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“Yes, I can see that, but perhaps one day I may climb them. I have a very good head for heights.”
“Which is more than I do. I could not permit it.”
“Very well.” Iantha shrugged and gazed around her, brows puckered. “But where is the road?”
“Where, indeed?” His lordship turned in a full circle. “If I am not mistaken, it lies just below us there.” He pointed.
Iantha squinted down the hillside. “Where? I do not see it.”
“Neither do I. But if you believe you can find it, it will be my honor to escort you home.” His lordship folded his arms across his chest, looking insufferably smug. There was no kinder word for it; he looked smug.
Iantha bristled at this display of male arrogance. “Well, I won’t know until I look, will I?”
“Nay. You won’t.” His expression softened, and he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Kethley, I sympathize with your desire to relieve your family’s anxiety and your desire to remove yourself from a situation that can be nothing other than uncomfortable for you, but you can see for yourself—it would be the height of folly to try to set out today.”
Tears threatened to shatter Iantha’s firm control on her emotions. She willed them away, concentrating on the problem at hand. She would not succumb to a womanly excess of sensibility. She must think, rely on her intelligence. Stepping back from his comforting hand, she nodded. “You are correct, of course. Forgive me.”
His voice sounded gentle and kind. “Perhaps tomorrow, if it is warmer.”
Iantha nodded and took several sustaining breaths, gazing around her once more. “I believe, my lord, if you do not object, I would like to bring my paints up here and attempt to capture this remarkable scene.”
“I don’t object, precisely, but I fear you would freeze.”
Glancing around her, Iantha spied a small guardroom. “I could sit in the doorway there, out of the wind. I am warmly dressed. With your permission?”
Lord Duncan sighed. “If I cannot dissuade you. Come, I will show you a way directly from the old castle to the floor where your bedchamber is found. Your paint case is there, I believe.”
“Thank you.”
Iantha followed him partway down the stairs and through a connecting door. Several more turns brought her back to the door they sought. It took only a few minutes to locate what she wanted, and follow his lordship back to the older building. He left her there, and she hastened to find just the prospect she wanted to paint.
Quickly lost in her work, she started when a red-haired young man she had not seen before appeared at her elbow. He bowed politely. “Good day, miss. I’m Thursby. His lordship asked me to make you a fire in the guardroom.”
Suiting the action to the word, he dumped coal and tinder into a brazier stored in the room, and pulled a rickety stool from the shadows and dusted it, setting it behind Iantha. Lost in the magic of the setting, trying fervently to transfer it to her paper, Iantha never heard him go.
She worked on through the afternoon, pausing to warm her hands at the brazier only when her fingers became too cold to hold her brush, or to melt another small cup of snow for the watercolors. Or when the colors froze in her brush.
Heedless, she worked on.
Her spirits soared like the mountains surrounding her, like the towering clouds. Space and air. Light and shadow. They liberated her as nothing else could. The walls fell away. No longer was she a prisoner in a strange place, nor a prisoner of her own emotions. As the light began to fail, she worked doggedly, hoping to get as much recorded as she could. To finish, she would have to rely on the pictures in her mind. On the enchantment stored in her heart.
She was striving to catch the effect of the last rays of light when Lord Duncan appeared before her, arms folded across his chest. She looked up, startled. He moved very quietly for so solid a man.
“Will you stay here all night, Miss Kethley?”
“Only a little longer. I need to use the last of the sunlight….”
He reached out and plucked the brush from her numb fingers and rinsed it in the crystalizing cup of water. Before Iantha could protest, he laid it in her case and pitched the water over the parapet. “I have come up several times these past three hours, but you seemed so absorbed in your painting, I had not the heart to stop you. But now it is getting colder, and I must call a halt. You will become ill. You have even taken off your glove.” He took her bare hand in both of his, scowling in disapproval.
