shadow and lace (30 page)

Silly boy, 'tis full moon yet, thy night

as day shines clearly;

Had thy youth but wit to fear,

thou couldest not love so dearly.

Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy

pleasures are bereaved;

Little knows he how to love that never

was deceived.

—
Thomas Campion

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An early spring blew in on the winds of March. Rowena's shrieks filled the great hall one lazy afternoon as she skipped down the stairs with Gareth in pursuit. Her hair swung out in a golden arc as she danced across the hall, putting a wooden table between them. Gareth stumbled after her like a rumpled ogre, his tunic wrinkled and hair uncombed.

"Milord," she cried, resting her hands on the table as she fought to catch her breath. "I swear to you. I thought them flowers. Did you not see the tiny blooms?"

Gareth's brow furrowed in a thunderous frown, yet his eyes sparkled with amusement. "The blooms were not visible when I was plucking them out of my rump."

Rowena grinned impishly. "I offered to help you…"

Gareth growled and lunged across the table. Rowena squealed and darted away. Her hair drifted across his palm, an elusive softness, then was gone. She scampered toward the open door, the dove-blue wool of her skirt caught in her fists.

"Thistles!" Gareth bellowed. "The wench puts thistles in my bed!"

Rowena vanished into the halo of sunshine. Her words floated back to him on the wind. "But Little Freddie swore…"

"How many times have I warned you not to listen to Little Freddie? The lad despises—"

Gareth burst into the empty courtyard. The sun winked mockingly at him. He scanned gray walls covered with dead lichen, but heard only the rustle of the wind until a haunting giggle drifted back to him. He scaled the wall and sat perched on its ledge with chin in hand. At the bottom of the hill, Rowena's pert rump was all that was visible as she rolled onto a low stone wall. With a graceful kick, she propelled herself over and went skipping into the orchard.

Her laughter floated back to him as she twirled among the apple trees like a drunken pixie. Gareth shook his head, wishing he could preserve forever her childlike abandon. His smile faded. He had wanted to preserve her once before but had failed miserably. Her skirts billowed around her ankles in a cloud of blue. Gareth lifted his eyes to a sky of the same color. White-puffed cotton clouds drifted across its crisp canvas. The sun bathed his face in warmth.

But he knew that, too, would fade, bringing a night marred by darkness and doubt. Rowena spun on one foot until she collapsed in a dizzy heap. Gareth would not have been surprised had she vanished before his eyes, taking with her the boyish joy born anew in him. The only time he truly felt he possessed her was when she lay beneath him, her supple body spread to accept whatever tenderness he dared to offer. Then he reveled in the wondrous feel of her, the hair tangled in his fingers, the salty-sweet taste of her skin against his tongue. He slept each night with one arm locked around her waist, his other hand gently resting over her heart.

He was a fool to think he could hold her forever. If she knew the truth, she would hate him. And as long as Lindsey Fordyce was alive, the truth might bumble into his hail at any moment. It shook him to realize he hadn't even thought of the wretch in the last month. All of his dreams of justice had faltered before the tender light in Rowena's eyes. He dreaded seeing her trust turn to loathing when she discovered his deception.

Perhaps God had not put Fordyce in his path for revenge. Perhaps instead God had laid Rowena in his arms, giving him one last chance to make amends for his mistakes. To be the kind of man his father had bred him to be. But his own carnal desires threatened to defeat him just as they had with Elayne. 'Twould be better to begin cutting the ties that bound them before he and Ro grew even more deeply entwined. He should find her a husband and send her far away before summer's end. But how would he ever sleep when she was gone?

An apple, long dead and shriveled by winter, sailed past his ear. Rowena peeped at him from behind a weathered trunk. Pushing his dark thoughts aside, he slid from the wall and loped down the hillside. Rowena started for the shelter of another tree, but his arm shot out to circle her waist before she could take two steps. He swung her in a wide circle, ignoring the spirited scissoring of her feet.

"Thistles. A woman who would mistake thistles for roses would surely find beauty in such fruit." He waved an apple dotted with wormholes dangerously close to her nose and sang in a loud and lusty baritone, "My apple is rare and beyond compare." He dropped the apple so that his fingers could find the delicate ridge between her ribs where he knew she was most ticklish.

Her body went limp, and she collapsed over his arm, her mop of hair sweeping the fruit-littered ground.

"Mercy, milord. I beg of you." She blinked up at him prettily.

He eyed her charming rump. "From this position, I would petition King Edward for England itself if you asked for it."

"Hmmmm. A tempting prospect."

He swept her up and into his arms. He plucked a twig from her hair and gazed down at her, the laughter fading from his eyes. "Not nearly so tempting as this one." His mouth brushed the succulent fullness of her lower lip.

Gareth kissed her gently, coaxingly, until her slender arms circled his waist and her sigh of surrender grazed his lips. The musky scent of decaying apples wafted around them. His eyes opened against his will. Tiny green buds of spring unfurled against the blue sky. He slammed his eyes shut at the sight and dragged Rowena against him as if he could somehow stop the passing of the seasons with the onslaught of his body. Was he protecting her or deceiving her? His mind dismissed the question callously as demands that required no answers flooded his body in a molten stream of want.

