by Traci E Hall
Forrester brought her hand to his lips. “Don’t fret, my lady. You say you want me to ride to Peregrine Castle? I will do it.” He gazed at her expectantly.
She waited.
Finally he asked, “Might I have a token?”
A token? She was going to have to pay better attention. “Of course.” She bit her lip, thinking furiously, before bending over and plucking a small bell from her slipper. “Here you are, Sir Knight. Godspeed, and good luck.”
Forrester looked taken aback by the tiny bell, but accepted it with good grace.
She supposed that she should have offered a lock of hair? This chivalry business was almost as confusing as having a husband. Smiling, she reached up to kiss his cheek. His eyes lit, and he left to do her bidding.
Making her way through the throng, she took her seat on the bench, missing her sisters—all of her family—so much it hurt. Gram would know what to do about the servants, and Galiana would tell her how to capture her husband’s love. She needed her parents, she thought with a sniff, because she was making a mess of running Nicholas’s keep. She was a healer, not a wife. She sniffed again.
She’d hoped to open the tower and dispel the rumor that it was haunted. And yet, how else could she explain the light she’d seen, or the strong scent of apples, when she’d stuck her head through the hole?
Mayhap Ela, with her unique talents, could tell her how to get rid of a ghost. She folded her fingers together and held them in her lap, swallowing the ache lodged in her throat.
Family.
What if this ghost was all that Nicholas had left of his mother? She couldn’t send his mother’s ghost to the other side without his ever “meeting” her …
“Is all well, my lady?” Viola asked.
“Hardly.” Celestia unfolded her restless hands and leaned around the servants all waiting patiently for Grainne to begin. “I’m fast losing interest in this story, old woman,” Celestia waved her hand with a flourish, as if she was introducing a traveling act, and said, “Begin!”
Grainne cleared her throat five times more than was necessary before starting with a surprisingly clear and, loud voice. Celestia barely refrained from rolling her eyes.
“Lady Esmerada was a truly beautiful woman.”
Some of the peasants nodded, though none but Beatrice looked old enough to remember. Celestia pursed her lips. Would the woman never get on with it?
“She had hair as black as a raven’s wing, eyes as stormy gray as the ocean itself. Her skin was white as new-fallen snow—”
Father Michael cleared his throat, and interrupted the wise woman’s tribute. “'Tis true, she was comely.”
Grainne narrowed her eyes, then smacked her lips before continuing. “Esmerada was a lass of sixteen, sweet and kind. She did her parents’ bidding without question. And when she was told to marry an English lord, she did as she was told.”
Celestia noticed that the wise woman’s voice deepened into a Scottish brogue the further she fell into the tale. Who exactly was Grainne Kat?
The old woman’s hands moved as she drew her audience in with her eerie tone. “Even though she’d already given her heart to a brave, braw Scottish lad! The day of the wedding came nearer, and though her Robbie begged her to run away with him, she would not. The English lord came for her hand, and she gave it, like a dutiful dochter.”
She still didn’t roll her eyes, though the urge was strong. Celestia noticed that the peasants ate the story up with a spoon.
“Strong winds came along with the Scottish warriors as soon as the vows were said. Brave Robbie was going to save his Esmerada from her cruel fate.” The crone’s face grew mottled with anger. “The lord ordered his soldiers to attack—and he killed Robbie MacIntosh in cold blood!”
A collective gasp came from her audience.
“And her athair, too!” She wet her lips, her keen gaze landing briefly on one person before grazing the next. “Poor Esmerada faced the lord over the bodies of her lover and her father. She cursed his foul deed, and denied the marriage!”
Grainne Kat shook her gnarled fist. “He took her to the keep and ravaged her. He beat her black and blue, and then he laid waste to the lands and left her in ruins.”
The peasants sighed. Even Celestia was not unmoved.
“But that is not why she cursed him. Nay—he left her with child. The lord abandoned her with neither coin, nor protection from the Scottish clans that blamed her for Robbie’s death.” Lowering her voice, the wise woman whispered, “She went mad with grief. And that is when she summoned the devil’s own help.”
