Lord of the Wilderness

by Elizabeth St. Michel

  “I thought you’d be asleep.”

  He pulled her to sit by him on a fallen tree. “We can rest here, and you can unload on me or not say a word. Sometimes the silence of the night is enough.”

  He knew what was bothering her.

  An owl hooted, and an animal scrambled beneath the bushes. He scooted closer, his knee touching hers.

  Was it the darkness, or the gentleness in his voice that prompted her to acknowledge her shame?

  “Form early on, I absorbed loneliness and scorn. I should have died instead of my mother. My father may not have ever come out and said it, but his actions betrayed his bitterness toward me.”

  “Go on,” he encouraged, but his voice hardened. Then he spoke more temperately, and she shoved away the self-protective caution she hid behind.

  “My father loved my Irish mother deeply and never forgave me for her death. He refused to have anything to do with me. Forbidden to be in his presence, I was hidden in the kitchen to take my meals with the servants. As a child of four summers, I played in the stables. My father appeared with his paramour. The woman laughed at me, asking where I had come from. My father told her I was the stablemaster’s daughter. As young as I was, I understood the flagrant rejection and cried in the haymow the whole day.

  “Do you know how it feels to thirst for a father’s love, and no matter what you do to try and please him it is all completely for naught because he couldn’t abide the sight of me.

  “The worst of it was when my father placed me in the care of his sister. My matronly aunt was quick to remind me I caused the death of my mother, and my father had to hide me because of my abominable red hair. The same red hair reminding everyone of the misfortune of my birth and that I should have been drowned.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  I’m sorry. She was sorry, too, but that didn’t change the facts. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t want anyone’s pity.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  During the night, Joshua took turns with Two Eagles keeping watch. The women were still asleep and not made for hardship and the elements. Especially Lady Faulkner. He was still reeling over how a gently-reared woman had come to be a slave in the Colonies, and the cruelty committed by her father.

  “It’s time to wake, Lady Faulkner.” He stroked her soft cheek, pinkened by the sun. She did not heed his voice and snuggled closer to him. He rather liked her sighs and the way she had thrown her arm over his chest.

  He lay back again, thinking of her extraordinary story. The men in her life had not seen fit to protect her and she had suffered gravely. With certainty, her father had left her scarred, and her uncle, as a senior family member should have arranged to have her live in her ancestral home, not let her live alone in a cottage, plying a common trade to survive. He’d like to have called the bastard out.

  He hoped the cousin he was taking her to at Fort Oswego would take her under his guardianship, but he had reservations. Before the siege of Boston, and before hostilities had risen to a fevered pitch between England and the Colonies, he had chanced upon meeting Colonel Thomas Faulkner.

  The opinionated colonel was a fourth son of an earl with no prospects other than serving His Majesty and possessing a rabid and sworn allegiance to his cause. He had distinguished himself in the Seven Years War but if truth be known, it was by his underling’s resourcefulness and savvy that had won the day while Faulkner lay inebriated in his tent.

  Appointed by Lord North to assist in enforcing the Intolerable Acts upon the people of Boston, Colonel Thomas Faulkner listened to no advice, asked no questions, and painfully meted out unfair justice to colonials.

  Faulkner’s policies had extended to the Thorne family of Boston. Joshua’s sister, Abigail had married the famous American privateer, Captain Jacob Thorne. Under the Articles of Impressment, British soldiers had taken up residence in the Thorne home. One officer maintained a keen eye for Rachel Thorne, Jacob’s cousin. When she thwarted his advances, he had attacked her, killed her younger brother, Thomas, who had attempted to stop the rape.

  Every single misdeed perpetrated by the British officer was swept under the rug with Captain Jacob Thorne accused of the heinous crimes and to be hanged. Colonel Thomas Faulkner had served as judge and jury on the case, refusing to entertain the truth. Fortunately, with the help of friends, Thorne had escaped his execution, taking up privateering.

