CHRISTMAS STAR

Connie Mason

This story is dedicated to my eight

beautiful grandchildren.

Following her very own Christmas star through the wilds of Colonial Virginia, a beautiful orphan learns she had enough love to make three lonely people into a true family.

Chapter One

Williamsburg, Virginia, December 1786

His name was Jedidiah Wells.

Charity deliberately crossed the street so as not to encounter him face-to-face. She had seen him a time or two in Williamsburg, but the reclusive cripple usually avoided people. One couldn't miss his shuffling gait as he limped along the street. Jed Wells had returned home from the war in 1780, bearing wounds so severe and repulsive his fiancée had promptly married another. The townspeople were in an uproar when he brought home a newborn Indian baby, widely assumed to be his daughter.

There was plenty of speculation concerning the child's mother, for no one had ever seen Jed Wells with a woman – Indian or otherwise – after he had returned to his home several miles west of Williamsburg. Nor had anyone caught more than a fleeting glimpse of his Indian daughter during the following years.

Charity Fairchild suppressed a shudder of revulsion. She hated Indians. Man, woman, or child, they were all savage heathens, responsible for her parents' death and making her an orphan. As a result she was little more than a servant in the large Kincaid household. The strict Quaker family had been persuaded to take her in after her parents' untimely deaths, and her role in the family had evolved into that of servant. She was nineteen now, and if she'd had somewhere else to go she would have left long ago.

Turning into the dry goods store, Charity looked over the array of laces displayed on rolls. She had been sent into town on an errand this cold bleak December day to purchase white lace to trim the collar on Mistress Kincaid's new black dress. And if she didn't hurry, the impending storm would unleash its fury before she reached home. The prosperous Kincaid farm was three miles west of Williamsburg, and Charity didn't relish the thought of making the walk home in a raging storm.

''Can I help you, Mistress Fairchild?" The storekeeper addressed Charity by name since she was often sent on errands into town. Normally Charity enjoyed the three-mile walk to town, but today the darkening skies made her anxious.

"I'd like four yards of white lace, Mr. Cromley," Charity said, handing him the roll of lace.

While Mr. Cromley measured the lace, Charity was distracted by the tall, unfashionably dressed man who had just entered the shop. Jed Wells didn't wear knee breeches and hose like most men, or cover his hair with a wig. Instead, his legs were encased in long trousers and his light brown hair was worn long and clubbed in the back. Charity grew flustered and looked away when she found his dark, inscrutable eyes on her. She had no idea he'd be so handsome up close. If not for his limp and whatever horrible disfigurement that lay hidden beneath his clothes he looked as normal as any other man. Unfortunately, his involvement with an Indian woman made him a virtual outcast.

She dared another glance at him and saw that he was still staring at her, his dark eyes hooded. She flushed, embarrassed by her unaccountable interest in Jed Wells.

"Shall I charge this, Mistress Fairchild?" Marshaling her wayward thoughts, Charity nodded, aware that Jed Wells was limping toward a section of the store that displayed children's wear. She turned sideways to watch his slow progress, wincing when his step faltered to accommodate his awkward gait. He restored his balance easily, as if accustomed to compensating for his disability. He looked like a strong man despite his crippled leg, Charity thought, her eyes traveling the length of his muscular torso. If hideous scars did indeed lie beneath the layers of his clothing, she saw no sign of them.

Suddenly Charity realized her thoughts were traveling along dangerous channels, and she pulled her eyes away from the mysterious Jedidiah Wells. Mistress Kincaid would no doubt faint dead away if she saw Charity ogling a man, especially a man like Jed Wells, who had obviously gotten a daughter on an Indian woman. Shameless, that's what Mistress Kincaid would call her. The Kincaids wore their morals like a badge.

"Good day, Mr. Cromley," Charity said as she left the shop.

"Good day to you, Mistress Fairchild. You'd best get on home if you're walking. Looks like a storm's brewing."

"I have just one more errand," Charity answered as she stepped outside-A blast of cold wind billowed her cape around her slim form as she hurried across the street to the bakery.

Jed Wells felt the loss of her presence the moment she left the dry goods store, though he didn't see her leave. She was young, no more than nineteen or twenty, he calculated, thinking his own twenty-eight seemed ancient in comparison. Maybe not so much in years, but in experience. He felt like a bitter, disillusioned old man, dragging a useless leg behind him.

If he were a whole man he would be married to the lovely Mistress Hilda Appleby now instead of living the life of a recluse. He'd be able to give his daughter everything a child should have: the companionship of her peers, a mother to love her, respect. Fortunately, Star had a father who loved her, for she had little else. Since his mother had died, little Star had become the most important person in his life. At this time of the year he was more aware than ever of how much he loved her. She would be six years old on Christmas Eve.

Jed's thoughts returned to the woman who had just left the store. She had an exuberance about her that spoke of life, and hope, and happiness such as he could never bring any woman. Hilda hadn't been able to deal with his grave injuries, and he knew better than to expect any other woman to overlook them. Yet something in the young woman's eyes – the storekeeper had called her Mistress Fairchild – gave hint of an inner strength that Hilda hadn't possessed.

Jed muttered a curse and shook himself. He had no business thinking of a woman when he knew how his appearance repelled feminine sensibilities. Yet he could recall seeing no pity or revulsion in those soft honey-brown eyes. If he closed his eyes he could still see the vivid color of her hair. Dark auburn, with rich red highlights. He'd noticed it when she'd pulled off her hood. He hadn't really looked at another woman that closely since he'd returned from the war with a useless leg and disfiguring scars. And a baby daughter he'd named Star.

On his rare visits to Williamsburg he sometimes stopped in at the King's Inn where a coin bought him an hour with an accommodating tavern wench. But he never completely removed his trousers, and once his bodily urges had been satisfied he paid his coin and left. His emotions were in no way involved, and that was the way he wanted it. For Star's sake he could ill afford to become attracted to a woman who would not tolerate his Indian daughter.

Jed presented his purchases to Mr. Cromley, paid his coin, and left the shop, pulling his collar up to ward off the wind's chilling bite. Across the street, Charity stepped from the bakery at the same moment. She tried not to stare at Jed, but she couldn't help it. He held several awkward bundles in his arms, and as he stepped off the wooden boardwalk, his right leg seemed to crumple beneath him. The packages went flying every which way and for a frantic moment he clutched at thin air. She watched in growing horror as the ground came up to meet him.

"Oh, no!" Charity was flying across the street before she had time to think about what she was doing. She saw several people pass him by with no more than a fleeting glance, offering neither help nor comment. But that wasn't surprising. One hard glance from the recluse's steely dark eyes was enough to frighten the hardiest soul.

Rubbing his lame leg, Jed scowled fiercely and spit out a curse. He knew his limitations, but being humiliated in public was beyond human endurance. Before going off to fight the British, no man had been stronger than he, no man more outgoing or forthright. Now look at him, half a man, living like a hermit because of his scars and his refusal to expose his Indian daughter to the town's prejudice. Cursing again, he tried to lever himself to his feet.

"Here, let me help."

Before Jed realized what was happening, someone had placed his arm around shoulders so slim he doubted they had the strength to offer much assistance at all. He swiveled his head, stunned to see the young woman from the dry goods store. Her face was strained as she tried to lift him with her meager strength. Her bones felt so fragile beneath Jed's huge forearm, he wanted to laugh. Instead, he grew angry, mostly from embarrassment, but partly because he was too proud to accept help from a woman. Jed's features turned to stone as he jerked his arm from Charity's shoulders.

"I don't need your help."

His voice was almost a snarl, cold and hostile. She pulled back in surprise, so flustered she could only stare at him.

"I didn't mean that is ..."

"You heard me," Jed repeated, sending her a glare that would make most women swoon from fright.

But Charity wasn't most women. Few things frightened her, although this man came close. The only thing she truly feared was Indians. She wasn't even afraid of Mistress Kincaid's heavy hand, for her guardian wasn't really cruel, just strict and insensitive. Charity appreciated the home the Kincaids provided for her despite her lowly position in the household.

Charity stood aside as Jed struggled to his feet. When she bent to retrieve a package he had dropped, he literally tore it from her hands. She couldn't recall when she'd met a man as disagreeable as Jedidiah Wells. It was small wonder that folks distanced themselves from him. His churlish manner discouraged their friendship.

By now Jed was on his feet and had gathered up his parcels. Barely acknowledging Charity's presence, he turned his back on her and limped away. Charity didn't realize she was staring until she acknowledged to herself that he was the finest-looking man she'd ever seen. Despite his limp, the rest of his body appeared perfect in every way. His broad shoulders and upper torso stretched the limits of his jacket. Abruptly Charity looked away, embarrassed by her unaccountable interest in a man who had dismissed her without so much as a glance.

Jed stomped away with as much dignity as he could manage under the circumstances. Six years ago his body would never have failed him as it had today. Six years ago he was strong and whole, a man women admired and men envied. His disability had changed him, made him a different person, not one he personally liked but one he had accepted after years of difficult adjustment. If not for Star, he wasn't certain what would have become of him. His daughter made life worth living.

Charity cast a wary glance at the lowering sky. She feared she wouldn't make it home before snow started falling. The wind howled through the trees and she shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her as she trudged down the road from Williamsburg. She knew how unpredictable the weather could be in Virginia in December. When she had left home the sky had been cloudy, but not particularly threatening. A gust of wind filled her cloak and whipped it around her slim figure, and Charity felt an icy blast of wet snow spray her cheeks. A halfhour later it was snowing so hard she could barely see the road stretching ahead of her.

Jed made an unscheduled stop at the inn, engaging the services of Polly Greene. It wasn't something Jed had planned today, but after his brief encounter with Mistress Fairchild he became aware of an urgent need he couldn't ignore this time as he had done many times in the past. Fortunately, Polly had no qualms about pleasuring a cripple, as long as she received the promised coin. An hour later Jed drove his wagon from Williamsburg, his body sated but feeling strangely unfulfilled. The whole time he had strained over Polly he was seeing the young, innocent face of another woman. A woman with warm brown eyes, auburn hair and pert features – a woman with a kind heart. The kind of woman who would offer sympathy to a stranger.

The driving snow chilled Charity's bones as she trudged through the rapidly failing light of late afternoon. Her boots offered little protection against the cold as she made her way through the drifted snow. Her knees quivered from the exertion of putting one foot in front of the other, and her feet were numb from cold. She knew she must be close to home, but landmarks were barely recognizable in the heavy snowfall, causing her to miss completely the branch in the road that led to the Kincaid farm.

<><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Jed made a disgusted sound deep in his throat when he realized he had nearly missed the fork in the road. One direction led to his small farm and the other to farms of neighbors he had made no effort to meet. Most had bought their farms while he was off fighting the British, and after his return he had kept mostly to himself. It was bad enough having to guide his horse and wagon down a road he could barely see, let alone ending up miles from home, Jed reflected, aware that few of his neighbors would appreciate his dropping in unexpectedly.

Who would have thought when he left this morning that a storm was brewing? It had just started to snow when he left Williamsburg, and if he hadn't had Star waiting at home, he would have taken a room at the inn and waited out the storm. He had lived in the area long enough to know the capriciousness of the weather at this time of year.

Jed would have missed the snow-covered hump in the middle of the road if his horse hadn't shied away and refused to move forward.

"Giddap, boy," he growled, annoyed at the skittish behavior of his horse. "There's a nice warm barn at home, and hay. Don't stop now." But no matter what he did, the horse refused to budge.

Hauling himself awkwardly from the wagon, Jed walked around and grasped the horse's bit, tugging him forward. The stubborn animal stomped, snorted, and backed away. Realizing that something was spooking the horse, Jed made a cursory search of the road. He thought the snow-covered hump in the road hardly worthy of inspection until it moved. Dropping to his good knee, he frantically brushed the snow away, uncovering the still figure of a woman. Her lips were blue, her eyes were closed, her face was as white as the falling snow.

Jed stared at the woman in stunned comprehension. It was the same woman who had tried to help him earlier. What in the hell was she doing on this deserted road in the middle of the worst snowstorm of the season? Who was she? Where did she live? Where was her family? Though he had little to do with his neighbors, there weren't that many and he'd recognize their names when he heard them. Fairchild wasn't familiar to him.

He shook her shoulder, hoping to elicit a reply. He needed to know where she lived so he could take her home. He was rewarded by a low moan, but nothing recognizable as coherent speech. He spit out a curse, realizing that she was in no condition to give him the information he sought. She needed to be thawed out before she froze to death. Dammit, why did he have to be the one to find her? Bringing a woman to his home was a complication he didn't need. If there was any alternative ... There wasn't.

Bracing himself with his good leg, he lifted Charity in his arms, amazed that she weighed so little, and carried her to the wagon. After laying her in the wagon bed, he pulled a canvas over her and climbed onto the driver's seat. This time the horse set out at a brisk trot when Jed slapped the reins smartly against his rump.

Chapter Two

Charity resisted the urge to awaken. She felt so warm and safe in the fuzzy dream world where life held no threat. Funny, she thought curiously, but she couldn't recall arriving home. The last thing she remembered was walking against the icy wind and growing panicky when drifting snow reached her ankles and then her knees. Storms like this were rare in Williamsburg, but they did happen upon occasion, and she had gotten caught smack dab in the middle of one.

Charity assumed that one of the Kincaids had come looking for her in the wagon. She remembered nothing after stumbling in the knee-deep snow and falling. But the throbbing pain in her head told her she must have struck her head on a rock. Thank God the Kincaids had found her when they did. She could have frozen to death had she lain there long enough.

''She's waking up, Papa."

The high-pitched voice of a small child brought Charity into full awareness.

"It's about time," came the disgruntled reply.

Charity stirred restlessly, vaguely aware that she had heard that deep, rumbling voice before. The child's voice could belong to little Sophie Kincaid, but the man's voice definitely wasn't that of any Kincaid she knew.

"She's pretty, Papa."

"I hadn't noticed." Jed Wells nearly bit his tongue over the outright lie. Truth to tell, he had noticed. Mistress Fairchild was fairer than any woman he'd had occasion to look upon, including Mistress Hilda Appleby.

That voice! Reality intruded upon the protective haven where Charity had sought refuge as she recognized the throaty growl and was jolted from sleep. She didn't know the why or how of it, but she knew that the voice belonged to Jedidiah Wells! Her lids rising slowly, she hoped she was hallucinating and feared that she wasn't.

Fear shot through her when she found herself nose to nose with a doe-eyed Indian child, and there was no way she could stifle the scream that ripped from her throat. The child recoiled in alarm, her eyes wide with fright as Charity's scream went on and on.

