Christina felt like weeping. The pain of his brother's betrayal must have been unbearable. She didn't understand. How could a wife shame her husband in such a way?
She hugged Lyon but decided against offering him additional sympathy. He was a proud man. "Were you and your brother close to each other before his betrayal?" she asked.
"No."
Christina scooted away from Lyon so she could see his expression. His gaze showed only his puzzlement over her question. Lettie's sin no longer affected him, she decided.
"You never gave Lettie your heart," she announced. "It's your brother you've yet to forgive, isn't it, Lyon?"
He was amazed by her perception. "Were you close to James?" she asked again.
"No. We were very competitive when we were younger. I grew out of that nonsense, but my brother obviously didn't."
"I wonder if James wasn't like Lancelot," she whispered, "from the story of Camelot."
"And Lettie was my Guinevere?" he asked, his smile gentle.
"Perhaps," Christina answered. "Would it make his deception easier to bear if you believed it wasn't a deliberate sin?"
"It wouldn't be the truth. James wasn't Lancelot. My brother took what he wanted, when he wanted it, regardless of the consequences. He never really grew up," Lyon ended.
She ignored the harshness in his voice. "Perhaps your mama wouldn't let him," she said.
"Speaking of my mother," Lyon began with a sigh, "you have a plan to keep her here?"
"I do."
"Hell. How long?"
"Quit frowning. She'll stay with us until she wishes to leave. Of course, we have to make her want to stay first," she qualified. "I have a plan to help her, Lyon. Together we'll draw her back into the family. Your mama feels responsible for your brother's death."
"Why do you say that?" Lyon asked.
"She kept him tied to her skirts," Christina answered. "Diana said your mother protected both of you from your father's cruel temper."
"How could Diana know? She was only a baby when Father died."
"Aunt Harriett told her," Christina explained. "I questioned both your sister and your aunt, Lyon. I wanted to know all about your mama so that I could help her."
"How long will this take? I don't have the patience to sit through meals listening to her talk of James."
"We aren't going to let her speak of James," Christina said. "Your mama's very determined." She kissed Lyon on his chin, then said, "But I'm far more determined. Do I have your complete support in this undertaking?"
"Will you be taking her out into the wilderness to find a place for her to die?" he asked. He chuckled over the picture of Christina dragging his mother outdoors before adding, "Diana's worried you really will do just that."
Christina sighed in exasperation. "Your sister is very naive. I was only bluffing. Would you like for me to explain my plans for your mama?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'd rather be surprised," Lyon answered. "I just thought of another question to ask you."
"That doesn't surprise me. You're full of questions."
He ignored her rebuke and her disgruntled expression. "Do you realize you sometimes lapse into speaking French? Especially when you're upset. Is that the language your family spoke?"
Twin dimples appeared in her cheeks. Lyon thought she looked like an angel. She wasn't acting much like one, however, for her hand suddenly reached down to capture his arousal.
Lyon groaned, then pulled her hand away. "Answer me first," he commanded in a husky voice.
She let him see her disappointment before she answered him. "Father captured Mr. Deavenrue to teach me the language of the whites. If Mother had been allowed to speak to the man, she would have told him that I was going to return to England. Father didn't think that was significant. He didn't understand that there were different white languages. Deavenrue told me later, when we became friends, that he was very frightened of my father. I remember being amused by that fact," she added. "It was an unkind reaction, but I was only ten or eleven then, so I can excuse my attitude. Deavenrue was very young, too. He taught me the language of the whites… his whites."
Lyon's laughter interrupted her story. She waited until he'd calmed down before continuing. "For two long years I suffered through that language. Day in and day out. Mother was never allowed near Deavenrue. He was a handsome man, for a white," she qualified. "In fact, everyone stayed away from him. He was there to complete a task, not to befriend."
"Then it was only the two of you working together?" Lyon asked.
"Of course not. I wasn't allowed to be alone with him either. There were always at least two old women with me. In time, however, I really came to like Deavenrue, and I was able to persuade my father into being a little friendlier to him."
"When did Deavenrue realize he wasn't teaching you the correct language? And how did he converse with your father?"
"Deavenrue spoke our language," Christina answered. "When my mother was finally allowed to visit Deavenrue's tipi, and she heard me reciting my lessons, she knew immediately that it wasn't the same language she'd been taught when she was a little girl."
"Was there an uproar?" Lyon asked, trying not to laugh again.
"Oh, yes. Mother caught Father alone and let him see her displeasure. If he hadn't been so stubborn in keeping her away from the missionary, two years wouldn't have been wasted. Father was just as angry. He wanted to kill Deavenrue, but Mother wouldn't let him."
Lyon laughed. "Why didn't your mother teach you?"
"Her English wasn't very good. She decided Deavenrue's English was better."
"Why do you prefer to speak French?"
"It's easier at times."
"Tell me you love me in your family's language."
"I love you."
"That's English."
"The language of my family now," Christina said. She then repeated her vow of love in the language of the Dakota.
Lyon thought the sound was lyrical.
