The Flower And The Sword

by Jacqueline Navin

  “You have already been most gracious.” The compliment almost stuck in his throat. Remembering Andrew’s tactics the previous day, he added, “You have much cause for insult, no one would argue with that, but you have responded quite generously. I hope my family will be able to remain in your charitable esteem.”

  She inclined her head at the praise. Rogan fought his irritation at this regal gesture.

  “We shall see you at supper, then,” she said. “Father has planned some diverting entertainments. Good day, Lord Rogan.”

  When she was gone, Rogan raked his hand viciously through his hair. What was she about? She had reminded him of the injustice done her, a way to hold sway over him because of it She wanted something, but he could not yet see what it was. Puzzled, Rogan mulled it over.

  Damnation! he swore silently. The delicacy of this situation strained his meager skills at subtlety and intrigue, and rankled his pride. Andrew was right—Alexander should be here to prostrate himself for Marshand’s pardon. The mental image of his arrogant elder brother in such a state made him smile, then he shrugged off his resentment

  It was done. And after all, it had occasioned him to meet the Lady Lily. He could never be sorry about that.

  Catherine was aware of Rogan’s growing fondness for her sister, and it did not please her.

  Very soon after Rogan’s arrival, Catherine’s cunning mind had begun to formulate a plan. At first, it was merely for retribution, but as it took shape and grew in proportion, Catherine knew she must have Rogan for her own.

  Oh, he was marvelous. He was like no other male she had ever encountered, and she wanted him with a desire she had never before known. But she was not about to settle just for a second son, no matter how magnificent the man. And she knew of a way she would not have to settle at all. She could get everything that she wanted. Everything she had a right to. A rich, handsome husband. And the duchy.

  After all, accidents happened all the time, didn’t they? Even to the Duke of Windemere. Misfortune could easily befall Alexander, leaving Rogan to inherit the title.

  It would be relatively simple to arrange. As for the wife, the cherished little merchant’s daughter, she would be no obstacle. And if she were with child already, so much the better. Countless women and their infants were lost during a difficult birthing.

  Oh, it was a lovely plan. And it would work.

  Pausing by the looking glass in her chamber, she stared at her reflection. What in the world could the man see in stupid little Lily? Was she, Catherine, not the greater beauty? It was she, not Lily, who deserved Rogan. She had always known she was destined for greatness. Even as a child. Her mother had tried to dissuade her of her superiority, but she had only made Catherine hate and pity the foolish woman’s lack of insight. When she had died, it was a relief. Without a moment of grief, Catherine had easily assumed her mother’s position in the family and went to work, preying on her father to secure her a future worthy of her.

  She would not allow herself to be cheated of it now.

  Her door opened and a dark-haired man slipped into her chamber. Catherine did not turn around. He came up behind her, slipping her arms about her waist and pulling her stiff body up against his.

  “Ah, you are so tense, ma chérie,” he whispered into her ear. Annoyed, Catherine turned away, but he pulled her back roughly. He chuckled. “You are in a mood. Does Phillippe not know how to soothe you when you are like this?”

  Despite his smooth words, his hand crudely slipped between her legs. Catherine stiffened but did not push him away.

  “You called for me,” Phillippe purred. “You need me tonight.”

  His hand began to move in a rhythmic motion, and gradually Catherine relaxed against him. “Ah, that is good to relieve what is on your mind.”

  “Shut up and take off your clothes,” Catherine snapped. She tugged off her own dress, carelessly casting aside the expensive garment and her costly jewels. She stood by the fire and watched Phillippe come to her. When he took her in his arms, she closed her eyes. Instead of his swarthy complexion, she envisioned a more bronze tone. Broader shoulders, thicker arms, hair a rich russet and eyes the haunting gray of the wolf. Tonight she would let Phillippe bring her body relief, but in her mind it would be Rogan making love to her.

  Enguerrand Marshand was not a stupid man. He had many faults, and to his credit he was even aware of most of them, but lack of mental acuity was not one. Thus, he was well aware of his eldest daughter’s calculating nature. In fact, he quite approved of it most of the time. She took after him in many regards, and he liked to think that her shrewdness was one of them.

