Moonlight Rebel

by Ferrarella, Marie

  Krystyna nodded, but still didn't say anything further.

  "A princess?"

  This time she laughed. That was what Jason called her. She had begun to look upon it as a term of endearment. "No, nothing nearly so grand."

  "There couldn't be a title grand enough for you." He looked down at the plate. Hungry though he was, he was no longer involved in eating. Before him sat a mystery.

  "Eat," she urged, gesturing at the food. "You need your strength. I am a countess." She watched his face to see his reaction.

  He took it in stride. "Where is your father, now, Countess?"

  "It is just Krystyna here, and my father is dead." Even now, it hurt to say it. "They killed him."

  "They?"

  "My father's enemies." She clenched her hands in her lap. "I do not know how they knew we were going to America, but they were here, waiting for us. One of them was even on the ship we took to come to this land." She didn't want to dwell on that. "Come, you haven't finished eating."

  "I've had enough." He put the plate on the chair again. Krystyna picked it up and placed it on the table. "What if I were to buy your passage home?"

  She turned around to look at him. "What did you say?"

  "What if I were to buy your passage home?" he repeated. "I'll be well enough to leave soon, and I'm not without means."

  But Krystyna shook her head. "I do not wish to be in debt to anyone." She closed the lid on the basket. "That is why I am earning my way back."

  "It is I who am in debt to you," he reminded her. "You saved my poor, miserable life, such as it is." He grinned. She smiled in return, just as he had hoped she would.

  "If you are in debt to me, I should like to wait. I may find need of that debt someday. I have time," she told him. "Besides, I cannot return right now. My father was a very vocal man, and the people who came into power were offended by many things he said. The year that it takes to earn money for my passage should be enough time to cause them to forget. And it will be enough time, perhaps," she added in a lower voice, "for me to find my father's assassin."

  He didn't want to see anything happen to her. "Searching for a killer can be very dangerous," Sin-Jin warned.

  "Perhaps. But there are worse things to live with than danger. My conscience will not let me rest until I have at least tried to avenge his death."

  She didn't admit to Sin-Jin that there was another reason why she didn't seize his offer: if she left now, she would be leaving Jason. She didn't even admit that to herself.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Several more days passed by, and Sin-Jin continued to mend. Krystyna grew accustomed to his presence. He was a sympathetic listener, and she found that she could talk to him easily. She had never allowed herself the luxury of sharing feelings with anyone before, other than her father.

  She was a countess and had been raised accordingly. There were traditions to uphold. This way of life that was centuries old didn't allow for the sharing of innermost emotions. A barrier had to be maintained. She had always been kind, considerate, but perforce, distant from those around her. A longing for closeness was something new to her. It had come on the heels of the feelings Jason had unlocked within her.

  Sin-Jin knew he would soon be leaving her. The thought of doing so made him sad. Though each day that passed was fraught with the threat of discovery, at least he shared it with her. He thought he was falling in love with Krystyna. She was soft and tender at the moments when he needed her to be.

  As he grew steadily stronger, his desire for her increased. He began to wonder what it would be like to have this warm, enticing creature give herself to him. Though he couldn't risk offending her with overt attempts at seduction, he tried his best to allude to his feelings and sound her out as to hers.

  Each day he watched her rise, wishing that it was from his bed. "I'm cold," he told her one brisk morning. The world was gray outside the window.

  "I shall raise the fire." She turned to do so, only to have his words stop her.

  "I've a better way to raise a fire." He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips.

  Gently, she withdrew it. "No, John. The only fire in this room will be the one in the hearth."

  He sighed, knowing he could not press. "It won't be nearly as delightful."

  "Perhaps," she agreed. She picked up some kindling and threw it on the logs. "But it will be a good deal safer for all concerned."

  He took that to be a refusal and didn't urge her any further. But his longings remained.

  Now that she felt Sin-Jin was strong enough to flee from the cabin on his own if he were discovered, Krystyna had time to spend with Lucinda.

