Pirate's Golden Promise (29 page)

Rolfe took her hand, his finger touching the diamond ring. He looked at it, a frown marring his handsome countenance. “The Van Linden betrothal ring. I'm not saying Cort was a thief, but when Cort left, the ring disappeared. I've always wondered what happened to it, since I was to give it to Katrina. It's been passed down to the patroon's bride for generations. My mother had it, and, well—”

“I'm sorry, Rolfe. I had no idea. If you wish it back, I'll gladly return it to your mother.” She knew she'd be crushed if she had to give back Cort's ring and wondered what Rolfe would say if he knew she wasn't really Cort's wife.

Her disappointment showed on her face, and Rolfe kissed her hand. “Sweet cousin, the ring is yours and should grace your lovely finger. It was your destiny to wear it.”

“Thank you. You're a very kind man.”

Rolfe left Wynter and Mary to the unpacking. As he headed downstairs, he found himself humming a long-forgotten Dutch tune. He hadn't hummed in years, but as he thought of Wynter's beautiful face, he knew that destiny had brought her to Lindenwyck.

Katrina glanced listlessly out of the window of her second-story room and watched as sloops and barges made their way towards New Amsterdam. The glistening sun of the September afternoon warmed the windowpane, but Katrina felt chilled. She'd felt cold ever since the arrival of Wynter Van Linden … ever since she learned of Cort's death.

She had wanted to weep right there in the sitting room, but she forced herself to stare stone-faced at the beautiful dark-haired widow and pretend her heart wasn't breaking. How she wanted to rake her fingernails across Wynter's face, to draw blood. Wynter had taken the only man she ever loved, and Katrina wouldn't soon forget it.

Going to her dressing table, she sat down on the blue print chair and examined her face in the mirror. A beautiful face, also. Her fingers traced the light-colored arch of her brows, the fine high cheekbones, the pert nose, and stopped at the full pink lips. At 26, she realized she was still incredibly beautiful. Hadn't every man within 50 square miles of Lindenwyck told her this? She'd accepted their compliments as her due, but in reality, Katrina was worried about her looks. Her beautiful face and flawless figure hadn't kept Cort. He'd left Lindenwyck in the middle of the night like a thief, and for throwing her love aside, she would never forgive him. Love him, yes, always, but forgive, never.

A broken sigh escaped from between her lips. Ever since he left over ten years before, her secret hope had been that he'd return to her. She lived for the moment when he'd walk through the front door into the entry hall and see her. He'd lift her from her feet and swing her high into the air as he had done all those years ago when she first came to live with his aunt and uncle … before she married Rolfe and entered a life of hell.

She turned away from her reflection. Really, she couldn't blame poor Rolfe. She simply had never loved him, only his wealth, or what would be his one day. Now, she had everything. Lavish, bright-colored gowns and furs graced her wardrobe. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires were stored in the carved chest of rosewood that stood next to the window. But she wasn't happy.

She hadn't known one peaceful minute since Cort left her. None of the men she'd bedded could assuage the ache in her heart for Cort Van Linden. And now he was dead, leaving a beautiful, grieving widow who was expecting his child.

Katrina hated Wynter Van Linden. The name tasted vile to her, because it meant that this English woman had married Cort, bedded with him and conceived his legitimate child, while she had been forced to live a lie.

“Mikel, Mikel,” she wailed and put her hands over her face in a hopeless gesture. If only she'd known she was carrying Cort's child before he left, then things would have been different. Cort wouldn't have taken off, though she knew she still would have had to marry Rolfe. Rolfe had the money. He, not Cort, was the patroon of Lindenwyck.

If only …

Katrina shook her head and stood up. What good did it do to bemoan her fate? The past was gone. She was Rolfe's wife and would remain so until the day she died. No one could take that from her. But Wynter Van Linden bothered her, filled her with an unreasonable jealousy because of Cort.

“That woman better not think her child will inherit Lindenwyck. Never! Lindenwyck belongs to Mikel, to me. No one shall take it from us, not even Cort's widow and unborn child.”

Katrina thought she was mumbling lowly to herself, but a noise from the doorway caused her to turn. She colored in embarrassment to find Rolfe surveying her as if she were a lowly insect.

