Old Magic

by Marianne Curley

  Lord Richard finally notices my concern. ‘Stupid girl,’ he mutters angrily, his hand still raised ready to strike the next blow. ‘Look at my tunic.’ He points to a slowly spreading liquid stain on his front that goes from his chest to a little below his waist, soiling what could only be the family crest – two white doves hovering over a purple rose inside a crimson diamond. ‘She spilled ale all over me.’ He looks back at her angrily, and Morgana cowers into a small ball. ‘I’ll teach her to be so careless.’ With that he strikes her, once again, sending her flying backwards.

  ‘My Lord!’ I can’t help but interfere. My heart hardens at the unjustness of the penalty. ‘I require the services of this maid. Do not damage her to the point that she will be useless to my needs.’

  His head swings towards me, and for a second I think perhaps I’ve overstepped my mark. But his face finally softens, and he withdraws his hand. ‘Quite right, Lady Katherine. I dare say the wench has learnt her lesson now anyway.’ With this he dismisses Morgana, who sends me a grateful look as she quickly escapes the room.

  After this incident I find I have no stomach at all for food. We move around the table and Jarrod bumps his leg on the corner. I grab his elbow making sure he clears it this time. On top of being normally clumsy, he’s probably missing his glasses. I make a mental note to watch for inadvertent obstacles in his way.

  Jarrod nudges me, mumbling a subtle thanks. We sit and he offers me a slab of dark bread. Reluctantly I accept, aware that I need the physical strength food offers.

  And the jam doesn’t look too bad. At least, it smells all right, no little blue bits of mould. Fresh berries would have been better, but, as we discovered last night, it’s only a few weeks to winter, so there’s little if any fresh fruit or vegetables around, only dried, preserved or far worse – heavily salted stuff that is so close to being poisonous I don’t even want to stand too close in case it spreads infection.

  The jam turns out better than I thought, and I lather it on the thick bread. I have to concentrate though to block out the rough images of the others wolfing down their food, yanking off chicken legs with greasy fingers, slopping ale into wooden mugs, dripping it down their chins, which they wipe with the backs of their sleeves.

  And while they eat, Lord Richard boasts about his cruelty to the villeins that work his fields. Thomas and Malcolm grin and nod, and this attitude is shared by soldiers at the other tables who think their Lord’s ugly deeds are comical. My appetite disappears altogether when they start laughing over the fate of the peasant woman who recently lost her husband in a battle to help save the keep from falling into the hands of a neighbouring Scottish Lord. He was, apparently, a hard worker. This woman is Edwina, and I wish I’d never met her now. They discuss how she’ll probably turn to a life of thievery, or begging, or prostitution to survive.

  I almost gag on the food that refuses to go down my throat. Jarrod sends me a sympathetic look, but he knows, as I know, there’s nothing either of us can do about that woman and her family. I have to let it be. If only I could use a little magic, I find myself thinking.

  It’s just as I think of magic that a commotion outside the Great Hall seizes everyone’s attention. It seems Lord Richard has an unannounced visitor. A tall impressive-looking man strides in, wearing all black. He bears an even more striking resemblance to Jarrod than Richard, except he’s taller and thicker set. He has Jarrod’s hair colour too, dark blond with russet tints, except this man’s eyes are jet black. And I realise with a start where that eerie pulsing energy is coming from.

  So I guess who it is even before Lord Richard mentions his name. Only a powerful magician can emanate energy like this. It isn’t a warm welcome he receives either. ‘How is it, Rhauk,’ Richard’s voice is cold and hostile, ‘that you always get through my guards, without anyone ever seeing you?’

  The man, Rhauk, simply smiles. Slowly. He walks straight up to Richard, giving me his profile. ‘Is that any way to treat your brother, Richard?’

  ‘Bah!’ Richard scoffs. ‘You are no brother of mine. My father never acknowledged your birth. Never. Not even with his dying breath.’

  ‘That may be, but he never denied it either. But I don’t want to get into that today,’ he replies, seemingly bored. ‘I’ve more important things to do.’

  ‘Well, what do you want this time?’

  Ignoring Lord Richard, as if it’s beneath him to reply, Rhauk’s head shifts sideways, searching. His eyes find mine, and lock. ‘Eloise,’ he whispers. Shivers hit me in waves.

