My Lord Savage. Elizabeth Lane

this creature’s not one of your apes or foreign birds! You can’t just stuff him into a cage and—”

      A sharp moan from the savage cut into her words. Glancing swiftly down, she saw that his eyes were closed, but his head was rolling back and forth on the pillow. His body jerked, straining at the linen strips that bound him to the cot.

      “There…” She sponged his burning face with the damp cloth. “There, now, it’s all right. Rest…”

      Little by little the savage’s body relaxed beneath her touch. His breath eased out in a long, powerful exhalation as he slipped back into his dark void.

      Silence hung heavy in the small chamber, broken only by the cry of a storm petrel and the sound of the sea beyond the high window. At last Sir Christopher sighed, a tired and broken sound. “I’ve been a selfish old man,” he said. “And I’ve done you no good service, child, keeping you here in this lonely old house with no friends your own age.”

      Rowena glanced up at him, caught off balance by this sudden turn of conversation.

      “You’ve given your poor, tender heart to every wounded bird and fox and hare that’s found its way onto the grounds,” he continued gravely. “But as you pointed out yourself, this creature who lies before us is no mere beast of the field. He is capable of doing you more harm, my dear, than a veritable menagerie of wild animals.”

      “Father—”

      “No, let me finish. You’ve defied me at every turn in this matter, Rowena. But for your own safety and my own peace of mind, I insist on your obedience this time. You’re to keep away from this chamber and leave the tending of the savage strictly to me.”

      Rowena sprang to her feet, a flood of impassioned protests surging in her mind. The savage trusted her—more so, at least, than anyone else in this place. He needed her.

      But wisdom and experience constrained her to hold her tongue. She recognized the finality in her father’s tone. There were times when Sir Christopher could not be defied, and this was one of them.

      “Your concern is for naught, Father,” she argued, still hoping to persuade him. “The savage is too weak to do me harm, and with Thomas here to guard me—”

      “My dear child.” Sir Christopher laid a gentle hand on her arm—a rare gesture of affection on his part. “’Tis not so much the safety of your body that troubles me as the safety of your heart.”

      “With all due respect, Father, you presume too much!”

      “Do I?” The sadness in his voice struck her harder than any blow. “Even the appearance of evil is dangerous. A mere whisper of scandal could mark you for life, ruin any future prospects—”

      “You mean the chance of my marrying respectably, let alone well?” Rowena managed a bitter chuckle. “At my age, Father, that’s hardly a consideration!”