The Magic

by Virginia Brown

  It was an awkward request. He must know the rumors of her having spoiled the milk had no doubt been whispered all over the castle, and while it may not yet have reached the ears of all the knights, it would certainly be known by all the servants.

  “I would know what else you wish of me, my lord,” she said at last. “My position here is tenuous. I am not bound by blood to anyone here, nor am I a freeman, or betrothed to any here. I am regarded as a curiosity, perhaps, with interest but also dread. Am I to present myself as your concubine?”

  Rhys pushed away from the table and set down his cup. “Would it displease you to stay with me?”

  How did she answer that? There had been no promises between them, no words of love, just the endearments of lovers. She may not be experienced, but she had seen enough to know that men often tired of women. Honesty must provide her response.

  “It would displease me to share your attention with another woman. You are baron here, while I am a sojourner until my lands are recovered. We have no ties to bind us, nothing but the moment, so when we tire of one another, we will part.”

  “Chérie,” he murmured and lifted a strand of her loose hair, letting it drape over his palm as he tethered her to him with a husky voice and heated eyes, reminding her of their morning in his bedchamber. “What if we never grow tired?”

  “You will tire. Men always do. But I will stay with you for a time. I may have released you from your vow, but I have not given up hope.”

  “Ah, the prophecy.” He released her hair with a sigh. “Is that why you are here in the solar with me, chérie? To coax me into taking an army to Persia?”

  “Not Persia, no. But that is not why I am here, as you know well enough.”

  “I thought I knew. Now I find myself wondering if I misjudged the situation.”

  Sasha smiled at his wry tone. “You did not misjudge. I want to be with you. If I did not, I would not have stayed.”

  “I recall a time when you made your reluctance known. It was an illuminating moment, if a painful one.”

  “And I paid dearly for that,” she said ruefully.

  His smile faded. “I know. The fault was mine. It did not ease me to realize that, nor did it help you.”

  “But I am recovered, and you have Glynllew.”

  “Yea, you are mostly recovered. We shall see if I keep Glynllew.”

  She hesitated, then asked, “Can the prince seize it?”

  “Anyone with enough time and gold can raise an army big enough to sack London. I do not intend to make it easy for prince nor baron. Now come, no one will be served until I appear at table. Elspeth makes ready for you.”

  Stricken, she looked up at him. “You have spoken to her?”

  “She sought me out when I quit the hall. She was worried that she had not seen you, and I told her you were well and would need a clean cotte to attend the hall.”

  There was much he didn’t say, and Sasha sighed. At least she was spared the initial shock of Elspeth’s reaction at hearing of their liaison.

  “You were right,” she murmured. “There are no secrets in this castle.”

  ELSPETH MET RHYS outside the chamber she shared with Sasha. She dropped a brief curtsey, then lifted her head to regard him with a steady gaze. A wimple covered her hair, but her eyes were still a bright blue and sharp. Lines marked her otherwise smooth complexion, and she carried herself well, though age sat heavily upon her bony frame. It could not have been an easy life for her.

  “My lord, I beg a moment of your time.”

  He nodded, though in truth, he did not welcome a conversation that may well turn into a scold. She would be concerned about her charge, and he did not blame her for that. But neither did he wish to encourage censure. Their brief conversation earlier had caught her by surprise, but now she would expect recompense for Sasha’s maidenhead, as was due to the family of a maid. He stifled impatience.

  “Yea, goodwife. What is your concern?”

  Gesturing to an embrasure nearby, she indicated the need for privacy, and he braced for an unpleasant interlude. The opening looked out over the bailey, where dying sunlight tinged the whitewashed castle walls with gold and pink hues. Elspeth rested one hand on the sloped stone, heedless of the unflattering light as she turned to face him.

  “You have taken my lady under your protection, and I am grateful for that,” she said, startling him. He had not expected gratitude, of all things.

  Before he could reply, she continued, “Sasha has requested you take up her cause. I beg that you do not.”

  Another surprise. “Why is that, goodwife?”

