She gazed at the wounds and answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “That is a scar I received from scalding water. These are just bruises, mostly from trying to lift things. The cuts on my hands—I am afraid I was terribly clumsy with the knife at first.”
An irrational rage gripped him. “See that you take better care,” he barked. “I am not accustomed to taking scullery maids to my bed.”
Even as he said it, he knew it to be cruel. The sharp intake of breath, the recoil of her body told him the comment had stung. Damnation! One moment he was cursing himself for being too soft, and the next hating the sound of his own viciousness.
“You beast!” she spat. “How dare you insult me. You make me labor like a serf, then revile me for it. You have no right to abhor a single scar, for on my body, these marks attest to the proof of your abuse!”
She was right, of course, though it did not improve his temper to know it. “If you force me to give a whack to your backside, you shall see proof of my abuse!”
“You would not do it!”
“You know better than to try me, Lily. I am capable of many things you dislike.”
She tossed her head. “What could be worse than you have already done?”
Looking wild and unbelievably desirable, she faced him, her hair cascading about her like a golden waterfall and her hands fisted on her hips. Like some Amazon, or an irate goddess…
This was all too much talking anyway. He had not come here to converse with her. With a jerk, he pulled her into his arms, giving in to what it was he had wanted all along.
Whether from fear or passion, she melted into his arms, instantly inflaming his fevered senses, and kissed him back.
“You have decided to play the willing wife,” he murmured. “Is this a ploy? I shall have to be on guard.”
She made to yank back, but he held her fast, chuckling at her sputtering rage.
“Why must you insult me? It speaks ill of you, Rogan. You have the upper hand, yet you seek to humiliate me further. Do you always prey on the weaker sex? It is not very sporting.”
He disliked her gibe. Yet her eyes sparkled and her lips were red from his kiss and he could think of nothing but touching her.
“No,” he stated gruffly. “It is not. Shall you have words of love from me, then? Shall I ply you with mention of how your hair gleams like spun gold? How your eyes glitter like gems of the rarest quality?”
He pulled her down with him onto the bed, hitching his leg over her limbs so as to better feel the full length of her body against his. “How your breasts are full and ripe for a man’s hand. My hand, Lily.” He cupped the swell of flesh and watched her lips part, her eyelids grow heavy. He dully became aware that his tone had lost its mockery. Yes, he could speak every compliment sincerely, for even with everything else between them, she was still the loveliest woman he had ever seen.
It was only when he heard her gasp, felt her arms curling around his neck and her lips press fully on his, that he realized he had spoken this last thought aloud. He groaned, then let it pass as his tongue parleyed with hers. His hands moved boldly, feeling the lean curves that had fed his fantasies for these lonely months.
“It is day,” she gasped, more in wonder than a denial as his lips traced a path to her breast. Rogan merely nodded before tugging open the neckline and baring her to the waist. She lay unmoving as his eyes took in every detail, savoring, feasting. As he lowered his head to take the rose-colored nipple in his mouth, she arched to meet him, her soft cry sending his blood pounding through his veins at a frantic pace.
His arousal strained against the confines of his leggings. It had been so long, he feared he would not be able to wait, yet he did not wish to take her roughly. Why this was so, he didn’t stop to ponder. He only knew that in this realm, he could not be cruel.
His hand moved to the cleft of her legs and she parted for him, willingly, eager. The feel of her slick heat made his head swim and he worked off his garments quickly. The need to drive into that tightness was robbing him of his ability to reason, to think, to exercise his will.
He rid them of their clothing quickly while his hands roamed. He was impatient and she was ready…
When he entered her, she thrust her hips up to take him in deeper. He managed to withdraw, pausing to steady his resolve, then drove in again. His mouth claimed her cries, his hands held her tight as he thrust again and again, losing himself in the tide of sensation surging through his body.
