Moonlight Rebel Page 8

  Lucinda was about to protest, but her tongue failed her. She had been meek all her life, and living with the McKinleys had only intensified that characteristic. The only one who didn't intimidate her was Jason. He had an endearing way about him, and he was kind to her. So she took a deep breath, trying to put the reason for her latest bout of tears from her mind. She had just found Aaron out —again. It was his third indiscretion in as many months. Her mother had told her that such things were to be borne in silence. After all, men had to have their needs fulfilled, animals that they were.

  But Lucinda had never thought of Aaron as an animal. She loved him. Theirs had been an arranged match that had thrilled her to the bottom of her very soul. Her parents had had little hope for her, always remarking on how plain she was and how she would be lucky to get any man, despite the large dowry that came with her hand. When Aaron McKinley had asked her to be his wife, she had been delirious with joy. She didn't care that it was her money he was marrying. If that was what it took to win him, so be it.

  And those nights that her mother hadn't explained about, merely shaking her head and frowning, they had been filled with warmth and excitement. She enjoyed having Aaron make love to her, although she would not say so, for to admit it would be the mark of a common woman. But that had all but ceased completely once Christopher had been born. She had performed well. She had given the McKinleys a male child to carry on the lineage. There was no further need for her.

  Lucinda was tall and pale, with large, graceless hands and a small bosom. She had no weapons at her disposal to keep Aaron from straying, and had almost resigned herself to his finding his pleasure elsewhere. But the pain never left her.

  Once in the room, Jason turned toward his sister-in-law and saw traces of the tears she had hastily wiped away. His expression changed to one of understanding. "He's not worth it, Lu," he told her softly.

  "Yes, he is, Jason," she whispered quietly, looking down at her hands. "He's worth everything." Then she took a deep breath and looked at the woman with Jason. Lucinda smiled at Krystyna hesitantly. "What can I do for you, Jason?"

  Jason stood back. "Lucinda, this is Krystyna. She doesn't seem to have a last name, but her uncle was Jan, our former overseer. She seems to be badly in need of clothing, as you can see for yourself. I thought that perhaps you might be able to find something for her to wear so that she won't embarrass me at dinner."

  "Yes, of course," Lucinda murmured, never thinking to question him as to where he'd found Krystyna or why he had brought her here. She had been raised never to question, only to acquiesce.

  Krystyna raised her head high, her eyes flashing with an indignation Jason could only stand back and admire, even though it was directed at him. He had always applauded spirit. Turning his back on her now, he took Lucinda by the arm as he began to leave the room. "She's had a bad time of it," he confided, lowering his voice. "Her father was murdered yesterday by mercenaries. I can't get much out of her, but she's obviously running away from something." His mind shifted to another question. "Wasn't Jan Polish or something like that?"

  Lucinda nodded. "Yes, I think so." She glanced over her shoulder at Krystyna. Jason saw pity and sympathy in her face. Lucinda had a very large, loving heart, which was why Jason liked her so well. His brother, he had always felt, was too stupid to realize what he had.

  "See if you can get her to let down her guard a little and perhaps open up to you."

  "If she didn't open up to you, Jason, there's precious little I can do," Lucinda told him with a small, self-deprecating smile.

  Jason kissed Lucinda's forehead. "Try." He placed a hand on the door, about to leave. Then he looked at the regal woman in the center of the room. Someday I'll tame you, he silently promised.

  Aloud, he said, "Be nice to my sister-in-law, or I'll come back and help dress you myself."

  Krystyna averted her face and said nothing until she heard the door close. When she opened her eyes again, it was to see the tall woman regarding her from across the room. The woman's eyes were kind, but it was easy to see that she had been crying. Small wonder. Everyone should cry in this terrible, godforsaken place. Still, this woman did seem nice enough, although Krystyna didn't like the fact that she seemed almost afraid of her. She was twisting the edge of her handkerchief with both hands.

