"Mama!" Joshua threw himself across the room at her.
She caught him in midair and swung him off the floor in a circle. "Good morning to you, too," she said, laughing. "Gideon, I hope Joshua wasn't too much trouble."
"Mornin', Miz Turner," the cook replied. His seamed face split in a crooked grin. "No trouble a'tall wi' the little mate. He's a help, he is, 'cept his wantin' to use my old leg here"—Gideon tapped his wooden peg—"for firewood."
Joshua giggled. "I did not. That was you! It was him, Mama." He squirmed free and hobbled back to the old man. "I slept here all night," the boy exclaimed. "I woke up and I wasn't in my bed—I was in Gideon's." He dipped a finger in the johnnycake batter, popped it into his mouth and then continued, in a rush. "Gideon says I can go into the woods with him to help cut pine boughs to decorate the inn for Christmas. Can I, Mama? Is it all right?"
Gideon poured three round cakes onto the spitting griddle. "I said ye could go wi' yer lady mother's byleave," he corrected, glancing at Sarah for her approval. "I've pies to make and puddin', and I want to set a crock o' beans on the back o' the hearth to cook. There's a good stand of white pine not far from the house," he explained. "At . . . at the last place I worked, we always made a fuss fer Christmas. Holly and pine and mistletoe." He raised one snow-white eyebrow. "And a Yule log, Miz Turner. I do favor a Yule log, wi' yer byleave."
"I think that would be fine," Sarah agreed. "But you must not spoil the boy. Joshua's not a gentleman's son that he can sit on his bottom and watch his elders work." Sarah glanced at her son. "Fetch some wood for Gideon, Joshua, dry from the woodshed."
"I can do it, Miz Turner," Gideon offered. "Yard's wet enough to float a schooner."
"He'll not melt," she admonished gently. "Joshua."
"Yes, ma'am." Quickly, Joshua donned his cloak and mittens and trudged outside.
"I think a mite o' the laddie," Gideon said as he turned the golden-brown cakes. "An he's just a wee scrap o' a man yet."
"I know," Sarah said softly. "But a man is what I'd make of him. His bad foot is no excuse to get off chores."
"Aye, there's wisdom in that," the old man agreed. He waved toward the table. "There's just the three of us for breakfast. Forest went out a few minutes ago. He said he'd seen deer tracks yesterday in the orchard. He fancied fresh venison for Christmas dinner."
Feeling like a guest in her own kitchen, Sarah took a seat at the head of the trestle table. "He left without breakfast?" she asked, secretly glad to have time before she had to face him.
"Downed three biscuits and a mug of cider before he went." Gideon stood up awkwardly and carried a plate of johnnycakes to the table. "I've somethin' fer the little matey fer Christmas," he confided. "It's just an old ship's spyglass that I been totin' in me seabag fer too long. The laddie might ha' some use fer it."
"You're a good man, Gideon Campbell," she said, smiling up at him. "And I'm glad to have you here with us at the inn."
"Thank'ee, Miz Turner. I'm right glad to be here myself."
~~~
In late afternoon of the same day, before Forest returned from his hunt, a man arrived at King's Landing driving a team of horses and a wagon, demanding to speak with Mistress Turner at once.
"I'll send him on his way, if ye want, ma'am," Gideon offered. "He looks no account to me."
"It's all right," Sarah said, laying a half-finished wreath of crowfoot on the table. "I'll see what he wants." She glanced at her son, sitting by the fireplace, intent on weaving a holly-and-mistletoe ball. "You stay here, Joshua," she ordered. She took her cloak from the hook, draped it around her shoulders, and stepped into the muddy yard. Both adult hounds rushed past her, barking furiously at the newcomer.
"Hush, now," Sarah commanded the dogs above the din. "Down, Rock. Down, Flirt. Quiet!"
An unshaven man in a red wool hat stared arrogantly down at her from the wagon seat. "Isaac wants ye to bring food and blankets. Some corn fer the horses, too." He climbed down and untied a saddle horse from the back of the wagon. "Ye know the way to the camp. Yer to come alone, he says. Leave that one-eyed bastard here or he'll skin him alive and serve him up fer supper."