"Papa, why is the lady screaming?"

"What in the hell is wrong with you?" Jed cried, grasping Charity's shoulders and shaking her roughly. "No one here is hurting you."

"In-Indians," Charity managed to gasp between rattling teeth.

"Are you crazy or something? This is my daughter, Star."

"Daughter?" Charity squeaked on a rising note of panic. The child's features were pure Indian. Hair as black as a raven's wing framed a round little face with high cheekbones and skin a rich dusky brown. The child stared at Charity through chocolate brown eyes that tilted at the corners and appeared too large for her face.

Drawing the covers up to her chin, Charity looked from Star to Jed. "What am I doing here?"

"Believe me, it's not because I want you here," Jed complained sourly.

So much for hospitality, Charity thought.

"I found you unconscious in the road, and since I had no idea where you lived, I carried you home. Couldn't let you die," he added, sounding as if that was exactly what he would have liked to do.

"How long have I been here?" She hoped it wasn't too long and that he'd be willing to take her home.

"Since late yesterday afternoon. You must have been exhausted, for you didn't awaken all night. Of course, the bump on your head didn't help."

Charity groaned in dismay. "Oh, no, it can't be! The Kincaids must be frantic with worry."

Jed frowned. Kincaid. He'd heard the name before. If he wasn't mistaken they owned a farm several miles to the south. "I heard the storekeeper call you Mistress Fairchild. Are you related to the Kincaids?"

"No, they took me in when my parents were killed. They'll be shocked to learn I spent the night with ..."

"Me," Jed said grimly as he completed Charity's sentence.

"Exactly," Charity dared to say. "They're Quakers, and very strict."

"Would they rather you'd frozen to death on the road?"

"Probably."

Star couldn't take her eyes off Charity. Never had she seen such a pretty lady. She rarely left the farm. The only other person besides her papa with whom she was familiar was Songbird, the old Indian woman who lived nearby in the forest and came during the day to care for her when her papa was out trapping or hunting. Intrigued by Charity's auburn hair, she reached out and rubbed a vibrant tress between her thumb and forefinger.

From the corner of her eye Charity saw Star reach out to her, and she jerked back violently. "Keep her away from me!" She pulled the covers over her head, aware that she was behaving abominably, but unable to help herself.

Startled, Star retreated, hurt by Charity's reaction to her innocent gesture. A small sob escaped her throat. "What's wrong with the pretty lady, Papa? I wasn't going to hurt her."

Jed slanted Charity a furious glance. "I'm sure Mistress Fairchild knows you won't hurt her,

sweetheart," he said with more gentleness than Charity thought him capable of. "It's just that she's not herself yet. Why don't you put a kettle of water on the fire for tea? I doubt Songbird will come today because of the weather."

Charity heard the child leave the room but wisely decided to remain beneath the cocoon of blankets. She knew from the tone of Jed's voice that he was furious with her, and she didn't relish the thought of facing his formidable anger. Unfortunately, Jed didn't allow her the luxury of retreat. He ripped the blanket aside, forcing her to look at him. Charity gasped in shock when she realized that her dress had been removed and she was wearing only a flannel shift, worn thin from constant washings and patched in many places.

It might have helped Charity to know that Jed was even more shocked when he saw her wearing so little. Yet it didn't stop him from looking his fill. His gaze traveled the length of her body, noting how the high peaks of her taut little breasts poked impudently against the fragile material, and the way her hips swelled enticingly below her narrow waist. Before she yanked the covers up to her chin, he saw the mysterious dark shadow between her thighs, and his loins leaped in violent reaction. Deliberately he turned away.

"Who took my dress off?" Charity asked shakily. If he said he had done it, she knew she'd faint dead away. He wouldn't dare, would he? But she knew he would. A man like Jed Wells would dare anything.

"Songbird. I left you in her care after I brought you home."

"Who is Songbird?"

"An old Indian woman who spends her days taking care of Star. She lives in a shack in the woods not far from here. I found her shortly after my mother's death. She was starving and would have died if I hadn't discovered her hiding in the woods. She was sick, and her tribe had left her behind when they migrated west. I nursed her back to health, and she stayed on to help raise Star."

Charity shuddered in revulsion. "You let an Indian touch me?"

Jed's expression hardened. "Do you have something against Indian women and children?"

"I'm frightened of Indians. They killed my parents. I can remember – never mind, it's too painful to recall. But I'll never forget their dark faces, or the hatred in their eyes. Thank God they've been driven from the area."

"Not all of them," he told her. "There are still small bands scattered around the countryside. They rarely come close to town, though, unless the winter has been exceptionally hard. Then they come begging for food."

Charity blanched. "To my knowledge none have ever appeared at the Kincaid farm."

"They're there, you just haven't seen them," Jed told her.

An awkward silence ensued as Jed and Charity stared at one another. Mesmerized by Jed's dark, compelling gaze, Charity forced her eyes away and said, "If you'll leave I'll get dressed. I'd like to go home immediately. My guardians must be worried sick about me."

"I'll leave so you can get dressed, Mistress Fairchild, but you can forget about leaving, at least for the time being. The road is all but impassable."

"Oh, no! I can't stay here."

He scowled at her. "I'm afraid you have little choice. When you've finished dressing, come out to the kitchen and I'll fix us some breakfast." Without waiting for her reply, he turned and stalked out the door. Charity stared at him as he limped away, so enthralled by the wide expanse of his back and the incredible strength of his shoulders and forearms that she hardly noticed his limp.

"Is the pretty lady going to stay, Papa?" Star asked as she watched Jed slice bacon and place thick slabs into a frying pan to sizzle over the open flame of the hearth.

"Unfortunately, she has no choice," Jed complained.

"Why doesn't she like me?" Her innocent question thoroughly unsettled Jed. He kept forgetting how astute his daughter was.

"She does like you, sweetheart, how could she not? I fear Miss Fairchild is overwrought after her ordeal yesterday with the storm."

Star's round little face screwed up into a thoughtful frown. "Do you think she'd like to be my mother?"

Jed went still. Star's question had caught him off guard. He didn't realize she missed not having a mother. Lord knows he'd tried to be both mother and father to her. He bent and swung the little girl high in his arms, planting a kiss on her plump cheek.

"I didn't know you were looking for a mama. Isn't having a papa enough for you?"

Star giggled happily. "I love you, Papa, but a mama would be nice."

"Don't get any ideas, little one. To be perfectly honest, I doubt any woman would want a husband who's half a man. Besides, I'd rather have you all to myself."

Wrapping her dimpled brown arms around his neck, Star hugged him tightly.

Charity chose that moment to walk into the kitchen, stunned to see the man she and everyone else in Williamsburg considered a surly hermit actually smiling. It changed his entire appearance. Once the scowl was removed from his face, he looked younger and less forbidding.

The moment Jed saw her watching him, his lips turned downward and the scowl returned. Setting Star on her feet, he turned back to tend the sizzling bacon.

"Sit down, Mistress Fairchild," he said without inflection. "I don't cook as well as Songbird, but Star has survived on my cooking with little complaint." He set the bacon on the table and added biscuits left from the night before and leftover beans.

Charity sat obediently. After Jed dished out the food, she did not begin eating immediately but bent her head in prayer, as was the custom in the religious Kincaid household. Jed had the spoon halfway to his mouth when he saw Charity silently saying grace. Flushing, he set the spoon down, realizing that he had been remiss in his instruction of Star.

Raised in a religious household himself, he had fallen out of the habit of performing this important ritual. He tried, despite his own bitterness, to instill in his daughter a healthy respect for God and his teachings, and each Christmas he dutifully recited from memory the story of the Nativity. Yet the small courtesy of reciting a prayer at meals had fallen into disuse in the course of everyday living.

He waited until Charity finished her silent prayer and picked up her spoon before resuming his own meal. But he remained thoughtful. Having Charity at the table made him realize how much Star was missing by not having a mother to guide her. He glanced at Star, wondering if her exotic Indian features would prevent her from having the kind of life she deserved, with a man who would love her for herself and not judge her by the color of her skin.

After the meal, Charity cleared her throat and said, "Mr. Wells, I really do insist you take me home."

"Have you looked out the window, Mistress Fairchild? There's nearly two feet of snow outside and it's still snowing."

"Nevertheless, it's not proper for you and I ..."

A becoming flush crept up her neck. "Your daughter is hardly a proper chaperon."

If Jed hadn't been so annoyed he would have laughed. "You've no need to worry on that score. You don't interest me. And I'm sure, after getting a good look at me, that I don't interest you." His voice sounded so bitter, Charity felt a twinge of pity.

"It's not that," Charity tried to explain. "You just don't know the Kincaids. They're bound to think the worst."

"Mistress Fairchild," Jed ground out, exasperated. "You may leave anytime you like. I brought you here in the first place because I couldn't let you die out there in the snow and cold, but if your life means so little to you, it's no concern of mine."

"Don't go," Star begged. "You might fall down in the snow again." She reached out and gave Charity's hand a comforting pat.

Charity jerked her hand away as if burned.

Jed shot to his feet, his chair banging to the floor behind him. "Perhaps it's best you do leave, Mistress Fairchild." His expression was so fierce, Charity paled, bravely trying not to cringe in the face of his fierce anger.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I can't seem to help myself."

She rose quickly and walked to the window, certain that Jed was exaggerating about the weather. Unfortunately, he wasn't. It was every bit as bad as he had said. She'd be lucky if she got out of here within the next two days. Meanwhile, she was virtually marooned with a recluse most people thought a little strange, and his Indian daughter.

"Would you like me to get your cloak, Mistress Fairchild?"

Resentment welled up inside Charity. He knew she couldn't leave. He was deliberately goading her. She turned to glare at him. "I might be foolish but I'm not stupid, Mr. Wells. No matter how badly I want to leave, it would be suicide to venture out on a day such as this. I believe I'll accept your hospitality for a while longer."

"Very wise of you, Mistress Fairchild, to accept my humble hospitality," he said, executing a mocking bow. He limped to the hearth to refill his plate, turned abruptly to say something to Charity, and saw her staring at his crippled leg, an odd expression on her face. "Hasn't anyone told you it is rude to stare, Mistress Fairchild?"

A dull red crept up Charity's neck and she lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," Jed tossed back harshly. "I'm accustomed to women staring at me with revulsion. I don't need your pity, Mistress Fairchild. Star and I will get along just fine without your sympathy."

"No, it's not that!" Charity denied vehemently. How could she tell him that she barely noticed his disability? That except for his limp he was perfect in every way? She couldn't. It was not permissible to say such things to a virtual stranger.

"No need to lie, Mistress Fairchild. I told you it doesn't bother me anymore."

''Would you like to see the new dress Papa bought me in town, Mistress Fairchild?"

Charity stared at Star, surprised to finding her tugging at her skirt. The child had been so quiet that Charity had forgotten she was still seated at the table eating breakfast. She had slipped from the bench and stood beside Charity now, her huge chocolate eyes round with excitement. Charity decided that anything was better than remaining in the same room with the rude, overbearing hermit. He was too intimidating, too forceful, too male, and his dark, compelling eyes frightened her. She was unaccustomed to the company of men, especially men like Jedidiah Wells.

She turned to follow Star. Suddenly she felt herself jerked roughly aside. Jed was glaring at her, his expression fierce.

"If you say or do anything to hurt Star, I'll kick your butt out in the snow so fast you won't know what hit you."

"How dare you?" Charity hissed, pulling away from the cruel bite of his hard hand. Never in her nineteen rather sheltered years had she heard such rough language.

"I dare anything in my own home. Now go with Star, but you damn well better behave."

Charity turned and ran as if the devil were after her.

Chapter Three

"I really think you should take me home, Mr. Wells," Charity said with quiet desperation. She was seated at the breakfast table, eating the thin oatmeal Jed had prepared.

Circumstances had forced her to remain with Jed Wells and his daughter a second night, sleeping in his bed while he rolled up in a blanket in front of the hearth. During the entire day yesterday the snow had fallen without respite, piling up outside the door and drifting across the yard. Jed left the cabin briefly to attach runners to the wagon, converting it into a sleigh, but when Charity suggested that they leave for the Kincaid farm immediately, he balked, maintaining that to venture out now would be both foolhardy and dangerous.

Now Jed sent Charity a look that said he was just as eager for her to be gone as she was to leave. He had awakened early and looked out the window, marveling at the silent white world whose beauty was unsurpassed by anything man could have created. The sun had made a belated appearance, sparkling like diamonds on the pristine whiteness of the snow. He knew from past experience that the storm was spent and they could expect the normal mild temperatures of a Virginia winter to return.

"Finish your breakfast, Mistress Fairchild, and I'll be happy to oblige. Having a woman guest in my home isn't something I'd care to do very often. Unfortunately, there are times when necessity forces us to act contrary to our wishes. I know this has been unpleasant for you, but I assure you it has been equally unpleasant for me."

Unpleasant wasn't exactly the word Charity would have used. Frightening, perhaps. Trying, certainly. Being alone with a man was disconcerting enough without the man being Jed Wells. He was something of a mystery. She could feel his bitterness intensely, and through those layers of disillusionment she sensed a tortured soul. Did it have anything to do with his being a cripple? she wondered. Or did it concern Star's mother? She couldn't help but be curious about the Indian woman Jed had loved.

"I can't thank you enough for saving my life," Charity said sincerely. "I never wanted to be a burden to you and if II offended you or your daughter, I'm sorry."

"Don't let Mistress Fairchild go home, Papa,"

Star begged. Her big brown eyes regarded Charity sadly. "Why can't she stay here with us?"

She touched Charity's hand, and Charity jerked reflexively in spite of her effort to control her revulsion for Indians. Star was an innocent little girl, she told herself, disgusted with her involuntary response to the child's friendly overtures.

Jed's eyes narrowed to a hard glitter, and Charity recoiled in fear. His look was so filled with disgust and accusation that her guilt was enormous. If she was lucky, once she left here she'd never be required to set eyes on Jedidiah Wells again.

"Eat your oats, Star," Jed said tersely, refusing to answer his daughter's question.

Truth to tell, Star's innocent inquiry made him feel lacking. He should have given her a mother. Though Songbird had tried her best, she made an inadequate substitute. But it couldn't be helped. No woman wanted a cripple for a husband. One look at his unclothed body would send most women fleeing in terror.

