Authors: Teresa Medeiros
Gareth rolled his eyes. The man sprawled at Blaine's feet smeared kisses all over his boots.
"Begone, Jack," Blaine said soothingly. "Before we condemn any man to hanging, 'tis best to examine the motives that drove him to such desperation. Especially on Easter," he added with a benevolent smile at Rowena.
At the threat of hanging, the man began to grovel anew. Eggshells cracked beneath him as he crawled toward Rowena and began to kiss the damask hem of her skirts. Gareth was beginning to wonder if Blaine had paid the man for this stomach-turning performance.
"I beseech you, milady," the stranger whined. "Intercede for me with your noble husband.
I
throw myself upon your kind and gentle mercy." He clawed his way up Rowena's skirts and raised his head.
The change in Rowena's expression should have warned Gareth. His eyes widened as she jerked her skirt out of the man's hands. Her foot came down on his fingers with enough force to elicit a strangled yelp. The man scuttled backward. Blaine's mouth fell open as Rowena stalked him, stamping on whatever appendage she could reach as if the man were a spider that had crawled out of the wainscoting.
"I will give you gentleness," Rowena hissed. "I will give you kindness. I will show you the same mercy that you showed me when I crawled to you, half-starved and begging for sanctuary."
Gareth caught the man by the scruff of his tunic collar and lifted him out of Rowena's reach. The man slowly twirled until he faced the knight. Gareth gave a chilling smile, all of his noble ideas forgotten.
As Lindsey Fordyce dangled between Gareth's smile and Rowena's flashing eyes, he choked out to Blaine, "Hang me, sir. Please."
"Now, Rowena, are you not being a trifle bit hard on Uncle Lindsey?"
Rowena burrowed her face deeper in the pillow, her hands clenched into fists. Whose idea had it been to send Irwin in to cajole her? Either Marlys or Gareth was capable of such perversity.
"Leave me alone," she said, her voice thick from crying. "I hope Blaine hangs him."
Irwin lifted a strand of her hair and peered with concern at her reddened nose. "Not much chance of that with such a staunch champion as Sir Gareth. Why he has done everything but give him the clothes off his back! You should see your papa right now, garbed like a king, entertaining Sir Gareth with woeful tales of his misfortune."
"Then I hope Blaine hangs Gareth."
Irwin sighed and his hand stroked the nape of her neck. "Odd to think, if things had been different, you and I might have shared a bed like this."
That got Rowena's attention. She dove out of the bed and slid down the wall to a sitting position, crossing her arms over her scanty chemise.
Irwin shrugged " 'Tis just as well. Since we are cousins, our children might have been cursed with four arms or been addle-witted."
"Or fat," Rowena added maliciously.
Irwin just smiled. "Listen, Ro. Listen to what you're missing."
He cocked his head. The rumble of distant laughter rolled up through the floor. A steady drumbeat swelled, intertwined with the piping of the hautboys and the siren song of a lute.
Rowena rubbed her swollen eyes. They felt as though she had salt beneath her lids. "I won't do it. I refuse to come down until Easter is over or Papa is gone, whichever comes first. I cannot bear to see him and Gareth with their heads together. 'Twas humiliating enough to have Gareth welcome him as if he was his own prodigal papa. Poor Papa. He won't know Gareth has severed his head until he's walking around with it in his hands."
Irwin laid across the bed and propped his chin on the heels of his hands. "Gareth was asking Uncle Lindsey a lot of questions. They were discussing your betrothal."
"Have they found me a suitably decrepit knight?"
"Several names were bandied about."
She stared at the floor. Emotions sifted like sand across her face. When she raised her eyes, there was more of slate in them than blue. "Perhaps I should go down and find out how sincere Gareth is about being rid of me."
Irwin gave her arm a friendly cuff. "That's my girl." He rolled off the bed. "If you decide to tell them all to go to hell in a handcart, I'll still marry you."
After he had gone, Rowena went to the basin and splashed cold water in her stinging eyes. Her face was still dripping when she knelt to unlatch the leather straps of her trunk. As she pawed through its contents, the silken coif fell to the floor. She stared at it for a long moment before tucking it into the bodice of her chemise.
