Dark Splendor (14 page)

Who, then, had cut her hair, and how had the
rose been placed on her pillow? She walked with leaden movements to
the bed, trying to stop the loud drumming of her heart. The sound
made it impossible for her to think clearly. She spied the rose
lying where she had tossed it and closed her eyes against the sight
of it. But when she opened them a moment later, the rose remained,
still there, a fragrant red reminder on the spot where her head had
rested. The rose must have come from the garden.

Feeling a surge of nausea, Silvia climbed
back in her bed and sat cross-legged, twisting a handful of her
long black hair. Why would anyone want a lock of her hair? Who
would want it? Surely not sweet Martha or cranky old Vivien. She
had met Eric only once so it couldn’t be him. Roman or Morgan?

Would either of them be brazen enough to
sneak into her room and steal a lock of hair while she slept? She
sat up straight with the dawning of a thought. There would be other
keys. Vivien had a set and anyone might have duplicates. Her honey
eyes widened as she raised her brows in disdain. Yes. Of course it
might have been either brother. Certainly it would not be the first
time Roman had behaved brazenly. And Silvia sensed Morgan’s growing
interest in her. But which one, Roman or Morgan, and what did it
mean?

It was an outrage, nothing less, though
surely the deed had not been meant to frighten. She sighed and fell
back, frowning resolutely, her heart clearly telling her which
brother she preferred. Another wistful sigh drifted from her lips.
Who could understand the heart of a man, bold and brash until
enamored of a woman and then afraid to ask a keepsake from that
special one? Still it angered and frightened her a little to be
treated in such a way. She shook her head, puzzled. Neither Roman
nor Morgan seemed the type to become crafty and shy. A few moments
later, resentful and restless, she slipped out of bed and went to
the dresser, her face drawn and anxious as she sat there a long
while with her chin resting on her hands.

Sometime later she pulled the enameled
hairbrush vigorously through her thick tresses until they lay
smooth and glistening against her scalp. As she arched her brows
defiantly, she twisted her hair into a tight coil high on her head.
There were no loose tendrils or straying curls to tempt anyone
else. She stared at the glass, her lips set in a pout. At least the
lock snipped away had been small and would not be noticeable to
anyone but herself.

She dressed quickly, having sent Anna away
when she came to help. This morning she preferred to be alone until
it was time for breakfast.

At the table Silvia made a belligerent
rattle with her fork as she laid it on the plate. If she had
expected an indication of who had dared to invade her privacy, she
found none. The meal was eaten in haste. The men talked of nothing
but business, and Silvia could not have guessed from their
reception of her this morning that either Roman or Morgan had given
her a thought since they had ridden together. They seemed totally
caught up in some new project for the mill, and Martha, sensing
their preoccupation, ate quietly.

Actually Silvia thought their
inattentiveness to her presence bordered on rudeness and found
herself chafing as she was completely left out of the
conversations. The three men left before she had finished eating,
and soon Martha too was gone to attend to an errand for Eric.

It was early yet and the clear bright light
of morning beckoned her to a quiet walk in the garden. A light
breeze fanned the floral scents into a new and wonderful perfume
and succeeded in partially restoring her spirits. The sun had not
yet kissed the dew from the blossoms, and it lay in golden droplets
on the fresh green leaves. She strolled through the palmettos,
along the path by the hedges, until at last she could not restrain
herself from visiting the rose garden.

There were dozens of bushes, several
varieties of red roses, many like the one she had found in her
room. Her skirts rustled in the breeze as she followed the
circuitous path around the bushes until she stood among the pinks
and whites. Bees buzzed over the roses, dipping to the centers of
the open flowers, seeking and taking the sweet nectar.

Silvia soon lapsed into deep thought as she
watched their practiced gathering, puzzling over the identity of
her nocturnal visitor, wondering if she had been mistaken in
thinking it had been Roman or Morgan. If either of them cared
enough to want a lock of her hair, there had been no indication of
it at breakfast. She stood very still, staring at nothing in
particular.

“Silvia.”

