The Flower And The Sword

The orchard was cool, washed in the light of a generous moon. Lily breathed in heavily of the scented air. A soft breeze stirred the branches into a crisp chorus of whispers, and the sound soothed her.

She slipped off her shoes and hiked up her skirt, then sat on the edge of the wading pool and dangled her feet into the water. Speculatively she studied the night-shrouded statue in its center. Hermes. Muscular and poised, with winged sandals and crown, he who was the messenger of the pagan gods reigned over the starless night. As a girl, Lily used to stare dreamily at the figure, making up stories in her head with him as her hero, rescuing her as he had Perseus, Odysseus and Aries but with a more romantic turn. Yet tonight, the displaced idol was only carved stone. Another stole her thoughts.

She kicked a bit to feel the water swirl around her bare legs. The pool water felt like a wonderful caress, cold against her skin yet somehow sensuous. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. A wisp of a smile curved her lips. Just thinking of Rogan St. Cyr set her to trembling inside. A small part of her cautioned—nagging in a voice suspiciously like Catherine’s—that she should stop this foolishness at once. But it felt too wonderful, and besides, she didn’t want to.

As if conjured by her thoughts, a voice, very close, said softly in her ear, “Good eve, demoiselle.”

Without thinking, she jerked upright, her feet hitting the slick bottom of the shallow pool. Immediately, she felt them sliding out from under her, and just as she was about to fall, a strong arm encircled her, pulling her back up against a solid chest

“My lady,” the rich voice rumbled, “take care.”

Lily caught a breath of his scent, musky and clean and completely masculine. Snapping her head around, she found herself staring up into his face, only inches from her own. His eyes, a curious shade of gray, looked down at her with a mixture of humor and concern. “Shall I help you?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered, remembering herself. She pulled herself aright, slipped again, and in the end had to cling to him as she stepped out of the pool. Her gown was drenched from the knees down, making it a cumbersome weight. Standing there, soaked and embarrassed, at a terrible loss as to how to redeem herself, Lily felt perilously close to tears. “If you will excuse me,” she said, making to brush past him to enter the castle. She was prevented from a graceful exit by the noisy flapping of her wet skirts. After stumbling clumsily for a few steps, she paused. Oh, Lord, she groaned silently, I must look the utter fool.

“Why are you leaving?” Rogan asked.

“I must go, I…” Why couldn’t she think straight?

“You cannot go anywhere with your dress soaked as it is. It would be impossible to negotiate the stairs,” he said reasonably. “Why do you not sit here and let the air dry it a bit before going inside? I think it will be much safer.”

He was smiling slightly, his mouth curving in a way that made her lose what little equanimity she had left. He was not bothering to hide his amusement, but to her relief, Lily saw he was not mocking her. She sank down nervously on the carved stone bench. He sat down beside her.

“I suppose you think me rather hoydenish after such a display,” she apologized.

“Nonsense,” he assured her. “I found it most refreshing. After all, we all let our guard down when we are in private, which is what you thought you were.”

“Well, Catherine would be furious if she knew. Not that there is ever any pleasing Catherine, but if she knew that you had seen me thus…”

Rogan’s face split into a broad smile. “I assure you, my lady, your secret is safe with me.”

Lily liked his smile, was a bit dazzled by it, and then looked away, uncomfortable. “Bloody embarrassing,” she muttered. She had a habit of doing that, saying aloud things she was thinking before she realized it.

“What did you say?”

Immediately Lily realized her transgression. Horrified, she stammered, “I-I simply said that this is quite embarrassing—almost falling into the pool and being so wet.”

But he had heard. She could see he was trying to keep from laughing and doing a poor job of it. What must he think of her, soggy and swearing like a soldier? And why did it so desperately matter what he thought of her?

“I really should go,” Lily said quickly.

“Please stay. I should enjoy the company.”

“I—” She should refuse, she had sense enough left to know that much. Yet she did not move.

Her pride still smarted from her humiliating gaffes. She must find some way to compose herself. She decided to try acting like a proper hostess, as she had been taught.

“H-how do you like Charolais?” she asked politely. “Did you see the tapestries in the hall? They depict the famous battles of the Marshands. I could tell you the stories if you like.”

“Perhaps some other time.”

No good. Some other pleasantry, then. “Did you have an enjoyable journey? What do you think of our moors?”

Rogan apparently decided to play along and allow her to lead the conversation. “We did, though this is desolate land. It has a certain rugged beauty one would come to appreciate.”

Grateful that he had settled upon a neutral topic, Lily replied, “’Tis true that the beauty of Cornwall is beloved by its natives and misunderstood by everyone else.”

“It seems harsh. I wonder if it makes the people so?”

Lily did not know how to answer that. “I suppose the coast makes for a rugged life. We are closely wedded to the sea out here.”

“Ah, aye, the sea. Do you love the water?”

“I love to look at it.”

“Do you also love to sail? I have always enjoyed being out in the vast ocean, with blue all around.”

“Heavens, no.” Why did every conversation lead to questions about her? “I am afraid I was brought up quite strictly. I was never allowed to do anything like that. Much too dangerous, Father says.”

“Would you like to, someday?”

Caught off guard, Lily couldn’t keep the smile from her face at the prospect of such an adventure. “Oh, very much.”

“Maybe you will,” Rogan said, then paused. “It must be such a burden to you.”

“What?”

“Always being so correct. You seem to like simpler sport. Dangling your feet in the water and the like.”

Lily flushed. “You do tease me meanly by reminding me of my misbehavior.”

“If that is true, I offer my sincere apology,” he said. “It is just that I also find obligations tiresome. Powerful alliances and titled marriages—your family seems to be impressed with these. But not you, I’d wager.”

Lily was stunned. How was it he knew her so well?

“I myself have never cared for the formality that surrounds titles,” Rogan continued. “I saw what it did to my brother. All the demands made him sullen and difficult. I suppose his recent marriage is his grand rebellion against all of it. It is better than going the way some go—becoming depraved and jaded. Privilege seems to have a corrupting influence, robbing one of the ability to appreciate something of the basic joys. And some of us, by nature, cannot abide that.”

Lily nodded, allowing herself to be drawn in. “Sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to live without all of the rules and demands and just feel…”

“Free?” he supplied.

“Aye,” she breathed. “It seems odd, does it not, that for all of my family’s wealth, I have less to my name than my servants.”

“And what freedoms do you envy your servants?”

“They work hard, indeed, my sister insures they do, for she is strict and exacting in her management. Yet, despite their burdens and lack of finery, they seem to possess a certain spontaneity, the ability to view things very clearly and without complication. Catherine says they are simple, but I wonder if they do not possess some perspective worth knowing. She says they are lawless and lusty. But they have a contentment I have never witnessed among the noble folk.”

Rogan raised a brow. “Really? That’s fascinating. Lawless and lusty, you say?”