“It is very difficult to paint with a glove on. Indeed, I don’t remember when—” Automatically Iantha tugged on the hand, but he did not let her go. Then the warmth of his strong grasp became so welcome, she did not want him to. She began to shiver. “I d-did not realize how c-cold I was getting.” Her teeth rattled against one another. “I b-became so immersed in the p-painting….”
His lordship pulled her to her feet. “The only thing you need to be immersed in at the moment is a tub of warm water. I fear you may have frostbitten fingers—or toes. Can you feel your feet?”
Iantha wiggled her toes. “A little. I don’t think they are frostbitten.”
“Come then. I will send Thursby to fetch your paints. I left Burnside filling a bath for you.” He took her elbow and steadied her steps down the rough stairs.
She could feel his energy coursing through her arm and into her fingertips.
She simply could not shield herself from him.
Chapter Three
S he floated down the stairs, a wraith made solid by the desire of the beholder. Rob almost held his breath for fear that she would disappear. Did her feet even touch the floor? She had chosen another of his grandmother’s gowns, this one a deep sky-blue. A shawl of silver lace lay across her shoulders, and silver slippers peeped from under her skirt. Around her neck, completing the ethereal effect, lay a fine silver chain with moonstones depending from it.
In spite of his better judgment, even knowing she would evade him, he extended a hand to help her down the last step. She allowed him to assist her, then gently reclaimed her hand.
“Good evening, my lord.”
“Your servant, Miss Kethley.” Rob bowed, continuing to regard her appreciatively. “You quite take my breath away. Have you gotten completely warm?”
“Most of me has. I hope you don’t mind my making free with your grandmama’s wardrobe. Her things are so beautiful. I found this necklace in a chest on the dresser.” She smiled up into his eyes. “I am quite enjoying my masquerade.”
Rob was obliged to take a deep breath. God, she was lovely. “Of course. Whatever is there is at your disposal. Come into the library for a moment. I had Thursby bring your painting there.”
He held the door for her, and she glided past him, stopping before the easel, her head tilted, a critical expression on her face. At last she sighed. “One never quite achieves the aura that nature bestows. Of course, it is not completely finished.”
Rob shook his head, smiling wryly. “I suppose that is the hazard of being a talented artist. They are never finished, are they? I find your painting exquisite.”
“Do you really?” Her face brightened.
“Indeed, I do. The delicate detail…like that snow piled on the twisted tree, or the subtle colors of the ice cascades against the dark clouds. I see those things in nature, but I would not know how to recreate them on paper.”
She nodded seriously. “You have an appreciative eye. You have described the very challenge. Do you think the background too dark?”
Rob considered gravely. “Nay, it sets off the detail.”
“Yes, I think so. I do like the effect, although I usually use light, airy colors. I am a great admirer of Anne Vallayer-Coster, but I find her backgrounds too dark. Do you know her work?”
“I’m not familiar with it, but I have heard her name. She was Marie Antoinette’s painter, wasn’t she?” Rob moved a chair nearer the fire, and his guest sat.
“Yes, painter to the court, and one of only four women admitted to the French Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture.” Miss Kethley sighed. “She is in eclipse since the advent of the revolution, but she was fortunate to have her genius recognized. It is so difficult for women.”
Wondering if her own talent had been belittled, Rob nodded sympathetically. “I fear that is so.”
“And not only in art—in writing, also. Many female writers use men’s names in order to have their work published. And female dancers are reduced to…” She blushed. “To such a low status that… Well…”
Rob took pity on her embarrassment. “That they are little better than prostitutes,” he finished for her. “You are right. It is not fair at all.”
Still blushing, she smiled. “Plain speaking can be very useful.”
“I have always found it so.” He grinned. “But here is Burnside attempting to announce dinner.”
Over another excellent repast of ham with Cumberland sauce, Iantha studied her host. Again, he did not wear evening clothes, but remained at his ease in buckskins, with a simple cravat tucked into an unadorned waistcoat. A plain man, as he had said. But quite handsome for all that, with a square face and a strong, cleft chin. The fire struck reddish lights in his rich brown curls, and lines from laughter seemed always to crinkle his dark eyes. A very likable man.
