The Silent Touch of Shadows (12 page)

‘You’re not enjoying this fine day?’ he asked, seeing her expression. ‘Perhaps you don’t care for flowers?’

‘Of course I do, only
 
…’ She couldn’t tell him he had spoiled her enjoyment of them. It would sound too churlish. ‘You frightened me, is all.’

‘Well, perhaps you’d allow me to make amends? Come for a walk with me and we can appreciate the beauty of spring together.’ He held out his arm for her and looked at her expectantly.

‘But I barely know you.’

‘Nonsense. I’m a guest of the Presseille family. Surely you don’t think I would jeopardise their goodwill by mistreating one of their neighbours and a former daughter-in-law of Lady Maude’s at that?’ He smiled at her to indicate how ridiculous he thought her suspicions. ‘I only wish to walk and talk with you.’

Sibell felt foolish for doubting him. He certainly didn’t look like a brigand, nor act like one. Perhaps he was the opposite – someone sent to root out and apprehend the Duke’s supporters? With a sigh she gave up thinking about it and remembered her decision to enjoy the here and now. ‘Very well,’ she said and placed a few fingers on his forearm. ‘I see no harm in walking a little way. There is a brook not far from here which is in full flow at this time of year; a lovely sight.’

‘Then let us find it.’

The smile he gave her banished all her doubts for the moment. But they soon returned.

This is all wrong!
Sibell knew that to spend time with a virtual stranger, and a male one at that, went against everything she had been taught. To do so in the seclusion of the forest was even worse. And yet, she couldn’t deny she was enjoying every moment.

Sir Roger’s enthusiasm for everything around them was infectious, as was his laughter, which rang out frequently. Here was obviously a man who lived life to the full, who never looked back with regrets, but only forward. Unlike the men in her family, who seemed to be forever brooding over something and always wishing for what they didn’t have.

‘Why so sad?’ he enquired, pulling her out of her reverie.

‘I’m not sad, merely thinking.’

‘You’re still worried about your father? Is he likely to have followed you?’

‘Oh, no. He’s busy this morning. It was nothing, really.’

He had stopped to face her and was regarding her with a serious look for once. ‘I wouldn’t want to put you in a difficult position. You must tell me if you wish me to leave.’

‘No! I mean, don’t leave on my account. I’m enjoying your company.’ The confession escaped her before she could stop it and she felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

‘And I yours.’

The look that accompanied this statement sent her heart into a frenzy, but she told herself sternly that it was just his way. He was merely indulging in a light flirtation to pass the
 
time.

He means nothing by it and I’d do well to remember that.

Roger was enjoying himself hugely, a fact which surprised him somewhat. Although he hadn’t sought out Mistress Sibell on purpose this morning, he realised now he’d unconsciously walked this way in the hope of seeing her. He was quite sure it was the last thing he ought to have done. So why had he?

The answer seemed to be that he couldn’t help himself. He simply had to see her again.

It was strange, for he wouldn’t normally have given her a second glance. He’d always liked small, merry, buxom armfuls, the kind of women who knew the rules of the game and gave as good as they got. Easy-going and worldly wise, never demanding any serious effort on his behalf. Sibell most definitely didn’t fit that description. If anything, she was the complete opposite.

She was tall and reached at least up to his chin. Although the full-length cloak she wore prevented him from assessing her figure properly, he judged her to be of slim build. But he remembered from their ride that she had curves; he’d felt them as she leant against him. Her face was almost gaunt, though, and an air of sadness hung over her like an invisible veil. She also appeared to be extremely innocent, despite having been married. His flirtatious glances and comments were mostly met with either a shy smile or a look of bafflement. It was as if no one had ever teased her before.

He couldn’t understand it.

Something about her fascinated him, however. He’d gathered from further gossip overheard at Idenhurst that she’d been well-loved as the daughter-in-law of Sir Gilbert and was a favourite with Lady Maude. With such patronage, her father ought to have been concerned for her welfare.
So why was she walking alone through the countryside?
For that matter, why had she been walking at all? Even Lady Maude had questioned her lack of a mount.

As he slanted her another brief glance, the wide grey eyes, thickly fringed with dark lashes, regarded him solemnly, almost apprehensively. There was none of the coquetry he usually met with, and Sibell seemed sublimely unaware of her own charms, such as they were. He had to acknowledge she wasn’t a beauty in the true sense of the word, but he would allow that she was passing pretty. The silvery eyes were set in a piquant face together with a small, straight nose, which was slightly tilted at the tip. The bridge of her nose was covered in freckles, which some men might have found offensive. Roger thought them charming. He knew she had dimples either side of her generous mouth and he suddenly had an irresistible urge to kiss her.

He shook himself mentally.
This is madness and I should go.

There was something infinitely appealing about her, though. Her aura of fragility stirred his inherent chivalry to uncharted heights and made him want to protect her against the entire world. And when she tilted her head to one side and sent him a look full of trust and dawning hope, he knew he was lost. He couldn’t leave her.

Perhaps not ever.

On his return to Idenhurst, he forgot about Sibell for a while, however, when Hugone sought him out and drew him to one side.

‘Sir, I have some news. A servant of Sir Gilbert’s by the name of Walter came riding into the yard earlier, looking as though he’d been on a long journey. I decided to follow him and shortly after his arrival he met with his master in the stables.’

‘And why the secrecy?’ Roger’s interest was piqued. He suspected his host was a supporter of the Duke of York, but if so, he’d kept quiet about it. Officially, he was loyal to the
 
King.

‘Well, they spoke about you.’ Hugone looked slightly uncomfortable and Roger frowned at him.

‘Me? What did they say?’

‘It sounded to me as though the man Walter had been sent off to find out more about you, check your background, as it were.’

