Falkone's Promise

by Rebecca Flanders

  His sparkling black eyes looked up at her lazily, amusement twitched at the corners of his lips. ‘Do you mean to say,’ he drawled comfortably, ‘that you don’t intend to get down on your knees before me?’

  ‘That,’ she replied with dignity, ‘is exactly what I mean to say.’

  ‘In the old days I could have you flogged for this,’ he assured her.

  Dawn was aware that others were watching. She felt colour warm her cheeks and she considered for the first time the embarrassment she might be causing Byron. He had honoured her by bestowing his colours upon her—hadn’t he? And she was returning the honour by insulting a time-revered custom that really, after all, wasn’t so important. She wished she hadn’t been so stubborn about such a small matter—never mind that a principle was at stake—but she had gone too far to back down now. And it was the principle that was important. She had to defend it.

  She said, ‘These aren’t the old days. Today men no longer see women as objects of servitude and don’t try to make slaves of them. Today women are treated as equal partners in a relationship, and this entire little charade mocks that principle. A woman doesn’t have to serve a man to show her respect for him, and I refuse to be a part of any custom that says differently.’

  She was drawing a great deal of attention, she knew, but Byron seemed to be oblivious to it. By all accounts he should have been furious with her, both for insulting the custom and embarrassing him, but he did not appear to be either furious or embarrassed. He simply lifted an eyebrow mildly and murmured, ‘It sounds as though I should be grateful you haven’t thrown the cup in my face.’

  Dawn was miserable with embarrassment and she wondered what would happen if she just turned and walked away. She would never be forgiven by the people of the island for insulting their custom—that much she knew, and why that should suddenly seem so important to her she did not know. Worse, she had insulted Byron and his standing in the community and she was really behaving very childishly. Was there any way she could apologise now without backing away from her stand?

  But as he looked at her the mild amusement in his eyes gradually faded into something more serious, and he asked quietly, ‘Do you have respect for me, Dawn?’

  Respect. What an odd choice of words! Yet within his eyes was a meaning that was much deeper, a meaning so clear it took her breath away and she did not dare to believe it. It was a moment before she could manage, almost in a whisper, ‘Yes.’ Respect, and much more ...

  Byron got slowly to his feet, and his expression in the flickering firelight was enigmatic. ‘Then suppose,’ he suggested softly, ‘I meet you halfway?’

  His hand closed about the cup, his eyes fastened upon hers, gently and without accusation ... perhaps even with admiration. Then he smiled, and his smile seemed to blossom within her and burst in her heart until she could not help returning it. Just before he drank he lifted the cup in a small, private salute to her, and through the glow of pleasure that thrilled her Dawn heard the surprised and approving murmurs go around the crowd. She returned to her table feeling as though she was walking on air.

  There was a scurry of activity as the girls hastily began to search their napkins. Then there were moans of disappointment and squeals of delight, and to Dawn the entire atmosphere was like an Easter Egg hunt or Christmas morning.

  She was still too lightheaded from the interlude with Byron to pay much attention to what was going on around her. She kept trying to catch a glimpse of him through the crowd, and then quickly looking away lest he catch her watching him. She hardly knew what Maggie was talking about when the older woman urged, ‘Come on, Dawn—look!’

  ‘Oh ...’ She dragged her attention back reluctantly, and then gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘Who would...’

  ‘Any one of a dozen young men!’ Maggie insisted. ‘You know you’re the prettiest girl here, and the least they can hope for is a dance. Look!’ Dawn was not at all convinced that anyone would dare defy Byron’s claim on her within the ritual of the straws, and besides, the people on the island seemed too reserved to approach a perfect stranger with such an intimate custom. But, to please Maggie, she unfolded her napkin. And to her very great surprise, a broken piece of straw fell out. It was dyed berry red, and as she picked it up her eyes fell automatically on Vernon, gazing with sweet shyness at her across the lawn. She thought, Oh, no! Endearing, thoughtful, harmless little Vernon. What in the world was she to do now?

