by Linda Madl
Brenna took a deep breath of relief. The aroma of food cooking assailed her again. She talked to one of the cooks and was soon bearing a tray heaped with warm bread, honey, an oatmeal pudding, half a meat pie, and fresh milk.
The crowd gathered at the front door of the great hall was drifting across the exercise yard to the side door that Brenna had used earlier. Curious and anxious now to get back to their chamber, Brenna skirted the gathering. But soon she realized that the throng blocked her way, no matter which direction she went. So she began to elbow her way through the bodies, edging sideways.
"Pardon me. Pardon, please.” She protected the laden tray with her elbows and shoulders. When she'd nearly reached the front, she found herself staring again at Sir Garrett, and this time he loomed over Leofric, who was backed against the stone wall. The heir to Casseldorne smirked, his yellow-brown eyes bright with amusement, the curve of his full lips smug and satisfied,
"You know what I want, Casseldorne,” Sir Garrett growled.
"God's teeth,” Leofric swore. He shrugged his shoulders and appealed his innocence to the onlookers. “I don't know what you want of me, Bernay. Tell me what it is. Speak out. Why would I withhold anything from you that is rightfully yours? Do you call me a thief?"
Brenna halted. The tray began to tremble in her hands. Sir Garrett glared at Leofric, his fine features warped with a wrath that even Brenna had never seen before.
Sir Garrett dared not demand return of the betrothal ring before the crowd, and Leofric knew it. No doubt if he were accused of taking the ring, he would reveal that Garrett and Leandra had been given a love potion. Brenna huffed. Leofric needed a niceness potion.
The side door suddenly swung open, and Lord Reginald strode forth. “Sir Garrett and Sir Leofric. What goes here? Some new game for amusement, I hope?"
Brenna tightened her grip on the tray and stepped forward. “Begging your pardon, sirs.” She forged ahead between the knights and even edged Lord Reginald aside. “I have a tray of food for Lady Leandra, and she bade me to be quick with it."
She flashed Reginald a smile as he stepped aside. “She'll be refreshed soon and ready to receive her guests, my lord. Never fear."
"Indeed. I'm glad to hear it.” Reginald offered a chivalrous bow. “We look forward to her company."
Brenna nearly flew up the stairs, bursting breathless into their bedchamber. She kicked the door closed behind her.
"I was almost trapped between them,” she cried, the horror of the possibility suddenly more real now than then. Pottery began to clink on the tray in her trembling hands.
Leandra looked up from sorting through Brenna's chest of cosmetics pots—some from the wise women of Lyonesse village and some from peddlers who had called at Castle Lyonesse.
Brenna well remembered selecting each pot, with dreams in her head about the place each one came from. She chose a rouge to give her cheeks and lips color—'twas from Paris, so the peddler claimed—and a fine white powder to take away the shine on her nose. From Italy.
But the silver phial Leandra held made Brenna curse inwardly. Oh, rot me, there'll be questions to answer now.
Slowly, as if she thought it might burn her, Leandra pointed to the phial. She turned it over in her hand gingerly, and it shone deceptively innocent in her palm.
Leandra held the phial near her ear and shook it. “What is in this phial, Brenna? It sounds as if it's full."
Brenna remembered the tray in her hands and set it down on the chest at the foot of the bed.
Leandra pulled out the stopper and touched the colorless residue on the lip of the neck. Fear blossomed in Brenna's belly.
"This is tasteless.” Leandra tipped the container slightly over her palm, and a clear liquid dripped from it. “The container was full. What is this, Brenna?"
The impatience in Leandra's husky voice, so seldom sharp, made Brenna uneasy. “Tell me now."
"Well, what does it look like?” Brenna said, holding her head high. There was nothing to do but brazen out the consequences. “'Tis your love potion."
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Chapter Nineteen
LEANDRA SAID NOTHING. She just stared at the phial in apparent disbelief.
"I told you all along that I didn't deserve your anger.” Brenna waited. Leandra might be a little annoyed now, but she'd eventually see the humor in what had happened. “I never gave you and Sir Garrett the potion. ‘Tis all still there in the phial. You still have it to give to Lord Reginald just as you planned."
