“How many thought themselves safe when they spied land, heading toward the guiding lights only to find the wreckers were about their evil business?”
Startled at this dark observation, she looked at him. “Those are just stories,” she said. “No one would do such a thing.”
His eyes darkened. “Darling, you are an innocent. Men—and women—have indeed done such things. And worse.”
She turned away, troubled.
“Will you regret leaving?” he asked.
She blinked in surprise. “No. When Mother was alive, Charolais was a happy place. But there has not been any joy within those walls in a long time. I will be glad to leave it behind.”
“What a sad tale,” he commented.
“Oh, not so much,” she said, and laughed. Her eyes sparkled as they met his. “It does have a happy ending.”
“Ah—” he nodded “—as it should.”
“What of you?” she asked. “Were your childhood days happy ones?”
“Fairly typical.” A slight smile curled the edges of his mouth.
Lord, he was handsome, she reflected, studying the chiseled jaw and hard planes of his face, softened now by fond remembrance.
“I was always fetching Alexander out of trouble. He was a bully even as a boy, and it tended to annoy people.” His wry look marked this as an understatement. “But I was not fostered away from home, which was lucky. My father could see no merit in it since he said he had the best training in the shire. Besides, I like to think he was rather proud of me. He liked to watch me practice. My mother, on the other hand, busied herself with my sister. The boys, she would say, were my father’s job.” He paused. “They both died of fever when I was away on Crusade, along with my sister.”
“I am sorry,” she said. “I noticed you and Andrew are close.”
“Yes, he came to live with me at Kensmouth when I returned home.”
“And Alexander?” she asked.
“He sees himself as the patriarch, which is reasonable given he’s the eldest. Though he is not in favor with me at the moment, I must admit, however grudgingly, he is fond of his family and a good brother.” He winced, then grinned. “That was almost painful to say.”
Lily laughed. Her spirits felt as if they were soaring. Everything was so easy when she was with Rogan, all of the darkness and confusion of life at Charolais faded and was replaced with brilliant, serene simplicity.
Rogan interrupted her musings. “Part of the reason I brought you out here was to speak to you about our marriage. I do not know what your father has told you, if indeed he has said anything. You should know it was he who proposed it, to align our families as was originally intended. It is a good idea, fortuitous for both houses.”
“Yes, it keeps the peace,” she said quickly, hoping to hide the crushing impact of his words. She had suspected this was his reason of course, at times convinced it was the only reason a man like Rogan St. Cyr would bother with her.
“You have a quick mind,” he said approvingly, “and it does serve that purpose well. But when your father approached me, it was Catherine he wished to be wed. I asked for you instead.” At her shocked expression, he laughed. “I will not speak ill of her, for she is your sister, but suffice to say that I did not feel Catherine and I would suit.”
He grew serious. “But I want you to know I feel very differently about you. I was not at all displeased with the alliance. So, though it was prompted by your father, never think that I was unwilling to take you as my wife. And despite the advantages for both our families, my motivations were not simply duty. I can even admit that the thought had crossed my mind before Enguerrand and I spoke. It simply happened faster than I had anticipated.”
She gaped at him for a moment before she remembered herself and snapped her mouth shut. His eyes creased in amusement and, despite herself, Lily laughed. As quickly as her sadness had descended, it was gone. She grew daring. Gazing at him through her eyelashes, she asked, “Do you remember that first night, when you surprised me in the garden?”
The corners of his mouth quirked. “Yes, I recall the night”
She gave him a look that was both playful and reproachful. “I often go to that place. I have done so since I was a child. In the center of the pool is a statue. Did you notice it? It is Hermes, with his winged cap and feet. I always loved tales of the Greek gods, though I had to practically beg old Absalom to tell me them in secret. My father frowned on such tales.”
“Sometimes, Lily, it nearly breaks my heart to think of you under such stifling influence.”
