Pirate's Golden Promise (36 page)

“Do you plan to stop the ceremony?” she asked him, hope in her heart that he would.

Rolfe knew she'd like him to try, but as much as he desired Wynter, he wouldn't interfere, not when the prospect of a wedding ceremony brought such a pained expression to Katrina's beautiful face. He felt she owed him for her many indiscretions, but worst of all for attempting to make him believe, early in their marriage, that Mikel was his own child. He'd never forgive her for such a lie. He had wanted children, wanted an heir for Lindenwyck. She'd given him his cousin's bastard, and for this he'd do anything to cause her anguish.

Shrugging his shoulders in indifference, he said, “I see no reason to destroy Cort's and Wynter's happiness. I'd advise you not to try, Katrina.”

She jumped up from her chair. “Remember, I know you killed a man, Rolfe. If I want you to stop the wedding, and you refuse, I can call in the authorities.”

Only the slight twitch of a muscle near his eye gave her any indication that she'd upset him. When he rose to his feet he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to him. “Do that, my errant wife, but remember that you will suffer the same fate. Even if I am to suffer for my crime, think that there are many men who'd do anything for a few guilders on my order. Lindenwyck is my domain, and here I am untouchable.”

When he pushed her from him, she nearly fell. Rolfe left Katrina and went in search of Gerta, whom he found in her small farmhouse cooking a pot of stew. Her round face glowed with gladness and love to see him, and she pushed a chair towards the hearth so he might warm himself.

Rolfe sat and patted her head as if she were a small lap dog when she knelt beside his chair. “It has been some time since I was last here,” he said.

“Ja. I've missed you.” She took his hand and kissed it.

“I apologize, but my duties kept me away.”

Gerta replied nothing, but she knew his time had been taken up with Wynter Van Linden. But now Cort Van Linden had returned, and she knew Rolfe would spend less time with Wynter. Besides, Cort had asked Gerta to become Lyntje Van Linden's nurse, so now she could keep an eye on Rolfe.

“You look tired,” Gerta commented.

“I am.”

She rose from her kneeling position. “Come, Rolfe, my bed is waiting, and I will comfort you.”

Heaving himself from his chair, he followed her into the bedroom and delighted in her well-rounded body. Gerta was a kind and considerate lover, but Rolfe didn't love her. Desire for Wynter ate away at the core of his being, but Rolfe was a patient man. He decided that if nothing unforeseen happened, Wynter would one day rule Lindenwyck as his wife.

The commotion that preceded the wedding caused Wynter to wonder whether she and Cort should have quietly left for New Amsterdam to pronounce their vows. In the weeks before the ceremony, the house was thrown into an uproar and merchants were eternally knocking at the door. Quantities of laces, satins and silks were thrown haphazardly around Wynter's bedchamber. Before the merchants and the dressmaker departed, she wasn't certain any longer just what she had chosen for her bridal gown. Lena, however, took the hustle and bustle in stride, and Wynter guessed she delighted in helping Wynter to choose among the materials offered.

Before Wynter could catch her breath, Lena called her to discuss the food for the wedding banquet, the decorations, the pastries, who should be invited and who should not. Wynter's head was spinning when Cort walked nonchalantly into the sitting room one afternoon.

“What are my two ladies up to?” he inquired and flashed a knowing smile at Wynter's beleaguered expression.

“Time is short,” Lena declared and hurried out of the room when another merchant appeared in the foyer.

“Take me away from all this, Cort, please. If I have to have my derriere jabbed with another pin during a fitting or even as much as look at another tradesman's face, I shall go mad.”

Cort laughed gently. He sat next to her and cradled her head on his shoulder. “My poor baby. If I'd known that marriage to me would entail such trials, I never would have asked you.”

“You don't mean that, do you?” Wynter asked and glanced up at him.

“I'm joking, love. I can't wait until you're my true wife.”

“Don't let Lena hear you. She might guess we're not married,” Wynter whispered.

“In my heart, we are.”

After a few silent minutes, Mary appeared. “You're wanted upstairs for another fitting, ma'am.”

Wynter groaned. “Such is the duty of the bride. What will you be doing while I'm being poked in the rump, Cort?”

