by Linda Madl
She bit her lip, refusing to shed more tears. Like it or not, she understood what he was saying. Her heartache became a burning pain.
He squeezed her hands again. “Are you brave enough to face this? Will you come with me, or shall I go for the antidote alone? Once we have it, the rest will be easy. There'll be no hurt. No dishonesty. We will be a loyal knight and a lord's faithful lady. Maybe we won't even remember last night."
She met his persuasive gaze. She had no desire to forget their night together. She would never willingly give up the memory of their blending of hearts and soul.
She knew with the instinct that women are born with, that there was no turning back. Nothing would ever be the same between them, as much as he wished it. Regardless of how many reasons he could give. She loved him, and he loved her. Their hearts were forever changed.
"We'll go together,” she said at last. “You have a plan? You know where we can get an antidote?"
"I know an old alchemist not far from Tremelyn,” he said. “A wise man who has traveled far, is learned, and has many ancient books of spells and alchemy. I think he might be able to help us."
He kissed her hands and stood up. “Now dress while I see to our accounts and hire a horse for you."
* * * *
SO THEY LEFT the village headed for the campsite on the Tamar River. The ride exhausted Leandra, but she never complained.
Garrett was an attentive escort. He stopped frequently to allow her to rest, and he hovered over her at every crossroad inn, checking the tack on her horse and ordering hot food and refreshment.
She appreciated his concern. When their eyes met, she knew without a word from him that he still loved her as much as he had the night before. That knowledge comforted her, but she sensed an eagerness in him to rejoin the safe company of Wystan, Father John, and Brenna in the camp.
With her quiet compliance, she told him that she understood his need to fulfill his duties and to uphold his honor. She respected that.
But as they rode, she began to envy him. In his mind things were clear. He'd laid a battle plan, resolving for himself the conflict that still weighed heavy in her heart. She had no more desire than he to betray Reginald, but she believed that freeing themselves was going to be harder than he foretold.
They arrived at the camp on the Tamar River late in the day and unannounced. Fires were burning though daylight lingered on the horizon. As soon as word of their arrival was called out, Brenna came running from her silken pavilion with her arms wide and tears streaming down her face.
"Cousin, cousin.” She flew toward Leandra, causing her horse to shy. “I'm so glad you have returned."
Astonished, Leandra slipped from the frightened horse to console Brenna. Sweet Mother of God, what had happened? “What's the trouble, Brenna?"
"Nothing, nothing,” Brenna wept. “I'm so glad you are well and safe. We've never really been apart until now."
Leandra allowed her cousin to wrap her in a heartfelt embrace and realized that Brenna was right. As children, they'd never been separated. The anger she suffered over the potion trickled away in the face of Brenna's obvious distress.
She glanced around to see that Garrett was similarly occupied with Wystan, who also rushed to him as soon as their arrival was known. Father John appeared, an expression of pleasure mixed with apprehension on his face. She and Garrett exchanged understanding looks. They each had duties to fulfill, people's needs to see to. Arm in arm with her cousin, Leandra strolled into the ladies’ pavilion.
"Wystan's been awful,” Brenna complained as she brought Leandra a pillow to sit on in an uncharacteristic gesture of servitude. “How's this? I have some wine here and bread and cheese. You must be starved. You look so thin and pale. And you're so quiet. Have you recovered? Didn't Sir Perfect see that you were attended by a good physician?"
"I'm fine.” She nibbled on the bread and sipped the wine. Garrett was probably listening to similar words of complaint from Wystan. Then she wondered where this sudden instinctive knowledge of Garrett came from.
"You look so distracted, Leandra. Why that smile? There's something different about you."
Leandra shook her head to free herself of sweet, distracting thoughts. “I'm fine, really. Tell me, why is Wystan such a problem?"
"He's exactly like his brother. Heartless. Compassionless."
"Truly?"
