Lord of the Wilderness

by Elizabeth St. Michel

  “I’ve looked forward to a hot bath for a long time. Promise not to look?”

  “Ha! I’ve more important things to do with my time. Take your clothes off. I’ll launder them when you’re finished. On the table, there are linens for your use.”

  She turned her back to him and dried dishes, dismissing him like a queen would a minor peasant. Joshua chuckled and tore off his clothes, laid them in a pile and eased into the copper tub, letting the warmth soak his exhausted muscles. Water sloshed to the floor. The she-dragon would not be happy. “A cake of soap?”

  From over her shoulder, she tossed him the bar where it plunked into the bath, splashing his face. She must have practiced the trick.

  “It’s the master’s precious bay rum soap. Now I have to add mopping the floor to my chores tonight,” she said gruffly.

  He wanted to know her. Had she thought she signed up for a better life in the Colonies like so many people were fooled into doing? “Why are you here?”

  “I’m not expected to explain the entirety of it to you.” Her tone betrayed her unwillingness to do so.

  With the sponge, Joshua scrubbed his arms and neck. At Belvoir, he’d have his bath in his chambers attended by several footmen and his valet. Here in the Colonies, he’d settled for the less civilized and lovely view of her backside. He imagined a shapely bottom and long lithe legs. “Trying to make pleasant conversation is all.”

  “No, you are not. You want to know if I was a thief or some other vile character transported to the Colonies. I should ask you, why you are really here?”

  Tread carefully, his inklings regarding her were correct. If she were a Loyalist she might report her suspicions.

  She pressed her palms into her back, as if to rub away a pain, and her rounded bosom strained against the linen of her threadbare gown. His throat went dry.

  “You didn’t answer my question. What are you running away from?”

  Did she grow more ethereal in the candlelight? A feast for his eyes and torment for his body. Her question taunted him, reminding him how he had arrived at this miserable point in his life.

  Images of his dead fiancée, like an old dream, and all the living and dying and heartbreak that went on continuously in his head. In those flashes of sudden remembrance, the inability to protect his Sarah plagued him. His hands shook…damp and helpless.

  He shoved away the memory and resented Juliet for making him dredge up the past. Yet it wasn’t her fault. He decided to make light of the present awkward situation. “I’m trying to place what animal Horace’s hair reminds me of.”

  Juliet burst out laughing. “A skunk.”

  She hurried to complete her tasks, anything to get out of his proximity. Gently reared, she had not once seen a naked man and being forced into this position irked her.

  Silence as thick as mud fell over them. She glanced at the door, waiting for Mary to reappear so she wouldn’t have to endure the frontiersman’s company alone. What was taking her so long?

  “You’re ignoring of me is so loud, it’s deafening.”

  His amusement rankled her. “Perhaps your dim-wittedness has left you deaf.”

  A deep boisterous rumble echoed through the room. “You are not used to bathing a man?”

  He wanted to know if this was part of her duties with all invited male guests. Let him think what he wanted. “Done with the same pleasure of handling a sack of cats I want to drown.”

  “I thank you for your high praise,” he said.

  “It wasn’t meant to praise.”

  “Neither is getting clobbered senseless by a candlestick.”

  A smile tugged at her lips.

  He shifted, drumming his fingers on the side of the tub. “Red hair, in my opinion is dangerous.”

  Juliet dried a knife overlong, rubbing the towel up and down the blade. “Marked by the fires of Hell and like the Scythians, prone to convert the skulls of their enemies into drinking cups.”

  “Do I have much to fear?”

  With the tip of her finger she touched the sharp point. “Do not test me.”

  Water splashed. “My, what a sour temperament. With what remaining time I have, why should I long for such shrewish companionship?”

  Her breath burned in her throat. “I am not slow to understand.” She jammed the tip of the blade into the cutting block, the knife vibrating. If he wanted a challenge, she would give it to him. “I have been chased around the dining room table by Master Horace countless times, warding off his advances, and I refuse to be bullied by an ill-bred colonial and sink to his level of lewdness.”

