That was when they saw her. Anna was the first, glancing up, then staring wide-eyed as she met Lily’s gaze. Seeing her alarm, the boy snapped his head around, and last, the little Lizzie looked over with a mournful “Oh!”
“The witch!” Oliver exclaimed.
“Wait!” Lily cried. “Do not run!”
In unison, they whirled and, in a flash, they were gone into the thicket.
“I have more partridges,” Lily called desperately. She was surprised at the sudden need to get them back. But it was no spanking she was thinking of now. Those wretched faces, so hungry, so grave. It struck her how frantic they must be to dare the wrath of a witch to get some food. She tried again, “I am not a witch!”
But they had flown. All that was left was the torn remainder of the partridge on the muddy ground.
The next day Lily stepped out into the cold sunshine, basket slung on her arm, and sauntered into the woods. Behind her, as if forgotten, the door gaped open and the scent of sausages wafted out to permeate the forest with its tantalizing aroma.
Once beyond the tree line, she cast off the basket and hunkered down, crawling under cover until she had rounded to the front of the house. She dashed inside, running through the gathering room to the kitchen, there to wedge between two great casks of flour and wait for her guests.
It was not long before the sound of whispers alerted her that they had arrived.
She heard the faint tap of their footsteps on the wood floor as they stepped cautiously toward the food placed on the tabletop above her. Once they were safely inside, Lily sprang forward and dove to the door, slamming it shut and throwing the bolt
Ear-piercing screams sent her halfway to the ceiling. She whirled, waving her hands at the three panic-stricken faces to shush their awful wailing. “Quiet! Quiet! I am not going to hurt you!”
Oliver grabbed a nearby mallet and held it steadily before him. “Let us out, witch, else I cleave you in two.”
It was not funny, really it wasn’t The poor things were truly terrified. And though the boy was only of an age of perhaps eight or nine, he could do damage with the tiny hammer if he wanted. Still, Lily could not help herself at the sight of his bravado.
“Listen to me, you little dolts,” she said between giggles. “I am not a witch. I tried to tell you that before.”
“Oh!” Lizzie wailed.
“Yes, you are, now stand aside. I have the cross of the Lord Jesus Christ, and I know how to use it!”
There was no help for it. Lily dissolved into laughter once again.
Lizzie started wailing, which made Oliver more agitated. “Hush, girl!” he ordered.
“Now, everyone calm yourselves. I brought you in here so I could talk to you.”
Burying her face in her sister’s skirts, Lizzie’s sobs grew louder. “Lizzie!” Oliver admonished again.
“I can’t help it,” she wailed, “the witch is going to eat us!”
“I said hush!” With that, he delivered a sharp slap to her little cheek.
Lily stepped forward, and in one motion took the mallet from the boy’s hand and pushed him away from the girl. “Do not treat your sister like that, stupid child!” Turning to Lizzie, she said, “Truly, I am not a witch. Why would I eat you when I have made these delicious sausages?”
They all looked amazed at this logic. To illustrate her point, Lily grabbed one and began to munch.
“Who are you, then?” Anna asked with wonder.
“I am the Lady Lily, Lord Rogan’s wife.”
“Ha!” Oliver exclaimed. “A lady!”
It was true she looked more like a serf than anyone remotely associated with the noble class. “Well, I am,” she said defensively. “But that is not the point.”
“You look ugly,” Lizzie said.
“Well, I daresay you three are hardly a vision of beauty yourselves,” Lily answered irritably. “Why have you been stealing my food?”
“Da’s on a drunk, so we had to get outa there,” the boy said aggressively.
“What did you do? Some mischief, no doubt. You seem a questionable trio.”
“We didn’ do nothin’!” Lizzie exclaimed. The older girl hushed her before her brother could cuff her again.
“Then why in the world would your da hit you?”
“’Cause he’s drunk his ale. Golly, and you call us stupid.”
Lily was shocked. “You mean he just hits you? I find that unlikely.”
