no name . She gave a little shrug then went back to dancing.
McKinnon cleared his throat. She wasn’t going to make him beg, but it took a minute for the surprise to wear off before she could face him. It was just so sad! If the girl was telling the truth. But she’d seen no reason to think the kid was playing them.
“Well?”
Bree said quietly, “She says she has no name.”
He winced. Poor guy. He’d already said the kid couldn’t be his, so he shouldn’t be taking on the blame if the child hadn’t been properly cared for. Well, at least enough to have some sense of identity. Someone must have cared enough to have her taught how to sign. That was kind of a big deal. And she had to admit, the girl hadn’t seemed particularly sad about anything else, just not having a name. And she didn’t look too sad about that, really.
“You’re just going to have to give her a name, that’s all. And it can’t be Cherub or Pumpkin, or something silly. She’s going to want a real name.”
The girl twirled around and caught Bree’s hands, then pulled her into a music-less dance. Bree didn’t want to mess with whatever tune was playing in the girl’s head, so she picked up the rhythm and danced along silently.
McKinnon watched. At first, he watched the child dancing with a mixture of longing and pity on his face. But then he started to frown. Bree could feel the storm clouds gathering in his brain and knew he was going to open his mouth and become that jackass again.
She shook her head at him while she spun past.
“What is the matter with you now?”
“Ye have yet to ask her what she hopes to find in a Christmas gift.”
Bree stopped dancing and got the girl’s attention.
“Do you know what tomorrow is?” she asked and signed.
The girl nodded, then made the sign for Christmas. At least it could have been interpreted as Christmas.
“And what do you hope you get for Christmas, young lady?”
The child didn’t even hesitate. She made the sign for the moon and pointed at the window.
Great. Something McKinnon couldn’t get her. He wasn’t going to be happy.
“And what did she say?” he asked gruffly. She started to think he had read the sign just fine, but she said it anyway.
“She says she’s expecting the moon.”
Only after the words left her mouth did she realize how bad it sounded, like the kid thought she was going to get the world laid at her feet—like she might be expecting to come into a lot of money.
McKinnon knelt on one knee and held out a hand. The child hurried to take it.
“Tell me, Cherub,” he said gently. “Have ye heard Miss Colby and I speak of a coachman?”
The child nodded.
“And do ye ken this coachman? Have ye ever met him yerself?”
The kid grinned, then nodded again.
Five minutes later, Bree and Miss Cherub were munching down Bree’s lunch—the lunch left back in her little prison, the prison the two of them were apparently going to share.
CHAPTER NINE
Heathcliff was aware that the horrible day he’d lived through on the twenty third of December paled in horror to the twenty-fourth. But that did not mean he couldn’t fight back. Unfortunately, he didn’t know whom he needed to fight.
Why did he not see it before?
Their hair was so similar in shade. They were both able to speak with their hands. Of course he knew there was a school in Paris for deaf people, teaching new ways to communicate. Perhaps it was their ability to do so silently that convinced the coachman the lasses made a fine pair of accomplices. The woman could easily pass a message to the man through the very window, as could the child.
Perhaps they’d been compelled to help him.
Of course his heart was grasping for any reason that might redeem the two blondes from villainy. The cruelest crime they’d committed, however, was to give him the weakest thread of hope that the child might remain in his keeping, only to take away that hope. Like sending a boat for a drowning sailor—a
McKinnon cleared his throat. She wasn’t going to make him beg, but it took a minute for the surprise to wear off before she could face him. It was just so sad! If the girl was telling the truth. But she’d seen no reason to think the kid was playing them.
“Well?”
Bree said quietly, “She says she has no name.”
He winced. Poor guy. He’d already said the kid couldn’t be his, so he shouldn’t be taking on the blame if the child hadn’t been properly cared for. Well, at least enough to have some sense of identity. Someone must have cared enough to have her taught how to sign. That was kind of a big deal. And she had to admit, the girl hadn’t seemed particularly sad about anything else, just not having a name. And she didn’t look too sad about that, really.
“You’re just going to have to give her a name, that’s all. And it can’t be Cherub or Pumpkin, or something silly. She’s going to want a real name.”
The girl twirled around and caught Bree’s hands, then pulled her into a music-less dance. Bree didn’t want to mess with whatever tune was playing in the girl’s head, so she picked up the rhythm and danced along silently.
McKinnon watched. At first, he watched the child dancing with a mixture of longing and pity on his face. But then he started to frown. Bree could feel the storm clouds gathering in his brain and knew he was going to open his mouth and become that jackass again.
She shook her head at him while she spun past.
“What is the matter with you now?”
“Ye have yet to ask her what she hopes to find in a Christmas gift.”
Bree stopped dancing and got the girl’s attention.
“Do you know what tomorrow is?” she asked and signed.
The girl nodded, then made the sign for Christmas. At least it could have been interpreted as Christmas.
“And what do you hope you get for Christmas, young lady?”
The child didn’t even hesitate. She made the sign for the moon and pointed at the window.
Great. Something McKinnon couldn’t get her. He wasn’t going to be happy.
“And what did she say?” he asked gruffly. She started to think he had read the sign just fine, but she said it anyway.
“She says she’s expecting the moon.”
Only after the words left her mouth did she realize how bad it sounded, like the kid thought she was going to get the world laid at her feet—like she might be expecting to come into a lot of money.
McKinnon knelt on one knee and held out a hand. The child hurried to take it.
“Tell me, Cherub,” he said gently. “Have ye heard Miss Colby and I speak of a coachman?”
The child nodded.
“And do ye ken this coachman? Have ye ever met him yerself?”
The kid grinned, then nodded again.
Five minutes later, Bree and Miss Cherub were munching down Bree’s lunch—the lunch left back in her little prison, the prison the two of them were apparently going to share.
CHAPTER NINE
Heathcliff was aware that the horrible day he’d lived through on the twenty third of December paled in horror to the twenty-fourth. But that did not mean he couldn’t fight back. Unfortunately, he didn’t know whom he needed to fight.
Why did he not see it before?
Their hair was so similar in shade. They were both able to speak with their hands. Of course he knew there was a school in Paris for deaf people, teaching new ways to communicate. Perhaps it was their ability to do so silently that convinced the coachman the lasses made a fine pair of accomplices. The woman could easily pass a message to the man through the very window, as could the child.
Perhaps they’d been compelled to help him.
Of course his heart was grasping for any reason that might redeem the two blondes from villainy. The cruelest crime they’d committed, however, was to give him the weakest thread of hope that the child might remain in his keeping, only to take away that hope. Like sending a boat for a drowning sailor—a
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