Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (64 page)

Gently, Valentine Whitelaw laid her down on the grassy bank, his gaze taking in the pale, slender thighs and hips, and the softly rounded breasts that were rising and falling so wildly as she tried to draw breath into her body. He turned her over onto her stomach, moving his hands against her back as he forced the water from her lungs. He couldn't help but become aware of her shift which was soaked and clung to every curve of her body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He was startled, for his memory of Lily Christian had been of a young girl, hardly the woman he had been holding in his arms, or the woman now revealed to his gaze.

Breathing more
steadily
and deeply now, Valentine Whitelaw turned her over and cradled her limp body in his arms. Slowly, he smoothed the long dark strands of hair from her face. Drawing in his breath in disbelief, he stared down into the face that had haunted his dreams.

The thickly fringed eyelids flickered open for just an instant. There was no mistaking the pale green of her eyes that gazed into his. "Francisca," Valentine breathed the name in disbelief.

"Lily! She can't be dead! Valentine, you can't let Lily die, not now that we've found her," Simon pleaded.

Make haste; the better foot before.

Shakespeare

Chapter Twenty-Four

V
alentine Whitelaw
stood with his back turned to the room. Standing before the small, mullioned windows of the inn, he stared out through the diamond-shaped panes at the narrow, cobbled street below. It sloped steeply down to the bridge crossing the river. While he stood watching the sunset reflected on the water, the pealing of bells sounded from the old Saxon church across the marketplace. The church's spire had guided them all the way down the valley through the hills where the Windrush and Evenlode rivers flowed into the Thames.

To the east, where darkness had already cloaked the thickly forested slopes, was Wychwood, a royal hunting
preserve
where the kings of England, from William the Conqueror to Henry VIII, had hunted. Far away to the west, beyond the plains and vales of Gloucestershire, rose the Black Mountains of Wales.

The market square had been crowded with the stalls of wool merchants, farmers selling poultry and produce, and the locals hawking their wares, when the travel-weary strangers had ridden into the village and sought rooms at the inn.

Valentine Whitelaw turned away from the window and stared at the woman asleep in the bed. A fire was burning in the hearth, its warmth spreading throughout the small chamber and vanquishing the chill of an early autumn evening.

Lily Christian. Lily
Francisca
Christian, he corrected himself. Quietly, Valentine moved closer to the bed and gazed down at her. The dark red hair fell across the pillows like rich crimson silk, farming the pale, heart-shaped face that was so familiar to him.

Too late, he had remembered the laughing, cherubic face of a child with curious pale green eyes so like her father's. Regretfully now, he remembered the awkward young girl with wide green eyes that had reflected her hopelessness when faced with her return to England. Orphaned and with a young brother and sister to care for, she had tried valiantly to hide her fears.

But a slight smile curved Valentine Whitelaw's lips when he thought of the beautiful woman dressed in green velvet and riding a white horse along the riverbank, and then, later, the bewitchment of those green eyes that had, for just an instant, glowed with love when she had stared at him. That expression, revealed so frankly, was what puzzled him the most.

And now, he remembered only too vividly the deathly paleness of her face when he'd rescued her and bundled her up in blankets and carefully placed her in the cart, her bandaged head resting against the maid Tillie. Her green eyes, bright with pain, had fluttered open only for an instant, but Valentine had known that she'd seen him standing there watching her. He had heard her whisper his name, and he had taken her cold hands in his and promised her he would not leave her side. He would be there for her. The words had brought back another promise he'd made to her long ago, one that he had broken. He had not been there when she'd deeded him the most and when she'd faced danger alone.

After the journey into this village, he would never again forget her face. His eyes had seldom left it while they'd ridden through the
valley
, the narrow path seemingly endless as it wended toward the river. Dulcie had sat curled up beside Lily, the big mastiff wedged in on the other side, and helping to keep Lily from being jostled on the bumpy track they followed, the monkey chattering worriedly from somewhere in the cart. Tristram rode behind Simon, oddly silent for one who was usually so full of insatiable curiosity, but the parrot had made up for his silence with a loquacity of its own. The two Odell brothers walked just ahead of the oxen, their feet seeming to drag, while the Turk had led Lily's horse and brought up the rear of their small procession, ever watchful of their surroundings in case of another attack from their unseen enemy.