"Well, maybe not exactly as bad as Sir Perfect. But he hated being left behind when Sir Garrett rode off after you. He thinks ill of me because I told you and Garrett that I gave you the love potion.” Brenna's voice rose a pitch and she began to wring her hands. “He won't forgive me, even though I told him you and Sir Garrett weren't upset about it. I told him you said you experienced no effects. But he wouldn't believe me. It's so unfair."
Then she heaved an enormous sob, filled with unspeakable misery. “He blames your illness and Sir Garrett's absence on me and the potion. He's acted so strangely, almost suspicious, as if you two were going to become forbidden lovers or some such."
Leandra choked on the dry bread and took a sip of wine to clear her throat.
Brenna babbled on about daily messengers to and from Tremelyn. Lord Reginald had sent notes of concern and offers of medicines and more men-at-arms. But Wystan refused them and assured the earl that Garrett had control of matters.
Brenna gulped for breath before chattering on about passersby on their way to Tremelyn to attend the wedding. “It seems like all of the countryside is traveling to join the earl in celebrating his marriage.” Her face brightened at the prospect of festivities. She wiped her tears away on her sleeve. “You know who came riding by only this morning? Sir Leofric and some relatives.
"He had one arm wrapped in a bandage. He told some story about being injured when he slew a wild boar. Do you believe that? Who thought he'd come to the wedding after the dreadful stir he made at Lyonesse? But he said he's on his way to Tremelyn to join the wedding guests."
Leandra swallowed a groan and willed herself to remain calm. Everything would be well. After all, they had a plan. But would the antidote protect them from the evil designs of Leofric?
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Chapter Seventeen
"LEOFRIC HAS NO pride,” Brenna babbled. “What rejected suitor would want to appear at the wedding? Cousin? You look ill."
"Indeed why would a rejected suitor attend the wedding unless the cur intends to bait the bride?” Leandra managed to say. Light-headedness overwhelmed her, and she had to set her goblet down and lie back on the pillows. “I'll be fine."
The two men-at-arms who'd witnessed the duel between Garrett and Leofric had been sworn to secrecy, and they knew nothing of the potion. She trusted them. She and Garrett agreed to say nothing about the fight with Leofric, but they assumed they would hear no more from the villain. Surely after the kidnapping attempt he would not have the courage to present himself at Tremelyn.
Unless he thought he held some power.
"Leofric knows about the potion,” she said.
"No!” Brenna touched her hand. “I'm sorry, Cousin. Truly, I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused. I never really thought you and Sir Perfect would ... I mean, you haven't ... you know? ‘Twas all in jest."
"Where is the silver phial that contained the potion?"
"I have it here.” Brenna took a phial from the cuff of her surcoat and held it up to the lamplight. “Why?"
"I want to take it with me.” She told Brenna of Garrett's plan to visit the alchemist. “Maybe the residue in the container will help him discover the antidote."
"But if you have noticed no effects, why do you want an antidote?” Brenna asked, oddly absorbed in picking at her skirt.
"Because Sir Garrett and I have at last come under the spell,” Leandra admitted, refusing to yield to the renewed anger that swelled in her against her cousin.
"Are you certain?” Brenna asked clearly astonished.
"As certain as we can be,” she said. “We
have not yet broken our vows. Garrett promises me this is so. And once we have an antidote we will be free of any temptation. But let this be a lesson to you when next you put your mind to mischief."
"But I never expected anything like this to happen,” Brenna cried, her voice full of remorse, which Leandra knew did not come easily to her cousin. Fresh tears poured down Brenna's cheeks. She shook her head, flinging huge teardrops onto the silken pillows. “Now you must hate me even as Wystan does."
Leandra softened. She slipped a comforting arm around her cousin's shoulders. It was impossible to remain angry with someone who truly regretted her actions. “I pray the trip to the alchemist will set everything aright. Once it is so, maybe then Wystan will have a change of heart."
* * * *
"THOMAS CHARNOCK IS a skilled alchemist very learned and dedicated to the study of his art,” Garrett said two days later as he and Leandra rode side by side toward Exeter.
