by Flora Speer
“I’m glad. She was in dreadful pain when I first saw her this morning.”
“I was wrong to mistrust you.” Dain’s arms came around her, pulling her back against his chest, with her head resting on his broad shoulder. “I should have known without question that you are too honest to do aught but good to someone who is under your care.” His lips brushed across her temple, and a moment later his warm mouth found the spot where her throat and shoulder joined. His hands worked their way upward to cup and caress her breasts, his thumbs teasing both of her nipples at the same time.
Emma squirmed against him, feeling his overheated hardness probing at her. Warmth flared within her as he slid his hands down until he reached the place between her thighs.
“It has been too long,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
He turned her to face him, and she imagined he meant to pick her up and carry her to the bed. Instead, he tore at his clothes, freeing himself, and then he sank onto the stone window seat.
“Here,” he said, “with the moonlight on us.”
He lifted her linen nightrobe, and with his hands on her hips he pulled her forward until she was straddling his legs.
“Dain, I am not sure what you want me to do.”
“I’ll show you. Put your hands on my shoulders and kiss me.”
He began to touch her, his fingers working a wild magic on her senses, and when she tore her lips from his because she had to cry out or die of the passion she could not control, he began to suck on her breast through her robe, drawing the slightly rough, moistened linen into his mouth, pulling her flesh into his mouth, too. And all the time his hands were busy between her thighs.
“Dain!” She did not know whether she wanted to flee from him to get away from the erotic sensations that were overwhelming her or force herself closer to him. He solved the problem for her by catching her writhing hips in his big hands and lifting her a little, holding her steady as he slowly began to lower her onto his hardness, stretching and filling her, engulfing her in pleasure.
“There’s an advantage to this,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. “It’s you who has to do the work.”
“Not work,” she cried. “Joy. Oh, Dain.” She was full of him, they were one, and she shimmered into ecstasy there on the cold stone seat with the silver moonlight flooding over them. She heard his cry and knew that he had found the same ecstasy.
A long time later he stood, still holding her wrapped around him and finally carried her to the bed.
“You’re shivering,” he said, “and so am I. Even in summer that stone is cold. We’ll not use it often when winter comes.”
She held onto him, clinging for warmth and love, while he pulled the quilt around them.
“I’ll warm you,” he said, and began to rub her back, and her arms, and then her calves and thighs.
Then he was inside her again, hard and tender at first, then fierce and demanding, and the pleasure came upon her so suddenly that she screamed from the force of it and gave herself up completely to love.
She was not at all surprised to find him gone when morning came, or to discover on his pillow a green pebble, worn smooth by water, the sort of stone she often saw at the edge of the sea.
Since she knew it was not Dain who was making a habit of leaving the mysterious gifts, she wondered how anyone could enter her room without her hearing or sensing the person’s presence. Except for the single blue bead, there was no material value to any of the gifts, but she was certain, without knowing how she could be so sure of it, that no harm was meant to her or to Dain, that the offerings were meant as gifts, and that they were given with love.
Chapter 11
Emma was just beginning her descent of the cliff path the next morning when she looked down and saw Agatha standing on the beach, engrossed in conversation with Hermit. The two of them did not look up as Emma crossed the sand to them and they seemed to be unaware of her approach. She heard their last few sentences clearly.
”A despicable deed that must be rectified,” Agatha said with considerable passion.
“After so long, what can be done?” asked Hermit. “There is great danger if we try to set matters aright.”
“The girl deserves better,” Agatha responded. “The time for justice approaches. Truth cannot and will not be denied for much longer.”
“Agatha,” said Emma as she reached them, “shall I go away until you have finished your private talk?”
“There’s no need.” Seeming unconcerned at having been overheard, Agatha handed a cloth-wrapped bundle to Emma. “Dain’s messenger described Lady Richenda’s symptoms, so I was able to choose the correct herbs for her. I’ve included a vial of poppy syrup, too. Be careful not to give her too much. I have known people to become so attached to the stuff that they want more and more of it.”
“I don’t think there’s any danger of that happening with Lady Richenda,” Emma said. “She resents everything I do for her, so I’m sure she will refuse all my medicines as soon as she begins to feel a little better. The syrup does make her loquacious, though. Yesterday she recounted her version of the feud with Lord Udo. What prideful foolishness it all is.”
“Most feuds are born out of pride,” Agatha said. “Take good care of that nasty old woman. If she should die while you are treating her, Dain will have an excuse to blame you and set you aside so he can resume the feud, thus providing Lady Richenda, in death, with the vengeance she so craves. She will not mind dying if death gives her the victory over you and the baron of Wroxley.”
“She is a most determined lady,” Emma agreed. Then, deciding there would be no better time to speak up, she added, “Dain told me about you putting herbs in his wine. That was not well done.” She could not say more, not with Hermit standing there with them. She found herself blushing at the memory of what the passionate results of Agatha’s herbs had been, and she could not look at Hermit.
“It was only a pinch,” Agatha said, scoffing at Emma’s irritation. “The boy needed a little encouragement to go where his heart directed.”
