Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (65 page)

"I was summoned to the palace to meet with Lord Burghley. I sent Mustafa to bring you aboard the
Madrigal
, but you'd already left," he said, wondering how she had managed so quickly to put
him
on the defensive. He was the one with the grievance, the one who'd been made a fool of.

"I returned to the camp to find it in flames and Rom wounded. Rom needed me. I had to go with him, and Fairfax had been hit on the head and needed attention. We had no other place to go but with the gypsies. How could I come to you when I did not know where you were? Besides, Rom was my friend, and I was not g
oing to betray that friendship,
and the more I thought about that afternoon, the angrier I became. Even though you thought I was little better than a serving wench, how dare
you
try to make love to me, especially when you had a fiancée awaiting you? What kind of man are you? Have you no sense of loyalty to anyone?" Lily accused him.

Valentine was almost speechless. "How dare you say such a thing to me?" he finally said, grasping her chin in his hand and forcing her to meet his gaze when she would have avoided it.

Lily was startled by the underlying anger in his voice.

"And what do you mean by
fiancée
? I have no fiancée," he said, although he couldn't deny that his intentions toward her that afternoon had been less than honorable.

"Cordelia. She is your fiancée. Quinta said that Cordelia had visited Ravindzara and that you would be wed by summer's end. Then, when you left me, I heard you damning your engagement, yet trotting off to escort Cordelia while making plans to meet me later."

"Cordelia is not my fiancée. She is to wed another. I met her by accident at the fair. When you saw her with me was the only time I spoke with her. And I had a supper engagement with Thomas Sandrick, not Cordelia Howard."

Lily's green eyes momentarily brightened. He was not engaged to marry Cordelia?

"You speak very highly of this gypsy, Romney Lee. I understand from Tristram that he was the one who advised you to leave Highcross. He very conveniently managed to keep an eye on you by convincing you to join his band of vagabonds and thieves. He had you feeling indebted to him for his many kindnesses. He was the wily one, wasn't he? I saw him fondling you and kissing you at the fair. He could not keep his hands from you. And after that loving display, you allowed me to caress you and you responded to my kisses. What of
your
loyalty, Lily Christian?" Valentine demanded, stung by her contempt.

Lily's hand struck his cheek, leaving a vivid mark against the tanned skin, but before she could even lower her hand, it had been caught by his and was held immovable between them while they stared angrily into each other's eyes. In her anger, Lily had forgotten the blanket covering her bare shoulders, which had now slipped lower to reveal the soft curves of her breasts, but Lily was unaware of the fact.

"He wasn't my lover, but we could have become lovers," she said, surprised by the sudden look of cruelty that crossed Valentine Whitelaw's hardened face. "He was my friend. He was always there for us when we needed him. He cared. He was loyal. He did so much, risked so much for us,"

"For you, Lily, not for the others. He wanted you," Valentine told her, "and what he did was for himself."

"Yes, then, for me. Perhaps he loved me. Was that so wrong? He helped us escape those villagers who would gladly have seen me burned and the others driven from Highcross. He saved us, and, ultimately, he gave his life for me. He thought he was saving me when he fought off that attacker," Lily said tearfully. "Perhaps, in time, I would have come to love him, and
-
-"

"No, you would not, Lily. He lied," Valentine said, not feeling sorry for the man Lily Francisca was trying to convince herself she might have loved. He was not the man she could have loved, who would have become her lover, he thought, surprising himself by the intensity of that
feeling
.

"Lied?"

"Yes, except to escape the
unwanted
attentions of your guardian, there was no reason to leave Highcross," Valentine to her.

"But Hartwell Barclay is dead. Surely Tristram and the others have told you what happened? That was the reason we fled Highcross," Lily told him, unconsciously placing her hand over his while he still held her wrist in his grasp.

"But you see, my dear, Hartwell Barclay is not dead. He was slightly inconvenienced by that unfortunate episode, but it hardly proved fatal. And Romney Lee knew that because he went into the village and spoke with the groom. He knew when he told you to leave with him that there was no reason for you to have fled, or for your fears or your guilt. He lied to you, Lily."

"No, no, I do not believe you. You are lying. You are just saying these things about him because he helped us, and because he might not have been a fine gentleman like you. How do you know?" Lily demanded.

"Did you not wonder how it was that we happened upon you when we did? When I met you at the fair, I did not know what had occurred at Highcross, but I was planning to visit within the week, before I'd sailed for Ravindzara. Before I could do anything, even find you, Simon arrived. He had been to Highcross and discovered what had happened. He spoke with Hartwell Barclay, who had been laid up with a broken ankle, but that was all. Simon spoke with the groom, who told him that you might have gone to find your old nursemaid, Maire Lester, who lived in Stratford. The morning after that mob attacked the camp, Simon and I set out for Stratford. Lily did I realize that we were riding ahead of you and that you traveled through every village we asked in
after
we had already inquired of you. When we found you had never arrived at Maire Lester's, we were returning, and, luckily, learned of the shortcut."

"No," Lily murmured, but not convincingly this time as she remembered Romney Lee's last words. She understood now his plea for forgiveness. He had asked her not to hate him for stealing this summer from her. Rom, she thought sadly. He had given his life trying to save her. He paid the ultimate price for having loved her. She could not hate him. Never would she hate him, Lily promised herself, trying to hold back the tears that threatened, but one tear escaped to fall onto Valentine Whitelaw's hand.

