«No. Im sorry! I meant no offence.»
«But you have!» Rebecca opened the fan with a bang, the slats of which again bore a scene of kittens playing with a ball. The sight of those kittens was somehow frightening. It looked like you were about to be in their claws instead of a ball of fur.
Brendan was distracted by the beauty of the garden. There were such rare flowers blooming here that he didnt know the names of them. But mostly roses dominated. Their wattles stretched across arbors, steps, columns, gazebo roofs, even the ground. Only the water they did not reach. The lily ponds seemed abandoned without ducks or drakes. Just wait for the webbed paw of a waterman to poke out of them.
«Wheres the gardener?» It seemed to Brendan that the boxwood bushes had not been pruned in a long time. And the gladiolus bushes were neglected. Some black stems sprouted between the flowers, like weeds.
«We dont need it!» Rebecca whistled melodically, and the vine, suddenly detached from the arbor on which it twisted like a living snake. It put her arm around Rebeccas waist and helped her climb up the rose-covered stairs that led to the large, round fountain.
«So they really are alive!» Brendan watched in horror as the long vines separated from the walls, and as if his hands were pulling apart the bushes blocking the passage, even finding a basket and scissors so that Rebecca could cut the roses.
«Why do you think there are no guards in the castle? If it werent for them,» she gently stroked one naughty vine that was trying to pull her hat off, «wed have an army to protect Her Highnesss domain.»
«Ive never seen anything like it!» Brendan whistled, and one vine nearly strangled him.
«Dont whistle in their presence!» Rebecca snapped at him. «And dont make any sudden moves! Otherwise theyll think youre a thief.»
«It is all right!» Brendan gradually became accustomed to treating the vines courteously, like living beings.
As luck would have it, there were just as many grapes in the garden as there were roses. They twisted along the walls and towers, stretched along the parapets of the fortress wall, even wrapped around the roof. If its all alive, its no wonder the castle hasnt been occupied by invaders yet.
«Are the berries alive, too?»
«No, you can pick the berries. But you try to prune them, and theyll strangle you,» said Rebecca, looking triumphant, as if Brendan had walked into a trap.
«If youd known it was so risky, you wouldnt have come to us at any price,» she said, her gaze informing him.
«Are you picking roses for the princess?» Brendan guessed.
Rebecca nodded haughtily.
«Does she like roses? There are plenty of more harmless flowers. I dont like roses myself, because Ive often pricked myself on their thorns. But honestly, youre prettier than roses. They just stabbed you!»
«What do you mean?» Rebecca didnt even frown upon him for his impertinence. «I pick roses with gloves on. Ive never been pricked.»
«I mean the scratches on your shoulders! Theyre so deep! They dont hurt!»
«Is it scratches?» She was amazed. «You imagined it.»
You were dreaming! You imagined it! What kind of game is she playing with him? He could see the marks of the five claws on her arms, her shoulders, even her cheekbone.
«Youre like the bride of a werewolf who flirts with him at night and hides her dangerous affair by day.»
«Youve read too many fairy tales!» Rebecca barked at him.
«I do not read them at all!»
«Then how do you know about werewolves? Have you ever seen one?»
Yeah, Brendan almost said it, the one on a chain in your dungeons. But it was better to keep quiet about the nightmare. Rebecca would have laughed at him.
«Tell me honestly, do you have a werewolf beau?» Brendan was getting bolder with his theories.
«No!» she retorted. «I dont have a beau.»
«Probably it is because of your prickly disposition, but frankly, your wicked tongue aside, youre as pretty as a rose.»
Rebecca was about to scold him, but softened when she heard the compliment. All women adore compliments. Here she is no exception. Its worth continuing to flirt with her.
«Youre the most beautiful girl Ive ever seen in my life,» Brendan admitted honestly. «Well, it is except for the one pretty girl I just dreamed about.»
You have to be honest to the end. The blonde named Rashelina, who flashed in his witchy dream, was far more beautiful than the graceful brunette Rebecca.
«Dont believe in dreams!» Rebecca said. «Dont believe in werewolves, either. Its all nonsense, invented by the local plowmen.»
«Where do you see any plowmen? The fields are empty!» Brendan peered through a peep-hole in the vine-clad wall. He saw black silhouettes in the fields. Then they vanished.
«Youll get sunstroke if you dont get out of the shade!» Rebecca quipped again.
Brendan obediently stepped back, and glanced casually at the castle window. He must have thought he saw a large, clawed paw pull the curtain back. He wondered if a werewolf could live in a palatial castle. They usually nested in the thicket of the forest. And they do exist. Word once came to the Court of Aluar of a pack of werewolves. They terrorized the Northern. The King took it seriously and sent a band of knights to help. Brendan himself had seen no werewolves, but the scratches on Rebeccas shoulders worried him. Shes definitely having an affair with a young werewolf boy who peeks into the castle at night. Thats why shes so unkind to the other guys. After all, werewolves have a knack for flipping beauties and seducing women in such a way that they no longer want to see ordinary men.
How to make it clear to Rebecca that she was caught in a web of enchantment, not true love. She was just whistling some dark ballad about a queen who fell in love with a demon. Such frightening tales even Brendan had never heard before.
The sun-drenched garden grew darker with the song. There was no longer a whisper from the vines, but a grunt of dissatisfaction.
«Would you like me to play lute?» Brendan politely suggested to Rebecca.
«No!» she declined.
«Dont you like the sound of the lute?»
«I dont like music in general, and I dont like yours in particular!»
«But you yourself hum about demons.»
«You have auditory hallucinations!»
There she goes again. Secrecy! Cunning! Insubordination! Insolence! What kind of behavior? Rebecca was clearly in love with some werewolf and hiding all evidence of a connection with him. Brendan hadnt even considered the possibility that she, for example, might be a werewolf herself. She didnt scratch herself.
Candlelight Feast
By evening there were no more people in the castle. Brendan kept expecting to see servants who were not there. He even got a little creepy. Only plaster seals squinted at him from all sides. There were caryatids and bookends and stucco decorations on the walls. Even the candelabras are not the typical cupids, but pussycats.
He wished hed met one living cat. Brendan had long dreamed of a cat of his own with it they would have mutual love. The Bastard, as luck would have it, preferred Uncle King and purred exclusively for him. He wished he had a personal furry friend of his own.
«No more lazing about!» Rebecca caught him looking at the murals. «Her Highness wants to see you in the feast hall!»
«Wheres that?»
«Ill show you out. Dont forget to bring your lute.»
«Are there any other guests there besides me?»
«What difference does it make to you whether to play for one princess or an audience?»
«Dont sulk! Lets be friends!»
«Were already friends!» Rebecca responded indifferently.
And you call that friendship?! What, then, was her enmity and hatred? Brendan was even frightened.
Rebecca acted like a stern nun, but she was dressed even vulgarly. The morning dress had been replaced by a provocative evening gown with a plunging neckline and train. The dress was so bright pink it made her eyes water. Brendan never saw whether Rebecca was holding the candelabra in her hand or whether it was flying ahead of her through the enfilade of the hall.