Midnight Magic

by Shari Anton

  One by one the children poured the water, four buckets of hot and one of cold, into the tub. Gwendolyn then swished a hand through the water and pronounced the temperature acceptable. The children bowed out, leaving one bucket of hot water sitting off to the side. The littlest girl handed Gwendolyn the stack of towels, her blond curls bobbing while executing the cutest curtsy he’d ever seen.

  He waited until all had departed before he allowed himself to grin. Closing the door, he announced, “Heaven help me, I want one of those. Preferably one with a pert nose and your color hair.”

  Gwendolyn clasped the towels to her chain-mail covered chest. “I thought all men wanted a son first.”

  He snapped open the metal latch on her shoulder, eager to get her out of her armor so she could divest him of his. “First, second, third, fourth . . . makes no matter to me.”

  Her widening smile turned him fumble-fingered. “You seem rather sure of your prowess. The siring of so many children may prove . . . an ordeal.”

  The latches open, he snatched the towels away and tossed them on the floor. “To be sure. But I shall endure and persevere. Raise your arms, my lady, and prepare to be ravished.”

  Light laughter accompanied the rattle of the metal links coming off over her head. “I thought you wanted a bath first.”

  “Get me out of this armor and then we will decide.”

  Gwendolyn had no more than opened the shoulder latches on his mail shirt when someone pounded on the door.

  He cursed. Who would dare?

  Gwendolyn put her hands on her hips and sighed.

  Alberic threw open the door, prepared to strangle whoever was on the other side.

  A guard stood at the threshold, his face pale as new flour, his eyes wide in terror.

  “Beg pardon, my lord, but you had best come to the battlements. ’Twould seem we are under siege!”

  Chapter Twelve

  ALBERIC DIDN’T HAVE TO ASK who dared to lay siege to Camelen. He knew.

  He and Roger had escaped ap Idwal’s holding by a gnat’s breath, arrows whizzing by their heads. The Welshman must have gathered his men immediately and marched them across the border at a punishing pace to have arrived so soon.

  “Is the drawbridge up?”

  “Aye, milord. We raised it when we saw a large force comin’ at us.”

  “How many men?”

  “Fifty or so.”

  “I want every man who can pull a bow up on the battlements. Lances in the hands of those who cannot. Ap Idwal must not guess that our garrison is at less than full strength.”

  The guard bobbed his head before racing down the passageway.

  He lifted Gwendolyn’s hand to his mouth and lightly kissed the back. “I fear we heated water too soon. Our bath shall have to wait.”

  “Go do what you must with the garrison,” she said. “I shall ready the keep.”

  Her calm bolstered his confidence, until he wondered if she placed her faith in him, or in the solid thickness of Camelen’s outer wall. Either way, if Gwendolyn showed no sign of panic, ’twould reassure the castle folk.

  He hurried down the stairs, Gwendolyn following. At the bottom he nearly ran over Edward. The boy’s eyes were wide and fearful.

  “Me mum is out there alone,” he said in a trembling voice. “You must let me go out to her.”

  Alberic understood the boy’s need to protect his mother. Just as he’d once done all he knew how to keep his mother alive, so Edward wished to shield his mother from harm. ’Twasn’t easy to deny the request.

  “The drawbridge remains up and the postern gate bolted until I can fully assess our enemy’s intent. No one goes in or out of the castle until the danger has passed.”

  Tears welled in Edward’s eyes. Gwendolyn stepped forward and put her hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Edward, your mother does not lack wits. She was a soldier’s wife and knows what she must do in times of danger. ’Struth, she would never forgive his lordship if he allowed you to leave the keep, where she knows you are safe. Your duty right now is to clear away the goblets from the high table, and allow his lordship to do his duty.”

  “Which is to keep us all safe,” Alberic added, not exactly sure how he was going to do that as yet. Always he’d been on the other side of a siege, waiting outside the castle walls for those in command to order an attack, never on the inside wondering what the enemy would do next.

