shadow and lace (14 page)

Without hesitation, Rowena plunged down the hill and into the chill water. She dove deep, then broke through the surface, sending water shooting from her hair in a sparkling spray, baptizing herself free of the dark stain of Caerleon.

Marlys watched Gareth approach through a veil of hair that colored the world dark. He sauntered through thelist, his grace so deliberate that she knew he had been drinking. She leaned back on one elbow and tucked a hollow tube of grass between her teeth. She blew softly. A haunting whistle drifted into the night. Gareth stopped in front of her, legs planted firmly apart.

"Have you seen her?" he asked. His diction was flawless.

Marlys blew a short blast on the reed. "She's gone off."

"Gone off to sulk?"

Marlys spit the grass at his feet. "She's not given to sulks, in case you haven't noticed."

"Then where is she? She is not in the kitchens. She is not in my chambers."

"You've hardly given her a reason to stay there, have you?"

Gareth stared blankly at Marlys. "Do you know where she is?"

"I told you. She's gone off."

Gareth squatted beside her. He crooked his thumb in her hair and gently lifted it from her face. For the second time that night, searing moonlight bathed the slanted planes of her cheeks.

"Gone off where?" he said softly.

Their dark eyes met. With a short jerk of her head, Marlys indicated the forest. "She's gone off for good. Why don't you leave her be? Can't you get it through your thick skull that her papa's not coming? Or do you even care anymore?"

Frowning, Gareth stood, leaving Marlys in darkness once more. "She is a stranger to the forest. She could be lost. She could be attacked by wolves or bears."

"And eaten?" Marlys volunteered, her smile a grimace.

Gareth's frown deepened. He spun on his heel and strode toward the stables. Sobered by purpose, he tightened his gauntlets with efficient jerks.

As she watched him, Marlys rested her cheek on her knee. Her eyes narrowed as Blaine slipped out of the shadows and caught Gareth's arm.

"Gareth, I heard. Give me leave and I will summon the knights and organize a search."

Gareth jerked his arm free. "Rowena is already helpless prey for one sort of boar. I'd rather not expose her to your kind as well."

He disappeared into the stables and reappeared leading Folio. As Gareth mounted, Blaine had to dance sideways to avoid the horse's flailing hooves.

"Gareth, you've made it clear you bear the girl no fondness. You won her in a wager. Let us wager together. Give me a chance at her."

Gareth wrapped the reins around his hands, bringing the prancing horse under his control. The corner of his mouth lifted in a cold smile. "What sort of contest would you prefer? Hazard? Chess? Tilting?"

Blaine took a step backward and raised his hands in surrender. Gareth pushed Folio past him. The thunder of hoofbeats rolled through the long courtyard, fading into the night.

Blaine glanced back at the list. Moonlight spilled over the empty grass where Marlys had been. A pebble rolled against stone on the wall above. As he glanced up, a helmed figure grasping a splintered lance came sailing over the roof of the stable. It crashed into his shoulder, screeching victoriously.

The castle with its lights and laughter seemed a world away as Gareth picked his way through the primeval hush of the forest. Night sounds came to him in crackling spurts: the flutter of unseen wings against a branch above; the indignant croak of a frog; the whisper of a leaf surrendering its embrace of a twig and drifting down to brush Gareth's cheek in the darkness. In places where the leaves still clung in dying bunches to hide the moonlight, he guided the horse forward more on instinct than sight, his eyes blank and shining like the eyes of a blind man free of the encumbrance of sunlight.

He was deep into the forest when he stopped and called her name. His voice rolled back to him on a hollow echo, jarring him with its hoarseness. Between his knees, Folio's sleek flesh quivered. The lonely cry of a nightjar spilled into the silence. He urged the horse forward through a tangle of vines. Folio balked and tossed his head as nettles pricked his fetlocks.

