Wild Lavender

by Nicole Elizabeth Kelleher

  Lady Aubrianne gazed at him speculatively. At least she had ceased glaring at him. And in that instant, when her features softened, he recognized her: Anna.

  He took a step back as if someone had struck him in the chest. She studied him for a moment. When it became clear that she didn’t recognize him in return, his disappointment was humbling. What did he expect, Lark thought, that she would rush into his arms, and finish the kiss that he’d started? He was acting like a lovestruck boy.

  She pulled an apple from her bag and tossed it to him. “It’s for Rabbit.”

  He caught it deftly but winced. Unwilling concern flitted across her face, and Lark took a moment to really study her. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she was quite beautiful. Her eyes were as he remembered: light, sooty brown, and like her hair, dusted with gold. And, she still had what Lark liked to think of as a kiss-worthy mouth: full lips that begged to be teased and nipped.

  As for her hair, more tendrils had escaped the long braid. He resisted the urge to wrap one around his finger. His gaze rose to follow the curve of her cheek, and he noticed for the first time a greenish-yellow tinge under her eye, as if she had just overcome some illness.

  Roger was a lucky man to have married this woman. A surge of jealousy coursed through Lark, and he forced himself to pull his mind away from her attributes. When he looked at her again, he found himself condemned by her knowing eyes. She gave a snort of disgust. That she had found his regard distasteful bothered him more than he cared to admit.

  • • •

  Anna was starting to believe that all noble-born men were cut from the same cloth. She was tired of being viewed as an object to be owned and used. This man, this Royal Guard, he was just like all of the others, wasn’t he? He saw her skirt—breeches, she corrected herself—and decided there was nothing more of value except for that which was hiding underneath.

  Exasperated, she held out her hand. “Let me see your finger. Come now, don’t be afraid. I’ll show you at least half the gentleness that I gave Rabbit.” She masked her true emotions under a shield of ire.

  Rabbit snorted, and the guard gave her his hand. She cupped it with her own to better examine his fingertip. There’d been a spark in his dark eyes, and she almost lost herself in his stormy gaze. Could it be him, she thought wildly, the stranger from so many years ago? Her heart beat faster at the thought, her inner turmoil at odds with the practiced expression on her face. His eyes remained steadily fixed on hers; she was first to turn away.

  Willing herself to be calm, she took his hand in a stronger grip and forced herself to ignore the strange tingling she felt when their skin made contact. His fingertip was red and swollen. And when she touched the sore, he winced, and his fingers curled back protectively.

  “Did you not think to wear gloves?” When he didn’t answer right away, Anna glanced up at him. He was so focused on her hands touching his that he hadn’t even heard her.

  • • •

  She did not seem to be conscious of the effect of her touch. Or perhaps she did know, Larkin thought, remembering how she did the same to Rabbit’s shoulder as her fingers inched their way to the bogburr. Perhaps she was trying to distract him as well. He realized that he’d forgotten about his finger. A pleasant tingling sensation engulfed his hand. Lost in thought, it took him a moment to realize that she had asked him something.

  “Sorry, what was that?”

  “Gloves?” she repeated. “Did you forget to wear your gloves?”

  “Yes. No,” he fumbled his answer. For the first time, he saw amusement in her eyes. Only a hint, but it transformed her beautiful face into one that bordered on radiant. If his discomfort was the cause, he did not mind the embarrassment. As more time passed without an intelligible answer, the smile in her eyes traveled to her lips.

  “I see. Yes and no,” she said with a small laugh. “Yes, you wore a glove on your left hand: no burrs. No, you did not wear a glove on your right: a nasty barb in the finger. Have I got it right? Shall we fix your finger before it bursts?”

  “No and yes,” he quipped. “No, you did not get it right. I wore gloves on both hands, but only after the first barb pierced my finger.” He enjoyed hearing her laugh. “And yes. Please fix my finger. I’m rather fond of it and would hate for it to explode.”