  The bailey churned with activity as guards in battle array hastened to line the wall, and Alberic had to admire their adherence to duty and obvious good training, neither of which he could take credit for inspiring or causing. For both he had Hugh de Leon to thank.

  Disgruntled, he crossed the bailey and climbed the gatehouse stairway, trying to ignore the little voice that chided him for his lack of knowledge. Up till now he’d learned a lord’s duties by watching, and reading, and observing. For this calamity he had no time to learn at his leisure. Lives and property were at risk. He would have to rely on his instincts and pray that they were good enough.

  Alberic looked out over the countryside and calmed some. The guard had reported a force of fifty, and that appeared correct. Too small of a force for a direct assault on Camelen’s defenses, even with its depleted garrison, but too large a force for Alberic to consider a foray into the field.

  Ap Idwal’s small army consisted mostly of roughly garbed pikemen. A few bows peeked over shoulders. A handful of ponies were ridden by those Alberic assumed to be the invaders’ leaders, including ap Idwal.

  ’Twas both outrageous and embarrassing that such a motley group could force him into a defensive stance. Surely they couldn’t take the castle, but they could do a great deal of damage. Already they trod across newly planted oats.

  And having been on the opposite side in a siege, Alberic was well aware of the havoc an enemy could wreak upon the villages and their inhabitants.

  Ap Idwal signaled his men to halt just beyond arrow range. Soon ap Idwal, or someone chosen as his emissary, would make his way toward the castle to state what demands must be met in order to avoid a siege, and bloodshed, and loss of property.

  Alberic knew damned well what ap Idwal wanted. Gwendolyn.

  Never.

  He’d send ap Idwal to his Maker before giving in to so ridiculous and offensive a demand.

  As if his thoughts had called her, Gwendolyn appeared at the top of the stairway. She’d not put back on her chain mail. He thought to protest when she waved aside the offer of a helm from one of the guards, but decided the danger too slight to insist.

  She joined him, leaning against the cold stone to look down and, likely, make her own assessment of the situation.

  “Edward?” he asked.

  “I put him to work filling buckets of water to spread out through the bailey in case Madog decides to send fire arrows our way.”

  “Not with you inside, he will not.”

  “Perhaps, but ’tis a usual precaution and all will feel better if the buckets are at hand. The heavy rains of the Easter season filled the well nicely, so we need not worry over water for some time. Cook is busy deciding on how best to use our provisions. The baker will keep the ovens in use for an added hour each day. We are low on game, but are well stocked with cheese. The seamstresses are tearing old linens into strips for bandaging wounds.”

  Her report and seeming unconcern about the prospect of a prolonged seige prompted him to ask, “Camelen has suffered through a siege before?”

  “’Twas many years ago, but I remember the orders Father gave Emma and me to prepare.”

  For which he should be grateful, though it irked him that she knew how to prepare better than he did.

  “Did the siege last long?”

  “A fortnight. ’Twas long enough for me.”

  Alberic hoped he could bring this foolishness to an end within a few days, much less two weeks.

  “Edgar comes,” Gwendolyn announced.

  Alberic watched the man who might have tried to p
ut an arrow through his head approach the keep.

  “I had hoped ap Idwal would make his own demands.”

  Gwendolyn’s smile was wry. “I imagine he fears you might take advantage if he came within arrow range.”

  “’Twould be a temptation, I admit. But such dishonor I would not bring upon myself.”

  “Even though what he hopes to achieve would shame me?”

  Alberic smiled. “Ap Idwal covets what is mine, and just as he was not allowed to keep my horses, he will find he cannot take my wife. I would defend this keep to the last man and down to the last stone to keep you.”

  She shot him a tight-lipped, sideways glance, wiping away his smile. Hadn’t he just told the woman he would defend her to the death? Shouldn’t such a compliment be taken with more grace?

  Women. Who could understand their minds? Their bodies, aye. But their thoughts? ’Twas certainly beyond him.

  “Hail on the battlements!”

  Alberic pushed his confusion aside to deal with whom most assumed to be the rogue archer.