He wore leather chausses and a light wool tunic, like an ordinary soldier—a handsome ordinary soldier—she mused with a half smile on her lips. Likewise, she was dressed as a common soldier's wife, in a plain russet gown.
She was delighted to have Garrett to herself after two days in camp with Brenna for company. “How did you meet this distinguished alchemist?"
"I sought him out about my seasickness when I was about to undertake my first voyage to France.” He chuckled. “You see, I knew even then that I'd never be able to make the channel crossing without some help."
They laughed companionably and rode on. Tom, disguised as a groom, followed them as protection against outlaws.
The day before, the entire Tremelyn party had traveled. By mutual consent, Leandra and Garrett kept their distance from each other, except once when they consulted briefly with Wystan and Brenna. Wystan accused Brenna of being a traitor and refused to be more than coolly civil to her.
"You're being unfair,” Brenna had wailed. “You'll see."
Garrett simply shook his head and said, without meeting Leandra's gaze, “Let them be. If they are going to love, they will."
After that, amid the company of a moping Brenna, a stoic Wystan, the churchmen, and the half-dozen men-at-arms, Garrett and she'd managed easily to keep apart. But the temptation to seek each other out with their eyes had proved to be more difficult to overcome.
She would urge her horse on, resisting the desire to look toward him. But she failed every time. She would always catch his eye, and there in the depth of his gaze she would find his acknowledgment of their secret devotion.
It warmed her, glimmered about her head and shoulders, she feared, like the radiance painted around the saints in the church. Loving and being loved were new delights, a joy she would never have been able to imagine even through a lifetime of listening to love songs and poems.
Knowing someone cared brightened the colors of the world and sweetened the scents on the breeze. It lengthened her patience and lightened her heart. His love made her smile.
She simply couldn't help it: the corners of her mouth tipped upward. Often, when he didn't think anyone was watching, he smiled back. If the others noticed her new glow or their loving exchanges, no one said so.
When the Tremelyn group settled in another camp, Leandra and Garrett rode toward Exeter on the excuse that she'd promised to deliver a letter from her father to a Benedictine friend at the priory. She'd indeed made such a promise, never dreaming that she would actually go to Exeter herself in search of a love potion antidote.
"But I thought an alchemist made gold from base metals, not remedies,” she said as they rode along under a clear May sky. “My teacher, Mother Mary Elizabeth, says alchemists are in league with the devil."
"No more than your Vivian.” Garrett's sidelong glance challenged Mother Mary Elizabeth's words. “But a successful alchemist can make gold. Master Thomas explained it all to me then. First he creates the perfect white pebble, which eventually turns into the reddish philosopher's stone. With that he can cure human disease as well as turn ordinary metal into gold. Some say a good philosopher's stone can even restore a man's youth. Surely it can work on love potions, too."
"Did it help your seasickness?"
"No, Master Thomas had not yet made the stone then, but he was certain that he was close.” Garrett turned to her and smiled, a bittersweet curve of his lips. “Don't fret. I'm sure he will help us now."
As they neared the prosperous riverside town of Exeter, traffic on the road grew more frequent and diverse. Here the westernmost Roman road led east to London. Leandra stared about her, lost in watching the people, trusting her horse to follow Garrett's lead. Peddlers passed, stooped under their load of wares. Richly garbed merchants rode at the head of caravans of pack mules. Shepherds herded flocks of newly shorn sheep.
She stared at the ladies’ dresses and at the men. None were nearly so handsome as Garrett. She observed that the other ladies in the crowd noticed his good looks, too.
Dust rose from beneath so many feet and hooves. She sneezed and urged her mare on. Even Fair Day at Lyonesse was never like this: so noisy and colorful, so full of strange costumes and faces, so intriguing with novel smells and attractions.
Farther along, they entered the city gate, where a gaily decorated wagon provided a stage for a minstrel and players. A boisterous crowd was gathered about the wagon. The players’ masked enactment of Reynard the Fox caught her eye. She forgot about her horse and Garrett. She became so engrossed in the players’ exaggerated gestures and falsetto voices that she'd no idea she'd been left behind until Garrett called her name.
