The Tory's Daughter, page 2
The hush of the forest was cut by the familiar thunk of an arrow biting wood. And then a cry and the booming of guns.
She dropped and scrambled against the wide trunk of the nearest spruce. Knees hugged to her chest, she listened. Men yelled. Branches snapped. Guns fired. Had Otetiani and his warriors returned on her account? She had not stayed put as he’d ordered her to after discovering her identity. If men died, it would be her fault. Hannah crept from her shelter. She needed to know what was happening, but every twig that snapped under her moccasins, every brush of leaves against her leggings, sounded in her ears. Her heart pounded.
Most of the farmers had dismounted and ducked down wherever they could find cover, but it already looked as though the warriors were withdrawing. The Patriots had likely taken them by surprise.
A low nicker startled Hannah, almost dropping her on her back end, and she twisted to a tall chestnut not ten feet away. His large brown eyes had a gentleness to them, and a familiarity. She knew this horse, had always admired him. James Garnet’s stallion.
Her passage away from here.
Without pause, Hannah sneaked to Hunter and unwrapped his reins from a branch. “Easy. You remember me, don’t you?” Her fingers trembled as they slid down his thick neck to the saddle. After slipping her toes into the stirrup, one smooth motion lifted her onto the animal. She hugged his neck and nudged him away from the skirmish. One step…then two. Almost safe.
2
The musket bucked against Joseph’s shoulder. A cloud of smoke billowed back on him. He dropped behind the log and scrambled for more powder and another ball. The ramrod made smooth time down the shaft and out again, but before he could slip it back into place, a motion drew his gaze to where he’d tied Hunter. Reins hooped the animal’s neck and turned him away. A buckskin clad leg hung from the saddle—almost the only thing visible of the Mohawk brave astride.
“No.” Joseph almost jumped to his feet to pursue the renegade, but that would make him an easy target for the man’s friends. And he couldn’t shoot without risking the horse. He dropped his musket and scrambled along the length of the log. Under cover of the new foliage that surrounded him, he raced to intercept Hunter and the brave.
The man hunched low over the saddle was in the motion of kicking Hunter into a run when Joseph caught up, coming at them from the side. He gripped the shirt hanging around the man’s middle and yanked him off the animal’s high back.
The brave proved quite a bit lighter than anticipated, and his body flew against Joseph’s, slamming him to the ground. With a twist, Joseph threw him off and aimed a fist into his face. The warrior, not more than a youth, reeled back, and Joseph rotated over him to pin him to the ground.
Like a bobcat, claws slashed across Joseph’s face.
He caught the offending hand, while his own dropped to search the boy’s person for a knife or other weapon. The waist was surprisingly slim compared to the hips and… A decidedly feminine gasp jerked Joseph’s hands back.
A mistake.
The brave’s knuckles wiped across his face, followed by a sharp knee to the ribs. Joseph grunted and pushed himself away. Worse mistake−the equivalent of holding a cougar by the tail, leaving all other appendages free to attack. All he could do was fall on his back in an attempt to fend her off. The little Iroquois warrior was female!
How was he supposed to fight a girl? He almost felt bad for punching her, and probably would if she wasn’t determined to return the favor a hundred fold.
Abruptly her attack broke off. She grabbed toward the knife in his boot.
“No, you don’t.” Joseph tried to jerk his leg away, but only succeeded in helping her draw the blade. He lurched backward just as a shot rang from only yards away.
The girl spun and fell in the same motion.
“Joseph?”
Even Andrew’s call couldn’t pull his gaze from the girl as she pawed at her sleeve and the growing crimson stain. Her hand shook as it hovered over the wound, never actually touching it. High pitched squeaks, like an unhappy mouse, were the only sound she made despite the obvious pain. The problem was, she didn’t do anything to hinder the bleeding, and it wouldn’t stop on its own.
Joseph grabbed the knife from where she’d dropped it, and stooped over her. She flinched as he reached for her sleeve.
“I won’t hurt you.”