"And where am I supposed to get these supplies? Isaac stole everything that wasn't nailed down last time he was here," Sarah said angrily.
The man leaned over and blew his nose through his fingers and then swung up into the saddle. Sarah's stomach turned over as he wiped his dirty hands on his breeches.
"Well?" she dared to say. "Does he expect me to make flour out of dirt?"
"Save yer whinin' fer somebody who gives a damn," the man snarled. "We got ears. We hear what eats yer givin' travelers who come through here. Ye got food fer them, ye got it fer King Georgie's loyal soldiers." He yanked the horse's head around viciously. "Tomorrow, Isaac says. You don't come, he says he'll send someone to get the boy. It's time he spent time wi' his lovin' uncle."
Fear knifed through Sarah, but she refused to let Isaac's henchman know it. She shook her head stubbornly. "Tomorrow's Christmas Eve Day. I'll not leave my son on the eve of our Lord's birthday. Tell Isaac I'll come on the twenty-seventh if the weather is good."
"He ain't gonna like it," he warned.
"Like it or not, that's when I'll come." She straightened her shoulders and gave him a withering look. "And you tell your master that next time he should send a man to carry his messages. I don't take orders from scum like you."
With a foul curse, the man lashed his horse and galloped out of the farmyard. Sarah sighed and took hold of the near animal's bridle. Carefully, she backed up the team and led them around to the barn.
She was unharnessing the second animal when Forest entered the stable. "Here, I'll do that for you," he offered, leaning his rifle against the stall door. He eyed the stout wagon with its high yellow wheels. "How many guests do we have?"
"None."
"None?" He looked at Sarah questioningly. "Where'd the team and wagon come from then?"
She frowned. "Isaac. He's demanding I bring him food and blankets. He wanted me to come tomorrow, but I refused. I told him I'd come two days after Christmas."
Forest caught her by the shoulders. "You're not going at all! I'll not have you risk your life with those bandits."
She stepped back and twisted from his grasp. "Because I take you to my bed doesn't make you my master," she said coolly. Flecks of gold flashed in her angry gray eyes. "I've had enough of masters, and I'll have no more."
Forest flushed. "I didn't mean it to sound like that," he apologized. "But you know you can't trust Isaac. Suppose he doesn't let you come back?" Forest shook his head. "No, you can't go. Tell me the way and I'll do it, or better yet, we won't give him anything."
"I have to," she answered flatly. "Isaac said he'd send someone to steal Joshua if I don't. He doesn't make idle threats." She spread her open hands before him. "Don't you see, Forest? I'm trapped." She averted her eyes, not wanting him to see the terror concealed there. The loss of the food supplies she could deal with—what worried her was the letters. If Isaac knew of his brother's death and burial, he might be luring her into the woods to murder her in blind revenge.
"Let me go in your place, Sarah," Forest urged.
"I can't. The rider said I was to come alone. They'd likely shoot you on sight anyway. Isaac keeps the location of his fort a secret."
"But you know where it is," he pressed.
She nodded. "I know, and you don't. And that's the way we're going to keep it. I won't have your blood on my hands." She glanced toward his rifle. "I guess the deer you were trailing is still running."
"No," Forest replied curtly. "It's not. I hung the carcass in a tree and came back for the mule. She's a fat doe and too heavy to carry on my back if I don't have to."
Sarah laid a hand on his arm. "I'll help you fetch it back, if you like. Let's not quarrel over Isaac, Forest. It's Christmas. I'm not going until the twenty-seventh. Please?"
"Ah, woman, but you are worse than the mule for being
stubborn." He tilted her chin up and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I love you," he said huskily. "Would ye have me watch ye walk into danger and say nothing?"
Sarah's fingers rose to her lips. "A Christmas truce?" she pleaded.
"Aye, a Christmas truce," he agreed reluctantly. "And we'll start by making use of Isaac's horseflesh. We'll take these animals to bring back the venison." He swept off his cocked hat and bowed in an exaggerated, courtly style. "Would Mistress Turner care to ride out on horseback with her hired man?"
She laughed. "I would be most honored, noble sir. For I've no wish to ruin my satin slippers by wading through the mud and snow." She grinned impishly as she held up a foot shod in a heavy leather shoe. "My slippers came from Venice, you know—all the rage in Annapolis and Philadelphia."
