Читать книгу A Royal Masquerade - Arlene James, Arlene James - Страница 9

Roland stood atop a grassy knoll in the soft light of this spring morning, listening to the sound of his horse cropping the rich fodder beside him, and staring at the centuries-old seat of the Montague family. The island nation of Roxbury itself was smaller than its neighbors, but the house in the distance was, in fact, nothing short of a castle. Built in the Austrian style, it was a rambling confection spun of salt-white stone, complete with turrets and an apron wall that was once part of significant fortifications. The outer wall with its cannon platforms had been torn down long ago, leaving a nearly unobstructed view of the castle itself from this vantage point.

Roland shook his head. The castle was a beautiful sight, but he was not concerned with aesthetics. It was the sheer size of the place, the number of rooms that troubled him. A hostage could be hidden in any of several dozen places within those walls, but instinct told him that none was.

In the three days he had been here, he’d asked for and received an “insider’s” tour of the castle from an accommodating maid, and he had carefully, casually questioned the staff about the possibility of an incognito guest on the premises. His questions had aroused no apparent interest or discomfort. If his sister was being held by the Montagues, it was not, apparently, here.

His sister. Roland marveled that his stiff, autocratic, duty-bound father had, for once in his life, surrendered to the temptations of normal human frailty. He marveled at the growing sense of affiliation and affection that he himself felt for a woman he had never met, whose very existence had been unknown to him until a few short days ago. It was as if he knew her on some elemental level, as if she had always been there, a part of him that he had only recently identified. And he was worried for her. Was she safe? Frightened? Lonely? Did she know that someone, anyone, cared? Had she any hope of rescue?

A movement in the outer yard caught his eye, and he focused there for a moment. Someone had come—several someones by the looks of things. A number of cars were parked in the carriage niches built into the apron wall. He had heard nothing from his room atop the stables last night, but the party must have arrived then. He’d been up with the dawn, and no one had arrived since then. Indeed, the household was only beginning to awaken now. After resetting his worn, dingy gray felt cowboy hat so that it rode lower on his forehead, he mounted the big bay gelding he’d chosen to exercise that morning and kicked into a gallop. As Rollie, newly hired stablehand and ostler, his absence would be noted soon.

He walked the bay into the stable some ten minutes later to find Jock Browning, the stable master, hitching his suspenders over his shoulder with one hand and gesturing to a pair of stirrup boys with a buttered croissant held in the other. A short, bow-legged man in his fifties with wild, graying brown hair and dark-brown eyes, Jock was a true horseman, and he had claimed to recognize a kindred spirit in Rollie Thomas, stable hand. Roland couldn’t help wondering if he’d feel the same way about Roland George Albert Thomas Thorton of the royal house of Thortonburg. Jock turned at the sound of Roland’s mount on the cobblestones and called, “We’ve a busy morning here, boyo. Unless he’s lathered, leave that one saddled in the near stall and come give a hand.”

Roland led the bay inside the stall and looped the reins around the holding cleat, then produced an apple core from his pocket, a remnant of his own meager breakfast, as a treat. With the horse munching contentedly, he went out to receive his working orders.

“What’s up, Jock?”

“Eh, the prince and princess arrived last night with a pack of good-timers in tow, and Prince Damon sent word that they’d be riding early this morning, fifteen to twenty of them.”

Roland whistled, suitably impressed, he hoped, for Jock’s satisfaction. “That’ll take just about every head of stock on hand.”

Jock nodded and bit off a huge chunk of his croissant. After chewing energetically for a few moments, Jock said, “We’ll saddle ’em all ’cept the palomino, the blood bay and the dun stallion.”

Roland nodded. The pale-golden horse with the ivory mane and tail was only newly broken to the saddle. An animal of uncertain temperament, the sleek mare had not yet been given a name, a privilege meant for Princess Lillian, daughter of the house, though it was said she never actually rode. Roland had worked with the animal for a few minutes the day before and judged the mare to be a prime piece of horseflesh. With an almost regal bearing, the horse had the kind of fortitude and intelligence necessary for intense training, perhaps in steeplechase, though he’d yet to see the palomino truly put through its paces.

