She giggled. "Oh, yes. I forgot that I should not show my breasts to Andrew. Please to forgive me."
There was absolute, utter silence.
Then, softly, Johann started to laugh. The queen was the first to join in, then Edith.
Maeve took a step forward. She was not laughing. "I presume we'll be having a wedding now."
Selena straightened. "Truly? How exciting." She frowned suddenly. "What is a wedding?"
Maeve's face was uncharacteristically hard. "It's what two people do before they get into bed together."
Selena laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the room. "Then it is too late."
"Ian," Maeve said, "I'll expect to see you in the parlor in ten minutes." She snapped her chin up and sailed out of the bedroom, forcing the gawking crowd to follow.
The door slammed shut behind her.
And then, very quietly, Maeve started to laugh.
Ian couldn't believe what he was doing. He was dressed now-damn it, anyway-and heading down the
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dark, shadowy corridor to the parlor, where his mother waited for him, presumably to lecture him on morality. His mother.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the bright, sunlit foyer. The light hurt his eyes, reminded him once again that he was emerging from his love nest and returning to the world.
The parlor door was closed. He knocked sharply, heard his mother's muffled "come in," and went inside.
Maeve stood alongside the fireplace. She stood tall and straight, her hair hastily bound into a topknot that hung precariously above her left ear, her hands plunged into the pockets of her pale green cashmere wrapper.
Something was different about her, though he couldn't name it.
One reddish eyebrow slowly rose. "So you can still walk. I would consider that a triumph."
He realized suddenly what was different about her. There was no fear in her gaze, no nervous stroking of her ribbon, no awkwardness in facing him. She looked lucid and sure of herself. In control.
He was proud of her. "You look good, Mother."
A tiny smile tugged one side of her mouth. "Really?" She patted her hair, felt the tumbledown chignon and frowned.
Without thinking, he went to her, eased the knot of hair back to the center of her head, and reanchored it with a few hairpins. Images swirled through his mind as he touched her ear, her temple. She was thinking of his father, and how he'd once fixed her hair in this very parlor. Before a ball, no, after a supper
He tried to control the images, and found that if he concentrated, they blurred, became an inconsequential smear of color and sound. No more irritating than a mosquito droning by one's ear.
He drew his hands back and stared down at his mother. There was a strange look on her face, and he
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realized that she'd been stunned by the familiarity of his gesture. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"You're welcome."
"You have slept with Selena," Maeve said at last. "And I mean this in the ... romantic sense."
"I don't suppose you'd believe that we were waiting for our clothes to dry?"
A laugh slipped from Maeve's mouth before she could stop it. "Don't be impertinent. I'm trying to be ... motherly here."
His smile faded. He looked down at Maeve and wished suddenly that he could take it all back, all the times he'd hurt her and snubbed her and rejected her. "You always were," he said softly.
More, he thought, say more. But there were no words, just a thick lump of regret in his throat and a burning need for absolution.
Tears puddled in her eyes, her mouth trembled. "No," she whispered. A tear streaked down her face. "No."
Ian wanted to close the distance between them, maybe even wipe the tears from her eyes. But he couldn't move, couldn't really fathom that kind of intimacy. Too much had happened, too much water lay beneath the bridge, dark and ugly and swirling with lost moments, a lifetime of miscommunication.
They stood that way for what seemed like hours, and Ian knew that she was as paralyzed by regret as he was. On the mantel, the porcelain clock ticked slowly onward.
You can hurt your mother, or you can not hurt your mother. Simple decision. Simple.
The thought came to him, sharp and clear and cleansing. It was as if Selena were inside him, urging him to be strong, to take a risk.
Everything is easy for you, Selena.
And so difficult for you, Ian.
She was right. The world did hinge on choices, some as simple as this one. He could reach out right now,
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touch his mother with words. It might not be much, might not right every wrong that had punctured their relationship for years, but it could be something he'd never imagined, and yet never stopped aching for.
A beginning.
He gazed down at his mother, seeing the silvery trails that streaked her pale cheeks, and he wished to Christ he could hold her. Just that ...