“Dain is not a boy,” Emma said very firmly. “Nor is he under his mother’s influence, whatever you may think. He often disputes with her and frequently takes my part against her.”
”I am glad to hear it,” Agatha said. “Perhaps time is moving more swiftly than I realized.”
Agatha fell silent, her expression guarded, as if she was considering some deep secret, and Emma decided it was best to change the subject. She had already said too much about her private relationship with Dain.
“Good morning, Hermit.” Emma turned to him, to find him regarding her with an eagerness that suggested he could not gaze at her long enough. In another man such a degree of intensity would have indicated a lascivious interest. She could not impute such a motive to Hermit. There was warmth and friendliness in his look, and sorrow mixed with some other emotion she could not define, but she saw in him no evil intent, no wish to harm her in any way. In fact, she felt comfortable with him, as if they were already friends of long standing.
“Good day to you, my lady.” Hermit made a quick little bow and smiled at her.
Emma could not help smiling back at him, though she was able to overcome her sudden, absurd desire to hug him.
“I must be going,” Agatha said. “I left some medicine brewing back at my cottage, and by now it will need stirring and a few more herbs added to the pot. Hermit, do not forget what I have said. See to the girl, and take great care. She must come to no harm.”
“I understand,” Hermit said.
“Thank you for the herbs,” Emma said to Agatha.
“I gave them to you for your sake, rather than for Richenda, whom I would prefer never to help,” Agatha responded. “What you choose to do with the herbs now that they are in your hands is entirely up to you.” Leaving her companions, Agatha set off along the beach in the direction of Trevanan.
“She mentioned a girl,” Emma said to Hermit when Agatha had trudged ar
ound the rocks at the side of the cove and was lost to sight. “Did she mean me? I cannot think so. I am not a girl any longer.” Emma paused, eyebrows raised in a question, hoping he would reveal something.
“Not you,” was all Hermit said.
“I have heard her speak before of a girl whose name she did not mention,” Emma said.
“There are many girls in this area.” Hermit’s face became a careful blank.
“You are being evasive.”
“Agatha is old enough to have many secrets. Some of them are not her own.”
“And you are not at liberty to discuss this one?” Emma mused, nodding her understanding of Hermit’s discretion. “I apologize for prying. It’s just that there are so many questions I want to ask Agatha.”
“About her magic?” Hermit met Emma’s startled look with another of his warm smiles. “Or about your own?”
“You know?” Emma gasped. “Did she tell you?”
“Agatha would never betray your secret. She didn’t have to tell me. I recognized you the first instant I saw you, when I looked into your eyes. I know your magic is meant for good.”
There was some deeper meaning to what he said; Emma was sure of it. She saw a danger in his kindness and his ready acceptance of her ability. With a sense of urgency, she tried to explain without saying too much.
“Agatha knows, and my companion, Hawise, and now you,” Emma said. “No one else must know. Please, Hermit, keep my secret. Lady Richenda is so much opposed to magic that she has forbidden Agatha to enter Penruan Castle.”
“Agatha enters all the same,” Hermit said. “When Dain summons her, she enters, and he allows her presence in defiance of his mother.”
“That’s true.” Emma glanced toward the rocks around which Agatha had disappeared. “Could it be Agatha who-? But why would she? Oh, how I wish I could talk to her for a longer time!”
“Perhaps I can help,” Hermit said. “Ask me the questions you wanted to ask Agatha. What has her ability to enter Penruan despite Lady Richenda’s ban to do with the confusion I see in you?”
“Are you a wizard?”
“No,” he responded promptly, “and I thank heaven for my lack of magical ability. I know the power too well to want it for myself.”
He flexed the fingers of his right hand, the movement drawing Emma’s attention. To her eyes, the hand looked less twisted and more like a normal hand.
“Agatha has a salve to soften the burn scars,” he said, as if he could read her thoughts, “and she has suggested I ought to try to use my hand more often and not favor it as I have done since it was injured. She says use will strengthen the bones and tendons. Emma, what troubles you? I will not repeat anything you confide in me.”
She believed him. Something about Hermit’s quiet manner, added to her perception of a deep sorrow hidden behind his gentleness, gave her the courage to reveal her troubles to him. She thought he would understand, so she said to him the things she hadn’t had the chance to discuss with Agatha.
“Agatha is eager to promote a firm marriage between Dain and me,” Emma began. “I’m not sure if it’s because she cares about him and wants him to be happy, which I am certain she does, or if her chief motive is dislike of Lady Richenda and disgust with the old feud between Dain’s family and mine.”
“It disturbs you that she put those herbs into Dain’s wine so he would make love to you,” Hermit said, looking out to sea and not at her, as if he were as embarrassed by the subject as she was. “You would have preferred Dain to come to you out of his own desire.”
“Yes,” Emma said, resolved to get through this first part of her explanation so he would better understand her questions when she came to them.
“Any honest woman would feel the same. Now, why wouldn’t Agatha know as much, being a woman herself?” Hermit mused.
“Afterward,” Emma spoke into an extended pause in the conversation, “I began to receive gifts.”
“What gifts?” Hermit asked, slanting a puzzled look at her.
