The Flower And The Sword

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“I never lose, not even on purpose,” Rogan answered calmly.

“The only person who has shown me respect has been young Andrew. Yes, Andrew. You may not think much of him, judging by that look on your face, but the young priest is the only one who has gone out of his way to treat me with deference.”

Rogan maintained a stony silence.

“You have done nothing to mend the breach between our families. For all of your talk of wanting to preserve the goodwill of the Marshands, you are doing nothing to secure it.”

It was a heavy threat. Again, Enguerrand was not stupid. He knew this man wanted peace. Desperately. Enguerrand pressed his advantage. “I have shown great restraint, giving you the chance to redeem yourself, and you flaunt this chance and insult Catherine. That is two rejections from you St. Cyrs. That hardly bodes well for reconciliation. Tell me, Lord Rogan, what do you find objectionable about my daughter?”

After a pause, Rogan answered carefully, “Nothing objectionable, I assure you.” He seemed to wrestle within himself for a long moment. “It is just that I would ask you to extend your generosity once more,” he said at last, “and give to me Lily’s hand instead.”

Enguerrand was astonished. “Lily? Why do you want her?”

“I had been thinking of it in any case, but your proposition forces me to act more quickly than I would have liked.”

“You want Lily?”

“She has impressed me favorably, and she seems more of a wife to suit my particular temperament Catherine is lovely, well-bred and exemplary in every way. But she is too fine and would require attention I cannot give her. I am not a duke, but merely a soldier.”

“A damn fine warrior, I would say,” Enguerrand said, despite himself. “Lily, eh?”

Rogan nodded. “Yes. Surely you cannot deny she is beautiful, but more importantly, I must say I find her enchanting. On the few occasions I have spoken to her, I have been greatly impressed with her spirit and interesting mind.” A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I shall certainly find it no hardship to take her to wife.”

Enguerrand shook his head and muttered something unintelligible.

Rogan continued, “I believe she would be favorably disposed to my offer.”

That aspect of the bargain had not occurred to Enguerrand, nor did he much care. He rubbed his bristled chin. This Rogan St. Cyr’s choice of Lily he certainly could not understand. And Catherine would be furious. Still there was no reason to refuse. He gained his ends just as well with the second daughter as the first. And with Lily married off, he still had Catherine to bargain with in a future alliance. Perhaps another powerful family could be approached.

“All right then, let us discuss the bride-price.”

Rogan held up a hand. “In the interest of healing the wounds of our families, I will waive the dowry. And as my new father-in-law, I shall make, shall we say, a small gift to you in appreciation for your sacrifice of your daughter who is to become my wife.”

“But that is—”

“Unconventional, I know. But I insist.”

Enguerrand paused. The man was obviously trying to buy him, but it was unnecessary. Enguerrand had already agreed. What a fool!

“Very well,” Enguerrand said. “I shall announce it at once.”

“I wish to have the ceremony as soon as possible. Three weeks should be sufficient to have the banns read and make the necessary preparations. I have urgent business in the northern shires and must leave as soon as we can accomplish this.”

“Very good.” Enguerrand nodded. He rubbed his hands together, planning. He hardly noticed when Rogan took his leave.

This was unbelievable! To get a daughter married without a dowry was incredible enough, but to actually profit from the deal—marvelous!

Immediately, his spirits plummeted when he remembered Catherine. He dreaded telling her Rogan wished to marry her sister.

Suddenly Rogan’s bribe seemed not so foolish after all.

Chapter Six (#ulink_31371538-b159-58d9-9651-4e113265c49c)

Enguerrand made the announcement that night at dinner, standing without preamble and roaring for the entire hall to hush and attend him.

Rogan was surprised to note the thrill of excitement go through him. He had not had a chance to speak to Lily today. They had only exchanged glances, hers shy but unable to hide her pleasure. He was, surprisingly, anxious to speak with her and impatient to know her reaction to their impending marriage.

Enguerrand called out, “Listen up, all and everyone! I have an important announcement.” The noise dimmed. Rogan caught Catherine’s eye and was surprised to see the glimmer of triumph there. His stomach clenched as he realized she thought the announcement would be of her marriage to Rogan.

Damn Enguerrand, the old fool!

And if Catherine had not been apprised of the change in her plan, then it stood to reason that Lily was likewise uninformed. He whipped his head around to watch her as Enguerrand said, “Rogan St. Cyr has requested the hand of my daughter, Lily…”

His voice faded, and Catherine was forgotten, for as the words descended, Rogan could only stare at his wife-to-be.

