by Linda Madl
"The antidote isn't working,” Garrett said. The sun had traveled nearly its full arc, and he felt no different than he had in the orchard when he confessed the depth of his love to Leandra, when her tears nearly moved him to refuse the antidote.
"Give it a little more time.” Wystan's tone was impatient. “Maybe Brenna knows why. Ask her about it when she arrives. You know, before you met Lady Leandra, you were ready enough to sail to France. You didn't care how long the voyage was. You were so determined, I was afraid you'd defy even Lord Reginald when he ordered us to Lyonesse. But now you don't care a bit about France."
So Wystan had noticed it, too. Garrett shook his head, as mystified by his behavior as his brother. He knew other knights with ladies and wives who never lost their interest in war, journeys, and jousting. In truth, it was often the married men who seemed the most eager to fight, to seek new lands, or at least to enjoy different company. He prayed the antidote would set him free. Soon.
He glanced at Wystan. “Tell me again what you saw Lady Brenna doing in the kitchen last night."
"I've told you twice. Why again?"
"Because I think there's something important about it,” Garrett mused. “Humor me."
"She really wasn't doing anything while I talked with her,” Wystan said. “She was standing near the spice cabinet, and a jug of vinegar sat on the table, and a towel was thrown over a bottle and things. I couldn't see exactly what."
"A blue bottle?"
"It might have been a blue bottle.” Wystan threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration. “I'm not sure. She said she was fixing some remedy for Lady Leandra, and I thought no more of it. I was there to deliver your message. Ask her yourself. She'll be here soon. She's too curious to pass up my offer to look at the armory."
"Good. How did the stuff she was mixing smell?” Garrett persisted.
"Stunk worse than the slop from a brewhouse,” Wystan wagged his head like a man who has repeated a story too often.
Garrett nodded. “So did the antidote.” He wasn't sure what he suspected, but there was something about this antidote that didn't make sense. “You're certain the guard at the gate wasn't mistaken?"
"By the rood, Garrett.” Wystan shoved the greave away so it rolled across the table and clattered to the floor. “Do you think I make up something new every time you ask me to tell it? I thought you wanted the truth?"
"I do,” Garrett said. “The truth is precisely what I'm after. What did the guard say?"
"He said he admitted no messenger, not from Exeter, nor from Bath nor Lyonesse.” Wystan spoke slowly and distinctly as if he thought Garrett had gone deaf. “No one. The people who passed through the gate yesterday were the usual comers and goers—maids to help with the heavy kitchen work and lads to work in the stables."
"No peddlers or wise women, either?"
"The guard said no. No peddlers, no strangers."
"Then where else could the antidote have come from?” Garrett repeated, more to himself than Wystan.
"You think Lady Brenna made it?” Wystan's face lighted with inspiration. “Or maybe they obtained it from one of the lady guests."
"'Tis possible,” Garrett admitted. “I don't think the antidote came from Thomas. Wherever she and Leandra found the stuff, it isn't working. But why lie about this?"
The clanking of the smithy below filled the silence as Garrett wandered around the armory table, listlessly examining pieces of equipment that he and Wystan would need when they joined the king in France.
Wystan was right. His heart wasn't in this journey. Joining the king had been his life's goal. Now he found no merit in camping rough in Normandy, commanding rowdy men-at-arms, whipping them into fighting order, then watching them either perish in battle or turn into the victorious army, looting and ravishing the countryside.
Idly he wondered where Leandra was. How was the antidote affecting her? He'd last seen her in the great hall an hour ago, engaged in a game of backgammon with Reginald. The lady and the lord played with silent concentration, saying little to each other.
The sight of them had troubled him so that he'd grabbed Wystan and dragged him to the armory on the pretense of selecting equipment for the journey.
What was Leandra feeling, he wondered as he prowled the armory. Would she give him a sign when she no longer loved him? In his heart he didn't want her to. He wanted her to long for him as he longed for her. He didn't want her to be unhappy, not really unhappy—but he needed to think that she thought of him, that she would never forget their short time together as lovers.
