"And you've lived with him ever since."
She swallowed and wiped her eyes. "I learned ways to handle him. He hit Joshua once, and I threatened to kill him. Obediah was . . ." She stumbled over the words. "He is a coward. He knew I meant it. After that, he left Joshua alone."
Forest kissed away the tears, caressing her face with feather-soft kisses. His hand cupped her breast. "I want to make love to you, little Sarah," he entreated. "Here and now." He kissed her mouth and fumbled with the neckline of her bodice. "Let me love you. Let me try to wash away the hurt."
"I wasn't a whore then, and I'm not one now," she whispered. She slipped a hand under his shirt and stroked his bare chest.
"No . . . never." He pushed her back against the mat of pine needles. "Never that," he agreed.
Fiercely, she pulled him to her, opening her mouth to take the full thrust of his hot tongue . . . entwining her limbs with his. Boldly, she let her exploring hand slide lower, under the waistband of his breeches.
Forest groaned as his hand tangled in her petticoat. "One of these days I'm going to get you completely undressed first," he promised.
She laughed, tightening her fingers around the hard, swollen proof of his desire. "We could go back to the house," she managed to say between fiercely provocative kisses.
"Later," he promised. "Later."
Sarah gasped as he freed her breasts from the confining bodice and took a throbbing nipple into his mouth. "Oh . . . I didn't know that it could feel like . . . "
"Like that . . . and that," he murmured wickedly. "Oh, Sarah." He slid up her skirts and shift until her long legs lay exposed before his eager gaze. "I want you," he repeated. "I want you . . . "
"Forest," she replied huskily, "you talk too much." Her willing mouth joined with his as she pulled him down against her and gave herself over to the throes of sweet, abandoned desire.
Chapter Twelve
A Letter from a Dead Man
Sarah awoke for the second morning in the elegant canopied bed. She yawned and stretched, grateful for the log in the fireplace that took the chill off the crisp morning. A glimpse of shimmering colors caught her eye, and she gave a gasp of childlike delight.
Sunlight streamed through the panes of old glass in the narrow windows, suspending an iridescent rainbow in midair above the faded braid rug. Filled with joy, she rolled over and snuggled against Forest's pillow. She sniffed it, catching the faint scent that was his alone. Delicious memories of the night's loving filled her mind, and she chuckled, hugging the pillow.
After breakfast, she would take the mule and ride to Martha's to bring her son home. She giggled again as she remembered Forest's chagrin the night before when the mule had appeared at the tavern kitchen door just after dusk. Forest had given her a blow-by-blow description of his contest with the stubborn animal, leaving no doubt as to the winner in the battle of wills.
"A mule is a mule is a mule," she'd teased him. What she hadn't told him was that Obediah had purchased the animal from his brother. Isaac had apparently mistreated the animal so that it hated him. Prince must have gotten a scent of Isaac on the wind, or perhaps the mule simply had a burr up his tail. Prince's response to force was total nonresistance. Show him a switch and he'd lie down and not get up for hours.
"The animals around here are as crazy as their mistress," Forest had replied.
Sarah closed her eyes and savored the feel of soft linen sheets and a thick goose-feather mattress. What must it be like to take such luxury for granted? she wondered. Until two nights ago, she'd never slept in this bed. The room was reserved for gentry, although few passed through King's Landing.
The bed hangings were rose-colored satin with a fanciful pattern of birds of paradise and willow trees. They'd come originally from Holland, and although Obediah had bought them used, they had evidently been very costly originally.
Sarah rolled over and the bed squeaked. She'd have to remind Forest that he'd promised to mend it. She hoped the repairs wouldn't show. The bed was much too expensive to replace.
On the spindly side table laid a piece of paper with writing on it. Sarah sat up and reached for it; she knew the paper hadn't been there last night.
Hastily, she drew on her clothes and hurried downstairs. "Forest," she called loudly. "Forest?" No answer.
The kitchen was empty except for the mother hound and pups. Flirt was on her feet, weakly wagging her tail. Sarah opened the back door and called. "Forest!" Again there was no reply. With an uneasy feeling, she tucked the paper into the wooden box in the Welsh cupboard—along with the letter she had received yesterday from the post rider's bag.