  Maggie was saying, ‘Now, remember, the man can’t approach you. You must go to him, and demand to see his half of the straw. Once you do, he can’t refuse to show it to you. Now, go ahead.’ She gave her an excited little shove. ‘Ask around—find him!’

  But Dawn merely clutched the straw in her hand and thought the best thing to do was to make herself unobtrusive for a while. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but if she caught another glimpse of those calf-like eyes she might weaken. Of all things she did not want to start something that could very easily turn into an awkward situation, for she must be here another two weeks.

  She slipped away from the crowd and wandered out of the periphery of the celebration towards the lake. In its dark depths glowed the light of a hundred torches, flickering and dancing, but silent. Dawn sat on the grassy bank, enjoying the sounds of the music and the laughter from a distance, glad, for the moment not to join it.

  Her reflection in the lake gave back a girl she hardly knew, the long blue dress with its tight square bustline, the hair almost white in the moonlight and trailing on the ground, eyes wide and wistful ... Like a fanciful painting someone had made of her. Looking at that reflection, she allowed herself to dream she was a fairy princess, and all the world was at her command. And for her first wish, she would have ...

  She started as a shadow took form over her reflection, thinking for a wild moment of wishes come true, and then Byron sat down beside her. For a time he did not speak, absently plucking little stalks of grass and letting them float down into the lake, and all traces of his former merrymaking good spirits were gone. Then he said, ‘Is everything all right?’

  She nodded, swallowing hard before she could speak. Each time he was near it was worse ... ‘I’m a little tired, I think. All that noise ... and excitement...’

  Byron nodded. ‘It will go on until daybreak.’ She looked alarmed, and he smiled. ‘Don’t worry, we’re not expected to stay that long. Go on up any time you want; we all realise you’re a working girl.’ And then he hesitated, a very slight frown creasing his brow which puzzled Dawn. He asked gently, ‘Aren’t you having a good time, Dawn?’

  ‘Oh, I am,’ she assured him quickly, genuinely. ‘I think it’s wonderful. It’s all so new—and exciting—it makes my head spin.’

  He smiled a little, and seemed to relax. His voice was low and touched with a quiet note of sincerity as he answered. ‘I wanted you to have a good time. I wanted this night to be special for you.’ And then his hand came up to cup her face, the light in his eyes growing and deepening as he looked at her, and her heart leapt in quick anticipation, a rush of joy to know that she could put that look in his eyes. ‘You look like a medieval princess sitting here,’ he said softly. ‘You look the way I’ve imagined you, so many times, as though you’ve belonged here for ever...’

  Her lips parted on a breath, she saw the quickening leap of response in his eyes and she knew he was going to kiss her. She had never wanted anything so badly in her life as she wanted his kiss at that moment.

  But Byron dropped his hand, and then his eyes. He turned to look back over the lake. Something changed subtly about him then, and Dawn, aching with confusion and disappointment, could not tell what it was. Sadness, anger, disappointment ... No, none of those familiar emotions. It was something she had never seen before, but his moods were so varied and so swift it was impossible to analyse them. One moment he was so close he seemed almost a part of her, and in the next he was a remote and distant stranger. Now he seemed to hover somewhere in between, and there was an o
dd tone to his voice as he said, ‘I hope you don’t find all our pagan rites and customs too offensive to participate in.’

  Quickly, she thought she understood the reason for his sudden coolness, and she hastened to apologise, ‘Byron, about what happened before, I didn’t mean to embarrass you or insult your custom—’

  But he impatiently waved it away. ‘That I understand.’ And he looked at her, his eyes not angry, merely curious and perhaps—only slightly—hurt. ‘But I don’t understand what you could find distasteful about our innocent little straw game. How could that have offended you?’

  Now she was confused. She did not know what to say, and she could only look at him helplessly. Byron said abruptly, ‘You didn’t ask me.’

  She caught her breath, hardly daring to believe what he implied. His dark eyes were open and serious, and her heart went into a series of wild, unrestrained acrobatics. Slowly she opened her hand to reveal her straw.