Jed rose abruptly to his feet, intending to go outside and harness the horse to the sleigh before Star's questions became too probing. Suddenly the kitchen door opened and a woman stepped inside. Charity started violently when she realized the woman was an Indian, her wizened face so wrinkled it resembled a dried apple.

"Songbird!" Star cried, jumping from her chair and embracing the old woman. "We were worried about you."

The old woman smiled, revealing a mouth completely devoid of teeth. "It is not yet my time to walk the path of my ancestors. I cannot leave the earth until I know you and your father will be taken care of after I depart." Her bright, penetrating gaze settled disconcertingly on Charity. "It pleases me to see the maiden of the snow looking so well."

"This is Mistress Fairchild, Songbird," Jed said. "Thanks to you she has fully recovered. Now that the storm has passed I will take her home. I am glad you have come to stay with Star."

Charity gave Songbird a timid nod, realizing she was the woman who had undressed her when she first arrived. "Th-thank you for taking care of me," she said timidly.

Songbird merely stared at Charity, the expression in her dark eyes unreadable. Abruptly her mouth opened in a radiant smile, as if she saw something no one else did. "My dreams told me you would come one day," she said cryptically. "When the time comes to join my ancestors, I can do so in peace. I do not think it will be long."

Jed scowled fiercely. "I don't know what you're prattling about, Songbird." Annoyed, he turned to Charity. "Get your wrap, Mistress Fairchild, we'd best be going. I imagine your guardians are sick with worry by now."

"I've been telling you that for two days, Mr. Wells," Charity said plaintively.

A thick silence lengthened between Jed and Charity. From the time he had lifted her onto the seat beside him in the sleigh until the moment they spied the Kincaid farm two hours later, neither saw the need for pointless speech. If the deep snowdrifts hadn't hindered them, the trip could have been accomplished in a much shorter time, but being a cautious man, Jed drove carefully, safeguarding the valuable horse and equipment.

Once, when the sleigh lurched into a frozen rut, Charity slid solidly against Jed. Before she was able to move away to a proper distance, she felt a languid, drugging warmth uncoil inside her. The feeling was most unsettling, and she tried not to concentrate on the attractive, albeit surly man sitting beside her.

Jed guided the sleigh down the lane, reining in before the front door of a large white clapboard farmhouse. The door opened almost immediately, revealing a buxom middle-aged woman dressed in unrelieved black, her gray-streaked brown hair covered by a white mopcap. She stood on the threshold, arms crossed over her ample breasts, staring at Charity as if she'd just seen a ghost.

"We thought you were dead," the woman said tonelessly.

"I'm truly sorry, Mistress Kincaid," Charity said breathlessly. "I knew you'd be worried."

"What happened to you? Mr. Kincaid took the wagon into town to carry you home when it looked as if a storm was coming, but you were nowhere to be found. That was two days ago." She gave Jed an assessing look, recognizing him immediately. "And what, pray tell, are you doing with this man?"

Jed stepped forward, having developed an instant dislike for Mistress Kincaid. "I'm Jedidiah Wells, Mistress Kincaid. Mistress Fairchild has been with me. Evidently she took a wrong turn during the storm and became lost. When I came across her, she had fallen and would have perished had I not found her when I did. Since she was unconscious and unable to tell me where she belonged, I took her to my home."

"Your home!" Mistress Kincaid recoiled in horror, aghast at the implication of Jed's words. "You took her to your home? Without a proper chaperon?"

"It's not what you think, Mistress Kincaid," Charity said, rushing to Jed's defense. "I would have died if Mr. Wells hadn't found me. Everything was perfectly innocent. His daughter was there the entire time."

"Daughter! Are you referring to a child barely out of diapers? Pah, what does a babe know of such things?"

Jed was growing angrier by the minute. "'Tis senseless to argue with you, Mistress Kincaid. I've brought Mistress Fairchild back safe and sound and I'll be on my way." He turned to leave.

"And I have work to do," Charity said, trying to duck past Mistress Kincaid. But the outraged woman was having none of it.

"Wait!" Her arm shot out to block Charity's way. "You will not set foot inside my home to corrupt my children."

Charity froze, her face a mask of disbelief. "What? What do you mean? This is my home. The only home I've known since my parents' deaths."

"And a good home it's been, Charity. I'm sorry you saw fit to betray our kindness like this."

Halfway down the porch stairs Jed turned abruptly, staring incredulously at Mistress Kincaid. Mistress Fairchild had said her guardians were strict, but this narrow-minded view of the situation went beyond strict into the realm of ludicrous.

"If you don't intend for Mistress Fairchild to enter your home, what do you expect her to do?"

"She must find employment elsewhere." Mistress Kincaid gave Charity an austere look and added, "If anyone will have her now that you have corrupted her."

"She has done no wrong," Jed argued. "Why are you punishing her?"

"You don't understand, Mr. Wells. We are simple people who live by the Word of God. Our morals are above reproach, and we frown upon the barest hint of scandalous behavior. If you want my opinion, I would strongly advise you to marry Mistress Fairchild. Now if you'll excuse me, 'tis cold out here and I've no time to waste in idle talk."

Charity's face went white with shock. Marry Jed Wells? The suggestion was so outrageously ridiculous she could barely credit it. Yet she knew by Mistress Kincaid's implacable expression that nothing would change her mind. Nor could she appeal to Mr. Kincaid, for the man usually abided by his wife's decision in anything having to do with the house, children, or domestic matters.

"Mistress Kincaid, wait! Can I stay until I find other work?"

"Nay, Charity, you have broken faith and you must go. You may take your clothes. Wait here and I will bring them to you." She stepped back into the house and slammed the door in Charity's face.

Jed paused on the bottom step, cursing beneath his breath. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. Having experienced the dark side of people's natures for the past six years, he understood exactly how Charity felt.

"Perhaps you could appeal to Mr. Kincaid," he suggested hopefully. Though he was anxious to be on his way, he felt a certain responsibility to resolve this impossible situation.

Charity shook her head in vigorous denial. "It will do no good. Once Mistress Kincaid makes up her mind, no one can change it. Mr. Kincaid is not a forceful man and usually agrees with his wife's decisions. If you would be kind enough to wait, perhaps you could take me to town."

"What will you do in town? Do you know someone who wants domestic help? Or a shopkeeper needing a clerk?"

Charity had to admit she knew of no one wanting or needing the kind of help she had to offer, and she said as much to Jed. Jed said nothing, paralyzing her with his inscrutable look. He was staring at her with a strange intensity that was both frightening and intoxicating. He appeared to be angry with her, and she couldn't understand why.

"I will take you to town."

His voice was taut, barely civil, sending a shiver down Charity's spine. With humbling insight she had an inkling of just how much Jed resented her intrusion upon his life.

"Do you have the coin to pay for lodging?"

Charity's brow furrowed. "Coin?" Until now she'd had no need for money, since previously all her needs had been adequately met by the Kincaids.

Jed gave an exasperated snort. "The only other way for a woman to earn her keep is by ..." His words fell off abruptly as he realized how stupid they'd sound to a woman who obviously knew little about worldly matters. "I suppose," he said cautiously, "you could apply for a job at the King's Inn." Lord knows she was lovely enough to attract customers should the proprietor choose to employ her, and it struck him that the man would be a fool not to.

"The King's ..." Charity gasped, incensed by the outrageous suggestion. "I assure you, good sir, I would not consider such employment. Mistress Kincaid has been quite vocal in her condemnation of women who work in disreputable surroundings."

"Forgive me," Jed mocked with a hint of amusement. "I was only trying to acquaint you with your choices of employment." Why he even bothered escaped him. Given her attitude toward Star, he wondered why he felt sympathy for Mistress Fairchild, yet for some unexplained reason her plight stirred an obscure emotion deep inside him.

Just then the door opened and Mistress Kincaid appeared on the threshold, holding out a pitifully small bundle to Charity. ''I included only what you will need," she said by way of an explanation. "You and my Suzy are about the same size, and she could use your good black dress since you will have little use for it in your new situation. We treated you as one of the family, Charity. I hope you will remember it when you are gone from here." She thrust the bundle into Charity's hands.

"If you cared for Mistress Fairchild, you'd reconsider," Jed growled, feeling no charity whatsoever for the woman.

Mistress Kincaid's lips thinned. "Go with God," she said, deliberately ignoring Jed's statement. "We have done our best for you, but obviously it wasn't enough."

"You have used Mistress Fairchild like a servant," Jed argued. He wasn't certain if he was angry because he felt his life slowly disintegrating or because he abhorred hypocrites like Mistress Kincaid who lacked Christian charity.

Jed's words made little impact on Mistress Kincaid, for she had already entered the house and slammed the door behind her. Horrified, Charity stared at the closed door, uncertain what to do next. She had been little more than a servant in the Kincaid home but at least she'd had a roof over her head and food. Being turned out for a moral lapse over which she had no control seemed completely unwarranted.

"No sense dawdling out here, Mistress Fairchild.

Get into the sleigh and I'll take you into town." Jed's voice was harsh, startling Charity from her lethargy. She wondered if he was angry because she'd asked him to take her into town. She'd made the three-mile walk many times in the past and could do so again if necessary.

When Charity was slow to move, Jed grasped her by the elbow, hauled her down the porch steps, and hoisted her into the conveyance. "Pious bigot," he muttered, meaning Mistress Kincaid. He limped to the driver's side and hauled himself up beside Charity.

"They're really good people," Charity murmured, still stunned by the turn of events. She had known that Mistress Kincaid would be upset with her, but she'd had no idea this would happen. "They took me in when no one else wanted me."

Jed slapped the reins against the horse's rump, wondering what in the hell he was going to do with his unwanted baggage. No money, no relatives, no place to go. Mistress Kincaid had had the effrontery to suggest he marry the girl. The last thing in the world he needed or wanted was a wife.

Her eyes downcast, her shoulders hunched against the cold bite of the wind, Charity sank deeply into despondency. She had no idea what would become of herself. Perhaps she could throw herself on the mercy of Reverend Sinclair, begging him to find a position for her. Maybe he'd let her stay with him and his family until she found employment, although that didn't seem too likely, given his large family and meager circumstances. No doubt he'd be as unbending as Mistress Kincaid and consider her a fallen woman.

Jed's brooding silence persisted during the ride to Williamsburg. The taut angle of his body, his scowling features and tight grip upon the reins made Charity aware of his great agitation. From time to time she slid him a surreptitious glance, wondering what he was thinking. She had no idea why he was so angry. She was the one who had lost her home. Nothing had changed for Jedidiah Wells. It was always the woman who paid the consequences, she thought, angered by the unfairness of it all.

Jed's gloomy thoughts nearly matched Charity's. By the time they reached the outskirts of Williamsburg, he still had no idea what to do about Mistress Charity Fairchild. Then unexpectedly he remembered his daughter, and how sad she had been when Charity left their home; how she had begged Charity to remain and be her mother. He knew the obstacles were nearly insurmountable, that he could never expect her to look at him with anything but loathing and revulsion. that she would have to accept Star despite the child's Indian blood. But because Star seemed to like Charity he was willing to ignore his instincts and make the sacrifice.

He turned the sleigh down the road leading to the church.

Charity knew immediately where he was taking her. "I'm not sure Reverend Sinclair will be any more understanding than Mistress Kincaid," she said on a trembling sigh.

Jed gave her a measuring look, his features so hard they appeared sculpted in stone. "His understanding isn't necessary. There is only one possible course open to you, Mistress Fairchild. We will be married immediately."

Chapter Four

Charity gaped at Jed in horror. "Have I heard you right, sir? Are you suggesting that we marry?"

The lines in Jed's brow deepened. "I don't like this any better than you do. Do you by chance have another suggestion, Mistress Fairchild?"

"But you don't even like me! We don't know one another well enough to marry."

"True. Don't you think I've told myself that? But since I have inadvertently damaged your reputation, I'm willing, albeit reluctantly, to make it right."

"II can't marry you." A shudder slithered down her spine and her lids came down to shutter her eyes. She stopped short of telling him he was too male, too much man for her. How could she explain that she feared wedding and bedding a harsh stranger she knew nothing about?

Jed saw her shudder and assumed she was expressing her revulsion for him as a man. He thought of his crippled leg and the scars on his body and knew he could never expose himself to her scorn. If they were to marry, it must be a marriage in name only, which he suspected would greatly ease Mistress Fairchild's mind.

"I would not ask you to accommodate me as a wife," Jed began slowly. He watched her expression change from disbelief to hope. "You need not share my bed, or suffer my-my ..." He scowled and looked away. "Needless to say," he continued brusquely, "I expect you to be the mother Star never had. Lord knows the poor child needs a mother's gentle influence."

"What happened to Star's mother?" Charity asked curiously. "It's common knowledge that you returned from the war with a motherless newborn babe. Did her mother die? You must have loved Star's mother very much to want to raise your child alone. Especially an In" Her words stumbled to a halt.

"An Indian child, is that what you intended to say?"

Charity nodded mutely.

"Star is my daughter, that's all anyone need know about her."

"But she must have had a mother," Charity dared to say.

"Everyone has a mother, Mistress Fairchild. It's growing late. I suggest we ask Reverend Sinclair to marry us."

"Do you really mean it?" Charity asked hopefully. Her soft brown eyes probed relentlessly into the dark depths of Jed's soul. "About not-not sharing your bed, I mean." Her deep flush gave hint of the difficulty she had in discussing things of an intimate nature with a male. She was so inexperienced in matters concerning relationships between men and women that she assumed the tingling, burning flush she felt when in Jed's company was merely fear of the dark, compelling recluse.

"I do not lie, Mistress Fairchild. You may share my home as my wife with no strings, except for the one previously mentioned. I have no interest in you as a woman. I find all women rather shallow creatures. I realize I repulse most women and have no desire to offend you or any other woman with my unwanted attentions."

"Oh." Words failed Charity. It amazed her that he actually thought himself repulsive. Didn't he know he was handsome? What she could see of him was handsome, anyway. She was certain if he had scars on his body, they wouldn't bother her as he suspected. Why didn't men understand that it was what was inside their hearts that counted, not what people saw?

"Are you agreeable to my terms, Mistress Fairchild?"

Jed's heart nearly stopped beating when Charity turned huge brown eyes on him. Lord, she was beautiful. He must be crazy to open himself up to the kind of torment that having Charity in his home would bring him. He wasn't a monk, though he had tried for the past six years to suppress his sexuality, aware of how he repelled gently bred women. Living with Charity would be the sweetest torture known to man. Denying he was attracted to her would be lying to himself. But he'd witnessed her pity when he'd fallen in the street that day in Williamsburg, and he had reacted characteristically, with vicious, snarling contempt. No wonder she was frightened of him.