  He was also aware of her cruelty, but he preferred to think of it as more a lack of sensitivity. That quality he did not lay claim to. He did not approve of it, but he accepted it as part of Catherine. No one was perfect, after all.

  Pride was taken in the sweet blessing of Elspeth. Another man might resent the third of a trio of daughters most of all; the last chance at a son and heir gone. But Enguerrand doted on his youngest. She was an extraordinary child, had been since birth. Serene, with a wisdom beyond her years yet ever innocent, he cherished her. As much as he loved her, he could not bear to grant her only wish. To send Elspeth to the convent would be to lose the only joy in his life.

  As for Lily, he gave his middle daughter little thought. She had always been stubbornly independent, not anything like his beloved Elspeth. Nor was she cunning like himself, like Catherine. She was more like his wife, whom he had married in accordance with his parents’ wishes and never understood. So, he had mostly left Lily alone, trusting Catherine to see to her rearing, and never really giving her much thought.

  Which was why he was so surprised when Rogan asked to marry her.

  Catherine wanted him. She had come to him and said she would take Rogan as husband. Knowing well the machinations of his daughter’s nimble mind, he sensed that she had strong reasons for wanting the match, and so he had agreed.

  What he had never considered was that Rogan would not want Catherine. When Enguerrand broached the subject, Rogan simply said, “I must decline.”

  Enguerrand pressed him for an explanation, but the man only shrugged, offering only that Catherine was not to his liking.

  Enguerrand grew irate. “You insult me, St. Cyr. Your brother deals dirty with me, now you refuse to make the matter right. Good God, you had the gall to best the Dane. Do you not even have the decency to lose to your host’s champion?”

  “I never lose, not even on purpose,” Rogan answered calmly.

  “The only person who has shown me respect has been young Andrew. Yes, Andrew. You may not think much of him, judging by that look on your face, but the young priest is the only one who has gone out of his way to treat me with deference.”

  Rogan maintained a stony silence.

  “You have done nothing to mend the breach between our families. For all of your talk of wanting to preserve the goodwill of the Marshands, you are doing nothing to secure it.”

  It was a heavy threat. Again, Enguerrand was not stupid. He knew this man wanted peace. Desperately. Enguerrand pressed his advantage. “I have shown great restraint, giving you the chance to redeem yourself, and you flaunt this chance and insult Catherine. That is two rejections from you St. Cyrs. That hardly bodes well for reconciliation. Tell me, Lord Rogan, what do you find objectionable about my daughter?”

  After a pause, Rogan answered carefully, “Nothing objectionable, I assure you.” He seemed to wrestle within himself for a long moment. “It is just that I would ask you to extend your generosity once more,” he said at last, “and give to me Lily’s hand instead.”

  Enguerrand was astonished. “Lily? Why do you want her?”

  “I had been thinking of it in any case, but your proposition forces me to act more quickly than I would have liked.”

  “You want Lily?”

  “She has impressed me favorably, and she seems more of a wife to suit my particular temperament Cath
erine is lovely, well-bred and exemplary in every way. But she is too fine and would require attention I cannot give her. I am not a duke, but merely a soldier.”

  “A damn fine warrior, I would say,” Enguerrand said, despite himself. “Lily, eh?”

  Rogan nodded. “Yes. Surely you cannot deny she is beautiful, but more importantly, I must say I find her enchanting. On the few occasions I have spoken to her, I have been greatly impressed with her spirit and interesting mind.” A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I shall certainly find it no hardship to take her to wife.”

  Enguerrand shook his head and muttered something unintelligible.

  Rogan continued, “I believe she would be favorably disposed to my offer.”

  That aspect of the bargain had not occurred to Enguerrand, nor did he much care. He rubbed his bristled chin. This Rogan St. Cyr’s choice of Lily he certainly could not understand. And Catherine would be furious. Still there was no reason to refuse. He gained his ends just as well with the second daughter as the first. And with Lily married off, he still had Catherine to bargain with in a future alliance. Perhaps another powerful family could be approached.

