"My name is Krystyna," she replied, inclining her head slightly. "Krystyna Poniatowska."
The old man's bushy eyebrows narrowed as he approached the table. One of the house slaves darted up and quickly took the cloak that Morgan carelessly dropped from his shoulders. The young girl retreated unobtrusively with the dark wrap in her arms. Morgan seemed to take no heed of her, though Krystyna doubted that anything got by him unnoticed.
"So, you made it after all." His words were met by surprise as the other people at the table looked at one another. Morgan had made no mention of anticipating her arrival. Jason heard his sister's sharp intake of breath and glanced in her direction. She was clearly annoyed at being left out of this. Since her mother's death, she considered herself mistress of Smoke Tree.
Morgan took his place at the head of the table. "I didn't know whether or not to expect you since your uncle left."
"My father was murdered yesterday." The words, almost devoid of emotion, surprised Morgan. He watched her carefully as she spoke. "The man who killed him boasted that he had killed Uncle Jan as well."
Morgan had raised a glass of water to his lips to wash away the dust from the journey. The glass held aloft midway to his mouth, he stared at her. "Killed?"
"Yes. Killed," Krystyna replied flatly, even though the single word tore at her heart.
"Why ever would anyone want to kill that funny little man?" Savannah's singsong voice interrupted the conversation. She found the whole matter ridiculous. Just who was this woman anyway? Didn't her brother have more sense than to drag some wayward peasant into their midst, especially at dinnertime?
Krystyna looked at Savannah, trying to keep her dislike from showing. "For being who he was," she replied. "And for having helped us come to America."
Was there a penalty for helping this girl? Savannah decided if that were so and her story true, then they had to be rid of her before someone came to murder them in their beds as well. "Father, I think—"
But Morgan wasn't interested in what she thought. He didn't even bother looking in his daughter's direction. "So, it's like that, is it, Countess?"
"Countess?" Jason echoed. His eyebrows rose. Savannah dropped her fork, and it clattered against her water glass. A slave moved forward to mop up the mess she had made.
Krystyna was aware that Jason was staring at her, but she said nothing to him. Her eyes were on the man at the head of the table. She had not known just how much her uncle had trusted his employer. But obviously Jan had told Morgan McKinley a great deal if the man knew that she was a countess. And, just as obviously, the older man had not told his family, which meant that he could be trusted to keep secrets.
"Yes." Krystyna's gaze never wavered from his steady scrutiny. "It is like that."
Morgan shook his head. "Too bad about Jan. I was hoping that he would come back. He was a good man." Jason thought he detected a note of regret in his voice, but Morgan had said this as if that were an unusual attribute for someone of Jan's class.
There was an underlying hostility here Krystyna didn't understand, but she knew she couldn't retreat from it. That was not the way to earn this man's respect. "So was my father," she said firmly.
There were times Morgan enjoyed being stood up to. He indicated a place next to his right hand. "Sit here, girl." He waited until she moved toward the chair. "First we'll eat, then we'll talk." He raised his hand, and Jeremiah, standing quietly off to the side, signaled for the main course to be served.
The conversation at the table was somewhat strained. Everyone was aware of Krystyna, though she said little. Morgan asked Jason an even score of questions, the answers to which Jason rattled off to his father's satisfaction. All the while, Jason's mind was on the woman sitting next to his father. A countess. Why didn't she tell me? he asked himself. He had saved her life, yet she hadn't trusted him with her secret. Why?
Krystyna felt his eyes on her. Finally, she looked up, waiting for him to speak, although she already knew what was on his mind. It would have been on hers, had their positions been reversed.
"You didn't tell me you were a countess," Jason said softly as his father questioned Aaron about the running of the plantation while he had been away on business.
There was no reason for her to feel that she should have told him. But she did. "There was no need for you to know." His dissatisfaction with her answer was obvious. "I did not know if you were one of them," she added, hoping he would understand.
"Them?"