“Oh,” she mused, a devilish light in her eye, “I became rather adept at working around it. Anyway, I always loved the tales of Hermes. He was heroic, but he was best known as a messenger of the gods.”
“Yes, I recall.”
“Well, I was thinking that night of you being a messenger of sorts. Like Hermes.”
“Ah, so therein lies my similarity with your hero. It is a decided improvement over a snake-charming Saracen.”
She blushed, regretting her impulsive confession. “It just seems coincidental,” she muttered lamely.
As ever, Rogan was gracious. “I remember an old priest I knew as a lad. He used to say coincidence is when God is quietly at work.” His eyes slanted toward the sun, swollen and dipping low. The sky was transformed into a vista of flame, its brilliant color reflected in the molten sea. “It grows late. We should head to shore.”
She followed his glance and sighed. When she turned back to him, she found him watching her with a softness in his eye that sent a tremulous shiver throughout her limbs.
He was going to kiss her again. She could tell by the way he was staring at her mouth, studying it with his brows slightly drawn and his eyes smoky and intense, like a starving man before a banquet. Her body moved forward, shamelessly eager.
His head inclined, closing the space between them and then he stopped, hovering for a moment before pulling away.
“You will be mine soon enough,” he said hoarsely. “We have little more than a fortnight wait.” He hiked one corner of his mouth up. “Though it is not easy to behave.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that she did not wish to behave, that it was perfectly agreeable to her for him to take her in his arms, but her courage failed her.
Without another glance, he took up the oars. Sighing, she bit her lips together and fussed over the drape of her skirts. It took her a moment to realize he had paused to watch her. He put down the paddle and leaned forward, catching her hand in his and pressing her fingers to his lips.
“We shall do quite well,” he said.
Lily swallowed, determined that she should not transgress the bounds of decorum any further, for a swell of emotion surged in her breast and she felt the prickly sensation of tears being born. Quite calmly, she answered, “I should think so.”
Chapter Seven
Catherine entered the deserted chapel. Genuflecting in front of the tabernacle, she went to the small side alter and knelt before the Madonna.
He came in just after her, his footfalls heralding his approach. She bowed her head as if deep in prayer.
“My lady?”
She raised her head and turned. “My lord.”
Rogan stood in the doorway. His face was blank, guarded.
Catherine rose. “Thank you for seeing me.” She sighed petulantly. “Though it is the least you can do, after all you have put me through.”
His forehead creased slightly. “What exactly have I done, lady?”
She bestowed upon him her most practiced pout. “You have been trying to make me jealous.”
“Pardon me?”
Her laughter tinkled in the hollow space like shards of glass falling on stone. “Why else would you play this game? Marry Lily, indeed.”
He drew in a slow breath. “When your father suggested we wed, I explained to him I was honored, but Lily was more suited to my temperament. I have no wish to offend you, however—”
“But you see, that is exactly it,” she snapped. “I am offended. You do not understand at all. It was I who convinced Father a marriage between our families would be best.”
“And so it shall be,” Rogan replied.
“But ‘twas to be with me! Lord Rogan, Lily is a simple child. You cannot be serious in your choice of her over me. What game are you about?”
His face grew cold. “No game, my lady. I simply prefer your sister.”
“That,” she spat, “is impossible. That simpering idiot?”
“You insult my betrothed,” Rogan said gravely.
Catherine’s laugh was harsh. “Tell Father you wish to have me after all, or I shall do worse than that.”
“Do not threaten me,” he warned.
She narrowed her eyes, her hands curling into claws at her side. “You forget your place, St. Cyr. Did you not come here for peace? You should be thinking about how to appease me, not whetting my displeasure.”
“It is true, I abhor war. As I have discovered, so does your father. Oh, he talks a bold game, but he has no stomach for the fight.”
Seething with frustration, Catherine prowled a tight circle around him. “Then you will deal with me, and you shall see I have the stomach for the fight.”
