Marigold's Marriages

by Sandra Heath

  He shook his head. “No. I know what it may have appeared to you, but in fact I was leading her on, with every intention of informing her the liaison was over. I’m afraid I was punishing her for her treatment of you.”

  “How astonishingly ungentlemanly, my lord.”

  “I agree, but in mitigation I offer the fact that I had just discovered how little of a lady she really was.”

  She smiled, and couldn’t resist reaching up to touch his cheek. “Well, my husband, I am a very determined wife. I’m not going to let Falk succeed in anything on midsummer day! This legend is mine too, remember? And I only believe in happy endings,” she whispered.

  He took one of her ringlets in his hand, and parted the strands between his fingers. “I wish I could believe too, but I can’t. Marigold, I didn’t tell you it was over with Alauda because I was afraid you would feel too much for me, and be hurt because of what I think must happen in eleven days’ time.”

  “I’m going to outshine his beastly sun!” she said determinedly.

  “Marigold—”

  She broke in. “Anyway, it’s too late to prevent me from feeling too much.”

  “I can only bring you heartbreak.”

  “That I suffer already, but I would rather endure an age of heartbreak because of you, than never have met you at all.”

  “Oh, Marigold ...” He put his lips softly to her forehead.

  She gripped his arms. “Rowan, if you no longer love Alauda, do you think you will ever be able to love me?”

  “Oh, foolish, adorable Marigold, don’t you realize that I already do?” he breathed, and bent his head to kiss her.

  Her arms slid joyously around him! She loved and was loved, and her heart was so full of happiness she thought it would burst. His kiss became more urgent, and she felt the sensuous brush of his tongue against hers. His scent filled her nostrils, so heady and masculine, so arousing ... He untied the drawstring on her gown, and her bodice parted to allow his hand to cup her breast. Her nipple was hard and so sensitive to his touch that her breath caught with pleasure. His lips moved from her mouth to her throat, and then down to her other breast. He took her nipple into his mouth, drawing upon it and flicking it with his tongue until she almost cried out with delight.

  She felt him drag her skirts up, and then undo the front of his breeches. She held her breath with excitement as he pushed into her, filling her with his entire length. For a long moment he did not move at all, but simply lay joined with her. She felt how he throbbed within her, then he leaned up to look into her eyes.

  They gazed at each other as he began to withdraw and then reentered. His strokes were long and leisurely, becoming gradually more and more imperative. She could feel herself reaching out toward something wonderful, a doorway into ecstasy. They crossed the threshold together, and were swept up into a glory of emotion and color that was so magnificent that she felt tears on her cheeks.

  They lay together afterward, still joined, their hearts beating close, their fingers and limbs entwined. There was complete understanding between them, a shared intimacy so precious that neither of them wished to break it. Love enveloped them both, as warm and glowing as the sun itself.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Two afternoons later, while awaiting Rowan’s return from some business matters in Salisbury, Marigold walked alone toward the bridge over the moat. Knowing that Rowan loved her gave her a new strength and determination, and she had thought long and hard about what she might be able to do to halt the seemingly relentless march of the curse. Neither Robin nor Jenny had come to her again, so she was no wiser concerning her role, and all she could think of was touching the standing stone again, to see if she could glean some understanding of her power.

  The air was very warm and still as she reached the stone. As before, the atmosphere surrounding it was very strange, and so she didn’t go too close. First she needed to summon her courage. When she touched it the first time, the experience had not been pleasant, and Rowan wasn’t here to catch her if she fell again.

  She swallowed and bowed her head for a moment, trying to concentrate fully upon what she was about to do. There mustn’t be anything to distract her ... She inhaled deeply, savoring the summer sweetness of all the flowers. Everything was quiet. So quiet. Slowly she stepped closer, and stretched out her right hand to the cold stone.

  Almost immediately the searing heat blazed through her fingers once more, seemingly almost to make her one with the stone. The world tilted, as if the sun were about to tumble from the heavens, and she felt the great stone circle of Avenbury begin to turn. The birds on the lake were aroused again, flapping wildly skyward as if upon a secret signal. Their cries were so piercing they seemed to echo through her as she struggled not to lose consciousness.

