Dark Splendor (12 page)

“None,” Morgan answered bluntly, easing the
black up alongside her mare and smiling at Silvia with an air of
self-confidence.

She returned his smile, glad he had come
along when he did. He had prevented her from having to contemplate
further the dangerous attraction she felt for his brother. Had he
known and had he come to save her from that fate? Surely he knew
his brother well enough to guess what awaited her if she rode with
him alone. She realized Morgan had a genuine concern for her honor
and well-being.

She heard Roman’s shout for them to follow.
Trader’s big hooves tore at the ground, sending a wake of grass and
dirt behind him. She and Morgan spurred their horses to a canter,
and when they had cleared the trees, saw Roman resting Trader and
waiting for them at the top of a rise about a quarter mile from the
castle. His mood had changed and he was good-natured to Morgan for
the rest of the ride.

Sunshine beamed mildly down on them as they
rode over the eastern part of the island. They passed the
canefields and the high stone towers of the sugar mills. The three
of them laughed and talked. Silvia asked questions about the estate
and was surprised to learn both Roman and Morgan were knowledgeable
about all phases of the agriculture and production. They had as
great a love for the lands of Schlange Island as they did for the
sea.

Roman showed her an area near the marshes
where Eric was experimenting with rice production. The ground was
laced with little furrows holding the water in, and green stalks
rose out of the mirrorlike pools in promise of a good crop.

The brothers lapsed into silence and the
three of them had ridden about an hour when they came to a low area
that was flat and grassy and flanked by a series of hills. They
pulled up the horses beside a little stream that trickled its way
to the sea. Silvia dismounted to stretch her legs. She was
beginning to feel an aching stiffness in her limbs. It had been
years since she had ridden, but the thrill of being on horseback
again was exhilarating and she did not wish to complain and cut
short the ride.

“I’ll race you to the pond over the hill,”
Roman challenged Morgan. His eyes shone with enthusiasm. “There’s
gold on it.”

“You know that plowhorse can’t outrun the
black.” Morgan’s voice was calm but the eagerness slipped through
to his face.

“Today I think he can,” Roman responded
confidently. “Trader’s in great form and that nag is looking
colicky.”

Morgan sat up straight in the saddle. “He’s
sound as a rock and you’ll be emptying your pockets when it’s
over.”

Silvia laughed gaily. She had spent enough
time with them now to know their bantering was good-natured. Even
though a strong boyish rivalry had persisted into manhood, she
could detect the depth of their affection for one another.

“Wait here,” Roman told her.

He stroked Trader on his shoulder and leaned
forward to whisper something in the horse’s ear. Trader snorted and
pawed the earth as if he understood his master’s commands.

“This won’t take long,” Roman called to
Silvia.

She could see the tensing of muscles in both
riders and horses as Morgan brought the black alongside Trader.
They exchanged a few brief words, setting as a marker a tree near
the pond.

The horses danced in place as they lined up.
Morgan shouted and they left like bolts of lightning, hooves
crashing like thunder. She climbed to a rock by the stream,
excitedly wondering which horse would win. Trader and the black
appeared to be neck and neck when they crested the hill. Soon they
were out of sight and she knew the race was over. Later, when she
had gotten more accustomed to riding again, she might challenge
them to a race herself.

She had scanned the horizon for a full
fifteen minutes. wondering why they were taking so long to return,
when she saw a lone rider galloping over the hilltop. It was the
roan. Cricket lifted her head and neighed a welcome to him. Silvia
watched for Morgan but he still hadn’t appeared when Roman reached
her.

“Where is Morgan?” she asked, a hand to her
brow to block the sun as she looked for him.

“I was right about the black.” An expression
of satisfaction showed in Roman’s eyes. “He was winded and Morgan
wanted to rest him longer. He’ll be taking a shortcut back to the
stable.”

“Oh. And who won the race?”

“It was a toss-up,” he said with an edge of
irony to his voice, and broke quickly into a wild-looking grin.

Silvia accepted with trepidation his
assistance to remount. But he merely gave her a perfunctory boost
to the stirrup and handed up the reins before remounting
Trader.