"Now I will show you how much I love you," Christina whispered. Her hands slid down his chest. She thought to stroke him into wanting her but found that he was already throbbing with desire.
"No, I'm going to show you first," Lyon commanded.
He rolled his wife onto her back and proceeded to do just that.
A long while later husband and wife fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms. They were both exhausted, and both thoroughly content.
Lyon awakened during the night. He immediately reached for his wife. As soon as he realized she wasn't in bed with him, he rolled to his side and looked on the floor.
Christina wasn't there either. Lyon's mind immediately cleared of sleep. He started to get out of bed to go in search of his wife when he realized the candles were burning on the bedside table. He remembered quite specifically that he'd put out all three flames.
It didn't make sense until he saw the black book in the center of the light.
The leather binding was scarred with age. When Lyon picked up the book and opened it, a musty smell permeated the air around him. The pages were brittle. He used infinite care as he slowly lifted the first pages of the gift Christina had given him.
He didn't know how long he sat there, his head bent to the light as he read Jessica's diary. An hour might have passed, perhaps two. When he finished the account of Jessica's nightmare, his hands shook.
Lyon stood up, stretched his muscles awake, then walked over to the hearth. He was chilled but didn't know if it was the temperature in the room or Jessica's diary that was the cause.
He was adding a second log to the fire he'd just started when he heard the door open behind him. Lyon finished his task before he turned around. He knelt on one knee, his arms braced on the other, and stared at his lovely wife a long minute.
She was dressed in a long white robe. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed. He could tell she was nervous. Christina held a tray in her hands. The glasses were clattering.
&
nbsp; "I thought you might be hungry. I went—"
"Come here, Christina."
His voice was whisper-soft. Christina hurried to do his bidding. She put the tray down on the bed, then rushed over to stand in front of her husband.
"Did you read it?" she asked.
Lyon stood up before he answered her. His hands settled on her shoulders. "You wanted me to, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Tell me why you wanted me to read it."
"Equal measure, Lyon. Your words, husband. You opened your heart to me when you told me about James and Lettie. I could do no less."
"Thank you, Christina." His voice shook with emotion.
Christina's eyes widened. "Why do you thank me?"
"For trusting me," Lyon answered. He kissed the wrinkle in her brow. "When you gave me your mother's diary, you were also giving me your trust."
"I was?"
Lyon smiled. "You were," he announced. He kissed her again, tenderly, then suggested that they share their midnight meal in front of the fire.
"And we will talk?" Christina asked. "I want to tell you so many things. There's so much we must decide upon, Lyon."
"Yes, love, we'll talk," Lyon promised.
As soon as she turned to fetch the tray, Lyon grabbed one of the blankets draped over the chair and unfolded it on the floor.
Christina knelt down and placed the tray in the center of the blanket. "Do you want me to get your robe for you?" she asked.
"No," Lyon answered, grinning. "Do you want me to take yours off?"
Lyon stretched out on his side, leaned up on one elbow, and reached for a piece of cheese. He tore off a portion and handed it to Christina.
"Do you think Jessica was crazy?" she asked.
"No."
"I don't either," Christina said. "Some of her entries are very confusing, aren't they? Could you feel her agony, Lyon, the way I did when I read her journal?"
"She was terrified," Lyon said. "And yes, I could feel her pain."
"I didn't want to read her thoughts at first. Merry made me take the book with me. She told me that in time I'd change my heart. She was right."
"She kept her promise to your mother," Lyon interjected. "She raised you, loved you as her own, and made you strong. Those were Jessica's wishes, weren't they?"
Christina nodded. "I'm not always strong, Lyon. Until tonight I was afraid of him."
"Your father?"
"I don't like to call him my father," Christina whispered. "It makes me ill to think his blood is part of mine."
"Why aren't you afraid now?" He asked.
"Because now you know. I worried you'd think Jessica's mind was… weak."
"Christina, when you walked into the library and I was talking to Richards, we had just finished a discussion about your father. Richards told me about an incident called the Brisbane affair. Did you hear any of it?"
"No. I would never overlisten," Christina answered.
Lyon nodded. He quickly told her the sequence of events leading up to the murders of the Brisbane family.
"Those poor children," Christina whispered. "Who would kill innocent little ones?"
"You won't like the answer," Lyon said. "I wouldn't have related this story to you if it wasn't important. Brisbane's wife and children were all killed in the same way."
"How?"
"Their throats were slashed."
"I don't want to picture it," Christina whispered.
"In Jessica's diary she talks about a couple she traveled with to the Black Hills. Do you remember?"
"Yes. Their names were Emily and Jacob. The jackal killed them."
"How?"
"Their throats… oh, Lyon, their throats were slashed. Do you mean to say—"
"The same method," Lyon answered. "A coincidence, perhaps, but my instincts tell me the baron murdered the Brisbane family."
"Can't you challenge him?"
"Not in the way you'd like me to," Lyon answered. "We will force his hand, Christina. I give you my word. Will you leave the method to me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why what?" she hedged.
She was deliberately staring at the floor now, avoiding his gaze. Lyon reached over and tugged a strand of her hair. "I want to hear you say the words, wife."
