Behind the Mask (26 page)

“Smile,” he said impishly, “it’s Christmas.”

“What is there to be happy about?” she asked, reminding Georg of himself earlier in the day.

“Are you missing your family?” he asked carefully.

“There is none to miss,” she stated. “I have an aunt who lives in the Black Forest. That’s it.” She paused, and Georg saw one side of her mouth twitch upward. “She’s an old hag.”

Georg laughed and Elsa’s smile broadened. Again there was silence, but Georg’s mind worked frantically. Just looking at her sparked something to life inside him. This day had been good, and he didn’t want it to end.

“Is your work done for the day?” he asked.

“Work?” She laughed bitterly. “If only I had any work that was worthwhile. Your mother does well in trying to keep me busy. I believe she understands how I feel, but . . .” Elsa bowed her head, and Georg sensed she was fighting tears. But she drew up her chin and squared her shoulders. “Keeping Miss Abbi’s room meticulously clean when there is no one living in it doesn’t require much effort.”

“You miss her,” Georg said warmly. It took no effort to feel complete empathy. Elsa looked up at him with sad eyes but said nothing. “She’ll come back,” Georg said with confidence.

“I fear she won’t.” Elsa looked down again.

“Nonsense,” Georg laughed. “I know Abbi well. I have a gut instinct that she is alive and she will come home in the spring.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked with hope in her eyes.

“I’d bet my life on it.”

Elsa smiled, apparently reassured by his confidence.

“Do you like to ride?” he asked, wanting to distract her.

“I’m not certain. I’ve hardly done it.”

“There’s no time like the present.” Without permission Georg took her hand and led her toward the door.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice trembling with excitement.

“Riding, of course.”

“But it’s dark.”

“No,” he said, “it’s night. There is a difference.”

“But it’s late.”

“There’s nothing like midnight on a full moon,” he added and heard her laugh.

Georg paused at the rack near the door to take down her coat, and she giggled as he helped her into it. Then he grabbed his own coat and ushered her toward the stable.

Elsa watched silently as Georg lit a lamp and proceeded to saddle only one horse. He doused the lamp and helped her mount in the darkness before climbing into the saddle behind her. She concentrated on her awakening senses, certain nothing so exciting had ever happened in her whole life. She shivered unwillingly when Georg put his arms around her to take the reins into his gloved hands.

Georg wondered if she was cold or scared. Heeling the stallion to a gallop, he felt her grab onto his thighs and knew it was more the latter. Gradually she relaxed, and the silence between them was broken when she admitted, “This is fun, Georg.”

It was all Elsa could think to say, but her mind was tumbling. Did Georg Heinrich have any idea how she had admired him for years? To her he had always been the example of what she wanted in a man. He was strong—not only in stature but in character as well. She knew he was a hard worker, and he was honest and true to the core. But never once had she dared hope that he would show any interest in her. It seemed too good to be true, but Elsa reminded herself not to get carried away. Patronizing her with a little midnight ride didn’t mean he had any interest in her the way she did in him.

Back at the stable, Georg dismounted and took hold of Elsa’s waist to help her down. He found himself holding her longer than necessary and wondered why he felt the urge to kiss her. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d kissed a woman, and even then, it had not been stirred by feelings such as this.

As Georg bent to press his lips to hers, he wondered if his advance might put him into the same category as the drunk officer she’d been fighting off in the house. But it was too late. He felt her lips turn soft and warm beneath his while he wondered what had been blinding him all these years. Pulling back to briefly check his sanity, he realized it was true. Even in the darkness of the stable he could see it without any doubt. Elsa Bruxen was beautiful. And she liked him.

Chapter Eight

THE SORCERESS

A
bbi followed Cameron over the crusted snow to the stable. Little was said between them as she helped him pamper the animals with some extra treats and exercise, but she felt warm just being with him.

With that done, Cameron led the way outside and paused to look around. “The snow is fairly packed,” he said. “We could probably manage a little walk, if you’re interested.”

“I’d love to,” Abbi replied with enthusiasm.

Cameron took Abbi by the hand and led her around the stable. They walked for some time before he stopped to sit on the crusted snow and motioned for Abbi to sit beside him.

“It’s beautiful up here,” he said with an exuberant note in his voice. “It never ceases to overwhelm me. No matter how many times I look at this mountain, it’s still beautiful.” Cameron’s tone was as earnest as his expression.

“You sound as if you enjoy living up here.”

He looked surprised before he turned away. “I would enjoy being able to come and go as I please.” He sounded vaguely upset, and she wondered if he would say anything more. But after a minute he added, “Still, it is beautiful here. And this mountain challenges me. When I embarked on my first winter here, I have to admit I was afraid I might not survive.”

“It would seem you’ve come through quite well.”

Cameron wasn’t certain how the conversation had come to this, but perhaps he should be grateful for an opportunity to offer some meager explanation for his past behavior that had been so appalling. “Physically perhaps,” he said, “but I wonder at times if my spirit will ever recover.” He sighed. “I often feel dead inside, Abbi.” He looked at her firmly. “You must . . . forgive me . . . for my unseemly behavior at times.”

Abbi looked into his eyes and found new hope on his behalf. She felt certain he wasn’t nearly as dead in spirit as he likely believed. “I understand,” she said, “truly.”

“Yes,” he said, returning her gaze, “somehow I believe you do.”

Cameron didn’t like where such an admission led his thoughts. He pushed everything away except the moment and took her hand.

“Come along,” he said, and they walked in silence, hand in hand, conversing only enough to comment on the scenery or the weather. The winter sun was easing toward the west horizon when they returned, and they once again made certain the animals had all they needed before going into the lodge.

