Love’s Magic

by Traci E Hall

  “Good morn, Nicholas. Sir Petyr.”

  Both men turned and gave her greetings, but it was Petyr who said, “We are waiting for the fog to burn off a bit more, my lady, and then we’re on our way.”

  “Wonderful news, Petyr.” The knight nodded and left, leaving Nicholas alone with Celestia. He didn’t look pleased.

  “I shan’t bite,” she said crossly, wondering at how one man’s surliness could affect her own mood. It was possible that Aunt Nan had the best of it, living with her cats.

  Nicholas jerked his eyes to hers, his lips twitching reluctantly. “Probably not, my lady. Unless provoked.”

  She arched a regal brow, as she’d seen her mother do time and again. “And do you plan on provoking me?”

  “Not intentionally, Lady Celestia. But I have noticed you have an uncommonly sharp tongue.”

  Celestia blushed and lowered her eyes. “You have? That is a shame … I was hoping to hide that flaw until you knew me better.”

  “I find you fascinating, flaws and all.”

  Celestia’s gaze flew to his, but she could already tell that he regretted his words. She turned away to hide the sting of hurt. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, my lord,” she said sarcastically. “I was only curious as to when we would be on our way.”

  “Now.”

  Celestia lifted her chin and said, “The sooner the better.”

  She regretted her haste a while later.

  “I can’t see a blasted thing,” she complained to Forrester, who was riding next to her.

  “This fog is unnatural, I can sense it,” the young knight agreed.

  “Forrester, there is no such thing as witchcraft! Have you learned nothing from me on this journey?”

  He stared at her with adoration on his face, and she realized she’d need to be careful. Galiana would know how to flirt just the right way, but she, alas, was not her beautiful sister.

  “You are magical, my lady.”

  Celestia deliberately wrinkled her nose, something her mother said a lady never did. “No, my young friend. I am blessed by God, and I heal whomever I can.” She made a show of looking up at the sky. “Nay, this isn’t at all enchanted. Just dreary.”

  “Mayhap a powerful sorceress is trying to block us from reaching the keep,” he said. When he didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he shrugged. “Although you can tell from the abundant foliage that it rains much in this forsaken land. You realize we have yet to see the sun?” He nudged Ceffyl with his horse. “I’ve seen you heal.”

  “I don’t believe in sorceresses,” she laughed lightly, moving her horse so they weren’t so close. “My family’s gifts are a natural phenomenon; I imagine others could be born with similar talents. My youngest sister, Ela, can roll her tongue and I cannot.”

  “That’s a talent,” he said, grinning and sticking his tongue out, rolled.

  Celestia ducked her head to hide her grin. “Nicely done.”

  “I think I’ll ride ahead, my lady. I just wanted to say, well, that,” his face was red beneath his short leather helmet, “I am proud to be your champion!”

  He galloped ahead, and Celestia finally allowed the smile to take over her face. She would never, ever betray her husband—even if she remained a maid for life. But still, the young knight’s declaration was a salve to her pride.

  So far the trip had been daunting. She was wet and bedraggled, her nose ran, and her hind end was sore. Not a very alluring new bride, even if her husband had been so inclined. She’d need to freshen up, for certes, before they reached Falcon Keep, lest she scare all the people away from her new home … a darkness shrouded her thoughts. She could not envision what her life would be like as its mistress.

  Not that she had the second sight, for she didn’t. The occasional vision, mayhap, and perchance because of her healing gift she was more open to intuition than others. And she was frightened by what she wasn’t seeing.

  Nicholas and Petyr rode flank to flank. “If the baron sent knights, then where are they? Shouldn’t they have a few men on patrol?” Unease sat behind him like a second rider.

  Petyr nodded, his brows drawn. “This place is too bloody quiet, and we should have reached the outer bailey by now. According to the map, we have to go through that, then there’s a large pasture. A stream big enough to support a mill. Then the gatehouse.”

  Slowing Brenin to a trot, Nicholas peered out as far as he could. He’d expected a spark of recognition at the very least once they’d left the forest. Nothing.

