She looked up to see Trader standing near Cricket at the hitching post. The leather reins hung loosely to the ground, but Trader did not stir from the spot where he had been left untethered.
She couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her eyes. Roman would be nearby. No one else rode the big gelding.
“So it’s you.” He sounded surprisingly cheerful from where he stood behind Cricket, one hand soothingly stroking her neck beneath the long mane, the other resting across the saddle. “She was complaining at being tied up. So I led her out of the stable.” He nodded toward the mare. “I thought she might have been saddled for Martha.”
“No. For me.”
He shrugged.
Was he disappointed? She knew he had ridden with Martha on several occasions recently.
“Than I won’t keep you.” He clicked for Trader, and the horse threw up his head and snorted. When the gelding stood beside him, Roman took up the reins and swiftly mounted. He gave a wry smile and reached out to pat Cricket’s sleek flank. “Good-bye, little lady,” he purred as he touched his heels to Trader’s sides and galloped off.
Outrageous, thought Silvia furiously. He had more regard for the mare than for her! She quickly untied the reins and led Cricket to the mounting block. Why had he deliberately slighted her, igniting her ready temper? Blinded by her ire, she rode off, unaware of a figure slipping stealthily from behind a clump of bushes and hurrying into the stable.
The little mare was as anxious as Silvia to get moving. She took the bit in her teeth and lunged wildly away from the block. It occurred to Silvia that the horse wanted to catch up to Trader. Whatever the cause, she was not her usual well-mannered self and Silvia had to lean far over the saddle to keep her seat until she could get the mare under control.
“Easy, girl. Easy,” she crooned softly in Cricket’s ear. “Slow, now.” Silvia couldn’t understand Cricket’s frenzy today.
The mare calmed some at the soft sound of her voice but continued to toss her head wildly and would not confine herself to the path. She repeatedly sidestepped and frantically switched her tail as she cantered along. They had covered a good distance quickly but were still under the thick cover of the forest when Silvia thought she heard distant hoofbeats of another rider. But the sound died out and she soon turned her attention to keeping Cricket under rein.
An instant later Cricket’s head shot up and her hooves dug into the soft earth as she stopped short. The little mare gave a painful snort. Silvia cried out in surprise and crashed against the horse’s upraised neck, catching her fingers in Cricket’s coarse mane to keep her balance. She felt the saddle slide to one side beneath her.
Before Silvia could settle the horse, Cricket squealed and bolted off the trail. She twisted sideways, half-rearing as she turned, and before Silvia could even cry out, the saddle flew off, carrying her with it. She heard Cricket thundering away through the thick underbrush before she hit the ground and felt the impact of her head against the unyielding trunk of a tree. She was conscious briefly of a maddening pain behind her eyes and of the air leaving her lungs in a black, blinding rush.
Violent pain consumed her, splitting her skull and stabbing at her chest. She saw a face bending over her, the expression grim, anxious. It had been that same face bending over Cricket’s back a few minutes earlier.
She moaned. “Do you hate me so much?”
Chapter 12
“Be still. You mustn’t move.”
Someone was holding her, lifting her from the spongy, moss-covered forest floor. The air was so hot and cloying she couldn’t understand why she felt cold all over, nor why she had suddenly been plunged into vast folds of darkness. Silvia mumbled something in a voice that ebbed away to nothing. Then slowly the light came back and she was aware of the spicy, manly scent she knew as Roman’s. His fingers, cool and gentle, caressed her temple where a small, ugly knot had appeared.
Air filled her lungs and blood rushed back to her brain so that her eyes could begin to focus on the troubled face so near her own. Through the haze clouding her eyes she saw the worry lining Roman’s brow. He had thought her unconscious and let the barrier down long enough for her to read the unguarded expression in his eyes. Her pulse quickened.
“Hold me,” she mumbled.
“Are you badly hurt?” His voice was an unsteady whisper. Silvia’s hair tumbled over her face and he smoothed it away with a gentle hand. “I thought you had been killed.” The blue eyes were solemn.
