Chapter 6
Caroline left Garrett in the parlor and went ahead to the bedchamber to see if all was in order. As she entered the room, she saw a serving woman on her knees adding wood to the fire. “Good evening,” Caroline greeted her. “Thank you for bringing extra fuel. The temperature seems to be dropping.” As she spoke, wind rattled the shutters and swayed the boughs of a tall evergreen outside the window.
“Yes, ma’am.” The maid got to her feet awkwardly, and Caroline noticed that her eyes were red and swollen from weeping, and her mouth was pinched. An obvious pregnancy bulged out the front of her threadbare skirt and bodice.
“Ida, isn’t it? Aren’t you Ida Wright?” Carolina asked. “Your husband made wheels for our carriage last year, didn’t he?”
“Not no more he won’t,” she replied. Ida’s shoulders slumped, and her thin fingers worked nervously. The gaze that met Caroline’s was sullen—almost hostile.
The last time she’d seen Ida Wright, the woman had been neatly dressed and smiling. Her husband had recently completely his indenture and was setting up in his own business. Jack . . . yes, that was his name. Jack. They were poor as Job’s turkey, but his work was solid. “Is Jack sick?” Caroline asked. “He’s not died, has he?”
Two fat tears rolled down Ida’s chapped cheeks. “Might as well be,” she answered. “He went for a soldier, did my Jackie. Followed Washington up to that godforsaken woods they call Valley Forge. Yes,” she said defiantly. “We’re rebels. If ye want to scorn us fer that, it don’t matter. They’re hard-pressed, Mistress Steele. No food, no blankets. They got wood to burn, but it keeps snowin’, and that’s wet. My Jackie froze his feet in November. Froze his feet in November—can ye believe such a thing? They brought him home to me four inches shorter than they took him.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. And it’s not Mistress Steele anymore. I’m remarried. It’s Caroline Faulkner now. I do hope your husband’s out of danger. Is he healing?”
She shrugged. “Reckon he’ll live. If he don’t pine away from heartbreak. Not much work for a man without feet. We lost the shop when he went off to fight the British. This job brings in food, but not much else. We’re sleeping in the barn out back of the inn.” Her lower lip quivered. “My back hurts something fierce, but if I don’t work, we don’t eat.”
“Surely Maude Hawkins won’t see you—”
“We ain’t charity, Jackie and me!” Ida said fiercely. “Least not yet, we ain’t.” Her face crumpled. “But now my oldest, little Jackie, has got the soldier fever, and he ain’t but twelve. Do they bring him back to me in a box, reckon I’ll throw myself in the river and the girls with me.”
“Young Jackie’s twelve, you say?” Caroline asked. Her heart ached for the beaten woman she knew to be only a few years older than she was. Ida was already missing a front tooth, and the pale blond hair that peeked out from under her worn mobcap was limp and lifeless. Pride was all Ida Wright had left, and Caroline wasn’t about to take that away from her by showing pity. “It might be that we could find work for both big Jack and young Jackie at Fortune’s Gift. We’re short of hands. Most men are gone off to one side or the other.”
“We hold fer Washington,” Ida said stubbornly. “My Jack wouldn’t bow and scrape to no Brits. I hear they’s swarmin’ all over yer plantation.”
“They are,” Caroline admitted, “but they’re uninvited guests.” She held out a hand to Ida. “Talk to your husband. Tell him that Fortune’s Gift needs a master carpenter.”
“Jackie ain’t whole no more.”
“Together your husband and son should make more than a whole man. Young Jackie can be his father’s feet. Big Jack’s hands are whole, aren’t they? And his brain’s not affected. It’s up to you, Ida, but I need the help. If Jack’s interested, tell him to come out and talk to my foreman, Mordecai Brown. There’s a cabin goes with the job. It’s not big, only three rooms, but it’s clean and furnished.”
“If my Jackie was interested, how would we get out to your place? It’s a far piece for a man without feet to walk.”
“That’s not my problem, is it, Ida? A smart man like your Jack ought to be able to figure out how to get to Fortune’s Gift. There’s a supply boat that runs from Oxford south to Virginia the first of every month. It stops at our landing. And he can always borrow a horse from Maude. I’m offering work, not charity,” Caroline said loftily. “I’ve always admired your husband’s skill, but the decision is yours.”