Leandra moved at last, turning to gaze at Brenna. “Let me be certain that I understand what you are telling me, cousin."
Disbelief faded from her pale face, and a frightening, harsh calmness replaced it. Involuntarily, Brenna took a step backward.
Leandra lifted a skeptical brow. “You never truly poured the potion into my wine cup and Garrett's? You only told us you had done so and held up the phial? Is that correct?"
Brenna nodded and held up her hands in innocence. “You see, no real harm done. How was I to know you'd go all cow-eyed over Sir Perfect?"
"But why?” Leandra's voice was but a breathless whisper, as if someone had knocked the wind out of her.
"Well, rot me, why do you think? First, you took my seasick potion—and gave it to some sailor. Then you sided with Sir Garrett about Wystan. You didn't care about me! I thought you both deserved to know what life is like when you're at the mercy of everyone around you. Ordered here, ordered there.” Brenna let her bottom lip tremble and sobbed. “Not even allowed to bestow my heart where I wished. I thought you ought to have a taste of the problem. Who thought you two would do more than be shocked at the idea for a day or two?"
Leandra shook her head. “Bestow your heart? Don't try to tell me you love Wystan. I know you better than that."
"Well, I like him.” The trembling lip didn't fool her cousin, Brenna realized, and she began to chew on the corner of her mouth. “I truly do like Wystan. Or I thought I did."
"I don't believe this,” Leandra muttered, staring at the phial in her hand once more. “What am I going to tell Garrett?"
"Do you have to tell him?” Brenna's hands fluttered to her throat, and she choked. She could almost feel Sir Perfect's hands on her neck. “Can't we make up some story? Let's say that the spell fades if the lady weds another. When the wedding is over, as a matter of course, he'll fall out of love."
Leandra cast her a withering look. “He deserves to know the truth. ‘Tis only just."
"Is there a way to explain the truth without telling the truth?” Brenna pleaded. “You know what I mean. If you tell him the truth, he'll murder me. I know he will."
"Why didn't you think about that before?” Leandra demanded.
Brenna shrugged, regretting for the first time her short-sightedness.
Sudden color flooded back into Leandra's face. Anger hardened her eyes. She actually shook a fist at Brenna.
"You have endangered Lyonesse, Garrett, and even Wystan. I don't consider what you've done to me of any great import, but that you would endanger our people and Father ... Brenna, I've no concern about Sir Garrett's strangling you, because I intend to have that pleasure myself."
Brenna planted her hands on her hips. “I think you're taking this far too seriously, as usual."
"This is serious!” Leandra said. For a moment Brenna thought her cousin looked angry enough to leap across the room and choke her. Instead Leandra said the thing she must have known would upset Brenna the most. “You have meddled with people's lives. With hearts. I should send you home."
"No, don't do that,” Brenna wailed. She clasped her hands before her in a beseeching gesture. “Please don't, Leandra."
* * * *
A TINGE OF SATISFACTION seeped into Leandra's heart. She needn't admit to Brenna that she wouldn't send her away. Let her stew over the prospect for a while.
She looked down once more at the phial in her hand. She and Garrett fell in love thinking they were victims of
a spell. But there was none. Nothing. The potion remained in the phial, ready to be given just as she planned from the beginning.
The whole idea of the love potion turned her stomach now. She longed to be rid of it, to pitch the troublesome brew into the fire, just as Garrett had hurled the other container into watery depths. Destruction by fire seemed appropriate, cleansing, final. But the hearth was cold.
Then another troubling thought occurred. She knew she loved Garrett. She was not victim of a spell. Did he truly love her? Or had he succumbed to the suggestion of the potion? Had he believed he had no choice but to love her? Would his love evaporate into thin air if he knew that they had received no potion?
She put her hand to her heart. Her breath was coming in quick and short gulps, almost in sobs, when a third troubling thought reoccurred. What would Garrett say if he knew of Brenna's mischief?
With a glance in her cousin's direction, Leandra decided Brenna might have reason to fear for her safety. If Garrett knew what had actually happened, he would swoop down on them both like a fiery avenging angel, strangling Brenna for her duplicity and ... her for acquiring the cursed potion in the first place.
