Table of Contents

Cover Page

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

Excerpt

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

About the Author

Copyright

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The Flower And The Sword
Jacqueline Navin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To a wonderful writer, my sister and my best friend, Mary.

To my good friends and fellow writers:

Betty, Carol, Helen, Kate, Kay, Krisann, Lorie,

Mary Anne and Peter.

And to Karen Kosztolnyik—big thanks!

Another voice, rich and bold, cut through the silence of the chapel.

“I am afraid she cannot marry, Father, for she already has a husband.”

Lily’s head shot up, and she whipped around toward the voice. That voice! It could only be…

Rogan stood directly in front of her, staring with a thunderous expression.

Rogan. Rogan was here. Alive. Impossibly, blessedly alive. Staring at her with a terrible, evil-looking smile twisting his lips. His eyes gleamed silver by the dim flames of the candles. Trust him to appear in such a shocking manner, Lily thought, so smug and poised and magnificent!

Prologue

Cornwall, England

February 1197

Lily sat perfectly still in the gathering darkness of dusk, back straight, hands folded and unmoving on her lap. She stared unblinkingly into the void of shadows crowding her chamber, blind to all the world had to offer.

Pain cradled her in its arms like an old friend, not fooled by her dry eyes and composed face.

Tomorrow she would wed a man she had met only once. A kind man with a gentle smile, whom she could never love, for all her love was dead.

She did not understand yet how all her happiness had crumbled into ashes. Or why. She was not even certain she was to blame, yet guilt ate at her soul and melded with her broken heart.

The man she loved was gone, and with him all her dreams…

Chapter One

Cornwall, EnglandJuly 1196

“My God, look at it,” Andrew said to his brother. Rogan St. Cyr squinted up at the horizon.

The castle of Charolais perched on the brink of a seaside cliff, a dark sentinel standing watch over the raging surf below. Like its infamous neighbor, Tintagel, Charolais was a functional fitting together of cold, gray stone. Spartan, perhaps, but not grotesque. Rather, its awesome presence owed more to the atmosphere lent by the savage elements of its surrounding: restless sea, rolling skies and gray, barren moor that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Rogan felt a clenching deep in his gut. It had been a long time since he could last recall being nervous. Oh, a certain intensity gripped him just before battle, even after so many times, but nerve-jangling anxiety was something to which he was not accustomed.

Not for the first time, he reflected that he was not the man for the duty awaiting him. He had no skill at diplomacy, nor did he possess a glib tongue adept at tripping over subtleties and false praise. He was a warrior—he had never been anything else—but he was also a man of honour and that was why he had come.

“I swear, my hackles are rising,” Andrew muttered as they neared.

Rogan grunted and kicked his horse forward, his broad-shouldered frame moving in rhythm with the charcoal stallion. He looked completely at ease, but his eyes missed nothing as he and his men entered the gate and advanced into the lower bailey.

At Rogan’s continued silence, Andrew said, “I know this duty weighs heavy on you.”

Rogan finally spoke. “Not even you realize how much, brother.”

As they passed through the inner gatehouse, the steep rise of the keep came into view. It was plain and unadorned, like a monolithic grave marker. The thought threw a jagged ripple up Rogan’s spine.

They drew to a halt and dismounted. At Andrew’s continued perusal, Rogan snapped, “Why the devil do you keep staring at me?”

“It is a sin to swear,” Andrew said with a grin. Rogan finally looked at him, astonished. His younger sibling rarely took anything seriously, least of all sin—this despite the fact he was a priest.

Rogan handed the reins to one of his men and glanced about uneasily. “Garven, take the others and stay outside. Andrew, come with me.”

From the huge studded door, a liveried porter eyed him curiously. Rogan announced himself to the man, who responded with rounded eyes and a quick dash down a corridor. He and Andrew stepped inside the huge hall.

Their boots scraping across the stone floor created an echo that played a ghostly game among the vaults overhead. Rows of windows were set in elaborately arched openings, now shuttered against the late afternoon heat. Weapons hung on the limestone walls, showing the family colors emblazoned on shields and displayed boldly on banners. Several tapestries were featured, depicting battle scenes woven with care by the generations of Marshand women in order to commemorate the military prowess of their husbands and sons.

Expelling a long breath, Rogan rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s rich,” he said in a low voice. “He will have no trouble mounting an army.”

“We are here to make certain he shall not need one,” Andrew said calmly. “We shall grovel properly and offer pretty phrases to assuage his pride, and he will forgive us. Although I still say Alexander should be here to make his own apology. Let him beg for pardon—”

He was cut off by Rogan’s derisive snort. “The idiot would make matters worse, prattling on about love.”

Andrew grinned. “I take it you are no great believer in true love?”

“Hardly.” Rogan’s handsome face was cold.

“Well, I cannot say that I either believe or disbelieve it. It has never happened to me, nor is it likely to. I am pledged to chastity and though I may be loose with my other obligations, I will not go back on a vow. Yet I must admit our colicky brother seems positively blissful with his merchant’s daughter.”

“Never confuse lust and love, Andrew. Judging by the amount of time they spend in private chambers, I would say it is less an urging of the heart than an urging of a more primitive nature.” Rogan’s gaze roamed, touching on the slack, overweight knights lounging about playing chess and quaffing mead. “Alexander’s mind is muddled and our family honor is at stake.”

“Agreed. And it is always you defending it.”

It was true. Although Alexander was the eldest, and had inherited the duchy and its vast estates, Rogan, the second son, shouldered the responsibility. He had hoped his four-year absence while he fought in the Holy Land would have encouraged Alexander to accept the weightier aspects of his office. As it happened, his blustering, bullheaded brother had learned nothing of tact and self-discipline. Now, less than a year after Rogan had returned from King Richard’s crusade, Alex had committed the most flagrant act of disregard yet.

Rogan ran his hand through his auburn hair, ignoring the stubborn lock that fell back onto his forehead. “Where is Marshand?”

As if conjured by Rogan’s impatience, a loud exclamation announced their host’s arrival. Rogan swung around to face Enguerrand Marshand coming toward them. The man was short and, though not fat, had an oddly proportioned body. His hose showed almost impossibly skinny legs for such a rounded middle. Most of his hair was gone, except for a feathering of gray that wrapped around the back of his head from ear to ear. He was beaming with pleasure until he drew closer and his eyes focused on Rogan. His bushy eyebrows went down as his glance darted toward Andrew. “Where is the duke?” he said in a demanding voice.

Rogan discovered an instant dislike to this arrogant little man. “I am Rogan St. Cyr, Alexander’s brother. This is my younger brother, Father Andrew.”

