by Linda Madl
She stepped closer to the shelves to read the spines of the books and the labels of the jars. Some were marked with strange symbols, characters like the Greek alphabet she'd studied. But others were even stranger, more exotic, more ancient—triangles with horns, circles with T tops, flat-bottomed W's, and L-footed H's. The strange shapes made her shiver. Her father and Mother Mary Elizabeth would disapprove of her looking at such things. She clasped her hands behind her back. Her palms itched to take the strange tomes from the shelves and browse through their mysteries and riddles.
A noise from the room beyond drew her away from the books. Through the doorway that led even deeper into the house, she glimpsed an oven. Firelight flickered against glass shapes unlike any she'd ever seen, round-bellied with bent necks. On an odd step stove sat tiers of copper pots draining down into other copper pots.
"For distillations, my lady,” Master Charnock said, suddenly looming at her shoulder. “So, Garrett, you have acquired a lady, too. ‘Tis my pleasure to meet you, Lady Bernay. Here, let me move this. Sit, please. My boy is bringing us ale."
Leandra, who'd agreed reluctantly to let Garrett do the talking, glanced uneasily at the alchemist as he swept a stack of parchment manuscripts off a chair for her. Dust swirled into a golden cloud, glittering in the shaft of sunlight that slanted through the doorway. She sat. The alchemist dropped the manuscripts on his table.
"'Tis not Lady Bernay, Master Thomas.” Garrett leaned against the back of her chair. He put an arm along its back in a gesture both familiar and protective. She closed her eyes, pretending that she was his lady and that his arm belonged there.
"'Tis a long story,” Garrett continued. “The reason we are here, put simply, is that the lady and I have been given a love potion. She is promised to another. We have come to you in search of an antidote."
"You want an antidote to a love potion?” Master Thomas shook his head. “I don't ordinarily deal in love potions, Garrett."
"We must break the spell, Master Thomas,” Leandra pleaded. “'Tis vital to my homeland and to Sir Garrett's honor."
"Hmm. It's source?” Master Thomas asked.
"Vivian of the Forest brewed it,” Leandra said.
"I thought with all your books and your knowledge, you could help us,” Garrett added.
"If it will help, I have the phial that held the potion.” Leandra took the silver container from the leather purse tied to her girdle. “I brought it because I thought the phial might contain some clue to help you determine what it is."
"Ah! Clever. Clever.” Master Thomas cast Garrett an appreciative glance as if to compliment him on his lady before taking the phial from her. He uncapped the container and sniffed it, staring off into the murky air, his thoughts clearly sorting through possibilities.
She held her breath, praying silently that he would know exactly what to do.
He shook his head, then wiped the opening with his forefinger and sampled the residue, his mouth moving in search of other likelihoods.
"Hmm. Not unlike a remedy for stomach ailments. Yes, I suppose there might be a relationship between stomach ailments and love.” Thomas chuckled to himself.
A chill suddenly settled over her. She disliked his comparison.
Garrett smiled tolerantly at the old alchemist and touched her shoulder sympathetically. “Our experience indicates the potion definitely affects the heart."
"A potion did this to you?” he said. “Put that soft look in your eyes when you gaze at each other? I thought you were newlyweds. Are you certain you wish to do away with this bond you have found? Even if it came from a bottle, true love is a rare blessing."
"We must, Thomas. We have other obligations, unyielding ones,” Garrett said. “We need an antidote to set us free to fulfill them."
Thomas nodded gravely. “You say Vivian of the Forest brewed this? Indeed. Her remedies are known to be most powerful. I can only assume that her love potion is powerful as well. I don't know. I have one book ... here."
The boy brought the ale. Master Thomas spent the next hour going through a large, red leather-bound book. Garrett joined him at the table, and Leandra pulled her chair closer to observe.
"No, this wouldn't do. Nor that. This one is for warts. That is for cattle breeding. Here? No.” Thomas turned a page and read on. When he exhausted that book, he sought another from his shelves—a green one this time.