When a hand touched her shoulder, she
shrieked and whirled around, sending her skirts billowing in a
flurry of silk around her. She clenched her hands into tiny fists
and held them to her breasts. Her eyes were wild and startled.

“Roman,” she said in a whisper. “I thought
you had gone with Eric.”

“And so I had, but came back to remind you
we ride together this afternoon. Had you forgotten?”

Must he always toy with her? She felt a
heated flush beneath her skin. He might have given some hint
earlier that he remembered their plans.

“Actually, I...”

He spoke again, understanding her momentary
frown. “I wanted to get away without Morgan today.”

Her cheeks cooled and she smiled faintly.
“Shall I meet you at the stables?”

“No.” He grinned diabolically, his eyes
bright as the sunlight. “Come through the courtyard. I’ll have the
horses outside the garden gate. We’ll ride to the western side of
the island, over by the salt marshes.” He held one hand behind his
back. “It is the untamed, uncultivated part of the estate. I want
you to see it.”

Grinning delectably, Roman swung his hand
forward and presented her with a vivid red rose, a duplicate of the
one in her room.

Silvia grew a little pale and her fingers
shook as she took the flower from his hand.

But Roman, smiling, mistook her distress for
embarrassment, and making a slight bow, kissed the back of her hand
as she closed it around the stem.

“Red for the lady with secret fires,” he
said softly, and turned on his heels to hurry away.

She watched him disappear but walked awhile
longer in the garden, unable to forget his words. Her breath came
raggedly as she randomly crossed the garden paths, holding the
blossom close against her breast and coming to no conclusion about
all that puzzled her. Finally, tired from her rambling, she stopped
at a stone bench beneath the trees and sat down, raising the
fragrant rose to her lips. It was a perfect blossom, a perfect
rose, a perfect red.

Roman had surely visited her room. She felt
a disjunctive flurry of excitement and distress. Such an action was
out of character for him, and was decidedly not the way she would
want him to behave. She sighed sadly. She should be angry. He had
no right to slip into her room at night, whatever his intentions.
Mr. Schlange would undoubtedly be furious if he knew.

Her lids lowered halfway and her lips sealed
tightly together as she sat beneath the gentle rays of the sun. She
really didn’t know Roman well at all. She had come to think of him
as arrogant and forceful and totally unmindful of her feelings. Now
with the emergence of a secretive and shy side of him she couldn’t
help wondering what had made him change his feelings toward
her.

Clasping the flower in her hands like a
precious jewel, she choked back a little cry. What would occur when
Mr. Schlange told them who she really was? How would Roman feel
about her then? Saddened at the thought of what would happen to her
fragile new world at that time, she left the garden and returned to
her room.

Knowing the men would not be in to dine,
Silvia sent a note to Martha and asked to have a light meal sent to
her room. She had just awakened from a nap when Anna dutifully
arrived with a linen-covered tray.

“Are you feeling poorly, miss?” Anna
pattered in with the large tray and set it on a small table near
the window. She had brought enough food for three: slices of meat,
bread and jam, sliced fruit, and a glass of fresh milk.

“I am well, thank you, Anna. It is simply
that I have some things to do in my room.” Silvia waited by the
door until Anna reluctantly stopped her curious glances and,
apparently satisfied that Silvia was indeed well, departed.

Actually Silvia had nothing at all to do
until her ride with Roman, and she almost found herself wishing Mr.
Schlange would assign her some duties. She was unaccustomed to long
periods of inactivity and there had been months of that on board
the ship. Now that she was rested she would have preferred
something to occupy her. Everyone else seemed to be busy. The
servants, Eric, Morgan and Roman, even Martha had responsibilities.
Perhaps there was some needlework she could do. When she returned
from her ride she would be sure to ask Martha if she could assist
in some way.

Silvia slipped unobserved through the
courtyard, arriving at the garden gate at the arranged time. She
found the latch, lifted up the catch, and with a push heard the
wide gate creak on the heavy iron hinges as it resisted her
efforts. The thick wooden planks were sturdy and strong enough to
serve as a barricade for an armed invasion but finally yielded to
her shoves and swung outward. She immediately saw the horses tied
in a stand of trees just beyond the castle. A moment later Roman
appeared from behind the trunk of an enormous live oak and waved to
her as she quickened her steps in his direction.

