She kicked a bit to feel the water swirl around her bare legs. The pool water felt like a wonderful caress, cold against her skin yet somehow sensuous. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. A wisp of a smile curved her lips. Just thinking of Rogan St. Cyr set her to trembling inside. A small part of her cautioned—nagging in a voice suspiciously like Catherine’s—that she should stop this foolishness at once. But it felt too wonderful, and besides, she didn’t want to.
As if conjured by her thoughts, a voice, very close, said softly in her ear, “Good eve, demoiselle.”
Without thinking, she jerked upright, her feet hitting the slick bottom of the shallow pool. Immediately, she felt them sliding out from under her, and just as she was about to fall, a strong arm encircled her, pulling her back up against a solid chest
“My lady,” the rich voice rumbled, “take care.”
Lily caught a breath of his scent, musky and clean and completely masculine. Snapping her head around, she found herself staring up into his face, only inches from her own. His eyes, a curious shade of gray, looked down at her with a mixture of humor and concern. “Shall I help you?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered, remembering herself. She pulled herself aright, slipped again, and in the end had to cling to him as she stepped out of the pool. Her gown was drenched from the knees down, making it a cumbersome weight. Standing there, soaked and embarrassed, at a terrible loss as to how to redeem herself, Lily felt perilously close to tears. “If you will excuse me,” she said, making to brush past him to enter the castle. She was prevented from a graceful exit by the noisy flapping of her wet skirts. After stumbling clumsily for a few steps, she paused. Oh, Lord, she groaned silently, I must look the utter fool.
“Why are you leaving?” Rogan asked.
“I must go, I…” Why couldn’t she think straight?
“You cannot go anywhere with your dress soaked as it is. It would be impossible to negotiate the stairs,” he said reasonably. “Why do you not sit here and let the air dry it a bit before going inside? I think it will be much safer.”
He was smiling slightly, his mouth curving in a way that made her lose what little equanimity she had left. He was not bothering to hide his amusement, but to her relief, Lily saw he was not mocking her. She sank down nervously on the carved stone bench. He sat down beside her.
“I suppose you think me rather hoydenish after such a display,” she apologized.
“Nonsense,” he assured her. “I found it most refreshing. After all, we all let our guard down when we are in private, which is what you thought you were.”
“Well, Catherine would be furious if she knew. Not that there is ever any pleasing Catherine, but if she knew that you had seen me thus…”
Rogan’s face split into a broad smile. “I assure you, my lady, your secret is safe with me.”
Lily liked his smile, was a bit dazzled by it, and then looked away, uncomfortable. “Bloody embarrassing,” she muttered. She had a habit of doing that, saying aloud things she was thinking before she realized it.
“What did you say?”
Immediately Lily realized her transgression. Horrified, she stammered, “I-I simply said that this is quite embarrassing—almost falling into the pool and being so wet.”
But he had heard. She could see he was trying to keep from laughing and doing a poor job of it. What must he think of her, soggy and swearing like a soldier? And why did it so desperately matter what he thought of her?
“I really should go,” Lily said quickly.
“Please stay. I should enjoy the company.”
“I—” She should refuse, she had sense enough left to know that much. Yet she did not move.
Her pride still smarted from her humiliating gaffes. She must find some way to compose herself. She decided to try acting like a proper hostess, as she had been taught.
“H-how do you like Charolais?” she asked politely. “Did you see the tapestries in the hall? They depict the famous battles of the Marshands. I could tell you the stories if you like.”
“Perhaps some other time.”
No good. Some other pleasantry, then. “Did you have an enjoyable journey? What do you think of our moors?”
Rogan apparently decided to play along and allow her to lead the conversation. “We did, though this is desolate land. It has a certain rugged beauty one would come to appreciate.”
Grateful that he had settled upon a neutral topic, Lily replied, “’Tis true that the beauty of Cornwall is beloved by its natives and misunderstood by everyone else.”
“It seems harsh. I wonder if it makes the people so?”
Lily did not know how to answer that. “I suppose the coast makes for a rugged life. We are closely wedded to the sea out here.”
“Ah, aye, the sea. Do you love the water?”
“I love to look at it.”
“Do you also love to sail? I have always enjoyed being out in the vast ocean, with blue all around.”
“Heavens, no.” Why did every conversation lead to questions about her? “I am afraid I was brought up quite strictly. I was never allowed to do anything like that. Much too dangerous, Father says.”
“Would you like to, someday?”
Caught off guard, Lily couldn’t keep the smile from her face at the prospect of such an adventure. “Oh, very much.”
“Maybe you will,” Rogan said, then paused. “It must be such a burden to you.”
“What?”
“Always being so correct. You seem to like simpler sport. Dangling your feet in the water and the like.”
Lily flushed. “You do tease me meanly by reminding me of my misbehavior.”
“If that is true, I offer my sincere apology,” he said. “It is just that I also find obligations tiresome. Powerful alliances and titled marriages—your family seems to be impressed with these. But not you, I’d wager.”
Lily was stunned. How was it he knew her so well?
