by Flora Speer
When she went out alone she usually went to the beach. Not today. She did not want to chance meeting Hermit, or even Agatha. She had learned so much over the last few days, though she had been too busy to sort through all of the new information. If she was going to make sense of so many disturbing facts she needed to be alone without interruption for a time.
Emma set out for the moor, using the path she and Blake had taken several times. She was sure she could easily find the spot where the adder’s tongue fern grew. Once there she planned to sit on one of the rocks in the sunshine until she had put her thoughts into order. Too late, she realized she had forgotten to take her basket from the stillroom, but she decided she didn’t care. Any herbs she picked in her present disturbed state would likely be useless.
Either she missed a turning in the path or she was so absorbed in her contemplations that she walked right past the place where she intended to stop. Before she knew it, she was high on the sloping ground, close to the top of the ridge. She wasn’t overly concerned about getting lost, not as long as she could see Penruan below her, perched on the edge of the cliffs.
It was wonderful to be so free, to be surrounded only by blue sky and fresh air and the open moorland. Her spirits reviving, Emma looked toward Rough Tor. Blake always told her it was actually farther away than it appeared to be, yet today it was so close she thought she could almost touch it.
“This ridge I’m on is much higher than the rest of the land around here. Therefore,” she reasoned, “it ought to be dry and safe to walk on. I’ll walk a short distance, just to learn if Blake is right and Rough Tor does recede as I approach it.”
She set off at a brisk pace. The wind was at her back, the sun was warm, and her concerns about Lady Richenda’s hostility, the appearance of mysterious gifts, even the overriding worry about Dain’s true feelings for her, all suddenly seemed unimportant. She was in a magical land and the tall rock formation beckoned.
No matter how far she walked, Rough Tor was never any closer. When Emma began to grow tired and turned once more to measure the distance between Penruan and the place where she was presently standing, she discovered she could no longer see the castle. Fog was creeping in from the ocean and even as Emma watched it edged closer, veiling the sun and threatening to conceal the few landmarks she was able to recall from previous expeditions.
She was going to have to turn back and hope she didn’t stray from the path or wander into one of the bogs. She remembered all too well Blake’s warnings about quicksand so deep it could swallow up small animals, sheep, or even humans.
The problem was, she had turned around several times while seeking spots she recognized, and now she wasn’t sure in exactly which direction the castle lay. She could no longer see Rough Tor, either, so she couldn’t take her bearings from it. At least she was still on the high path along the ridge. If she kept to it, sooner or later she would come upon a familiar landmark and would know how to proceed from there. She tried not to think about the brigands who infested the moors and who surely knew the area well enough to find their way through any fog.
Before she had gone more than a few yards the seeping fog reached her, enveloping her in damp, wooly gray so thick that she could not even see her own feet. She was forced to stop again while she reconsidered her situation. As the fog flowed about her the air became noticeably colder and more damp, and the daylight began to vanish into a deep, gray gloom.
“I’m lost,” Emma said to herself. “Completely, thoroughly lost, in an unfamiliar land. There is only one way I’m ever going to find Penruan again. I need to see through the fog to the correct path, and I must do it before either Dain or Sloan decide to send out searchers. I have no right to put anyone else into danger because of my thoughtlessness. What harm can magic do when there’s no one here to see?”
Her decision made, she closed her eyes and stood quietly for a moment, concentrating, gathering the power, accepting the uprushing sense of joy as she unleashed her magic. It was such a relief after keeping that part of herself hidden away for months; it was rather like taking off a pair of too-tight shoes that constantly pinched and blistered her feet. Her heart soared at the release of all restrictions. She knew it was only for a short time, but still she reveled in her own ability.