Gareth dismounted. Unsheathing his sword, he cut at the web of underbrush, clearing a path for Folio to follow. The horse nickered softly, blowing a musty breath against the back of his neck. He paused as his fingers closed around a scrap of velvet dangling from a low-hanging branch. He stared at it for a long moment, then touched it to his cheek, rubbing its softness against his beard. He lifted his eyes to the light that came streaming through the bushes ahead, then parted the branches. Moonlight bleached the pine needles in a wash of silver.

Sword hanging forgotten in his hand, he moved toward that alluring absence of color with a sleepwalker's gait. The shadows fell away as the crisp scent of evergreen filled his nostrils.

At the bottom of a treeless hill, a figure in white lay sprawled beside a spring. At first Gareth thought she was dead. Her limbs were so pale, her chest so still. But as his heavy steps drew him closer, he could see life coursing through her, coloring her cheeks with its rosy hues, parting her lips with its nourishing breath. She lay on her back, her legs parted in unconscious innocence.

The chemise, so shapeless when dry, clung to her damp skin. Gareth's gaze raked her, searching the teasing demarcations of shadow and light beneath the linen. His groin tightened and he swore softly, his oath more endearment than curse.

She must be cold. To lay so exposed to the cooling winds and not shiver seemed unnatural. Then Gareth remembered the grim keep of Revelwood and the winters she must have endured. The autumn wind must be no more than a passing breeze to her.

He was not cold. On the contrary, his skin prickled with heat as if he had taken a sudden fit of ague. He opened his mouth to awaken her, then closed it. He halfturned away. Folio watched him curiously from the top of the hill.

She nestled her cheek into the damp tendrils of hair that pillowed her head. The sight made Gareth bite back a groan. She belonged to him. A wager was a debt paid in honor. She was his for a year. He could work her in his fields or his kitchens or his bedchamber if he so desired. No man could condemn him as a scoundrel for his actions. No man could stop him from kneeling at this moment between her parted thighs and making her his own. Rowena stirred. A wince furrowed her smooth brow.

He stood over her, barely breathing. A part of him still wanted to hate her, had longed to find her cosseted by an adoring father, bred for charm and deceit as Elayne had been. 'Twould have made it far easier to break her then, to punish Fordyce by sending her back, ravished and shamed, her pride torn, her conceit in shreds. But there was nothing of Elayne in this girl. Bred in the poverty Fordyce had sunk to since the night he'd fled Gareth's sword, she had a spirit devoid of conceit, as bright and shining as the sun. What right did he have to stain her with his darkness?

His possession of her did not have to be cruel. He could make her life pleasant enough in the year she spent at Caerleon. He could give her comforts and luxuries she had only dreamed of at Revelwood. And at the end of the year, he could find her a worthy husband or send her on her way with a weighty sum of gold and a future free of poverty and hunger.

A future with men like Blaine waiting to snatch up your scraps.

The voice in his head was Marlys's and he hated it. With a curse, he drove his sword into the damp earth. He unbuckled his scabbard with shaking hands. Rowena moaned softly as his shadow fell over her.

The sun beat down like a hammer. A warm wind rippled the tall grasses into a swaying symphony of green and gold. A dot on the horizon grew larger as it hurtled toward her. Rowena's heart swelled with joy. The sun glinted silver on Little Freddie's hair as his childish sprint drove him toward her waiting arms. Her heart thudded in her ears. She lifted her knees higher, exalting in the clean, sweet beat of the run.

But her steps faltered as a dark shadow loomed behind her brother, closing the distance with the inevitability of a hawk swooping down on a mouse. Rowena screamed a warning, but Little Freddie continued toward her, oblivious to the menace sweeping down on him.

A knight armored all in black pounded across the moor, the silky white mane of his mount rippling in the wind. A gridded helm hid his face. The knight bore down on her brother, his outstretched lance aimed straight for the small of Little Freddie's back. The thunder of hoofbeats drowned out Rowena's scream, and she fell to her knees, clapping her hands over her ears. When she opened her eyes, the moor was empty and silent, except for the lonely whistle of the wind.

