The Flower And The Sword

by Jacqueline Navin

  “You defend her,” Alexander accused.

  Rogan gave a quick shake of his head. “No, I defend myself.”

  “Why you did not simply put her aside, I will never know.”

  “You need not understand me, brother. Just do not oppose me.”

  “Oppose you?” Alexander exclaimed, as if to deny it. Then his eyes widened as he realized that was precisely what he was doing. He relaxed, blowing out a long breath and said, “Sit down,” in a conciliatory tone.

  “I would like very much to be done with this conversation. We seem to be saying the same things over and over, with no avail.” Rogan did not take the seat. Leaning against the wall and crossing his ankles, he regarded his brother gloomily.

  “That is because you will not listen to me. You always were stubborn.”

  “No, it is because you cannot stand it when someone does not obey you without question. And if I am stubborn, which I do not deny, than you are insufferably overbearing.”

  Alexander gave a short laugh, waving his hand in the air. “I know that. If not from the many times you have said so, then from my wife, who tells me more gently.”

  “You can keep me here until the sun rises, tonight and the next and the next. But nothing will get accomplished until it is you who listens to me.”

  Alexander glared at him. “You throw all away, perhaps endanger your life, for this woman? Did it ever occur to you that she may yet again plot against you?”

  Rogan could not resist a laugh. “Ah, brother, you are quick to condemn me, but is it so long ago you yourself risked all for love? In your case, the stakes were no less dire, for you put family honor on the line, the duchy itself, and if Richard had not been appeased, imprisonment and execution could have been your reward as easily as not.”

  Expecting Alexander to anger at this reminder, Rogan braced himself for the tirade that was sure to follow. Instead, his brother lifted a thick brow in speculation. “So, you are in love with her.”

  The impact of the question rocked Rogan to the core. “Of course not!” he snapped reflexively. “Do not badger me with the absurd. I am simply saying that you and I are not likely…” He could not seem to find the correct words to explain himself. “Ah, blast!” he shouted, turning his back on Alexander and stalking out of the room.

  Lily could hear the faint sounds of their argument from her chamber, though their voices were too muffled to make out the words. She was shamelessly curious, for it was most certainly about her they quarreled. She even opened her door and leaned out to try to better hear what it was they were saying, but a strolling guard sent her back inside.

  When her husband finally came in, she pretended to be asleep. She heard him yawn and stretch before undressing. Peeking beneath her lashes, she saw him rub the back of his neck—a telltale sign of tension.

  The bed sagged as he lay down next to her. “Lily?” he whispered in the darkness. “Lily?”

  Trying to decide whether a person truly asleep would waken at the call, Lily lay still and forced herself to breathe evenly despite the pounding of her heart. She felt the warmth of his hand on her arm, but he did not shake her. After a while, she could resist no longer, and rolled onto her back, lifting her arms to welcome him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dorvis shifted uncomfortably before Catherine. She held the torch higher, giving him her sternest look and watching him wriggle under the glare.

  “That is distressing news,” she said.

  The darkness in the tower chamber refused to be banished, licking greedily at the lone torch as if it would swallow its struggling light. The slow drip of water echoed against the stone walls. She was alone with this man, but she was not afraid. There was only one man she feared—the man of whom they now spoke.

  “They share a chamber. And her cousin is being fostered there.”

  “Cousin? We have no cousin.”

  “The three children who live with her. She brought them with her, and they are being given lessons. Lord Rogan is instructing the boy himself.”

  Dismissing this nonsense as unimportant, Catherine prodded, “The Lady Lily, she seems content?”

  “No, but the rift between them closes every day.”

  “What of the weasel, Andrew?”

  “He is gone. No one knows where. Some say he and Lord Rogan quarreled, and he has been banished.”

  “Ah, that would be lovely, but impossible. Those two will not be apart for long. Tell me, is she to return to her hovel?”

  “Some say yes, some no. The gossip is all people want to talk about. News of them is spread about anxiously.”