"You're not going to tell him, are you?” Brenna begged in a whisper. She wrung her hands.
"I don't know.” Leandra put a hand to her temple, where a headache threatened. What about the potion that she possessed? Did she still want to give the elixir to Lord Reginald? The more she thought about what Brenna had just told her, the more complicated everything became. “No, I won't tell him. Not yet anyway."
Relief whistled between Brenna's lips. “Good. Didn't you say he's going away when the wedding is over? The problem will take care of itself. No need to worry. Here, come have something to eat. Though I must say your color seems to be returning nicely."
A regretful smile twisted Leandra's lips. How like Brenna to put the issue behind her so quickly, while she herself would suffer and worry over the consequences night and day. Brenna would go her merry way. It had always been so between them.
She peered sharp-eyed at her cousin, suddenly jealous of Brenna's carefree ways. Brenna dismissed everything with a wave of her hand and a smile on her lips, while Leandra carried the responsibility for them both, frowning and fretting until the outcome fell into place. She'd never longed for things to be different, until now.
"Do you mind if I have the meat pie? I thought the oatmeal pudding looked good, too, but you can have that.” Brenna bustled over to the tray, handing Leandra the milk and peering into each bowl and cup.
"The pudding is good.” Leandra tried to put things out of her mind. But the food lay like a lumpy sweet substance in her mouth.
"Yes, see. The bread is so soft and fresh.” Brenna was about to pour a generous glop of honey on a crust when a knock on the door interrupted her.
She crammed the bread and honey into her mouth and licked each finger as she walked to the door.
Leandra pushed the pudding away, more interested in their caller than in food.
A groom greeted them, a man in simple gray wool with the sign of the purple boar worked onto the shoulder of his tunic—Leofric's man.
"I seek Lady Leandra of Lyonesse,” he said, eyeing Brenna skeptically.
"Yes, I'm here.” Leandra exchanged a look of curiosity with Brenna as she approached the door.
"My lady. Sir Leofric sends word only for your ears.” The groom gave Brenna a meaningful glance. Leandra waved her cousin away. Her eyes wide, Brenna ducked behind the door, out of sight.
"Speak,” Leandra ordered, knowing her cousin listened. She wasn't about to take a message from Leofric without a witness.
The groom bowed and recited, obviously from memory. “Sir Leofric sends his greetings and requests that tomorrow during the hunt, you ride to his side so that he may return to you that which is yours without the notice of others."
She stiffened. What was Leofric up to now? “Does your lord wish an answer?"
"No, my lady.” The groom shuffled his feet. “He said only to add that you have no need to tell anyone else. He will keep your secret, certain that you will keep his."
"I see.” Her wariness retreated in the face of frustration. Leofric had the ring, and she must face him to regain it. “Tell your lord that I will see him during the hunt tomorrow."
She closed the door soundly. “So Leofric seeks to threaten me over our secrets. What does he gain, I wonder?"
"Don't trust him.” Brenna told Leandra what she'd seen pass between Garrett and Leofric in the exercise yard.
"I do mistrust the man, but I must heed his invitation. How else can I get the ring back?” she said thoughtfully. She had been ill when she witnessed Garrett and Leofric's sword fight, but she remembered clearly how the enmity between the men had filled the hall. A hot and seething force.
"I must seek the ring's return without Garrett's knowledge,” she said. “If those two fight again, I fear it will be to the death."
* * * *
THE NEXT MORNING the Earl of Tremelyn's noisy hunting party thundered over the hill and galloped along the length of the country lake. Laughter and friendly name-calling danced on the spring air. Cap feathers fluttered in the breeze. The reflection of bright, beribboned cloaks streaked across the blue lake, sparkling rich and radiant on the water's surface like shining jewels. But the sight held no charm for Garrett.
At the head of the party rode Reginald, all in blue on his white horse, and by his side rode Leandra, garbed in green on the gray mare Garrett had personally selected for her.
In the past the hunting party's gay colors and easy camaraderie would have captivated his good humor, but not this morn. He and the other bachelor knights had been out before sunrise searching for any trace of outlaws. He'd seen a few suspicious tracks, but the area seemed clear and safe. With the spring weather, the criminals seemed to have retreated to more profitable lands.
