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The Flower And The Sword. Jacqueline Navin
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Автор произведения Jacqueline Navin
Издательство HarperCollins
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?”
“Aye,” Lily said, not noticing the wicked way his mouth curled at the corners. “Sometimes I have seen them, hugging or stealing a kiss, and it seems to make them unaccountably jolly.”
“Positively shocking,” Rogan commented. “And what do you think of such adventures?”
“Well, they are acceptable for servants. They are of a different sort than noble folk.”
“And you, Lily? May I call you Lily?” To this, she nodded, a bit bemused but agreeing all the same. “Then, Lily, do you have cause to be jolly?”
What a strange question. “There is much that is expected of me, I suppose. I certainly have nothing to complain about. I have everything I can desire.”
“How fortunate for you.”
She was lying, and he knew it. She blushed, then confessed, “Well, part of the problem is that I do not know what it is I desire. Catherine always wished for a grand marriage, and Elspeth wants to go to the convent but Father is reluctant to let her. He says he will miss her, and he has been putting it off.”
A short, comfortable silence stretched between them. She looked up into the heavens, alive with a host of lights winking brilliantly like a handful of diamonds strewn carelessly across black velvet. After a while, Rogan ventured, “Perhaps you will find happiness with your betrothed. Is he a man of your pleasing?”
Lily answered, “My parents promised me at birth, but he was slain in the Holy Land. I never met him. The same with Catherine. That is why Father had to find a husband for her now. He has not yet begun for me.”
“What was his name? Perhaps I knew him.”
“Were you on Crusade?” she gasped.
She saw his eyes darken, felt something shift between them. “Yes. I only returned last year.”
“Was it glorious? What of the Saracens, are they truly barbaric heathens?” Her enthusiasm dwindled quickly at his solemn look. “I am sorry,” she said. “I had not thought it would be painful to speak of.”
“No, not painful really. But it was not glorious, Lily. Taking a life never is, even the life of a Saracen. It may be heresy to say this, but they are not all evil. From what I observed, they are much like us in many respects. Their religion and culture are different, and they speak a different tongue, but they love their families and would die to protect their children. Some behaved more nobly than my fellow knights.” He fell silent, as if lost in some long-ago moment, then shook off the mood. “Forgive me. I do not often speak of it”
“Oh, no,” she breathed, fascinated. “I do not mind at all. If ever you would like to tell me more, I would be honored.”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “I shall keep that in mind.”
They talked amiably until the moon began to wane and Lily was reminded of the lateness of the hour. “I should be going inside,” she said reluctantly.
Rogan nodded, but did not move.
“Really, should Catherine learn I was here with you, she would be most displeased.”
“Why are you so afraid of Catherine?”
Lily paused. How could she explain the subtle threat Catherine exuded? Since their mother’s death, she ruled as somewhat of a tyrant at Charolais, over the servants and her sisters. Though Lily was not precisely afraid of her, she had a healthy dread of the trouble she could sow.
“Catherine is rather strong willed,” Lily stated. “She has a way of making it distinctly uncomfortable for those who disobey her.”
“I should think you would not care,” Rogan observed.
True enough. It was merely an excuse for Lily’s own growing feeling that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety far too much, even for her free spirit.
“Yes. But I really need to go in now.”
“You seem reluctant to go,” Rogan said, seeming to read her mind. Then, with a gleam in his eye, he asked, “I was intrigued by what you were saying about the servants. Being jolly. Do you remember?”
“Aye,” she answered, puzzled.
“When they kiss, you said.”
She blushed and lowered her eyes to her hands clasped tightly on her lap. When she looked back up, Rogan’s eyes shone with a strange light, making them appear silver. He leaned slightly forward. “Have you ever been kissed?”
Lily felt as if a tankard of ice-cold ale had been splashed in her face. Her mouth dropped open in shock and her back went rigid. “That,” she said with emphasis, “is a very rude question for a gently bred lord to ask a lady!”
She stood up. Her skirts were still somewhat wet, and they clung unbecomingly to her. But she was too angry to care. “I was wrong to tarry with you. Now, I really must go inside.”
With that she whirled about and stomped as gracefully as she could manage to the door, which was not much with her gown flapping heavily about her legs.
Rogan had to bite his lips to keep from laughing out loud at her magnificent exit, at least until she was out of earshot. But he was soon sorry for his impulsive question. The enchantment of the garden shriveled into the shadows, deserting him and leaving the orchard lonely.
He raked his hand through his hair. Now what had made him say such a thing? he wondered.
Rogan reentered the castle, relieved that Andrew was no longer about. He was not in the mood to discuss much of anything right now, let alone endure another lecture on the perils of an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Interestingly—considering the critical circumstances—Rogan felt good and his mind was full of the delightful interlude with Lily. The little flower, as Andrew called her.
A sleepy page intercepted him and said he would show Rogan to his quarters. Following the boy, he climbed the great stone staircase that wound around the inside wall of the keep, then into a vaulted corridor lit with an abundance of torches. The lad led him to a chamber that was rather small, though nicely appointed. It held a good-sized bed, a stool and a shuttered window. The fire had been lit and there was a steaming tub by it. He was surprised by this hospitality, then thought that these amenities perhaps reflected the Marshands’ goodwill. His mood improved even more at this observance.
The servant left him and Rogan was about to undress when his door opened. Surprised, he turned. Catherine Marshand came into