"What did he mean by that, Olya?", asked Skye.

Olga looked up from the pink rosebush she was trimming and smiled at her sister-in-law. "Skye, he has a point. You are a nurse and very intelligent but you know little of the ways of men and women. When you were forward like that in front of a man, it's like dangling a steak in front of a hungry bear. Richard was warning you", she said kindly.

"I know how people shag, Olenka. And I am not a slut, I was raised better than that", she hissed.

"Of course you were, Skye. But of course Richard comes from a different time and culture", said Olga

"Then we ought to just go to the registry office and get married" she muttered.

"I don't mean that, just be careful and make sure you don't get burned", said Olga.

Skye nodded as she took off her shoes and wiggled her bare toes in the soft dirt. It was later that evening after her and Richard had left the Wagon Wheel along with Alexei, Anastasia staying behind with Juan. The sky overhead was inky-black with tiny pinpricks of stars and the thin sliver of a pale new moon providing light. A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees and somewhere an owl hooted, the scent of roses in the air. "Olenka, is this a pregnant lady thing? You can barely see the flowers", she chided.

"I have been wanting to do odd things since I fell pregnant. At least I don't take to my bed and complain like Mama, God rest her soul", said Olga as she crossed herself.

Skye lifted the hem of her nightgown so it didn't drag into the dirt. Olga reminded her of a fertility goddess with her dark blond hair in a loose braid down her back and her pregnant belly straining against the white cotton nightgown. The red and burgundy roses were barely visible in the dimness but the white and pink stood out with their soft petals glowing in the darkness.

The back door opened and Skye turned around to see Richard standing on the porch, clad in dark blue pajama bottoms and a singlet top under a blue and white flannel robe. "Are you all right, Mistress Sutherland?", he asked.

"Da, spasibo. Ever since I fell pregnant I like being in the garden at night. My mother loved roses, she was raised in England and our gardens at Tsarkoe Selo always had roses. Tsarkoe Selo was where Father had our St. Petersburg palaces", said Olga.

"How many castles did the Russian king have?", he asked.

"There was the Catherine and Alexander palaces at Tsarkoe Selo, the Winter Palace in the city, our summer house in Livadia in Crimea, and our Polish estate at Spala, those were the ones we used. Father had others but we never visited them. Unfortunately, they were looted during the Revolution", said Olga angrily.

"I grew up at Ludlow but my main residence was at Middleham in Wensleydale, Anne and I were so happy there. I never did like London, too big and crowded", said Richard with a sigh.

Skye nodded in understanding a Richard sat next to her. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders and glowed like molten honey under the pale moonlight and her hazel eyes were thoughtful. "What was Anne like?", she asked.

A wistful smile formed on his face. "Anne was my cousin and we grew up together, I wanted to marry her but Warwick forced her to marry the Lancaster brat. George tried to lock her up to get her share of the Beauchamp inheritance but I found her in the kitchen of a local inn and we married quickly at St. Martin's. When we had Edward, I truly felt as though I was the luckiest man in England".

Richard took a deep breath. "Edward died of sickness while I was in Nottingham and he was at Middleham. Anne and I were mad with grief and then Anne died scarcely a year later from the bloody cough", he said softly with a catch in his voice.

Skye said nothing as he leaned against her and she wrapped her arms around him as his breath came out in shuddering gasps. "It's like a wound which grows a thin scab, it looks healed but it isn't", he whispered.

Richard lifted his head and looked at Skye, his fingers rubbing the ends of her hair. "Anne's hair was more brown and her eyes were blue. You resemble her a little bit I don't want you to replace Anne", he said.

Skye sat still as Richard continued playing with the ends of her hair. "You have lovely hair, I have seen many golden-haired women but not quite like yours. Edward favored blondes and both Elizabeth and his mistresses were blonde and you are the first golden haired girl I have liked", he said.

"I don't know if that's a compliment or not, most men prefer blondes. I am and have the Sutherland looks, blond hair and greenish eyes", she said.

"Everyone else in my family is fair, I am the only dark one. Perhaps I have that Welsh blood you mentioned", he teased.

"Then that would make you part Welsh and me being half-Polish, any children of ours would only be half-English", she laughed.

"I'm going back inside, it's getting chilly", said Olga.

Richard helped her up from the porch and noticed her bare feet. With a sly grin, he picked her up in his arms and brought her inside. "Richard!", she squeaked.

"You are such a little thing, you are easy to carry. And please call me Dickon, it is what my mother and family called me. My lady mother would only call me Richard if she was mad at me", he said as he carefully set her down.

"All right, Dickon. And let's not wake up Ian", she replied.

"When does his university class start?", he asked.

"On Wednesday, he's teaching two classes on the ancient Greeks. You ought to read his books, he specializes in Alexander and Hellenistic Greece", she said.

Both of them padded up the stairs and he followed her to her room. "Don't be scared, I will not hurt you", he whispered.

Skye gave him a tentative little smile as she led him upstairs, pulling a cord as a ladder emerged. "I live in the attic and I pay rent to Ian", she explained.

Richard followed her up the stairs. Her room was done in pale apple green with white trim, the walls painted pale apple green and the furniture white painted wood. Her daybed was pushed against the wall and topped by a fluffy white quilt and pillows and a cluster of white roses in a green glass vase perched atop her vanity as it gave off a faint scent. "Those are from the garden, they'll only bloom until autumn and the first of the winters chills", she explained.

"White roses for York, of course", he teased.

"The White Rose is the symbol of Yorkshire, and I'm a proud Yorkshirewoman, Dickon. We may live in Lancaster but I don't wear red roses", she said.

"Same here, very overrated flower", he agreed.

Skye chuckled and walked over to the closet as she took out a guitar case. Richard watched as she placed the case atop the bed and opened to reveal a guitar made of polished golden wood with mother of pearl inlays around the soundhole and little dots on the headstock. "I've been playing guitar since I was a child, our school had a music program and I wanted to play guitar because I didn't want to blow into anything. This is a D-28 CF Martin steel stringed guitar, I saved up for a year to buy it", she said proudly.

"The Spaniards play that, I had lessons on the lute as a child but I much preferred fighting and training. What do you play?", he asked.

"Old Yorkshire songs, folk music from the states. Perhaps you know this one", she said. Skye checked the tunings on the headstock before she strummed a few chords, then played the opening notes to Scarborough Fair.

Richard listened to her play and sing, her slim fingers plucking the steel strings and the sound echoing in the room. Her light soprano was perfectly suited to the ballad as he watched with rapt attention, her head bent towards the guitar as the light turned her hair the colour of clover honey."I have heard songs similar to that from the minstrels who came to Middleham, a knight or the devil asks a woman to perform impossible tasks. And you are from Scarborough, correct?", he asked.

"Yes. It's a favourite of mine since Scarborough is my hometown and there is a fair at Scarborough. And this is another favourite of mine, written by Bob Dylan who is American", she said as she played Girl From the North Country.

"I love this song, beautiful! This Bob Dylan is very talented", he said enthusiastically.

"He is, I have his albums. Let me show you", she said.

Skye placed the guitar back in its case and went inside the closet to pull out a black wooden crate filled with records. "I don't have many records, I prefer to play my guitar", she said.

She flipped through the albums and took out Freewheelin' Bob Dylan. "These are records, each has recorded music on them. My record player is in the closet, but I don't want to wake up Ian", she said with a chuckle.

"Of course not, a scholar needs their sleep", he agreed.

Skye placed the crate back inside the closet and then the guitar as Richard got up from the bed. "It is late, Skye. Good night, my fair rose", he said as he leaned over and kissed her forehead.