Roger nodded. ‘Didn’t trust my story, eh? Can’t really blame him, I suppose. And what was the verdict?’

‘I heard Walter say that everything you’d told Sir Gilbert appeared to be true and he’d had no bad reports of you, only good.’ Hugone bit his lip. ‘Although
 
…’

‘Spit it out. What else did he say?’

‘He’d been told of your possible involvement with the Duke, sir. Nothing definite, but there were rumours, apparently.’

‘Hmm, no one can prove anything, but we’d do best to be on our guard. Not that I think Sir Gilbert will hold it against me, quite the opposite, but until we can talk of such things freely
 
…’ He fixed Hugone with a stern gaze, but knew it wasn’t really necessary. The youth was completely trustworthy.

‘Not a word, sir.’

‘Excellent. Thank you for your vigilance, and remind me to pay you extra this month.’

Chapter Nine

‘A snowstorm in March? Now I’ve seen everything.’ Dorothy threw up her hands in disgust and let the heavy velvet curtain fall back into place.

Melissa, the room’s only other occupant, sneezed violently in reply and burrowed further into the huge winged armchair next to the fireplace.

‘Can I get you anything, dear?’ Dorothy asked.

‘No.’ Melissa blew her nose and added, ‘I mean, no thank you. Sorry to be so grumpy, but I don’t feel too good.’ Her head was aching like the very devil and she thought her sinuses might be in imminent danger of exploding.

‘Hmph. You’re a worse patient than my Charlie and that’s saying something.’

Melissa couldn’t disagree with that statement since she’d never met the late lamented Mr Cummings, so she merely sniffed and reiterated her apology.

Dorothy headed for the door. ‘Some hot soup is what you need. If anyone wants me I’ll be in the kitchen.’

‘Uh-hmm. Thanks.’

The oak-beamed sitting room at Ashleigh Manor was a warm haven, cocooning Melissa from the violent snowstorm raging outside. The log fire in the enormous inglenook kept the room at just the right temperature, and had the added advantage of making the dark oak furniture gleam warmly in the reflection of its bright light. Large Persian rugs in shades of russet and red added insulation and a welcome splash of colour.

Melissa sighed. ‘I hate being ill,’ she muttered, and leaned back to let the softness of the chair envelop her. Dorothy was right, she was a very bad patient. Russ, who was lying in front of the fire, raised his head and gave her a sympathetic look.

The old timbers of the house creaked from time to time and the occasional gust of wind whistled down the chimney, but nothing else moved. Melissa could hear humming and the distant clatter of cooking utensils from the kitchen, but the noise seemed far away. A sense of unreality stole over her, and she was lulled into sleep.

Without warning, Russ suddenly shot up and growled furiously in the direction of the wall opposite Melissa’s chair. His hackles were up and he performed a series of little angry jumps while keeping his eyes firmly glued to the wall.

Melissa blinked. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ She rubbed at sleep-heavy eyes and stared after him as, claws scrabbling on the slippery floorboards, he bolted for the door into the hall. She turned back to see what could have made the little dog act in such a strange manner and froze.

There was a face on the wall and it was staring at her.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and a vice began to close around her throat. She couldn’t breathe, and although she wanted to scream, she found it impossible. She tried, but only a pitiful whimper emerged. Squeezing her eyes shut, she regained the use of her lungs, although only for small, painful gasps of air.

‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered. Was she really so ill she was conjuring up faces on the wall?
But wait, Russ must have seen it, too.

She raised her eyelids just a fraction. The face was still there, and this time he smiled at her. She drew in another rasping breath and opened her eyes fully. Sheer terror kept her rooted to her seat and her eyes riveted to the strange image.

It was a he, no doubt about it. He had an incredibly masculine face, although it was framed by long, blond hair. It slowly came into focus, as if an invisible lens was adjusting the picture and Melissa found herself gazing into a pair of ice-blue eyes that seemed strangely familiar. She noticed a long scar down the left-hand cheek, which made him look slightly piratical and that was when she made the connection.
He’s the man in my dreams!

She wondered fleetingly if she’d gone to sleep and was dreaming now, but somehow she knew that wasn’t the case. The vivid eyes blinked and she exhaled slowly to calm herself.

‘No, this can’t be happening,’ she breathed, but his smile widened as if to prove her wrong.

Little by little, she felt the terror ebb out of her and curiosity took over. How was this possible? Another brief attempt at closing her eyes to make him go away didn’t result in any change. The man’s face remained and his lips moved as if he was talking to her, although she couldn’t hear anything.

Melissa began to wonder if someone was playing a trick on her. She looked around for a possible source for the image on the wall, but couldn’t find anything obvious. There was no one else in the room, and no logical place in which a tape recorder or film camera could have been hidden. The smooth plaster wall would be an ideal place to project an image onto, but in that case, there should have been a beam of light emanating from somewhere. There wasn’t.

‘Impossible,’ she muttered and returned her stare to the man’s face.

All of a sudden her body began to tingle and her head felt as if someone was stuffing it full of cotton wool. A strange groping sensation spread inside her, little tentacles searching, questing. Melissa shook her head and blinked several times.
What is happening to me?

Unaccountably, the fear she’d felt before was dispersing and it was replaced by something else. A burgeoning warmth, the niggling sensation that she knew this man, liked him even. She tried to shake her head once more, but this time it didn’t obey her. In fact, none of her limbs moved at her command, but appeared to be guided by some other force, a force that wasn’t of her making.

She had no choice but to stare at the man. His smile suddenly made her go weak at the knees, despite sitting down, and as if in a trance she felt her body lean forward to catch his words. There was an urgency compelling her to listen, and she became frustrated when at first she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Slowly, however, his voice grew louder and began to echo inside her head until she could hear him clearly.