This time the intensity of his passion did not take him by surprise. He gave himself over to it without hesitation as the exquisite feeling built, carrying him higher. He had only to feel the tight spasms of Lily’s sheath, hear her soft groan to know she had found her fulfilment The knowledge spun him out of control, and he buried himself deeply as he was overcome with shattering ecstasy.
Spent, exhausted, he leaned on his elbows. There were no more tender words. His hands ached to caress her, but he willed them to be still. He rolled to his side, laying a possessive hand across her stomach to signal that she was to stay.
Despite what they had lost, there was still this unfathomable passion. It was all he had left of a union he once thought would be the fulfilment of the secret dreams he had not dared admit, even to himself. It was not much, and, if he were honest, it left him aching. But for now, in the aftermath of pleasure, it was enough.
Chapter Sixteen
After Rogan left, hardly deigning to speak to her as he quickly dressed and quit the room, Lily lay perfectly still atop the crushed furs and welcomed the numbness that stole over her. Unfortunately, the state did not last.
She didn’t bother to examine the passion he had displayed. Assuming men were different, that they could function physically with almost any woman, she dismissed the tender, sensual interlude. She had seen for herself the many couples who could barely exchange a decent word surrounded by a brood of sullen children, and knew it was no great feat that a man bedded his wife.
Months passed, during which Rogan visited frequently. Their encounters were lusty but it was always the same afterward; he was distant, cold and hard.
She had a fright when her monthly flow was later than usual. She could not face bearing a child to have it taken from her—no, that would drive her insane as nothing else could. Despite her desire for babes, she wished more than once that Rogan’s seed would forever find her barren.
There were the three ragamuffin children, of course, Anna, Oliver and Lizzie. They came now almost every day. She was becoming fond of them, too much so, she often thought But they were company, the only other souls she was allowed to see outside of Rogan and the dour-faced pair of house servants.
It was one fine day in early summer when she sat in a small clearing near the house. It was a favorite spot, and the children had often found her just so, enjoying the freshness of the new day as she worked on some chore or other.
She had come to love this new land, working outdoors as much as possible. The sounds of the forest were now familiar, as were the telltale signs of the small visitors’ approach.
Lizzie ran forward, bursting out of the underbrush and shouting a hello. She helped herself to a handful of dried peas from the bowl on Lily’s lap.
“I hope you are planning to help me and not simply stuff them into your belly,” Lily said pleasantly.
With her fist halfway to her mouth, the child paused. “Do I have to?”
“I spent the morning making tarts for you, and now I am behind on my other work. What do you think is fair?”
Anna came up and took the bowl from Lily. “I will do these for you, my lady.”
“Wash up first,” Lily said automatically, standing up to peer back into the woods. “Where is Oliver?”
The two girls exchanged an incomprehensible look. “He is not coming,” Anna said softly. “Da’s got work for him.”
Lily frowned. She knew the three lived alone somewhere in the woods with their father, but could glean little else about their home. “And
what of you, do you not have chores?”
Anna only shrugged and said, “Where do you want me to put these when I am done?”
She motioned for the peas to go into the pot she had brought along. It did not escape her how the older girl imitated her speech, enunciating her words in the manner of a noble, nor did she miss the adoring way the dark eyes watched her, and little by little, she mastered each one of Lily’s mannerisms. With a pang, Lily was put to mind of Elspeth, who was often in her thoughts. Many a lonely hour she spent worrying over her little sister’s welfare. If she dared, she would have asked Rogan of news, but the subject of her family was not one she could broach with her husband.
The children were a sufficient substitute for her affection. Again she regarded the pair of girls fondly. If it weren’t for the filth covering them, one would never know they were peasants.
Which gave Lily an idea. Crossing her arms in front of her, she eyed them speculatively. “Since you two have come to help me, I wish to do something to reward you.”
“What?” Lizzie said with her mouth full.
“You will see. It will be a surprise.”
The delight on the small face immediately fell to suspicion. “Do we still get the tarts?”