Enguerrand did not spare the priest so much as a glance. “When I was told it was St. Cyr colors you were flying, I assumed it was the duke.”

“Father?” a sharp voice demanded. Rogan had not at first noticed the woman who stood behind Enguerrand. Tall and willowy with a flawless complexion and symmetrical features, she was inarguably a beauty. Her hair was pulled back neatly in the style of the day, highlighting the prominence of her cheekbones and her pointed chin. This must be Catherine, the woman Alexander had spurned, Rogan thought. She certainly seemed of the appropriate age and he had heard tell of her comliness, though the rigid, austere perfection of this woman spoke of a coldness that faintly repelled.

“Is something amiss?” Catherine asked.

“That is why I am here,” Rogan said evenly. The tension was building inside, stretching his nerves so taut he feared they would snap.

Andrew chose that moment to speak. “Perhaps we should all sit,” he said, motioning to a cluster of comfortable-looking chairs by the huge hearth.

Enguerrand was too impatient “I want to know what is afoot. Why are you here without the duke?”

Rogan saw no point in delaying. Taking a bracing breath, he said, “He will not be coming. I am here to offer my family’s formal apology and to announce that my brother is severing negotiations with you for the hand of your daughter.” Rogan paused, dreading what came next. “Alexander has decided on another.”

There was a short, stunned silence. “Married another?” Catherine said at last. Her lovely features contorted into a mask of outrage. “Who?”

This was the worst part. “A merchant’s daughter. Her name is Carina.”

“He married a merchant’s daughter?” Enguerrand exclaimed shrilly.

Placing a comforting hand on the man, Andrew said, “Perhaps you would like that seat, now, I think we should—”

“Get your bloody hands off me!” Enguerrand thundered.

“Perhaps not,” Andrew answered smoothly, stepping away.

“My brother has chosen his wife based on love,” Rogan said without apology, surprised he could do so. His earlier apprehension was gone, and he faced Enguerrand like any opponent, only this time the parrying was with words instead of blows. Still his hand itched with longing to feel the comfort of his sword hilt. He kept it clenched to control the instinct.

“Love?” Catherine choked.

Andrew shrugged. “Who can explain that intangible emotion? It strikes even the most noble among us, and can be—”

“This is an outrage!” Enguerrand exploded. “He and I were discussing the bride-price! How much further did he think he could lead me? It is a breach of contract, a crime!”

There it was, the accusation he had feared. Rogan narrowed his eyes, ready to leap to the defense when a movement out of the corner of his eye stole his attention.

He turned, looked, then stopped.

Enguerrand’s tirade faded into the background as the loveliest female Rogan had ever set eyes upon rushed forward.

She was dressed little better than a servant, in a faded gown that was much too small for her and more the worse for wear. Her hair was a riotous mass of soft ringlets that fell clear to her waist and was of the same tawny color as the noble lion he had seen many times in his travels. Her eyes, which were now wide with worry, were an impossible shade of blue. No, green. No, somewhere in between, like the color of a tropical sea.

He stood transfixed, watching her wordlessly as she came to him and sank into a deep curtsy, her head bowed. The untamed mane slid forward like a curtain, stealing his view of that beautiful face.

“Your grace,” she murmured.

He was frozen for a moment. Then impulsively he reached down and touched her chin with his fingertips, tilting her head up. Those eyes fluttered open to meet his and she smiled a bashful, tentative smile.

“Lily!” Enguerrand boomed. “Get off the floor.”

Confusion passed over her features. She looked about as if searching each face for an answer.

Catherine glared at her sister. “He is not the duke, you ninny. Get up! Where were you?”

“I was in the orchard,” Lily explained. Hesitantly, and with a doubtful glance at Rogan, she rose to her feet.

“Where is Elspeth?”

“At chapel, I think.” Lily darted another self-conscious look his way, and Rogan instinctively sensed her embarrassment at being chastised in front of him. Again an inexplicable impulse seized him and he offered a small bow. “I am Alexander’s brother, Rogan.” He smiled. “And you are the Lady Lily.”

“Yes,” she answered. Her voice was as soft as a breeze.

“I want an explanation!” Enguerrand demanded. “I wish to speak to the duke myself. For all I know this could be a trick. I’ve never met you two.”

“It is no trick, Enguerrand,” Rogan said firmly. However, he seemed to be losing his focus. The girl, Lily, was following the conversation with a mixture of bemusement and alarm, and he found the play of these emotions on her face infinitely fascinating. “You know Alexander was reluctant to make the contract final.”

“He all but gave his word!” Enguerrand thundered.

It was Andrew who diffused the situation. “Well, I must say that you are handling this with amazing self-control.” This made Enguerrand’s eyes bulge in astonishment. The older man was doing no such thing and knew it. Andrew continued smoothly, “I know many men, lesser men than you, Enguerrand, who would have drawn their sword and run us through without waiting for explanation. Oh, you are angry and I don’t blame you. Unfortunate business, and we are all the worse off for it. You have a right to make complaint, as does your lovely daughter. But you are a man who has lofty morals, I can see, and knows the value of talking things through. Quite admirable.”

Enguerrand had fallen silent and was staring at the younger St. Cyr with openmouthed shock. Andrew went on, “Of course, with the country in the state it is today, what with John aspiring to the crown and the barons in such an uproar, ‘tis well that such rash behavior is beneath a man such as yourself. Why, it could mean war, and that would decimate two houses. It is hardly worth it, you will agree, but not every man would have the wisdom to see that and do what is best for his people.”

Incredibly, Andrew’s facetious compliments seemed to have their intended impact. Enguerrand was taken off guard and more than a bit confused, but he relaxed slightly, muttering, “Quite so. Indeed, terrible business.”

For the moment, Enguerrand seemed deflated. Behind him Catherine seethed silently. Rogan exchanged glances with his brother, and Andrew flashed him a quick lift of his eyebrows in triumph.

When he turned back, Rogan saw that Lily had witnessed his brother’s irreverent gesture. Her lips compressed in a tight, controlled smile as she lowered her eyes. That simple gesture caused a sweet warmth to spread through him. With an effort, he tore his gaze away and attended his host.

Enguerrand was still disgruntled. However, he offered them sit at his table and ordered refreshments set out. Rogan inclined his head in acceptance of the offer of hospitality, relieved that, for the time being, at least, Enguerrand seemed to have calmed. Catherine, he could see, had not. Pushing aside his interest in the gentler sister, Rogan saw where his duty lay and offered the cold beauty his arm. Her eyes smoldered resentfully and then she blinked. Rogan thought he spied a flash of interest as if she had recognized something she hadn’t noticed before.

