Love’s Magic

by Traci E Hall

  “Celestia.” Nicholas shook his head, clearing it so that he could damn well think. He’d heard Celestia’s small mew of distress just as she’d started to collapse, but he’d been powerless to catch her.

  Petyr had, thank all the saints, before she banged her head against the stones. Nicholas took her from Petyr’s outstretched arms. “We can’t stay here,” he said, dashing from the foul kitchen before he lost his mind.

  What was left of it.

  Holding her to his chest, listening to her struggle for air, Nicholas begged for another chance to do right. He retraced his steps across the drawbridge without hesitation, certain that if he could just get her away from the crumbling pile of rock, she’d be fine again.

  Her head lolled to the side, and her lids fluttered. He hit the rocky dirt running, and called for help.

  “She can’t breathe, get her medicine bag, hurry!”

  As he’d predicted, the wagon was parked to the side of the uncleared field, a few wagon-lengths away from the keep. He sank to his knees in the grass, Celestia still balanced in his arms.

  Please, he thought.

  His heart pounded madly in his chest as he caressed her silken blond hair. Her lashes lay like feathers along her pale cheeks, and he ran his finger over her lips. “Come back to me, ‘Tia.”

  “That place is not fit for an animal; I say we burn it to the ground.” Forrester’s voice was shaking with anger.

  Nicholas couldn’t spare the time to calm the young knight. He rocked Celestia gently until Bess brought a blanket and spread it out over the grass.

  “Here, my lord. ‘Tis smooth, you can set her down, Viola’s getting her herbs.”

  “Do you know what’s wrong?”Nicholas asked.

  Sir Geoffrey said, “We don’t know what happened, my lord.”

  Petyr explained, while Nicholas eyed the blanket. He didn’t want to let Celestia go. “They had tortured two of the baron’s knights, and left the bodies for us to find. My lady fainted.”

  Bess puffed out her plump cheeks. “Lady Celestia fainted? Nay, I don’t believe it.”

  Viola felt for Celestia’s pulse. “Steady and strong. Mayhap it was the unexpected death? She’s sensitive, she is, to things like that.”

  “Blood and pus, now, that don’t get to her none.” Bess looked around at them all, nodding. “Our lady is no weak little miss. What really happened in there?”

  “Aye,” Sir Geoffrey growled menacingly. “Tell us the truth, what happened to our lady?”

  “That was the truth. The keep is deserted, and filthy.” Nicholas bowed his head, resting his forehead to Celestia’s. He never should have let her follow him. “She’s strong, aye.”

  “Even I wanted ta puke,” Forrester insisted. “But it was something between my lord and lady, that’s what made her fall.”

  Nicholas raised his head. “What?”

  “You, and her, you have a connection. ‘Tis obvious, being married and all. I didn’t understand what was happening, but it was like she could see inside your head.”

  “Witch,” Bertram mumbled.

  Viola jumped to her feet from where she’d been kneeling next to Nicholas and Celestia. “Take that back, you stupid sod, else I’ll run you through,” she threatened.

  “With what?” Bertram laughed uneasily.

  Sir Geoffrey stood next to Viola, his hand over the hilt of his sword. “I’ll do it, love,” he said. “I’ll not let anybody speak of our lady like that.”

  Nicholas spoke so that all would hear. “My wife is no witch, and she is still out cold. Bertram, mind your tongue and apologize to the lady’s retainers, and to me.”

  Would he? Nicholas watched the man carefully. Someone had been sabotaging their journey, and just possibly it was one of “his” own men.

  “My apologies,” Sir Bertram bowed stiffly.

  Viola and Sir Geoffrey stood down, and the tension refocused on Celestia. Forrester had taken off his cloak for an added blanket, and Petyr had bundled his own for use as a pillow.

  Nicholas had no choice but to release her, which he did, as if she were precious porcelain from Asia. Why had he not thought to shield her from such a sight? And if it was true, and she’d seen inside his head, no wonder she’d fainted. Seeing those men tortured had catapulted him back to his time as a prisoner.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ll never be good for you, will I?” What remained of his soul was too dark, too black, for one so full of light. For certes, Saint James would be hard-pressed to be kind to him, even if he brought him the baron, piece by piece, on an offering of gold. The sacred relic of Saint James the Apostle was gone.

