When Wynter returned to her room to freshen up for luncheon, she was nearly knocked down by a blond-haired whirlwind as she walked into the room.
“What is this?” she cried and grabbed the small boy who struggled in her grasp.
Mikel Van Linden glanced up at her with stormy eyes. “I don’t care if you tell them! They don’t love me, so go ahead and tell them!”
“Mikel, whatever are you talking about?” Wynter asked softly and ushered the boy into the room when he’d stopped flailing. Closing the door, she surveyed him as he threw himself into a chair before the fireplace and crossed his small arms in defiance. She’d seen him only a few times since her arrival, and each time was at the supper table when he ate in silence. The only person he’d spoken to was Lena. Whenever Wynter addressed him, he would answer lowly until Rolfe thumped his arm to gain a reply. The last time she saw him, Rolfe had sent the child to his room for spilling a glass of water on the tablecloth.
Mikel was by far the most sullen child she’d ever encountered, putting Lucy’s sullenness to shame, but Wynter sensed that the boy hid a deep loneliness behind the hard-eyed facade. She watched him now, his blond head, not unlike Cort’s, bent low on his chest. When she stood in front of him, the sun’s rays struck the mirror and reflected back onto the boy’s face. Her breath caught in her throat, because the tawny eyes glaring at her could have belonged to Cort.
Her voice was gentle. “Mikel, you can tell me what you’re doing in here. I promise I won’t chastise you or tell your parents.”
His head shot up. “They wouldn’t care anyway. They hate me.”
“That’s not true. They love you very much.”
Wynter knelt down to his eye level. She pushed back a wayward lock from his forehead, but he turned his head away.
“They never wanted me.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard my mother tell my father. She said I was in the way. And my father told her I should never have been born.” His implacable gaze wavered back to her. “So I don’t care if you tell them what I did.”
“Tell me what you did, Mikel. I’m still in the dark.”
He held out his hand to her and opened his palm. A miniature glass boat she had purchased at a glassblower’s shop in New Amsterdam caught the sun’s rays. It twinkled like a tiny diamond on his pale flesh.
“I took it from your dressing table.” His voice still held traces of defiance. “Your door was not closed when I passed the room, and I saw it. You can tell them I’m a thief. I don’t care.”
“But I do, Mikel. I care very much.” She got up from the floor and took a seat next to him. “Why did you take the boat? If you wanted it, I’d have given it to you.”
Wynter thought it was so very odd that of all the jewelry she’d purchased in New Amsterdam, the little boat would have caught his attention. She had purchased it as an oddity and remembered its cost was minimal. She looked towards the dressing table, making a mental inventory of the objects glittering there. She’d have to tell Mary to lock up the jewels from now on.
“I didn’t take anything else,” he said.
Wynter glanced back at the small boy. “Why did you take the boat? Have you stolen before today?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve never taken anything. But this boat is so pretty, and I can see through it like it is a window. I’ve never had a play boat to sail in the river or anyone to play with me. I asked my father for a boat for my birthday, and he never gave me one.”
“Perhaps he will. When is your birthday?”
The defiance drained from him. He looked at her, tears glistening in his tawny eyes.
“My birthday was yesterday.”
“Oh, Mikel, he must have forgotten,” she told him and clasped her arm around his thin shoulders.
Mikel shook his head, sniffing back tears. “He always forgets.”
“I’m certain your mother remembered.”
“She gave me a pair of boots. Aunt Lena knitted me a scarf, but I wanted a boat.” His fingers reverently touched the glass object. He heaved a sigh and held the boat out to her. “Here, vrouw, I’m sorry I took it.”
Compassion filled her for this young boy. He appeared so tiny as he sat in the high-backed chair, so vulnerable and alone. She understood how it felt to be disliked, disowned. What she didn’t understand was why Rolfe ignored his son’s birthday.
She touched his hand and closed it over the boat. “You may keep it, Mikel. It’s my birthday present to you. However, I don’t think it was meant to float in the river. Perhaps I can get you that boat you’d like. Do you know Dirk, the man who arrived with me and stays in the barn?”