Christina moved over to Lyon's side. Her hand slowly reached out to his. When her fingers were entwined with his, she answered his demand.
"I trust you, Lyon, with all my heart."
* * *
Chapter Sixteen
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Merry and I made a promise to each other. She gave me her pledge to take care of you if anything happened to me, and I gave my word to find a way to get White Eagle back to his family if anything happened to her.
From that moment on, my fears were gone. Her promise gave me peace. She would keep you safe. You already had her love, Christina. I could see the way she'd hold you, cuddled up tenderly against her chest until you fell asleep.
She would be a better mother to you.
Journal entry November 3, 1795
~
Lyon was trying to keep his temper under control. He kept telling himself that breakfast would be over soon, that Richards should be arriving at any moment, and that he was pleasing his wife by being patient with his mother. The effort cost him his appetite, however, a fact everyone at the table seemed compelled to comment upon.
He was surrounded by family and considered that a most unfortunate circumstance. His Aunt Harriett had arrived the previous afternoon with Diana. The Earl of Rhone had just happened to show up an hour later.
The coincidence was forced, of course. Diana had pretended surprise when Rhone strolled into the house. His sister was as transparent as water. Lyon wasn't fooled for a minute. He had had the necessary talk with his friend last evening. Rhone had asked for Diana's hand. Lyon was happy to give him all of her. He kept that thought to himself, for Rhone was in the middle of his obviously prepared dissertation on the seriousness of his pledge to love and protect Diana. When Rhone finally slowed down, Lyon gave him his blessing. He didn't bother to advise his friend on the merits of fidelity, knowing that Rhone would honor his commitment once he'd spoken the vows.
Lyon was seated at the head of the table, with Rhone on his left and Christina on his right. His mother faced him from her position at the opposite end of the table. Aunt Harriett and Diana took turns trying to draw the elderly Marchioness into conversation. Their efforts were wasted, though. The only time Lyon's mother glanced up from her plate was when she wanted to make a comment about her James.
Lyon was soon clenching his jaw.
"For heaven's sake, Diana, unhand Rhone," Aunt Harriett blurted out. "The boy will starve to death if you don't let him at his food, child."
"James always had a very healthy appetite," Lyon's mother interjected.
"I'm certain he did, Mother," Christina said. "Do you like your room?" she asked, changing the topic.
"I do not like it at all. It's too bright. And while we're on the subject of my dislikes, please tell me why you insist that I not wear black. James preferred that color, you know."
"Mama, will you please stop talking about James?" Diana begged.
Christina shook her head at Diana. "Lyon?" she asked, turning to smile at him. "When do you think Richards will arrive? I'm eager to get started."
Lyon frowned at his wife. "You aren't going anywhere. We discussed this, Christina," he reminded her.
"James was always on the go," his mother commented.
Everyone but Christina turned to frown at the gray-haired woman.
"When are we going to discuss the marriage arrangements?" Aunt Harriett asked, trying to cover the awkward silence.
"I really don't wish to wait a long time," Diana said. She blushed before adding, "I want to be married right away, like Lyon and Christina."
"Our circumstances were different," Lyon said. He winked at Christina. "You aren't going to be
as fortunate as I was. You'll wait and have a proper wedding."
"James wanted to marry. He simply couldn't find anyone worthy enough," Mama interjected.
Lyon scowled. Christina placed her hand on top of his fisted one. "You look very handsome this morning," she told him. "You must always wear blue."
Lyon looked into his wife's eyes and saw the sparkle there. He knew what she was doing. Yes, she was trying to take his mind off his mother. And even though he understood her intent, it still worked. He was suddenly smiling. "You always look beautiful," he told her. He leaned down to whisper, "I still prefer you without any clothes on, however."
Christina blushed with pleasure.
Rhone smiled at the happy couple, then turned to speak to Lyon's aunt. "Do you still believe Diana and I are mismatched? I would like your approval," he added.
Aunt Harriett picked up her fan. She waved it in front of her face while she considered her answer. "I will give you my approval, but I don't believe the two of you will be as compatible as Lyon and Christina. You can see how well they get along."
"Oh, we are also mismatched," Christina interjected. "Rhone and Diana are really much more suited to each other. They were raised in the same fashion," she explained.
Aunt Harriett gave Christina a piercing look. "Now that you're part of this family, would you mind telling me just where you were raised, child?"
"In the Black Hills," Christina answered. She turned to Lyon then. "The Countess will certainly tell, and I really should prepare your family, don't you think?"
"The Countess wouldn't say a word," Lyon answered. "As long as the money keeps pouring in, she'll keep your secrets safe until you're ready to tell them."
"Tell what secrets?" Diana asked, frowning.
"She's entitled to her privacy," Rhone interjected, winking at Christina.
Aunt Harriett let out an inelegant snort. "Nonsense. We're family. There shouldn't be any secrets, unless you've done something you're ashamed of, Christina, and I'm certain that isn't the case. You're a good-hearted child," she added. She paused to prove her point by tilting her head toward the elderly Marchioness.