Very, very special.
Nathan had used those words. Were they true? Did she want them to be? Her head hurt from these thoughts and the implications behind them. She had believed that she wanted nothing more than to go home again. Nothing was supposed to get in the way of that goal.
She pressed her lips together. But there was something in the way. Her feelings for Jason. They were growing despite her resolve. She didn't quite understand what had created them, perhaps loneliness and a desire for comfort. Or was it something else? One thing was certain. She was definitely not the clear-headed girl her father had always been so proud of. She was a woman, a woman who was falling in love with the last man she would ever have thought herself capable of loving.
It was all wrong, yet she couldn't help herself.
The door behind her opened, and Aaron stood silhouetted in the doorway, a glass of spirits in his hand.
He took an unsteady step into the room. "So there you are.”
She looked at him, wondering why her absence or presence should be of concern to him. "I came here to be alone. I did not think I was disturbing anyone."
She realized that Aaron was more than slightly intoxicated. The burly man swayed from side to side as he came toward her. Instinctively, she backed away. Her path was blocked by the huge desk behind her.
"Oh, but you are disturbing something." His tongue felt thick, though his words weren't slurred.
"What?" She had touched nothing but the logs.
"You're disturbing me." He was in front of her now, his breath smelling of whiskey instead of wine.
Krystyna began to grow alarmed. She didn't know Aaron very well, didn't know what he was capable of when he was in this sort of a state. Her father, the few times she had seen him inebriated, had been morose, always mourning her mother. Maruska's husband grew silly when he drank too much. Aaron didn't look as if he was either.
He placed one hand roughly on her shoulder to steady himself. "I think of you all the time." The words came out in a whiskey-scented cloud.
"If it is in regard to your son," Krystyna quickly hit on a subject to distract him, "I am progressing very well with his education. He is a very bright boy."
"My son?" He laughed, but there wasn't any joy in the sound. "He's more my father's son than mine. I have little to do with his mind or his upbringing. No, it's you I think about. I can be very, very gentle." He touched the long hair that was bound at her neck with silver combs. "With the right sort of woman."
"You have the right sort of woman," she said pointedly. "Your wife."
"Lucinda is like dry, plain bread when I crave cake. You're cake." He ran a hand along the curve of her neck, his eyes on the inviting décolletage beneath. "Rich, moist cake. And I'm hungry. So very hungry."
He threw his arms around her and pulled her close to him. She bent back over the desk in an effort to keep away from him. As she braced herself, her fingers touched the carved eagle he used as a paperweight, and when his mouth seized hers, she brought it up and struck his temple.
Aaron crumpled at her feet.
She tried to steady her breathing, horrified at what had just happened. Had she killed him? She bent over and examined him hesitantly, afraid that he was feigning this state. But he didn't move. Leaning closer, she heard him snoring. She almost laughed as relief flooded through her. He was still alive.
Pulling her dress free of his outstretched hand, Krystyna walked around Aaron's form. She almost shrieked when she bumped into Jason.
Jason looked from her face to his brother lying on the floor. There was fear in her eyes. He took her by her shoulders. "What happened?"
Krystyna looked for the right words. She didn't want him to think of her as someone who needed constant rescuing. "He tried . . ."
She didn't have to go any further.
Jason knew his brother's reputation. "What did you do to him?" He bent over Aaron's form and felt for a heartbeat.
"I hit him. With that." She gestured at the small statue on the desk.
Jason picked it up and felt its weight. "Oh God, old Aaron's head will be throbbing tomorrow." He picked up the limp form and dropped it on the sofa. Aaron did not wake. "He can stay there until he sleeps it off." Jason shook his head as he looked at his older brother. "He drinks too much these days."
He ushered her out and then closed the door behind them. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." And she was. But she couldn't deny that it felt good to have him there, taking charge.
He placed a hand on her bare shoulder. Though he was tempted, he didn't stroke the smooth skin. "Want to go back to the party?"
Krystyna shook her head. "No. I am very tired. I will just go to my cabin."
"I'll walk you." It wasn't an offer.
She began to protest, but he had already taken his sister's wrap from the small table next to the stairs and had draped it around her shoulders.
"There are too many inebriated men about who might chance to see you walking alone and have the very same urges old Aaron had. You're too damned beautiful for your own good." And mine, he added silently.
He opened the front door. The sting of cold air assaulted them immediately as they stepped outside. "Beautiful night," he said.
And it was. She looked up to see a blanket of stars blinking at one another, sending messages mortals could not begin to fathom. For the first time in a long while, Krystyna felt glad to be alive. When he took her arm, tucking it through his, she made no protest. It felt too right.
"My cousin likes you," he told her as they walked to her cabin.
"And I like him." She looked down at the ground. It was a shame that the snow had not remained for the holidays. There were only a few streaks left here and there. "He seems to be a very nice person."
"Oh, there are some nice people around, even out here among the barbarians." He glanced at her to see if she remembered that she had once called him a barbarian.
She flushed, but said nothing. Yet the silence didn't seem awkward.