“You can make no trouble for me,” he scoffed.
“Can I not?”
He hesitated. “If you do, you shall pay a hundredfold. I have known persons like you before, Catherine. You covet, and what you cannot possess, you seek to destroy. Your foolishness does not frighten me. It disgusts me. I would not have you for my wife should the whole of England depend on it.”
He spun on his heel and headed toward the nave. Catherine shouted, “Do not dare leave!” He didn’t hesitate. The closing of the studded oak door resounded with a defining thud.
Catherine stood frozen in place, her mind full of vengeful thoughts. She would make him pay for his vicious rejection!
On the heels of rage came something else. How exciting he understood her so well! “Either possess or destroy” was what he had said. He knew her. Yes, oh, yes, she would have him yet, else she would crush him like an ant under her heel.
Lily sat at the small table in her chamber on the morning of her wedding, staring at the small looking glass and turning her head this way and that in order to inspect the intricate braid that bound her hair. It was piled high on her head and woven with sprigs of flowers and ribbon. “Yes, thank you, Ingred, that will be all.”
The servant smiled proudly at her handiwork. Ingred was Catherine’s maid, sent by her sister as Lily had no one of her own to help her dress. Lily had always worn her hair simply, but Catherine had insisted, in an unexpectedly generous gesture, on the loan of her handmaid to create “something spectacular for this special day.”
At Lily’s dismissal, the servant’s face fell in disappointment. Too well trained to protest, she left quietly.
Immediately Lily’s hands flew to the elaborate coif and began pulling it out.
“Elspeth, quickly, help me get this stuff out of my hair. I have less than two hours to come up with something less…less…less like Catherine.”
Her younger sister stood off near the window, staring with unseeing eyes out onto the courtyard. Her youthful looks were creased with worry.
“Elspeth, come, I am in a frightful hurry.”
The girl started. “What?”
“My hair, please help me,” Lily prompted. Elspeth murmured, “Yes, of course.”
“My goodness, this is really impossible. If I did not know better, I would think Catherine instructed Ingred to make me look ridiculous apurpose. Oh, I am nervous, please work faster.”
When she was at last brushing out her unbound hair, Lily noticed that Elspeth had withdrawn again. Laying her brush down, she rose and went to her sister, placing her arms gently around the frail shoulders.
“My goodness, you seem lost” Lily laughed, hugging her closer. “You are much preoccupied, and I think I know why.”
It was startling to see the look that came over Elspeth’s face. “You do?” she gasped.
“There is no shame in what you are feeling. I too shall miss you. You may be the only part of Charolais it hurts to leave. Oh, there is Father, but he is always much too busy with his knights and the other lords to ever pay much attention to us. And I know that it will distress you to hear it, but I shall not miss Catherine.”
Seeing that Elspeth’s pallor had increased, Lily questioned, “Elspeth, please tell me, what is it? Is there something else that troubles you?”
“N-no,” Elspeth stammered, her eyes round with panic. “’Tis what you said. I shall miss you so.”
Lily considered her for a moment, comprehension dawning, “Poor Elspeth. Are you afraid to be left alone with Catherine?” Lily had always served as a buffer between her overbearing older sister and her sensitive younger one. “Elspeth, Father has promised to send you to convent, as you have wanted. You will be where you long to be, as will I. You will not be left behind for long.” Seeing that this was not making any difference, Lily said firmly, “I shall speak to Father before Rogan and I leave for Kensmouth. Will that ease your mind?”
Elspeth tried a smile and turned back to look out the window. Lily sighed. Her younger sister was always a mystery. Catherine caustically referred to her as “our little saint,” and that was not very far from the truth.
Reluctantly Lily released her, not knowing what else to say. With a heavy heart, she watched her sister’s mournful face.
