by Lisa Jackson
Clare’s expression changed slightly, her lips pursing. “Do what you must, Morgana, but please think of the consequences. Castle Abergwynn and all that belongs to Abergwynn, even Llanwynn and Wenlock, are subject to Garrick. What would happen to all of us if he became so wrapped up in vengeance that he disobeyed the king or cared not for the townspeople? I’ve seen it before, Morgana. Vengeance can be a man’s undoing.”
Hours later Garrick sent his vassal, George, to find Morgana. Clare gave her leave of her lessons, and she followed George through the castle and outside, past the gate to the outer bailey where Garrick was waiting. His charger and Phantom had been saddled and, bridles jangling, were trying to pluck some of the spring grass.
“You said you wanted to be taken to the spot where Logan was last seen. We’ll go there now,” Garrick ordered.
She caught the look that passed between a thatcher working on the roof of the stables and a carpenter who was shoring up the walls, which had begun to lean. She didn’t pause to wonder what the men who worked for Garrick thought of her. Mayhap there were many rumors concerning her powers as a sorceress and her relationship with the baron. She spied young Tommy Jackson shoveling manure from the stables. His friends were beside him, muttering under their breath, filling a cart with dung, and, upon seeing Morgana, throwing her hateful looks as they bent to their work.
Tommy’s nose was wrinkled, but he put his small shoulder into his task. He, too, glanced up at Morgana, and she managed a smile. His response was to spit on the ground between the gap in his teeth. The hatred on his small face was all too visible, and Morgana knew in an instant that the boy blamed her for his smelly punishment.
“Come.” Garrick wheeled his great horse around and, with a signal to the guard, rode through the double-towered gate and beneath the two portcullises. Morgana, upon Phantom, followed Garrick’s lead, and her little mare’s steps were quick, as if she too, were anxious to shed herself of the high stone walls of Abergwynn.
As Phantom passed the final gate, she broke into a trot. Sensing a challenge, Garrick’s charger flicked his black ears back, and his sleek hide quivered. Morgana leaned forward, and Phantom took off, moving easily into a gallop. The gray mare was quickly beside Warrior, but the stallion wasn’t to be outdone and with a smooth stretch of sleek muscles, he exploded into an easy stride and quickly outdistanced Phantom.
“Come on,” Morgana whispered, leaning forward, her hair blowing free, her tunic billowing out over the dappled mare’s rump. Laughing, tears welling up in her eyes as the wind streamed past her and tangled in her hair, Morgana felt freer than she had since her first terrifying vision of Garrick astride his black steed. “We can best them,” she whispered as the mare’s strides flattened out and the grassy field swept beneath them in an expanse of green. She couldn’t help but laugh, though there was no way Phantom could catch the black destrier.
Garrick pulled up at the edge of the woods, and for once his stern face was relaxed, a smile, more dazzling than Morgana would ever have imagined, slid from one side of his mouth to the other, rising in crooked mockery as Morgana pulled back on the reins and Phantom tried to nip Warrior’s flank.
“Your horse is spirited.”
“But foolish, I fear,” Morgana said with a laugh as Phantom sidestepped a kick from the larger horse.
“Like her mistress.”
“Do not taunt me,” Morgana warned, though she couldn’t help grinning. Here at the edge of the forest with the sun warming the crown of her head and the smell of the loamy ground filling her nostrils, she couldn’t be less than happy. Even the grim prospect of searching for the boy did not weigh down her spirits, so glad was she to be riding free.
“The guards who were with Logan said they took this path,” Garrick explained as he pointed to a trail that wound through the thicket and into the gloom. He nudged Warrior’s great sides, and the horse entered the forest, following a trail that seemed, from the tracks of horseshoes embedded in it, to have been traveled by many men on horseback probably in search of the lad.
Garrick was forced to duck beneath low-hanging branches as he studied the undergrowth. His merry mood soon disappeared, as if the dimness of the forest darkened his spirits. The trail curved suddenly and broke free of the thicket, into an open field where early spring flowers were already in bloom.
