Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set] (128 page)

He was too stunned to say another word.

“You are a warrior, Lyon. But you are also a gentle, loving man. You wouldn’t have killed anyone who hadn’t challenged you. No, you hunt only jackals.”

He seemed to have trouble taking it all in. “Then why did you come to London to—”

“I knew you’d help me find the truth,” Christina said.

“I’m trying to tell you the truth.”

He was shouting again. Christina shook her head. “How can you tell me that when you haven’t even read the other letter?”

“If you two will forgive an old man’s interference,” Richards interjected.

“What is it?” Lyon snapped.

“Who is that man?” Christina asked Lyon.

“Fenton Richards,” Lyon said.

Christina recognized the name. She frowned at Lyon’s guest and then said, “Lyon cannot come back to work for you. His leg still has not healed to my satisfaction. It may be long years before he mends completely,” she added.

“Christina, how do you know about Richards?”

“Rhone,” she answered. “And you do talk in your sleep some nights,” she added. “I hadn’t thought to mention that flaw to you in front of an outsider, but …”

“Oh, hell,” Lyon muttered.

“Oh, my God,” Richards whispered.

“Don’t be concerned, sir,” Christina told Richards. “I will keep his secrets safe.”

Richards stared at her a long minute and then slowly nodded. “I believe you will,” he acknowledged.

“How did you know about my leg?” Lyon asked, drawing Christina’s attention again. “I haven’t complained. It has healed, damn it. Did Rhone—”

“The first night I met you I could tell you were in pain. I could see it in your eyes. You kept leaning against the mantel, too. That was another sign. Later I did question
Rhone, and he confessed that you’d injured your knee. And it hasn’t healed,” she added with a hasty glance in Richards’s direction.

Richards hid his smile. Lyon’s wife was a charmer. “The two of you seem to be at cross purposes,” he remarked. “Lyon, I don’t think your wife is upset about the news in her aunt’s letter. It’s something else, isn’t it, my dear?”

“Yes,” Christina answered. “The Countess enclosed a letter from my good friend. The writing on his envelope is by his hand, I’m certain of it, and the writing on the paper looks the same, but—”

“You don’t think it is. That’s the trickery you’re referring to?” Lyon asked.

She nodded. “See how the Countess ends her letter, Lyon? She tells me she hopes my friend hasn’t sent ill news.”

Her eyes filled with tears again. Lyon quickly read the letter from Deavenrue. He then held the envelope up next to the paper to compare the writing style. Christina held her breath and waited.

It didn’t take him long to see the differences. “It’s similar, but it isn’t the same. Richards, you want to have a look at this?” Lyon asked. “Another opinion would make Christina rest easy.”

Richards leapt out of his chair, his curiosity nearly out of control, and snatched the envelope and the letter. He soon saw the discrepancies. “Oh, yes. The letter was written by another hand. It is a deception.”

He then read the contents. His gaze was sympathetic when he looked at Christina again. “These people in the wilderness … they were like family to you?”

Christina nodded. “What is spotted fever?” she asked, frowning. “The letter says they died of—”

“God only knows,” Lyon said.

“Who is responsible for this?” Richards asked. “What kind of monster would do such a thing?”

“Christina’s aunt.” Lyon’s voice sounded his anger.

Richards dropped the letter on the desk. “Forgive me for saying this, Christina, but I believe your aunt is a—”

“Think it but don’t say it,” Lyon interrupted before Richards could finish his sentence.

Christina sagged against Lyon’s chair. Lyon put his arm around her waist. “I still don’t understand how it was done. The seal wasn’t disturbed.”

Richards was the one who explained how easy it was to use steam to open an envelope. “An expert would have been able to tell, my dear,” he said.

Richards left minutes later. As soon as the door closed behind him, Christina burst into tears. Lyon pulled her onto his lap. He hugged her close to him.

He didn’t try to quiet her. She had a good store of tears, and it was quite a while before her racking sobs slowed down.

“I’ve gotten your shirt all wet,” Christina whispered between hiccups.

She obviously wasn’t ready to do anything about it. Christina cuddled up against his chest, tucked her head under his chin, and let out a weary sigh.

She didn’t move again for a long time. Lyon thought she might have fallen asleep. He didn’t mind. He’d hold her close for the rest of the afternoon, if that was what she needed. In truth, he thought it might take him that long to rid himself of his anger.

Richards had meant to call the Countess a bitch, Lyon decided. The old bat was that, all right, and more.

Christina’s mind must have been following the same path, for she suddenly whispered, “Do you know that I used to believe all the English were like my aunt?”

He didn’t answer her. But his breath caught in his throat, and he prayed his silence would encourage her to tell him more.

His patience was rewarded minutes later.

“My father hated the whites. And when I lived with the Countess in Boston, my only friend was Mr. Deavenrue. He is the one who took me to my aunt, and he would come every day to tutor me. I wasn’t permitted to go outdoors. The Countess kept telling me she was ashamed of me. I was
very confused. I didn’t understand why she believed I was so unworthy.”

“You aren’t, my love,” Lyon said emphatically. “You are very, very worthy.”

Christina nodded. “It is good of you to notice,” she said.

He smiled over the sincerity in her voice.

And then he waited for her to tell him more.

It seemed an eternity had passed before she spoke again. “She used to lock me in my room at night. I tried not to hate her for that.”

Lyon closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. He could feel her anguish. It washed over him like hot lava until his eyes smarted with tears.

“I couldn’t stand being locked in like that. I finally put a stop to it.”

“How, sweetheart?”

“I took the hinges off the door,” Christina confessed. “The Countess started bolting her bedroom door then. She was afraid of me. I didn’t mind that. She’s old, Lyon, and for that reason I tried to respect her. It is what my mother would have wanted.”

“Jessica?”

