“You will not be immune. Many of the tribes you speak of, the Senecas, Onondagas, the Cayugas, and most Mohawks agreed to fight the Americans on behalf of the English,” said Joshua. “Plying my trade across the frontier, I am aware of the hostilities.”
Horace slapped his wine glass down on the table. “Juliet, bring me more wine,” he ordered. “How you render a heated impression of apocalyptic danger, Joshua. I have no proviso to worry,” he said, allaying his wife’s growing alarm.
A subtle tightening came to Joshua’s jaw. “It is the most unprepossessing declaration of war ever made by the Six Nation Iroquois. But others have rejected the alliance with the King and remain neutral or fight for the Patriots who they have lived peaceably with for years.”
There it was again. He had slipped without realizing his vernacular mirrored a higher station. Definitely English born. Nobility? No. Surely, a highborn wouldn’t wear buckskins nor would he risk his neck in a wilderness that offered him nothing. The son of a professor? A merchant? A bastard? The pieces didn’t fit.
Juliet’s fingers came up to toy with her necklace. What was he really doing here?
He tilted back his chair on two legs. Was it a departure of ingrained manners vital to hide his secrets?
Horace remained silent for a long while and when he continued it was with unmistakable hardness. “In the present dispute with the mother country and the Colonies, I’d sooner have my head cut off than lift my hand against the King or sign any association.”
Horace closed his fist over Juliet’s hand and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “You will find the elderberry wine here to be the sweetest and most lush, Joshua.”
Juliet shook and pulled back. His flaccid fist held fast. To throw his wine in his face had appeal but, as a result, Orpha would delight in punishing her.
Joshua tossed back the contents of his glass. He frowned, staring at the bottom as if the wine were too bitter for his liking.
Joshua glared at Horace. “As I mentioned in the library this afternoon, I can trek through the forests with no sign of my presence. My prey has no idea when I will strike and—with precision.”
Horace choked on his food and Juliet wished he’d keep on choking. She jerked from his hold.
Orpha clapped her hands. “Oh, Joshua, your excellent marksmanship is extolled over the frontier, conceivably the entire Colonies. I’d love to see a demonstration of your skill.”
Juliet hid a smile.
Horace blanched the color of a yellow-hued cadaver. “Point well taken.”
Joshua cut his beef in exact pieces. “From a Royal Grant, I see you have amassed four thousand acres, twenty-five horses, sixty black cattle. The times have been good and well-disposed to you. A quid pro quo for favorable services to the Crown?”
Like a cat licking its paws of salmon paste, Horace gave a hint of a smile, all thoughts of his indiscretion to Juliet forgotten. “Petitions not sweetened with gold are but unsavory and often refused. The King needed a man of integrity and honor and has rewarded him well, as with others who are dedicated to his cause.”
“Juliet, give our guest more wine and bring out the dessert,” said Orpha.
When she returned from the kitchen, she served Joshua his pie and poured his wine. He leaned into her, his shoulder next to hers. She inhaled sharply and dropped a china plate. Joshua scooped it up before it hit the floor and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. If the precious china had broken…he had saved her from a beating.
“Of course, there is a Patriot rascal busy moving through the New York wilderness offering many Indians money, blankets, tomahawks, paints and anything else there was to help fight the King’s troops,” said Joshua.
“Bah! A lot of good it did him. Most refused, others agreed to fight, took his presents and disappeared.”
Horace’s grunt showed the depth of his contempt for the Patriots. Juliet herself had always shown her allegiance to King and country. Other than Horace’s and Orpha’s conversations, the conflict in the Colonies had been remote. Juliet’s concern was not to get swept up in anything that would make it difficult for her to return to England. She hadn’t worked out how she’d have Baron Bearsted punished for his crimes. Not yet, but she burned with a fever to make it happen.
She stifled a yawn, counting off the many chores to perform before retiring. The night was cloudless and she yearned to snuggle beneath the quilts high in their attic bedroom and gaze on the heavens. Mary was busy in the kitchen and she loved sharing with Mary everything she had learned viewing the constellations with Moira. And then memories of assisting Moira, a midwife with the joy of bringing babies in the world brought a pang to her heart. Not a typical upbringing for a girl of nobility, but then she did not have a normal life.
Juliet removed the dishes and wrinkled her nose. What were the frontiersman’s true political inclinations? She was going to ask if anyone required anything else, then stopped short when a pair of blue eyes from across the table questioned her. She couldn’t look away.
Orpha sat up, heaved her great shoulders like a crow would lift its wings delighted with fresh carrion to pick. “Juliet, the cook has gone to bed with a cold. Our guest seeks a bath. So while you are cleaning the kitchen, you can prepare his bath.”
“But Mistress—”
“I order you to stay in the kitchen and see toallof his wishes.”
Joshua drummed his fingers on the table. Juliet had proven to be a delightful diversion, and to his disappointment, Orpha’s crassness had caused her to scurry into the kitchen.
When Horace had put his hand on Juliet, his gut blazed with the indignities the girl suffered. When Orpha offered Juliet’s body to him, his blood raged through his veins. He debated how long it would take to geld and hang Horace. One hour? Two hours?
