"Papa, I—"
He took her hands between his palms. When he was close to her like this, she could smell his familiar scents: horses, leather, that particular brand of tobacco whose name she could never remember. They were comforting smells of another time when she was different.
"Where's your laughter? Where's the spontaneous devilish imp who used to drive her parents to distraction with her tomfoolery?"
That foolish imp is with Fletcher—wherever he is.
"You play the maiden aunt to the hilt, as if you were born to it, and it breaks my heart to wonder what will become of you when your mother and I are gone." He pressed on as if he took her silence for some small weakening, some small advantage. "Buck's a good man, and I believe he'll take good care of you. As crown prince of Seabrook, he's certainly been the talk of the social rounds, setting all the does' hearts aflutter. He's the most eligible buck around." Her father chuckled and reddened as if realizing the irony of his choice of words.
"But I don't love Buck, Papa," she protested hotly. "I don't even like him."
Stuart Brock stood. He then cleared his throat and paced the spacious room as if he didn't know how to force the words out. He ran his hand up and down the dark mahogany of the bedpost. His face was paled and his jaw clenched tight.
"There's another reason, daughter."
Oh my—this must be serious. Papa only uses that term when the game is in check and he has the final move for checkmate. Kyndee felt her gut tighten as she gripped the sides of the cushion beneath her.
"Your mother doesn't know—no one does...yet. I'm sure several people have wondered, they've even hinted as much to some of my friends, but they don't know for certain." He strode back to sit in front of her. The chair legs scraped the wooden floor as he pulled it closer to her. "You're old enough to handle the truth and the ramifications that it entails." He moistened his lips and swallowed. "Daughter, we're in debt—very large debt. I've had to do some fancy finagling to keep the place running and the wolves at bay. But it's come to the end. It's time to pay up, take off the blindfold. I've used up all my markers."
Kyndee's head snapped up, her senses now alerted to the danger to her family. "Papa, how did this happen?"
Her father rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. He didn't speak for several minutes.
"Because I was weak," he said with a woebegone shrug. "I gave in to my weakness for gambling, strong drink, and bad timing. When I saw what was happening, I tried to correct it with new investments. I thought I could recoup the money. But I listened to the wrong people, the wrong advice, and I lost the investments and more. Daughter, we are in danger of losing everything! Everything! Do you realize what I'm saying? The threat to our lives will become reality except for one hope—Buck."
Kyndee felt her familiar room closing in on her. The cozy secure feeling it had always held, fled. She felt trapped and unprepared for what she feared was coming. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. "Buck? Our one hope? What has he to do with any of this?" Before the words escaped her father's lips, she saw his ashen face and was sure then that she didn't want to know the answer.
His father spoke softly but clearly; there was no way to misinterpret his words. "Buck has offered to pay off my markers and salvage my losses the day he marries you. It's the answer to a prayer."
Kyndee gave no response, and her father looked up. It was an iniquitous solution, and she tried to convey as much to her father with a wintry glare. "Whose prayer, Papa? Yours or mine?" she chided him. It shocked her to speak to her father that way but being forced against her will riled her.
He slapped his hand on his thigh. The force of it gave an indication of his growing frustration and impatience. "Daughter, think! You'd be married to a fine gentleman, owner of a vast plantation. He's done well by Seabrook since Samuel died. You'd have someone to love you, take care of you and grow old with you. You will have his protection and his name. At the same time, our beautiful home, saved by his generosity, will not be sold at auction by some outsider. It will be safe, in trust for you and your children. When your mother and I are gone, this place will pass to you, to be joined with Seabrook. It's a marvelous solution to everything."
The skin on her the back of her hand was becoming raw from the pinching and rubbing of her other hand. "Except that I'm what's to be auctioned off—sold to the highest bidder, so to speak," she retorted, tossing her head and rising.
"No. You are doing what's right—"
"Right for whom?" she demanded with arms akimbo.
"Right for all of us. This home has been in our family for generations. I regret that my stupidity has jeopardized it. But you have a chance to save us. It's a question of honor, Kyndee. The honor of our family is at stake. You were named after a great queen. Can you not summon a bit of her courage? I wouldn't ask you if Buck were a monster. But he's not and I think maybe, in time, you might grow to love him. You're old enough to know that fairy tale love is for fools and you, my girl, are no fool. Surely you see the advantages of this match. Our future, your future—the future of your children and grandchildren—will be assured. Won't you do this for us—for all of us?"
Her father talked of honor and courage, knowing full well the high esteem she placed upon them. It was up to her to rescue her family from this danger. With Fletcher gone and nothing else to fill her life, the alternative loomed before her. Kyndee squared her shoulders and straightened her back.
Her heart ached, full of sorrow: for her father in his weakness; for herself, because being forced to see her father as anything but a tower of strength had brought an end to her childhood; and oddly enough, for Buck because he was buying himself an empty shell of a wife.
"Yes, Papa, I will." An empty shell she may be, but she was not a coward, though a part of her regretted her words even before they passed through her lips. "There is one condition."
"Name it."
"I want you to tell me everything—who holds your markers, how, when, where; I want to know it all."
"Agreed, but I want your vow that the information will remain strictly between us." Her father stood, raised her up with him and kissed her on the cheek. "I do love you, Queen Katharine." Turning on his heel, he left her room.
Kyndee knew the pattern: he had his answer, he had his solution, and the issue would be dismissed from his mind.
She looked to her bed with the still crumpled pillows, and knew he was there—the devil—sitting puffed-up on the coverlet. He was laughing at her; he had won. He had taunted her with the one weapon she could not fight and sneered at her hesitation. He hadn't even given her a chance to lunge and parry but had crudely driven home the blade for the kill.
She had agreed to marry Buck Bannistre—no, Buck Stedman. The thought of it sent a thundercloud hurtling through her brain. Propping her shoulder on the window casement, she sighed and gazed out. The leisurely pace of their lives would continue, totally unaware that until a moment ago, its very existence had been precarious.
Maybe the cloud wasn't as dark as it appeared. She didn't know why she had an aversion to Buck. He had always been polite and kind. He wasn't unattractive. He had even shown a degree of tenderness in those terrible months after Fletcher's disappearance.
"Fletcher." His very name on her lips was soothing to her. "I wonder what he would think of all this if he cared to look down from whatever cloud he sits upon." She giggled. "He'd swoop down with his fiery sword