  Mary’s story, just as devastating, had affected his normally impassive friend. Two Eagles had been taken with Mary from the first time he’d laid eyes on her and had pushed as hard as Joshua to get to Onontio’s village. Joshua smiled. His friend had fallen hard for the vicar’s spoiled daughter. When Ojistah had spoken her vision of Two Eagles and Mary, Joshua dismissed the uniting of an unlikely pair. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  There was not a crack of a twig to signal Two Eagles behind him. Without looking, he knew the warrior gazed at the sleeping Mary.

  “Kind of pointless to fight for what you want when what you want scorns you,” whispered Joshua in the Haudenosaunee tongue.

  “I will start by doing what is necessary; then do what’s possible; and suddenly I’ll be doing the impossible.”

  “You quote St. Francis. What do you think Mary will say when you tell her you are Christian and an educated man?”

  “She must accept me the way I am first.”

  “Perhaps the maidens in your village will be sighing and longing for your wicked ways?”

  “They will no longer keep me warm on a long winter’s night. I have designs for corn tassel. She will warm my bed for the rest of my days and bear me many sons.”

  “You think you can convince her?”

  “She is overindulged but will soon learn the ways of my ancestors. Of this, I am most sincere.”

  He caught Two Eagles with a smile on his face, watching longingly over Mary. “You are a long-suffering man Two Eagles. I think it will take the moons of six lifetimes to accomplish that feat.”

  “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.”

  Joshua stretched, his muscles sore. “I wonder what would happen if you ever came face to face with Baron Bearsted?”

  “His scalp and body parts would be removed.”

  “If it is any consolation, I’ll pen a letter to my father reporting Bearsted’s crimes. The baron must be stopped before more innocent girls fall under his schemes.”

  A tendril of Juliet’s hair tickled his chin and he watched her sleep. Thoughts of his mother and happy days with his brothers and sister at Belvoir Castle surfaced. For a few moments, he pictured the Rutland ancestral home. Stately English oak trees lined a meandering road that led to a giant stone edifice complete with turrets and mullioned windows that dazzled, reflecting rays of a golden sun. Manicured lawns, formal gardens, mazes, and a lake dotted with snowy white swans. Across the green valley were vineyards, fields of golden grain and verdant pastures. He could almost hear the clatter of hooves as he and his brothers raced through the village.

  He preferred to think of Belvoir as his childhood playground where they had all pretended to be knights with clanking armor setting off for Canterbury to save a maiden in distress. It was at times like these, he remembered and his soul ached with homesickness.

  To have a family of his own?

  His gut churned. The war cut two ways…the supremacy of England and the throng in the Colonies in their bid for freedom. Thousands of men had died, leaving a void in people’s lives.

  Yet, this was a new experience—sleeping with a woman and not doing what came to mind. She shifted, her movements a faint whisper of doeskin against doeskin, her breath coming out against his neck in a feather-like caress.

  Juliet stirred and exhaled. She had slept well, given to dreams of better days with Moira. Life had soared with simplicity and happiness. But Moira was gone. She opened her eyes and stared straight into extraordinary, compelling blue eyes. A slow smile greeted her. With a gasp, she hurtled back to earth
to find herself pressed against Joshua, her fingers clasping the soft hairs of his chest.

  “Oh.” Fingers burning, she jerked her arm from his chest and sat up.

  “Good morning,” he drawled.

  Heat rose from her toes to the roots of her hair, and she was loath to know how long he’d been awake. “What you must think—”

  He grinned. “Not at all.” He thrust aside the bearskin and rose. He reached down and helped her to her feet, his hand warm, awareness skipping up her arm.

  A pink glow marked the horizon, heralding the dawn. She glanced around and spotted Two Eagles behind them, his gaze fixed on Mary who shifted and stretched beneath the fur.

  “Must we leave already?”

  Two Eagles’ shadow covered Mary and her friend looked up wary. He held out moccasins but she lifted her nose and looked the other way.

  Two Eagles dropped the pair of deerskin moccasins and pointed to Mary’s feet.

  “I am not putting those on. You will not be turning me into a heathen.”