Behind him, Rogan heard Andrew say, “I am neither duke nor crusading hero, but a humble priest. However, I have been told I am a pleasant enough fellow. May I?”

Lily must have taken his arm, for he heard a quiet Thank-you in response.

Rogan became uncomfortably aware that he was, of all things, envious of his younger brother.

Chapter Two

Lily Marshand had the most extraordinary sensation, of the world—the dull, familiar, unexciting, predictable world she had always known—having been turned as a whole and set askew so that everything seemed new, interesting, vibrant. Her pulse was still thrumming from when he had touched her, and thoughts raced wildly through her mind so quickly that each one barely had time to register before it was gone.

Rogan St. Cyr. Her mind slid over the name again and again. God’s teeth, he was handsome. That he was a soldier was easy to see, both in his well-muscled frame and the fluid manner in which he moved. Only a warrior had that economy of motion. His hair was thick and a deep russet, like tarnished copper, falling in waves to curl slightly against the nape of his neck. Straight nose, square chin, strong white teeth that gleamed when he smiled. Oh, yes, he was glorious, but not just that. He had been gentle and kind, and when he had looked at her with those strange gray eyes she had seen something incomprehensible, and yet utterly exciting.

She was being wretchedly silly. He probably was like that with everyone. She had, more than likely, imagined the way his wolflike gaze had held hers and how his sensuous mouth had curved ever so slightly when their eyes first met.

Still she was deeply gratified he was not Catherine’s betrothed. Or ex-betrothed, as it now stood.

Belatedly she realized Andrew was speaking to her.

“I am sorry,” she said, blinking away distraction. “What did you say?”

“I was merely commenting that I do not think that Rogan is very pleased with the arrangements,” Andrew said. The mention of Rogan’s name made Lily tense.

“Oh, what arrangements?”

“The seating arrangements. He is with Catherine trying to calm her. Tell me, does he have a chance?”

Lily immediately liked this young man, who looked to be not much older than her ten and nine years. She had hardly noticed him before, being much too overwhelmed with his imposing companion, but he was genuinely warm with laughing eyes and a gentle, oft-smiling mouth. “I must admit, Catherine can be difficult. I am certain your brother will find the right words.” She couldn’t resist a glance in Rogan’s direction. He was speaking to Catherine, and from the look of her, Catherine was indeed thawing.

“On the contrary, my brother is usually a man of very few words.” Andrew leaned forward to see for himself. “Odd, Rogan is not the most accomplished of diplomats. Well, maybe he has never tried before. Or perhaps Catherine is just succumbing to his charm. Women usually do. They find him fascinating for some reason. His looks please them, and there is his prowess on the battlefield—that is fairly legendary, if you will indulge a brother’s pride. But I think the most appealing thing is he seems not to care a whit about them. For some strange reason, it attracts them all the more.”

“Really?” Lily said, hoping her interest appeared casual so Andrew would not count her among those countless besotted.

A half smile playing on his lips, Andrew said, “I hope I am not shocking you.”

“Oh, no!” Lily hurried to assure him. “Not at all.”

“Perhaps these things are not for delicate ears. I forget myself. Maybe we should change the topic.”

“Please don’t,” she exclaimed. Checking herself, she continued, “What I mean is that I rarely get to converse with guests, and I know so little about the wider world. I would be most interested to hear more.”

Andrew broke into a wide smile, “Ah, so you are curious about him, are you?”

Lily sputtered, trying to extricate herself from the trap. “Only inasmuch as he can avoid unpleasantness with Catherine. I mean, she is rather high-strung, and it would be good if your brother can persuade her with this charm of his.”

Nodding, Andrew said, “Quite so.” But Lily sensed he was merely being kind. Her explanation had not fooled him. Andrew gave her a mischievous glance. “Well, it seems Rogan is curious about you. He keeps looking at us, and he is positively glowering. I do believe he is jealous.”

Lily snapped her head around. Rogan was indeed staring at her and was not a bit embarrassed at being caught doing so. Lily blushed and looked away. Casting about for a diversion, and a safe topic upon which to converse, she said, “Why don’t I tell you about the ghost of Charolais. Are you interested in such tales, Father Andrew?”

“Isn’t everyone?” Andrew answered. Lily trembled so much that her hands shook as she took a draught of wine. She concentrated on keeping herself from casting any more self-incriminating looks down to the other end of the table as she began the story.

The afternoon passed into evening civilly enough, considering the circumstances. Lily’s father offered the St. Cyrs lodgings for a few days until matters could be sorted out and, when Rogan accepted, Lily felt a thrill course through her limbs. He would be under the same roof for almost a sennight!

Disappointingly, he was much occupied with Catherine, who was not at all as put out as Lily would have expected. She knew her sister well and had come to fear her sister’s frightful temper. However, Catherine was not displeased with the attentions of the handsome warrior. So much for indignation at having been rejected by her duke. But then, her elder sister had always been fickle.

It was the family’s custom for the women to adjourn early and leave the men to their evening carouses. This Lily did reluctantly, following her sister up the great stairs to their chambers, but not before darting a quick backward glance at the man who had so completely captured her attention.

She was surprised to find his gray eyes on her once again. Pinned by that stare, she avoided colliding with Catherine only barely. Her heart hammered in her chest and her throat was dry. She whirled and sped up the stairs.

It was later in her chamber that Lily sat before her looking glass, dreamily brushing out her hair. She was far gone in fantasy, so much so that she didn’t hear her door open nor the sound of gentle footfalls on the thick carpet of rushes.

“Is it true?” a small voice said into the silence.

Startled, Lily dropped her brush and whipped around. “Oh! Elspeth, you frightened me! I didn’t even hear you come in.”

The child was only ten and two, a beautiful cherub whose angelic face and mop of white-blond curls were an apt reflection of her sweet nature. Her eyes were clouded now, her face troubled. Lily cocked her head in curiosity. “Where have you been?”

Heavy lashes descended over the large blue orbs. “In chapel. I was saying the rosary.” She sighed, a beatific smile curving her tiny bow mouth. “It was so peaceful there, I stayed and kept a vigil, like the monks do over the Holy Sacrament.” This she admitted almost guiltily, as if Lily might disapprove. Lily never did, but Elspeth was a timid creature. “I missed supper. I hope Father was not angry.”

“He didn’t notice, so do not worry.”

The frown returned. “Is it true about the duke? He is not to marry Catherine?”