“I’ll tell him,” Ida said grudgingly, “but I ain’t promisin’ we’ll come work for ye. Jackie don’t think much of Tories, and young Jackie’s got his heart set on goin’ to war.”
Caroline sniffed. “You tell them both that the duty to a man’s family comes first.”
The door opened, and Maude and Harley Wiggins, the barber, came in. “The girls need help in the public room,” the innkeeper’s wife said to Ida. “There’s soldiers want ale and supper.”
“Yes’m,” Ida said as she picked up her wood basket. She left without another word or look at Caroline.
“A sad case,” Maude said. “Widows and weeping mothers. More funerals than christenings in Oxford now. Makes you wonder if this rebellion is all worthwhile.”
“Hmmpt,” Harley said. “I give a leg and two nephews, and I still know what we’re fightin’ for. Evenin’, Miss Caroline. Now, where’s this new husband of yours what had himself an accident that can’t be talked about?”
Caroline smiled warmly at the older man. “I’ll get him for you. Thank you for coming.”
“Little enough I can do for Kincaid’s granddaughter. I knew your grandaddy when . . . Well”—he grinned—“let’s just say I knew him in the good old days when life was a little tougher than you youngsters know it.” He rubbed his stubbled chin, took the bar of lye soap Maude offered him, and began to wash his hands in a large china bowl of water. “Don’t think he wouldn’t be off with Washington right now, if he was still alive. Lord, but he did hate the British. And fight? That tough old bird was a fightin’ fool.”
Caroline moved close to Harley. “How does it go for Washington’s men? Is it as bad as they say?”
Harley nodded. “Aye, and worse. They’re starvin’, girl. I seen men with ribs like a picket fence. Any supplies you can spare, our boys can use them. The Marylanders are pretty good about livin’ off the land, but food is as scarce as June bugs in a chicken run.”
“You know that the British have confiscated most of my livestock, and they keep a tight guard over what’s left. But I can do this,” Caroline offered. “I’ll send two women with a load of wheat for Simon Pine’s mill tomorrow afternoon. To get to the mill, they have to pass through that stretch of thick woods in the hollow. It would be a shame if somebody was waiting there to rob them of their flour on the way home.”
Harley grinned. “It sure would be, Miss Caroline. It sure would be a shame. I’ll try not to mention it to any rascally rebel provisioners what might have an interest in your wheat flour. I don’t suppose two women could put up much of a fight to protect that flour.”
“Probably not,” Caroline agreed solemnly. “Probably not.”
“Good. Now let’s get this man of yours in here and see what we can do for him,” the barber said. “I’ve never met Garrett Faulkner himself, but I knew of his father. And if you say he can be trusted, that’s good enough for me.”
“I never said Garrett can be trusted,” Caroline answered. “I only said I’d stake my life he’s no British sympathizer.”
“One and the same,” Maude said.
Caroline shook her head and her heartbeat quickened as she remembered Reed and Amanda and all those at Fortune’s Gift who depended on her. “No,” she replied softly, “not the same thing at all.”
Much later, when Maude and Harley were gone, she and Garrett sat alone before the crackling hearth. They had not spoken for a quarter hour, and Caroline was listening to the soft swish of snowflakes hitting the frosted windows. She was sleepy, but she’d made no attempt to call someone to help her undress and prepare for bed.
There was only one bed in the room. She was very much aware of that fact, and she was certain Garrett was too.
She had remained in the chamber while the barber bathed and treated Garrett’s wound. Harley had resewn two stitches that had torn out during the struggle in the churchyard, and he had drenched the whole surface with horse liniment, then covered it with a strong-smelling salve and a clean bandage.
When he’d first uncovered the injury, Harley had leaned close and sniffed the area. “Smells good and ain’t leakin’ pus,” he’d said. “Somebody did good work here.”
“Either that, or I’m too mean to kill,” Garrett had said good-naturedly. “My father was once bitten by a water moccasin. He said the snake died.”
Maude had taken Garrett’s stained breeches and shirt. “I’ll soak the blood out of the trews,” she’d promised. “I’ll bring them back in the morning right as rain.”
Garrett now wore a blue and white banyan borrowed from the innkeeper’s clothes chest and soft leather slippers. The robe was old, but finely sewn of silk brocade and lined with striped cotton. Maude’s husband, William, was similar in height to Garrett, but much broader across the beam. Garrett had belted the garment around his waist to cover his nakedness. Caroline glimpsed only a few inches of bare chest and a flash of tanned ankles above and below the old-fashioned night robe.
