Charlotte Gable had fallen under his spell, giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl when he’d singled her out to turn the pages of his sheet music. From her vantage point, Fiona watched as Charlotte’s young husband, Schuyler, became more and more withdrawn. While the men drank their beer and talked about their farms, Schuyler merely scowled at his wife as she sat close beside Flem on the piano bench.
On a rug in front of the fire Edmer and Will huddled together, heads bent in quiet confidence. It occurred to Fiona that these two boys had become unlikely allies. Perhaps in time, they might even become friends. And that could change them both.
Feeling relaxed and content Fiona accepted a second cup of tea from her hostess. “You’ve a lovely home, Mrs. Rudd.”
“Thank you, Miss Downey.”
“And the Christmas supper was grand,” Rose chimed in. She glanced over at her husband, who was beginning to show the strain of such a long day. “But I do believe it’s time we headed home.”
Lida Rudd lowered her voice. “Broderick has made a remarkable recovery, hasn’t he?”
Rose nodded. “Dr. Eberhardt told me at services that he was astounded by the improvement he has seen in the past months. He has no idea what the future holds, since Broderick has already surpassed all expectations.”
“You must be proud of your husband.”
Rose gave a thin smile. “He’s a stubborn man. Too stubborn to allow even illness to rule his life.”
“I would call that most fortunate for you,” Lida said with a laugh.
Rose set aside her tea and crossed the room to whisper to her husband.
Minutes later Broderick stood and offered his hand to his host. “I thank you for this lovely supper, Christian.”
The rest of the guests took this as a signal to end their visit, as well.
Fiona followed Gray and his family to the door, where, after retrieving coats and scarves and gloves, everyone prepared to take their leave, with Reverend Schmidt and his wife in the first wagon, and Dolph and Will VanderSleet following close behind.
Schuyler Gable looked around before saying to his hostess, “Where has my wife gone?”
Before Lida could begin to search for her missing guest, Charlotte and Flem stepped from the parlor. Though the young woman’s face was flushed, and her demeanor clearly flustered, Flem merely smiled and held up his sheet music. “I almost left this behind.”
Lida Rudd put a hand on his arm. “Thank you again, Fleming. Your music added so much to our evening. Why, if I hadn’t known you all your life, I’d think you were a professional musician.”
His smile became dazzling. “You couldn’t have paid me a higher compliment, Mrs. Rudd.”
As their family started toward the waiting horses the crisp night air rang with the sound of their happy voices calling out their goodbyes to their hosts.
Gray settled Fiona in the sleigh before climbing in beside her. Flem walked to the other side. When he was seated, and had tucked the fur around them, Gray flicked the reins and the horse started up, keeping a short distance behind the lantern that swayed on the back of their father’s wagon.
They had gone some distance before Flem began chuckling.
Gray glanced over. “What is amusing you?”
“Schuyler Gable. If he doesn’t take better care of that pretty little wife of his, he may lose her.”
Gray’s voice became dangerously soft. “Schuyler Gable is a good friend, Flem.”
Flem’s voice turned sullen. “What’s that supposed to mean’?”
“We’ll talk about this when we’re alone.”
“No. We’ll talk about it now. Say what you’re thinking, brother.”
Gray sighed. “There is a line you cannot cross with a man’s wife.”
Flem threw back his head and laughed. “What if the wife is more than willing to step across?”
“She’s young. Unsure of her role as a bride. Someone like you can easily dazzle her.”
“Someone like me?”
Gray snapped the reins and said through clenched teeth, “All that charm.”
“You make it sound like a vice. At least you’re willing to admit I’m charming.”
“Oh, you’re charming, Flem, and you know how to use it. But Schuyler and his wife deserve better from you.”
“Why? Because I didn’t want to marry her? If I’d asked her, she’d have been mine instead of his, and he knows it.”
“Maybe. But you didn’t ask her, did you?”
“Why should I? Why would I want to tie myself to one woman for the rest of my life, when I can have them all?”
Gray suddenly swore and reined in the horse. Though they came close to colliding with the wagon in front of them, he managed to bring the horse to a halt just in time.
He was out of the sleigh in an instant and racing ahead to his father’s side. Minutes later he returned, slightly out of breath.
“You’ll have to drive the sleigh, Flem. Papa’s too weary to handle the team any longer.”
As Gray walked away and pulled himself up to the wagon seat, Fiona’s heart plummeted. This beautiful day had just come to an abrupt, and most unpleasant, end.
FIFTEEN
By the time Flem brought the sleigh to a halt at the barn, Gray was unhitching the team from his father’s wagon. He barely looked up from his task. “You might want to see if Ma needs a hand with Papa. I’ll unhitch Strawberry for you.”
Flem seemed grateful to escape the unpleasant chore. After helping Fiona out of the sleigh, he hurried to the house, leaving her to fold the fur lap robe and set it aside. That done, she watched as Gray took out his still smoldering anger on the harness, tossing it over the rail of a stall with such force she feared the leather might split.
