Keeper of the Swans

by Nancy Butler

  Romulus was just opening a bottle of wine.

  “Is this a special occasion?” she asked as she slid onto her bench.

  He looked up from his uncorking. “Eel pie is always a special occasion,” he pronounced with a wink as he poured some of the deep red liquid into her wine glass.

  Wine glass? she thought in bewilderment. They normally drank from porcelain mugs. Where the devil had he gotten wine glasses from? Or the elegant damask cloth that covered the table?

  “You’ve certainly made this very elegant,” she said as she lifted the glass to her mouth. “I don’t suppose there’s a footman hovering behind that rhododendron over there?”

  Romulus shook his head. “No. Just the two of us. As always.”

  He’d said the words with such warmth that Diana was blushing in happy confusion before she realized that his pronouncement was not quite true. Earlier in the day there had been an intruder on the island, and she was still not certain how she could reveal the fact without precipitating her own exile. But she determinedly put all thoughts of poachers and intruders from her mind. Romulus was in a rare mood tonight and she was not going to sully it.

  The eel pie was a complete success. After three helpings, Romulus pushed his plate away with a groan. “You’ve outdone Niall’s granty, little witch.”

  He then reclined on the bench, his wine glass held aloft between his fingers, regarding Diana with an amused, mellow expression on his face as she struggled through her second helping.

  “It’s so good,” she mumbled, her mouth half full. “But I will burst if I take another bite, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so fine.”

  “But then you wouldn’t recall it, even if you had,” he noted with a grin.

  After dinner, Romulus drew her into the sitting room. “I promised to show you my books,” he explained.

  “You did indeed,” she said with a wide smile.

  “Anything you fancy?” He had carried the wine bottle in from the porch and was refilling each of their glasses. Diana had only ever drunk ladylike ratafia, and Rom’s heady claret was already making inroads on her senses. In fact, she couldn’t recall ever feeling quite so happy. Or so content.

  “Oh, I want you to choose,” she said as she settled into one of the chairs. “They’re your books, after all.”

  She watched him as he knelt before the bookcase’s lower shelves. His hair curled over the high collar of his dress shirt, and she could see the sloping muscles of his back straining against the thin fabric.

  “I hope you like birds.” He looked up with an apologetic grin. Diana blushed that he had caught her practically drooling over him. “I seem to have very narrow tastes.”

  He pried out one of the large volumes, then sat in the chair beside hers. He began to leaf through the pages of illustrations, which had been etched in black, and then colored in rich, subtle hues. Eventually Diana’s neck began to ache—she had to twist around in her chair to look at the pictures—so she slid onto the floor and sat up on her knees, her elbows planted on the arm of his chair.

  “Better this way?” she asked tilting her face up to him.

  She thought he shuddered. But he said nothing, only continued to turn the pages and explain about each bird in his rich, melodic voice. She paid special attention to the pictures of waterfowl, and pleased him when she was able to identify several of the birds they had seen on the river.

  It wasn’t long before the wine made her sleepy. Which was dashed unfair, she thought, since Romulus was being particularly approachable tonight. The second time her head nodded against his sleeve, he closed the book and stood up.

  “Bed?” he asked as he drew her to her feet.

  For one glorious, disordered moment, she thought he was propositioning her. But then he gently propelled her toward the storeroom door.

  “The cygnets?” she cried softly. “I left them outside in the pen.”

  “Yes, and they will be fine. I intended to move them out there on Monday. I only left them in the storeroom to keep you company.”

  “Oh…” the word seemed to drift out of her mouth. She gave him a beaming smile. “You’re such a clever swankeeper, Romulus.”

  “Yes, and I suspect you’re a little drunk.” His voice was dry, but his eyes held nothing but fondness.

  She gave him an owl-like stare and drew herself up. “Yes, I am. A little. It feels rather nice.”

  “You won’t thank me in the morning,” he said reaching past her to push open the storeroom door.