  Elspeth hesitated, searching for words, her English much better than her French, and she took in a deep breath. “If I may be blunt, my lord, she has been misinformed. I never thought it to be a concern, as who would take up such a challenge? It seemed kinder, after all she has lost, to leave her to her dreams. It was better than the despair after those dark days when we lost my lovely lady, her mother. At first I thought the prophecy just a fable to ease her mind, to lend her a sense of purpose, and ‘tis true she regained her spirit. But it is based on a lie, my lord.”

  “The prophecy?”

  “That, too, but mostly the dream. It was not as she thought it, but who can explain that to a grieving child? I could not. I had hoped to return to my village, where perhaps some of her mother’s people would receive her well, but it has been so long now that Elfreda must be near forgotten. It is a grievous thing, my lord, to be two women traveling alone in perilous times. We near came to ruin more times than I can count. We disguised ourselves as father and son until it became much too obvious Sasha is no lad, and I doled out our pennies as sparingly as I could. Please hear me out, my lord,” she said when he made a gesture. “I want you to understand why it is important you do not ever yield to her pleas to fulfill her quest.”

  “Pray, continue, goodwife.”

  “Sasha has a child’s memories, of loving parents, a garden with cool water, green trees, whitewashed towers and minarets. All real. Elfreda loved her beyond measure, and her father called her zahra, his flower. She has always been beautiful, and there is no doubt she was his favorite daughter.”

  When she paused, eyes staring out the narrow window into the distance, no doubt seeing the past, Rhys understood a lot more than she said. More daughters, probably sons, and a family struggling for power. It was familiar in England and Wales, too.

  After a moment, Elspeth cleared her throat. “Elfreda and I left England, as she was to be married, an arrangement between families. While not of nobility, it was an advantageous pact to bind wealthy families, you understand. We crossed the Channel and traveled overland to Italy and took a ship for the final portion of the trip. There was a storm, we were blown off-course, and set upon by pirates. They took us to a heathen land, where my lady was purchased as a gift for Ben Al-Farouk. She was much-prized as a beauteous Englishwoman with blond hair and pale skin, and we were fortunate to be taken together. My worth was only to keep Lady Elfreda calm, as she was very spirited. Ah, she terrified a few of them! But I ramble.

  “Ben Al-Farouk was much taken with Lady Elfreda and allowed her to keep me close. She became his favorite, for she was very gifted in ways he came to appreciate. They grew to love one another, as strange as that may sound, and this did not please his family. They thought Ben Al-Farouk weak, but his people loved him. In the end, he would not give her up, and Al-Amir came in the night to attack. We escaped.”

  Silence fell, and it seemed as if Elspeth had unburdened herself. She sagged against the stone, holding on with one hand, her gaze distant. A sigh escaped her. “I have said too much, yet not enough, my lord, and I ask your forgiveness.”

  “Granted, goodwife. It is important to know. Yet I do not understand why Sasha thinks it her inheritance, and that she can recover her father’s land.�
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  “Sasha’s parents were not wed. Ben Al-Farouk was a sultan, a caliph, if you will, with many wives and concubines. Sasha thinks they were wed, my lord. I’ve not had the heart to tell her differently. She remembers an adoring mother and affectionate father, and I cannot tarnish that memory.”

  “Then this legacy she claims—”

  “Is not hers. Yet to a child, the hope that one day she will return to the place where she’d known such happiness and peace is all she had. Everyone was gone. Everyone. Her father and mother slaughtered, the wives and concubines and any child that could possibly grow up one day with a valid claim—were all slain in that terrible massacre. It was told throughout the land, reaching us even when we were far away.”

  “If Al-Amir slaughtered everyone, he must look for her as well. How is it she escaped the slaughter?” Another silence fell. He said gently, “The truth.”

