One Perfect Flower

by Roberta C. D. DeCaprio

  She stood fuming by the fireplace, blue eyes flashing with rage. “No, you listen to me.” Her angry gaze swung over him. “I had a life before I met you. I hunted in the woods, rode, swam, danced, cooked, and sewed.” She neared him and with a finger, poked him in the shoulder, her tone cold and lashing. “I helped my mother teach the children in the village, I aided the midwife in birthing babies.”

  Her bosom rose and fell with quick intakes of breath, wisps of hair clinging in disarray around her face. “I even had friends who truly liked my company.” Her sardonic laugh tempered his anger with amusement. “Perhaps that is hard for you to imagine, but it is the truth.” She waved a hand around the room. “But here I am just the poor soul who needs rescuing and guidance.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek, and her lower lip quivered, yet she held her chin high. Pride and beauty emanated from her in volumes. She was intelligent, resourceful, caring, and enchanting. This he realized more times then he wanted to admit.

  Truth was, he thought of her constantly. All he wanted to do was make her happy, take care of her, and love her. Aye, God help me, love her! He longed to hold her, feel her beneath him, kiss her…kiss her…kiss her!

  He reached for her shoulders and pulled her against him, his mouth coming hard upon hers. He expected her to stiffen in his arms, step back and slap him hard across the face. But instead, her lips parted, and she fell into the embrace. Her breasts crushed against his heart racing within his chest.

  With hunger he tasted her, his tongue teasing, playing around inside her mouth. She slipped her arms around his neck, delicate fingers playing with the hair at his nape. The realness of her was a thousand times better than anything he could ever imagine. She felt right in his arms, her touch arousing in him emotions he never thought existed, that he never dared to hope for. Being this close to her he was alive, like he’d never been before.

  The lass made his head spin, his knees weak. Her lips were soft and warm, and he never wanted this kiss to end. He inhaled her scent and caressed her back, his hands traveling up and down her spine. He wanted her…he wanted all of her.

  But his torment stood between them, awakening him to the danger his actions would evoke. Bad enough he lived with the curse, he couldn’t place such an injustice upon her. Aye, she beguiled his heart, but his selfishness couldn’t start something that should never be allowed to bloom.

  He broke away, and she fell back against the mantle. Her gaze was dazed, then hurt. “I’m sorry, Raven, for everything,” he choked out and left the room.

  Raven stood in a trance, her fingers caressing her lips. She could still feel his kiss there, warm and sweet. He made her body quake with desire. She could barely remain standing. He left the taste of his kiss upon her lips, the imprint of his touch down her spine. With a shattered resolve, she fell to her knees and wept.

  She declined joining him for dinner, claiming a headache. He had Molly bring her up a bowl of stew. Before he retired for the night, he rapped on her door, bade her good night, and hoped she felt better in the morning. The man was infuriating, yet thoughtful and kind. He bought her a beautiful horse, and instead of appreciating such a wonderful gift, she showed off her riding skills.

  Tears welled for the hundredth time in her eyes. What was it her father always said? “As long as you know how to do a thing well, that is all that matters.” She pictured the outline of his proud profile and memories of home overwhelmed her.

  The night was quiet around her, the moon casting a soft sliver of light through the half closed drapes of the veranda doors. She lay lost and consumed by the large bed. The grandness of the room was nothing but a large reminder of her loneliness. She knew sleep would elude her and crawled out of bed. Slipping on a robe, she tiptoed down the stairs. Brawn followed close behind as she made her way out to the garden. From there she stumbled barefoot on the rocky path, to the stables. She lit the lantern hanging at the entrance and went to her horse’s stall. As she stroked the animal’s nose, the mare nuzzled her hand.

  “You are the greatest gift anyone could have. I believe I will call you, Dayden.” A rustling came from the darkness behind her, and Brawn growled deep in his throat, baring his teeth. Raven spun around, fear gripping her heart.

  Dooley emerged from the shadows. “What means Dayden, m’lady?”

