"I came out here to bathe," Serena said, rushing to explain herself and seeming uncomfortable with the weight of his silence. "I didn't think I needed to ask--that is, I thought we agreed yesterday that you would not impose..."
She did not finish. Perhaps she sensed that he was not demanding her excuses.
He should turn around and leave at once, he knew that. Propriety demanded it, even if Serena, for all her sheltered innocence, did not. Secluded from the hungry appetites of men for all the years she had spent in the haven of these woods, she could not possibly fathom the depth to which his thoughts had presently sunk. All the more reason why he should not linger there, every particle of his being awakened to a swift, unwanted, and feverish desire.
"Rand?"
She stepped away from the cascade's pool, and he was tormented further by the sight of her bare legs peeking out from the slice of fabric with each gliding movement. The evening mist enveloped her in gossamer white as she drew nearer to where he stood, too innocent to know she should fear him.
Rand took a breath, and his senses filled with the scent of her: clean, warm, womanly. Her face gleamed, her wet sable hair glowing blue-black where the moonlight kissed her pate. She was a vision unlike any he had ever seen, a sweet angel, anointed by enchanted waters.
God's love, but this was a potent siren he beheld, to be able to rouse this deep a hunger when his heart ached so keenly for another.
Or should.
She must have registered the danger in his hooded look, his tense silence, for at last she stilled. Drew back, an almost imperceptible retreat. Not nearly enough for his peace of mind; only an arm's length separated her from him. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath stirring the haze of moist salt air. At the base of her throat, her pulse beat quickly now, her bosom rising shallowly beneath the small fist that held her mantle together.
She swallowed, and he could almost scent her wariness. "I'd better go back..."
Less than three small paces brought her up beside him where he blocked her way out of the glade. He should have moved aside. She should not have paused there at his shoulder.
Rand turned his head toward her, hungered beyond reason. Wrong or nay--honor too flimsy to hold him--he reached out to her. A cool lock of glossy wet hair curled around his finger.
Serena drew in a breath. She went rigid beside him, but she did not pull away. Rand stroked that tendril of damp silk, let it coil around his hand. Water spiked her eyelashes, framing her unblinking gaze. Color danced on her cheeks now, a soft blush muting the nymphlike white of her skin. Her lips seemed dark as berries, glistening after her tongue nervously darted out to wet them.
Rand's body clenched with need.
He wanted to kiss her.
The thought hit him like a blow to the gut. An unbidden wave of possessiveness swept over him. He felt his grip go a little firmer on the curled strand of black silk he yet held captive in his hand. He was on the very edge of control, breathing hard, impulse commanding him past reason, past shame. He pivoted toward her, and with his free hand reached out to stroke the moonlit perfection of her face.
God help me, he thought, as his fingers lit on her face.
It was wrong to want this, so wrong, when his wife was only a couple months cold in her grave.
Elspeth deserved more than this.
Serena gasped, eyes wide as she flinched away from him. It was a subtle withdrawal, but one he could not mistake, even in his current state. He let her go at once.
Ah, yes, he thought with wry understanding. His unwelcome, painful touch. Her fear of that would save her where he could not summon honor enough to do so himself. Her brow creased slightly, confusion flashing in her eyes the instant before her long lashes swept down to conceal them.
Finally, almost too late, Rand found his voice. He could manage only one word.
"Go."
He turned away from her then, while he had the small window of strength to do so. Soft footsteps crunched the blanket of forest greenery beside him. He would not look to make sure she was leaving; he did not trust himself that far. Serena's pace was hesitant as she passed him. Then she was running, her retreat fading away as the roar of the falls filled the empty night.
Rand was alone once more.
He told himself he was relieved.
Chapter 11
She hardly saw him at all in the two days that had passed since their encounter at the cascade pool. Serena tried to stay out of Rand's way, busying herself with work about the cottage, throwing herself into any available distraction in the hope that she would soon forget those intense few moments that had passed between them in the moonlit grotto of the cascade.
She had not forgotten.
Nor did she believe she ever could forget the burning look in Rand's eyes, the way his gaze took in every inch of her as she stood before him, dripping from her bath. She should have been shamed, perhaps. He had seen her in full, she was certain of it. And seeing her thus--even in the scant moments before she had rushed to cover herself--had brought a change in his eyes, in his entire mien.
Nay, she would never forget that look. It was burned into her, as surely as the ever-present voice of Knowing. She would never forget the feel of Rand's fingers catching a loose strand of her hair, holding her motionless with nary a bit of coercion. The memory of his fleeting caress of her cheek would stay with her always.
She had wanted him to touch her. Serena knew it in that instant, as she knew it still, when her face flushed with heat just to think on the notion. She had wanted Randwulf of Greycliff to place his hands on her, and she on him, and that was dangerous thinking, indeed. All the worse, when he had come to her with the name of another woman on his lips.
His beloved wife, Elspeth.
His dead wife, Serena reminded herself, not sure why she should feel a pang of irritation for a woman she had never known. She should pity the lady who had been robbed of her life so cruelly.
