Dreamspell

by Tamara Leigh

  “What are you going to do?” Jaspar asked.

  “We leave now!” While he moved about the chamber collecting his possessions, Jaspar remained unmoving against the wall.

  As much as Kennedy disliked the woman, she felt sympathy for her. Although Jaspar clearly wouldn’t have lost much sleep had Lady Lark died with the king’s men, she was a wasp caught in Leonel’s web.

  Leonel halted before her. “Get up!”

  She was slow to respond, as if her mind was elsewhere.

  “Now!” He grabbed her forearm and wrenched her up.

  She tried to get her feet under her, and might have if not for her cousin’s disgust. He released her, sending her facedown on the floor. “Stay, then!”

  Kennedy felt her stomach fall through her. If Jaspar looked much beyond her nose, she would see what was under the bed.

  “I’m sorry.” She lifted her head. “I’m so”—she sobbed—“frightened.”

  Don’t look this way. Anywhere but here.

  “Then you are of no use to me!”

  Jaspar’s eyes swept up the bed, but before Kennedy could give thanks, Jaspar did a double take.

  With the assassin, Moriel, Kennedy had known fear, but it paled in comparison.

  However, Jaspar didn’t announce her discovery—at least not in words. She tilted her head, frowned.

  Kennedy shook her head on a snowball’s chance Jaspar wouldn’t reveal her.

  “What is it?” Leonel demanded.

  A dead silence followed, each second that passed sweeping Kennedy nearer the fate Leonel planned for her. Thus, it came as no surprise when his boots turned toward the bed.

  Get a grip! You’ve been through worse than this—come nearer death. The reminder of the tumor filled Kennedy with determination. She scrambled opposite Leonel’s approach, but he was a step ahead of her. He heaved the mattress back and landed it in the path of her escape.

  “So there you are.”

  She flipped onto her back and looked up at him through the ropes strung across the bed frame.

  He hunkered down. “The Lord looks kindly upon me.”

  “You mean the guy in the red suit sporting horns and a tail? That would be the devil.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps.” He drew his meat dagger and tapped its edge. “Come out, Nedy Plain.”

  She looked to Jaspar. Though the woman had risen from the floor, her expression was not one of pride at having landed the big fish. She looked cornered.

  Kennedy returned her gaze to Leonel, prayed she wouldn’t get knifed the moment she came out. “All right.” She scooted toward him.

  When she cleared the bed, Leonel straightened and stepped back. “Get up!”

  As she rose, the rope trailing her wrist brushed her palm. Hello. Unfortunately, Leonel was too near, but if in stalling him she could put some distance between them. . .

  “Will you answer me one question before you stuff me down the garderobe?” she said.

  “What would that be?”

  She took a step back. “Why John and Harold?” Though it followed that with the boys out of the way Fulke would become earl, thus elevating Jaspar with him were she his wife, what gain for Leonel?

  “Of what do you speak?” He looked genuinely puzzled. “Surely you know I had naught to do with Crosley’s scheme.”

  True, but—

  Leonel was off-guard. As much as she longed to pursue this night’s atrocity, she stepped back and swung with all of her strength. The rope on her wrist whipped across Leonel’s cheek, staggering him back and causing him to release the dagger.

  Kennedy started for the door, only to falter in recalling the key’s rattle when Leonel had locked it.

  A moment later, he tackled her to the floor. She twisted around. An eye for eye, wasn’t that what they said? She bunched a fist and missed her mark by a cheekbone.

  “Witch!” Leonel reached for her arms.

  Pain cramping her hand, she flailed and landed an elbow to his nose. It snapped his head back, sprinkled her with droplets of blood, and made him howl.

  If that didn’t bring someone running, nothing would.

  Kennedy shoved him off and bolted for the dagger amid the rushes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Jaspar had yet to move. Kennedy snatched up the dagger and spun around.

  A hand to his nose, Leonel staggered upright.

  She extended the dagger before her with one hand, beckoned with the other. “The key.”

