Roman had the power to sway her like the wind lashing a pine on a craggy cliff. He instilled in her a mix of fascination and alarm that kept her completely confused when he was near.
“I know a place where we can be alone.” he whispered, his mouth coursing her cheek, his warm lips nibbling at her earlobe. “The trail by the sea and then a rocky cove where no one goes.”
“You asked me to ride,” she answered in a far-off voice. “I believe your only intention is to seduce me.”
He lifted her to the saddle, his hands sliding provocatively over her hips and thighs to catch her foot and slip it into the stirrup. She locked her knee around the saddle, her heart hammering at the walls of her chest.
“It is.” His hand went around her ankle and his strong fingers pressed into the leather of her boot.
He had her captivated, wavering and wondering, chastising herself for even considering what he was suggesting and all the while deeply, secretly wishing she dared.
“Would that be so bad?” Like raw silk, his voice was both husky and smooth. “You would like it if you let yourself.”
She sighed, a helpless, hopeless little sound of faltering resistance. His hand traveled upward to her calf and massaged the curve of her leg with a magical touch that made it seem as if there were no boot leather between his hand and her flesh.
“We would be alone...” His voice dropped hypnotically low. Eyes like blue magnets drew her to him.
“And where would that leave me in a threesome?” Morgan Toller sat a few feet away on a big black gelding. He presented a serious countenance, but devilment lurked in his eyes. His arms were crossed over his chest and one leg was draped leisurely across the front of the saddle, as if he might have been sitting there several minutes unobserved.
Silvia had heard nothing but Roman’s coaxing words and her thundering heartbeat. But perhaps the sound had been the pelting hooves of the black as he approached. She didn’t know. Had Roman known Morgan was there and not cared if he heard? A heated flush rose beneath her skin. Roman answered her silent question with a shout.
“Damn you, Morgan!”
Cricket bolted and Silvia had to grab for the saddle to keep her seat.
Seeing his mistake, Roman quickly caught Cricket’s bridle and began to sooth the nervous horse. After a few minutes of his ministrations, the mare calmed and he gave the reins to Silvia. He mounted Trader in a quick angry leap.
“I suppose there’s no dissuading you now that you are here?” Roman growled at Morgan. The veins in his temples pulsed savagely and his color had heightened. Had it not been for the tender pats he was giving Trader a moment later, Silvia might have been fearful for Morgan’s safety.
“None,” Morgan answered bluntly, easing the black up alongside her mare and smiling at Silvia with an air of self-confidence.
She returned his smile, glad he had come along when he did. He had prevented her from having to contemplate further the dangerous attraction she felt for his brother. Had he known and had he come to save her from that fate? Surely he knew his brother well enough to guess what awaited her if she rode with him alone. She realized Morgan had a genuine concern for her honor and well-being.
She heard Roman’s shout for them to follow. Trader’s big hooves tore at the ground, sending a wake of grass and dirt behind him. She and Morgan spurred their horses to a canter, and when they had cleared the trees, saw Roman resting Trader and waiting for them at the top of a rise about a quarter mile from the castle. His mood had changed and he was good-natured to Morgan for the rest of the ride.
Sunshine beamed mildly down on them as they rode over the eastern part of the island. They passed the canefields and the high stone towers of the sugar mills. The three of them laughed and talked. Silvia asked questions about the estate and was surprised to learn both Roman and Morgan were knowledgeable about all phases of the agriculture and production. They had as great a love for the lands of Schlange Island as they did for the sea.
Roman showed her an area near the marshes where Eric was experimenting with rice production. The ground was laced with little furrows holding the water in, and green stalks rose out of the mirrorlike pools in promise of a good crop.
The brothers lapsed into silence and the three of them had ridden about an hour when they came to a low area that was flat and grassy and flanked by a series of hills. They pulled up the horses beside a little stream that trickled its way to the sea. Silvia dismounted to stretch her legs. She was beginning to feel an aching stiffness in her limbs. It had been years since she had ridden, but the thrill of being on horseback again was exhilarating and she did not wish to complain and cut short the ride.