But he couldn't, of course. Not yet. All he could offer was an uncertain start. "Mother, I ... I'm sorry. For everything."
It wasn't much, he realized. A pale imitation of the emotion that was needed.
She was surprised by the apology. Her eyes widened, and then a slow, trembling smile curved her lips. "I'm sorry, too, Ian." She reached out one hand, pale and slim in the sunlight.
He stared at it, feeling a rush of fear, then hope. Slowly he slipped his fingers through hers and squeezed.
Images hurled themselves at him, forced him to squeeze his eyes shut. It took him a second to realize that they were beautiful images and heart-wrenching words.
I love you, Ian.
He opened his eyes. Their gazes met, locked. He knew in that instant that she wouldn't say the words aloud, not yet, not to him. She'd been hurt by him too often to trust him so easily, and she wasn't sure that this moment was real. Deep down, she was afraid that she was lost in the abyss of her own mind, and that she was making it all up, that tomorrow he'd ignore her again.
"It's real," he said quietly.
She said nothing, just nodded. Another tear streaked down her face. Then she cleared her throat. "What are you going to do about Selena?"
"Do? Why, I'll marry her, of course."
"Have you asked her?"
"No. But that's just a formality."
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Maeve laughed. "Nothing is just a formality with Selena."
Ian laughed with her, and it felt good. "That's certainly true. Marriage will have to make sense to her." His voiced trailed off. A frown pulled at his brows. "Holy hell ..."
"Yes," Maeve said. "It could be a problem."
Everyone was in the study, waiting for Maeve and Ian to join them. There was a heavy silence, as if no one knew what to say. Selena looked at the faces around her and felt a rush of love for each of them. Her family.
She smiled. "You all look so worried. Except you, Johann." She crossed the room and went to him, her smile broadening with each step. "You knew, did you not?"
Johann's grin matched hers. "I knew. So?"
The queen slammed her hands on her meaty hips and gave a breathy harrumph. "So what? No one has secrets in my kingdom."
Selena couldn't help herself. She started to laugh. Memories twirled through her mind and brought a flush to her cheeks. "It was wonderful," she whispered to Johann.
"And were you a ... you know?"
"God damn it," the queen hissed. "Was she a you-know-what?" She marched up to Johann and rapped him on the side of his head with her closed fan.
"It is no secret, Your Highness," Selena answered. "Johann wants to know if I was a virgin."
This time the queen smacked Johann with her open hand. 'That's no question for a man to ask a lady." Then she turned to Selena. "Were you?"
"I was," Selena said with a huge grin. "But I am not anymore. And oh, Your Highness. It was grand."
The queen sighed mistily. "It certainly is... ."
"Selena!" Ian's voice boomed through the ro
om, and
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everyone spun to face him. He stood in the doorway. "What are you talking about?"
She just about melted at the sight of him standing there, so strong, so tall, so loving. She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him and kiss him. Everywhere. "Sex," she answered.
"Ladies don't discuss such things."
She frowned. "You mean I can do it, but I can't talk about it?"
He looked a little sick. "Oh, no . .."
"Why, that's positively ridiculous. If I can kiss your-"
"Enough!" he shouted. "Everyone out."
The queen bristled. "Not bloody likely, young sir. This is getting good."
For a second, Ian didn't respond, he just stood there, looking like he was going to scream, and then, very softly, he said, "I have a question to ask Selena."
A gasp rose from the crowd.
Selena glanced from one friend's face to another. They were staring at Ian in stunned disbelief, as if they all knew something that she did not. And they were grinning.
"Hurry!" the queen shouted. "A man's decision is a fragile thing."
"Aye," Edith agreed. "He could lose the bloody nerve."
Johann stared at Ian, a slow, hesitant smile on his face. "He won't lose his nerve. He's only just found it."
All at once, the residents surged to their feet and hurried to the door, moving like a great multiheaded centipede, feet shuffling, hands clapping.
The door closed silently behind them.
"Ian," Selena said, feeling the first tingle of apprehension. "I misunderstand. ..."
He gave her a smile that seemed tense and strained, then fumbled for something in his pocket. Moving
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toward her, he brushed a wayward lock of hair from his forehead and kneeled at her feet.