Charity gnawed her bottom lip as she considered her options, which were precious few. She could throw herself on the reverend's mercy and try to explain why she'd been turned out by the Kincaids. But even if he did understand, she wasn't certain he'd offer her a place to stay. For the most part, the townspeople didn't employ many servants, and shopkeepers depended upon family members to work in their businesses. Seeking work at the King's Inn was unthinkable. That left only Jed Wells and his marriage proposal.

"I assure you, Mr. Wells, if I do accept your proposal, it will be because I have no other alternative," Charity informed him coldly. Regardless of the relief she felt when Jed said he held no affection for her, she was more than a little hurt that he found her lacking in looks and desirability.

Jed's lips thinned. "I am aware of that, Mistress Fairchild. I know my shortcomings and am reconciled to them. I am accustomed to being half a man. Now, if we have that settled between us, let us continue."

He snapped the reins, and the horse responded with an unaccustomed burst of speed. Within minutes the sleigh stopped before the modest rectory occupied by Reverend Sinclair and his family. Jed lifted Charity from the sleigh and they walked together to the door. She was given no time to reconsider her decision as he raised his hand and rapped briskly. The knock was answered within minutes by the reverend's short, plump wife.

"Why, Mistress Fairchild, what brings you to the rectory this time of week? Is someone ill at the Kincaid home?" She opened the door wider, spying Jed for the first time. Her eyes widened and she gaped at him in astonishment. "Is that Mr. Wells with you? Whatever are you thinking, child, keeping company with a man like Jed Wells?"

"Who is it, Hope? Do we have visitors?" Reverend Sinclair appeared at his wife's side, as tall and gaunt as his wife was short and squat.

"'Tis Mistress Fairchild, Reverend," Hope Sinclair said cautiously. "And Mr. Wells. As for their errand, I have yet to learn what brings them here."

Jed took her words as an invitation to step forward and state their mission. "We wish to be wed, Reverend."

Mistress Sinclair recoiled in horror. "Marry! I wasn't aware that you two were acquainted. Whatever are the Kincaids thinking to allow this? Everyone knows Jedidiah Wells is ..." Jed was glaring at her so fiercely, the rest of the sentence lodged in her throat.

"Pray let me handle this, wife," the reverend said, inviting Charity and Jed inside. When they were all seated in his small office, he asked, "Now, what is this all about? I wasn't aware you were stepping out with a man, child. Do you have the Kincaids' blessing?"

"Mistress Kincaid suggested it herself before she turned Mistress Fairchild out," Jed bit out tersely. Charity groaned aloud, dismayed by Jed's candid statement.

The reverend's shaggy brows lifted in mute understanding. "Then I assume there is good reason for this hasty wedding. Strange," he said with harsh disapproval, "I would never have paired the two of you. But stranger things have happened. It grieves me, child, that you succumbed to this scoundrel's lust." He glared at Jed. "There is a place reserved in hell for men who corrupt innocent women."

"Oh, no, Reverend, it's not like that at all," Charity denied, unable to look Jed in the eye. Would the whole town assume she and Jed had-had ... She couldn't even think it, let alone say it.

Jed gave a tight-lipped smile. "Regardless of the reason, we wish to be married. Today. Now."

Reverend Sinclair glowered darkly, his disapproval intense. His sour-faced wife gathered her indignation around her like a cloak and said, "I would have thought better of you, Mistress Fairchild. The Kincaids are God-fearing people; 'tis no wonder they turned you out. If you are indeed increasing, marrying a man like Mr. Wells is fit punishment for your disgrace."

Charity buried her face in her hands, mortified beyond reason.

"That is between me and Mistress Fairchild," Jed said in a tone that sent chills racing down the reverend's spine. ''Must we go to another town to be wed? Or perhaps," he added slyly, "I'll just take Mistress Fairchild to my bed without benefit of marriage."

The reverend gasped in outrage, leaping to his feet. "I will not countenance such immoral behavior. I will marry you, and my good wife can act as witness. Come along to the church. But mind you, I do this under duress."

"I don't care how you do it, Reverend, just do it."

Charity thought she had never attended so grim a wedding. The ceremony was better suited to a burying than a marriage.

Jed sent a sidelong glance at Charity, surprised at the unexpected longing that engulfed him. She appeared petrified, sitting tensely beside him on the sleigh, he thought irritably. Did he repulse her so much? Was she frightened that he might break his word and insist upon marital privileges? Jed snorted in disgust. Did she think he'd inflict himself and his scarred body upon a woman who regarded him with revulsion? No, he told himself, he had some pride left. If only she wasn't so damn beautiful. Even in her prim, high-collared dark dress, she was desirable.

Filled with a nameless terror, Charity kept her eyes downcast. Married! Fate had conspired to give her a dark, brooding husband who cared nothing for her ... a man who neither needed nor wanted a wife. Jed Wells was so private a man, he shunned society like the plague. And if that wasn't enough his body carried wounds that by his own admission were hideous. Suddenly she became aware that he was speaking to her. Her long lashes swept upward, revealing soft brown eyes slightly unfocused.

"Were you saying something, Mr. Wells? I'm sorry, my thoughts were elsewhere."

Jed frowned, well aware of the cause of her distraction. "I merely suggested that you call me Jed. We're married now, so it hardly seems proper to address me formally. And I shall call you Charity. I believe that is your name."

Charity merely stared at him, mesmerized by his strong, handsome features. "Charity is your name, isn't it?" Jed repeated.

"Y-yes," Charity said numbly. The dark intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Why did he affect her this way?

A tense silence prevailed as Jed concentrated on driving the sleigh through the snow. From beneath lowered lids Charity slanted him an occasional glance, confused by the strange currents that whispered across her skin whenever the sleigh lurched and she was pressed up against his solid weight. Though she broke contact almost immediately, the tingling of her flesh persisted.

"We're almost home, Charity," Jed said in a tone that brought Charity instantly alert. He sounded anything but pleased. "Before we arrive I'll give you one last warning. Do anything to hurt my daughter, either by word or deed, and I'll not hesitate to turn you out. But if you behave in a proper manner and be the kind of mother Star needs, you'll have a home for as long as you want it."

Charity gulped and nodded, recalling vividly Star's little coffee-colored face, her classic Indian features and large brown eyes. She knew she had reacted badly to the child, but hoped in time she would overcome her unreasonable fear of Indians. Jed Wells didn't strike her as a particularly patient or understanding man, except when it came to his daughter. She hoped she'd never experience the full extent of his anger.

Jed guided the sleigh down the lane leading to the isolated farmhouse and stopped before the front door. "Go on inside. I'll be in as soon as I unhitch the horse and rub him down."

Charity nodded and hopped to the ground before Jed could help her. She knew how awkward it was for him with his bad leg to lift himself down to the ground and thought to save him the trouble. As if surmising her thoughts, Jed frowned, but he said nothing, watching her through narrowed lids as she opened the door and stepped into the house.

When she jumped from the sleigh he'd caught a fleeting glimpse of trim ankle and the merest hint of slender calf. He wanted to look away but couldn't. He had a wife who wasn't a wife at all, one he could only look at and wonder what it would be like to bed. For he could never bed Charity. She had made it obvious that she was repelled by him. He could see the fear in her eyes, the revulsion, the utter terror of having to live in the same house with him. Why did she have to be so beautiful? Why did he feel a tightening in his loins, a shortness of breath whenever he looked at her? Why did his heart pound in a wild rhythm he didn't understand?

Unaware of Jed's jumbled thoughts, Charity stepped inside the house and closed the door softly behind her.

Seated on a bench before the hearth, Star worked diligently on a piece of cloth, weaving a needle in and out with childlike concentration. Songbird sat beside her, supervising her work. When Star heard the door open and close, she quickly thrust the cloth behind her back and looked eagerly toward the door, expecting Jed. When she saw Charity step into the room, a radiant smile spread across her face.

"Mistress Fairchild, you came back!" The cloth lay forgotten on the bench as she rushed toward Charity. Behind her, Songbird's mouth stretched into a knowing grin, her expression strangely complacent.

Star grasped Charity's hand and pulled her toward the hearth. "Sit down, you must be frozen. Where is Papa? I'm so glad you decided to come back. Are you going to stay?"

Charity looked down at the outline of the little brown hand against her white skin and stifled the urge to pull from the child's grasp. But she did not.

"Your papa is seeing to the horse," she said slowly. Charity didn't know how to answer Star's questions and hoped Jed would return soon.

"Are you going to live here with us? That would be wonderful, wouldn't it, Songbird?"

Songbird's obsidian eyes held the answers to the mysteries of the universe as she regarded Charity. "The maiden of the snow is welcome," she said cryptically. "For many moons she has been expected, but I wasn't certain this was the maiden revealed to me in my dream. The Great Spirit has brought her to us so that I may leave here with a peaceful heart."

"Leave? Did I hear you say you were leaving, Songbird? Will we see you tomorrow?" Jed had entered the house in time to hear Songbird's words.

A sad look darkened the old woman's wrinkled features, and Charity realized with sudden insight that the woman was older than she had at first thought.

"You will not see me again, Jed Wells. I am old. I want to die with my people around me."

Jed frowned in consternation. "How will you find them? Are they camped in the area?"

"There is a band camped not far from here, but they are not of my tribe. I have spoken with them, and they told me where to find my people. I go to them now."

"Why now, Songbird?" Jed questioned. "Why did you pick this time to leave?"

Songbird's intense gaze slid to Charity. "The maiden of the snow has come. I am no longer needed."

"What nonsense is this?" Jed scoffed. "We will always need you."

Songbird flashed him a toothless grin. "My dreams do not lie. It is good you have found a young woman to warm your bed and raise your daughter. I am weary, Jed Wells. It is time to go."

"I love you, Songbird," Star said sadly. "I don't want you to leave. If Mistress Fairchild decides to leave tomorrow or the next day, we will be alone."

"Charity won't be leaving," Jed said with quiet authority. "We were married today. She is my wife now."

Star's face lit with joy as she threw her arms around Charity's waist, hugging her tightly. Songbird smiled and nodded sagely, as if she had known all along the outcome of Charity's unscheduled arrival two days ago. Jed seemed the least affected, his face inscrutable as he stared at Charity with an intensity that set her heart to pounding.

Chapter Five

Overcome with nervousness, Charity couldn't control her shaking hands as she shared the evening meal with Jed and Star. Songbird had prepared the meal and then slipped out the back door before anyone realized she had left. Charity was surprised that Jed had made no effort to stop her, but she supposed that Songbird preferred it that way. Farewells were always sad.

That evening Charity had never been more aware of Jed as a man. It was difficult to believe that she was his wife. This entire day had been like a dream – or nightmare – however one wanted to interpret it. Being turned out by Mistress Kincaid, her hasty marriage to Jed, and now the wedding night. She wanted to believe that Jed expected no intimacy from this marriage, but she had noticed the way he watched her when he thought she wasn't looking. Unfortunately, she wasn't well enough acquainted with him to trust him to keep his word.

And if that wasn't bad enough, she had problems of her own to deal with. Problems that intensified whenever she looked at Jed. One steely-eyed glance from him turned her all shivery and mushy inside and made her tongue-tied. Even more terrifying was her uncontrollable urge to view those terrible scars he spoke of and to ease the pain in his lame leg with massages and hot packs, as Mistress Kincaid had taught her to do for the children when they were injured. It amazed her that she could even think of a man's limb, let alone look at one. Her strict upbringing had severely limited her knowledge or understanding of the male anatomy.

More than anything, Jed wanted to look his fill at Charity, but he feared he would frighten her. He knew she was innocent and already terrified of him and what he would demand from her. She couldn't know that he was a man of his word. No matter how much he wanted her, he would never break his vow that this would be a marriage in name only. He couldn't bear the rejection when she saw his disfiguring scars and twisted leg. If not for a barrage of cannon fire, he'd be a whole man today.

"'Tis late, Charity," Jed said, scraping back his chair. His voice sounded harsh in the tense silence, and Charity started violently. "You've had a difficult day. You may as well retire. After I put Star to bed in the loft I'll turn in myself."

Charity stared at him dumbly. Was she reading more into his words than was actually there? Rising abruptly, she nearly ran into the small bedroom she had occupied the previous two nights.

"G-good night," she stuttered, not waiting for a reply.

"Mistress Fairchild must really be tired, Papa," Star said as she watched Charity rush from the room.

"She is no longer Mistress Fairchild, sweetheart," Jed said, his voice softening. He couldn't ever recall raising his voice to his daughter. "You may call her Charity, and in time, if you feel comfortable with it, you can call her Mama."

"Is Missis Charity really my mama now?" Star asked hopefully. Even though Jed had said so, Star had the feeling that Charity wasn't exactly pleased with the title.

"Yes, sweetheart, since Charity and I are married she is now your mama."

Star's pixieish features turned wistful. "I've always wanted a mama. Will Charity stay with us forever?"

Jed wanted to say she would, but it was still too early to predict the outcome of their unstable marriage. "I hope so."

"Will she be here for my birthday?"

Since Star's birthday was on Christmas Eve, only two weeks away, Jed felt safe in saying, "She will be here for your birthday. No more talk, little one, 'tis time for bed."

After Star was tucked into her snug little bed in the loft, Jed looked longingly at the bedroom door, wondering how Charity would react if he walked through that door and climbed into bed beside her. He snorted derisively, knowing he'd never allow her to see him without the protection of his clothing. Though the good Lord knew he'd give anything to see her without her clothing. He'd be willing to bet she was perfect in every way.

Sighing regretfully, Jed limped awkwardly to the hearth, piling on sufficient wood to last through the night. His right leg might be weak, he thought as he lifted a heavy log, but the strength of his upper torso more than compensated. Thick, corded muscles rippled beneath his firm flesh as he bent to his task.

Finishing his chore quickly, Jed searched the room for the blanket he had used the previous two nights and found it missing. Too late, he realized that Songbird must have folded it and put it in its usual place in the chest in his room.

Spitting out a curse, he glared darkly at the closed bedroom door. He had almost decided to spend a miserable night without a blanket when it occurred to him how foolishly he was acting. If he wanted a blanket to make his rest more comfortable, all he need do was open the bedroom door and get it.

Inside the bedroom Charity stripped down to her shift and folded her clothes neatly. Her movements were jerky, almost furtive. All the while she kept an eye on the door. She was uncomfortable with the knowledge that the door lacked a lock. After all, she knew almost nothing about Jed Wells.

