Pirate's Golden Promise (31 page)

“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.”

“You miss him very much,” Wynter noted and tied red ribbons around a wreath.

Lena's eyes clouded, and she nodded. “Ja, but I know you must miss Cort, as do I. This is your first Christmas without him, is it not?”

“Yes,” was her only reply. Wynter lowered her head so that no one would see the tears brimming in her eyes. She wanted to cry because Cort hadn't been with her last Christmas or any Christmas. She felt suddenly very alone in this house which brimmed with bustling activity. But she had her baby, and the knowledge that the child was due within a month caused her to smile to herself.

“Will Katrina be helping us?” Wynter asked Lena after a sad but companionable silence passed between them.

“Katrina has a headache,” Lena said, none too softly. “She always becomes ill when there is work to be done, but tonight when our guests arrive for the festivities she'll be certain to saunter down the stairs, dressed in her finery with a smile on her face.”

Wynter hadn't realized that Lena resented Katrina. Ever since her arrival, Wynter had thought the two women were friends—at least, Lena had given her that impression. What had happened to change Lena's opinion?

“Aunt Lena, may I ask you a question?” Wynter stopped tying the bow on a wreath and looked at the small, plump woman.

At Lena's lifted brow, Wynter said, “Was Cort in love with Katrina? Did he ask her to marry him?”

At this point Mary inconspicuously left the room. The fire glowed in the large stone hearth and cast dancing shadows across their faces.

Lena stopped draping a garland across the table top. She sat on the chair opposite Wynter. “Ja, Cort did ask to marry Katrina. I didn't know it at the time. Fritz had recently died. I knew that Cort spent much time with her, but whenever I asked her about the relationship, Katrina would smile prettily and say they were friends. I suspected she and Rolfe would marry, so I thought the friendship with Cort was harmless. Rolfe came to me and told me that he and Katrina had decided to marry. They asked for my blessing, which I freely gave. I trusted her, you see, and believed that she loved Rolfe.

“The last time I saw Cort was on a Sunday evening. He came inside after watching Rolfe and his friends skate on the river. He barely looked at me or spoke to me. That night he disappeared. I've never seen him since that day. I didn't know what had happened to him or why he had left. I suspected the truth when I went to my jewelry box and the betrothal ring was missing. I realized he must have taken it to give to Katrina, and she had rejected him for Rolfe. Evidently her rejection of him was harsh and cruel, but this is not why I dislike her. I dislike her because my Rolfe isn't happy. I see love in his eyes for you, Wynter, and this hurts me. Not because he loves you, but because he married the wrong woman.”

Wynter leaned over and patted Lena's hand. “Perhaps Katrina will come to care for Rolfe.”

Lena heaved a sigh. “It doesn't matter now if she loves him or not. You're the one he loves. I don't wish him to be hurt again, my dear.”

“I won't encourage Rolfe, Aunt Lena. To me, he is a dear friend and cousin. My heart still belongs to Cort.”

“Ah, I understand how you feel. After all these years, I still love my Fritz and always will. But you're a young, beautiful woman. Don't shut yourself off from love.”

Lena rose and went about her work when two serving girls came into the room. Wynter didn't have time to mull over Lena's words before Rolfe appeared, dressed in a large fur cloak, with skates in hand. He came to where Wynter sat.

“I think my pretty cousin needs a respite from these party doings,” he said to Lena, his eyes on Wynter. “May I take her away from you, Mother?”

Lena warily eyed her son. “Ja, if Wynter wants to go with you.”

“Go where?” Wynter asked.

Rolfe pushed the foot warmer aside, grabbed her hands, and lifted her to her feet. “Skating, of course.”

“But it's so cold outside, and, Rolfe, be sensible. I can't skate in my condition.”

“Trust me,” he said and led her into the vestibule where Mary waited with a white mink cape.

“For you, cousin Wynter.” Taking the cape from Mary, he wrapped it around Wynter's shoulders.

“This isn't mine,” she protested.

“It is now. Think of it as an early Christmas present.”

“Rolfe, I can't accept this.”

“You will,” he commanded, then tempered his words with, “Please.”

Wynter couldn't refuse him. He appeared so earnest and charming that she'd feel ungrateful to reject his present. “Thank you, Rolfe,” she told him.

The cold, bitter wind stung Wynter's cheeks, and she pulled up the fur-shrouded hood when they were outside. Low, snow-filled skies gloomily hung over Lindenwyck, and Wynter was certain that snow would again fall before morning. Rolfe took her hand and carefully guided her down the slope to the river.

Already Lindenwyck's tenants from the bouweries, or farms, skated across the ice. Wynter noticed Mikel among them and answered his wave with one of her own. She gazed in perplexity to Rolfe.

“I really can't skate, Rolfe.”

He laughed. “Ye of little faith. I wouldn't think of allowing a pregnant woman to skate. Do you believe I am stupid? Look there.” He pointed to a sleigh-like chair that resembled a blue-and-white swan, which rested on double runners. He made a long and generous bow after he escorted her to it. “For you, Vrouw Van Linden.”

Wynter's eyes sparkled. “How lovely it is!”

“You must thank your trusted Dirk for this masterpiece. I told him what I wished designed, and he carved this lovely swan.”