  Finding her in her room, Krystyna announced that she intended to keep her word and help Lucinda present a more appealing appearance. It would require a skilled hand to bring out the beauty Krystyna sensed was there, hidden beneath the dull clothing and the severe hair style. She had, Krystyna assured Lucinda as she ushered her to sit at her vanity, but to present her in the right light. What Krystyna had in mind only dealt with surface trappings, but she was certain that if Lucinda felt attractive, Lucinda would act accordingly.

  Perhaps she would even stop being such a shy, retiring mouse. It was this behavior, Krystyna surmised, more than anything else that put Aaron off. She knew her own father had disliked meek, frightened women. She firmly believed that a humble character invited abuse. Aaron liked his women fetching. Krystyna was prepared to do everything in her power to make Lucinda as comely as possible.

  "But what will Aaron say?" Nervously, Lucinda watched in the oval mirror as Krystyna piled her hair on her head, replacing the austere bun she always wore.

  Skillfully, Krystyna drew out little tendrils to cascade coyly about Lucinda's ears and at the nape of her neck. She had already convinced Lucinda to go into Savannah's room and take the jars of facial paint that she knew the other woman had. Krystyna had applied these colors sparingly to Lucinda's face, taking great care to softly stroke the hues into her cheeks.

  "Aaron will say you are beautiful. And you are," Krystyna said with such authority that Lucinda found herself believing her for one moment.

  But the effects of years of less than flattering remarks were difficult to cast off. "I'm not anything of the sort."

  "Yes, you are." Krystyna tilted the woman's head until Lucinda's eyes met hers. "That is part of your problem. You do not believe you are pretty, or that you are worthy of anyone's attention." She sighed, shaking her head as she returned to fixing Lucinda's hair. A few last touches were called for. "You let everyone walk over you."

  "But women are not supposed to assert themselves — "

  "No one steps on Savannah," Krystyna pointed out.

  "Oh, but Savannah is different."

  "You be different, then." She frowned as a curl refused to stay in place.

  Lucinda looked down at her hands. Meekness had always been what was required of her. "I don't know how."

  Krystyna pushed a hairpin into place. "Just think of yourself as a worthwhile person who deserves respect. Your husband seems to be the type to appreciate self-confidence."

  Even Leola conducts herself with pride, Krystyna reflected, despite the fact that she is a slave. This is something Lucinda will have to learn.

  She tried another tack. "If you conduct yourself with more self-assurance, he will respect you more, perhaps spend less time away from you."

  Lucinda guessed at her meaning. "And not with other women. I know what's on your mind. I've learned about more than one interlude. It no longer bothers me," she lied.

  Krystyna stopped fussing and looked at the woman's eyes in the mirror. "Yes, it does." She returned to what she was doing.

  Lucinda wondered if Krystyna could see into her soul as well.

  Krystyna stood back and reviewed her efforts. She nodded, satisfied. "Now, for your gown."

  "What's wrong with my gown?" Lucinda looked down at the simple brown dress. The narrow collar fit her tightly about the n
eck and the bodice gave her no form at all. It was Savannah who demanded that the latest dressmaker's dolls be brought to her so that she might see them and order new gowns to be made, not Lucinda. Lucinda was satisfied with her wardrobe, one that was no longer in fashion.

  "It is not becoming. The color is dull. The style, from what I see the other ladies wearing, is old; and it is something to be worn by a matronly woman."

  "I am matronly," Lucinda insisted. "I am twenty-six years old."

  "To Ben Franklin," Krystyna recalled what she had overheard one of the men say the other evening about the appetites of the aging patriot, "you are still too young to bother with. Do you know whether Savannah is going to be gone for the rest of the day?"

  "I ... I believe so." Lucinda placed a hand on Krystyna's arm. "You're not going to take anything else from her room, are you?"

  "You do not have any suitable gowns to show you off properly," Krystyna said simply.

  Lucinda's eyes grew huge. "I can't take one of her gowns," she gasped. Savannah's rage would be overwhelming.

  "You will only be borrowing it long enough to show yourself off to your husband." Gently, Krystyna removed Lucinda's hand from her arm. "And Savannah has many gowns. She will not miss one for a few hours."