"Selena ..."
Behind him, through the sheer curtains, she saw the crowd gather. They were squished together on the porch so that everyone could see through the window. She could hear a faint rustle of voices from outside, then a loud "shut up" from the queen and they fell silent.
Ian wet his lips and looked up at her. Slowly he withdrew a beautiful ring from his pants pocket and held it out to her. "Selena, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Muted clapping seeped through the window.
Ian froze the crowd with a sharp look, then turned back to her.
Selena didn't know what to do or say, had no idea what was expected of her. Was the ring a gift? Or were the words the important thing? "I misunderstand. You seek to have us marry?"
His breath released in a sharp sigh. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I love you."
She gave him a smile. "I feel love for you, also. Too. But what has this to do with marry?"
He seemed to choose his words carefully. "Marriage is a promise to stay together forever."
"Of course we shall stay together. I promise it now, before God. There, we are married."
"No. Marriage is also a ... legal commitment. We must offer our vows before a representative of the church or the state."
She frowned. "My word is not good enough?"
He shook his head. "No."
"But I do not need another to give my vow truth. I have promised. I have honor. This is enough."
He covered his face with his hand. "Hell. I knew this would be a problem. You don't understand...."
"I am not too damaged to understand the words, Ian.
I
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It is the concept which confuses me. You ask for my vow, I have given it. But it is not enough. You want more, and you think I do not understand the legal commitment which you seek, but you are wrong. Earlier, I looked up this word 'marriage' in the big book, and I read its meaning. In marriage, a woman is a wife, and a wife is a chattel. And cows are chattel, Ian." She leaned toward him. "Cattle."
He cursed beneath his breath. "Yes."
"I shall not choose to be a cow."
A quick burst of laughter shot from his lips, then, slowly, he looked up at her, and the sharpness was gone from his eyes. In its place, she saw only love and understanding and respect. "As usual, you put everything in a very neat perspective." He set the ring down on the table and scooted toward her, slipping between her legs. "Marriage makes no sense from a woman's point of view, I'll grant you. The husband gives up nothing and gains everything the woman has. Or so it would seem by the dictionary definition."
"Yes," she said proudly. 'This was my understanding."
"But there's more." His voice was low, a caress that sent a shiver dancing along her spine. "Forget the legal and social and moral reasons for getting married. I don't ask you for those reasons. I ask you to marry me because of something infinitely more simple and yet profoundly more complex." He leaned toward her, close enough to kiss. "You changed me, Selena. You taught me to see the world through different eyes, to make decisions based on right or wrong, and to trust in the old words-honor, love, commitment. It is for those reasons that I come to you now and offer you my mother's ring. Not because of the law of ownership or the blessing of the church. It is for simple selfishness. I love you. You are my world."
"Oh, Ian .. ."
"Marry me because I am weak and selfish and unen-
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lightened," he said in a harsh whisper. "Marry me because I need you so much."
She touched his cheek. "You need me to be your
wife?" "Yes." "When?"
He grinned. "How about next Tuesday?" She smiled back at him. "Tuesday would be perfect. Outside, the crowd went wild.
Chapter Twenty-one
Ian felt like a damned fool.
Standing on the porch, he stared out across the bright green lawn at the young girl crouched amidst the ferns at the forest's dark edge. She was all alone, sitting with a rag doll clutched to her breast.
What now, Selena? he thought. What in the world was he supposed to do-just walk up to the kid and say Hi, Lara. Selena wants me to play daddy for you?
He wished he'd never promised this. Never even pretended to promise it.
He glanced back at the closed door behind him. But it wouldn't do any good to go inside. Selena would just be there, waiting for him, a disappointed look in her dark eyes.
He took a tentative step forward. The old wood creaked beneath his feet. Crossing his arms, he forced himself to keep moving, down the steps, across the crunching gravel, to the end of the lawn.
There he paused again, just for a second, and forced his hands to his sides. "Hello, Lara."
A quiet breeze rustled through the trees and caught his words.
