Dragon Rose(39)

It seemed odd to me, though, that I had already tried to reach out to him, and had been rebuffed. Theran’s did not seem to be the actions of a man inviting a woman to love him.

A puzzle, and one for which I appeared to have no answers. My common sense told me I should go to bed and think on it anew the next morning. The world’s troubles could not be solved in a day, as my mother used to say. So I got to my feet and set the book down on the low table next to the divan, then put myself to bed.

Even as I did so, I thought of Theran, alone in his rooms, tinkering with those lovely little instruments he had devised as a way of filling the empty hours. What would he do if I arose from my bed and went to him now, asked to stay? Would he laugh, or would he let me in?

I feared I wasn’t quite brave enough for that yet. I closed my eyes, and willed myself to an uneasy sleep.





Chapter Nine





Perhaps it was simply because I had kept myself up so late, and was so much wearier than usual, that my sleep that night was black and dreamless. When I awoke, however, I felt curiously unrefreshed, as if I had not really slept at all.

The pot of bracing tea Melynne brought up for me in the morning helped a little, although my mood was not improved by the view I caught of the lowering day outside my windows. I’d had some notion that perhaps a walk in the garden might help to clear my head, but the storm clouds I saw told a different story. I was barely into my second cup of tea before the rain had begun to stream down the glass.

Melynne seemed quieter than normal that morning; perhaps she had caught something of my ill humor. At any rate, she laid out my clothes in silence, and was equally quiet as she gathered up my breakfast dishes and prepared to leave.

“Do you like it here?” I asked abruptly, and she paused on the threshold, brown eyes wide. She seemed alert and wary, rather like a young doe perched to flee.

“Like it, milady?”

“Does it suit you, being in service here? Or would you rather have stayed in Greyton?”

Once I had put the question in those terms, she seemed to relax a little. “Oh, it’s much better here than in Greyton, milady.”

“How so? Isn’t your family in the hamlet? Your friends?”

“My ma died when I was born, milady, and my da a few years after. I lived with my aunt until I was old enough to come here. I think they were glad of having one less mouth to feed.”

She spoke simply, with no apparent design of eliciting my sympathy, and yet my heart went out to her. How hard to be left alone, and with relatives who saw you only as a burden. I thought then how lucky I had been in my own family, despite their little faults and foibles.

“I see. But your friends?”

“I have all the friends I need here, milady. Besides, Mat and I—” And she broke off, blushing a little. No doubt the servants were not supposed to admit their liaisons to their masters.

“That’s good to hear,” I said, smiling so she would know I did not disapprove of her relationship with Mat, whatever it might be. “Having someone special makes the day go by more quickly, I would expect.”

She answered only with another blush, and some downcast eyes. I began to understand why Sar sometimes complained about Melynne not being quite as quick to answer the bell as she should…no doubt she was stealing a few moments with her young man.

Since it seemed clear that she did not wish to reveal any more than that, I thanked Melynne and let her make her escape before I could embarrass her any further. After she had gone, my smile faded. Yes, there might be a bit of romance hiding in Black’s Keep…but not for me, apparently.

My mother would have told me that self-pity was a most unattractive quality in a young lady, but she was not there to scold me. And although I had begun to develop some sort of rapport with Sar, I guessed she would be properly horrified if I tried to discuss anything of my nascent feelings for Theran Blackmoor with her.

I knew I should shake off my dark mood and go back to my easel, but the paints and brushes oddly held no allure for me that day. And although I did go to my painting alcove, I ignored the tame landscape that was my “public” work in progress. Instead, I pulled out my half-finished portrait of the strange young man, then sat there, staring at it for a long while.

The sea-colored eyes seemed to gaze back at me, holding their own secrets. I had neglected the painting for several days, although at that moment it scarcely seemed to matter. It was only a diversion, a foolish fancy. A waste of good canvas, really, for a portrait of someone who lived only in my own fevered dreams. Didn’t I have enough to worry about without allowing myself to be consumed by visions of a man who didn’t even exist?

A strange humor possessed me, and I set the painting down on my worktable and seized my largest brush, then mixed up a quantity of paint, pale as new cream. A fitting tint to cover his enigmatic features, to blot out the knowing eyes and the mouth with its quirk in the corner, to make the canvas blank again so it could hold a more worthy subject.

I held the brush over the canvas for a long moment. My hand began to tremble.

No.

The voice was as clear in my mind as if the speaker were in the room with me, although I was quite alone. I even glanced over my shoulder, thinking perhaps Theran had entered the suite while I was preoccupied, but of course I saw no one. He had never come to my rooms during the daylight hours.