“Did I wear you out?” Cameron asked, stopping before the door of the lodge to shake the snow off of his boots.

“Not at all.”

He smiled. “Go warm up and we’ll fix dinner.”

“But it’s my turn,” she said.

“I know. But it’s Christmas and I want to help.”

“As you wish,” she replied and went into the lodge, noting that the hem of her dress was wet from the snow. As soon as she had changed clothes and warmed her hands and feet, she came downstairs and found Cameron asleep on one of the sofas, his long legs hanging over the end. Watching him for a moment, she got an idea and hoped he would sleep long enough for her to carry out the impulsive plan.

In the cellar below the kitchen, Abbi found an ample supply of apples. As quietly as possible she mixed a pastry dough, recalling how she’d helped Marta do it many times through her youth. She then peeled and sliced the apples, mixing them with sugar and ground cinnamon. When the pie was completed she put it in the oven to bake, and began to prepare a meal of the finest they had available. With Marta’s training and the practice she’d had through her weeks here, she was pleased to find some confidence in what she was doing.

With her preparations well under control, Abbi gathered every candle she could find and placed them on the table with the dishes. Then she went outside and cut some pine boughs from a tree, which she arranged neatly around the candles. Retrieving some hair ribbons from her room, she wound them into the boughs before standing back to admire the festive effect of the dinner table. With the pie cooling, she set the meal on the table and lit the candles. She smoothed her hair and dress and went to wake Cameron. He was sleeping so soundly that she wondered if he’d slept well the night before. Abbi felt hesitant to wake him, finding a certain peace in watching him this way. She wondered, as she often had, what it was about him that brought out these feelings in her.

“Cameron,” she whispered close to his face and nudged his shoulder. “Cameron, wake up.” His eyes came open sleepily as he moaned and stretched.

“Are you going to sleep away your Christmas?” she asked.

“How long have I—”

“More than two hours.”

“I was just going to rest a minute and then help you with dinner,” he said through a yawn as he sat up.

“You can help me eat it.” She took his hand to pull him to his feet.

“Something smells good.”

Abbi moved to the table still holding his hand, and she smiled to see the surprise that came to his face.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, indicating that he sit down. She caught his tender eyes through the candlelight and a warm glow erupted inside of her, a completely peaceful sensation assuring her every nerve that she was where she needed to be, an intangible promise that with time all would be well.

They ate mostly in silence, but Abbi could tell from the tender glances Cameron gave her across the candle-lit table that he was pleased with what she’d done.

“Now don’t get too full,” she said. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Now what have I done to deserve your being so good to me?”

Abbi thought it strange to recall at this moment how it had felt to be in Cameron’s arms. A fluttering surged through her and she looked quickly away. “You saved my life,” she finally said.

“And I’d do it again,” he said earnestly. Abbi looked up at him and sensed some deeper meaning in his words.

“Are you finished?” she asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Yes, thank you.”

Abbi stood and took their plates to the kitchen, returning with the pie and set it in front of him. A grin spread over his face as he looked up at her and took her hand.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “Do you know how long it has been since I’ve eaten such a delicacy?”

“Too long, I suspect.”

“Indeed.”

“I do hope it’s good,” she said while serving him. “I’ve had a few lessons in the kitchen, but it’s not one of my greatest assets, and . . . I had to improvise a bit.”

“It certainly smells good,” he replied as she served him a piece. He complimented her several times as he ate it, and he asked for more.

When Abbi took an armload of dishes into the kitchen, Cameron stood and followed her. After she set them down he took both her hands into his and smiled.

“Thank you, Abbi,” he said quietly. “You’ve just made up for how miserable my last three Christmases have been.”

“It was my pleasure.” She impulsively reached up and touched his face, then quickly turned to finish clearing the table.

Cameron helped her clean the dishes. They both remained silent as they worked side by side, until he started to hum softly. After a moment Abbi recognized the melody as
O Taunenbaum,
and she smiled at him. He hummed through one verse then began to sing the words; softly at first, then he became jubilant and she joined in. They finished the song together, laughing freely.

“Come, sit with me,” he said, taking her by the hand to the common room. He stoked the fire and sat beside her on the sofa, but he said nothing and she wondered if it was companionship more than conversation that he wanted. She sensed it was both.

“So,” she said when the silence grew long, “what were your Christmases like before you came here?”

“Since my mother died,” he began, “they’ve been rather dull.”

“Tell me about her.”

“My mother was a good woman,” he said, “and I didn’t realize until she was gone just how much influence she’d had on the family. Things were never the same. But when she was alive,” he smiled nostalgically, “she did everything possible to bring the spirit of Christmas into our home, in spite of our circumstances.”

“Tell me about it.” She smiled and leaned toward him with interest in her eyes.

Cameron spoke easily of his family traditions, and he told her stories of sentiment and humor from his past, using hand gestures frequently for emphasis. In turn, Abbi told of her Christmases with Papa, and how Georg and his mother had always shared holidays with them. She wondered what Georg was doing now.

Abbi became briefly lost in thought, then she looked up to see that Cameron was too.

“You look so sad,” she said, and he turned in surprise. “What were you thinking just now?”

Cameron’s expression saddened further. “I was . . . wishing, I suppose.”

“To be home again?” she guessed.

“How perceptive you are.” He sighed. “Yes, to be home again; to see those I care for most.”

“Do you think Joseph felt that way?” she asked.

“Yes, Abbi, I believe he did. In fact, I’ve thought a great deal about your story of Joseph.”