Her first thought was to leave him alone with his dark mood. He seemed in no frame of mind to accept something as unimportant as her meager thanks, but there might never be another time for her to express her appreciation. She settled herself quietly on a bale of hay and watched as he turned the horses into their stalls and saw to the dozens of small tasks required for their comfort. He seemed to take particular pleasure in stabbing a pitchfork into a mound of hay and scattering it into each stall, before pouring water from a bucket into each trough.
Finally he slammed the last stall shut, unhooked the lantern from a peg on the wall, and turned.
That was when he spotted Fiona sitting as still as a barn cat in the shadows.
His voice was harsher than he intended. “It’s too cold to stay out here. You should be indoors, by the fire.”
“I’m not cold, Gray. Besides, I wanted a moment alone to thank you for that lovely surprise.”
He looked ill at ease at the mention of his gift. “I saw it in the catalog when I was searching for Flem’s music. I hoped it would be to your liking.”
“Liking? How could I not like something so thoughtful?” She gave a little laugh and closed her eyes, quoting from one of her favorite poems.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day’s most quiet need, by sun and candlelight...
As her voice trailed off she opened her eyes to see Gray staring at her in a way that had her heart stammering. “What is it, Gray? What’s wrong?”
He shook his head and turned away. “Nothing. I’m glad my little surprise pleased you.”
“Oh, Gray.” Without thinking she crossed to him and lay a hand on his arm. “I thought nothing could please me more than the slates. But when I found that book on my pillow, I was moved to tears. I thought...” She shook her head, sending dark curls dancing around her face. “I thought I would feel so miserably alone this year, so far from home and family, without Da and Mum. But all that changed with your gift.” Impulsively she stood on tiptoe and brushed a kiss over his cheek.
She was aware that he’d gone very still. In his eyes
was a strange, almost haunted look. Then he blinked, and the look was gone.
Alarmed that she had offended him by her boldness, she took a quick step back. “Goodnight, Gray. Thanks to you, this has been a truly wonderful Christmas.”
With a swirl of skirts and petticoats she danced away, leaving him to stare after her.
For the longest time he merely stood watching, until she disappeared inside the house.
When at last he picked up the lantern and started across the yard, a figure stepped from the darkness and watched his departure through narrowed eyes.
* * *
Fiona slipped into her cotton nightdress and turned down the covers of her bed, but instead of blowing out the lantern, she left it burning while she opened her precious book and began to read.
The words of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s love poem were so beautiful they brought tears to her eyes.
She understood the kind of special love the poet wrote about. Had witnessed it every day of her life between her Da and Mum. What’s more, her parents had loved her just as freely, and had expressed that love for their only child without restrictions.
But what she was feeling for Gray was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It was neither the comfortable love she’d felt for her parents nor the pleasant love she’d felt for friends.
Just what was she feeling for Gray? How could it possibly be love, when she felt so quivery. inside? When he touched her, she felt hot and cold and almost sick to her stomach. These feelings churning inside her were so new, so frightening, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of them.
What about Gray’s feelings for her? Whenever he looked at her, there was no warmth in his eyes. No smiling curve of his lips. Instead, he seemed always tense and angry. As though everything about her made him want to turn away.
Only a fool would mistake such outward expressions of discomfort for love. And yet, what else was she to make of his gift?
She pressed the book to her heart and closed her eyes, thinking back to that impetuous moment when she’d kissed Gray’s cheek. He’d been startled, of course. But there had been something else in his eyes. Something so dark, so intense, it had caused her heart to leap like a flame in dry straw.
Oh, Da. With a sigh she leaned over and blew out the lantern, before drawing the blankets around her shoulders. How will I ever know whether this thing I’m feeling is love, or just gratitude for the kindness of a friend?
She could feel herself drifting on that soft cloud of contentment that was a prelude to sleep. Suddenly she was alert. A sound had her eyes snapping open. She lay a moment, hearing the distant scrape of the barn door, and then the muffled hoofbeats that could only mean that Flem was heading out on one of his midnight excursions.
“Oh, Flem.” Her muttered words were tinged with exasperation. “Even on Christmas night?”
Minutes later silence descended once more and she huddled under her blanket, willing herself to sleep.
* * *
The dream had Fiona’s lips curving into the merest hint of a smile. She was walking the campus of Bennett College with Da, who had stopped Mrs. Murphy to boast that his daughter was a fine and gifted teacher.
At the sound of Mrs. Murphy’s brogue, Fiona hugged her arms about herself and thought how much she’d missed that lovely sound.
Mrs. Murphy opened her mouth to say something else, but the words were lost when Fiona’s mattress suddenly shifted, as though something heavy had settled on it.
“What...?” She was instantly awake.
Her protest was cut off as a hand closed over her mouth. In a suffocating panic she pried at the offending hand, but her strength was no match for the one holding her down.
“Don’t be afraid.” Flem’s voice, little more than a whisper, had her eyes going wide.
“Flem.” As he removed his hand she sucked in several deep breaths. “You’re drunk.”
“Maybe. A little. But not so drunk I don’t know what I want. You want it, too, Fiona Downey. You’re just too innocent to understand what you’re feeling. But I can help you.”
As he lowered his face to hers she pulled away with a little cry.
