The Whispered Kiss

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “What fate has gifted me such sweet reckoning as this, Godfrey, I ask you?” the tall, dark, and fierce lord asked.

  Godfrey looked to his lord, glad to be in servitude to Roanan’s master and not indebted to him. He thought of Antoine de Bellamont. The merchant’s choice was cowardly. Godfrey knew, even as he looked at the powerful, calloused man before him, he would have let both his hands be severed rather than see a daughter married to such a man as his lord appeared.

  “I ask you, Godfrey,” the dark lord said again, stepping from the shadows, “which fate would wink upon me long enough to gift me this?”

  “I know not, sire,” Godfrey answered. Detestation and amusement blended together in his master’s eyes, the result of a fierce flame of loathing.

  He considered his lord and the rarity of the smile he now wore. Smiling out from the dim-lit room, the perfect white of his teeth flashed like a lion’s. The dark brown waves of his hair framing his face and falling to the vast breadth of his shoulders only further accentuated his intimidating appearance. Large in stature, powerful in body and will, and as hard-hearted as the devil himself, the Lord of Roanan was not to be trifled with, and Godfrey felt ill at ease with no better answer to give his lord.

  “That is true, Godfrey,” the dark lord chuckled. “I forget myself, for you have no knowledge of the man who has only just sold his daughter to me for the price of a small merchant fleet. No knowledge of the merchant and no knowledge of the daughter.”

  “No, sire. ’Tis true I do not,” Godfrey admitted.

  He watched his lord’s eyes narrow as he growled, “’Tis true you do not, Godfrey. Yet I have. I have a knowledge beyond cognition, and I am fated to have my reckoning.” His lord fell silent, eyes narrowed, brow puckered into the most scathing of frowns.

  Godfrey startled when, in the next moment, his lord slammed one powerful fist upon the table.

  “We must make haste, Godfrey,” the dark lord commanded. “Two days hence I shall be expecting my bride.”

  “Yes, sire,” Godfrey said with a nod.

  The dark lord quirked one eyebrow in Godfrey’s direction. “You doubt the merchant will keep his word,” he said.

  “He seems a coward, milord,” Godfrey admitted.

  “And a coward he is,” his master replied. “And it is why I know he will sacrifice his daughter for wealth, rather than his hand for her sake.”

  “Yes, milord,” Godfrey said, his own wrist aching at the thought of his lord’s sharp blade.

  “Then let us make haste,” the dark lord said again, “for I am to be wed. And thereafter, my heir will be conceived at last.”

  “Yes, milord.” Godfrey nodded, lowering his eyes as his master passed.

  He watched his lord determinedly stride from the room, his long legs swiftly carrying him toward the grand staircase.

  “Well,” Victoria whispered as she stepped from the shadows, “fate indeed. What fate would find us with our lord taking a wife?”

  Godfrey released the anxious breath he had been holding. He turned to Victoria, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “I know not, madam,” he said.

  Victoria was the housemistress of Roanan Manor House and had been Godfrey’s confidant for near to four years since his arrival. It was often they sat in contemplation of the mystery who was their master.

  “I know of seven women who have offered to…to bear his heir, legitimate or otherwise, in the course of this past three months alone! And yet he refuses every one. Some know fathers more wealthy even than he is,” Victoria offered in a whisper.

  “There is yet no remarkable gossip in the village of any wicked dalliance with women where my lord is concerned,” Godfrey said. “None other than the common gossip, of course.”

  “Though I myself have seen many a chambermaid and serving wench near to begging for his applied kiss,” Victoria told him.

  “That is true,” Godfrey agreed. “Still, if he were of the low moral character of other titled men, we would hear of it. Yet the mystery of his anger, his hatred, and constant loathing of others—”

  “Of women,” Victoria corrected. “One does not serve in this house and yet avoid awareness of his loathing of women.”

  “His distrust of women, perhaps?” Godfrey offered.

  “And yet he would wed a woman of no acquaintance or consequence…a merchant’s daughter?” Victoria mused.