Wynter giggled and allowed Rolfe to help her into the sleigh. He took a large fur from the seat and tucked it carefully about her. Before he was finished, Wynter was swathed in fur up to her rosy cheeks. “Warm?” he asked.

Rolfe put on his skates and took his position at the back of the sleigh. He grabbed the wooden bar and pushed forward. The sleigh swished across the thick ice. Never had Wynter felt so free, so much like a bird in flight. The thought that the sleigh might overturn never entered her head. She sensed that Rolfe was an excellent skater and wouldn't allow anything to happen to her or her child. For the first time since Cort had left her on Santa Margarita, she gave herself up to the heady rush of life.

When Rolfe finally turned the sleigh around and headed back for the landing, she felt disappointment. He said when they stopped, “You don't want to overtire yourself.” But he smiled broadly at her, clearly able to see her excitement and pleasure.

As he helped her out of the sleigh, his gaze went to an ice boat that rested on the river near the shore. “One of our guests must have arrived early,” he commented, and together he and Wynter walked to the house.

They entered through the back door and made their way into the vestibule, arm in arm. Wynter's face was becomingly rosy, her fur hood falling off her head to reveal long, tousled locks. Her eyes glowed a bright, vibrant gray like delicate crystal when it catches the sunlight. Their delighted laughter blended together and echoed through the drafty rooms.

Lena came quickly out of the sitting room, a stunned but happy expression on her plump face. Behind her followed a tall man whom Wynter didn't glance at until she felt Rolfe stop in his tracks. Rolfe's flushed face paled visibly.

Wynter looked to the object of his dismay. Her eyes focused, but she was unable to believe what she saw. She let go of Rolfe's arm and took a few steps forward. When she fainted dead away, it wasn't Rolfe who caught her.

It was Cort.

Wynter woke to find Lena and Mary hovering anxiously over her. She discovered herself lying on the sofa in the sitting room before the roaring fire in the hearth. Mary removed a cool washcloth from her brow and rubbed each wrist with it.

“How are you feeling, ma'am?” Mary asked.

“Fine. I fainted. This pregnancy must be taking its toll upon me. I thought I saw Cort.”

Cort's large, broad-shouldered figure rose from the chair on the opposite side of the room. “You did see me,” he said and came to stand beside the sofa.

She hadn't dreamed him. Cort was alive! He couldn't be. Saba had told her he was dead. But the handsome man before her was far from a corpse.

“I went to Santa Margarita,” she began, “and Saba said you had died during Morgan's attack.”

“As you can see, I'm quite fit. If you're feeling better, may I help you to your feet?”

Holding out his hand to her, Wynter took it and sat up. She then stood next to him, feeling very small and foolish to have everyone's eyes upon them. Lena smiled in benevolence, Mary appeared absolutely shocked, and Rolfe carefully observed the reunion of husband and wife with a wry smile upon his face and a tilt of his head.

Katrina entered the room, dressed in a yellow satin gown, edged at the bodice and hem with tiny red roses. Wynter had never seen her look more lovely—or more stunned as her blue gaze fell upon Cort.

She faltered a moment. Her face turned from rosy to chalk in an instant. She spoke some words in Dutch, then seemed to recover herself enough to rush forward, but Rolfe reached out with a long arm and halted her.

“It seems our cousin Cort has returned from the grave, my dear.”

Katrina began to speak, but Lena intervened. “Let's leave Cort and his wife alone.” She clapped her hands and cleared everyone out of the room like a mother hen with her chicks.

The door closed behind them. The room grew unbearably still. Wynter heard a log drop in the hearth and the hiss of the flames. She heard the howling wind outside and her own uneven breathing. How long they stood with her hand in his, her wide gray eyes locked in his gold piercing stare, she didn't know. When he let her go, it seemed an eternity had passed.

“I can't believe you're here, that you're alive,” she said, nearly choking on the words as tears of happiness filled her eyes. “I thought you'd been killed.”

Cort leaned a velvet-clad arm against the mantelpiece. Wynter thought the deep brown color of the mantel suited his tan complexion and tawny eyes. She wanted to run to him now that the shock was wearing off. She ached to hold him against her, to kiss him. But the look of utter disapproval on Cort's face quelled the impulse.

“Thanks to you, I almost was. Many of the island people died because of your and Morgan's passion,” Cort sneered, his eyes burning in anger. “I wondered how I'd find you upon my arrival. I had begun to think that perhaps I had misjudged you, after Saba told me she overheard your plans to come to Lindenwyck. On the voyage here I calmed down enough to realize that perhaps, just perhaps, you wanted to tell my family of my demise. The thought of you in the role of comforter, I must say, did seem appealing to me. But now I see you've totally entranced my family. In the short space of time before you pranced in here with Rolfe, Aunt Lena sang your praises. She adores you, as does Rolfe. I can see his blatant love for you in his eyes, so you should be quite pleased with yourself.”

“Cort, don't. None of it is as you think.”

“Stop it!” he practically growled, and halted any of her further steps with a raised hand. “I don't want to hear your lies, Wynter. I can't tolerate them.” Taking a deep breath, he grew calm and spoke in a smooth voice. “The point is, my dear, that I couldn't figure out what you could gain from the Van Lindens by an unexpected appearance. Realize my surprise when Aunt Lena, after she recovered from her shock at seeing me again, told me that my wife is here. I suppressed a laugh when I realized she meant you, but the laugh was on me when you waddled in here.”