The naked emotion on her face attested to her ignorance of the arrangements that had been made that day for her future. Her features registered shock, quickly replaced by a look of purest joy as she swung toward him in disbelief. Her clear eyes, such a singular shade of blue-green, opened round and wide and looked like brilliant bits of aquamarine.

Rogan felt something inside of him twist in an oddly pleasant way. Good God, if he had ever had a moment’s doubt about the matter, it was put to rest as he smiled at Lily. He had never seen her look so exquisite. And he had never felt so sure of anything, he reflected. He rose and held out his hand. She fairly beamed as she stood and allowed her father to place her slim hand in his palm.

They turned together with stiff formality to receive the congratulations of the others. Bracing himself, Rogan saw Catherine was to be the first. But she merely stood rigid, lips pulled taut and eyes smoldering with tightly checked rage. “Congratulations, Lily. Rogan,” she said before turning away. Elspeth rushed forward and flung herself in Lily’s arms, distracting her, and Rogan turned to face the smirking face of his brother.

“That went well enough,” Andrew said. “And so, I congratulate you. May happiness be yours. And may the dour face of misfortune—” this with a surreptitious glance at Catherine “—be stayed.”

The minstrels stuck up a gay tune and the wine flowed freely. Rogan wished he could steal Lily away, speak to her alone, but the castle women surrounded her now, chattering wildly in excitement. She kept peering at him with the pleasure she was too ingenuous to hide. There would be time enough to talk privately. He would see to it.

As for Catherine, he saw no more of her that night. But though it was a relief for the moment, an uneasy feeling would not leave him alone. She was not done with him yet. He felt it.

Lily sped down the perilous path along the cliff face to the tiny stretch of beach below. Beyond was the quay, with its neat rows of fishing boats bobbing on the sun-splashed sea. She was late.

Across the strand she ran, her skirts hiked up, kicking sprays of sand out behind her. The docks were busy with men unloading the day’s catch onto long carts while women picked over the piles of fish to make their selections before the crop was brought to market. Children weaved daringly among them, finding games to amuse themselves while their parents attended their chores.

Pushing through the throng, Lily hurried to the wharf. She spied Rogan in one of the small boats. He looked unperturbed enough at her tardiness, reclining on the edge of the hull, one knee drawn up upon which he rested an arm.

She realized after a moment that she had been holding her breath. He looked casual, so at ease lounging thusly in the sun-kissed afternoon, that she had simply forgotten to breathe.

“Hello,” she called, “I am sorry to be late.”

“No bother.” He raised a challenging brow. “I was thinking you might be having second thoughts.”

The effect was utterly charming, a slight mockery adding a sparkle to her eyes. She was feeling a bit giddy at the glow of pleasure that stole through her body.

Cocking a hand on her hip, she said, “You think me a coward, do you?”

“Not at all, but,” he said, sweeping his hand toward the vast horizon where pale azure met deep aquamarine, “the sea can be intimidating.”

She hesitated. It was true, she was more than a bit daunted at the prospect of sailing for the first time, but any trepidations she had were completely overridden by the excitement of being with Rogan, alone.

“Come on board, then,” he dared. Gingerly she stepped over the bulkhead, wavering a moment at the sway of the deck. Rogan was on his feet in an instant, moving forward with uncanny balance. He reached out strong arms to hold her steady. When he did not release her right away, she gave him a sheepish look. He was grinning down at her, so close she could see that in the sunlight, his eyes appeared dark, slate blue with flecks of gray.

“It will take a while to get your sea legs,” he murmured. It was a perfectly neutral statement, yet he made it sound like an endearment

“I think you should know I cannot swim.”

Rogan chuckled. “I am an experienced seaman. And have I not already proved my competence to save you from the perils of water? Now, sit here and I will lead us out.”

Doing as he instructed, Lily perched on the crude plank bench, gripping the railing until her hands ached. Rogan smiled at her over his shoulder as he took up the oars and maneuvered the small craft out of its mooring and into the open sea.

“There,” he said pleasantly, coming to sit beside her once they had cleared the maze of rocks in the shallows. “You can let go now.”

Lily did not think she could. The water slapped rudely against the sides, rocking the boat as the currents took over. She forced herself to unfurl her grip, not wanting to appear childish.