  She sighed, relieved it was only the stable boy, though she had no idea why he was still called a boy. He appeared to be just as old as she, perhaps even older by a few years. A male his age in the tribe would already have received his warrior’s training.

  “It is Apache for little girl,” she translated.

  He frowned. “’Tis not safe for you to be runnin’ about in the night, m’lady.”

  “I just wanted to see my horse again, thought maybe I would take her for a ride.”

  He moved closer, his kind, green eyes coming into view by the lantern’s light. “Nay, m’lady. To ride in such darkness is not wise.”

  “I have ridden by the light of the moon many times with my father.”

  He ran a hand through his thick curly hair. “But this is Ireland, m’lady. Nights are foggy here. A rider not familiar with the land could be in grave danger.” He frowned, bushy dark brows knitting together in concern. “I cannot allow you to take such a chance. I would never forgive meself if somethin’ happened to you, nor would Lord Shannon.”

  She nodded in agreement. “I understand, Dooley.” The chill of the night penetrated her bones. She shivered and wrapped her robe tighter around herself. “Do you not ever go home?”

  He gestured to the lantern. “I was about to, m’lady, when I saw the light. Thought Lord Shannon might be in need o’ somethin’ more.”

  “How long have you worked for my husband?”

  Dooley leaned against a stall. “About two years now, m’lady.

  “And are you happy here?”

  “Aye, very. Lord Shannon has always treated me fairly.”

  She frowned. “How so?”

  “About a year ago me mother took to her bed with an ailment. Bein’ I’m the only family the poor woman has, ’twas up to me to care for her. Lord Shannon paid me a wage, even though I wasn’t workin’ and sent Molly over to our cottage each mornin’ to help me mother bathe and pin up her hair.”

  She smiled. “Yes, he is a very kind and fair man.”

  “It does me heart good to see him so happy, m’lady. Since you’ve come to Shannonbrook, his eyes are shinin’ as brilliant as the brightest star.”

  His words gave her comfort, lessening the despair. “Do you really think he is happy because of me, Dooley?”

  “Aye, m’lady, I do for sure.” She shivered again and Dooley frowned. “’Tis much too cold to be out and about in only your bedclothes.” He glanced down at her bared feet. “You’ll be catchin’ your death for sure if you don’t be takin’ yourself by the fire.”

  “Yes, you are right, of course. I am sorry I have kept you from your own home fires.”

  “No one is there waitin’ for me anyhow. Me mother died four months ago.”

  Her heart went out to the man. “I am so sorry, Dooley.”

  He shrugged. “’Tis the way o’ life, m’lady.” He forced a smile. “Come now, ’tis best I be takin’ you to the mansion.”

  She nodded and together they walked back to Shannonbrook.

  ****

  Braiton sat in the big arm chair by the fire, staring into the flames. All was quiet, except for the large clock beside the bed, ticking away each passing second. Brian raised an eyebrow when he traded his usual mug of warm milk for a tumbler of whiskey. “Don’t be mothering me, now Brian,” he snapped, when the man filled the cup only halfway. “I need a man’s size snout full this evening, for sure,” he grumbled.

  Brian shook his head in disgust. “You drink and y’r lady runs barefoot in the night, with no more then her bedclothes on.”

  He frowned. “The devil, you say, man.”

  “’Tis true, m’lord, she’s out and a
bout as we speak.”

  He set the tumbler aside. “And how do you know this?”

  “Molly saw her flutter by, like a little fairy, barefoot and scantly clothed.” Brian clicked his tongue with his disapproval. “To be runnin’ out on such a cold night dressed so…well, she’ll be catchin’ her death for sure.”

  He jumped from his chair. “Do you have a notion where she was going?”

  “Molly said she was headin’ for the stables.”

  A cold knot formed in his stomach. “Saints preserve us; she wouldn’t try…where are my boots?”

  Brian hunted around the room for the discarded footwear. Once found, Braiton hurried to slip them on, then took to the staircase like a storm to the sea; thundering down with heavy, booted steps. When he rounded the corner to the kitchen, Raven’s shriek of surprise startled him.

