"She kept him tied to her skirts," Christina answered. "Diana said your mother protected both of you from your father's cruel temper."
"How could Diana know? She was only a baby when Father died."
"Aunt Harriett told her," Christina explained. "I questioned both your sister and your aunt, Lyon. I wanted to know all about your mama so that I could help her."
"How long will this take? I don't have the patience to sit through meals listening to her talk of James."
"We aren't going to let her speak of James," Christina said. "Your mama's very determined." She kissed Lyon on his chin, then said, "But I'm far more determined. Do I have your complete support in this undertaking?"
"Will you be taking her out into the wilderness to find a place for her to die?" he asked. He chuckled over the picture of Christina dragging his mother outdoors before adding, "Diana's worried you really will do just that."
Christina sighed in exasperation. "Your sister is very naive. I was only bluffing. Would you like for me to explain my plans for your mama?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'd rather be surprised," Lyon answered. "I just thought of another question to ask you."
"That doesn't surprise me. You're full of questions."
He ignored her rebuke and her disgruntled expression. "Do you realize you sometimes lapse into speaking French? Especially when you're upset. Is that the language your family spoke?"
Twin dimples appeared in her cheeks. Lyon thought she looked like an angel. She wasn't acting much like one, however, for her hand suddenly reached down to capture his arousal.
Lyon groaned, then pulled her hand away. "Answer me first," he commanded in a husky voice.
She let him see her disappointment before she answered him. "Father captured Mr. Deavenrue to teach me the language of the whites. If Mother had been allowed to speak to the man, she would have told him that I was going to return to England. Father didn't think that was significant. He didn't understand that there were different white languages. Deavenrue told me later, when we became friends, that he was very frightened of my father. I remember being amused by that fact," she added. "It was an unkind reaction, but I was only ten or eleven then, so I can excuse my attitude. Deavenrue was very young, too. He taught me the language of the whites… his whites."
Lyon 's laughter interrupted her story. She waited until he'd calmed down before continuing. "For two long years I suffered through that language. Day in and day out. Mother was never allowed near Deavenrue. He was a handsome man, for a white," she qualified. "In fact, everyone stayed away from him. He was there to complete a task, not to befriend."
"Then it was only the two of you working together?" Lyon asked.
"Of course not. I wasn't allowed to be alone with him either. There were always at least two old women with me. In time, however, I really came to like Deavenrue, and I was able to persuade my father into being a little friendlier to him."
"When did Deavenrue realize he wasn't teaching you the correct language? And how did he converse with your father?"
"Deavenrue spoke our language," Christina answered. "When my mother was finally allowed to visit Deavenrue's tipi, and she heard me reciting my lessons, she knew immediately that it wasn't the same language she'd been taught when she was a little girl."
"Was there an uproar?" Lyon asked, trying not to laugh again.
"Oh, yes. Mother caught Father alone and let him see her displeasure. If he hadn't been so stubborn in keeping her away from the missionary, two years wouldn't have been wasted. Father was just as angry. He wanted to kill Deavenrue, but Mother wouldn't let him."
Lyon laughed. "Why didn't your mother teach you?"
"Her English wasn't very good. She decided Deavenrue's English was better."
"Why do you prefer to speak French?"
"It's easier at times."
"Tell me you love me in your family's language."
"I love you."
"That's English."
"The language of my family now," Christina said. She then repeated her vow of love in the language of the Dakota.
Lyon thought the sound was lyrical.
"Now I will show you how much I love you," Christina whispered. Her hands slid down his chest. She thought to stroke him into wanting her but found that he was already throbbing with desire.
"No, I'm going to show you first," Lyon commanded.
He rolled his wife onto her back and proceeded to do just that.
A long while later husband and wife fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms. They were both exhausted, and both thoroughly content.
Lyon awakened during the night. He immediately reached for his wife. As soon as he realized she wasn't in bed with him, he rolled to his side and looked on the floor.
Christina wasn't there either. Lyon 's mind immediately cleared of sleep. He started to get out of bed to go in search of his wife when he realized the candles were burning on the bedside table. He remembered quite specifically that he'd put out all three flames.
It didn't make sense until he saw the black book in the center of the light.
The leather binding was scarred with age. When Lyon picked up the book and opened it, a musty smell permeated the air around him. The pages were brittle. He used infinite care as he slowly lifted the first pages of the gift Christina had given him.
He didn't know how long he sat there, his head bent to the light as he read Jessica's diary. An hour might have passed, perhaps two. When he finished the account of Jessica's nightmare, his hands shook.
Lyon stood up, stretched his muscles awake, then walked over to the hearth. He was chilled but didn't know if it was the temperature in the room or Jessica's diary that was the cause.
He was adding a second log to the fire he'd just started when he heard the door open behind him. Lyon finished his task before he turned around. He knelt on one knee, his arms braced on the other, and stared at his lovely wife a long minute.
She was dressed in a long white robe. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed. He could tell she was nervous. Christina held a tray in her hands. The glasses were clattering.
"I thought you might be hungry. I went-"
"Come here, Christina."
His voice was whisper-soft. Christina hurried to do his bidding. She put the tray down on the bed, then rushed over to stand in front of her husband.
"Did you read it?" she asked.
Lyon stood up before he answered her. His hands settled on her shoulders. "You wanted me to, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Tell me why you wanted me to read it."
"Equal measure, Lyon. Your words, husband. You opened your heart to me when you told me about James and Lettie. I could do no less."
"Thank you, Christina." His voice shook with emotion.
Christina's eyes widened. "Why do you thank me?"
"For trusting me," Lyon answered. He kissed the wrinkle in her brow. "When you gave me your mother's diary, you were also giving me your trust."
"I was?"
Lyon smiled. "You were," he announced. He kissed her again, tenderly, then suggested that they share their midnight meal in front of the fire.
"And we will talk?" Christina asked. "I want to tell you so many things. There's so much we must decide upon, Lyon."
"Yes, love, we'll talk," Lyon promised.
As soon as she turned to fetch the tray, Lyon grabbed one of the blankets draped over the chair and unfolded it on the floor.
Christina knelt down and placed the tray in the center of the blanket. "Do you want me to get your robe for you?" she asked.
"No," Lyon answered, grinning. "Do you want me to take yours off?"
Lyon stretched out on his side, leaned up on one elbow, and reached for a piece of cheese. He tore off a portion and handed it to Christina.
"Do you think Jessica was crazy?" she asked.
"No."
"I don't either," Christina said. "Some of her entries are very confusing, aren't they? Could you feel her agony, Lyon, the way I did when I read her journal?"
"She was terrified," Lyon said. "And yes, I could feel her pain."
"I didn't want to read her thoughts at first. Merry made me take the book with me. She told me that in time I'd change my heart. She was right."
"She kept her promise to your mother," Lyon interjected. "She raised you, loved you as her own, and made you strong. Those were Jessica's wishes, weren't they?"
Christina nodded. "I'm not always strong, Lyon. Until tonight I was afraid of him."
"Your father?"
"I don't like to call him my father," Christina whispered. "It makes me ill to think his blood is part of mine."
"Why aren't you afraid now?" He asked.
"Because now you know. I worried you'd think Jessica's mind was… weak."
"Christina, when you walked into the library and I was talking to Richards, we had just finished a discussion about your father. Richards told me about an incident called the Brisbane affair. Did you hear any of it?"
"No. I would never overlisten," Christina answered.
Lyon nodded. He quickly told her the sequence of events leading up to the murders of the Brisbane family.
"Those poor children," Christina whispered. "Who would kill innocent little ones?"