obviously enjoying the play of slanting sunlight on her forehead. “Learn this as well. Today is all we have and we gain nothing from dwelling on that which is lost. Today we are strong and the sun is shining. That alone is enough that we should dance.”
She stood and clapped her thin hands. “Again.”
“Of all the creatures the Lord God made, the horse is by far the silliest. Unless you count a man in love. Then the horse is a poor second.”
—from the secret journal of Damian Aristarchus
Chapter 9
----
“You've made some terrible mistakes in the past,” Erik muttered to himself as he stomped out of the small chamber allotted to him. The spartan cell adjoined the stables, a not-so-subtle reminder that the eunuch thought him little better than an animal. The way Erik was following his cock around, he wondered if Aristarchus wasn't right. “This is, bar none, the stupidest thing you've ever done.”
He'd wrestled with himself on his narrow cot, alternately fighting sleep, then seeking it with urgency, ordering his body to rest, then unable to bridle his wandering mind. He finally abandoned the struggle for a moonlight stroll.
And if he chanced to pass the chamber occupied by a certain blonde she-devil, so be it. Some things you had to toss to fate.
Like reciting that love poem to Valdis.
He winced at the memory. His attempt at winning her favor was so lame, if he'd been a horse, someone would end his suffering.
What was he thinking?
The moon had risen, a round shield of silver against an obsidian sky. Its bright light shone through the line of cypress, casting sharp shadows on his path as he circuited the large square of the villa.
The rest of the house was dark, but the flicker of a candle glowed in the room he knew was hers. He stopped for a moment, only a moment he told himself, just to see if she would look for him.
This was worse than folly. It bordered on madness. He had no business involving himself with a woman, especially this woman. Still, he had all but promised her he'd be here. He might be a murderer, but he had yet to break his word.
The door to her chamber stood open with only a gauzy curtain floating across it, a wide portal to let in the fresh night.
Or a fresh suitor?
It did seem almost an invitation. A silhouette slid past the curtained door and his heart hammered like a woodpecker on gnarled oak. The shadow stopped, then retreated deeper into the room. He forced himself to breathe as he waited to see if she would come again.
Every fiber of his being strained toward the billowing curtain, but he held himself back. He'd never entered a woman's bedchamber by stealth before and he wouldn't start now. Still, without his conscious volition, he took a step forward.
The candle in her room winked out.
* * *
Valdis tried to lie down, but the moonlight tormented her, slanting silver rays through her filmy curtains and fingering across her sleeping couch. Surely he wouldn't be there, waiting for her in the dark.
Perhaps she should see if Erik really was there. No, that could lead to disaster. She tried to conjure the image of Chloe's desecrated face, but instead she saw Erik, the heat in his ice-gray eyes, the power in his warrior's body. He could show her how a man might please a woman without disturbing her all-important flower. Curiosity was driving her to madness.
She couldn't bring him to ruin.
There was every reason in the world to stay in bed.
Her feet hit the cool marble floor and she was pulling back the curtain before she could talk herself out of it. She looked out on the neatly clipped yard beyond. The world was awash in shades of gray, deep charcoal on the cypress trees, pale ash for the marble benches and nude statuary dotting the lawn, lead-gray for the paving stones of the garden path. She stepped through the door and onto the portico, silent as a wraith, her white night shift silvered by moonlight.
She looked down the length of the villa. Damian's room was
She stood and clapped her thin hands. “Again.”
“Of all the creatures the Lord God made, the horse is by far the silliest. Unless you count a man in love. Then the horse is a poor second.”
—from the secret journal of Damian Aristarchus
Chapter 9
----
“You've made some terrible mistakes in the past,” Erik muttered to himself as he stomped out of the small chamber allotted to him. The spartan cell adjoined the stables, a not-so-subtle reminder that the eunuch thought him little better than an animal. The way Erik was following his cock around, he wondered if Aristarchus wasn't right. “This is, bar none, the stupidest thing you've ever done.”
He'd wrestled with himself on his narrow cot, alternately fighting sleep, then seeking it with urgency, ordering his body to rest, then unable to bridle his wandering mind. He finally abandoned the struggle for a moonlight stroll.
And if he chanced to pass the chamber occupied by a certain blonde she-devil, so be it. Some things you had to toss to fate.
Like reciting that love poem to Valdis.
He winced at the memory. His attempt at winning her favor was so lame, if he'd been a horse, someone would end his suffering.
What was he thinking?
The moon had risen, a round shield of silver against an obsidian sky. Its bright light shone through the line of cypress, casting sharp shadows on his path as he circuited the large square of the villa.
The rest of the house was dark, but the flicker of a candle glowed in the room he knew was hers. He stopped for a moment, only a moment he told himself, just to see if she would look for him.
This was worse than folly. It bordered on madness. He had no business involving himself with a woman, especially this woman. Still, he had all but promised her he'd be here. He might be a murderer, but he had yet to break his word.
The door to her chamber stood open with only a gauzy curtain floating across it, a wide portal to let in the fresh night.
Or a fresh suitor?
It did seem almost an invitation. A silhouette slid past the curtained door and his heart hammered like a woodpecker on gnarled oak. The shadow stopped, then retreated deeper into the room. He forced himself to breathe as he waited to see if she would come again.
Every fiber of his being strained toward the billowing curtain, but he held himself back. He'd never entered a woman's bedchamber by stealth before and he wouldn't start now. Still, without his conscious volition, he took a step forward.
The candle in her room winked out.
* * *
Valdis tried to lie down, but the moonlight tormented her, slanting silver rays through her filmy curtains and fingering across her sleeping couch. Surely he wouldn't be there, waiting for her in the dark.
Perhaps she should see if Erik really was there. No, that could lead to disaster. She tried to conjure the image of Chloe's desecrated face, but instead she saw Erik, the heat in his ice-gray eyes, the power in his warrior's body. He could show her how a man might please a woman without disturbing her all-important flower. Curiosity was driving her to madness.
She couldn't bring him to ruin.
There was every reason in the world to stay in bed.
Her feet hit the cool marble floor and she was pulling back the curtain before she could talk herself out of it. She looked out on the neatly clipped yard beyond. The world was awash in shades of gray, deep charcoal on the cypress trees, pale ash for the marble benches and nude statuary dotting the lawn, lead-gray for the paving stones of the garden path. She stepped through the door and onto the portico, silent as a wraith, her white night shift silvered by moonlight.
She looked down the length of the villa. Damian's room was
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