The boy crossed his hands in front of his chest and refused to say another word. The other girl, the older one, stepped forward. “I do not think you are ugly at all. I told them so. They saw you doing your chores and said you were a witch. But I thought you might just be a bit tired.”
“I am at that.” Lily smiled.
“Why are you tired? Why don’ you jus’ go to sleep?” Lizzie ventured.
“I have a lot of work to do.”
“See, she is no lady. Ladies don’ do the launderin’ or the bakin’, you fools.” The boy glared at Lily. “She’s lyin’.”
“Well, I am a kind of a lady who has fallen on hard times. Enough! I think it is you three who should be doing the explaining.”
Undaunted, Oliver challenged, “Then why do you not simply call up your knights and ride away to your castle?”
Lily glowered at him and was thinking of a suitable answer when the older girl said quietly, “Because she has to wait for a prince, Oliver.”
Lily looked at her appreciatively. “That is correct,” she said primly. “I was put here by a cursed man, and I must wait for someone special to take me away.”
“Who is it? Who brought you here?” Oliver demanded. “If you really are a lady, I can fight, you know. I could rescue you.”
“You are not a prince,” the older girl objected.
“Shut up, Anna!” Oliver yelled, falling upon his sister and pummeling her with his fists.
“Hey!” Lily yelled, pulling the boy away from Anna. She held him by his soiled collar, giving him a shake. “You are quite a disagreeable fellow, do you know that?”
“What do you know?” he cried, and Lily was surprised to see the sheen of tears in his eyes. “You are just a girl, and you are not a lady!”
He broke away from her and ran to the door. Struggling with the bolt, he managed to lift it, disappearing into the forest.
Lizzie narrowed her eyes and stuck her fists on her little hips. “You are mean!” she said, and ran after her brother.
Amazed at this remonstration, Lily looked to Anna. The girl just stared back at her, hesitating for a moment before slowly heading out the door herself.
“Anna,” Lily called. When the girl turned back, Lily handed her a square of cloth containing the sausages. Taking them, Anna gazed at her benefactress in wonder.
“I really do think you are beautiful,” she said quietly, then left.
Alone, Lily stared after them, marveling at the strange encounter. What odd children. The whole episode left her puzzled and…strangely moved.
Something kept nagging at her. She unbolted the door to the great room and went upstairs. She found the small hand mirror in Rogan’s chamber and, for the first time in weeks, took a good long look at herself.
She did look ugly. Her face was pale, with dark circles under her eyes and blistered lips, and her skin was covered with dirt smudges. Her hair was dull and unkempt, pulled back unceremoniously in a utilitarian knot She could see why the young Oliver had such a difficult time believing her rank.
They had thought her a witch. Did she then so resemble a hag that she frightened little children? It was a sobering thought
Rogan had taken away her freedom. Had he also taken away her youth, her beauty? Did she have anything left of herself anymore, or had he taken that, too? She had been ready only days ago to beat three starving children for stealing some food, when it had not meant more than inconvenience. Was she changing so much that she could be so small hearted? My God, she was becoming like Catherine! And was tha
t Rogan’s fault—or hers?
A hard resolve began to form in the pit of her stomach. No, he would take those things that defined who she was only if she let him. And she would not. No matter what, she would fight to the end to keep her soul safe from his vengeance.
She would stand for this humiliation, this degradation no more.
And she would start by becoming mistress of Linden Wood!
Chapter Fifteen
Rogan rode through the forest, fighting the mounting anticipation trilling in his veins. Linden Wood was just ahead. It was the first time he would be seeing his wife since that shattering night when he had discovered she could still command his passion.
Whatever had led him to show mercy then, he could not fathom. He cursed himself for it, for his body had burned ever since, and he had been deeply afflicted by all manner of erotic images. Holding Lily, feeling her supple body writhe under his as soft cries of pleasure tickled his ear…
Good God, he had never thought she could effect such a response after all that had passed, but he had found his body as vulnerable to her uncommon beauty, her artless sensuality, as it ever had been.