She did, but pity paled when she thought of what Elspeth's death had so clearly done to Rand. Serena did not wish to think on what that said about herself, but she could not deny her disappointment when Rand had suddenly realized his mistake--that she was peculiar Serena of the grove, not his lost ladylove--and gruffly ordered her out of his sight.
It confused her, this queer tumble of feelings Rand bred in her. Part of her wanted to understand it better, but another part--the part that was schooled for years on her mother's woeful advisements against trusting a man--knew this was a feeling she should not explore.
And so Serena had decided to put Rand out of her mind as best she could. She would not think on him, or the demons that haunted him, nor how his presence was affecting her life. She would not dwell on tender touches or longing meant for another woman.
Soon enough he would be gone. His injuries were healing, and every day he gained more of his strength. His vengeance drew him as nothing else could, and there would be no holding him once he was ready to leave. If she was clever, she would pretend he did not exist. She should be more than eager to help him recover and go on his way.
He had not been the most approachable person when he first arrived in her private domain; however, now he seemed unwilling to speak to her at all, unable to look at her without turning away in distaste. He spent his days stalking the beach for the treasure he had lost, and his nights sleeping out beneath the stars. She supposed his mind was on his vengeance, but part of her wondered if she had somehow driven him into his brooding solitude.
Not that she should care how he felt about anything, but Serena did.
And it was not merely the connecting bond of the Knowing that made her feel this way.
Serena looked at Randwulf of Greycliff and saw a hurt that would not mend with any amount of retribution. Perhaps nothing would mend him. Perhaps he knew that himself, but sought his revenge regardless of its outcome. If that was so, then caring the least bit about him was foolhardy indeed, for he knowingly courted his own death.
W
ith a huff of resignation, Serena quit the cottage and set about her day's duties.
Outside the small abode, strung between the sturdy boughs of two ash trees, was a suspended line used for drying laundered garments. This morning the braided length of rope sagged under the weight of three washed blankets. Serena had cleaned them the day before, along with a swatch of soft linen fabric she thought would suit to replace Rand's last application of bandages.
The white linen had been one of her childhood chemises, an easy sacrifice, since she did not expect she would ever have a use for small garments like that. Particularly if she lived the rest of her days in these secluded woods. A husband and family seemed a far-off dream to her, as unattainable as the moon and stars. Her mother needed her more, and it was selfish of her to yearn for impossible things.
Rand's presence had not helped to curb her curiosity about the world beyond the grove line. Despite his assertion that it was a dangerous place outside these woods, Serena wished to see it for herself. The stirring wildness that had been niggling her in the weeks and months before his arrival had only deepened.
"Impossible," she chided herself softly as she reached up and removed the first blanket from the line.
Draping it over her arm, she moved to the next one. As she freed it, a sea breeze blew in from down the shore path, catching the end of the blanket and pulling it from her grasp. The fabric billowed and went sailing off the line, dropping in a graceful heap at her feet.
"God's blood," she muttered, using one of Rand's own favored curses as she bent to retrieve the blanket from where it had fallen. Brown pine needles and forest dust clung to the clean weave, sullying her work of the day before. She shook it out, grumbling another oath under her breath as the debris floated around her in a cloud.
"Such foul language," remarked a deep, familiar voice from somewhere just out of her sight. "Had I known you'd be so easily corrupted, lady, I might have minded my tongue a bit more around you."
Serena grasped the last of the blankets and jerked it from the line, revealing Rand's position on the other side of the yard. He was seated on a fallen log, his gaze fixed on something he was carving out of a small piece of wood. His fingers were careful, precise, not at all what she would have expected from a man bred to wield a deadly sword for a living. He glanced up idly and met her gaze.
"I didn't realize anyone was out here," she said, her eyes connecting with his. As ever, the sight of him put an odd tremble in her pulse, made her stand a little straighter before him. She drew herself up, holding the blanket in a drape over her arm. "What's that you're making?"
"Nothing." As if belatedly realizing what he was doing, Rand tossed down the half-carved chunk of wood and rose to his feet. "Actually, I was just about to leave."
"You don't have to--"
"The tide will be going out," he said, evidently yet determined to escape her. "I should go down and search the beach one more time."
Serena could not harness her small sigh of exasperation. "You have searched it a dozen times and there has been no trace of your cup. It's gone, Rand. You must give it up before the want of what you've lost destroys you."
Although she did not say it, she could see in Rand's hard expression that he knew she did not speak merely of missing objects. A long moment dragged by while he stood there, regarding her with a look somewhere between anger and resignation. "What I must do is my own to decide."
Serena looked away, occupying herself with her task at hand. She set the blankets down on a small patch of grass, then retrieved the chemise from the line. "Your bandages should be freshened today," she told him, happy to change the subject. "Will you cut this for me? It will make four strips if you rent it lengthwise."
When he did not refuse, she walked the fabric over to him. He set down his dagger and stripped off the tunic Serena had given him a few days before. Shining golden bright against the sinewed contours of his chest was the pendant that once belonged to his beloved wife. Serena averted her gaze, looking instead to the bandages that covered his wounded arms and torso. There were only trace amounts of stain bleeding through.
