"I was staring at the rouge you are wearing on your lips," he said.
Her fingers flew to her mouth. "You noticed?"
"I am a man, Your Highness."
"You certainly are." Then, without warning, she added, "I have never been kissed."
Douglas drew his breath in through his teeth. God above, now she wasn't throwing stones into his cave. She was hurling boulders.
She looked up into his face. "Tell me the truth, my lord. Am I unattractive to men?"
Surprise darkened his eyes at the absurd question. But then it was gone, supplanted by a dark scowl of disapproval. How could her feminine powers even be in doubt? And who was it she wished to attract? Certainly no one in his castle, not if the man valued his life. "Why do you care whether you are attractive to men or not?" he demanded.
"I am to be wed within the year." Another sigh escaped her. "Papa was interviewing suitors when the rebellion started. He led me to believe the list of decent men who desire me is limited."
"Decent men," Douglas murmured. "They are rarer than diamonds these days." The role of indecent men who desired her was no doubt endless, and his name would lead the list.
"I do not understand Papa much," she said. "He drinks and plots petty wars on his neighbors. He gallops out in the dead of night to arrest insurgents. Sometimes I wonder if he isn't hoping to be killed himself."
"There are men like that." Douglas said quietly, thinking of himself and Aidan, of their reckless exploits and disregard for death. Aidan had lost his wife. Douglas had lost his soul. They were a compatible pair of sinners. "Men whose secret burdens become more than they can bear."
Rowena's voice was subdued. "His last words to me were, 'This is the kind of world that kills helpless women and children, Rowena. Never trust it for a moment. Never trust anyone you have not tested.' "
"Your father is wise to warn you."
"But I need to trust someone," she said. "I need to listen to my own heart. Papa's heart is shriveled with grief and bitterness."
"What does your heart tell you?" he asked slowly.
She closed her eyes. His mouth grazed her hair, or did she imagine it? Did she imagine the delicious tension that spun them together like an invisible thread? "It tells me…" She turned toward the trellis. "It tells me that you did not answer my question."
He stepped into her. The hard contours of his chest felt like the castle wall, solid, intimidating, holding her captive. She ached suddenly to feel his arms around her. Then in a deep lyrical voice that sent shivers down her spine, he said, "Your loveliness eclipses the sun. Your eyes reflect the light of a thousand stars. Your—"
"—brain is as inflated as a pig's bladder if you imagine I want to hear that nonsense." She whirled around, her face hurt and angry. "I asked for honesty. If you are incapable of it, then please keep your horrid flattery to yourself."
A pig's bladder, she had said.
His first reaction was to give the royal hellion exactly what she was begging for.
A kiss that would shock her to the tips of her slippers, a kiss that tasted of such black desire it would brand her his forever. Princess or not, she was looking for trouble.
As fate would have it, she was standing before the very man who would like nothing better than to give it to her. Aye, he could this moment show her just how attractive she was. His racing pulse 'twas a testament to her allure.
She claimed to value honesty.
Should he tell her that he honestly believed she would not leave this castle with her purity intact? Should he drop his masquerade before the damage was done?
"I wish to be kissed," she announced without warning.
Douglas did not move a muscle. For the life of him he didn't know how a gentleman was supposed to react to such a statement. He knew how a rogue would react though. Unfortunately, bedding her in the potting shed was not an option.
She raised her voice. "I said—"
"I heard exactly what you said." He clenched his jaw and grabbed her arm. Drawing her against his chest, he whispered, "As probably did my sister. She is hiding in the maze."
Rowena peered around his shoulder. "Why did you not tell me this before?" she asked, looking irritated.
"I did not guess our conversation would take such an… interesting turn." He propelled her back onto the path.
"Would you have kissed me if we were alone?" she whispered.
Douglas's hand tightened on her arm for a dangerous moment. His face unreadable, he released her. "Do you see those little brown flowers over there?"
"Those are thistles, my lord."