They were at her cabin all too soon for both of them. Krystyna was about to go in when Jason put a hand on the doorknob.
"No." Her eyes pleaded with him not to press. She'd have no strength to deny him if he did.
Jason worked hard at checking the hunger that gnawed at him. It would be satisfied by no other woman. No one else would do now, and he thought himself a fool for feeling that way. Just as he did for not forcing his way into her cabin.
But he didn't want it to be like that.
"All right," he said softly. "Don't worry. I'm not Aaron. I won't force myself on you."
He took her face in his hands and kissed her. The kiss was not restrained enough for her not to feel the passion that lay just beyond. It echoed hers. Ever so lightly, he outlined her mouth with his own, pressing a myriad of kisses about her lips, making her body sing and tremble with yearning. If she is going to refuse me, he thought, she is going to ache the way I do.
When their lips parted, he held her to him a moment longer.
"Oh, woman, what have you done to me?" He said it so quietly that she thought she imagined it. "Merry Christmas," he told her, stepping back.
Fool, she said to herself as she watched him walk away.
She went inside and lit a fire as tears shimmered in her eyes. Sighing, she brushed them aside when they spilled onto her cheeks. What was to happen would happen. Her father had always said that, and she believed it to be true. She couldn't think about any of it now. She was far too exhausted.
Quietly, she undressed. Lying down, she allowed herself to yearn for the feel of Jason's body next to hers even though she knew it could not be.
Staring into the fire, she fell asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Aaron avoided looking at Krystyna across the table at breakfast the next morning. His head ached intensely, partly because of the alcohol he had consumed and partly because of the bruise on the side of his temple.
The ache was accentuated by the
acute embarrassment he was experiencing. He had never attempted to force himself on a woman before. Last night, overcome with spirits and his deep-seeded jealousy of his younger brother, his baser instincts had overwhelmed him. He suspected Jason's interest in Krystyna, and just once, he wanted to get the best of his brother.
Four years his senior, Aaron had always lived in Jason's shadow. He wasn't handsome or charming, the way Jason was. His father viewed him as a dull and colorless buffoon, despite his penchant for fine clothes, his polished manners, and his interest in the latest planting techniques that could be utilized on the plantation. Jason was casual, in his clothes and manner. And yet he was his father's favorite.
True, Jason worked hard, but so did Aaron. A bitter competition had arisen years before between the two brothers, and it was one that Aaron would continue to fuel until he won, if only once.
But his actions with Krystyna on the past night were reprehensible. Whatever his father thought of him, whatever his inclinations toward the fairer sex, Aaron was not the type of man to shrug off a transgression such as this. As the fog lifted from his inebriated brain, his code of honor haunted him, and he was deeply affronted by what he had done.
Added to that was the fear that Krystyna would complain to his father. Even at twenty-nine, Aaron didn't relish a tongue-lashing from Morgan McKinley. The very thought of it made him cringe.
As he pushed the sausages around on his plate, his appetite nonexistent, he stole a look toward Jason and wondered what his brother knew. Had Jason laughed when he'd heard of the inept attempt at seduction? Aaron couldn't remember falling on the couch last night. Couldn't remember anything beyond leaning over to kiss Krystyna. Someone had probably put him there, and Krystyna looked far too small to manage that alone. Aaron hoped it had been Jeremiah. No one could ever get a word out of Jeremiah, and the source of his humiliation would be safe with the dark man. If the woman didn't talk . . .
For her part, Krystyna avoided Aaron's line of vision. She was relieved that he was well enough to join them at the table, but since he was, her concern for his health gave way to anger at his groping familiarity last night. Did he somehow suspect —or know —that Jason had had her? Did he think that because she had succumbed to one man, she could be had by his brother as well? She didn't believe Jason had told him, but she couldn't be certain. The thought of someone else knowing horrified her.
Krystyna spoke little during the meal. There were many voices to fill the void, for more than a few of last night's guests had stayed the night. Nathan was seated at her left, and he more than aptly drew her attention away from Aaron and last night's incident. She listened as he informed his uncle about what was happening in Boston, now considered the cradle of the rebellion.
Morgan noticed that Aaron wasn't paying any attention to the conversation at the table, and idly wondered as to the source of the red bruise on the side of his head.
Clumsy oaf. Probably walked into something last night on his way to bed. Can't even hold his liquor well enough to navigate.
Once again, Morgan wished that Nathan had been his son instead of Aaron. Nathan was a man. Beneath the soft-spoken voice was a patriot, he'd stake his life on it. Nathan was too knowledgeable about what was going on in the war effort not to be a part of it, despite the fact that he had said he hadn't joined the army and didn't intend to. Teaching children was important to him.
But Morgan would have wagered Smoke Tree that teaching was not all Nathan did up North. For now, he wouldn't press the matter. Good patriots are silent as to their dealings; that is what makes them effective, Morgan thought, satisfied that at least one member of his family had courage.