To Morgana, the grassland sprinkled with daisies was nearly as gorgeous as the rolling countryside near Llanwynn and Tower Wenlock, but Garrick seemed unaffected by the beauty of the landscape. Instead, his mood darkened even further, and his scowl became fiercer. “Logan was last seen hereabouts,” he explained, climbing off his war-horse and studying the ground. Angrily he glared at the ocean and pointed to a finger of land that jutted out into the sea. “See those ruins? That was where Abergwynn was to have been built many years ago. ’Twas already started when the baron changed his mind and built the keep where it stands today. The baron felt that this land was too low, ofttimes thick with fog. The new site provided a better view of the surrounding lands and would be more easily protected.”
Morgana studied the ruins and the ground that stretched between the forest and the headland, but the beauty of the landscape seemed to fade as she realized she stood on the very ground where Garrick’s child had last walked. She bent down close to the grass and placed her palm against the cool ground. She pulled the grass aside, scooped some dirt into her palm, and flung it high into the air. “Protect him,” she whispered, thinking of Logan’s boy.
“What sorcery is this?”
“Shh,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she felt a cold shiver of dread tingle between her shoulder blades. The sun passed behind a cloud. A breath of wind teased her hair and brought a chill to her heart. She touched Logan’s felt boots, which she kept in a pouch, and a tingle of fear skittered up her fingers and arms. “Holy Mother,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Within her mind she heard a scream, but not a child’s wail — no, something more fearful and terrifying. The back of her throat tasted of metal as she felt betrayal, as cold as a snake’s skin, twist through her mind. Beware, a whispery voice rasped in her mind. Treachery, betrayal, and bloodshed hover within the walls of Abergwynn. Stunned, Morgana dropped the tiny boots and let out her own silent scream.
Strong hands surrounded her arms, shaking her, and Morgana, already frightened, jerked back. Garrick leaned over her. His face was ashen, his eyes filled with dread. “You’ve had a vision.”
“Nay, only a feeling that something terrible has happened,” she said, licking suddenly dry lips.
“Logan,” he said, his voice strangled. “He’s—”
“I don’t know!” She placed a finger on his lips, not wanting him to utter the terrible words. “I saw nothing, but I heard a woman scream.”
“There was no sound.”
“No, only in my mind.” She swallowed hard and let her finger fall from his lips. “’Tis how it starts — with a voice and then later a vision.”
The hands that gripped her arms were punishing. “This scream,” he said, and skepticism tainted his words. “It belonged to …?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps the nursemaid who was with your son.” Morgana’s voice was breathless, her insides still cold with fear.
Garrick stared long and hard at the woman in his arms. She had every reason to lie. He’d brought her here against her will, threatened to harm her family if she didn’t do as he ordered her, betrothed her to a man she despised, and demanded she find his son against great odds. Why wouldn’t she conjure up some sort of tale to appease him? Clever, she was. She’d kept Logan out of immediate danger in her vision, yet bought herself some time. All his instincts told him not to trust her, and yet he felt her tremble in his arms and saw the fear still lingering in her sea green eyes. If she was not telling him the truth, then she was a damn good liar.
“What else did you see?”
Morgana swallowed. “I saw nothing, and yet I felt that there was treache
ry everywhere. There are those whom you trust who would harm you, Garrick,” she said, forgetting that he was a baron. “They have betrayed you already — with Logan — but that was just the start.”
“A voice told you this?”
She nodded mutely, wishing she knew more.
Garrick released her suddenly, and his eyes searched her face. “If you’re lying to me, Morgana, I swear—”
“I’m not! You must believe that someone — someone, I think, who is very close to you — means you harm.”
“It’s not myself I care about,” he threw back at her. “I care only about my son.” A rustle in the bushes caught his attention, and in a flash of gray-brown fur, a wolf bounded from the shadows. Garrick’s charger reared and whistled in terror.
The wolf streaked toward Morgana.
Garrick’s face drained of blood. He drew his sword and lunged at the beast.