Caroline still wore her gray and silver gown, her petticoats and shift, and her tightly laced stays, as well as her shoes and stockings. She had no intention of undressing in Garrett’s presence, but she was also dubious of finding any comfortable rest in her present clothing.
“You may take the bed tonight,” she finally said, breaking the silence between them. “Your leg must heal. You need your sleep.”
Garrett eyed her for a long time before answering, so long that she found herself wanting to squirm under his intense scrutiny. “I’d be no gentleman if I let my new bride sleep sitting up in a chair on our wedding night,” he said.
Caroline glanced toward the inviting bed. Curtains swathed the four-poster to protect from night drafts, and the feather tick was piled high with quilts and goose-down pillows. The bed glowed in the yellow circle of firelight, and she longed to climb in and snuggle down in the soft depths. “I have no intention of sharing a bed with you,” she replied.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I should have asked for separate rooms.”
He laughed. “What? And put Maude and William into the servants’ beds? You know as well as I do that the Queen’s Rose has one private bedchamber. Besides, what would your major think if you didn’t share a room with your new bridegroom?”
“He’s not my major,” she protested. The implications of this marriage were just beginning to settle in. Memories of Garrett’s searing kiss tantalized her, but she pushed them away. She must have been momentarily insane if she’d thought of doing anything improper with this man. Theirs was an arrangement, nothing more. She would be wise to keep a distance between them, more so in private than in public.
“If I didn’t guess his inclinations, I’d venture that Major Whitehead was infatuated with you himself.”
“Stuff and nonsense. Major Whitehead is a decent man, a gentleman, nothing more.”
“Rather something more. He’s an English officer of dragoons who’s quartered in your home. You wouldn’t be the first woman in such circumstances to—”
“Nothing has passed between the major and me.”
“I said if I didn’t guess his inclinations,” Garrett said with a chuckle. “It’s lucky he does favor you. You’d have poor shift with your cousin.”
Caroline glared at him. “The major is infatuated, all right, but not with me—with my ten thousand pounds. He wants the bribe, and I want my brother back alive. Can you understand that, Mr. Faulkner?”
“I think Garrett and Caroline would be better, considering our relationship.”
“Our relationship—as you put it—is a business one. I need your protection, and you need my money. Things will be simpler if we can maintain a respect for each other and—”
“Who said I didn’t respect you?” He laughed indulgently. “Didn’t I just offer you the only bed in the house?”
She unconsciously raised a hand to smooth the stray curls that fell over her face. “I don’t want to fight with you,” she said.
“Nor I with you, Caroline Faulkner. And you needn’t fear me, although you’d try the morals of a saint, sitting all rosy and soft here in the firelight. I’ve always loved women and they me. But I’ve never taken one by force and I’m not about to start now.”
“That’s reassuring,” she said, but her mouth was strangely dry, and she could not keep from noticing how a few strands of his wheat-brown hair had come loose from his queue. Garrett’s eyes had a way of seeming to undress her without ever being crude. He was no devil, but the thought came to her that if Satan had minions, Garrett might well fit the bill. “It’s foolish for both of us to sit up all night. Go to bed.”
“You go to bed.”
“I’ve no intention of taking off my clothes with you in the room,” she admitted.
“Ah, so you are afraid of me,” he teased.
“I am not. I just think we should establish some rules for our relationship.”
Rules for me, she thought frantically. All her life she had lived within a boundary of rules. As Caroline Talbot she was expected to do this and that; she was encased in a silver setting of conscience. She had been given many blessings as the heiress to Fortune’s Gift, but responsibilities weighed heavy on her shoulders. Now this man dared her to test the limits of her life, and she was afraid.
“You expect us to remain married for five years and never get undressed?”
“Don’t try to make me the fool,” she said. “At home, we will have separate bedrooms. Naturally, we will—”
“Pretend to be the loving couple,” he finished wryly. “Don’t think I will sit at your feet like a hound. I’ve business of my own to tend to. My own land . . . my—”
“No, of course not,” she interrupted. “And I am grateful. Reed’s safety depends on—”
“Reed’s safety. What of yours, Caroline?” His gray eyes were suddenly serious. “Are you such a paragon of virtue that you never think of what you want?”
“You mock me,” she answered smoothly. “Do you think that because I am a woman, I can’t put my responsibilities ahead of my own wishes?” I know exactly what I want, she cried inwardly, but I dare not give in to those feelings. I dare not allow myself to become controlled by any man . . . let alone you.