It had taken some time to reconcile himself to the fact. In the end, he had decided he had best accustom himself to the powerful attraction between them. Purely physical, of course. It was, after all, not so bad considering he was to sire a parcel of St. Cyrs with this woman. It made his job much easier, and was it so wrong if it were more than a bit enjoyable?
And today, he could wait no longer. He would have her, her reservations be damned. She was his wife, curse it all.
There was a strange, possessive thrill at the thought. Aye, Lily would have had time to accustom herself to his demands. There would be no excuses.
In the clearing, he called for Thomas. That man was like a ghoul, Rogan reflected as the lanky form of the servant suddenly materialized. He always seemed to appear out of nowhere at a moment’s notice. It was as if he were always hovering about, almost always on hand wherever Lily was to be found.
Handing him Tarsus’s reins, Rogan watched him speculatively as he disappeared in the direction of the stable.
He heard Lily’s voice from the side of the house. Tamping down the surge of excitement, he headed that way.
He spied the slim form of his wife in the vegetable garden, leaning against a long-handled hoe. He was all at once acutely aware of her ill-fitting dress stretched taut across full breasts. It hung almost a foot above her ankles, showing too much of her shapely legs. Her hair was caught back off her face, but the rebellious mass escaped in spiraled tendrils around her face and neck. Even with her skin smudged with dirt, the florid sensuality of her features was unmarred. All this he took in in an instant, as well as the curious tableau she presented with her unlikely partner.
To Rogan’s utter disbelief, Sybilla was on her hands and knees in the dirt before Lily, listening patiently as her mistress spoke authoritatively. “I do not know much about peas. Do you think that is too much sun? Perhaps we should do the beans there, the turnips here, and then the peas. Yes, so go ahead, and I’ll turn these beds here.”
She saw him, freezing in midmotion as she was about to take up the hoe.
“Rather early for gardening,” he said casually, stepping further into view. He was distinctly aware of a discomfiting heat, though the March wind blew cool.
She took a long time to answer. “We are merely getting the beds ready. I thought we might try an early crop. My father sometimes did that, but of course the weather is much milder in Cornwall.”
He nodded. Sybilla had come to her feet, brushing off her skirts and looking somewhat embarrassed.
“Fetch the spiced wine I made,” Lily said to her, then turned to Rogan. “I did not know you were visiting today, but I have some pork roasting which will soon be ready. Are you hungry?”
The transformation was incredible. She stood across from him, the poised and gracious hostess receiving a guest The damnable flash of heat that had come upon him was distracting. He had spent weeks preparing to take command the next time he was with her, and here she was receiving him as if she were the grand lady of the castle and he a mere visitor.
A cruel resentment curdled in his gut. Narrowing his eyes, he drawled lazily, “As a matter of fact, wife, it is a matter of hunger that has brought me to you for the day, though I am not a particular admirer of your cooking.” He let his gaze roam insolently up and down her form, lingering at her breasts and her naked ankles.
Heaven bless her, she did not fail him. The flash of fury in her eyes came at him like green-blue fire, but she said nothing. Dropping the hoe into the dirt, she stalked off into the kitchens. Judging by the loud clanging going on, she was working up a temper.
Rogan whistled as he followed her inside, feeling much better. But the damnable heat did not abate.
He watched her as she moved about in the kitchen, wielding the knife well enough to cut off several neat slices from the shank of pig skewered on the spit Sybilla, who avoided his eyes as if she had been caught in the act of some unmentionable crime, handed him his cup of sweet wine and disappeared.
Rogan sipped it gingerly. “No fur?”
Lily had the grace to blush as she pushed a trencher loaded with the meat toward him. “Do you want some dried apples? There are some in the bin.”
“Yes,” he answered, poking suspiciously at the proffered meat.
Upon tasting it, he decided it was quite good. “There is a bag out around the side of the house, by the road. I left it there when I dismounted. Fetch it for me.”