"You cry for him? A man who deceived you?" Valentine demanded harshly, unaware that his anger came of a jealousy of this man who had betrayed her, who would have stolen her love, and for whom she now shed tears. "The man used you. He knew you were an heiress, that Highcross was yours. He also knew there was no reason for you not to return there. Of course, by then he would have wed you and he would have been master of Highcross. You are a very beautiful woman, and he wanted you, and he wanted your fortune, and he would have stopped at nothing to get you," Valentine predicted, his jealousy of this man increasing, even though the man was no longer a threat, as he thought of the months Romney Lee had had Lily to himself.

"And were you any different?" Lily demanded, raising her shoulders proudly. "When you thought I was little better than a gypsy, you wanted to take me for a night's pleasure."

"Not just a night's pleasure, Lily Francisca," Valentine found himself admitting in a soft voice that held a wealth of meaning, and following his gaze, Lily saw her breasts fully revealed to him, the delicate-hued crests beginning to harden under that gaze. Quickly, she tried to pull the blanket back up, but only half-succeeded, for he still held her wrist.

"I was never in danger from Rom," Lily defended him. "Indeed, it would seem I was in more danger while in your company than I ever was while with Rom," Lily said, daring him to deny the charge.

But Valentine would not be baited. "Because of that gypsy, you were in that compromising situation in the first place. I cannot be blamed for
admiring
a beautiful woman and accepting the seductive invitation in her eyes when she stared at me across the crowd. Little had I expected to find Geoffrey Christian's daughter traveling with a band of gypsies. And because off that gypsy's deception, you, and Tristram and Dulcie, have been in constant danger of some mishap. I am only surprised it did not happen sooner. You very nearly lost your life when that ruffian attacked you by the pool. And he will not go unpunished, I promise you that. I will see that he is tracked down and brought to justice."

"Ruffian? I know who attacked me," Lily startled him by announcing.

"You know?" Valentine demanded. "Was it
one
of the gypsies from the camp? Or perhaps someone who accosted you at the fair?" he asked, realizing too late that the latter description fit
himself
.

"No, 'twas Sir Raymond Valchamps who attacked me," Lily said, for until that moment she had told no one of the image she had seen reflected in the pool.

"Raymond Valchamps?" Valentine repeated the name incredulously.

"You don't believe me? I know what I saw. And I saw his face reflected in that pool as clearly as I see yours before me now."

Valentine Whitelaw stared at Lily as if the blow to her head had been more severe than he'd at first thought. "Sir Raymond Valchamps? Are you absolutely certain? I admit that I have little liking for the man, but I do find it difficult to believe that he should wish you any harm. He hardly knows you," he said, but he was suddenly remembering the Turk telling him about having seen Sir Raymond Valchamps at the fair the night the mob had attacked the gypsy camp. Mustafa had said that Valchamps had been paying off two rough-looking men who had been carrying torches and cudgels and who had apparently been
involved in
the mayhem.

Valentine's gaze narrowed thoughtfully as he stared at Lily, a strange expression on his face. A girl, one of the gypsies, had been murdered that night, and she had been wearing a gown remarkably similar to the one Lily had been wearing that afternoon at the fair. And Cordelia Howard had been at the fair that afternoon with Sir Raymond.

"Who was the girl murdered at the camp?" he asked.

Lily was startled by his question. "Navarre. She was the
niece
of the leader of the gypsy band we traveled with. Why?"

"She was wearing your violet gown, wasn't she?"

"Yes, how did you know? I remember how shocked I was to see it, for a moment, well
.
.
."

"For a moment you felt it could have been you lying there dead."

"Yes, I did. In fact, if I hadn't gone to meet you on the riverbank, I would have been in the camp during the attack, and I might very well have been the one struck down and not Navarre. Romney thought it was me, although I knew he would have helped Navarre too, but he fought the attacker thinking the man had stabbed me."

"But why? I wonder. What reason could Raymond Valchamps have to wish you dead? What threat are you to him?" Valentine spoke his thoughts aloud. "You are certain that it was Raymond Valchamps? There is no mistake? You have no doubts at all?" he questioned, watching Lily's expression closely.

Lily shook her head emphatically. "I saw his reflection in the pool before I was struck. His is a face one does not easily forget. He has one blue eye and one brown eye, and that pale hair, and
.
.
." Lily hesitated, shuddering.

Valentine realized the blanket had slipped again from her bare shoulders and the soft curve of her breast was once again revealed to his gaze. Sighing, he pulled the
blanket
up higher, his hand lingering longer than necessary against her flesh. "And what?" he said gently, smiling slightly when he saw the wild blush come into her cheeks as her hand slid between and moved his away.

"You will think me mad. But he was smiling."

"Had you told me anything but that, I might have remained unconvinced, but that sounds like Valchamps," Valentine said, the smile fading from his face as he thought of what
Lily
had told him. "Why?" he repeated more to himself this time, unaware that his hand was now caressing her palm while he sat there lost in thought.

"Maybe he saw the puppet show?" Lily said half-seriously, smiling when she saw Valentine's puzzled expression.

"We had a puppet show at the fair. The day you came was the first day we didn't put on a show. Our booth was burned to the ground the night before," Lily explained, glancing down at his strong hand, the long fingers now tracing a random design in her palm before moving to entwine with her slender fingers.

She didn't see the look of interest that entered his eyes when she mentioned the fire that had burned
only
their booth. "Why should he have been upset at having seen this puppet show? Surely it was harmless."

"We were very popular with the crowds," Lily admitted. "Sir Raymond, however, probably didn't like it because one of the puppets, a witch, resembled him. When we made them I thought of Sir Raymond. I have never liked him."

"Nor have I, and I suspect I have injured his pride more often than you have with that puppet, but he was hardly tried to murder me," Valentine said. "Do you still have this puppet, or was it destroyed in the fire?"