  “A ruined merchant. A cowardly one at that,” Godfrey mumbled.

  Victoria sighed, shaking her head. “He confounds me.” She raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening as she added, “Though I was not at all certain he would not chop the man’s hands off right before our eyes!”

  “I believe his desire was to do so,” Godfrey said.

  “I believe it was,” Victoria agreed. “But he would not.” Godfrey heard Victoria’s sigh of relief. “And now?”

  “And now,” he continued, “now we wait for our new Lady of Roanan to arrive. For our lord will not look back once he has set his path.”

  “No. Indeed he will not,” Victoria whispered.

  Godfrey felt his eyes narrow as he gazed out the open doors of Roanan Manor House. How he pitied the girl whose father would sell her. How he worried for the girl who must endure an existence in the clutches of the powerful and apparently heartless Lord of Roanan.

  For the Want of a Rose

  “Oh, Father!” Inez exclaimed. “Such perfect stitching and embroidery! Why, I’ve never seen the like. And the hue of this blue cloth—’tis the most beautiful gown you’ve ever given me. Thank you, Father! Thank you! Surely Henry Weatherby will propose now! When first he lays eyes upon me in this gown, how could he be anything but my willing servant?”

  Antoine de Bellamont smiled, proud and pleased in his daughter’s response to his gift of the extravagant gown. Inez was lovely with her dark hair and dark eyes. The gown would more than merely become her.

  “And there shall be more gowns of this exquisite quality for all you girls,” he said as Elise hugged him once more.

  “Oh, Father! We will be envied indeed!” Elise said, brushing a stray strand of auburn hair from her cheek, her green eyes glistening with excitement. “No other woman in Bostchelan owns such finery as we!” Her fingers caressed the soft pink gown cradled in her own arm.

  “None, indeed!” Dominique giggled, holding her gown of green pressed against her bosom and admiring herself in the looking glass. “Will we not be overwhelming to look upon, Coquette?” As she tossed her head and sent ebony ringlets dancing over her shoulders, Dominique’s dark eyes burned with vanity.

  “Overwhelming, indeed,” Coquette said, smiling at her sisters.

  A wave of guilt washed over Antoine then as he studied his youngest and loveliest daughter. She was completely resplendent in admiring the rose he had gifted her. Her smile far outshined the smiles of her sisters, even for having received the simplest gift. Still, his trade was restored, gold coins weighted his pockets, and Coquette would soon want for nothing. He further comforted himself in the knowledge she would soon be walking among the beautiful roses at Roanan Manor, to her utter contentment, no doubt. Surely, if one rose—one rose, which would soon wither and die—brought her such great joy, a garden of roses would bring her every happiness.

  Yet fleeting as it seemed, the guilt Antoine felt lingered, however thinly residual. He knew he would not be rid of it until he told the tale to Coquette. He suspected he would not be rid of it until the morrow when she was well on her way to Roanan.

  Thus, for his own sake, he began, “There is…there is something I must speak with you girls about. I am loath to do it, but it must be done. I feel now is the time.”

  “But, Father, our new dresses!” Inez whined. “I wish to wear my dress now so that you may see how well it enhances my beauty.”

  “Oh, yes, Father! Let us wear them for you first,” Elise begged.

  Antoine chuckled, amused by his daughters’ excitement. Still, raising a hand, he said, “On
ly a moment of your day, girls. Only a moment, and then you may be off.”

  “But, Father, we are weary of talk,” Dominique sighed.

  “Father has brought you such lovely gifts,” Coquette said. “Cannot you give him a few more moments? It is clear he has something important to—”

  “Hush, Coquette,” Inez interrupted. “Sniff your rose, and be content in it. You did not ask Father for a new dress, so do not be resentful that he did not bring one for you.”

  “I am not put off, Inez,” Coquette said. “It is simply your lack of gratitude I do not understand.”