She did not make the fog retreat, for banishing it would reveal the presence of a magician to anyone who was nearby, and Emma intended to keep her magical skills hidden. She let the fog remain, though she could see through it with vision so sensitive that she was able to recognize every pebble along the path. And the path itself was suddenly clear to her, heading gradually downhill, wandering a bit to avoid the boggy areas, yet leading steadily toward Penruan Castle. To Emma’s intensely perceptive eyes the very stones of the castle at the end of the path shone with a welcoming glow. Penruan was home. She had known it before, but now she perceived it with magical clarity, understanding with her mind and soul, as well as with her most tender emotions, that Penruan was where she was meant to be.
She set out upon the path revealed to her, walking quickly, wanting to be close to the castle before any possible searchers found her, so she could pretend she hadn’t wandered far and wouldn’t have to make explanations she would prefer not to offer about how she had found her way back.
She came to a large rock that she hadn’t noticed on her outward trek. She did not doubt the evidence of her sight; the rock definitely had not been there before. She stopped, drawing her magic about her for safety, though she felt no sense of danger. She caught a glimpse of something white floating, drifting on the fog, like a long scarf or a banner, and she relaxed a little in recognition.
“Who are you?” she called. “I know you are there. I’ve seen you several times, on the moor and at the cliffs. If you are lost, perhaps I can help you find your way home.”
“So you will, when the time is right,” came a whispery murmur, the speaker hidden by the rock. “Agatha says you will.”
“Are you a friend of Agatha’s?” All the residual tension left Emma’s body at mention of the familiar name. “I can show you the direction to her cottage.”
“I thought you were lost,” said the voice. “I came to help you. Now I find you require no help from me.”
“Companionship on my walk would be pleasant,” Emma said. “Please, show yourself.”
From behind the rock stepped a figure draped in white, a scarf covering the head. A pale, slender hand reached out to Emma, who lifted her own hand, accepting the clasp and knowing in the instant of touching exactly what the stranger was. Though not who. There lay within Emma’s knowing an empty place, a blank at the very heart of the ghostly creature. As soon as their hands separated, the odd sense of awareness that was not truly recognition ended abruptly. Still, Emma knew with absolute certainty that the strange woman was human.
“I am Emma,” she said. “May I know your name?”
“Vivienne.” The voice remained a whisper.
”A magical name,” Emma said, recalling stories she had heard about King Arthur and Camelot.
“Magical,” said Vivienne, “and cursed.”
“Surely not, if you have Agatha for a friend.”
“I have only two friends.”
“Will you count me as a third? I don’t have many friends either. I’d consider myself fortunate to find a new one.”
“Me?” Vivienne gazed at her in disbelief.
“Why not? You also possess inborn magic. I felt it just now, when you took my hand. We ought to be friends, don’t you think? Our kind seldom find other folk with whom they can reveal themselves.”
“Oh, yes.” The scarf slipped from Vivienne’s head, disclosing long auburn hair. Her features were delicate, her eyes pale silver. As the scarf slid off her shoulders, Emma saw the silver chain about her neck and the silver and turquoise pendant on her bosom.
“You mentioned Agatha,” Emma said. “I assume she is your first friend. Who is the second? Another person with magical ability?”
“No.” Vivienne’s lips curved into a mysterious smile and her whisper softened into tenderness on the next word she spoke. “Hermit.”
“The man who lives in the sea cave? I know him, too. At first I thought he was Merlin, till I realized he owns no magical ability.”
“Hermit fears magic. Rightly so,” said Vivienne. “As for Merlin, he’s not in the outer cave. It requires magic more powerful than mine to find the great wizard. Perhaps no one ever will. Agatha thinks not.”
“Vivienne, where do you live? How can we meet again?”
Before Vivienne could answer there was a swirling movement in the fog, an eddy that warned Emma someone was approaching. She heard muffled hoofbeats and a familiar masculine voice.
“Emma! Emma, where are you?”