“Ja. He helps me with the horses.”
Wynter gave a tiny laugh. She’d seen Dirk taking directions from the blacksmith and learning to shoe the animals. She couldn’t help but be amused at his clumsiness. On land he was all thumbs, whereas on the water Dirk was a master boatswain.
“I’ll ask Dirk to whittle you the fastest, sleekest boat imaginable.”
“Do you think he will, vrouw?” Mikel asked. His eyes danced with pleasure and hope that this time he’d actually get the boat he desired.
“He will if I ask him. Now you go and take your glass treasure with you.”
“Will you tell my parents I stole?”
“No. This shall be our secret.”
Mikel got up and then threw his arms around her neck. “Thank you, vrouw.” Then he was gone, and Wynter couldn’t stop the tears which misted her eyes and streamed gently down her cheeks.
The child was so much like Cort.
CHAPTER
23
Wynter followed Mikel down the forested slope which led to the shoreline. She watched him as he eagerly placed his wooden boat on the water’s surface. His delighted childish cry filled the early morning air, and once again, he thanked her for the present.
“You must also remember to thank Dirk,” she called to him as he followed the bobbing boat some distance along the shore. Mikel’s head mimicked the motion of the boat, and she knew that he wouldn’t forget. Each afternoon for the past week when he finished his lessons with his governess, Vrouw Tyssen, he’d run to the stables to watch in fascinated wonder as Dirk carved the boat from a piece of white oak. Wynter was pleased to see a friendship spring up between Mikel and Dirk. Though Dirk never admitted to being lonely for anyone, she realized he was. As was she, but she didn’t want to think about her loneliness now. Soon she’d have Cort’s baby to occupy her time, and she’d never be lonely again.
As she sat on the river bank, a brisk breeze ruffled her black cloak, or huik, as the dressmaker had called it. Beneath the cape she wore a bright green smock, comfortable enough to make her forget her expanding waistline
Wynter leaned back on her elbows and closed her eyes, allowing the warm sun to touch her like a kiss. Suddenly she felt a shadow blocking the light, and opening her eyes, she saw Katrina glowering at her.
“I see you’ve made a conquest of my son as well as my husband, cousin Wynter.”
Wynter had thought Katrina would have spoken to her long before this. Clearly the woman didn’t hide her dislike, and Wynter decided then and there that she didn’t like Katrina either. She, however, didn’t want to cause dissension in the family.
Wynter stood up, feeling somewhat intimidated by Katrina’s form towering over her. She mustered a warm smile. “You speak about your son and husband as if they are birds to be caught and locked in a cage. I assure you that I’m fond of both of them and pray they like me a little. But I haven’t taken them away from you.”
“Ha! Mikel never tires of singing your praises, and Rolfe believes you can do no wrong. But I think you’re hiding something behind those wide, silver-blue eyes.”
Katrina placed her hands on her scarlet-clad hips. The edge of white lace on her petticoat, peeping beneath her skirt, matched the ruffled cap on her head. She looked quite pretty and rosy-cheeked, but her mouth was set in a thin, harsh
line.
“I am hiding nothing,” Wynter said smoothly and hoped her lie didn’t show on her countenance.
“How are we to know you’re Cort’s wife and not some doxy with whom he cavorted? Perhaps you wish only to ingratiate yourself with Lena and my husband in the hope that a portion of Lindenwyck will be turned over to your child. How do we know the child is Cort’s?”
Katrina looked so self-assured that Wynter wished to strike the smile from her face. Was there more to Katrina’s hatred of her than distrust?
“I assure you that I have no intention of claiming Lindenwyck or its wealth for me or my child. And I assure you this baby sprang from Cort’s seed. I have the Van Linden betrothal ring to back up the truth.”
Katrina winced and turned briefly away to stare after Mikel. When she glanced back at Wynter, her hatred was so intense that it seemed to pulsate from every nerve in her body. “That ring was supposed to be mine.”
“Rolfe told me he meant to give the ring to you, but that Cort left with it. I’m sorry, but I won’t return it unless Lena requests it back.”