Valentine stared down at Lily while she slept. Her expression was serene, innocent. She seemed so vulnerable lying there.

"You damned fool," he murmured beneath his breath, cursing himself for having been so blind. But could he really blame himself for the mistake he had made? He had not been expecting to encounter Lily Christian selling flowers at a fair in London. Lily Christian, the young girl he'd been so fond of, Geoffrey Christian's daughter, whom he'd thought was safely at Highcross. Rather belatedly, he'd realized that he'd not seen her for almost three years. A girl had become a young woman during those years. Indeed, he thought with a bitter smile as he watched the softly rounded contours of her breasts rising and falling beneath the covers, there was little
doubt
that Lily Christian had become a very beautiful young woman.

Unable to resist the temptation, he found himself reaching out to touch a long strand of her hair. she had made a fool of him. Why? he wondered. What had he done to her to cause her to play this charade? How she must have laughed, he suddenly thought, fanning his anger anew, for the mere thought and feel of her weakened him, and it was not a sensation he enjoyed, especially when he knew he'd been duped. But he would have the truth from her before he left this room.

He was still
reeling
from the startling revelation of her true identity. Thinking he had rescued Lily Christian from drowning, he had been stunned to discover instead Francisca, the woman he'd so desperately wanted to find. But rather than pursue her, he had chosen to follow another path in search of Lily Christian. Feeling the silken strand curling around his hand with a life of it's own, he suddenly felt overwhelmed by the consequences of that act. If he had made the wrong decision he would have lost both of them without realizing that they were one and the same.

Damn her, he thought, for doing this to him.

Staring down at her, he was uncomfortable remembering the plans he'd had for her, for Geoffrey Christian's cherished daughter. He had wanted her to become his mistress
-
-in his thoughts she already had. And marriage had been the furthest thing from his mind when thinking of Francisca. When he had found her at the fair and pulled her into the trees, he had taken what he wanted. He had kissed and caressed her as he would a woman he desired to bed, not an innocent, gentle-bred maid who should have been gently wooed and courted and given a chaste kiss upon the hand. Not Lily Christian, no; he had fondled her boldly, tasting of her lips like a man starved. He would have killed a man for touching Lily the way he had, and yet he had been the one guilty of the misconduct. He had betrayed Geoffrey Christian's friendship
-
-he'd tried to seduce his daughter, Valentine thought with a groan of self-disgust.

He still could not believe that his seductive woman who'd had him lusting after her was Lily Christian, the same little girl he'd
pitied when
she'd stood before him at Ravindzara looking so forlorn in that unattractive gown. Valentine ran his fingers through his hair, leaving the black curls in disorder as he continued to stare down at her with the same sense of disbelief and pleasure he'd felt when he'd rolled her over after rescuing her from drowning to find himself gazing at the woman who had captivated him. No wonder he had felt he'd known her from somewhere before. In a sense, he had known those pale green eyes for most of his life; first when meeting Geoffrey Christian's clear-eyed stare, and, now, his daughter's.

How he had dreamt of this moment. To be standing here beside the bed she lay sleeping in. He eyed the pale softness of her bare shoulders revealed above the blanket and knew that she would have been his by now if...but everything had changed. They would never be lovers now.

Lily moaned softly, turning fretfully in her sleep. Valentine sat down on the edge of the bed and felt her forehead, but it was cool. There was no fever. Sitting so closely beside her, he found his gaze wandering over her lingeringly, capturing in his memory every feature until he felt he knew her better than she knew herself. He noted the thickness of her dark lashes and the curving line of her silken eyebrows. Her nose was straight and delicately molded, while her slightly parted lips were soft and full. A rosy blush stained the alabaster smoothness of her cheeks. Suddenly Valentine realized that she had opened her eyes and had been aware of his perusal.

