Love’s Magic

by Traci E Hall

  There was warmth, a pleasant heat that reminded him of the high summer sun when he’d ridden at the abbey, a time before he went on crusade. Celestia’s grip never tightened, but remained loose over his scars, which began to pulsate beneath her touch. Nicholas’s eyelids grew heavy, and he found he was tiring, even though he was doing none of the work. Rather, she was drawing out his injuries and pain with her personal energy.

  He’d never imagined that his internal wounds had substance. When he’d given it thought, which wasn’t often since he was a warrior, by God’s bones, he thought the pain to be a figment of his mind.

  Like a man who swore he could still feel the itch on a hand that had been lopped off in battle, he would feel the damning narcotic pull of opium in his blood.

  And he raged for it.

  He’d learned that the madness would come for him in his deepest sleep.

  Did Celestia take the dark need into her healer’s body and break it apart, as if it never were? What if she was stealing his life force, as well? Nicholas did not move a muscle as she worked her magic. He made himself stay calm—he trusted her.

  He chose not to examine how that had come to pass.

  Nicholas lost track of time, rousing as he realized her healing touch was cooling. He opened his eyes, which he hadn’t remembered closing, and saw that the red, aching scars were gone. Gone. A smile flitted across Celestia’s face, and he could see that she was finished.

  He opened his mouth to thank her, expecting her to release his arm, when all of a sudden she grasped his wrist in a rough hold. Her gaze met his, and he read the confusion on her face. She was trying to let go, and yet could not. Her fingers were fused to his skin.

  Concerned, Nicholas tried prying her hand off of his arm, but it was bound tight. Celestia’s brow creased, her mouth twisted, and a warning moan came from the back of her throat. Oof. Nicholas jerked back—something, mayhap the same invisible something that bound the two of them together, had slammed into the middle of his chest. He gagged, choking on fragments of memories. Rats with pink eyes and scrawny bodies in his cell, lice in his hair, bugs in his food, and Leah … Leah, with her inky sloe eyes and sensuous body, plying him with opium and raping him to satisfy her own carnal desires and need for a dark-haired babe.

  Every ugly thing in his past threatened to suffocate him. He coughed and fought against the images—he had escaped before—he would not let his foulness drown Celestia.

  Summoning the remnants of his pride, he could think only of saving Celestia. He loosened her grip from his wrist and shouted, “No!”

  She fell back onto the bed, her eyes wide open and unblinking, her mouth pursed as she battled confusion. Nicholas ran his hands through his hair, bitterness enfolding him once again. He’d been a fool to think he could move beyond his past. “I am sorry, so sorry. Sweet Jesu, ‘Tia, are you hurt?”

  She sat up, her blond hair tumbling in disarray around her shoulders, her eyes wide.

  “Nay, I am not hurt,” she said in a whisper. “But, Nicholas, you are. I have never felt such pain. You can’t keep it locked up inside you. ‘Tis a foul humor and it will poison you, surely as the opium once did.”

  Nicholas backed away from her outstretched hand. “Never mention that again—do you hear?” He struggled against her empathy.

  “I’m sorry, Nicholas, please, come to me.” Her pale face was drawn, her brilliant eyes shadowed.

  It would be too easy to bury his hurt in her accepting body, her forgiving heart. But he’d not chance causing her more pain by giving in to her beseeching arms. He bowed his head and searched for the resolve to walk away, knowing it would be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. “That is none of your concern …” He flinched at the sudden anger in her gaze.

  She deserved more than that.

  Nicholas stalked over to the table holding the water and poured them each a cup. He handed one to Celestia, and swallowed his in a single gulp before pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

  “I went on crusade, for God and king, like many other knights. We followed the codes of honor, and fought for our country—to win control of Jerusalem for the glory of God and Christianity. My duty was to protect the sacred relic of Saint James the Apostle. We had strict instructions to carry it directly to King Richard, who believed he needed a certain number of relics in order to win the war.”

  The memories were still sharp, and he poured himself another goblet of water.