  “Lady Elfreda knew of Al-Amir’s treachery but could not convince Ben Al-Farouk. He would not believe her, a mere woman, over the smooth speech and promises of Al-Amir. And so she made her preparations. It would be impossible for her to escape, for the women were closely guarded. But her child—I did as I was told, although it broke my heart. I went to the marketplace and made arrangements for a man and boy to travel on the next caravan and bought garments to disguise us. We left my beautiful Elfreda late that night, as she knew it was time. I can still see her face, those eyes . . . and the knowing and love in them . . .”

  She stopped suddenly, one hand curling to press against her mouth, tears in her eyes. “We did as she wanted,” she said after a moment, “although Sasha did not know the truth. She was only five. We went to the marketplace and there met the caravan that had been arranged. I gave them the promised payment of jewelry, and they took us with them, out of the marketplace and across the sands. I looked back only once and saw the smoke rising into the sky, and I knew that Elfreda had not been wrong. I made her a promise, my lord, that I would always watch over her beloved daughter. And so I have. And so I will, though it may cost me everything.” She took a shuddering breath. “I love her. Because I love her, I cannot hurt her. She thinks she’s a princess, and in truth, she is. But she has no legacy. Nothing but memories and hope to take her through the days, and I do not want those taken away.”

  “Like the prophecy.”

  Elspeth nodded. “Like the prophecy. It is nonsense, of course, a clever guess by a Kievan Rus woman in the caravan we joined. But she has clung to it like a promise all these years. It has sustained her. I thought it harmless.”

  “Until that day in the wood.”

  Slowly nodding, Elspeth said softly, “Aye, until that day in the wood. She thinks you will restore all that has been lost to her.”

  “What was the prophecy?”

  “That one day a gryffin would appear to her and return to her all that she had lost. You can see why I thought it nonsense.”

  Leaning against the cold stone wall, Rhys nodded. “And I can see how she would think me the answer to that prophecy, for a gryffin adorns my shield. But I am not that man.”

  Elspeth tilted her head to one side, studying him. “Are you not? Forgive me, my lord, if I speak out of turn, but there are different meanings to the prophecy, I would think.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  “Mayhap I do. I am an old woman and prone to fancies.”

  A faint smile curved her mouth, but he had no intention of telling her he knew what she meant. It would never do to have it repeated.

  “Is she ready to attend me in the hall?” he asked instead, and Elspeth inclined her head in assent. “I will fetch her to you, my lord.”

  Nothing else was said, but he knew she had a reason for sharing this knowledge with him. He just wasn’t certain what he intended to do about it.

  SUPPER WAS A MORE casual affair than the midday meal, the day’s more arduous tasks done, knights and men-at-arms more relaxed, revelry more subdued. Welsh customs were not as rigid as English, but loosely used in castles and manors across Wales, especially in those of Norman heritage and design.

  Yet certain standards remained. All waited upon the Lord of Glynllew to be seated at the high table before taking their seats on long benches at trestle tables set below the dais. Even at a casual meal, customs were observed: the high table had the salt cellar at the lord’s right, finest white manchet bread as trenchers, silver cups set at each place, spoons and napkins neatly folded by the bread, and guests seated according to rank and preference, usually assigned earlier. Owain assigned seating until a permanent hall chamberlain was named. Sir Robert, as the newly-named marshal of Glynllew, was seated at his right, as was Sir Brian; Catrin sat next to Sir Peter on his left, who occupied the bench on the other side of Sasha.

  Sir Brian still sulked; part of his ire was due to their earlier discussion before calling in Sasha to answer questions, for the knight objected to her presence at the high table.

  “You value her above loyal knights and your own blood, causing unrest in those who see her as a spy and witch,” he’d said, obviously struggling to contain his frustration. “If she must be in the hall, at least seat her at the lower tables, below the salt.”

  It had annoyed Rhys for Brian to question his choice, but it also sparked an internal quest for his reasons to ignore convention. Recent revelations made her a princess; Welsh law gave heed to illegitimate children acknowledged by their fathers. But none here knew of Sasha’s real heritage, nor would they consider it worth a place at the high table. To speak of it may endanger her, although it was doubtful a faraway sultan would consider her a threat. He might, however, wonder if the lord who prized her would someday come to redeem her father’s heritage. It might be worth sending assassins to remove the tenuous threat. While he doubted word would travel so far as to come to the ears of Al-Amir, it was a possibility.