She was crouched in a sea of peacock blue, her hands spread in a plea in front of her. Gareth stood over her, his blade lifted. Tears trickled down her cheeks as her pleas filled the merciless silence. She had not meant to run. She had forgotten his threat, forgotten Papa's wager. Shame flooded her. Her gaze dropped to her gown, but she could not remember why she should be ashamed. Gareth's dark eyes flicked over her. His lip lifted in a sneer of contempt. Just as she clasped her hands to beg for his forgiveness, the blade descended in a flash of silver.

Rowena turned her head and opened her eyes, tasting the salt of a single tear in her mouth. A blade silvered with moonlight filled her vision. She stared blankly at the sword, awaiting the horror of another nightmare.

Warm lips brushed her throat, saturating her senses with a spicy breath of ale. She lay without moving as a mouth glided up her throat. Sharp teeth caught her ear-lobe in a tingling embrace. She was being eaten by a wolf, she thought vaguely. A slow, enticing wolf with meticulous table manners. He nibbled the tender flesh of her shoulder. Only when his teeth gently dragged down the top of her chemise so his mouth could claim the swell of her breast did Rowena turn her face. The wolf lifted his shaggy head and she found herself gazing into eyes that were dark and dangerous and sleepy. Gareth's eyes.

Her gaze flicked to the sword, then back to him. The weight of his body was poised above her, impaling her to the ground more effectively than the sight of the sword driven into the soft earth. Yet except for his mouth, not an inch of him touched her. A pine needle pricked her thigh, assuring her that she was not dreaming. Her lips parted as the dreams came flooding back. She trembled inside, but not a muscle moved. She turned her face away, but it was too late. Gareth had already sensed her fear.

Gareth caught her chin between his finger and thumb, his grip none too gentle. Rowena forced herself to meet his steady gaze. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers when he rose and paced away. He stood with his back to her, hands on hips.

"Marlys told you," he said flatly.

Rowena sat up. "How did you know?"

"I've seen that look before in a woman's eyes. Fear. Doubt. Morbid curiosity."

Rowena bowed her head, hoping he'd misjudged her. "Were you brought to trial?"

Gareth spun on his heel. "What would have been the use? I was judge and juror after my father's death. They preferred to condemn me with their whispers and their looks. I would never have become a knight at all if Blaine's father had not fostered me."

"And if the king had not knighted you," Rowena murmured. She lifted her head. "Your villeins seem loyal enough."

His nod was untouched by mockery. "They are. I am their lord. I hold their fiefs. 'Twas they with their primitive sense of moral justice who were the first to whisper that the lady of the castle needed killing. That she got what she deserved. But the village priest still refuses to pander his prayers at Caerleon."

"You could force him to, could you not?"

"Why bother? Whether I am a murderer or not, I am an adulterer. Any of the nobility feasting in my hall as we speak would be overjoyed to proclaim me both."

"How do you silence their whispers, milord?"

He came and knelt beside her. He reached for a tangled strand of her hair, the caress as soft as his voice was hard. "I challenge the men. I bed the women."

Rowena dropped her gaze. The sight of Gareth's scabbard and gauntlets laid neatly on the ground hardened a knot of resentment in her stomach. " 'Tis most unsporting to fall upon an opponent while they are sleeping."

"I was not aware you were an opponent."

"I stand corrected. I am a possession—akin to your sword or your mount."

He twisted her hair into a curl around his finger. "You are."

"But far more trouble than a sword or a horse, I would wager. Dragging you away from your feast, leading you on a merry chase."

His hand slipped beneath her hair to cup her neck. "Swords must be learned. Horses must be broken." Before she could retort, his lips grazed hers with a teasing stroke of his tongue. He drew back and stared into her face, his arrogance bridled by curiosity.

"Shall you break me, milord?" she queried softly.

Gareth could find no trace of accusation in her eyes. He stood and whistled softly between two fingers. Folio came trotting down the hill to nuzzle Gareth's cheek. Gareth entwined his fingers in the horse's forelock and gently tugged. Folio ducked his head and sank to one knee in a pretty bow. Rowena applauded.