A Rose in Winter (33 page)

The woman sobbed and stumbled back from the window, her hand clutched to her throat, her face a mask of terror. The deep hood of the cloak hid the face of the rider, but she was sure she had seen a grinning skull and that this was the angel of death come to take them.

"Timmy! He's back! Timmy, wake up!" she blubbered. "Oh, Timmy love! I never doubted ye fer a moment."

Timmy Sears struggled up from the pillow, blinking his bleary eyes until he found his wife. The look of horror on her face brought him to full awareness. Grabbing his breeches, he stuffed his legs and the tail of his nightshirt into them before scrambling to the window to see what had given her such a fright. His heart jumped as he viewed the object of her fear.

"Timmy Sears!" The eerie voice sent cold shivers down the man's spine. "Come forth and die! Ye're a murderer, and hell waits for you!"

"That's what I saw!" Timmy cried. "But what is it?"

"Death!" his wife replied with conviction. "He's come after us!"

"Bolt the shutters! We can't let him in!"

"Timmy Sears," the droning voice called. "Come forth and die!"

"I ain't comin'!" Timmy bellowed and slammed the shutters closed.

An horrendous laugh tore through the night. "Then stay and burn! Stay and burn, ye devil!"

"He means ter set a torch ter us!" Timmy's voice hit a high pitch.

"He wants ye! Not me!" his wife screamed. She threw open the door, and before her husband could stop her, she fled the dwelling, shouting back over her shoulder, "I ain't burnin' fer no murderer!"

Timmy seized an ax and bolted through the door, considering the torment of fire far worse than a quick slaying. He had seen a man die in flames once, and though it had amused him at the time, he would just as soon avoid that same end. But then, death had to catch him first, and he had always been rather handy in a fight.

"Stand yer ground, ye blackhearted whoreson!" he roared. "I ain't dyin' easy!"

Booming laughter rang through the valley. "Timmy Sears! For murder I've come to avenge! Ye've killed more than once, and 'tis only fair that yer dyin' be slow."

A sword sang from its scabbard and whipped the air, flashing with a cold glint of steel beneath the moonlight, then death dismounted with the easy grace of a nightborne shade.

"What be ye after?" Timmy demanded in a squeaky croak. "I've done naught ter ye!"

"Aye, but ye have, Timmy. Ye've killed and laid the finest low, and ye shall pay yer due."

"Who are ye? Who are ye?"

"Remember the torch ye laid to the manor, Timmy? Remember the man ye saw burned?"

"Ye're not him!" Timmy shook his head in terrified disbelief. "He's dead! He's dead, I tell ye! I saw him die meself! Burned he was! Screamin' as he fell into the flames. There were others who saw him, too!"

"And who were they, Timmy, that ye can say they saw me, too? Am I not here standin' before ye and claimin' that ye were the man who did the deed?"

"Only a ghost could've escaped those flames."

"Now ye know, Timmy. Now ye know."

"Good Lord, ye are him! Ye even sound like him!"

"I've come to take ye, Timmy, down into hell with me."

"Ye've no right ter single me out! I can name ye a full dozen and more who were there!"

"Aye, and I'll be hearin' from ye now while I sharpen my sword on yer ax."

Timmy cringed and sobbed as the blade flicked all around him, nicking him here and there, and he could not meet or halt it with the clumsy ax.

"Tell me now, Timmy, before it's too late. Ye've not much time here on earth."

Death was all around him in a swirling black cloak, filling the night with laughter, and though the air was chilled, Timmy could already feel the tongues of branding fire that would scorch him in hell. He fell to his knees and began to blubber, pleading for his life and saying things he had never dared recall before.