He could very well be a liar, or a mean-spirited soul who enjoyed hurting others. Just because he was kind and loving toward his daughter didn't mean he'd treat his wife the same way.

Charity finished her task and turned to blow out the candle. Suddenly the flame flickered in the draft created by the open door and she froze, aware that Jed had entered the room. A thrill of anticipation slithered down her spine when she saw his massive shoulders filling the doorway. His intimidating presence set her blood to tingling in a most infuriating manner.

Jed paused in the doorway, stunned to find Charity clad in her shift and little else. He should have knocked, he realized as his gaze strayed from her face downward over the ripe curves of her body. He was right, he silently exulted, she was perfect. The points of her firm breasts strained against the cloth of the shift, and he could see the barest hint of the shadowy mystery between her legs. He closed his eyes, inhaling the heady scent of her skin wafting to him from across the room.

''What-what do you want?" She was panting, made breathless by the intensity of Jed's diamond-hard gaze. The sound of her voice brought Jed abruptly to his senses. If he told her exactly what he was thinking, she would probably run away screaming.

Realizing he was behaving like a besotted fool, Jed frowned and tried to direct his gaze elsewhere. His good intentions were forgotten when Charity inadvertently moved in front of the candle and the diffused light behind her made her shift transparent. A groan slipped past Jed's compressed lips. He was so aroused by the provocative display of her charms, he felt his loins fill and swell.

"You promised," Charity whispered, suddenly realizing she was standing nearly naked in front of a strange man. True, the man was her husband, but that hardly counted since she had known him less than three days.

"Don't worry," Jed said evenly. "I'm here for nothing more than a blanket. I should have knocked, I'm sorry."

His expression gave nothing of his thoughts away as he limped toward the chest at the foot of the bed and extracted a blanket. He was so anxious to leave that he turned sharply – too sharply – and tripped on the upraised corner of the braided rug. He fell to one knee. Charity gave a little cry and rushed forward. Without conscious thought, she reached out to help him. He shook off her hands, glaring at her fiercely.

"Don't ever do that again," he bit out with scathing contempt. "I don't need your help, Charity. I don't need anyone's help. I've managed thus far by myself and will continue to do so."

"II didn't mean ... I can massage your leg if you'd like. I often did it for the Kincaid children when they hurt themselves. II was very good at it."

Jed looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. Did she actually think he'd expose himself to her ridicule? "Let's get one thing straight, Charity. I never wanted a wife, but now that I have one I'd appreciate it if you confined yourself to the mothering duties women are so good at. I don't need you to massage my leg, or help me when I fall. Above all, I don't appreciate your pity." He walked out the door. "Rest well, Charity."

Her face burning, Charity watched him limp through the open door. She marched after him, slamming the door behind him. What a thoroughly disagreeable man, she thought sourly. Didn't he know she wished only to help him? Couldn't he tell that she felt no pity for him? He had given her a home and kept his word. He wasn't insisting on his marital rights, and the least she could do was ease his suffering. What was he afraid of? Certainly not her, she reasoned. She felt fairly certain she could look at his scars and not be repulsed, if that was what bothered him. What did a few scars matter when the rest of him was strong and nearly perfect?

And after spending the day with Star, Charity decided it wasn't going to be as difficult as she had imagined to accept the little girl for what she was – an innocent child who happened to have Indian blood. Of course, that didn't dispel any of the terrible fear she harbored for Indians. That fear would always be with her. But little Star hardly seemed like an Indian, having been raised the same as any white child. Well, almost the same.

Long after Charity went to bed she recalled the way Jed had stared at her, remembered the dark intensity of his eyes, and was strangely warmed by it. She knew he must be terribly uncomfortable sleeping on the floor, and guilt smote her. He had taken on her problems and was saddled with a wife he neither wanted nor needed.

Strange, she thought, moments before she fell asleep, but she no longer feared him. True, he could be fierce at times, but not once did she feel threatened by him. Infuriated, perhaps, intimidated certainly, but not frightened.

Jed tossed restlessly on his uncomfortable pallet. He couldn't stop thinking about how utterly provocative and feminine Charity had looked wearing naught but a shift, the sweet lines of her body illuminated by candlelight. He knew she had no earthly idea how maddeningly tempting she was, and he cursed fate for giving him injuries that made him repulsive to women. The only kind of intimacy he would ever attempt again was the kind he paid for.

When he had returned from the war, his fiancée had told him frankly that she knew of no woman willing to bed a man with fearsome scars like his. To make matters worse, he had earned the townspeople's contempt when he returned with a newborn Indian baby in tow. Yet no matter how he'd tried, he couldn't bring himself to give up Star. He had settled on the family farm with his widowed mother, who had taken care of Star for the first two years of her life. His mother had died peacefully in her sleep one night. Fortunately, he had found Songbird shortly afterward.

Before Jed fully embraced sleep, he made a wish he knew would never come to pass. He wished he were whole and perfect in every way and that Charity would learn to love Star as much as he did. He wanted their marriage to be a true one, based on mutual love and respect, not pity.

Chapter Six

During the following days Jed spent precious little time with Charity. If he wasn't feeding and taking care of the farm animals, he was checking on his traps. Trapping small game was a source of food and provided much-needed coin. Each evening he returned to the house to share supper with Charity and Star, and afterward he put Star to bed while Charity cleaned up. By then it was time for Charity to seek her own bed, and after a curt goodnight Jed usually curled up before the fire. When Charity awoke in the morning he was always gone, having built up the fire and fixed his own breakfast.

With marked reluctance Charity took over the duties relinquished by Songbird. She was surprised to find the larder well stocked with flour, cornmeal, dried beans, sugar, and a small amount of precious salt. The root cellar beneath the house held potatoes, onions, squash, turnips, and several bushels of apples. Further inspection revealed cured hams, bacon, and sausage in the smokehouse. If nothing else, Jed was a good provider for his family.

Charity spared a glance at Star, who was painstakingly embroidering her father's initial on a handkerchief for Christmas. Her shiny black head was bowed as she concentrated on her work, her stitches uneven but surprisingly good for a child approaching six. As if aware of her gaze, Star looked up at Charity and grinned.

"Do you think Papa will like it? Songbird taught me how to embroider. It's not really very good."

Charity laid down the knife and turnip she was peeling and walked over to Star to inspect her work. "It looks fine to me, Star. I'm sure your papa will love it." The stitches were crooked and far from perfect, but Charity knew that Jed would think it quite wonderful.

"I don't have anything to give you, Charity," Star said soulfully. "When I started Papa's gift I didn't know I was going to have a mama."

The little girl's words tugged at Charity's heart, and she reached out to caress her soft brown cheek. Charity was surprised that she no longer felt the quivering sickness that had assailed her whenever she looked at Star at first. Star's cheek was smooth and downy, the same as a white child's, and her dark eyes regarded Charity with the kind of trust she had never experienced before. Within a very short time she had stopped thinking of Star as an Indian, seeing only a sweet little girl.

"I don't expect a gift, Star," Charity assured her. "The Kincaids didn't celebrate Christmas with gifts. They thought it a sinful extravagance and concentrated on the religious aspect."

"Every year Papa reads me the Nativity from Grandma's Bible. I almost know it by heart," Star said proudly.

Charity was stunned. She couldn't imagine Jed Wells being a religious man, this bitter, reclusive man who seemed to have little use for society or religion.

"I'm glad you're here this Christmas to share the story." Star flashed Charity a shy smile. "Did you know Christmas Eve is my birthday?"

"Why, no, I didn't. That makes Christmas a very special occasion, indeed. I will cook something that day in your honor. What would you like?"

"Something sweet," Star said, her dark eyes dancing. "Sometimes Papa brings me sweets from town."

"Then something sweet it shall be," Charity assured the child. Then and there Charity decided to make this birthday really special for Star. Returning to the paring knife and half-peeled turnip, she searched her mind for an appropriate gift for the little girl.

Distracted as she was by her thoughts, she didn't hear Star's question until the child repeated it. "Why does Papa sleep on the floor instead of in his bed?"

The point of the knife jabbed painfully into Charity's thumb and she cried out in dismay. "What! What did you say?"

"Until you came, Papa never slept on the floor. It's so hard and uncomfortable, it can't be good for his bad leg."

Charity's already considerable guilt intensified. To make matters worse, she had absolutely no idea how to answer Star's innocently posed question. She glanced out the window, trying to compose her thoughts. She let out a piercing scream when she saw a hideous brown face peering through the window.

"Charity, what is it? What do you see?" Frightened by Charity's ungodly scream, Star rushed to her side, hiding behind her skirt.

A minute later the door opened and two Indians stepped inside. They were tall and gaunt, and their clothing, crudely sewn from animal hides, hung on their lank frames. Each man was wrapped in a blanket and armed with a bow and quiver of arrows. They walked into the room without being invited, looking around curiously. One man spied the turnip Charity was peeling and popped it into his mouth.

Shaking in terror, Charity could do little more than stare at the two savages who had invaded her home. One man stepped forward, rubbed his stomach, and pointed to his mouth. When Charity appeared not to understand, he said something in a guttural tongue and repeated his motions.

"G-get out," Charity said, too frightened to heed what the Indian was trying to convey.

Suddenly Star, who had been hiding behind Charity's skirts, stepped forward. "I think they want something to eat. If Papa was here I'm sure he'd give them some food."

The Indian looked down at Star, seeing her for the first time. His eyes widened and he cried out, babbling in his own language as he motioned wildly to his companion. Both men stared at Star with growing horror. They looked as if they had just seen a ghost. They spoke rapidly to one another while backing out the door. Then they turned and ran as if the devil were at their heels.

Charity could not move, could barely breathe as she watched the two Indians disappear into the gray dusk. She recalled vividly the day Indians had attacked her home near Jamestown. She was nine years old. That day the Indians wanted more than food. Her mother had hidden her in the root cellar beneath the house during the attack, and Charity could still hear the sounds of the massacre that had occurred just over her head.

"Charity, are you all right?" Star had no idea why Charity was so frightened. Indians had come to the house before, looking for handouts, and nothing bad had happened. Though Star did not recognize these Indians, she wasn't unduly upset by them.

Once the Indians were out of sight, Charity started shivering violently. Her teeth were still chattering when Jed stepped through the open door a few minutes later.

"Why is the front door open? Don't you know it's cold outside?" Then he saw Charity's white face and Star's worried expression and his heart plummeted down to his toes. ''My God, what happened?"

"Indians, Papa," Star piped up. "They came to the house looking for food."

His relief was stabbing and immediate. He turned to Charity. "Did they hurt you?" Charity shook her head. "Did you give them food?" Charity merely looked at him, her eyes unfocused, and Jed knew she was in shock.

Grasping her shoulders, he gave her a little shake. Then, without conscious thought or volition, she was in his arms and he was holding her close, rocking her, telling her he'd protect her, that he'd not allow anyone to hurt her. He kissed her hair, her temple, savoring the way her body fit snugly against his, wishing it would always be like this.

"Papa, why is Charity so scared?" Star's plaintive little voice brought him to his senses. He released Charity abruptly.

"I don't know, sweetheart, but I aim to find out. Why don't you set the table for supper while I try to calm Charity." He bolted the door as Star turned to her task. Then he led Charity into the bedroom and sat her down on the bed.

"All right, Charity, what's this all about? I know you're frightened of Indians, but from what Star tells me you had nothing to fear. The Indians were probably hungry and wanted food. Since the Clark expedition drove most Indians west from Virginia, we've had little to fear from them. Occasionally some of them make their way back during hard times, but they're not violent like they once were."

When Charity merely stared past him as if he didn't exist, Jed knew he had to do something to bring her back to reality. And it had to be something startling enough to shock her. He felt only a twinge of guilt as he sat down beside her, took her into his arms, and kissed her. With gentle expertise he coaxed her back to life with his mouth and tongue as he thrust past her lips to taste the sweetness he knew he'd find there.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Charity warmed to his touch, groaning deep inside her throat, overwhelmed by the taste and scent of him. Musky and male. Tender and rough. Never had she experienced anything quite like it in her life. She felt the torrid heat of his hands on her back as he pressed her against the hardness of his body. All her fears, her worries, faded away into nothing as she melted against him.

Shaking with need, Jed pressed her closer, closer still, wishing he could absorb her into his pores. When she made no protest, his hands traveled with slow deliberation to her breasts, caressing her nipples through the material of her bodice. Inspired by her acceptance, he kissed her wildly, her hair, her lips, her nose, anywhere his lips could reach.

Charity emerged as if from a dream, her body tingling, her senses careening wildly out of control. She felt Jed's hands scorching her flesh and his lips caressing her mouth and knew a fear not unlike that which she felt when she saw the Indians. But this was a different kind of fear,

one that instinct told her could lead to pleasure. A pleasure she was not yet ready for.

"Jed, please." Her plea rolled off him like water off a duck's back. "Jed, I'm afraid." She had finally captured his attention.

His senses returned slowly. In an agony of need, he groaned and set her away from him. "Are you all right now? Do you want to tell me what happened here today?"

Feeling the need to lengthen the distance between them, he started to rise. Charity clutched him with frantic desperation. "They burst into the house without warning," she gasped breathlessly. "They talked among themselves and made motions I couldn't understand. II think they wanted food, but I was too frightened to react."

"I know Indians killed your parents, Charity, but that was a long time ago. Indians are no longer a threat to us."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd been in the root cellar listening to them kill your parents. They attacked at dusk one night when we least expected it. We lived near Jamestown at the time. My mother hid me in the root cellar while they fought for their lives. They saved my life but lost their own.

"The Indians set fire to the cabin and left. I crawled out of the root cellar in time to save myself and wandered around in shock until someone found me."

"Was that when the Kincaids took you in?"

"No, I lived with the preacher and his family a few months until he found a family willing to give me a home. The Kincaids had just arrived from England and were on their way to Williamsburg. The preacher convinced the Kincaids that I would be useful to them. I was nine years old."

"Useful," Jed spat. "Useful as a servant, you mean."

"They gave me a home," Charity reminded him.

"And you've been frightened of Indians ever since?"

Charity nodded bleakly. "I peeked through the cracks of the floor and watched them slaughter my family. I'll never forget their fierce joy when they-they took my parents' scalps." She shuddered uncontrollably. Jed wanted desperately to take her into his arms, but didn't trust his ability to do so without taking it further than Charity would want.

"Are you composed enough now to face Star? I brought you in the bedroom because I feared your hysteria would upset her. She probably has the table set by now and is wondering what's keeping us."

