For three more hours, they traveled north on the Oswego River that pursued its way through rich, green and gently undulating country, until it reached a natural terrace from which it tumbled, and then glided to the deep water of the Great Lake of Ontario. High on a precipice, Fort Oswego loomed with ominous high stockade walls, guarding the mouth of the watercourse like Cerberus, the many headed hound, guarding the gates of Hell.
Juliet’s heart raced. Would her cousin help her? Had he received her letter? Did he know anything of what happened to her? A cloud passed over, shadowing them and she craved the warmth of the sun to take away the chill of foreboding that grew in her.
Joshua hailed a sentry up on a parapet. She kept her attention fixed on her husband, helpless to stay the memory of that moment on the riverbank, helpless against a warm shudder of unforgettable pleasure. And her heart ached at his callous dismissal.
With no idea she observed him, Joshua had let down his guard, talking to the soldiers and explaining their presence. What she glimpsed was the ache of loss, possibly the deep contrition and sacredness of grief he embraced, tinged with winter hues of hopelessness. Oh, the somberness he concealed, keeping himself separate from others even when he stood in their midst. That great wall he’d built—impenetrable and unbreachable.
When the gates yawned open, they were bid to pass, and Juliet stepped through. Maybe that’s what made her care for him, what compelled her to absolve him for his callous words. Not merely the fervor of his kisses, the tenderness of his caresses, the fiery ecstasy he had shown her. Those made her hunger for him. But the other virtues stirred her compassion—the challenge of his unhappiness, the aura of his remoteness.
The mystery of his secrets.
Under sneering eyes of onlookers, they followed an escort of soldiers with bright red coats, and off-white breeches. A white woman in an Indian dress? She, the poor creature, had been a victim of both white men and Indian’s crimes, could imagine what they were speculating. Flung once again in a very moral society, its chin in the air, deciding with swift determination she was unacceptable, she leaned into Joshua, looped her hand on his arm. The tenseness of his muscles flexed beneath her fingers, brought a sense of security…and a wave of remembrance.
A dark lock of his hair fell over his brow, making him appear more wickedly handsome than she could bear. His mouth curved in a humorless smile. “Are you afraid?”
She caught his gaze then glanced away, lest he spot the havoc he had created in her soul. A parade of marching soldiers thumped past them, kicking up clouds of dust. “Very.”
He patted her hand. “Where is the fearless Aphrodite who brandishes her candlestick, compelling mere mortals like Horace Hayes to tremble before her?”
Though he tried to make her smile, she could not. His desertion reared its ugly head, speeding her to that howling darkness of childhood, that constant, roaring state of loneliness, where neglect and abandonment were the landscape of her life.
Distantly, a hammer banged on an anvil, officers barked out orders, sentries strutted upon the parapets. None of these Juliet noticed as they passed by several barracks. Outside the commandant’s office, they were greeted by a handsome officer.
“I am Captain Sunderland.” He dipped an appreciative and curious glance over her, then motioned to Two Eagles wait in an anteroom with Mary.
Juliet stopped. “Joshua,” she spoke his name quietly.
Startled, he looked away from the sentries at the door. For a second, pleasure flickered in his eyes, but then he fixed a polite expression on his face and gave a courteous nod. “My lady.”
My lady.How formal he was. How cold and distant. As if he’d never hauled her from a river and kissed her. As if he had never lain with her on sweet grass and brought her to a state of wild completion.
With the use of her title, Captain Sunderland raised an eyebrow. The intimacy of the wilderness was no longer. Like an actress on a stage, she must be mindful of her audience.
Her cheeks heated. “I wanted to thank you again for rescuing me, Mr. Hansford.”
“I merely helped my fellow countrymen.”
“Of course.” She searched his face for any sign of the man who had held her the day before. The man who had looked at her with his heart in his eyes.
Instead she saw a cold stranger. “Mr. Hansford, yesterday—”
“Is best forgotten.” The muscles in his neck corded and his callous tone set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. He stared straight ahead waiting for the door to open. “You must trust the uncertainty of a new beginning.”
She touched her throat. Parting with Joshua created a loneliness and a longing as great as an ocean.
The door swept open and her cousin stood blinking. “Lady Juliet! I did not believe the guard when he told it was you. How is it you are here?” His eyes narrowed, scanning over her from head to toe.
Joshua’s entry was barred by a guard barely out of his nappies and who had pushed a bayonet across the doorway. Abandoning Juliet did not put him in the mood for idle pleasantries. He gave the guard a deadly look that spoke the words as loudly as if he had said them,“Keep clear.” How many seconds to skewer the pimple-faced guard with his bayonet?
Juliet glanced between her cousin and Joshua, then said, “Mr. Hansford is a trader and at peril to his own life has helped me to get to you.”
Colonel Thomas Faulkner sat back, his pudgy hand smacked down on the carved lions on the arms of his chair and nodded.
Joshua smirked at the guard, pushed the bayonet away, and swaggered into the room behind Juliet. He didn’t know who he disliked more, the British colonel or Captain Sunderland who stood to the side unable to take his smitten gaze from Juliet.
The colonel’s lips twisted with revulsion upon Joshua whom he likely considered an unkempt colonial dressed in dirty deerskin.
“Are you looking for a reward for the return of my cousin?”