A soft knock on the door interrupted the silence.
"Brenna,” Wystan mouthed to Garrett across the room.
"Let her in.” Garrett retreated to the armory's shadows, where she wouldn't see him when she entered.
Wystan opened the door. Brenna smiled up at him. “Here I am. You promised you'd show me the armory, and I came as soon as I could.” She swept into the chamber. “I love seeing the entire castle. This morning I saw the brewhouse. So this is where armor and weapons are stored."
"Yes, this is where we arm ourselves.” Wystan latched the door behind her.
Brenna stopped in the center of the high-ceilinged chamber, her greedy gaze seeking every detail of the room, taking in the pieces of armor, the lances neatly stacked in racks, axes hanging from wall brackets, and the spears fanned out against the tall stone walls. Then she spotted Garrett.
The wondrous delight vanished from her face. “I didn't know you were going to be here,” she said with the fallen look of one who has been betrayed. She turned on Wystan. “You tricked me!"
"Garrett wants to ask you some questions.” Wystan wisely blocked the door.
"There's no need for questions.” Brenna's hands plucked at the folds of her skirt. “I told you about Leofric. I've kept your secret about the May Day festival. What more do you want of me?"
"I want to know about the antidote."
Brenna's face paled. “What about the antidote?"
"Did you make it?"
Brenna turned to escape, charging headlong into Wystan. Firmly he took her arms and turned her to face Garrett.
"Tell me the truth now,” Garrett demanded softly, walking calmly toward her. If he didn't frighten her, maybe she would relent and tell the truth. “Remember, Brenna, you have ruined all my plans and caused your cousin great pain. You owe me the truth."
"Uh, why would I make an antidote?” Brenna stammered. Her eyes grew as round as a jongleur's tambourines. “I'm no wise woman."
She was stalling, groping for a lie to tell. He could see it in her bewildered eyes. He continued to move closer to her. “No, you're not a wise woman. But Leandra is very thoughtful. Perhaps she thought that if I thought I'd taken the antidote, I'd fall out of love with her."
Brenna shook her head. “Not exactly."
"Then tell me exactly,” Garrett whispered, his nose now a cat's whisker from hers.
"Well.” Brenna began to wring her hands. “Leandra made me promise not to tell."
Garrett straightened, a huff of exasperation escaping him. “These belatedly acquired scruples do not become you, Brenna."
"All right, I made the antidote,” Brenna snapped. “Is that what you want to hear?"
Garrett grabbed her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Tell me why."
"Because she hated to see you in pain,” Brenna said. “I don't know it all. She doesn't tell me everything. She said something about the ring. That you couldn't put it on her finger. She hoped that you would believe in the antidote and forget your love for her. Then you'd be free to love again."
Garrett studied her face, peered into her guileless eyes. She looked frightened enough to be telling the truth, but how could he believe her? The only thing she'd ever told the truth about was Leofric's evil plan.
He whipped out his sword.
Brenna screamed and cringed against Wystan.
"Garrett...?” Wystan protested, a look of reproach on his
face.
Garrett held the sword forth, its cruciform clear. “Swear on the cross that you tell the truth."
Brenna sagged against Wystan and whimpered.
Garrett's eyes narrowed. He shook the sword at her. “Swear, Brenna, unless you lie. Put your hands on the hilt and swear."
Trembling uncontrollably, Brenna touched the sword lightly, as if she expected it to sear her. “I swear."
"To what?” He wanted no mistake about this.
"To giving you and Leandra a fake antidote.” Brenna gulped, her eyes anxiously scanning Garrett's face.
He let out a deep breath. Something seemed wrong with her reply, yet the answer was what he wanted to hear. He had to turn away, unwilling to allow either Brenna or Wystan to see the mixed emotions that coursed through him.
Leandra wanted to free him. He was elated—and incensed. She had so little faith in his love that she thought a useless concoction and a silly untruth would bring an end to it.
