“It was you!” Vivien raged. “You took him there. You! You let him drown.” She pulled an arm free and pointed it like a thin scepter at Silvia. “Or if the truth be known, maybe more.” Her voice dropped as her eyes burned brighter. “You killed my Willy. My sweet, precious Willy.”
Silvia felt suspended, frozen with horror. She couldn’t keep the trembling out of her voice.
“No,” she whispered. “You know it isn’t so, Vivien. You know it isn’t so.”
“Vivien.” It was Morgan’s voice, sounding calm and cool and so strange, joining the frenetic exchange. “It was an accident. Silvia had nothing to do with it.”
Vivien eyed him savagely. “She killed him.”
***
Another funeral followed that of Wilhelm Schlange, and another grave was dug. Two smooth mounds of earth now marred the quiet little glen. And Willy, poor innocent Willy, who had watched from the hillside as his father was lowered into the earth, now rested beside the old man he had feared.
Blinking rapidly at the bitter tears in her eyes, Silvia dropped a red rose on Willy’s grave and then retreated to the shadowy darkness of the trees. The night was cool and windy. An evening mist had lingered like a floating veil over the floor of the glen, and now it crept snakelike up the hillside and in among the trees where Silvia wandered blindly toward the little pond where Willy had died.
How could it have happened? Willy would not have gone near the pond alone. He feared the water far too much to have gotten close enough to fall in.
The rustle of the leaves above her made a sad, whispering melody in the night. She thought she heard the echo of her footsteps far off in the trees and cupped her ears to listen. It was unbelievable but true. Willy had been killed, and someone had tried to kill her. She pulled a lacy black shawl over her head and around her huddled shoulders to ward off a chill as her mind wandered where it would. She had accomplished nothing by staying on Schlange Island to protect Willy, and Vivien had been right to blame her. Willy would still be alive and safe if she had not become his wife.
As she came out of the forest, she saw the pale moon ringed with a promise of rain. It was a bad omen. Silvia’s mournful face grew pinched and frightened and she couldn’t crush down her heavy feeling of apprehension. She had enemies and they were not just shadowy spirits and fears spun from an overactive imagination. Her enemies were real and deadly.
Nearing the pond, she stumbled onto the fog-obscured rock that had been Willy’s resting place. Shivering irrepressibly, she stopped and dropped down on the rough wet stone. The sound of footsteps continued. Her heart pounded loudly and then grew still. Why had she foolishly come out in the darkness alone so far from the house? She was completely defenseless.
The footsteps grew louder and more rapid. Silvia crouched down, praying the darkness and fog would shield her. But the moon picked that moment to escape the boiling black clouds.
“Why have you come here?” Roman stood before her and in the moonlight he had a strangely troubled look in his eyes. “It’s where Willy died.”
Silvia stood, her face pale and her lips tremulous.
“I know,” she answered breathlessly, her eyes darting away from his. “We used to walk here. Willy liked to sit on this rock and look at the pond.” Silvia trembled and looked around uneasily. It was impossible not to be suspicious of everyone, even Roman.
He came toward her and unexpectedly seized her wrists, holding them firmly. Silvia cried out in surprise. Again the sky turned dark as big ragged clouds moved across the face of the moon and obscured its sanguine flame.
Roman looked at her coldly.
“Vivien holds you responsible for his death. She thinks you killed him.”
The flush that had flown to her cheeks retreated. “She said as much.”
“Why would she think it?” Roman stepped forward a pace and took a seat on the rock, pulling her down beside him. There was a curious glow in his eyes, as if he knew more than he revealed. “Was it because he had the face of a monster? Is that why she thinks you wanted him dead?”
“He wasn’t a monster,” Silvia protested. “Only a child with a face he couldn’t help having.” She gave a little shudder as Roman’s eyes searched past her face.
“Then why?” he demanded.
“Because it’s true,” she said briefly, the blood bursting in her head. “Though not in the way she means. If I hadn’t come here, Willy would be alive.”