“Be happy for me, Elspeth. I am marrying a man who surpasses any other I have known. I have never been happier, could never be happier. Today begins a new life for me. A life with Rogan, filled with such wondrous excitement I never dreamed possible. I know ‘tis difficult to say goodbye, but can we just for today think of things that will gladden our hearts?”
Elspeth looked more pained at Lily’s statement. Unexpectantly she leaped to her feet and fled the room.
Lily sighed, aggrieved at seeing her beloved sister so distressed. But the ceremony was only one hour away, and she was despairingly behind in her preparations. With a steadying breath, she sat back down at the dressing table and set to work on her hair.
There were several indelible images Lily would always recall about her wedding day: her father’s puffed-up pride, Catherine’s pinched face, Elspeth’s wan expression and Andrew looking serious for the first time since she had met him. The rest was a blur of happiness, because after all of it, there was only Rogan, standing tall and handsome, outfitted in tightfitting hose tucked into boots and a dark tunic adorned only by a thick golden medallion bearing his family’s crest. Beside her at the altar, he repeated his vows in a deep voice that seemed to resound in every bone of her body. His large hands engulfed hers and his eyes seemed to pierce her in that way he had whenever he looked at her, as if he were seeing things within her she herself had yet to discover. How could it be a mere look could bring her to such breathless excitement as his did?
Her own promises she spoke in a voice that surprised her in its strength and assurance. She felt none of this confidence. Inside she was quaking, though she was not quite sure why. It was not exactly fear, and yet it was, but somehow pleasant and titillating.
At the celebration immediately following, Lily moved through the crowd gathered in the hall, feeling at once giddy and numb. People pressed in, smiling and hugging her, raising their cups in toast after toast Disembodied voices chattered gaily, pouring out congratulations and well wishes of happiness, prosperity and long life. To these, she responded reflexively, hardly aware of what pleasantries tripped from her lips. And Rogan stayed beside her through all of it. The warmth of his fingers lightly grasping her elbow was the only thing that seemed real.
“Are you chilled?” Rogan asked, noticing her shiver.
“I suppose I am, a bit Perhaps I should send Dynna to fetch my shawl.”
“It is almost time to retire anyway. Why do you not go on ahead?” He smiled a
t her, his gaze lingering on her mouth. “I will join you before long. Go, I will make your excuses for you.”
“Do you not think we should tell Father? The toasts—”
He waved her objections away. “I will have none of the usual foolishness that torment couples newly married. When I arrive, I guarantee I will be alone.”
She nodded, feeling not a bit guilty at cheating her guests of their ribald cheer. It was customary for the woman to be taken to the bridal chamber by her ladies and subjected to a lengthy toilette while the groom was carried upstairs, stripped naked and thrown in bed with his new wife, all the while taunted by raucous “instruction” as to his duties. But no one would dare such crass humor with Rogan.
The fire in her chamber had already been lit, and a bath set out. But even the steaming water could not calm her mind. Rogan would be here shortly, and tonight she would lie with him, become his wife in every way. And although the idea thrilled her, causing a strange tightening in the pit of her belly, she was terrified as well. How was she to know what to do? What if she did not please him? Lord, she hadn’t the slightest idea what it was he would expect from her.
This was no time to turn cowardly she chastised. Today she had wed before God, promised and forsworn to love and obey, and tomorrow she would leave with Rogan to begin their life together.
But before tomorrow’s journey there was tonight.
Rogan found the way to Lily’s chamber easily enough. From below, the sounds of the revelers echoed through the stone corridors. They would drink late into the night, the wedding a fine excuse to abuse Enguerrand Marshand’s butlery stores.
But he had a warm bed waiting for him, and an even warmer maid. His wife, who would be a maid no longer after tonight. His pulse quickened at the thought.
Opening the door, he stepped inside the comfortable room aglow with firelight and nicely appointed with comfortable furnishings, an abundance of cushions and even a thick rug on the floor—a rare indulgence. His eyes sought Lily. She was standing to one side, looking something like a cornered doe.
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