Charity gulped and nodded, realizing how foolish she must appear to Jed. "I'm sorry. It's just the shock of having my home invaded by savages. I'm fine now."

Jed stared at her, strangely pleased that she had referred to the farm as her home.

When he held his hand out to assist her from the bed, Charity suddenly recalled the Indians' strange reaction when they saw Star.

"Wait, I forgot to tell you something. The Indians seemed surprised when they saw Star and began babbling language and gesturing excitedly. I don't know what it all meant, but they were frightened enough to turn tail and run."

Jed paled. "Are you certain it was Star they were looking at?"

"As certain as I could be under the circumstances. At first I thought they were merely surprised to see an Indian child, but it had to be more than that. Could Star's mother be from that tribe? Does Star look enough like her mother to be recognized as one of their own?"

"I can't say," Jed said tightly. Charity could tell he was worried, but his mouth was clamped so tightly she decided not to pursue the subject.

Star chattered happily during supper, their encounter with Indians already forgotten. But Charity could not forget so easily. Her eyes kept straying to the door, as if expecting it to burst open at any moment. She knew she wouldn't sleep a wink tonight.

After the meal she cleaned up while Jed put Star to bed. When he returned to the parlor, Charity lingered so long in the kitchen that Jed finally asked, "Aren't you tired tonight, Charity?"

Charity started violently. Her knees would have crumpled beneath her if Jed hadn't placed a supporting arm around her waist.

"You can't go on like this, Charity. You have nothing to fear from those Indians. Besides, 'tis unlikely they'll remain in the area long, they never do. Go to bed, I'll keep watch tonight."

Charity looked at the bedroom door, then at Jed. "I'd feel safer if you slept in the bedroom tonight."

Her strained features gave hint of how difficult it was to ask that of him. "That's not a good idea, Charity. The room is hardly large enough for me to stretch out on the floor comfortably."

Swallowing her dignity, Charity said, "You could sleep on the bed." She feared Indians more than she feared Jed.

Jed's response was to close his eyes and groan. Just the thought of lying beside her was painful.

"I wouldn't bother you," she continued in a rush. "I take up very little room. And you could sleep on top of the covers."

Jed snorted in derision. As if he could actually sleep with her beside him, imagining what it would be like to lose himself in her sweet flesh. Charity must truly have been traumatized by their uninvited guests, he reflected, to suggest they share the same bed, even if he was on top of the covers. It was for that reason and that reason alone, Jed tried to tell himself, that he consented to Charity's request.

"Get into bed," he said gruffly, hoping to disguise the tremor in his voice. "I'll be in as soon as I bank the fire."

Charity hurried into the bedroom, grateful that Jed was allowing her time to undress and get beneath the covers before joining her. She knew she had been brazen to suggest such a thing, but she would definitely feel safer with Jed sleeping beside her. She undressed, washed quickly, and slid beneath the feather comforter seconds before Jed returned.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Charity?"

Charity swallowed and nodded. "I'd feel safer."

Jed limped into the room, sat down on the edge of the bed, and removed his boots. Then he lay down fully clothed on the bed, pulling a spare blanket Charity had placed at the foot of the bed over him. He stretched his right leg and groaned, plagued by a stabbing ache. The cold weather played havoc with his lame leg, and unconsciously he rubbed it to ease the pain.

If only he could relax, he thought irritably. His body was uncomfortably aware of Charity's small form lying but a hand span away. Suddenly he stiffened and jumped out of bed.

Startled, Charity rose up on her elbows. "What is it? Have the Indians returned?"

"No," Jed gasped, dancing around on his left leg. "Charley horse. The cold weather often affects my leg this way."

"Let me help." Scrambling from the bed, Charity gave him a gentle shove.

"What the hell!" He fell backward onto the bed. Immediately Charity was beside him, massaging and pummeling the corded tendons, trying to halt the painful spasms. She paid little heed to the withered flesh beneath her fingertips, concentrating instead on easing Jed's pain.

"Stop!" Jed gasped, embarrassed to have Charity witness his weakness. "I don't need your help."

"Jedidiah Wells! You're more of a child than Star." Her hands were magically soothing on his distressed flesh. "There now, doesn't that feel better?"

Jed groaned. His leg felt better, but another part of him ached most abominably.

Chapter Seven

Charity hunched over her work, counting stitches in the stockings she was knitting for Jed. She had decided to unravel a sweater of her own in order to make gifts for both Jed and Star. Star was to have a hat and mittens to go along with the birthday cake that Charity intended to bake for the little girl on Christmas Eve. When Star went to bed at night, Charity knitted on her gift, and when Jed was gone during the day, out came the stockings.

Feeling cooped up in the house, Star had gone outside to play, leaving Charity alone with her knitting and her thoughts. Despite her best efforts, her thoughts kept returning to that night Jed had allowed her to massage the knotted muscles of his crippled leg. He had allowed the intimacy until the pain eased; then he had rudely shoved her hands aside, declaring that he didn't need her ministrations. But she knew she had helped him despite his curt rejection. After that night he had returned to his bed beside the hearth.

Try though she might, Charity could not recall how his leg had felt beneath her hands. She had not dwelt on the withered flesh as she'd deftly kneaded the spasming muscles. All she remembered was the inherent strength beneath her fingertips. It mattered little that he was scarred in places that didn't count.

Suddenly the front door opened and Jed limped into the room, followed closely by Star. Not wanting Jed to see the stockings she was knitting for him, Charity thrust them behind her back, surprised to see him home so early in the day. He'd barely had time to finish the morning chores.

"I'm going to check on my traps and shoot a nice fat turkey for Christmas dinner," Jed informed her as he began gathering his equipment for an overnight stay in the woods. "The weather is cooperating, so I probably won't return until sometime tomorrow."

Charity paled. "Tomorrow? Star and I will be alone in the house tonight." Though no more Indians had appeared at her door, she was dismayed at the prospect of being left alone overnight. What if they returned while Jed was gone?

"You've nothing to worry about, Charity," Jed assured her. "Those Indians are probably long gone by now."

"We'll manage." Charity was glad he couldn't see her quivering insides. "Please be careful."

Jed regarded her intently. It seemed inconceivable that she cared enough about him to be concerned. Most women ran from him in terror. Of course, his surly manner and reclusive habits didn't endear him to women. But how could he bare his wounds to a woman during intimacy when he could hardly stand the sight of them himself? It truly surprised him that Charity seemed unperturbed by his injuries. She had touched his withered flesh without expressing revulsion. Just recalling her hands upon him made sweat pop out on his forehead. She was so damn beautiful and innocent, he felt like a depraved animal for wanting her so desperately.

''Trapping is a way of life for me. There is no danger involved when you know what you're doing."

"Nevertheless," Charity advised, "do be careful." She bit down hard on her lip, realizing how close she had come to cautioning him about his lame leg. He was such a proud man, the last thing in the world he'd want was her sympathy. She rose to walk with him to the door. Star skipped ahead of him.

Abruptly Jed stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face Charity. She bumped into him, coming up hard against him. He groaned softly, reaching out to steady her as she swayed on her feet. In a moment of intense yearning he pulled her close, the incredible softness of her body searing him from breast to thigh.

"I just wanted to say," he began hoarsely, staring down into the soft brown depths of her eyes,

"that I should be home in time for supper tomorrow evening. I don't want to miss Star's birthday the next day."

Oddly reluctant to release her, Jed bent his head, tempted by her full red lips. His head slipped lower until their lips met. A jolt of raw heat ripped through him as he covered her mouth with his. He knew Charity felt it too by the way she shuddered and melted into his embrace. The heady scent of her skin glided across his senses, and his arms tightened, loath to let her go.

My God, he thought despairingly, how could this have happened? He was falling in love with his wife! He had known Charity so short a time, it hardly seemed possible that he could love her already. He had no business falling in love. Loving a decent woman was forbidden him, for his pride would never allow him to bare his body in the act of love to any but a whore. He was doomed to love Charity from afar, fighting the compulsive need to taste her sweet flesh.

Charity's heart nearly erupted from her breast, slamming the breath from her as Jed's kiss went on and on. Against her will her hands crept around his neck, tunneling through the hair at the back of his neck as she gave herself up to the pure magic of his mouth. How was it possible to enjoy something as shamefully delicious as a kiss? In all her years with the Kincaids she'd never witnessed the slightest hint of intimacy or closeness. She wanted the kiss to go on forever. She wanted more ... much more ...

but had no name to put to her need. And her limited experience told her Jed felt the same way.

Jed indeed felt the same way. But he was made of much sterner stuff than Charity. Stiffening his resolve, he broke off the kiss, carefully set Charity aside, and backed away.

"I'm sorry, Charity, I didn't mean for that to happen. You're too inexperienced to know what this sort of thing could lead to. I made you a promise when we married and I intend to keep it. I just hadn't counted on feeling this way about you. Don't worry, though, I won't ever place you in the position of running from me in disgust."

"No, I wouldn't ... I don't ..."

"You don't know," Jed said softly. Then he turned abruptly and limped out the door. Charity wanted to call him back, but the lump in her throat prevented her from doing so.

The afternoon dragged by as Charity worked diligently on Jed's stockings. A light snow was falling but it didn't look like anything to worry about. She tried to imagine Jed's surprise when she presented him with her gift on Christmas Day. He had such a low opinion of himself, she knew he expected nothing from her.

Living with Jed these past few weeks had shown Charity a different side of him, a side only Star had been aware of. He wasn't reclusive by choice, she realized. The townspeople had forced him to retreat from society to protect his Indian daughter from their cruelty.

Charity now understood that Jed had retreated from society because he scorned pity. He deliberately discouraged friendships with his surly manner and dark moods. Her heart went out to him. Though she was inexperienced with the opposite sex, there was one thing of which she was absolutely certain. Her feelings for Jed had nothing to do with pity.

"Charity, I've finished the handkerchief for Papa, do you think he will like it?" Star held up the square of cloth for Charity's inspection.

Charity laid down her knitting needles to inspect Star's handiwork. The initial was crudely wrought on the square of linen and the stitches were uneven, but Charity knew Jed would appreciate his daughter's effort.

"It's wonderful, Star. Your father will love it."

Star beamed happily. "I'll hide it until Christmas. Only two more days till my birthday. I hope Papa gets here in time."

"He'll be back," Charity assured her. "We'll make something special for him for supper tomorrow night. Maybe the chickens will cooperate and lay a few eggs for your birthday cake."

Star brightened. "Maybe they already have. I'll go look in the chicken coop." She jumped from the bench, retrieved her coat from the hook beside the door, and removed the bar from the panel. Since the Indians had burst into the house, Charity had been most diligent about barring the door.

Charity smiled to herself as she gathered the ingredients to prepare a small lunch for herself and Star. She had never imagined she could be so happy living with a man. Or so accepting of an Indian child after her harrowing experience with Indians when she was a youngster. Suddenly her reverie was shattered by a piercing scream. Star!

Charity rushed to the door and flung it open, finding her way barred by an Indian whose fierce expression made her shrink back in terror. "What have you done to Star?" she cried, peering past the Indian for a glimpse of Star. Star screamed again and Charity spied her by the chicken coop, being carried off by a fierce-looking Indian.

"Oh, God, no!" Stark, black panic seized her when she saw Star struggle in her captor's arms, kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs. When Charity tried to follow, the Indian beside her shoved her backward into the house, slamming the door in her face and sprinting off after his companion.

Stunned, Charity stared at the closed door, listening to Star's screams growing weak in the distance. She tried to move but her legs were numb, refusing to obey her silent command. Fright was like a ravening beast within her. She knew she must do something, but what? She had no idea where to find Jed and there were no close neighbors whom she could turn to for help. She wrung her hands pitifully, struggling to overcome her fear. She could barely breathe, let alone think.

Indians had taken Star! The words reverberated in her brain.

She thought of Jed and how deeply he loved his daughter. She could well imagine his horror when she told him Star had been kidnapped by Indians. Would he blame her? Charity wondered. Did she blame herself for failing to protect Star? Marshaling her courage, Charity realized she must overcome her fear and use her wits if she hoped to rescue Star.

Cowering in the house was a coward's way and she was no coward, she told herself. For Jed's sake, Charity knew she had to follow the Indians and beg them to release Star. Since neither she nor Star had been harmed, she had to assume their motives weren't vicious. Perhaps they had recognized Star as one of their own and wanted her back. Whatever the reason, Charity knew she couldn't live with herself if she didn't attempt a rescue.

Gathering the tattered edges of her wits, Charity donned her warmest clothes and left the house before she lost her nerve. Walking into an Indian camp was going to be the most difficult thing she had ever done in her life.

There was a light dusting of snow covering the ground, so Charity had no difficulty following the trail left by the Indians. Twice she thought she had lost them in the woods, but her persistence paid off when she picked up the trail once again. It was nightfall when she stumbled into a camp of a dozen or so lodges hugging the riverbank. She was exhausted, hungry, and nearly petrified with fear. But when she thought of how frightened Star must be, she willed her feet to move.

The camp dogs caught her scent and set up a terrible ruckus. Frightened beyond reason, Charity came to an abrupt halt as the dogs snarled and nipped at her heels. Almost immediately people came running from their lodges to investigate. They stared at Charity curiously but did not touch or menace her in any way. They appeared to be waiting, and when Charity saw a tall, handsome Indian emerge from the lodge, she knew instinctively he was the man who held her life in his hands.

Then suddenly a tiny body bolted from one of the lodges. A small cry of gladness escaped Charity's throat as she fell to her knees and opened her arms. Star rushed into her embrace, hugging her tightly.

"Charity! I knew you'd come. What do the Indians want with me? I want my papa."

"Your papa will come, sweetheart," Charity said soothingly. She patted Star's dark head, trying not to convey her anxiety to the frightened child.

Charity cried out when Star was torn from her arms and carried back into the lodge. The child's heartrending screams gave Charity the courage to leap to her feet and give chase. To her chagrin, she was forcibly restrained. When she protested vigorously, the chief stepped forward, pointed to himself, then to Star, and said, "Father."

Charity went still. "Father? Are you saying you're Star's father?"

Once again the Indian pointed to himself and then to the lodge into which Star had been carried. "Father," he repeated, gesturing wildly. "My child."

Charity was struck nearly dumb. If this Indian was Star's father, who was Jed?

<><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Jed limped into the yard late the next day, excruciatingly aware of his throbbing leg. He'd told Charity he'd be home for supper and he'd made it with time to spare. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve as well as Star's birthday, and he wanted to be with her to give her the gift he had purchased recently in town. After he rested his leg he planned to cut a Yule log to burn in the hearth. Luck had been with him and he'd shot a magnificent turkey for Christmas dinner. Later he'd gut and pluck the bird and ready it for the pan.

