Page 16 of Dawn Of Desire

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Her sarcasm stung, and Egan paused for a moment in search of an equally cutting reply. He watched Oriana draw in a breath in anticipation of a vicious insult, and the enchanting swell of her bosom, even beneath her colorless, wrin

kled gown, so clouded his mind, he was forced to show his displeasure simply by slamming the door on his way out.

Though jolted by the noise, Oriana was enormously relieved by Egan’s hurried exit, but she remained frozen in place until she was certain he would not return. It was now difficult for her to believe that only last night he had been sickened by the sight of her. She should have taken advantage of the opportunity to flee, even in the thick fog.

Feeling trapped, she crossed to the falcon tapestry and pulled it back to reveal three tall, narrow windows overlooking the sea. As she drank in the tangy air, the sun caught the constantly shifting waves with a near blinding sparkle, and the cloudless sky beckoned invitingly.

It was a haunting reminder that she was a creature of the forest and belonged outdoors on this beautiful morning. Egan had not forbidden her to leave his chamber, but she doubted it had even occurred to him that she might want to venture out into the countryside.

Disgusted to have nothing more than a single wrinkled gown in which to explore, she turned a curious gaze upon Egan’s carved chests. Believing they must contain at least one serviceable cloak, she took a tentative step toward them, but a soft knock at the door brought her to a guilty halt.

“I’ve brought you fresh clothing, my lady,” Myrna called out, and after shifting the bundle, she pushed the door ajar and peered in.

“Yes, do come in,” Oriana encouraged, and she rushed forward to receive the tiny servant’s burden.

When she unrolled it upon the bed, she found a deep green woolen cloak, three linen shifts, and two whisper-soft gowns with matching sleeveless tunics, one in a lovely shade of amethyst and the other an appealing blue-violet. She shook them out and held them up to judge the length. As near as she could tell, the costly garments appeared to be a perfect fit.

“Oh, Myrna, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Clearly they aren’t Ula’s. Who’s lent them to me? I must thank her.”

Myrna held her hands tightly folded at her waist and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “There’s no one to thank, my lady. They belonged to Egan’s dear mother.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t borrow her clothes,” Oriana exclaimed, but they held such an enticing lavender scent, she could not bear to refold them.

Myrna shook her head. “She’s had no need for them in many a year, my lady. You have the same glorious red hair, and they’ll look splendid on you.”

Sorely tempted, Oriana still held back. “Won’t Egan forbid it?” she asked.

“Adelaine died when he was quite small,” Myrna confided wistfully. “He’ll not recognize her gowns, nor will anyone else. I am the only one left here who loved her.”

Oriana still weighed the wisdom of wearing Adelaine’s clothing, but it felt so soft and light in her arms, she hated to refuse. “If Egan should inquire, I’ll have to tell him the truth,” she worried aloud.

Myrna raised rough hands in a dismissive wave. “I tended him when he was a babe; he doesn’t frighten me now.”

“He was a handsome lad, wasn’t he?” Oriana asked without thinking.

“Oh my, yes,” Myrna assured her with a knowing smile. “It’s high time he was wed and making beautiful babes of his own.”

The impropriety of the little servant’s opinion brought a deep blush to Oriana’s cheeks, and she quickly ushered Myrna from the room. This time she took care to slide the bolt to prevent any further interruptions while she bathed and dressed.

There was a kettle of water warming by the hearth, and she used it to wash away all traces of the night. She combed her hair and pulled on a linen shift, followed by Adelaine’s blue-violet gown and matching tunic. The clothes were much too fine for a stroll along the shore, but she rolled up her own gown and stuffed it into her travel bag.

Oriana set her sole piece of luggage out of the way behind Egan’s trunks and left the confining chamber at a near run. At the end of the wide hall, she swung toward the coiling stairwell, but the passageway was blocked by a tall Druid whose hooded cloak shaded his eyes.

Her chest tightened in fear. Her mother had insisted his kind would be so jealous of her ability to foretell the future that they would plot her death rather than allow her to usurp their power. She had never stood this close to a Druid and, terrified, she tried to escape him.

“Excuse me, please,” she offered with a polite curtsy, her gaze lowered demurely. But rather than step aside to allow her to pass, the Druid moved closer still.

“So,” he breathed out slowly, his voice deep and grating, “Egan has finally found an amusing companion.”

He reached out and cupped Oriana’s chin to lift her face toward the torch burning in the adjacent sconce, and then scrutinized her with a narrowed gaze. His eyes were as dark as his cloak and filled with impatience when he discovered no flaws in either her delicate features or creamy smooth complexion.

“I am Garrick,” he finally murmured, “and like Egan, utterly awed by your beauty.”

It was a mocking taunt rather than a compliment, but Oriana had expected as much. She continued to avert her gaze but promptly brushed his hand aside. Egan had mentioned Druids, but with the same lack of forethought she had shown regarding his stepmother, she had failed to devise an effective strategy to avoid them. Still, she would have disliked this menacing individual regardless of his calling.

When he slanted her a mocking glance, his hood slipped back to reveal thick silver hair that contrasted sharply with his black brows and lashes. He was handsome in a coldly chiseled way. Indeed, there was not a hint of warmth in him as he continued to block her way with a forbidding frown.

She had no wish to see into his future and absolutely no faith that he could perceive hers. Desperate to elude him, she coiled a finger in a curl at her temple and swayed coyly as though she were incapable of any but the most flirtatious thoughts.


Tags: Phoebe Conn Historical