A Warrior for Christmas (5 page)

Corwin’s hand itched for his tomahawk. If he had it now, he’d toss the blade just past Mister Owen’s right ear and notch it in passing. If any doubt still remained in the man’s mind as to whom Dimity belonged, he’d hurl him to the floor and press a knife to his throat. That should give him a hint. Mister Owen was none too subtle himself.

Simmering with more rage than he’d thought possible, Corwin strode past his uncle, who didn’t look especially pleased either. Mister Johnson smiled congenially, poor misguided man, and his female relations never ceased to simper, but Corwin let all this irritation pass without remark. His fight was with the attorney.

“Mister Owen,” he summoned through his teeth.

He shifted his focus from Dimity. His eyebrows arched upon surveying Corwin.

“Let’s discuss that minuet outside, where the air is clearer and the crowd thinner,” he invited.

Mister Owen surveyed him as though he couldn’t believe his ears. He was fortunate they were still intact.

Dimity trembled, white faced. Apparently this wasn’t the ending she’d envisioned to the afternoon’s festivity.

Uncle Randolph reached Corwin in a few strides and muttered, “You can’t just attack one of our guests because you don’t like his dancing.”

“What would you suggest I attack him for?” Corwin muttered in turn. He was open to suggestions.

“Corwin.” Dimity curled her fingers around his arm. He looked into her reproving eyes.

She glanced at their startled onlookers. “Please forgive us. Mister Whitfield and I must speak for a few minutes.”

Corwin was glad enough to leave this gathering, though he’d wanted to have a word of his own with that attorney.

Dimity drew him out through the double doors and into the entryway. “Get your coat.”

She was directing him outdoors? Certain of her attention, he said, “The grounds are snow-covered. Is there nowhere else we may speak?”

She replied through pursed lips. “Not in the same house as Mister Owen, I think.”

Corwin rather admired her determination, thinking her meeker than this. But her composure was shaken; the tremor in her chin betrayed what it cost her to confront him.

He pulled on his brown caped coat and she wrapped in a hooded scarlet cloak. Only her face peeked out. He offered her his arm. She took it and they slipped out the door to the front steps. These were slick and much of the cobbled yard was white and crusted with ice.

He nudged her and asked, “Where are we going?”

“To the stables.”

That suited him fine in boots, but her low heeled shoes would slide and soon be filled with snow.

She gasped as he lifted her in his arms. “We will be seen!”

Ignoring her protest, he bore her down the steps and across the cobbles. Inside the stable, the earthy scent of horses and hay greeted them along with welcoming nickers. He stood her on her feet in a late day sunbeam that slanted through the door so she could see his face. Dust motes floated around her and the light made her seem a golden angel—a reproachful one.

“Corwin—” she began. Her eyes spoke where her voice halted. “You cannot call a man out simply because he danced with me.”

“Is that what I was doing?”

“What else did you intend?”

“To give Mister Geoffrey Owen a right good thrashing.”

Her mouth fell open. “But that’s even worse. You should at least allow him the satisfaction of—”

“What? A duel?”

“Yes—no. There is much of the wilderness about you yet.”

“And Mister Owen did far more than simply dance.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But he did not stray beyond the bounds of propriety. What you did, or want to do, goes well beyond them.”

“He would go well beyond if he dared.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“No. I stopped him.”

Her eyes glistened. “And who are you to have say over me? I have a guardian. He did not protest.”

“Uncle Randolph wanted to. That was plain enough.”

“But he held himself in check. If Mister Owen truly accosted me, do you not think he would fly to my defense?”

Corwin couldn’t argue the point. Uncle Randolph would skin any man alive who threatened her.

“The most Mister Owen might do is seek permission to court me.”

The word “court” knifed through Corwin like a red-hot blade. For a moment, he said nothing.

Her lips trembled. “Do you think it so improbable?”

“Not at all.” Somehow, Corwin had imagined her always in residence here at Whitfield, forever chaste.