“Ordering the wine.”

“Is that all? Don't you have anything else to do?”

“Just show up for the ceremony.”

“It's not fair,” Wynter muttered and kissed him quickly before she went upstairs.

The day of the wedding dawned clear and cold. At last, all the decorations were complete. In the formal sitting room, evergreen boughs adorned the walls where the reception would take place. Two chairs had been placed on a dais beneath a large
golden
crown of
colorfully
dried flowers
.
Within the center of the crown were two silver hands, clasped in a loving embrace, and two golden hearts. On the hearts the bride and groom's initials had been etched. In front of the throne-like dais was a table, filled with rich foods displayed in Lena's best silver and crystal bowls.

Upstairs, Mary helped Wynter dress with the dressmaker's help. The wedding dress was made from white silk and trimmed with silver fringe. Small diamond buttons ran down the back of the gown. A diamond and pearl necklace was clasped around Wynter's throat, and then she slipped her stockinged feet into white satin shoes. Mary pinned up her dark hair with diamond pins. When Wynter put on her white gloves, she nodded to Mary that she was ready.

“I'm so happy for you,” Mary said, and a tear came to her eye as she recalled her own wedding to Jan.

“I'm finally going to marry Cort,” Wynter told her and faced her with a dazzling smile. “My dream of becoming his wife is finally coming true.”

Two hours later Wynter became the wife of Cort Van Linden. The two-mile carriage ride to the church and the ceremony were mere blurs to her. Her happiness obliterated everything and everyone but Cort. When they returned as man and wife to Lindenwyck, the guests had already arrived and were helping themselves to meats and fruits high on silver platters and glasses of imported french wine. Wynter recognized many of the guests as people she had first met on St. Nicholas Eve. They greeted her kindly and wished the happy couple well. But for the most part, the day was taken up with merriment and happy talk. As Wynter sat upon her chair on the dais, she noticed Mikel. The child stood in a corner, and she saw tears running down his cheeks. She turned to Cort.

“Something is wrong with Mikel,” she told him.

Cort glanced towards the boy and made a motion for Mikel to come to him.

“Tell me what ails you, lad,” Cort said to Mikel when he stood in front of them.

Mikel glanced around the room in reluctance, and Wynter thought he was going to cry once more, but he took a deep breath.

“My mother was sobbing in her room earlier. I knocked and asked her what was wrong, but she told me to go away, that I couldn't help her. I don't like to see her sad.”

Katrina hadn't attended the wedding, pleading ill health. Wynter suddenly realized that she wasn't physically unwell, but sick at heart that Cort was lost to her.

“I'm certain she will be fine,” Wynter told Mikel, and Cort agreed.

“By tomorrow I feel she'll be quite well,” Cort said to reassure Mikel.

Rolfe made his way through the crowd to reach the newly married couple. “Is Mikel bothering you?” he asked Cort and Wynter.

“Not at all.” Cort noticed the look of displeasure in Rolfe's eyes and didn't care for the stern tone he used. He sensed that Rolfe disliked the boy and that Katrina didn't take the proper amount of time with him that a mother should. Suddenly Cort felt very protective of Mikel and seated the child on his black-velvet-clad legs. “I should like to become better acquainted with my little cousin.”

“As you wish,” Rolfe said to Cort but rested his gaze on Wynter. “May I say that I have never seen a more beautiful bride?”

Wynter inclined her head in acceptance of his compliment, but she felt uncomfortable by the flame she saw burning within the depths of his eyes for her.

Cort leaned close to Wynter. “The wedding feast is at an end. You're supposed to go upstairs and ready yourself for your bridegroom.”

Wynter's heart fluttered at his words. If Mikel hadn't been sitting on Cort's lap, and if the guests hadn't watched them so keenly, she'd have given into the urge to kiss her husband. Lena appeared and told her to follow. Wynter dutifully made her way through the grinning throng, then up the stairs to her bedroom.