  He lowered his arm. Rivulets of blood coursing his lips and chin, he said, “Do I die, so shall you.” He stepped toward her.

  She looked at the dagger. Acting out a violent movie she had seen years ago, she slashed the air. “I’m warning you!”

  Her threat was punctuated by the sound of footsteps and raised voices.

  “It’s over,” she said. “Don’t make this worse than it is.”

  “What goes?” someone shouted from the corridor, then rattled the door. “Open, else we shall beat it down!”

  Leonel glanced behind. “It can get no worse for me, Nedy Plain, but it can for you.”

  “I won’t let you win, Leonel.”

  He took another step toward her, his gaze shifting between the dagger and her eyes. “I do not ask permission.”

  The door strained in its frame, wood cracked and popped.

  Kennedy waved the blade again. “Then don’t keep me waiting.” Such daring for one trying desperately to avert a meltdown.

  Leonel was poised as if to take up her challenge when he stilled at the sound of another voice.

  Fulke was here, only feet away.

  Leonel smiled the same disarming smile that had greeted her the day of her arrival at Castle Cirque. Who would guess that such a handsome, congenial face could disguise a terrible monster? “I will keep you waiting no longer,” he said and lunged.

  Though Kennedy knew she should let him stick himself on the dagger, she jumped back. And back she kept going until she came up against the table. What possessed her to trade the dagger for the basin was the realization she couldn’t kill. But it proved the better choice and fitting revenge for the blow he had delivered her after dumping her in the garderobe. She swung the basin and struck him on the temple.

  She gaped as he fell, shocked that it had worked. How ironic that, just as Lady Lark had knocked him senseless at Castle Cirque, so had Kennedy done at Brynwood. The man was in sorry need of a helmet.

  Jaspar put an uncertain foot forward. “Leonel?”

  With an explosive crack, the door burst inward.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Their meetings made December June,

  Their every parting was to die.

  ~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson

  Kennedy looked up. Blue eyes met green. “Fulke,” she breathed.

  He stood in the doorway, stared long and thunderous at her, then at Leonel who lay at her feet. The ire was still there when his gaze swept back. Worse, even.

  As Kennedy felt the beginning of tears, Jaspar came to life as if someone had plugged her in. She dove into Fulke’s chest and began jabbering between sobs.

  His gaze never leaving Kennedy, Fulke gripped the woman’s arms and thrust her toward one of his men-at-arms.

  “Fulke!” Jaspar cried.

  Three strides and he was at Kennedy’s side. He didn’t touch her, but searched her face, and with such seething she imagined he was determining what form her punishment would take.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this,” she said, “but please let me—”

  “Not now.” The wrathful air fell from him. He touched her torn sleeve, gently brushed a finger beneath her swollen eye. “I am sorry, Nedy.”

  Then his anger was for the man at her feet?

  “’Twas Leonel who wore the wyvern, was it not—that given him by Baron Brom?”

  She nodded warily. “Yes, on the other side of the medallion I did not see.”

  He looked at her temple where Leonel’s booted foot had left a lump.
“I was a fool. Can you forgive me?”

  Her heart swelled so large she feared it would burst. “There is nothing to forgive.”

  “Aye, there is.” He folded her into his arms and held her as near as he could. For nothing would he lose her again, he silently vowed as he breathed her. Whether she was a witch, a dream, or come from six hundred years not yet lived, nothing would keep him from her.

  She lifted her face and looked at him through shimmering eyes. “You believe?”

  “Aye, sweet Nedy, I am beginning to believe in witches.”

  The smile in her eyes wavered. “I am not a witch.”

  “So Crosley tells.”

  They had spoken?

  “Very well, then,” Fulke acceded, “a dream.”

  “Nor that. Nor mad. My name is Kennedy Plain and I am real. I—”

  “I know. I need time, is all.” Time to believe himself worthy of such a miracle. Time to put away Limoges that he might look to a future with her. Time to lift the burden of the king’s medallion from about his neck.

  “Time,” Kennedy murmured. “It looks like I’m going to have plenty of it.”