She had wanted to ask Forest to read the letter for her; she was certain he could read. But there'd been no opportunity yesterday. She couldn't imagine who would be writing to her.
The post rider had been adamant that the letter was for her and not her husband. '"Mistress Turner, King's Landing on the Misakaak,' it says," he'd insisted. Sarah suspected the post rider couldn't read either. He carried so few letters down the peninsula that he probably just memorized the names of the people to whom the messages were to go.
Sarah had been unwilling to let the man know she couldn't read. "I never read letters until nightfall," she'd explained haughtily. "My duties as mistress here keep me much too busy to bother with correspondence until after supper."
Obediah could read. It had been the one thing about her husband she'd admired. Sarah had learned numbers from a priest in her village, and she had her own system of keeping track of tavern foodstuffs using symbols she created herself.
Sarah's father and mother had both been educated; her mother spoke French, and her father was fluent in several languages—a necessary skill for a successful innkeeper. Her father had agreed to let Sarah attend the priest's Monday afternoon classes in reading, despite the fact that all the other students were boys and that the lessons had to be paid for. Her father's death had changed everything. When Sarah's stepfather became the head of the household, there was no question of wasting good coin on Sarah's education.
Obediah had been no better. He had laughed long and hard when Sarah suggested she would be of more use as a tavern keeper's wife if she could read. "Two things a woman needs to know," Obediah had replied. "Futterin' and cookin'. If God had intended women to read, he'd of give 'em brains instead of tits."
Sarah frowned as she remembered Obediah's red-splotched, mocking face. I had the last laugh, she thought. You'll make no more jokes at my expense.
She was uncertain whether she should prepare breakfast for Forest or not. Had he gone hunting? A shadow of doubt crossed her mind, and she pushed it away. He wouldn't leave—not now, not after what had happened between them. The whisper of doubt flickered into a tiny flame of fear. Was Forest like all the other men in her life? Had he betrayed her, too?
He's not like that. Forest wouldn't do that to me—he couldn't. I'm just being foolish, she told herself firmly.
In any case, there was little to make for breakfast. Her flour bins were bare; the hams that usually hung from the ceiling rafters were gone. Isaac and his men had left her nothing, not even enough scraps for the hounds' morning meal.
She decided to check her fish traps in the river and then go to Martha's right away. She'd borrow a little cornmeal from her friend to carry her over until she could grind meal from her own harvest. She was suddenly eager to see Joshua and to hear Martha's gossip. Somehow, it was important for Sarah to distance herself from Forest for a few hours, if only to rethink her priorities.
~~~
It was six days before Forest returned to King's Landing. Joshua was the first to catch sight of him coming upriver in the tavern sloop.
"Mama! Mama!" he cried. "It's Forest, and he's got someone with him in the boat!" Sarah had told Joshua that Forest had returned to the tavern while he was at Martha's, and the boy was now beside himself with excitement.
Sarah stepped out the front door of the tavern and leaned her broom against th
e wall, not certain if she was going to laugh or weep. Thank God he's safe, she cried silently. Her intense relief was tempered with rising anger. Six days! Six days gone without a word? She hoped Forest had a good excuse for going off God knows where. He'd need it!
Her next thought was about her own appearance. She'd tucked her hair under an oversized mobcap to do the heavy cleaning, and her patched brown skirt and old bodice had seen better days. Self-consciously, she whipped the cap off her head and stuffed it into her pocket, glad she'd taken the time to wash and braid her hair this morning.
Joshua was at the end of the dock with a tan-and-white puppy, jumping up and down and waving. "Forest!" he called. "Hello! Where have you been? Mama's mad at you!"
"Joshua!" Sarah shouted. "Bring that dog back here. He'll fall off the dock and drown."
Joshua dashed back as fast as his lame foot would allow, deposited the pup on the grass beside another, and ran back to catch the bow line Forest tossed to him.