“Never satisfied, are you, Katrina?”

“No. I want the whole world.”

“Ah,” he sighed. “You're still the same greedy little girl who arrived barefoot at Lindenwyck. You can't have it all. Lindenwyck shall never fall to you, though Mikel will inherit it one day. A long time away, my dearest, I might add. I intend to thwart your plans by not dying as soon as you'd wish.”

Katrina flushed because he had surmised the truth. She did want him dead. “Rolfe, what an absurd thing to say to me. I am your wife.”

“And whore to every man for miles around.”

“I hate you,” she ground out.

He wiped an imaginary spot from his black coat and smiled. “My sentiments for you are similar.” He presented her his arm. “Let's go downstairs and pretend for our beautiful new cousin that we are quite happy, eh? Perhaps she shall fill us in on her life with Cort. I know you'd enjoy hearing about that, wouldn't you, Katrina? Both of you have so much in common.”

She blanched at the oblique reference to Mikel's paternity. Rolfe laughed. They entered the dining room, arm and arm, and she was even polite to Wynter. But one day, Katrina silently decided and rested her gaze on Rolfe, who paid a great deal of attention to Wynter, one day she'd be free of him. One day soon.

When the meal ended, everyone retired to the sitting room where the veranda doors were thrown open to allow the late September breeze into the room. Wynter appraised the ebony furnishings and found a round table inlaid with ivory to be quite charming. Her finger trailed its smoothness, and she realized that the Van Lindens might be much wealthier than she had imagined. Certainly from what she had seen of the house, the furniture, though simple in design, was expensive. She smiled to recall that Cort had once told her his family was from peasant stock until one of his forefathers made a fortune as a merchant. That wealth enabled the family to start a patroonship in Holland before the subsequent move to the new world.

She felt Rolfe's presence before she glanced up to see him standing next to her.

“Much of our furniture is made from trees surrounding Lindenwyck.”

“Perhaps one day soon I shall have the opportunity to see all of Lindenwyck. What I've seen so far is impressive.”

Rolfe grabbed her hand and held it between both of his. “I'd be most pleased to show you firsthand. Would tomorrow be too soon?”

Wynter grew flustered under this abrupt display of affection. She didn't miss the raised eyebrows of Lena, nor did she fail to see Katrina's disdainful expression. Wynter was going to refuse until Katrina said, “Why would our cousin care to see Lindenwyck, Rolfe? She won't be here long enough to appreciate its richness.”

“Katrina, please!” Lena whispered under her breath.

Wynter wasn't going to allow the sly, blue-eyed woman to dictate to her. She'd had enough of that with Debra.

Wynter smiled prettily at Rolfe. “I shall be ready after breakfast on the morrow.”

The
wild
, virginal beauty of Lindenwyck impressed Wynter. Her mount, a spirited roan, kept pace with Rolfe's much larger white stallion as they passed farms and then came to a wharf which rested on top of the North River, some miles from Lindenwyck. They stopped the horses at the wharf, a tiny wood frame dwelling beside it.

“Does anyone live here?” Wynter asked and looked around. The isolation of the place caused Wynter uneasiness. The forest beyond them appeared so dark and foreboding that Wynter shivered.

“No,” Rolfe told her and appeared to enjoy her discomfort. “This was my favorite spot as a boy. I fished here quite a lot. And on the days when the river froze, I'd walk over from the house, and skate the whole day long. If I recall, I was quite an expert skater.”

“Did Cort ever come here with you?” Her voice was whisper soft, her eyes resembled gray pearls. She could almost imagine Cort skimming across the river in a sloop, or skating on its icy surface. She suddenly felt so close to him that she hurt.

“Ja!”

The Dutch word was uttered so—harshly—that the image of Cort dissipated. “Have I said something to offend you, Rolfe?”

He sighed heavily, and Wynter noticed his hand trembled on the reins. “I apologize to you. I wanted to share this spot with you, but you mentioned Cort, and old memories surfaced.”

She reached out and touched his arm. “Please accept my apology. I didn't realize that you cared so deeply for Cort. Childhood memories can be quite painful, and I gather that you and Cort were close as children. I'm happy to know you loved him, too.”

