The Great Alone (48 page)

“No. I was laughing at something else entirely. It had nothing to do with anything you said or did.”

She studied him for several seconds before accepting his assurances. The long skirt made a swishing sound as she walked to the cloth-covered table. The teapot sat atop the samovar, kept hot by the rising steam. As she reached for the pot, Caleb noticed the long slanting rays of sunlight that came through the window.

“More tea?” she asked.

“No. I’m afraid the time has slipped away from me.” Caleb stood up and walked over to set his empty cup on the table. It brought him beside her. “I didn’t intend to stay so late. I guess I can blame it on your charming company.”

“I had pleasure, too.” She didn’t attempt to hide the regret she felt at his leaving.

“May I have your permission to come again?”

“Yes, that would please me.” Her quick smile soon assumed a wistful quality that Caleb found appealing, yet sad.

“Is something wrong?”

“I feel sad that it will take only a week to make the repairs to your ship.”

Her candor charmed him; she had been sufficiently interested in him to inquire about the length of time it would take for the repairs to be made to his ship, because he certainly hadn’t told her.

“Maybe I can arrange for it to take longer.” He winked at her, and she laughed.

She stood at the door as he walked away from the cabin. When he turned down the street toward the harbor, Caleb saw her take the flower from her hair and inhale its sweet fragrance. As he struck out for the harbor, his rolling seaman’s gait became a proud swagger.

* * *

Larissa waited until he was out of her sight, then slowly closed the door and leaned against it. Closing her eyes, she carried the yellow poppy to her bosom and held it there. The handsome, clean-shaven Yankee captain, Caleb Stone, was the most exciting man she had ever encountered. Certainly there was no one in Kodiak who could compare to him. Others had stared at her with that hungry look before, especially some of the Yankees. She was not so naïve that she didn’t know what it meant. But none had ever produced this warm, tingling sensation inside her.

And he’d asked to come back. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to smother the laughter that rippled from her throat. She spun into the room, hugging her arms tightly to her chest, feeling she was going to burst inside.

“He has gone?”

“Babushka.” Abruptly, self-consciously, she halted her gay dance. “I thought you were asleep.” Quickly, she turned to the samovar. “There is some tea left. Shall I pour you a cup?”

“Yes.” Tasha waited until Larissa brought the cup to the cot and sat down beside her. “Do not let yourself care for him, my child. He will leave soon. They always leave.”

“I know.” Larissa avoided her grandmother’s pleading look. She didn’t want to upset her by arguing that she knew it wasn’t going to happen to her.

Again Caleb dined at the governor’s residence with Baranov. It was a sumptuous feast—roasted wild geese, venison, halibut, Russian bread, pickles, cakes, and the famous bowl of hot spiked punch sitting in the center of the long banquet table. But Caleb had difficulty concentrating on the old Russian’s company. Over Baranov’s objections, he called an early end to the night and took his leave of the Russian American governor who had dressed for the occasion in a black silk waistcoat, silver-buckled slippers, and a black dress wig that didn’t fit him much better than the old one.

A heavy fog rolled off the sound and swirled over the veranda, concealing the top of the flagstaff that stood in the center of the knoll’s parade ground. High overhead, the beacon light pierced the gray layers to throw out its signal. The sentry’s call, echoing from post to post, sounded hollow and eerie in the fog-wrapped stillness.

At the top of the steps, Caleb paused to look around. It occurred to him that Larissa had probably gone to sleep hours ago. He sighed and started down the stone stairs.

The dinner with Baranov had started him wondering if there might not be an advantage to having a Russian wife. Thus far, no merchant, not even John Jacob Astor, had succeeded in persuading Baranov to sign an exclusive contract to buy supplies only from him. A contract like that would be a coup for any trader. With it, he could buy a fleet of ships. Baranov just might look favorably on a man who married a Russian woman.

The idea appealed to Caleb, more so because it provided justification for the strong attraction he already felt toward Larissa. It wasn’t enough to have a beautiful, exciting wife. A man must choose wisely as well. He was whistling a tune as he headed for the strip of beach where his boat crew stood by the yawl.

“Boston man.” A low voice called softly to him. “Caleb Stone.”

He halted and peered into the swirling mist. A figure appeared—a Tlingit woman dressed in some strange faded robe that seemed oddly familiar.

“What do you want?” He was in no mood to be solicited by some native whore.

Instead of answering, she walked closer. Caleb frowned, knowing he had seen those black, black eyes somewhere before but unable to identify her. A boy about five or six years old leaned heavily against her side, almost too tired to stand.

“Do you not remember Raven?” she murmured.

The name finally jarred his memory. He smiled without humor and rubbed his left arm. “I still carry the scar of your knife,” he said.

“Is that all you remember?”

“No.” But he hadn’t the slightest desire to resume their past relationship. “Is that why you wanted to see me?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Maybe I think you want to see your son.”

“My what?”

She tipped the boy’s chin up so he could see the child’s sleepy face. “See his eyes. They are like yours.”

“That proves nothing. Just because your bastard has blue eyes doesn’t make me his father,” Caleb scoffed.

“Maybe that Larissa woman will think it does. I see you with her today, putting flowers in her hair. Your son grows all the time. He needs food, clothes. Caleb has many things on his ship. Keep son a long time.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” He took a threatening step toward her.

A sudden shout in Russian distracted Caleb. A man loomed out of the fog. Moving quickly, he planted himself between Caleb and Raven.

“What happens here?” the Russian demanded.

“That Indian bitch is trying to convince me I fathered that bastard of hers so I’ll pay her off.”