He knelt at the untended triangle of foliage, his body fully aroused. "I think you're right," he said between his teeth.
"I suppose I could ask Aidan to kiss me," she said in a museful tone.
Douglas looked up from the ground. His face was as dark as death. "I would not advise that," he said in a very quiet voice. "You see, Aidan is my left arm, and I would cut off that arm before I'd allow it to touch you."
She swallowed, drawing back a step. "I wasn't serious," she said.
"Good," he said, his expression once again neutral. But deep inside his emotions burned red-black like the very heart of hell. To think of her begging kisses from Aidan was a torment he would not endure. "Do you wish Aidan to kiss you?" he demanded.
"Of course not. The man barely looks at me."
He grunted, relieved he would not have to murder one of his best friends. Then he plucked the bristly plant up by the roots. "Perhaps the damn thing is an herb."
Rowena frowned at him, grateful that his anger had passed. " 'Tis a cow thistle, my lord. Obviously you do not take after your father. I understood he was a passionate horticulturist."
"Actually, he was a thieving whoreson," Douglas said without thinking.
She pressed her hand to her mouth. Without realizing it, she had been baiting him, hoping to trick him into the truth. The Dragon of Darien was not related to the Earl of Dunmoral by blood. Had she hoped to catch him in a lie?
"Your father was a what?" she said.
Appalled, Douglas shot to his feet. The woman had unbalanced him once again with her outrageous demands to be kissed. "The secret is out," he said soberly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Papa used to pinch seeds and pods from other people's gardens. I hope you will not hold this shocking piece of family history against me." Rowena could only stare at him. He covered his blunder so well she could almost believe it had not been a blunder after all.
And Douglas, looking guileless, stared right back. The masquerade was about to recommence. The Earl of Dunmoral, that pompous impostor, had beaten down his darker counterpart.
He affected a sigh. "Papa did so love his plants. To the point of criminal behavior."
Rowena's gaze was unnervingly direct. She might be young. She might be sexually naive. She was definitely a wily little princess. But if he managed to deceive her, he suspected 'twould be only because she had allowed it.
"You need not apologize for your papa," she said. "My great-great-great grandfather was a peasant who overthrew the government and crowned himself prince."
"Very ambitious of him."
She smiled. "The men in my family take what they want."
So, as a rule, did Douglas.
He guided her over an ornamental footbridge. A small wooden sign warned them to proceed at their own folly. "And the women?"
"There are none to speak of. Well, as I told you before my younger sister Micheline has been banished to a convent in Brittany. My mother died long ago."
He felt a curious urge to draw her against his chest, to protect her from the hurts of the world. "Life is unpleasant, then, even for a princess."
"Sometimes. Papa never recovered from her death. I am all he has left. For years I've been the only one who could coax a smile out of him."
And you sacrifice your life for your sire. Does he appreciate you? You rescue him from his grief. Would he not worry if he knew you had ventured into th
e lair of a man like me?
"Those are slender shoulders to bear such burdens." He leaned back against a stone fountain with a lion's mouth that was clogged with dead leaves.
"And your shoulders appear quite strong," she said.
His heartbeat quickened. She said alarming things, dangerous things. She made him feel brave and strong when inside he knew himself to be a blackguard.
"You should be proud of your innocence," he stated.
Rowena frowned at him. "Why?"
"Men admire purity in a woman," Douglas said.
"Indeed," she said wryly. "That explains why they spend half their lives robbing every female they meet of that exalted state."
"Not all men are that way," Douglas said, although to save his life he couldn't think of one who wasn't.
"I don't want to be admired by men," Rowena confessed. "I think I would prefer to be lusted after like my sister."
A wave of black heat washed over Douglas. He glanced around. If the lady knew how her outrageous remarks affected him, she would not sling them about in such a unguarded manner. "That is another inflammatory thought, Your Highness. The wrong man would use such a statement to take advantage of you."