“Good thing I oiled all that tack yesterday,” he said, hurrying to pull saddles and bridles from the tack room.

“Oh, Rollie,” Jock called as the younger man moved away, “there’s a huge pile of cook’s croissants and a fresh pot of coffee in my office there. Snag what ye can afore ye start, eh?”

“Will do.”

But he didn’t. The merrymakers began pouring from the house only moments later, spirits and voices high. Roland recognized several of those in attendance, as well as the atmosphere. Sometimes celebrants, particularly those with little else to occupy them, were reluctant to let the festivities end. This lot had obviously followed the Montagues home in order to prolong the party after the week-long coronation celebration in Wynborough. Roland was careful to keep his hat pulled low and his manner deferential as he rigged one horse after another and threw riders into saddles with interlocked hands forming a mounting stirrup.

Damon Montague, to Roland’s surprise, strode into the stable smiling and promptly saddled his own mount without waiting for help. He then cantered out alone, leaving behind a trio of petulant young women who had been hanging on him and obviously trying to fix his interest. Roland had to chuckle, knowing full well how Damon felt. Nothing put a determined woman on the hunt like a title and a fortune held by a single, eligible man. According to the servants’ gossip, the Montague parents were matchmaking, throwing young women at their widowed son’s head with all the finesse of a cannonade. Roland was thankful that his own status as younger son and his parents’ apparent preoccupation with other matters had spared him a similar fate. The last thing he wanted at this point in his life was a wife.

More than an hour had passed before Roland was able to make his way to Jock’s office and help himself to croissants and coffee. After finishing his cup, he picked up a final croissant and wandered back out into the stable. He just stood there, soaking in the atmosphere and enjoying the unabashed freedom of eating with his hands, when a cooing sound alerted him that he was not alone. Turning, he opened his mouth to take a bite of the flaky pastry, only to freeze at the sight of a pair of firm, well-rounded buttocks perched atop the gate to the palomino’s stall.

The rump was definitely feminine, and clothed, not in tan, English-style riding breeches, but soft, faded denim. Roland tilted his head, taking in the slender legs and small, booted feet that were perched on a slat in the gate a good foot above the flagged floor. Whoever she was, she was small, but definitely not a child. No, that was a very womanly rump. She straightened suddenly, a bright, golden ponytail swinging between her shoulder blades as she teetered on the rail. Correction, that was a very womanly rump attached to a very womanly body with a tiny, nipped-in waist and slender, longish limbs, despite a diminutive stature.

Roland dropped his croissant and strode forward, catching her about the waist and setting her feet on the floor. She jerked around, eyes wide. Colors danced and sparked in those hazel eyes: blue, green, auburn, gold. They were framed by thick, dark-gold lashes and set off with sleek, matching brows that arched only slightly. Drawing back mentally, he widened his gaze to take in her whole face. Her forehead was high and wide, her nose aquiline and a tad more prominent than classical, her mouth a plump, rosy bow. The bone structure was strong, cheeks, jaw and chin definitely delineated. It was an intelligent face, amazingly unique, quite compelling and unusually lovely.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he countered. “That horse is not fully broken. It’s off-limits.”

She yanked her hand from beneath his and brought both free hands to her hips. His gaze dropped to her breasts. Yes, indeed, all woman.

“Who says?” she demanded.

He blinked, searching his mind for the proper reference for that question, and finally found it. “Jock says. He’s—”

“The stable master, yes.” She folded her arms, and a moment later he fought to bring his gaze up from her breasts again. “And who are you?”

He doffed his hat and made her an elaborate bow. “Rollie Thomas, new stable hand.”

“Well, Mr. Thomas, this horse is a special interest of mine,” she informed him coolly.

He grinned unrepentantly. “The name’s Rollie. And who might you be?”

Those amazing eyes grew wide again, but in the next instant her hauteur softened. “I’m, er, Lily.”

“Lily?” Why did that name sound familiar? “Well, Lily,” he said smoothly, aware that his voice had dropped to a silky rumble, “I’m sure the palomino appreciates the sentiment. I should certainly like to be a special interest of yours. However, I’ve been given instructions that the horse is off-limits to everyone but the princess and—” Frowning, he stared at her. “Lily, that’s the princess’s name, isn’t it?”