  “Your new lord makes mud of my oat field, Edgar. He had best have good reason!”

  The man looked a bit taken aback at the use of his name, but pulled his attention back to business quickly.

  “Madog ap Idwal demands the release of the Lady Gwendolyn into his care.”

  “You may tell him that his demand comes too late. The ceremony has been performed, and the marriage duly celebrated and consummated to the satisfaction of all.”

  “Alberic,” Gwendolyn whispered harshly.

  “Well, it has. Did I state an untruth?”

  “You add fuel to the fire!”

  “Let him burn.”

  Edgar continued. “Ap Idwal contends that since the Lady Gwendolyn was forced into marriage, a case can be made for an annulment.” The man had the audacity to smile. “Too, there is always the possibility she might become a widow at any moment.”

  Annulment? Highly unlikely. Widowhood? He would have be careful. Dismissing both, he called back, “Pray give ap Idwal our regards and wish him a safe and speedy journey back to Wales.”

  “There is also a matter of compensation for the horses you stole from the ap Idwal holding.”

  Alberic could hardly believe his hearing. “He expects me to pay for horses that are mine?”

  “Your men trespassed on ap Idwal lands. The horses were taken as punishment for the offense.”

  His temper flared hot. “He also took the lives of two decent men who meant him no harm. Men with whom you once shared meals and duties. Tell me, Edgar, were their deaths worth your freedom?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Edgar continued. “You have until dawn to satisfy the demands.”

  “The demand for Lady Gwendolyn’s release is insufferable. The lady is now married, and ap Idwal dishonors her by asking her to disregard her vows. As for the horses, I am willing to negotiate. Tell ap Idwal I will trade two of them for one Edgar the archer, which is far more than you are worth.”

  “Last of the hot water, milady.” One of the serving wenches Gwendolyn had pressed into service poured a bucket of hot water into the tub. “Will you be needin’ aught else?”

  “Nay, this should do.”

  With a quick bob, the young woman left Gwendolyn alone in the bedchamber, contemplating whether or not to take off her clothing and avail herself of the steaming water before Alberic arrived.

  He’d said he would be up straightaway, after he gave Thomas and Robert instructions on what to watch for in ap Idwal’s camp that might signal a dishonorable move. Alberic obviously didn’t trust ap Idwal not to move against Camelen before dawn, the limit set on Alberic’s final decision.

  Wise of him.

  She doubted he’d been wise to taunt Madog with their satisfactorily consummated marriage, but also didn’t think anything Alberic might have said—except agreeing to the ludicrous demands—would have persuaded Madog to quit the field.

  This wasn’t how she’d envisioned Alberic’s homecoming. After two days of heart-wrenching sadness and nigh unbearable loneliness, she’d hoped for a bit of peace and a chance to get to know better the man the ring clung to so tenaciously, thus deciding the course of her life.

  Not that she’d planned to bathe with him, and was rather shocked at how much the idea appealed.

  Gwendolyn looked over the array of supplies on the table. Towels, French-milled soap, a small vial of scented oil. She’d dug clean garments out of his trunk and placed them on the bed.

  Everything was ready. All she lacked was the man who’d ordered the bath, and the courage to close the door and slide into the tub to await him.

  She’d faced the prospect of a siege with less trepidation. But sieges she knew about. How Alberic might view such a brazen action, she couldn’t guess. Still, the water tempted, and the thought of the two of them naked and slick in the small tub enticed her even more.

  His voice coming from the stairway brought her back to her senses. His appearance in the doorway ended her silly fantasy. Alberic’s big body would barely fit into the tub all by itself, so she’d been wise to resist temptation.

  He closed the door, and temptation took a different form when he immediately drew his tunic over his head to reveal the sprinkling of chest hair she remembered so well from their wedding night.

  Desperate for a distraction, she turned toward the tub and again tested the wonderfully hot water, and searched for a safer subject than her disappointment in the tub’s size.

  “You spoke to Thomas and Roger?”

  She heard the ropes holding the mattress groan beneath his weight.