Celestia wasn’t certain, but she thought she saw true tears in Grainne’s eyes.
“She cursed the lord, denying him any living heir until he claimed his rightful son. Nor would he be allowed to kill off her own bloodline.”
She paused, and sorrow flitted across her wrinkled face. “Esmerada locked herself into the north tower, vowing to kill Lord Peregrine if ever she saw him again. Each night she walked the battlements; each night she yelled her curse to the heavens! Until the night when she could take no more, and she threw herself from the tower, onto the craggy rocks below.”
Celestia rubbed her arms against the sudden chill in the room. Was this the spirit of Esmerada at last? The hair was rising on her arms, and her pulse raced with alarm.
Thinking of Esmerada made her think of Nicholas, and she sent a prayer for his safety. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but it was the only way he would ever meet his mother.
After getting lost during Petyr’s “shortcut” through the forest and having to spend one night wrapped in a blanket with his knapsack for a pillow, Nicholas finally arrived at Peregrine Castle bedraggled and dirty from his wild ride.
Brenin was a stallion worthy of the name King. Foam flecked his nostrils, and he wheezed from exertion. Or was Nicholas himself making that noise?
Nicholas dismounted, his legs shaking. He gave the giant horse a pat on the nose and promised him oats and water.
Petyr dragged in behind. “Brenin was born small and sickly, did she say? I’d trade my best suit of armor and two horses for him.”
Rubbing his sore thigh, Nicholas said, “I am not offering him for sale, Petyr. I, too, appreciate his strength. He was a gift, besides.” From his wife.
“I don’t know what was in that forest, but I’ll not travel through it again,” Petyr promised, his handsome face smeared with moss. “It was filled with haunts.”
“There is no such thing as ghosts, Petyr. And even though we weren’t hit with any, I swear I heard the notch of an arrow in a bow.”
Petyr brushed his unruly blond hair off his forehead. “Well. We are here, now. Should we clean up, perhaps, before storming inside demanding answers?”
Nicholas wanted nothing more than to have his father’s throat in his fingers. Nay, his hands did not need to be washed for such a task.
Petyr cleared his throat. “Nicholas?”
He stared at the castle, which was fortified mightily with several outer walls to be breached. They’d skirted the small village attached to the castle undetected, although they were close enough that Nicholas noticed the small huts in need of repair. The smell of refuse and garbage reached him, and when he looked out to the fields he saw thin women working alongside starved children.
His voice was deep with anger as he answered, “Aye. We’re getting closer.”
“Shall we wear Lady Celestia’s tunics?”
Nicholas reached out one hand to Petyr, resting it on the knight’s shoulder. “You say that you are loyal to me. You say that you bear me no grudge for your brother’s death. Yet how does it feel to be back at the castle, knowing that we are here to bring down your previous liege? Can you stand before me honestly and claim you are my man?”
Petyr dropped to one knee in the dirt and bowed his head. “Lord Nicholas, I swear my fealty to thee. My arms are at your service, my honor bound to yours.”
Hauling the man to his feet with a grin, Nicho
las asked, “Did that hurt your pride overmuch?”
Petyr chuckled. “Not as much as I had thought it would. We had all been wondering when you would demand our vows, of your own accord.”
“The other men are content to be at Falcon Keep?”
“We swore an oath to your father. We thought you a sickly, arrogant ass-wipe when we met you, but we have grown to tolerate your surliness. Ye treat us fair, my lord.”
“I should know better by now than to ask you a question I don’t want an honest answer to.”
They cleaned up, and donned their fresh garments. He had his own man by his side, his mother’s rosary around his neck, and he was proudly wearing the crimson and gold tunic Celestia had sewed.
He felt blessed.
His faith was still to be tested. Could he truly give Celestia the annulment and offer her freedom now that he knew how much he loved her? Choice was the only thing he could give her. The thought that she could turn him down without the threat of her family’s ruin hanging over her head turned his blood cold.