She smirked and rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Her name is Lillian.” Imbued with all the importance of royalty, the name took on a whole new sound than the one in his head.

“Ah.” Of course. Roland was royalty. Rollie was a stable hand. Likewise, Lillian was a princess. So what was Lily? “I take it you’re a guest. If you’d like a mount, I could saddle—”

“You take it wrong, Mr. Thomas. I am a resident.”

His eyes narrowed, sensing something here, something that might turn out to be useful. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Just, um, what is it that you do around here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She shrugged. “Ladies, um, that is, ladies’ maids do whatever is required of them.”

“Including hanging out in the stables?” he queried doubtfully, lifting his eyebrows.

She grinned. “Not just hanging out, working, and if I had my way, it’d be permanent. As it is, I can only get away so often, but thankfully Jock indulges me.”

Roland leaned his forearms against the top rail of the gate and deliberately let his smile take on a flirtatious air. This assignment was suddenly having unforeseen bonuses. “Like the horses, do you?” he asked conversationally.

She mimicked his stance, stepping up on the bottom rung in order to do so. “Very much.”

“Me, too. You must be pretty good if Jock lets you work the stock.”

Her smile literally sparkled. “I like to think so. You must be pretty good yourself, for Jock to have hired you.”

He chuckled. “The old man knows his stuff, doesn’t he?”

“He’s the best,” she confirmed. The horse nickered and shifted in the stall. “What’s the matter, baby?” she crooned. “Not getting enough attention? Come here. Come on. Come around here.”

Roland watched, surprised, as the horse circled inside the box and ambled forward, coaxed by Lily’s clucking tongue and cooing voice.

“That’s my good girl,” Lily sang, leaning forward to let the horse take her scent. She did not reach out her hand, not yet. “Whatever are we going to call you?” she murmured. “Sunshine? Goldie? Buttercup?”

Roland wrinkled his nose at the flowery names. “I thought Princess Lillian was to name her.”

Lily shot him a sideways glance. “Hmm, she is.” Lily leaned his way, confiding softly, “Between you and me, however, she’ll need some help.”

“Not too bright, is she?” he whispered, sidling closer.

Something flashed in her eyes, a spark of loyalty, perhaps. “Just…boring,” she said finally.

“Unimaginative?” he prodded, liking the defensiveness that came into her posture. What good was a family retainer without some loyalty and affection for the family?

“Constrained,” she corrected.

Now that he could understand. He nodded slowly. “Well, I hope she foregoes the pretty monikers. This lady deserves a strong name, something that reflects her spirit and value.”

Lily considered that a moment, then turned her head to look at him. “What would you suggest?”

He shrugged, and the word just popped out of his mouth. “Doubloon.” Inwardly, he winced. This pirate thing seemed to have taken him over lately. Lily, however, inclined her head.

“That’s good. Doubloon. The gold Spanish treasure coin. I like that. I’ll pass it on.”

He smiled. “As long as you like it, that’s satisfaction enough for me.”

She measured him with a blatant look, then turned to hook an elbow over the top of the gate. “You’re very forward.”

“You’re very beautiful,” he shot back.

Her face pinched into a frown, but he caught the flare of pleasure in her eyes and dared her with his gaze to deny it. Suddenly she burst out with a laugh. “Well, it’s not original as compliments go, but the delivery was excellent. I think it deserves at least a standard reply.” She nodded her head. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He braced his elbows against the top of the gate, lifted his fists together and propped his chin atop them, waiting for her to choose the next step. She didn’t disappoint him.

“What are you doing for the next little while?”

He straightened, kept his smile firmly locked away, and spread his hands. “Jock hasn’t said yet. We were going to exercise the stock, but the riding party has taken care of that.”

She hopped down off the gate, saying, “Let’s put the Lady Doubloon through her paces. What do you say?”

He shouldn’t. He knew without a doubt that it wasn’t up to him to make such decisions, but he did it anyway. After all, she was a rich potential source of information, and if Jock “indulged” her interest in horses, she must be good. He lifted the latch on the gate. “Do you really think the princess will go for that name?”

Lily smiled. “I have a little influence.”

“Oh?”

“I happen to know her personal maid.”