Andrew pulled his horse up short and swung down.
It had never bothered Joseph until now that one of them had decent aim from the saddle.
“Thank goodness you are alive. When I saw that…” Andrew looked down at their captive and frowned. “Oh, dear. A woman? I thought−”
“And you were probably right.” Joseph sliced through the heavy sleeve and peeled it away from the chunk of missing flesh just above her elbow. The ball had barely caught her, but enough to leave a deep gash. “She was, no doubt, trying her best to kill me.”
She gave a bit of a squeak as though about to protest, before clamping her mouth shut. Big brown eyes watered as he cinched a strip of cloth over her arm, and he couldn’t quite push past a twinge of regret. What was a little thing like her doing out with a raiding party anyway? Besides stealing horses?
“What do you intend we do with her?”
He pushed to his feet. “You figure it out. You’re the one who shot her.”
Andrew glared. “In order to preserve your life.”
Joseph slipped his knife back where it belonged and stole another look at the girl and her painted face. Black hair hung over her shoulders almost to her waist, feathers braided throughout—along with several twigs, plenty of dried leaves and spruce needles. She didn’t look at him in return, instead stared at her arm and the makeshift bandage. “So you’re suggesting I couldn’t defend myself against a little girl?”
The young woman’s head snapped up, and she leveled a glower at him.
He’d have to keep in mind that she understood at least part of what they said.
“You were the one flat on your back while she wielded the knife,” Andrew stated flatly. “Your knife. The fact remains, we need to do something with her. And quickly.”
Joseph had no answer.
“She is both injured and without a horse. Surely you do not think it best to leave her out here?”
Of course not.
Her friends were hopefully riding hard in the opposite direction.
“You’re right, she may go back to burning farms,” Joseph said.
“Perhaps Mr. Reid or one of the other men will have an acceptable solution.”
Turn her over to a bunch of angry frontiersmen? Better for them to never know she existed. “No. No one else need be involved.” It was too easy to lose control of a situation.
The frown on Andrew’s face deepened. “So you suggest we take her home, perhaps hide her there until she recovers…” His eyes took on a twinkle. “Something in this rings with familiarity.”
Joseph wiped his wrist against the moisture dripping from his forehead. “Which makes it completely unacceptable.” They didn’t need a replay of events from four years ago. No matter how well that had finally ended for his sister and Andrew Wyndham. “Rachel is not to be involved this time.”
He turned to the girl and scratched his scalp. Under the red and black paint she appeared completely bereft of color, and her whole body shivered as though she were cold.
Andrew came beside him. “How do you expect to keep her from your sister?”
“I don’t know.” But Joseph had a few miles to figure that out. “Let’s get her on my horse.” Before the others found them.
“You will not be able to keep this a secret.”
Joseph grunted. He knew as much from experience, but mostly he just wanted to keep things simple. For a little while anyway.
~*~
Strong, calloused fingers wrapped Hannah’s good arm, and she flinched. She wasn’t sure why. Though her panic had done neither of them any favors, Joseph didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would purposefully harm a woman−never had. Her throbbing jaw would have thanked him to realize her gender a few minutes earlier.
Joseph Garnet.
The past six years had taken all his boyishness away. He’d been almost twenty last she’d seen him, but the maturity, the more definitive line of his jaw, the broadening of his shoulders…Hannah shook her head, both to clear the word handsome from her head and the sudden blackening of her vision as he drew her to her feet. Thankfully the cloud soon cleared.
“Who are you?”
Hannah dropped her gaze from Joseph’s searching one. She should be relieved he didn’t recognize her, but instead she felt a little hurt. Why should he remember her? He’d already been a man, while she’d only been a girl of thirteen. Hardly more than a child in the eyes of Joseph Garnet. Even Fannie Reid, three years her senior, hadn’t been successful at garnering his attention.
A low grunt merged into a growl. “You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”
She should tell him the truth. He obviously didn’t want to be put upon by her, so it would probably be easy enough to convince him to let her go. But then she might never find her brothers. Her cousin would drag her north again to the Great Lakes, leaving her without answers.