Just…just a little overpowering.
He had done nothing to create that impression. He just was. Very broad, very strong, very physical. Perhaps that quality accounted for her feeling overpowered. She could not ignore it. Not that he stood too close or touched her more than courtesy required—except when she had been a bit… Well, perhaps a bit difficult. Even then he had been only slightly impatient and concerned for her welfare. But he exuded… What? Power. Yes, he exuded a subdued, but confident, power.
But he was speaking. “I’m sorry, my lord. I was not attending. You were saying?”
“I suggested that you try a bit more curry. Burnside made this especially for you—chicken, I believe, this time.” He ladled a portion for her over rice studded with almonds.
“Why, thank you. How kind of him.” And of his lordship. His kindness grew more apparent each hour she knew him. “Ooh. It is quite delicious. Just the right amount of pepper, but so exotic. English food is so dull and predictable. I have never tasted anything like this.”
“No, the ingredients are not usually found in England. I had them shipped back ahead of me.” As he spoke a few discordant strains of music drifted up from the lower reaches of the castle. “Aha! Feller is tuning up his fiddle. Perhaps we can persuade you to join us for a little entertainment after we have eaten.”
“Why…why that sounds delightful.” At least it did at first. She enjoyed music. But then again, as she thought further, Iantha realized she’d be the only woman among several men…. That did not sound so delightful.
Just as she opened her mouth to make an excuse, his lordship took the decision out of her hands, declaring a fait accompli. “Very good. We’ll gather in the library shortly. Feller plays only folk tunes, but they are lively and will relieve for all of us the boredom of being snowbound.”
Rob waited a moment to see if see she would demure in spite of his intervention. She looked a bit distressed, but went back to her chicken curry without saying anything else. The fact that she ate with a good appetite pleased him. He could not abide women who picked at their food.
Because she was so delicate of body, he had expected her perhaps to be too thin, but when her ruffles fell back, he could see that her arms were only slender, not bony at all. He wondered about the rest of her, but dared not stare at her body. Hiding behind the act of cutting his ham, he risked a glance at her breasts. Full, round, well shaped. Nice.
Yes, very nice, indeed.
This elusive lady intrigued him. Like the wraith she resembled, he felt that he could see her, but not feel her. Her emotions emerged for only moments at time; she allowed the small touches of courtesy only until they had accomplished their purpose. Then she subtly moved away, never rudely or abruptly.
Very politely.
Very firmly.
His determination to breach her barricades, to discover what lay behind that reserved exterior, deepened. At first he’d believed she simply distrusted him, but now he thought the matter more complex. Surely he had proved himself trustworthy now. Perhaps with a little time and patience he could win through her reserve.
He did, after all, have an excellent reason to do so.
With dinner complete, the small company assembled in the library, bringing with them a pitcher of ale. Only one. Rob had decreed sobriety as the order of the evening. He could trust his men to behave themselves, but nonetheless, he would not take a chance of offending Miss Kethley. Or of frightening her. She was too wary by half as it was.
The party consisted of all the current residents of the castle—Burnside, Feller with his fiddle, the young, redheaded Thursby and of course, Lord Duncan and Iantha. And, unexpectedly, Prince Vijaya. He appeared quietly as they were gathering and pulled a chair close the fire. Thursby had brought with him a tea tray, which he set on a table between Iantha and the Indian.
Iantha had not spoken with Vijaya since the night before. His dress was no less resplendent than it had been on that occasion, consisting of a soft satin shirt and trousers, with an open robe over all. They glittered with rich embroidery worked with jewels. The sapphire resting against his forehead called attention to eyes astonishingly blue in the dark face.
