Celtic Fire(30)
She did not answer.
“Have you eaten this evening?” When she didn’t respond, Lucius sighed and stretched out his legs. The dusk settled silently around them. He was prepared to wait all night for her response, but he doubted it would be necessary. No woman could remain silent that long. In the meantime, a few moments free of his brother’s unrelenting presence would be pleasure enough.
A slave exited the kitchens and made the rounds of the courtyard, touching a lit taper to the pitch-soaked torches set about the perimeter of the garden. Lucius waited until the man had disappeared before placing his hand on Rhiannon’s arm.
Her head turned and her gaze met his. “Do not touch me.”
Lucius smiled. “The hour grows late. You should be seeking your bed. I’ll carry you above stairs.”
“I prefer to sleep with the kitchen women.” She shook off his touch and rose.
“Ah, so the little bird can hop from its perch. I’d begun to wonder if you’d spent the entire day motionless on this bench.”
Rhiannon’s chin went up, accentuating its sharpness. “Hardly that. I cleared your garden.”
She’d been pulling at weeds when he’d found her with Marcus this morning, Lucius recalled. He couldn’t fathom it. He’d given no order for her to do so.
“Why?”
“The herbs have been neglected.”
Lucius peered through the torchlight. One of the planting beds looked less crowded, perhaps, but beyond that he could discern little difference from its appearance the day before. The unruly clumps of greenery in no way resembled a garden, especially since the roses had yet to bloom. “No doubt my brother tended the garden himself.”
His comment seemed to cause Rhiannon such distress that Lucius found himself replaying the words in his mind. He could find nothing untoward, though his nymph seemed close to tears. “By all means,” he said hastily, “do whatever you like. I recognize little beyond the roses.”
“Roses?”
He nodded toward the arching canes. “The shrubs covered with thorns.”
“They are hideous.”
“Flowers will soon improve their appearance.” He extended one hand. “Come. I’ll carry you above stairs.”
Rhiannon took a swift step backward and ducked her head. The shy gesture charmed him. Was that a blush spreading across her cheeks? She took a second, more hesitant step, then drew a sharp breath. Swaying on her feet, she grabbed for the bench and missed.
Lucius sprang forward. As his arms tightened around her he willed her not to struggle, and perhaps she read his thoughts, for she went as still in his embrace as a mouse stunned by the cat’s claws.
“Your leg pains you?” he asked, frowning.
She blinked up at him. “No.” A flicker of alarm showed in her eyes. She twisted and Lucius reluctantly freed her, only to grasp her upper arm when he feared she would not keep her balance alone.
“I’m … I’m just lightheaded. ’Twill soon pass.”
His gaze narrowed. “What have you eaten today?”
“A mug of cervesia at midday.”
Lucius swore.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Hungry or not, you must eat.”
“ ’Tis no concern of yours.”
“It is.” Before she could open her mouth to protest further, he lifted her in his arms.
“Put me down!”
“No.” He carried her across the courtyard toward the dining chamber, approaching the door at the same time as a man and a woman exited the kitchens bearing the late meal he’d ordered.
“You’ll share my supper,” Lucius announced in a tone that broached no argument.
The dining chamber gleamed in the soft light of the hanging lamps. Three wide couches, draped in fine linens, were clustered about a central table. On the walls Bacchus reigned, feasting merrily in a forest grove with his scantily clad supplicants. Some of the figures weren’t clothed at all and taking full advantage of that happy fact. Rhiannon’s eyes widened when she saw the painting, but she said nothing. Lucius eased her onto the nearest couch and tucked the bolster under her left arm as the slaves laid out the meal on the table.
She rolled onto her stomach and peered up at him. “I’m to eat while reclining?”
Lucius smiled. “It will enhance the pleasure of your meal.” A heady mix of aromas rose from the table: broiled fish swimming in dark sauce, roasted eggs, and flat loaves arranged with artistic perfection. Lucius nodded his approval. His brother’s Roman cook had a fine hand indeed.
He removed his armor, handing the torso shield along with his sword belt to the male slave with instructions for their care. The man bowed and left the chamber.