  “My lord.” A man-at-arms stepped into the chamber. “Sir Leonel awakens.”

  Fulke pulled back from Nedy and threaded his fingers with hers. He looked to the man-at-arms and glimpsed Lady Lark, Marion, and his mother in the corridor. When he had returned to the keep and followed the din abovestairs, had they been there outside the door? Had he pushed past them? He didn’t recall, for all his thoughts had been on Nedy and the feeling that she had returned and was in danger.

  He started toward the door. “Deliver the miscreant to the tower. And his cousin with him.”

  Jaspar shrieked and tried to free herself from the soldier who held her. “Pray, hear me, Fulke. Upon my word, I was not of this. Only this day did I learn what he had done.”

  He halted. “You knew naught of the medallion? That of which he surely boasted?”

  Her eyes widened. “I. . .when you asked of it, I could not say.”

  “You could not say ‘twas your cousin who paid assassins to murder the king’s men? Whose intent it was to kill Lady Lark? Nay, Jaspar, I do not believe you. Leonel did it for you, and he shall not bear punishment alone.”

  “Aye, he did it for me, believing I might wed you as ‘twas to have been in the beginning.” Pain contorted her face. “But more, he did it for himself upon my promise I would see him lord of Cirque once you and I wed. Had I known what he planned. . .”

  Fulke stared at her. If it was true she hadn’t known, what would she have done had she been privy to Leonel’s plans? Unfortunately for her, he was not certain she would have put an end to them. “Methinks I cannot believe anything you say, Jaspar.”

  Nedy gripped his arm. “In this instance, she’s telling the truth. She didn’t know.”

  Why did she defend a woman who had behaved so ill toward her? “How do you know that?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but closed it until the men-at-arms had carried their prisoner past her and through the doorway. “I overheard their conversation. When Lady Jaspar confronted Leonel about the attack, he warned her that if she told you, he would say she had ordered him to do it.”

  “Be it so, she could have revealed him when I asked after the wyvern.” He looked to Jaspar. “Why protect a man who would do what he has done?”

  “I had to.” Her jaw trembled, and she lowered her head. “Leonel is my brother.”

  Not what Fulke expected. Lover, perhaps, but brother? “What falsehood do you tell, Jaspar? All know he is your cousin, that your mothers were sisters.”

  It was some moments before she lifted chin to brave him again. “Aye, but we are also brother and sister.”

  Fulke did not care for the only conclusion to be had.

  “Tell your man to release me,” Jaspar beseeched, “and I will reveal all.”

  Fulke motioned for the man-at-arms to unhand her.

  Jaspar smoothed her gown, touched quivering fingers down her thick braid, then clasped her hands before her. “Nine months after my aunt came to live at Laverre following her husband’s death, Leonel was born of her deception and my father’s.” Her chin creased. “I resented Leonel for years, but he adored me, followed me about, begged my friendship. When my mother died, and later his, we had only each other. We drew near.” Tears soaked her eyes. “I cannot say I love him with any measure of my heart, only that I care for him.”

  Her sincerity surprised him.

  “He shall hang?” she asked.

  There were many ways for a man to die. Somehow, Fulke doubted the king would let Leonel go so easily. “I cannot believe the king would allow him to live, Jaspar.”

  She pressed a fist to her breast. “And of me? Do you believe what I have told?”

  Only because of what Nedy had revealed. He looked to where she stood at his side and stole a moment of revel as he beheld her eyes. “I believe you, Jaspar, but now is not the time to speak of your place at Cirque.” Later they would talk. Not that her fate required much thought, for there was only one thing to do if she remained at Cirque—wed her to one capable of withstanding her cunning and repressing her affinity for discord. Unfortunately, such a man might prove difficult to find.

  He looked to the man-at-arms beyond Jaspar. “Accompany the lady to her chamber. She is to remain there until I send for her.”

  Jaspar dragged her gaze from Fulke to Nedy. “I do not like you, Nedy Plain, whoever you are. I cannot.” Her voice splintered. “But I thank you.” She stepped into the corridor.