“It was never Lena’s ring. I’m surprised Cort didn’t tell you that. The ring was his grandmother’s and passed to his father when he married Cort’s mother. You see, Lindenwyck belonged to Cort’s father before Fritz Van Linden, who was a younger brother, inherited. But Cort’s parents never left Holland to claim the estate when Grandfather Van Linden died. His mother was too ill to make the journey. She died, then his father grieved himself into his grave. So, since he had known he’d probably never leave Holland, he passed the patroonship to Fritz. Cort’s mother gave Cort the betrothal ring before her death. When Cort came here to live, he entrusted the ring to Lena. Stupid Rolfe thought the ring belonged to him and that he had the right to give it to me. But he didn’t. Cort should have given me that ring, cousin.”
Katrina sneered, and Wynter thrust her hand into the pocket of her cloak, fearful that she’d make a leap forward and pull the ring from Wynter’s finger. “Why?” Wynter asked and held her breath, because she feared she knew the answer as to why Katrina hated her.
“Cort loved me! He asked me to marry him.”
It was as Wynter had feared. She faltered a bit. So this was the woman Cort had loved and by whom he had been hurt. Katrina Van Linden. His cousin’s wife. Katrina appeared so cocky, so extremely pleased with herself, but Wynter wouldn’t allow her to think that Cort had ever loved anyone else but her, Wynter.
“If what you say is true, cousin Katrina, then why do I stand here with the Van Linden betrothal ring on my finger and Cort’s child growing within me? I seem to have accomplished something which you could not.”
Katrina visibly paled, and for a moment Wynter noticed that she trembled. Katrina opened her mouth and started to hurl a remark at her, but was stopped by the sudden appearance of Rolfe.
“Katrina, my dear, you best go rest. You look rather tired today.”
Wynter thought Katrina was quite healthy, but at Rolfe’s commanding tone, her face grew ashen and her eyes wide.
“I feel well, Rolfe,” Katrina lamely insisted.
“Ah, you mustn’t push yourself. Otherwise, you’ll regret wasting your energy in aimless conversation.”
He took her elbow and apologetically smiled at Wynter. “I’ll escort my wife to the house,” he said. “She suffers periodically from a throat infection and must remember to remain silent.”
Rolfe guided Katrina up the slope to the house. When they reached the top, Wynter saw Katrina try to pull away, but Rolfe’s grip remained fast. Then they disappeared from view.
Wynter stared at the swift-moving current and the child who played with a toy boat along the river bank. Only minutes ago, she’d felt happy. Now a large weight, almost like a boulder, seemed to weigh heavily upon her shoulders.
Cort had loved Katrina, had wanted to marry her. But Katrina had hurt him. Wynter realized she shouldn’t feel jealous of the woman. After all, Cort was dead, and Katrina wasn’t a threat to her. Or was she? What would Katrina do if she knew that Wynter and Cort had never been legally married? Wynter shuddered to think about it.
November’s cold winds echoed through the tall forest that surrounded Lindenwyck. At night in the eerie silence, Wynter could hear dogs barking in the distance. She’d seen the dogs a month past—thin ebony-colored animals chained to thick trees. She’d taken a walk with Mikel on a chilly, fall day. Before the walk, she thought she had seen all of Lindenwyck on her ride with Rolfe, but Mikel took her to a spot on the opposite side of the house which was covered by thick undergrowth. Wynter felt immense gladness that the animals were chained and under the care of a capable Dutchman called Larsen, and a very young man called Fredrik, who also cared for the horses.
“You know you shouldn’t be over this way, young master,” Larsen rebuked Mikel. “And this lady doesn’t want to see the patroon’s dogs.”
“Are they really as mean as they look?” Wynter asked the man.
“Ja, vrouw”.
“Why does the patroon keep them if they’re so dangerous?”
“Because of Indians, but mostly because the patroon fears thieves. If anyone steals from Lindenwyck, the dogs are let loose. No one escapes from them, vrouw. No one.”
Wynter shivered. How awful to die such a hideous death, she thought, and hurried Mikel away. Now each time she heard the dogs, she remembered that their purpose was to kill. Gory images came to mind, and she shut them out by going downstairs to the library in search of a book.
