“Oh, Larkin, rest easy. I am not looking for a husband,” she stated, guessing his thoughts. “Being a young widow has too many benefits—the freedom to do as I choose being first on the list. And speaking of freedom, are you at liberty this evening?”
“I am at your disposal, m’lady, but it will be late.” He stood to secure his clothing, and then helped Lady Caroline with her gown. Bowing as he discreetly left her chamber, he bade her goodbye.
• • •
It had taken Warin and Lady Beth nearly two hours to track down Lark. And now, as Warin saw Lady Caroline in the corridor, he knew why. He quickly assembled a scheme to thwart any plans Lark might have made for the evening.
“Whoa, m’lady,” he said with just the right touch of velvet in his voice. Lady Caroline barely avoided colliding with him. “You nearly toppled me. Why such haste?” He and Lark knew that the ladies were cognizant of their game of hearts, but being ladies, they kept their own counsel. Lately, their favors had gone more to Lark. The man was as clever as a bramble-bird, capable of escaping any situation with nary a ruffled feather. But not this time, for the snare that Warin was about to set not even Lark could evade.
“M’lady?” Warin prompted.
“But I’m in no hurry,” she replied, studying him with interest.
“Everyone rushing about,” Warin complained. “I was nearly tackled by my good friend Larkin as he and Lady Beth rushed off.”
’Twas no lie he told to Lady Caroline, but neither was it the full truth. He and Lady Beth had sought out Lark, and Lady Beth had rushed off with him. Not to her chamber, however, but to the Queen, who had summoned him. He allowed Lady Caroline to come to her own conclusion.
She narrowed her eyes. “As I said, Warin, I’m in no hurry. And I find myself unengaged this evening.” She took his arm and batted her lashes. “Perhaps you are free as well.” Warin gave her his cockiest grin and ushered her down the corridor.
• • •
In her royal apartments, Queen Juliana did not look up from her work as the door clicked closed. She could sense Larkin watching her from the other side of the room. Finished at last, she folded the letter she had penned and pressed her seal upon it. She stood and faced the man she’d summoned. As he bowed low, she appraised him: darkly handsome and as graceful as a cat, he was tall with long, lean muscles. He took after his father in every way except for his raven hair and dark coloring. Those attributes came from his mother.
The last few years at court had matured more than his looks; his twenty-five-year-old mind was sharper than any guard’s in Aurelia. Her husband often sought Lark’s recommendation.
“What is this formality, Lark?” she demanded, striding across the room.
Lark humored her and took her in his arms. “It was a summons from the Queen, was it not?”
“Lady Beth tends to exaggerate. I should have sent Lady Caroline, but she was nowhere to be found.” She caught his eye after he was a bit too late in hiding a knowing smile. She would have to have a word with Lady Caroline. “I don’t want to know!” the Queen exclaimed as she pushed Lark away.
“I think you have nothing to worry about, my Queen. I’ve a notion that my evening’s plans have been foiled once again.” His tone held not a pinch of regret.
“Warin?” she asked.
“Who else, Auntie?” he admitted.
Queen Juliana’s heart warmed; he called her Auntie only when they were alone. “Why do you play these games, Larkin? You could marry any noblewoman of your choosing. I promised your mother that I would—”
“I’m only five and twenty. There is time aplenty to hitch my cart to another,” he asserted.
Queen Juliana would not be put off-topic. She remembered when Lark had arrived to join the King’s Royal Guard. He had sought her out and asked that she and the King not reveal the blood-link between them. For that reason, few in court knew that Lark’s mother was the Queen’s half sister, Lady Kathryn of Morland. “But if you were presented as my nephew, many landed nobles would seek you out. Lord Gervaise of Chevring, for instance. His youngest daughter is nearly of age.” She thought of the eldest daughter, now married to Lord Roger, and tried to mask the distaste she felt for the man.
“Are you ill, Auntie?” Lark asked her and led her swiftly to the chair at her desk. Queen Juliana marveled at her nephew; he could see past all pretenses faster than a starving vulture scenting fresh kill.