“Nay!” Morgana screamed, throwing herself onto the ground between wolf and man. “’Tis mine!” she yelled frantically. “Please — no!” she cried, but Garrick’s blade flashed in the sunlight and she turned to yell at the beast. “Wolf — run!”
Wolf wheeled and snarled, his gold eyes glinting with hatred of the man who would slay him, but he turned and, tail between his legs, dashed into the underbrush of the surrounding forest.
“How dare you attack my animal?” Morgana demanded as she climbed to her feet and dusted her skirt.
“Your animal!” he thundered in disbelief and motioned to the woods. “That beast? I thought he was charging—”
“Alone? Have you ever seen a lone wolf attack a person in broad daylight?” she glared at him as if he were truly a fool. Then, as he lowered his sword, she turned and whistled toward the woods. Slowly, head low, Wolf, emerged, his liquid gold eyes focused on Garrick. “It’s all right,” she assured him. When he reached her, she fell to her knees in joy. Winding her hands in the thick fur on his back she buried her face in his neck. “How are you, friend?” she whispered, her throat thick with tears. “How did you find me?”
He licked her face and wagged his tail, and tears of happiness spilled from Morgana’s eyes. Oh, how she’d missed him — her companion, her friend! “It’s so good to see you,” she whispered, her arms circling his neck. Wolf reminded her of home and of all that she had left at Llanwynn. She blinked hard and cleared her throat, all too aware of Garrick. Dashing her hand against her eyes, she slowly stood and smiled from the joy of having the animal with her again. “He must stay with me,” she said, motioning to the wolf. “He has traveled long to find me and, no doubt, raised my father’s anger. He must stay at Abergwynn, Lord Garrick. I will take care of him and make sure that he causes you no trouble.”
Garrick eyed the wolf thoughtfully and was rewarded with a black-lipped snarl. “This will only add fuel to the gossip against you.”
“I care not! He’s mine, and he’s journeyed hard to find me. I will not turn him away.”
With a heavy sigh, Garrick threw a hand into the air and shook his head. “Why not?” he asked the surrounding forest. “First a witch and now a wolf. Why not? Now no one will think I’ve lost my mind, they will know it!” He climbed upon his nervous horse and stared down at Morgana. “Make no mistake, Morgana, the first time there is trouble with him, he will be turned out or slain. If he frightens the children, kills the sheep, or sneaks scraps from Cook’s table, he cannot stay within the castle walls!”
“He won’t!” Morgana argued with far more confidence than she felt. For Wolf, bless and curse him, had more than his share of faults. But she’d keep her eye on him, and now, finally, she felt she had a friend at Abergwynn. “Come,” she commanded to the beast, but recalling her vision she felt the footsteps of doom climb up her neck.
Chapter Thirteen
The voice had been right. There were many who were not as faithful to Lord Garrick as they would have liked him to believe. Morgana, in the next few days at Abergwynn, tried to ignore her own changing feelings for a man who had forced her to leave her family, betrothed her to a knight she couldn’t stomach, and then kissed her so passionately that her entire world had seemed to turn upside down. She tingled each time she thought of that one wonderful, hateful kiss.
Within the castle walls she sensed the unspoken thoughts and the traitorous glances cast between some of Garrick’s knights. She told herself she was imagining the tension that seemed to simmer in the air, and yet she could not shake the feelings that more than a few of Abergwynn’s knights would plot against their lord.
To begin with, she did not trust Strahan, but after observing him with Garrick she had no reason to believe he was less than loyal. Though he was far from kind, he seemed to genuinely respect his cousin, and whenever they were together he placed Garrick and Abergwynn’s best interests at heart. In truth, Garrick had been more than generous with Strahan; the castle and lands that were to be bestowed upon Strahan and his bride were valuable and well established. So why would Strahan rebel against a man who was so good to him?
