Mariana (20 page)

Rachel would have made comment on that, but before she could speak the words, the kitchen door opened and my uncle came into the room. In an instant the life disappeared from Caroline's eyes, as though some unseen hand had passed across her face. My uncle did not notice the transformation. He was red-faced and uncomfortable from the heat, and his expression was sour.

'This is the hottest day I have ever known,' he complained, wiping the beads of perspiration from his chin. 'It is the heat of the devil himself. Mariana, fetch me a drink of water, girl, and make haste with it.'

I complied without saying a word, handing the cup to him and returning to my work. He drank the water as an animal drinks, with a great noise, and set the cup down again on the table with satisfaction. His hard, gleaming eyes turned toward me.

'You look tired, Mariana.'

Caroline stirred in her corner by the hearth. 'She slept ill, Jabez. 'Tis no great concern.'

His eyes narrowed. 'She wants exercise. A walk in the open air will cure her ills.' He addressed me in a tone that was almost kind. 'When your work here is finished,' he told me, 'you may spend the rest of the morning out-of-doors. Walk down by the river, it will be cooler there.'

I tried to hide my surprise at his words. It seemed such
an odd and unlikely turnabout, for this man who had rarely permitted me out of his sight to suggest that I spend time away from the house, that I could scarce believe it. Even Caroline raised her eyebrows, though she wisely said nothing.

Uncle Jabez turned to Rachel. 'There will be guests for the midday meal,' he informed her. 'Four others besides myself. For the meal I want a pigeon pie, with no fewer than two birds for each person, and a jug of the good cider from the cellar. Mariana can fetch the birds for you, before she leaves.'

I made a small sound of protest, my eyes stricken, and Rachel looked up from her kettle of soup. 'I will get the birds,' she told him. 'Mariana is too softhearted. She does not like to wring their necks.'

My uncle shrugged. 'I do not care who kills the wretched things, so long as they are on my table at dinner.' He flicked a glance at his wife. 'I trust you will tend to the child,' he said, 'and keep it silent. I do not wish a squalling brat to ruin the appetite of my guests.'

Caroline murmured something in reply, her head lowered submissively. I knew his unkind comment had wounded her deeply. Rachel had told me of her sister's yearning to conceive a child, her years of barren unhappiness, and her joy when she had finally given birth to John. That Jabez did not share her pride in the child was a constant source of pain to her.

'Johnnie is a fine child,' I heard myself saying. 'I doubt that he would disturb anyone.'

My uncle rested his cold blue eyes on my face once more. 'You may go whenever you are ready,' he told me, his voice even. 'And see that you promenade yourself well. I do not wish to see you back here before midafternoon.'

He turned abruptly and left the room, with Caroline trailing like a pale shadow in his wake. Rachel looked at me with wondering eyes, and chided me softly. 'You should not have spoken to him so. It is of no use to speak
on my sister's behalf, Mariana. She goes like a lamb to the slaughter.'

'I know,' I said. 'But I could not stop the words from coming.'

'Well'—Rachel crossed the room to stand by the table— ' 'tis no great harm done. And you will have an entire morning to cool your temper, from the sound of it. That ought to be a pleasant prospect for you.'

I
was
pleased by the thought of a few hours out-of-doors, but my pleasure was tempered by irritation. My uncle did not want me to be in the house when his visitors arrived, that much was plain, and I was hard-pressed to contain my curiosity.

'Rachel,' I asked casually, 'who are the guests my uncle spoke of? Do you know them?'

I had learned that Rachel could not lie easily. When she was unable to give a truthful answer, she would seek to deflect the question. She sought to deflect mine now, lowering her head so that the fall of bright hair hid her face from me. She chose her words slowly, and with care.

'It is sometimes better,' she advised me, 'to cover your eyes and stop up your ears, instead of asking questions.'

I knew she would say no more about the matter, so I let the subject drop, taking my bowlful of vegetables over to the hearth and emptying it into the boiling pot.

'Shall I go now?' I asked, rubbing my damp hands on my skirt.

'Unless you want to fetch the pigeons from the dovecote,' Rachel said, then laughed at my expression. 'Be off with you,' she ordered, in a brave imitation of my uncle, 'and see that you promenade yourself well.'

I was only too happy to comply. The sky was wide and inviting, and the grass was cool and sweetly refreshing under my bare feet as I walked across the undulating field toward the river. It was a short walk, only a mile or so, but
did not hurry it, letting my soul soak up the glorious sensation of freedom and lightness.

