Dark Splendor (29 page)

Such changes in the weather were not unusual
near the coast, yet the muggy and unnatural air always brought a
pallor of gloom to Silvia. A minute later the wind whipped up again
and with a loud whoosh carted off the single gray-edged cloud that
had obscured the sun. Light burst through the window so rapidly she
had to blink against its glaring brightness.

At that moment she heard a sound behind her
and realized Odin had reappeared. His dark presence had almost the
same effect on her as did the lack of sunlight. Seeing that
Schlange was tired and out of breath, she excused herself and
slipped out before he could protest.

***

“Silvia, you’re dressed for a ride,” Eric
said cheerfully.

Eyes downcast and heart heavy, Silvia
carried the fawn colored jacket of the riding costume over her arm
and was halfway down the long corridor that led to the kitchen and
pantries that supplied the castle.

“Yes. I thought I’d take Cricket over by the
marshes. It’s a lovely afternoon and I would like some air.” She
caught herself, forcing a pleasant smile to her lips. Eric had
asked her to ride with him one day, and now that he had come into
the hall unexpectedly, she hoped silently he would not offer to go
with her today. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to ride as far
from Serpent Tree Hall as possible and try to forget for a short
time that she was snared in Wilhelm Schlange’s trap.

“I wish I could join you,” Eric went on.
“We’ve had so little time together. But I’ve come in to tally the
accounts, and the work is already overdue. However, if you like, we
can arrange to ride together another day.”

“Yes. We must. Tomorrow perhaps?”

“Depend on it.” His eyes were shining and
grew more luminous as his brows rose with the dawning of an
afterthought. “I was on my way to the stables to fetch the journal
from my saddlebags. Shall I saddle Cricket for you while I’m
there?”

“Thank you. Please do.” She nodded
appreciatively and saw the disappointment register in his face as
she continued. “I have to see the cook to discuss the week’s menus.
Mrs. Bately is expecting me or I would walk there with you now. But
I’ll join you directly in the stables.”

Silvia had quickly adapted to managing
household affairs. There was actually little to do. Martha had done
well in establishing routines and responsibilities for the
servants. The house virtually ran itself, and now that Silvia was
familiar with the procedures, her duties were largely a matter of
approving what was to be done each week. It took only a few minutes
to make a selection from the choice of menus the cook had prepared.
When the job was done and she had complimented the soft-spoken but
thoroughly efficient Mrs. Bately, she left the kitchen.

Eric met her on the path, the brown leather
journal tucked under his arm.

“Cricket is saddled,” he called out. “Enjoy
your ride.” He caught her hand unnecessarily and forced her to stop
for a moment, his voice taking on a lighter note and his head
inclined appreciatively. “I look forward to sharing the afternoon
with you tomorrow.” He smiled. “I look forward to every moment
shared with you.” Eric pulled her close against him, too close for
propriety, and his voice dropped to an insistent whisper as a
faintly eager gleam shone in his eyes. “You’ll not forget?”

“No. I’ll not forget,” she said, withdrawing
her hand and looking away quickly as she heard a familiar nicker
from the stable. A cloud of annoyance settled over her. Wilhelm’s
poison had spread to Eric as well. She hoped by tomorrow he would
have been warned to leave her alone. “I’d better hurry,” she said
tersely. “Cricket is growing impatient. “Good-bye now.”

Eric stared at her without responding. She
felt uneasy as she saw his eyes glimmer. She thought she would have
to walk on and leave him there still staring, but then he blinked
rapidly and smiled.

“Good-bye then,” he said gently, and turned
away.

Involuntarily Silvia shook her head. No
doubt his mind would soon be on the long lists of figures in his
account books. He worked especially hard for Wilhelm and took
little time for himself. How angry would he be when he learned she
carried Schlange’s grandchild?

She looked up to see Trader standing near
Cricket at the hitching post. The leather reins hung loosely to the
ground, but Trader did not stir from the spot where he had been
left untethered.

She couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her
eyes. Roman would be nearby. No one else rode the big gelding.