The fragrance of roses pervaded the chamber as steam from the scented bath drifted up and dissipated in the air. The water was warm and soothing to Erienne's sore muscles, and she relaxed in the tub, leaning her head back against the rim as she dribbled droplets from a sponge across her shoulders, those same that Timmy Sears had bruised only the day before. Her mind drifted back to that moment when she had entered the manor and found her husband waiting anxiously before the hearth. On hearing her approach, he had faced about to greet her with her name on his lips, but the syllables had died as he took in her torn habit. Bundy had been a step or two behind her, and it was the servant who had answered while Erienne watched the gloved hands tighten into taut fists. Lord Saxton had muttered a low, savage curse, vowing that Timmy Sears would be dealt with, and when he turned to her again, she had braced herself to hear all manner of chiding accusations. Amazingly none came. Instead, he had shown a gentle concern for her welfare and bade her take a chair while he poured a dainty draught of brandy. As she sipped the calming brew, he had hovered close, speaking in muted tones of inconsequential matters until she began to relax. Later he had come to her chambers as she was preparing for bed, but his visit was brief, and he had left with a casual promise to return in the morning.

The chamber door opened, causing Erienne considerable consternation until she recognized the quick, energetic footsteps of Tessie, then Erienne relaxed, thankful that the hour of his visit was not at hand. The footfalls were muffled as the girl came across the rug that had been recently placed in the room, and the arras swayed as she entered the small bathing chamber. A light bundle of clean, fresh-scented towels was carried in over her arm, and she placed them beside the tub before setting out a light perfumed oil in preparation for the grooming.

Erienne yielded to Tessie's penchant for methodical orderliness and rose from the bath. The maid was there immediately to pat her skin dry, using several of the linen cloths and tossing them away as they became slightly damp. Tessie began to lightly massage the attar into her back, and Erienne lifted her arms to secure her fallen tresses lest they become saturated with the oil. Her pale body, still rosy from the brisk toweling, gleamed with a soft luster in the morning light. The perfection of the slender limbs and full, ripe bosom was not lost on the one who watched.

Suddenly Tessie gasped, and Erienne looked around to see what had startled the girl and found the dark form of her husband filling the opening provided by the velvet hangings. His unheralded entry never failed to unnerve her, and her heart began a quick, solid thumping.

"Good morning, my love." A subtle hint of humor was evident in the rasping whisper.

Erienne gave an indistinct nod as she cast a surreptitious glance about for covering. The towels lay in a discarded heap near his feet on the floor, and her robe had been left on the bench in front of her dressing table, well out of her immediate grasp.

Casually Lord Saxton entered, crossing to that same bench and lowered his weight to the cushion, entrapping the garment beneath his hip. Erienne quickly gave up the idea of retrieving it and attempted to appear unaffected as Tessie sought equally as hard to continue with her task. An increasing nervousness overtook the girl when the featureless mask turned directly to face her. The master's awesome presence contrasted sharply with the stark nakedness of his mistress, and it proved too much for the young maid to bear. Murmuring a flustered, indistinct excuse, she hurried from the room.

Soft laughter echoed from the mask as the door slammed, and then the overwhelming gaze came to rest on Erienne. Her modesty chafed beneath the bold spur of his unrelenting regard. A deepening scarlet crept downward to the delicate pink of her breasts, yet her attempt to cover herself with her arms was met with another chuckle.

"Actually, my love, until you blushed, I was watching your face."

Not really knowing what to do with her hands, Erienne stared at him, fighting a deepening embarrassment. It was impossible to see behind the mask, but the heat of his gaze burned her to the core.

"Not that I would ignore everything else you seek to hide." Amusement softened the harsh edge of his voice. "Indeed, madam, were you to crook your finger in the slightest of welcome signs, I would in avid lust bear you to the bed and fulfill the requirements of a husband."

"Milord, you . . . you jest with me," she stammered, clasping her hands together lest he take some minor gesture for a sign.

"Would you test me?" He half rose from the bench. "A simple yes will do." He waited until Erienne forgot her modesty and spread both hands in front of her as if to ward him off.

"Milord, I..." The words of denial caught in her throat.

"I thought not." Sweeping her robe aside, he sank to the seat again and tossed the garment to her.