  She began to see things. Everything was spinning as blurred shapes came into focus. Robin and Jenny, lovers, their arms entwined, their faces pale with fear. Marigold tried to call them, but she had no voice. She extended a hand. She was holding something, but what it was she did not know. The lovers’ faces brightened with desperate hope “Yes! That’s it!” cried Robin.

  “The painting! The painting!” called Jenny, her voice almost lost in the shrill racket of the waterfowl. “Look at it, Marigold, look at it! The truth is there! We can’t tell you more, for you must find the answer yourself. You are the one, only you!”

  Robin looked pleadingly at her. “Nine days, Marigold! You only have nine days!”

  She longed to ask more, but the lovers were fading again, and all she could do was try to reach after them with whatever it was in her hand. What was it? Why couldn’t she see?

  The whole world seemed to be hurtling around now. Everything was indistinct, and the noise of the birds was so loud that it hurt her ears. The sky began to splinter, and the sun fell slowly through into an awful abyss. The birds’ cries reached an earsplitting crescendo as darkness closed in, and she knew no more.

  She awoke to find herself lying on the path. Beyond the soaring height of the standing stone, there was an immaculate blue heaven, where the sun shone steadily, and safely. Everything was calm and still, as if nothing had happened, she could even hear a bee on a nearby rose. She closed her eyes with relief, but then they flew open again as something hard jabbed her head. She sat up with a frightened gasp, then laughed at herself because it was only Sir Francis. The mallard was beside her on the path, and had prodded her with his bill.

  “Hello,” she said, and gingerly put out her hand to touch him. He rattled his bill, and shook his tail.

  “I wish you could speak,” she said wistfully.

  “Quack,” he replied sympathetically, and stretched his wings. For a moment she thought he was going to fly away, but he didn’t. She glanced at the standing stone, and recalled her vision, or whatever it was that had overwhelmed her. “What was I holding in my hand?” she murmured, to herself. “Robin said it was the right thing, but I couldn’t see it.”

  “Quack,” muttered the drake, clacking his bill again.

  “And Jenny told me I must find the answer in the painting, but Rowan and I have looked and looked at it. I’m sure there’s nothing more to see.” Catching her skirts together, she got to her feet, but as she tried to walk back up the path, the mallard deliberately waddled in front of her, almost tripping her up. Then he stood up as tall as he could, so that he looked very long and thin, and he gave her a look that could only be described as highly indignant. It was very plain he wanted something of her.

  She hesitated. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Quack,” he replied, then stretched up to pull at her skirt with his bill. She was reminded of a child that wanted to be picked up. Was that what he wanted? Uncertain, she bent to him, and when he didn’t back away, she gathered him into her arms. It was exactly what he wanted, for he made a satisfied little noise, and shuffled comfortably. This was definitely not an ordinary duck, she thought, as she carried him toward the house.

  She encounter
ed Beech as she went inside, and his eyes widened when he saw Sir Francis, but he bowed his head respectfully. However, a young housemaid who was just emerging from the dining room was startled because the mallard gave a loud, suspiciously mischievous quack. Dropping her duster, the girl fled toward the kitchens.

  Marigold halted and gave Sir Francis a shrewd glance. “You enjoyed doing that, didn’t you?” His bill rattled, almost as if he were sniggering, and she studied him.

  “Just how much do you understand, hm? Your ability to convey your feelings with a single quack is quite amazing.” He gazed back at her, and after a moment she carried him to Jenny’s portrait. Was there something that she hadn’t noticed before? After a while, she sighed. “Well, sir, I’m supposed to find the solution, but every time I look, I only see what I’ve seen before,” she murmured to the drake.

  Sir Francis became restive. He wriggled and squirmed, began to quack very loudly and seemed quite upset. “Do be still,” Marigold chided, and was rewarded with a highly indignant glare, so she put him down on the floor. Ruffled and somewhat peeved, he gave her another very dire look, then fluffed his feathers, and waddled along the room. When he was about twelve feet from her, he turned and directed a vocal broadside that more than conveyed his displeasure.