  She turned and stood weaving in the doorway. The two empty crates seemed so…well, empty. “Oh,” she said mournfully. “I have to sleep alone.”

  Romulus made a muffled sound behind her. She couldn’t tell if it was a chuckle or an oath. “Yes…but if it’s a problem, I suppose I could accommodate you.”

  She spun around to him and almost lost her footing. He caught her before she fell. Caught her and held her tight against his chest.

  Her eyes blinked up at him. “You will acco-mo-date me?”

  She was standing on tiptoes, trying to facilitate any urge he might have to kiss her. But even with her body stretched to the limit, her lips were still sadly remote from his.

  “The cygnets,” Rom said into her hair. “I’ll bring in the swans to keep you company.”

  “No,” she said darkly, with an exaggerated shake of her head. “They make too much noise. Peep, peep, peep, peep….”

  “That’s done it—” Romulus announced. “You’re foxed.” He swung her up into his arms and carried her into the room. He didn’t precisely dump her onto the bed, but her descent was unexpectedly swift.

  She lay there gazing up at him. “Aren’t you going to tuck me in?”

  His eyes blazed for an instant, then he stepped back from the bed. “It’s a warm night—you’ll survive.”

  Diana watched as he blew out the single candle on her makeshift vanity table, and then went swiftly from the room. With a delighted chortle she turned and smothered her laughter in the pillow.

  Thank heavens for James’s cousin, Ferdie Pringle, the worst tippler in the ton. She had been observing his intoxicated antics at numerous parties during the past month. And now it had paid off. Pretending to be drunk, she declared to herself, was a dashed sight easier than pretending to have lost your memory.

  Not that she was completely sober—she’d never have had the nerve to behave in such a manner with Romulus if she’d been unimpaired. And she’d never have dared to be so brazen with him, drunk or not, if he hadn’t been so unusually mellow all night.

  How lovely it felt to be lifted in his arms. And to be carried to her bed. And how his eyes had blazed with desire when she’d asked to be tucked in. The image now thrilled her all over again.

  Next time she’d make him do it without the wine.

  Chapter 7

  Many hours later Diana was abruptly awakened. She had managed to squirm out of her skirt and blouse before she fell asleep, and now lay on top of the coverlet wearing only her chemise. Rom had been right—it was a warm night. It was now also an extremely stormy night.

  Thunder crashed directly overhead, shaking the house to its fieldstone foundation, while lightning flashed in bright prongs, briefly illuminating the room. The heavy rain was slashing sideways, in through the open window. Diana climbed from her bed, intent on shifting the boxes that lay in the path of the rain. As she brushed past the empty crates at her bedside, she realized the cygnets were outside in this fierce storm. She’d better rouse Romulus so that they could fetch them back into the house.

  She walked rapidly into the unlit sitting room and nearly collided with him.

  “Oh!” she yelped softly, reeling back in surprise.

  He thrust past her, moving swiftly across the room, a tall shadow, shapeless and spectral. As the lightning flashed again, she saw that he wore only his knee breeches—his chest and legs were bare, the corded muscles and smooth skin exposed by the harsh white light. But that was nothing comp
ared to the stark, glazed expression on his pale face.

  “What?” she cried with a touch of panic in her voice as she reached toward him. “Romulus, what is it?”

  “It’s nothing.” His voice was flat, toneless. “Go back to bed.”

  Shivering in the darkness, she watched as he came toward her, his hands clenched at his sides.

  “Go,” he growled when he reached her, his head snaking forward.

  The thunder resonated through the stucco walls of the room as it boomed repeatedly overhead. Romulus had his hands up now, fisted on either side of his head, as though to block out the noise.

  Diana’s hands sought his, but he swung away with a violent oath. “For Christ’s sake, Allegra, go away! I don’t want you here. Not now.”

