One Perfect Flower

by Roberta C. D. DeCaprio

  “Aye, ’tis the truth,” Braiton said, drops of moisture clinging to his forehead.

  She did not think he looked or sounded so convincing.

  Rory slapped Braiton on the shoulder. “Not to worry, old man. This room is secluded from the rest of the house so you two will have complete privacy.”

  She felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

  Rory turned his attention on her. “As you see Sinead already unpacked your belongings.” He gestured to the tiny room branching off from the chamber. “A warm bath awaits you in there, my lady.” Dipping his head, he backed his way to the door. “I will leave you two to freshen up a bit before dinner.”

  Securing the door behind Rory, Braiton sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed with a frown. “Well, it looks like we’ll be roommates while we’re here, lass.”

  Her voice wavered. “Is that so disturbing to you?”

  His square jaw tensed. “Aye, very disturbing.”

  She made a dismissing gesture toward the door. “Then perhaps you should ask Rory for another room.”

  “Nay, lass.” He stroked his chin, regarding her carefully. “That would be an unwise move.”

  She managed to reply through stiff lips. “Then it looks like we are stuck with each other.” She gathered her toiletries together. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will take my bath.”

  He had gone downstairs ahead of her, sending Molly up to help her dress. While Molly arranged her hair into a low chignon at the base of her neck, she thought back to the conversation she and Braiton had aboard the ship before docking. “I will wear the rose colored gown tonight, Molly. The one with the modest neckline.”

  “Very good, m’lady,” Molly agreed, putting the finishing touches to her hair.

  ****

  Braiton waited for Raven at the bottom of the staircase, eyes locking with hers as she descended each step. The unpretentious décolletage of her gown did little to conceal the fullness of her breasts. His wife was a beautiful and enchanting woman men admired and desired. Whatever she wore couldn’t diminish or hide the natural curves and splendor of her perfect body. Her shapely form held the promise and excitement of love and passion, in the way she walked, smiled, talked, and the demure way she cast her eyes.

  Mother of God, I even love the way she laughs.

  Braiton’s eyes went to her lips, full and moist. He remembered their warm sweetness, the delight he felt in kissing them. Heaven. Ecstasy. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink like the rose of her gown, and the twinkle in her sapphire eyes ignited a flame deep within him.

  He extended a hand to her. “You look lovely, lass.”

  She smiled. “And what of the neckline?”

  He glanced at the front of her gown, throat going dry. “Much better, my lady.”

  Upon entering the dining hall, he escorted her to the head table and introduced her to their host, his dear friend, Shamus O’Neill. Her curtsy nearly brought her to the floor, and he stifled a smile. She must have practiced her bow.

  “Rise, my lady,” Shamus said. “I have no higher a title than your husband.”

  “But you are of many more years, my lord. I have been taught to respect the wisdom of the elders.”

  Shamus extended a hand. Braiton compared the contrast between the elder man’s bony white fingers against her darker digits.

  “I am honored to be invited to your home,” she said.

  Shamus gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit, my lady. I wish to speak with you while we dine.” He reached for his wine goblet, raising it with a shaky hand to his lips. “Tell me about your family.”

  Braiton made his way to take the seat opposite her. She sipped her wine with an elegant manner, a beautiful addition to the meal.

  “My father, Proud Eagle, is the chief of our tribe, and my mother is of English decent.”

  “Then you are what the Americans refer to as a half-breed,” Joleena said, pronouncing half-breed like she’d tasted poison.

  Braiton's hackles rose in defense for his wife, and he glared at Joleena from across the table.

  Joleena’s topaz colored eyes rounded, feigning innocence. “Well, ’tis true.”

  Raven sat rigid in her chair. “That reference is used by some.”

  “I don’t care much for the word, myself,” Shamus snapped at his daughter.

  “I don’t either,” Braiton agreed, sending an encouraging smile to his wife. She forced one in return, and his heart went out to her. She was the bravest, most resourceful woman he’d ever known, and he wouldn’t allow her dignity to be wounded.