  This was no place for a lady of breeding, but he had no place else to go. His plan to leave immediately for Peregrine Castle was moot. He could not, in good conscience, leave her here among the haunted ruins of his childhood.

  Forced into a position of leadership, he took a deep breath and sought to change that which he could hold on to. Souls and hearts and mysterious, intangible connections were more than he could handle.

  “Petyr, we must bury those men, and Stephan, too.” He swallowed a maniacal laugh. “I should have realized that this ‘gift’ from my father would be tainted. The ladies can’t sleep there, so we will have to make do with another evening outdoors.” He couldn’t even find a hard smile for the maids. “Just until we can find something habitable.”

  “But—” Bess started to complain.

  “We’ll do what needs to be done, my lord,” Viola cut in, rummaging through the vials in Celestia’s bag. “Susie fainted once, one of me friends, and,” she took the cork from various bottles and sniffed delicately. “I think my lady used,” Viola inhaled, “aye,” she scrunched her nose and nodded. “This is it. Turns out she was pregnant.” Viola blushed. “Susie, not my lady.”

  Nicholas’s belly warmed at the immediate image of Celestia bearing his child, and he crushed the thought. “Now what?”

  “A little pinch here, beneath each nostril, and we wait …”

  The strong scents of ginger and black pepper made Nicholas’s eyes water, and apparently, the stink was enough to bring Celestia around.

  “Ah, ah, ahcoooo!” Celestia sneezed, her upper body jerking forward so fast that Nicholas hadn’t time to get out of the way.

  Her forehead thunked into his nose so hard he saw spots. She cried out, and he steadied her, grabbing her upper arms.

  “You fainted,” he said.

  “You’re bleeding,” she cried in alarm.

  “You hit me.”

  “Liar!” Her eyes flashed. “I would never do such a thing—unlike you, I keep my fists to myself.”

  Everyone broke into relieved laughter, with Petyr’s being the loudest of all. His heart slowly returned to its normal beat, and Nicholas longed for nothing more than to hold her close again.

  She became aware of their audience and flushed a brilliant red, even to the roots of her braided hair.

  “Would you like some water, my lady?” Forrester asked, offering his waterskin.

  “I’ll see to my lady, thank ye,” Bess said impatiently, shoving the young knight back while taking his waterskin. “Humph!” She knelt down on the blanket and offered it to Celestia. “Water?”

  Celestia took a sip, but the strain remained around her eyes. “Mayhap you should lie down,” Nicholas suggested.

  “I never lie down in the middle of the day. ‘Tis unproductive.”

  Nicholas watched as she gathered that incredible inner strength she relied on and she said, “The keep is a mess.”

  “I’ll clean it.”

  Shadows passed over her face, but that stubborn chin went directly upward. Now he remembered why he couldn’t keep her from following them inside. He embraced her then, whispering in her ear, “I hurt you.”

  She pulled back, surprise clear in her expression. “Nay, it wasn’t you.”

  “It was.”

  Resolve to do right by her filled him. S
he was not the only one who could focus amidst chaos. The sooner he followed through on his quest to kill the baron, or at the very least, find the truth as to what really happened on that hot, miserable day in Tripoli, the safer Celestia would be.

  He got to his feet, brushing grass from his leggings. To Petyr he said, “Take Willy and scout the rest of the castle; make sure that it is truly empty, and that there are no more, er, surprises. I shall meet up with you shortly.”

  The warmth of Celestia’s fingers entwined with his calmed him, but he couldn’t be drawn away from his true goal.

  “Yes, my lord.” Petyr’s face was grim. “May I suggest that the main room at least can be cleaned until …”

  “Cleaned? I doubt it. A good fire is the only thing that will cleanse this rotten heap.”

  Petyr ducked his head, his lips pressed tightly together. “Come on, Forrester, Willy. We have much work to do.”

  “We’ll try our best.” Viola and Bess gathered buckets and rags, which left Sir Bertram, and Sir Geoffrey, with Celestia and Nicholas at the wagon. One look from Sir Geoffrey, and Sir Bertram followed the rest to the keep.