“I myself have never cared for the formality that surrounds titles,” Rogan continued. “I saw what it did to my brother. All the demands made him sullen and difficult. I suppose his recent marriage is his grand rebellion against all of it. It is better than going the way some go—becoming depraved and jaded. Privilege seems to have a corrupting influence, robbing one of the ability to appreciate something of the basic joys. And some of us, by nature, cannot abide that.”
Lily nodded, allowing herself to be drawn in. “Sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to live without all of the rules and demands and just feel…”
“Free?” he supplied.
“Aye,” she breathed. “It seems odd, does it not, that for all of my family’s wealth, I have less to my name than my servants.”
“And what freedoms do you envy your servants?”
“They work hard, indeed, my sister insures they do, for she is strict and exacting in her management. Yet, despite their burdens and lack of finery, they seem to possess a certain spontaneity, the ability to view things very clearly and without complication. Catherine says they are simple, but I wonder if they do not possess some perspective worth knowing. She says they are lawless and lusty. But they have a contentment I have never witnessed among the noble folk.”
Rogan raised a brow. “Really? That’s fascinating. Lawless and lusty, you say?”
“Aye,” Lily said, not noticing the wicked way his mouth curled at the corners. “Sometimes I have seen them, hugging or stealing a kiss, and it seems to make them unaccountably jolly.”
“Positively shocking,” Rogan commented. “And what do you think of such adventures?”
“Well, they are acceptable for servants. They are of a different sort than noble folk.”
“And you, Lily? May I call you Lily?” To this, she nodded, a bit bemused but agreeing all the same. “Then, Lily, do you have cause to be jolly?”
What a strange question. “There is much that is expected of me, I suppose. I certainly have nothing to complain about. I have everythin
g I can desire.”
“How fortunate for you.”
She was lying, and he knew it. She blushed, then confessed, “Well, part of the problem is that I do not know what it is I desire. Catherine always wished for a grand marriage, and Elspeth wants to go to the convent but Father is reluctant to let her. He says he will miss her, and he has been putting it off.”
A short, comfortable silence stretched between them. She looked up into the heavens, alive with a host of lights winking brilliantly like a handful of diamonds strewn carelessly across black velvet. After a while, Rogan ventured, “Perhaps you will find happiness with your betrothed. Is he a man of your pleasing?”
Lily answered, “My parents promised me at birth, but he was slain in the Holy Land. I never met him. The same with Catherine. That is why Father had to find a husband for her now. He has not yet begun for me.”
“What was his name? Perhaps I knew him.”
“Were you on Crusade?” she gasped.
She saw his eyes darken, felt something shift between them. “Yes. I only returned last year.”
“Was it glorious? What of the Saracens, are they truly barbaric heathens?” Her enthusiasm dwindled quickly at his solemn look. “I am sorry,” she said. “I had not thought it would be painful to speak of.”
“No, not painful really. But it was not glorious, Lily. Taking a life never is, even the life of a Saracen. It may be heresy to say this, but they are not all evil. From what I observed, they are much like us in many respects. Their religion and culture are different, and they speak a different tongue, but they love their families and would die to protect their children. Some behaved more nobly than my fellow knights.” He fell silent, as if lost in some long-ago moment, then shook off the mood. “Forgive me. I do not often speak of it”
“Oh, no,” she breathed, fascinated. “I do not mind at all. If ever you would like to tell me more, I would be honored.”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “I shall keep that in mind.”
They talked amiably until the moon began to wane and Lily was reminded of the lateness of the hour. “I should be going inside,” she said reluctantly.
Rogan nodded, but did not move.
“Really, should Catherine learn I was here with you, she would be most displeased.”
“Why are you so afraid of Catherine?”
Lily paused. How could she explain the subtle threat Catherine exuded? Since their mother’s death, she ruled as somewhat of a tyrant at Charolais, over the servants and her sisters. Though Lily was not precisely afraid of her, she had a healthy dread of the trouble she could sow.
“Catherine is rather strong willed,” Lily stated. “She has a way of making it distinctly uncomfortable for those who disobey her.”
“I should think you would not care,” Rogan observed.
True enough. It was merely an excuse for Lily’s own growing feeling that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety far too much, even for her free spirit.
“Yes. But I really need to go in now.”
“You seem reluctant to go,” Rogan said, seeming to read her mind. Then, with a gleam in his eye, he asked, “I was intrigued by what you were saying about the servants. Being jolly. Do you remember?”
“Aye,” she answered, puzzled.
“When they kiss, you said.”
She blushed and lowered her eyes to her hands clasped tightly on her lap. When she looked back up, Rogan’s eyes shone with a strange light, making them appear silver. He leaned slightly forward. “Have you ever been kissed?”
Lily felt as if a tankard of ice-cold ale had been splashed in her face. Her mouth dropped open in shock and her back went rigid. “That,” she said with emphasis, “is a very rude question for a gently bred lord to ask a lady!”
She stood up. Her skirts were still somewhat wet, and they clung unbecomingly to her. But she was too angry to care. “I was wrong to tarry with you. Now, I really must go inside.”
