Chapter 22
A voice from below woke Charlotte sometime later. Mrs. Norris’s loft was dark now, lit only by the glow from candles below.
“Fellows, I say we go back. It’s too risky by half.” The man sounded young, his words edged in fear.
“Second thoughts, eh, McAllister?” a jeering voice called out.
“Probably realized what his da would say and thought better of it.” Laughter greeted the third man’s pronouncement.
Charlotte’s mind raced to make sense of the words. Whoever these men were, they didn’t sound like the farmers Mrs. Norris usually hosted.
Chair legs scraped against the rough plank floor.
“We all know why we came.” This fourth man sounded older than the others, his words filled with calm purpose.
“Those corrupt fools in Toronto run this colony to suit themselves. It’s time for the people to rise up and take power into our own hands.
We will have a say in how this province is run. ”
“Hear! Hear!”
Charlotte was fully awake now, her heart thundering in her ears. The men spoke of rebellion. Not as a distant goal, either. An imminent uprising.
Her thoughts flew to Simon. Could he be a part of this? Her fingers scrabbled in the heavy quilts, seeking a grip to throw them off.
“You must rest.” The whisper beside her made her jump. Joshua sat in the shadows to her right.
“You heard them. Rebellion,” she whispered back. She pushed herself up and waited for the dizziness to pass.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. She was warm now, and the strange fuzziness in her head was gone. A weak trembling still dogged every movement, but that must be overcome. Simon might need her.
“I must get up,” she hissed, willing the remaining weakness in her legs to disappear.
“There’s nothing you can do.” Joshua’s hand came over hers on top of the quilt. “I looked. Your brother’s not among them.”
She let out a slow breath, the tension in her shoulders easing. “You’re certain?”
He nodded. “It’s only a handful of young men. You know how they talk.”
As if on cue, the room below broke out in raucous laughter, the tension seemingly forgotten. Joshua leaned closer, his low voice growing insistent. “Besides, what can you do? Climb down in your nightgown and convince them all to go home?”
The picture was so ridiculous, she nearly smiled. “Fair. But that doesn’t explain why you are hiding up here.” She’d often wondered where he stood on the rebellion.
Joshua’s eyes widened. “I . . . I’m not hiding.”
She waited, not taking her eyes from his face, willing him to trust her enough to share this part of himself. “I’ve wondered. You live in the heart of the unrest. Why haven’t you joined?” Or maybe you have. She didn’t voice this last thought aloud, though it had crossed her mind.
He sighed, staring down at his hands. “I understand the grievances. My father was a victim of land speculators as much as any.” His fingers clamped together until his knuckles turned white.
“Most newcomers must purchase their lot sight unseen.” He gave a dry, bitter laugh.
“Suffice it to say, ours was not as promised. No land cleared. No water access. No roads to bring our crops to market.” His voice had risen and he sent a conscious glance to the common room, but the flow of conversation below didn’t lessen.
“I reckon I understand what’s at stake more than most,” he continued, quieter now.
“But an armed rebellion . . . Well, my da always said violence only breeds violence.”
For once, it wasn’t Simon, nor her father, nor even Edenbrook that rose uppermost in her thoughts.
It was the Fosters, living isolated in the bush with impassable roads and no schools or churches.
Mrs. Norris, trading a night’s stay for whatever her clients had at hand because coins were so hard to come by.
She understood now what might draw Simon into the rebellion. He’d always been eager to fight injustice. After all, they’d grown up in their own Sherwood Forest.
“Have you heard of Robin Hood?”
It took Joshua a moment to answer her unexpected question. “That fellow who robbed from the rich to feed the poor?”
“It was our favorite game as children, Simon and I. He’d be Robin Hood, of course. I’d be Little John.”
“His best friend, wasn’t he?”
Charlotte smiled. “We spent hours in the woods with sticks as swords. Simon has always seen himself on the side of the poor. The more I hear about this rebellion, the more convinced I am that he’s involved.
It’s just like him, thinking he can ride in like Robin Hood and save the day.
And perhaps the rebels have the right of it, after all.
Surely good men must take a stand for what they believe in.
” She could scarcely believe the words that left her mouth. Was she defending the rebellion?
“Aye, stand up for it. Refuse to participate in injustice. Speak up for the rights of the poor, certainly. But to take up arms, to kill a man and deem it justified—” He broke off with a self-conscious look at her. “I’m sorry. Your father was a military man. I don’t mean to imply—”
“It’s all right. Father had a glorious career in the army, but it scarred him, I think.
” Charlotte had often wondered at the shadows in his eyes, the nervous energy that exploded into anger at the slightest provocation.
Mama could do nothing right in his eyes.
Neither could Simon. And the stranglehold he kept on Charlotte’s life wasn’t much better.
“I went to a meeting once.” Joshua’s voice called her back to the present.
She cocked her head in question. “A rebel meeting. I wanted to understand their plans and do my part for reform.” He shook his head.
“But the ale flowed and too soon it was only men shouting to see who could make the most noise. I wanted to make my voice heard but not like that. Besides, the risk if they should fail . . .” He looked up, startling her with the vulnerability in his eyes.
“I finally have a home. I . . . I couldn’t bear to lose it now. ”
It was Charlotte’s turn to look down, a lump in her throat. Home. The word meant as much to Joshua as it did to her. “I can understand that.”
From below came the thunk of bowls hitting the table. The conversation died down as the men dug into their supper. Charlotte’s stomach growled at the savory scent of stew wafting up the stairs.