  “My father sent it as a vassal price instead of going on crusade himself.” Nicholas briefly met her eyes and turned away from her compassion. “And me, his unclaimed son. I was also part of the price he paid, although I only knew it that night when Leah told me.” He couldn’t think of it, of the type of man who would send his only living son to death. Why?

  Anger pounded in his temples. “I was not vigilant enough, and we were ambushed by the enemy. All were slaughtered, all but me. I had fought hard, as had my men, yet they lay dead and bleeding around me. The Saracen leader kept me for ransom.”

  His voice shook, and he took a deep breath to keep it steady. Sand, wind, blood, and gore. The loss of a holy relic that could have turned the tide for King Richard. And God.

  Nicholas wet his dry mouth, but he couldn’t forget the blistering hot day of the attack, the screams of the horses, the blood from his slain comrades.

  He looked at his wife, who was watching him with tenderness, damn her. He would spare her the gory details, except he had a feeling she’d already seen them. His fault.

  “I was held for a year, until I finally escaped.” He stomped across the carpeted floor of their chamber, wishing he could carve the image of dead Leah from his head. “I prayed, Celestia, with all my might. But the day of the slaughter, God stopped listening to me. He could not forgive me my foolishness, nor for losing a great relic to the infidels.” He pierced her with his gaze, expecting to see condemnation.

  He saw none, and sought to make her understand the severity of his sins.

  “I was raised in a monastery, I could write, I could reason—but I could not get God to answer my prayer for death.” Nicholas detested the ache in his chest. It was a weakness, and he pounded at it with his fist.

  “I tried to bribe the guards for poison so that I could commit the sin of suicide. I gave up every shred of dignity, living, finally, for the visits from Leah and the opium she brought. I wanted to die, thinking it would be my fate to rot in that stinking, filth-infested cell. But their doctors knew how to keep me alive for eternity.”

  He lowered his gaze, shame heavy on his back. “Then she told me her husband grew suspicious, and she had to kill me. I begged,” his voice tore as he remembered the bitter taste, “I begged her to ransom me.”

  Nicholas tugged at his hair, agitated with painful memories. “That was when she told me that the man who hired her husband to ambush the caravan and steal back the relic was the same man whom I thought would send the ransom money.” Nicholas laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound.

  “Yes, Celestia, why would my father want me back alive?”

  “Nicholas, oh.” Celestia started to rise, but he waved her back. He couldn’t bear her touch just now, not when he was so bruised and barely hanging on to his sanity.

  “I felt the prick of her blade against my throat.” He touched the scar that Celestia had blessed with her kiss.

  “And I realized that I was not ready to die after all. She thought I was too far gone, but it’s amazing how fast nearly dying can bring a man back from the brink of ecstasy. My shame, Celestia, is that I knew it was wrong to lie with Leah, just as I knew it was wrong to forget about life with drugs—I knew this. My shame is that I did it anyway, and God forgive me, sometimes that joy was all that kept me going.”

  Nicholas dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “I took the knife away from her, and I slid it into her neck as easy as a blade through butter. She’d left me unbound, which was her final mistake.”

  He heard Celesti
a crying, but he couldn’t comfort her. He would tell the story this one time, and then never again. “I escaped. I ate scraps, and I’m sure I scared a few good folk, but there were some who helped me, too. Gave me clothing and water.”

  He leaned all the way over, his forehead touching the floor as if praying to their God, Allah. “I made it to the monastery and the abbot, and the rest you know.”

  Standing, he felt empty. Numb.

  Deserted.

  Celestia listened to Nicholas’s story with mounting horror. He was so strong, blessed be. She didn’t regret these tears she shed, for they weren’t weak, but shed on behalf of Nicholas’s pain. He’d not want to see her pity, and she knew it.

  She could not hold back the love she felt, not when he needed it as he did. “You are a good man, Nicholas Le Blanc. Now I understand why you hate the baron so. I hate him, too.”