  “You’re quite impossible,” Marigold declared, becoming more and more certain that he understood far more than any mallard should.

  His response was something very like a derisory snort, but then she forgot all about him as through the far window she saw a carriage coming along the drive. It wasn’t very grand, indeed it was a rather old post chaise, with an equally old postboy seated on the lead horse. As she looked, one of the chaise windows was lowered, and Perry leaned out. With a glad cry, she gathered her skirts and ran from the room. She positively flew across the hall, and out beneath the porch just as the chaise rattled to a standstill.

  Perry flung the door open and leapt down to run to her. He was pale and clearly far from well, but his delight on seeing her again could not have been more warm. He hugged her tightly. “Oh, Mama! How good it is to be with you again!”

  She laughed. “Instead of conjugating Latin verbs and applying your dubious intellect to mathematical problems?”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “No, but it’s probably true.” She turned as Bysshe climbed down as well.

  He had been pale before, and was more so now. He gave her a sheepish smile. “Good afternoon, Lady Avenbury.”

  “Hello again, Bysshe. May I call you Bysshe?”

  “Oh, please do.”

  “Well, I’m afraid Lord Avenbury has gone to Salisbury, but he will be back this evening. In the meantime, I don’t know how unwell you both are. Do you wish to retire to your rooms to rest?”

  To her surprise they both nodded. They must indeed be ill, she thought. “Very well, I’ll have Beech show you the way. Come inside. Would you care for some refreshment?”

  “Just a drink of cordial,” Perry said, and Bysshe murmured his agreement.

  As they entered the house, the boys paused to gaze around the hall. A shine of anticipation crept into Bysshe’s eyes. “Oh, gosh, this place is magnificently atmospheric,” he breathed. “First those standing stones, and now the very house where the Avenbury curse—”

  “Bysshe!” Perry gave him an angry look. “Have a little tact!”

  Bysshe blinked, and then looked apologetically at Marigold. “Forgive me, ma’am, I—I didn’t mean ...” His voice died away as something caught his eye in the dining room doorway. It was Sir Francis, who didn’t make a sound, but just gazed at the two boys.

  Perry looked too. “Oh, no! Not you again!” he cried. Sir Francis responded with a quack that verged on the smug.

  Bysshe sighed. “We didn’t bring him with us, ma’am, truly we didn’t!”

  “I know. He arrived at the same time as Lord Avenbury and me, and was very nearly served up on a platter.”

  “Pity he hadn’t been,” Perry muttered.

  The mortified quack with which this remark was greeted made Marigold certain Sir Francis could understand. That being so, she was equally certain he was part of the puzzle. Each time she’d touched the stone, the birds on the lake were involved. And they were in the background of the portrait.

  Bysshe turned helplessly to Perry. “What are we going to do with him? He’s such a pest, he’s bound to get in the way of—” He broke off sharply, and glanced a little guiltily at Marigold.

  “In the way of what?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing really.”

  “Not experiments, I trust?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am,” he replied earnestly.

  “Perry?”

  Her son was all innocence too. “Certainly not, Mama. We don’t intend to attempt any experiments at all.”

  “So we aren’t going to be treated to more satanic circles, electrified doorknobs, and the like?”

  “No, Mama.”

  “See that is so.” But she was still mistrustful. They were a little too angelic. “What exactly have you brought with you?” she asked, seeing the footman carrying in several large trunks.

  “Lots of books,” the boy replied together.

  They still looked furtive, she decided, and the obvious reason was something concerning the curse. Better to nip any schoolboy schemes in the bud, she decided. “Very well, sirs, if it is only books, they had better not deal with the foolish legends surrounding this house. If I discover either of you in any mischief on the matter, you will be on your way back to Eton tout de suite. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She turned to Beech, who waited dutifully nearby. “Show Master Perry and Master Bysshe to their rooms, Beech, and see they are served some cordial.”

