A Rose in Winter

by Shana Abe

  "But the rarest thing you have is the depth of beauty that lives only in the best of us, and usually only in scant portions. In you, however, it lives with vibrancy, in you it overflows into all that you do, into all that you choose to touch. It is this beauty I truly treasure, my love, for this is the best gift of all. Your sweetness, your goodness, your wit and virtue and all those things you are blessed with bless me also, because I am the man you are with. I am the man whose life has been permanently intertwined with yours. And I am the man who has always loved you, Solange."

  Her tears were unchecked now, silver trails of silent passage and a message of eloquence in her eyes.

  "I have always loved you," he repeated simply. "If you still doubt me, my life is better ended now. It is up to you. I cannot live without you again."

  She pulled her hand out of his and flung the dagger across the room to clatter against floor.

  "Stop," she cried, and buried herself in his arms. The love came fiercely upon him, a fiery need and a comforting relief to hold her like this, to have her cry into his chest, to rock her and never let go again.

  "I cannot bear it anymore, I cannot," she hiccuped against him. "I love you. I love only you. And I don't care about beauty, or goodness, because if any of those things mean I have to give you up again, I won't do it! I'll be wicked and sinful and selfish, I don't care. . . ."

  An amazed laugh rumbled in his chest. "My tigress," he said, half stunned by what had happened.

  "Yes! I'll be a tigress. Tigers are never afraid, and neither shall I be." She raised her head. "I love you, Damon of Lockewood."

  "And I love you, Solange of Lockewood."

  And for a short while, just a glinting bubble of time, there was nothing else in the universe, and there was no reason to stop the kiss between them that mingled their tears and set their hearts to beat as one once more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "I prefer apples to garlic, Lady Solange."

  Since this was at least the third time she had been informed of the seven-year-old's culinary preferences, Solange merely smiled as she stepped over a dry clump of grass and replied, "Yes, Miranda, I know."

  "Apples go in tarts," the girl continued thoughtfully. "I like tarts."

  "I like tarts too," her younger brother piped up anxiously. "Can I have tarts as well, Lady Solange?"

  "Yes, William. I believe that when we are finished, there will be enough tarts for all of you."

  "Garlic is nasty," said another girl. "Why do we have to have garlic at all?"

  Solange had to pause to lift her skirts over a low stone wall that had long ago crumbled to its base in the pasture. "Well, Jane, we need garlic for lots of things." She began to aid the children over the wall, one by one, with the help of the two other women in the group. "The marquess uses garlic in some of his medicines. And I think garlic tastes rather nice with some meats."

  "Me too! Me too!" said William.

  "And I like it roasted with butter, on bread with supper," Mairi volunteered.

  "And in stews," added Carolyn, the mother of two of the children.

  "There, you see? Garlic can be quite nice." Solange surveyed the meadow with a practiced eye.

  "I prefer apples," Miranda said stubbornly.

  "Yes, I know." Solange walked over to her and pointed to one corner of the field. "That is why you are going to have your very own apple tree, right over there. What do you say to that?"

  "Oh, yes! My own tree!" The girl clapped her hands together and began to race to the corner. The other children scattered after her in a ragged tail.

  Only William remained with the three women, looking forlornly after the others. He shifted his weight onto his good foot, using the small carved stick he had been given as a cane.

  He had been born lame, Carolyn explained earlier, the physician had said it was because her pregnancy had been cursed.

  "Cursed or no," she had said, "William is my de­light, and he does so want to be a part of the garden project like the other children, my lady. Could you not find a little something for him to do? He is very quiet and won't be a bother, I promise."

  The "garden project" had rapidly grown beyond a simple field of herbs, due much in part to Mairi's very vocal enthusiasm for the plan. One by one the other ladies at Wolfhaven had offered to become involved, and this often meant their children had asked to help as well.

  Solange had not the heart to turn away a single one of them, especially since it seemed to be the perfect way to get to know the others, a way that she had been seeking for some time. Soon she had more help than work, and that had led to the discovery that Wolfhaven had no formal orchard to speak of. Most of the old trees had grown heavily gnarled from the years of ne­glect and died in the ground. Creating a new orchard seemed a natural extension to the herb garden, and Da­mon had reluctantly approved, unable to deny that they could always use more fresh fruits. But, he added, she would not plant too far from Wolfhaven.

  His determination to keep her close to home filled her with a kind of amused exasperation. Nevertheless, she didn't want him to have to worry about her. The strip of field by the forest she had first noticed, she had argued, was the ideal solution, being neither too small nor too far from the castle. Damon had been forced to agree.

  Now Solange knelt beside the lame boy, giving him a cheerful smile. "What kind of tree would you like, Willie?"

  "A garlic tree?" he suggested hopefully.

  "Hmm, that might be a bit difficult. If you like, you may help me with the regular garlic in the herb garden though."

  "Yes," he said promptly.

  "But I was thinking of something special for you. Do you see that little mound of grass over there, right next to this wall?"

  He nodded his head.

  "Well, I was thinking that it would be the perfect spot for a cherry tree."

  "A cherry tree," he echoed worshipfully.