  Nicholas looked up, the gray of his eyes so dark they were black.

  “You survived, and I’m so glad that you did. Verily, I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Do you hear me?”

  She shuddered as his blank, black stare was turned on her. “I am a murderer. I have killed and I have slaughtered in return for what was done to me. Would that I could find that relic—but it’s gone.”

  “Nay.” Celestia jumped from the bed. “Nay, you just said that Leah told you that the man who had hired them to steal back the relic wouldn’t pay your ransom—that means that the baron must have it!”

  His olive complexion faded to white. “I said that?”

  Celestia ran to where Nicholas was kneeling and helped him to his feet. “We need to see the baron immediately. I’ll go with you. There are so many questions to be answered, and he holds the key to them all. No more, Nicholas, until we find out what he’s really up to.” She’d been tugging on his arm with no effect.

  “No.”

  “What?” She stared at him and stomped her foot in frustration when she saw him clench his jaw. “No, what? ”

  “Stop jingling! You’ll not be going anywhere near the man. He’s dangerous, now you know how dangerous. What if I can’t protect you?”

  She shook his arm, which was solid muscle. “You did not cause the ambush.” Celestia sensed that her words, and the inflection of them, would be most important. She spoke calmly, “You did not want your men to die.” She searched his face, hoping he could hear her.

  His stare was so hot she feared she would melt like a ball of snow on the floor. He’d been raised in a monastery, raised with the theory that God’s wisdom ruled all. “Nicholas, mayhap God is the one who gave you the strength to survive your captivity.”

  The look that flashed across his strong face broke her heart in two. She saw a flicker of hope before denial and despair settled on his stricken features.

  “I was not strong, Celestia, I was weak in body and soul. And if that was a test of my faith, then I failed there, too.”

  Celestia wrapped her arms around his waist, wanting to love him in any way she could. She kissed his chest, and reached up on tiptoe to kiss his mouth.

  “Nay.” He pushed her away.

  She understood that he couldn’t accept her compassion, yet he didn’t want her passion, either. Lowering her eyes, she walked to the edge of the bed. “Nicholas, please, please just come and sit down. I will watch over you as you sleep, and perhaps we can find an answer come dawn. Let me at least give you that, if you will take nothing else from me that I would freely give.”

  Nicholas raised his hands in the air and strode across the floor with pounding steps. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

  “Weren’t you listening? Nothing can help me now, and that includes you and your healing. I could have killed you with the sickness that lives in my soul, and you—you would take it in until you choked of it, too.”

  “I care for you, Nicholas, that is why I would try!” Celestia stepped between him and the door, knowing that she might lose him forever.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she cried out at the depth of turbulent emotion in those gray eyes. Gray aura, gray seas—drowning …

  She was startled as he dipped his head and caught her lips with his in a searing kiss that shook her to the core. Without a single reservation she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all of the love in her heart.

  If she couldn’t heal him with her hands, then mayhap she could touch him with her love. She knew even as he pulled away from her embrace that it wouldn’t be enough to hold him.

  He unwound her arms and said, “I couldn’t resist … which is why I have to go. If I stay here with you, we will both regret it.”

  Celestia didn’t recognize her own voice as she cried, “You are my husband—I will regret nothing.”

  He clasped her chin and brought his face so close she had to close her eyes or lose focus. His breath was warm as he whispered against her cheek, “I don’t deserve such a gift, and how can I explain to you that you will regret even those words by morning’s dawn? You make me want to be a man you could be proud of, but I cannot guarantee for how long that noble dream will last. I made a vow, at first it was in desperation, aye, but it was a pledge I will honor. I will kill the baron for his role in the ambush and bring his heart to Saint James. I will beg the saint for the cleansing of my soul by offering the real culprit behind the ambush. Earthly justice.”

  Celestia gasped.

  “Before I murder the lying sod, I will take care of your family; your brothers will be safe. I will send them here. You can have this place, or go home, I care not.” Nicholas shut his eyes. “God knows that man owes me more than this. Damn him.”