“Willy had been dead for hours when Odin found him. He must have gone out alone in the night and somehow fallen in the pond.”
Silvia sighed deeply.
“No. He wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have come here alone.”
“No?”
“No. He was terribly afraid of the water. This rock was as close as he would go to the edge.” She cautiously raised her brows. “Someone would have had to bring him here and force him in the pond.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“You are saying Willy was killed. But not by you.” His hands were bruising her wrists.
“No. Not by me.” A flood of sudden fears swept through her. But he was killed by someone. Someone who had known of their visits to this place. Someone who had known Willy would be gentle and docile and easily overpowered. Someone who stood to gain by Willy’s death. But who? “Do you believe me?” she asked weakly.
She could feel the savage crush of his hands grasping her arms.
“I don’t know what to believe,” Roman said swiftly. “I only know it wasn’t you who came here with him last night.”
“How could you know?”
“I know a few of your secrets, just as I know there’s much more about Willy than bears telling. But never mind that. I came here to warn you Vivien is talking of making charges against you.”
“Why should you care what happens to me?”
His eyes were stormy and dark and the anger in them frightened and confused her. She turned her eyes away, feeling her breath come unevenly as she heard him answer.
“I have a stake in what happens here, and just now it all seems to be tied to you. Until I unravel the mystery, it’s to my advantage to keep all possibilities open.”
It was evident where his heart lay, she thought gloomily. Not with her. And rightly so. She had spoiled things for him too. She might have cost him what was due him from Schlange’s estate. Silvia found herself more sad than frightened, feeling she had lost Willy and more. Irrevocably she had broken Roman’s peculiar code of honor in a way he could never forgive. She felt a great welling of weariness and despair and her voice quavered with the feel of it when she spoke.
“Then you are concerned for your inheritance?”
Roman saw her bite her lip and saw the agony in her white face. He answered bluntly. “I have given it a thought. If Willy were murdered, it was because of the inheritance. And one of my dear cousins or my brother is responsible.”
“Or yourself.” Her voice was the slightest whisper.
He stiffened.
“There is that possibility,” he agreed.
His fingers moved lightly up her shoulders where little loose curls trailed light as floating thistledown. She had such an innocent face looking up in the moonlit darkness. He struggled to control the intense desire he felt for her, and failing, found his fingers resting around the silken column of her throat while his thumbs stroked that softest spot beneath her chin. Roman closed his eyes against the battle raging within him. His body ached for her, his mind wanted to push her away. Unbidden, one strong hand eased back to lock around her nape, tilting her head back, and suddenly all the lovely moonlight was in her face.
She heard his labored breathing mingle with the night sounds of chirping crickets and croaking frogs and the faint stirring of leaves. He had the power to arouse, with a glance, passion’s fires within her. As his fingers stroked her throat, her body warmed and began to tremble beneath his gentle caress. The lavender scent she wore, fired to life by her passion, rose up to en
velop them with its softly pungent fragrance. Her eyes meeting his with wonder, Silvia gave an inarticulate little cry, reminding herself it meant nothing, nothing at all that his lips were coming down on hers.
The sweet, liquid call of nightbirds rang out of the darkness and Silvia’s heartbeat joined the song.
His kisses rained down warm on her mouth, feeding some hunger in them both and passing them into a dream world where doubts and suspicions strangely blossomed into passion. Soft, stroking fingers caressed the silken skin of her cheeks, then slipped away and downward. His trembling hands freed her breasts from the confining gown and Silvia’s eyes closed in captured ecstasy as his hot breath and devouring kisses sent shivers running down her spine. His hands traced her body freely, finding their way beneath her skirt, touching her thighs and buttocks. With a jolt, he pulled her tightly against him and once again his lips were upon hers.
Each kiss was more fevered than the last, until they merged into one lasting, fiery joining of trembling mouths before the two of them sprang suddenly apart.