  “They are assigning every grown male in the castle to take a turn on the battlements. Many will not have a notion of what to do with a weapon, but right now the appearance of a fully armed garrison is more important than the reality.”

  She heard his boots hit the floor; one, then the other. She fussed with a towel.

  “Do you believe Madog will attack before dawn?”

  “’Twould not surprise me. He knows damn well I am not about to give in to his demands.”

  “Then you had best hurry and wash before you are needed.”

  He sighed, the sound telling her he’d padded silently over to the tub. “Aye, I suppose . . . Saint Stephen’s bones, that is hot!”

  His protest turned her around to view a truly admirable rump, which she promptly ignored the moment she saw his right side.

  “Ye gods, Alberic. What did you do?”

  “I stuck my hand in the water to test the heat and—”

  “You have a large, ugly bruise on your side and back!”

  He raised his elbow to glance beneath it at his side. “Oh, that. I fell. ’Tis nothing.”

  An absurdly male denial.

  Irritated, she asked, “Truly?” Then she touched the bruise, making him hiss. “No pain at all, you say?”

  “Well, you were none too gentle!”

  “I barely touched you.”

  He glanced around the room. “Is there no cool water to add to the tub?”

  “Nay. How far did you fall to bruise so deeply?”

  “Off a horse. Gwendolyn, this water is too hot.”

  “’Tis perfect. Was the horse moving?”

  “Rather quickly. I wish to bathe, not boil in my skin.”

  “If the water is not hot at the start, ’twill be cold long before you finish. I gather recovering your horses did not go without incident.”

  “We dodged a few arrows. This water will stay hot for so long that—” He smiled, an utterly wicked, self-satisfied upturn of his mouth. “You had planned for the two of us to make scandalous, leisurely use of water and soap, did you not?”

  Gwendolyn bit her bottom lip and crossed her arms. “The tub is too small. I suppose I should rejoice that you were merely bruised and not pierced.”

  “Would that upset you?”

  Yes, damn his bare-assed, seductive hide. “I dislike seeing any living thing suffer. Take y
our bath while I fetch a balm for your bruises.”

  In the blink of an eye his expression melted to one of concern. “Gwendolyn, where did you sleep last night?”

  The abrupt change of direction confused her, but she saw no reason to not tell him the truth. “In here.”

  “In our bed.”

  Our bed. She supposed it was. What had once belonged to her parents now belonged to her and Alberic. They’d made it theirs on their wedding night.

  “I could not sleep in the chamber I shared with my sisters. ’Tis . . . too empty. Better I spent the night in here than in the bed where I feared I would cry my eyes out for missing them.”

  He cupped her cheeks in his warm, encompassing hands. “Did you miss me?”

  “I missed my sisters. We buried two soldiers yesterday. ’Twould have been nice to . . . have you hold me afterward.”

  “Ah, sweetling.” His arms came around her, and Gwendolyn sank into the embrace she hadn’t realized she needed desperately. “I am sorry you had to deal with so much upset and sorrow alone.”

  The simple acknowledgment of understanding nudged forth tears, so she closed her eyes against them, rested her cheek on his not-so-sweet-smelling chest, and absorbed the offered comfort. After several moments, her composure returning, she knew she should pull away.

  Alberic did need to bathe. And she must fetch the balm for his bruise. But she was loath to seek release, and he didn’t seem to mind indulging her in a moment of weakness.

  “Gwendolyn?” he prodded softly.

  “Hmmm?”

  “My arse grows cold.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at what she sensed was false distress. After a brief squeeze, more gently on his right side so she wouldn’t hurt him, she backed up a step. “Then put your arse in the tub and I will fetch the salve.”

  He stuck a hand in the water. “It does not bite so hard anymore. What say, when we are rid of ap Idwal, we have the cooper fashion us a larger tub?”

  “As you say.”

  He got in and sank down with a pleasured groan, his legs bent so sharply his knees nearly touched his chest. The comical sight widened her smile as she left the bedchamber and hurried down the hallway to her old room.