"My father had many enemies." She toyed with her tea, unconsciously admiring the delicate pattern of the cup. "People who did not agree with his political views, people who thought he was dangerous. Who thought that we were both dangerous . . ." Her voice trailed off as the pain of her loss threatened to overwhelm her.
It must have been awful for her, Jason thought, not knowing who to trust, afraid of everyone. No matter what pose she struck, he was willing to bet that she had harbored fears she would never acknowledge. He thought it best to change the topic. He glanced down and took in the flattering way Lucinda's gown molded itself to Krystyna's breasts. The palms of his hands itched, and he curled his fingers into them. "Lu's dress looks well on you."
She saw the look in his eyes and felt suddenly half-dressed again, pinned beneath his weight. A surge of warmth colored her cheeks as no rouge ever could. "She was kind enough to make me a gift of it." Krystyna raised her eyes toward Lucinda, and the other woman colored as she quickly looked down. "She is very sweet." Unlike your sister, Krystyna added silently.
"Yes, she is." If he knew Lucinda, she would be willing to give away the entire contents of her closet. But it was his sister who had the more fashionable apparel, the kinds of gowns he would like to see Krystyna wearing. "Maybe Savannah can come up with some other things. She's more your size."
Savannah's head jerked up. Pretending to talk to Winthrop, she had been taking in every word of the conversation between Jason and this interloper. Her gray eyes narrowed into tiny, deadly slits. "I haven't anything to spare."
Jason had never cared for her haughty tone, and he liked it even less now. "Out of two closets the size of small barns?"
Morgan leveled a cold gaze at his only daughter, forgetting his discussion with Aaron. "I think there might be quite a lot to spare. You've got more dresses than your mother had at your age."
Savannah smiled prettily at her father. "Mother was the daughter of a minister, Father, not the daughter of a wealthy land baron as I am. There are appearances to maintain."
Morgan saw through her flimsy attempt to curry his favor. She is never very clever about it, and her meanness always shines through, he thought, annoyed that this seed should have sprung from him. "Don't try to flatter me, girl. I don't like the term baron," he reminded them.
Krystyna raised her eyes to the elder McKinley, and they regarded one another silently. He could see that she realized what he was saying.
The wench has nerve, he caught himself thinking, with more than a tinge of admiration. She'll bear strong sons.
Without realizing it, he glanced at Jason before he continued. "I don't care for the aristocracy," Morgan said bluntly to Krystyna. He provoked a satisfied laugh from his daughter, but everyone else in the room quieted. "Bunch of lazy, shiftless people, leeching off the work of others." He saw the look in her eyes, and something caused him to add, "Mostly."
"I do not care for leeches either," she agreed. Very slowly, she shifted her gaze toward Jeremiah who was serving the meal. Her meaning was very clear.
Mentally, Jason applauded her as Lucinda gasped audibly. Everyone waited for Morgan's reaction.
Morgan silently studied the roast loin of pork on his plate for a moment before he looked up at Krystyna. When he spoke, it was not to meet the hidden challenge in her words. That would come another day, and he would look forward to it. "Tell me how Jason happened to find you."
Glancing at Jason, she went into a guarded narrative of the events of the past two days. She purpos
ely left out the details of what had transpired when Jason woke her from her nightmare. That was no one's business but her own. She also made no mention of saving Jason's life.
"And those two ruffians got off scot-free?" Morgan demanded, looking at his son. He would have expected him to have done something.
"Not quite," Jason answered. "The taller one, the one called Peter, is dead."
Morgan looked well pleased. "Killed him?" he asked, expecting Jason to say yes.
"No, she did," Jason corrected, amusement curving his lips. He watched the flabbergasted look on his father's face spread to the others in the room. Even the slaves, always so good at pretending not to hear anything that was said stopped moving.
There was renewed respect on Morgan's face as he turned to look at Krystyna. "Go on," he told his son.
"They sneaked up on us while we were bedded down for the night." Jason could see the flicker of interest pass through his father's brilliant blue eyes, but Morgan asked no questions. Jason understood that his father knew him well enough to assume certain things which the others did not even take note off. "I had dozed off. When I woke up, they were on me. Peter drew a knife! The princess there," he nodded toward Krystyna, "picked up my musket and shot him before he got a chance to use it."
