Moonlight Rebel (11 page)

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 spoken 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.

"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.