"Bring me the blue bottle,” he demanded.
"Of course.” Her sigh of relief echoed through the armory, and she turned, snatching at the door latch behind Wystan.
"Tell your cousin I want to talk to her. No, on second thought, don't tell her,” Garrett added. “I will seek her out for myself."
"Yes.” Brenna nodded her head in frantic agreement so violently that her dark curls blurred. “Do that, Sir Garrett. I'll say nothing. You ask Leandra why she did this."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-Two
"MY DEAR, I THINK you're not concentrating on the game.” Reginald frowned and began to replace the pieces on the backgammon board. “My envoy assured me you are quite a competent player. You and he played in Lyonesse, I believe."
"Prenuptial distractions, my lord.” Leandra had lost a third game of backgammon to him. She smiled meekly, dismayed by the annoyance she saw in his eyes. Despite her determination to please him, to be the smiling bride that he wanted, she seemed unable to offer him her best. She disappointed him at every turn—from losing at backgammon to missing his grand kill in the hunt.
"Of course, I understand, my dear.” His voice was kind, but the furrow in his brow convinced her that he was nearing the end of his patience.
"Would you like to take the air along the battlements?” he suggested. “Something less taxing than a board game."
Fresh air sounded good. “Yes, I would—"
"Please allow me to escort you, my lady.” Garrett suddenly loomed over their game table, his hands clasped behind him and his smile disturbingly polite.
What was he up to? Slightly alarmed, she glanced beyond him to where Brenna appeared. Frantically her cousin made hand motions of warning that Leandra could not understand. She glanced uncertainly from Garrett to Reginald.
"Excellent idea, Bernay,” Reginald said, his gaze seemingly on the game board. The thought of being rid of her seemed to appeal to him. “You're well-qualified to introduce Lady Leandra to the castle's fortifications. I'd like to check on the training of my falcons. Lady Brenna, I see you waving there to your cousin. Would you like to see the mews? Or would you care to go with Sir Garrett and your cousin?"
"I'd like to see the mews, my lord.” Brenna cast a cautious glance in Leandra's direction, and Leandra gave an imperceptible nod of approval.
Many of the guests and nobles in the hall had heard Lord Reginald accept Garrett's invitation to show Leandra the battlements. None took it amiss when they left the hall together.
Garrett led the way up the dark spiral staircase, his hand holding hers, steady, firm, almost demanding her to follow him.
When they reached the castle wall, a gusty spring breeze cooled Leandra's hot face and cleared her head. She attempted to tug her hand free of his, but he refused to release her. He greeted a guard on the battlement and led Leandra onward toward a tower overlooking the winding river below. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting shadows in the valley below and glinting off the water.
"How do you feel?” he asked, innocently enough.
"I'm fine.” She wondered uneasily what he really wanted to know.
"I mean, has the antidote worked?” He eyed her intently.
"Well, yes.” She scolded herself inwardly. She should have known he wouldn't accept anything without questions.
"In what way?” He released her and leaned against the stone wall. The pleasant mask slipped away. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her as if he were about to question an enemy spy. “Do I appear different to you? Have I grown shorter? Are my eyes not quite as blue as you recall? Am I not as fair to look upon as you once thought?"
"Uh,” she stammered, uncertain what he wanted her to say. She decided on the truth. “You seem harder. Crueler."
"Oh?” His brow rose and his voice dripped with skepticism.
"I mean, when we were lovers—when we were in the village—you were gentle and good-humored. You laughed often."
"So did you, then.” He leaned closer, scrutinizing her face.
"So I appear different to you, too.” Now she understood what he was looking for. “See, the antidote is working."
He straightened, but his expression remained doubtful. “Yes, that must be it. We're falling out of love. How feeble our love must have been to be so easily killed by vinegar and spice from the kitchen.” He held up the blue bottle.
Leandra stared at it, stunned and disbelieving—guilty.