Even the heat could not diminish me. The scorching heat of the sun had a cauterizing effect, burning away the sick and dying parts of my being so that the healthy parts of me could grow back, fuller and more vital than before, Closer to the river there was shade, a rich, deep shade provided by the flanking groves of thickly clustered trees that grew beside the idly flowing water.

Here, the only sounds were those of nature—birds chattering in the highest branches, the gentle rustle of an unseen creature of the forest, and the sudden splash of a fish breaking the surface of the shallow river. It was, I mused, like entering the gardens of paradise after sojourning in the underworld. The plague and London seemed a long way off, and the dark halls of Greywethers even farther.

I gathered the folds of my skirts in my hands and waded into the river, lifting the hem of my dress clear of the water. The rippling coolness washed my skin above the ankles, and went no farther, turning instead to push my way upstream, enjoying the feel of the smoothly washed pebbles beneath my tired feet.

I walked a goodly distance, splashing a little as I went and humming happily to myself, a tuneless ditty of my own invention. Coming to a place where the river bent in its course, and the trees grew still more thickly, I paused and ventured even deeper, raising my skirts accordingly.

The birds startled me, rising from the trees without warning in a panicked, beating cloud that dipped and shifted in perfect unison against the burning sky, and then was gone. The noise was like a blast of cannon fire in that still place, and in alarm I lost my footing, falling backward into he water with a loud splash and an unladylike oath. Pushing the wet hair from my eyes, I looked to see what had so frightened the birds, my own heart pounding an echo of their flight.

At first, I could see only shadows. Until one of the shadows moved, and became real, and the greenwood parted to reveal a tall dark rider on a gray horse, moving with leisured grace along the riverbank toward me.

Twenty

Richard de Mornay reined Navarre to a smooth halt a few feet from the lazily flowing water and leaned an elbow on the horn of his saddle, regarding me with interest over the horse's broad neck.

'Good morrow, Mistress Farr.' He swept the wide-brimmed hat from his dark head and presented me with a fair imitation of a bow. 'I did not know that you numbered swimming among your many accomplishments.'

To return a proper curtsy from my position would have appeared ridiculous. Besides, he was laughing at me, and I resented it. I rose swiftly to my feet and tossed my head proudly.

'I have a multitude of talents, my lord,' I told him curtly, spreading my skirts to survey the damage.

'Of that I have no doubt.' A thoughtful expression replaced the laughter in his eyes, and he swung himself from the saddle, gathering the reins in one large hand. 'You have wetted your dress,' he said, as though it were a revelation. 'You must walk in the sun to dry it.'

I stubbornly held my ground. 'I do not wish to walk in the sun, my lord. I find the coolness of the woods refreshing.'

'You must walk in the woods, then. Come, let me help you.'

He extended his free hand toward me, his eyes challenging mine. After a moment's consideration, I placed my hand in his and let him assist me in stepping out of the water onto the riverbank. It was welcome assistance, I was bound to admit, since the wet fabric of my dress weighed heavily against my legs and threatened to drag me back into the river. When at last I stood upright, I released his hand as though it were a snake, breaking the warm contact.

'Thank you, sir,' I told him sweetly. 'You are most kind.' Taking my leave of him, I began once more to walk upstream, on land this time, feeling less than graceful in my dripping gown but keeping my head held high.

'Tis no trouble.' Richard de Mornay fell easily into step beside me, leading the horse behind us. 'You will not mind, surely, if I walk with you. I would be less than a true soldier if I let a lady walk through the woods unattended.'

I attempted a casual demeanor. 'I did not know you were a soldier.'

'I come from a family of soldiers.' He smiled, but it was a smile without humor. 'Brave knights and gallant cavaliers, and me the only one remaining to champion the family's honour.’

'Then I need not fear to lose my virtue in your company.' It was a bold statement, and I knew it. He turned amazed eyes in my direction and laughed outright, a pleasant sound that echoed in the secluded wood.

'You are a brazen wench.' He grinned. 'No, you need not worry. I'll not demand the lordly privileges of my estate. I've never yet had cause to force a woman to my will.'

I looked up at his handsome, laughing face and did not doubt that he spoke the truth. Perhaps it was my own intentions that worried me, and not his....

'Tell me,' he went on, changing the subject, 'how fares your uncle? He must be ill indeed to let you venture forth like this. In truth, 'tis but the second time I have seen you
talking on your own. Come, tell me, why did he let you off he lead this morning?'

I smiled at the expression. 'He sent me from the house by his own order,' I explained. 'He fears, he told me, for my health.'