Chuckling, he opened the gate. A rich source of information, indeed, and quite, quite lovely.

He was really quite handsome, Lily mused to herself. Though fairly tall—right at six feet, she judged—he did not overwhelm as her brother Damon did. Wiry but solid, he gave the impression of strength, both physically and mentally. And he didn’t have the slightest clue who she really was, though there had been a moment when she feared he had tumbled onto the truth. Those in the stables who were aware of her identity were under strict orders to keep the information to themselves, so she had no fear that he would discover the truth that way. No doubt, it was unfair to mislead him. In fact, it was probably unwise, but she just couldn’t help indulging herself a little. She grew so tired of the sycophants, the hangers-on who could never for a single instant forget who and what she was.

Sometimes she wanted to scream that she was a woman, a flesh-and-blood human being, but she doubted the humanity of those who surrounded her, those of her own social set. They simply wouldn’t understand. Rollie, however, seemed sublimely human. What could it hurt if she indulged herself for a little while in something called “normalcy”?

Rollie led the newly christened Lady Doubloon into the working pen, and turned her loose. Lily bit back an order to secure the animal while Rollie went to the tack room for saddle, pads and bridle. He returned to hang the gear over the fence and rub his hands together eagerly.

“Ready?”

“Are you going to catch her again?”

“No.” He shook his head. “That wouldn’t serve any purpose. I’m going to make her come to me.”

“You’re what?”

He pushed his hat back and brought his hands to his lean hips. “Watch and learn, sweetheart. From over there by the fence, if you please.”

Reminding herself that she was not the princess just now, Lily bit her tongue and did as she was told. Rollie went down on his haunches, hung his hands off his knees and puffed a blustering breath, bowing his head slightly so that he looked up at the horse from beneath his brow. His hair had seemed black in the shadows of the stable. Here in the sunlight Lily realized that the hair scraped back from his even hairline by the band of his hat was the color of dark chocolate.

She studied his face while he concentrated on the horse. Long and lean, with a squared-off chin and boxy jaw shadowed with a murky beard over dark golden skin, it was a distinctive face full of strong features. His mouth was wide and thin but neatly sculpted, his nose somewhat sharp with a slight bump just where it parted his straight, thick brows. The vibrant-blue eyes set deeply beneath those brows had proven both compelling and oddly unfathomable. She admired the breadth of his shoulders and the long, wiry length of his arms ending in big, squarish palms and long, tapering fingers. His booted feet were large; his legs long, powerful coils beneath him, despite his apparent ease as he crouched before the horse.

To Lily’s surprise, the palomino suddenly swung her head wildly and pranced her front hooves. Rollie slid his arms to his sides, hunched his shoulders and bowed his head. After a moment, he slowly looked up again, a smile dancing in his deep-blue eyes. For some reason, Lily found herself holding her breath. Just when she’d decided that she was an idiot for doing so, the horse moved. Head bowed, it ambled over to where Rollie patiently waited and snuffled his hair, knocking off his hat. Rollie chuckled and lifted a hand to rub a flicking ear. For several delightful moments, the horse snuffled as Rollie rubbed his face and hands over its massive head and neck. Then slowly Rollie rose to his full height, careful to keep an arm lightly about the horse’s neck.

Lady Doubloon tolerated this familiarity for some time before cantering off around the corral, playfully kicking up her heels and tossing her starlight-pale mane. She swept by Rollie repeatedly, coming closer and closer. Other than retrieving his hat, Rollie stood his ground, letting the mare brush him as he laughingly avoided her hooves by shuffling his feet. Eventually, the horse cantered to a stop, hooves cutting grooves in the soft soil of the corral. Sides heaving, she blew into Rollie’s palm. He ruffled her mane and hugged her, while Lily simply marveled.

Long minutes later, Rollie turned and walked calmly toward Lily and the tack spread out on the fence. Lady Doubloon fell into step beside him, for all the world like a friend out for a stroll.

“Get down,” Rollie said to Lily. “Bow your head like I did.”

Lily did as instructed, sinking down onto her haunches. After several moments, she felt the horse nosing, and then lipping, her ponytail. Rollie quietly instructed her, when to lift her hand, how to return Lady Doubloon’s curious caresses. They were well known to each other, she and Lady Doubloon, and it didn’t take long to establish what Lily could only call a firm friendship.