"This true, girl?" Morgan watched her carefully as he waited for her to respond.
Krystyna looked up from her food. She felt uncomfortable under the old man's scrutiny, even though she had nothing to hide. "Yes. He saved my life. I saved his. It is that simple."
Is it? Jason wondered. Is it really that simple for her? He had a feeling that from this day forward, nothing would ever be simple for him again. Not with her in his life.
"I see." Morgan thoughtfully looked at the young woman next to him. Perhaps his evaluation of the aristocracy would someday have to be reassessed. "Well, as to your future—" he began. He had already made decisions for her, according to what Jan had asked of him.
Without waiting for him to finish, Krystyna cut in. "I wish to make a bargain with you."
Morgan wasn't used to being interrupted. He paused, waiting. "And that is?"
This wasn't easy for her. There had always been money to do whatever she chose. To be in a penniless state was more foreign to her than these Americans were. "Your son 'bought' me from those two assassins. I was supposed to have 'sold' my services to them for passage to America. So be it. I would like to reverse that, if you please. I shall work for you until I have earned enough money to go back home to my country."
She wants to leave, Jason thought, finishing his tea. They would be at an impasse on that, someday. Without exploring the reasons for it, he wanted her to stay.
Morgan nodded, thinking he understood her motives. He admired her for wanting to earn passage money rather than ask him for it. Would that his daughter had that kind of mettle. "Yes, of course. Your mother is there," he assumed.
"My mother is dead, sir." Krystyna's voice was devoid of emotion.
"Brothers or sisters, then?" Morgan guessed, cocking his large head as he looked at her.
Her expression remained unchanged. "I have none. I was my father's only child."
Morgan was baffled. He scratched his head as he tilted back his chair, still looking at this determined young woman's fresh face. "But then why do you want to go back, if there's no one there for you?"
Jason wondered if a lover was luring her back across the ocean. He was unprepared for the swift, painful shaft of jealousy that overtook him. I have no claim on her and she none on me, he told himself. But he knew it was a lie as surely as he drew breath. For better or for worse, their lives were entangled. It was up to him to see just how much.
"My land is there." She was surprised that someone in Morgan's position would even ask such a question.
Morgan looked at her, utterly stunned by her answer. "My dear young woman, these kinds of sentiments are all well and good in a man, but — "
She bit her tongue to keep from replying sharply. It was an old refrain and she was tired of it. "My father taught me that my sex does not matter. What truly matters is what is inside. Besides, one does not have to stand shoulder to shoulder with soldiers at the firing line to be useful. There are many ways to fight for freedom and what one holds dear."
Morgan cracked a smile and rapped on the table with his large fist. "By God, I wish you were my son instead of those slackers." Carelessly, he gestured toward his male offspring. Aaron's complexion acquired an angry hue, while Jason merely grinned. His father's railings rarely affected him.
Noting he smiled in the face of his father's displeasure, Krystyna again wondered what sort of man Jason was. "Then it is a bargain?" she asked Morgan.
"It's a bargain, all right." Morgan laughed. "See my son Aaron tomorrow. He'll figure out the particulars and see what you can — "
"I can teach," she told him without hesitation. "You have a grandchild." She had gotten a glimpse of Lucinda hugging Christopher when she had descended the stairs and had surmised the rest.
"Yes, I do." He wondered what it was that a foreign-bred girl could possibly teach his grandson.
"I am fluent in four languages, and I can teach him his sums and history."
The bushy eyebrows rose into a straight, dark line. "Ours?"
"The world's," she clarified. "And yours," she added for good measure. She saw the quizzical look that came to his features. "My father saw to it that I was well educated."
"So it would appear. Very well, then. As of tomorrow, you shall be Christopher's new tutor."
Krystyna noted that he made the decision without consulting with either one of the child's parents. He has more in common with kings than he thinks; she mused.
