9

Joseph reined Hunter toward the barn and hurried to unsaddle and curry the weary animal. Bone deep exhaustion dragged his steps as he cared for the stallion and released him into the pasture.

The cabin sat silent and dark.

Perhaps Hannah had already retired for the night.

He couldn’t blame her. After cleaning and hanging the dead cow in the barn so the meat wouldn’t spoil, he’d insisted upon accompanying Andrew and Rachel home. He’d take no chances with raiders in the area. But what should have been a short ride became hours of discussion with his very concerned pastor and sister. The sun had slipped into its peaceful abyss, and he looked forward to doing the same.

Joseph lit a candle, filled the kettle and hooked it in the fireplace. The coals were banked inside, but the water would be warm enough for coffee tomorrow morning. He dipped water from the bucket someone had filled and took a drink of water before moving into the bedroom. A gust of cold air met him. A quilt still hung through the broken window. How had the wild girl he’d locked in this room the night before become his wife? He looked at the bed, no form apparent in the dim light. Where was his bride?

Smothering a yawn and a groan, Joseph fought the desire to lay down and not think about her. He plodded back outside and glanced around the moonlit terrain. “Hannah?”

Hunter was the only one to answer.

Joseph frowned. Maybe he didn’t have a wife anymore? But surely she wouldn’t have gone very far. Unless she’d taken his mare. Joseph circled past the well and smokehouse toward the far paddock.

Moonlight glinted off the mare’s black coat.

Rubbing grit from his eyes, Joseph leaned into the rough rail fence. Where had the woman gone? That morning he’d considered it a blessing when she’d run out and disappeared. But now? He’d taken responsibility for her—before God and man. “Fool woman,” he muttered, then jerked as a shadow moved.

A pale face looked toward him.

“Hannah?”

Black hair met the woolen shawl that draped over the yellow of the dress—no wonder he hadn’t seen her in the dark. “What are you doing out here?”

Hannah’s eyes, as dark as the night, shifted to watch the mare. “When is she due to foal?”

“Soon.” Joseph sighed. He should have known where to look for Hannah Cunningham. This is where she’d always been after sneaking over from her family’s homestead to watch the horses. The Cunninghams had owned a mare, but it was an old, swaybacked nag that her father had often taken hunting. The animal had probably been at Oriskany, as well.

“Is Hunter the sire?”

Hannah’s question pulled him back from the downward spiral of his thoughts. “Yes.”

“Should be a lovely foal then. Do you hope for a colt or a filly?”

It didn’t matter. He just wanted to go to bed.

“The mare is a pretty thing, but I hope the foal takes after its father. I’ve always loved your pa’s stallion.”

And the stallion loved her in return. Only now did it make sense why Hunter had not balked when Hannah tried to steal him. The animal had known her, just as she’d known him.

“What happened to your pa?”

Weariness poured over his dismal thoughts. “He was killed.”

“During a raid?”

“No. An ambush. Near Oriskany. Almost four years ago.”

“The battle that summer?” Her voice broke.

Joseph nodded. Thank goodness the raiders had targeted a cow and not either of his horses.

“I was told my pa also died in that battle.”

“A lot of men died there.” Joseph closed his mind against the memories. He refused to return to that terrible day.

Hannah’s fingers brushed his arm. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at her, huddled in the shawl, the breeze teasing strands of dark hair against her cheeks. “I am, too. I’m sorry about your pa.” He rushed on. “And I’m sorry about what happened to your family after he left.”

Hannah stiffened and drew closer to the fence, farther from him. “And yet you were there with those men when they burned our cabin so we had no choice but to leave. You were there when they took my brothers.”

Joseph faced the shadowy form of the horse again. How could he answer the question in her words without making her hate him more? He hadn’t done anything. He’d simply been there.

The silence hung in the air.

“I thought as much.” She pushed away from the fence.

“Pa wanted to make sure things didn’t become violent. There was nothing we could do to stop them, but he wouldn’t have let anyone get hurt.”

“Your pa was a good man. I never questioned his involvement, or that he opposed what they did. But you, Joseph. I saw the look on your face. The approval. Why were you there?”

A surge of guilt weighed down on him. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t.” She gave a shallow laugh. “You were just following your pa.”

Joseph bristled. “All right. The truth is I think a man should be able to trust his neighbors.” He understood the fears of the men who had driven the Loyalists from the settlement.

“Too bad the same cannot be afforded a woman and her children.”

“Your pa was a true blue Tory and your ma’s people had taken up arms with the British. And Myles. He was enough of a man to have an opinion, and he made it well enough known.”

Hannah’s hands went to her hips, and she winced. She glared at him. “Myles was hardly sixteen and his loyalty was to Pa, not the British. How can he be faulted for that? Admit it, even at the ripe old age of twenty, your opinions on the war and your loyalties were only a shadow of your own pa’s!”

Joseph bit back a retort. He was too tired to match blows with his bride. Ha! What a laugh that was proving to be. Hopefully her brothers were still alive so they could take her off his hands. He’d probably live longer alone.

Except his children needed a mother. He had to find a way to convince her to stay with him, even if they found her brothers.

“I’m going to bed.” She hurried to the cabin.

Joseph followed much slower. He was tempted to make a bed in the barn, but didn’t have it in him. And there was no way he would spend another night in a chair. He wanted his own mattress, wonderful stuffed straw, and a heavy quilt—heavy enough to block out the chill blasting through the broken window, because that was one more thing he was too tired to take care of.