Lily sighed and turned again to the mirror. “Yes, I am afraid so.” She made very certain to keep her voice steady. “He sent his brothers to tell Father. Did you see them? One is a priest and the other…” What words could she find to describe Rogan?

Elspeth did not notice her falter. “Yes, I saw them. They were down in the hall when I came up, seated at the hearth.”

Jumping up, Lily asked urgently, “What were they doing? Was anyone with them?”

Elspeth’s puzzled expression was almost comical. “The two were by themselves, talking.”

Pacing, Lily exclaimed, “Oh, I am so restless!” She looked at her sister, deciding whether or not to confide her delirious excitement. She and Elspeth shared everything, but could a child understand the tumult of feeling that had suddenly taken possession of her?

She was saved from making the decision by the appearance of Catherine at the doorway. She was pale, appearing ghoulish in the flickering light cast by the wall sconces. Lines of strain showed around her pursed mouth. “Elspeth,” her clipped voice rang out The youngest Marshand started. “We did not see you at supper.”

“I was praying.” Elspeth’s answer was barely audible.

“And Lily,” Catherine continued, leveling a shriveling gaze at her sister. “You disgraced our family with your dress and your appalling blunder.”

The painful memory of mistaking Lord Rogan for the duke caught Lily off guard, though not for the sake of Catherine’s censure. What had Rogan thought of the mistake? Did he think her a fool?

Catherine said, “You made an utter idiot of yourself.”

Lily felt a deep flush of shame, hating herself for letting Catherine best her. She knew her hateful ploys, but that didn’t make her immune.

“Sister,” Elspeth said, her voice almost a whisper. “I am sorry to hear of your terrible news.”

With no overt movement of a single muscle, Catherine’s face transformed feature by feature into a mask of rage. Elspeth cringed, mewling a small noise that reached Lily’s ear and erased her self-preoccupation with a swell of protective anger. Lily stood and went to Elspeth’s side.

“Yes, little one,” Catherine said, her tone clipped and cool, betraying nothing. “It seems as though I will not be wed as planned.” Again, a shift so subtle it was more felt than seen. When she spoke, her eyes shone like twin blades, fierce and sharp. “But all is not lost. There are ways to turn misfortune to advantage.”

Lily stepped in front of her little sister, seeing one of Catherine’s moods brewing and knowing how Elspeth dreaded them. “Do not sow your mischief, Catherine. Lord Rogan is an honorable man. He has come to make amends.”

Catherine gave her a withering glare. “And he will.”

In a moment, she changed again, shifting her posture and giving Lily an assessing glance. By her expression, she apparently found her subject wanting. “While they are here, Lily, I do not want you embarrassing us any further. You do not seem to be able to conduct yourself properly. I think it would be wise if you kept busy in your chamber, or in the solar with the other ladies, studying your needlework.”

Lily narrowed her eyes and jammed her fist on one hip. “You are not Mother, Catherine. She would never have spoken to us so. She was kind and gentle and would not have liked in the least the way you rule this castle with an iron fist. I will not have you mistreating Elspeth. And I will certainly not hide myself away simply because you dislike me.”

“We shall see,” she said in a brittle voice.

As Catherine turned to leave, Lily crossed her eyes and curled her top lip in an exaggerated sneer, causing Elspeth to clamp a hand over her mouth in order to stifle a gasp.

“And don’t think I do not know you are making faces at me,” Catherine called as she disappeared down the hall.

Collapsing onto her bed, Lily flung her head back. “Lord, she is a trial!”

Elspeth looked warily at the door, as if fearful Catherine would reappear. When she did not, she came to Lily’s side and took her sister’s hand.

“She frightens me.”

Lily turned her head and looked lovingly at the child. “You must not let her, Elspeth.”

Elspeth was still doubtful. “She has such a terrible temper. I fear what she will do now. Catherine hates to be thwarted.” Her gaze darted to the door and she swallowed convulsively. “Remember our rabbits?”

Lily covered her sister’s hand, not able to stifle a shudder herself. When they were children, they had each been given a rabbit for a pet for the feast of Christ’s Mass. Catherine’s had fallen ill and died within days. She had been furious, claiming it was unfair. The next day, the other two rabbits were found dead in their pens.

“Do not think on that,” Lily soothed. “It was never proved that she killed those poor creatures. It could have been anyone. And even if she did do such a thing, she must certainly regret it. She has done nothing else to threaten a soul.”

“Except the servants,” Elspeth shivered. “Dory told me she came upon her talking to Kenneth in the kitchens, and went into a terrible fit of temper.”

Lily cut her off with a calm, steady voice. “Catherine can be harsh, it is true, but there is a difference between anger and harm.”

The denial sounded hollow in her own ears and Elspeth seemed less than convinced. Lily added, “Father will insure all is well.”

“With the aid of our Lord,” Elspeth murmured.

Lily stretched the tension from her muscles. “Of course. I am going for a walk. The night is cool, and I need some air.”

“You cannot! Catherine would be furious.”

“She will not know,” Lily said as she scampered off the bed and flew to the door. “And besides, I refuse to be intimidated by her silly commands. Good night, sweet sister.”

“Lily!” Elspeth whispered urgently, but she was already gone.

“I wish we were camping outside with the rest of the men instead of in this wretched place,” Andrew complained. “I keep expecting Marshand to appear at any moment, screeching his pent-up fury and wielding an ax aimed for our heads!”

Rogan shrugged in studied nonchalance. “No sense sleeping out in the heat when we can enjoy the cool solace of the castle.”

“‘Cool solace’ my arse, you have got your eye on the girl! The little flower, Lily. I saw you staring during supper.”

Rogan looked back blankly. “The girl? Could you mean the very one you tried so hard to charm?”

“I was not trying to seduce her, damn it all. I was trying to be congenial.”

“Admit it, you were enjoying it.”

“Naturally. She is a lovely girl. Enchanting, actually. Are you going to deny that you would have traded places with me?”

A dark look came over Rogan’s handsome features. “I had duty to think of.”

“Is it always duty with you, Rogan?”

Rogan didn’t answer. A pensive silence fell.

“You were successful, I take it,” Andrew said after a space.

“Hmm?”

“I was referring to Catherine. You won her over. I thought by the end of the evening she was going to positively devour you.”

“Aye,” Rogan said with a hint of disgust, “she does have the look of a predator.”

“She terrifies me, I am not ashamed to say. Her beauty is cold. And her eyes…they burn cold. Had you not noticed? Positively chilling. The sooner we are away, the better.”

Rogan rubbed the back of his neck. “There are things to be settled here first.”

“You mean the girl.”

“What girl?”