If Gareth wanted to welcome her papa to Ardendonne for some inscrutable reason, then welcome him she would, but he had best be prepared to answer as many questions as he asked.
Gareth swirled his wine in the bottom of his chalice, catching a glimpse of his own bored countenance in its depths. He quirked his lips, experimenting with a new expression as Lindsey Fordyce regaled him for the fifth time with the tale of woeful luck that had brought him crawling to Rowena's feet.
Slithering
, Gareth amended under his breath. The forced smile only made him look sick. He abandoned it and drained the chalice, savoring the last tart drop on his tongue. As Fordyce polished off his sixth chalice of burgundy wine, a sympathetic murmur or nod was all it took to keep him talking.
The round, blue eyes that had once reminded him of Rowena's were laced with red. Drops of spittle hung on his heavy lips. If the man was stupid enough to be taken in by Gareth's pretense of genteel concern, it was a miracle Rowena hadn't been born a drooling idiot.
And Rowena was no idiot. He could still feel the sting of the look she had given him when he had taken her papa under his wing.
Fordyce droned on, sputtering something about a rabid bear who had robbed him in the forest. He had only stopped at Ardendonne for a little food for his journey to Caerleon. Word of his daughter's good fortune had reached him, and he had hastened to rush to her side to share in her joy. Gareth's blunt fingers pounded out a rhythm on the scarred table as Mortimer's lutestrings soared into throbbing melody. He should have known it was Rowena's good fortune that would lure Fordyce into his trap, not her ill treatment. He had been a fool to believe otherwise.
Dancers clasped hands, sweeping past Gareth in a dizzying funnel of color. Marlys galloped through their lines, gleefully hurling both ladies and men out of her path. Irwin stumbled helplessly after her, vanishing into the twirling arms of the carol, a twitching tail to Marlys's kite. Blaine spun Lady Alise in their midst, his slender hands leaving hers only long enough to clap out a crisp cadence to match the drums.
Fordyce slapped the table with his pudgy hands like a great overgrown baby. Fearful of losing his attention to the seductive swiri of color and music, Gareth grabbed the flagon and poured a fresh stream of wine into the man's chalice.
The wine swelled over the goblet's rim as Rowena appeared on the stairs. The deep red velvet of her high-waisted kirtle was gathered below her breasts and secured with a gold chain. Her hair fell away from her face in soft wheaten wings to be caught in a filigree crespine at her nape. In contrast to the delicate lemons and dusty blues flitting about in the dance, Rowena glowed like, a pale ruby lit by a fire from within.
Gareth jumped to his feet, biting off a curse as the wine found a crack in the table and dribbled onto his knee. He swiped at his hose. Rowena was a distraction he could ill afford if he hoped to wring any truth from her loquacious father.
"Rowena, my angel!"
Fordyce lurched forward, then recoiled as his aching knuckles reminded him that her earlier greeting had held more violence than warmth. Gareth took the opportunity to shove him back in his chair.
"Papa!"
Everyone gaped as the charming minion of the dark lord flung herself down the stairs and toward the long table, trailing belled sleeves that rippled between the feet of the dancers like velvet snakes. She sidestepped Gareth with tidy grace and threw herself into her father's lap.
Lindsey Fordyce cringed, but when she began to smother his fuzzy pate with the tenderest of kisses, he realized this was not some new attack and clutched her to his breast. Drunken tears spilled down his red-veined cheeks. Gareth realized with a jolt that whatever his many faults, a part of Lindsey Fordyce truly loved his only daughter. His hands clenched into fists. He could not help but feel betrayed at the sight of them cheek to cheek, their blond heads blended in a single mist of gold. He half-expected Elayne's specter to appear behind them, jeering at his arrogance for believing he could ever break the bonds of their charmed circle.
The crowd demonstrated its approval of the tender sight with a smattering of applause. Mortimer launched into a gentle ballad. As the minstrel's eyes met Gareth's, a dark message passed between them. Mortimer's blond head lowered in imperceptible acknowledgment.