The saddle went on first, but was not cinched until Rollie deemed Lady Doubloon to be in agreement. When Lily pushed the bit between her teeth, the horse offered no resistance whatsoever.

“I’ll take a seat first, if you don’t mind,” Rollie said, having adjusted the stirrups. Before Lily could answer, he swung up into the saddle, clearly not used to being gain-said, despite the polite phrasing. He simply sat for a while, making himself comfortable in the saddle, before reaching for the reins, but even then he held the horse still. After some time, he got down again and began shortening the stirrups. “Your turn,” he informed her.

Lily mimicked his behavior. She’d been on Lady Doubloon’s back before, but the mare hadn’t exactly been thrilled about it. This time, the horse seemed not only willing but eager.

“She’s ready,” Rollie said. “Take it slow and announce your intentions first.”

“Announce my intentions?” Lily echoed.

He squinted up at her. “Just keep it simple. When you want to go, say so before you touch your heels to her flanks.”

“I suppose you think she’ll understand me,” Lily quipped.

“She will eventually,” he replied lightly, stationing himself at Lily’s knee.

Considering all she had just seen, Lily was not inclined to argue. She picked up the reins and said, “Let’s go, girl.”

When she touched her heels to Doubloon’s flanks, Rollie instantly stepped off. A split second later, the horse stepped off, too.

“Left,” Lily announced, and just as she laid the rein against Lady Doubloon’s neck, Rollie turned. The horse followed smoothly. This went on for some time, until the horse balked, at which point Rollie turned to caress her head, speaking softly.

“Now, now, in for a penny, in for a pound, my lady. We’ve begun work here, and if you’re to become the splendid mount I know you can be, you must learn to obey loyally and promptly. Otherwise, you’re just a pretty hobby, not even a good pet, and you’re much too intelligent and beautiful for either.” He looked up at Lily, then stepped back and folded his arms. “Again, with a bit more authority, if you please.”

Lily repeated her command. To her surprise, Rollie stood still, but the horse performed instantly and flawlessly. When the animal balked again a few moments later, Rollie instructed Lily to “talk her into it.” Lily leaned forward and spoke into the horse’s ear while repeating her command action. Lady Doubloon flicked an ear, huffed, and reluctantly did as she was bidden. Rollie called a halt soon after.

Together, Lily and Rollie unsaddled and groomed the mare in her stall. All the while, Rollie heaped praise and affection on the animal. Finally, he treated the preening mare with a fistful of oats and a small piece of honeycomb, which he explained he liked to keep on hand for a special reward. When they left the stall, Lady Doubloon surprised Lily by trying to follow them. Rollie moved her back into the stall and closed the gate, saying, “Stay back. You’ve earned a rest, my love. I’ll come round and check on you later, and the three of us will get together again soon. Goodbye for now.” He rubbed the big golden head and gently tugged at the pale forelock.

Lily took her own leave in much the same way, murmuring, “Goodbye, Lady Doubloon, and thank you.”

The horse huffed at them as they walked away.

“There’s coffee in the office,” Rollie said. “Have you time for a cup?”

“Yes, of course.”

He slid her a quick look. “I suppose your mistress is out on the ride.”

“Er, not exactly.”

“No?” He pushed the office door back, allowing her to pass through the opening before him. “Just who is your lady?”

Lily wrinkled her nose and considered the lie carefully, finally deciding to get as close to the truth as possible. “I answer to the princess.”

He lifted a brow at that and turned away to toss his hat onto the desk and fill two waxed paper cups with the strong, black brew left warming on an electric burner positioned on a rolling cart. Only at the last moment did he pause. “We have hot water if you prefer tea.”

She shook her head, smiling. “I’m used to Jock’s coffee.”

He handed over the cups and leaned back against the battered desk while Lily took one of the equally battered chairs in front of it. A small leather sofa had been shoved up against the wall between a narrow bookcase and the door. A small barrel used as a footstool sat to one side. Dusty magazines and well-used books were piled together with various trophies and some detritus on the bookcase. A file cabinet in the corner behind the desk was overflowing with papers. A computer arranged on a narrow table against the wall blinked mistily from behind a plastic cover.