  For starters, I can’t possibly look like Eloise – these people would have noticed and reacted differently when they first saw me. I don’t look anything like these people, and because they don’t travel, they’ve never seen someone who looks quite like me before. My eyes are way too oval-shaped, my hair true black.

  Rhauk seems to collect himself and smiles again. This time the smile has an element of cunning. He nods at me, and it’s as if he’s acknowledging that I’m what he’s come for. ‘What an exquisite creature,’ he purrs like a feline. ‘Introduce us, Richard.’

  Lord Richard is clearly uncomfortable, and coughs a little to clear his throat, I suspect, to buy himself some time. Rhauk’s reaction has him confused. ‘Er, this noblewoman is Lady Katherine. She comes a great distance to be with us. She has nothing to do with you, so keep your eyes off and stay well away.’

  As the two discuss me I feel another energy pulse in the room. At first I don’t recognise it, until an almost familiar wind starts up. It quickly turns chillingly cold. It’s Jarrod. And he’s looking at Rhauk with eyes of absolute steel.

  ‘Easy, Jarrod,’ I say softly, suddenly seeing the huge problem in front of us. We’ve found the instigator of the curse, but Jarrod hasn’t acknowledged his gift yet and so can’t control his powers, let alone use them.

  Rhauk senses another strength in the Hall too. His nostrils flare, his head comes up just a little, black eyes drawing into slits. Slowly he turns to face Jarrod. Then he smiles that slow unnerving smile again.

  Their eyes hold fast, and the wind inside the Great Hall picks up to gale force. Another power has entered the storm – Rhauk’s. Emmeline screams, yet I hardly hear it as the wind keeps growing violently. She clings to Isabel, who’s after answers, but her Lord Richard doesn’t have any. He’s struggling just to stay upright. Neither Jarrod nor Rhauk move. Their eyes remain locked.

  The wind thrashes everything, tables empty, stools upturn, tapestries fly across the room. Everywhere is chaos.

  Rhauk finally breaks the spell, swings his eyes to mine and says softly, ‘How very interesting.’

  The wind dies as quickly, and Jarrod stumbles to his knees, grasping his head. Richard demands to know what happened, but Rhauk ignores him. Instead he says to me, ‘Blacklands is on the northern peak. I’m sure you’ve seen it, Lady Katherine.’ He pauses so that I understand his meaning. ‘You have a clear view of it from the tower.’

  My eyes widen with surprise. He knows I slept in the tower last night. It gives me the creeps. He gives me the creeps. It’s exactly what he wants, to let me know how strong he is. So with an attempt at calm I reply, ‘So you noticed the rush lights were lit. How observant of you.’

  His laugh is sarcastic. ‘Clever girl. I like your humour. Please, join me for dinner tonight, at dusk.’

  Before I have a chance to reply, Richard interrupts. ‘Forget it, Rhauk. You can’t get your claws into this one. Lady Katherine is already married.’

  Rhauk’s eyebrows shoot up at this. He glances at Jarrod and scoffs loudly. ‘To you!’ He laughs as if he’s cracked a hilarious private joke. ‘Oh well, I guess you’d better come too.’

  He leaves a trail of devastation behind him, and a lot of nervous conversation. I help Jarrod to his feet, who remains unsteady and dazed. I pull up a chair in which he gratefully sits.

  As servants start straightening the chaos, I think about Rhauk. Sensing Jarrod’s powers, he showed some of his own. But he was onl
y playing with Jarrod, trying to gauge his strength.

  And it didn’t take much for Rhauk to sum Jarrod up as being no challenge at all.

  Jarrod

  I recall the look in Rhauk’s eyes the moment he spotted Kate. It will stay with me forever, carved into my brain like an engraving on a headstone. It’s as if he found something he treasured, something he’s been looking for all his life.

  He wants Kate all right. But I have to wonder why? What is going on here? It’s more than just an instant attraction. It runs much deeper. This is what’s wrong.

  This unusual man has to be the one we’re looking for. The one who cursed my family. He has a certain strength about him, the Great Hall is a shambles. Richard is running around like a headless chicken while servants and soldiers alike rush about at his orders straightening the mess. The mess can go to hell for all I care, I just want to get to the bottom of Rhauk’s vengeance. He spoke to Richard under the assumption of a blood link. I know part of this history already, but it’s still a good place to start.