“Lily, of course. Don’t be so dense.”

Rogan lifted a casual brow. “She seemed pleasant enough. I admit that she did not escape my notice. But you can hardly think that I would be so foolish as to allow a distraction such as her.”

“Why not? Do you never think of what you want? Family obligation can be taken too seriously, you know.”

“Calm yourself, Andrew. You will age before your time,” Rogan said lightly. “It is hardly my habit to sniff around after virgins.”

“You could not keep from staring at her all during dinner.”

“Good God, brother, I am a man, and not a blind one at that. And I am not constrained to chastity as you are. I was merely appreciating the lass, for as I told you, she impressed me favorably.” Rogan sighed. “Yes, it is true. She is tempting.”

“And tempted. You were all she wanted to talk about.” Andrew was not dissuaded by Rogan’s impatient wave of his hand. “And not a half hour ago I saw her duck into the gardens. No doubt she walks among the scented roses—” Andrew’s voice lifted in an overly dramatic way reminiscent of a bard “—dreaming of true love.”

“She’d make a fine companion for Alex,” Rogan muttered. Then he raised his head. “In the garden, you say? How long ago?”

“Not even an hour.”

Rogan stared at his brother for a long time. Then he stood up and stretched. “I fancy myself a stroll in the garden. I have always enjoyed the outdoors just before retiring.” He hesitated, not sure in which direction the gardens lay.

He looked expectantly at Andrew, who held up a pointed finger. “That way,” he said.

Chapter Three

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?”

“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.

Chapter Four

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 the room.

“Good eve to you,” she said as she moved toward him. “I have come to help you with your bath.”

It was common custom that visitors be offered such service, but it was usually the married women who performed the honor of undressing and washing their guests. In the absence of such a person, it was conceivable that the eldest daughter would offer. However, Rogan’s instincts were instantly alerted.

He did not stop her when she placed her hands on the thick band of leather at his waist. He experienced a distinct revulsion at her touch, but he was wary. He had dealt this proud woman a crushing blow today, and he did not want to lose what ground he had gained toward keeping peace.

Her slim hands did their work and his belt came undone. She laid it carefully on the back of a chair by the tub. When she turned back to him, he saw the burning in her dark eyes and a tight smile played on her face.

Rogan groaned inwardly. There was no way for him to stop this without appearing rude. It was ironic that an able-bodied man such as himself would feel these trepidations with a mere woman, but there was something about this one that made his flesh crawl.

“I am relieved you and your family have chosen not to take exception to my brother’s brutish behavior.”

“What’s done is done.” Catherine pulled off his tunic and untied his undershirt. She was close to him and he could smell her cloying scent. It was making him mildly ill.

Her hands went to the ties of his leggings.

“Do you not think it would be best to remove my boots first?” he asked. Verily, was this woman so anxious to get into his braes she would leave him standing with them caught up around his knees?

She knelt to perform the duty, then stood to address the leggings once again. He was not a modest man, but he found he had an aversion to being viewed intimately by Catherine’s devouring eyes. When he was naked, he quickly stepped into the tub and picked up the soap.

“Nay, I shall do that for you, Lord Rogan.”

With a shrug, he handed it to her and she lathered up her hands and began to rub his chest.

Rogan pretended to relax, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “What can you tell me of your sister, Lily?”

The stroking stopped for a moment, then resumed. “Why do you ask about Lily?”

“I was curious. Has your family chosen someone for her to wed?”

“Lily is a pleasant girl. But she is young, and still unrefined. I have done my best with her, but she can be headstrong. As to her marriage prospects, I am sure my father shall have no difficulty finding someone suitable. When the time comes. It is traditional for the eldest to marry first. And it may be difficult to find someone after this scandal.”

“Rich enough.”

“Pardon me?”

“I said, rich enough. Certainly with a prize such as yourself, you would want to make the best possible liaison, am I correct? Another duke, perhaps?”

Catherine shrugged mildly. “I do not know. Certainly someone of good family. But I only received the news today of my betrothed…that the duke married another. But these are matters for my father.”

Her hands trailed down his chest. She rubbed his legs, stroking the washing rag over them each in turn.

“I tell you, I am most impressed with her,” he continued, pretending to be unperturbed by her ministrations.

Her voice betrayed her tension. “Let us not talk of her. Surely we can find something else more amusing for our conversation?” She was not going to be dissuaded by his lofty praise of her sister. “May I speak plainly, Lord Rogan?” she asked.

He was never to know what plain conversation she had planned, for it was then his chamber door opened. Andrew stood at the threshold.

“Ro—” he started, then stopped just inside the doorway, visibly taken aback by the scene before him.

Rogan called out to him pleasantly. “Come, Andrew, for I was just speaking to the Lady Catherine on her future prospects of marriage. Did you get a chance to discuss our family’s concerns with her when she attended you at your bath?”

There was a short silence, then Andrew said, “Ah, the Lady Catherine did not attend me in my bath—eh, that is to say, I had no bath.”

Catherine stood, finally flustered. “Well, there is only one tub, and you must understand that Lord Rogan, being the elder, was chosen to—”

“Nonsense, think nothing of it,” Andrew said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I rarely bathe anyway.”

Catherine hurriedly brought forth the drying linen when she saw Andrew settle into a chair, apparently determined to stay.

“If you will not be needing me any further this eve, I will see you on the morrow,” she said stiffly, and exited the room before Rogan could reply.

When the door had shut behind her, Rogan grunted, “That was close.”

“Afraid the lady would compromise your reputation, were you?” Andrew teased. “I must say that I am more than passing insulted. I would have very much liked a bath and a brisk rub!”

“It is cruel to tease me,” Rogan said dangerously. “I could barely stand the feel of those bony hands on my flesh with that feral gleam in her eye.”

“I will be glad to be away from this place. Enguerrand seems to have recovered well. But that woman. Do you think you can escape the attentions of Lady Catherine?”

Rogan didn’t answer. He climbed in bed and pulled the furs up over him. “I shall be safe. Douse the candle on your way out, will you? And relax, brother. If all else fails, I do have my sword.”

“My good fellow, it is something of a sword the woman is after!”

After breaking their fast the next morning, Rogan and Andrew were invited to accompany their host to the practice field where, he boasted, he would show them a fine display of fighting prowess.

Rogan stood quietly as he watched Enguerrand’s men go through their drills, working with swords and maces. Andrew, who was off a little ways behind Marshand, amused himself by rolling his eyes at the stumbling maneuverings of the soldiers, then offering facetious compliments. Rogan scowled in mute warning for him to stop, but Andrew merely smirked.

