Dragon Rose(52)

I hadn’t known until then how much it mattered to me what he thought, how he felt. Relief coursed through me, with the return of an energy I had not felt for several days. His hand was only a few inches from mine, and I grasped his fingers, feeling the soft, warm leather like a caress against my skin.

Barely a whisper as he asked, “You do not fear me?”

I didn’t even have to stop to think. “Of course not,” I replied. “You have given me no reason to fear you.”

He made no reply, but only tightened his fingers around mine. I felt again the heat of his flesh through the thin leather, the force of his being. How I wished it could be more than this, but at least it was a start.

“Stay with me,” I said.

“Of course. Would you like me to read to you?”

“Very much.” Anything to hear more of that mellow, mahogany voice.

With apparent reluctance he released my hand and went into the other room, where I had left Tales of the Age of Magic sitting on the table in front of the divan. I couldn’t help but wonder whether he would read me “The Tale of Alende and Allaire,” but of course he was far too circumspect for that. No, he drew a chair up to my bedside and opened the book to its proper beginning, “Of the Coming of the Althuri.”

I must confess that I was rather more interested now I had Theran reading the story to me, rather than trying to slog through it myself. Truly, it seemed fantastic beyond belief, that beings from a world other than ours would come here and fall in love with our women, thus bringing the gift—or curse—of magic to their offspring. But that is how it was put forth in the book, and I was so caught up in Theran’s reading of the tale that I did not want to stop him and ask questions.

At length he came to the end of that particular tale, with the last of the Althuri driven into hiding and those who carried the strain of magic going out into the world and selling their services to whatever kings and lords had the means to pay their prices. Theran closed the book and said, “It grows quite late, Rhianne. I think it is time for you to sleep.”

“Sleep? When that is all I have done for the past three days?”

“Yes. It’s true that you have spent much time abed, but you should sleep now, and try to rise in the morning at your usual time, so you are back in the same rhythm as the rest of the household.”

These words were so sensible, and so like something Sar or my mother would have said, that I could hardly gainsay them. So I merely nodded and said, “Yes, Theran.”

“That is very meek, and quite unlike you. You do promise not to get up in the middle of the night and paint a portrait of Sar, or some such?”

I laughed then, as much from relief at the teasing note in his voice as from the image of me being driven enough to paint Sar in the wee hours of the morning. Of course, there was no way I could confess to him that I’d had more than one of those nighttime painting sessions, not when the subject was someone he might conceivably see as a rival, ridiculous as that might sound.

“I promise. I shall sleep the night through and then eat all my porridge in the morning.”

“Sar actually brings that to you? I shall have to speak to her.”

“No—no. I was only teasing. Sar brings me proper breakfasts of bacon and bread and eggs. No gruel, I assure you.”

“Ah, that is a relief.” He stood, and this time I saw no hesitation as he reached over and touched my hand. “Sleep well, Rhianne.”

“I will.”

The dark hood bent perilously close to the candle flames as he blew out the tapers in the candelabra one by one, but he rose without having suffered any harm. “Perhaps a walk in the rose garden tomorrow, if the weather allows?”

“I would like that very much.”

He nodded and went out, leaving me alone in the dark. I didn’t mind it as much this time, though. A soft wash of dim light still came in through the doorway from the last of the fire in the hearth, and it heartened me somehow. His footsteps sounded across the stone floor, and then I heard him shut the outer door.

A deep breath, then another. I should sleep, so I could walk in the gardens with my husband the next day.

And darkness claimed me.





Chapter Twelve





“Oh, well,” Sar said, as I looked in despair at the snow falling outside. “It’s come this early before, and I daresay it will again.”

“But Ther—but his lordship and I had planned to walk in the gardens today!”

“No reason why you still shouldn’t, if you’re feeling well enough and bundle up. It’s a dry, light snow, by the looks of it. You should have no trouble walking, as long as it doesn’t get any worse.”

These sturdy, no-nonsense words did something to hearten me, but still I found myself angry, frustrated that the snow couldn’t have held off for just another day. Foolish, of course. The weather did what it willed, and all of my cursing would do very little to change it.

“You will—you will tell his lordship that I fully intend to still walk with him after I have eaten and dressed?”

“Of course, my lady. Don’t fret about that. Now, finish the rest of your breakfast, and see how you feel then.”

There being little else I could do, I ate the last of the cold chicken and biscuits on my plate, my eyes fixed on the grey skies outside. Was the snow letting up a little? It seemed to be coming in brief flurries, rather than in the steady veils of white I had spied when I first woke up.