  She gave Will a quick nod. The young man picked up a broom to sweep the already-clean threshold near the stable’s entrance. Before Lark could ask why they required advance warning of someone’s approach, Lady Aubrianne spoke again.

  “Please sit over there; the light is better.” She opened her kit and laid out a few instruments. The implements were clean and sharp. He stared down at two small blades, then at a pair of sharp scissors, and she poised her hand above one knife as if that would be her choice. At the last second, she reached for a pair of tweezers. He sighed in relief, earning another smile.

  “It won’t hurt—well, not really. But if I don’t remove the spine, your finger could become diseased.” She touched the swollen tip again. “You could eventually lose it,” she added with more gravity. When he nodded to her to proceed, she probed the swollen fingertip to find the offending barb. He flinched but held his hand steady.

  She was right, he thought, his finger already felt as if it were on fire. She sat facing him, her knees against his. He braced himself, then noticed a delicate fragrance in the air. Anna’s scent, he remembered, breathing in the familiar and intoxicating smell. Definitely a flower.

  “I lied,” she said. “This will hurt. Are you ready?”

  He needed to hear his name on her lips. “Larkin. My name is Larkin.”

  She cocked her head at him. “Are you ready, Larkin?”

  He nodded. Roses? he wondered. No, not roses.

  She squeezed the swollen pad, and the head of the barb poked out.

  Heather? No again, he thought.

  Will continued to stand guard near the entrance.

  Lilacs? No.

  As Lady Aubrianne bent her head to her task, Lark gritted his teeth to stem the coming pain. He saw the quick gleam of metal and felt a sharp, painful tug on the tip of his finger. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed victoriously, brandishing the tweezers.

  Lavender! She smelled of lavender.

  Will hurried past them, shooting a warning to Lady Aubrianne. Before she could release Larkin’s hand, Roger entered the stable, Gorman tagging behind like a hungry dog.

  Her husband seemed as though he were attempting to assemble some excuse as to why his wife was sitting next to another man, holding hands, knees touching. There was a tremor in Aubrianne’s grip. To her credit, she did not release her hold too quickly. Doing so would appear as if she’d done something worthy of shame.

  Lady Aubrianne ignored her husband’s scathing glower. She reached for her crock of salve and spread some balm on Lark’s finger. She sounded composed enough as she instructed him in its further care. “You’ll need to soak your finger in cold water for fifteen minutes or so. It will get rid of most of the swelling. After you’re done, wrap your finger in something clean. It should be back to normal tomorrow.” She released his hand and gave him a small cloth with more balm.

  “Your name is Larkin?” Roger demanded.

  Lark yawned as if bored. In an even voice, he answered, “How clever of you to learn it.” While Aubrianne gathered her kit together, he stood, blocking Roger’s view of his wife. His demeanor was casual as he waited in front of them, but his hand came to rest on his sword hilt.

  It was odd, Lark thought, the way Aubrianne’s husband’s eyes kept flashing between his wife and him. Lark waited for Roger to comment, and seeing that the man was at a loss for words, he turned to Lady Aubrianne, putting his back purposely to the two men.

  “Thank you, Lady Aubrianne, for your expert care.” He was loath to leave the woman alone with her husband. In a voice intentionally lowered, he spoke to her alone. “If I can ever return the favor, simply ask.”

  She forced a smile to her li
ps and answered, “You are welcome, Larkin. If you have any trouble with your finger, ask for my woman, Grainne. And remember to soak it—now would be better than later. You’ll find buckets near the fountain in the courtyard.” Her tone was dismissive, and Lark bowed low before leaving the stable. Gorman followed.

  • • •

  Anna watched him depart, mentally comparing him to her husband. He was slightly taller. Broader across the shoulders, too. His build was at once solid and lean. No, she thought, lithe. How strange that after three years of marriage, she had never seen her husband naked. Larkin’s clothing left no doubt in a woman’s mind as to his form underneath.