'Ay,' he said dryly, 'he is a most compassionate man. 'Tis why he uses his household so civilly.'

I glanced at him. 'You do not like my uncle, I perceive.'

'I find him cruel and callous,' he said, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, 'and there is little love lost between us.'

I nodded understanding. 'He told me once that the devil dwells in you.'

'No doubt he does believe it. And what do you think, Mariana Farr?'

He did look faintly devilish, smiling down at me with his dark clothes and his dark hair and those glinting eyes the colour of the forest that surrounded us, shutting us off together from the wider world. I studied him closely, and shrugged in my turn.

'I am no simple chit in hanging sleeves, my lord. I have eyes of my own to judge with, and I see no horns.'

He looked down at me soberly as we walked. 'It must be difficult for you,' he said quietly, 'to live in that house.'

I drew myself up stiffly, not welcoming his pity. 'I am but an orphan, my lord, dependent upon the charity of my relations. I do not question my position.'

His eyes doubted my sincerity, but he let my comment pass, and we walked on a ways in silence. When we came to another slight bend in the river, the gray stallion behind us flung his head back and tugged sharply at the reins, bringing my companion to a standstill.

'I believe Navarre is thirsty,' he interpreted the action for me. 'Come, sit with me while he drinks. This is a pleasant spot to pass the time.'

I let myself be led to a grassy clearing several yards from the water's edge, and seated myself on the trunk of a fallen tree, brushing off the small twinge of guilt that nagged at
my conscience. My uncle would never learn of this, I reminded myself, and even if he did, what shame was there in it? After all, I had not invited Richard de Mornay's company, and one could not simply dismiss the lord of the manor from one's presence as if he were a common farm lad. The fact that I did not particularly want to dismiss him from my presence was, to my mind, inconsequential.

He seated himself at my feet, his back against the rough bark of the tree trunk, one booted leg drawn up to support his outstretched arm. With lazy eyes he watched the gray horse drinking.

'You said you were the last of your family,' I reminded him, attempting to make conversation. 'Have you no brothers?'

'I have five brothers,' he said, 'but they are in their graves. They died in service to the first Charles.'

I looked down solemnly. 'Your family stood for the king, then, against the Parliament.'

'Ay.' The word was bitter. 'And for their trouble they lost their lives, their lands, and all they owned and ever loved.'

'You did not die,' I pointed out.

'No, I did not die.' He shifted his shoulders against the fallen trunk and half smiled at me. 'The youngest of us was eighteen, and newly wed, when he did fall, and then the king himself was put to death. I was myself but twenty. After the execution, I fled to France and joined my mother's family at the French king's court. I had no stomach left for fighting, and with my father in the Tower I could be of little help to him in England.'

I stared
at
him. 'Your father was in the Tower?'

'He was captured at the defense of Exeter, in forty-six. Fourteen years they kept him within the Tower walls, without a lawful trial. He grew old in that dismal place. He lived to see freedom, and his lands restored, but not my return from France.' He pulled a blade of grass and passed it between his fingers, the shadow of an old pain crossing his stoic features.
'I am sorry.' I leaned forward a little in sympathy. 'I know what it is, to lose a father. So you have no one left?'

'Not quite no one. I have a nephew, Arthur, the son of my younger brother. He lives in Holland with his mother. He is fifteen and a leaping gallant, but he is my nephew, nonetheless. And I have Evan. That is family enough."

Evan Gilroy, he told me, had been a friend in the old days, before the fires of war swept across the countryside and left a sovereign dead. When Richard de Mornay had followed Charles Stuart home to England five years ago, Evan Gilroy had offered his services to the new lord of Crofton Hall, taking charge of the stables and the tenant farms.

The man at my feet smiled at the memory. ' 'Tis no great welcome for a man to come home to an empty house and a barren land,' he told me. 'Were it not for Evan, I doubt I would have stayed.'

I silently acknowledged my debt to Evan Gilroy. I was feeling very much at ease, in spite of my wet clothes, sitting here in the dappled sunlight of the little clearing and talking to a man who stood several notches above my station in life. My father would have liked this man, I thought, for all that Uncle Jabez did not approve.

I leaned back and clasped my hands around my knees, lacing my fingers together. 'Have you met the king, then?'

'Officially? Only once.' He glanced at me over his shoulder. 'Although I have seen him quite often, and even gamed with him once or twice. He was very much in evidence at the French court, during his exile.'

