Love’s Magic

by Traci E Hall

  “What have ye heard of a rebellion? And the Norsemen, are they as fierce as rumor says?” Petyr leaned forward, trying to keep Maude’s attention on him. “We’re far enough inland from Solway Firth that I don’t see this keep as being pivotal to the enemy.”

  Joseph spoke up behind a hunk of meat, “Aye! The raiders are bad men … when you hear the thunder of hooves, you must hide. But we live deep in the woods, deep. I can see them, but they can’t find me.”

  Grainne Kat cackled and tapped his hand. “Oh, Joseph, no sense being maudlin. We’ve had a good life, haven’t we?” She spoke to Nicholas, “My boy’s a wonder at hunting the small animals in the forest, a fine touch with curing the skins to sell at the village on fair days. We get by, we get by.”

  Nicholas posed a question as he crumbled a piece of bread, “Why did the peasants leave the place fallow? It’s obvious that they’d worked hard to clear the area for grazing the sheep and growing crops. What happened to the mill and the stream? It seems odd that they left it, rather than wait for the baron to send more men after my mother died.”

  Nicholas tossed the crust to the table, confusion clearly writ upon his face. “Why would they abandon their homes? Could they not defend themselves against the Scots?”

  It was about time he started asking questions, Celestia thought. Mayhap he’d stay, if he could but remember.

  Joseph tore a large bite of meat off the bone, chewed, and gulped. “I’ll tell ya why. It’s haunted, this place. I’ve got me charm against spirits, I do, so none can bother me. But everyone else left ‘cause of the screaming from the north tower.”

  This time Grainne’s tap was more of a smack. She made an apologetic sound, and looked down at her plate. “He’s not right in the head, mind, not bad, like, but not … right.”

  Celestia straightened and discreetly looked Joseph over. Her abilities to heal did not include the mentally deficient, but she’d not sensed anything off about him. He was a big man, and tall. His eyes were not as bright as the sparkling orbs of his sibling, yet he seemed intelligent.

  “The north tower? It’s haunted?”

  Maude giggled instead of answering Celestia’s question and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Be good, Joey, and remember, we don’t talk about ghosts.” Her eyes danced encouragingly at each of the men around the table.

  Joseph nodded his dark head. “Hail Mary and alleluia! There are no ghosts.”

  Goose bumps rose on Celestia’s skin. It was no wonder that the crone did most of the talking, with her son a good-natured simpleton and her daughter a flirt. She rubbed her arms. She was a firm believer in ghosts and spirits, having befriended them all her life. For the most part, they were harmless.

  Petyr raised his glass in an obvious effort to divert the turn of conversation. “A toast!”

  Celestia picked up her goblet, as did everyone else.

  “Here’s to good health and good fortune, and to the new lord and lady of Falcon Keep.”

  Bess giggled from too much wine and stood. “As a gift for the both of you, we’ve readied the master’s chambers. For the first time since your wedding night, you will have a feather mattress and some privacy!”

  Viola laughed aloud before clamping her hand over her mouth, and Celestia found her gaze drawn to her husband once again. Her eyes, she was certain, would never look at anything else, if left to their own accord. Would he think she had, once again, deliberately arranged to seduce him?

  His surprise was fleeting and was gone before she was certain it had ever been there. He stood and bowed like the chivalrous knight he had been trained to be. Smiling, he met her eyes and said, “Now that is a reason to drain your cup!”

  Maude chose not to drink to that and tipped her goblet over, “accidentally,” Celestia was sure, drawing all attention to her.

  “Oh! How clumsy of me!” Maude pouted prettily as she got to her feet, rubbing the spill of white wine farther into her tunic. “Oh, dear, ‘tis ruined.”

  Celestia bit her tongue to keep from calling the wanton chit horrible names. Maude’s breast was clearly outlined beneath the wet fabric, and the more she rubbed it, the perkier her nipple became. Celestia looked around the table, and the only male eye not watching the show belonged to Joseph, the wench’s brother.