  "I am sorry," Krystyna finally said, coming forward. The edge was gone from her voice, and she spoke the way she might to a frightened servant. She disliked people who enjoyed the power of terrifying others. "He said your name too quickly."

  "It's Lucinda." Lucinda was at a loss as to what to say further. All her life she had been raised to stand in the background and blend in with whatever was there. To be barely seen and heard. She did not know how to take the first step. She was even shy with her own son now that he had grown past early childhood.

  Krystyna smiled and saw relief begin to pass over the woman's tense features. "It is a very pretty name." Krystyna looked down at her clothing. She was still wearing Jason's jacket and longed to take it off. It was warm in the house. "Jason said you would be kind enough to loan me some suitable clothing," she prodded, glancing toward the large armoire. "Mine was stolen."

  Lucinda's mothering instincts came to the fore. She placed an arm around Krystyna's shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. "Oh, you poor dear. And they tell us not to be afraid. There are highwaymen everywhere."

  Murderers riding the roads. Krystyna tried not to shiver. "Are there Indians here, too?" she asked as she watched Lucinda open the doors to the cedar closet.

  Lucinda began sorting through several different dresses in an effort to find something suitable for Krystyna to wear. The younger woman was at least four inches shorter than she was.

  "None to worry about, my dear. The last of the tribes was pushed further west, oh," she stopped to consider, "some ten years ago." Lucinda shook her head. "Poor people. Still, I suppose that there is lots of land out there for them." She lingered over a pale muslin dress, then decided against it.

  The lines about Krystyna's mouth hardened as she remembered. "That was what they once said about the people of my country. We went from sea to sea then. We are much fewer now, and they are still trying to slice pieces of our land away."

  Lucinda looked up from the closet, surprised at the anger in the other woman's voice. "I'm sorry. I meant no harm. I just . . ." Her voice trailed off as she fumbled for words.

  Krystyna held out her hand. "No, it is my fault. I did not mean to sound so harsh. I am hungry and tired, and I do not keep track of my manners. Please forgive me."

  Lucinda flushed and smiled in return. She couldn't remember anyone ever apologizing to her. Despite all her good intentions, somehow she always managed to get into people's way. Savannah regarded her with nothing but scorn. Her father-in-law had little patience with her, but then, his patience did not last long with anyone. And Aaron, Aaron was indifferent to her. Only Jason showed her kindness and courtesy. But even he had never apologized for the few times he had hurt her without meaning to.

  "I ... I think this might fit." Quickly, Lucinda took out a white dress with delicate blue flowers scattered across it. The bodice was rather low and daring. Lucinda had never worked up enough courage to wear it. And when the dressmaker had made it, she had cut it a little too short. It would be perfect for Krystyna.

  She held the dress up against Krystyna and saw her smile. The fabric was not nearly as fine as those Krystyna was used to, but after having spent two days without changing, anything would be a welcome respite. She accepted the dress gratefully.

  "There are some combs and ornaments on the commode. You may use them on your hair, if you'd like." Lucinda gestured toward the mahogany cabinet. She nervously touched the severe bun she wore. "I ... I don't really use anything myself."

  Krystyna cast a quick glance at her hostess and smiled warmly. There were great possibilities there. "Perhaps I could help you with that, later," she offered. The hair style was far too old for the you
ng face beneath it, she decided. But the woman was obviously afraid to try anything different. Perhaps I can change that, Krystyna mused, if I am forced to stay awhile.

  "That would be nice," Lucinda murmured, stepping out of Krystyna's way. She pointed toward a basin and a pitcher of water. "I'll leave you alone now."

  Quickly, she hurried away.

  Krystyna shook her head as she watched the woman disappear in the mirror, then turned her attention toward her own toiletry.

  Chapter Eight

  Jason had no time to take the bath he so sorely craved. Since the elder McKinley was expected at any moment, he had to hurry. His father hated to be kept waiting for dinner.