"If I'd known your slippers were purple, I'd have presented you with lavender ribbons, m'lady," he teased, dropping a saddle over the back of the bay horse and starting to cinch it up.
"No," she protested lightly. "You chose well, m'lord. For scarlet ribbons are my heart's delight." Sarah took another saddle from the rank on the far wall and carried it toward the other horse.
Forest stared at her across the horse's withers.
"I'm glad, Sarah," he said softly as he watched her heave the heavy saddle over the big roan. "If my ship ever comes in . . . If the day ever comes when we can be together openly, I'll dress you in silk and brocade," he promised. "For I've never met a lady who deserves it more."
Her gaze met his, and she smiled back at him, the game forgotten . . . her heart in her eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
Blood in the Snow
It snowed again on Christmas Day, huge lacy flakes that drifted down and covered the mud and ruts in the farmyard with a silver-white carpet. The temperature dropped, forming a skin of ice along the banks of the Misakaak and huge icicles along the rooflines of the tavern and the barn.
Inside the inn, Sarah lit beeswax candles, scorning the cost on Christmas Day. Wreaths of pine and holly filled the rooms with the biting scent of evergreens, a scent that mingled with the delicious smells coming from Gideon's kitchen.
Joshua sat on the floor before the blazing hearth, his eyes sparkling, his arms full of gifts, and a new red wool hat perched precariously on his head. Gideon had given him the spyglass, and from his mother he had received a bag of English toffee, a slate, and a dozen assorted fishhooks. A red mitten lay on the floor by his knee; the second had been mislaid in the boy's excitement.
It was Forest's Christmas presents that intrigued Joshua now. The first was a ten-inch-long sloop carved of sweet-smelling red cedar and topped with a miniature canvas sail. The second was a game consisting of dozens of hand-carved squares of pine, each about an inch long. On one side of each square a letter was carved and on the back was a picture of an object.
"Acorn," Joshua pronounced, laying the pine square letter-side-up. "Acorn—A." He clapped his hands together in glee and looked up at his mother. "Look, Mama," he cried. "I can write! I wrote acorn!"
Sarah glanced down and chuckled. "Even I know there has to be more to it than that," she said. "Forest, you started this."
He grinned as he flexed the arms of the new cambric shirt Sarah had sewn for him. "It fits like it was made for me," he teased, kneeling beside the boy. "Aye, lad, your mother's right. This is a good game, but not easy to learn. In fact, some would say you're not big enough yet."
"I am," Joshua protested. "I am so big enough. Teach me!"
Forest grinned at Sarah over the boy's head. "The picture on the back is to give ye the sound the letter makes. This is A. It says its name most of the time, as in 'acorn'. Sometimes, though, it tries to trick you and makes the sound your mama does when she finds worms in her meal. Aahhh! Each letter . . ."
Sarah listened carefully to the rules of the game as she set the table for dinner with the inn's finest pewter and china. As soon as the boy had dumped the wooden pieces out of the sack, she'd guessed that the object of the game was to teach Joshua to read. She'd wanted to ask Forest to teach her reading and writing ever since she found out he knew how, but she'd been afraid to ask. What if he said the same cruel things to her as Obediah had when she'd asked him?
If she found an excuse to be nearby when Forest was teaching her son, she would learn without any of them being the wiser. The thought was exciting, and she could hardly keep from laughing out loud.
Once again she compared Forest's kindness to Joshua with the way the boy's father had treated him. Obediah had never given his son a toy. Forest had made the little boat and the reading game with his own hands. He'd even done it secretly, which meant he must have spent long hours at night working on the gifts.
Sarah's heart quickened as she glanced at the jewelry box Forest had fashioned for her of cedar. On the lid he'd carved a single rose. No matter that she owned not a single piece of jewelry to put in it, she'd keep her scarlet ribbons there along with the precious packet of sewing needles she'd received from Gideon. How glad she was that she'd taken the time to knit new wool stockings for the old man. She would have been ashamed if she'd had no gift to give him in exchange.
Gideon limped into the room bearing a loaf of wheat bread hot from the Dutch oven. He added that to the bowls of succotash, applesauce, and sweet potatoes already on the table. "The gravy's ready," he announced, staring pointedly at Forest, "if someone wants to carry in me roast."