She flushed and sent Joshua a self-conscious look, but he only grinned.
“I’m hungry, too, but we’ll have to wait until they clear out.” He picked up the cup on the bedside table and frowned. “It’s lukewarm but better than nothing.”
Tea, even nearly cold, was always comforting. Passing the cup back to Joshua, she started as their fingers touched. What power did he hold, to draw her in and make her forget everything but his presence, solid and steady before her?
“You’re still shivering,” he murmured, his gaze riveted on her trembling fingers. “Let’s get you tucked under the blankets again.”
It ought to feel strange to have a man so close, touching her, caring for her. But when Joshua Robertson leaned in, she didn’t want to recoil. Instead, she wanted to draw closer and catch his distinctive scent of wool and the outdoors. Feel his arms close around her and hold her tight.
She gasped at her errant thoughts, and he looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Something hurt?”
She shook her head. “No, no.”
He studied her a moment longer, bent over her so close that she could see the amber flecks in his eyes and the thick strand of dark hair that curled across his forehead.
Her heart raced and the blood sang through her veins.
She’d thought him handsome from the moment their paths first crossed, if a little rough and unkempt.
Now she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
His thumb brushed her cheek, spreading a warm tingle across her face and down her neck.
All thoughts of Simon, rebellion, and the agitators below faded away. There was only Joshua. Warm, secure. Exciting in a way she’d never experienced before. She wanted to stay in the shelter of his arms. She wanted to be closer. She wanted to . . . kiss him.
The thought should have sent her reeling. Instead, she leaned forward, willing him to close the last inches between them. He hesitated, and she thought for a moment she’d misread all the signs. What did she know about men? Perhaps he had no intention of kissing her.
The moment they’d shared in the cabin came back to her. She’d thought he meant to kiss her then, too, and she’d been wrong. Was she wrong now?
The thought filled her with dismay.
“Charlotte,” he said, his voice low and pleading.
She forced her swirling doubts aside and met his gaze. He seemed to ask a question he couldn’t put into words, his eyes bright with emotion. He must feel it, too.
Mama’s voice tried to speak then, warning her of impropriety. Her heart rebelled. Soon she’d say goodbye to Joshua and this adventure would become a memory. She might never meet a man like him again.
“Yes.” She hoped desperately that she’d read his unspoken question correctly.
He closed the space between them and his lips touched hers.
Gently, softly, as though he asked for permission still.
She returned the pressure to reassure him that she wanted this.
Then he kissed her again, and she forgot to think.
Heat surged in her veins and her arms crept around his neck to draw him closer.
Emotions coursed through her too quickly to be identified.
Hope, desire . . . perhaps even love. And under the thrill was the absolute security of being in his arms, a feeling of safety and belonging she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
It felt like coming home.
An insistent voice inside Joshua’s head had warned him. It was dangerous to get close to her. Their eventual parting was a certainty. This would only make it harder.
He ignored that voice, leaning closer, wrapping his arms around her, and deepening the kiss. He expected her to freeze and pull away. Instead, her arms tightened around his neck. The action warmed a place deep inside him that had all but forgotten the joy in human contact.
Easing back, he looked down at her, his fingers tangling in her dark hair, half out of its braid. He shouldn’t have given in. All week, he’d squashed every impulse that pushed him closer to her. She wasn’t for him. Too fine. Too clever.
Her smile, wide and tremulous, faded as she scanned his face. The warmth in her eyes disappeared and her brows came together in confusion. “Joshua?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, tearing his eyes away before he gave in to the wild temptation to kiss away that pucker of concern on her forehead. “Mrs. Norris would shoot me if she knew I’d taken advantage in such a way.”
“You didn’t take advantage.” Her hand came to his cheek, making him freeze. His eyes darted to her face. “I wanted—”
“How do we know she can be trusted?” A voice from below, strident and brutish, made them both jump.
Joshua straightened. Blast. That kiss had so distracted him, he’d forgotten all about the danger brewing.
“Aye, what if she turns informer?” It took Joshua a moment to realize they must be talking about Mrs. Norris.
There was a menace in the question that had Joshua rising from his seat. He crept to the edge of the loft for a glimpse of the room, ready to jump to his former employer’s defense.
“Don’t be foolish, Angus.” Mrs. Norris sounded as stern and unruffled as ever.
“I’ve known you since you were in short pants.
You think I’d spread tales?” Silence reigned.
No one was willing to answer her question.
“Aye, that’s what I thought. Now be off with you and stay out of trouble.
Informer, my eye.” She snorted. “I reckon you have more to fear from your da finding out what you’re up to. ”
The young men filed out the door, properly abashed, muttering beg pardons as they passed. Joshua smiled to himself. He should have known Mrs. Norris was more than up to the challenge of a few rowdy youths.
The door shut and he rose, peeking over the loft to ensure the room was empty.
Mrs. Norris was at the window. At the sound from above, she turned and met Joshua’s eye. “They’re gone. Come now and get some supper for that poor lassie.” She laughed then. “Imagine, them thinking there’s an informer in the house.”
Joshua paused halfway down the ladder, his heart in his throat.
Reality came crashing back, withering the warm tendrils of love and desire that simmered in his veins.
Simon. Henry. Cole. Thirty pounds. The list of barriers that should have made the kiss impossible came rushing back into focus, each name pounding through his brain and making bile rise in his throat.
If Charlotte ever found out he’d been sent to spy on her brother, she’d never forgive him. To all appearances, there was an informer in the house, only it wasn’t Mrs. Norris.
It was him.