When the party reached the forest's edge, where a picnic breakfast had been set up, the nobles abandoned their horses to the grooms. Without delay they blighted the long, cloth-covered tables like a cloud of biblical locusts, devouring the array of foods. Reginald, generous as ever, begrudged his guests nothing and spared little to entertain them and to impress his bride-to-be.
Garrett wandered through the crowd, greeting friends and acquaintances and longing to catch Leandra's eye. He needed to speak to her, but Reginald and a bevy of ladies and gentlemen surrounded her constantly. He would have to bide his time.
"Did you see whom Sir Leofric is with?” Wystan asked, appearing at Garrett's side.
"Yes, I saw.” He scrutinized Leofric, who sat at the side of a dark-haired noblewoman. “That lady is well known for her generosity with her charms."
As Garrett watched, the heir to Casseldorne turned toward her, obviously too enamored with her every word to look in his direction. But Garrett suspected that Leofric was aware he watched. He wanted the purple boar to be mindful of him and Wystan. He wanted Leofric to know that he dare not so much as twitch an eyebrow in Leandra's direction—or in Reginald's.
"Do you think he intends to cause more trouble?” Wystan asked, his gaze following the purple knight.
"I'm certain of it.” Silently Garrett thanked Brenna for having the sense and the courage to seek him out. She'd surprised him, reaching out from the shadows beyond the great hall last night while dinner was being served. She wasted no time, but spoke in a quavering voice, repeating the message Leofric had sent to Leandra.
Casseldorne may have hinted that he would return the ring, but Garrett suspected that the man still hoped to prevent the match between Lyonesse and Tremelyn.
"Follow him during the hunt if you can,” Garrett said quietly to Wystan.
Wystan nodded and returned to the horses.
Garrett ate little breakfast himself. He didn't relish riding across country on a full belly. Besides that, he was too interested in keeping an eye on Reginald and Leandra.
They sat at the center of the tabl
e, where Leandra, with a new bow slung over her shoulder, picked at her food and offered her guests and her lord a weak, distracted smile. He disliked the darkness beneath her eyes and the new hollows in her cheeks. She looked as if she'd slept little and needed a good meal.
Around them the nobles of the hunting party ate, drank, and paraded about with hooded hawks on their arms. Their boisterous laughter filled the air and grated against Garrett's nerves. So did the picture of Leandra and Reginald that he saw. She was worthy of the title she soon would possess, but she apparently took no pleasure in it.
He found himself torn by jealousies and satisfactions, watching her sit at Reginald's side. Her pained smile pleased Garrett in a dark way. She had what she wanted. Yet when he glimpsed the unhappiness it brought her, he regretted his petty feelings. Most of all, he wanted her happiness—just as the potion had promised.
He wandered along the table, his eyes on the food, his ear tuned to the sound of the beaters and the hounds in the forest beyond them.
"My lord and my lady.” He addressed Reginald and Leandra with a bow. Despite the awkwardness, he must pay his respects. To fail to do so would be more curious than a tongue-tied greeting.
"Bernay, here you are.” Reginald smiled, a warm and genuine reception. “'Tis good to see you. Leandra, Sir Garrett selected your mount for today."
"Yes, indeed,” Garrett said. “I chose the gray mare because she is reliable and responsive, yet spirited enough for your accomplished abilities, my lady. I hope you are pleased with her."
"Yes, I am.” Leandra met his gaze at last. The weariness about her mouth tugged at his heart. He longed to lean across the table and say so many things to her. He wanted to tell her to smile, to be happy, to show Reginald what a courageous heart she possessed. Most of all he wanted to tell her to ignore Leofric's message.
A huntsman suddenly plunged from the forest. Panting for breath, he stumbled to a stop in front of Lord Reginald.
"'Tis a great hart, my lord,” the young man gasped. Remembering his manners, he pulled his hood from his head. “Sleek he is, my lord, and with a great velvety rack on his head.” The lad held his hands out at arm's length on either side of his head to demonstrate the size of the antlers.