His voice soothed like a charm and served to revive her. The breath had been knocked from her lungs, but otherwise she was sure she only had a few bruises and a dreadful headache. Yet Silvia had so longed and ached to be held in Roman’s arms this way that she could not bring herself to tell him she was uninjured. Instead she moaned softly and closed her eyes.
What had made the horse bolt that way? Cricket had been like a wild creature from the moment Silvia mounted, jumping, swerving to one side and then the other, until that final lurch from the trail that had broken the saddle loose.
Silvia was lucky the fall had done no more than bruise her head and knock the wind from her. She rubbed her head against Roman’s cradling arm, sighing softly. His lips softly brushed her temple and his eyes kept returning to the bruise there.
Now she remembered. Something had come flying through the air and struck Cricket on the nose. Not a bird. They had flushed the brown-feathered quail from the brush many times and the mare was accustomed to a covey taking wing and flying up suddenly. It had been an alien object this time, one that hurt and frightened the little mare and made her forget the rider on her back.
“Oh, Roman!” Silvia opened her eyes wide and sat up quickly. “The baby!” She remembered with shock her own little secret treasure. It had not occurred to her until now the fall might have done damage to the baby. Her heart beat in her throat. “Roman, I’m going to have a baby.”
His body tensed and he stared at her in disbelief.
“A baby,” he said icily, pulling his hand from her forehead. “You have wasted no time in building a bridge to the Schlange fortune.”
She had blurted it out all wrong. Of course he would first think the child was Willy’s. But it wasn’t, and something was terribly wrong. Now that her head was cleared, she knew. Someone had thrown a rock at Cricket. Someone had seen to it that she was thrown. But for what purpose? To scare her? To kill her? Roman must be told of the danger. He must understand.
“The child is yours.”
She hadn’t expected that look in his eyes. Not that deep, hateful loathing she saw in his glaring blue eyes. Could it be he was the one who wanted to hurt her? It was said love could easily turn to hate. How had he happened to be nearby? Her misgivings doubled. Had it been Roman who loosened the saddle so that it would not hold? Had he thrown the rock? Oh no, not Roman. Sweet heaven, not Roman.
With frightening abruptness he lowered her to the ground and jumped to his feet.
“You can’t expect me to believe the child is mine. Not from those two encounters.”
“But Roman...”
He shot her an accusing look, anger flaming in his face.
“Who’s to know what has followed or whom you have bedded.” He was decidedly wary. “Does poor Willy know what a scheming temptress he has wedded, a woman who has made seduction her pastime?” He swore, his temper rising. “Don’t try to lure me back to your lair. I’ve had my fun and I’ll not be called a father to your ill-begotten brat.”
Silvia’s face crumpled into desolation and despair. She fought back tears. She wouldn’t have him see her pain pouring out. She wanted to bury her face in her hands, but she bravely met his ironic stare. Why hadn’t she held her tongue? He would never believe the child his, and truthfully she could not have expected him to claim it. Too much distrust had sprouted between them. She shrugged, turning her face away to hide the heartache mirrored in her eyes.
“You’re right,” she said stonily. “The child is Willy’s. I don’t know what mad
e me say otherwise.” Her head was thumping again, the pain a dull throb in her temple and behind her eyes. Her breath caught for a moment. “The child is Willy’s,” she shouted, pounding her fists to the ground.
“Silvia.” He knelt beside her and caught her wrists tightly, stilling her arms from their frenzied pummeling. His voice plunged to a tormented whisper. “If it were true...”
She turned her haunted face to him.
“No,” she breathed, and could say no more.
He stared at her with dark, reproachful eyes for what seemed an endless moment, then thrust her hands away and stood. His thoughts were readable, though mercifully not put into words.