During the afternoon, the shaft of sunlight from the open door moved across the floor and vanished. Leandra looked to Garrett, whose face was wearing long. She clasped her hands in her lap, tucked her feet under the chair and waited, knowing that from moment to passing moment their chances of an antidote were fading.
Master Thomas shook his head and closed another book. “I would like to help you and your lady, Garrett, but I have nothing here. You say Vivian can't help you unless you return to Lyonesse?"
Leandra shook her head. “There is no time before the wedding."
"And you, Garrett, I suppose, don't wish to cross the sea again,” Master Thomas supplied with an ironic smile. “I don't know what to tell you."
"Do love potions wear off?” Garrett asked.
"The ordinary ones wear off by the next morning,” Master Thomas said. “Sometimes even in a few hours, to the regret of many a man and maid. But I can see that this is no ordinary spell."
Garrett rose from his chair. “The sun rides low in the sky. If there is nothing you can do, we must go.” He took Leandra's hand. She could feel his disappointment spreading into her own body, smothering the happiness that had been hers only that morning.
"I will continue to search, Garrett,” Master Thomas said. “I'll send word if I find something. But I can promise nothing."
"Thank you.” The men shook hands.
They said their farewells to the old alchemist and his boy and rode out of the city gate, their mood more solemn than when they'd entered. The players were acting a different play. A family of jugglers was entertaining a crowd near the city wall, but Leandra didn't have the heart to take interest in them now. They rode west toward camp.
The sun soon dropped out of sight, but spring twilight still lingered and would light the way for hours yet. Garrett suggested that they stop to rest the horses. But he sent Tom on to announce their return.
Near a pleasant brook he helped her off her horse. Speaking in quiet tones, he gave her his plain cloak and suggested where to place it beneath some trees so they might sit while the horses rested.
No other travelers were in sight. They had not spoken since leaving Exeter. She was unsurprised. What was there to say? They were still bound by the potion, and release seemed unlikely.
She spread out the cloak and sat down to unpack the wine, cold meat, and bread that Brenna had packed for them. But she wasn't hungry, and when Garrett joined her, he also refused the food. He sat, legs drawn up and elbows resting on knees, and stared into space.
The day was still warm. She pulled off her wimple and loosened her braid to cool herself. She turned away from Garrett, unable to witness his disappointment and her own. She wanted desperately to know what he was thinking, yet she was afraid to ask.
Uncertainly, she took the container from her purse where she'd put it when Master Thomas returned it. She glanced into his face to measure his mood. His mouth was tight and his eyes glistened hard and bitter.
The glint of the silver phial caught his eye. His roar shook her. He grabbed the tiny vessel, leapt up from the cloak, strode to the stream, muttering curses that would have scorched a groom's ears.
Leandra didn't understand the words, but she heard the outrage. Defiant. Dark. Despairing. Frightened for his peace of mind, she ran to his side.
She barely reached him when he brought back his powerful arm, nearly striking her. She staggered backward. With all his might Garrett hurled the phial into the stream. Water spumed. The brook's eddies swallowed the offending container, sucking it down into murky depths.
He stared after it, as she di
d.
An absurd satisfaction spread over her. It was only a harmless container, empty, but she was glad the thing was gone, ignobly drowned in cold waters, to be washed into the sea where it would lie among fishes, never to trouble anyone again. The love potion phial was no more.
She sought Garrett's face again, thinking of his despair, wanting to bear his pain, and knowing all the time that was impossible. The only thing that kept her from touching him was her certainty that he must blame her. The potion was hers.
Her heart ached. She knew he'd insisted on believing that their dilemma would be solved because he'd triumphed over adversity so many other times in his life. But this time was different. Confronting the impossibility of their plight brought numbing sorrow. After the numbness came unbearable sadness and then raw anger.
He faced all that now, and she was helpless to ease his pain.
"Master Thomas did his best for us,” she said, anxious to hear his voice, to know what he was feeling.
"I know,” he muttered, refusing to face her by looking up at the twilight sky.
