shadow and lace (32 page)

He dangled it just out of her reach. "Nay, milady. I have captured your favor. Contrary to what you believe, I do not surrender what is mine with such ease."

With those cryptic words, he folded the veil into a pretty packet and slipped it into the wrist of his gauntlet.

As the day wore on, Folio rocked like a cradle between Rowena's thighs. When they stopped for water, Rowena chose to mount behind Gareth upon their return to the horse. Except for a mocking smile, he had no comment. The sun bathed her face in warmth. She flattened her cheek against his broad back and let her eyes drift shut. Gareth brought one of her hands to his lips before gently fastening it under his arm.

Rowena opened her eyes to a vision of arches and towers shimmering beneath a veil of water. She blinked, half expecting a dark-eyed merman to swim out one of the windows, trident in hand. As a giant white hoof shod in polished iron came down on the keep, obliterating the battlements, Rowena realized it had been only a reflection.

She lifted her head. Ardendonne itself loomed over the lake, its delicate parapets and graceful arcades drawn like a mirage on the horizon. The afternoon sun slanted across the tiled roofs, etching shadows beneath the arrow slits and conical towers. Rowena rubbed her eyes.

Gareth felt her slight movement. He reached behind him, cupping her back with a powerful hand.

She yawned and twisted around, puzzled to find them at the edge of the lake with Folio standing knee-deep in water. "Why did you go around? Are there trolls beneath the bridge?"

"In a manner of speaking."

A stone bridge bisected the pristine blue of the lake. Drifting toward it was a gilded boat, its bow carved into the graceful neck of a swan. With the sun in her eyes, Rowena could not make out its passengers. As the boat drifted aimlessly toward the bridge, a woman ducked into the bottom of the boat to keep her elaborate headdress from being swept off. Rowena watched for nearly a minute, but the woman's head did not reappear.

"Trolls on the bridge, too." Rowena followed Gareth's finger to find Irwin's cart parked dead center on the bridge.

He was flanked by Rowena's brothers. They leaned hopefully over the other side of the bridge, waiting for the swan-boat to reappear.

Rowena swallowed. "Curious trolls. It seems Little Freddie's education is advancing faster than I'd hoped."

"Indeed. We'd best reach him before Blaine does if we hope to salvage any remnant of his innocence. Hold on."

His golden spurs touched Folio's sides. Rowena wrapped her arms around Gareth's waist as the horse broke into a canter. Beads of water hung like dewdrops in the sun's rays before splintering to mist her skin with their ebullient spray.

She caught a blurred glimpse of other boats skimming the lake, a circle of squires slamming each other to the ground at the water's edge in a game of football, bursts of brilliant saffron and cherry as ladies strolled like roses along the green swath of lawn.

They galloped out of the lake and across the sloping shore, reaching the small dock as the boat rocked gently into its mooring.

Gareth reined up Folio. Rowena peeped out from behind his shoulder. Blaine reclined in the bottom of the boat, the back of his head resting on folded arms.

His knees shamelessly straddled the bow. A glow that had little to do with the sinking sun softened the sharp planes of his face. A slightly askew headdress popped up, perched upon a throat as graceful but infinitely more flexible than the wooden swan's. As her neck swiveled to include Gareth in her sultry stare, Rowena thought unkindly that a lizard might make a more apt comparison for the lady Alise.

Blaine shaded his eyes against the sun. "Hullo, Gareth. I thought you another peasant bearing eggs for Easter."

"I shudder to think of your uses for them. You give new meaning to the religious feast days."

Blaine flicked one of Alise's long, blond hairs off his clinging hose. "Is rapture not considered a religious experience?"

Gareth scowled at the sky. "No thunderheads, thank God. I hate to be near any body of water when you blaspheme so."

Tiny waves lapped at Folio's hooves as Blaine climbed out of the boat. "Lady Alise gives the best… ah, rapture… that I know." Alise ducked her head demurely as Blaine helped her out of the boat. "But I don't have to tell you that, do I, Gareth?"

