by Traci E Hall
Strange or not, the threat to the caravan had been human—he’d heard the yell when Celestia had hit the enemy.
He had thought himself too numb to be struck with such strong fury. Nicholas had learned to disassociate himself while captured, and he’d not gotten out of the habit yet.
Sinking his heels into Brenin’s flanks, Nicholas trusted the horse to find the right footing. It occurred to him that he trusted the horse more than he trusted anyone else, including himself.
The damn arrow had hummed practically beneath his nose and he’d twisted in his saddle, his first thought to protect his wife. He ground his teeth in frustration. By Saint George, she hadn’t needed his bloody protection.
He had turned ‘round only to find Celestia at the wagon, fearlessly defending their party. When the white arrow had landed so hard that it splashed mud up her mare’s legs, he had thought he would choke on his terror.
He’d feared Ceffyl would throw her small, dainty rider to the forest floor and stomp all over her with those deadly hooves.
He’d waited in vain. Celestia had guided the large mare with naught but her knees, and the mare remained as calm as any war-trained battle horse. When would he learn that nothing she did was expected? Healer or witch or simply a woman?
“Lord Nicholas! Nicholas, slow down before you break the tired beast’s legs, I beg you,” Petyr called over the thump of the hooves against the mud.
Nicholas slowed to a canter, and the knight drew alongside.
“What is it, Petyr? I took point, you were to lead them after me. What are you doing on my ass? I’ll have your head if the caravan is attacked again.”
Petyr’s mouth thinned into a straight line before he said, “The wagon is going to lose a wheel, or worse. Bess hasn’t driven a wagon so fast before, and Viola is hard-pressed to keep Sir Geoffrey quiet, with all of the jostling. Your lady is guarding them. I’d trust her at my back.”
Nicholas lowered his chin to his chest and exhaled, not wanting to think about Celestia in danger. She was fearless, and it terrified him. “This means that we’ll be forced to make camp again, one more night.”
“Probably so, but if you keep the lead at such a breakneck pace, it might be days before the wagon is fixed, once broken.”
“You’re right,” he conceded. Nicholas gestured to the emerald green forest around them. “I keep waiting to recognize something, but I don’t. I don’t remember this road, and I barely remember my mother. I have a vague memory of a large, peaked tower and some apple trees. I think.”
“I’ve never been to Falcon Keep, but your f—, the baron, sent a retinue of ten knights ahead. They were to prepare everything for you and your lady wife.”
Nicholas perked up. He would feel much better about his failure with Stephan if he could get the rest of his people safely tucked away. “Think you then that there will be a welcoming party?”
“Aye, and why not?” Petyr relaxed a little and grinned. “A large fire, and dry clothes would be most welcome.”
The weight on his shoulders eased. “I’ll be happy having everyone protected behind solid stone walls. But you are right, I was going too fast.” Trying to outrun Stephans accusing ghost. Or a different ghost entirely?
He rubbed his face and caught Petyr staring at him. “What?”
Sighing as if he had the troubles of the world on his back, Petyr grouched, “Ye’ve shadows beneath your eyes so purple and mottled that you look like you’ve been in a fight. And lost.”
Nicholas glared.
“I’ve never seen you sleep for long, and ye don’t eat much. You kind of stay to yourself, eh?”
“And what of it?” Nicholas asked rudely.
“You married a fine lady.”
“Not afraid of her ‘magic’ anymore?” He deliberately lifted his upper lip in a sneer. The last thing he needed was a friend. Although the knight had proven himself over and over again on this trip, never shirking a duty, Nicholas couldn’t afford to care.
Petyr grunted, and Nicholas wouldn’t have blamed the man if he’d ridden off. Instead, Petyr explained, “That was most odd, Nicholas, but not bad, not evil, you know. It was more like,” the blond knight stumbled over the words, “sunshine.”
Nicholas hadn’t been expecting that, and a snort escaped him before he reminded himself to leave the embarrassed man some dignity. “Sunshine?” He blew out a breath of air, but remembered well the warm feeling of Celestia’s dainty hand in his during their wedding ceremony. “Aye, it is a bit like that.”