  “Braiton,” she gasped, her hand going to her throat.

  He glanced at her dirt-stained feet and frowned. “Have you been riding, lass?”

  “No. I just wanted to see my horse.” She sighed. “I am sorry if I troubled you again.” She walked to the far end of the kitchen and filled a tiny basin with water from a jug. Then she sat in a chair, placing each foot into the tub, and washed her soiled feet.

  “Raven,” he said in a softer tone.

  She raised her gaze to his, hands splashing the water over her feet.

  He made his way to her. “I’m sorry if I upset you. You’re an excellent bareback rider. And you’re right. I’d just fall off.”

  “I am the one who should be apologizing. I should have been thankful for your gift. It matters not who rides better, only that we ride together.”

  He reached for a towel and got down on one knee before her, spreading it open. She placed her wet feet between his toweled hands. Gently he dried them for her.

  “I will clean up here,” he offered, reaching for the basin. “You go on up to bed.”

  She stifled a yawn. “I am sorry I troubled you, again.”

  “Nay, lass, you didn’t.” He opened the back door to dump out the water.

  “But you were angry when you thought I had gone riding.”

  He placed the basin on the hook. “I wasn’t angry.”

  “Then why were you rushing out the door?”

  “To find you, lass, and stop you, before you broke your neck.”

  She frowned. “Because you care about me?”

  “Aye, Raven,” he admitted. “You are all I do care about.” He raised an authoritative brow. “Now go to bed.”

  She cast him a triumphant smile and ran up the stairs.

  Chapter Thirteen

  What caused a person to fall in love with another? When was the exact moment in time all the elements fit together to create the first spark, igniting all the emotions that followed? And when was it you knew for sure it was love? Raven did not have the answers to any of the questions plaguing her, but something inside kept giving her signs.

  She was anxious to see his face upon the dawn of each new day. A heated flush of excitement spread up her spine with just his mere glance her way. The deep, rich timbre of his voice trickled through her entire being when he said her name, like water through a sieve. She yearned, no, craved for him at night, wanting him to quiet her body with his own. She needed him to quench her burning desire with his passion, a caress of his long fingers, the thrill of a kiss.

  She lay awake in the center of her large bed and imagined how it would feel to love him. Would her breasts tingle with the brush of his soft lips against them? Dreams of him left her moist and sticky. She woke tormented with desire, wicked and wanton, yielding to the fantasy.

  By day, she loved the times they spent laughing, riding, eating together. She left her hair free, clad only in a simple gown. She enjoyed the way he marveled at the freedoms she took, becoming comfortable with her natural, unrestricted ways. He doted on her, took her to magnificent places, presented her with priceless gifts. He introduced her to the company of fascinating and intelligent people.

  Her interests grew, her horizons broadened. She became cultured and refined, elegant in demeanor, matching wits and information with the best of them. And yet, through all his good intentions, not a morsel of love was ever professed. He pulled back from intimate moments, left her ardor hanging.

  Unsatisfied, she spent sleepless nights counting the endless hours stretching before her. She memorized the shadows in the room, the embroidered flowers on the quilt, how many tassels adorned the valances.

  Come the dawn, she would agonize at the first light filling her bedchamber. Finally, she would give in to her exhaustion, falling asleep with tears slipping from closed eyelids and staining the pillowcases. How much longer could she endure the loneliness, the detachment, the confusion this man put upon her?

  ****

  Braiton spent another night smoking his clay pipe, sipping whiskey, watching the fire, and listening to the bothersome ticking of the bedside clock. He wondered now, if she slept? His mouth went dry when he overheard Molly telling Anna, Raven wore a nightgown to bed, but come morning it was found in a heap upon the floor. He pondered, from that point on, how she looked sleeping in her natural state. ’Twasn’t hard to picture the deep brown of her skin in contrast to the white bed linens, dark hair tousled upon the pillow or falling in disarray around her naked shoulders. He envisioned one slender arm flung above her head, an angelic innocence settling on her serene face. He further imagined long ebony lashes fanning across each cheek, and her full peach-colored lips slightly parted. His breath quickened at the thought of the quilt hanging low upon her curved hips as she tossed in slumber, leaving her breasts uncovered. With every breath she took, they rose and fell, the musky-pink summits erect; a perfect shaped navel in the center of a slim taut belly. He swallowed hard, his loins growing hot and thick beneath his breeches.