Inside the cabin, a dim light glowed from the bedroom. Hannah must have taken a candle with her. He stepped in to find her on the chest trying to hook a blanket over the opening with one hand, her injured arm against her body.

“Here, let me.” He crossed the room to take the blanket from her.

Hannah jerked away. “I broke it, I can fix it.”

“Unless you are hiding a pane of glass somewhere, you can’t fix it. Boarding it up is the best we can do, but I’m not worrying about that until tomorrow. Now get down before you hurt yourself.” He set his hands on her waist and lifted her to the floor.

Her palm slapped his arm. “You do not get to tell me what I can or cannot do. I don’t care if I am your wife. You do not own me!” She shoved against his chest.

Joseph didn’t budge. “Don’t you know, a wife is her husband’s property?”

She leveled a tight smile at him. “You would like that wouldn’t you? Well, among my mother’s people, men are the ones who leave their clans and join their wives. Kanien’keha:ka women are the heads of their families.”

“And yet, you left your clan and joined me. You must take after your pa’s side of the family.”

Her smile grew as confidence lit her eyes—so similar to her pa’s. “I’m enough like both my parents to stand up to you.”

“And I…” Joseph looked at the little dark-haired cannonball who had pummeled his life, and all arguments fell away. “I don’t doubt it.”

What had he gotten himself into?

~*~

What had she gotten herself into? Hannah’s pulse tripped as Joseph redirected his intrusive gaze. She wasn’t sure if the heat radiating through her was due to their argument, or the realization she stood only two feet from this man’s bed, and she was his wife. Her stomach dipped and swooshed, making her grateful she hadn’t had an appetite for the beef Rachel had prepared for dinner. Though air flowed from the shattered window, Hannah needed more. She stepped around Joseph and hurried through the cabin. Once outside, she sucked in a breath.

“Don’t leave.”

She looked over her shoulder. Concern touched not only Joseph’s voice, but his matured features. She had always thought him a handsome man, but the years had given definition to his face and sharpened the line of his jaw. Twin creases showed at the corners of his eyes—midnight blue in the low light of the candle he held.

“We should tend your arm after everything you’ve put it through today.” Joseph fished into a pocket and withdrew a small leather pouch. “Rachel sent a salve back with me.”

“That was thoughtful of her.”

“Rachel has always been the thoughtful one. Unlike her brother.”

She stared. Was he apologizing? And if so, for which offence?

“Come sit down.” Joseph waved to one of the chairs. “The water in the kettle is already warm. I’m sure I can find some cloth to make fresh bandaging.”

She obediently sat, and minutes later Joseph scooted a chair beside her. He touched the cuff of her sleeve and frowned. It embraced the arm too tightly to be rolled up past the wound. The only way she would be able to access the bandage was to withdraw her entire arm from the dress.

“Why don’t you go to bed, and I’ll see to this.” It had been difficult to clean the open flesh or wrap the bandage yesterday, but she’d managed. Besides, he looked exhausted.

“Nonsense. I want to make sure it’s not festering.” He extended his hand to the top button, the tips of his fingers brushing her collarbone, sparking a fire within her.

Hannah pulled back.

A grunt rumbled in his throat, and he stood. “I’ll finish covering the window in the bedroom while you pull your arm out. Wrap the shawl over your shoulders if you wish.” He retreated to the other room.

If she wished? As though it made no difference to him?

Hannah tugged the first button free. Maybe it didn’t matter to him. He was accustomed to matrimony and all it entailed, while she…a man had never touched her so intimately before, and that was only the top button! Hannah didn’t know what his expectations were for this marriage, but she certainly wasn’t ready to be his wife.

She hurried to get her arm out and tucked the shawl over every inch of bare skin above the blood-tinged bandage. It still carried some of the dampness of her earlier bath in the river.

A tapping on the wall preceded Joseph’s reentry. He returned to his chair without comment and unbound the cloth from her arm. Pain spiked across the area as he pulled it free from the wound.

“Careful.”

He hummed his acknowledgment or apology, poured warm water from the kettle over a cloth, and then cleaned around the open flesh. With two fingers he scooped a generous amount of amber salve from the small pouch and wiped it across the new bandage before pressing it over her wound. Taking the ends of the fabric, he tied it off and stood.

“The area is warm and redder than it should be, so we’ll want to replace the bandages regularly. Rachel can keep James until you’re done healing. What you need most is rest.” He nodded toward the bedroom, before taking up the basin. “I’ll clean up.”

Keeping the shawl tight, Hannah rushed into the smaller room and closed the door. Mindful of her throbbing arm, she slipped from the gown, put on a shift she found in the chest, and dived under the covers. She pulled the quilt up to her chin.

The door swung open, and Joseph strode across the room. The bedframe creaked as he sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled off his boots.

Hannah tightened the blanket around her as he drew his shirt over his head. “You can’t sleep in here.”

A harrumph joined the shifting of the mattress as he stretched out. “It’s my bed.”

And she was his wife, but Hannah didn’t want to think about any of the implications. Neither did she dare remove herself, feeling quite naked in the light shift she’d borrowed.

Joseph blew out the candle he’d set on the small table and settled beside her. Not quite touching, but heat radiated from him. He rolled on his side, facing away, and his breathing deepened.

Hannah lay awake, her heart continuing its drumming.

He didn’t move again.

Darkness and silence lay over them. Her mind, however, screamed to keep her distance from this man who had only become her husband to save his home and family. She could not blame him, but she would be wise not to develop any form of affection for him.