  It didn’t seem right.

  “We’ve got what looks to be a motte-and-bailey-style keep, easily defendable, if this is correct.”

  Nicholas finally pulled Brenin to a stop on the wide, yet deserted road. “We should have passed the outer fence by a large round boulder. Either we got lost in the damned fog, or someone has taken down the boundaries.”

  “The map got soaked through, mayhap,” Petyr shook his head even as he tried to find an explanation.

  Nicholas held his body upright in the saddle. Apprehension tickled the back of his neck. The lack of his childhood memories bothered him, but not overmuch. He had long ago put his mother from his mind; he’d thought himself a bastard with no other kin.

  The past few weeks had turned his life topsy-turvy, and he was no closer to redemption. He had a lot of fine reasons for feeling unsettled, he mused silently, but he knew that this particular feeling had more to do with Falcon Keep than his miserable excuse for a life. “The fog’s lifted enough that we can see, although the clouds won’t uncover the sun.” Nicholas laughed harshly. “At least the rain has stopped. I say we go forward.”

  Celestia rode up behind them. “Well? Where is it?”

  Nicholas said, “What? The keep?”

  Petyr grimaced. “We don’t know.”

  “You’ve lost an entire castle?” Celestia burst out laughing.

  Nicholas and Petyr each sent her forbidding looks, which she blithely ignored. “May I have a peek at the map, Sir Petyr?” Celestia asked sweetly.

  Petyr gave it to her, with reluctance. Celestia looked at the map, and then around her. The fog receded farther, and she said, “Ah! There is the mill! We are here.” She pointed to a place on the map, and Petyr groaned in defeat.

  Nicholas bit the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t even see it, as it was broken and lying on its side. Where’s the bloody stream?” Was this more of her witchery? Or a trick?

  Celestia glowed.

  Petyr took back the map and rustled it like he knew what he was doing. “That puts us a half league away from where the gatehouse should be.”

  “Wonderful! But where are the sheep? Nicholas, is it supposed to look this deserted? Where’s the village?”

  Nicholas gritted his teeth together. He’d been wondering the same things. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  He studied the smart and vivacious woman who was his unwanted wife. “When did you learn to read?”

  She grinned, her eyes twinkling in a rare ray of sunshine. “We all learned how to read. Gram insisted.”

  How would he convince her to stay behind? He had an inkling that she wouldn’t willingly stay. What really chapped his hide was how enthralled he found himself by the timber of her voice. Her temper, which was loud and quick, even though she tried so hard to control it—her face and her figure.

  Her.

  His sudden realization caused his knees to tighten, and his horse lurched forward. How had his defenses crumbled so far? Nicholas was attracted to his own wife!

  Saint James, preserve me. He watched her, with some horror, from the corner of his eye as they rode along. Her slender back was straight, and her face shone with good health despite the terrible conditions in which they’d been traveling. She and Petyr exchanged some story, and his eyes followed the way she used her hands to talk. He loved her laugh.

  He did?

  His chin sank to his chest. A match between them would never work. He would only hurt her in the end. He w
as doomed, without a soul, on a mission to kill the man who’d given him life …

  Within the blink of an eye, he accepted his feelings, and rejected what they meant. Nicholas knew he was the last man on earth to deserve a chance at such happiness. He would see to it that she was as content as she could be. He would make certain that she had all he could give before he left her forever.

  His heart was so heavy he was surprised that Brenin could carry him. A short while later, Celestia shouted, “I see it!” She turned in her saddle. “Do you, Nicholas? Over there.”

  He had been too busy thinking of ways to tell Celestia good-bye to see the keep. But as he followed where her finger pointed, he saw a tall tower emerge from the clouds and a brief flash of sunlight sparkled over the moat.

  The very dark, very disgusting, green moat. As they rode closer, a foul smell wafted through on a breeze.

  They grouped together on the edge of the pasture that had grown wild around them, with weeds as tall as his knees. The knights, the women, and the wagon.

  He didn’t want to go on.