The tumult of her feelings burst out in a
smile of pleasure at seeing him. In a few seconds they were both
sheltered beneath the armlike branches of the great oak where the
ground was layered with leaves and spongy moss that had fallen from
the trailing branches. A breeze rippled the green leaves above,
making a linear play of sunlight on the horses’ shiny coats. When
she saw Silvia, Cricket pricked up her ears and gave a little
nicker. Silvia smiled and stroked Cricket’s velvety nose, pleased
the little mare had taken to her so quickly.

“Let’s not linger,” Roman said, gripping her
waist and hoisting her quickly to the saddle. “Morgan has been hot
on my heels all morning.”

“He has good reason to be angry with you,”
Silvia said, forcing a disapproving frown to her face. “You played
an abominable trick on him.”

“Ha!” Roman said scornfully, his eyes
narrowing wickedly. “No worse than he has dealt me on many
occasions.”

Her muted laughter joined the gentle
stirring of the breeze. Soon they were picking a trail through the
trees, and when they emerged suddenly from the forest, burst out on
a gently rolling field green with the wild plant life of Schlange
Island.

Silvia smiled, feeling free and happy as a
bird released from its cage. She marveled at the natural beauty of
the island, the play of greens in the landscape, and the sight of
birds swooping to the ground in the distance feasting on the
abundance of insects. A young brown rabbit scurried across the
trail just ahead of the horses. Trader snorted and Cricket threw
her head back and sidestepped as the frightened bunny bounded out
of sight. Silvia caught hold of Cricket’s mane to steady herself
and tightened her grip on the reins to get the horse under
control.

“Easy, little lady,” she whispered to the
mare.

“Watch her,” Roman warned. “She’s skittish
of sudden moves, though I’ve never known her to actually bolt.” He
leaned from the saddle and patted the mare’s neck. “It’s the only
fault I’ve not been able to break her of. The rascal unseated
Martha once, and my cousin has not cared for Cricket since.”

Cricket gave no more trouble and Silvia soon
relaxed her grip on the reins. They rode silently for a mile or
more, reluctant to shatter the peaceful stillness with words.

The afternoon was pleasant, though warm.
Calm breezes continued to sweep the island in soft gusts. Cricket,
full of energy, picked her feet up high and tossed her head,
indicating her eagerness to quicken the pace. There was a wildness
to this side of the island, an untamed look where the land was
untouched by plows or herds of grazing cattle. Far ahead, a doe
appeared with her young one at her side. Her proud head shot up
when she heard the approaching hooves of the horses, and in an
instant the frightened deer became a flash of white in two brown
blurs as they leapt behind a cover of brush.

Rugged gray rocks began to replace the marsh
grasses and tidal pools as they rode. The faraway sound of crashing
waves grew stronger. In the distance Silvia saw a high rocky crag
jutting into the lively green waters of the ocean. Roman pulled
Trader into the lead and led the way through swells of sand dunes
thick with swaying sea oats. Silvia let Cricket have her head and
the mare followed the big roan, her small hooves sinking deep in
the white sand. When Trader walked into the ocean, Cricket stopped
momentarily on the shore and whinnied to him.

Trader snorted his impatience at the little
mare’s hesitancy. The gentle waves licked at the gelding’s legs;
Roman urged him further into the water until the foamy whitecaps
were splashing the horse’s belly.

Cricket hesitantly set one foot in the wet
sand. She had no sooner shifted her weight when a wave washed over
her hoof. With a jaunty toss of her head, Cricket danced into the
water, flicking her tail, following the way Trader had gone. Roman
waited until they were close behind before nudging Trader around
the rocky protuberance toward the shore and finally into the
confines of a hidden cove.

Silvia’s eyes flashed in awe. Jagged rocks
stretched out like the fingers of a rugged, earthly giant reaching
for a handful of the ocean. The water within the giant’s grasp was
a bright turquoise shade topped with milky white foam where it
crashed against the rocks.