  "I found a beautiful cherry sapling in the old grove, growing right where no others could grow. As soon as I saw it I knew it was yours, since it must be a magic tree. Your own magic tree, growing out in the old orchard."

  The little boy's eyes were wide with wonder. Solange leaned closer. "I'll tell you a secret too," she said conspiratorially. "I much prefer cherry tarts to ap­ple tarts."

  "Me too!" William exclaimed.

  "Me too," said Mairi.

  "Me too," whispered Carolyn, and then gave her son a hug.

  There were children running rampant over the wild field, shouting out questions to the women and in­structions to one another, each eager to discover the perfect spot for their own part of the orchard.

  Mairi shook her head, smiling. "Good gracious, what have we done?"

  "I only hope they'll be so enthusiastic when it comes time to do the real work," Solange said.

  "Oh, no, my lady," Carolyn said. "I don't think you need worry about that at all. They are good children, all of them, and eager to please. There really isn't enough for them to do at the castle yet, since the boys are too young to be pages still, and the group of them too young for more than the briefest of instructions in the schoolroom. This will be a wonderful lesson for each of them. Although," she added ruefully, "I do fear they will require rather strict supervision. If we are not careful, we shall end up with a forest of fruit trees instead of a grove."

  "Yes, Mairi, I believe that will be your area," Solange said casually. "You have such a way with the children, plus you know the lay of the land. And, of course, Sir Godwin will need someone here to tell him where to plow."

  Not surprisingly, Mairi colored up to the roots of her hair. It hadn't taken Solange long to notice how her friend grew awkward and stilted whenever God­win's name was mentioned in conversation, or how she tended to follow him with her eyes whenever they were in a room together. She had not broached the subject with her yet; she didn't want to intrude on what might be a sensitive subject to a woman who had been widowed not that long past.

  But the romantic in her h
ad been delighted with the discovery. Godwin was unattached. Mairi was unat­tached. Solange liked them both very much, and hoped there might be a match for them somewhere in the future. No, she would not intrude. Well, she would not overtly intrude. But since the opportunity had presented itself. . .

  "Will that be all right?" she continued. "I could su­pervise it myself, but you are so clever with the map, and I have promised the marquess to concentrate on the herb garden first."

  "No, I would be happy to take up that duty," said Mairi. "You are very kind to offer it to me."

  "Let's see if you still think me kind this spring, when your nose shall be blistered from the sun and your gown muddied every day."

  "My opinion shall not change," Mairi said firmly.

  "Nor mine," added Carolyn. "Have you given thought to the Christmas celebration, my lady?"

  Solange grimaced. "I cannot believe I only have just heard of this. Christmas is less than a sennight away, and now I discover I am expected to plan an entire celebration!"

  "It was the tradition for the Marchioness of Locke­wood to organize the party," said Carolyn. "As I said to you yesterday, these past five years have been some­what haphazard celebrations, and before that, as you know, there were none at all. You should not feel pressured, Marchioness."

  "Carolyn, I cannot even convince you to call me by my given name! How could you possibly think I have the skills necessary to host a party for all of Wolfhaven?"

  Mairi gave an easy laugh. "We will help you, will we not, Caro?"

  "We would be delighted to," said Carolyn, "Solange."

  "Me too!" threw in her son.

  As they rounded up the children and headed back to the castle gate, none of them noticed the pair of watch­ing eyes that followed them from the woods, marking their exit just as carefully as they had marked their entrance.

  "Good boys," Solange said softly. "My brave fel­lows, what handsome boys you are."

  She knelt in the soft dirt that made up the floor of the kennel, heedless of the fine layer of dust that coated the hem of her gown. Around her stood seven fully grown mastiffs, all of them sniffing the bowls in her hands eagerly.

  "Here you are." She placed the two bowls of meat down in front of her, and the dogs crowded closer.

  She had come across their kennel by casual design, for she had been keeping an eye out for it for days. She hadn't told Damon of her intent to meet the dogs. She rather thought she could imagine what he would say to that, and none of it would be anything she would want to hear.

  They were hunters, mighty warriors of their breed, and necessary for the survival of the castle. They had been trained to attack upon command, and usually such an attack was fatal.

  So she had taken a good week to get to know them before she entered the gate to the kennel. A week was enough, she had decided that morning, to allow them to become familiar with her scent.

  Fortunately the kennel was placed at another odd angle of the castle, an afterthought, Solange guessed. Twin pine trees shielded it from the excesses of the sun, and from prying eyes. For the past week she had made a point of going there at least twice a day, a good break from the garden planning, and talked quietly with the hounds.

  They were wary at first, a few showing fangs, but she had expected this, indeed was used to this, and knew it was only a matter of time before they trusted her enough to let her come in.

  "You see, Jane?" Solange called in a low voice. "Nothing to fear."

  Jane and her friend Miranda both watched the mar­chioness with eyes like saucers. Jane gave a little moan.

  "Oh, they will eat you up, my lady!"

  "No, silly. See? They are my friends." Solange pat­ted a large brindled male beside her. "If you are gentle with them, there is nothing to fear."

  "My lady," said Miranda in an awed whisper, "are you magic?"