  He noticed Celestia touching something at her chest.

  “It feels wrong,” she whispered under her breath, edging her mare closer to Nicholas and Brenin. She faced him, her eyes filled with concern. “Don’t you sense it?”

  Forrester’s glance was sharp as he shielded his brow with his hand. “Aye, that it does.”

  Nicholas did feel it, but he couldn’t admit to it. He accepted the weight of responsibility and turned to the others. “Nonsense. I’ll ride ahead, and let them know we’ve arrived.”

  He waved Bertram toward the wagon, and the man answered with a clipped nod, casually moving his horse, while readying his sword.

  “Keep the wagon there, Sir Geoffrey. Petyr, Forrester, and I will go ahead to scout the area. I’m sure we will be back anon, but be cautious just the same.” He stared at his wife as he spoke the last words.

  He didn’t think to tell Celestia to stay put, so the fact that she followed them was more than likely his own fault.

  When he’d opened his mouth to tell her to go back, she’d sent him a look that simply said she was not going to listen to his order. She withdrew her bow; her arrows were already slung across Ceffyl’s saddle. Nicholas gave her a blank stare, then turned away.

  What would he do if anything happened to her? Her face was set, but she didn’t complain as they silently cantered toward a keep that was not at all prepared to welcome its new mistress.

  He looked over his shoulder, and saw that Sir Bertram and Sir Geoffrey were prepared to defend themselves and the wagon.

  Slowly the four of them approached the drawbridge, which was down, for all the good it did. It was gouged with holes and missing pieces of lumber.

  The moat gurgled with green algae and noxious wildlife. The stench burned his nostrils, and still Celestia didn’t complain.

  Her face was pinched with concentration, and she stayed at his back “Will we take the horses across?” Petyr asked Nicholas deferentially.

  Nicholas continued in his role as leader, even though he was a fraud. “Nay, leave the horses. We will tether them here, where the others can watch them.”

  They all glanced at the wagon, which had come suspiciously closer as the four had gone forward. Nicholas waved them back.

  “They should be here by the time we come out again,” he said dryly.

  He held out his hand to Celestia, helping her dismount while she kept her bow in one hand and the quiver of arrows at her back. She could have done it herself, more than likely. But Nicholas simply wanted to touch her.

  Skin to skin.

  Just in case.

  She was wearing gloves.

  Chapter

  Nine

  Come. Be quiet, and stay aware.” Nicholas’s terse warning was all he offered in the way of a plan. Celestia found herself singularly unimpressed.

  Danger. Had this been the danger hinted at in the vision, or was this some new danger for which she was completely unprepared? Nicholas led the way, his dark face set and stoic, his steps light and sure. Petyr was directly behind him. Celestia, wanting to be as close to Nicholas as possible, resented the blond knight’s placement, but bit her tongue.

  Forrester tailed her, his feet following hers exactly, as they made their way across the rotted boards of the drawbridge. Celestia swallowed convulsively as a piece of wood splashed into the green ooze and a pair of snapping jaws emerged. Giant fish? Eel? Monster?

  Whispering a prayer to Saint Kathryn for courage—quickly adding that she had no desire to be a virgin martyr herself—she shivered and kept on.

  Nicholas paused by the stone doorway and held a finger to his lips. Reaching around Petyr, he held out his other hand for Celestia. She grasped his fingers, anticipating the spark of warmth as their hands touched, secure in knowing that Nicholas would keep her safe. Even if he didn’t really want to, his noble nature demanded it.

  She kept her eyes open, determined to not be yet another obligation for Nicholas. Her knees shook as they entered the dark and abandoned front hall; being brave all the time was wearing on her nerves. She’d make an infusion of cowslip, and add extra oats to her diet. Forget being brave, mayhap it was being wed that was causing her upset.

  Petyr was so close behind her she could feel his warm breath. Her head grew dizzy and a chill started at the nape of her neck. Now was most definitely not the time for a vision, she thought sternly.

  Really.

