«Am I not enough for you? Would you prefer the company of a noble lady to noisy drunken company?»
«No. I’m 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 didn’t 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.
«Where’s 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 don’t 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 Rebecca’s 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 weren’t for them,» she gently stroked one naughty vine that was trying to pull her hat off, «we’d have an army to protect Her Highness’s domain.»
«I’ve never seen anything like it!» Brendan whistled, and one vine nearly strangled him.
«Don’t whistle in their presence!» Rebecca snapped at him. «And don’t make any sudden moves! Otherwise they’ll think you’re 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 it’s all alive, it’s no wonder the castle hasn’t been occupied by invaders yet.
«Are the berries alive, too?»
«No, you can pick the berries. But you try to prune them, and they’ll strangle you,» said Rebecca, looking triumphant, as if Brendan had walked into a trap.
«If you’d known it was so risky, you wouldn’t 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 don’t like roses myself, because I’ve often pricked myself on their thorns. But honestly, you’re prettier than roses. They just stabbed you!»
«What do you mean?» Rebecca didn’t even frown upon him for his impertinence. «I pick roses with gloves on. I’ve never been pricked.»
«I mean the scratches on your shoulders! They’re so deep! They don’t 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.
«You’re like the bride of a werewolf who flirts with him at night and hides her dangerous affair by day.»
«You’ve 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 don’t have a beau.»
«Probably it is because of your prickly disposition, but frankly, your wicked tongue aside, you’re 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. It’s worth continuing to flirt with her.
«You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve 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.
«Don’t believe in dreams!» Rebecca said. «Don’t believe in werewolves, either. It’s 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.
«You’ll get sunstroke if you don’t 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 Rebecca’s shoulders worried him. She’s definitely having an affair with a young werewolf boy who peeks into the castle at night. That’s why she’s 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.
«Don’t you like the sound of the lute?»
«I don’t like music in general, and I don’t 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 hadn’t even considered the possibility that she, for example, might be a werewolf herself. She didn’t 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 he’d 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!»