  Bending over, he took off her shoes and stockings and hiked the moccasins up her leg.

  Mary pushed his hands away. “How dare you.”

  “Oh, Mary stop it. He is giving you a gift,” said Juliet.

  Two Eagles articulated rapidly. His tone not happy.

  Mary huffed. “What did he say?”

  “A fledgling that stays in the nest has not yet the strength to fly, and your backbone is of soft willow and must be stiffened to oak.”

  “So, the heathen insults me. I am strong. What does he know?”

  Juliet gave an impatient snort. “Mary, you are being childish. Two Eagles has showed nothing but kindness.”

  Mary brushed her hair back over her shoulder and stood. “I do admit they are softer. “Thank you,” she said tersely. She took a step, slipped on cold, damp leaves. Two Eagles scooped her up and placed her back on her feet. Mary held his arm…overlong, gazing at the proud Indian.

  He urged her on, taking her hand, and leading her to the river. Juliet raised an eyebrow, mystified by her friend’s response and followed.

  * * *

  Days passed, the earth swollen and pregnant with the finale of spring. They traveled north on the lake to another river, and then east onto the Oswego River, crooked and winding, possessing many curves and at various points, tributaries rushed in. Snowy white blossoms of trillium and bloodroot rioted up the hills. Here and there a newly budded green island rose up in the middle to cut the broad river in two. The current rose strong, and a contrary gust of wind shook the canoe. They had seen no one, and threats of Onontio vanished with each passing day, presenting a surreal notion of security.

  Two Eagles and Joshua’s arms rose and fell as if commanding the elements with their paddles. Indeed, both men were hardened woodsman and knew the way through the trackless wilderness.

  “How did you meet Two Eagles?” asked Juliet.

  “Two Eagles was set against a couple dozen trappers determined to steal his furs. I balanced out the odds and convinced them it was in their best interest to leave him alone, of course, after a good fight. Afterward, we became friends, Two Eagles teaching me the art of trapping and trading as a profitable living.”

  “What they say concerning your legendary feats are true?”

  “What legendary feats?”

  “Killing a mythical bear, how you can catch sunbeams in your hand and hurl them across the firmament, part the lakes with your staff, walk on water,” she laughed.

  “All that.”

  “I like your story. I was forever the kind of child who was convinced elves lived in the parks, trees were flesh and blood, and gaps in the floorboards housed fairies rather than rodents.”

  “I’m just a man.”

  And what a man. With the warmth of the day, like most days, Joshua had removed his shirt, his skin bronzed from the sun, his broad shoulders seeming broader and his lean stomach muscles rippled with his movements. Awareness of him filled every pore of her being, admiring his male beauty, savage like the wilderness. He matched this world, thrived in its untamed ferocity.

  She pictured him in a ballroom in London, vying for her hand to dance. Other women swarmed like locusts, pushing her away from this rugged, vital man who had a monopoly on virility. To tear their dresses, to claw their eyes. Oh, how she put the notion to flight.

  With him conscious of her scrutiny, her thoughts clouded and erased. Staving off the tingling in the pit of her stomach grew impossible. Twice her hand dropped in the water. What did she say? She swallowed and managed a feeble reply long held in her mind.

  “You make me feel safe.”

  He choked with a rough laugh of disbelief and her heart floundered. Why?

  In these beautiful surroundings, it was like looking through a window into this soul—and seeing the enchanted Achilles trapped inside his gruff exterior. In that moment, she had forgotten to breathe. Her mind filled with the image before her: Joshua, her magnificent husband who was always so full of swaggering confidence, hunched like a defeated man. The real question was—by whom?

  The breeze ruffled his hair, more brown than black in the rippling sunlight. He kept his own counsel and since the day yielded bright and beautiful, and because she thirsted to learn more regarding this land, she said, “I remain confused on the Iroquois and Two Eagles’ tribe.”

