And Kit still wasn’t certain what that move should be. To call in more soldiers to lead an attack in retaliation on French settlements to the north seemed pointless to Kit, though the governor’s men, safe in Boston, would probably counsel it. All that would bring would be more French soldiers or French-sponsored Indians and more suffering to the English families in his protection. And yet to ignore Robillard’s attack was cowardly and just as likely to bring more slayings and more kidnappings.
It was Sparhawk land that Robillard wanted, plain and simple. Kit believed that the man had only intended to cause enough damage to frighten away the English settlers on Kit’s holdings and weaken his claim, although, thought Kit grimly, Robillard had shown typical French disregard for English tenacity where good, rich land was concerned. The poor French trapper must have had the misfortune to wander through the Davies’ fields at the wrong time.
Likely he’d been one of Robillard’s own trappers to know him by name. Kit wondered if the other men had been French, as well, or Indians, Mohegans or Abenakis, in Robillard’s hire. Not that it really mattered.
Murder was the same in any tongue, and Kit wanted no more of it in his valley.
The two grave diggers tossed the last loose soil onto the new grave, hoisted their shovels over their shoulders and began the long walk back to Wickham ton
Dianna bent to lay a circle of wildflowers on the new grave, murmuring softly in French that, this time, Kit did not ask her to translate. Her eyes were dry, but her face was pale and solemn. The Frenchman’s death had shaken her more than she wanted to admit, and Kit longed to be able to spare her from such sorrow. He’d grant that her spirit was as strong as any woman’s, and her temper, too, but he could not forget that she’d been gently bred, and today her eyes were shadowed and her shoulders bent from sleeplessness and fatigue.
As they walked home in silence, Kit let his hand rest comfortably about her waist. Beside him she seemed so small, almost fragile. Yet there was no denying the strength of the passion that burned in that delicate frame, and at the memory of last night, his fingers slid down from her waist, fanning to caress the soft curve of her hip and buttocks. He heard her breath catch as she glanced up at him through her lashes, her eyebrows arched expectantly as her cheeks flushed.
“You tempt me sorely, lass,” he growled as he bent to kiss her neck behind her ear.
“I should toss you here, in plain sight of the house, to show you how dangerous your game can be.”
Dianna smiled shyly. Why was it with one touch he could make her forget everything else except him?
“Tonight, then, by the beeches,” she whispered, feeling daringly bold.
“I swear I won’t keep your cattle waiting,” It was all Kit could do to steady himself. With all her chattering about illegitimate children, she’d never mentioned herself. Even now his child could be growing in her belly, and for the first time the idea of fatherhood warmed him with pleasure. Pleasure, but responsibility, too, and he knew then what he would do about Robillard.
“Nay, lass, not tonight. I’ll say farewell to you now,” he said, too abruptly even to his own ears.
“There won’t be time alone when we’re back among the others before I leave.”
She stared up at him, uncomprehending.
“I’m going to find Robillard myself,” he explained hurriedly. Merciful heaven, why did those beautiful eyes have to be so full of questions?
“It’s me he wants, and it’s me he’ll have, and perhaps then he’ll listen to reason. My land’s English, not French, and there’s no law or treat that says otherwise. I’ll haul him clear to Quebecto prove it, if I must.”
“You’ll take soldiers with you?”
“Nay, I don’t want to give him any reason to send his men out to greet me with less than kind hospitality.”
The miserable jest fell flat, and he plunged on.
“I’ll go with Attawan, if I can find him on my way, but that’s all.”
Dianna stopped and yanked her arm away from his.
“Of all the braggartly, half-witted schemes—” “Dianna, I’ve lived all my life on this land and know it as well as my own parlor.”
“That’s not the point, is it?” she asked incredulously.
“You’re going to dance right into the arms of a man who’d like nothing more than to see you dead, a man who’s killed your own tenants to get at you. And just so you can have the honor of playing hero!”
She waved wildly at the fresh grave behind them.
“Look what he did to one of his own countrymen!
Why do you think he’ll be willing to change just because you asked him genteelly?”
“Is that really what you believe? That it’s only selfishness that makes me want to save the lives of my people? Aye, and your life, too, for I’m doing this as much for you as for anyone.” The depth of his feelings for her was still so new that he felt clumsy trying to put it into words.