She gave him a long look, so long in fact he thought she was going to refuse. But after a moment she rolled her eyes and stomped off.
As he chewed his food, Rogan reflected that things were going much better this time. She was used to her place already, controlling her temper. And though she had obviously asserted herself with Sybilla in his absence, she was not refusing to work for her keep.
Lily returned, dragging the heavy parcel behind her. “If you are only staying for today, why have you brought so much?”
“Take it upstairs and unpack it,” he ordered.
“I cannot lift this up the steps. It is too heavy.”
Rogan cocked a russet brow. “That is your problem.”
He heard the annoyed tapping of her foot before she went to the back door. “Thomas!” she called.
As usual, the servant appeared with surprising speed, giving Rogan cause to suspect he had been lurking just outside the door. Lily instructed him to take the parcel upstairs. Thomas loped away with Lily following.
With her gone, he felt the tension drain out of him. He stretched, realizing how taut his body had been.
The shrieks from the second level brought him to his feet Diving for his scabbard, which he had unbuckled and set on a table, Rogan had the weapon drawn in an instant and began charging up the stairs when Lily appeared before him, holding up one of the gowns he had brought for her.
“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, hardly able to speak. Her eyes glittered like brilliant gems, her face flushed with pleasure. His jaw dropped at the sight of the high spots of color accentuating her finely wrought cheekbones and the dazzling smile that spread her luscious mouth to show even, white teeth.
The parcel, as she had discovered, contained a pair of gowns and various necessities for a woman. They were castoffs, hardly anything grand, but Lily’s unabashed gratitude would have made one think they were trinkets fit for a queen.
Rogan cleared his throat and lowered his sword. “One of my knight’s ladies sent them. She said that you would need such things. If there is anything she has forgotten, tell me and I will see that you get it.”
“Tell her I appreciate her sacrifice,” Lily said. “I will take this peasant robe off at once.”
Like a child delighted with an unexpected gift, she spun on her heel and scampered back up the stairs. Rogan could not keep his gaze from drifting to the shape of her derriere as he was aff
orded a generous view of that particular asset
He thought of the half-eaten meal cooling in the kitchens, then promptly dismissed it as unimportant. With a new purpose, he followed her into his chamber.
Thomas had already gone and Lily had the hem of the brown wool lifted to her waist Seeing him, she dropped it back in place.
Rounding on her, he sat back on the bed, never taking his eyes off her. “Go ahead,” he urged.
She hesitated, her gaze locked with his. A deep blush stained her cheeks.
A flash of defiance passed over her features before Lily turned her back to him and removed the garment, casting it heedlessly onto the floor. But when she reached for the new gown, he caught her hand and turned her around.
With a sense of detached amazement, he found he was trembling. Her hand was slim and warm in his. There was a slight pressure as she resisted his taking it, but the effect of that merest of touches was like a sliver of lightning searing its way up his arm. Memories of their last encounter flooded through him, leaving him breathless.
Resisting the urge to toss her onto the bed, he let his eyes travel slowly over her form, taking in the womanly curves not quite concealed under the transparency of the light shift. The undergarment came only to midthigh, leaving her long legs bare for him to admire. His gaze came up to view her slim waist, small enough for him to span with his two hands. Farther up, her breasts strained against the inadequate cloth, rising firm and round with their pink nubs tight His hand ached to feel the shape of them, to graze those aroused peaks against his palms. Shoulders graceful, sculpted like a Greek statue, long arms that were lithe and slim—
He stopped. A sudden knot formed in the pit of his belly, for the skin on her arms was mottled with dark bruises and one large red blotch. He turned her hand over, seeing the cuts and abrasions that marred the smooth, feminine lines.
Of course, he scolded himself, she was no longer a lady of leisure. She worked alongside Sybilla, doing chores no woman of her class ever had to perform.
“What are these?” he snapped, as if it were her fault her lovely skin had been ruined.
The Flower And The Sword Page 13