Jed smiled all the way to the house, thinking how wonderful it was to have Charity waiting for him. He'd never imagined that having a woman in the house could be so rewarding. If only he dared ask her to be a true wife to him, he thought wistfully. He was so irresistibly drawn to Charity that his entire life had been subtly altered by his strong feelings for her.

Moments before Jed lifted the door-latch, he was assailed by an ominous foreboding, giving him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong! The bitter taste of fear spurted into his mouth as he shoved the door open and stepped inside. The house was cold and silent as a tomb.

The fire had gone out. The ashes in the hearth were cold. An oppressive emptiness, more profound than any he'd ever felt, plunged him into the darkest hell.

"Charity!" The name echoed hollowly in the room. "Star!" Before the words left his mouth he knew there would be no answer. They were gone. Where?

He saw at a glance that their coats were missing, but a search of the bedroom and loft revealed that none of their belongings had been touched. The only thing he could be certain of was that their departure had been sudden and unexpected. A quick survey of the kitchen told Jed that Charity had begun preparations for a meal. Yet he knew that it hadn't been today's meal, for the ashes in the hearth were cold. That meant they had been gone since yesterday.

Jed rushed outside. The fading light revealed two sets of moccasin prints and a pair of smaller boot prints. But the tracks he was most interested in were those leading away from the house into the woods. Fortunately, no new snow had fallen and the tracks could easily be followed. At first he was puzzled by the impressions left in the snow, until he figured it out. Signs indicated that Indians had carried off Star, and Charity had followed some time later.

Jed was amazed that Charity had mustered the courage to follow Star. But the proof was indisputable. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his right leg, he hung the turkey in the smokehouse and followed the tracks leading from the house into the woods.

Chapter Eight

A woman entered the lodge where Charity was confined and set about lighting a fire. She spoke no English. She did her work efficiently, shaking her head when Charity inquired about Star. Since she had been taken to the lodge, Charity had neither seen nor heard anything of Star.

It was full dark now and Charity looked up, shuddering in revulsion as the chief entered through the open doorway of the log and bark structure, bending low to clear the entrance.

"Herowan say," he began, pointing to himself, "you go now, no come back."

"No! Not without Star," Charity replied defiantly. "Where is she? I want to see her."

"You go now," Herowan said, pointing at the door.

Charity pursed her lips belligerently. "No. I told you, not without Star."

The chief took a menacing step forward and Charity cringed, trying desperately to control her fear. Though she was quaking in her shoes, she was determined to remain until she could take Star with her, no matter what the Indians did to her. Deliberately she thrust from her mind the image of her parents as they'd fought for their lives. Lifting her chin at a stubborn angle, she knew she'd defy the devil himself if it helped bring Star back home safely.

Herowan spat out something in a language Charity didn't understand, then turned abruptly and left. Charity nearly collapsed with relief. A short time later she was surprised when the same Indian woman who had lit the fire in the hut brought her food. She eyed the mixture suspiciously, but it smelled so good she tasted it, finding it a simple concoction of vegetables and wild game. She scraped the bowl clean, then set it aside.

Though Charity tried to remain alert, she dozed fitfully during the long night, praying that Star was warm and safe.

Cursing the darkness that prevented him from following the tracks left by the Indians, Jed was forced to stop for the night. Curling up against a large rock, he munched on jerky and parched corn he had packed in his pockets before he had left to check on his traps and thought about Star and Charity.

He had a vague idea why the Indians had taken Star. The one thing he'd feared since he'd brought home the newborn babe had come to pass. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that the Algonquian tribe would return to the area. The Algonquian were not nomads. They were farmers who lived in villages and stayed in one place, grew crops, and built their lodges from logs, bark, and grass. He suspected the hard winter had something to do with their migration into the area again.

Even more astounding was the fact that Charity had followed the Indians to their village. He would have thought her terror of Indians would keep her from venturing after Star. Her courage amazed him, and his heart filled with an emotion so foreign it took him a while to identify it. He felt love for Star, but it was a father's love for his child, and he'd thought he loved Hilda Appleby at one time. But what he felt for Charity went beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

A man unaccustomed to prayer, Jed nevertheless believed in a higher being and silently sought His help. It was nearly Christmas, a time of miracles, and he prayed for the safety of his loved ones. Jed recalled how Star had come to him, which was a small miracle in itself, and how precious she was to him. Then he thought of his wife, startled at how important she had become to him in the short time he had known her. He wished desperately that one day she would love him as much as he loved her. He fell asleep with a prayer on his lips.

<><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Charity awoke abruptly when a small body hurtled through the door and fell into her arms. Tears came into Charity's eyes as she hugged Star close, surprised to see that daylight had arrived. ''Star! Thank God you're safe. I've been so worried."

"I'm not Herowan's daughter, I'm not!" she exclaimed, her eyes wild with fear. "I don't care what Pomeca says, I belong to Papa."

"Who is Pomeca?"

"She's Herowan's sister."

"How did you understand what Pomeca said?" Charity wondered curiously.

"Songbird taught me some Algonquian. but I don't think she belonged to this tribe."

Suddenly Herowan poked his head inside the lodge. He saw Star and smiled. Then he frowned, pointed to Charity, and said, "You go now."

Charity took Star's hand and led her from the lodge, hoping Herowan had had a change of heart and would allow her to take Star with her. But she was disabused of that idea when the child was torn from her grasp by the irate chief, who spouted words Charity did not understand.

But Star must have understood for she started sobbing as if her heart were breaking. "Herowan says I cannot go. He says I am the daughter of his dead wife, Timacan. He says ..."

Her words faltered, then stopped altogether as a great commotion erupted on the perimeter of the village. Charity's gaze swung toward the noise, and her heart nearly stopped beating when she saw Jed pushing through the crowd of Indians who had come from their lodges to investigate. Jed spied Charity and Star, and his relief was so profound his lame leg twisted beneath him and he stumbled, having tested it severely trekking through the woods without respite. No one made an effort to stop him as he strode toward Charity, his gait uneven but purposeful.

When Star caught sight of her father, the little girl broke from Herowan's restraining grasp and flew at Jed. He caught her handily, swinging her into his arms and hugging her against him while his anxious eyes sought Charity, needing to know that she was unharmed. What he saw must have satisfied him for he turned abruptly to face the chief. Charity was surprised when he spoke to Herowan in the Algonquian tongue. But she should have known that if Songbird had taught Star the language she certainly would have taught Jed also.

They spoke at length, sometimes heatedly, often drawing angry howls from Herowan's people, who were listening intently. Suddenly the argument stopped abruptly and Herowan turned and walked away. The moment he left, Charity and Jed were surrounded by tribesmen brandishing spears, forcing them into the lodge where Charity had spent the night. Star was forcibly restrained from joining them.

"What are they going to do with us?" Charity cried once they were alone. "Why do they want Star? Oh, Jed, I'm so frightened."

Jed took Charity in his arms, crushing her against his heart, needing to know that she was unharmed. "They're not going to harm us," he consoled. "They only want what is theirs."

"You mean Star?"

He nodded gravely. "They can't have her," he said. "They lost the right to her on the day she was born."

Charity looked at him curiously, making no effort to leave the safety of his arms. The comfort of his strength – she never once considered him weak because of his disability – lent her courage. It felt so right to be in his arms like this; she never wanted to leave.

"I don't understand any of this," she said, bewildered. "I thought you were Star's father."

"Come here and sit down, Charity," Jed said, urging her to sit on the ground before the fire. He dropped down beside her, sliding an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I'm not really Star's father. I found her in the woods where she was left to die when she was but hours old and I've always considered her mine."

"You found an Indian baby and raised her despite the fact you're not related?" She shook her head, finding it difficult to believe that anyone would do such a thing. Especially a man like Jed, whose fearsome wounds and resulting disability had turned him into a bitter recluse. "I still don't understand. I'd always heard Indians loved their children. Why was Star left in the woods to die?"

"I never knew for certain, I could only surmise. Herowan confirmed my suspicions when he told me why Star had been abandoned."

Charity stared at him, realizing that she had barely scratched the surface of this complex man. She thought he must have the purest heart of anyone she'd ever known, so different from the Kincaids, whose greedy and sometimes cruel natures resided behind a facade of religious zeal. She waited for him to continue, fearing he'd be reluctant to share his innermost thoughts with her. But she needn't have worried. Jed drew a deep breath and continued.

"I have to begin at the beginning for you to understand. I was wounded in the war by British cannon fire. When Sir Henry Clinton sent 3,500 men south to Savannah, I joined Howe's army to fight for American freedom. The British brought up their cannon and fired into the line of attack. Unfortunately, Savannah fell. During the battle I was severely wounded. The bones in my leg were smashed and couldn't be set properly. Most of my body is scarred by shrapnel.

"I wasn't expected to live," Jed continued, haunted by the memory of his harrowing experience. "And when my wounds finally healed, it was a long trek home. I arrived in Virginia on Christmas Eve, 1780."

"Star was born on Christmas Eve," Charity said, eager to hear the rest of the story.

"Aye. It wasn't as severe a winter as the one we're having this year," Jed reminisced. "I was within a few miles of home. I remember thinking about my mother and how surprised she'd be to see me. I was all she had, since my father had died the year before. And I thought of Hilda, wondering how she'd feel about marrying a cripple." His voice turned harsh with bitterness, recalling Hilda's revulsion the first time she saw him.

He shook his head to clear it and continued. "I heard a child cry. The cry was more animal than human, and I thought a kitten had gotten lost in the woods and was mewling for its mother. I don't know what made me interrupt my journey to investigate. Then I happened to glance up at the sky and saw a star. It was brighter than any star I'd ever seen. It seemed to be leading me, and I followed, propelled by an urge so compelling it was a driving force inside me. I'll never forget my astonishment when I saw Star's tiny face bathed in the bright light of the star that had led me to her."

"Just like the story of the Nativity!" Charity cried, entranced by the tale.

"Aye, it was my own Christmas star. She was strapped onto a cradleboard and left beneath a tree for wild animals to devour. I searched for her people, and though I saw signs indicating they had been passing through, they had already left the area. Continuing to search for her people was out of the question, for Star needed immediate attention. Had she remained outside an hour longer she would have been devoured by wild animals or died of exposure. Since I couldn't leave her, I brought her home."

"Did you not think of the furor you would create by raising an Indian child? People still think she is yours, that her mother was an Indian squaw with whom you had consorted."

Jed scowled furiously. "After Hilda rejected me, I cared not what the townspeople thought. My mother loved Star from the first. She raised Star the first two years of her life, until her death. Shortly afterward I found Songbird near death in the woods and took her in. She was the only mother Star knew until you arrived. I knew Star wouldn't be welcome in Williamsburg so I lived like a hermit, refusing all friendship for her sake."

"Until I came along and upset your life," Charity said lightly.

"You are the only good thing to happen to me since I found Star."

Shocked, Charity stared at him. "I am? Despite the fact that you were forced into marrying me?"

"Perhaps I was," Jed acknowledged, "but that changed quickly enough. I was too cowardly to admit that I was beginning to care for you. I have my pride, after all. I know how repulsive I am to women and don't delude myself into thinking you could care for me. I'm half a man, for God's sake! What woman would want me?"

"I want you, Jed," Charity said evenly. "But if there is some reason you can't be aa ..." she blushed furiously and looked up at him through lowered lashes "husband to me, I'll understand."

"My God, is that what you think?" Shock colored his words. "The need to make love to you is like an ache inside me. Sometimes I think if I can't love you I'll die. And believe me, sweetheart" he slanted her a crooked smile, "I'm fully capable of being a proper husband to you."

"Why haven't you told me before how you feel?" Charity charged. "I thought you didn't want me, that you were grievously injured, or that you resented being forced into wedding me."

Jed smiled ruefully. "I have only my pride to blame. I thought all women were like Hilda. She was so repulsed by my limp she couldn't stand looking at me. She objected vigorously when she learned I'd brought home an infant for her to raise. She promptly married another man with a whole body and no children and moved to another city."

"I think you're perfect, Jed," Charity said, blushing. "You're strong and courageous and possess a heart as big as all outdoors. You may have fooled others with your churlish manner, but you don't fool me."

"You're much more courageous than I am," Jed told her. "Indians terrify you, yet you swallowed your fear and followed when they kidnapped Star. Few women would dare such a brave act."

"I couldn't live with myself if I stood by and did nothing. I know how deeply you love Star, and truth be told, I've come to love her myself. She's sweet and loving, and the color of her skin makes her unique. But I still don't understand how Herowan identified her as his daughter."

"Herowan told me Star had a twin sister, which I already suspected. Six years ago their small band was traveling through the area when his wife went into labor. As was the custom, she went into the woods to bear her child alone. She must have been horrified when twins were born, for they are considered bad medicine. When twin births occur, one of the babies is immediately killed."

"Oh, no!" Charity cried, aghast.

"Evidently Star's mother couldn't bring herself to kill one of her newborn daughters, so she left her to fate. Herowan never knew about his other daughter until just recently. He came back to look for her."

"Why didn't his wife tell him before? Where is Star's sister now?"

"They both died recently when a virulent fever decimated the tribe. His wife only told him about delivering twins on her deathbed. When two of his tribesmen saw Star that day they came begging for food, they realized that she looked like Herowan's dead daughter and rushed back to tell him. Herowan knew immediately that through some miracle his twin daughter had been spared, and he now wants Star to take the place of his dead child. He couldn't believe that she hadn't perished long ago."

"He can't have her," Charity said fiercely. "Star knows nothing of this kind of life and would be unhappy with her natural father. Is there nothing you can do?"

"I'll think of something," Jed said, not at all convinced he would succeed. His arm tightened around Charity, grateful to have someone with whom he could share his fears, his hopes, his dreams. Never in his wildest imagination had he thought he'd find a woman to love, a woman willing to accept his less than perfect body.

"Charity, when we get home I won't expect anything more from you than you're willing to give," he said earnestly. "You can't know or imagine the extent of my injuries. If you still want to be my wife in every way, I'll be the happiest man alive, but if you decide you cannot bear the sight of me, I'll understand."

"How you look has nothing to do with how I feel about you," Charity said shyly. "You're strong and handsome and kind, much kinder than the Kincaids. The day you found me in the snow was my lucky day."