  “The endeavor could be illuminating.” His voice dropped lower, aloof and confident.

  Juliet shivered at the rich, masculine tone of his depraved proposal. The intimation swept over her like a caress. Outrageous. “There are some things best not learned.”

  She tripped on his clothes. Plates clanking, she scrambled to right them, kicking his garments free from her feet. “You don’t have lice, do you?”

  She placed the clean platters in the sideboard, and then darted a glance at him. She widened her eyes in admiration of his male beauty. He was like the warrior, Achilles, whose nymph mother dipped him into the River Styx to make him invulnerable to battle. Broad shoulders and chest, muscles rippled to a narrow waist. The tub hugged his long legs and muscular thighs and farther…

  “Nothing but trouble there—” A faint note of cynical amusement rose in his voice.

  With fire in her cheeks, she snapped her gaze to his face. Oh, the infuriating man.

  “And following her, fawning, went both gray wolves and fierce-eyed lions, bears and swift leopards insatiable for deer.”

  His voice lowered, pleasant, potent, tempered and muted by his English accent. For a moment, Juliet was back in her cozy cottage in England, set against downy pillows and reading her favorite ancient Greek verses. “Seeing them, she rejoiced inwardly in her heart, and in their breasts, she threw desire, and they all lay down together in pairs in their shady dwellings.”

  Juliet pressed her hands to her face. Damn him. She had finished the most salacious part of the Homeric hymn to Aphrodite.

  He leaned over to retrieve the letter that had fallen out of a pocket of his clothing and placed it on the table beside him. So casual, in control, but not as cavalier as he attempted to appear. What was he hiding?

  When she traversed the room he grabbed her hand, pulling her back to meet his roguish regard. Juliet truly wished he’d go away, his presence wreaking havoc on the peace she so desperately desired. Sleet smacked against the windows, drops as big as farthings.

  “You have the universal power of Aphrodite, over all living beings, divine and human, who live on land, in the sea, and in the air, and most of all me.”

  She kept her gaze averted to the naked man in the tub and tugged her fingers loose. Had he referred to her as the goddess of seduction and lovemaking? She would have none of it. “Carry your charms elsewhere, Mr. Hansford. I have no need for empty flatterers.”

  “Here, scrub my back—” He tossed her the sponge, and it plopped at her feet, soaking the frayed hems of her skirts. She glared at him and just stood there, mouth pinched, hands on her hips.

  “Orpha ordered you to attend me.”

  Of course, he’d remind her of Orpha’s crude commands and underneath, she had an inkling he was diverting himself with her. But just in case he wasn’t, she’d be at risk for a beating if she refused.

  Her eyes dipped to the lean muscles of his back. “Impossible—” she faltered.

  “Impossible?”

  She dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over his head leaving him sputtering, and then huffed from the room in the wake of his echoing laughter.

  Chapter Six

  Wind whistled along the mountain slopes and rustled through the naked trees while the first fingers of the rising sun burned off the surrounding mist. Water trickled from roofing shingles with a midwinter snowmelt and ensconced in Horace’s study, Joshua s
at warm before the fire as he put the final touches of his carefully coded letter for General Washington.

  His carved powder horn was slung on his shoulder and hanging from his belt were a pouch of bullets, and a sheathed knife. Light danced off his long gun where it lay against a wall of bookcases. Two Eagles packed the rest of their gear and waited in the barn. They had many miles to cover to get to West Point where he knew the missive would be delivered to the colonial commander.

  He placed the quill in the bottle, stretched his legs in front of him, and waited for the ink to dry. Juliet swept in, her tattered skirts brushed against the cherry floors. He frowned. She deserved so much more.

  With a finger held to her mouth, she closed the door and rushed around the desk. The scent of roses and biscuits curled through the air. Her eyes were huge and intense and for a moment, held him prisoner.

  “You are leaving?”