He was healing well, and soon would have no need to remain with them any longer. The thought gave her a mixed sense of relief and regret.
"Four strips," Serena said again, handing him her old garment.
"It looks too well-kept to ruin on me." He held it up, and Serena marveled at how small the child's chemise looked in his big hands. "Was it yours?"
"A long time ago," she replied. "I have no use for it now. It is little better than a rag."
He accepted the gift with a look of doubt, then sat back on his log seat and ran his dagger through the fabric in a clean slash of movement. The fine linen ripped easily, soon quartered as she had directed and resting in strips over Rand's muscular thigh.
While Serena went back and began folding the blankets into neat bundles, Rand removed his old bandages. The ones on his arms went first, unveiling the vicious slash marks that raked across both limbs. He discarded the soiled bindings beside him on the ground, then began to loosen the bandage that crisscrossed his torso. This proved more difficult than the others. His chest was broad and the strips of linen wrapped round and round the bulk of him.
More than once, he dropped the tail of the bandage and had to bend to retrieve it. Although she doubted he would accept, Serena was a hairbreadth from offering her help when he finally freed the last length of the binding.
As the soiled linen fell away, so did the pendant chain around his neck. The faulty link seemed determined not to hold; the delicate chain swung down, severed and dangling against his chest. Rand caught the pendant before it could fall.
"We could tie a bit of thread through the links to help it hold," Serena offered, watching as he held the errant charm in his open palm. "I have some inside, if you'd like me to fetch it."
"No," he said. "No. It has been mended too many times already. I don't reckon anything will hold it together now."
For a long while, he said nothing, just stared at the glint of delicately wrought gold in his hand. His gaze was far off; his voice, once he spoke, was reflective. "I gave this to Elspeth the day of our betrothal. She said she'd never had anything so fine."
"It's beautiful," Serena agreed. Although her heart pinched at the mention of his wife, she prayed he would tell her more, sensing his pain might be easier to bear if he shared some of it with her now. "She must have loved you very much."
Rand gave a slight shrug of his shoulder. "Our match was orchestrated by our families, but not for a lack of determined campaigning on my part. I first saw Elspeth when I was fostering at another castle. My friend, Kenrick of Clairmont, introduced us." The barest shadow of a grin quirked at his mouth. "I think he regretted his hand in our meeting, but if he did, he said naught to me. She was stunning and sweetly shy. Her father was a landed knight, not a wealthy man, but with her beauty and biddable nature, Elspeth could have had her pick of suitors."
"She chose you."
Again the dismissive shrug, but now a wry gleam had crept into his eyes. "I wager I can be rather persuasive when needed."
Serena believed that without a doubt. "When did you marry?"
“It would have been seven years next spring.”
Seven years past, Serena was just a girl of twelve--the very girl who had worn the rended chemise and knew not a single care. How easily she could recall joyful long days spent dancing about the forest and the shore, playing make-believe, dreaming a child's vivid dreams under the boundless canopy of the sky. A world away, Randwulf of Greycliff had been pledging his heart to another, making plans for a future that was not to be.
How different their lives had begun. How different they remained, except she feared that Rand was still making plans for a doomed future--one that would end at the cost of his own life.
"I love her," he said, an edge of vehemence in his tone. "I loved her like no other before her."
Serena glanced to him and saw the ferocity o
f his expression, his features so stark as he said it--as if he needed to convince her of his feelings for his dead wife. She believed him, even as she marveled at the idea that any woman might have so completely captured his steely heart. "My mother says it is rare that a man would wed for love. You must have been fortunate in your match, indeed."
"Aye, well," he said, little more than a grunt. "It doesn't matter now."
He set the pendant down beside him on the log bench, his thoughts seeming to follow his distant gaze. Serena could only guess where his memories were taking him, and seeing the haunted look in his eyes, she could not help but wonder how often his thoughts returned to the night of the attack on Greycliff.
"Rand," she said finally. "The other morning, at the cascade pool...I have been meaning to ask you..."
It took him a moment to reply, and when he did, there was a threatening calmness in his voice. "What of it?"
"Well, 'tis just something that's been troubling me, and I have not been sure how to ask you about it," she said, hedging a bit now that she had broached the matter. He gave her no indication that he wanted her to ask him anything. If at all, his expression had only darkened, his very demeanor becoming still as stone, and equally cool. Serena rushed on, before she lacked the courage to continue. "When you came through the woods, you seemed...upset. You...were calling her name. When you crashed into the waterfall clearing, you seemed almost wild, as if you were lost in a terrible dream."
A quiet moment stretched to maddening silence while she waited for him to acknowledge his strange behavior that morning. From the look in his eyes she wondered if he thought she might mean to confront him about another unsettling event of that poolside encounter, the unbidden caress that haunted her still.
Rand held her in a hard stare, then, at last, released his breath on a ripe, black oath.
Heart of the Dove Page 12
