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 sat 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?”