As Rowena met Alise's haughty almond gaze, she felt the bright armor of sophistication she had polished at Caerleon fall away like scales. How Gareth must have laughed at her own feeble attempts to please him! 'Twas no wonder he no longer wanted her in his chamber. Her grip loosened until her hands laced only in the links of his hauberk.

Blaine's smile etched becoming crinkles around his eyes as his gaze lit on her. "It seems you've brought me a gift far more precious than eggs."

Without awaiting Gareth's permission, Rowena slid off Folio and into Blaine's waiting arms. One of her braids had come unlooped and the cheek she had pressed to Gareth's back while she slept was as pale as cream while the other cheek had pinkened beneath the rays of the sun. She had no way of knowing she looked like a harlequin, half-woman, half-child, no less beguiling in her bedraggled state.

Blaine ran his hands over her sides, stopping wisely when his thumb was a hair's breadth from the curve of her breast. "And as fragile as eggs, I do believe."

Rowena wiggled out of his grasp. "Your memory serves you poorly, Sir Blaine."

He stroked his smooth chin with a grimace. "Not as poorly as you might think. My jaw still aches when a storm brews." Gareth dropped between them on the balls of his feet, and Blaine fingered his chin, eyeing the taller man warily. " Tis aching as we speak."

"Not as much as it will be if you don't keep your hands to yourself," Gareth retorted. He looped an arm around Blaine's neck and pulled him toward the castle. "Who knows where those hands have been?"

"Ask Alise." The mocking cry came from the bridge. Marlys sat on the stone wall, dangling her booted feet over the edge.

Blaine's eyes narrowed at the sight of Gareth's sister perched on his bridge like a vulture. "You said there were no thunderheads. Or did you say dunderheads?"

Irwin waved happily from the bridge. Gareth rolled his eyes skyward. "Neither."

Little Freddie appeared like a wraith at his side. Gareth slapped Folio's reins into his hands. They ambled up the gentle slope with Blaine and Gareth in the lead, finishing each other's sentences with the easy familiarity of old friends. Rowena kept a polite distance from Lady Alise and tried in vain to tuck her braid back into its neat loop. After it unrolled for the third time, she tugged irritably until the other braid came tumbling down. She was beginning to feel as invisible as she had on her first visit to Ardendonne. Part of her wanted to join Marlys on the bridge. At least Marlys's hatred was an acknowledgment of her existence.

They passed beneath a line of budding oaks. "When are you going to build those flanking towers your father planned? Ardendonne would crumble like a confection in a siege," Gareth was saying.

"Edward has bought us peace," Blaine replied. "Why waste gold on blocks and mortar when there are so many other pleasant ways to spend it?"

Rowena lifted her gaze to the airy towers and flapping pennons fixed on silver spires. There
was
something ethereal and impermanent about the castle. Unlike the sturdy ramparts of Caerleon, Ardendonne looked as if a good rain might melt it to sugary syrup.

She bit back a grin. "If I'd have thought the castle edible on my last visit, I would have devoured the barbican without a qualm of conscience."

Blaine and Gareth both turned around. Rowena blinked, hardly aware she had spoken aloud.

"A delightful prospect." Blaine's gaze dropped to her lips. Gareth's face was impassive, but Rowena sensed something less than pleasure in his eyes.

Blaine threw out an arm in a grand gesture. "Try to think of my castle as one gigantic sweetmeat concocted solely for your pleasure."

Rowena started at a trill of music from the tree above them. A willowy figure swung down from a low-hanging branch and landed at her feet. "Beware. Blaine applies that philosophy to everything in life. Including his guests." The minstrel Mortimer thrust a long, slender pipe down the front of his hose. His gaze caressed Little Freddie. With a casual motion, he flipped a strand of hair out of the boy's eyes. "Charming. Who brought the hors d'oeuvres?"

Gareth fingered the hilt of his sword. "Keep your hands to yourself, Mortimer. Your fingers have probably been in more ungodly places than Blaine's."

The minstrel swept his own fall of hair out of his eyes. "Jealous, Gareth?"