  He reached into his pocket and took out the other half, placing it on her palm. And then, very slowly, very tenderly, he took her in his arms.

  She kissed him with an openness and a depth of emotion she had never been able to give before, and for a time the lights and the music and the laughter faded around her. There was only the two of them, melting into one, his strong lean fingers pressing into her bare back, her hands against his neck beneath the rough garment, caressing, exploring, inviting more. ‘Then he pushed her away, his breath a little shaky, his eyes raw and hungry. ‘My God, girl,’ he whispered hoarsely, ‘how much more of this do you think I can stand?’

  ‘Oh, Byron, I—’

  ‘Hush!’ Swiftly he placed his finger across her lips. ‘It’s all right. I understand.’ He closed his eyes briefly, as though subduing pain, and when he opened them again he pried open her fist and removed the two pieces of straw.

  He spoke quietly as his fingers worked nimbly with the straw, and Dawn watched him in silent fascination, loving him, yearning for him. ‘You may find our island ways a little wild sometimes, maybe we’re too much a world to ourselves. We’re not much for culture, or refinement, or all the other things you’re probably used to in New York. There are no fancy hotels or theatres, and God willing, there never will be. But I’m not anchored here, you know. I travel a good bit, meeting our buyers and distributors on the Continent, and even in America occasionally. And you still have your work, which will take you about a good bit. With your talent it should be as easy to freelance as to work for a company—’

  Dawn whispered breathlessly, searching his eyes, ‘Byron ... what are you saying?’

  His smile was gentle, though a little rueful, and, far beneath the surface was even a hint of uncertainty. ‘Perhaps too much,’ he admitted. ‘I tend to make decisions very quickly and it’s presumptuous of me to credit you with the same trait. I’m not trying to rush you, Dawn, love ...’ The softening in his eyes took her breath away, as did the gentle caress of his finger along the side of her face. ‘But it’s been apparent to me for some time now that this is where you belong, and what I’m offering you now is a chance to think it over ...’

  The emotions that rushed through her and were reflected in her eyes were too rapid and too intense to be catalogued, and once again Byron stopped her from speaking. ‘No,’ he said quietly, very seriously, ‘I don’t want impulsive decisions from you. Once ...’ He dropped his eyes, he took her limp hand very lightly in his. ‘Once you asked from me promises of permanence and fidelity. I told you one couldn’t receive those vows unless one were first prepared to give them. This ...’ his voice was husky as he placed the little ring of interwoven straws on her finger, ‘is my pledge to you. All I ask tonight is that you accept it.’

  Dawn could not speak. She could not, for a moment, even breathe. She could only stare in amazement and incredible, bubbling joy at the crude ring Byron had placed on her finger until hot tears blurred the night into a kaleidoscope of vibrant, glowing happiness. Perhaps it was only on magical nights such as this that dreams did come true.

  She lifted shining eyes to him, and the broken whisper that bubbled from her lips came from the depths of her heart. ‘Oh, Byron! I—I love you!’

  She saw the quick leap of joy and wonder in his eyes just before her lips met his and she gave to him all herself, all her love, the promise of forever. The night died out about them in spinning colours and echoing delight as their passion built and needs too long denied rose to claim them, and then, at the last possible moment, Byron pushed her away.

  She could feel the wild beating of his heart against hers and the unsteadiness of his breath upon her face as he held her for just one more moment. His voice was low and hoarse as he murmured, ‘No, love ... you know what you’re doing to me. I won’t have you until you’re sure...’

  And reluctantly, with one more unsteady breath, he drew her to her feet. She was sure, she wanted to tell him so, surely he could see it in her eyes. All she wanted was to be with him, for ever ...

  His smile was somewhat strained, the hand which smoothed back her hair had a noticeable tremor to it. And he said huskily, ‘Go inside now, to the safety of your room. You have a lot to think about, because I won’t accept half-hearted commitments.’