  “No doubt my sister has wound her claws about their simpleminded hearts,” Catherine muttered. She walked a few paces, thinking. She must act wisely and strike with cunning. This time, she must finish the tender lovers for good.

  There would be no peace while those two lived. She could no longer bear the torturous visions of the sweet ecstasy her sister shared with the man that should have been hers. Even Phillippe’s skilled hands could not banish her obsession with Rogan St. Cyr. Now, this latest report of the two of them growing closer…

  Impossible, but true. What to do?

  There was really only one thing.

  Whirling back to the messenger, she said, “I know you are a bit squeamish, Dorvis, but Rogan must be destroyed.”

  Dorvis paled. “Our friend at Kensmouth is specific about that matter. Lord Rogan must not be harmed. And I will have nothing to do with it.”

  “There is no choice,” Catherine declared, circling behind him.

  Dorvis eyed her warily. “No, you’ll not do it! I shall warn them. I am no murderer!”

  Catherine’s fingers curled around the dagger secured in the folds of her skirt.

  “Of course I shall do nothing to Rogan if you do not wish it,” Catherine lied. “We must think of something else.” Dorvis was not clever enough to conceal the fact he did not believe her.

  Pretending to pace, Catherine tapped her finger against her chin. As she passed close to him, she went into action, moving with the speed of a snake. She struck out with the torch, catching him off guard. Dorvis screamed, throwing up his hands to cover his face.

  The blade came easily out of its sheath with a smooth, slicing sound. The hilt was solid and cool in her hand. Dorvis was still cringing as she brought it down to bear. The first blow glanced off his shoulder. He roared in pain and outrage. She pulled her hand back, this time slicing upward and catching him in the chest.

  Then he whirled, summoning his strength to hit her with the back of his hand. The force of the blow flung her backward to slam full force into the dank wall.

  The knife fell from her hand and skittered across the floor. The torch sputtered out beside her.

  The burns and blood loss were taking their toll on the man, but now Catherine had no weapon. She let out a scream that rebounded crazily in the damp cavern. Dorvis lunged forward, his hands closing around her throat to cut off the sound. The crushing grip of his fingers closed off her air. Catherine clawed at him, reaching desperately for his eyes. The man held fast, pushing harder until she felt the soft crumple of her throat as her windpipe collapsed.

  Her blood roared in her ears and her vision was ebbing fast. Dimly she was aware of the easing of the pressure at her neck, of the man, now just a shadow in her faded field of vision, snapping his head up. Then, the sounds. Someone coming.

  He let her go, and she dropped to the floor. She heard his retreating footsteps, the growing din of men approaching. Catherine tried but couldn’t lift her head. Blood filled her throat and mouth.

  She clung to consciousness, desperately fighting the black tide threatening to engulf her. “Phillippe,” she groaned as her husband’s men lifted her off the floor. Her head flopped helplessly, and there were shouts of alarm.

  Let me live, she prayed defiantly. Let me live to speak to Phillippe.

  “Get the earl!” someone shouted.

  No, it is Phillippe
I want! She could not speak, but with the force of her will she sent out this last request.

  The lull of sleep eternal was almost too much to resist, but she clung to life. The men were confused, speaking quickly, arguing. She heard her husband’s voice demanding an explanation. Distinctly she saw him lean close and murmur, “My God!”

  Not much longer. She could stave off death no more. And then Phillippe was there, his voice calling to her as she slipped backward and away.

  At last! She could smell him, the scent of sandalwood he wore. She must speak, must tell him. Summoning her last reserves, Catherine issued her final bloody breath. “Kill Rogan.”

  The children were extremely excited about having an honest-to-goodness duke in their midst.

  “Does he have a coat of ermine and a crown of jewels?” Anna asked.

  “No,” Lily answered, laughing. “But he does have a tunic sewn with gold thread.” In fact, Alexander, like Rogan, eschewed the gross overornamentation that his class usually favored. Nonetheless, it was true he did allow a modest pattern of gold thread to be sewn into his clothing, a small concession to his position.