“So it’s you.” He sounded surprisingly
cheerful from where he stood behind Cricket, one hand soothingly
stroking her neck beneath the long mane, the other resting across
the saddle. “She was complaining at being tied up. So I led her out
of the stable.” He nodded toward the mare. “I thought she might
have been saddled for Martha.”

“No. For me.”

He shrugged.

Was he disappointed? She knew he had ridden
with Martha on several occasions recently.

“Than I won’t keep you.” He clicked for
Trader, and the horse threw up his head and snorted. When the
gelding stood beside him, Roman took up the reins and swiftly
mounted. He gave a wry smile and reached out to pat Cricket’s sleek
flank. “Good-bye, little lady,” he purred as he touched his heels
to Trader’s sides and galloped off.

Outrageous, thought Silvia furiously. He had
more regard for the mare than for her! She quickly untied the reins
and led Cricket to the mounting block. Why had he deliberately
slighted her, igniting her ready temper? Blinded by her ire, she
rode off, unaware of a figure slipping stealthily from behind a
clump of bushes and hurrying into the stable.

The little mare was as anxious as Silvia to
get moving. She took the bit in her teeth and lunged wildly away
from the block. It occurred to Silvia that the horse wanted to
catch up to Trader. Whatever the cause, she was not her usual
well-mannered self and Silvia had to lean far over the saddle to
keep her seat until she could get the mare under control.

“Easy, girl. Easy,” she crooned softly in
Cricket’s ear. “Slow, now.” Silvia couldn’t understand Cricket’s
frenzy today.

The mare calmed some at the soft sound of
her voice but continued to toss her head wildly and would not
confine herself to the path. She repeatedly sidestepped and
frantically switched her tail as she cantered along. They had
covered a good distance quickly but were still under the thick
cover of the forest when Silvia thought she heard distant hoofbeats
of another rider. But the sound died out and she soon turned her
attention to keeping Cricket under rein.

An instant later Cricket’s head shot up and
her hooves dug into the soft earth as she stopped short. The little
mare gave a painful snort. Silvia cried out in surprise and crashed
against the horse’s upraised neck, catching her fingers in
Cricket’s coarse mane to keep her balance. She felt the saddle
slide to one side beneath her.

Before Silvia could settle the horse,
Cricket squealed and bolted off the trail. She twisted sideways,
half-rearing as she turned, and before Silvia could even cry out,
the saddle flew off, carrying her with it. She heard Cricket
thundering away through the thick underbrush before she hit the
ground and felt the impact of her head against the unyielding trunk
of a tree. She was conscious briefly of a maddening pain behind her
eyes and of the air leaving her lungs in a black, blinding
rush.

Violent pain consumed her, splitting her
skull and stabbing at her chest. She saw a face bending over her,
the expression grim, anxious. It had been that same face bending
over Cricket’s back a few minutes earlier.

She moaned. “Do you hate me so much?”

“Be still. You mustn’t move.”

Someone was holding her, lifting her from
the spongy, moss-covered forest floor. The air was so hot and
cloying she couldn’t understand why she felt cold all over, nor why
she had suddenly been plunged into vast folds of darkness. Silvia
mumbled something in a voice that ebbed away to nothing. Then
slowly the light came back and she was aware of the spicy, manly
scent she knew as Roman’s. His fingers, cool and gentle, caressed
her temple where a small, ugly knot had appeared.

Air filled her lungs and blood rushed back
to her brain so that her eyes could begin to focus on the troubled
face so near her own. Through the haze clouding her eyes she saw
the worry lining Roman’s brow. He had thought her unconscious and
let the barrier down long enough for her to read the unguarded
expression in his eyes. Her pulse quickened.

“Hold me,” she mumbled.

“Are you badly hurt?” His voice was an
unsteady whisper. Silvia’s hair tumbled over her face and he
smoothed it away with a gentle hand. “I thought you had been
killed.” The blue eyes were solemn.

His voice soothed like a charm and served to
revive her. The breath had been knocked from her lungs, but
otherwise she was sure she only had a few bruises and a dreadful
headache. Yet Silvia had so longed and ached to be held in Roman’s
arms this way that she could not bring herself to tell him she was
uninjured. Instead she moaned softly and closed her eyes.