His mind wandered to Catherine. Andrew had been right when he had said that her obvious interest in him could be a problem. And there was Lily. Thoughts of their meeting last evening in the garden still made him smile. She was a strange girl. She was beautiful and proud and yet unassuming, so unlike her elder sister.

“What say you, Rogan?” Enguerrand said, and Rogan snapped back into awareness. He glanced over at Andrew who was wearing his usual expression of ill-concealed mockery, brows raised in expectation.

“What was that? I am afraid I was distracted for a moment.”

“Thinking twice, eh, St. Cyr?” Enguerrand hooted.

Andrew leaned forward. “He wants to know if you want to take a chance with one of his men.” He rolled his eyes. “Damn daunting challenge.”

Rogan ignored Andrew’s jest and considered the invitation. With all of this pent-up tension, swinging a sword would feel wonderful right now.

“Very good,” he said, and Enguerrand announced the match.

Rogan doffed his jerkin and shirt, surprising his host when he strolled onto the field bare chested.

“No chain mail?” Enguerrand asked Andrew.

Andrew shrugged. “Too hot. Rogan despises the heat.”

“But without the protection…”

Andrew smiled. “Not to worry. He’ll not receive a mark.”

Enguerrand frowned, a bit insulted.

Behind a large piling of crates and barrels at the edge of the practice field, Lily hunkered down out of sight. She peered around the comrnr of her hiding place, trying to keep herself concealed and at the same time get a clear view of the goings-on.

She must be mad, she told herself. If her father saw her he would be furious. Worse, if Rogan spied her scampering about like an urchin, she knew she would never survive the humiliation.

But she had to see him again.

She had not been able to stop thinking of him all last night. She had been sorely disappointed this morn when she had found her father had taken him off so early. When she learned he was to fight one of her father’s men, she could not have stayed away for all the riches of the Holy See.

As Rogan walked onto the field, stripped to the waist as he was, Lily dove deeper under cover. Her heart thundered in her chest as panic arose. He was half-naked!

Oh, she should run back while she still had the chance, steal into the solar where she was supposed to be, quietly sewing and gossiping with the other women. Aye, most certainly she had been foolish to give in to her impulses. She stood, firmly resolved.

But somehow, instead of going back to the keep, she crept closer, slipping behind a cart nearer to the perimeter of the field.

From here she could view everything much better. She was close enough to see the movement of muscle as Rogan swung the broadsword over his head to limber up. Fascinated, she noted the slight beading of perspiration glisten on bare flesh. She felt faint, closing her eyes to steady herself.

He was magnificent, more physically glorious than any hero of a bard’s tale. His arms were thick with sinewed definition, sculpted as perfectly as the god Hermes in the garden, and his chest was broad with a light furring of auburn to match his wild mane of hair. It spread across his skin, tapering to a trail over the flat stomach. He turned, his back flexing with each of his powerful movements. Bracing himself, legs apart, he nodded to his opponent that he was ready.

Lily almost gave away her hiding place when she saw who it was her father had chosen to face Rogan. Latvar the Dane—a huge, ugly monster of a man. He was by far her father’s most accomplished warrior, held in awe among the men for both his skill and merciless strength. As he approached, swinging his spiked mace, Rogan only waited with deadly calm.

They circled each other. Rogan’s movements were smooth, like some wild animal of prey stalking with deliberate care. Finally, Latvar swung, the whooshing sound of the mace slicing through the still air. Rogan ducked, avoiding the mace easily. Latvar swung again, but his blow was once more evaded.

Latvar’s war cry resounded and he lunged. Rogan maneuvered himself away from the brutal onslaught without a scratch. They circled again, wary, taking measure.

In a rage, Latvar hurled the mace aside and drew his own sword. To this invitation, Rogan raised his own weapon, swinging it over his head in an arc and bringing it down against the Dane’s. The deafening sound of steel against steel sounded out, making Lily start.

Latvar was larger, but Rogan was unbelievably quick. The Dane could not bring the sword back up fast enough to see each of Rogan’s swings. Lily saw Rogan unleash a barrage of blows that left his opponent backwheeling, panting and exhausted. When Latvar dropped to one knee, Rogan placed a booted foot on his chest, laying his blade gently against the thick neck.

Lily waited in tense anticipation as the two remained in perfect stillness before Latvar nodded, admitting defeat. Lily craned her neck to see her father’s reaction. Enguerrand’s face was red, his lips tight, but he only stared stonily at the Dane. Behind him, Andrew bounced on his heels, gloating.

What would her father do now? Lily wondered. Rogan inclined his head to Latvar and offered him a hand. Poor Latvar looked guiltily at his master. Enguerrand said something to the men and Andrew laughed and gave her father a good-natured slam on the back. He shrugged and turned away, stalking off toward the stables with Andrew sauntering behind.

The crowd that had gathered broke up. Rogan came over to the water barrel, which was perilously close to where Lily lay hidden. She shrank back, angry with herself for not stealing away. She should have left while she had the chance! She was very still, very quiet. Her pulse thumped wildly in her throat.

Taking up the dipper, he poured water over his shoulders and back. He tilted his head up, splashing his face and running wet hands through his hair.

“Well, are you not going to come out and congratulate me?” he asked casually, “or are you still angry with me for last night?”

Chapter Five

Closing her eyes, Lily wished fervently that her ears had deceived her, that Rogan had not discovered her in this humiliating position. After a minute, she rose and stood before him like a penitent child.

“Well?” he prodded. “Are you still angry?”

“N-no,” she stammered.

“I should not have been so boorish. It was rude of me to ask such an unseemly question. However, I could not resist, and sometimes when men and women are alone, strange things are said. Even stranger done. I suppose that is why fathers are so determined to keep their daughters locked away.” His eyes held a curious blend of sincerity and laughter. “Your father should take better care to keep you locked away, you know. Your freedoms, meager though they are, do tempt me.”

“Oh,” Lily said, surprised by this contrite statement. She had been afraid he would tease her.

“So, do you forgive me?”

“I do,” she agreed. Digging the toe of her slipper in the dirt, she added, “I suppose I overreacted a bit. But you took me by surprise.”

“What a shame, and when I was enjoying our conversation so much. I was sorry when you left.”

She eyed him speculatively. “Sometimes I think you mock me.”

“What?” he said, brows shooting up in surprise. “I, mock you? Why Lily, it is you who mock me to accuse me of being insincere. I speak my mind, though it might seem dense to you. But, I am only a soldier. I can only make the excuse that I am crude and unused to the company of ladies such as yourself.”