“Stop.” She sat up and pushed against him, before making a desperate scramble to escape. But before she could slip out of bed strong hands closed around her shoulders, pinning her roughly to the mattress.
“Don’t fight me.” He straddled her, pressing her body beneath his while he fumbled with the front of her nightdress. “You’ll like this, teacher. It’ll be far more enjoyable than doing sums on a slate.”
“Flem. No. You mustn’t—”
He closed a hand over her nose and mouth, effectively silencing her cries. The more she fought him, the harder he pressed, until she could feel herself beginning to lose consciousness. Spots danced in front of her eyes, and she could feel herself floating. Floating.
With her last breath she fought him, her body bucking beneath his, until she managed to free one arm and brought her fist to the side of his head.
He swore and released his hold on her. That was all she needed to swing her legs over the side of the bed and make a dash for the door.
Before she could open it he gave her a rough shove and stepped in front of the door, barring her way.
Fiona picked up the porcelain pitcher from her night-stand and raised it by the handle like a sword. With her breath coming hard and fast she hissed, “Get out of my room or I swear to heaven I’ll smash this against your face. How will you be able to explain that to your mother?”
Her words seemed to sober him instantly.
As the fog cleared from his brain he stared at her as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. All the way home he’d worked himself into a frenzy, thinking about the way she would fight him until, lulled by his obvious charms, she would melt against him and give him what every girl eventually gave him.
“You really don’t want me?”
If she weren’t so desperately afraid, his words would have been laughable.
She kept the pitcher raised for emphasis. “I don’t want you, Flem. Not now. Not ever. If you dare to touch me again, I’ll go to your father. Now get out of my room or I’ll shout down the household.”
He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she struggled against the tears that were threatening. Then he shook his head, as though still unable to accept the truth. “It’s Gray, isn’t it?”
When she said nothing, he scowled and turned away to pull open her door.
Seeing that he was truly leaving, relief poured through Fiona, and she sank to her knees, before dropping the pitcher and burying her face in her hands.
Before taking his leave Flem turned and shot her that familiar charming smile. “It would seem you’ve set your cap for a slow, plodding workhorse, teacher. A pity, when you could have taken a much more enjoyable ride on a sleek, frisky racehorse.”
As he turned, he caught sight of Gray standing at the foot of the stairs. Thinking quickly, he pulled Fiona’s door closed and touched a finger to his lips. “I wouldn’t bother our teacher right now, big brother. After a quick tumble, the ladies always need their rest.”
“Liar,” Gray’s eyes were hot with fury. “Don’t say such things about her. Don’t you ever speak of her that way.”
“Maybe you’d like to ask her yourself.” Growing bolder by the minute, Flem chuckled. “Go ahead. But I warn you—you risk embarrassing our sweet little teacher. She would prefer the rest of the world think of her as an innocent.”
He saw Gray’s look of disbelief, followed by one of uncertainty. That only had him prodding more. “You mean you never noticed? Under that prim shawl beats the heart of a very passionate woman.”
Gray’s hand shot out, fisting into the front of his brother’s shirt. “If you say anything more, it will be the last word you ever speak.” His voice was strangled. “I swear it.”
Feeling the way Gray’s body was vibrating with a building rage, Flem lifted his hands in a gesture o
f surrender. For the space of a heartbeat he thought he’d pushed Gray too far, and feared he might yet taste the fury he knew his older brother capable of. He watched as Gray fought back the simmering heat until, at last, his fingers uncurled and he took a step back.
As Flem turned and started up the stairs to his room, his smile returned. Once again he’d managed to turn Gray’s timing to his own advantage.
Oh, it couldn’t have been more perfect.
* * *
The anger pulsing through Gray was like a great, black wave that all but blinded him. He wanted, needed, to lash out at someone or something. To use his fists in a knock-down, drag-out fight that would cleanse him of this building fury.
His first thought was to knock on Fiona’s door and demand to know if his brother had lied. Of course he’d lied. Fiona was too good, too honorable, to have done what Flem implied.
He strode across the room, then came to an abrupt halt, plagued by sudden indecision. How could he possibly knock on Fiona’s door and risk causing her embarrassment?
He stood just outside her room and listened for any sound that might signal she was still awake. He could hear nothing through the closed door.
He remembered the first time, when Flem had tried to force himself on her in the kitchen. She’d seemed so relieved to have someone come to her aid. But this time Flem had seemed so smug and satisfied.
Too smug. Too satisfied.
How could he believe anything Flem told him? Hadn’t his younger brother proved time and again to be a most accomplished liar? Still, there was no denying that he was pleasing to the eye and had learned how to use his considerable charm to his advantage with women. Most women, in fact, couldn’t resist Flem.
But Fiona? She seemed wise beyond her years, and immune to the shallow charms of the likes of Flem.
Gray stepped closer and strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. If she were to sigh, to pace, to call out, he would go to her in a heartbeat. He waited, wishing for some sign that she needed him.
Needed.
What he needed was the truth. If he learned that his brother lied, he would first comfort Fiona, and then confront Flem with the truth, before having the satisfaction of the fight his hot blood craved.
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