A Rose in Winter (51 page)

It was the housekeeper's gentle persistence that hastened Erienne on her way and brought her downstairs to the hall before too much time had elapsed. She had dallied in her morning bath, hoping Christopher would lose patience and leave, but beyond the velvet drapes of the alcove, Aggie had bustled about the bedchamber in high good spirits, spreading up the bedcovers that had been folded down but left undisturbed through the night. Between Aggie and Tessie, a crisp, pale pink silk with a delicately trimmed white lawn fichu was selected. The housekeeper's haste infected the maid, whose hands flew as she plied the brush enthusiastically to her mistress' glistening black locks. In hardly any time at all Erienne's hair was dressed in a soft, charming coiffure that was swept off her nape, and she was ready to meet the one who turned her life inside out.

Despite the enthusiastic compliments of the two women, Erienne felt utterly unprepared for her meeting with Christopher. She desperately wanted to be secure in her fully acquired status of wife, but there was a nagging memory that worried her and made her reluctant to face him. Even in the heat of her passion, when everything was coming together from the ends of the earth toward that moment of bliss, an elusive scent had wafted through her head, filling her mind with brief glimpses of his chiseled profile.

She paused in the tower to gather her composure, though nothing seemed to slow the outrageous beat of her heart. Numbly she stared at a puddle of water that remained after some careless foot had tracked snow into the entry. It was as if she were blind to its presence, for her mind was bound up with the man who waited in the common room. She was atremble at the idea of confronting him, and her consternation would have been no worse if their passion had ended in the yielding of her virginity. The blush of shame was hot on her cheeks, and no comforting thought came to relieve her of the memory of their moments together in the coach.

When she entered the common room, she found him seated before the fire in Lord Saxton's chair, his long legs stretched out before him. She moved toward him, and he quickly rose to stand and watch her. There was a small quirk of a puzzled smile on his lips, and though his gaze ranged the full length of her, it lacked the roguish gleam that had at other times brought a vivid hue to her cheeks.

"I had... hoped you would be gone by now," she commented unsteadily.

"I waited to see you, my lady," he murmured.

Erienne glanced away in nervous apprehension. His warm, masculine voice never failed to bring her senses alive. "There was no need for you to, Christopher. The night past has ended, and nothing more will come of it. I am... I am distressed that I might have somehow encouraged you to forget yourself, but you have my promise that it won't happen again."

"Is it truly the beast you prefer, Erienne?" he asked soberly.

"I care for Lord Saxton," she said in desperation, tears welling up in her eyes. Fists clenched against the silken folds of her skirt, she faced him and spoke almost pleadingly. "He is my husband. I will not bring shame to bear upon him or the Saxton name!"

Choking off a sob, she pressed the back of her hand against her quivering mouth and turned aside. He moved to stand close behind her and leaned over her shoulder, speaking in a hushed tone as she angrily wiped at the dampened lashes.

"Don't cry, my sweet," he entreated. "I cannot bear to see you distressed."

"Then go away," she begged. "Go away and leave me alone."

His brows came together in a troubled frown. "For the life of me, my love, I can't do that."

"Why not?" She faced him with the question.

His gaze dropped and he stared at the floor in thoughtful concentration for a long moment. When he looked at her again, his gaze was direct and unflinching. "Because I have fallen in love with you."

Jolted by his words, Erienne stared at him in stunned silence. How could it be? He was a man of the world, well acquainted with conquests and easy victories. He was no unseasoned lad who gave his heart to the first fair damsel who smiled at him. What had she done to gain this distinction? For the most part she had been stubborn and willful, suspicious of his intentions. How could he love her?

"We will not speak of it," she murmured in ragged desperation.