  “Don’t let the women in the kitchens, the main room, only, Petyr …” Nicholas yelled at their backs.

  Celestia’s face was pale again, and he wondered what she was thinking. She probably wanted to risk the woods and make her way home to her family, no doubt. He’d promised to keep her safe, and he hadn’t.

  He was angry. No, he thought, scratching the back of his neck, he was bloody well pissed off. He blamed his father, hell—he even blamed God. What had he, a learned knight, a decent man, ever done to deserve such a fate? The baron would pay, and mayhap all could have a happy ending.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, unable to look at Celestia.

  “Stop apologizing, would you, please?” She tugged at his hand. “It’s annoying.”

  Nicholas looked down and noted the small lines of irritation between Celestia’s fine blond brows.

  Finalizing his decision to leave her made him want to touch her all the more, so he pulled her into a side hug before letting go. Off balance, she fell back, and those green blue orbs spit fire. “Clumsy?”

  He laughed, mostly with relief. “You’re fine. Do you fall over like this often? Next time, simply mention if you need a rest and can’t keep up.”

  He knew that would get a rise from her, and he was much pleased by the pink gracing her fair cheeks. Anything but that waxen white.

  “Not keep up? With you? Ha! I remember challenging you to a horse race once, when we first met, do ye remember? And you were so afraid of losing that—”

  “‘Tia!” Nicholas put his hand over her pretty mouth. “I will take ye up on the challenge, but I have work to do, and a keep to burn. And now that I see for myself you’re,” he winked, wanting to see her smile, “returned to your pleasant self, I can be off. Go ahead and nap.”

  “You cannot burn Falcon Keep, Nicholas,” Celestia shouted up at him, shaking her cute little fist. “Are ye daft, then? It needs be cleaned, that is all! A nap? I told you I never nap. This was your home, you stupid man, and there is something to be salvaged from it.”

  Nicholas’s adrenaline skipped like a rock over a still pond. Celestia’s eyes thundered and flashed, her petite body shook, her blond hair shone like a crown. She would save him from his own folly, if she could.

  The sight warmed him, and he fought the urge to kiss her senseless. It was getting harder and harder to stay away from his wife.

  Grayish black clouds suddenly covered the entire sky, and goose bumps raced over his skin. He remembered Celestia fainting, he remembered the pain of being betrayed, and he remembered, God help him, what he had to do in order to win his soul. He could not relax his guard again.

  “Salvage away, my lady, as you are the one that will be living here.” He deliberately hardened his voice, along with his heart.

  “I will be away before the end of summer.”

  Celestia sneezed and swatted at a large spiderweb in the corner. “This reminds me of when I decided to turn the dungeon at home into an infirmary.”

  “Aye,” Viola agreed. “That was an awful mess. At least it wasn’t haunted, not like here.”

  Bess let out a nervous giggle. “‘Tis downright spooky, what with all the little bones on the floor and not a single person anywhere. Not a living one, anyway.”

  Chills gathered at the nape of her neck, reminding Celestia of the vision she’d had while in her “faint.” Nicholas hadn’t known what it was, and none of her family had been around to tell him.

  Considering how strongly he reacted to her “talents,” it was probably just as well. She’d have to tell Viola to use a lighter hand on the fainting powder, though. It wasn’t harmful, just strong, and now she had a craving for gingered beets.

  “The mouse bones are gone, as is most of the first layer of dirt. We’ll need clean rushes, scattered with fresh lavender, and this room will be fine.”

  “I’ll go!” Bess volunteered so quickly that Celestia had to laugh.

  “Fine, but get Forrester to go with you into the woods.”

  The plump maid raced from the large main room like she was escaping a bad marriage. Viola lowered her head and continued sweeping, but Celestia could tell that the maid was unhappy.

  “Bess was quicker than us, Vi,” Celestia jested.

  Viola sniffed and swept, obviously upset about more than the missed opportunity to get outdoors.

  “I don’t think the keep is haunted, not really—just dirty.”