The sun slid slowly into a pocket of rose as Gareth lifted Rowena over the orchard wall. They ambled toward the castle, his arm draped over her shoulder, her arms hugging his waist. He pushed open the iron gate to the courtyard with his free hand. Rowena turned her face to Gareth's for a lingering kiss while the shadows of twilight still sheltered them.

A majestic burst of trumpets shattered the peace.

Rowena clung to Gareth's forearms, her eyes misty. " 'Tis the first time
that
has happened when you've kissed me."

Gareth grinned. "You do my ego well, but I fear 'twas not my doing." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Wait until tonight," he whispered. "I shall give you trumpets and lutes and tabors enough to make your heart sing."

The trumpets sounded again. Gareth and Rowena ran through the great hall and out the main door, still holding hands like children. Marlys straddled the courtyard wall, grinning like a feral cat. Irwin was gaping at the men ringing the courtyard as if they were angels. The steely eye of a falcon was emblazoned on their surcoats.

Gareth snorted. "I should have known. Only Blaine would send three trumpeters with a single herald."

The grim-faced men lifted their trumpets again.

Irwin's face fell as Gareth snatched the creamy parchment from the herald's hand before they could blow. He slit the waxen seal with his dagger.

"Blaine wants us to come for Easter. To break the Lenten fast with him. What say you, Rowena, shall we…?"

Gareth's question went unfinished. Rowena was gone. Without her golden head, the courtyard seemed darker somehow, more fraught with shadows. He offered the herald a puzzled smile.

"Come, all of you. Sup with us. You may carry my answer to your lord at the dawn."

The men's stern faces relaxed as Gareth ushered them into the hall. Marlys sat in the deepening darkness until a single candle flared to life in Rowena's chamber.

Well after midnight, Irwin tapped on Rowena's door. "Sir Gareth wishes to see you in the solar."

Summoned. To a chamber Gareth used to discuss with his seneschal the fate of pregnant heifers and blighted wheat crops. And thieves. Only last week the seneschal had recommended an old beldame who had stolen a wheel of cheese have her hand cut off. Rowena had not lingered to hear Gareth's verdict.

She crept downstairs. Blaine's heralds lay wrapped in their cloaks before the fire in the great hall. She pushed open the door of the solar without knocking. Gareth sat on a stool before a table examining a carved box. His scarred knuckles caressed its contents with immeasurable tenderness. Rowena caught a glimpse of ivory silk.

At the creak of the door, he slammed the box and shoved it into a cubbyhole, his dark-fringed eyes shooting her a look as guilty as if he'd just shoved a woman under the table.

"No need to look so distressed, milord. If there is naught you can do to remedy my fate, I understand."

He arched a perplexed eyebrow. "You do?"

"Aye. I expected it sooner. I can only thank God that Sir Blaine gave us this brief time together before sending his writ of arrest." She shrugged. "I seem destined for the hangman's noose. I suppose there is more dignity in being hanged for horse thievery than for bad comedy."

Gareth came around the desk to caress her slumped shoulders. "Silly goose. Do you think I'd let Blaine hang you? Those horses you took were bought and paid for with my own gold."

"The men did not come for me? I am to stay with you?" Rowena could not disguise the hope that leaped in her eyes.

Gareth gently set her aside and returned to the table, avoiding her gaze. He toyed with a feather quill. "The men came for both of us. My household has been invited to Ardendonne for Easter."

Something in his tone made Rowena wish it had been a writ of arrest instead of an invitation. "Must we go?" She clutched the edge of the table. "We could celebrate here at Caerleon. I could gather eggs and bring them to you." She would lay eggs if it would preserve the fragile happiness they had found.

"We should not insult him by refusing his invitation."

"How courteous you've become," Rowena murmured. "Why did you not wait to speak of this when you came to bed?"

He gave a feeble laugh. "I fear you and a bed are not conducive to the clear thought necessary for what must be said."

A queer pit opened up in Rowena's stomach. She sat down on an oaken bench.

"I have decided 'twould be best if you and I did not share a chamber at Ardendonne. I see no need to tarnish your reputation further."

"What reputation? No one had ever heard of me until you carried me away from Revelwood."

"I am speaking of your future reputation. You have a life to think of when this summer's done."

There would be no life without him. Rowena bit back the words with a hollow laugh. "A life of running on the moors and digging turnips requires no reputation. Rabbits are not snobs."

He met her gaze across the desk. "I owe you more than that."

"You owe me nothing."

He shuffled a sheaf of parchments with methodical hands. "A woman alone is at the mercy of any man. And don't give me that reproachful look. One word of how your papa will take care of you and I shall box your ears. If I send you back to Revelwood, how long do you think it will take him to sell you to another man? A year? A month? A week?"

Rowena sighed, knowing he was right.

Gareth took a deep breath before continuing. "I wish to find you a husband this spring, Rowena. Not some boyish lech like Sir Blaine but a real man. A good man who would treat you well and not leave you at home while he is out lifting another's skirts."

Rowena inclined her head. "I fear I have little to offer a good man."

Gareth pressed the quill into the table, splintering its tip. "Nonsense. I have a castle in southern Scotland that came into our family with my father's second marriage. 'Tis not a large holding but 'twould make a fine dower."

Rowena's voice was musing. "Marlys once told me you'd send me on my way with a brotherly kiss and a sack of gold. And you offer me a castle and a husband." She stood. "Was I that good, Gareth? If I pleased you so well, why have you tired of me so quickly?"