  Mustering her dignity, Celestia stood to her full height, and jerked the sopping linen, clanging the platters and plates together. “Quite right, it is ruined. This cloth came down from my mother’s family—however am I to get the stain out?”

  Viola choked on a laugh, and Grainne recovered her wits as the sensual web was broken. “Cover yourself, girl.” She immediately draped her own shawl over her daughter’s shoulders. “The hour is late, and we must be getting home.”

  Nicholas cleared his throat, reminding Celestia of her manners. Since when had she needed so many reminders?

  She smiled while glaring at Nicholas. Did he find Maude attractive? In her duty as chatelaine, she couldn’t refuse hospitality, no matter how jealous she was. “It is late, and while I cannot offer you a bed,” she defiantly met her husband’s eyes, “we have blankets aplenty if you’d care to sleep here in the hall by the fire.”

  Maude shot her a look of venom as Grainne held her daughter by the elbow. “Thank you kindly, my lady, but we’d know our way through these woods blindfolded. We will come again, and if I hear of anyone looking for work, I will gladly send them this way.”

  Celestia bobbed her head, noting that the old woman didn’t offer her children’s services again.

  “Henry, fix them a torch, won’t you, for the walk home?” Nicholas edged them toward the back door as he thanked them for visiting.

  Once the trio left, the rest of the party sat back down at the table. Willy, the youngest of the knights, chewed a slice of dried apple. “Pretty maid, weren’t she?”

  Forrester nodded, Petyr blushed, and Henry said knowingly, “She may be pretty, but I warrant she’s the kind that leaves a man bleeding on the floor when she’s through with ‘im!”

  Sir Geoffrey coughed and gave the knights a pointed look to mind their tongues. The older and wiser knight continued loyally, “Aye, but she weren’t half as fine to look upon as our own Lady Celestia.”

  Celestia blushed as the men all hurriedly agreed. Forrester hastened to add, “The lovliest lady ever, that’s the Lady Celestia.”

  Bertram sighed and drained his ale. “We cannot forget the lovely Viola.”

  “Or the beauteous Bess,” Willy said.

  Bess asked, “All chivalry aside, my dear knights, but have you ever met an ugly woman in the dark?”

  Holding her stomach from laughing so hard, Celestia said, “Stop, before I fall off the bench.” She placed her hands on the rickety table.

  The table was cleared, the fire was banked, and it was time for bed. Celestia had never known such an awkward moment, and from the way that Nicholas was shifting from foot to foot, he felt the same.

  Petyr stood and stretched. “I’m exhausted, but what a day, eh?”

  Willy yawned. “Nice buck, nice meal.”

  Bess set her embroidery hoop to the floor. “Will you need me help, my lady, readying for bed? Viola and I took the chamber down the hall, if ye need us.”

  The men slept in the great room, and she had to leave if they were to sleep. She was being ordered to bed by her maid. Celestia slowly got to her feet, finding Nicholas behind her, ready to take her arm. This was strange and ridiculous, she thought as she murmured, “I’ll be fine this eve, thank you,” with a dry throat.

  She bid everyone a good night and led the way up the stairs on shaking legs into the cleaned chamber. Her eyes focused on the brightly made bed, and her knees buckled.

  Candles perfumed the room and gave off a romantic glow. He’d think she was seducing him, for certes.

  Nicholas steadied her, his hand confident beneath her arm.

  “My lady?”

  She swallowed. “I …” she gulped. “I didn’t put the girls up
to this, Nicholas.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Yet,” she managed to whisper, “‘tis lovely.”

  He released her arm and sighed, then poured them each some water from a cool jug. “I’m nervous as any bridegroom.”

  Celestia accepted the goblet with trembling fingers, wishing they’d not run out of wine, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Bridegroom?” Her voice cracked. “Do you mean to sleep with me after all?”

  Nicholas coughed, his brow furrowed. “I was but referring to the circumstances, nothing more.”

  “Oh.” Celestia damned her flaming cheeks. “Nicholas, I … I am mortified beyond reason, so I might as well forge ahead and ask.” She knew he could think her stupid, or foolish, but she had to take the chance. “Have you considered making me your wife in truth?”

