The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1)

by Avril Borthiry

  “I’m trapped,” she murmured, “and I don’t know what to do. Please. Tell me what I should do.”

  The candle flame danced as if someone had breathed on it or opened a door somewhere. Lora’s heart gave a funny little leap. She twisted around, but saw no one and heard nothing, except the sound of her own breathing. The flame ceased its dance and settled back into a steady burn. With a weary sigh, she squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head, searching for the right words.

  “Please. I need—”

  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  She gasped and her head snapped up, each hair on the back of her neck lifting in fear. Not daring to even breathe, she looked around, frantic and wide-eyed, searching the shadows for the source of the strange whisper. A woman’s voice, Lora was certain.

  “Who’s there?” Her shaky demand garnered no response. No one stepped from the darkness. The candle flame didn’t flicker. Had she, immersed in the depths of melancholy and fatigue, imagined the mysterious voice? Was she losing her mind?

  “God help me,” she whispered, rising to her feet, all at once aware of the fierce tremble in her limbs. Then she heard a click of metal followed by the familiar squeak of a hinge. She watched the chapel door swing open and saw the silhouette of a man on the threshold, his features hidden by the night.

  Lora let out a sob. She didn’t have to see his face. She knew who he was. God must have granted her temporary wings, for she flew down the aisle and fell into his arms.

  “Oh, Gareth,” she cried. “We must leave here. Now. Tonight. Please.”

  “Hush, cariad.” His voice, soft against her ear, was the answer to her unspoken prayer. He closed the door and pulled her into the sanctity of the shadows. Like the fluttering of a bird in a closed hand, she felt her spirit stir within. Starved from so many days of aching to be near him, she soaked up his presence and took strength from it.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered, pressing against him, listening to the steady cadence of his heart pulsing beneath her cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

  He slid a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. Even in the dark, Lora could see the desire in his eyes.

  “God knows, I’ve missed you, too.” He wiped a tear from her cheek. “I fear I can no longer see the line between madness and reason.”

  “I see it plainly,” she murmured. “Except it is not a line, but a wall, with me on one side and you on the other. The madness lies in the fate being thrust upon me, for I cannot bear the thought of marrying Edward.”

  He groaned. “It all but drove me mad watching you with him tonight. That’s why I left.”

  Puzzled by a sudden thought, she frowned up at him. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I didn’t, for certain. Master William said you might be.”

  Lora tensed. “William? What did he say?”

  “That I was wasting my time waiting for you because he’d forbidden you to go to the well. He said he hoped you were in the chapel praying, which was where I, had I any sense, should also be. Strange, but I got the impression he was encouraging me to go to you.”

  A sweet thrill ran down Lora’s spine as she digested his words. “So, you were waiting for me?”

  He shook his head. “Nay. I was merely sitting on the steps admiring the heavens.”

  “Oh.” She blinked away a twinge of disappointment.

  Gareth smiled. “But I was hoping.”

  “For what?”

  “For a certain young lady to ignore my warnings and sneak out to the well. I’d almost given up when William staggered through the door and fell over me on his way down the steps.”

  “He fell?” The thought of William’s sorry state weighed heavy on her mind. “He was drinking all night. I’ve never seen him do that before. He’s always been so…in control. Was he hurt?”

  “Nay, don’t fret.” Gareth cupped her face with his hands and kissed her, drawing back with a low growl. “Wine turns sensible men into fools, as do beautiful women.”

  Fresh tears filled Lora’s eyes. “I don’t want to marry Edward.”

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  “We could leave. Run away.”

  Her voice rang with hope even as reality scoffed at her words. Shadow obscured Gareth’s features, yet there was no mistaking the tenderness of his expression as he bent and kissed her again.

  “Aye, we could do that, but we’d be running and hiding forever.” He sighed. “I’m no armed knight, able to carry you off to some magical kingdom. I’m a stonemason, and you’re the daughter of an earl. Your father would put a price on my head, and we’d be pursued until one or both of us were caught.”

  Lora couldn’t argue, for she knew he spoke true. He didn’t need to say what would become of them if they were caught. There would be no mercy. Gareth would face death at the end of a rope. She might well face the same fate. If not death, then a sound whipping for sure, and the rest of her life confined to a convent.

  Her hand tightened around the coin. “Master William said the well is merely a pagan pit that tangles with our dreams. I know I’m not supposed to tell you what I wished for, but it seems—”

  Another kiss silenced her. “Nay, Lora FitzGilbert,” he murmured against her mouth, “do not say it. Have faith yet.”

  She sighed, unfurled her fingers, and looked down at the gold coin, barely visible in the darkness. Doubt, an unwelcome creature that had been circling her thoughts all night, finally crept into her mind.

  “You really believe in its power?”

  “I do. And so should you.”

  “Give it more time.”

  The whisper, soft and most definitely female, came from right behind her.

  Lora let out a cry and twisted around in Gareth’s arms, her eyes squinting into the belly of the chapel, seeking the source. Nothing stirred. The shadows were silent and the lonely candle burned steady and true on the altar. An icy shiver tripped down her spine.