  Celestia gripped Nicholas’s hand tighter as they entered the main room. The dreary weather kept the sun away, and what light did manage to break free from behind the clouds was not near strong enough to brighten the interior of the keep.

  Dust motes caught the occasional puff of breeze through the slitted windows, none of which held any glass. Her husband’s body stiffened, and Celestia’s heart cracked anew at the pain he was feeling. This was Nicholas’s childhood home, and it was a disaster.

  Tables were overturned and broken; dog feces and mouse droppings littered the floor. Everything was decayed. Celestia’s sorrow was overwhelming. Nicholas’s emotions ran the gamut from disappointment, to sadness, to fear. It didn’t matter how much it hurt her to accept his feelings, she would not release his grip. His face gave away nothing, but he squeezed her hand.

  Like thieves instead of the rightful owners of the keep, the four stayed close to the thick stone walls and tiptoed through the debris. They said nothing, as if they all sensed that they weren’t alone.

  Celestia peeked up at Nicholas as they paused near another room, possibly the kitchens. His outward expression hadn’t changed, and she worried that he showed no visible emotion. He was a master, it seemed, of hiding how he felt. She sensed that the key to healing his inner turmoil lay with what happened in Tripoli.

  Nicholas pointed down a hall, and Celestia noticed a stairway leading up. Thinking that he wanted her to go that way, she stepped forward, accidentally kicking a brittle joint bone across the filthy floor.

  Her heart jumped to her throat, and her eyes felt ready to pop from her head. She glanced at the knights, and both Petyr and Forrester looked wary, but Nicholas—he simply held a finger to his lips, and pulled her back behind him.

  No enemy came pouring from the upstairs or the kitchens or the cellar.

  “Mayhap nobody’s here,” Petyr whispered.

  Celestia didn’t believe that, and all she had to do was remember the attack on the wagon to stay on her toes. Ghosts didn’t shoot arrows at innocents. Bad people did.

  Using his shoulder, Nicholas pushed open a door that hung on one leather hinge, his sword drawn and held before him in his left hand, his right hand still clasped in Celestia’s grip. Cupboards, open and bare, and herbs so dried that if she touched them they’d turn to dust. The kitchen. Light from the jagged, open roof poured down onto the large pine table, as if all the angels in heaven were illuminating the atrocity below.

  Two knights, dressed in blue tunics with gold
edging, lay pinned as if bug specimens. Arrows with white feathers pinioned their arms, while their feet had been tied tightly to the table legs.

  Flies buzzed over their sightless eyes and open mouths, and Celestia’s stomach rolled in protest that such cruelty could be done apurpose. She’d no desire to touch the men, as they were beyond whatever healing she could do.

  “Don’t look,” Nicholas warned in a scruffy voice.

  She averted her gaze from the grisly sight. Forrester coughed, and Petyr gasped in rage.

  “They’ve been tortured.” Nicholas released her hand, and Celestia almost fell. She hadn’t realized how much she’d relied on his strength.

  “Oliver de Montry and John Gains.” Petyr cleared his throat. “They were good men, Nicholas. If you had secrets to be kept, they would not have given them away.”

  Nicholas turned his anger on Petyr, and Celestia backed up, too. “Aye, but I have none. So why would anyone do this?” He took great gulping breaths of air, fighting for that control he prized so dearly.

  She must have made some silly feminine sound, because suddenly his gaze locked with hers. The night she’d woken him from his demonic dreams his eyes had been like this—despair so deep it was unfathomable. Beyond frightened, Celestia reached out, scared to touch Nicholas even though he needed her desperately. He backed away, into the dead men on the table. An arrow dropped to the floor, clattering against the stone.

  For the blink of an eye, the look on his face was so vulnerable that it stole her very breath. She inhaled, getting nothing, no air, and her vision blurred. Bringing both hands to her neck, she massaged her throat to coax the airway open, but she only became more light-headed and nauseous.

  She couldn’t break eye contact, and everything Nicholas was feeling came at her tenfold.

  “My lady!” Petyr caught her as her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, overcome with her failure. Her husband’s pain and buried rage was too much for her to carry.