Fletcher stabled Ahote and then took the path to the castle entrance. Geddes was waiting for him.
“She’s in the solarium.”
Fletcher wasn’t surprised. Of all the rooms in the castle, the solarium had to be Rosalyn’s favorite. Though small, it housed plants that bloomed lavish and exotic flowers, none of which he could identify. He had passed by the room on a couple of occasions and the rich, lusty aroma of plant life, heated by the sun through panes of glass, had briefly made him feel he was in a warmer clime, where lush succulence abounded and scantily clad women frolicked in the sunshine. Like Texas. He suppressed a sigh.
Perhaps, he thought, as he made his way toward the west wing, Rosalyn felt she had moral support from her foliage that she couldn’t find anywhere else. Indeed, he realized that she found solace in plants, flowers, and dogs, all of which gave total devotion if handled properly.
He took a deep breath and crossed the threshold into the warm, sunny room. Amidst the rich and colorful flora sat Rosalyn, looking as beautiful and unattainable as her flowers. Sima and one of her pups were close by, the puppy playfully attacking its mother. Rosalyn stood as he entered, a book clutched to her bosom. Sunshine gleamed off her hair, catching loose ringlets, igniting them into flame. Until this moment he hadn’t realized that there was any red in her hair at all.
“Rosalyn—”
She raised her hand. “Please. We must do this my way.”
He nodded and looked around for a chair.
“I would rather you didn’t sit,” she said.
He clasped his hands behind his back. “As you wish.”
She stepped forward. “I’m going to ask you some questions, one at a time, and I want your honest answer.”
“Of course.”
She held the book toward him. “Are you a Christian?”
He lifted an eyebrow, noting that the book she held was a leather-bound Bible. “My father saw to it that I learned his faith.”
“Do you believe in it?”
“I don’t disbelieve,” he answered.
Her gaze was intense. “This Bible has been in your family for many generations; each birth is entered, as is each death. I must know that if you place your hand on the Bible your answers will be honest and true.”
He believed that all religions, including his mother’s and his father’s, were intertwined. He believed that man needed religion to deal with the ebbs and flows of life. He respected any man’s right to his beliefs. He certainly respected Rosalyn’s.
“I have great consideration for the Bible. I will answer your questions as honestly as I can.”
“Thank you.” She inhaled, expelling the breath slowly, and held the Bible toward him in both of her hands.
He placed his palm on the book.
“Who is Lindsay?”
Ah, Lindsay. He hoped one day she would disappear from his nightmares. “She was a young woman I knew in Texas.”
“Did you love her?”
Fletcher frowned, thoughtful. “I cared for her.”
Rosalyn considered this and then asked, “What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“How did she die?”
“She was shot.”
Rosalyn inhaled sharply. “Who shot her?”
Old anger threatened to fester. “Her husband. She—”
“No,” Rosalyn interrupted. “Just answer my questions. Please. If I want explanations, I’ll ask for them.”
He nodded and said no more.
“Were you with her when she was shot?”
The memory was still vivid: the blinding light from the blast, the circle of blood on Lindsay’s chest, the brief look of fear and surprise in her eyes before the light went out of them and she died. “Yes.”
“Why did her husband shoot her?”
“I don’t think he meant to,” Fletcher answered, clearly remembering the hatred in Bannerman’s gaze at the trial.
“I don’t understand.”
“He meant to shoot me.”
“You? Why?”
Fletcher took a deep breath. “Because I was in bed with her at the time.”
Rosalyn blinked and glanced away, the rhythmic pulse at her throat throbbing against her pale skin. Her gaze pinned his again. “If her husband killed her, why were you in prison?”
“Because he blamed me for it.”
“Why?”
“He claimed I raped her.”
“And it wasn’t rape?”
“No. It wasn’t rape.”
Rosalyn was a strong woman, revealing very little. He couldn’t tell if she was relieved or distraught at his admission.
Rosalyn lowered her arms, the Bible still clutched in one hand. Her face was a study in concentration. “And you believe he meant to kill you, not her.”
“I do,” Fletcher answered.
“Didn’t you tell someone what really happened?”
He laughed. It was an empty sound. “I supposedly had my day in court.”
“But no one believed you?”
He smirked. “No one believed me. Consider it. Who is more believable, a wild half-breed or a proper army captain? I was a dead man before I even entered the courtroom. It was very easy for the army to sentence me to hang.”
“So, if Geddes hadn’t come looking for Shamus, you would have been hanged?”
“Yes.”
She sagged into a chair, the Bible clutched in her hands, her gaze focused on something he couldn’t see, something only her mind projected. “If this is all true, then I’m sorry.”
“I have sworn that it’s true, and I don’t want your pity, Rosalyn. I want to be your husband.”
Her glance was sharp, as if, once again, her name on his tongue astonished her. She put the Bible on the table beside her and stood. “I will marry you.”
Fletcher was surprised at the relief that washed over him. He wanted to drag her into his arms, hold her close, smell her hair, and kiss her. He wanted to feel the length of her against him, her softness, and her strength.
Weeks before, he would have, if only to enjoy her discomfort. But now he wanted nothing to change her mind, so he merely turned to leave her. “I understand the license will be here in a week or so.”
She nodded. “I hope we can have the ceremony shortly after that, if it pleases you.”
He thought he heard a slight quiver in her voice, but when he looked back at her she appeared stalwart and strong. He found himself saying, “It pleases me.”
He left the solarium in search of Geddes. One hurdle had been jumped; now he had to discover if there was news of his siblings.
• • •
Rosalyn sank into a chair, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the back. Her heart raced. There was so much more she had wanted to ask him, but perhaps there would be a time for that.
She believed him. She had to. Either that or her instincts were still all wrong and she’d learned nothing from her past experiences.
Her thoughts unconsciously went to their mating, when he’d thought she was someone else. Lindsay. You’re alive! The words had been spoken with elation and joy. And he had touched her with such awe, finding pleasure with her body, giving pleasure in return.
And all because he thought she was someone else.
“Silly fool,” she scolded. None of that mattered. What he did or what he was before he came here was no longer an issue. But still, if he had taken her in his arms and sealed their coming marriage with a kiss, she wouldn’t have stopped him. She wanted to lean into his body, feel the strength in it, and lose herself, if only for a moment, in the fantasy that someone had finally come along in whom she could find safety and comfort and, eventually, love.
Indeed, in her secret heart she longed for someone to find that same such pleasure with her and for that someone to be Fletcher MacNeil.