  “Gold!” Lizzie exclaimed.

  “Don’ be stupid, gold is nothing to ’im,” Oliver spat. “’E’s got trunks of it!”

  “I’ll thank you to remember your manners. Sisters are people, too.” Lily reached out and tousled his hair. In response, he pulled away angrily. “And mind your speech.”

  Rogan’s voice cut in, “Good morn.” Lily started. She had not heard him approach.

  His auburn hair shone in the sunlight pouring through the windows, throwing off glints of gold. Dressed simply in a tan tunic, with the lacings left open at the throat, he was cool and at ease, but there was heat in those gray eyes when they fell on Lily.

  “Good morn, my lord,” Anna said. Lily smiled at the worshipful gaze she leveled at her benefactor.

  “Lord Rogan, tell us about the duke,” Lizzie begged. “Is it true that he eats ten plates of meat at each meal? Is it true that he has a hundred trunks of gold and jewels and he never wears the same tunic twice?”

  Rogan chuckled, pulling the small girl onto his lap as he took a stool. He looked at Lily over the blond head, his eyes glowing. “Alexander is my brother. Imagine Oliver grows up to be a great king.” To this, the girl dissolved into laughter. Rogan continued. “Would you think him grand, or would you remember him as he is now, with currant juice showing at the corner of his mouth and a rip in his hose?”

  “Oliver a king!” Lizzie shrieked, not able to get past this unbelievable imagining.

  “There you have it. I can only think of the duke as he was, a loud bully with a huge heart and a nasty temper.”

  “Is he mean?” Anna asked softly.

  “No, not at all. Just a bit full of himself.”

  Lizzie swung her gaze to Lily. “Do you have a brother?”

  “No,” Lily answered evenly. “I have two sisters.”

  “Like Oliver.”

  “Yes.” The reference to Catherine and Elspeth hung like a cloud, obscuring the happy moment. Nervously, she looked to Rogan. His expression was inscrutable. Her eyes dropped to her lap.

  “What are they like?”

  Bracing herself, Lily did not raise her head. “My younger sister is much like Anna. The other…the other is very mean.”

  “Like Oliver!” Lizzie exclaimed.

  Oliver flushed angrily. “No, not like Oliver,” Lily scolded. “Oliver is a fine boy, if a bit impulsive at times.”

  Rogan said, “He shall make a great soldier one day.”

  Lily was surprised the mention of her family did not cause Rogan to grow irate. Gathering the children together, she ushered them upstairs for washing up before supper. As she departed, she cast a lingering glance over her shoulder, wondering what unimaginable thoughts were hidden behind Rogan’s implacable facade.

  The following morning, Lily woke to find herself in a restless, irritable mood. She gnawed on a crust of bread at the morning meal, and later when she was about her chores, the rich smells emanating from the kitchens made her stomach heave.

  Just before supper, she felt fatigued. Thinking to find a spot where she could rest in solitude, Lily headed toward the master’s solar, which was rarely used. Thanks to the six feet of stone wall, the room was perpetually cool while the large shutters could be flung open to allow a flood of late afternoon sunlight.

  Crossing the room, she headed for one of the tall windows overlooking the private yard. A small sound caught her attention and she whirled about, surprised to find Carina rising from a deeply cushioned seat.

  “You startled me!” Lily exclaimed.

  “As you did me.” Carina was, as usual, guarded.

  “I am sorry.”

  “You look pale,” she said, advancing toward Lily. “I have some cool cider if you wish.”

  Lily never ceased to puzzle over the lovely woman’s timid manner. She was the wife of the duke, for goodness’ sake. Whoever had opposed her marriage could do nothing now, for the union had been accepted by the crown and she was with child, hopefully the heir to Windemere.

  “Would you care to sit?” Hesitating for a moment, Lily nodded. Carina took another chair.

  They were uncomfortably silent for a span.