  Father hates to be kept waiting for anything, Jason thought as he painfully scraped away the last of his beard. The face that looked back at him from the small, oval mirror that hung above the basin was lean, with a strong nose and high cheekbones. He found himself wondering if what he saw would please Krystyna. He knew a clean-shaven face would please his father far more than a bearded one. Unlike most men in the area, his father had a strong distaste for facial hair.

  He had barely managed to don a clean shirt when the dinner bell rang. His father was home. "Speak of the devil," Jason muttered to himself. He wondered how the older man, with his dislike of anything that had to do with aristocracy, would react to Krystyna. This first meeting between the two should prove to be interesting, Jason thought.

  Adjusting his waistcoat, he went downstairs to join the others.

  Savannah was already seated in the dining room. Arranged is more like it, Jason decided. She always looked as if she were preparing to hold court. Practicing, no doubt, for the future. At her side was her fiance. Jason shook his head. He detested Winthrop Rutherford. The man was an annoying fool. With all the land the McKinley family had to offer, not to mention Savannah's physical attributes and the fact that women were scarce in the Colonies, one would have thought she could have done better for herself than this overconfident popinjay.

  But Savannah was passionately interested in titles, and Winthrop's family could boast of many in their ancestral tree, both near and far. He was assured of a post in the government here, and he had broadly hinted that he was in line for a dukedom in England, albeit somewhat remotely.

  If enough people conveniently died for him, the man would attain a place in the House of Lords. It is almost enough to make one feel sorry for the British, Jason thought.

  He studied his sister with an unbiased eye. She was petite and slender, well formed at waist and hip, and had a full, high bosom. Her long blond hair was swept back from her pale, oval face and held in place by a network of ribbons and pins. Winthrop fairly drooled over her whenever they were together. Why Savannah couldn't open her eyes and see the man for what he was, a whining, weak-willed bully, Jason couldn't begin to understand. But that was Savannah's affair. Lovely though she was, there was no denying that she was spoiled and had a nasty temper. Perhaps she and Winthrop deserved each other after all.

  Aaron was another matter. As far as Jason was concerned, his older brother did not merit someone as loyal and loving as Lucinda, no matter how plain of face she was. To look at the two men, one could not guess that he and Aaron were brothers. Jason had inherited the best from both his parents, taking on his father's strong features, but tempering them with his late mother's fine, aristocratic lines. There was no doubt that he was considered quite handsome by the ladies in the county.

  Aaron's features, on the other hand, were thick, rather than strong, and his face lacked the strength of character that was evident in Morgan's face. Aaron had inherited his mother's rather weak chin and his father's broad cheeks, wide nose, and high forehead.

  And while Jason's broad chest was reminiscent of his father, his tapering waist and narrow hips certainly were not. Aaron's waist was not that much smaller than his chest, and he had none of the stature of his father and younger brother. Indeed, in his stockinged feet he was only two inches taller than Savannah.

  Jason poured himself a glass of wine, suddenly feeling a need to be fortified for this gathering. He raised the glass to his lips as he glanced at the three already seated at the table. He downed the ruby liquid quickly. The momentary sting it created felt good, warming his bones. Behind him, he heard hurried footsteps. Undoubtedly Lucinda, he mused, worried about being late and offending the old man.

  Glass still in hand, he turned toward the entrance, and Lucinda came rushing in, her face flushed, her manner flustered. Jason smiled and nodded a greeting. In truth, he thought, Lucinda is not all that unattractive. Though she dresses plainly, she has her own style of beauty. And she cares about other people, about their feelings. It was her meekness that made one forget her features once she was out of sight. Savannah, he was sorry to acknowledge, cared about no one but herself.

  As he took his seat across from Savannah and next to Lucinda, he thought it sad that one could not pick one's relations.

  Aaron glared at Jason. "Certainly took your time getting back." He was about to continue his criticism of his younger brother's behavior when he chanced to look toward the doorway. The flow of words abruptly dried on his tongue as his mouth hung open.

  Everyone in the room turned to see what had caught Aaron so unprepared. Jason knew before he glanced up.

  My God, he thought, she is breathtaking.