"What do we do now?” she asked, half expecting him to turn on her like the avenging angel she'd called up when she'd offered him a bribe to stay in Lyonesse. The anger was there, if not on his face, in his stance—tense, hard, and rippling with heat.
"We do our best to forget about the potion, about May Day, and the antidote, and we do our best to serve Reginald,” he said in a low, guttural voice.
"Yes,” she agreed reluctantly. “I didn't know it was possible to want two things so impossibly opposed."
* * * *
"NOR I.” FINALLY GARRETT gathered enough control to look down at the stream where the phial had disappeared.
He tried to remember that she was hurting, at least as much as he was. Theirs was an invisible pain. They bore no wounds, no blood flowed, no missing limb provided testimony to their suffering. Yet the pain was ripping him apart as surely as if he was being stretched on a torture rack. He didn't know what to do about it—how to ease his pain or hers.
He glanced at her. She shed no tears, but there was no surprise in that. His lioness would face her fate as bravely as any warrior. When she looked up at him again, they reached for each other.
She slipped her arms around his neck. With a look of tenderness and compassion, she pressed her lips against his.
The first wonder of her willingness almost blinded him to the doom that hung over them. He pulled her down onto the grassy bank, loosening the laces of her gown as they sank to their knees.
The neckline opened. Gown and shift slipped away, baring her throat and her shoulders and releasing her eager breasts. He told her of his love and his pain not in words, but with his lips along each collarbone, across the fullness of each breast, against her heart. The pleasure of her quickening shuddered through him.
Tenderly, he cushioned her head from the hard ground with one hand, and with the other, protected her bare back from the scratchy grass. He brushed his lips across the smooth swell of her breasts and kissed the damp valley between. He continued, drawing her gown down around her waist. He tasted her, losing himself in the pleasure of the tight, warm bud of her breast against his tongue—the pressure of her fingertips working his scalp. Her love filled him, left no room for his despair, crowded out his anger and frustration. Garrett wanted to exist nowhere else in the world but here in her arms.
Her heart thrummed strong and swift against his cheek. Her breath ran rapid and hungry against his ear. She drew him closer. The heat of her lips against his brow offered her own passion, told of her pain. He wanted to take it from her. He longed to promise her a future, give happiness, but there was none to give.
The sweet familiar scent of her filled him with need. He nuzzled her stomach and kissed her navel, long and well. Then he rested his head against her belly, gasping for breath, searching for the strength to do the honorable thing.
At last he rolled to his back, spreading his hand across her bottom to pull her atop his body, crushing her to him, aching to make her part of him, lacing his fingers through her hair, longing to taste her forever, accepting her kisses and treasuring the words of love she murmured against his throat. All the time, his conscience would not allow him to forget that they were doomed.
Leandra was a passionate woman, and so new to lovemaking that he must be the one to take responsibility. With a steely will he put her away from him. He took a deep breath of cool night air, trying to clear his head.
If he breached the protection of her skirts, if he touched her center again and she opened to him, he knew there would be no stopping. His body and heart cried out in sore need, louder than ever, but he could never lead them close to union again and stop.
He pushed her away and began to rearrange her gown, drawing the bodice over her breasts, covering temptation. She protested. He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “For the first time in my life, I'm sorry I was born a Bernay,” he muttered. “I wish I had been born a humble freeman."
"Why?” Surprise erased the sadness from her face.
"Because if we were simple people, say I was a freeman and you a miller's daughter, then no one would care whom we married. We'd have no family honor at stake. Lyonesse's safety would not rest in your hands. Lord Reginald would have little care about us."
She offered him a sad smile. “'Tis a nice wish. When I was a little girl, I liked to make wishes. But when I grew older, I learned that wishing for the impossible brings only frustration. ‘Tis better to spend the effort wishing on things that are real and can be changed."
He took her hand and kissed it. “What a solemn child you must have been, Leandra. As you say, no more wishing."
She turned away and began to dress herself. “No course is left to us but dishonesty?"