Clutching it close in grateful relief, Erienne looked at him hesitantly, feeling as if she had just betrayed a friend. "My lord," she murmured softly, seeking to assuage her own guilt, "I rest myself on your patience and understanding."

"Madam, have you considered that a thing dreaded is better done and put behind you?"

She managed a meager nod. "I know that, milord, but..."

He swept a hand to dismiss her statement. "I know! Tis hard for you to face that moment." He braced an elbow on his knee and leaned forward, and Erienne caught the hard, gleaming light behind the eyeholes as he regarded her. "Are you sure you can ever face that moment, madam?"

"I... I will..."

"If you had been able to choose," he interrupted, "can you name me a man whom you might have wished to marry? If there is such a one, then perhaps I could go to him..."

"There is no one, milord," she murmured, forcing the image of Christopher Seton from mind. She was certain that what she felt for him was only a passing fascination, and in a short time she would forget he ever existed. At least she hoped she would.

"Very well, madam." He straightened as he continued. "I did in fact come here on another matter. I have business in London with the Marquess Leicester, and I have made arrangements to take you with me."

"The Marquess Leicester?"

"An old acquaintance of the family, my dear. I'm sure you will enjoy meeting him and his charming wife. We shall be staying with them for several days, so you'll be needing clothes packed for you. I would suggest something for social affairs."

"And would you have a preference for what I wear today, milord?"

"You seem to have a fine knowledge for what is appropriate, madam. 'Twill be your choice, since my preference would not be in the realm of practicality."

Her dark, delicately shaped brows arched in an unspoken question.

"You are very lovely as you are," he explained. "But I fear you would draw more attention than I prefer."

Erienne glanced away from those hidden eyes, not knowing what to answer. By every turn of a conversation, he made it obvious that he desired her and was impatient to claim his due as husband.

"Dress yourself, madam." He rose and moved to the edge of the arras, where he announced, "For the sake of my own comportment, I shall await you downstairs."

Erienne found the preparation for the journey unexciting and the grooming tedious and without merit. If her husband chose to cast her off for another woman, she would be greatly relieved. She did not wish to be presented at her best. Yet Tessie worked diligently toward that end and left no detail wanting. The raven tresses were curled into a sedate cluster of ringlets that was secured at the nape of her neck. Frilly garters were donned to hold the knee-length silk stockings in place. A corset was tightened over the delicate chemise, and then a traveling dress of deep, rich peacock velvet was eased in place. The lower half of the sleeves and the standing collar of the garment were ornately stitched with silken threads. Froths of delicately pleated pink lace lay against her throat and filled the slashed and flared cuffs. A small, padded, false rump supported the fullness and longer length of the skirt at the back. Lastly, a pert hat with a sweeping plume was placed at a saucy angle over the carefully constructed coiffure, and it was here that Erienne made a protest. Though the hat was in excellent taste, she did not wish to give the slightest impression that she was competing with Claudia Talbot for the most extravagant millinery.

"But mum, ye're the wife of a lord now," Aggie argued. " 'Tis yer duty ter dress yerself accordin'ly. Ye would not have folk whisper that the master is tightfisted with ye, now would ye? Especially when he's spent such a fortune for yer garments. See for yerself how grand ye look in the clothes he bought ye. 'Twould be a waste not to indulge yerself in the luxuries he's provided. Go on. Take a look." She urged Erienne to the long pane of silvered glass and waited while her young mistress contemplated her reflection. "Well? Do ye look like some milkmaid's daughter, or a grand lady?"

Erienne had to admit that Tessie had done wonders for her appearance. No one could call her dowdy by any stretch of the imagination. She could even understand to some degree why Lord Saxton thought her pretty. She had good features, clear skin, a nice long neck, and thick, shining hair. Though slender and slightly taller than average, she had no need of padding to fill the top of her chemise or round out her hips.

A bit of mutiny still showed in her countenance as she considered what her husband's' reaction might be to her appearance. With the long trip to London still ahead of her, and not knowing what the sleeping arrangements would be while they were en route and after they arrived, she was very cautious about soliciting any more of his attention.