He rose to his feet, took a step toward her, and groaned as he put weight on his bad leg.
“Oh,” she said. “Your wound. Let me . . .” She slipped her arm around him to assist him to bed. “Let me help you.” Suddenly she wasn’t beside him; somehow she was standing in the circle of his arms and he was staring down at her.
“Don’t,” she protested huskily.
“Don’t do what?” he asked. “This?”
He lowered his head and his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. Lightly . . . as lightly as a butterfly wing. Desire spiraled through her, and she began to shiver despite the heat from the open fireplace.
“Or this?” He kissed her ear and the curve of her neck beneath it.
She drew in a deep breath and slowly savored the sweet, wild sensations racing through her veins.
His fingers touched the nape of her neck, sliding between her hairline and the high ruffle of her silk gown. “Does this offend you?” he murmured, as his fingers traced minute circles across her skin. “Or this?”
His breath smelled of mint as his mouth covered hers. His lips were warm and firm, his tongue teasing as it glided across the surface of her teeth.
Caroline groaned softly, seeing clearly the trap he’d laid for her, yet willingly flying into it with arms outstretched. What harm, she told herself, as she surrendered to the delicious kiss, what harm can come of a few shared caresses?
His strong fingers slid down her spine, pressing, massaging, finding her cramped muscles and easing their stiffness. His hands were magic, and his mouth . . . Caroline’s knees went weak. His mouth was sheer sorcery, and she was tinder to his flame.
Her senses swirled. She felt as though she had been drinking the strongest wine, but she knew it wasn’t wine that intoxicated her—it was Garrett’s touch.
Boldly, she opened to him, then met his tongue with hers in an erotic dance that took her to the edge of danger and let her glimpse the pleasures that beckoned beyond this lingering kiss.
“Caroline, you are a wonder,” he whispered huskily when they paused for breath. “You’re all fire and honey.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, then nibbled on her fingertips, sending waves of bright desire up her arm. Gently turning her palm, he planted warm, damp kisses on the underside of her wrist.
She could the heated blood pounding in her veins . . . feel her will weakening. I want him to make love to me, she thought. I want him as I have never wanted another man. He is my lawful husband before God. Why shouldn’t I—
This is not the time. Kutti’s warning came loud and clear inside her mind. There is great danger. You must flee while there is still a chance. Caroline’s eyes widened. The Incan wasn’t here—she knew he wasn’t. She and Garrett were alone. Kutii had never intruded on her privacy before.
What harm will this do? she argued mentally.
Kutii’s voice in her head was relentless. This is the man but not the time.
Garrett’s tongue brushed the pulse at her wrist.
“That tickles,” Caroline said, pulling back. She swallowed, trying to make sense of her confused emotions, trying to regain the control she had nearly lost.
“Caroline.” The husky way he said her name sent shivers up her spine and she sighed.
Kutii’s message had broken the spell. Garrett’s arms were just as warm, his smell as inviting, but cold reason had returned to guide her.
Another time, she thought. And there would be another time. Unwilling to let the last notes of the magic fade, she stroked his strong jaw and slid her fingers into his silky brown hair. “You are somewhat of a wonder yourself, Garrett Faulkner. I don’t know what to make of you. I feel like a hunter who set a snare for a pigeon and caught a hawk instead.” She smiled at him. “Pigeons are good for pie, but I’m not yet certain what good a hawk may be.”
“I didn’t want a wife,” he said.
“Nor I a husband.”
He glanced toward the poster bed, wondering just how compliant she was prepared to be and how much grief his wound would give him in a delicate situation.
She chuckled, and the sound reminded him of water trickling over rocks. “I don’t consider going to bed with you part of our arrangement,” she murmured.
He sighed, partly disappointed, but also intrigued that the chase would not end so soon. “You can’t blame me for hoping,” he answered.
“Nay, I do not.” She slipped out of his arms. “I like your kisses. In fact, I think I may say that I like them very much.”
“And I like yours.” How had she managed to affect him so deeply? he wondered. She was shapely and pleasing to look at, but he had known many lovely women. And Caroline Steele was not his type. He smiled. He hadn’t thought she was his type. But now . . . He was glad the folds of the banyan covered his loins.