With a roar, the wind whipped up, blowing in a threat of rain. Angry waves ruffled the black surface of the pond and the trees bent under the blast. Silvia’s skirts whipped about like a ship’s sail in a storm. She moaned, her lips bruised and swollen, her limbs weak and quivering. Roman’s arms were still curled around her waist, but his face had grown sardonically cold.
“I’ll get you inside,” came his flat, remote voice.
“Oh, Roman,” she whispered unsteadily as her hands moved on his chest, sliding gently over the soft linen shirt. He pulled away from her.
What was it she saw in his blazing eyes? Not tenderness, not warmth, yet suddenly her heart was turning over in her chest.
Chapter 14
“And that, love, is comfort for a grieving widow.”
Silvia went rigid with shock, feeling as she had the day she had been thrown and had the wind knocked out of her. Roman’s demoralizing arrogance emerged whenever she thought she had struck a tender vein in his heart. Did she falsely mistake insolence and contempt for affection?
“You were so briefly a bride, I thought to ease your loss in the way that would soothe you most.”
Silvia tried to swallow but found she couldn’t. Scowling, she twisted away from him.
“Your sympathy takes a most peculiar form.” Oh, how he had roused her from hopeful dreaming. How he had plied her with kisses and maddening caresses and then cut the life out of her heart.
Cold, damp wind whipped her hair loose and sent it flying out in a silken mass. The icy tempest stole the lacy shawl from her shoulders and swallowed it up in the darkness. Her black dress lay plastered against her skin. Shivering with cold and humiliation, Silvia wrapped her arms across her breasts and turned her tormented face from Roman.
He seemed oblivious of the wind. His white shirt clung damply to his chest and sleekly outlined the muscular contours of his arms and belly. Silk breeches, not made for withstanding the elements, revealed too much of his manly form. He moved to stand before her.
Silvia’s eyes marked him, and half-closing them, she grimaced as she remembered with clarity how perfectly and lovingly his body had fitted to hers. Now she could feel the emptiness in her arms, the great void he had filled with passion. She recalled how brightly the flame of desire and the light of love had burned in those mocking blue eyes. The memory left her with a heavy, sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was unaccountably weak, and so terribly cold that her shivering would not cease.
“Listen to me, Silvia.” His voice softened as he took in her pale face and soft, trembling mouth. He reached for her hand, meeting no resistance as he took it in his own. “Come in with me. You’re not dressed for this weather. We’ll get you warm and dry before you catch a chill.”
His gaze fell lower to her heaving breasts outlined in sodden black silk, and he wondered if he could carry through what he intended. He struggled with himself, for a moment wanting to take her again in his arms and deny all that separated them.
It had to be settled, this unrelenting obsession with his cousin’s wife. No. That wasn’t right. She was Willy’s widow now, and fair game once again. Whatever the title, she had poisoned his blood with a heated longing that would give him no rest. His mind reeled with thoughts of the vision scored in his memory, that of her incomparable loveliness. He remembered each detail of her flawless body, the feel of her satin skin, soft, silken hair that sapped a man’s sanity.
This raven-haired witch had crept into his life and cast some dark spell that gave him no peace.
And he sensed the evil all around. The evil of which Silvia had spoken. It was afoot in the luxurious rooms and sweeping corridors of Serpent Tree Hall. Evil lurked in the shadows; he could feel it, but could not yet trace it back to its hidden origins. He had suspicions, though, a careless word dropped by chance, stealthy footsteps in the night, all hidden cunningly behind a play of tears and feigned mourning.
It had to be exposed. It had to be stopped, and he knew the way to end it. But first he needed to know more about Silvia and about how Willy had died.
“Come with me, love,” he whispered, propelling Silvia’s slight, shivering figure toward the castle.
Involuntarily Silvia glanced upward. She was being drawn magnetically along with Roman. Why was it she was always so willing to fall into his arms, knowing the embrace would end in a blistering rebuke?