  "No. You must simply treat them with respect, and they will respect you in turn."

  She had brought these two girls with her to prove to them that the dogs were not as hideous as the nursery tales she overheard whispered about with gleeful hor­ror made them out to be. When she had heard the children's stories of the mastiffs' fearful teeth, she had been amused. But when she had seen these two girls scream shrilly when one of the hounds had gotten loose in the hall, she had decided to take action.

  The dog had just returned from the hunt, and her jaws had been bloody. True, the sight of the huge fe­male headed toward them, mouth dripping with pink saliva, was probably unnerving. But at their age Solange had already made great friends of the hounds at Ironstag, and the piercing, unnecessary screams from both Miranda and Jane were enough to set anyone's teeth on edge.

  Solange had decided to woo the dogs to gentleness and then bring the girls to witness it. These two were the natural ringleaders of the rest of the children, and if they could be emboldened to like the dogs, so would the rest.

  And it was working. Jane had already come three steps closer to the kennel gate, and Miranda was only a step behind her.

  The dogs had devoured the meat scraps and began to sniff around for more.

  "It's true they are big," Solange said. "And they do have sharp teeth. That's one of the reasons you must respect them. But all creatures desire love, and the hounds are no different."

  "May we come in, my lady?" Jane was already working the latch on the gate.

  "No," Solange said firmly. "Not yet. They do not know you well enough to let you into their home. You must promise me you will not come in here un­less I give you permission."

  Jane paused, a hand still on the latch. She opened her mouth to argue, but then the largest of the hounds looked up, it seemed right at her, the hair bristling on the back of his neck and his lips curling back, reveal­ing a full set of sharp white teeth. A low rumble shook the air.

  "I promise, my lady!" squeaked Jane, and backed away quickly.

  The other dogs lifted their heads as the first one did, all of them growling now, all of them looking toward the gate.

  But no, Solange saw, standing up to see better. They were looking beyond the gate and the girls. They were looking into the woods not more than fifty feet away.

  She felt the hair on her own neck stand up as she searched the line of trees with her eyes, but she could see nothing, nor hear anything either.

  "Girls," she said mildly. "Go back inside the castle. Walk, don't run."

  They picked up their skirts and ran. Solange crossed slowly to the kennel gate, but still she could see noth­ing. The solid, muscular bodies of the dogs pushed at her as they all crowded close to the entry. She was very glad she was on the inside of the gate, with them.

  Probably a boar, she thought. A wild boar.

  But there were no other sounds, no birds singing, no scuffling in the leaves on the ground, nothing but the steady, deep-pitched growls from the dogs.

  The dark greens, browns, and grays of the forest muted the light, created illusions with shadowy shapes that drew the eye, then vanished.

  There was nothing there. Not a boar, not a hare, nothing.

  But the dogs knew better, and she trusted them more than her own vision.

  From nowhere a man came into view at a half-run, and the dogs erupted into a frenzied barking, some of them leaping up to push their paws against the gate.

  It was Damon, and he was furious. Again.

  "Oh, dear," she said under her breath.

  He walked up slowly to the kennel. The dogs were still barking, but it was different now, there was no menace to them. Their hackles were no longer raised. She sincerely hoped Damon could tell the difference.

  "Solange," he said conversationally. "Come out right now."

  "Yes, my lord," she responded in the same tone. "But only see how the hounds are delighted to have you here. You must quite be their favorite."

  "Solange," he said again, and the edge of steel she heard was not her imagination, she knew.

  "Yes," she muttered. Before she left she made a great show of
petting the heads of the nearest hounds, who responded with happy pants. Damon was opening the gate.

  She slipped out through the wedge of the opening and he shut it behind her with more force than neces­sary. She paused just behind him, searching the trees one more time.

  An ordinary view. Nothing unusual. Nothing to make the mastiffs give the warning of danger. Yet there had been something out there. Of that she was certain.

  Damon grabbed her arm and pulled her into his embrace.

  "Don't," he said, and that was all, because he was kissing her hard and squeezing her ribs until she had to pound on his shoulders for air.

  He lifted his head from hers and loosened his grip, but not by much.

  "Don't do that again," he said, and he sounded odd, his voice remote and shaken. She tried to relax in his grip.

  "There was nothing to fear," she started to say, but before she could finish her thought he was kissing her again, as hard as before, and she wondered if her lips were going to be bruised.

  He pulled away again and took a deep breath of air. She decided to say nothing, letting the tension in him spin itself out before trying to reason with him.

  He released her but kept his grip on her arm and be­gan to pull her back to the castle. Near the gate with the guards were Miranda and Jane, both pale and fear­ful looking, and to reassure them she gave them a cheerful smile and waved with her free hand.

  They did not wave back.

  Damon pulled her past them and into the great hall­way. It was difficult to pretend that all was normal, since he had the look of a man with death in tow, and not his own wife, she thought somewhat indignantly. Servants scattered, men ceased their conversations, women gave little gasps as they went by, and still he did not stop until she pulled out of his grip in front of her chamber door.

  "I am not some piece of mutton, my lord, for you to drag about at your whim," she said, attempting a tone of command.