  With Lucinda's moan of protest still ringing in her ears, Krystyna went down the hall quickly and entered Savannah's room.

  She looked around, taken with how different this room was from Lucinda's austerely decorated little bedroom. It was twice the size, with white frills at the windows and on the bed. The scent of the sweet perfume Savannah wore was everywhere. It was almost as if Savannah were in the room beside her.

  Pushing the thought aside, Krystyna hurried over to one of the two cedar closets. Quickly, before Lucinda became overwhelmed by fear and panicked, she searched through the wealth of gowns for one that would be perfect for Aaron's wife.

  Having made her selection, she returned to Lucinda's room and presented it to her.

  "I-I can't wear that," Lucinda stammered. She hesitantly touched the pearl-blue gown. It had three-quarter-length sleeves which billowed out into lacy edging at the elbow, but Lucinda's eyes were on the plunging neckline.

  "Why not?" Krystyna held the gown up against her. It was a little short, but looked as if it would fit. "It is a becoming gown, and the color is good for you."

  "But it's so daring," Lucinda protested.

  Krystyna turned the gown around and looked at it. She shook her head at Lucinda's feeble protest. "Your husband has seen you before, and it is not that daring."

  "Only without the candle lit," Lucinda said quietly.

  Krystyna understood what she was trying to tell her. She raised the woman's chin until their eyes met. "It is time the candle was lit."

  "I-I don't know." Lucinda wrung her hands. "I don't think I can do it."

  "You have to if you want to keep your husband happy. And interested," Krystyna added.

  Lucinda looked up at her. "He hasn't been interested since the day we were married." She blushed. "I shouldn't be telling you all this."

  Krystyna shrugged. "I will tell no one. Sometimes it is good to unburden oneself. Here." She thrust the gown toward her.

  Lucinda stared at it, her brown eyes hesitant. And then she reached for the gown. Taking a deep breath, she went behind her dressing screen.

  "What you said before," Lucinda began uncertainly. "About unburdening yourself . . ."

  "Yes?" Krystyna asked absently. She touched the small figurine on Lucinda's dresser. A lady of the court, wearing the latest fashion. Perhaps I should go with John when he leaves, she thought. It was taking too long to earn her passage back, and the longer she stayed, the more demanding her body became, yearning for Jason's touch. They had made love twice now, and after each time she wanted him more. If she left now, quickly, she could go back to the home that had meant so much to her.

  As to finding her father's assassin, the task seemed hopeless. Where was she to start?

  "I said," Lucinda repeated when Krystyna made no answer, "does that apply to you, too?"

  Krystyna blinked and looked over to the dressing screen. "Yes, at times." She wondered where this was leading. Lucinda wasn't the type to pry.

  "I ... I know," Lucinda blurted out. She had to tell Krystyna, yet she couldn't find the words.

  Krystyna looked at the other woman with renewed interest. "Know what?"

  Lucinda stepped from behind the screen, and Krystyna smiled despite the serious tone of their conversation. Lucinda looked pretty, even though she was tugging at the neckline, trying to raise it higher.

  No, pretty is not the word that suits her; she looks lovely, Krystyna silently amended. Lucinda's muted features, which were straight and pure, were highlighted by the little bit of facial paint Krystyna had applied. The swept-up hair showed off her long, alabaster neck, and the gown complemented her figure instead of hiding it.

  "You are very, very lovely," Krystyna said softly. She stepped aside so that Lucinda could see for herself in the mirror.

  "Oh, my." Lucinda touched her cheek in disbelief. "Is that me?"

  "There are only two of us in the room," Krystyna assured her with a smile.

  Surprise shone on her face. "I'm not plain," she said, in awe.

  "No, you are far from that." Krystyna moved behind Lucinda and adjusted the gown's lacings. "That is what I have been trying to tell you."

  Lucinda whirled around, looking at Krystyna with unabashed love. The woman was a sorceress. "How can I thank you?"

  "You could finish what you started to say earlier. What is it that you 'know'?" Was she trying to tell her that she knew about those warm moments spent in Jason's arms? Was she seeking a confession from her?