“No!” She wrenched her hand away from him, tripping and stumbling back with a gasp. “No!” she half-screamed, half-sobbed. “You’re a heartless monster, Roman Toller. Leave me be. I want none of your comfort. None of it!” The rain fell as she lifted her head defiantly and the cold, stinging drops swallowed up her streaming tears. “You’re as wicked as he was,” she cried, and ran off into the dark, wet shadows of the night.
***
It hadn’t worked as he’d planned with Silvia. It never did. His temper and jealousy had intruded and spoiled what he had hoped to accomplish.
Roman Toller slammed and bolted his bedroom door and quickly shed his wet, ruined clothes. He dried himself with a bath sheet and donned a pair of dry breeches. Storming across his bedchamber, he kicked a ladderback chair that happened to be in his path halfway across the room, where it crashed and splintered against the stones of the fireplace.
Perhaps he should have followed and tried to catch Silvia before she got inside, but by now she was probably warm and dry in her bed and wouldn’t answer if he knocked. He shrugged. It was best to have let her go. He could only have made matters worse by following, and that he could not afford to do.
Damn the woman and her elusive heart! She hadn’t proved to be as manageable as he had anticipated. Whirling about and uttering a second violent curse, he hammered his fist on the polished surface of a stout wooden chest. There was no avoiding it. She had to be out of the way for his plan to succeed. It would not do for her to continue searching the castle because she might chance upon something that was best left lost. He glanced hastily at the bolted door and then with a groan pushed his shoulder solidly to the weighty chest until it moved aside.
Set in the wall behind the chest was a small compartment from which he extracted a rolled-up bundle. Unwrapping the layers of cloth, Roman drew out a packet of documents and a brown leather journal. Crossing the room, he quickly took a seat and with a jerk slid a candle closer.
The gold embossing shone brightly under the increased light of the candle’s flame, and briefly the golden serpent was brought to life.
There in the solitude of his room, Roman Toller opened Wilhelm Schlange’s journal and began reading. His face was set coldly in a derisive frown as he realized the old devil would have set them all on each other to have his way. The cunning old fool had used them to his advantage and then would die and leave them all penniless. Roman’s laugh was the angry snarl of a wild animal.
“Uncle,” he murmured to himself, “you forgot that Schlange blood runs in my veins as well.
I’ll match my wits to yours any day...and best you.”
His eyes sped over the spidery black handwriting, rereading the damning words. At once he flipped to the portion devoted to Silvia’s part in the drama and at last he knew Wilhelm’s intent for such an unlikely wedding. So in the end it had not mattered that Roman and his cousins had given their sweat and labor and lives to Wilhelm Schlange and the Schlange estate. Nothing had mattered to the old man but having an heir who bore his name. What irony that they had served him better than their own fathers.
He slammed the book shut and poured himself a glass of dark red wine, then drank it down rapidly. Another glass followed, and then a third, until he had nearly emptied the bottle. But even so it did not wash out the picture in his mind. She was there in his head, living, breathing with her black, black hair and her wild golden eyes. Was there no way to shut out the picture, to banish her from his mind? To ease the aching in his loins?
He tossed his tawny head defiantly and rocked back, balancing the chair recklessly on two legs.
“Ahh yes, lovely lady,” he said swiftly, his eyes gaining a sudden mad brilliance. The chair rocked down and landed with a loud thud. Roman got quickly to his feet. Cursing, he shoved the journal and papers back into their hiding place and hauled the chest in front of the opening.
“There is a way.” He spoke partly to himself and partly to that lovely, vaporous vision of Silvia that wouldn’t leave his mind. “Sorry, my sweet,” he whispered to that pensive, pleading face. “If I have failed to entice you gently into a manageable state, I must resort to more effective means.”
He sat down again, his feet resting on the desktop, his arms crossed steadfastly over his chest. Hours ticked away. The candle burned down until the hot grease spilled out on the fine-grained top of the desk. The candle would not last much longer. The little flame dimmed and the wick sputtered as it sank into the pool of hot, wet wax. The light flickered once more, then died, casting the room into sudden darkness.
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