  “My lady. Come this way, young sirs,” the butler said, and bowed to the boys.

  As they followed him, Sir Francis waddled across the hall and then fluttered up the staircase behind them. Marigold heard Bysshe’s stifled exclamation of annoyance, but neither boy tried to shoo the mallard away. Clearly they were resigned to his tenacity. Sir Francis was a demon indeed when it came to doing as he pleased.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  It didn’t take long to find out what Perry and Bysshe were up to, indeed it became clear that very night, although at first all seemed well. Rowan had returned from Salisbury, and he, the boys, and Marigold dined together. During the meal, there was no indication of approaching trouble, although the relish with which both boys devoured Mrs. Spindle’s superlative cooking made their claims to illness seem increasingly specious.

  Rowan and Marigold remained at the table afterward to discuss everything yet again, and for a while Perry and Bysshe stayed with them, but then decided instead to adjourn to the adjacent billiard room, which also opened onto the terrace. There was still no hint of what was to come when they returned to the grand parlor at about eleven o’clock to say good night, and then retire to their beds. But schoolboy plans were afoot, as was soon to be revealed.

  In the meantime, Rowan and Marigold’s intensive dining room debate continued. The curse was raked over, then raked over again. She told Rowan about her second experience at the standing stone, and they tried to decide what form her supernatural ability actually took, but all it seemed to be was a susceptibility to visions or hallucinations.

  Having failed to pinpoint the power’s form, they turned their attention to the painting, but although they scrutinized it for well over an hour, they perceived nothing new. Jenny’s “answer” remained infuriatingly elusive, and they concluded that if there was a hidden message or clue, it was so well concealed it had been rendered impossible to find!

  Sir Francis was with them, having flown onto the table after it was cleared. Once again he’d settled beside Marigold, and neither she nor Rowan made any attempt to remove him, because it was always easier to let the mallard do as he pleased. And speak as he pleased as well, for their conversation was
constantly punctuated by his bill rattling and decidedly bellicose chuntering. He didn’t seem at all pleased with either of them, fixing first one then the other with his bright eyes. Occasionally he gave a snort that was so disparaging that at last Marigold confided in Rowan her suspicion that the drake understood what they were discussing.

  “I’m beginning to think the same,” Rowan replied dryly, “and by his attitude I’d say disagrees with us!”

  “I think he’s definitely part of all this,” Marigold said then.

  “A very opinionated part.”

  She smiled. “Maybe, but all the same ...”

  Rowan nodded. “I concede the point. You’ve been right about him all along, although I still cannot imagine who he is.”

  “The first Lord Avenbury?”

  With an emphatic quack, Sir Francis stretched his neck to look long and hard at them both.

  “Well, I suppose it’s as feasible as everything else.” Rowan gave a rueful grin. “I must be unique. It isn’t every nobleman in England who can claim descent from ducks and wrens!”

  “A very exclusive genealogy,” Marigold replied, and then bit her lip as without warning tears sprang to her eyes. “I—I can’t believe we’re joking about it.”

  Sir Francis rattled his bill soothingly, and rested his head against her arm. Rowan took her hand, and smiled again. “Our web-footed friend doesn’t want you to cry, my darling, nor do I. It’s always better to smile than weep. Come on now, let’s recapitulate everything we know, or think we know.”

  Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Marigold stroked the drake while she and Rowan went over the whole puzzle again. They were not to know that schoolboy ears were pressed to the door, or that schoolboy eyes widened more with each startling revelation. Sir Francis knew though, for he looked toward the door, but he didn’t raise the alarm.

  At last the two boys drew well away from the door, and whispered together. They had been about to secretly leave the house when they’d commenced eavesdropping, now they went quietly to the front door, and slipped out into the summer night. The moment they’d gone, Beech emerged from the shadows at the top of the stairs, and hurried downstairs to follow. He tracked them around the side of the house, and watched as they ran past the terrace toward the ha-ha, and then to the common. He waited until he was sure they were intent upon examining the ashes by the oak tree, then he hastened back into the house to tap urgently upon the dining room door. “My lord?”