The coffee was bitter, but Lily did not complain. Rollie fairly chugged his, drinking it down in big gulps. She suspected that he probably drank too much of the stuff.

“That was amazing, what you did out there,” she told him honestly. “Where did you learn such things?”

“America. It’s a technique used in the northwest there.”

“You’ve traveled then?”

He nodded. “Some. You?”

“Of course.”

He smiled. “Ah, yes. A princess cannot be without her maid.”

She smiled, too. “Just so.”

He crossed his feet at the ankles and folded his arms. “Tell me, does the princess have any unusual guests just now?”

“Unusual?” Lily echoed, stiffening. “Whatever do you mean?”

He waved a hand negligently. “I was just wondering if the lot that came through here this morning are the usual faces seen around the princess and her brother, or if perhaps a more reticent guest might be in residence.”

Lily stood up, feeling a distinct unease. “These are odd questions.”

“Are they? I didn’t realize. I’m just curious.”

“About the guests?”

He shrugged negligently. “It pays to know such things. As a servant yourself, you must realize that certain types of knowledge are essential to anticipating your employer’s needs—and those of her guests, of course.”

She carried her cup to the one small, dusty window at the end of the room and pretended to gaze out at the lushly rolling landscape. “The lot that came through here this morning are the usual crew,” she said lightly, “with the exception of a trio of young women in whom the prince’s mother is trying to interest him.”

Rollie chuckled. “Matchmaking mamas, one of the most formidable forces on earth. From what I saw this morning, she has her work cut out for her, though.”

Lily turned to face the room again, smiling. “He calls them the unholy trinity.”

“Does he?”

She nodded. “He doesn’t want to be in love again. It’s too painful for him, after losing his wife and child a little over a year ago.”

Rollie sent her a strange look, something snapping in the mysterious depths of those blue eyes. “You sound as if you know Prince Damon rather well.”

Oops. She glanced down at her cup, gathering her thoughts. “He and his sister are quite close. One absorbs certain knowledge just from being around.”

“His mother doesn’t seem to have absorbed that knowledge.”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “She thinks that he’ll get over his loss more easily if he fixes his interest, and, of course, there is the succession to secure.”

“Of course.”

He was still looking at her oddly, that mysterious glint in his eye. “Tell me something,” he said smoothly. “In your opinion, are the Montagues capable of acting, shall we say, unlawfully?”

She rocked back on her heels. “No! Why would you even ask such a thing?”

He shrugged. “I like to know who I’m working for, what to expect of them.”

“I find your question insulting,” she informed him with a tilt of her chin.

“Oh? Why is that?”

Why, indeed? She turned away, thinking quickly, and finally said, “I know the Montagues. I grew up around them. They can be fierce when one of their own is threatened.”

“Ruthless?” he interjected.

She turned once more to meet his gaze levelly. “Yes, ruthless, when need be, but not malicious, never that.”

He smiled, and something about it made her think that he didn’t quite believe her. “The princess is fortunate to have you,” he said silkily. “Such loyalty speaks well for both of you.”

Lily lifted her chin a notch higher. “The princess needs no one to speak for her,” she said smartly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the castle.”

She circled the desk, placing her partially filled coffee cup in the trash can next to the cart. He shifted as she strode past him and shot out a hand, clamping it around her wrist.

“When will I see you again?” he asked softly.

She stared at his hand, stunned by the weight and heat of it, only belatedly realizing that his grip was gentle, unthreatening. Carefully, she rotated her wrist, freeing it. “I really couldn’t say,” she murmured, and swept from the room. She didn’t slow down until she had cleared the tunneled archway through which she had entered the stables.

What a disturbing man he was, disturbing but compelling. And real. Perhaps more real than anyone she’d ever known before. How odd that was, to feel as if life was somehow more vibrant, more intense in him. He made her feel as if she had been hibernating, living half-awake. What he had done with that horse! She shivered and remembered the unsettling warmth of his hand. If she was wise, she would steer clear of Rollie Thomas. But for the first time in a very, very long time, she wasn’t sure that the wisest course was the course she was going to take.