Lily laughed. “Yes, yes, but after the surprise. Finish up, Anna. Here, Lizzie, take this and follow me.”
The walk back to the house was dominated by young Lizzie’s chatter. It seemed that Oliver had been clever enough to snag a rabbit with his slingshot and, according to both girls, the family had dined like kings.
Lily was less than enthusiastic at their boon, however, reflecting on the paltry supper compared to what she had grown up with. Five courses, with desserts and cheeses and fruits to follow, were the norm at Charolais. Even at Linden Wood, she could never claim to have gone hungry. Still, the pair were delighted their brother had supplied such a feast and were still talking about it when they reached the house.
“What about the other woman, the mean one?” Anna asked, hesitating.
“Pay no attention to Sybilla, just follow me.”
“We are going inside?” she asked with awe.
Lily nodded. “Of course, it is my house. Now, come.”
They followed, shrinking behind her skirts as Lily led them into the gathering room and up the stairs. Calling for Sybilla, she took them into the small chamber that was hers.
The arrival of the servant sent the girls skittering to the corners, cringing as if a jackal were at the door.
“I want the tub filled, Sybilla,” Lily ordered, “and bring whatever cloth you can spare. Oh, and fetch my needle. I will have some sewing to do.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at her mistress. “You mean to put them urchins in the master’s tub?”
Drawing herself up, Lily peered down her nose at the other woman. “I do. Do you have something you wish to say in objection?”
She looked as if she had plenty to say, but after a moment facing Lily’s formidable expression, she shook her head. “You go too far,” she muttered, but did as she was told.
“And fetch my soaps and comb,” Lily called after her, smothering a giggle at the way Sybilla cringed at the command.
“You do not mean to dunk us in the water!” Lizzie cried.
“I most certainly do!” Lily said, whirling around to two terrified faces. At their appalled expressions, she raised her eyebrows at them, a gesture that brooked no argument. It was effective at quelling their resistance. Well, it should be, she mused, realizing she had learned it from Rogan.
“All ladies bathe—regularly.”
“It is unhealthy!”
“I wash all the time, and look, I am no worse for it. And what’s more, I have special soaps that smell glorious. You will look like a pair of young princesses, and smell like them as well.”
The word princesses hit the mark and their dubious expressions were replaced by nervous interest.
When the large tub was filled, Lizzie hung back as Lily marched them into Rogan’s chamber. “Will it hurt?” she asked in a quivering voice.
Lily sighed. “Elizabeth, when have I ever done anything to harm you? Now, remove your clothing. Anna, help her.”
It was a testimony to the older girl’s faith that she obeyed, each stiff movement speaking of her uncertainty. When at last they were completely unclothed, Lily succeeded in coaxing them into the water.
As she lathered up the cloth for washing, Lizzie watched in horror. “Are you sure it will not hurt?”
“No, no, child. What in heavens is this, I cannot get it off? I swear, I have never seen such grime—”
“Ahh!” Lizzie screamed. Lily gave her an impatient look, thinking her protesting the scrubbing. “Hold still. Lizzie!”
Standing up, the tiny child opened her mouth and let out a terrible wail. “You hurt me! You promised, ahh!”
“Shh! Lizzie! Where did I hurt you?”
But it was Anna who gave the answer. Slowly the other girl poked a slim finger at the darkened area Lily had been washing. “’Tis not dirt.”
Frowning, Lily bent closer to inspect the dark patch.
A dizzying sensation came over her all at once. No, it was not dirt. It was an angry weal, fresh and raw. And it was not the only one. Yanking the child around, she saw the small legs and arms were similarly covered with long discolorations.
“Is this what you meant when you said your father was on a drunk?” Lily’s voice came low through her clenched jaw.
Lizzie was still bawling, and Anna just stared silently. Looking her over quickly, Lily saw the older girl had similar abrasions.