  ‘Why does Rhauk say he is your brother?’ I ask Richard.

  Richard pauses in the middle of issuing orders to his soldiers, and looks at me. ‘Unfortunately, nephew, it is what he mistakenly believes.’

  ‘Is that why he’s so resentful?’ Kate asks, putting a hand on my shoulder, encouraging this line of conversation.

  Richard’s chest lifts and expands. He holds this breath for a long moment, then collapses into his high back chair. ‘I have something he thinks belongs to him.’

  ‘What would that be?’ I prod at his lengthy pause.

  ‘Our castle of course,’ Isabel replies. ‘And all our lands and incomes.’

  ‘Was Rhauk first born?’ Kate asks.

  ‘No!’ Richard yells, thumping a heavy fist on the table just righted before him. ‘Rhauk may claim he is Geoffrey’s true first-born son, but Rhauk’s birth was never acknowledged by my father.’

  Kate frowns. ‘He doesn’t look old enough to be …’ Her voice fades.

  Richard lifts his gaze to hers, his voice oddly hoarse. ‘It’s his magic, my dear. It’s rumoured Rhauk’s mother was a true-born witch.’

  I can see Kate thinking: this will explain Rhauk’s unearthly powers, his ability to place a curse on the family that denied him, the family that shut him out. And Richard is a hard man, and cruel, he would never hand over ownership of his castle and lands.

  ‘Couldn’t Rhauk’s mother confirm his parentage?’ Kate asks.

  ‘Aha!’ Richard glances briefly at Isabel, who stands beside him, her hand comfortingly patting his arm. She is his rock, and this big man is not embarrassed to lean on her. Another quirk to his colourful nature.

  ‘Her parents died in a fire. She came to Blacklands for food and shelter. The nuns took her in but already she was with child. It was strongly rumoured she had been seduced by the devil,’ Isabel hisses. ‘She remained at Blacklands until the birthing. The nuns knew of her evil sorcery and tried to cleanse her, but even her own magic wasn’t enough to save her life.’

  ‘She died?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, in childbirth.’

  Kate swears, softly under her breath. Both Richard and Isabel’s eyes fly to hers. They are not used to such words coming out of the mouth of a Lady. Thankfully, Kate recovers quickly and mutters, ‘Such a shame. The baby, I mean. To be motherless at birth. Who raised him?’

  Their attention successfully diverted, Richard says, ‘Ah, now that is another mystery.’

  Again Isabel takes up the explanation, ‘Some say he was raised by the crows that feed out of Blacklands. But of course this is nonsense. Others believe the nuns raised him before he ravaged and killed them all while still a youth, claiming their convent for himself.’

  I’m going for the nuns’ story, even though both stories have the feel of exaggeration. These people sure are a superstitious lot. They’re so isolated up here, they probably believe anything, and make up half the stories themselves for pure amusement.

  ‘How can you not know the truth?’ I ask. ‘After all, the two castles are neighbours.’

  ‘The nuns were self-sufficient and lived reclusive lives. Years could pass before anyone saw or heard from them,’ Isabel explains.

  ‘One thing is certain,’ Richard’s voice is suddenly deadly serious. ‘Rhauk is powerful and evil. I strongly advise you do not accept his invitation to dinner. Not only does he want our lands, the income we gain from them, but he has a personal vendetta with our family.’

  Now we’re getting somewhere.

  As Richard relates the tale, the room falls silent. He looks at me. ‘Did your father ever tell you why he moved away? Relinquishing his title and lands to me?’

  I shake my head, eager for him to explain it all. ‘Your mother, Eloise, was a beautiful young woman. Many desired her, but none as much as your father – and Rhauk.’

  Kate finds another chair, pulling it up beside me. ‘Both courted her, and it was clear she had affection for them both, but when forced into a decision, she chose your father. Rhauk could not accept her decision, and on their wedding night your father claimed he kidnapped his virgin bride. No one saw Rhauk do it. I was on guard duty that night myself and didn’t see a thing. No one broke through our defences. Yet your father slipped into a state of shock, muttering for days a crazy story about Rhauk’s eyes. No one could make much sense of his words. By first light Eloise had wandered back, dazed and somewhat mindless for days afterwards.’

