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Détente and Circumstances
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Iawoke alonethe next morning, having slept myself out. Last night’s threats to the “staff” to leave me undisturbed clearly had been effective. The morning had advanced along, bright sun shining in my open skylights. My body felt sluggish, blood pooled in all the wrong places.
Darling hadn’t returned, and both lilies had poofed along with Rogue last night. I wanted to take a bath, but I was too nervous that Rogue might reappear. I tried to distract myself with plans for wishing up something decent to get drunk on—whiskey, Chardonnay,something.
Shockingly enough, trying to remember the chemical structure of alcohol didn’t do much for distraction from emotional turmoil.
As it was, I had lain in the dark while my mind raced. When I finally slept, it was one of those sleeps where you kept thinking you were still awake. Except that I was running around saving kittens from dragons, plucking them out of goo and trying to clear the stuff from their pink noses while they cried piteously.
No need to psychoanalyze that one.
Rogue hadn’t shown up yet to renew his assaults. Surprising, given the lateness of the morning. I’d even worn something to sleep in, which normally annoyed the hell out of me, just in case he did show. Couldn’t afford to have accessible skin around him. Though with the stakes this high, perhaps I could resist.
God, I hoped I could resist. I really did not want to find out what would become of me—and my maybe-baby—if I didn’t.
Hauling myself up, I stopped on the way to my clothing trunks to examine myself in the mirror. Dark circles shadowed under my eyes. I looked exhausted, the white cotton nightgown barely whiter than my pale skin. And I felt depressed. I had come far too close to getting Darling killed. White was the color of mourning in the Orient. I should start wearing white all the time. Better than black, that was for sure. Rogue needed no advantages.
“Regrets?” I asked myself.
“No,” I answered myself. “The price is too high and you know it.”
We both nodded, knowing it to be true.
I brushed out my hair. Wished some shine into it and added a bit of makeup. Time-tested female armor for bolstering oneself for a tough day ahead.
Then, casting a look around the tent once more for unexpected visitors—maybe I could make some kind of Rogue-keep-out spell? Now there was an idea—I unbuttoned the neckline of my nightgown and let it fall to my waist, so I could check on Falcon’s bite mark in the bright light of day. Rogue’s apparent concern—feigned or not—over the matter had me worried.
I felt like the breast-exam woman, standing in front of the mirror, hands on hips, studying the relative shape and size of my two breasts. Red dimples circled the aureole on the left side, but they didn’t look inflamed. The left breast looked as round and smooth as the other—no sign of necrosis, no red streaking of blood poisoning. The freshly brushed black strands of my hair streamed down, curving slightly, dark contrast to my white skin and icing-pink nipples. I could be the witch queen from any number of tales. The thought heartened me considerably. Better the villainess than the victim any day.Don’t try to stick me in a glass coffin!
“No wonder Falcon wanted a taste.”
I squealed in a most unpowerful, very damsel-in-distress kind of way. I even clamped my arms over my breasts to hide my charms like any silly movie maiden.
“Goddammit, Rogue! You can’t just appear in my private tent any damn time you please.”
He grinned easily at me, butt propped against the workbench, in his customary relaxed pose. “But, Ican,ravishing Gwynn—see?” He gestured to himself and the tent.
“We’ll see about that,” I muttered.
I turned my back to him and, careful to face away from the mirror, slid my arms back into the nightgown’s sleeves and buttoned it up to the high neckline, silently thanking Starling and Blackbird for the modest sleepwear. Then I pulled a deep green velvety robe from the trunk and added it for good measure, though the late morning was a bit warm for it. Why Rogue hadn’t taken immediate advantage of my nudity, I didn’t know, but I wasn’t taking further chances.
“I see you’re back to your usual fine fettle this morning.”
Rogue shrugged, all nonchalance, but something dark shadowed beneath it. “I brought you a present.”
“Is it a hollow wooden horse?”
“I don’t believe you requested one of those.” With a flourish, he gestured to an enameled chamber pot sitting on my workbench.
I must confess I squealed a little. Maybe skipped a bit over to the bench and ran my hands over the rather gorgeous pot, shining brass and gold, with blue lilies all over. Of course. I lifted the lid and peered inside. It gleamed empty brass. I wanted to poke my finger in, find out if the metal felt the same from the inside.
“I wouldn’t do that. And don’t drop anything you like in it.”
“So I’ve been warned.” I contemplated Rogue, who looked decidedly irritated under the glib facade. The black lines on the sinister side of his face seemed darker this morning, and perhaps sharper. “And what’s the price tag on this?”
“It’s a gift, Gwynn, since you don’t like my flowers.”