  She had never been so frightened in her life. Not for herself, but for him, for his pain, for the unguarded torment he was experiencing. Was this the madness that the villagers had seen in him, this wild-eyed terror, that slashed at her heart? How in God’s name could she help him?

  He was heading for the hallway now, back toward his bedroom. She ran to block the doorway.

  “No!” she keened. And then she said in a more rational voice, “It’s only a thunderstorm, Romulus.”

  “Let me pass,” he rasped ominously.

  She mustered all her courage and shook her head. “No, you shouldn’t be left alone.”

  He gave a low laugh and said in a voice laced with despair, “There is only alone, Diana. That’s all there ever is.”

  He lifted her off her feet and set her aside. Her hands clung to him, her fingers digging hard into his flesh. He tried to swipe her away, but she held on even tighter.

  “Not alone,” she cried over the sound of the storm, shaking him with all her strength. “Not any longer.”

  He stood there wavering for several seconds, and then with an inarticulate groan he sank to his knees, carrying her with him to the carpet. She pulled his head down, cradling it in her arms, as she murmured endearments and soothing words against his hair. ‘It’s all right, Romulus…. I’m here…. It’s just a storm, love…just a noisy old storm.”

  In time the thunder and lightning ceased, leaving only a barrage of rain pelting on the roof. Once the tumult had died down, Romulus stopped trembling in her arms. He nestled his head deeper into her shoulder and tightened his hold around her waist.

  “Now you know,” he said in a reedy whisper, “why the villagers think me mad.”

  Diana let her fingers comb through his tousled hair. “In Yorkshire, once,” she said evenly, “I saw a fellow who stands on his head for hours at a time. Now that is my idea of a proper madman.”

  He chuckled softly against her throat. “In Delhi they would call him a holy man.” He drew his head back to gaze at her. “I’m not truly mad,” he said in a voice fit to rend her heart. “It’s the storms. They fill me with terror and rage. I usually take the skiff out and row off these fits…but I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

  “Well, then,” she pointed out with utter logic, “you can’t really be mad…not if you had a care for me in the midst of your raging.”

  “Yes…. I suppose that’s true,” he said haltingly. He shifted his position so that he was now leaning back against the wall of the sitting room, still holding her close in his arms. “But I sensed a storm was coming…. I should have warned you about…this.”

  “I’m relieved it was the thunderstorm that set you off,” she said. “And not my eel pie.”

  He lowered his head and touched his nose to hers. “You are very glib for a woman who has recently wrestled a madman into submission.”

  “Is that what I did?” Her hands were stroking over his chest, feeling the warm skin, the slight rasp of hair, and the steady, vital thudding of his heart. Her voice lowered a notch and lost any trace of humor as she added, “Romulus, you must tell me why this thing happens to you.”

  She felt him shrug. “That’s not an answer,” she admonished him gently. “To toss your own words back at you—I cannot help you to face your fear, if you will not even speak of it.”

  “You didn’t heed me when I said it, as I recall,” he drawled into the darkness.

  “Ah, but you are much wiser than I am.” She laid her face against his cheek and rubbed it slowly back and forth. “And I want you to be well.”

  “Do you?” he asked as his hand lifted to her hair. “Faith, I believe you do.”

  “Then tell me.” Her splayed hands pressed against the heated surface of his bare chest. “Please.”

  “Yes,” he said wearily. “Perhaps you need to hear it.” He shifted her from his lap and rose to his feet.

  Diana scrambled up, and then stood peering at him intently. His voice had gone cold again, and she wished she could see his face. “Shall I light a candle?”

  “No,” he said, as he moved toward his desk. “I’ve never spoken of this to a single soul. I need the darkness now, if I am to tell you.” He opened the desk drawer and she saw the glint of something metallic. He unscrewed the cap from the flask and jolted his head back. “Brandy,” he said as he turned to her. “It’s what I came out here for. Even in this light I can see your disapproval.”