"Hello, there," Forest said. "Can you manage that rope? Good. Wrap it around the post." He grinned at Joshua. "You've grown a foot since summer, boy."
Sarah came to the end of the dock and stood waiting, hands on her hips.
"Afternoon, Mistress Turner," Forest called.
"Where have you been?"
"I left you a letter. I said I was going to try and find you some supplies and—"
"Mama can't read!"
Sarah blushed. "Joshua, mind your tongue when grown-ups are speaking."
"But you can't read," he insisted. "You said so when I asked you—"
"I said hush!" she snapped. Her gaze fell on the barrels and sacks stacked on the deck of the small sloop. "What did you . . ."
Forest laughed. He climbed onto the dock and took the first keg his companion handed him. "Mistress Turner, this is Gideon Campbell. He's looking for work. I told him you could use some help in the tavern."
Sarah nodded acknowledgment. "Gideon." She frowned at Forest. "Did you also tell him I've no money to pay his wages?"
"I'll work fer me keep, Mistress Turner," the older man said. "I'm a good cook, and I can turn my hand to near anything, but . . ." He pointed down to a wooden peg where his left leg should have been. "Not many want to hire an old man with one leg."
Sarah scrutinized the round, weathered face and faded blue eyes. What hair the man had left was snow-white, and a gold ring dangled from one wrinkled ear. "Ship's cook, were you?" she asked.
"Aye, mistress, but I've been aground these last fourteen year. I can bake bread as light as an angel's halo and sew as fine a seam as any lass. I've worked a tavern a'fore, and I don't fancy the taste of liquor meself." He grinned at Joshua, exposing a set of painted wooden teeth.
Sarah folded her arms under her breasts.
"I've known Gideon for years," Forest assured her. "He's what he says he is. You won't be sorry if you take him on."
"All right," she agreed. "We'll try it, but if you don't suit, you're on your way and no hard feelings. There's a pallet in the kitchen. You can sleep there."
"Thank you, ma'am," Gideon answered. He lifted another heavy sack and swung it up to Forest.
Forest threw the sack on his shoulder. "Flour, Mistress Turner," he explained. "Salt, molasses, lard, spice, salt pork, and dried beef."
"Don't forget the beer," Gideon added.
Forest grinned. "Rum and French brandy."
"And a little apple cider," Gideon said with another grin.
For a few seconds Sarah was speechless. Then she gasped. "But how . . . where?"
Forest cut his eyes at the boy. I stole it, he mouthed silently.
Sarah's pupils dilated. "What?"
"Don't you know there's a war on?" Forest chided. "We can talk about this later. For now, I'd say we better put our heads together and try to figure out a safe place to stash it all. We don't want Master Isaac to come back and take it all again—do we?"
~~~
It was hours before Sarah and Forest had a chance to be alone. She walked into the kitchen, and he swooped her up in his arms and kissed her soundly.
"Don't," she protested weakly. "Joshua . . ."
"Joshua is out at the woodpile listening to Gideon's pirate stories."
"Is he a pirate?" She stepped out of reach. "Don't tell me you've brought a pirate to work in my kitchen."
"Not exactly a pirate," Forest hedged. "Anyway, he's been reformed for a long time. He'll do no harm to the boy, I can promise you that."
Sarah's eyes fell on the keg of ale on the table. "I don't know where you got all this or how, but I'm glad you did," she admitted. "Stolen or not, I didn't know what I'd do without—"
Forest shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Sarah. His Majesty is just returning some of what his militia borrowed from you last week. The less you know of the details, the better."
"You should have told me you were going," she said, unable to hide the pain in her voice. Her eyes clouded with uncertainty. He'd come back, hadn't he? It proved he cared for her. Her lips tingled where he'd kissed her; she wished he'd do it again.
"What would you have said if I'd told you? You'd have raised a fuss, wouldn't you? Besides, I did leave you a note saying I'd be back in a week." He smiled at her. "I'm even a day early." He took a step toward her. "It's been a long week, Sarah," he said huskily. "I missed you."
"I can't read," she said softly. She could feel her cheeks burning. "I never learned. There was no one here to read your letter to me, so I didn't know where you went. I . . ." She hesitated. "I thought maybe you left again."