  “There were men murdered here!” Viola cried, and Celestia envied the maid her tears. But she was the mistress of this pile of stone, and she couldn’t cry. There wasn’t even a place to take a hot bath, with some of Gali’s soothing oils, where she could pretend the tears were steam.

  “Aye.” She sighed and piled up the broken odds and ends that were left around the main room. “But now our very own knights have given those men a proper burial, and their souls will be at rest.”

  “Really?” Viola’s thin face lifted with hope.

  “Oh, yes,” Celestia nodded.

  “So who do you think killed those poor knights? Will Baron Peregrine blame Lord Nicholas?”

  Celestia stopped poking at spiderwebs. Nicholas to blame? That was an interesting thought. “Nay, we all know that Nicholas didn’t do any wrong. As for who killed the knights? Mayhap the Norsemen on the western shores, or the Scots.” She picked up a pillow her mother had sewn and gave it a nice shake. “Rumor has it that King William is forming a rebellion.”

  “Me mam says that the Scots aren’t happy until somebody is dead, or at least bleeding a lot.”

  Celestia looked around for a place to put the plumped pillow and snickered. “She must have known a few.”

  “Her first husband, my lady,” Viola giggled back, at last relaxing.

  Needing to think about the Nicholas and Baron Peregrine connection, Celestia suggested that Viola find Bess and Forrester. She could concentrate better without having to keep up mundane chatter at the same time.

  “Ye don’t mind, my lady?”

  “No, no. I’d like to go through my herbals, anyway.”

  Viola leaned the broom against the wall, and out the front of the keep she went. Celestia’s days of skipping chores were over, and she knew it. She was the lady here, even if it was in name only.

  She picked up her herbal bag, and put everything back in its place after the disarray Viola had left when she searched for the fainting powder.

  Giving someone the wrong herbs could be deadly.

  Her hand hovered over the powdered poppy, and the stronger opium.

  Nicholas had been drugged, often, and the guilt he felt because of what he’d done, and been forced to do, was—to him—an insurmountable black mark on his soul. His addiction to the substance that he’d been force-fed—oh, Celestia forced her fingers to relax, terribly furious at the injustice done.

  If the bitch w
asn’t already dead, I’d kill her myself, she thought—and without all of the worthless guilt from which her honorable husband suffered.

  “What are you doing in here alone?”

  Speak of the devil, Celestia thought and smiled. “Thinking.”

  “You’re not to be by yourself.” Nicholas narrowed his dark eyes at her.

  She shrugged. “‘Tis lucky for me that I am not.”

  He looked around, and so she said with a wink, “You are here.”

  “Ah,” he sighed instead of smiling, which was too bad. Celestia was forming an attachment to the curve of his lips. “This room is clean.” He paused, realizing that he’d brought more dirt in. “It was clean.”

  His face flushed, with embarrassment and hard work.

  “I’d offer ye a drink, but the kitchen is off limits.”

  “The bodies are gone, but it still needs to be scrubbed down, floor to ceiling.”

  Shivering, Celestia said, “The arrow feathers from the kitchen? They’re similar to the ones that were shot at us.”

  “I’d noticed that, too. They’re unique.”

  “Exactly!” Celestia tapped her foot. “Different from other arrows—it’s the feathers. Not a duck, not a peacock, not a hen …” Her brow furrowed as she groped for the elusive answer. “Mayhap if we knew why the murders happened, we could find out who is behind them.”

  “Most likely it was the Scottish rebels. We’re too far inland for the Norse to care about this old place.” Nicholas paced the floor, leaving a track of muddy footprints.

  “I suppose that might make sense. Kill the knights, find out the keep will be inhabited once again, go back and collect the treasure a new bride would bring to a home.” Celestia tied the medicine bag, and set it aside. That scenario didn’t seem right. She wished she could tell Nicholas of her visions, so that he could stay alert. He was still in danger.

  They all were.

  Celestia pointed to a pile of broken pottery. “We have more to go outside. Did ye want to look at any of these pieces? Mayhap something will start your memories flowing.”

  Nicholas shook his head, barely glancing at the rubbish. His dark hair held the odd twig, and she thought him ruggedly handsome. “You would think that something would come. Shouldn’t it? By now?”