"But only for a short while,” he said. “First, I will get your betrothal ring back. Yes, I know. Wystan told me about Leofric stopping by the camp on his way to the wedding. I'm certain he will have that ring with him. The man's an opportunist. He thinks he can do something with it. I will show him differently. Then as soon as the wedding and the festivities are over, Wystan and I will leave for France to join King Edward's forces. Reginald will think nothing of my departure. I planned the journey before he sent me to escort you."
"I would have you safe near me at Tremelyn."
"'Twould be impossible.” But his heart eased a little, knowing that she didn't want him to leave. “I could not live day in and day out watching you and ... Leandra, this must be the last time we are alone together. We cannot chance being alone together again."
She turned to him, a question in her eyes, astonishment on her face. “But tonight, we could—"
He shook his head. “Turn. I will help you dress.” She did as he bid and lifted her hair so that he could see what he was doing. Impulsively, he kissed the back of her neck, quick and light on the pale skin always hidden by her tresses. She gasped and trembled.
He would not deceive himself nor her. “As much as we may wish otherwise, ‘tis impossible to steal an eternity of loving in one twilight, sweeting."
Quickly then, before any other forbidden thoughts over-powered him, he began to knot the laces of her dress.
* * * *
DESPITE THE LATENESS of the hour, fires blazed and torches flared against the darkness when Leandra and Garrett rode into camp.
She was surprised to see Wystan standing with the guard, awaiting them. He was breathless. Agitation and relief played across his young features when they drew near.
"Lord Reginald rode into camp today,” he announced without preamble. He took the bridle of his brother's horse while Garrett dismounted. “He was most kind, but he wanted to see his bride. His disappointment was obvious when he found she wasn't here. Lady Brenna and I told him about your delivering the letter. I think he accepted the excuse, but he was not pleased."
Leandra listened as Garrett helped her from her horse. She'd never expected Reginald to come looking for her. G
arrett's expression remained unreadable, and he let his hand linger possessively on her waist. As soon as her feet were on the ground, he touched her cheek so that she turned to him, and he studied her face in the glow of the torchlight.
"Lord Reginald is ready to claim his bride,” he whispered before anyone stepped close enough to hear. “This must be our farewell."
"I'll never be ready to lose you,” she murmured. She wanted to kiss him again but knew she didn't dare in front of his brother and Father John.
"From now on we are no longer lovers,” he said, releasing her abruptly.
She sagged against the horse to steady herself. The day was ending too soon. Reality was closing in.
Garrett went on. “Tomorrow I will be the Earl of Tremelyn's knight, and you will be his betrothed."
Faced with the quiet pain in his face, she wanted to say something comforting, something to ease the dull ache. But there were no such words. Without another word, Garrett led their horses away.
"Leandra, thank heavens you've returned,” Brenna called, peeking out of her pavilion. Wrapped in a cloak, she brushed past Wystan, clearly ignoring him, and reached for Leandra's arm. “Lord Reginald was here today. Did Wystan tell you? Are you tired? Are you hungry? Did you get it? The antidote, I mean. Come into the tent and tell me."
Leandra allowed Brenna to drag her off to the pavilion.
"You are right about Lord Reginald's eyes,” Brenna said, excitement in her voice and interest bright on her features. “Big brown eyes so nice. But, oh, can he frown. He has a mouth that can be hard as iron when he is displeased. He was displeased that you and Garrett weren't here, Leandra. He's not in a mood to be put off any longer. I'm afraid he's beginning to think something is wrong."
Leandra said nothing. She took off Garrett's cloak and folded it neatly, lovingly. She'd send Brenna to return it in the morning.
Slowly she sat on the cushions and tried to listen to Brenna, to make sense of her cousin's words and her distress. Leandra knew she should be concerned about Reginald, but her thoughts remained with Garrett, with his decision that they should not be alone together again, that he would leave her. The resolution made perfect sense, but she wanted to object to it, to find some reason why they should be able to have a few moments, no matter how short and how painful, to be together.