  “Now, girls,” Antoine intervened. He smiled and took Coquette’s hand in one of his. “I’ve had an adventure, Coquette,” he began, “the like one can only dream of.” He paused a moment, suddenly awed somehow by her great and unique beauty. Of all his daughters, Coquette resembled her mother most. He smiled at her, proud of her great beauty—her raven hair and emerald eyes shaded by long, dark lashes, her cherry-red lips, her lovely and kind smile. Again, he was awash with guilt. Yet he knew it would pass.

  “Have you, Father?” Coquette asked, her emerald eyes flashing with excitement.

  “Yes,” Antoine said. “And though it is more a nightmare than a dream to tell, tell you all I must—especially you, Coquette.”

  Coquette smiled. How she longed for adventure! Many were the times she had wished she could accompany her father on his travels—meet the exotic people he met, see the wonders of the world he saw. She gazed at him lovingly, touched he would remember to bring her a rose.

  Her sisters had asked for new gowns, naturally. Their desires were ever toward new and exquisite gowns and baubles with which to stroke their own vanity. This kept their lists of wants endless. Yet for her part, Coquette only wished for the happiness of others—even her vain and shallow sisters. Most of all, she wished to see her father kept happy. It was, in fact, the circumstance for which she had sacrificed her own happiness—for her father’s sake. She was certain his recent adventure, whatever it may be, had made him happy, for the light of joy was fairly resplendent in his eyes. Coquette was joyous to see him so excited. And so she welcomed her father’s tale of adventure.

  “Why so, Father?” Coquette asked. “Why should such an adventure be told to me in particular?”

  “I was on my way, returning to you lovely girls, my precious jewels…by way of Roanan,” her father began.

  “I’ve always dreamt of Roanan!” Inez interrupted. “It is said they have the finest jewelers in the country there.”

  “Hush, Inez,” Elise scolded. “Let father go on with his tale that we may be about our own business.”

  Coquette sighed. It was weary she was of her sisters’ careless behavior, their blatant lack of gratitude. A memory leapt to her mind—a memory, rather a consideration, of what her life might have been had not her father denied…but she would not dwell on the past.

  “Go on, Father,” she encouraged. “I am listening.”

  She watched as her father seemed to swallow with difficulty. Surely this was a sign of residual excitement. What an adventure he must have had indeed!

  “I was passing through Roanan, and on the outer boundaries of the town I came upon the most glorious of estates!” Antoine continued. “Fine stone walls at least ten feet in height, surrounding the gardens and grounds of the most impressive manor house I had ever before seen.”

  Coquette closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning such grounds, such a wall surrounding them.

  “Cached like a secret the house and grounds were, save the beautiful rose vines thriving just inside the front gates—massive iron gates, such craftsmanship I’ve yet to see elsewhere in this part of the country. And enveloping these massive gates…roses!”

  “Like the one you brought Coquette?” Dominique asked.

  “Yes, exactly,” Antoine said. “I thought of my beloved daughters when I saw the beauty of these roses, but especially of you, Coquette, for you had asked me to bring you nothing save a rose to remind you of your mother.”

  Coquette nodded and smiled. She looked at the rose she held, the beautiful lavender rose her father had gifted her. It did indeed remind her of her sweet mother. How she had missed her mother since her passing! Nearly nine years it had been since her mother fell ill and died, and Coquette missed her every day.

  “Did you pluck the rose from the iron gates of the house in Roanan then, Father?” Coquette asked. How she loved to envision it—the enormous gates, embellished with such beauty as she held in her hand.

  “I began to,” Antoine continued, “yet then I glanced beyond the gates to the gardens of the manor house. Would that I had simply plucked the rose from the gate, but I did not, and fate has intervened.”

  “What do you mean, Father?” Elise asked.

  “I pushed on the iron gates and ventured into the gardens they guarded,” Antoine said. “Beautiful were these gardens, I admit. Still, nothing more beautiful grew there than the lavender rose, and as I strolled beneath a rose-laden arbor, I plucked the rose you now hold in your hand, my sweet Coquette. I smiled, thinking of how delighted you would be with its beauty, wondering if I should dig a few roots of the vine and bring them home to you to grow here in Bostchelan.”