  A hard slap to her face brought her out of her comparison. “So, I finally meet Larkin,” Roger seethed. “When were you first with him?”

  “What do you mean?” she answered, her hand cradling her stinging cheek.

  “Don’t lie to me, Aubrianne. I know you were a virgin when we married, but perhaps you have been with him after. Perhaps on one of your trips with the mares?”

  She remembered where she had heard the name before. It was the day after she had collapsed in the ring of stones. Roger had spoken it. “A better question, Roger, is how do you know him? Why this fascination with his name?”

  He was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind to be arguing with him. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Shut up, Aubrianne. Tell me. Have you lain with him?”

  She could not fathom whence her husband could have gotten such a ridiculous notion and almost laughed. She thought of the miller’s daughter and pushed him a little harder. But as the words passed her lips, she regretted her reply immediately. “Considering how you view our vows, why should it matter?”

  Her husband was incensed. This time when he struck her, it was not with an open palm. He backhanded her, knocking her sideways to the wooden bench, still warm from where she had sat with Larkin. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She touched the spot where his hand had connected with her jaw and winced. The blow had split the tender skin.

  But Roger wasn’t quite finished with her and hauled her up by her hair. Speaking quite calmly, he demanded, “Answer me, Aubrianne.”

  “No, I have not lain with him,” she replied shakily.

  He released her, and she stumbled backward. “You’d better hurry and retrieve Gilles and the mares, Aubrianne. The sun is already high.” He smoothed his tunic back into place, ran his fingers through his hair, then left the stable.

  Anna sat to collect her wits. He’d struck her so hard that she’d seen stars. His uncontrollable violence before he walked out of the stable only cemented in Anna’s mind that she would have to carry out her plan, Baldric’s arrival notwithstanding.

  Will approached with a clean, damp rag. “I’m sorry, m’lady. I only returned as he struck you. If I had been here, I—”

  “Hush, Will. He would have hit me regardless.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Will asked.

  “Naught but what I asked earlier,” she answered.

  He doffed his ridiculous-looking cap and handed it to her. “And tonight, m’lady, do you still need me to take Tullian to the crypt?”

  “I’ll let you know when I return.”

  Before leaving, Anna took one last look at the bench where she and Larkin had sat. Could he really be the man who had almost kissed her so many years ago? She’d seen nothing but his near-black eyes that evening. A hidden lock inside her heart felt as though a key had been forced into it. This man’s eyes were the same.

  Chapter Thirty—Larkin’s Promise

  Anna left the stable by way of the paddocks. Her intuition told her that if Baldric and his men saw her, there would be no chance for her to ride out to Gilles. Baldric would certainly confront Roger. Or worse, he would do nothing at all. She had but one corner to round and remain unnoticed, and she’d be within the castle. It was not to be.

  Of course, it was Larkin who had seen her. “Lady Aubrianne, a word. Please,” he called. She was less than five paces from the entrance and repressed the urge to sprint the last steps. Instead, she stopped but kept her back to him. “Can you at least turn around?” he entreated.

  That was the last thing Anna wanted to do. For years, she had walked freely among her people at Stolweg, unafraid and unashamed. She never worried that they would pity her when they saw the marks left behind by Roger, for they bore their own bruises along with her.

  So why did she care so much what Larkin thought? Anna realized that she was worried, though not for herself. The truth was, she was afraid of what Larkin might do to Roger. And as long as she was being honest with herself, she believed that it was not his affair. Inflicting pain on her husband was something she wanted all for herself.

  In the stable, her husband had been so interested in Larkin’s name that he’d been blind to the man himself. She’d seen the danger signs rolling off Larkin. How when Gorman had tried to flank him, the guard’s hand had fallen so easily to the hilt of his sword that Anna had held her breath. His fingers may have been relaxed, but she’d recognized the coiled tension in his neck and shoulders. Roger, so overly confident, had missed it.