  Her voice trembled as she spoke. A knot grew in his belly that someone so good like her should suffer. He cursed Horace and Orpha, and the wickedness of her indenture, wished he could take her away, but he could not. If he helped her, he risked exposure which would put his mission at risk…and his life in danger. He couldn’t help anyone then. But all the rationalization in the world did not make him less of a coward.

  An unruly curl poked from beneath her mob cap. He could not resist touching the lock of spun sunbeam, the whorl like fire in his palm. “You must be wary, sweet Juliet. Horace’s hubris will be his downfall. The Mohawk War Chief, Onontio, is ruthless and plans to settle his ax into many white skulls. Horace may not be immune. Have a care.” He dropped his hand.

  “I will.”

  “You’ve heard stories of Indian torture? Until you see it, until you hear the screams and know when your turn comes…” He stood and placed his hands on her thin shoulders and squeezed. “If you see any hint of an attack…escape. Get Mary and run far away from here.”

  Juliet looked at him in disbelief, and momentarily stared out the window at the whipping post where punishment was meted out to servants caught escaping. “Where would we go?”

  His chest tightened at her desperation. The Indians were not the only thing causing her fear. She begged to get away from Orpha’s madness. Was the fool girl planning to flee on her own?

  Joshua peered at the craggy cliffs covered with snow, and then back to her. “To escape during the winter is irrational. Wildcats, cougars, wolves are a problem, but no more than falling through snow and ice into a crevasse. Winter isn’t a time to escape.”

  She swallowed hard and glanced around. Indecision crossed her lovely face, as if uneasy with a secret she held and was hesitant to share with him.

  “Do you know Colonel Thomas Faulkner? He has been commissioned to the Colonies—”

  The man’s name caused him to curl his lip in disgust. He had met Colonel Thomas Faulkner in Boston before the Battle at Lexington and Concord. “The British commander at Fort Oswego on the edge of Lake Ontario? What is your connection to him?”

  Was she his paramour?

  Blood surged in his veins.

  “He is a-a friend. I need to get to him.”

  “A friend?” he taunted with a nasty laugh. Juliet and the loutish colonel?

  “He is family. He is my cousin.”

  Her cousin was the haughty British Colonel Faulkner? He’d be walking into a den of snakes taking her there.

  “Can you take us with you? Please.”

  “Snow can fall three feet a day. You’d not survive the journey.” He was a Patriot agent. The frontier was the left flank of the Continental generals’ battlefront and way too dangerous for two women.

  She cast her eyes downward. Joshua stood close enough to see the pulse leap at her temple. He wanted to turn, to shield his eyes from her. He did not want to see her courage or her desperation nor did he—may God forgive him—want to pity her.

  She placed her finger on his letter and lifted her gaze to him. “Your words might be considered treasonous.”

  Joshua paused, his face tight. His muscles tensed. She could read? Could she decipher what he wrote? Damn her. “Don’t be silly. A letter to an old friend.”

  “What about the letter Horace gave you at dinner last night? I wonder what it said. So clandestine.”

  She referred to the letter that ordered him to West Point. “You have an inquisitive mind, Miss Juliet.”

  She lifted a brow. “Let’s not insult either of our intelligences by lying to each other.”

  “Of course.” He backed her up against the wall, trapping her between his arms. “What do you plan to do about a letter that means nothing?”

  “I could report you to Horace.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He inclined his head in an exaggerated bow. “There is nothing to divulge, and then Horace might learn you are blackmailing me in order to help you escape.”

  Her mouth dropped opened. “You blackguard.”

  “Thank you for the compliment.”

  A violent gust cracked against the house. She narrowed her eyes on him. “Consider that a most flattering dedication.”

  He chuckled. “Checkmate.”

  He lingered and awareness filled his every pore, even the air he breathed. She pushed at him. He didn’t budge.

  “Get away from me.” She shoved with all her might. “I’m sure you make all of your colonial women swoon with glib flattery by hailing your exploits, and then settling on them like a rattlesnake. Pray save your amorous attentions for your lamentable frontier women.”

  “Do I detect a wholehearted spurning? Or jealousy?” He ran his knuckles down her cheek. “So soft.”