“You’ll be sore if we ride much longer.” He
looked at her thoughtfully, as if perhaps he were seeing her
afresh. “We’ll take the trail by the sea and give the horses a slow
walk in. You’ll be wanting a long hot bath before dinner. And
Vivien keeps a bottle of liniment, in case you need it.”

He said little as they rode, the horses
shoulder to shoulder, his leg sometimes bumping her boot. They
cleared a clump of trees and mounted a little rise overlooking the
beach. Roman pulled Trader to a halt and Silvia stopped Cricket
beside him. Silently Roman lifted his arm and gestured to the
ocean. She understood. The serenity had reached her just as the
waves reached the shore, lapping at the sand and eternally bathing
it with the soothing motion of the sea.

Without turning to look at her, Roman took
her hand and exhaled a contented sigh. She felt a warm glow of
happiness as they shared the moment, watching the white-foamed
waves bring the sea to land. Deep in her heart she knew they had
formed a silent truce. Oddly enough, she felt no need to question
how or why. It was enough to feel buoyantly happy and alive.

After a while Roman kneed the roan to a walk
and she kept Cricket at a steady pace beside him. They were within
sight of the stables before either of them spoke.

“We’ll ride again tomorrow,” he said as Odin
appeared to take the horses.

Somehow it all looked different from when
she had left. Odin was not frightening, merely big and silent. She
suspected he had felt as uncomfortable walking with her yesterday
as she had with him. Other changes were more subtle. The songs of
the birds sounded sweeter. The moss-draped trees were no longer
forbidding, they had a beckoning, fairyland look instead. The
flowers had perked up on their stems, their colors grown deeper,
their fragrance more pleasant. She didn’t notice the stiffness in
her legs and back or the soreness in her fingers.

The stark gray castle had taken on the
aspect of an enchanted palace. Its harsh dark walls had changed in
the space of a few hours from grim to grand. Inside she walked up
the stairs with a light step, remembering the promise of Roman’s
good-bye.

Humming a merry tune and moving with a new
confidence, she went to her room, beginning to believe she did
indeed belong at Serpent Tree Hall.

Sunset fell in a great crimson glow that
filled the gold-streaked sky. Silvia stood at her window until the
blue curtain of night closed over the warm dusk of day’s end. She
stretched her slender body with slow caution, grimacing at the pain
the simple move caused her. A hot bath and two hours’ rest had
helped, but high spirits had not prevented soreness from her ride.
She would have to talk to Vivien after dinner about getting some
liniment. Without it she would not be able to sit in a saddle
tomorrow.

Peering into her mirror, she touched a
finger to the sun-kissed face reflected there. Too much sun tended
to bring out a few freckles on her nose, but luckily she had
escaped them today. Instead her cheeks had taken on a radiant glow
that wasn’t at all unbecoming. She dressed as hurriedly as possible
in a green print dimity gown with a tucked bodice, one she thought
suitable for dinner. Green was a good color for her, as it
highlighted her fair skin and rich black curls and made her eyes
shine with gentle golden light.

Anna had cheerfully given her the household
schedule, and after Silvia had bathed, arrived to dress her hair in
a new style. Soft waves dipped low on the sides and in back formed
into loose curls pinned high on her head. Silvia found a small
jewel case in a drawer and inside it a pair of simple gold earrings
that went well with the dress. When they were in place and she was
satisfied with her appearance, she snuffed all the candles but one
and closed the door behind her.

Though her sitting room and bedroom were
spacious and comfortable, she was impatient to go downstairs and
explore the rooms on the first floor. She had nearly an hour to
spare before dinner and, as it was, she actually had seen little of
the castle. Impulsively she hurried down the stairs and into the
main hall. Candles were aglow in the library as she passed, and
though it had been her intent to explore elsewhere, she went no
further, feeling inexorably drawn to look again at the strange
marble statues within.