  The expression on Lucinda's face suddenly grew solemn. "I went to look for you the other day." Her hands felt icy as she spoke. "In your cabin." The paleness that came to Krystyna's face made her uncertain that she should go on. "I know I shouldn't have, but . . ." Her voice faltered. "I went into your cabin. I was so excited," she said hurriedly. "I wanted to show you something."

  Krystyna's eyes narrowed as she fought to still her nerves.

  "And you saw him," she said quietly.

  "Yes." Lucinda nodded nervously. "I saw him —but I didn't tell anyone." She took hold of Krystyna's arm. "I swear I didn't."

  How cold Lucinda's fingertips were. "I believe you."

  "You don't have to explain anything to me." Lucinda pressed her lips together. "But . . ."

  "What is he doing there?"

  "No, I was going to say you're taking an awful chance. My father-in-law would have him killed if he found out."

  "I found him half-dead," Krystyna told her. "I could not have left him untended. Any more than you could," she added, looking into Lucinda's eyes.

  "And that's all?" Lucinda asked in surprise. She had imagined all sorts of things and had feared what would happen if not only Morgan but Jason found out.

  "Did you think he was my lover?" Krystyna guessed.

  Lucinda blushed. "I didn't know what to think. He was in your bed, asleep. I saw the uniform. . . ." She licked her lips. "I guess I didn't see the bandages."

  "He is getting better now. He'll be able to leave soon," Krystyna assured her.

  "But he's British — " Lucinda protested.

  "The British are human, too. He shall be gone in a few days —and so shall I," Krystyna said, making up her mind suddenly. She saw the stricken look on Lucinda's face.

  "Oh, but you can't leave. Not now. Not when you've become so important to us."

  Lucinda's protest touched Krystyna. She was about to answer it when the door swung open behind her.

  "You'll be gone sooner than that when I tell my father about your British lover!" Savannah announced. Her lips curved in a triumphant smirk as she saw the looks of surprise on the faces of the two women.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Savannah had been in a temper when she'd returned from the ride with Win
throp. The fumbling oaf had actually had the audacity to try to take liberties with her. She had insisted the carriage be turned around immediately. She might have to suffer Winthrop's attempts at romance after they married, but certainly not before. She left him at the doorstep, babbling excuses.

  Storming up the stairs, Savannah entered her room and immediately saw that her jars of facial paint had been handled. She looked over the lot and realized that one was missing.

  "Zoe!" Her shriek of indignation brought the slight body servant running. "Who's been in my room?"

  The young girl trembled before her mistress. Savannah's tantrums were well known. "I think I seen Miz Krystyna go in, Miz Savannah."

  Savannah stared at Zoe, incredulous. How dare she? Did that woman think she could just sashay around everywhere? She would have suspected Zoe of lying, but one look at the servant's face told her the girl was too frightened to lie.

  "Where is she now?" Savannah demanded.

  Zoe tried to back away, out of Savannah's path. "Miz Lu's room, I think."

  Savannah pushed Zoe aside as she stormed out and to Lucinda's door. What did the woman think she was up to with that spineless ninny? And what in heaven's name did Krystyna want with her paints?

  Infuriated, Savannah was about to push open Lucinda's door when she heard the two women talking within. Checking her anger, she listened, and a smug smile spread over her lips.

  Now I have you, she thought.

  Ordinarily, Savannah wouldn't have told her father about the soldier Lucinda had discovered. He was British, and Savannah really believed that the Colonies should remain under English rule. But this was her chance to discredit Krystyna in her father's eyes. This would demonstrate to him just how untrustworthy the foreign wench was.

  Oh yes, she thought, I'll be rid of you soon, "Countess."

  Bursting into Lucinda's room, Savannah made her intentions known. She fully expected Krystyna to be reduced to tearful pleading. When the woman only looked at her, indignant anger in her eyes, Savannah was doubly frustrated.

  She turned her wrath on her sister-in-law, and was shocked by what she saw. This wasn't the gray mouse who had lived in their midst for the last eleven years.