Silvia sobbed aloud. She had spoken her heart without considering the result her confession might bring. But she would not intensify her agony. Certainly she had not been prepared for the contempt she had seen reflected in his handsome features. Perhaps secretly she had thought at the mention of a child, his child, he would forget the wall between them once and for all. But it was not to be, and she had only made matters worse.
Her eyes dropped sadly and she ran a hand across her abdomen, reassuring herself that she was not injured. In spite of the hard fall, once her breath had returned, she felt surprisingly well.
Roman leaned forward and caught her by the arms.
“If you’re able to stand, I’ll take you back to the castle. Vivien can attend to your injuries, though I think they are not so serious as to cause concern.”
His caustic stare made her shudder and fanned her misery. “I’m sure it would have suited you if I had broken my neck.”
Roman frowned and tugged at her impatiently.
She let him pull her to her feet, then dusted herself off as much as possible. Her riding costume had a small tear in the skirt and a few grass stains that would need washing out. It seemed the greatest harm that had come from her fall was the altercation with Roman, but nevertheless she made the first few steps cautiously to be sure she was indeed all right.
Roman’s keen eyes watched her and his lip twitched as he started to speak, then changed his mind and walked away to where the saddle had landed. Bending, he lifted it from beside a sapling’s slender trunk. She saw him carefully examining the straps. Abruptly he winced and drew his hand back with a jerk, then glanced over his shoulder at her.
“A buckle gave way on the girth,” he said flatly, rubbing the fingers of one hand on his trouser leg and leaving a small stain of blood. “I’ll caution the groom about inspecting the tack more carefully, though there was probably no way to tell it was weak.”
“The loose girth did not cause the fall,” Silvia said dolefully.
“What, then?”
“Something was thrown. I’m certain you’ll find Cricket has been injured by a rock or some other object.” She brushed a tangle of hair out of her eyes. “Someone meant me to be thrown.”
His face darkened. One brow lifted significantly. “Who would do such a thing?”
Silvia found her riding crop and plucked it up from the ground. She fumed hotly. He didn’t believe her and he wasn’t in the least concerned that she had nearly been killed.
“You might,” she burst out. “You take every opportunity to antagonize me,” she added grimly, half-believing what she spoke. “You were the last to handle the horse.”
Roman seemed unconcerned by her accusation. He simply turned and walked toward the stable.
In the space of a few minutes they were out of the wood, and Thomas, the groom, hurried out and agitatedly expressed his relief that Mrs. Schlange was unharmed. Cricket, he explained, had trotted in without rider or saddle just moments before. He had locked her in a stall and was rushing out to find Mrs. Schlange.
Roman’s accusing look brought a shadow of alarm to Thomas’ face.
“You can pick the saddle up a quarter-mile down the trail. It will need repairs, Thomas.” Roman frowned severely. “And be more mindful of things, man. That saddle had a broken buckle. You should have noticed it when you saddled the mare.”
Thomas dropped his eyes and turned red-faced.
“It wasn’t his fault.” Silvia spoke up quickly. “Eric saddled Cricket for me. Don’t blame poor Thomas.”
Roman looked at her incredulously. “It’s not like Eric to be careless,” he snapped. He thrust the reins at Thomas and whirled to grip Silvia by the waist. His gentle handling as he set her on a wooden bench beneath the shaded overhang of the stable roof surprised her. She looked up hopefully. But he had stepped back and was eyeing her speculatively with a gaze that burned white-hot.
Her heart dropped gloomily. “Eric was in a hurry,” she mumbled. “It wasn’t his fault either.”
Roman scowled and turned back to Thomas. He issued curt orders for the man to make haste and fetch Vivien to help Silvia into the house.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said, her eyes bland. “I feel quite fit. Only a little headache.”
His mouth twisted. “Then I’ll see to Cricket. Wait for Vivien. She can make a poultice for your head, and tomorrow there won’t be even a sign of the injury,” he said without a speck of emotion, and stalked off into the stable.
