Law, Susan Kay (20 page)

This time, he'd never once thought of doing anything else.

Jon heard the Jones house before he reached it. Children screamed,
squawked, yelled, laughed, and generally sounded like they were either having a
right good time or killing each other.

The next generation of Jones progeny certainly knew how to
entertain each other. He picked his way through the children who tumbled and
chased each other in the clearing in front of the house. They didn't seem at
all concerned that a British officer was in their midst. They were too busy
stuffing snow into each others' faces.

There couldn't be more than a half a dozen of them or so, although
it certainly seemed like more as small arms and legs flailed in the snow and
pint-size bodies rolled over his feet. Boys, every one of them, blond and
healthy and red-cheeked. The single exception was a familiar carrot-topped
little girl who was efficiently pelting one of the bigger boys with snowballs.
Red curls bobbed from beneath her thick knit cap. She hurled another chunk with
deadly accuracy. This time, however, the boy managed to duck quickly, and the
snowball landed harmlessly at Jon's feet.

"Jon!" Her eyes shone as she scrambled over to him.
"What are you doing here?"

He crouched down to bring himself to eye level. "Sarah. How
is your kitten?"

"Oh, she's fine. Getting fat, though. Mama says I feed her
too much milk." She smiled shyly. "Would you like to go see
her?"

Jon glanced around. Somehow, in the time he'd been speaking to
Sarah, the boys had managed to surround him, all six of them, with their
stubborn little chins thrust out and thin arms crossed over skinny chests he
was sure would someday take on the proportions of their fathers'. If they
weren't outright hostile, they weren't exactly friendly, and he wondered what
they thought they could do to him.

"Runs in the family, doesn't it?" he muttered under his
breath.

"What?"

"Sorry, Sarah. Can't go see the kitty now. I came to—"

"See Bennie," she broke in decisively.

"How did you know?"

"Like her, don't you?" Sarah was bright and shiny as a
new copper, and the knowing gleam in her eye made her seem much older than she
was.

"I have to give her something," he told her.

"A present?"

"Well, yes."

"A Christmas present?" she asked happily.

"Yes."

She slipped her hand into his. "I'll take you to her."

"Thank you." They started for the door of the Jones
house.

"Grandpa won't be happy to see you, you know."

"He won't?"

"No." She skipped along beside him, peeking up through
her lashes. "He won't yell at you too much if I'm there, though."

She was right.

Inside the house, both the parlor to his left and the dining room
to his right were filled with massive table-boards. Pristine white board
clothes sprawled across the surfaces, topped with polished silver sugar pots,
salt cellars, and creamy tapers waiting to be lit.

There were no women in sight; Jon assumed they were all back in
the kitchen. But the parlor was filled with big blond men, who stopped sipping
at their mugs and jumped to their feet the instant they spied Jon.

Not again, he nearly groaned aloud. He plastered on a grin.

"Hello. Happy Christmas to you."

"What are you doing here?" Cad thundered.

"Umm, visit Beth."

"Visit Beth? You most certainly will not. Isn't it enough you
Brits must stick your noses into our business and our communities? You will not
come into my home. You will not—"

"Uh, Dad?" George hesitated. "Maybe you should let
him stay."

"What?" Cad rounded on his son. "Why would I be
doing a thing like that?"

"Well, we sort of... owe him."

"What?" A deep flush crept up Cad's neck. "What are
you owing a redcoat?"

"He, um, rescued Bennie," George said reluctantly.

"Rescued her! From what?"

"Well, the night she hurt her ankle."

"He was there that night? You fools! How could you be so
careless," Cad bellowed. "You all could have—"

"Father," Brendan put in calmly. "Perhaps you
should wait to discuss this until we no longer have visitors. It is a family
matter, after all." He glanced meaningfully at Jon.

"Come on." Gad grabbed Jon by the arm and hustled him
across the entryway into the dining room. "You can wait here." Cad
disappeared into the back room and quickly reappeared carrying a huge black
jack. "Here. Drink this." He shoved the large leather mug brimming
with ale into Jon's hand. "I'll come and get you when we're ready."
He turned on his heel and stomped back to the parlor to get the full story from
his sons.

***

Jon was leaning against a wall and downing the last swallow of his
drink when he heard Cad's words as he came to fetch him.

"I can't believe I'm gonna sit down to my Christmas dinner
with a damn, stupid lobsterback," Cad was saying.

Cad entered, stopped, and glared at Jon. "You're staying for
dinner," he ordered and stalked back to the parlor, leaving Jon to follow.

Jon didn't see Beth until they were ready to eat. He perched on a
chair in the corner of the parlor and drank the fabulous beer they kept
pressing on him. It was the best stuff he'd ever tasted. He figured owning a
tavern had some decided advantages, if one could get supplies like this.

He felt oddly comfortable here. The furniture was huge, sturdy,
built for big, heavy men. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to him, except
when he knocked over a footstool. They argued among themselves over crops and
guns and brewing and twice nearly came to blows. He had the definite impression
they enjoyed it.

What an odd family. His task today would take only a moment or
two, and though he'd planned on using the rest of the time to get a better
handle on the Joneses, he found himself equally intrigued by what kind of a
family had formed Beth.

It was a loving family, no doubt, but it was also demanding;
members were expected to hold their own, to know their place and fill it. There
seemed to be little room for individuality; for minor disagreements that got
blown into entertaining arguments, yes, but not substantial philosophical
differences.

He was somewhat surprised when they were called to dinner to find
himself seated on a form next to Beth. She was wearing that green dress again,
the one that made him think of deep forest glades and hidden treasures.