  “Tell me more about your people, my lady,” Shamus urged.

  A soft, loving curve touched her lips. “They are all good hunters and respect every part of their kill, using it to benefit the tribe.”

  Joleena grunted, her face a marble image of contempt. “I hear they have little respect for the lives of others.”

  He clenched a fist under the table, desperate to control his anger. “How have you heard this?” he challenged.

  “I’ve read snippets here and there about the Indians and their unmerciful, savage tactics,” Joleena sneered.

  His wife stiffened as though she’d been struck, which is exactly what he wished to do to Joleena. Had Shamus reddened her bottom more as a child, perhaps she wouldn’t have grown up to be such a wretched brat.

  Raven answered with staid calmness he knew she didn’t feel. He could tell she chose her words.

  “Not all Indians are from the same tribe. Just as in any community, there are the good and the bad. My people are peaceful.” Her tone was clear, strong. “If you are interested to know the truth, I will be glad to tell you over tea one afternoon while I am here.”

  “Perhaps,” Joleena said smugly. “If I’m interested.” She gestured around the room. “I can imagine how grand all this must appear to you, coming from where you have.”

  Raven took an audible breath. “It is not the size but substance of where you live that is everything.” She nodded. “It is true, your home is lovely, but having riches is not where happiness lies. To serve each other and each new day with all your heart, matters most.”

  He caught her gaze, her eyes filled with raw hurt. She gave him a nod and smiled, in spite of the pain and embarrassment she had to be experiencing. He returned the gesture, proud she remained poised, intelligent, dignified, and controlled while putting Joleena in her place. She accomplished exposing the other woman for what she was. He couldn’t have done better himself.

  Throughout dinner he watched her laugh and talk with Shamus. The elder man was riveted, quite enthralled with the conversation. She was a quality woman, and she was his wife. Each day he became more and more aware of the tangible bond between them. Since she’d come into his life, all his senses leapt alive, he was drawn to her like a magnet. He wanted her. Even now he wished to take her to their bedchamber and make love to her. The intoxicating musk of her body was like a drug, lulling him to euphoria.

  Ah, that I could be carried away by your sweet caress and searing kisses.

  But as fast as the notion surfaced, he thrust it from his thoughts. His secret horror crept in to tarnish all that shined, squelched the hope of love burning within him. There was no other choice but to keep his distance from her as much as he could, remain indifferent. Oh, if that were possible.

  He lowered his gaze to his plate and finished eating the rest of his dinner.

  Raven listened to the conversations surrounding her, smiling when their idle chatter included her. The food she consumed was tasteless. She swallowed each mouthful with difficulty. When her husband looked her way, she forced a smile to please him. But inside she cried out to be rid of all those around her.

  She wished to leave the dining hall and run to the solace of her room. Her head pounded, and she longed to be free from the bodice stays cutting into her ribs. But most of all she wanted to be away from the unnerving stares of Joleena O’Neill. The little witch impaled her with cold eyes. Hatred, potent and
evil, sizzled from the woman all through dinner.

  Shamus O’Neill escorted her into the ballroom, and she suffered to be polite and concentrate on what he said.

  “You fascinate me, Lady Shannon.” She sat beside him in a chair by the fire. “’Tis interesting hearing you converse about your culture, and I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed talking with a woman as much as with you this evening.”

  “Are not Irish women interesting?”

  “Most care little for the lay of the land or from whence their forefathers came. They leave such matters to their husbands and indulge instead with the frills of society.” He grunted. “Afraid to get their hands dirty, the lot of them, and those that do, have little in their favor.”

  “Then would it not be wise to help the children learn to read and write, so they might better themselves as they grow to be adults?”

  He cocked his head sideways. “You believe commoners should be educated?”

  “Yes, both males and females. An education should be everyone’s right.”

  He grunted. “’Twould be just a waste of time, lass.”