  Without being fully aware of his actions, he rose and crossed to the doorway, offering her his elbow. She had the air of a queen condescending to visit the peasants.

  Krystyna had had barely twenty minutes to make herself presentable, but she took great pride in being swift. She had never seen a reason to spend a great deal of time preparing herself to greet company, and nature had been very kind to her. Little was needed to make her look as comely as possible.

  Using some of what Lucinda had left on the bureau for her, Krystyna had arranged her hair on top of her head and had secured it with two pearl-clustered combs. And the gown Lucinda had given her fit as if it had been made for her. It adhered pleasingly to the curves of her body and made Jason vividly remember the other night and the way she had felt in his arms. He felt a demanding ache fill his body again.

  Krystyna could hardly keep her eyes from him. At first, when he came toward her, it was his walk and his eyes that she recognized, not his face. Without his beard, his face was appealingly rugged and handsome, enhanced by an olive complexion and a cleft chin. When he smiled, as he did now, his face lit up and his eyes sparkled. Thick, black hair covered his ears and brushed the top of his collar. She remembered how soft it had felt when her hands had tangled in it. Her blood hummed in her veins. It was with a great deal of effort that Krystyna managed to look away.

  Since she hadn't even acknowledged him, Jason decided to prompt her. "May I escort you to the table?"

  Regaining her composure, Krystyna nodded and allowed herself to smile.

  Lucinda felt pleased that her gown looked so well on someone else. It would be a shame to waste such a pretty frock. She glanced about furtively to see how the others received this lovely woman. They all appeared surprised and somewhat taken with this stranger, except for Savannah. She was glaring.

  Savannah hadn't failed to note that Winthrop had all but dropped his glass at the sight of this unknown woman. She wasn't accustomed to competition. She had always been the center of attraction, wherever she was. It galled her to lose that standing now, and she took an instant dislike to the intruder her brother had found only the Good Lord knew where.

  "Close your mouth, Aaron. You'll catch flies," she snapped. Aaron failed to respond. He was too taken with the strange woman. It was Lucinda who blushed for him and looked down at her plate.

  Savannah sharpened her claws. "Where did you find this one, Jason?"

  As she had intended, Krystyna gathered that Jason was in the habit of bringing home women. The knowledge stung, but she didn't let her reaction show. She drew herself up to her full height and tossed her head, annoyed at being s
poken around and not to.

  "Mr. McKinley was kind enough to come to my rescue after two men killed my father." Her words were like ice, and the look she gave Savannah cut the young woman dead. Savannah's eyes narrowed.

  Jason smiled to himself. Krystyna might have needed help when he had first encountered her, but she certainly knew how to hold her own here.

  "And just what is your name, miss?"

  Krystyna turned. In the doorway stood Morgan McKinley, as regal-looking a man as ever had been regarded. A true patriarch. He reminded her of her father, though their faces were nothing alike. It was their bearing that made them kinsmen.

  There was still dust on Morgan's coat from the long, hard ride, but he would not allow anyone to be late for dinner, including himself.

  The old man and the young woman eyed one another in silence for a long, drawn-out moment. Krystyna sensed that this was the man to please and that he was not the sort who suffered weak people well. The simple sentence he had uttered was a challenge.

  Morgan Dylan McKinley was a born despot who could be benevolent if the situation called for it. But he would brook no rebellion, stand for no disobedience to his laws. He was a hard master, but a fair one. His people loved him as much as they feared him. And he had no love for the aristocracy. He carried a small scar on the left side of his temple, a "gift," as he referred to it, from a lord's sword for not obeying an order fast enough. Shortly thereafter, the thirteen-year-old Morgan had fled, managing to get himself passage to the Colonies.

  He had spent his youth and a good deal of his health creating an empire, carving it out of the Virginia wilderness. There had been no time to marry until he had been well into his thirties, and the children who came of that union hadn't gladdened his heart —save Jason. In him he saw echoes of himself, and it angered him greatly that Jason was so apathetic about the pending war that loomed over them.