Treading slowly down the stairs because of her very pregnant condition, she then entered the high-ceilinged room whose walls were lined with a large collection of books. The memory of the Sea Bride’s small library came to mind. A small, sad smile played unwittingly about her mouth when she withdrew a dusty volume of poetry from a shelf. Had Cort read this book? she wondered.
“Wynter, couldn’t you sleep?”
She started at Rolfe’s voice and dropped the book on the floor. He stooped to pick it up and handed it to her.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said.
“I wish you’d told me you were in here, Rolfe.”
“Then I wouldn’t have been able to feast on your loveliness without your notice.”
She blushed but gave a tiny laugh. Her hand touched her large abdomen in a loving gesture. “I fear you couldn’t help but notice me these days.”
A slight flame flared in the depth of his eyes. He caught her hand in his. Wynter’s white gown and flowing robe separated the feel of his flesh from hers when he rested their entwined hands on her abdomen. “Pregnant or not, I’ve never known a more beautiful woman or a more desirable one. I have come to love you, Wynter, with such passion that I fear I cannot help but want to possess you.”
“Rolfe, you mustn’t speak such things to me. You’re married to Katrina and—”
He stilled her lips with a sudden kiss which caused her to sway against him. Rolfe’s arms encircled her, pulling her close, but Wynter pushed away slightly.
“No, Rolfe, nothing can happen between us.”
“Because of Katrina?” he growled.
Wynter shook her head. “Because of Cort.”
“My cousin is dead! I’m quite alive and filled with desire for you. You can’t live your life for the dead.”
“I still love Cort. I’m sorry,” she told him and hoped she spoke gently enough that he wouldn’t be hurt. “But I don’t feel any passion for you. I think of you as my newfound cousin, not as a lover.”
Rolfe blanched. He felt as if she had slapped him. His hopes were momentarily dashed, but he thought that once her child was born, she would come to think differently about him. He’d woo her with gifts, with love words. She’d be unable to resist him. The only obstacle in the way would be Katrina. He vowed that she’d present no further problem in a few months. He wanted Wynter as the new mistress of Lindenwyck. He was content to bide his time. Wynter was a wife worth waiting for, worth murder.
A resigned smile appeared on his face, and his hands fell away. “My feelings for you won’t change, Wynter, but I admit defeat. Accept my apology for my misplaced ardor.”
She told him she did and scurried out of the room like a frightened mouse. When she reached her own room, she sat on her bed but didn’t open the book. His words had sounded convincing. But why didn’t she believe him?
Lena bustled about the house, her arms filled with garlands of holly, as she cajoled the help to finish their cleaning. “St. Nicholas is coming,” she cried in delight like a five-year-old child.
St. Nicholas Eve dawned with the first hard snowfall of the year. Large icicles drooped from the branches of pines on the bluff. Strong gusts of wind rattled the windows and timbers of the house. Not even the crackling hearth fires dispelled the chill. Wynter, choosing to stay downstairs and help with the decorations, found little warmth despite the black velvet smock she wore. Even the foot warmer on which she rested her feet barely helped. A servant had filled the square copper box with hot coals. Mary, who stood on a chair to wreathe the garlands around the mantel, wore her heaviest cloak. But Lena’s ebullience more than made up for the chill, and after an hour of watching the small woman rush around the room, Wynter began to feel quite cozy and warm.
Mikel bounded into the room, skates in hand, wrapped in layers of fur. His small face glowed in animation as he informed Lena he was going outside to skate on the frozen river. When he left in a flurry of fur, Lena said, “I remember St. Nicholas Eve when Rolfe was a child, barely older than Mikel. Cort was almost the same age, a bit younger, but those two boys woke that morning to find the river frozen. In a flash they ran for their skates, then off they went until the evening meal. Needless to say, they both slept soundly that night.” Lena laughed, the memories of past times softening her face. “Fritz was a great skater, too. Many a day when the river froze, he joined the boys. My Fritz was a boy at heart, I believe.”
Pirate's Golden Promise Page 23