  Yes, she had a lot to think about. Her head was spinning with it as she walked alone back to her room, seeking privacy, a quiet place to come to some sort of acceptance of what had just happened to her ... a dream come true. He wanted her to stay with him. He wanted her for his wife ... she was to live here in the Hebrides, mistress of this Island, with the only man she had ever loved as her partner ... It was a lot to think about, but at the same time, hardly anything at all. It was simply all she had ever wanted, all her life, and what was there to decide?

  She lay awake in her bed for hours, hearing the revelry at last die down below, watching the moon rise over her window, too excited, too filled with promise to sleep. Why had he made her wait? She did not want to wait, she wanted to be with him, to share her love with him tonight and always ...

  She got out of bed in her nightgown and crossed the room. A few steps would put her in Byron’s arms, where she had always belonged ...

  She opened the door, and heard soft footsteps on the carpeted corridor. That was better, he was only now coming to bed and he would see her .. she would go to him ... and then, only then, would it all be as she had dreamed.

  He rounded the corner, and he was not alone. His arm was around Hilary’s waist, his head bent close to hers, and they were smiling with the secret only lovers share. Numbly, Dawn watched him open the door to one of the bedrooms and follow her inside.

  She went back to her own bed, shaken and cold. And though she lay there, dry-eyed and devastated, listening throughout the night, she never heard them leave the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dawn was up early the next morning, not having slept at all, and had packed and dressed before even the first sounds began to stir from the kitchen. The first ferry to Oban left at ten o’clock and she intended to be on it.

  On her dressing-table lay the little ring of woven straws ... what, a joke? A passing fantasy? Or perhaps only another attempt at seduction which, when rebuffed, had finally convinced Byron she was not worth the trouble. Not when Hilary, so familiar, so inviting in her see-through gown, so very willing, was only an arm’s reach away ... She remembered from long ago Maggie’s words, ‘There are some things Byron simply cannot forgive

  Well, she thought, lifting her chin and swallowing hard against the burning lump in her throat which had lodged there all night and would not break away, there are some things I simply cannot forgive, either.

  Through the night, refusing to give way to tears, she had managed to become very hard, to reach a safe distance from which to view the entire situation. She would not admit, even to herself, the wrenching pain Byron had caused her, the awful, devastating hurt. Anger, she would confess, scorn at herself for being so vulnerable, but he would never know how effectively his betrayal had cut h
er. If he had intended to hurt her, he would be disappointed. She would not fling accusations in his face, she would not lower herself to pleas of fidelity and broken promises. If he could make those promises in such a terse, logical way, and then turn so casually to the bed of another woman, she could be just as cool. She could play his sophisticated games.

  So at nine o’clock she applied a heavy coat of make-up to disguise her pale, drawn face, gathered up her luggage and her camera bag, placed a bright, frozen smile on her face, and went downstairs.

  Byron came out of the dining room as she was getting out of the elevator. Her heart lurched and twisted at the sight of him, so fresh and well rested, so utterly casual in a pair of tight jeans and a creamy cable-knit sweater, his hands extended, a smile on his face. Dawn realised how seldom he smiled, how often she had longed for a smile to break across those stormy features, and now, when it no longer mattered, he was the way she would want to remember him—relaxed, happy, smiling.

  ‘Well,’ he said, coming towards her, ‘I expected you down long before this! What would you like to do today, my love?’ And suddenly his eyes fell on the luggage she was unloading from the lift, the smile disappeared into curiosity. ‘What is this?’

  She placed her camera bag on top of the suitcase and took one steadying breath before turning to him with that painted smile. ‘I’ll tell you, Byron,’ she responded pleasantly, ‘I was thinking about what you said yesterday, and I do believe it would be easier to base myself at Oban. Not that I haven’t appreciated your hospitality, you understand, but it just wouldn’t be convenient for me to stay here any longer.’

  There was confusion on his face, and disbelief, and a twinge of uncertain amusement as he came towards her. Apparently he thought she was not serious. ‘Don’t be daft, love, you know I was only joking. Now, what’s all the luggage for?’