“My prospects are limited. I must consider any respectable man who might have that inclination.”

“My uncle will care for you.”

“Am I always to be a burden to him?”

“You aren’t. He adores you.”

She thrust out her quivering chin. “And I yearn for a normal woman’s life, for a husband and children.”

“But you are not like other women.”

She fixed him with a streaming gaze. “I thought you saw beyond my infirmity.”

He clasped her shoulders. “I do. I swear.”

“Then why speak so?”

“I fear for you.”

“Do not. Allow me to live my life,” she choked out. “We can speak no more. I no longer see your face.”

Corwin hadn’t meant to distress her. There was much he wanted to say and couldn’t. Here he was claiming a woman he had no idea how to keep. He only knew he could not bear to let another have her.

Circling his arms around her, he pulled her close.

“We can be seen—through the door,” she cautioned in a muffled quaver.

He drew her back with him into a darkened corner. He needed no words to cup his hands around her damp cheeks and smooth away her tears. Before she argued propriety, he covered her mouth with his.

****

Corwin came upon Dimity like a warm south wind, imbued with life. So unprepared was she that she made no protest at his fervor. All her desire for him welled up in a heated rush and she leaned into the sweet pressure on her lips…her first real kiss. She hadn’t known whom or what she’d awaited all these years, only that deep down she had sensed something more. Corwin was worth all the aching loneliness.

Arching on her toes, she lifted her arms around his smooth neck. He held her close, supporting her in his strong arms. How safe and secure she felt. The softness of his hair brushed her cheek. In him, she smelled the essence of the woodlands mixed with a hint of French-milled soap. He was a blend of the wild softened by refinement.

He couldn’t whisper in her ear, but he blew softly, titillating every sense…then lightly kissed over her face before returning to her mouth…pure exhilaration. A ripple ran down her spine, through her innermost self, to her toes.

Had she truly lived before now? It didn’t seem possible. Corwin was like the birth of spring in the dead of winter. All seemed so right…she wanted to think only of him and this time together in their shadowed corner, enveloped in the earthy aroma of hay and horses.

And yet, she should not be kissing him this way. He’d made no pledge to her, and asked none in return.

She loathed breaking their kiss. But, even now, she must remember the etiquette in which she’d been rigidly schooled.

With a sigh, she slowly pulled away from the wonders of his lips and settled back onto her feet. His face was dim in the shadows, but she did not need to clearly see him to feel their hearts beat as one.

“Corwin,” she sighed. “You have the advantage over me in that you can hear. I cannot heed your words of love if you render them.”

He clasped her chilled hands in his and pressed her fingers to his lips. Then he slowly writ the words in her palm,
I adore you.

She thrilled at his touch and dear assertion. “If you intend more from me than these sweet moments alone, an offer of marriage must follow.” She very much feared this would be more than he could give.

Again his finger writ in her palm,
I will wed you
.

All the riches of this world could not compare to the exalted emotion overflowing in her. And yet, she had to ask, “What of your life in the frontier? Will you not miss it dreadfully?”

He gave a nod, but wrote,
My heart is yours
.

“And mine belongs to you ever and always. But a large part of you yearns for what you knew before. Can you truly be content here?”

With you
, he answered in sweet strokes of his finger.

If only she could be certain. Was he always to have one eye on the horizon? “I do not wish to be an impediment to you.”

Never
, he argued, sliding his finger across her palm.

“I could accompany you into the frontier, if you like. Only, please, not to the Indians.”

He kissed over her hand at her offer, and then wrote,
Brave lady
.
Too much danger.

“Because I cannot hear?”

Yes.

“I wish you would give me a chance to show you what I can do.”

He placed her fingers to his throat so she could experience his deep chuckle. Then inscribed on her palm,
Show me all you like.

She smiled at his sensuous teasing, though still wanting him to believe in her. “I would go with you wherever you take me. I’m stronger than you think, than my guardian thinks. I lived, Corwin, when I should have died.”

