The Flower And The Sword

Chapter Four

Rogan reentered the castle, relieved that Andrew was no longer about. He was not in the mood to discuss much of anything right now, let alone endure another lecture on the perils of an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Interestingly—considering the critical circumstances—Rogan felt good and his mind was full of the delightful interlude with Lily. The little flower, as Andrew called her.

A sleepy page intercepted him and said he would show Rogan to his quarters. Following the boy, he climbed the great stone staircase that wound around the inside wall of the keep, then into a vaulted corridor lit with an abundance of torches. The lad led him to a chamber that was rather small, though nicely appointed. It held a good-sized bed, a stool and a shuttered window. The fire had been lit and there was a steaming tub by it. He was surprised by this hospitality, then thought that these amenities perhaps reflected the Marshands’ goodwill. His mood improved even more at this observance.

The servant left him and Rogan was about to undress when his door opened. Surprised, he turned. Catherine Marshand came into the room.

“Good eve to you,” she said as she moved toward him. “I have come to help you with your bath.”

It was common custom that visitors be offered such service, but it was usually the married women who performed the honor of undressing and washing their guests. In the absence of such a person, it was conceivable that the eldest daughter would offer. However, Rogan’s instincts were instantly alerted.

He did not stop her when she placed her hands on the thick band of leather at his waist. He experienced a distinct revulsion at her touch, but he was wary. He had dealt this proud woman a crushing blow today, and he did not want to lose what ground he had gained toward keeping peace.

Her slim hands did their work and his belt came undone. She laid it carefully on the back of a chair by the tub. When she turned back to him, he saw the burning in her dark eyes and a tight smile played on her face.

Rogan groaned inwardly. There was no way for him to stop this without appearing rude. It was ironic that an able-bodied man such as himself would feel these trepidations with a mere woman, but there was something about this one that made his flesh crawl.

“I am relieved you and your family have chosen not to take exception to my brother’s brutish behavior.”

“What’s done is done.” Catherine pulled off his tunic and untied his undershirt. She was close to him and he could smell her cloying scent. It was making him mildly ill.

Her hands went to the ties of his leggings.

“Do you not think it would be best to remove my boots first?” he asked. Verily, was this woman so anxious to get into his braes she would leave him standing with them caught up around his knees?

She knelt to perform the duty, then stood to address the leggings once again. He was not a modest man, but he found he had an aversion to being viewed intimately by Catherine’s devouring eyes. When he was naked, he quickly stepped into the tub and picked up the soap.

“Nay, I shall do that for you, Lord Rogan.”

With a shrug, he handed it to her and she lathered up her hands and began to rub his chest.

Rogan pretended to relax, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “What can you tell me of your sister, Lily?”

The stroking stopped for a moment, then resumed. “Why do you ask about Lily?”

“I was curious. Has your family chosen someone for her to wed?”

“Lily is a pleasant girl. But she is young, and still unrefined. I have done my best with her, but she can be headstrong. As to her marriage prospects, I am sure my father shall have no difficulty finding someone suitable. When the time comes. It is traditional for the eldest to marry first. And it may be difficult to find someone after this scandal.”

“Rich enough.”

“Pardon me?”

“I said, rich enough. Certainly with a prize such as yourself, you would want to make the best possible liaison, am I correct? Another duke, perhaps?”

Catherine shrugged mildly. “I do not know. Certainly someone of good family. But I only received the news today of my betrothed…that the duke married another. But these are matters for my father.”

Her hands trailed down his chest. She rubbed his legs, stroking the washing rag over them each in turn.

“I tell you, I am most impressed with her,” he continued, pretending to be unperturbed by her ministrations.

Her voice betrayed her tension. “Let us not talk of her. Surely we can find something else more amusing for our conversation?” She was not going to be dissuaded by his lofty praise of her sister. “May I speak plainly, Lord Rogan?” she asked.

He was never to know what plain conversation she had planned, for it was then his chamber door opened. Andrew stood at the threshold.

“Ro—” he started, then stopped just inside the doorway, visibly taken aback by the scene before him.

Rogan called out to him pleasantly. “Come, Andrew, for I was just speaking to the Lady Catherine on her future prospects of marriage. Did you get a chance to discuss our family’s concerns with her when she attended you at your bath?”

There was a short silence, then Andrew said, “Ah, the Lady Catherine did not attend me in my bath—eh, that is to say, I had no bath.”

Catherine stood, finally flustered. “Well, there is only one tub, and you must understand that Lord Rogan, being the elder, was chosen to—”

“Nonsense, think nothing of it,” Andrew said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I rarely bathe anyway.”

Catherine hurriedly brought forth the drying linen when she saw Andrew settle into a chair, apparently determined to stay.

“If you will not be needing me any further this eve, I will see you on the morrow,” she said stiffly, and exited the room before Rogan could reply.