"Father, Winthrop went to a great deal of trouble to find Master Phipps," Savannah protested hotly on her fiance's behalf. She didn't like being slighted this way. "I cannot see why you would have his credentials scrutinized so closely and then turn around and hire some foreign trollop totally unbeknownst to — "
"Because I want to, Savannah. Because I want to." Morgan's eyes narrowed as they looked at his youngest born. "I don't recall asking for a discussion of the matter."
Savannah retreated angrily and looked to her dessert, but Krystyna caught the barely covert look of annoyance she shot her. For some reason, Krystyna thought, I have made an enemy of this young woman.
Her eyes strayed to the solidly built man sitting next to Savannah. He was obviously the man Savannah had referred to in her protest. She wondered if she had made an enemy of him as well, since he had brought the man she was replacing to the McKinleys. But Winthrop appeared too engrossed in eating to take much note of the conversation.
"Now then, I'm sure you're tired, Krystyna." Morgan shifted slightly in his chair as he considered. "Perhaps the north room . . ." He looked toward Jeremiah to see if the room was unoccupied. There were always visitors coming and going in the large house, and Morgan had long since stopped trying to keep track of them.
"Are my uncle's quarters free?" Krystyna asked suddenly. She remembered he had written of living in a small cabin. The freedom of coming and going as she pleased, away from the watchful eyes of the family, appealed to her.
"He lived out in the cabin just north of the house," Morgan told her. "That's where the overseer usually stays — "
"Then it is taken?" She struggled to hide her disappointment.
"No, not right now. This is our overseer for the time being." Morgan jerked a thumb at Jason.
"Since when?" Jason wanted to know. His father seemed to be making decisions right and left lately without his knowledge, a clear sign that he was displeased because Jason hadn't chosen to opt for independence.
"I thought of it on the ride home. You start tomorrow." Both men were oblivious to the dark frown on Aaron's face at being excluded. Again.
"I would like to stay in the cabin, then, if you do not mind."
Morgan couldn't fathom why she would want to stay so far away from the creat
ure comforts that the house could afford her. "It's drafty."
"Let her stay there if she wants to, Father," Savannah put in. Maybe something will happen to her as well, and then we will be rid of her, Savannah thought maliciously. She didn't like the fact that her father was showing concern for Krystyna. Why did men suddenly turn daft over a pretty face?
"It will be quite suitable," Krystyna insisted.
If that was the way she wanted it. "All right, that's where you shall stay. Jeremiah, show the lady to her cabin and light a fire for her," Morgan instructed.
"That's not necessary," Jason said, rising. "I'll show her the way."
Krystyna didn't want to press her luck with the family patriarch any further, so she made no protest over Jason's offer, but she would have preferred he didn't come with her. She did not want to be alone with him, not yet, not until she felt she had better control over herself.
There is no happiness in her eyes, the old man noted. Too bad. His son could do with someone of high spirit, rather than that milky-white Charity who hung all over him —and his money.
Morgan had just waved a hand for them to go when there was a knock at the front door. Jeremiah disappeared to answer it and then quickly reappeared.
"Miz Charity and Mist'r Rutledge are here to see you, sir," Jeremiah addressed the words to Morgan, but everyone in the room knew that Charity was there to see Jason.
Before anyone could say anything further, or Morgan utter his disapproval over so late a visit, Charity came bursting into the room.
"Oh, do excuse this intrusion, sir." She dimpled prettily at Morgan who did little to hide his disapproval. "But one of my grooms told me he thought he saw Jason riding home. And knowing he was due this evening, I thought it would be nice if all of us could get together again. It's just been ages." Her amber eyes washed over Jason possessively and then her smile froze a little at the sight of Krystyna. "Oh, I didn't know you had other guests, Mr. McKinley."
"I am not a guest," Krystyna told her, rising. There was an instant dislike between the two women. Krystyna could see that Charity was very much like Savannah. "I am part of the household. Jeremiah," she turned toward the dark man, "if you please, will you show me the way to the cabin?"
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