The air of unreality again began to grow in Iantha, and the tension of confinement. And yet, she chided herself, what could constitute a more intriguing adventure than to listen to border folk music in the company of three sturdy north countrymen, an English border lord and an eastern prince? She studied the scene, recording every detail in her mind’s eye to transfer to paper at her first opportunity.
As the only woman present, apparently the duty of pouring tea remained hers. “Who will drink tea?”
She glanced around the room as, one by one, all the men but Vijaya declined in favor of ale. After pouring two cups and passing one to the prince, Iantha leaned back and sipped her own. Remarkable. She rolled the unfamiliar flavor over her tongue. Smoky and exotic. If only she might include the flavor in her painting!
Feller drew his bow across the strings, and after two exploratory chords, launched into a familiar tune. At the end of a second tune, Iantha reached for another cup of tea.
“Do you enjoy the tea, madam? It is my own blend.”
Iantha regarded the Indian with surprise. He had been so quiet she had almost forgotten him. “I like it very much, your highness. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“My pleasure. It is herbal in nature, designed to relax one. As I do not drink alcohol, I find it useful.” He extended his own cup, and Iantha took it and refilled it.
At her other side Lord Duncan sipped his ale and kept time with a toe tapping against the carpet. He smiled at her, but addressed his factotum. “Come, Burnside, give us a jig.”
“I don’t know, me lord.” The man grinned with an obviously spurious show of reluctance. “It’s been a while since I danced for a lady.”
“Oh, please do, Burnside.” Iantha leaned forward in her chair. “I would love to see a jig performed.” The adventure improved by the minute. What a story to tell her baby sister! And perhaps also… Yes, she must make notes tomorrow.
Burnside grinned and, setting his tankard aside, got to his feet. “Well. I guess I could do it for you, Miss Kethley. But someone has got to keep time.”
His lordship laughed. “We will all furnish that. Get to it.”
Feller stuck up the tune, and Burnside set his lean frame in motion, defying gravity with his agility. Lord Duncan and Thursby began to clap, and Iantha could not resist joining them. Music moved her as very little could do, but most of the musical occasions she attended were all too dignified in nature to clap time. She laughed aloud at Burnside’s antics, and even the reserved Vijaya rapped rhythmic fingers against the table, smiling.
The music rose to a rousing finish, and Burnside bowed to his appreciative audience, wiping sweat from his brow. He nodded at his employer. “Your turn, me lord.”
“Mine?” His lordship took a long draft of ale. “I can’t keep up with you.”
“Ha! That will be the day. But no need to. I’m plumb used up.” Burnside fanned his face with his hand.
“Well, if Miss Kethley will take into account my advanced years…” Lord Duncan set his ale on the floor by his chair and stepped to the center of the room, his thumbs hooked into his belt and his foot already beating a cadence.
He proved to be amazingly light on his feet. Iantha would never have thought so large a man could move so fast. As the speed of the music increased, his booted feet almost blurred, and the muscles of his thighs rippled beneath the tight buckskin trousers. The rest of them clapped harder and harder. At last, on a resounding chord, he flung up his hands and shouted, coming to a complete stop.
Iantha began to applaud. Surely he must be the only peer of the English realm who would dance with such abandon. He bowed to her and took a seat beside her, breathing hard. “Thank you, Miss Kethley. Your approval makes my efforts worthwhile.”
“Your advanced years, indeed! I have never seen anyone dance like that, my lord. Where did you learn?”
“Here, of course, before I left for India. I used to love to go to the village dances.”
“Similar dances exist among the older tribes of my country.” Vijaya surprised Iantha by speaking. “But I have never learned them.”
“A pity.” His lordship took a restorative swallow of ale. “We would have had you up to demonstrate.”
Vijaya simply shook his head and smiled.
“Then we shall have to fall back on Thursby. I’m told you do an excellent sword dance, Thursby.”
The youth’s fair-skinned face flamed. “Tolerable, me lord.”
“Then by all means, let us see it. We will forgive you your Scots forebears.”
“And I’ll forgive you your English ones, me lord.”