  She sat forward in her chair. “I think not. Those who have been taught have the means to find jobs, earn a better wage, not be cold, hungry, and in need of others to care for them. They can be a part of giving to their family, village, and helping it to prosper as well.” The elder man was fully intent on her words, and this gave her the courage to speak her mind further.

  “When I was just a girl, my mother told me of a man named Abraham Lincoln. As a boy, Lincoln was very poor and lived in a home made of logs. He walked miles in the cold to school, barefooted, because his family could not afford him shoes. He studied his lessons by the light of one small candle and grew to be a wise and important man. He became President of my country, freeing the black man from slavery and doing many more wonderful things for America. All Lincoln became and in turn accomplished, would not have happened if he did not learn from books. His education allowed him to go forward, and being all he could be, he helped others as well. This can be true for us all.”

  Shamus’s eyes filled with admiration. “Your intelligence becomes your beauty, my lady. What a pity I am but a tired old man, for if I were once more in my youth, your husband would have much to fear.”

  “Well, I am still in my youth, and the music begins,” Rory said, coming to stand beside her chair and extending a hand. “Shall we, my lady?”

  “I should dance the first dance with my husband, but I thank you kindly, Rory.”

  “Your husband is rather otherwise engaged, my lady,” he said, gesturing to where Braiton stood.

  She glanced across the room to find Braiton. He and Lord Wade were having a heated discussion.

  Braiton’s brows knit together in a frown, his posture stiff and unyielding. Lord Wade appeared angry. His lips clamped tight, face strained. The evening she met Lord Wade at Shannonbrook, he did not act the temperamental sort, which was how he looked now. Something was very wrong between the two men and it concerned her.

  Rory repeated. “May I have this dance, Raven?”

  “Oh, go, have a whirl,” Shamus encouraged. “My son won’t bite.”

  Silently she begged to differ, but gave Rory a polite smile and accepted his outstretched hand. Two steps onto the dance floor she regretted her decision. Rory held her tight around the waist and very close. Not really a dancer, she found the nearness of him disturbing, not to mention having a hard time following the steps to the music.

  He bent to whisper in her ear. “Every woman here is green-eyed with envy because their men haven’t taken their eyes off you.”

  She pulled away. “I think that is unlikely.”

  He gazed deep into her eyes. “I fool you not, my lady, you’re the most enchanting woman here, and your husband is a fool for leaving you unattended, delicious bait for all the hungry wolves.”

  She arched a brow. “You being the hungriest of all, sir?”

  He chuckled. “Nay, my lady. I thought, as Braiton’s dearest friend, ’tis up to me to step in and take over.”

  She wiggled free from his grasp. “I appreciate your gallantry, Rory, but I am quite capable of looking out for myself.”

  She left him on the dance floor and made her way through the crowd to the set of veranda doors. Warm and agitated, she believed a breath of fresh air would help, and pushed the doors wide to enter upon a stone terrace. Making her way to the rail, she gazed out into the darkness and inhaled.

  Rory came from behind to join her. “All of this overlooks a most elegant garden,” he said, gesturing to the landscape ahead.

  “I should very much enjoy seeing it then, by day.”

  He moved closer, so close their shoulders touched. “’Tis my mother’s project. Her creation and pride.”

  She stepped to the opposite end of the balcony, putting distance between them. “I look forward to meeting your mother in the morning. I am sorry she was not feeling well tonight.”

  He followed her. “Aye, well, mother always gets out of sorts around this time of year. You see, ’tis the anniversary of my brother, Corbin’s death.”

  “I am so sorry, I had no idea you had a brother.”

  “Half, actually,” he corrected, pushing aside a wayward curl from her forehead.

  She stepped back, uneasy with his boldness. “I can only imagine the sorrow a parent feels after the death of a child. I truly pity her loss.”

  “What’s a pity is that Braiton met you first.” He searched her face. “You deserve a man who appreciates you, lass. Who smothers you with attention and loves you with a passion.”