Silvia’s face paled with anger and she stamped a foot on the ground. How had she ever thought she loved him? He was rushing away to tend a frightened horse while she, bruised and shaken, was left to wait alone for Vivien. The man had the heart of a jackal.
***
“So you’ve been abused, little lady.” Roman rubbed his hand lightly over Cricket’s belly and found what he had expected, a spot of dried blood and a thorn embedded in her flesh. He plucked the thorn out and dipped a cloth in cool, clear water, then sponged the caked crust away. “Sorry, Cricket,” he crooned as he applied liniment to a lump on one foreleg and gave the same treatment to one on her nose.
The little mare whinnied her contentment as the soothing liniment took effect.
Roman smiled and rubbed her gently between the ears. “There, now, little lady. You’ll be none the worse by morning.”
***
An hour later Silvia reluctantly submitted to Vivien’s treatment and ministrations. She had refused to go to bed in spite of Vivien’s prompting. Now she lay beneath a coverlet in her sitting room with a wet herbal poultice plastered to her forehead. Vivien, surprisingly, had been aghast at learning of her accident. She had rushed Silvia into the house and forbidden her to come downstairs before morning. But Silvia knew, to her chagrin, Vivien’s alarm had more to do with preventing Wilhelm’s wrath. Her own welfare was a lesser concern.
She had her supper, a bowl of thick, hearty soup and fragrant brown bread with butter. Anna sat with her for an hour, encouraging her to eat more and more, until finally Silvia insisted the tray be taken away so she could rest.
“I’ll leave the door open a crack, and, of course, there’s the bell”—she pointed at the tea table—”if you need anything.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Anna.”
She sighed and eventually drifted off to sleep, only to awaken a short while later and see Roman at her side, an unexpected look of concern on his face. He carried a tea tray, which looked completely out of place in his large hands.
“I didn’t know you were asleep.” He set the tray on the little table. “I met Anna on the stairs with this.” He indicated the tea. “She said you usually have it at night, so I told her I’d bring it. I wanted to tell you that Cricket is fine.”
“She’s not injured?”
“She had a few scratches, probably from running wild through the brush. Nothing that won’t heal quickly.” He had changed his clothes and wore a pale blue shirt with dark breeches. His hair was still damp from his bath and had not yet begun to fall over his brow as was its way. His expression was solemn but not filled with anger, and the softer look made his face more appealing than ever.
Silvia wrung her hands, hidden from his view beneath the coverlet.
“I thought she might have been worse.”
He gave a s
low nod. “How’s your head?”
“Better.” She gingerly pulled the poultice away and dropped it to the table, grateful it had a more bearable smell than Vivien’s liniment. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“The swelling is gone,” he said, leaning toward her. “You’ll mend as fast as Cricket.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” she answered wearily, her eyelids drooping a little. She wasn’t up to another verbal battle with him and hoped fervently the conversation would not lead to one. Why must he look so enticing in the candlelight?
Silvia sighed deeply. She wished he would leave the island and go back to his ships so she wouldn’t be reminded daily of his contempt for her.
Roman rocked back in the chair. He looked at the way her curls rested as light as air on the pillow. She looked incredibly vulnerable and small. Would he ever see her again without thinking of the child growing inside her, possibly from his own seed?
The chance that it might be so made him nearly mad with wondering. He remembered that first night, the blazing gold of her eyes and the bewitching pleasure of her passion. The memory had been deliberately held in check a long time, and now he chafed with knowing and admitting to himself that he had been unfair to put all the blame on her. Yet there was no forgetting the deception.
The candle flame flickered and threatened to go out, becoming a tiny ball of golden fire for an instant. Then it blazed up again and spread its rim of light over them both.
“Is Willy pleased about the baby?” His face was blank but she knew the question was his way of indicating he would forget what had been said earlier in the day.
“Yes. Pleased,” she answered vaguely. What did it matter that it was a lie? She turned her eyes away from him and sighed again, deeply. “He looks forward to the event.”
Roman swallowed hard. “You must relay my congratulations.”
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