  She would eventually have to face Larkin. But allowing him to see the condition of her face would only cause him to regret that he hadn’t stayed with her. Damn, she swore to herself, he wasn’t going to give her a choice in the matter. Tired of waiting, he simply walked around until he stood facing her.

  “Will you look at me!” he demanded when she fastened her eyes to the ground.

  God’s oath, she thought angrily. Would there ever be a day in her life when she would not be ordered around by some man? If he was so keen on seeing her, then fine, let him. She smoothed her hair back from her face, turning her head slightly to conceal the worst from him.

  “You want to see me, Larkin? Well, take a good look. Then tell me what else you want from me. I am quite busy.” Anna hadn’t meant to let it out, but some of the fury in her heart escaped.

  He seemed shocked. Good. She’d expected to see pity, had even searched his eyes for it. To her surprise and relief, she found none. But there was anger—she could see the tightening of his features around his storm-filled eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what? Did you strike me?” she spat angrily. “Why should you be sorry? You did nothing.” His eyes were bleak, and Anna realized she had hit the nail on the head: he’d done nothing. And now he probably felt guilty. This only stoked her ire more.

  “Don’t you dare take this upon yourself, Larkin. You offered to help me. I sent you away.” And because he stood there without speaking a word, she continued to rage at him. She told him to quit being such a man. He was not responsible for her. On and on she went, until there was nothing left. When she had finished, he merely watched and waited, his expression serene. She opened her mouth to say more but shut it.

  “Are you finished?” he asked calmly.

  When she could think of naught else to say, Anna discovered that Larkin had given her exactly what she needed: someone to rail against. She hadn’t felt this good in years. He was too smart by any measure, and she was immediately wary.

  • • •

  It was clear to Lark that Roger had struck Lady Aubrianne, and more than once. “I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble by allowing you to tend to my hand,” he told her. “I would rather lose my finger than see you hurt.”

  When she spoke out again, her words sounded more weary than angry. “You must think very highly of yourself if you believe this was about you. My trouble started years ago.”

  He reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her face up. He’d been mistaken earlier. The sallow color near her eye was not from any illness. The sunlight told him a different story. He frowned at the red welt high on her cheek and the cut on her along her jawbone. She met his gaze steadily, daring him to speak.

  When he daubed away a smear of blood on her chin, her eyes softened at the gesture, and his breath h
itched. In that instant, his heart was lost. He would accede to anything she asked. “What would you have me do, m’lady?”

  Her eyes told him everything: an overwhelming need to be protected, then a resolute denial of the very idea. Lark nodded and removed his hand. “Nothing, then. But know this: he will not touch you again while I am here. Not even if you beg me to let him. I swear this to you.”

  Before she could comment, a tiny woman inserted herself between them, the back of her head coming no higher than his chest. Lark could not help but smile. First Will, and now this speck of a woman. Lady Aubrianne had brave friends indeed. Used to making people cower, this was a new experience for Lark.

  The woman—her maid, Lark guessed—studied Aubrianne’s face. “If we put a cold cloth on that right away, it might not bruise this time,” she stated, ignoring the man towering behind her. “He’ll be one of the Royal Guard, then?” Grainne deduced.

  “Yes. Larkin, this is my friend Grainne.” Grainne beamed at him, squaring her shoulders.

  “I’m her maid, m’lord.” Lady Aubrianne rolled her eyes.

  He bowed to Grainne. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Grainne. And I am no lord; that title has gone to my older brother.” He wondered what had prompted his admission.

  “Larkin, if your finger troubles you,” Lady Aubrianne reminded him, “find Grainne.”

  He nodded, then leaned forward. “I meant what I promised you, m’lady.”

  “I know,” she replied, and stepped away.

  Larkin’s only thought at the moment was to control the urge to beat Roger to a pulp. But she had turned back to him, and the pain in her eyes took the wind from his rage.

  “Larkin,” she began, “in the stable, you said if ever I needed a favor…”