  She raised a defiant chin. “My husband is that man, sir, and at this moment probably wonders where I am.”

  Rory pulled her close and bent his head to kiss her.

  She pushed him away and with a pounding heart ran from the veranda to scope the room for Braiton. She found him still speaking to Lord Wade. Did you even know I was gone from the room?

  She took a deep breath to calm herself before she approached the two men. By the time she reached her husband’s side, his business with Lord Wade concluded. Morgan spoke a few polite pleasantries to her before his departure. Braiton looked out of sorts, and her concern resurfaced for what transpired between them.

  “What goes on, my shikaa?”

  “’Tis a business problem, lass and nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

  “Are you treating me like a featherhead now?”

  He frowned. “Nay, my lady.”

  “Then tell me what is wrong,” she insisted.

  He took her by the elbow and out to the terrace. She was relieved to see Rory was nowhere in sight.

  “Lord Wade is a very prominent figure in England’s import industry. His account with my warehouse is of an enormous sum, one that shouldn’t be so high.” He glanced ahead into the night. “Something is not correct, my lady.”

  “What do you think is not right, Braiton?”

  “’Tis hard to put a finger on at this point, lass.” He turned her way. “But I must look into the problem immediately.” He searched her face. “Where did you run off to this evening?”

  Her heart fluttered. He did notice I was gone from the room. “I just came out here for a breath of fresh air.”

  “Was all well with you, Raven?” he probed.

  “All is fine,” she lied, neglecting to mention Rory’s bold advances. Her husband had enough on his mind at this time, she did not need to make matters worse.

  He frowned. “Would you tell me if there was something bothering you, lass?”

  She reached up and caressed the side of his face, changing the subject. “What bothers me right now is concern for your safety.”

  He caught her hand in his and bestowed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles. “I’ll be fine, my lady, not to worry.”

  “When will you take care of this matter?”

  “After the ball. I’m meeting Lord Wade in town for a late snout, and he said he’d expla
in his case further.” He brought her hand to rest on his heart. “And I want you to lock your door while I’m gone, open it for no one but me.”

  She nodded in agreement. He did not have to ask her twice.

  ****

  Raven lie in the center of the huge bed waiting for Braiton to return, eyes searching the shadows in the room, heart pounding in her ears. Her head still ached from the disastrous evening. First, dinner with Joleena, then the episode with Rory on the veranda, and now she worried for Braiton.

  Why is he taking so long?

  She squeezed her eyes closed, willing sleep to come. But all she managed to do was rehash the past few hours. As if in a trance, she danced around the ballroom floor with different partners, playing the part she agreed upon for Braiton’s sake.

  She was the perfect wife, the elegant Lady of Limerick. In spite of his pending problems with Lord Wade, Braiton put up the devoted husband front as well. He watched her dance with hawk-like eyes, never being far from her side, and then reclaiming her when the music stopped. She was desperate for each tune to end, for the evening to pass, so she could hide away in her chamber and Braiton could be through with the business at hand.

  She opened her eyes and focused on the flames dancing in the fireplace. Memories of home filled her thoughts. She would sit in front of the fire-pit listening to her father tell stories about the coyote and the fox. The tales made her laugh and cry, held meaning and taught lessons. She wondered what her parents were doing now. Mother was probably bending over the fire, preparing a meal for her father. He would be cleaning his spear, glancing over at her with loving eyes.

  They had the kind of love she admired and wished for herself. She remembered the nights she was sent to sleep at her grandmother’s wickiup, so her parents could have time alone. Before she left she would hear her father ask her mother, “Will you dance for me tonight, my wife?” Her mother would flash him a demure smile and nod her head in agreement.

  A wistful smile curved her lips with the fond memory, understanding now why they wanted to be alone. They were in love and yearned for the warmth and passion their bodies professed. She sighed, her smile broadening. How wonderful they are together.