  “All right then, let us discuss the bride-price.”

  Rogan held up a hand. “In the interest of healing the wounds of our families, I will waive the dowry. And as my new father-in-law, I shall make, shall we say, a small gift to you in appreciation for your sacrifice of your daughter who is to become my wife.”

  “But that is—”

  “Unconventional, I know. But I insist.”

  Enguerrand paused. The man was obviously trying to buy him, but it was unnecessary. Enguerrand had already agreed. What a fool!

  “Very well,” Enguerrand said. “I shall announce it at once.”

  “I wish to have the ceremony as soon as possible. Three weeks should be sufficient to have the banns read and make the necessary preparations. I have urgent business in the northern shires and must leave as soon as we can accomplish this.”

  “Very good.” Enguerrand nodded. He rubbed his hands together, planning. He hardly noticed when Rogan took his leave.

  This was unbelievable! To get a daughter married without a dowry was incredible enough, but to actually profit from the deal—marvelous!

  Immediately, his spirits plummeted when he remembered Catherine. He dreaded telling her Rogan wished to marry her sister.

  Suddenly Rogan’s bribe seemed not so foolish after all.

  Chapter Six

  Enguerrand made the announcement that night at dinner, standing without preamble and roaring for the entire hall to hush and attend him.

  Rogan was surprised to note the thrill of excitement go through him. He had not had a chance to speak to Lily today. They had only exchanged glances, hers shy but unable to hide her pleasure. He was, surprisingly, anxious to speak with her and impatient to know her reaction to their impending marriage.

  Enguerrand called out, “Listen up, all and everyone! I have an important announcement.” The noise dimmed. Rogan caught Catherine’s eye and was surprised to see the glimmer of triumph there. His stomach clenched as he realized she thought the announcement would be of her marriage to Rogan.

  Damn Enguerrand, the old fool!

  And if Catherine had not been apprised of the change in her plan, then it stood to reason that Lily was likewise uninformed. He whipped his head around to watch her as Enguerrand said, “Rogan St. Cyr has requested the hand of my daughter, Lily…”

  His voice faded, and Catherine was forgotten, for as the words descended, Rogan could only stare at his wife-to-be.

  The naked emotion on her face attested to her ignorance of the arrangements that had been made that day for her future. Her features registered shock, quickly replaced by a look of purest joy as she swung toward him in disbelief. Her clear eyes, such a singular shade of blue-green, opened round and wide and looked like brilliant bits of aquamarine.

  Rogan felt something inside of him twist in an oddly pleasant way. Good God, if he had ever had a moment’s doubt about the matter, it was put to rest as he smiled at Lily. He had never seen her look so exquisite. And he had never felt so sure of anything, he reflected. He rose and held out his hand. She fairly beamed as she stood and allowed her father to place her slim hand in his palm.

  They turned together with stiff formality to receive the congratulations of the others. Bracing himself, Rogan saw Catherine was to be the first. But she merely stood rigid, lips pulled taut and eyes smoldering with tightly checked rage. “Congratulations, Lily. Rogan,” she said before turning away. Elspeth rushed forward and flung herself in Lily’s arms, distracting her, and Rogan turned to face the smirking face of his brother.

  “That went well enough,” Andrew said. “And so, I congratulate you. May happiness be yours. And may the dour face of misfortune—” this with a surreptitious glance at Catherine “—be stayed.”

  The minstrels stuck up a gay tune and the wine flowed freely. Rogan wished he could steal Lily away, speak to her alone, but the castle women surrounded her now, chattering wildly in excitement. She kept peering at him with the pleasure she was too ingenuous to hide. There would be time enough to talk privately. He would see to it.

  As for Catherine, he saw no more of her that night. But though it was a relief for the moment, an uneasy feeling would not leave him alone. She was not done with him yet. He felt it.