His turquoise eyes, which had been so warm only moments before, grew cold and distant. "How do you feel?" he inquired solicitously, as if asking the question of a stranger.

Lily glanced away. "I am fine," she replied huskily.

"Eventually, yes, but right now I seriously doubt that," he said, her refusal to admit to the way she must really feel irritating him. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes. Tillie told me that you pulled me from the pool. I would have drowned if you hadn't been there. Thank you," she said simply, still not meeting his eyes.

"You do not need to thank me. Actually it was Dulcie who kept you afloat long enough for me to rescue you. She's a very brave little girl. And at least that bull-necked fellow, Fairfax, tried to rescue you. But I am more interested in hearing the answers to my questions," he said, startling Lily when he suddenly leaned forward.
Some
of her dismay must have shown on her face, because he momentarily hesitated, a mocking gleam entering his eyes. "You needn't fear my intentions now, Lily
Francisca
. If you can, try to sit up," he said brusquely when he saw the look of relief cross her face.

Lily tried to raise herself into a sitting position, but couldn't. Muttering something in exasperation, he reached out, pulling her forward to rest against his shoulder. Uncontrollably, Lily stiffened. The pungent smell of leather and horses, mingling with the scent of him, drifted to her from his body, and it was strangely exciting, not offensive. Her
senses were
filled with his warmth as she rested her head against him. His hands were gentle when they touched the large lump on the back of her head, probing it carefully.

"You're very lucky,
Lily
Francisca Christian," he murmured, easing her back against the pillows, but he remained seated close, staring at her.

Lily began to twist the end of the blanket nervously, refusing to meet his gaze, but that
only
made matters worse, for his muscular thigh clad in leather cannons and boot, stretched along the length of her thigh and hip, and even though she was covered by the
blanket
, she could feel the heat of his body and was reminded of the even closer,
more
intimate contact between them she had experienced when held in his arms. Her blush deepened and she glanced up quickly, only to find her eyes held by that turquoise gaze and she knew he must be able to read her every thought. It had been far easier to anticipate this encounter between them when she'd had the element of surprise on her side, having carefully planned to humiliate him by revealing her identity.

"Why, Lily? Why didn't you
tell me
who you were? Why, when you, and Tristram and Dulcie, were in trouble, didn't you come to me for help?"

"You were not even in the country."

"I realize that, but you saw me at the fair. You could have spoken to me then."

"If you will remember, you gave me very little opportunity to tell you who I was. And then you rushed away and I did not have the chance," Lily explained, but not completely satisfying him, because he began to frown.

"You could have told me you were in trouble when we met that first time at the fair. You saw me, Lily. I saw the expression on your face. Then you vanished into thin air," he reminded her.

"You were with Cordelia. I did not wish to interrupt you, and what I had to speak with you about was very private. I did not
intend
to speak before a stranger," she said, not admitting how all of the old hurts had returned when she'd seen them standing together. She could just imagine Cordelia Howard's malicious laughter and scorn when she discovered that they had left Highcross and had been living like gypsies for the past few months. Lily would not admit that it had been her love for him that had caused her to hide from him more than anything else. She would not humiliate herself further.

"When I said your name, at least the name I thought you were called, you did not correct me. Why not then? Why let me continue to believe you were someone else?"

"Because I"--
Lily hesitated, realizing she couldn't reveal the truth to him or she would reveal her love as well
-
-"I was startled that you did not recognize me. You thought me a stranger. How could I come to you with my problems? How did I know that you would care? I wasn't certain what to do when I realized that you knew nothing of what had happened at Highcross, that we were criminals. There were other people I had to think of, and, in truth, it wasn't any of your affair," she amazed him by remarking, lifting her chin defiantly. "I am no kin to you. We have managed well enough on our own," Lily said. "We cannot always presume upon your charitable nature."

"Well enough? You were nearly killed because of your lack of judgment. And as for my charitable nature," he began, his anger growing as he became aware of her resentment and could not understand the reason behind it. What had he ever done to her?

"I
was
going to tell you everything that night, when we were supposed to meet on the bank. But you never showed up."