What had made the horse bolt that way?
Cricket had been like a wild creature from the moment Silvia
mounted, jumping, swerving to one side and then the other, until
that final lurch from the trail that had broken the saddle
loose.

Silvia was lucky the fall had done no more
than bruise her head and knock the wind from her. She rubbed her
head against Roman’s cradling arm, sighing softly. His lips softly
brushed her temple and his eyes kept returning to the bruise
there.

Now she remembered. Something had come
flying through the air and struck Cricket on the nose. Not a bird.
They had flushed the brown-feathered quail from the brush many
times and the mare was accustomed to a covey taking wing and flying
up suddenly. It had been an alien object this time, one that hurt
and frightened the little mare and made her forget the rider on her
back.

“Oh, Roman!” Silvia opened her eyes wide and
sat up quickly. “The baby!” She remembered with shock her own
little secret treasure. It had not occurred to her until now the
fall might have done damage to the baby. Her heart beat in her
throat. “Roman, I’m going to have a baby.”

His body tensed and he stared at her in
disbelief.

“A baby,” he said icily, pulling his hand
from her forehead. “You have wasted no time in building a bridge to
the Schlange fortune.”

She had blurted it out all wrong. Of course
he would first think the child was Willy’s. But it wasn’t, and
something was terribly wrong. Now that her head was cleared, she
knew. Someone had thrown a rock at Cricket. Someone had seen to it
that she was thrown. But for what purpose? To scare her? To kill
her? Roman must be told of the danger. He must understand.

“The child is yours.”

She hadn’t expected that look in his eyes.
Not that deep, hateful loathing she saw in his glaring blue eyes.
Could it be he was the one who wanted to hurt her? It was said love
could easily turn to hate. How had he happened to be nearby? Her
misgivings doubled. Had it been Roman who loosened the saddle so
that it would not hold? Had he thrown the rock? Oh no, not Roman.
Sweet heaven, not Roman.

With frightening abruptness he lowered her
to the ground and jumped to his feet.

“You can’t expect me to believe the child is
mine. Not from those two encounters.”

“But Roman...”

He shot her an accusing look, anger flaming
in his face.

“Who’s to know what has followed or whom you
have bedded.” He was decidedly wary. “Does poor Willy know what a
scheming temptress he has wedded, a woman who has made seduction
her pastime?” He swore, his temper rising. “Don’t try to lure me
back to your lair. I’ve had my fun and I’ll not be called a father
to your ill-begotten brat.”

Silvia’s face crumpled into desolation and
despair. She fought back tears. She wouldn’t have him see her pain
pouring out. She wanted to bury her face in her hands, but she
bravely met his ironic stare. Why hadn’t she held her tongue? He
would never believe the child his, and truthfully she could not
have expected him to claim it. Too much distrust had sprouted
between them. She shrugged, turning her face away to hide the
heartache mirrored in her eyes.

“You’re right,” she said stonily. “The child
is Willy’s. I don’t know what made me say otherwise.” Her head was
thumping again, the pain a dull throb in her temple and behind her
eyes. Her breath caught for a moment. “The child is Willy’s,” she
shouted, pounding her fists to the ground.

“Silvia.” He knelt beside her and caught her
wrists tightly, stilling her arms from their frenzied pummeling.
His voice plunged to a tormented whisper. “If it were true...”

She turned her haunted face to him.

“No,” she breathed, and could say no
more.

He stared at her with dark, reproachful eyes
for what seemed an endless moment, then thrust her hands away and
stood. His thoughts were readable, though mercifully not put into
words.

Silvia sobbed aloud. She had spoken her
heart without considering the result her confession might bring.
But she would not intensify her agony. Certainly she had not been
prepared for the contempt she had seen reflected in his handsome
features. Perhaps secretly she had thought at the mention of a
child, his child, he would forget the wall between them once and
for all. But it was not to be, and she had only made matters
worse.

Her eyes dropped sadly and she ran a hand
across her abdomen, reassuring herself that she was not injured. In
spite of the hard fall, once her breath had returned, she felt
surprisingly well.