“Oh, you are far from crude. If you never thought yourself charming, then you do not know yourself as well as you think. And I believe you are adequately acquainted with the company of ladies.”

“But none such as yourself,” he qualified. “And I do admit I tease you. I confess I rather enjoy your reaction. There is so much pretense and posturing between men and women, and I have little tolerance for it. I like the way you are so honest in your responses.”

Feeling as though her breath had been stolen away by the unexpected compliment, Lily blushed. “I suppose I am to blame as well for our misunderstanding.” She shot him a mischievous look from beneath her lashes. “I have been warned to beware of gardens in the evening and serpent-tongued rogues.”

“So you think me a rogue, do you?” He laughed, as if that were the most ridiculous thing he ever heard.

The glow from last night was stealing over her again. She felt her earlier caution desert her. Tilting her head to one side, she gave him an assessing look.

“Once,” she said slowly, “when I was a child, some traveling troubadours and jugglers came to the castle. My mother was alive then, and she adored such entertainments. We had a celebration, a fair with exotic acts and sights. One of the attractions was a man from the East who wore no shirt and had a great linen wrapped around his head with a gigantic ruby in it. Catherine insisted it was merely glass, but I always liked to think that it was real. His skin was darker than the field workers. He would play his flute a certain way to make a snake rise up out of the basket he had with him. The snake was so enraptured by the song that it was rendered harmless. It did his bidding, and he played his flute to command the snake to rise and fall.”

Rogan looked at her. He was standing so close. He still had not replaced his shirt and his hair was still tousled and damp. He was so appealing. She was acutely aware of every aspect of his body. Something inside her ached, making the little distance between them almost painfully undesirable. Lily knew if he made a move to close the gap, she would not be able to recapture her indignation from last night. There was something pulling her toward him, and she was losing both her ability and her desire to deny it.

“Why do you tell me this tale?” he murmured.

“Because I sometimes feel with you that I am that snake and you are that man with the flute and…” She could not finish.

Rogan pulled his shirt over his head. When that was done, he explained, “I thought I had better minimize my similarity to the bare-chested Saracen.” His eyes were warm, those eyes that looked like a wolf’s. It made her shiver.

“You say the most astonishing things,” he murmured. “Do you not know the coquette’s teasing ways, the power of the great eyelash-flutter maneuver, how to purse your lips in a flattering pout?” At first, Lily thought he was admonishing her for her forwardness, but the gentle smile that played on his lips reassured her. “You do none of these things. And yet, you achieve their goal with greater acuity than the most accomplished flirt. For you, it is natural, and that makes it all the more alluring.”

His hand came up to touch her cheek with the lightest whisper of touch. Her mind was muddled; she could not think of what she should do in the face of such boldness.

“You have called me a rogue, and I have to admit I have given you cause to suspect as much. But I am no romancer.” He added with a laugh, “And I am no snake charmer.”

“I should not have said that. Catherine is forever chiding me for being too bold.”

“And yet,” he said, “I find it a most endearing quality.” He paused, as if searching for the exact words. “I do not play fast and loose with the ladies, and I am not trying to seduce you, Lily.”

“That is a relief,” Lily said, vaguely disappointed.

“Since you have always been so honest with me, I will return the favor.”

His hand was moving ever so slightly over her cheek and imperceptibly his face seemed to be coming nearer. She fastened her eyes on his mouth.

“I cannot say that I have ever found another to interest me as you do,” he said quietly.

“You say that you are no charmer, but you use flattery well.”

“Is it flattery? I was merely being honest. Honesty can flatter, when it is complimentary. I say neither any falsehood nor do I try to persuade you with my words. I simply want you to know.”

“Then you do not mean for this honesty of yours to draw me to you?” she asked.

“Does it?”

She paused. “You know it does.”

His head lowered, and he said softly, “I am glad,” just before his lips touched hers.

She had never been kissed before. Besides her fantasy heroes, there had never been anyone who would have inspired maidenly dreams of sweet, sweeping love. Therefore, she was sadly unprepared for the deep flare of sensation as Rogan St. Cyr’s lips touched hers.

She couldn’t know how much he held back. He really only brushed his mouth against hers, sensing her inexperience. But for Lily it was an instantaneous leaping of sensation within her, a trembling excitement that sprang up somewhere low in her belly and flowed like molten fire through her limbs. When he made to draw away, she let out a small sound of protest and leaned forward in a motion that told him that he should not retreat, not yet. He obliged, his pleasant chuckle rumbling in his chest as he drew her closer into the tight circle of his arms.

There was no telling what would have followed if not for the shrill sound of Catherine’s voice calling for Lily. It was like a dousing of ice, that voice, and it made Lily start and pull away. She stumbled back, staring wide-eyed at Rogan as if suddenly shocked at what they had done. Her hand came up to her mouth, touching scalded lips in wonder.

She watched as his brows drew down, his expression changed to one of annoyance.

“Lily!” The call came again.

“She cannot find me here with you!” Lily whispered.

“Lily, calm down. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Rogan urged.

“There you are!” Catherine called. Lily whirled around to find her sister standing only a few feet away. In an instant, Catherine’s eyes flickered over her, then darted to Rogan.

As if smelling Lily’s fear, her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing out here? You are supposed to be in the solar. Get back at once.”

Flushed and confused, Lily looked from one to the other. She pressed her hands to her face, backwheeling before turning to run into the keep.

Rogan watched Catherine glare after her younger sister, witnessing the unveiled moment of pure malice before she composed her face and turned back to him.

“Has my sister been bothering you, Lord Rogan?” she said smoothly. “I swear, I despair of her sometimes. She is such a child, and a bit unruly. I must speak to Father about her. We cannot have her pestering our guests in this manner.”

Rogan shrugged. “Lily was not bothering me. Do not trouble yourself.” As he made to brush past her, he said, “If you will excuse me—”

“Lord Rogan!” Catherine interrupted. “There is something I wish to discuss with you. I have been thinking on your family’s debt to me.”

Rogan stopped and turned slowly. “Debt? I am not aware we owed you any debt. No money had exchanged hands.”

“I was thinking more of a debt of decency,” she explained. “On account of my having been so mistreated by your brother.”

“I thought that issue was settled,” Rogan said tightly.

“My father and I were counting on the marriage to the duke. You cannot know what humiliation this has caused me. We had told our friends. When they learn of what has happened, there will be great scandal. I feel it is very unfair for my reputation to be stained so, especially when I have done nothing to deserve it.”

Rogan watched her carefully Instincts told him that. under the carefully groomed exterior, Catherine was as crafty as a fox. There was a vague threat here, one that did not escape his notice.