“All right, calm down, sweetling,” Lily said gently. She grabbed a soft linen that had been set to warm by the fire and wrapped it around Lizzie. Lifting her out of the water, she carried her over to Rogan’s bed and laid her down. “I am sorry I hurt you. I know I promised, but I did not know what those marks were. Hush, now, it is over and I will not hurt you again. Come now, you do trust me?”
Limpid brown eyes awash with tears stared unwaveringly at her. Lizzie bobbed her head and sniffed. Lily left her for only a moment to bring Anna out of the tub and sit her down beside her sister.
Her mind raged with questions, but she knew the children would give her no answers. Yet the truth of their abuse was abundant.
“Is Oliver still with your father?” she asked.
“Da says he has to hunt from now on, he ca’t come wi’ us no more.” Anna’s carefully learned speech was reverting back to its previous pattern under stress.
“Tell me where you live. And I want no evasiveness from you this time, miss! Tell me!”
“What do you mean to do?”
“I mean to fetch him here where he will be safe.”
Anna gasped, her eyes wide with terror. “But Da—”
Standing, Lily gave her hand a squeeze. “I will handle Da. I have a few choice words for a grown man who brutalizes children. Now, you stay here. When I get back, we will see about some clothes for you.”
There would have been more protests, but Lily waved her hand impatiently. Reluctantly Anna explained the way to their cottage. Lily gave each a quick hug before leaving. To Sybilla, she said, “Find something for them to wear and see they get the tarts, and—” this added with a single finger held before her to punctuate her words “—be kind to those girls. They are dear to me.”
Stopping to pick up her table knife, she slipped it into her pocket before she left.
Rogan rode toward the cottage, wondering why he had bothered returning to Kensmouth when all he had wanted to do since he arrived home was head back to Linden Wood. And Lily.
He gave up trying to analyze it, for it had made his head ache attempting to reason out his single-minded desire for his wife. And fighting it was futile. So he simply surrendered to it and told himself it meant nothing.
The appearance of Thomas on the path couldn’t have been more surprising. The large man looked ridiculous astride a brown mule, his toes draggi
ng on the ground. When he saw his master, he began waving his huge hands.
“She be gone!” he yelled. “She went to get the boy!”
Rogan reined in the startled stallion. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“My lady, sire. She went to their cottage. She be in danger.”
Rogan heard two important things: My lady—meaning Lily—and danger.
“I followed her. I watch over her. No harm come to her with Thomas around, but I got afraid. I come to get you.”
Rogan realized the man’s constant presence near his wife was his way of protecting her, keeping guard. Good Lord, she had managed to charm even this simple soul, with his brutish face and soft heart “Where is the cottage?” he snapped.
Thomas supplied Lily’s location, and Rogan dug his heels into the stallion’s side. He knew the woods well; he had no trouble finding his way. He spotted the hut from the top of a small ravine. Seeing he would do better on foot, he dismounted.
No sign of Lily. As Rogan crept closer, a large figure lumbered into view, a big brute of a man. Unseen, but close, Lily called, “Oliver!”
Just then, she rounded the house and came face-to-face with the man. As Rogan neared, he could hear their voices It was not a long conversation, but it was a heated one. Lily whirled away and called for Oliver again.
Rogan began to sprint. The man was moving behind Lily, his big ham fist raised.
Rogan ran like a madman, letting out a keening war cry. Alerted, Lily whirled and saw her attacker, but not soon enough. Her scream blended with his own voice and still, Rogan knew it would not be sufficient to save her from the blow. The large man swung, and with a considerable distance still between him and his wife, Rogan saw Lily crumple.
The man looked up, searching for the owner of the bone-chilling cry. As quick as such a large man could, he dove toward one of the walls of the hovel and retrieved a scythe.
Standing over Lily’s unconscious form, he cried, “Get outa ’ere, an’ leave me an’ my kin alone!”
Rogan never broke stride. He careened out of the tree line, and ran headlong toward the huge oaf, who had hunkered down with his weapon in a defensive stance.
The Flower And The Sword Page 14