“No, no,” she assured him, “I’m quite fine.” When he raised his eyebrow, as he was oft to do, and peered at her with his ebony eyes, she added, “I was thinking of the Lady of Stolweg and her husband.” Now, there was a true vulture, she thought. “You, on the other hand, I would like to see settled before I’m old and gray. One word from the King and—”
“I want no special treatment because of our relation,” he pressed again. “I’ve survived this long without it; I daresay I’ll last awhile longer.”
It was her turn to cock an eyebrow. “Careful you don’t become too hard, Larkin,” she warned. “Others have made that mistake and lost what mattered most. You do not want to live a cold life with nothing but regretted days to keep you company.”
She was, of course, referring to Lark’s father, Lord Aldred of Sterland, whose first wife, after a decade of illness, had passed quietly in her bed. She remembered how his mourning had lasted for years. Chance took Aldred near Morland Keep, where he met Queen Juliana’s half sister, Kathryn. Attracted to her youth and vitality, he fell passionately in love. They married almost immediately. But her sister was always one to speak her mind. Lord Aldred, twenty years her senior, soon found that he preferred quiet subservience. They quarreled fiercely and often. Six months into the marriage, Lord Aldred sent her back to Morland Keep. When Kathryn found herself with child, she sent a letter to Aldred, asking to return to him. Lord Aldred, too proud for his own good, never responded. Fifteen years passed, and he died, lonely and bitter.
Juliana wondered how much of this Lark knew. Most of it, she judged, for his face had become impassive. No matter how much he loved his Auntie, he could shutter his emotions in an instant. She rarely trespassed onto this forbidden subject. His father’s abandonment had impressed an indelible mark upon Larkin. But her nephew had shaped his anger into a useful tool. With no father present in his youth, Larkin had learned all that he knew by observing others. He was an expert at tying together seemingly random facts. Moreover, he was fearsomely loyal to his mother and all those he held dear.
Yet, Queen Juliana worried for her nephew. He rarely dropped his guard low enough to allow others to get close to him. Only once, two years ago, had he expressed more than a passing interest in a woman. He’d asked her if she knew of a young noblewoman answering to Anna. When she did not recall anyone by that name, he had looked crestfallen and quickly changed the subject. But she had glimpsed the spark in his eyes. A rare moment indeed.
“I have a letter that needs to be delivered as soon as possible,” she stated. The queen may have lost this skirmish with her nephew, but his mother was about to enter the battle. There was no stopping her sister when she set her mind to accomplish something. “How would you like a respite from court?” she asked, knowing he wouldn’t refuse her.
“Where are you sending me? And why do I feel that I should surrender now?”
“Too late, my dear nephew,” Queen Juliana replied. “Fate has other plans for you.”
Chapter Three—Expectations
Roger had offered her this chance to ride, but much too soon Anna saw its end. The forest loomed ahead. At least Tullian seemed satisfied, she thought, but she would have preferred charging through the woods.
“There’s a clearing ahead where we can camp,” Roger said as they entered the trees. “My men know where to go.”
Anna knew of the clearing: level and grass-covered, with a creek mere paces into the woods. She and her father had used it many times. She took stock of the familiar surroundings and, under the shade of the trees, where th
e air was cool and damp, she breathed in the rich, loamy scents.
She loved these old woods of oak and maple. The road that cut through was straight and clear of underbrush. As long as anyone could remember, the highway had been as much a part of the forest as the trees themselves. It was perhaps even older. Neither encroached upon the other, save when the wind gleaned the dead limbs, and autumn loosed the leaves from the vaulted canopy above. The people of Chevring believed that the route had been laid by an ancient race and that deep under its surface was pounded iron. No precious ore could be seen today, for hundreds of years of decaying leaves covered any trace. It was an ill omen to be caught on a road such as this in a thunderstorm.