He slipped a protective arm about her, pulling her against the hard mass of his chest. “Hold on to me, or rather I shall hold on to you and make sure you do not spill overboard.”

“I know I am being silly,” Lily murmured. Her fear of the ocean was being replaced by the overwhelming awareness of his male body. The scent of him, mild and masculine and unbearably stirring, was having a dangerous yet familiar effect on her senses.

“See, look,” he said, pointing back to the coast Lily peered over his broad shoulder. The beach was already reduced to a pale ribbon between the water and the stark gray of the cliff. The docks, so alive a moment ago with the daily activities of fishmongering, looked merely like a placid spray of color. She could not even distinguish people.

Uncoiling from him, she sat upright, forgetting for a moment the tiny boat surrounded by sea. “It’s beautiful!” she breathed. The cliffs were monstrous, dominating the horizon. She had never seen anything so majestic, so seemingly impenetrable. And Charolais, resting on top like a crown, its towers stretching to the sky like a fairy castle amidst the clouds. The sandstone walls were bleached by the sun, making them glimmer like some enchanted place.

“It is a breathtaking sight,” said Lily. “One can almost imagine the Vikings sailing up in their longboats, greedy for the tin to be pilfered in the moors beyond the cliffs. Or think of the generations of English sailors, weary and homesick, laying sight of this land, knowing their journey was almost at an end.”

“How many thought themselves safe when they spied land, heading toward the guiding lights only to find the wreckers were about their evil business?”

Startled at this dark observation, she looked at him. “Those are just stories,” she said. “No one would do such a thing.”

His eyes darkened. “Darling, you are an innocent. Men—and women—have indeed done such things. And worse.”

She turned away, troubled.

“Will you regret leaving?” he asked.

She blinked in surprise. “No. When Mother was alive, Charolais was a happy place. But there has not been any joy within those walls in a long time. I will be glad to leave it behind.”

“What a sad tale,” he commented.

“Oh, not so much,” she said, and laughed. Her eyes sparkled as they met his. “It does have a happy ending.”

“Ah—” he nodded “—as it should.”

“What of you?” she asked. “Were your childhood days happy ones?”

“Fairly typical.” A slight smile curled the edges of his mouth.

Lord, he was handsome, she reflected, studying the chiseled jaw and hard planes of his face, softened now by fond remembrance.

“I was always fetching Alexander out of trouble. He was a bully even as a boy, and it tended to annoy people.” His wry look marked this as an understatement. “But I was not fostered away from home, which was lucky. My father could see no merit in it since he said he had the best training in the shire. Besides, I like to think he was rather proud of me. He liked to watch me practice. My mother, on the other hand, busied herself with my sister. The boys, she would say, were my father’s job.” He paused. “They both died of fever when I was away on Crusade, along with my sister.”

“I am sorry,” she said. “I noticed you and Andrew are close.”

“Yes, he came to live with me at Kensmouth when I returned home.”

“And Alexander?” she asked.

“He sees himself as the patriarch, which is reasonable given he’s the eldest. Though he is not in favor with me at the moment, I must admit, however grudgingly, he is fond of his family and a good brother.” He winced, then grinned. “That was almost painful to say.”

Lily laughed. Her spirits felt as if they were soaring. Everything was so easy when she was with Rogan, all of the darkness and confusion of life at Charolais faded and was replaced with brilliant, serene simplicity.

Rogan interrupted her musings. “Part of the reason I brought you out here was to speak to you about our marriage. I do not know what your father has told you, if indeed he has said anything. You should know it was he who proposed it, to align our families as was originally intended. It is a good idea, fortuitous for both houses.”

“Yes, it keeps the peace,” she said quickly, hoping to hide the crushing impact of his words. She had suspected this was his reason of course, at times convinced it was the only reason a man like Rogan St. Cyr would bother with her.

“You have a quick mind,” he said approvingly, “and it does serve that purpose well. But when your father approached me, it was Catherine he wished to be wed. I asked for you instead.” At her shocked expression, he laughed. “I will not speak ill of her, for she is your sister, but suffice to say that I did not feel Catherine and I would suit.”

He grew serious. “But I want you to know I feel very differently about you. I was not at all displeased with the alliance. So, though it was prompted by your father, never think that I was unwilling to take you as my wife. And despite the advantages for both our families, my motivations were not simply duty. I can even admit that the thought had crossed my mind before Enguerrand and I spoke. It simply happened faster than I had anticipated.”