Her family would be safe. Would she walk away from him, then?
He rubbed the hem of his new tunic between his thumb and fingers, noticing the uneven stitches of embroidery. His throat clogged with strong emotion, and he pledged to do right by his wife.
“Are you finished admiring yourself in the water’s reflection, Petyr? I would like to get this done with.”
Petyr grunted. “Let us go then.”
They rode through the gatehouse and the bailey, mixing in with other travelers. They were not challenged either time.
“Is that it?”
His father might not give much thought to the villagers, but, for certes, he cared about his castle.
It had four spiked towers and a large, square middle section made of ashlar stones that had been painted blue. The moat sparkled with clean water. The forest had been cut back to allow room for a practice field. Men in blue and gold jousted with covered lances; others perfected their swordplay. Maidens with high headdresses and matching gowns wafted across the patch of green grass, posies in their hands. It looked like a knight’s dream come true.
“How could he be so evil and have all of this?”
“Mayhap he isn’t as evil as you think, just … misguided.”
“Misguided? Petyr, this is one time that I think you will be wrong.”
They dismounted and handed their horses to a waiting stable lad. “Feed them well, boy, they have been ridden hard.” Petyr tossed him a coin, which the lad caught deftly in one hand.
“Are you ready, me lord?”
Nicholas took a deep breath, his hand over the hilt of his sword. He was coming face to face with the man responsible for ruining his life. “Aye, Petyr. Let us find my father.”
“Too late. I think he has found you,” Petyr pointed to the party coming toward them.
Nicholas found himself rubbing the hem of his tunic for luck. Since when had that become more important than the relic near his heart? He hadn’t even counted it in the things that had made him feel blessed.
There was something the matter with him.
An imposing man with coarse, black, bearlike hair broke from the foursome he was walking with and Nicholas winced as he was enveloped in a hug and squeezed until he thought he’d pass out.
Nicholas took a step back, straightening his tunic and staring at his father in disgust. The man had food in his beard!
“Did we disrupt your lunch?” Nicholas made certain his voice and demeanor were haughty. The baron had much to answer for.
“Just a plate of bread and beef to tide me over ‘til dinner. What a surprise! You look well, my son. The witch beat the curse, eh? Is she breeding yet?”
“No,” he answered, stunned.
The baron slapped Petyr on the back. “Petyr, I have to say that I am impressed. I didn’t think you would ever get Nicholas here.”
Nicholas felt the blood drain from his face as he stared at the man he’d welcomed as a friend not an hour before. “Petyr?”
Petyr shrugged. “Mayhap coin is important, Nicholas. For certes, it is more important than honor. Give your father the relic in your tunic.”
Betrayed!
“I thought Celestia sent you after me? Is she a part of this scheme?” Of course, she wasn’t, he immediately discounted the idea.
“I showed her your letter, and it was easy enough to play upon her worry. It helped that she wanted you to have the rosary.”
Petyr had played them both. Were all the knights still loyal to his father? He’d left Celestia in a snake pit. He’d not go down without a fight. Nicholas reached for his sword, but Petyr beat him back, obviously expecting Nicholas to make such a move.
“Careful, Petyr! As my heir, he really should have the use of both hands.”
The baron chuckled, his fat belly jiggling beneath the costly velvet expanse of fabric. He reached his jeweled hand inside Nicholas’s tunic and pulled out the ornate box. He kissed it and laughed. “At long last I have it back! Almost twenty-five years it has been lost to me … damn your mother’s soul!”
His voice remained jovial, as if he cursed Esmerada with joy every day.
Nicholas never sensed the blow from behind.
“Be careful with him, Petyr. I need him until he produces a child to end that damn curse.”
Celestia woke from her nap with a start. The back of her head ached, and when she delicately probed the sore area, it seemed as if it should be bruised, but there wasn’t even a raised bump. She didn’t remember banging it.
She never napped, more the pity, so what was she doing in bed? Not sleeping, but escaping, she remembered with a shudder. Grainne Kat. The wily wise woman had set up camp for two days in the main room of the keep. Maude had been shadowing Celestia’s every step. They said that Joseph was away peddling his furs.