When the meal ended, leaving the house slaves to clear away the dishes that seventeen people had dallied over, Krystyna took her leave. She wanted to change her clothes. Jason had promised to take her to the place where her father was buried. She wanted to wish him a Merry Christmas. Jason had understood. He had even been the one to suggest stopping there first, right after he had given her a small, gilt frame so that she might hang her sampler on the wall. She had been deeply touched. No gift could have meant more to her. There were many things about the man she couldn't reconcile. Each time she thought she understood him, she found that she didn't.
After her grave site visit, they were to go riding with Nathan. It promised to be a good day.
As she passed Aaron, he whispered, "I'd like to see you in the library if I might."
She stiffened and looked at him. A moment slipped away before she answered. "All right."
Why does he want to see me? she wondered. If he intended to take up where they had left off last night, she vowed to scream down the house this time and humiliate him before everyone.
Still, there might be another motive behind his request, and she would give him the benefit of the doubt. Lifting her skirts to facilitate movement, she followed him to the library.
When he moved to close the door, she put her hand out to stop him. "I don't blame you," he told her honestly. "But please indulge me in this one thing. I don't want to be overheard."
Against her better judgment, she let him close the door. When he turned to face her, it was an Aaron she hadn't seen before. Gone was the pompous, arrogant look he normally wore. In its place was one of contrition. It made him look younger, like a boy who had been caught doing wrong.
Aaron hesitated, searching for the right words. Apologies were difficult for him. "About last night," he began haltingly.
"Yes?" She waited, not about to make this easy for him.
He averted his eyes, unable to look at her face. "I was drunk."
"Very," she agreed.
He dragged a hand through his dark hair, and the action only reinforced the pounding in his brain. "I meant no harm."
A hint of a smile came to her lips. Since he was apologizing, she could afford to be kind. "You were not able to cause any."
He looked up, encouraged by her tone. But he kept his distance. "You are a very lovely woman."
"Thank you." A small burst of sunlight awoke within her. Aaron didn't know. Jason hadn't boasted of his conquest of her. "But that is still no excuse for your behavior."
He sighed ruefully. "No, it isn't. I was out of my head last night. I wouldn't force myself on you or any woman." This time he did look at her, his expression sincere. "I'd like you to believe that."
In her heart she knew that Aaron wouldn't have had the confidence to make advances if he hadn't felt he had a willing recipient. "I do."
That over with, Aaron slumped against the desk, sitting on top of it. He touched his temple gingerly. Pain shot through his skull. "Was it you who hit me?"
She nodded. Now that he was being so nice, she regretted having hurt him. But last night there had been no other course for her to take.
"With what?" His head felt as if it had been assaulted with an anvil.
She pointed to the eagle paperweight on his desk. "I used that." She saw his eyes widen as he looked behind him. "I believe that in your country, you would say we are even?"
Aaron laughed, then regretted it instantly as his head threatened to explode. "That we are. And then some." He looked at her, and there was more than a touch of admiration in his eyes. "You certainly know how to take care of yourself."
She shrugged. "One has to if one is to survive in this world. Well, if there is nothing more . . ." She turned to leave when his voice stopped her.
"Um . . . Did . . . did you tell anyone about, um, my. . . ?"
If revenge had been her goal, she knew that she had the means to exact it. She could easily tell him that she had spoken to Jason about his attempt at seduction. Instinctively, she knew that would hurt Aaron. But in this instance, though, revenge would be a hollow thing. Aaron was sorry. For all his pompousness, she believed that he was basically a good, if misguided, man.
"No, no one else knows." She saw him smile and nod his thanks before she left the room.
The visit to her father's grave was b
rief. She had no flowers to lay upon it, nothing but her tears to cover the ground above him. She made her communion quickly, telling him how much she missed him and that soon she would be going home again.
To give her privacy, Jason and Nathan had kept their backs to her. But Jason heard her words and wasn't pleased.
What would it take to make her want to stay?
They went riding after that. The afternoon seemed to float away. Despite her feelings about being an outsider, she was growing more fond of these Americans with each passing day.
Nathan brought the character of the people in the Colonies to life for her. Listening, Krystyna saw little difference between the feelings of her own people and the rebels. The only disparity seemed to be in the circumstances surrounding the rebellion. In her country the movement, the feeling of oppression, was experienced nationwide. And never so sharply as among the aristocracy. Here, from what she heard, each man had a different opinion about what should or shouldn't be happening, and the war effort was hampered by the fact that so many didn't know which side to take.
They stopped by Jason's favorite spot again. When they first approached it, warmth seeped into Krystyna as she and Jason exchanged glances. Nathan loved it as much as Jason did, and it was he who had suggested they go there.
Dismounting, they sat on the bank, the stream as calm now as it had been that day Krystyna had first seen it. Not even the cold managed to dispel the warmth she felt. Time slipped by as they talked about the future.
"I don't know, Nathan. I just don't see this war the way you do." The wind picked up. Jason took Krystyna's arm, helping her up. "Come, let's walk. It's too cold to sit here any longer."
Being here, with memories of the last time, unsettleds him as much as it does me, she thought, somehow pleased by the knowledge.
They walked, leaves crunching beneath their boots. "I just see it as a terrible waste," Jason said, answering the silent query in Nathan's eyes.
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