  “There are Six Nations, representing the Iroquois. The Senecas, the Cayugas, the Onondagas, the Oneidas, the Tuscaroras and the Mohawks Clans represent earth, air and water. They are like families living together in one great longhouse with a door at each end. The Mohawks are fierce and are the Keepers of the Eastern Door while the Senecas, the most formidable, are the Keepers of the Western Door. The Cayugas and the Oneidas are in the center, and the Onondagas keep the council fire continuously burning. These tribes look upon each other as brothers and in time of war fight side by side. Except with this war, there has been a schism cast between them.

  “Two Eagles belongs to the Oneida Clan, or Ohkwani, Keepers of Medicine and Knowledge and are the peacemakers. His Bear Clan means strong, courageous, wise, disciplined and devoted.”

  Mary snorted. She was not going to give one inch to the handsome warrior.

  On sun-warmed rocks turtles basked. Otters played happily. Juliet trailed her fingers through the cool waters, beaming with their antics. Ojistah had compared her to the Sky Woman.

  “Joshua, who is Sky Woman?”

  “The Iroquois believe in dreams. The origin of the universe began with a dream which could only be fulfilled by uprooting the Sacred Tree of Life in the Sky World. The act of uprooting the tree caused chaos. An entrance to another world opened.”

  They entered a deep lake and, at last, Juliet let a breath pass between her lips, the unparalleled shimmering sapphire waters bloomed beneath the sun. And like every cloud in the azure sky with its own story to share, she listened to Joshua’s impassioned voice.

  “The Sky Woman peered down through the hole to see vast waters. Pregnant, Sky Woman’s husband raged and shoved her through the hole. In the freefall, animals rushed to save her, ducks and muskrat cushioned her fall and placed her on the turtle. The animals determined to help the woman dove deep beneath the waters, scraping up mud and placing it on the turtle’s back. The creatures sacrificed this for the Sky Woman to exist.”

  Humming a tune, Juliet braided her hair, and then leaned over to see her image, the sky reflected behind her, and a half-dreaming mood arose in which she naturally floated away in the mirror of the river. To have her life compared to the fantastic Sky Woman? What did Ojistah’s confusing predictions mean? She’d give birth to a daughter, and her daughter would give birth to a daughter, a long line of umbilical cords connecting and binding.

  How could it be? He pulled back from any kind of attachment. She touched her lips and her face heated remembering his kiss on their wedding day. A longing manifested itself in the pit of her stomach and she stared off into the distant lonely fores
ts.

  Why should she be surprised? Had not her father taught her how selfish and faithless men could be? Because her mother had died, he’d abandoned her at birth. Every day was to be a remembrance of her crime and punishment. No matter how hard she tried to please her father at accomplishing her studies, riding, languages, pianoforte, he’d not take any interest in her. He tossed her aside and her hurt and loneliness left her feeling unlovable and unworthy.

  She straightened. No matter how painful, it was better to forget Joshua and move on. He was committed to his trapping and trading, a man destined for the uncivilized wilds. There was no sense questioning a relationship that failed to exist.

  “What do you think of Ojistah? Do you think her visions are real?”

  “She is much the same as Two Eagles’ mother, her twin and despite their distances they have an uncanny exchange of each other’s thoughts and feelings. Both are esteemed medicine women, eminently skillful in the preparation of specifics believed to be of great efficacy, but whose extraordinary virtues are attributed to their powerful incantations and influence with the good spirits, with whom they profess to have daily communication.”

  “Superstition, fear, mingled with awe?”

  “At one time, I might have scoffed at their supernatural capabilities. But I’ve seen firsthand what they have prophesized come to light.”

  He was foreign to her, this man who had taken vows to be her husband in a hasty marriage ceremony in a remote Indian village.

  Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.

  Did Father Devereux’s divine words still ring in his ears as they did hers?

  “I want you to learn how to paddle,” said Joshua, navigating to the side of the lake to switch places.

  The paddling looked easy enough. Juliet climbed in the front of the canoe with Joshua immediately behind her, then Mary. Two Eagles shoved their wobbly vessel off the bank and hopped into the stern.