  Moisture glistens in Richard’s eyes, and Isabel leans down with comforting arms around his neck. The tears help me glimpse in him a softer side. To members of his family he is loyal and compassionate. And I sense he is carrying a guilty conscience at what happened the night of his elder brother’s wedding, especially considering he was on guard duty. Perhaps he thinks he should have protected them better. A thought hits me; considering it was the evening of a celebration, maybe Richard was a drunken guard that night. And now he is Lord of Thorntyne Castle and all its estates, while his brother hides himself somewhere in a foreign land.

  ‘It was rumoured that Rhauk seeded Eloise with child, for the infant born nine months later strongly resembled Rhauk. The rumours cut deeply and Lionel took his young family far away.’ Richard’s eyes clear and focus on mine. ‘How goes your brother?’

  My ‘brother’ is supposed to return to claim his rightful inheritance sometime in the future, there’s a battle described in the heritage book, so at least I know of him, and that he lives. ‘He is well.’

  ‘You have seen Rhauk. Who does your brother resemble, now that he is a man?’

  This is a tricky question. I don’t have any idea. I shrug, as if I don’t care. ‘I know him only as my brother.’

  This seems to satisfy Richard, who stands suddenly as if tired of the conversation. He looks about him, observing the quietness in the room, and starts bellowing orders to continue with the clean-up.

  Kate and I go out into the bailey. We need to hash over everything we have learned. Rhauk is obviously the one we want. And I think Jillian’s timing is perfect. But we need to discuss tactics. How are we going to stop this man?

  One thing is certain, no matter Richard’s warning, we will have to go to dinner.

  Blacklands awaits us, and all Rhauk’s mysteries.

  Kate

  Richard arranges an escort to Blacklands by a dozen of his best knights. The horses stand massive in front of us, neighing and fidgeting restlessly. We’re supposed to be competent riders, but I’ve never ridden a horse before, and from the wary wide-eyed look on Jarrod’s face, I guess he hasn’t either, at least not successfully. But these people believe we rode horses as far as London, and probably for most of our lives.

  It turns out easier for me as one of Richard’s strongest knights helps me to the saddle by lifting me effortlessly from the waist. Being female, no one it seems, expects perfection. All I have to do is sit oddly, both legs on one side of the animal’s broad back, and hold the reins
without falling off. Yeah, right.

  It turns out to be much more difficult for Jarrod. For starters, without his glasses his vision is a little blurred, and he’s clumsy anyway. He’s also been allocated a stallion! A handsome white and speckled grey creature. This is supposed to be a compliment, but I don’t think Jarrod sees it this way. When he tries to mount the massive white restless stallion, he goes straight over the other side, descending head first into the hard dusty earth. He stumbles near the stallion’s foreleg, making it shy and fidget. And it looks as if Jarrod’s bruised his shoulder in the fall. The poor thing.

  Out of respect for their Lord, the mounted knights try hard not to laugh at this bumbling nephew, but I can hear their sniggers anyway. Only Malcolm makes a comment, and it’s a nasty snide remark about Jarrod’s incompetence. It makes me think of another bully in another time. I guess certain things don’t ever change.

  Malcolm looks at me and my skin crawls. And even though I know I shouldn’t, but because I sense I’m looking at the face of an enemy, I decide to probe inside his head.

  Malcolm is filled with resentment, envy, and surprisingly, even fear. Suddenly it hits me. Malcolm is Lord Richard’s eldest son. He stands to inherit Thorntyne Keep and all its estates, including the title. Now Jarrod’s come along, son of the eldest Thorntyne, who can lay claim to the lands himself. So Malcolm sees Jarrod as a threat.

  He will have to be watched.

  Malcolm’s eyes narrow, studying me. I’m careful not to make eye contact, especially while still in his head. Not that he can feel me, it just makes me uncomfortable. It adds an element of intimacy.

  Jarrod’s next attempt is still pathetic, but at least this time he doesn’t fall off. He grabs the reins as if his life depends on his not hitting the ground again. His face deepens to colourful shades of red. Finally, with a lot of grunting and heavy breathing, he straightens and grips the horse’s reins. If we were in class right now, they’d all be cheering.