“Dain!” Vivienne’s whisper suddenly conveyed an urgent fear. “He must not see me. It is forbidden. Lady Richenda—”
“Lady Richenda is ill and in her bed,” Emma said. “I do understand your concern. She is unalterably opposed to the use of magic, or even of medicine, though she hasn’t refused my herbal help while she’s ill. By the way, Vivienne, I haven’t told Dain about my ability. I’m afraid he won’t understand that someone who can work magic is not necessarily evil. Please, don’t tell him.”
“Tell him?” whispered Vivienne. “I dare not allow him to set eyes on me. How could I tell him anything at all? Ah, Dain, how I wish -” She broke off on a sob.
“Emma!” Dain’s shout was louder, a sign he was drawing near. “If you can hear me, answer.”
“I’m here,” Emma called, “on the path, not far from you.” In a lower voice she begged, “Vivienne, please stay.”
But when Emma turned her companion was gone, vanished into the mist, along with the magical rock that had been her hiding place. And Dain appeared, riding out of the fog on his big stallion.
“What in the name of heaven do you think you are doing?” he yelled at her. “How could you be so foolish as to wander off without a companion on a day when a fog bank was hovering offshore and was clearly about to move inland?”
“There’s no need for you to be angry,” she said quite calmly. “I know exactly where I am and I am on my way home. I do hope you haven’t sent any of your men out to search for me. They could easily become lost.”
“It’s you who might become lost,” he said, reining in beside her. “You don’t know this countryside.”
“I have a wonderful sense of direction,” she told him, “as you can see for yourself. I am not lost.” She said it with firm conviction, and with more than the obvious meaning. Using her magic had restored her self-confidence, which had been slowly ebbing away ever since her arrival at Penruan. The meeting with Vivienne had strengthened her even more. Emma felt capable of overcoming any obstacle.
When Dain reached down his hand she gave him a brilliant smile, accepting the offer, and lightly sprang upward to seat herself behind him on the horse’s back. She wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and rested her cheek on his shoulder.
“Though I wasn’t lost, I am very glad to see you,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against the blue wool of his tunic. “I have missed you, Dain.”
He said nothing, though for a moment he did place his big hand over her interlocked fingers at his belt. Then they were trotting over the drawbridge and Dain took his hand away. He did not speak again until they were both in the great hall, with the stallion given over to a groom to stable and curry.
Awaiting them in the hall was Lady Richenda, fully dressed in her black robes and white linen wimple. Her face was pale except for a bright spot of red in each cheek, and her eyes, so like Dain’s in color, were cold and hard as twin stones when they regarded Emma. Blanche hovered behind her mistress, looking thoroughly frightened.
“So,” Lady Richenda said, skirts flaring as she stalked toward Emma, “you left the castle without permission. Were you meeting a lover on the moor?”
“I require no one’s permission to leave Penruan,” Emma said. “I told the sentry on duty where I was going. And I have no lover. How dare you suggest that I have?”
“I know you,” Lady Richenda snarled, “spawn of a coward, of a cheat, of a thief.”
“Your husband’s feud with my grandfather has nothing to do with my walk on the moor today,” Emma told her. “My lady, you have been seriously ill. You ought not to be out of bed yet. I am surprised to see you standing, and amazed that you were able to negotiate the steps from your room to the hall.”
“Are you suggesting that I am not in my right mind?” Lady Richenda screeched, fists clenched, face thrust forward as if to intimidate her adversary.
“I am suggesting that you are still weak,” Emma said quietly. “If you continue to exert yourself beyond your strength, you may well have to be carried back to your bed, an indignity I am certain you would rather not endure.”
“Dain!” Lady Richenda cried, turning to her son, “will you allow this slut to dismiss me from my own hall?”
”What I will not allow,” Dain said, “is for anyone, even you, to insult my wife. Emma is a virtuous woman. And, incidentally, this is my hall, not yours. You’d do well to remember it.”
“The wench has bewitched you!”
“I will not tolerate bickering between my wife and my mother!” Dain shouted. “Emma, go to your room!”