  Beyond all that, however, he acknowledged that even were she a tanner’s daughter he still desired her presence at his side. It mattered little if she was princess or peasant. Truly, he craved being near her smile, even her temper, but especially her warmth in his bed. Was he besotted? It was possible.

  In the end, he had simply answered Brian’s accusation with truth: “I keep her close for reasons I am not prepared to reveal. You will have to trust me on this, for I will say no more on it now.”

  “If she is a spy or witch—”

  “Enough. Owain will address your concerns.” He’d gestured to the steward, who marked in his ledgers, and then had gone in search of Sasha.

  Only the Italian rogue had known her direction and insolently delayed an answer until Rhys had threatened to return the devil dog at his side to the kennels. Grudgingly, he’d been sent to the top turret, to find both Sasha and Catrin engaged in a seemingly innocent task. It’d been obvious to him she had no idea how to weave, though she mimicked Catrin’s actions fairly well as she sat amidst baskets of raw and dyed wool. Lint had filled the air, riding streamers of light, the scene before him one of domestic peace. He hadn’t trusted it for a moment.

  Now here he was, at the high table, washing his hands, sharing the napkin with Sasha as she stood next to him, her eyes downcast and demure, a wimple covering her glorious hair, a thin braided circlet holding it atop her crown. As he finished drying his hands, he caught her gaze.

  “You are solemn tonight, demoiselle.”

  His fingers brushed against hers, and she looked up. The napkin lay over their hands as the boy holding the water waited for them to finish, but he caught a glimmer in her eyes before she cast her eyes down and away.

  “Aye, my lord,” she murmured, and he nodded at the boy holding the ewer to depart.

  As they were seated, he glanced down the line of tables at those taking their seats on long benches. As in other castles, the high table was served first, then the lower tables were served food in groups of
three or four; each group, referred to as a mess, shared trenchers of meat and vegetables and sauces in bowls, those higher in rank or prestige nearer the salt cellars. Those of lesser rank and importance ate farther away from the salt. That is where Brian wished Sasha to sit, and if she were anyone else, or had come to the castle as entertainment, she would sit below the salt with them.

  It was daunting to realize he’d been unintentionally cruel by exposing her to crude jests or remarks by keeping her at his side. He should release her, but it was done now, and to send her to the lower tables would subject her to even worse treatment. A scorned woman of lower standing would be far too vulnerable. Should he send them on to Elspeth’s village?

  As the sweet, faint scent of jasmine wafted to him, he knew he would have to come to a decision soon. A new baron with a tenuous hold on his castle and vassals would be expected to marry to an advantage. If he lingered too long, King Richard would return from Crusade and find him a wife to the crown’s advantage. At the moment, he was not rich enough or known enough to require the king’s permission to wed except as a courtesy, but he dared not risk royal wrath. If the dowager queen learned of an eligible baron and sent a summons, he would have no choice but to present himself to her. It was hoped that Prince John kept her busy with his infinite plots and schemes, but Eleanor was known for keeping her fingers in many pies at once.

  Fortunately, he was not well-known to the king nor was he to the dowager. Prince John, however, was another matter. It had not deterred the prince to learn Rhys was given an order of protection from the king, but had encouraged him to spin another web of treachery. By now he may know Rhys had taken the castle from Gareth. Time grew short.

  Sir Robert, at his right, said, “It is meet you summon your vassals, my lord. There are three who should pay homage first.” Pausing to spear a chunk of beef with the tip of his eating knife, he waved it in one hand as he added, “Dafydd ap Myrick has lands closest, but delayed his rents, so should be given particular attention. We should know if his loyalties have diverted. No doubt, you will soon be called to pay homage to your overlord as well. We should know the extent of knights fees to be submitted.”