When the door had shut behind her, Rogan grunted, “That was close.”

“Afraid the lady would compromise your reputation, were you?” Andrew teased. “I must say that I am more than passing insulted. I would have very much liked a bath and a brisk rub!”

“It is cruel to tease me,” Rogan said dangerously. “I could barely stand the feel of those bony hands on my flesh with that feral gleam in her eye.”

“I will be glad to be away from this place. Enguerrand seems to have recovered well. But that woman. Do you think you can escape the attentions of Lady Catherine?”

Rogan didn’t answer. He climbed in bed and pulled the furs up over him. “I shall be safe. Douse the candle on your way out, will you? And relax, brother. If all else fails, I do have my sword.”

“My good fellow, it is something of a sword the woman is after!”

After breaking their fast the next morning, Rogan and Andrew were invited to accompany their host to the practice field where, he boasted, he would show them a fine display of fighting prowess.

Rogan stood quietly as he watched Enguerrand’s men go through their drills, working with swords and maces. Andrew, who was off a little ways behind Marshand, amused himself by rolling his eyes at the stumbling maneuverings of the soldiers, then offering facetious compliments. Rogan scowled in mute warning for him to stop, but Andrew merely smirked.

His mind wandered to Catherine. Andrew had been right when he had said that her obvious interest in him could be a problem. And there was Lily. Thoughts of their meeting last evening in the garden still made him smile. She was a strange girl. She was beautiful and proud and yet unassuming, so unlike her elder sister.

“What say you, Rogan?” Enguerrand said, and Rogan snapped back into awareness. He glanced over at Andrew who was wearing his usual expression of ill-concealed mockery, brows raised in expectation.

“What was that? I am afraid I was distracted for a moment.”

“Thinking twice, eh, St. Cyr?” Enguerrand hooted.

Andrew leaned forward. “He wants to know if you want to take a chance with one of his men.” He rolled his eyes. “Damn daunting challenge.”

Rogan ignored Andrew’s jest and considered the invitation. With all of this pent-up tension, swinging a sword would feel wonderful right now.

“Very good,” he said, and Enguerrand announced the match.

Rogan doffed his jerkin and shirt, surprising his host when he strolled onto the field bare chested.

“No chain mail?” Enguerrand asked Andrew.

Andrew shrugged. “Too hot. Rogan despises the heat.”

“But without the protection…”

Andrew smiled. “Not to worry. He’ll not receive a mark.”

Enguerrand frowned, a bit insulted.

Behind a large piling of crates and barrels at the edge of the practice field, Lily hunkered down out of sight. She peered around the comrnr of her hiding place, trying to keep herself concealed and at the same time get a clear view of the goings-on.

She must be mad, she told herself. If her father saw her he would be furious. Worse, if Rogan spied her scampering about like an urchin, she knew she would never survive the humiliation.

But she had to see him again.

She had not been able to stop thinking of him all last night. She had been sorely disappointed this morn when she had found her father had taken him off so early. When she learned he was to fight one of her father’s men, she could not have stayed away for all the riches of the Holy See.

As Rogan walked onto the field, stripped to the waist as he was, Lily dove deeper under cover. Her heart thundered in her chest as panic arose. He was half-naked!

Oh, she should run back while she still had the chance, steal into the solar where she was supposed to be, quietly sewing and gossiping with the other women. Aye, most certainly she had been foolish to give in to her impulses. She stood, firmly resolved.

But somehow, instead of going back to the keep, she crept closer, slipping behind a cart nearer to the perimeter of the field.

From here she could view everything much better. She was close enough to see the movement of muscle as Rogan swung the broadsword over his head to limber up. Fascinated, she noted the slight beading of perspiration glisten on bare flesh. She felt faint, closing her eyes to steady herself.

He was magnificent, more physically glorious than any hero of a bard’s tale. His arms were thick with sinewed definition, sculpted as perfectly as the god Hermes in the garden, and his chest was broad with a light furring of auburn to match his wild mane of hair. It spread across his skin, tapering to a trail over the flat stomach. He turned, his back flexing with each of his powerful movements. Bracing himself, legs apart, he nodded to his opponent that he was ready.

Lily almost gave away her hiding place when she saw who it was her father had chosen to face Rogan. Latvar the Dane—a huge, ugly monster of a man. He was by far her father’s most accomplished warrior, held in awe among the men for both his skill and merciless strength. As he approached, swinging his spiked mace, Rogan only waited with deadly calm.

They circled each other. Rogan’s movements were smooth, like some wild animal of prey stalking with deliberate care. Finally, Latvar swung, the whooshing sound of the mace slicing through the still air. Rogan ducked, avoiding the mace easily. Latvar swung again, but his blow was once more evaded.

Latvar’s war cry resounded and he lunged. Rogan maneuvered himself away from the brutal onslaught without a scratch. They circled again, wary, taking measure.

