"Who is responsible for this?" Richards asked. "What kind of monster would do such a thing?"

"Christina's aunt." Lyon 's voice sounded his anger.

Richards dropped the letter on the desk. "Forgive me for saying this, Christina, but I believe your aunt is a-"

"Think it but don't say it," Lyon interrupted before Richards could finish his sentence.

Christina sagged against Lyon 's chair. Lyon put his arm around her waist. "I still don't understand how it was done. The seal wasn't disturbed."

Richards was the one who explained how easy it was to use steam to open an envelope. "An expert would have been able to tell, my dear," he said.

Richards left minutes later. As soon as the door closed behind him, Christina burst into tears. Lyon pulled her onto his lap. He hugged her close to him.

He didn't try to quiet her. She had a good store of tears, and it was quite a while before her racking sobs slowed down.

"I've gotten your shirt all wet," Christina whispered between hiccups.

She obviously wasn't ready to do anything about it. Christina cuddled up against his chest, tucked her head under his chin, and let out a weary sigh.

She didn't move again for a long time. Lyon thought she might have fallen asleep. He didn't mind. He'd hold her close for the rest of the afternoon, if that was what she needed. In truth, he thought it might take him that long to rid himself of his anger.

Richards had meant to call the Countess a bitch, Lyon decided. The old bat was that, all right, and more.

Christina's mind must have been following the same path, for she suddenly whispered, "Do you know that I used to believe all the English were like my aunt?"

He didn't answer her. But his breath caught in his throat, and he prayed his silence would encourage her to tell him more.

His patience was rewarded minutes later.

"My father hated the whites. And when I lived with the Countess in Boston, my only friend was Mr. Deavenrue. He is the one who took me to my aunt, and he would come every day to tutor me. I wasn't permitted to go outdoors. The Countess kept telling me she was ashamed of me. I was very confused. I didn't understand why she believed I was so unworthy."

"You aren't, my love," Lyon said emphatically. "You are very, very worthy."

Christina nodded. "It is good of you to notice," she said.

He smiled over the sincerity in her voice.

And then he waited for her to tell him more.

It seemed an eternity had passed before she spoke again. "She used to lock me in my room at night. I tried not to hate her for that."

Lyon closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. He could feel her anguish. It washed over him like hot lava until his eyes smarted with tears.

"I couldn't stand being locked in like that. I finally put a stop to it."

"How, sweetheart?"

"I took the hinges off the door," Christina confessed. "The Countess started bolting her bedroom door then. She was afraid of me. I didn't mind that. She's old, Lyon, and for that reason I tried to respect her. It is what my mother would have wanted."

"Jessica?"

"No, I never knew Jessica."

"Then who?"

"Merry."

Lyon couldn't stop himself from asking her another question. "And does she also hate the whites?"

"Oh, no, Merry doesn't hate anyone."

"But the man you call Father does?"

He didn't think she was going to answer him. The silence stretched between them for long minutes.

He shouldn't have prodded her, he told himself. Damn, he'd only just vowed never to ask her any more questions.

"Yes, he does," Christina whispered. "But not me, of course. My father loves me with all his heart."

Christina waited for his reaction. Her heart pounded furiously.

Lyon didn't say a word. Christina decided then that he hadn't understood.

"I have a brother."

Nothing. Not a word, not a sigh, not even a mutter. "His name is White Eagle."

A slow smile settled on Lyon 's face.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Lyon?" she asked.

He kissed the top of her head. "I understand," he whispered. He cupped the sides of her face and gently forced her mouth upward. He kissed her tenderly.

And then he soothed her fears away. "I understand that I am the most fortunate man in all the world. I never believed I'd find anyone I could love the way I love you, Christina. I owe your family a great debt, sweetheart. They kept you safe for me."

"You don't know them, and yet you sound as if you care about them," Christina whispered. Her voice shook with emotion.

"Of course I care," Lyon said. "Your mother must be a gentle, loving woman, and your father…"

"A proud warrior," Christina supplied. "As proud as you, Lyon."

"I love you, Christina. Did you really believe that your background would make me think you were less than-"

"I have never felt unworthy. Never. I am a lioness. In truth, I thought the English were unworthy… until I met you."

Lyon smiled. "You have gained some of your father's arrogance," he noted. "That pleases me."

"It isn't going to be easy for you, Lyon. I have different habits. I don't want to have to pretend any longer. At least not when we are alone…"

"Good. I don't want you to pretend whatever it is you pretend either," Lyon announced. He laughed then, for he didn't have the faintest idea what he'd just said.

"I love you, Lyon," Christina whispered. Her fingers caressed the nape of his neck. " Lyon? I want…"

"I do too," Lyon growled. He kissed her again, hungrily this time. His tongue plunged inside to taste, to stroke. Christina curled her arms around his neck. She'd meant to tell him she wanted to go home to Lyonwood, but his kiss soon pushed that thought aside. His mouth slanted over hers, again and again, until her breath was little more that a soft pant.

"Let's go upstairs, Lyon," she whispered between passionate kisses.

"There isn't time, Christina."

" Lyon!"

He tried to smile over the demand in her voice, but he was too occupied trying to hold onto his control. Christina was rubbing against his arousal, nipping his earlobe with her teeth, and stroking him wild with her hands.

He couldn't have made it up the stairs if his life had depended upon it.

Chapter Fourteen

He came during the night, while everyone was sleeping. The Jacksons had made their beds outside. It was bitterly cold, but Jacob wanted privacy, and for that reason he'd made a small tent.

I heard a strange sound, and when I looked outside the wagon I saw a man bent over Emily and Jacob. I called out to the man, still not realizing the danger. In my mind I thought it was Jacob's turn to take the watch.

The man stood and turned into the moonlight. The scream was trapped in my throat. Edward had come after me. He held a bloody knife in his hand.

I was so stunned and so terrified I could barely move. You were the one who forced me into action, Christina. Yes, for when you awakened and started to whimper, I came out of my stupor. I wasn't going to let Edward kill you.

I grabbed Jacob's hunting knife just as Edward climbed into the wagon. 1 screamed and thrust the blade in his face. Edward snarled in pain. The tip of the knife cut the edge of his eye. "Give me the jewels," he demanded as he knocked the weapon out of my hands.

The camp awakened to my screams. Edward heard the shouts of confusion behind him. He told me he'd come back to kill me. He looked over at the basket you slept in, Christina, then turned back to me. "I'll kill her first. You should have let Patricia have her," he added with a sneer before he slithered out of the wagon.

The Jacksons were dead. Their throats had been slashed. I told the wagonmaster I'd heard a sound and had seen a man leaning over Jacob and Emily.