“I’ll race you to the pond over the hill,” Roman challenged Morgan. His eyes shone with enthusiasm. “There’s gold on it.”
“You know that plowhorse can’t outrun the black.” Morgan’s voice was calm but the eagerness slipped through to his face.
“Today I think he can,” Roman responded confidently. “Trader’s in great form and that nag is looking colicky.”
Morgan sat up straight in the saddle. “He’s sound as a rock and you’ll be emptying your pockets when it’s over.”
Silvia laughed gaily. She had spent enough time with them now to know their bantering was good-natured. Even though a strong boyish rivalry had persisted into manhood, she could detect the depth of their affection for one another.
“Wait here,” Roman told her.
He stroked Trader on his shoulder and leaned forward to whisper something in the horse’s ear. Trader snorted and pawed the earth as if he understood his master’s commands.
“This won’t take long,” Roman called to Silvia.
She could see the tensing of muscles in both riders and horses as Morgan brought the black alongside Trader. They exchanged a few brief words, setting as a marker a tree near the pond.
The horses danced in place as they lined up. Morgan shouted and they left like bolts of lightning, hooves crashing like thunder. She climbed to a rock by the stream, excitedly wondering which horse would win. Trader and the black appeared to be neck and neck when they crested the hill. Soon they were out of sight and she knew the race was over. Later, when she had gotten more accustomed to riding again, she might challenge them to a race herself.
She had scanned the horizon for a full fifteen minutes. wondering why they were taking so long to return, when she saw a lone rider galloping over the hilltop. It was the roan. Cricket lifted her head and neighed a welcome to him. Silvia watched for Morgan but he still hadn’t appeared when Roman reached her.
“Where is Morgan?” she asked, a hand to her brow to block the sun as she looked for him.
“I was right about the black.” An expression of satisfaction showed in Roman’s eyes. “He was winded and Morgan wanted to rest him longer. He’ll be taking a shortcut back to the stable.”
“Oh. And who won the race?”
“It was a toss-up,” he said with an edge of irony to his voice, and broke quickly into a wild-looking grin.
Silvia accepted with trepidation his assistance to remount. But he merely gave her a perfunctory boost to the stirrup and handed up the reins before remounting Trader.
“You’ll be sore if we ride much longer.” He looked at her thoughtfully, as if perhaps he were seeing her afresh. “We’ll take the trail by the sea and give the horses a slow walk in. You’ll be wanting a long hot bath before dinner. And Vivien keeps a bottle of liniment, in case you need it.”
He said little as they rode, the horses shoulder to shoulder, his leg sometimes bumping her boot. They cleared a clump of trees and mounted a little rise overlooking the beach. Roman pulled Trader to a halt and Silvia stopped Cricket beside him. Silently Roman lifted his arm and gestured to the ocean. She understood. The serenity had reached her just as the waves reached the shore, lapping at the sand and eternally bathing it with the soothing motion of the sea.
Without turning to look at her, Roman took her hand and exhal
ed a contented sigh. She felt a warm glow of happiness as they shared the moment, watching the white-foamed waves bring the sea to land. Deep in her heart she knew they had formed a silent truce. Oddly enough, she felt no need to question how or why. It was enough to feel buoyantly happy and alive.
After a while Roman kneed the roan to a walk and she kept Cricket at a steady pace beside him. They were within sight of the stables before either of them spoke.
“We’ll ride again tomorrow,” he said as Odin appeared to take the horses.
Somehow it all looked different from when she had left. Odin was not frightening, merely big and silent. She suspected he had felt as uncomfortable walking with her yesterday as she had with him. Other changes were more subtle. The songs of the birds sounded sweeter. The moss-draped trees were no longer forbidding, they had a beckoning, fairyland look instead. The flowers had perked up on their stems, their colors grown deeper, their fragrance more pleasant. She didn’t notice the stiffness in her legs and back or the soreness in her fingers.