In a rage, Latvar hurled the mace aside and drew his own sword. To this invitation, Rogan raised his own weapon, swinging it over his head in an arc and bringing it down against the Dane’s. The deafening sound of steel against steel sounded out, making Lily start.

Latvar was larger, but Rogan was unbelievably quick. The Dane could not bring the sword back up fast enough to see each of Rogan’s swings. Lily saw Rogan unleash a barrage of blows that left his opponent backwheeling, panting and exhausted. When Latvar dropped to one knee, Rogan placed a booted foot on his chest, laying his blade gently against the thick neck.

Lily waited in tense anticipation as the two remained in perfect stillness before Latvar nodded, admitting defeat. Lily craned her neck to see her father’s reaction. Enguerrand’s face was red, his lips tight, but he only stared stonily at the Dane. Behind him, Andrew bounced on his heels, gloating.

What would her father do now? Lily wondered. Rogan inclined his head to Latvar and offered him a hand. Poor Latvar looked guiltily at his master. Enguerrand said something to the men and Andrew laughed and gave her father a good-natured slam on the back. He shrugged and turned away, stalking off toward the stables with Andrew sauntering behind.

The crowd that had gathered broke up. Rogan came over to the water barrel, which was perilously close to where Lily lay hidden. She shrank back, angry with herself for not stealing away. She should have left while she had the chance! She was very still, very quiet. Her pulse thumped wildly in her throat.

Taking up the dipper, he poured water over his shoulders and back. He tilted his head up, splashing his face and running wet hands through his hair.

“Well, are you not going to come out and congratulate me?” he asked casually, “or are you still angry with me for last night?”

Chapter Five

Closing her eyes, Lily wished fervently that her ears had deceived her, that Rogan had not discovered her in this humiliating position. After a minute, she rose and stood before him like a penitent child.

“Well?” he prodded. “Are you still angry?”

“N-no,” she stammered.

“I should not have been so boorish. It was rude of me to ask such an unseemly question. However, I could not resist, and sometimes when men and women are alone, strange things are said. Even stranger done. I suppose that is why fathers are so determined to keep their daughters locked away.” His eyes held a curious blend of sincerity and laughter. “Your father should take better care to keep you locked away, you know. Your freedoms, meager though they are, do tempt me.”

“Oh,” Lily said, surprised by this contrite statement. She had been afraid he would tease her.

“So, do you forgive me?”

“I do,” she agreed. Digging the toe of her slipper in the dirt, she added, “I suppose I overreacted a bit. But you took me by surprise.”

“What a shame, and when I was enjoying our conversation so much. I was sorry when you left.”

She eyed him speculatively. “Sometimes I think you mock me.”

“What?” he said, brows shooting up in surprise. “I, mock you? Why Lily, it is you who mock me to accuse me of being insincere. I speak my mind, though it might seem dense to you. But, I am only a soldier. I can only make the excuse that I am crude and unused to the company of ladies such as yourself.”

“Oh, you are far from crude. If you never thought yourself charming, then you do not know yourself as well as you think. And I believe you are adequately acquainted with the company of ladies.”

“But none such as yourself,” he qualified. “And I do admit I tease you. I confess I rather enjoy your reaction. There is so much pretense and posturing between men and women, and I have little tolerance for it. I like the way you are so honest in your responses.”

Feeling as though her breath had been stolen away by the unexpected compliment, Lily blushed. “I suppose I am to blame as well for our misunderstanding.” She shot him a mischievous look from beneath her lashes. “I have been warned to beware of gardens in the evening and serpent-tongued rogues.”

“So you think me a rogue, do you?” He laughed, as if that were the most ridiculous thing he ever heard.

The glow from last night was stealing over her again. She felt her earlier caution desert her. Tilting her head to one side, she gave him an assessing look.

“Once,” she said slowly, “when I was a child, some traveling troubadours and jugglers came to the castle. My mother was alive then, and she adored such entertainments. We had a celebration, a fair with exotic acts and sights. One of the attractions was a man from the East who wore no shirt and had a great linen wrapped around his head with a gigantic ruby in it. Catherine insisted it was merely glass, but I always liked to think that it was real. His skin was darker than the field workers. He would play his flute a certain way to make a snake rise up out of the basket he had with him. The snake was so enraptured by the song that it was rendered harmless. It did his bidding, and he played his flute to command the snake to rise and fall.”

Rogan looked at her. He was standing so close. He still had not replaced his shirt and his hair was still tousled and damp. He was so appealing. She was acutely aware of every aspect of his body. Something inside her ached, making the little distance between them almost painfully undesirable. Lily knew if he made a move to close the gap, she would not be able to recapture her indignation from last night. There was something pulling her toward him, and she was losing both her ability and her desire to deny it.

“Why do you tell me this tale?” he murmured.