"Brenna told me. But not willingly.” The anger in his voice frightened her. “Don't blame you cousin. This ruse bears your self-sacrificing mark."
"'Twas the only thing to do.” A pang of disappointment pierced her heart. She had wanted so much to spare him this anguish. “After the hunt and Leofric and the ring. Truly, Garrett. I conceived the plan for your sake. If you believed in the antidote as you did in the fake love potion, you would cease to love me when you drank it.” She hesitated for a moment. Had she said more than she should have? “So that's why Brenna and I decided the antidote should smell so bad."
He leaned toward her again, the intensity in his face so frightening that she stood her ground only through great effort.
"Say that again,” he demanded.
"What?"
"The part about believing in a fake love potion. What did you mean, ‘fake'?"
She opened her mouth and closed it again. The more she said, the worse things got. Soon she and Brenna would both be sent back to Lyonesse, right back where they'd started, fighting pirates alone. What did he know? What did she dare say?
"What did Brenna tell you?” she asked, feeling as though someone were unraveling her gown, revealing her lies, baring her soul.
"Forget about Brenna.” He leaned closer. Now she backed away and stopped only when her back met a stone wall. “I want to know about the love potion from your lips, Leandra. Everything."
Several ideas flashed through her head. She could deny everything. She could admit to only what she had admitted to already. Or, she could tell the truth. Inwardly, she groaned. If he hadn't stopped loving her by now, he would by the time she finished her story.
"As you wish.” She drew a deep breath. “I decided to give us a fake antidote because we received a fake potion."
When he did not explode in anger, didn't even blink, she was encouraged. “You see, Brenna never really gave us the love potion I obtained from Vivian. It's still right here."
She drew the tiny silver phial from the cuff of her green surcoat to verify her statement—she would leave no doubt this time.
"You were right, Garrett,” she continued, brave enough at last to hazard a look into his face, looming above hers. “Don't you see? We fell in love because we thought we were supposed to."
He held her gaze. She could feel his eyes searching her face, uncertain, probing. She looked into his, more aware than ever how much she loved him, potion or no.
At last he shook his head and turned away, facing out over the battlements. “No! No!"
&nb
sp; "It's true,” she said, and she told him all the reasons Brenna had confessed for making them believe they had been given a love potion.
"When did you learn this?” he demanded without looking at her.
"The day we arrived here."
"You've known all this time and didn't tell me?"
She shook her head. “All of this happened because I brought the love potion along in the first place. Brenna is so afraid of you. I decided to say nothing."
He bowed his head and shook it. “So you still have the real potion?"
She held out the phial again.
He looked at it in her hand. Scorn hardened his lips. “Do you plan to give it to Lord Reginald? From what I've seen, you're going to need it. He seems less than enthusiastic about your charms."
His words stung. “That's exactly what I intend to do,” she snapped back, tucking the phial away again. “We can just forget about everything that's happened. Lord Reginald will fall in love with me and me with him, and you can sail off to France just as you always intended."
"Not if I tell him that he is being deceived.” Garrett faced her defiantly. “Do you think I would stand by and allow my liege lord be given a potion he knows nothing of? Never! I will not tolerate such dishonesty."
"You'll never know when it's given,” she boasted, sorry that she'd been honest with him. “Once Reginald loves me, why would he believe you?"
"You'll give it to him tonight at the banquet?"
"Perhaps. Why should I tell you when?” She turned and swept back down along the battlements, thrusting her chin forward and fighting the tears that threatened. She had never dreamed that Garrett would attempt to betray her. Thank heavens she still had the potion. Everything would be fine once she had given the elixir to Reginald.
All she had to do was slip the potion into Reginald's cup when Garrett was looking away. Even if he accused her, no one would believe him.
Then, when she and Reginald stood before the altar of the cathedral, the Earl of Tremelyn would love her and she would love him. The joy in their faces would make them the envy of everyone present. That was the way she had wanted things from the beginning. Her plan would work yet.