“Dain?” Emma put out protesting hands, a gesture intended to ward off his anger. “Don’t treat me like a naughty child. I did not begin the quarrel.”
“To your room, at once!” he roared at her. In a quieter tone, he said, “I will speak with you later, in private. For now, do as I say.”
The servants were staring, fascinated by the open dispute between the two ladies of the castle, and Emma was sure they’d soon be gossiping freely about what was happening, and very likely carrying the tale to Trevanan village. She saw the plea in Dain’s eyes and, in the interest of curtailing the gossip as much as possible, she meekly assented to his command. She headed for the stairs.
“If Emma has no lover among the brigands on the moors,” declared Lady Richenda, speaking loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear, “then she does have a lover on the beach, a disreputable creature who lies with her in a cave beneath the cliffs.”
Emma halted on the third step to look back at her accuser. For one dreadful instant she was sorely tempted to use her newly roused magic on Lady Richenda, to bind up her mother-in-law’s vicious tongue and silence her. From the guilty expression on Blanche’s face Emma guessed she had been carrying gossip to her mistress. Emma’s visits to the beach to gather herbs were no secret, and just about everyone in the castle knew of Hermit’s arrival. But of all the folk in Penruan Castle only Lady Richenda possessed a mind capable of turning simple facts and an innocent friendship into a sordid affair.
Out of jealousy, Hermit had said. It’s the reason for everything she does.
Recalling Hermit’s remarks, Emma used her knowledge to transmute angry magic into icy-cold scorn.
“If you are speaking of my friend, Hermit,” she said to Lady Richenda, “he is a penniless old man, a homeless wanderer with a scarred face and a ruined limb. How could you possibly imagine I’d prefer him to Dain? My lady, I implore you, credit me with better judgment.”
While Lady Richenda glared at her, struck speechless by her cool words and icy composure, Emma perceived a faint spark of amusement in Dain’s gaze. It was quickly repressed, and he glanced pointedly at the upper level of the stairs. Emma nodded once in his direction and set her foot upon the next step.
In complete silence, keeping her head up and her backbone perfectly straight while servants, men-at-arms, squires, Blake, Lady Richenda – and Dain – all stared at her, she mounted the stairs to the lord’s chamber.
Chapter 12
“You have been warned often enough about wandering alone on the moors,’ Dain said, confronting Emma in the lord’s chamber an hour after the scene in the great hall. “You
ought to know better than to be so foolish.”
“You are completely in the right,” Emma agreed. “I shouldn’t have gone out alone.”
“Why did you?” he demanded.
“Emma?” he prompted when she didn’t answer immediately. “You do realize you put yourself into danger? You could have been captured by outlaws or fallen into one of the bogs. I might never have known what happened to you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Never do that again!”
He caught her wrists, forcing her hands against his chest, holding them there in an unbreakable grip. His blue-green eyes blazed into hers until Emma feared she’d faint from the intensity of his gaze. Before she could determine whether he’d been truly concerned for her welfare or was just angry because she had disobeyed his orders, he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them. Never taking his eyes from hers, he released her wrists and took her face between his palms.
“Don’t ever run away from me,” he whispered harshly, just before his mouth covered hers.
There was anger in his kiss, yet Emma detected fear, too. He had been afraid for her sake. That meant he did care about her. Her response to the realization was instantaneous. Desire flared in her like dry tinder touched by a blazing torch. Dain was the torch and he was already ablaze, his hard body thrusting against hers when her arms encircled his waist and she moved closer.
“I cannot lose you,” he muttered, tearing at her clothes. “I will not.”
“I’m here. You haven’t lost me.” She yearned to promise he would never lose her, but her mind was on fire and Dain didn’t give her the chance to say anything more, not with his renewed kisses effectively stopping her mouth. He separated his lips from hers only long enough to pull her gown over her head with a rough gesture and fling it aside. Then he picked her up and put her onto the bed.
“Your belt buckle is scratching me,” she protested when he came down on top of her.