The dancing flames from the hearth were the only illumination in the bedroom. Wynter waited before the dressing table, arrayed in a nightrail of the sheerest white silk and pink lace. Her hair, which had been perfumed with rosewater by Mary and brushed by Lena, hung in long thick curls down her back. The barest hint of a smile claimed her lips as she walked towards the hearth and warmed her chilled hands.

She was Cort's wife, his true wife. She still felt unable to believe that after all these months of trial, of despair, they were married. Everything had changed since the night she first saw Cort at her birthday ball. In fact, when the clock in the hall struck midnight, she realized that exactly one year had passed. Her eighteenth birthday had arrived.

With the turning of the knob on the door, she glanced up and her eyes drank in the handsome presence of her husband. Cort entered the room and quietly closed the door behind him. His powerful physique was barely hidden by a brown and gold robe, and Wynter realized he wore nothing beneath it. Her pulses quickened with expectation and a flicker of apprehension. At the moment she felt like a virgin bride.

Lifting her chin with a tanned index finger, he smiled down at her. “You are the most beautiful bride in the entire world, Wynter. After we've had our brood of children, I shall still praise your beauty and love you with my whole heart.”

“I love you, Cort. I never thought I could love anyone as much as you.”

“Then let's begin our honeymoon,” he said eagerly and scooped her into his arms. Wynter laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him with her when they fell upon the bed.

His lips touched hers in a whisper-soft kiss. A sigh escaped her, and she deepened the kiss of her own accord. Her breasts felt the beating of his heart when he lowered himself upon her, and she wished to be free of the confining nightrail. Suddenly she didn't feel like a typical fearful bride on her wedding night, but a woman consumed with desire for the man she loved.

“Cort, we don't have to pretend I'm a virgin bride. I realize you're holding back, but it's been so long since we loved one another—”

He broke off her words with another kiss. “I'm as eager for you, my love,” he said and pulled off the robe. With gentle hands, Cort undressed her. With each piece of clothing he peeled away, his hands managed to touch her breasts, her waist, her hips, her thighs. She trembled from anticipation. When she wrapped her legs around him in eagerness, he raised an eyebrow and grinned. “It appears that someone has taught you unladylike habits. I wonder who the bounder may have been.” He twirled a long curl around his finger, driving her wild with his self-control.

“You're well aware that the ‘bounder' was yourself, Cort Van Linden. And, yes, I do admit to unladylike habits, but only with you.” Her voice became a husky whisper. “Only with you.”

He groaned her name and slid inside of her. She didn't care that he hadn't aroused her further. Just his presence could awaken desire in her body and her heart, and to feel his manhood pulsating within her again, to know that Cort was now her husband drove her to the brink of ecstasy. Loving Cort was such a mind-drugging experience that she could barely recall making love to Fletch. In fact, the moments with Fletcher had dimmed and become lost in the fog of her memory. This wedding night consumed her totally, and after she and Cort cried their pleasure in unison, she wouldn't have been surprised to discover that her flesh had been singed by Cort's possession of her.

Minutes later, Wynter found herself falling asleep against Cort's chest. She felt a nibbling on her shoulder, and when she opened her eyes, Cort was dangling a diamond-and-emerald-encrusted pendant above her head.

“For you, Wynter. A happy birthday to my wife.”

“You remembered my birthday.”

“Don't sound so disbelieving. Of course I remembered it.” He leaned on his side and frowned. “If I recall, it was one year ago today that I met a very spoiled but beautiful young lady who slapped me soundly when I kissed her.”

“I apologize for slapping you.” Her fingers tenderly stroked his cheek.

“You
should
have slapped me. If you'd known what I was thinking at that moment, how I wanted to undress you and ravish your body there under the stairwell, you'd have been within your rights.”

She took the necklace and clutched it to her breasts, then she kissed him long and deep. “What you don't know, Cort, is that I'd have let you,” she said when their lips parted.

“Vixen! “he growled.

“Lover,” she whispered.

Their lips and bodies met again. Though a snowstorm raged across the countryside and dropped snow on the roof of Lindenwyck until thin, pointed icicles formed and hung from the eaves, Cort and Wynter didn't hear the wind or feel its cold sting. Burrowed beneath the heavy quilts and snug in each other's arms, they slept, truly together at last.