Blaine appeared behind Gareth like a mischievous gamin. " 'Tis not every day our jaded spirits are witness to such a tender reunion. Touching, is it not?"
"Dazzling," Gareth replied.
"Dear, dear, Papa," Rowena crooned. "I pray you will forgive me for my earlier tantrum. I was overwrought and quite beside myself." She smoothed his tunic and reached in her chemise for a scrap of silk to dry his tears with. "Once I had some time to examine my actions, I was appalled by their unfairness. I am your child. 'Tis not mine to judge you. Say you will forgive me. I shall surely die for want of it."
Fordyce burped happily and patted her rump. "There now, lass, you know I've never been able to stay angry at my girl. There'll be no more talk of dying now. Life's a peach. We've each other and a full flagon of wine." He frowned into the flagon, mystified to find it nearly empty. He mopped his forehead with the kerchief Rowena had given him. "Best of all, child, your kind knight has offered me consolation and companionship this Easter feast."
Fordyce beamed up at Gareth. Ignoring Gareth's scowl, Rowena looped an arm around her father's neck. "Beware, Papa. His consolation is a rose with venom-tipped thorns, worthy of more caution than another man's enmity."
Fordyce waved the kerchief at Gareth. "Always was fond of the lad. Taught him how to dice, I did."
"I should have known," Rowena said smoothly.
Gareth frowned, his gaze fixed on the scrap of silk bouncing beneath his nose. He reached for it, hypnotized by the tantalizing motion. The sheen of the torchlight reflecting off the silk caught Fordyce's attention at the same moment. He pulled it back, smoothing it with reverent fingers.
With a lopsided smile, Fordyce dropped the scrap on Rowena's head. "There. It looks as lovely on your little curls as it did the day Dunnla stitched it for you." Before Gareth could stop him, he held up his goblet for her to use as a mirror.
Gareth watched over her shoulder as Rowena's gaze slowly shifted to her reflection. She reached out a finger and touched the polished silver. Blond hair. Blue eyes swollen to sultry fullness from crying. A ridiculous scrap of fabric on her head. The goblet threw back her reflection in painful clarity as she came face to face with Elayne de Crecy's daughter. Gareth held his breath, waiting for her to toss the contents of the goblet into his face.
Rowena hiccuped with the echo of a giggle, addressing her reflection. "Oh, God. At least he didn't bury me in the orchard."
Gareth wanted to take her in his arms, but knew he didn't dare leave Fordyce tripping along the dark paths of his memory alone. He might not be given another chance. If he could clear the de Crecy name enough to give it to Rowena as his bride, there would be years and years to plead for her forgiveness.
Blaine stamped his feet impatiently as Mortimer's fingers flew over the strings in rollicking rhythm. "Come, milady. If it suits your papa, we shall celebrate this reconciliation with a dance."
Gareth snatched Rowena up and thrust her into Blaine's arms. She was as limp as a rag doll. "Her papa and I have not finished our dealings. Take her."
Blaine smiled wickedly. "With pleasure."
As Blaine swung Rowena into the dance, her face broke into a fiercely radiant smile. Gareth sank into his chair, stroking his beard and wondering what she was up to now.
Lindsey Fordyce patted his thighs absently as if surprised to find them empty. His gaze followed Rowena through the dancers with wistful hunger. Gareth watched the man's face with something akin to pity, praying his own need for the girl did not show so blatantly.
There was a primitive grace to Rowena's dance, a tantalizing hint of the moor creature she had been. Gareth's hands fisted as Blaine pressed his lips to her nape. His tension was not relieved by the coy glance Rowena gave Blaine when they once again came face to face.
Fordyce lifted the brimming chalice to his lips, his hands trembling as if palsied. "She puts one in mind of her mother, does she not?"
Gareth drew in a breath, not daring to move. At first, he believed that treacherous thought had fallen from his own lips. Fordyce was blithely nodding in time to the music.
"Does she now?" Gareth said lightly, the cost of the casual question betrayed by the rhythmic tic in his jaw.