'I saw him only once, myself. At the coronation.' He had made a great impression on me at the time, I recalled, a regal and vivacious figure with his long curling hair, sensuous mouth, and languid dark eyes. 'He seemed a kind man,' I commented.

'He is kind enough,' Richard de Mornay agreed, 'and fairer than most. He has a large heart, but he is not a great king. The time for great kings is past.'

I furrowed my brow, thinking. 'They say he is, at heart, a Catholic'

The man beside me shrugged his powerful shoulders. 'My mother was a Catholic,' he said. ' 'Tis no great sin, I think.'

I feigned nonchalance. I had never met a Catholic before. 'And you?' I asked him. 'What is your faith?'

Richard de Mornay bent his head, his features darkening. 'I have no use for God,' he told me flatly. 'Nor He for me.'

He cast aside the mangled blade of grass and idly reached to capture both my hands in one of his, drawing them forward so that he could see my wrists. 'You're not wearing the bracelet,' he observed.

I flushed crimson, pulling ineffectually against his grasp. 'I cannot wear it,' I protested. 'Faith, I cannot accept it, it would not be seemly. I meant to return it to you.'

'I will not have it returned.' He looked seriously offended. 'I bought it for you as a present, and I would have you wear it.'

'My uncle would doubtless not approve, my lord,' I reminded him gently. Releasing my hands he rose to collect the grazing horse, gathering the trailing reins in his fist.

'I care not,' he told me. 'What business has your uncle in my affairs?'

'None, my lord,' I had to admit, 'but he takes a great interest in mine, and I would not wish to rouse his ire.'

He turned at that, looming tall against the gray stallion, his expression serious. 'If Jabez Howard dares to mark you in any way, I will hear
of
it.'

I stood up, too, and faced him squarely. 'I am flattered, my lord, but it is none of your concern. I am not your responsibility.'

'You are wrong, mistress,' he informed me in a voice as smooth as honey. 'You are very much my responsibility. I have made it so.' He advanced on me, one hand steadying the horse's saddle. 'Come, I'll ride you back.'
2o I looked up at him nervously. 'I do not ride pillion behind any man, my lord.'

'Ride alone, then,' he invited, smiling at my discomfort.

I glanced up at the heavens for assistance, and noted with vague relief that the sun was yet low in the eastern sky. 'It is too early for me to return,' I apologized. 'My uncle gave instructions that I was to walk until midafternoon.'

Richard de Mornay narrowed his eyes in disbelief. 'It is a pretty household you've fallen into, and no mistake. No matter.' He brushed off my objection. 'You may ride with me to Crofton Hall, and pass the afternoon as my guest.'

I was sorely tempted by the offer, but in the end I shook my head, taking a small step backward and nearly tripping over the fallen tree trunk in so doing.

'I am grateful for your kindness, my lord,' I told him weakly, 'but I think I had better not.'

' 'Tis your decision,' he assured me, swinging himself into the saddle with fluid grace. He brought the horse closer, reining in sharply so his muscled thigh was scarcely a handsbreadth from my face, knowing that the heavy log at my heels prevented any retreat. 'I've told you once I would not force you to my will,' he reminded me, drawing one finger along my upturned jawline. "When we become lovers, it will be because you desire it as much as I.' His Finger brushed my lips, the fleeting phantom of a kiss, before he raised his hand to his hat and bid me a polite good day.

The gray horse, for all its size, moved with great speed and agility. I watched the trees swallow them up and then stood listening for some minutes to the sound of the receding hoofbeats. I suppose I could have moved, had I wanted to, but I really did not want to. I just stood there in the dappled shadows, trying to hold the moment for as long as I could, all the while feeling it slipping away like sand through my open fingers ... slipping ... slipping ...

My vision blurred, and the moment vanished.

I was standing alone by the edge of the lazy river, where only a scattering of knee-high shrubs and the occasional willow remained to hint at the grandness of the forest that once followed the river's shores. The river was
set now
in a kind of hollow, steeply banked on either side, and I could see nothing but the water and grass and the blue sky above me. I had no idea where I was.

Scrambling up the sloping bank, I looked out over the fields and attempted to get my bearings. Far off to my left, I could see the fenced pastures and crooked roofs
of
a small village that might be Exbury. It was difficult to tell from this unfamiliar angle. There was a stone fence in front
of
me, too, not three feet away, and some distance beyond that a small whitewashed cottage, neatly kept, with gaily blooming flower boxes at every window. A miniature forest of crooked, gnarled apple trees stretched away in orderly fashion on the far side of the house, and several newly shorn sheep stared placidly back at me from their side of the stone fence.