“Fine,” Joseph stated. “You don’t try to kill me, and I won’t try to kill you. Agreed?”
She afforded him the slightest nod.
He replied with another grunt.
His large hands embraced her waist and lifted her onto Hunter’s back. Again the world swayed and darkened, until his grip returned. He swung up behind her in the saddle and shoved her forward onto the pummel. A jolt of agony speared from her wound, evoking a gasp. He cinched her against his solid chest and reined the stallion away.
The man who had shot her, whom she didn’t recognize, soon caught up with them on a gelding she did know. Sorrowful had only been a fresh-broke colt when her family was driven from their home. Joseph had sat tall in his saddle, blue eyes like stone.
“Go on, then, while I inform Mr. Reid of our withdrawal. I shall catch up with you as soon as I am able.” His tone was decidedly formal. Very British.
“But you won’t say anything concerning her?”
“You do not trust even him?”
Joseph released a breath that heated her ear. “Do as you see fit.”
The man nodded. “I shall.”
As the sorrel dug dirt with his hooves, speeding away, Hannah forced herself to relax a little more. Mostly for the sake of her head, as the throbbing in her jaw expanded into her temples. Even the base of her neck ached, either from the fall or the abrupt force of Joseph’s fist. All of that, however, proved no rival for the hot agony burning through her arm.
Splashes of sun spilled through the high branches overhead and flashed across her vision as they moved. Hannah closed her eyes. She had to make a plan. Her family’s homestead neighbored Garnet’s. Did anything remain? Anything that would help her find her brothers? After six years, she’d hoped Myles and Samuel would be released from their bondage in the Continental Army and allowed home. Would they have returned to the valley, or did they seek their family farther north? Or were they dead, too?
Coming across the main trail along the river, Joseph nudged Hunter to a lope.
Though the horse’s gait was one of the smoothest she’d ridden, the rocking did nothing for her arm or her head. She gritted her teeth and gripped more of his mane. Anger surged. Joseph Garnet cared nothing for her comfort or lack thereof. Always distant. Always aloof. For all she knew he had agreed with the men who forced her mother to flee their home because of Pa’s loyalties to the crown. And compelled her brothers to fight a war that was not their own. No. She wouldn’t trust Joseph Garnet to help her. Only his pa.
3
Joseph slowed his horse as Andrew brought his alongside. “What news?”
“The raiders have crossed the river, and Mrs. Weber and her children have been taken to a neighbor. Mr. Reid will stay to see to her husband’s burial.”
Benjamin was a good man. “And the others?”
“Returning to their homes and fields.”
With the fair weather, everyone was in a hurry to sow their fields before the rains came. Or before raids became too frequent.
Andrew shifted his gaze to the girl, and his expression took on concern. “I think it best that Rachel be informed.”
“Why? So she can complicate everything?” Joseph shook his head. “Turn our backs, and the next thing we know they’ll be sitting down for tea.”
Andrew cocked a smile. “And we know how greatly you detest tea.”
“Precisely.” If Rachel got involved, she would step in and take over the situation, removing any control from him. Just as she had before.
“Then what do you propose?”
Joseph glanced down at the dark head of the girl in his arms. From the way she leaned into his chest, he couldn’t be sure whether or not she’d lost consciousness. “You ride in first and collect Rachel and the children. Take them home. I’ll wait out of sight with her, or…” The smokehouse was empty. “Stash her somewhere out of sight.”
The girl stiffened. It appeared she was still very much aware of what went on around her.
Andrew cleared his throat. “‘Pray for us: for we trust we have a good conscience, in all things willing to live honestly.’”
Joseph aimed a glare. Most days he didn’t mind his Scripture-spouting brother-in-law, but not when it pricked his conscience. “We’re not lying to Rachel.”
“Of course not.”
“Simply not informing her of certain details.”
Andrew chuckled.