“You may as well take the bed, Garrett,” she said. “You couldn’t pay me to sleep there after . . .” She trailed off and he saw that her cheeks were tinted pink. “You are an exasperating man,” she continued, “but I suspect I’m telling you nothing you haven’t heard before.”
He returned to the high-backed chair near the fireplace. “Then neither of us will sleep well tonight,” he answered. The ache in his groin reminded him of just how disappointed he was. “It’s been a long time since I allowed my actions to be dictated by a woman . . . even a desirable woman such as yourself.”
“You’re a stubborn man.” She rested her hand on the back of the matching chair.
“I’ve been told that before too.”
“Not too stubborn to see reason, I hope.”
“Whose reason. Yours or mine?”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Her lower lip was full and sensual. He remembered the taste of it, and he began to wonder if even a ship would be worth the trouble she was bound to cause him.
She stiffened. “I haven’t been completely honest with you,” she said.
A tightness filled his chest. “Go on,” he urged. “Don’t stop just when it’s getting interesting.”
“I promised you money if you would marry me.”
“You did and I’ll have it.” He felt his temper rising. What excuse was she going to make to avoid giving him his due?
“I don’t have any.”
“What?” He leaped up, forgetting his bad leg, and the pain nearly knocked him back in the chair. Gritting his teeth, he glared at her. “What lies are you—”
“No lies, but the truth,” she said, putting the chair between them. “I have the money. I just can’t get to it. Father never believed there would be a war. Most of our wealth is in London. I can’t release it as long as Bruce—”
Garrett swore under his breath. “You led me to believe—”
“Wait!” She threw up her hand. “I never meant to cheat you. You’ll get everything I promised. It’s just that you will have to take me south to the Caribbean to get it for you.”
Black rage clouded his vision. Veins pulsed in his temples. He covered his face with his hands and swore again—a sailor’s oath so foul that it scorched his tongue. He’d been had. By a woman. He’d been so eager to get another ship under his feet that he’d been led into the lion’s den like a green farm boy. He wanted to hit something. Someone. “Son of a swiving seacook,” he muttered. He raised his gaze to meet hers and his fingers clutched the wooden back of the chair. “You’ve nerve to stay within reach of me,” he said between clenched teeth, “when I’d like nothing better than to wring your pretty little neck.”
He could read the fear in her eyes. She trembled, but she stood, chin high, small hands balled into fists, and faced him like some ancient warrior queen. “I want control of my money as badly as you do,” she said huskily. “If I’d told you before, I was afraid you wouldn’t marry me. I can get gold in the islands—I swear it.”
“Like you swore before?”
“I didn’t lie to you, Garrett. I just didn’t tell you everything.” Her composure faltered. “Please, you must believe me. I need you. If you’ll take me and my sister to Arawak Island near Jamaica—to our sugarcane plantation there—I’ll give you whatever you ask.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Whatever you ask.”
“All I’ve ever wanted from you was a ship.”
“I have ships in the Caribbean. Bruce doesn’t know of any of our affairs there.” Tears welled in her huge dark eyes. “There’s no one else I can turn to, Garrett. My cousin raped Amanda, and now he’s threatening to sell her south. I need to get her away from Fortune’s Gift—away from Maryland. And I need to get my hands on enough of my money to ransom Reed.”
“You want me to take you to the Caribbean?”
She nodded. “Me, Amanda, and Amanda’s son, Jeremy.”
He studied her delicate features. Was she lying again? “How do you expect me to trust you?”
“I’ll wager my soul that you’ve not been honest with me either,” she dared. “I’d have to be a complete ninny to believe the story you gave me when you invaded my bedchamber the night the powder magazine was blown.”
“You know for a fact that there’s money and ships to be had on Arawak?”
“I have gold there. I’m not sure where the ships are, but my steward will know. They sail the Caribbean on trading voyages.”
“How much gold?”
“Enough. Yes or no?”
Garrett considered her offer for several long seconds, then realized he’d probably not get a better one. He’d been a fool not to think her cousin would tie up her ready cash. If she was being honest with him this time, his plans would only be delayed. He could find a crew in the Caribbean. He pursed his lips. Where better to find fighting men who knew a gunnel from a yardarm. With gold in his pocket, he could buy sailors who didn’t care what flag they sailed under.
“Please,” she murmured. “We must get away quickly.”
“I’ll take you,” he agreed, “but my price has just doubled. Twenty percent. And heaven help you, woman, if you’re lying to me again.”