  Coquette smiled and pressed the velvet petals of the rose to her face, inhaling its lovely fragrance.

  “Oh, I hope you were not found out, Father,” Coquette giggled. “To wander into such a garden, steal such a bloom. You are fortunate you were not caught and reprimanded.”

  The silence from her father then caused Coquette to glance up at him. He wore an odd expression—that of being entirely startled coupled with some great guilt heaped upon him.

  “Coquette, you often unsettle me with your awareness. For indeed, I did not ask permission to take the rose, and therefore…therefore I was caught and, consequently, my life threatened!”

  “What?” Coquette exclaimed.

  “What do you mean, Father?” Inez asked. “What do you mean by telling us your life was threatened? And over this miserable rose you brought to Coquette?”

  “It is true,” Antoine began. “There is a dark presence dwelling in the place. Roanan Manor, it is called—and the lord of it, the lord dwelling within, is as malevolent a being as ever walked the earth!”

  “Father!” Coquette exclaimed. “Your life was threatened?” Suddenly, Coquette trembled with fear and anxiety. Her father’s life threatened? Over a rose? “Tell us the tale, Father. Pray, at once!” She must know he was no longer in danger! She must know the rose she had asked for did not yet place him in harm’s way.

  “A great beast of a man…” Antoine began. Yet he paused. Coquette was to go to the beast’s dwelling in Roanan Manor House. No need to alarm her further. Antoine knew he must proceed carefully. He did not want to upset his other three daughters. One would be made to pay for her folly in asking for a rose. No need the other three should suffer with worry as well.

  “Go on, Father,” Coquette said when her father paused. Surely the tale must be told. His life threatened? Over a rose? She still could not fathom it.

  “A great…a great beast of a man came into the garden. On finding me there, he bid I should talk with his master, the dark Lord of Roanan. And so I went. I followed the large man into the great manor house—such wealth you girls have never imagined…such furnishings, such exquisite tapestries!”

  “Go on, Father,” Coquette urged. “We care nothing for furnishings, tapestries, or wealth—only your safety.”

  “That is right, Father,” Dominique said. “First tell us of your adventure. Then you may tell me of the tapestries! You know how deeply I love fine tapestry.”

  Coquette sighed, unable to fathom the shallow character of her sister.

  “Go on, Father. Please,” Coquette begged.

  “Within the manor house, there was a length…a great hall in which sat a large table, partly in shadow, part in light. Behind the table, hidden within the shadows, was a man…the dark
Lord of Roanan. I could not see his face to witness his sure identity, for he remained in the darkness. I feel it is where he resides. He called me a thief, this dark lord! Called me a thief and told me he would…he told me he would take my life as payment for the rose I had stolen!”

  “What?” Coquette exclaimed. “Father! No! Surely you cannot be in earnest!”

  “But I am!” Antoine assured her. “He drew his sword upon me, threatened to run me through! I begged for his mercy…fell to my knees fairly sobbing, telling him of my dead wife, my four beautiful daughters. Told him, I did, you would all four be lost without me…destitute without my money and trade! I begged for his mercy, and in begging, I offered the story of why I had plucked the rose. I told him of my lovely Coquette and her desire to have a rose to remind her of her mother. Still, he cared not, for he was angered at my trespassing and…and my thievery, as he called it.”

  “Thievery?” Inez exclaimed. “A rose? To pluck a rose…it is not thieves’ business.”

  “See what you have caused, Coquette? See what danger you have put Father in? The consequences for us all?” Dominique cried.

  Coquette was silent. Her request of a rose had not put her father in danger. His own neglect at asking permission to take the rose had caused it. Yet she was guilt-ridden, frightened.

  “Father,” Coquette began, “Father, I am sorry to have caused you such grief. I…I…”

  “Yet all is well, Coquette,” her father told her. “For in listening to my story, in seeing what a good man I am, what a kind and caring father, the Lord of Roanan took mercy on me. He granted me my life…granted me my life that I might continue to be father and provider for my daughters. You girls will not linger in loneliness and poverty, for I am saved. And at Coquette’s hand.”