“No, I never knew Jessica.”

“Then who?”

“Merry.”

Lyon couldn’t stop himself from asking her another question. “And does she also hate the whites?”

“Oh, no, Merry doesn’t hate anyone.”

“But the man you call Father does?”

He didn’t think she was going to answer him. The silence stretched between them for long minutes.

He shouldn’t have prodded her, he told himself. Damn, he’d only just vowed never to ask her any more questions.

“Yes, he does,” Christina whispered. “But not me, of course. My father loves me with all his heart.”

Christina waited for his reaction. Her heart pounded furiously.

Lyon didn’t say a word. Christina decided then that he hadn’t understood.

“I have a brother.”

Nothing. Not a word, not a sigh, not even a mutter. “His name is White Eagle.”

A slow smile settled on Lyon’s face.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Lyon?” she asked.

He kissed the top of her head. “I understand,” he whispered. He cupped the sides of her face and gently forced her mouth upward. He kissed her tenderly.

And then he soothed her fears away. “I understand that I am the most fortunate man in all the world. I never believed I’d find anyone I could love the way I love you, Christina. I owe your family a great debt, sweetheart. They kept you safe for me.”

“You don’t know them, and yet you sound as if you care about them,” Christina whispered. Her voice shook with emotion.

“Of course I care,” Lyon said. “Your mother must be a gentle, loving woman, and your father …”

“A proud warrior,” Christina supplied. “As proud as you, Lyon.”

“I love you, Christina. Did you really believe that your background would make me think you were less than—”

“I have never felt unworthy. Never. I am a lioness. In truth, I thought the English were unworthy … until I met you.”

Lyon smiled. “You have gained some of your father’s arrogance,” he noted. “That pleases me.”

“It isn’t going to be easy for you, Lyon. I have different habits. I don’t want to have to pretend any longer. At least not when we are alone …”

“Good. I don’t want you to pretend whatever it is you pretend either,” Lyon announced. He laughed then, for he didn’t have the faintest idea what he’d just said.

“I love you, Lyon,” Christina whispered. Her fingers caressed the nape of his neck. “Lyon? I want …”

“I do too,” Lyon growled. He kissed her again, hungrily this time. His tongue plunged inside to taste, to stroke. Christina curled her arms around his neck. She’d meant to
tell him she wanted to go home to Lyonwood, but his kiss soon pushed that thought aside. His mouth slanted over hers, again and again, until her breath was little more that a soft pant.

“Let’s go upstairs, Lyon,” she whispered between passionate kisses.

“There isn’t time, Christina.”

“Lyon!”

He tried to smile over the demand in her voice, but he was too occupied trying to hold onto his control. Christina was rubbing against his arousal, nipping his earlobe with her teeth, and stroking him wild with her hands.

He couldn’t have made it up the stairs if his life had depended upon it.

Chapter Fourteen
 

He came during the night, while everyone was sleeping. The Jacksons had made their beds outside. It was bitterly cold, but Jacob wanted privacy, and for that reason he’d made a small tent.

I heard a strange sound, and when I looked outside the wagon I saw a man bent over Emily and Jacob. I called out to the man, still not realizing the danger. In my mind I thought it was Jacob’s turn to take the watch.

The man stood and turned into the moonlight. The scream was trapped in my throat. Edward had come after me. He held a bloody knife in his hand.

I was so stunned and so terrified I could barely move. You were the one who forced me into action, Christina. Yes, for when you awakened and started to whimper, I came out of my stupor. I wasn’t going to let Edward kill you.

I grabbed Jacob’s hunting knife just as Edward climbed into the wagon. I screamed and thrust the blade in his face. Edward snarled in pain. The tip of the knife cut the edge of his eye. “Give me the jewels,” he demanded as he knocked the weapon out of my hands.

The camp awakened to my screams. Edward heard the shouts of confusion behind him. He told me he’d come back to kill me. He looked over at the basket you slept in, Christina, then turned back to me. “I’ll kill her first. You should have let Patricia have her,” he added with a sneer before he slithered out of the wagon.

The Jacksons were dead. Their throats had been slashed. I told the wagonmaster I’d heard a sound and had seen a man leaning over Jacob and Emily.

A search was made of the camp. The light was poor, and Edward wasn’t found.

Several hours later the camp again settled down. Three times the number of guards were posted as a precaution, and it had been decided that the burial for the Jacksons would take place at daybreak.

I waited, then bundled you up and calmly rode out of the camp. I didn’t know where I was going, didn’t care.

I had failed you, Christina. It was over. It was only a matter of time before Edward hunted us down.

Journal entry      
October 20, 1795

It was early afternoon when Lyon kissed Christina goodbye. She assumed he was going to meet Rhone for their scheduled card game. Lyon, in his haste to make the necessary arrangements for Jack’s arrival at Rhone’s house, didn’t take the time to set his wife straight. He told her only that the card game had been delayed and that he had important business to see to.

Christina had just changed into a deep blue dress when Kathleen announced that Lady Diana was downstairs waiting to see her.

“She’s terribly upset about something,” Kathleen told her mistress. “The poor dear is crying.”

Christina hurried down the winding staircase. When Diana saw her, she blurted out the news about Rhone.

Christina led her sister-in-law into the drawing room, then sat down beside her and patted her hand while she poured out the full story.

“The poor man is innocent,” Diana sobbed. “He’s trying to be so noble, too. Did you know he is even having parties every night? Oh, if only Lyon will come home soon so that I can tell him what has happened. He will know what to do.”

“I’m sure he’ll find out very soon,” Christina said. “This is all my fault,” she added.

“How can it be your fault?” Diana asked.

Christina didn’t answer her. She felt responsible for Rhone’s problem. She was the one who’d wounded him, after all, and the guilt belonged on her shoulders.