  Seeing that he believed everything he said, Celestia knew that she’d not sway his mind by pleading. She straightened her arms and lifted her chin.

  “If you cannot see the goodness that surrounds you and revel in it, then I cannot open your eyes. I will say this one last thing—you are not beyond redemption, Nicholas, no matter what you have done. I could not love an evil man.”

  She watched with sadness as he moved away from her. She had severed the tenuous cord that bound them with her declaration.

  “Love? And I thought you an intelligent woman.”

  She couldn’t hurt any more if he’d run her heart through with a sword. Sticking her chin farther in the air, she flared her nostrils to keep those tears from falling. She would, by Saint Agnes, survive.

  She winced as he slammed the door.

  Nicholas slept. He’d not meant to give in to sleep, but honor would not let him leave Celestia until Falcon Keep was safe. She couldn’t love him—he didn’t deserve it. Dreams of the fires of hell were so real he could feel the lick of flame against his cheek and smell the odor of burning wood.

  What was burning? He forced his eyes open and sat up, sniffing the air like a hound before the chase. No scent. A dream. Where had the fire been? His heart raced beneath his undershirt.

  The danger still felt real. A cough alerted him that he was no longer alone. The mocking noise also told him who it was.

  “Yes, Petyr?”

  “I find it most odd that a man of your station is so comfortable sleeping in a mound of hay.”

  “Station? I am a bastard, and bastards are always completely happy in the stables.”

  “I beg to disagree, my lord. You are not and have never been a bastard in any way, except perhaps, in temperament.”

  “One day, Petyr, you will speak to me with respect, but I won’t hold my breath.”

  Petyr snorted. “I was patrolling the eastern fence when I heard shouting. It was you, of course. Alas, you awoke before I could throw this bucket of water on you.”

  Nicholas eyed the pail swinging from the knight’s fingers with alarm. “I believe I know you well enough to say that you would have enjoyed dousing me.”

  “You misread me. Now that I can see that you are all right, would you like to go back to your screaming—er, dreaming? I assume that your nightly terrors are the reason
you aren’t safe and snuggled abed in your newly cleaned chambers? Did my lady have the good sense to kick you out so that you didn’t disturb her rest?”

  Nicholas lazily stretched, then shot to his feet for the axe that had been set in the corner. “I wonder about you, Petyr. How well do you serve my father?”

  Petyr stood his ground; in fact, he laughed and set the bucket down before crossing his arms and leaning against the wooden frame of a stall.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t be worried about me. I am loyal to a fault. If I were a worrying man, then I would choose something else to concern myself with. Like, for example, sleeping through the night.”

  Nicholas dropped the axe on its head, his hand comfortable around the wooden handle. “No doubt my father wanted to get rid of you, and foisted you on me as another of his sick gifts.”

  Petyr kicked the pail. “No doubt.”

  “Tell me of the baron, then. Do you know why he sent me to Jerusalem?”

  “Aye, to guard the sacred relic of Saint James the Apostle. You were to give it to King Richard in the Holy Land so that he could have yet another good-luck charm and win the Crusade.”

  “And when he heard that the relic had been lost to the infidels?”

  Petyr tugged on his golden mustache. “Hmm, that was rather odd. He laughed.”

  Nicholas grew cold. “And when he heard that I was being held for ransom?”

  The knight’s shoulders flexed. “We had heard that you were dead, along with the rest of your men. I did not know that you were the baron’s son until that very night when your father drank too deeply of his burgundy. ‘Twas most strange, for he went on and on about a curse. That mayhap with you dead, the curse would end.”

  “I have heard too much in the past day about curses.

  So, he wished me dead?”

  Petyr looked uncomfortable, but he proved his loyalty to his new overlord. “It was a sennight after that he lost his two toddling boys and wife to a pestilence in the castle. He was furious. He ranted and raved for months, saying that now he had no heir at all, thanks to the bloody curse. But I could never find out what curse it was that he meant. Your father is normally most closemouthed, my lord.”