Forest flushed. "I didn't know you couldn't read. I wouldn't leave for good," he assured her. "Not like that . . . not without telling you." He reached out his hand to her. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I didn't mean to hurt you."
Joshua's voice came through the open door. "Mama, guess what? Guess what Gideon made me?"
A loud, shrill whistle made Sarah clamp her hands over her ears. "I can guess," she said wryly.
Joshua flung himself into the kitchen. "Gideon's been everywhere and seen everything," the boy gushed. "He even seen an elephant."
"Saw," Sarah corrected. "Saw an elephant."
"That's what I said," Joshua exclaimed. "He said a man was riding on it, but I don't believe that, do you, Forest?"
Forest winked at Sarah. "I don't know. Seems to me I've ridden a few elephants myself."
Joshua snickered. "No, you haven't, has he, Mama? He's just teasing, isn't he?" He raised the whistle to his lips and blew loudly.
Sarah put her hands over her ears. "Yes, Josh, he's teasing you. Now take your whistle outside somewhere. It's not for blowing in the house."
"But Mama—"
"Git!" she threatened.
Joshua looked up at Forest expectantly, and Forest shrugged.
"A smart soldier knows when to retreat," Forest advised.
Still blowing the whistle, Joshua turned and darted out the door.
"He pushes just as far as he can," Sarah admitted.
Forest moved the heavy keg to a table along the wall. "Boys always do." He wondered if he should be taking his own advice about retreating.
Forest had met with a trusted contact in Oxford and given him what information he could on the massacre and Uncle John's death, as well as Forest's suspicions about Isaac Turner. Within hours, Captain Peregrine Harris would have the message. It was likely he'd pass the word on to the Delaware militia. Forest knew the Delaware boys were the closest unit. With luck, they'd hunt Isaac down and rid the peninsula of him and his men once and for all.
Forest had asked to be relieved of this post immediately after the Battle of the Brandywine in mid-September. His request had been turned down at the highest level. With the shortage of troops available to defend the peninsula, Washington had believed it was vital to have Forest on the Misakaak. Forest's argument that he was becoming involved with Sarah Turner had fallen on deaf ears.
"You're too good a soldier to let personal matters interfere with your
duty," Peregrine Harris had repeated on the last night before Forest left Pennsylvania to return to King's Landing. "I told you I'd speak to Cousin Tench about you, and I did. Sorry the answer isn't the one you wanted, but the General was adamant. Work out your problems with Mistress Turner yourself."
Forest doubted if his falling in love with Sarah Turner was what the captain had in mind when he said to work it out. Instead of solving his personal problem, Forest had the feeling he'd made it worse.
Sarah was married, and unless that hellspawn, Obediah Turner, died in the war, he'd be coming back to reclaim his wife and son. Sarah would spend the rest of her life subject to his cruel whims. But if Obediah died in the war and Forest survived, what then?
Would he want to marry Sarah if they were both free? Would she want to marry him? He was in no position to take a wife, even if she could forgive him for deceiving her . . . if she could overlook his being on the opposite side of the American Colonies' struggle for independence. The war promised to be a long and bloody one, with better-than-even odds that England would win. If he survived, he might spend the rest of his life in prison.
He wanted Sarah, that much he knew. He wanted her in his house, in his bed. He wanted to be certain that no other man ever touched her again. But if he couldn't have her forever . . . he wanted whatever he could get.
Thoughts of Sarah had troubled Forest all the way to Oxford and on to his hometown on the Chester River. If his orders had been to leave King's Landing and break all contact with her, he wasn't certain he could have done it.
Forest had slipped into his mother's house at night and told her the news of her brother John's death. Uncle John and Forest's mother had always been close, and it was a bitter blow. But, even grieving, she had made arrangements to secure the supplies for Forest to take back to the inn.
Forest wondered what Mother had had to say when she woke up in the morning and found that her son had stolen her cook. Gideon had been a fixture in his mother's house for years, but the old man's sense of adventure had never faded.
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