"Hello, Jon," she said softly, and he wondered why his
name sounded different from her than when anyone else said it. "I'm sorry.
They told me you were here, but Mother needed me in the kitchen. I couldn't get
away until now."

"Don't worry."

"They were nice to you?" she asked anxiously.

He grinned. "Nice. Good beer."

She laughed lightly. "Yes, Da always has good beer." Her
gaze dropped to the table. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too. How's your ankle?"

Her face heated as she remembered him carrying her through the
forest, caring for her, holding her against his bare chest. She could hardly
believe he was here now, big and gorgeous beside her, and yet it seemed so
strange to sit beside him and not touch him. "Better. I stayed off it for
a couple of days, and it only bothers me now if I come down too hard on
it." She looked up at him; his pale, sleepy blue eyes were filled with undisguised
concern. "If it's fine, it's only because you took such good care of me.
Thank you, Jon."

"My pleasure.

At the head of the table-board, Cad loudly thumped down his
tankard. "Let's eat!"

Food covered every inch of the table board: huge pewter chargers
of roast pork and duck, chicken pie, and stewed carp; puddings, breads,
jellies, and a half dozen kinds of vegetables, including a whole stewed
pumpkin. Enough food, it seemed to Jon, to feed half of his company, and he
knew the same feast was spread out on the other two tables, where the rest of
the family was seated.

Jon ate little and talked less, as he watched the Joneses manage
to not only carry on a spirited conversation but with businesslike efficiency
pack away every scrap of the food. Beth, although quieter than most of her
family, delicately and with an unconscious, sensual enjoyment that nearly drove
him crazy, ate as much as any of her brothers, with the exception of Adam. Adam
ate more than Jon had ever seen any one person eat and still be able to walk,
but it didn't seem to slow him down in the least, and no one so much as blinked
at what was clearly a common occurrence.

The meal was followed by an equally large collection of creams,
fools, trifles, floating islands, and syllabubs. Beth piled Jon's trencher with
some of each, then gave herself full servings.

She took a careful bite of dried apple tart, closing her eyes in
delight. Her tongue darted out to lick a crumb at the corner of her mouth, and
Jon had to fight the urge to lean over and taste it himself. Why had he never
known that watching someone eat could be so arousing? The expressions that
moved across her face were ones he'd very much wished he'd caused himself. And
the way her mouth moved—slow, easy, luscious, closing delicately around a spoon
or gracefully nibbling a cake—Lord, it was so easy to imagine her doing that to
him.

"Elizabeth," her mother said sharply. "You know a
lady should eat only lightly."

Bennie put down her spoon. "I'm sorry, Mother." She'd
known her mother had been keeping a careful eye on her; although she'd seemed
to accept Cad's explanation of Jon's presence—he'd said they were trying to get
information out of the man—Mary had been suspiciously attentive to Jon the
entire meal. Bennie expected she'd hear about her "unsuitable
friendship" later.

"Oh, Mary, let her eat," Cad said. "She's a healthy
girl. She needs to keep up her strength."

"Good manners are good manners, Cad."

He shrugged. "So, Jon. How are things at the fort?"

Jon shoveled in a spoonful of trifle. "Pretty good. Moved
into fort after fire. Lots of work, though."

Pushing his food around on his trencher, Cad asked casually,
"Any idea what happened? Know who caused the fire?"

"No." Jon wiped a blob of cream off his chin.
"Everybody too confused. Some thought they saw one thing, some
another."

"So Captain Livingston isn't going to investigate any
more?"

"Dunno. Just heard something about ammunition, that's
all."

Cad's spoon clattered to the table and he leaned forward.
"Ammunition?"

Jon nodded and tried to talk around a huge mouthful of sweets.
"Ammunition, schoolhouse, guns, don't know. I think hide it better next
time, maybe."

"Maybe." Cad sat back. "Maybe," he repeated
thoughtfully.

Jon polished off the rest of his dessert. He wadded up his linen
napkin, dropped it in the voider, and stood up.

"Good dinner, ma'am. Have to go now."

"I'll walk with you to the stables," Bennie offered.

"Elizabeth," Mary said warningly.

"I'll be right back, Mother." She scurried away for her
wrap before her mother could object. Jon stopped to say good-bye to Sarah on
his way out.

They walked quietly across the tavern yard to the stables. It was
a bitterly cold day. The wind blew drifts of snow around their feet like
shifting fog. Bennie huddled deeper into the new cloak she'd made to replace
the one she'd lost the night of the raid.

The stable was warm, smelling of horses and hay. Grateful for its
snugness, she lowered her hood as Jon followed her in. The wind whistled
sharply outside; inside, it was quiet and dark.

"Brr. It's getting cold out there."

"Cold. Yes." He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

"Thank you for coming to check on me."

"Yes. Glad you're better."

He didn't seem to know quite what do with himself. He shuffled
around, one hand clenched, looking first at her, then at the ceiling and back
again at her.

"Well," she said. "You'd better get back before it
gets colder."

"Yes," He made no move to ready his horse to leave.
Finally he thrust out his fist. "Here."

"What?"

"For you."

"Me?" She cupped her hands beneath his, and he opened
his fist. Beads poured out, continuous strands of sleek, glossy ivory that
pooled in her palms. "What's this?"

"Present. For you."

A present. He'd bought her a present. Dumbfounded, she just stood
there, the necklace in her hands, and stared up at him.

"Here." He lifted the strands and slipped them over her
head. His movements were careful, with the rare, infinite gentleness that
seemed as much a part of him as his overwhelming size and strength.