  Nicholas sank to his knees and clasped Celestia’s hands between his. He rested his forehead on her knees, and her pulse beat so rapidly she wondered how she could survive it.

  Was he gathering his courage to break her heart? She couldn’t stop her hand from caressing his ebony hair as another crack formed in her heart. “‘Tis all right, Nicholas, you don’t need to explain.”

  He looked up, and all of the despair she had ever sensed in him was there in his gaze. “I must. I have feelings for you that I thought were long dead and buried, yet you have resurrected them. You, Celestia, have come between me and my desire for vengeance.”

  “Vengeance? I thought you wanted absolution, from Saint James.”

  “My pilgrimage to Spain and Saint James involves more than my begging forgiveness.”

  “For killing that woman, when she had been torturing you?” She caressed a lock of hair off his forehead. “Would be that I could take my poisons to her and make her suffer, but she is dead, and she deserved to die.”

  His briefly closed his eyes. “You defend my actions, yet that is not all.”

  Celestia took a deep breath. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but I felt what you felt, when I touched your wounds. I knew your pain as you were tortured, and sorely abused, poor Nicholas.” She’d pledged to stop her infernal crying, but he was hurting her fresh.

  “God’s bones, ‘Tia.” He ground his back teeth together. “I’ve made a vow before God that I will do this thing—I must have answers, and those lie at the feet of Baron Peregrine.” His voice broke. “I don’t want to want you, but I do. And I know that by fulfilling my vow, I will hurt you. It cannot be avoided.”

  He said so much, she thought, without making anything clear. He stood, obviously uncomfortable with baring his emotions. She took his hand, reveling in the warmth there, and pulled him down to sit beside her.

  “Nicholas, you’ve been given a harsh lot in life; there is none who would deny it. There is good in this world, too. But would you push aside all that is good only to focus on the bad? You test yourself beyond endurance—your body requires sleep. Your mind needs the rest, and your soul, Nicholas, cries for peace. Let me help you. You won’t hurt me.”

  She picked up his arm, remembering how she’d burned him. “I am afraid that it is I who will hurt you.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and then he once again rose to his feet. She followed his every movement, captivated by him. He removed his tunic, then rolled up the sleeves of his linen undershirt. He showed his wrist where she had touched him. “See? There is no mark.” He spoke slowly. “I am healed.”

  No burn mark, thank Mary Magdalene for another miracle, she sighed with relief. “I’d worried that I’d left a scar, since you’ve kept your arms covered.”

  “For this reason.” He showed his other wrist to her. “I didn’t want to answer questions, if anybody noticed.” His other wrist was still covered with scars.

  Celestia felt her eyes widen as she realized what had happened—she wasn’t losing her gifts—instead, she’d healed an old wound, something she would have sworn upon Boadicea’s grave was impossible.

  “From the manacles used to chain me to their damned walls,” Nicholas continued in a strangled voice. “I could hardly believe it, yet the old scars disappeared, right before my very eyes. I was chopping wood, and then you ran.”

  Celestia caught her breath, then brought her finger to her lip. “I thought I had burnt you out of anger.” She lightly caressed the smooth skin on his wrist, overjoyed that the marks, and the pain, were gone. “Because of great grandmother’s curse.”

  Nicholas gathered her hands in his and kissed the backs. “I’ve heard my father is cursed. Ye say your family is cursed. Joseph says the north tower is cursed.” He kissed the fingers on the right hand, and Celestia’s body responded with an acute awareness of the texture of his lips, of the warmth of each breath, of …

  “I know of no curse, my lady. I say you have a powerful gift, indeed, if you can smooth old scars.”

  Her stomach clenched as his lips brushed each sensitive pad on her left hand.

  “I’m not a witch, Nicholas,” she said as she leaned over, dropping a soft kiss on the top of his head. He was still on his knees before her. His elbows leaned on either side of her body, and she leaned in, wanting to be closer to him … to the way he smelled, of pine trees and fresh air and hard work.

  “I know. Though ye’ve bewitched me.”