Petyr shook his head, spraying drops of rain like a dog. “I wouldn’t mind the sun about now.”
“I don’t remember the weather being this dreary when I was a child.”
“You said you didn’t remember anything.“ Petyr ducked beneath a branch before it hit him in the head.
“That’s true. Do you have the map?”
“Nay, I left it with Celestia, just in case there was a problem.”
Smart, Nicholas thought. He wouldn’t trust the man completely, but mayhap he wouldn’t dismiss him out of hand, either. “It’s raining too hard, and it doesn’t make sense to push on. We can go back, and decide on where to make camp. I saw a small clearing a ways back, just big enough to pull the wagon off the road.”
“Whatever you say,” Petyr said with a nod.
When they caught up with the wagon, Celestia had already found the little clearing and she was just setting camp. She had Henry and Willy starting a fire, or trying to, and Forrester, with Bertram, was trying to set up the green-and-white tent.
Celestia looked delicious, even dripping wet in the rain. Her hair had escaped her braids and hung in heavy locks down her back. Her dark green tunic was sopped through, and she’d spread her sodden cloak over the wheels, underneath the wagon.
“I doubt that you’ll get a fire going,” Nicholas said, guiding Brenin to a tree near Ceffyl. He dismounted, feeling as if he should apologize.
But once he started, he might not be able to stop.
“Negativity breeds negativity, or at least that’s what Gram likes to say.” She made a weird “humphing” sound, and proceeded to the back of the wagon.
Nicholas followed her, hoping for a private word, but Viola was wringing out wet blankets, as the wagon was not meant to be watertight, and poor Sir Geoffrey was practically floating in the rear.
“I’m sorry for being such an ass,” he said loudly so that he could be heard over the thunder. Luckily for him the thunder stopped rumbling and his apology was heard throughout the forest.
Celestia poked her head out of the wagon. “I beg pardon?”
“I’m sorry.”
She crawled out and peered at him, looking him up and down. “Did ye hit your head? Are you hurt?”
He ground his back teeth. “Nay. And you don’t need to look at me as if I’ve grown two chins. You were right. But that changes nothing, Celestia.” She opened her mouth to argue, and without thought, he leaned in and kissed her.
Her lips were cool, but her breath was warm, and yes, she tasted exactly like sunshine. “I’m still off to see the baron, as soon as you’re safe at the keep.”
Celestia’s eyelids lowered a fraction, and a spark of lust hit Nicholas like a rock upside the head. “How do ye do that? Nay, I don’t want to know.” He walked away before he kissed her again.
Forrester and Bertram, unable to erect the tent, had instead made a roof of sorts, like a giant green-and-white striped sky. The two looked most proud of themselves. Celestia, who had followed behind him, came to a sliding halt.
“Oh, my,” she said with a gasp. “Well!”
Nicholas scratched the back of his neck, wondering how she was going to react to having her precious tent maligned in such a way. It looked nothing at all like the square bower from the night before.
He needn’t have worried that she’d be upset. Celestia glanced up at the large portion of tent they’d somehow managed to affix to three trees, creating a ceiling over the wagon s
o that Geoffrey would stay dry. Then she took in the two sides that they’d hooked from the tallest branch to the ground, creating walls so the travelers would be protected from the worst of the wind. The other two sides of their camp remained open to the elements, which was wet and cold, but it allowed them a fire.
“Just perfect,” she said with a smile. “Not at all the way the tent maker designed it, but this is much better. We’ll be able to see who’s coming, and protect ourselves from attack, as well as stay mostly dry, and out of the worst of the wind. Thank ye,” she clapped her hands.
Perfect. Nicholas saw that she’d won over all of his men. Well, not “his” men, but his father’s men. Which was exactly what he wanted. He scratched the back of his neck again. Wasn’t it?
Before long, Petyr had crouched next to the low fire providing the only light and warmth in the dark storm. The confounded rain had reduced itself to spitting in sporadic bursts, and they were able to heat water to drink.
Sir Geoffrey moaned from within the wagon, and they all jumped. Viola sniffed, “I want to press on, afore something bad happens to Geoffrey.”
