crucial information. Joshua had to scout out Colonel Butler, the head of the hydra of the infamous British Rangers and what was occurring at Fort Niagara. He turned back to Horace, struck again by the unusual nature of his hair, a white patch roving down his scalp, the remainder black.

  He had heard of the Patriots’ failure to woo the Indians. There had been conversations with his commanders and General Washington over the vulnerability of the Patriots on the frontier, especially with the menfolk far away in Washington’s army and unable to protect their families. The exposure on the frontier grew more alarming each day.

  Joshua bit back a string of curses. “The Iroquois are natural allies of the British as the swamps and forests. The Haudenosaunee or peoples of the Longhouse have fought in each war in America during the previous century. To have expected them to remain neutral in this war was beyond the power of man.”

  Horace clanged his fork on his plate and grabbed at the tray of apple pie and gingerbread cake, piling many slices on his plate. “What a great mistake the Oneidas made, turning their backs on those advocating to raise their hatchets on behalf of the King.”

  A King on the other side of the ocean who cared nothing for his subjects except for what tribute could be exacted from them. Joshua opened his mouth to criticize, then stopped.

  Horace steepled his flabby fingers. “They are a bunch of spiders the lion will crush with his foot.”

  Palms up, Joshua spanned his hands. “Such are the wages of war.” When the spiders unite, their webs will tie up the lion.

  Joshua stood. “The evening is late. I bid you goodnight.” He didn’t care one whit for Horace or Orpha or his rudeness by ending the conversation abruptly. His mind was occupied with Juliet. By now, she’d have the bath filled and left the kitchen. Or maybe she’d still be there.

  He hoped so.

  Before Juliet had departed, her eyes had been cast downward. Of course, he’d at no time take advantage of the maid. His fondest wish was to wipe away her miseries. Still, he’d caught a hint of defiance, glimmerings of the proud fire-breathing she-dragon hovering over Horace that afternoon, not a girl beaten into submission. The devil in him looked forward to rekindling her temper. He hoped he didn’t earn a bucket of scalding water dumped on him in return.

  Chapter Five

  He entered the kitchen and stepped back in shadow to observe the two women undetected. With her back to him, Juliet had planted herself in the path of her friend, Mary who struggled with an armload of blankets. Side by side, he was struck by the contrast of the two and perceived where Horace’s greed won out. Juliet didn’t possess her friend’s angelic beauty and temperament. Mary fainted at the slightest provocation where Juliet would impale him on tines and make the act more harrowing. Where Mary was lovely, Juliet personified stunning sensuality.

  “Can you open the door for me?” Mary shifted, straining from the burdensome load. A blanket slid off the pile and fell to the floor.

  Juliet refused to budge from her position. “Where are you going?”

  “The heathen is sleeping in the barn.”

  “I thought you were scared of him.”

  “Mistress Orpha ordered it.”

  “And going out there alone makes it right? I don’t trust him. He’s dangerous.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Humph.” Juliet picked up the blanket, plopped it on the top of the pile and swung open the door. “I’ll be done cleaning the kitchen soon. Every nerve in my body is shrieking to finish the dishes, fill the tub and leave before the counterfeit rascal finishes talking to Horace.”

  Counterfeit rascal? Joshua arched a brow. She was far too discerning. With certainty, she had listened closely to him…far too close
ly. He mulled over the evening’s conversation. Nothing she could glean from what he’d said. He was a spy and still alive thanks to his exact attention to detail. What were her political leanings? He would provoke her thoughts and understand her position.

  His gaze fell to where she stepped out onto the porch. A triangle of light spilled on her. “It is a clear night…if you must have help—” she called to Mary. She stayed glued to the spot despite the freezing temperature, and then exhaled, her breath frosting on the night air. “If you need me—”

  Her friend slogged through the snow, commandeering the bundle of blankets, her lantern sashaying in the wind then dimming when she closed the door to the barn. An emaciated servant boy carried buckets of water drawn from the well. Joshua frowned. All the servants in the Hayes’ employ were thin and starved.

  Juliet followed the boy inside, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Put the buckets next to the fire, Eldon. On the table is a plate of food for you. Go to bed. You’re exhausted. I’ll collect the plate in the morning and no one will know.”

  Juliet was clearly the boy’s protector. A trait Joshua admired.

  “Thank you, Juliet.” Eldon hugged her and picked up his plate. “Goodnight, sir.”

  “Sir?” She whirled, a dainty hand flew to her chest. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Enough to understand I’m a counterfeit rascal.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You should have made your presence known.”

  Back was his she-dragon.

  She lifted the heavy iron kettle off the fire.

  He moved to her. “Let me help you.”

  She put her hand up and stopped him. His skin burned and her gaze dropped from his eyes to where her palm lay on his chest. She snatched her hand back…lifted her chin so high he could see the dark hollow in her slim white throat.

  “No, thank you.” She filled the tub with hot water and it steamed upward.

  From one of the ice-cold buckets Eldon had drawn from the well, she refilled the kettle over the fire and then turned to him, her fists plunked on her hips. “If you think Orpha’s implication means more than drawing your bath, you’ve a lesson to learn.”