Roger pulled ahead, leaving Anna’s thoughts to wander more. Her grandmother had oft recited the lore of the old forests and of the rings of stone scattered throughout the realm. Nothing like the watered-down fables told to scare children, but the true stories as sung by the minstrels. And to Anna, each tale held romance.
Anna sighed, her eyes lingering on the perfect figure of her husband just ahead. She was married now, she recalled with a touch of sadness. It was time to put girlish reveries away.
She wondered about their coming wedding night and if he would be gentle with her. He’d been married before, so she knew he must be practiced in the art of lovemaking. He was a fine-looking man, and she was surprised to find in herself the slight stirrings of attraction.
Roger’s build was muscular, and try as she might, Anna could not detect the paunch that afflicted most men of thirty. When he spoke, his voice possessed a pleasant timbre. Perhaps one day, they could come to love each other. Then she remembered seeing Roger’s eyes for the first time, hoping against hope that they would be as dark as night. But their hue matched the sea’s slate-colored ice that forms only on the coldest of days. Like the ice, she found no warmth in his gaze.
Anna suddenly realized that Roger had been studying her. Her cheeks flamed with color, and she snapped her focus to the path ahead. From the intensity of his stare, he seemed able to read her mind. Roger smiled and clucked his tongue, putting his horse into a canter. Anna composed herself before following.
The newlyweds pulled up in unison to the trail leading to the campsite. The path was just wide enough to ride two abreast. More than once, Roger’s leg brushed against hers. By the time they came to the clearing, Anna was as skittish as a newborn colt, simultaneously afraid and hoping that he would ravish her.
Roger dismounted first, and then came around to lift her from her saddle. His hands encircled her slim waist, and he set her lightly on the ground. When he did not immediately release her, Anna peered up at him through her long lashes. She did not know what to expect, but she wanted something, anything, to happen. The tension was too great, and her breath caught as she tried to calm her nerves. She was sure he would kiss her.
“We have only a few moments before the others arrive, Aubrianne, and I want to make something clear,” he murmured. “I have decided that we will not consummate our vows until we reach Stolweg Keep.” When she lowered her face in embarrassment, he lifted her chin with his knuckle. “I am only telling you this to ease your nerves. You’ve become a bit anxious since we reached the forest. It is not becoming of the new Lady of Stolweg.”
Anna had not expected this. Moments ago, she had believed that he was about to ravish her once they were alone. Instead, he was instructing her on how to behave. He pulled her a fraction closer. She saw fire in his eyes and a hint of future passion. An instant later, he stepped away to lead their mounts to the far edge of the clearing.
“Would you mind taking the horses to water?” he asked, unperturbed. “There is a brook just along that path,” he explained, pointing into the trees.
She cleared her throat discreetly and answered, “Your request is my pleasure, m’lord.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and she took heart in the fact that her words had amused him.
Anna found the creek easily, for she’d oft been there before. Leaving the horses standing in the shallows to drink, Anna gazed about. Mossy boulders, timeworn and sleeping for centuries, beckoned her to the brook’s edge. One rock in particular was flat and dipped into a natural pool made by a curve in the stream. The dark green, living carpet was thick and soft and cushioned her knees as she knelt over the clear pool. In the waning light, she could just make out her reflection on the water’s surface. Her golden-brown hair, so neatly plaited earlier in the day, was a mass of wild tresses. With a sigh, she began the process of braiding her thick mane once more.
After the horses had drunk their fill, they returned to the bank, where they nibbled at the tender green shoots growing there. Tullian lifted his head suddenly and snorted. Anna turned to see Roger striding toward her, his previous good humor vanished.
“Are you almost done?” he asked—his tone was polite, but Anna could see the impatience etched in the tightness of his jaw. “My men need to water their mounts.”
“I’m just finished now,” Anna replied cheerfully. He held out his hand to her as she stepped lightly from her perch. They led their two horses to the clearing and handed them over to the stable master.
Anna was about to assist when Roger took her elbow. “I assume that you have refreshments in your saddlebag. It was a long ride, and you should retire now,” he suggested, directing her to a newly erected tent before stepping away to his men.