Lara made a sharp, squealing sound and spun to face him, moving so quickly that she toppled onto her side. The doll rolled out of her grasp and lay cocked on a
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granite stone, staring up at him through one black button eye.
"D-Dr. Carrick," she whispered, scampering backward into a wary crouch.
He gave her the gentlest smile he could. "Don't be afraid." The words came with a surprising ease. He moved toward her. When he was a few feet away, he lowered himself to the ground and sat down.
She lurched to a wobbly stand and glanced back at the house. "D-Did I do somethin' wrong?"
He felt a rush of shame at her obvious fear. "No, Lara. I just wanted to ... spend some time with you."
Her eyes widened. "You did?" A whisper of sound.
"I thought you might be lonely out here."
Her lower lip quivered a little and she bit down on it. "I ... I'm lonely lots of times."
The admission, so quiet and soft, pulled at his heart, and suddenly he was glad he was here. He tried to think of how to begin, how to reach out to a child. But he had no idea what would work, all he had was understanding, and perhaps a scrap of truth. "I used to be lonely a lot when I was your age, too."
"You did?"
"Life is hard sometimes, don't you
think? A little scary?"
She moved slowly toward him. Picking up her doll, she cradled it to her chest and sat down beside him. He waited for her to speak, but she didn't, just sat there, staring up at him through wide eyes.
He pulled a small book from the pocket of his coat. "Perhaps I could read you a story?"
A lightning-quick smile pulled at her lips.
He opened the book and began to read to her, his voice strong and sure as he told her the story of Cinderella.
Somewhere about the time Cinderella was going to the ball, Lara wiggled a little closer to him. He thought for a second that she was going to rest her head on his
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shoulder, but she didn't, and surprisingly, he wished that she had.
When the story was over, she looked up at him, her eyes shining. "That was really a pretty story."
He wanted to reach out to her, push the tangled hair from her face, but he didn't move. It felt awkward, wanting to comfort her and yet not knowing how. He started to say something-he wasn't sure what-when a trembling squawk sounded.
A tiny bird fell from a nest above them, landed in a small, broken heap in the needle-strewn ground. It lay there writhing, its yellow beak snapping open and shut, its broken wing bent at an awkward angle. He scooped the frail little thing in his hand. "Poor baby," he murmured.
She stared at the bird as if it were a miracle. "C'n I touch it?"
Ian rested his hand on her bent knee. "Go ahead."
She stared at him for a long minute, then slowly reached out. Her pink, pudgy fingers whispered across the bird's head. She looked up at him, grinning. "Oh, it's so soft... ."
She bent closer to the bird and stroked its head, just as she'd done to her rag doll. "You'd better fly on home, little bird," she murmured.
"I think its wing is broken," Ian said.
Lara gasped and looked up at him. "Is the birdie gonna die?" she asked in a shaky voice.
His first reaction was to answer clinically: Yes. This bird would probably die. But when he looked in Lara's big, hope-filled eyes, he felt something inside him soften, give way. He realized for the first time that his honesty had always been a shield-he'd wielded it like a sharp instrument, using it to cut off discussions he didn't want to have, and avoid emotions he didn't want to feel. He'd cloaked himself with blunt honesty; now, sitting here at the edge of the woods with a retarded girl
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and her broken-winged bird, he saw that he'd been wrong.
There was two truths-ones that held hope and ones that did not.
"Maybe if he got fed every day, he could grow strong."
"We could put it back in the nest. He would get better there."
"Its mother wouldn't care for it anymore."
"Because its wing is broke?"
He nodded.
She looked away for a second, and when she turned back to him, her eyes were filled with tears. "Mommies don't like broken babies, do they?"
"Ah, Lara," he whispered, wishing suddenly that he could make things all right for this child with the big eyes and the quiet voice and the pain that lived so deep in her soul. He knew she wasn't talking about birds right now, she was talking about her own mother. Ian remembered the woman who'd dropped Lara off here- years ago. Back when Lara was a little girl with a ready smile and a giggly laugh.
Jesus, how could he dredge that memory up from his scotch-soaked past? But it was there, shivering in the darkness, waiting to leap out at him.
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