As for the others, most of the knights and servants were outwardly fond of Garrick and prided themselves on being in the command of so able a leader. Only a few appeared discontented, but whether their animosity was directed at Garrick or at her, Morgana wasn’t certain. She caught the disdainful looks cast her way and saw the hidden sneers when Garrick ordered the men to accompany her. She decided that the treachery she saw in a few of the men’s eyes might exist because they considered their lord to have gone mad to bring into their midst a woman with so dark a reputation. Perhaps those she felt were disloyal were merely superstitious men who questioned Garrick’s judgment in dealing with a witch. It could be that the tension she felt crackling between the castle and the bailey wasn’t directed at the baron so much as at her.
Even the men she distrusted — Sir Randolph and Sir Charles and a few of their friends — never disobeyed an order and were quick to do Garrick’s bidding. Sir York, though grim, did nothing to defy Garrick. Nor did Sir Hunter or Sir Joseph, and yet they made her uneasy with their uncompromising stares and their laughter at her expense. The smug turn of Charles’s pinched lips and the lustful gleam in Randolph’s eyes made her nervous.
Habren, the heavy servant, had insinuated that Sir Charles was neglectful in his duties, and Randolph had more than a few cruel jokes at Morgana’s expense, but she’d seen no evidence that either of the men was plotting against Garrick. She wondered if baiting Randolph when she first met him had created a dangerous enemy she would never be able to trust.
As each day passed, Morgana tried to tell herself that the strain in the great hall was due to Garrick’s black mood and worries over the fate of his child. Morgana studied with Clare, became more familiar with the castle, and learned a little of the man who was baron. Most of his servants respected him. Even Habren, who was often out of sorts, would smile at the mention of Garrick’s name.
“Aye, and he’s a sad one, that he is,” she said, clucking her tongue as she counted the sacks of flour and sugar the provisioner had brought to the kitchen, for she didn’t trust the man, and the steward, Habren was convinced, drank too much to know what he was doing. “This loss of Logan, well … I don’t know if Lord Garrick will ever recover. First his wife and then his son…” Sighing, she moved on to smaller sacks of rice, almonds, and pepper, touching each bag and moving her lips as she counted. “Well … he’s got it right this time,” she said, brushing her fingers on her dusty apron. “But that little twit has been skimming off some of the supplies,” she said. “I’m sure of it. I just can’t catch him.” Vexed, she frowned and cast Morgana a curious glance. “I don’t suppose you could work up some of your magic and cause whoever the thief around here is to be covered with a pox or have his hair rot out, could ye?”
Morgana, despite herself, had to swallow a grin. “I don’t think so.” She’d already quit denying her powers; denial did no good. People, including Habren, would believe what they wanted to
believe, be it good or bad, reasonable or foolish.
“Well, I’ll have to find another way to catch him, then, a way that the provisioner isn’t clever enough to notice,” Habren muttered to herself. “Mark my words, I’ll not be blamed for a loss of wax or vinegar or soap or anything else that snake slithers away with.”
“Have you talked to the baron about this?”
“I spoke to the steward, Sir Charles. A lot of good that did Charles said he was in charge and would handle any problems, and that, m’lady, is the last I’ve heard.” She ended with a disgruntled snort.
Morgana silently agreed with Habren. Sir Charles, who continually sent severe, self-righteous glances to follow the path of his hooked nose, made her uncomfortable. She was reminded of a lazy hawk. Even his mouth, pinched into a perpetual frown, added to the beakish appearance of his nose.
Morgana, as she had every day, was attempting, embroidery. She pierced her finger with the needle. “Damned sewing!”
Wolf, from a corner, growled.
A horn sounded the approach of guests. Morgana tossed the hated hoop and needle aside and ran to the window where, over the walls of the outer bailey, she spied a double column of riders approaching. Guests! At last, some excitement.
With Wolf on her heels, she dashed into the hallway and started down the stairs where servants were bustling between the partitions. She stopped for a second, silently commanding Wolf to halt. “Shh,” she whispered and heard bits and pieces of the excited chatter. From her position on the steps she couldn’t help but overhear two of the women servants.
“Is it news of Master Logan?” Mildraed, a laundress with stringy brown hair and huge eyes, asked as she hastened toward the kitchen with a basket piled high with soiled sheets. Waif thin, Mildraed had a keen nose for gossip and could spread a rumor as quickly as she heard it.