“Because I sometimes feel with you that I am that snake and you are that man with the flute and…” She could not finish.

Rogan pulled his shirt over his head. When that was done, he explained, “I thought I had better minimize my similarity to the bare-chested Saracen.” His eyes were warm, those eyes that looked like a wolf’s. It made her shiver.

“You say the most astonishing things,” he murmured. “Do you not know the coquette’s teasing ways, the power of the great eyelash-flutter maneuver, how to purse your lips in a flattering pout?” At first, Lily thought he was admonishing her for her forwardness, but the gentle smile that played on his lips reassured her. “You do none of these things. And yet, you achieve their goal with greater acuity than the most accomplished flirt. For you, it is natural, and that makes it all the more alluring.”

His hand came up to touch her cheek with the lightest whisper of touch. Her mind was muddled; she could not think of what she should do in the face of such boldness.

“You have called me a rogue, and I have to admit I have given you cause to suspect as much. But I am no romancer.” He added with a laugh, “And I am no snake charmer.”

“I should not have said that. Catherine is forever chiding me for being too bold.”

“And yet,” he said, “I find it a most endearing quality.” He paused, as if searching for the exact words. “I do not play fast and loose with the ladies, and I am not trying to seduce you, Lily.”

“That is a relief,” Lily said, vaguely disappointed.

“Since you have always been so honest with me, I will return the favor.”

His hand was moving ever so slightly over her cheek and imperceptibly his face seemed to be coming nearer. She fastened her eyes on his mouth.

“I cannot say that I have ever found another to interest me as you do,” he said quietly.

“You say that you are no charmer, but you use flattery well.”

“Is it flattery? I was merely being honest. Honesty can flatter, when it is complimentary. I say neither any falsehood nor do I try to persuade you with my words. I simply want you to know.”

“Then you do not mean for this honesty of yours to draw me to you?” she asked.

“Does it?”

She paused. “You know it does.”

His head lowered, and he said softly, “I am glad,” just before his lips touched hers.

She had never been kissed before. Besides her fantasy heroes, there had never been anyone who would have inspired maidenly dreams of sweet, sweeping love. Therefore, she was sadly unprepared for the deep flare of sensation as Rogan St. Cyr’s lips touched hers.

She couldn’t know how much he held back. He really only brushed his mouth against hers, sensing her inexperience. But for Lily it was an instantaneous leaping of sensation within her, a trembling excitement that sprang up somewhere low in her belly and flowed like molten fire through her limbs. When he made to draw away, she let out a small sound of protest and leaned forward in a motion that told him that he should not retreat, not yet. He obliged, his pleasant chuckle rumbling in his chest as he drew her closer into the tight circle of his arms.

There was no telling what would have followed if not for the shrill sound of Catherine’s voice calling for Lily. It was like a dousing of ice, that voice, and it made Lily start and pull away. She stumbled back, staring wide-eyed at Rogan as if suddenly shocked at what they had done. Her hand came up to her mouth, touching scalded lips in wonder.

She watched as his brows drew down, his expression changed to one of annoyance.

“Lily!” The call came again.

“She cannot find me here with you!” Lily whispered.

“Lily, calm down. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Rogan urged.

“There you are!” Catherine called. Lily whirled around to find her sister standing only a few feet away. In an instant, Catherine’s eyes flickered over her, then darted to Rogan.

As if smelling Lily’s fear, her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing out here? You are supposed to be in the solar. Get back at once.”

Flushed and confused, Lily looked from one to the other. She pressed her hands to her face, backwheeling before turning to run into the keep.

Rogan watched Catherine glare after her younger sister, witnessing the unveiled moment of pure malice before she composed her face and turned back to him.

“Has my sister been bothering you, Lord Rogan?” she said smoothly. “I swear, I despair of her sometimes. She is such a child, and a bit unruly. I must speak to Father about her. We cannot have her pestering our guests in this manner.”

Rogan shrugged. “Lily was not bothering me. Do not trouble yourself.” As he made to brush past her, he said, “If you will excuse me—”

“Lord Rogan!” Catherine interrupted. “There is something I wish to discuss with you. I have been thinking on your family’s debt to me.”

Rogan stopped and turned slowly. “Debt? I am not aware we owed you any debt. No money had exchanged hands.”

“I was thinking more of a debt of decency,” she explained. “On account of my having been so mistreated by your brother.”

“I thought that issue was settled,” Rogan said tightly.

“My father and I were counting on the marriage to the duke. You cannot know what humiliation this has caused me. We had told our friends. When they learn of what has happened, there will be great scandal. I feel it is very unfair for my reputation to be stained so, especially when I have done nothing to deserve it.”

Rogan watched her carefully Instincts told him that. under the carefully groomed exterior, Catherine was as crafty as a fox. There was a vague threat here, one that did not escape his notice.