With that she whirled about and stomped as gracefully as she could manage to the door, which was not much with her gown flapping heavily about her legs.
Rogan had to bite his lips to keep from laughing out loud at her magnificent exit, at least until she was out of earshot. But he was soon sorry for his impulsive question. The enchantment of the garden shriveled into the shadows, deserting him and leaving the orchard lonely.
He raked his hand through his hair. Now what had made him say such a thing? he wondered.
Chapter Four
Rogan reentered the castle, relieved that Andrew was no longer about. He was not in the mood to discuss much of anything right now, let alone endure another lecture on the perils of an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Interestingly—considering the critical circumstances—Rogan felt good and his mind was full of the delightful interlude with Lily. The little flower, as Andrew called her.
A sleepy page intercepted him and said he would show Rogan to his quarters. Following the boy, he climbed the great stone staircase that wound around the inside wall of the keep, then into a vaulted corridor lit with an abundance of torches. The lad led him to a chamber that was rather small, though nicely appointed. It held a good-sized bed, a stool and a shuttered window. The fire had been lit and there was a steaming tub by it. He was surprised by this hospitality, then thought that these amenities perhaps reflected the Marshands’ goodwill. His mood improved even more at this observance.
The servant left him and Rogan was about to undress when his door opened. Surprised, he turned. Catherine Marshand came into the room.
“Good eve to you,” she said as she moved toward him. “I have come to help you with your bath.”
It was common custom that visitors be offered such service, but it was usually the married women who performed the honor of undressing and washing their guests. In the absence of such a person, it was conceivable that the eldest daughter would offer. However, Rogan’s instincts were instantly alerted.
He did not stop her when she placed her hands on the thick band of leather at his waist. He experienced a distinct revulsion at her touch, but he was wary. He had dealt this proud woman a crushing blow today, and he did not want to lose what ground he had gained toward keeping peace.
Her slim hands did their work and his belt came undone. She laid it carefully on the back of a chair by the tub. When she turned back to him, he saw the burning in her dark eyes and a tight smile played on her face.
Rogan groaned inwardly. There was no way for him to stop this without appearing rude. It was ironic that an able-bodied man such as himself would feel these trepidations with a mere woman, but there was something about this one that made his flesh crawl.
“I am relieved you and your family have chosen not to take exception to my brother’s brutish behavior.”
“What’s done is done.” Catherine pulled off his tunic and untied his undershirt. She was close to him and he could smell her cloying scent. It was making him mildly ill.
Her hands went to the ties of his leggings.
“Do you not think it would be best to remove my boots first?” he asked. Verily, was this woman so anxious to get into his braes she would leave him standing with them caught up around his knees?
She knelt to perform the duty, then stood to address the leggings once again. He was not a modest man, but he found he had an aversion to being viewed intimately by Catherine’s devouring eyes. When he was naked, he quickly stepped into the tub and picked up the soap.
“Nay, I shall do that for you, Lord Rogan.”
With a shrug, he handed it to her and she lathered up her hands and began to rub his chest.
Rogan pretended to relax, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “What can you tell me of your sister, Lily?”
The stroking stopped for a moment, then resumed. “Why do you ask about Lily?”
“I was curious. Has your family chosen someone for her to wed?”
“Lily is a pleasant girl. But she is young, and still unrefined. I have done
my best with her, but she can be headstrong. As to her marriage prospects, I am sure my father shall have no difficulty finding someone suitable. When the time comes. It is traditional for the eldest to marry first. And it may be difficult to find someone after this scandal.”
“Rich enough.”
“Pardon me?”
“I said, rich enough. Certainly with a prize such as yourself, you would want to make the best possible liaison, am I correct? Another duke, perhaps?”
Catherine shrugged mildly. “I do not know. Certainly someone of good family. But I only received the news today of my betrothed…that the duke married another. But these are matters for my father.”
Her hands trailed down his chest. She rubbed his legs, stroking the washing rag over them each in turn.
“I tell you, I am most impressed with her,” he continued, pretending to be unperturbed by her ministrations.
Her voice betrayed her tension. “Let us not talk of her. Surely we can find something else more amusing for our conversation?” She was not going to be dissuaded by his lofty praise of her sister. “May I speak plainly, Lord Rogan?” she asked.
He was never to know what plain conversation she had planned, for it was then his chamber door opened. Andrew stood at the threshold.
“Ro—” he started, then stopped just inside the doorway, visibly taken aback by the scene before him.
Rogan called out to him pleasantly. “Come, Andrew, for I was just speaking to the Lady Catherine on her future prospects of marriage. Did you get a chance to discuss our family’s concerns with her when she attended you at your bath?”
There was a short silence, then Andrew said, “Ah, the Lady Catherine did not attend me in my bath—eh, that is to say, I had no bath.”
Catherine stood, finally flustered. “Well, there is only one tub, and you must understand that Lord Rogan, being the elder, was chosen to—”
“Nonsense, think nothing of it,” Andrew said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I rarely bathe anyway.”
The Flower And The Sword Page 3