“I would think that your family would wish to make amends,” she said.

“That is why I am here. My brother’s choice of wife is as unfortunate for us as it is for you. I have no more love of scandal than you, Lady Catherine.”

She lowered her lashes. A calculated gesture, he was sure. An airy sigh issued from her ruby-red lips. “I know this has been difficult for you. I can see how much you desire to avoid ill feelings between your family and ours. My father sees it, as well. Yet, the matter still remains the same.”

Although he was irritated, Rogan forced himself to be calm. “Yes, it is true. You have been wronged, lady, and nothing I can do will change that.”

Her eyes sparkled at his kind words. Her posture changed, losing its rigidity and a beguiling smile appeared. “I am pleased you accepted my father’s invitation to stay,” she said.

Rogan nodded. “Yes, for a while.”

The smile deepened, but her eyes remained cold. “That is most gratifying. I think you shall enjoy our hospitality.”

“You have already been most gracious.” The compliment almost stuck in his throat. Remembering Andrew’s tactics the previous day, he added, “You have much cause for insult, no one would argue with that, but you have responded quite generously. I hope my family will be able to remain in your charitable esteem.”

She inclined her head at the praise. Rogan fought his irritation at this regal gesture.

“We shall see you at supper, then,” she said. “Father has planned some diverting entertainments. Good day, Lord Rogan.”

When she was gone, Rogan raked his hand viciously through his hair. What was she about? She had reminded him of the injustice done her, a way to hold sway over him because of it She wanted something, but he could not yet see what it was. Puzzled, Rogan mulled it over.

Damnation! he swore silently. The delicacy of this situation strained his meager skills at subtlety and intrigue, and rankled his pride. Andrew was right—Alexander should be here to prostrate himself for Marshand’s pardon. The mental image of his arrogant elder brother in such a state made him smile, then he shrugged off his resentment

It was done. And after all, it had occasioned him to meet the Lady Lily. He could never be sorry about that.

Catherine was aware of Rogan’s growing fondness for her sister, and it did not please her.

Very soon after Rogan’s arrival, Catherine’s cunning mind had begun to formulate a plan. At first, it was merely for retribution, but as it took shape and grew in proportion, Catherine knew she must have Rogan for her own.

Oh, he was marvelous. He was like no other male she had ever encountered, and she wanted him with a desire she had never before known. But she was not about to settle just for a second son, no matter how magnificent the man. And she knew of a way she would not have to settle at all. She could get everything that she wanted. Everything she had a right to. A rich, handsome husband. And the duchy.

After all, accidents happened all the time, didn’t they? Even to the Duke of Windemere. Misfortune could easily befall Alexander, leaving Rogan to inherit the title.

It would be relatively simple to arrange. As for the wife, the cherished little merchant’s daughter, she would be no obstacle. And if she were with child already, so much the better. Countless women and their infants were lost during a difficult birthing.

Oh, it was a lovely plan. And it would work.

Pausing by the looking glass in her chamber, she stared at her reflection. What in the world could the man see in stupid little Lily? Was she, Catherine, not the greater beauty? It was she, not Lily, who deserved Rogan. She had always known she was destined for greatness. Even as a child. Her mother had tried to dissuade her of her superiority, but she had only made Catherine hate and pity the foolish woman’s lack of insight. When she had died, it was a relief. Without a moment of grief, Catherine had easily assumed her mother’s position in the family and went to work, preying on her father to secure her a future worthy of her.

She would not allow herself to be cheated of it now.

Her door opened and a dark-haired man slipped into her chamber. Catherine did not turn around. He came up behind her, slipping her arms about her waist and pulling her stiff body up against his.

“Ah, you are so tense, ma chérie,” he whispered into her ear. Annoyed, Catherine turned away, but he pulled her back roughly. He chuckled. “You are in a mood. Does Phillippe not know how to soothe you when you are like this?”

Despite his smooth words, his hand crudely slipped between her legs. Catherine stiffened but did not push him away.

“You called for me,” Phillippe purred. “You need me tonight.”

His hand began to move in a rhythmic motion, and gradually Catherine relaxed against him. “Ah, that is good to relieve what is on your mind.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes,” Catherine snapped. She tugged off her own dress, carelessly casting aside the expensive garment and her costly jewels. She stood by the fire and watched Phillippe come to her. When he took her in his arms, she closed her eyes. Instead of his swarthy complexion, she envisioned a more bronze tone. Broader shoulders, thicker arms, hair a rich russet and eyes the haunting gray of the wolf. Tonight she would let Phillippe bring her body relief, but in her mind it would be Rogan making love to her.

Enguerrand Marshand was not a stupid man. He had many faults, and to his credit he was even aware of most of them, but lack of mental acuity was not one. Thus, he was well aware of his eldest daughter’s calculating nature. In fact, he quite approved of it most of the time. She took after him in many regards, and he liked to think that her shrewdness was one of them.

He was also aware of her cruelty, but he preferred to think of it as more a lack of sensitivity. That quality he did not lay claim to. He did not approve of it, but he accepted it as part of Catherine. No one was perfect, after all.

Pride was taken in the sweet blessing of Elspeth. Another man might resent the third of a trio of daughters most of all; the last chance at a son and heir gone. But Enguerrand doted on his youngest. She was an extraordinary child, had been since birth. Serene, with a wisdom beyond her years yet ever innocent, he cherished her. As much as he loved her, he could not bear to grant her only wish. To send Elspeth to the convent would be to lose the only joy in his life.

As for Lily, he gave his middle daughter little thought. She had always been stubbornly independent, not anything like his beloved Elspeth. Nor was she cunning like himself, like Catherine. She was more like his wife, whom he had married in accordance with his parents’ wishes and never understood. So, he had mostly left Lily alone, trusting Catherine to see to her rearing, and never really giving her much thought.

Which was why he was so surprised when Rogan asked to marry her.

Catherine wanted him. She had come to him and said she would take Rogan as husband. Knowing well the machinations of his daughter’s nimble mind, he sensed that she had strong reasons for wanting the match, and so he had agreed.

What he had never considered was that Rogan would not want Catherine. When Enguerrand broached the subject, Rogan simply said, “I must decline.”

Enguerrand pressed him for an explanation, but the man only shrugged, offering only that Catherine was not to his liking.

Enguerrand grew irate. “You insult me, St. Cyr. Your brother deals dirty with me, now you refuse to make the matter right. Good God, you had the gall to best the Dane. Do you not even have the decency to lose to your host’s champion?”

“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

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.”