“Fine,” Joseph said. “If you want me to, I shall tell your wife how you shot this poor little thing.”
The Mohawk maid straightened.
Joseph fought down a chuckle. She definitely understood him well enough.
“Rachel will not be willing to leave before seeing you unharmed—all your limbs accounted for. And I am sure James would like to have a few more minutes with you, as well.”
Joseph reined Hunter to a full stop at the edge of his land. Little James craved his father’s attention and presence. Most weeks, especially since the start of planting, Joseph only saw his children a couple of hours at a time. Sometimes a little more on Sundays, when he joined Rachel and her husband for meals and “church.” He needed to give his son what time he could. “The smokehouse, it is.”
~*~
“Keep quiet, and I’ll be back with food and bandages.” The solid door closed.
Hannah leaned into the closest wall. Not that any of the walls were far. If she stretched out both arms she could probably touch the opposite side of the tiny building that was at least tall enough for her to stand in. She gave the door a little kick and heard Joseph’s “Shhh”. Not that anyone near the front of the cabin would hear any racket she made.
Hannah kicked the door again. Not as solid as the ones Pa built, but of fine construction nonetheless. Her family’s homestead−or what remained−was less than a mile away, and she was stuck here in this tiny crate of a smokehouse. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would be left completely to Joseph Garnet’s mercy. From what she had gathered from conversation, Rachel was now married to the proper speaking gentleman−he was no frontiersman−and they had children.
Joseph remained on the Garnet farm, his marital state unknown…not that it should matter to her. And their father? No one had so much as spoken his name, and he hadn’t ridden with the others. Was he even alive? Or had this war claimed him too?
The whinny of a horse was joined by the murmur of voices. A few minutes later the steady thud of hooves and a sharp creak of an axle suggested a wagon’s departure. Soon there was only silence.
Hannah prepared herself for Joseph’s return. She would ask about his father. And then she’d question him about her brothers. If he returned. She couldn’t very well blame him if he wanted to forget her.
Hannah pressed her head against the ridged wood. Her arm throbbed in time with her heart and the pressure mounting within her skull. Thirst clung to her tongue along with the feeling of having swallowed sand. Gradually her legs gave out, and she slipped to the ash-littered dirt floor. She clamped her eyes closed against the sensation of burning. She’d been told tears were a sign of weakness…and she would never find Myles and Samuel by being weak.
Her brothers. What had become of them?
Samuel had been barely twelve. What would years in the Continental Army have done to a lad so cheerful, a contagious smile stretched across his face? He’d always seen the good in everything. But there wasn’t any good in war.
And Myles? Had he heeded his commanders, or made things worse for himself by trying to fight back? Her older brother was a man with too many passions. Too much like Papa. Even in his love for wood and talent of creating something beautiful from it.
But Pa was dead.
She had to believe Myles and Samuel had survived the war that had taken everyone else from her. Hannah pressed a hand over her moist cheeks. Perhaps she should be grateful Joseph hadn’t immediately returned. And she was. For a little while.
Silence and the throb of her wound stretched across unmarked time. Still, he did not come back. The sun, showing through cracks around the door, slowly slipped away. Dusk draped the valley with a blanket of blue before the door swung open and Joseph stepped in—tall and broad in all his manhood. A striking image in the fading light.
His voice rumbled in the back of his throat, words spoken under his breath, but she refused to look his direction. Not until her glower was back in place. She narrowed it at him as he stepped to her and stooped. Weariness fed her anger, making it easier to ignore how well he looked with the shadows angled across his clean-shaven face.
He’d rarely gone clean-shaven.
Without hesitation, Joseph scooped her up into his arms and hauled her out of the smokehouse.
How dare he? She wasn’t a brainless sack of cornmeal he could shove and haul from one place to another. “Let me down.” Hannah ignored the stab of pain though her arm as she squirmed out of his grasp. He tried to maintain his hold on her, but she aimed a swift kick to his shin, only to meet the thick leather of his boot with her soft moccasin.