Loved him? Rolfe hated Cort almost as much as Katrina, but not quite. He could never hate anyone with the same intensity as her. However, he hid his warring emotions with a warm smile and squeezed the hand she had laid on his arm.

“I think I love his widow, also.”

Wynter pulled her hand away. “You mustn't say such a thing. You're a married man.”

“An unhappily married man, Wynter. If I loved Katrina, do you think I'd consider loving anyone else?” He shook his head. “I married Katrina because I was a young, stupid fellow who was struck by a pretty face. Katrina has no depth beneath those large blue eyes. I can't help how I feel about you.”

“Rolfe, please—”

He took her hand again, gripping it hard until her fingers hurt. “Do you think that if I were free, you might come to care for me in time?”

Rolfe looked so earnest, so lost, and her heart went out to him. How terrible that he should be unhappy with his wife, but she couldn't offer him any encouragement. Not now, perhaps not ever. He did have a wife, and nothing could change that fact. And she wasn't sure she'd care for him in any circumstance.

“Oh, Rolfe, don't expect me to answer you. I can't. Cort has been gone only a short time, and Katrina is your wife. I don't fancy myself as a rival. I don't steal other women's husbands.”

“You're much too honorable for that, my darling. I think that's why I have fallen in love with you so quickly. I cherish your honesty.”

“Please release my hand. You're hurting me.”

“Forgive me.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each bruised finger before his grip slackened and she drew away.

“Shall we ride some more?” Wynter asked, eager to be gone from this dark, uninviting place.

Rolfe nodded and allowed her horse to lead them along the river until they came to the Lindstrum farm. Gerta was outside, feeding the chickens clucking at her feet for the corn she threw to them. Her fluffy blonde head lifted when they stopped in front of her.

“Good morning, Vrouw Lindstrum,” Rolfe said and introduced Wynter to her. “How are you this day?”

She bobbed her head, apparently much flustered to see him, Wynter decided. But Wynter smiled warmly at the woman. Gerta returned the smile, uneasiness in her eyes.

“I am fine,” Gerta said.

“Good,” Rolfe told her and began to turn his horse away. “I shall see you again.”

Wynter bade her good day, and as she rode away, she glanced back to see Gerta standing forlornly in the yard, chickens squawking for more corn the woman didn't seem wont to throw to them. Was it her imagination, or had Rolfe meant more by his words than a simple parting remark?

She glanced at the man and realized that Rolfe was nothing like Cort in looks or personality. He hadn't been unkind to her, and she didn't hold against him the fact that he fancied himself in love with her. But something about the man bothered her, and a shiver crossed over her which she dismissed it. After all, he'd been nothing but kind to her. She had no reason to think he'd act any other way towards her in the future.

When Wynter returned to her room to freshen up for luncheon, she was nearly knocked down by a blond
-
haired whirlwind as she walked into the room.

“What is this?” she cried and grabbed the small boy who struggled in her grasp.

Mikel Van Linden glanced up at her with stormy eyes. “I don't care if you tell them! They don't love me, so go ahead and tell them!”

“Mikel, whatever are you talking about?” Wynter asked softly and ushered the boy into the room when he'd stopped flailing. Closing the door, she surveyed him as he threw himself into a chair before the fireplace and crossed his small arms in defiance. She'd seen him only a few times since her arrival, and each time was at the supper table when he ate in silence. The only person he'd spoken to was Lena. Whenever Wynter addressed him, he would answer lowly until Rolfe thumped his arm to gain a reply. The last time she saw him, Rolfe had sent the child to his room for spilling a glass of water on the tablecloth.

Mikel was by far the most sullen child she'd ever encountered, putting Lucy's sullenness to shame, but Wynter sensed that the boy hid a deep loneliness behind the hard-eyed facade. She watched him now, his blond head, not unlike Cort's, bent low on his chest. When she stood in front of him, the sun's rays struck the mirror and reflected back onto the boy's face. Her breath caught in her throat, because the tawny eyes glaring at her could have belonged to Cort.

Her voice was gentle. “Mikel, you can tell me what you're doing in here. I promise I won't chastise you or tell your parents.”