Jacqueline Navin - The Flower And The Sword

She was dressed little better than a servant, in a faded gown that was much too small for her and more the worse for wear. Her hair was a riotous mass of soft ringlets that fell clear to her waist and was of the same tawny color as the noble lion he had seen many times in his travels. Her eyes, which were now wide with worry, were an impossible shade of blue. No, green. No, somewhere in between, like the color of a tropical sea.

He stood transfixed, watching her wordlessly as she came to him and sank into a deep curtsy, her head bowed. The untamed mane slid forward like a curtain, stealing his view of that beautiful face.

“Your grace,” she murmured.

He was frozen for a moment. Then impulsively he reached down and touched her chin with his fingertips, tilting her head up. Those eyes fluttered open to meet his and she smiled a bashful, tentative smile.

“Lily!” Enguerrand boomed. “Get off the floor.”

Confusion passed over her features. She looked about as if searching each face for an answer.

Catherine glared at her sister. “He is not the duke, you ninny. Get up! Where were you?”

“I was in the orchard,” Lily explained. Hesitantly, and with a doubtful glance at Rogan, she rose to her feet.

“Where is Elspeth?”

“At chapel, I think.” Lily darted another self-conscious look his way, and Rogan instinctively sensed her embarrassment at being chastised in front of him. Again an inexplicable impulse seized him and he offered a small bow. “I am Alexander’s brother, Rogan.” He smiled. “And you are the Lady Lily.”

“Yes,” she answered. Her voice was as soft as a breeze.

“I want an explanation!” Enguerrand demanded. “I wish to speak to the duke myself. For all I know this could be a trick. I’ve never met you two.”

“It is no trick, Enguerrand,” Rogan said firmly. However, he seemed to be losing his focus. The girl, Lily, was following the conversation with a mixture of bemusement and alarm, and he found the play of these emotions on her face infinitely fascinating. “You know Alexander was reluctant to make the contract final.”

“He all but gave his word!” Enguerrand thundered.

It was Andrew who diffused the situation. “Well, I must say that you are handling this with amazing self-control.” This made Enguerrand’s eyes bulge in astonishment. The older man was doing no such thing and knew it. Andrew continued smoothly, “I know many men, lesser men than you, Enguerrand, who would have drawn their sword and run us through without waiting for explanation. Oh, you are angry and I don’t blame you. Unfortunate business, and we are all the worse off for it. You have a right to make complaint, as does your lovely daughter. But you are a man who has lofty morals, I can see, and knows the value of talking things through. Quite admirable.”

Enguerrand had fallen silent and was staring at the younger St. Cyr with openmouthed shock. Andrew went on, “Of course, with the country in the state it is today, what with John aspiring to the crown and the barons in such an uproar, ‘tis well that such rash behavior is beneath a man such as yourself. Why, it could mean war, and that would decimate two houses. It is hardly worth it, you will agree, but not every man would have the wisdom to see that and do what is best for his people.”

Incredibly, Andrew’s facetious compliments seemed to have their intended impact. Enguerrand was taken off guard and more than a bit confused, but he relaxed slightly, muttering, “Quite so. Indeed, terrible business.”

For the moment, Enguerrand seemed deflated. Behind him Catherine seethed silently. Rogan exchanged glances with his brother, and Andrew flashed him a quick lift of his eyebrows in triumph.

When he turned back, Rogan saw that Lily had witnessed his brother’s irreverent gesture. Her lips compressed in a tight, controlled smile as she lowered her eyes. That simple gesture caused a sweet warmth to spread through him. With an effort, he tore his gaze away and attended his host.

Enguerrand was still disgruntled. However, he offered them sit at his table and ordered refreshments set out. Rogan inclined his head in acceptance of the offer of hospitality, relieved that, for the time being, at least, Enguerrand seemed to have calmed. Catherine, he could see, had not. Pushing aside his interest in the gentler sister, Rogan saw where his duty lay and offered the cold beauty his arm. Her eyes smoldered resentfully and then she blinked. Rogan thought he spied a flash of interest as if she had recognized something she hadn’t noticed before.

Behind him, Rogan heard Andrew say, “I am neither duke nor crusading hero, but a humble priest. However, I have been told I am a pleasant enough fellow. May I?”

Lily must have taken his arm, for he heard a quiet Thank-you in response.

Rogan became uncomfortably aware that he was, of all things, envious of his younger brother.

Lily Marshand had the most extraordinary sensation, of the world—the dull, familiar, unexciting, predictable world she had always known—having been turned as a whole and set askew so that everything seemed new, interesting, vibrant. Her pulse was still thrumming from when he had touched her, and thoughts raced wildly through her mind so quickly that each one barely had time to register before it was gone.

Rogan St. Cyr. Her mind slid over the name again and again. God’s teeth, he was handsome. That he was a soldier was easy to see, both in his well-muscled frame and the fluid manner in which he moved. Only a warrior had that economy of motion. His hair was thick and a deep russet, like tarnished copper, falling in waves to curl slightly against the nape of his neck. Straight nose, square chin, strong white teeth that gleamed when he smiled. Oh, yes, he was glorious, but not just that. He had been gentle and kind, and when he had looked at her with those strange gray eyes she had seen something incomprehensible, and yet utterly exciting.

She was being wretchedly silly. He probably was like that with everyone. She had, more than likely, imagined the way his wolflike gaze had held hers and how his sensuous mouth had curved ever so slightly when their eyes first met.

Still she was deeply gratified he was not Catherine’s betrothed. Or ex-betrothed, as it now stood.

Belatedly she realized Andrew was speaking to her.

“I am sorry,” she said, blinking away distraction. “What did you say?”

“I was merely commenting that I do not think that Rogan is very pleased with the arrangements,” Andrew said. The mention of Rogan’s name made Lily tense.

“Oh, what arrangements?”

“The seating arrangements. He is with Catherine trying to calm her. Tell me, does he have a chance?”

Lily immediately liked this young man, who looked to be not much older than her ten and nine years. She had hardly noticed him before, being much too overwhelmed with his imposing companion, but he was genuinely warm with laughing eyes and a gentle, oft-smiling mouth. “I must admit, Catherine can be difficult. I am certain your brother will find the right words.” She couldn’t resist a glance in Rogan’s direction. He was speaking to Catherine, and from the look of her, Catherine was indeed thawing.

“On the contrary, my brother is usually a man of very few words.” Andrew leaned forward to see for himself. “Odd, Rogan is not the most accomplished of diplomats. Well, maybe he has never tried before. Or perhaps Catherine is just succumbing to his charm. Women usually do. They find him fascinating for some reason. His looks please them, and there is his prowess on the battlefield—that is fairly legendary, if you will indulge a brother’s pride. But I think the most appealing thing is he seems not to care a whit about them. For some strange reason, it attracts them all the more.”