Bess stared at Celestia. “Why ain’t ye healin’ him, my lady?”
“I’m trying,” Celestia said, poking at a foul-smelling brew she’d concocted. “I need the right instruments, and a clean environment for surgery. I feel like there is something still beneath the skin. I heal him, and the wound breaks open again within hours. It could be the jostling of the wagon, but I don’t think so.”
Celestia’s eyes clouded, and Nicholas could see how heavy her burden lay.
“We might arrive at the keep by dawn, if we’re willing to put the horses and wagon at risk.” Petyr’s reproachful voice gave his opinion of the folly loud and clear.
Nicholas tugged at a loose hank of hair, wishing he had magic of his own. No wonder Celestia had gotten so angry when he’d mocked her; it would be easier to snap fingers and be done with it. “We can’t chance the wagon breaking. Then Sir Geoffrey would have no way of getting to Falcon Keep at all.”
Celestia stuck the tip of her finger inside the bowl, then put it to her tongue and grimaced. “‘Tis true, more the pity.”
“We must stay and make our shelter here, for the night.” Nicholas waited for at least Petyr, if not Celestia, to argue with him, but neither did. Instead, all eyes went to the puny flames that fought for life beneath the drizzle.
Celestia set aside the stinky herbal medicine and rubbed her fingers together for warmth. “I’ve made a topical ointment for Geoffrey that will hopefully draw the ill humor out.” She slowly got to her feet, every inch of her body stiff and cold. For once she was grateful for her short stature, as there was less of her to freeze.
Viola made to rise, as well, but Celestia waved her back down. “Sit, Vi, and get warm. This will but take a moment.”
“I still wish to go on, my lady,” the maid said wistfully.
“And get caught by a border patrol? Or worse, the Scottish rebels we’re supposed to be avoiding?” Celestia was only half-joking.
Petyr smiled, his white teeth brilliant in the dark. “It’s a rare sight to see the Scottish and the English get along. King William may have bought his country back, but he wants more. It might be easier to explain our business in the morning light.”
Nicholas looked as if he would say more, but eventually he just nodded. “So be it. For the final night, we shall wrap up in our stinking blankets and eat hard bread. Pass me the wine, Bertram, you old lush.”
Celestia laughed with the others, touched by Nicholas’s rarely used charm.
She backed away from the others and looked in on Sir Geoffrey. His pallor worried her. It had been a very long time since she’d lost a patient, and Celestia was willing to do everything in her power to keep Sir Geoffrey alive.
Hearing the others talk and laugh as she climbed into the back of the wagon kept the ghost fingers from creeping up her back.
She could feel the restless spirits in these woods. They didn’t scare her nearly as much as the malevolent energy, human energy, that was watching them, as well. There was simply no way to climb into the back of the wagon with grace, so Celestia simply hitched her tunic and hiked up, glad that Nicholas was still by the fire.
Kneeling by Sir Geoffrey’s side, she carefully pulled the bandages away from the wound in his throat. It was a testament to her skills that there was a smallish gash left in the skin instead of a gaping hole. But it should have healed completely.
She placed a hand across his brow. No fever. Exhaling, she sat back on her heels, reluctant to join the others while she was feeling so unsettled.
The fire outside suddenly raised high, and it illuminated the inside of the wagon. She noticed the broken arrow shaft. The white feathers, some stained red from the blood of Sir Geoffrey, were bright in the near gloom.
The arrow from her vision? It hadn’t hit Nicholas. Had it been for her? Reaching down for the prayer beads beneath her tunic, she pulled out the gift from Nicholas.
The rosary glowed with high intensity, like a shooting star, and it burned out just as quickly—leaving behind the scent of apples.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, oh, my,” she said, her heart beating wildly. The vision had showed her the shaft. The rosary smelled like cider. There was a mystery here, and it revolved around her husband. Didn’t it?
Celestia knew in her soul that he was not out of danger. Neither was she.
She took the shaft out of the wagon, but there was no moonlight by which to see. Running her fingers over the silky edges, she noticed a notch of feathers missing. What kind of feathers were they?