"Will not speaking of it soothe the hurt?" he asked. He began to pace the room in growing vexation. "Dammit, Erienne, I have followed you from one end of this country to the other, played every hand I could just to get you to consider me as a man, but my efforts have all been for naught. You still regard me as some evil monster who has cruelly abused your family. You'd rather take a beast to your breast and nurture him with the sweet joys of wedlock than consider me as a fit husband. Am I mad? Can you tell me why a sane man would tag upon your skirts, hoping to garner the smallest crumb of affection while you feed the cake to that most unsightly of men? If you think I am not jealous of your husband, let me assure you, madam, you are wrong! I hate that mask! I hate that twisted leg! I hate that heavy cane! He has what I want, and silence on the matter will
not
make that vetch any sweeter!"

A rattle of dishes warned of a servant's entry into the hall, but Christopher was incensed, and half turning with a growl, he gestured Paine back.

"Get out of here, man!"

"Christopher!" Erienne gasped and took two halting steps to follow the befuddled servant, but Christopher came around to face her with a glare.

"Stay where you are, madam! I am not finished with you."

"You have no right to give orders here," she protested, her own ire growing. "This is my husband's house!"

"I'll give orders when and where I damn well please, and for once, you will stand and listen until I'm through!"

More than a trifle outraged herself, Erienne hurled back her answer. "You may command the men on your ship to your will,
Mister
Seton, but you have no such authority here! Good day to you!"

Catching up her skirts, she whirled and stalked toward the tower until she heard the sound of rapid footsteps coming behind her, then a sudden panic seized her that he would make such a scene that she would not be able to face the servants ... or her husband. She raced into the entry, stepping over the puddle, and took to the stairs, forcing every bit of strength she could into her limbs. She had barely gained the fourth step when she heard sliding feet, a loud thump, and then a painful grunt followed by an angry curse. When she whirled, Christopher was just coming to rest in a heap against the wall after sliding across the floor, partway on his back. For a moment she stared aghast at the dignified man sprawled in a most undignified manner, but when he raised his head to look at her with barely contained rage, she was struck by the humor of it all. Bubbling laughter broke forth, winning from him a dark scowl of exasperation.

"Are you hurt, Christopher?" she asked sweetly.

"Aye! My pride has been mightily bruised!"

"Oh, that will mend, sir," she chuckled, spreading her skirts to perch primly on the step above him. Her eyes danced with a lively light that was simply dazzling to behold. "But you should take care. If such a modest spot of water can bring you down so abruptly, I would not advise sailing beyond these shores."

" 'Tis not a spot of water that's brought me down, but a waspish wench who sets her barbs against me at every turn."

"You dare accuse me when you come in here huffing and snorting like a raging bull?" She gave a throaty, skeptical laugh. "Really, Christopher, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You frightened Paine and nearly made me swallow my heart."

"That's an impossibility, madam, for that thing is surely made of cold, hard steel."

"You're pouting," she chided flippantly, "because I have not fallen swooning at your feet."

"I'm angry because you continually deny the fact that you should be my wife!" he stated emphatically.

Footsteps on the stairs behind Erienne made them glance up. Aggie came nonchalantly down the steps, seeming unaware of Christopher's storm-dark frown. Excusing herself, she stepped past her mistress. Finally, on reaching level footing, she contemplated the man, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. "Aren't ye a wee bit old ter be takin' yer leisure on the floor, sir?"

He raised a brow at Erienne as that one smothered a giggle, and with a snort, got to his feet and brushed off his breeches and coatsleeve. "I see that I gather no sympathy here, so I shall leave you both to fare as you might with Lord Saxton."

"Don't go away angry, sir," Aggie cajoled. "Ye haven't eaten yer meal. Stay and dine with the lovely mistress here."

Christopher gave a low grunt of derision. "No doubt I will find warmer companionship at the Boar's Inn."

Erienne raised her head. The idea that he might seek out solace from Molly's arms upset her and filled her with a roweling jealousy. An image of his long, muscular form entrapped by the twining limbs of that lusty wench made Erienne's heart sink sickeningly. She could not bear the thought of him making love to another woman, even though only a few hours ago she had given herself to her husband. Her cheeks grew flushed at the conflict that raged within her, and she struck out in anger.