“I do care what happens to you, Dianna.”
“Precious odd way you have of showing it, Master Sparhawk!”
“Dianna, listen to me—” “Nay, you listen to me! It’s your ludicrous man’s pride that makes you want to toss away your own life. Empty, vain, puffed-up pride that’s not worth a tinker’s dam!” Kit tried to take her hand, but she shoved him away so hard, she herself stumbled backward.
“Don’t you understand that every moment I spent with that poor man, I thought of how I’d feel if it were you lying there instead, with your life’s blood slipping away?”
Her voice caught on a sob, her words rising in an anguished wail.
“I hate this country! I hate how it turns every man into a murdering savage, and I hate the blood-letting and the revenge, and I hate–-oh, damn it, I hate how I’m crying, too, as if I truly cared what happened to your prideful, selfish hide!”
Once again Kit reached for her, and this time caught her wrist, but again she jerked away, her eyes bright with tears.
“That’s how you are with everything, Kit. Take it and force it to bend to your will, just because your name’s Sparhawk. But it won’t work with Frangis Robillard. And it won’t work with me.”
Dianna turned and fled, her bare feet flying beneath her skirts as she left Kit standing alone on the rutted dirt road. Her heart felt near to bursting, not from running, but from all that she’d heard and said.
She needed desperately to be alone, and she headed for the barn, hoping that at midday, all the workers’ and animals would be in the fields. The wide doors were thrown open to catch any breeze, and she paused in the doorway, her breath coming in great shuddering sobs, while her eyes grew accustomed to the shadowy barn.
“Dianna!” Mercy stepped from one of the empty stalls and grinned. Cradled in her arms was a white kitten patched with blac sleeping blissfully against the girl’s chest. Automatically Dianna reached out to straighten Mercy’s linen cap and pluck bits of straw from her apron.
“I’m glad you’ve come at last t’meet my Lily,” said the girl proudly.
“Lily, this be Dianna. She’ll be nice to ye, Lily, an’ she won’t shoo ye away like Hester.”
The girl held the little cat’s paw out to Dianna to shake.
“She be a fine catkin, my Lily,” Mercy said fondly, stroking the sleeping kitten. Suddenly she noticed Dianna’s tear-streaked face.
“Ye be moumin’ that Frenchman, don’t ye, Dianna?” she said with surprising empathy.
“Well, ye grieve howsomuch ye want out here, an’ I’ll not tell Hester.”
Not trusting her voice, Dianna knelt down and took Mercy in her arms, holding her tight until the kitten between them yowled in protest. With a shaky smile, Dianna sat hack on her heels. She’d had little time to spend with Mercy these past weeks, and she’d missed the girl’s company.
“We’ll make a special bed for Lily when we go home tonight, up in the loft with us. That way you can talk to her if she gets frightened in the night.”
Mercy’s grin widened, and with a pang Dianna noticed she’d lost another baby tooth.
“I want you and Lily to say goodbye to Kit and thank him for having us as guests at Plumstead. Hurry now, I think he’s likely at the house.”
“Nay, Mercy, he’s right here,” said Kit, and Dianna’s head whipped around. He stood with his legs widespread, a dark silhouette in the doorway against the bright afternoon. Though unable to see his face, Dianna could hear the anger barely contained in his voice, and she rose slowly as Mercy ran to meet him, poor Lily jiggling in her embrace.
Kit swept the little girl up into his arms.
“Mind you take good care of Lily,” he warned.
“I don’t give Tiger’s kittens to just anyone.”
Mercy giggled happily.
“Nay, ‘cause ye keep them all t’yerseff! Hester says th’bm be so overrun with cats Jonathan’ll have t’bring in rats from the’ shipyards t’keep ‘em busy’ “Aye, and right she may be. It’s well you’re taking Mistress Lily with you.” He kissed the top of her head before setting her back on her feet.
“NOW
off with you, poppet. I’ve things to say to our friend here.”
There was an ominous sound to that which Dianna did not like, and she squared her hands on her hips, ready for a baffle. He loomed before her, the sunlight behind him turning his tousled hair golden like a halo. Halo, hat More like the flames of hell, come to claim their own
He didn’t waste any time.