A look of shock widened the Russian’s eyes. Caleb saw their blue color and instantly recognized the man as the survivor of the massacre he’d picked up that same summer. Zachar Tarakanov was his name. He remembered it all clearly now—even Raven’s admission that she’d been the Russian’s woman.

“You?” The man’s voice wavered.

“It’s a lie, Zachar. Yes, I remember you.” Caleb guessed the man believed the boy was his son. “She’s probably played this trick on a half dozen men. If anyone’s likely to be the father, you are.”

Zachar stared at him, his eyes clouded with doubt. At last, he turned away and scooped the child into his arms, holding him tightly. He muttered something to Raven, then reached out and shoved her toward the village after she failed to move on her own. The fog quickly swallowed them. As his anger faded, Caleb felt the first pang of worry that Raven might carry out her threat to tell Larissa. Larissa. Her last name was Tarakanov, too. And he started wondering whether she was related to Zachar.

* * *

In the cabin, Zachar laid the boy on the cot. Wolf was asleep almost as soon as Zachar tucked the blanket around him. For a long time he stood by the cot and stared at the boy he’d grown to love so deeply.

“Is Wolf my son?” He could barely get the words out. His mind echoed and re-echoed with the tormenting question. He turned to face Raven, tortured by doubt. He vibrated with the hate he felt for her. It consumed him as love once had. “Am I his father?” Zachar demanded hoarsely.

She turned her back to him. He charged across the room, grabbed her by the shoulders, and spun her around. She offered no resistance as he violently shook her.

“Answer me!”

But no sound came from her. His chest hurt so much it felt like an invisible hand was squeezing him. Each breath was a half-sob of pain. He stopped, although he unconsciously continued to dig his fingers into her flesh. Her head was thrown far back, exposing her throat. He longed to choke the answer out of her. The defiant contempt in her face mocked him, dared him to try.

Her silence defeated him. Zachar let her go as his lower lip quivered and tears stung his eyes. He felt impotent, stripped of pride and honor.

“You are a stupid man,” Raven jeered. “I could have got many things from that Boston man.”

“Why? Is Wolf his son?”

“If I say no, how will you know that is truth?”

He stared at her as the cruel realization hit him. No matter what answer she gave him, the doubt would always be there. He could no longer believe her. Wolf might be his son, but he’d never know for certain, because he couldn’t take her word for it and no one else could give him the answer.

“The Yankee denied he was the father. He wouldn’t have paid you anything.” Zachar retaliated, trying to undermine her confidence.

“He has eyes for the daughter of your dead wife.”

“Larissa?”

“I could have had many pretty things—pretty like this robe he gave me once.” She rubbed her hand over the worn and faded garment, stained and shabby from wear.

“He gave you that?” Zachar stared at the damning evidence that she had been with him that summer of the massacre. In a fit of rage, he ripped it off her, the rotting threads tearing easily, and threw it on the smoldering logs in the fireplace, indifferent to the rake of her nails as she tried to stop him.

Smoke billowed thickly around the torn robe. An instant later, flames exploded to blacken forever the brightly striped cloth. The sudden flare of light illuminated Raven’s now naked body, but the sight of it no longer aroused his lust.

“I can get others. I can get many others,” she announced defiantly. “Caleb will give them to me or I will tell her.”

This time he grabbed her by the throat. “No, you won’t. From now on you will be satisfied with what I give you, because if I ever learn that you have tried to get presents from another man—or if I hear that you have spread this lie about my son to any member of my family or my friends—I will kill you.”

He flung her away from him. Raven stumbled sideways, crashing into the fireplace and striking her cheek against a rough stone. For a moment the whole room went black in front of her eyes. She cupped her hand against her cheek and felt the warm blood running from the cut. Loathing and contempt rose within her as she watched the stupid Russian walk to the cot.

CHAPTER XXVI

Larissa and Caleb strolled along the shore path that was so often frequented by Baranov. They walked close together, their arms occasionally brushing, the fullness of her long skirt sweeping against his leg. The smell of rain was in the air. Already they could see the gray sheets falling on the slopes of Mount Edgecumbe.

“I suppose we should hurry,” Caleb suggested reluctantly. “Those clouds are going to let loose any moment.”

“We should.” But she slowed her steps.

Caleb watched her push the near side of the loosely hooding wool scarf away from her face. She smiled at him, her dark eyes shining. She looked so beautiful to him.

It had been something of a shock to him when he’d learned earlier in the week that Zachar Tarakanov was her father, but he’d been reassured by the fact that she had very little contact with him. Knowing Raven as he did, Caleb was glad Zachar kept the two apart. It lessened the chances of Raven causing trouble.

In the last week, Caleb had spent every possible hour he could courting her more ardently than he had any woman in his life. Larissa exhibited a rare combination of serenity and vitality that was like a heady wine to him. She soothed and excited him at the same time. With each passing day, Caleb had become more convinced of her suitability, both practically and passionately.

“Soon the repairs to your ship will be finished.” The regret in her voice was unmistakable.

“I’ve nearly run out of things to have fixed,” he admitted. “Three days. Maybe I can stretch it to four.”

“Then you will leave to trade with the Kolosh for furs.” She kept her head down as she walked two more steps. “I will miss you.”

Caleb halted. “Larissa.” She stopped as well and gazed longingly at him. “I never realized how very lonely my life has been until I shared this last week with you.” He hesitated. “Am I speaking too soon?”

“No,” she said quickly, unconsciously straining toward him.

Not once had he dared any more than a lingering kiss on her hand. Now he kissed her lips. He felt their tremor of innocence and uncertainty. But her hesitation was fleeting as she responded with warm, eager pressure. He forgot his restraint and kissed her hard, gathering her tightly into his embrace.