Not one to let a puzzle go long without a solution, she put the broken shaft in her medicine bag. She couldn’t name from what bird the feathers came just yet, but she was certain it would come to her.
Glancing toward the horse that carried Sir Stephan’s dead body, she remembered the unease she had felt prior to the attack. The hair on the nape of her neck tingled, and she crossed her arms around her waist. “Stop being such a ninny!” she whispered aloud. After waiting in perfect silence for any type of sound that could be out of place, she forced a smile on her face and joined the others around their pitiful fire. “I will be glad to reach Falcon Keep on the morrow,” she said in general as she took a seat on a blanket roll.
A chorus of “ayes” answered her, and Nicholas, who appeared to be in a mellow mood, thanks to the wine and good company most like, said, “I do hope you will be happy there.”
“Were you? ”
He tossed a twig into the fire. “I don’t remember.”
The rosary grew warm next to her skin, and she scooted back from the fire.
“Tell us about our new home, won’t you?” pleaded Viola with a pretty grin.
“Yes, do!” agreed Bess.
Nicholas closed his eyes, and Celestia wondered if he would shut them out, as he’d done before. She wished she’d taken a seat next to him, so that she could lend him her strength. He needed to open his heart …
Hadn’t her grandmother told her the same thing? That wily old bird, Celestia thought with a smile.
“I was a boy when I left. Maybe six, I don’t remember. I think there was a river, and mountains. Hills, and caves, secret places that I wasn’t supposed to go,” his voice trailed off, and he looked as if he was concentrating hard on a memory that wouldn’t stay. “And apples. Yes, lots of apples.”
“I love a hot apple pie,” said Bess. Forrester agreed by rubbing his belly.
“Did you have lots of servants?” asked Viola.
“I don’t remember.”
“And horses?” asked Henry.
“I, uh, don’t remember.”
Celestia met her husband’s eyes across the fire. She saw such despair that she feared he would sicken from it. How did he manage to breathe and eat and pretend to be human with all of that pain inside of him? An uneasy silence had fallen amongst the group. Celestia stood, stretched, and grinned as if she we
re the happiest fool to ever come to the English-Scottish border. “For certes, your childhood home will be lovely and most welcoming.”
She winked at him. “Especially compared to this.”
The next morning, Celestia’s teeth were chattering so loudly that Sir Bertram was able to find her through the thick blanket of fog that wafted all around them.
“Good morning, Lady Celestia.”
“Are you certain that ‘tis morning? How can you tell?” Celestia was too cold for her temper to get more than middling warm.
“Sir Petyr claims to have heard the chirping of a bird.” Sir Bertram’s snort told what he thought of that story.
They made their way to the rear of the wagon, where Bess and Viola sat coddling Sir Geoffrey.
“It’s supposed to be morning!” Celestia quipped.
“Sir Geoffrey, welcome back to the world. You gave us all a scare.”
The Montehue knight, his grizzly gray beard even more of a mess than usual, grinned wide. “Aye, and it’s glad I am, as well, Bertram. I feel well enough to drive the wagon again, and I thank ye, my lady, for all yer kindness.”
Celestia rubbed her blistered hands together. She’d sat the night through, her hands over the wound in his throat, putting forth all of her healing energy in addition to the ointment. “I found the culprit this morning. A piece of feather,” she explained to them all. “Poisoned.”
Viola burst into tears and rained kisses over the knight’s face.
“I’d like to catch hold of the weasel bastard,” Sir Bertram groused, “who shot it.”
“The fog seems to be thinning, so let’s see if we can find our way out of the woods first, eh?”
“Aye, my lady. The sooner we’re out of this cursed forest, the better. I swear I heard spirits all night long.”
“You drank spirits, which is why,” Celestia pointed out. She left them laughing around the wagon, and went to share her good humor with Nicholas. Healing Sir Geoffrey had put her back to rights. She found him standing by Brenin, looking weary and worn. His black hair was damp from the fog and curled around his ears and neck, and he was so handsome to her that she had to clear her throat before she could speak. Sir Petyr was gesturing at something on the map.