  Carina said in her soft voice, “You seem troubled.”

  Lily let her head drop back and sighed heavily. “You must know the story, your grace.”

  “Please call me Carina.” The duchess flushed. “And you, no doubt, have heard mine. I see in your eyes you wonder what to make of me. After all, I am Italian, a foreigner, am I not? A member of that inferior race, and a merchant’s daughter.”

  “No!” Lily protested. “I was thinking something quite different. I was wondering what you thought of me, the wife who is supposed to have betrayed her husband after only a day. Surely, you must despise me as all the rest do.”

  Carina was startled, then began to laugh. After a space, Lily joined her.

  “I suppose we both have reason to suspect others will judge us,” Carina smiled. “Did you?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Did you betray Rogan after only a day?”

  Surprised, Lily recovered and offered a vehement “No.”

  “Strange,” Carina mused, but said no more.

  “You may be of humble birth, but at least you are beloved by your husband.”

  “And despised by everyone else. And you have won the hearts of all, though you know not where your husband’s affection lies,” Carina countered. Frowning, she added, “Are you certain you are well? Your color is so pale.”

  “I am tired today.”

  Carina nodded. “The heat is taxing.”

  “I suppose it is a small illness.”

  Carina looked at Lily thoughtfully. “Could you be with child?”

  Lily froze. The room, the delicate woman sitting across from her, the light streaming through the windows all receded as the blood drained to her feet, leaving her a cold, hollow shell with the liquid sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. “With child,” she whispered.

  “Have you missed your flow?” This Carina asked with a slight blush. “When was the last time?”

  Lily knew she was right. Her last monthly course had been too long ago. She had not noticed with everything else happening around her. “Oh, dear God!”

  “But this is excellent! You are to give your husband a child of his own!”

  “No!” Lily moaned, jumping to her feet. “You do not understand! I cannot be with child, I cannot!”

  “What? Why?”

  “He’ll take my child. He told me so. He’ll take my baby and I’ll never see it again!”

  Carina’s delicate brow furrowed as she regarded Lily. “You must tell me everything. Here, drink this. It is cool, it will relax you. Now, take a deep breath, and begin.”

  Under Carina’s gentle command, Lily did as she was bade. In between sentences, Carina prodded her to sip f
rom the cider. When she was finished, Lily sat staring at her hands clutched around her cup. Carina gently took it away and folded her hands in hers.

  “We must take time to think of what is best to do,” Carina said at last. “I will speak to Alexander.”

  “No!” Lily insisted. “Alexander hates me. He believes all of those wretched lies.”

  Carina nodded, unperturbed. “True, Alexander does believe you conspired against Rogan because it was what Rogan believed. Can you not see how Rogan has softened toward you?”

  Lily shook her head emphatically, hardly hearing her. “Rogan has not forgiven me. We have a truce. That is all.”

  “But there is gentleness—I have seen it. In fact, it makes Alexander positively livid. If you but speak to him, perhaps he will relent.”

  Lily pondered this for a moment. “Perhaps. Or perhaps not.” A single tear raced to her chin. “I cannot take the chance.”

  “Then, what will you do?” Carina challenged softly. “It is not as if you can keep this matter private.”

  “I do not know,” Lily whispered. Her eyes were wide as she looked imploringly at Carina. “May I ask you to keep my secret until I can think of what to do? It may only be postponing what is inevitable, but I cannot face Rogan yet.”

  Without hesitation, Carina nodded. “Of course, you must decide what is best. I shall promise not to interfere if you will pledge in turn you will not act rashly.”

  “Agreed,” Lily said, offering a shaky smile.

  Carina sighed softly as she said, “My dear friend, you must hold fast.”

  The weather was fine, the kind of day that makes a man feel like he has the world all to himself, Rogan thought. A crisp wind brushed away the heat of the sun and there was not a cloud to be found. The new greenery of the forest shimmered in the breeze, undulating in a sultry dance and casting dappling patterns over those below.