  “You are perhaps the lowest specimen of a man that I’ve ever met.”

  “And you talk too much.”

  Her breath sped and the lacy fringe of her eyelashes lifted in question.

  Heat from the fireplace washed over them and allowed a drowsy warmth. A spell was woven and he thought, for one moment, he might kiss her. How would that feel? Her soft generous lips beckoning him…

  He was a man who took what he wanted. He was by no means blind to his attraction, for the woman radiated strength and fire, drawing him like a magnet.

  Why not take her with him? Because, if he took Horace’s servants, he’d be hunted down. He didn’t fancy a noose laid over his head. His mission demanded he remain invisible. He and Two Eagles had been ordered to move among the Indians and Loyalists on the frontier to spy for General Washington. He had to report soon to Colonel Rufus Putman.

  But his reconnaissance was not the real reason.

  The revulsion he held for himself, the sleepless nights, pushing himself beyond exhaustion over the death of one woman he had cherished was enough to last him a thousand lifetimes. No. He could not take her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He wanted her. Wanted to silence her with his lips, cover himself with the soft strands of her hair, and see it blazing red against his skin. He grew fascinated with the swift fury and intelligence he saw in her blue eyes.

  He had meant just to brush her mouth with his, a whim, a slight memory to take with him. He felt her heart beating rapidly against his chest, felt her fingers burn upon his neck. But the instant their lips touched, a surge of possessiveness churned in his mind, merging with the memory of her blood trailed across their fingers, pulsing with the beating wind. He dragged her into his arms, marveling at her rounded body, and crushed his mouth down upon hers, opening his and letting his tongue search, taste, seek a treasure he couldn’t name.

  She tasted like some heady, indescribable pureness and her lips were soft, so unbearably soft. An explosion of feelings burst inside him, like a man too long confined and then too, abruptly unchained.

  She made a small sound in the back of her throat—a helpless whimper, an entreaty for him to stop.

  “Someone is coming,” she begged.

  He stepped back, arms to his sides. Juliet wore a bewildered expre
ssion; her lips were moist and bruised by his.

  He cleared his throat.

  To hell with Horace. Joshua would return for her and take her friend, too. He didn’t know what he’d do with them but by damn, he’d get her away from this vile place.

  He folded the letter, placed the missive in his pocket and picked up his long gun. “If I’m still alive, I’ll be back in the spring. I promise.”

  Chapter Seven

  January stormed into February, snowing into March, and now into the birth and death of April. And still no sign of Joshua Hansford. Juliet’s shoulders sank with the depressing thought he’d been killed or was a wanderlust character who made careless promises.

  Juliet finished churning the butter, then picked up a knife to cut bacon from the slab she had lifted from the smoke house for breakfast, laying the final pieces in the skillet where it crackled and popped.

  There was double duty of chores today, filling in for Eldon and the cook who had taken sick. The latter she felt was faking her illness for a day off. In the attic they shared, Juliet had knelt next to Eldon’s pallet alarmed by his pallor and burning fever. Juliet and Mary gave him drink and food, careful of the cook who watched their every movement as they passed her comfortable bedroom on the second floor and reported back to Orpha.

  She feared for his survival.

  Orpha’s madness grew with vigor, and so did her abuse, targeting the servant boy with her cruelty, cutting his rations and increasing his workload. Juliet knew it was a twisted punishment for Eldon who survived when Orpha’s own children had not.

  “Where is my breakfast?” screamed Orpha from up above.

  Juliet gazed out the window as she had many times since Joshua warned her of a potential Indian attack. Perhaps with the late winter snows, there would be less inclination by the savages.

  The wood pile was low and had to be replaced. Her back ached from the endless chores performed since morn. She pulled her skirts away from the fire and lifted the baked bread from the hearth and set the warm loaf on the table. With the cook in her bed, Juliet sliced off large pieces for Mary and Eldon and swathed them with strawberry jam. She hummed a tune, cutting off extra portions of bacon. They would eat well today.