The stark gray castle had taken on the aspect of an enchanted palace. Its harsh dark walls had changed in the space of a few hours from grim to grand. Inside she walked up the stairs with a light step, remembering the promise of Roman’s good-bye.
Humming a merry tune and moving with a new confidence, she went to her room, beginning to believe she did indeed belong at Serpent Tree Hall.
Chapter 6
Sunset fell in a great crimson glow that filled the gold-streaked sky. Silvia stood at her window until the blue curtain of night closed over the warm dusk of day’s end. She stretched her slender body with slow caution, grimacing at the pain the simple move caused her. A hot bath and two hours’ rest had helped, but high spirits had not prevented soreness from her ride. She would have to talk to Vivien after dinner about getting some liniment. Without it she would not be able to sit in a saddle tomorrow.
Peering into her mirror, she touched a finger to the sun-kissed face reflected there. Too much sun tended to bring out a few freckles on her nose, but luckily she had escaped them today. Instead her cheeks had taken on a radiant glow that wasn’t at all unbecoming. She dressed as hurriedly as possible in a green print dimity gown with a tucked bodice, one she thought suitable for dinner. Green was a good color for her, as it highlighted her fair skin and rich black curls and made her eyes shine with gentle golden light.
Anna had cheerfully given her the household schedule, and after Silvia had bathed, arrived to dress her hair in a new style. Soft waves dipped low on the sides and in back formed into loose curls pinned high on her head. Silvia found a small jewel case in a drawer and inside it a pair of simple gold earrings that went well with the dress. When they were in place and she was satisfied with her appearance, she snuffed all the candles but one and closed the door behind her.
Though her sitting room and bedroom were spacious and comfortable, she was impatient to go downstairs and explore the rooms on the first floor. She had nearly an hour to spare before dinner and, as it was, she actually had seen little of the castle. Impulsively she hurried down the stairs and into the main hall. Candles were aglow in the library as she passed, and though it had been her intent to explore elsewhere, she went no further, feeling inexorably drawn to look again at the strange marble statues within.
She stepped to the threshold, about to enter, when behind her she heard the great front doors swing rudely open. She spun around in surprise to see Morgan storm in. He held his jaw clamped tight and fire flared in his eyes. His face was scarlet with rage but the furious expression softened a little when he glanced up and saw Silvia standing openmouthed, staring at him.
Composing herself, Silvia approached the foot of the stairs, intending to greet him, then froze, bewildered anew at the sight of his wet and mud-smeared clothes. Morgan shook his head forcefully, sending an angry spattering of water to the floor around him. In one hand he held wet, muddy boots and stockings. The other was clenched tight in a fist.
“Why, Morgan,” she gasped. “What happened?”
He crossed the pink marble foyer like a roiling thundercloud.
“That blasted fool knocked me out of the saddle and into the pond and spooked the black halfway across the island.” He bristled with anger. “I had to hunt the animal down, and I’m just now getting back here.” Morgan muttered a curse. “I’m glad to see you’re back with no trouble.” His frown deepened creases in his forehead, and the curses continued beneath his breath. “There was none, was there?” His scowl worsened. “I’ll hang him up by the hamstrings if—”
“No. None,” she replied calmly, interrupting his threat and being careful not to show her amusement. Now she knew why Roman had looked so pleased with himself after the race. A toss-up, he had said.
“He’ll pay more than gold for this,” Morgan growled, and excusing himself, clambered up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
When he was out of sight, the laughter Silvia had been holding in erupted. She hurried to the library and shut the door behind her, laughter bubbling like spring water from her lips. What a spectacle Morgan had been, mud-smeared and mad as a dunked cat. And Roman hadn’t given a clue of what he had done.