"Then go!" she cried. "And be quick about it! Hopefully I will forget that you even exist!"

Christopher frowned at her sharply as Aggie slipped away quickly and discreetly. "Is that what you really want?" he demanded. "Never to see me again?"

"Aye, Mr. Seton!" The words burst out in bitter ire, and she felt no urge to halt them. "That is the way of it!"

He swore silently before he growled, "If that is what the lady desires, then that is exactly what she shall have!"

He yanked open the door and in two strides he was out, slamming it behind him. Tears welled in Erienne's eyes, and she muffled a sob as she flew up the stairs to her room, there to copy his manner by flinging shut the portal.

Erienne's rare fit of temper left the servants exchanging worried glances. The mistress had never raised so much as a brow in reprimand to any of them. Whenever a problem arose, she had always addressed the matter with quiet yet unmistakable authority. Thus, when the word got around that she had ordered the gentleman, Mr. Seton, from the house, it caused more than a few mouths to gape. Paine served her the noon meal with a questioning uncertainty, not daring to encourage her to taste the fare that she readily pushed aside. Even Aggie seemed dismayed, though in the morning she had appeared quite cheery after cleaning the master's chambers. The maids who usually did that particular chore had been shooed off without explanation to some other portion of the house. Though the housekeeper gave the servants little time to discuss these happenings, worried conjectures still began to flit about the manor. The presence of such a man as Christopher Seton in the manse was certainly something to talk about, especially when he had sent Paine fleeing from the hall. And, of course, they could only wonder what he had done to cause Lady Saxton's vexation.

That particular spur drove Erienne to seek a walk in the cool air beyond the dark and silent walls of the manse. The sun had made a rare and brilliant appearance, dispensing with much of the snow that had fallen during the night as it continued its flight across the sky. Though large patches of white remained huddled behind protecting walls and shrubs, stepping-stones were now visible, bordering a small, overgrown garden that lay between the main house and the tumbled eastern wing.

Erienne paused on the path to take in deep gulps of the icy breeze that stung her cheeks. She needed its bracing coolness to clear her head and perhaps mend the tattered shreds of her emotions. She was distressed that she could not discipline her thoughts and banish Christopher from her mind. She wanted desperately to hold fast to the bliss she had shared with Lord Saxton, but invading images, combining the moments in her husband's bed with those in the coach, kept flashing through her consciousness, viciously attacking the goal of faithfulness she had set for herself. The impossible yearnings of her heart clashed against her will, and the battle raged in a desperate but fruitless struggle.

Sadly she recognized the path that was laid out for her in life, that one of honor, and though it would mean a severe wounding of that vital organ that throbbed achingly in her chest, she would do what was right. The die was cast. She was Lord Saxton's wife. She had made a commitment.

Petulantly Erienne kicked at a small pebble in front of her. It bounced along, leading her gaze to a spot near the wall where a bit of color broke the monotony of the snow and the dull grays and dead browns of a tangle of brush. There, trembling forlornly in the breeze, was a tiny blood-red rose. The bush was small and weak, bearing a single blossom that by some miracle had brought its beauty into winter's midst.

Almost in awe Erienne cupped the fragile bloom between her hands and bent low to catch the delicate fragrance that wafted from its crimson-hued petals. From a time long ago, when her dreams had held such grand illusions of a prince offering a single rose to vow his love to his lady fair, she recalled a legend that a rose found in winter brought the promise of true love found.

Erienne touched the delicate petals, and for a moment she held a vision of a silver-helmed knight who bore beneath his gleaming visor an all too familiar face. In the illusion he fought with singular purpose to rescue her from her fate and in so doing became her victor, her only love. He leaned near to take her in his arms, then the silver-helmed knight was gone, dissipated in the chill breeze that swept the garden, forever banished from her sight.