  She sniffed. “I can hardly disapprove of brandy, after the amount of wine I had with dinner.”

  “Have a look then,” he said, handing her the flask. “Here is the beginning of the story.”

  She carried it to the window, where in the faint, watery light she could make out a design etched into the metal. Her fingers traced over the raised pattern. “It’s an insignia of some sort.”

  “From my regiment in the army.”

  She took a quick drink of the fiery liquid, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She forgot she was silhouetted in the window.

  “You’ve turned into a proper little tippler,” he said as he took back the flask and refitted the cap.

  Diana blushed in the darkness. “I…um, wasn’t exactly as…intoxicated as I led you to believe.”

  “Another game, bella?”

  Diana drifted over to him. “What did you call me?”

  “Don’t change the subject. You were a rather endearing drunk, if a bit over the top.”

  “So you knew I was….”

  Romulus snaked an arm around her waist. “I always know when you are….”

  “What?” Her head angled back. He was going to kiss her. She could feel it in her bones.

  But then Romulus shook himself and abruptly withdrew his arm. “Sit over there.” He prodded her toward the sofa. “If you want to hear this sorry tale.”

  She did as he asked, curling her feet up under her chemise. He stood a slight distance away, the fingers of one hand resting upon the back of his desk as he spoke.

  “As you have surmised, I was a soldier in Wellington’s army.”

  “What about before that? Before the army?” she asked.

  “That has no bearing on this story.”

  “Humor me,” Diana said earnestly. “What became of you after you left Italy with your father?”

  She heard him sigh in the darkness. “We lived in Wiltshire. My father had come into some money from a distant relation and was able to give me a proper education. When I was seventeen, I went off to a university near Bristol. Afterward, I found work as an estate manager, near my father’s home. I was all the family he had, you see, and I wanted to be near him. Two years later, he…he succumbed to a wasting illness. I needed to get away from England then. Spain seemed like a decent substitute for Italy…even if there was a war going on. With my inheritance, I purchased a lieutenancy in the artillery corps.” He drew a long breath. “But I discovered fairly quickly that I was not cut out for carnage.”

  “I don’t believe anyone is,” Diana observed.

  “No, you’re wrong. Some men look forward to fighting, to the glory of battle. But in spite of my distaste for war, I remained in the service, even got promoted to captain. I stayed in because of my friends in the regiment—a group of
young officers, aristocrats every one, who had been at Oxford together. In the general way of things, I would have given them a wide berth, but they hounded me and had at me, until I was drawn into their ranks. It’s surprising they gave me the time of day, considering what a crusty fellow I am.”

  “Most surprising,” she agreed dryly.

  “They were an idle, pampered lot, lounging about the mess tent with their claret and card games, full of pranks and silly amusements.” He stopped a moment. When he continued again his voice held a distinct measure of awe. “But they were the bravest soldiers I’ve ever seen, Allegra. The best leaders of men and the best companions in the field. They taught me not to judge people by their trappings.”

  “But were you so different from them? You’d been to university, you’d traveled abroad.”

  Romulus scoffed. “We were worlds apart. They were sons of noblemen, I, the son of a river warden.”

  Diana heard the bitterness in his voice and understood its source. Romulus Perrin had somehow risen above his humble beginnings, but he was trapped between classes, neither yeoman nor gentleman.

  “They apparently didn’t feel there was anything lacking in you,” she said a bit sharply.

  Romulus grunted. “War does that—bonds the unlikeliest people together.”

  “But what became of them, these friends of yours?”

  There was a long silence. Diana thought Romulus had lost his train of thought. When he continued, his voice was clipped. “We were captured by the French—at Albuera. My guns had been left unsupported by cavalry, and a French rout cleared out what was left of the infantry. We had a damned Sunday soldier from the Horse Guards leading our action. He didn’t know a field maneuver from a filet of beef. But it’s a moot point. He was shot off his fine, blooded stallion just before we were taken.”