Something about his dismissal worried her. She had seen the passion in his eyes earlier; perhaps he was pushing her away for that reason. She sat alone inside her tent, staring at the thick bedroll and the small trunk atop which a lantern sat. When she opened the screen for more light, the flame illuminated her wedding ring: a band of silver, thickly made to accommodate a cabochon ruby, fat like a plump raspberry but as red as flowing blood. She couldn’t help but frown at the gem, terrible in its beauty. She would have to be careful, for rubies were known to shatter.
Chapter Four—Midnight
Lady Kathryn of Morland set the letter down and gazed at her son. Queen Juliana was right to send Larkin from court. His game with Warin was cause for trouble. And as clever as the Queen’s ladies thought they were being, hearts would be broken, and scandal would mire the workings at King’s Glen. It was time for Larkin to settle.
“Finding court to your liking, my son?” she asked innocently.
“Didn’t the Queen say in her letter?” he replied, a little too shrewdly for his years. “What are the two of you contriving?”
Lady Kathryn merely smiled. “My dear Larkin,” she praised him, “the Queen writes only of your virtues.” They both laughed at her wit.
“Shall I wait for your reply before returning?” he asked.
“So eager to return?” She sighed as only a mother could. “Be patient. I’ll have it ready in a few days. For now, I have a gift for you.” She went to the cupboard in her waiting room. “This belonged to my grandfather. It’s time it had a new home.” She placed a dagger in his palm, and he examined it by the light of the fire.
“Onyx?” he asked, fingering the detail work on the hilt and butt.
“Yes. And just as it was with my grandfather, it’s as dark as your eyes.”
“These markings are much older than your grandfather’s time,” he stated, touching the runes etched along the blade.
“Our family’s line is an ancient one, as you well know,” she responded.
“And what do these symbols mean?”
She would have to tread carefully here, for her son knew that deciphering runes was her passion. “Some old prophecy,” she answered lightly, seeing a spark of interest in his midnight eyes. “It’s nothing, really, something about blood and stone. I’ve copied it down somewhere. If I find it, I’ll send it to you. For now, dear boy, I must finish some translations for the Queen.”
“I hope you and Auntie are not plotting my life again,” Larkin said, leaning his tall frame against the wall and crossing his arms in front of him. “An ancient prophecy won’t encour
age me to wed any faster than would a formal command from the King. I’d rather be banished to Nifolhad.”
“Larkin! Hold your tongue,” she cried. “You kill me with such words.”
“I spoke in jest, Mother,” he said soothingly. “I did not mean to worry you. I would never wish to be sent to such a place. But understand this: I will not marry. It would be better for all if you mentioned that to the Queen in your letter.”
“Stubbornness runs through your bones, Lark, just like your father,” she stated, and instantly regretted her words. For not only had his father never taken an interest in Lark, but by marrying him, Lady Kathryn had surrendered Lark’s birthright and title to Morland Keep to the whims of a bitter man.
Morland, the smallest territory in the realm, was a peninsula jutting into the Summer Sea. Sterland, the only region to touch Morland, was to the north. No ship could approach Aurelia from the south and escape detection by the watchmen upon the walls of Morland Keep. Though still a territory in its own right, and Lady Kathryn its keeper, Morland fell under the protection of Lark’s half brother, Lord Hugh of Sterland. An ancient treaty, one not dissolved when the regions of Aurelia had consolidated, stated that if ever Morland and Sterland united in marriage, the lands of Morland would be absorbed by Sterland.
When Lady Kathryn realized there would be no reconciling with Lord Aldred, she petitioned King Godwin to dissolve the pact. The King had allowed that if Lord Aldred would relinquish this right, Lark could retain his inheritance. But Lord Aldred would not be swayed.
She looked at her son, thinking about what she’d just said to him. “Being sorry for my words doesn’t make them any less true, Lark. But perhaps there still is hope for you. Your brother has embraced marriage and family life.”
Wild Lavender Page 2
