Jacqueline Navin - The Flower And The Sword

“Oh, no,” she breathed, fascinated. “I do not mind at all. If ever you would like to tell me more, I would be honored.”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “I shall keep that in mind.”

They talked amiably until the moon began to wane and Lily was reminded of the lateness of the hour. “I should be going inside,” she said reluctantly.

Rogan nodded, but did not move.

“Really, should Catherine learn I was here with you, she would be most displeased.”

“Why are you so afraid of Catherine?”

Lily paused. How could she explain the subtle threat Catherine exuded? Since their mother’s death, she ruled as somewhat of a tyrant at Charolais, over the servants and her sisters. Though Lily was not precisely afraid of her, she had a healthy dread of the trouble she could sow.

“Catherine is rather strong willed,” Lily stated. “She has a way of making it distinctly uncomfortable for those who disobey her.”

“I should think you would not care,” Rogan observed.

True enough. It was merely an excuse for Lily’s own growing feeling that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety far too much, even for her free spirit.

“Yes. But I really need to go in now.”

“You seem reluctant to go,” Rogan said, seeming to read her mind. Then, with a gleam in his eye, he asked, “I was intrigued by what you were saying about the servants. Being jolly. Do you remember?”

“Aye,” she answered, puzzled.

“When they kiss, you said.”

She blushed and lowered her eyes to her hands clasped tightly on her lap. When she looked back up, Rogan’s eyes shone with a strange light, making them appear silver. He leaned slightly forward. “Have you ever been kissed?”

Lily felt as if a tankard of ice-cold ale had been splashed in her face. Her mouth dropped open in shock and her back went rigid. “That,” she said with emphasis, “is a very rude question for a gently bred lord to ask a lady!”

She stood up. Her skirts were still somewhat wet, and they clung unbecomingly to her. But she was too angry to care. “I was wrong to tarry with you. Now, I really must go inside.”

With that she whirled about and stomped as gracefully as she could manage to the door, which was not much with her gown flapping heavily about her legs.

Rogan had to bite his lips to keep from laughing out loud at her magnificent exit, at least until she was out of earshot. But he was soon sorry for his impulsive question. The enchantment of the garden shriveled into the shadows, deserting him and leaving the orchard lonely.

He raked his hand through his hair. Now what had made him say such a thing? he wondered.

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?”