Tom took her mare's bridle and led them on.
"Leandra?” Garrett's exasperation drew her attention immediately. He smiled, a strained but patient smile. “If we're to be back at camp tonight, we cannot tarry. There will be players at your wedding. Then you can watch until your heart is content."
She frowned at his back, almost ready to tell him that her heart was content right this moment, amid this dusty crowd, with him at her side and the better part of the day stretching ahead of them. But that answer served no purpose. She settled for trying to remember details of the play to describe to Brenna.Inside the gate to the north of them rose the red stone castle of the city, Rougemont, and ahead of them soared the twin square Norman towers of the Exeter Cathedral. The way narrowed between the two-story stone and timber houses. Streets led off one side of the way, then off to the other. She had never seen so many lanes.
"Exeter must be as big as London.” she said. “Do you know the way?"
He glanced at her in surprise, then laughed. “London streets go on and on and on. Exeter is but a small city. Master Thomas's dwelling isn't far from the cathedral, as I recall."
She gave up trying to make sense of the maze. Even Penzance was not this large and confusing.
They left the horses at the White Hart Inn. Tom went on his way to convey the letter Leandra had promised to deliver for her father. Down a shady way, no wider than the length of a longbow and even narrower above their heads, where the houses leaned toward each other, they found the alchemist's laboratory.
"I believe this is it.” Garrett stopped before an ordinary two-story dwelling that looked much like the others crowded along the lane. However, a noxious odor issued from the open doorway.
Leandra noted that the front window was heavily draped and the windows above were shuttered even on so sunny a day. The children playing in the rivulet that trickled down the street sniffed the air, mumbled among themselves, and scampered away.
She tried to give Garrett a pleased smile, but the odor was so strong that she was forced to put her perfumed sleeve to her nose. Her eyes teared.
"I know,” he said with an expression of apology. “It smelled bad to me the first time, too."
He knocked on the wooden door frame. “Master Charnock?"
A thin, angry voice bellowed something inarticulate from the bowels of the darkness.
A boy with large front teeth appeared
at the door. He brushed his hood back from his forehead and looked Garrett up and down before asking, “Who's calling?"
Garrett gave his name and offered the boy a coin. “Tell Master Charnock I knew him when he was nearing the creation of the white pebble."
The boy eyed him with renewed curiosity, then disappeared into the gloom of the house. Leandra and Garrett waited in apprehensive silence. Voices rumbled within. Above, they heard the shutters thrown open. Soon the boy reappeared and beckoned them into the murky depths.
Garrett took Leandra's hand, and she followed him into the keeping room, still blinking away tears. But fresh air was quickly carrying away the smell.
"Garrett Bernay?” The greeting came from a tall, angular man stooped over a table of books. His undisciplined iron-gray beard bobbed as he spoke. His long brown surcoat, much too heavy for the weather, was streaked with stains. “Sir Garrett Bernay? You have grown, my boy, and made your mark on the world. Did I hear about knighthood?"
The old man smiled, offered his hand.
Garrett strode forward to accept the hearty handshake. They fell to exchanging greetings and news, leaving Leandra to look around her as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Baskets, cupboards, and assorted cubbyholes lined the wall—each filled with scrolls, books, jars, and other secrets. The sooty dust of tallow candles layered everything. From their conversation, she learned that Master Thomas had yet to perfect the philosopher's stone which was Garrett's hope of an antidote. Her heart sank a little, but Garrett cast her a reassuring smile.
"In my experiments I found that the mixture in my retort changed almost daily,” Master Thomas was saying. “Sometimes it was dark and smelly, and I despaired of ever reaching my goal. Then, other days, the substance would be white and at times almost clear. I would think I was near ... that I had merely made some miscalculation ... and I would study even harder. But, alas, over time I have learned that the substance merely reflects my moods."