If she’d had her choice, she would have picked the company of Joseph over either woman. Mayhap. Her stomach rebelled at the memory of animals skins stretched on the racks.
A knock sounded at her door. “Come in.”
Viola entered the room with Shy Sally on her heels. Shy Sally’s face was streaked with tears, and Viola, who used to be so even-tempered, looked angry enough to burst.
“My lady,” Viola bobbed her head. “Grainne Kat must go. Even Father Michael cannot persuade Beatrice to get into the kitchen and work. The wise woman has them terrified of being here, in this keep, with you—a possible witch—argh!” Viola’s brown eyes nearly crossed she was so mad. “And an angry ghost, and the spirits of the murdered knights in the kitchen—and Bess,” Viola started to cry, “she says that Bess haunts the drawbridge!”
Celestia blinked away the last vestiges of sleep. “Nonsense. Father Michael blessed her grave himself. And you, Sally? Why are crying?” Celestia rose from the edge of her bed and put what should have been a soothing hand on the peasant woman’s arm.
Nothing happened. She didn’t feel anything, not even a splutter of energy.
It was finally happening. Nicholas didn’t return her love, and she was losing her powers to heal. Celestia fought her own tears as she tried to sympathize with Sally. “She blames ye, and says ye’r in league with the devil—when it’s her tongue that has everyone riled.”
She removed her hand from Sally’s arm and swallowed hard so she wouldn’t join the two women in a crying heap. “Viola, help me braid my hair, please? You are both right, and Grainne has to go.”
Celestia searched within herself, wondering that she didn’t feel as empty as a spilled jug of milk. Her healing hands, the only thing that marked her as a true Boadicea descendent, were no more.
Her chest ached as if she’d been stabbed, but she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. She would fix what she could. Smiling for the two women, she bent her back and covered her chest with one hand, while putting the other to her forehead.
“’Tis prostrate with grief, I am, me lady, upset that ye’ve called down Esmerada’s wrath; a
ll of us here at the keep are in danger … bwah hahahahaha.”
Viola’s lips curled upward, but Sally—she still looked afraid that Grainne Kat would give her two noses. “She’s good, for certes, just as good as some of the traveling actors we had at Montehue Manor, eh, Vi?”
The maid sniffed. “Aye. Not quite, but with a bit more training, she could take her act on the road. Away from here, anyway.”
“I promised myself that I would open that tower. I was willing to delay, hoping that Nicholas would come home.”
He wasn’t coming. After three days, it was clear that he was on his way to Spain.
Viola finished tying off the last braid. “He’ll come for ye, my lady.”
“Well, we can’t wait any longer.” Having had years of practice hiding hurt feelings, Celestia was able to lead the way downstairs as regal as a queen.
She came to a halt in front of the cushioned bed someone had brought for Grainne’s comfort. “It is time for you to leave. I regret withdrawing my hospitality, but you are disrupting the entire keep. My Lord Nicholas would not be happy, Grainne Kat. I think you know you have overstayed your welcome.”
Mouth opened to argue, the old woman must have realized that it would be a waste of breath. She got to her feet, her body shaking and trembling. “I only wanted to save you from the wrath of Lady Esmerada.”
Celestia remained firm in her resolve to bring order to the keep. “I have no fear of the woman who bore such a fine man as my husband.”
Maude came from the kitchens, holding a piece of toast. She walked toward Grainne Kat, ignoring Celestia completely. “Mother, get back into bed before you fall down.”
Celestia stepped in front of her, bracing her feet to block the way. Maude came to a surprised halt as she bounced off of Celestia’s small frame.
“It is time for you to take your mother home.”
Maude’s lovely eyes turned yellowish at the center, very unattractive, thank the heavens. “She’s ill and cannot be moved.”
Celestia didn’t back down, not even one step. “She’s no more ill than you or I, as well you know. She is here to halt the opening of the north tower, and for no other reason.”