Jed's eyes were glowing brightly when he lowered his head and kissed Charity. He kissed her with all the fervor he had denied himself these past weeks, groaning when her mouth opened beneath the pressure of his, allowing him to slide his tongue inside to taste her.

"Sweet, so sweet," he moaned hoarsely. "No man has ever wanted a woman as much as I want you."

Arching her back, Charity melted into his embrace, welcoming the heat of his hands as they learned the sweet contours of her body. Innocent passion coursed through her as she experienced things she'd never felt before, making her ache for more. If Herowan hadn't burst into the hut at that moment, she would have surrendered to Jed completely.

Herowan spoke to Jed, who shook his head in vigorous denial.

"What does he want?" Charity asked, frightened.

"He wants us to leave."

"Without Star?"

Jed turned to Herowan and spoke harshly. Now it was Herowan's turn to shake his head as he answered Jed's question.

"Herowan says we may stay for the feast to celebrate the return of his daughter; then we must leave... alone."

"Oh, no!"

"Don't worry, sweetheart, we won't leave without Star." His expression was so fiercely determined, Charity believed him.

Chapter Nine

Jed and Charity sat through endless hours of dancing and storytelling, which the Algonquian seemed to enjoy with great relish. A huge feast in Star's honor was prepared, and Jed choked down the food, trying to conceal his fear that they would be forced to leave without his daughter. At least Star had been allowed to join them, he consoled himself as he glanced down at her dark head. She sat between him and Charity, a confused look on her face. The poor child didn't know what to make of all this, and Jed hadn't had a moment alone with her to explain.

When yet another warrior stood up to relate a story of his bravery and prowess, Jed groaned inwardly. He had been searching his mind frantically for an answer to his dilemma and found himself butting against a stone wall at every turn.

Suddenly his attention sharpened as he realized it was Christmas Eve and he had a story to relate that was every bit as good as those he had just heard.

Fragile hope flared in his heart. Through Songbird he was aware of the Algonquian belief in things spiritual and sacred. Their lives were governed by mystical rites and taboos dictated by their gods. He hoped Herowan would be impressed enough by his story to change his mind about Star. The warrior had just finished his tale and was basking in the praise of his comrades when Jed leaped to his feet.

''I have a story to tell, Herowan, one I think your people will enjoy. Will you listen?"

Charity stared at Jed, wishing she could understand what he had just said to the chief.

"I asked permission to tell a story," Jed hissed when he saw her puzzled frown.

"A story? Of what good is a story when they are going to take Star from us?" Had Jed lost his mind? she wondered.

"Wait and see," he said in a hushed voice.

Herowan's eyes narrowed, considering Jed's request. He loved a good story as well as the next man, and in the end his curiosity won out. "Tell your story, white man."

"What did he say?" Charity asked.

"He gave me permission to tell my story. Pray, sweetheart," Jed urged, "pray like you've never prayed before."

Jed stood in the center of the circle, the leaping flames of the campfire warming his back. The Algonquian gathered close, settling down to listen to Jed's tale.

"Long ago, at the beginning of time," Jed began slowly, "the Great Spirit above sent his son to earth in the form of a babe to redeem man's sins. He was born in a far-off country across the sea to a simple carpenter and his wife. Men came from all over the world to see this child, born during the holy season of Christmas. Among those who journeyed from afar to offer gifts to the Holy Child were Three Wise Men who had heard of the Savior's birth."

Totally absorbed, Herowan asked, "How did they know where to find this Holy Child?"

"They followed a star to the place of the child's birth. It led them to a humble stable, the only place available to the impoverished parents who had traveled far by order of their great chief," Jed explained. "They'd been turned away from the lodge because it was full and there was no room for them. They'd sought shelter in the stable, and there among the animals the woman gave birth to a boy child. The child was named Jesus.

"Guided by a brilliant star, the Three Wise Men found the babe and laid precious gifts at His feet." He smiled down at Star, who leaned against Charity, dozing, and his heart nearly burst with love for both of them. "Six years ago I saw a similar star shining in the sky."

"I do not understand," Herowan complained, disgruntled. "What does the star and the Holy Child have to do with my daughter?"

"I was returning from a great battle in which I received grave wounds when I noticed a star shining brightly in the sky. It was very near the place where you are now camped. Winter was upon us, and it was the holy season of Christmas, when we celebrate the birth of the Holy Child. I heard the wail of a child and thought it was an animal. I was close to home and wanted to continue, but I couldn't. It was as if the star compelled me to follow. It was like a beacon, guiding me to my own little Star. I found a newborn babe abandoned by her parents a short time later, bathed in the brilliant light of the star. Had I not arrived when I did, it would have been too late. The star was a sign that led me to her."

"She is mine," Herowan said angrily. "She is of my blood."

"You were willing to let her die," Jed argued.

"It is our custom. Twins are bad medicine."

"Had your other daughter lived, you would not want her twin. I saved her life. I raised her. I love her. She belongs to me."

"What of the Holy Child?" a warrior called out as Jed and Herowan glared at one another. "Finish your story."

"Jesus was raised by His foster father," Jed continued. "You see, His real father was the Great Spirit above, who gave Him up in the form of man to be raised by His foster father. The whole of His life was spent in prayer, performing good deeds and teaching others to follow the word of His Father in heaven."

The Indians hung on to Jed's every word, transfixed by the story of the Holy Child and the star.

The analogy between the star that showed the Wise Men the way and the star that had guided Jed did not escape them. They stared at Star, clearly awed that she had lived despite the odds against her survival.

"Why do you tell us this story?" Herowan asked shrewdly.

"Can you not see the similarity? The Great Spirit placed the star in my path during the holy season of Christmas when His son was born. If I had not followed the star, your daughter would have died of exposure, or been devoured by wild animals. She was placed into my keeping for a purpose. I raised her with love, just as the Holy Child's foster father raised Him. If you take her from me now, both your God and mine will become angry and your people will suffer. Be grateful that your daughter lived and is being well cared for. For six years she has been mine. Are you going to risk God's wrath and take her from me?"

Awe-stricken, Herowan's people stared at Jed. The story had touched their hearts. Of course, they would uphold their chief's decision, but it was obvious their sympathy lay with Jed. The Algonquians believed in things mystical and possessed a spiritual nature. The story of the Christmas Star convinced them that Herowan's twin daughter had been spared for a purpose and given into another's keeping. They looked at their chief, waiting for his decision.

Charity stared at the Indians seated around the campfire, puzzled by the change in them. She had no idea what Jed had told them, but she knew it had affected them deeply. They seemed impressed by his words and enthralled by his story.

"What did you tell them, Jed?" Her voice shook with repressed emotion. Something momentous had just taken place and she had no idea what it was.

Her heart skipped a beat when Jed smiled down at her. "I told them the story of the Nativity and how the Christmas Star led the Wise Men to the Holy Child. I told them it was the same star that led me to Herowan's daughter, and that they must allow me to keep her or suffer God's wrath."

"What did Herowan say?" Charity asked, impressed by his cleverness.

"Nothing yet, but I think my story affected him deeply."

Her eyes filled with love as she regarded Jed. She knew no man as fine as he. If only she could help him in some way. Then she recalled that Herowan understood a smattering of English. Rising to her feet, she faced the chief and said, "I also love Star. I swear to raise her as my own daughter. Separating her from her foster father would be cruel and inhuman."

Herowan did not doubt the veracity of Charity's words. She had proven her love when she followed the child here and refused to leave when given the opportunity. He grunted and motioned Charity back to her place before the fire.

Jed grasped her hand, refusing to allow her to leave his side as he stood before Herowan, waiting for the chief to speak. Suddenly a woman cried out, pointing to the sky. All eyes turned upward. Jed gasped when he saw a single star high in the heavens, bathing them with a brilliance that dimmed all the million other stars twinkling beside it.

"Jed, look!" Charity cried, astonished. "It's almost as ifas if you had conjured up the star."

Charity wasn't the only one transfixed by the mystical phenomenon. Stunned, the Indians looked up at the sky, then stared at the man and woman before them as if they were prophets, or supernatural beings. A penetrating silence settled over the assemblage as the star hovered directly overhead, casting its light over the man and woman standing in the center of the circle. Suddenly little Star stirred and sat up, her eyes anxiously seeking Jed and Charity. When she saw them she smiled, picked herself up, and joined them.

Drenched in the light of the star, no one who saw them could doubt they belonged together. Least of all Herowan. His face was set in stone, his eyes bleak when at length he spoke.

"Your story touches my heart," he said slowly, placing a fist over the place where his heart beat within his chest. "Could the star that led the Wise Men to your Holy Child be the same one that guided you to my daughter? Could it be the same star that shines so brightly down on you now? If it is so, then I must assume the Gods favor your petition."

He gazed at Star, seeing in her his dead daughter whom he had loved dearly. He saw how trustingly she regarded her foster father, how tightly she clung to his hand, how her eyes sought the woman who would be her mother, and he searched his heart for the right decision. He found it in the star that bathed the small family in celestial light.

"It grieves me to lose a child of my loins, but had she been devoured by wild animals I would never have known she existed. Twins are bad medicine, it is our custom to choose one and let the other die. Had I not lost Star's twin sister I would have been content, assuming the other was dead."

The breath slammed from Jed's chest. "Then you will allow me to keep Star?"

"My daughter was given to you by your Prophet. No mortal man has the right to take her from you. You may leave in peace."

So great was his relief, Jed's crippled leg nearly collapsed beneath him. "Jed, what is it?" Charity cried, alarmed. Had Herowan refused to give up Star?

"We can leave, sweetheart! Herowan has relented. Star is ours." He caught her around the waist and hugged her tightly. Then he picked up Star and swung her around.

Oblivious to the tense drama that had taken place, Star yawned hugely and said, "Let's go home, Papa. Today is my birthday and I didn't even get the cake Charity promised to bake for me. Or my presents. You did get me a present, didn't you, Papa?"

"Well have a feast tomorrow," Charity laughed, "with a cake and anything else you'd like. And I wouldn't be surprised if there are gifts waiting for you at home."

Herowan's dark eyes were stark as he stared at Star. After a tense moment he rose abruptly to his feet and said, "When the sun rises tomorrow, two of my people will show you the way home." His shoulders were slumped ever so slightly as he walked away.

When they returned home on Christmas Day, Charity fixed a dinner fit for royalty. She cooked the turkey Jed had shot, prepared a variety of vegetables from the root cellar, and baked the cake Star wanted.

Star exclaimed wildly over the doll with a porcelain face which Jed had purchased for her in Williamsburg, and the hat, scarf, and gloves Charity had knitted from her unraveled sweater. Jed was rendered speechless when Charity gave him the stockings she had knit for him, and the rest of the day he wore a secretive smile.

Festive though the day was, Charity's nervousness increased as the day came to an end. No matter what Jed said, she wasn't going to let him sleep on the floor. She was his wife but she might as well be his sister, living the way she did. She wanted to be Jed's wife in every way, to experience the joys and trials of wedded bliss, to know what it felt like to be a woman. If she had to be bold, so be it. Jed had admitted he cared for her and wanted her. She had no idea what she had to do to convince him that nothing about him would shock or repulse her, but somehow she'd find a way.

Jed was even more nervous than Charity. He ached with the need to make love to Charity but feared her rejection. He couldn't bear it if she turned from him in disgust, and he wasn't certain he wanted to put her to the test. His emotions were too raw after years of virtual isolation from human compassion.

"Star is exhausted, Jed, why don't you put her to bed," Charity said, sending him a shy smile. Her voice shook from the combined forces of excitement and fear. No one had told her what to expect in the marriage bed. She just knew she wanted to be close to Jed, closer than she had ever been to any other human.

Jed started violently. He gave Charity a searing glance, sending heat coursing through her. Her eyelashes swept down to lie like butterflies against her cheeks. He decided to warn her one last time. "Charity, if you don't want"

"No," Charity said, forestalling the rest of his sentence, "don't say it. I want to be your wife, Jed."

Jed groaned as if in pain, imagining her disgust when she finally saw the extent of his injuries. It would take a special woman to accept him as he was. He hoped Charity was that woman. "I want that more than anything," he said sincerely.

Alone in the bedroom, Charity stripped down to her shift, too shy to climb completely naked between the sheets. She hoped Jed would tell her what to do, for she had no idea what to expect. She closed her eyes and waited.

A short time later Jed entered the room and limped to the bed, gazing down at Charity with so much love and compassion that had she seen him she would have burst into tears. Disappointment jolted through him when she appeared to be sleeping. He started to turn away when she reached out and touched his arm.

"No, don't go."

"Are you sure?"

"I was never more sure of anything in my life."

With slow deliberation Jed removed his shirt; then he sat on the side of the bed and removed his shoes, stockings, and trousers. He stood up, his back to her, clad in his small clothes, aware of Charity's scrutiny as she made a slow perusal of his body. He knew that shrapnel scars peppered his back, and that his leg was grotesquely scarred and twisted, and he waited for Charity's reaction. When the silence grew oppressive, he slowly peeled away his remaining clothing. He wanted her to see all of him, to know the full extent of his disfigurement. Glancing over his shoulder, he wondered if she had been struck dumb by the gruesome sight and prayed she hadn't gone into shock.

Charity stared at Jed, transfixed by the powerful width of his back and shoulders, by the corded tendons rippling beneath his smooth flesh, by the narrow waist and slim hips. One leg was strong and muscular, the other she hardly noticed. If there were scars on his body, Charity scarcely saw them. What she did see was his handsome face, his strength of character, and the beauty of his soul. It was also the first time she had seen a naked male.

She stared at his body few moments, then reluctantly slid her eyes upward to his face. ''I love you, Jed." Her voice shook as she pulled aside the blanket so he could slide into bed beside her. "You'll have to teach me what to do."

Jed wore a stunned expression. Having Star restored to him was a miracle, but the greatest miracle of all was finding Charity on that snowy night and hearing her say that she loved him. "I adore you, Charity Wells. I bless the day I found you."

He slid into bed beside her and took her into his arms. When his mouth found hers, she knew she had come home.

Outside, a bright star hovered overhead, drenching the lovers in the soft glow of fulfillment. It twinkled warmly when Jed gave Charity his Christmas gift, slipping onto her finger a wedding band he had purchased on one of his trips into town. For many days afterward, the Christmas Star rode low in the heavens, bestowing its blessings upon the Wells family.

The star provided Herowan's tribe with countless hours of entertainment as the story narrated to them by Jed was told and retold around the campfire. When they moved westward, the tale had been embellished until the Christmas Star had earned a place in the annals of the tribe's history.