He wrote,
I know
.

“But you think only to coddle me and surrender all you love best.”

I love you best.

“Will you continue to? You did not even like dancing. Do you realize how essential dancing is in society?”

I love to dance with you.

“Not the minuet, I’ll wager,” she said with a soft laugh. “To do that well is the mark of a true gentleman.”

Teach me.

She considered him skeptically
.
“Perhaps.”

****

Corwin didn’t blame Dimity for her doubt regarding the length and breadth of his fast-expanding regard. He could hardly account for it himself. Only this morning, he should have been astonished to think by afternoon he would utter violent protests of love, and in such an unusual manner.

At least he’d found ways to communicate his feelings. And she’d allowed him such a kiss as few men ever knew. Not only allowed his kiss, but returned it. There beat in this sweet Quakeress the bold heart of a Cavalier.

Despite his high esteem of her courage, Corwin could in no way risk her safety. Journeying into the frontier with her would court disaster; he couldn’t assure her continual protection with the need to hunt and be away from the house. Living with his tribal family was out of the question.

No. Life had taken a completely unforeseen turn, but in the wake of the storm that had him torn from the world he knew, he’d arrived on blessed shores. He would rejoice in his good fortune and release the past’s keen hold.

Pushing aside the pang in his heart, Corwin drew Dimity back into his arms. Somehow, he must show her he could live in this land while retaining the best of what he’d learned from the frontier, and cease contemplating his return to it.

“Corwin,” Dimity said, her voice muffled against his coat. “We must rejoin the others.”

He took her hand and traced in her palm.
I know
.

A sigh escaped her. “Your uncle will be angry.”

Fear not
. Corwin drew her back into the fading light of the short winter day and looked down into her tear-stained face. Her eyes glistened with hope, while at the same time that doubt she’d voiced lurked beneath the shine.

“I shall make amends,” he assured her.

“How?”

“You will see. Shall we go?”

She laid her hand on his sleeve. “Corwin, I cherish your tenderness more than I can say. But I do not wish you to be imprisoned by marriage to me.”

So earnest she was, so concerned for him. “I shall not be, sweetheart.”

“Even so. Take these next few days and consider well what you have offered. If you find you cannot bear your circumstances, I will release you from your pledge.”

“I shall not make that choice.”

“With all my heart I pray you do not. Yet above all else I desire your happiness and request that you do not speak of our betrothal until you have had time to reflect.”

Here he was bursting to shout it to the world.

“And allow me the dignity to walk back to the house.”

He gave her a smile and extended his arm.

She accepted it and they walked together from the stable. He helped her over snowy cobbles and up icy steps.

Corwin had heard it said that the love of a good woman could alter the most hard-hearted of men. He wasn’t callous, but immersed in his ways. Now, he faced his first true test.

Lifting her chin with a dignity he much admired, Dimity walked beside him back inside Whitfield Place. After divesting themselves of their outer garments, they walked side by side into the drawing room.

The assembly sat in the chairs along the far wall, taking tea. Most wise of his uncle and Mistress Stokes to keep their guests amiably entertained and away from the windows. Perhaps his and Dimity’s movements had gone unmarked. As it was, Corwin had much to account for.

Uncle Randolph scrutinized him from beneath drawn brows; it was plain his annoyed relation had reserved some choice words for him later. All others surveyed Corwin as they might an errant knave, except for the housekeeper whose expression was unreadable. Mister Johnson’s cherubic features creased in sorrowful pity.

That was the last sentiment Corwin craved.

Everyone rose at their coming, the gentlemen as it was required and the ladies possibly in the event they needed to scurry for cover. Miss Owen seemed especially unsure of Corwin. Blast it all, she was quite safe. He wasn’t a fox, silly goose.

Strengthened by Dimity’s silent presence, he soldiered himself to the grim task. Bowing to the onlookers, he raised his head and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Owen in particular, pray excuse my earlier offense. I fear I was out of sorts and not myself.”