Rowena ignored the warning. "Of course I would have to find a man worthy of my trust as well as of my lust." She grinned. "Did I just make a rhyme?"
He clenched his jaw. "A very bad one."
"A man with the power to deflower?"
He gave her a little push forward. "I think our tour of the garden is complete."
She sighed in resignation. "Thank you. I needed the exercise. My body was tense all over from lack of use."
"I have experienced that feeling myself."
"In fact," Rowena said, "if there's only one thing I love more than a good garden, 'tis falconry. I noticed the castle mews when we first arrived. Did Matthew ever mention to you that's how we met? Falconing in my father's forest?"
Douglas summoned a terse smile. "The rogue never told me."
"I was so impressed," she said offhandedly, moving past him with her pert nose in the air like a princess passing a lackey in the hall. "You are so unlike him, my lord. I don't suppose you share his interest in the sport? You probably prefer a tamer pursuit such as poetry."
He followed her slowly, a chill smile on his face.
While you were riding your pony on the palace grounds, I was sacking a castle in San Lorenzo. You bathed in scented oil and sipped Spanish chocolate in bed. I bathed in blood and sweat and got blinding drunk on Spanish wine in a bullet-riddled canoe.
While you were studying Roman history, I was supervising a gang of street ruffians. Your schoolmistresses hoped to instill Christian character in your heart. I lived to instill fear.
And before you had even begun to dream of that first kiss, I was killing my first man.
Tamer pursuits, she'd said.
If only she knew.
Wonderful, Rowena thought, stomping up the stairs to her room. Now he shall think she was not only a pickle-head, but a most peculiar and desperate female as well. She had all but thrown herself at his knees.
"I wish to be kissed." She groaned, hiding her face in her hands. " 'A man with the power to deflower.' Did I really say that?"
She reached her room and banged the heavy door behind her. She wrenched off her pearl-seeded slippers and sent them hurtling at the window like lethal weapons. She kicked the bedpost, pretending it was his lordship's leg.
Chewing her lip, she pulled every article of clothing from the pinewood wardrobe into a heap on the bed.
A gray traveling gown that would not show the dirt. A dull blue dress that made her eyes appear lighter. Garments of murky green and brown because a princess must maintain a dignified appearance at all times.
And then, at the bottom of the unappealing pile, the watered raspberry silk with gold-threaded tissue underskirts and deep scalloped neckline that bared shoulders, breasts, and back. The scandalous garment of a courtesan had been created in Paris, a gift from one of her sister's admirers.
Her exiled sibling, Micheline of the daring heart, had forced the gown on Rowena as a gift before leaving for the convent in France.
"I can't wear that!" Rowena exclaimed. "It shows—"
"—that you are an alluring woman, a woman of grace, not a drab and dutiful daughter who has never done a disobedient or exciting thing in her life." Micheline's cruel words had been thrown like a gauntlet. "I pass the torch to you, sister. Live your own life. Cause a stir. Break a heart or two."
"But—"
"Show off your bosoms, Rowena. They're bigger than mine."
Douglas felt a little better. After the walk with Rowena, he and Aidan had ridden across the moor to find two of Neacail's men hunting grouse.
Douglas had battled with the first outlaw, and the man now lay injured in the dungeon where he would probably die.
The second man had surrendered without a fight. He too awaited his fate in the dark vaults of Dunmoral.
Aye, Douglas had enjoyed his late-afternoon conquest. He would have felt better yet if 'twas Neacail he had brought down. Or if he could claim the princess on his own merit without this masquerade.
14
Gemma dropped her muddied shoes on the castle steps. "Why didn't you kiss her in the garden yesterday, Douglas? I don't understand you. You like kissing women. Have you gone daft?"
"Probably." He released a morose sigh. "I don't suppose you can find me a falcon."
She plunked herself down on the steps and glared up at him. "Hell's bells. What kind of falcon?"