  Every night at dinner, the hardened peaks of her breasts pressed erect against her bodice. He struggled to keep himself from flying across the table and ripping every shred of clothing off her; taking her with passion between the boiled potatoes and the mutton stew.

  After dinner, they’d retire to the drawing room, to sip coffee and share conversation. He’d take a seat in the arm chair. She sat cross-legged on the carpet, before the fire; skirt raised to her thighs, the bronze, naked splendor of her legs in full view. He learned to adopt an outward demeanor of complete control, but inside he erupted with the heat of an active volcano. He longed to ease her down upon her back, spread wide her crossed limbs, and taste her womanly charms in every way imaginable.

  He shook his head to dispel the image from his thoughts. Each night his efforts became harder and harder to do. He’d wake from erotic dreams that left him swelled and wet, aching for her. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the vision of her remained to torment him. The bronzed-skinned goddess lying naked only a few feet away from him was his for the taking.

  She was his wife and by law he had every right to look, touch, and enjoy the pleasures of her body. Thoughts of her pressing naked against him, her flesh warm and soft, made his swollen member throb. He took an audible breath. Why do I continue on this way when I can go to her this very moment, climb into the bed and take feverishly what is mine?

  Was he going mad? Aye, I am. Mad to believe that’s all that would be involved.

  He was reminded of his secret horror and how selfish ’twould be to make her a part of it. His blight kept him from her now and forever. The dull ache in his head from the whiskey was nothing compared to the one in his heart.

  He moved to his bed and lay on his side, a tide of emotions rushing through his veins. He pressed his eyes shut and a sudden wave of exhaustion consumed every inch of his being. But he wouldn’t fall asleep now. Nay, he’d first see the faithful dawn approach the sky…then he’d rest, but not before he whispered her name.

  Come morning, he sat alone at the dining room table, waiting for her to join him. Rory O’Neill finally took his departure, business with Braiton co
mpleted. This meant Raven would come to breakfast with her hair falling about her shoulders and wearing nothing beneath her dress. He was anxious to hear her familiar light footsteps, but none descended the stairs.

  “Anna,” he said, sipping his tea. “Has my lady already eaten her breakfast?”

  Anna busied herself arranging the silverware. “Nay, m’lord.”

  He set the cup aside. “She still sleeps, then?”

  “Nay, m’lord. I believe she rang for Molly quite some time ago.”

  He nodded. “Then I expect she’ll be coming down momentarily.”

  “Nay, m’lord. M’lady won’t be down for breakfast this mornin’.”

  He frowned. “Is she ill?”

  “Not exactly, m’lord.”

  “What do you mean by, not exactly,” he snapped. “Either she’s ill, or she’s not.”

  “’Tis not me place to say, m’lord. Just accept she won’t be down for breakfast this mornin’.”

  “Saints preserve us, woman, this beating-around-the-bush is enough to drive any man mad.” He stood, his chair scraping loudly on the polished, wooden floor, and rushed upstairs to her bedchamber.

  Braiton rapped upon his wife's door and after calling out her permission, he entered. Raven lounged upon the chaise by the fire, a cool damp cloth over her eyes. Puzzled and nervous, he made his way to where she sat.

  “My lady, what ails you on this morn?”

  She lifted the cloth from her eyes. “My stomach.”

  He looked down at her, concern for her well-being first and foremost. “Could it be from something you ate?”

  “It is nothing like that, my shi'aad,” she said, replacing the eye compress.

  He couldn’t bear for anything to be wrong with her. “Perhaps I should send for Dr. Murphy?”

  She shook her head. “There is nothing Terrance can do for me, Braiton.”