  He lifted his head, and his eyes were stormy gray and turbulent with desire. Heat shot from his gaze to hers, and her breathing became shallow gasps. Their eyes stayed locked to one another, and the air between them sizzled with need.

  Only he could soothe her trembling heat.

  “Then stay with me.”

  “I cannot.”

  “I want you, Nicholas.” She rubbed her hands over his shoulders, thrilling in the play of muscles beneath her fingers. She scooted to the edge of the mattress, parting her thighs so that Nicholas could come between them.

  He did, inching closer a breath at a time.

  His linen undershirt was open in a deep vee, and she dropped a kiss at the hollow of his throat. Images of Leah, and her knife at his throat, angered her, and she growled like a feral cat. She would do what she could to protect her man.

  “She’s gone, Nicholas; let this memory be better than the old one.” She flicked her tongue against his skin, and he sucked in a breath.

  He grabbed the back of her head, lifting her face as if he needed to study the truth of her yearning. “I made a pledge, to God and Saint James,” he pleaded with her to understand.

  My noble man, Celestia thought, catching the sob in her throat.

  “We’re wed, and even though you must leave me, I would wait, Nicholas, for you to return.” She realized the truth in her words as soon as she spoke them.

  He crushed her against him, and her cheek rested against the warmth of his broad chest. Hope blossomed in Celestia’s heart, and she rained kisses along his collarbone.

  He kissed her forehead, her brow, the tip of her nose. “You’ve lovely hair. I’ve wanted to touch it since that first night I saw it down.” His breathing was fast and hot against her ear, and the air seemed to travel straight to her belly.

  “I would have let you,” she whispered, unable to keep from pressing her lips to his. This was glorious, and no wonder the minstrels and troubadours sang of it, it was a wonder that people did anything else. Love.

  Her hands fisted in the loose linen cloth of his undershirt. “Would you think me too bold to say I want to take this off of you?”

  Nicholas paused in his exploration of her back and neck and groaned. “‘Tia.”

  “I want you, and I think you want me, too, aye? We’re married, and I would wait for you to come back from your quest to Spain. This can’t be wrong, Nicholas.”

  She pulled at the shirt from the back, then tugged at the front, wanting to see him bare-chested. Even in the short time they’d been together, he’d filled out his once too-thin body.

  “Here.” She pulled at the sleeve that covered the once-scarred wrist and then placed her lips against the healed skin.
Then she took the other wrist, and her heart broke at the scars there.

  Red, angry welts that looked painful. The manacles were gone, but the memories of why he had them still lingered, and would, for as long as they were there as a reminder.

  She started to touch him, hovering her hand over the scars, faltering for a heartbeat as she waited for his consent. Dare she try again?

  In a leap of trust, he nodded.

  “I’m afraid, Nicholas.”

  “Don’t be. I am ready, if you are willing.”

  She took the trust he gave her as if it were more precious than all of her jewels combined.

  Covering the irritated scars with her fingers, she set her mind free to focus on the injury. Once pinpointed, the warmth came slowly, from the center of her being, as she concentrated on absolving his pain.

  The wound pulsed, crimson red. Bright, vibrant colors splashed in her mind as she worked over his wrist. Angry crimson, light burgundy, brownish-red, grayish-brown.

  Celestia refused to give in to the weariness that drew her. Gram warned that to give in to that while healing would injure both her and the person she was working on.

  Concentrating, she focused on the colors until rose and mauve appeared, and she was soothed by a healthy pink and light blue aura around the scarred area. She exhaled and released the negative toxins.

  She had only begun to relinquish her grip both mentally and physically when suddenly she became bombarded with more pain—anguish for which she wasn’t prepared. She had no choice but to absorb it into her own body.

  Black.

  The deepest, darkest black she could fathom came at her in waves, crashing like fluttering bat wings against her weakened psyche.

  Chapter

  Twelve

  Nicholas did not know what to expect as he watched Celestia close her eyes and place her slender fingers on his wrist. He was prepared for the burning sensation he had felt before when she handled his scars. He braced himself so that he wouldn’t move or pull away. He’d not scare her again.

  This time, however, the feeling was different.