Little Freddie colored, understanding the exchange better than Rowena would have hoped. She gave him a shove in what she hoped was the direction of the stables. He reluctantly obeyed her unspoken command, craning his neck all the way. She half-expected Gareth to draw his sword and lop off the minstrel's head.

Instead he plucked the hautboy from the band of Mortimer's hose and lay its tip against the minstrel's thin lips. "If you would use your venomous tongue for the purpose it was intended, I might not be forced to cut it out of your head."

Spittle flew as Mortimer blew a hasty note. He skipped backward, disappearing behind a glossy hedge of hawthorn. Pink flowers bobbed in a dance of their own as his head popped up.

"Why, Sir Gareth, if I used my tongue for the purpose it was intended, you might not want to cut it out of my head." With a sly wink, Mortimer went sliding down the hillside, piping bell-sweet notes into the crystalline air.

Gareth's eyes narrowed. "He should thank God I am not armed with bow and arrow."

Blaine clasped his hands, shooting a penitent look at the sky. "I add my prayers to his. Mortimer would look passingly stupid with an apple in his mouth."

Before Gareth could threaten to dismember a third person on their jaunt to the castle, Rowena danced forward and grabbed his hand. She swung it back and forth like an overexcited child. "Did Sir Gareth tell you why we've come to Ardendonne,, Sir Blaine?" She ignored the warning pressure of Gareth's fingers. "Sir Gareth is seeking a husband for me."

Blaine's eyes widened. "Benevolent, is he not? Tis hard to picture him in the role of doting uncle. You mustn't duck your head, Gareth. Humility does not suit you."

Gareth dropped Rowena's hand, shooting her a veiled look that clearly promised revenge. Blaine linked his arm in hers and inclined his head. "What sort of husband would please you, Lady Rowena?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gareth fall behind, his hands clasped behind his back. Alise trotted forward to put herself beside him as they reached the drawbridge.

Rowena pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Someone gentle and well-favored. Pleasant of speech and manners. Sweet of temper. Not given to brooding or crotchety behavior."

Blaine cast a maddening grin over his shoulder.

"Kind to kittens?" Gareth growled. "Respectful of virgins?"

"That leaves Blaine out," Alise purred.

"How would you know?" Blaine retorted. He lifted one of Rowena's braids to his lips. "If you will throw in well-endowed with gold and generous of hospitality, I know just the fellow for you."

Rowena blinked innocently at him. "Did I mention faithful?"

"Damn." Sir Blaine dropped the braid. "If a man did not meet one of your qualifications…" He stroked his chin thoughtfully, "… say, for instance, he bore no fondness for kittens, would you cast him out and break his heart?"

Rowena danced up the drawbridge. "Is he handsome?"

"Very."

" Sweet-tempered ?"

"The sweetest."

"Young?"

Blaine shrugged. "Thirty-three."

"Thirty-three?" Rowena cried in a horrified tone. "Why his muscles would be as soft as porridge and his faculties fading to dust! I want a man for a husband, not a doddering mummy."

She spun around to test the effect of her words. Gareth gave her a look hot enough to sizzle her braids off.

"Careful, milady." Blaine stretched out a warning hand as her train caught on a splintered plank.

She tugged the cotte with both hands, forgetting the satin was not as sturdy as her usual garments. The train ripped, the force of her tug sending her reeling toward the moat. Her arms cartwheeled madly. Her toes curled on the edge of the drawbridge in a last vain attempt to stop her descent into the murky blue water.

Leather-clad arms circled her waist. She hung suspended over the water for a breathless moment, caught in the haven of those arms before Gareth pulled her back. It was a long moment before she realized that Gareth's face was buried in her throat and Blaine was as pale as parchment.

Alise's small, pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips. "The warm snap allowed Blaine to stock the moat earlier than usual. Another step and you would have been the one gracing the table with the apple in your mouth. If we could have found more than your bones, that is."

Rowena's legs folded, and Gareth sank to his knees with her. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against the beaten softness of his gauntlet. He caught her shoulders and pushed her away with an effort that would have been visible to a blind man.