"Time to eat," Forest said, getting to his feet and scooping Joshua up under his arm. "And you may get something to eat, too, if you hie yourself into the kitchen and wash those hands."
"Aw, Forest," the boy protested. "Mama, do I have to? I washed them at breakfast."
She laughed, waving both of them toward the kitchen. There were no guests at the inn today, and Sarah was glad. When the four of them were alone it was so much easier to pretend they were a family . . . that she and Joshua really belonged to Forest.
There was a final flurry of dashing back and forth to the kitchen, and then they sat down to a Christmas feast, complete with pumpkin pie and wild plum pudding. When they had laughed and talked and eaten as much as they could possibly hold, all four drew their chairs around the hearth and Forest read the Christmas story from Obediah's Bible. And then, as the snowfall slowed and twilight descended over King's Landing, they roasted chestnuts on the hearth and sang old English carols together.
It was, Sarah decided as she hugged her sleepy child in her lap, the best Christmas Day she could remember.
~~~
Sarah dumped an armload of blankets into the wagon. "It's December twenty-seventh. I promised Isaac's man I'd come today."
Forest picked up the blankets and dropped them on the barn floor. "You're not going alone and that's that."
"We've been over this a dozen times," she said patiently. "Do you think I like giving Isaac my supplies?"
"Why does he want you to go to him?" Forest demanded. "Why doesn't he just come here and take what he can find, like he did before?"
Sarah replaced the blankets on the wagon bed. "I don't know. I've thought about it, but I can't come up with a good reason." At least not a reason I want to share with you, she thought.
Forest took her by the waist and sat her up on the back of the wagon. "You said before that you believed your brother-in-law capable of murder." He caught both of her hands and held them in his. "You told me you suspected him of killing those travelers. Now you want to put yourself at his mercy. What am I supposed to think?"
Spots of bright color tinted her cheekbones. "I don t want to go," she admitted, "but I'm afraid Isaac might take Joshua. I've got to do what Isaac says."
"So we'll take the supplies, but we'll do it together. He's less likely to murder the both of us."
Sarah chewed at her lower lip. "He said not to bring you."
Forest released her hands and folded his arms over his chest. "And do you always do what Isaac says?"
She shook her head. "No . . ."
"He
's a bully. He's threatening you. If we take him what he wants, he'll shout and rage, but I don't think—"
Sarah sighed heavily. "All right, you can come. But if he shoots you, don't blame me."
"If he shoots me, I won't be able to."
Reluctantly, Sarah allowed Forest to help her finish loading the wagon with cornmeal and dried fish. She was parting with fully half of the ale and foodstuffs Forest had brought her from Chestertown and a third of the inn's blankets.
He cursed under his breath as he watched Sarah tuck a front shoulder of venison and three wild ducks under the wagon seat. "Damn it, woman, would you give away everything? Isaac won't know what I've shot."
"If I give him enough, he may leave us alone for a few months," she explained.
"Somehow, I don't mink the word 'enough' is part of Isaac Turner's vocabulary." Forest threw a canvas over the load and tied it down with rope. "Have ye given thought as to how we'll get back once we deliver Isaac's supplies?"
"I suppose we'll walk," she answered matter-of-factly. "I'm certainly not taking the mule. Isaac would keep that for sure."
"And the boy?"
"I'm sending him to Martha's with a batch of gingerbread and cookies Gideon baked. Johnny will want to see Joshua anyway so they can show each other their Christmas gifts. Josh can ride Prince along with us as far as the split in the trail. It's only a half mile more to White Oak."
"Joshua would be safe enough with Gideon," Forest observed.
"I know he would, but if we don't get back tomorrow, Joshua would worry. If he's at Martha's for the night, he won't know if we're delayed or not."
Forest leaned his musket against the wagon seat. "If you'd draw me a map, I'd deliver this wagon myself. I'd rather not see you go at all, Sarah. You're safer here at King's Landing."
She shrugged. "Safer here? For how long?" She shook her head. "No, it's best if I do as Isaac says."
"And if neither of us comes back alive? What happens to Joshua then?"
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