  Lily sped down the perilous path along the cliff face to the tiny stretch of beach below. Beyond was the quay, with its neat rows of fishing boats bobbing on the sun-splashed sea. She was late.

  Across the strand she ran, her skirts hiked up, kicking sprays of sand out behind her. The docks were busy with men unloading the day’s catch onto long carts while women picked over the piles of fish to make their selections before the crop was brought to market. Children weaved daringly among them, finding games to amuse themselves while their parents attended their chores.

  Pushing through the throng, Lily hurried to the wharf. She spied Rogan in one of the small boats. He looked unperturbed enough at her tardiness, reclining on the edge of the hull, one knee drawn up upon which he rested an arm.

  She realized after a moment that she had been holding her breath. He looked casual, so at ease lounging thusly in the sun-kissed afternoon, that she had simply forgotten to breathe.

  “Hello,” she called, “I am sorry to be late.”

  “No bother.” He raised a challenging brow. “I was thinking you might be having second thoughts.”

  The effect was utterly charming, a slight mockery adding a sparkle to her eyes. She was feeling a bit giddy at the glow of pleasure that stole through her body.

  Cocking a hand on her hip, she said, “You think me a coward, do you?”

  “Not at all, but,” he said, sweeping his hand toward the vast horizon where pale azure met deep aquamarine, “the sea can be intimidating.”

  She hesitated. It was true, she was more than a bit daunted at the prospect of sailing for the first time, but any trepidations she had were completely overridden by the excitement of being with Rogan, alone.

  “Come on board, then,” he dared. Gingerly she stepped over the bulkhead, wavering a moment at the sway of the deck. Rogan was on his feet in an instant, moving forward with uncanny balance. He reached out strong arms to hold her steady. When he did not release her right away, she gave him a sheepish look. He was grinning down at her, so close she could see that in the sunlight, his eyes appeared dark, slate blue with flecks of gray.

  “It will take a while to get your sea legs,” he murmured. It was a perfectly neutral statement, yet he made it sound like an endearment

  “I think you should know I cannot swim.”

  Rogan chuckled. “I am an experienced seaman. And have I not already proved my competence to save you from the perils of water? Now, sit here and I will lead us out.”

  Doing as he instructed, Lily perched on the crude plank bench, gripping the railing until her hands ached. Rogan
smiled at her over his shoulder as he took up the oars and maneuvered the small craft out of its mooring and into the open sea.

  “There,” he said pleasantly, coming to sit beside her once they had cleared the maze of rocks in the shallows. “You can let go now.”

  Lily did not think she could. The water slapped rudely against the sides, rocking the boat as the currents took over. She forced herself to unfurl her grip, not wanting to appear childish.

  He slipped a protective arm about her, pulling her against the hard mass of his chest. “Hold on to me, or rather I shall hold on to you and make sure you do not spill overboard.”

  “I know I am being silly,” Lily murmured. Her fear of the ocean was being replaced by the overwhelming awareness of his male body. The scent of him, mild and masculine and unbearably stirring, was having a dangerous yet familiar effect on her senses.

  “See, look,” he said, pointing back to the coast Lily peered over his broad shoulder. The beach was already reduced to a pale ribbon between the water and the stark gray of the cliff. The docks, so alive a moment ago with the daily activities of fishmongering, looked merely like a placid spray of color. She could not even distinguish people.

  Uncoiling from him, she sat upright, forgetting for a moment the tiny boat surrounded by sea. “It’s beautiful!” she breathed. The cliffs were monstrous, dominating the horizon. She had never seen anything so majestic, so seemingly impenetrable. And Charolais, resting on top like a crown, its towers stretching to the sky like a fairy castle amidst the clouds. The sandstone walls were bleached by the sun, making them glimmer like some enchanted place.

  “It is a breathtaking sight,” said Lily. “One can almost imagine the Vikings sailing up in their longboats, greedy for the tin to be pilfered in the moors beyond the cliffs. Or think of the generations of English sailors, weary and homesick, laying sight of this land, knowing their journey was almost at an end.”