“I may be prideful and selfish, but I don’t run away at the first sign of a fight. It makes me madder than a hornet in a bottle the way you keep flying off like that, and I won’t have you doing it again!”
Dianna’s chin jerked higher.
“I believed, sir, our conversation was at an end.”
“Not by half, it wasn’t. Only a coward would say otherwise. And you, my lady, are no coward.”
In an instant his hands were around her waist, drawing her closer. This time her pride kept her from rebuffing him, from confirming the accusation he’d just made. Defiantly she tried to raise her eyes to meet his, but somehow the path was slower than she intended, from the triangle of curling hair at the open throat of his untied shi, along the stubborn strength of his jaw, already stubbled, to a mouth that, even set with sternness, could make her remember the sensual promise of kisses given and shared. She was certain she’d be betrayed by the pounding of her heart. Whether it raced from anger or desire she curiously couldn’t decide, and for the first time she realized how closely twined the two passions could be.
He tried to remember all the things he’d decided as he followed her here, but his mind was empty except for the vibrant reality of her before him, her pulse thrumming there in the softest place on her throat. Swiftly he plucked Dianna up as easily as he had Mercy, and perched her on the edge of a tack-box so that their faces were now level.
“You’re no coward, Dianna,” he repeated as his thumb found the little cleft in her chin and he tilted her face toward his.
“You’re brave and beautiful and unlike any other woman in this world, and I’m so in
Combme love with you that to leave you today will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
He caught her around the waist and slid her against him as his lips crushed hers. There was no coaxing or beguiling this time, no gentle seductions, only a raw urgency, a primal intensity that left both of them panting as their mouths met and moved hungrily against each other.
Then suddenly he pulled away, his breathing harsh. He closed his eyes and shook his head with the effort of stopping, and let his head tip forward until their foreheads touched.
“Dianna, sweetheart, this is how I’ll take my leave, with both of us half mad from wanting,” he said.
“Now you’ll believe me when I tell you nothing will keep me from coming back. Nothing could keep me from loving you, and I swear to you on my heart and honor that nothing will!”
And believe him she did.
Kit set off soon afterward. He decided to travel by canoe instead of horseback, knowing that in high summer the rivers would be both easier and swifter than making his way through the heavy brush. With his provisions and gunpowder bundled in a moose-hide to keep dry, he followed the Wickham River southwest, to where it joined the far larger Connecticut, and then headed north, toward Springfield and Deefiield, and Canada beyond. Even by water he guessed the journey would take him ten days, perhaps a week if the fair weather held, and then he planned to make certain all was well with his upriver sawmills. Only once before had he travelled to Rob-il lard holdings, and that was long ago, with his father. But though Kit’s recollection of the route was hazy, he trusted his path finding instincts enough to be sure he’d find it again.
The sun was hot on his shoulders, and he welcomed the physical exertion of paddling against the current and the solitude and the beauty of the land and river around him. Overhead wild ducks flew against the brilliant blue of the summer sky, and through the trees he caught glimpses of curious deer and moose watching him, This was what he’d missed most when he had gone to England for Jonathan, this sense of boundless freedom. He began humming to the rhythm of his strokes, a tune he later realized to his amusement w the one Dianna had sung so much better than Constance.
At twilight he paused only long enough to stretch his legs and eat the cold ham and corn bread that Hester had packed, and then he was off again. He was too restless to need sleep, too unsettled. He continued through the night by the same full moon’s light that had washed over him and Dianna the night before, and he marveled at how long ago that already seemed.
On the second night, he stopped at a small island, pulling the canoe well up beyond the sharp rocks of the riverbed and hiding it in the scrub pines. As boys, he and Jonathan had often come here, pretending the island was some Caribbean pirate stronghold, Strange to think that they could come all this way and still be on Sparhawk land, or so at least the parchment from his grandfather’s time called it. Kit remembered his grandfather well, a fierce old Puritan with cropped white hair. He had been a soldier with Cromwell at Marston Moor, rewarded with a grant in land too wild for lesser men to tame. His grandfather had taught Kit much about combat and swordplay and leading other men to fight, lessons that had saved his life more limes than he cared to count.