“From time to time, after Dain has left our bed, I find objects on his pillow. At first I thought they were from him, but he insists they are not. The gifts are nothing valuable, but always something with meaning for me. A flower, an herb, a blue bead, a seashell-”
”A bead?” he interrupted. “I have found a few beads in the cave. When I asked Agatha about them, she claimed they were left there by the Sea People who visited these shores thousands of years ago, looking for tin. According to Agatha, the foreigners traded the beads and small gold trinkets for the ore they considered to be far more valuable.”
“Well, there you are, then,” Emma exclaimed. “It must be Agatha, if she’s familiar with the beads. The one left for me to find is almost the exact color of Dain’s eyes. First the herbs in his wine, then the gifts. It does make sense, doesn’t it?”
“You think Agatha is stealing into Penruan Castle to leave offerings on your pillow?” he asked, sounding as though he could not accept her conclusion.
“If I have judged Agatha correctly, she doesn’t need to enter the castle,” Emma said. “Her magic is strong enough to move those small objects into the lord’s chamber without her having to venture anywhere near Penruan.”
“My dear girl, you have it all wrong.” To Emma’s amazement, Hermit burst into laughter. He sounded as if he hadn’t laughed for a long, long time. It was as if the rusty, half-choked noises issuing from his throat surprised him as much as they did Emma.
“Is this some kind of game?” she demanded.
“No,” he said, sobering. “No game at all. It’s deadly serious. There’s more here than you know. I’ll tell you this much: you can trust Agatha, and me. But beware of Lady Richenda. That jealous, spiteful woman will do you any harm she can.”
“Because of the feud?” Emma said.
“Out of jealousy,” Hermit answered. “It’s the reason for everything she does.”
“Have you ever met Lady Richenda?”
“I have no desire to meet her,” he said.
“Then how can you say such things about her, if you don’t know her?” Emma cried.
“Are you defending her?”
“I am saying it’s not fair to judge someone you don’t know. Her life has been difficult.”
“How innocent you are. I wish I could keep you safe,” he murmured. His left hand came up to caress her cheek. Then he rested his hand on her shoulder and looked into Emma’s eyes until she broke away from his gentle touch. With an excuse about returning to the castle to check on Lady Richenda’s condition she left him there, alone on the beach.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Hermit crouched by his smoky peat fire, feeding more turves into it. He did not have to look up to know when Exile entered the cave and came to join him.
“You are troubled,” Exile said from across the fire.
“I met Emma again today,” he said. “I do not know how much longer I can resist telling her the truth. Yet I must say nothing to her. She’s not safe as it is, and the truth could put her into mortal danger – as it could do to you, too.”
“Have you spoken to Agatha?”
“Her advice was the same as yours. I am to remain silent for the present, and to be patient. But it’s not natural for a man to do nothing in the face of danger!”
“You are recovering,” Exile said. “Your heart grows ever bolder. Even your hand is becoming more flexible. Soon you will be the man you once were.”
“Oh, no,” Hermit said. “I never want to be that man again. I’d rather die first. And if I must die, I’ll do it in defense of that kindhearted enchantress who is forced to conceal her true self while she lives at Penruan!”
***
“Just because you have nursed me through this illness,” Lady Richenda said to Emma, “don’t think we will ever become friends. I still despise you.”
“Then you ought to despise your son, too,” Emma said, rising from the bedside stool. “Dain was eager for me to treat you.
”
“Only because he is under your baleful influence,” Lady Richenda declared. “You lure him to bed each night and perform disgusting acts with him, but I warn you, arrogant young fool that you are, men do not long remain enchanted by a woman’s body when there exists no other common interest. Dain will desert you soon enough. You will be left to sleep alone, with only your regrets for company.”
A harsh response burned on Emma’s tongue, until it occurred to her that Lady Richenda was speaking out of her own experience. Emma thought about Lady Richenda’s herb-induced revelations of how she had been Lord Halard’s second wife, and how Halard had left her to march north and fight Udo, returning to Penruan later with a terrible wound from which he never recovered. Lady Richenda had borne only one child and she had been a widow for more than a quarter of a century. Emma doubted there had ever been much love or tenderness in her mother-in-law’s life. With that thought in mind, she stifled her angry words and turned to Blanche, who lingered in the shadows in case her mistress should require some duty of her.
“I do not think Lady Richenda needs my constant care any longer,” Emma said to the maidservant. “You may give her the last of the medicine later this afternoon. By tomorrow she ought to be well enough to leave her bed.”
”I, not you, will decide when I am ready to leave my bed,” Lady Richenda snapped at her.
“Do as you please, my lady,” Emma responded, and walked out of the room before she forgot her good intentions and lost her temper.
It was a relief to be free of the dark bedchamber, with its oppressive atmosphere, but leaving Lady Richenda’s room wasn’t enough. Emma wanted to be away from the castle. The midday meal was over and there were only a few people in the great hall when she reached it. She did not see Dain anywhere. Emma paused just long enough to provide a report on Lady Richenda’s improved condition to Father Maynard before she hurried across the bailey and over the drawbridge.
”I am going to look for herbs,” she called to the sentry on duty at the gatehouse, and he smiled and waved her on her way.