  Fulke squeezed Nedy’s hand. “Come, I wish to be alone with you.”

  She smiled. “I would like that too, but what about Mac? He’s—”

  “I came from him to you. He told me much that I would not allow you to speak.” Much that Fulke had finally allowed himself to believe. “The physician is with him now, and this eve he shall sit at my table with John and Harold.”

  Her smile sparkled like stars upon night. “Thank you.”

  As he drew her past those in the corridor, he met Marion’s gaze. It was lit with approval and happiness, whereas Lady Lark’s was of bewilderment. As for his mother, from her eyes to her nose to her mouth and chin, disapproval reigned. But he did not seek her blessing for the woman with whom he would spend his life. Did she give it, grandchildren would abound about her skirts, did she not, time would surround her loneliness at her dower property two days ride to the north. No more malice would he suffer beneath his roof. It was time to heal and be healed.

  The setting sun painted the walls of the lord’s solar in orange bled with pink and cast a golden glow on the canopied bed alongside which Fulke and Kennedy stood.

  Fingers still meshed with hers, he raised his other hand and stroked her cheek. “I feared never to see you again, and now you shall be my wife and bear me sons and daughters.”

  She smiled. “Is that your way of asking me to marry you?”

  “Does it need to be asked?”

  Kennedy’s breath stirred wildly at the love in his eyes he had yet to speak. “No, but still I would like to hear it.”

  He caught her hands between his. “Nedy Plain, will thee wed me come the changing of the leaves, the whispering of the breeze?”

  Autumn, and so poetically written on the air—as had been written the words he would never carve into the walls of a prison cell. “You do know I’m not noble?”

  His gaze never wavered. “You are more noble than any woman who has ever perched a crown upon her brow. Tell me ‘aye,’ and I will take you to wife this eve if you wish.”

  Though she swelled with hope, Graham’s mother threw a shadow. “What about your mother? She won’t approve.”

  “Think you I must needs have her approval?” He shook his head. “I do not.”

  It was the same as Graham had said, though not in so many words.

  Fulke drew her nearer. “Does my mother put aside her bitterness of a life she hated, her vis
its shall be welcome. Does she not, no part of your life will she touch.”

  Was it wishful thinking that made her believe him as she had tried to believe Graham? Or was it his eyes that held steady, echoing a vow never to be broken? All that and more. “I believe you. But what of Lady Lark?”

  He carried her hands to his lips and kissed her palms. “She has decided to enter the convent, and does she determine otherwise, I shall convince her father to wed her elsewhere.”

  “Then it’s true that King Edward is her father.”

  Fulke frowned. “How come you by that?”

  “The conversation I overheard between Leonel and Jaspar. He taunted her with it.”

  “Then ‘tis as Lady Lark told—her captor knew of her relation to Edward.” He nodded. “Aye, Nedy, ‘tis true.”

  “But if the king is her—”

  “Edward will grant me my desire. And I desire you. You know it already, but I will say it. I love you, Nedy Plain.”

  She closed her eyes, sowed the seeds of his words throughout her memory that she could call upon them when she was a very old woman.

  His mouth brushed hers. “All I would do for you, no matter the cost.”

  Those words, never to be carved into a stone wall, leapt at her. But now he would not die for her.

  “Will you marry me?”

  She lifted her lids. “With my whole heart.”

  He lowered his head and opened his mouth on hers.

  Kennedy thrilled to his kiss. No sweeter taste had she tasted, no greater need had she needed.

  He cupped her face in his hands, with his fingers gently brushed her swollen eye and the lump at her temple.

  “Pinch me,” Kennedy whispered against his mouth.

  “Do what?”

  “Pinch me. Anywhere.”

  Still, he didn’t follow. She supposed he wouldn’t. She pinched her thigh.

  “What do you, Nedy?”

  His voice rang loud and clear, meaning she was still here, as was he. She looked up. “Pinching myself.”

  “For what?”