She stepped to the threshold, about to
enter, when behind her she heard the great front doors swing rudely
open. She spun around in surprise to see Morgan storm in. He held
his jaw clamped tight and fire flared in his eyes. His face was
scarlet with rage but the furious expression softened a little when
he glanced up and saw Silvia standing openmouthed, staring at
him.

Composing herself, Silvia approached the
foot of the stairs, intending to greet him, then froze, bewildered
anew at the sight of his wet and mud-smeared clothes. Morgan shook
his head forcefully, sending an angry spattering of water to the
floor around him. In one hand he held wet, muddy boots and
stockings. The other was clenched tight in a fist.

“Why, Morgan,” she gasped. “What
happened?”

He crossed the pink marble foyer like a
roiling thundercloud.

“That blasted fool knocked me out of the
saddle and into the pond and spooked the black halfway across the
island.” He bristled with anger. “I had to hunt the animal down,
and I’m just now getting back here.” Morgan muttered a curse. “I’m
glad to see you’re back with no trouble.” His frown deepened
creases in his forehead, and the curses continued beneath his
breath. “There was none, was there?” His scowl worsened. “I’ll hang
him up by the hamstrings if—”

“No. None,” she replied calmly, interrupting
his threat and being careful not to show her amusement. Now she
knew why Roman had looked so pleased with himself after the race. A
toss-up, he had said.

“He’ll pay more than gold for this,” Morgan
growled, and excusing himself, clambered up the stairs, taking them
two at a time.

When he was out of sight, the laughter
Silvia had been holding in erupted. She hurried to the library and
shut the door behind her, laughter bubbling like spring water from
her lips. What a spectacle Morgan had been, mud-smeared and mad as
a dunked cat. And Roman hadn’t given a clue of what he had
done.

She stopped before the towering marble
mantel. It was a beautiful piece of artwork in itself and reminded
her of a temple or altar with the scaled-down Greek columns on each
side. But would there ever be a need for a fire in this climate?
She pictured Morgan wet and muddy. Only for drying oneself after a
dunking, perhaps. She laughed again, aloud, and then suddenly her
laughter fell away beneath the discomfort of an overpowering
sensation.

Nervously she rubbed a hand across the back
of her neck to quiet the tingling there, knowing intuitively her
discomfort had no physical origin. It was that extraordinary
prompting by a sixth sense warning her she was being watched.

She rolled her head back and took a deep,
calming breath, thankful the candles had been lit and the room was
bright with light. In the flickering glow of the candles she could
imagine Mr. Schlange sitting in the library with his associates.
She wondered if his visitors felt any uneasiness at being stared at
by the eyes of the dead. She certainty didn’t like it.

Feeling a surge of fortitude, she lifted her
chin and turned to face them. How real they looked. Too real, too
knowing, as if on nights when the moon was right, those white
bodies would transform into ghosts and move soundlessly through the
castle. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling a quickening of
her heartbeat. Wherever she was in this room, eyes seemed eerily to
follow her.

With a shrug of her shoulders she threw off
the start of a shiver. She stood beside the figure of Siegfried;
she had, in fact, walked there without knowing it. Her hand reached
out to touch his shoulder, timidly at first, then purposefully as
her palm ran firmly over the smooth, cool marble. Had she expected
it to feel like flesh?

Her eyes examined the carved perfection of
the marble face. Had his mouth had that angry set to it when she
had last seen the statue? She didn’t remember the expression quite
that way. But perhaps it was Roman’s face she remembered. How
irresistible he was when tenderness showed in his eyes as it had in
that moment they shared earlier on the beach. Roman. Morgan.
Siegfried. Their faces were transposing in her mind. She blinked
her eyes and held her breath a moment. It was all like a dream, a
baffling mystical dream she couldn’t decipher.

She must have stood there entranced for a
long time. The moon was a bright golden shield gleaming high above
the courtyard when she arrived in the dining room. The others were
waiting and ready to be seated. Even Morgan had managed a
respectable appearance and she was glad to see he had the good
grace to postpone his settling of accounts with Roman.
Nevertheless, he was quieter than usual and his temper appeared to
be boiling just beneath the surface of an imposed control.