She stopped before the towering marble mantel. It was a beautiful piece of artwork in itself and reminded her of a temple or altar with the scaled-down Greek columns on each side. But would there ever be a need for a fire in this climate? She pictured Morgan wet and muddy. Only for drying oneself after a dunking, perhaps. She laughed again, aloud, and then suddenly her laughter fell away beneath the discomfort of an overpowering sensation.
Nervously she rubbed a hand across the back of her neck to quiet the tingling there, knowing intuitively her discomfort had no physical origin. It was that extraordinary prompting by a sixth sense warning her she was being watched.
She rolled her head back and took a deep, calming breath, thankful the candles had been lit and the room was bright with light. In the flickering glow of the candles she could imagine Mr. Schlange sitting in the library with his associates. She wondered if his visitors felt any uneasiness at being stared at by the eyes of the dead. She certainty didn’t like it.
Feeling a surge of fortitude, she lifted her chin and turned to face them. How real they looked. Too real, too knowing, as if on nights when the moon was right, those white bodies would transform into ghosts and move soundlessly through the castle. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling a quickening of her heartbeat. Wherever she was in this room, eyes seemed eerily to follow her.
With a shrug of her shoulders she threw off the start of a shiver. She stood beside the figure of Siegfried; she had, in fact, walked there without knowing it. Her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, timidly at first, then purposefully as her palm ran firmly over the smooth, cool marble. Had she expected it to feel like flesh?
Her eyes examined the carved perfection of the marble face. Had his mouth had that angry set to it when she had last seen the statue? She didn’t remember the expression quite that way. But perhaps it was Roman’s face she remembered. How irresistible he was when tenderness showed in his eyes as it had in that moment they shared earlier on the beach. Roman. Morgan. Siegfried. Their faces were transposing in her mind. She blinked her eyes and held her breath a moment. It was all like a dream, a baffling mystical dream she couldn’t decipher.
She must have stood there entranced for a long time. The moon was a bright golden shield gleaming high above the courtyard when she arrived in the dining room. The others were waiting and ready to be seated. Even Morgan had managed a respectable appearance and she was glad to see he had the good grace to postpone his settling of accounts with Roman. Nevertheless, he was quieter than usual and his temper appeared to be boiling just beneath the surface of an imposed control.
For his part, Roman was also quiet, and though polite, paid her little attention. Had it not been for one special smile, she might have thought he had forgotten the moment of harmony they had shared near the beach. But one
smile was enough to make her eyes dreamy and to bring a warm flush to her cheeks. One smile was promise enough for tomorrow.
When dinner was over, the men bade good night to the women and left to discuss the business of the estate over brandy and cigars.
Silvia and Martha retired to a small parlor adjoining the dining room. The feminine decor was in shades of rose, with pale brocade cloth covering the cushioned furniture. Martha’s expert needlework was evident in pillows and beautifully appointed cloths on the tabletops. The chairs were small-scaled compared to the library furniture, and grouped cozily around an inlaid tea table. Martha’s sewing basket, filled with thread and yarn and fine linen cloth, sat beside one chair. The room was a perfect setting for Martha’s beauty and enveloped her in a warm, rosy cocoon.
“This is the only room in the castle Uncle has given me a free hand in decorating,” Martha said, noting Silvia’s appreciation of her surroundings. It is used for entertaining ladies who accompany their husbands when they are here to do business with Uncle.”
Martha’s small hands carefully poured a special herbal blend of tea she had prepared when learning of Silvia’s soreness. She had sent for boiling water, and as she waited, selected the various herbs from silver-topped jars she kept in a small cabinet. The steaming brew had a delicious, spicy aroma. Martha added sugar to each cup, and handing one to Silvia, asked how she had enjoyed the ride with Roman.
“Morgan joined us,” Silvia said, sipping a swallow and setting her rose-patterned cup on the low tea table.
Martha’s brows raised slightly and a faint smile reached her lips.
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