Douglas Stared over her head at Rowena practicing archery before a courtyard of enrapt servants and retired pirates. She had the scoundrels eating out of her hand, tripping over themselves to carry her quiver, to bring her a glass of water from the well, to show her the newborn kittens in the stables.
"What was it about her that charms even the lowest element on earth?" he wondered aloud.
"She's just plain sweet and she treats everyone with respect," Gemma said thoughtfully, her small face scrunched in her hands. "She called Baldwin 'my good man' and we'll never hear the end of it. No one has ever called that moron a good man before. And she gave Dainty some ointment for his sore knee." Gemma sighed. "She even went searching the kitchens to praise Frances for those nasty oatcakes. Frances, who was bellowing at customers in a brothel last year."
"We're all frauds," Douglas said. "Impostors. I don't know why I thought this would work."
"You should have kissed her, Douglas. She all but ordered you to do it."
"She isn't a whore," he said stiffly. "She's a young lass just like you, and if I caught a man kissing you before you're betrothed, I'd crack his head open like a hazelnut."
Gemma giggled, then clapped her hands as Rowena hit the center of the target. "What kind of falcon am I supposed to find?"
"I don't care. Big. Little. Brown. Black—" He frowned at the sight of Shandy, Willie, and Baldwin trotting after Rowena like lap dogs. "I'm jesting, Gemma. I'm not a falconer. I'm not Matthew. I don't know who the hell I am anymore."
"Do you still want her fortune?" Gemma asked.
He hesitated, his frown deepening as he watched Rowena coax Aidan into taking a turn at the target. "I don't know that either, lass."
"Oh, Douglas," Gemma's voice was mournful. "Now you've really got me worried."
" 'Tis dead!" Dainty's shout of disbelief resounded through the solar. "This is a stuffed bird, Gemma! What the blue hell is Douglas supposed to do with a dead bird?"
Willie and Baldwin, standing guard at the door, grinned in enjoyment as Gemma sprang off the window seat to calm the giant. "Use your imagination, Dainty. We'll prop it up on the tower. No one will ever know the difference."
"The damn bird is dead!"
She crossed her arms over her chest. "And if you don't point out that fact with your bellowing the princess probably won't even notice."
Dainty smirked. "What if she wants Douglas to fly it?"
He picked up the bird from the table. " 'Twas a good try, girl."
"Better than yer nasty mussels," Baldwin said with a gleeful crackle from the door.
Gemma blew out a sigh of exasperation. "I'm not beaten yet. Come on, Dainty. This creature has to be back in Dr. MacVittie's parlor before bedtime, or else. Mary says he counts the birds in his collection every night."
The giant didn't move as she yanked the bird from his hand. "What evil are you planning?"
She strode to the door with the stuffed bird under her arm. "Something I saw at a country fair, and you're all helping me too."
15
That same day, Gemma talked Dainty into fashioning a pulley-and-string device to fly the bird back and forth between the two tower windows. Gemma manned the east window. Dainty took the west. Willie hid on the walkway. Aidan refused to have anything to do with the affair. He wanted to watch from a safe distance when Douglas found out and the killing started.
Baldwin stood below in the bailey making signals to prevent Gemma from flying the falcon smack into the wall.
It was a staged production not unlike the Punch-and-Judy puppet shows so popular at fairs.
Gemma had a flair for drama. She thought her ruse might work. Seeing Douglas so despondent over a woman broke her heart. He deserved a princess, although Gemma still thought he would be wiser to stop trying to impress Rowena and simply be himself. How could anyone not love her brother?
Douglas felt a warning chill crawl down his spine. His body felt suddenly cold below the heavy plaid, his skin prickling with pinpoints of anxiety just beneath the surface. Gemma had summoned everyone into the bailey, promising an hour of entertainment.
It had sounded harmless. Rowena had been delighted at the prospect, complaining that she was beginning to feel like a captive in the castle, not allowed to leave for almost a week. But now Douglas wondered what awful scheme Gemma had concocted.
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