  “Lora?” She heard the puzzlement in Gareth’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Tell me you heard that.” She turned back to him, wide-eyed. “Oh, please, Gareth. You must have.”

  “Heard what?” He peered past her, down the aisle.

  “That voice. I keep hearing a voice. You mean you didn’t…?” She swallowed against a sickening lump of panic. How could he not have heard it? Perhaps I’m possessed. “I… I’m sure I heard a voice.”

  “What did it say?” Gareth’s voice held no hint of mockery, nor did his expression. He studied her, the frown on his face quite visible in the gloom. “What did you hear, Lora?”

  A shiver gripped her entire frame. “I must have imagined it,” she mumbled, sure she hadn’t.

  “Tell me.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “Please. Just tell me what you heard.”

  “You’ll think me insane.”

  “I’ll think no such thing, I swear it. I just want to know what you heard.”

  “Give it more time,” she whispered.

  He paused and then nodded. “If you wish.”

  “No…no. That’s what the voice said. Give it more time.”

  A long slow breath escaped Gareth’s lungs. “What else?”

  Lora frowned. “That’s all.”

  He shook his head. “Nay. You said you keep hearing. What else have you heard?”

  A wave of fatigue washed over her and she relaxed against him. As if sensing her exhaustion, Gareth’s arms slid around her waist and held her close. Lora suppressed a groan of pleasure and closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of his body against hers.

  “It said I’m not supposed to be here,” she murmured at last. “I heard it while I was at the altar. Just before you arrived. ’Tis likely nothing but my conscience speaking. God knows it’s burdened.”

  “Hmm.” There came another pause. “Tonight is the only time, then? You’ve not heard the voice before?”

  Lora raised her head and studied him. “Are you trying to
decide whether or not I’m possessed of some mad spirit?”

  He chuckled. “I happen to know for certain you’re possessed of a mad spirit, Lora FitzGilbert, but I doubt it has anything to do with you hearing voices.”

  “Laughter,” she said, stiffening with indignation at his apparent amusement. “The night I saw the medallion shining in the well, I swear I heard a woman laughing.”

  “Not so strange, that. A serving girl’s pleasure, perhaps.” He pulled her hard against him and nuzzled the delicate skin on her throat. The heat of his breath sent a shiver down her spine. “Clandestine lovemaking in the quiet corners of Rothwyn Castle.”

  A tingle sprang to life deep in Lora’s belly. “Mmm… Perhaps that’s what it was.”

  He lifted his head and kissed the corners of her mouth. “You doubt it?”

  She let out a soft moan and tilted her head back. “Y-yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it sounded sort of… Gareth, we’re in a church.”

  His hands smoothed down over her hips and he chuckled against her ear. “I know it, cariad. Believe me, I’m praying for mercy. It sounded sort of…?”

  “Sort of unearthly. Like it came from the well.”

  His lips paused in their exploration. “The well? Are you certain?”

  “Not absolutely.” She grimaced at the quizzical expression on his face. “Now do you think I’m mad?”

  His mouth relaxed into a grin. “I think you’re—”

  The metallic clatter of the door latch echoed off the walls and the door swung open with its familiar squeal. Lora gasped as Gareth pulled her deeper into the shadows.

  His finger across her lips relayed the need for silence, as if Lora needed telling. She held her breath, willing her heart to calm its rapid thud that sounded like a battle drum in her ears.

  Once again, a dark silhouette stepped over the threshold. He was tall, quite obviously a man. By the stunted light of the candle, Lora saw a glint of fair hair and the familiar noble outline of a face. She saw his head turn as his eyes burrowed into the shadows, and heard a muttered, vile curse glance off the sanctified walls.

  Edward.

  His breathing, heavy and raw, spoke of suppressed anger. His fist, clenched at his side, did the same. What had brought him to the chapel? Piety? Lora doubted it. She could not envision Edward on his knees requesting help from anyone, not even God. What had stoked his anger?

  Unless William… Lora’s stomach clenched at the mere possibility that he had betrayed her. Nay, surely not. Perhaps, though, he had spoken carelessly. His tongue was, after all, at the mercy of his intoxicated blood.

  She glanced at the cross. God, please. Please don’t let him see us.

  Gareth’s lips touched her hair with a silent, reassuring kiss. She trembled against him, thankful for the support of his embrace. Then Edward grunted and turned their way. For one sickening moment, Lora thought they’d been discovered. Her lungs burned, desperate to release the spent breath locked within. Another curse launched into the air as Edward spun on his heel and left the chapel. The heavy door groaned and closed behind him with a resounding slam.

  Lora gasped and snatched a fresh breath while relief, like cool summer rain, washed over her. She whimpered and sagged in Gareth’s arms, burying her face in his chest. “Oh, God. I… I thought…”

  He rocked her, his lips still nuzzling at her hair. “Hush. It’s all right.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She shivered. “We were almost found out.”

  “But we weren’t. Look at me, Lora.”

  She shook her head. “He might have killed you, Gareth. I cannot bear to think—”

  “Then don’t.” Gareth’s fingers cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him, and a softness came to his eyes. “Don’t torment yourself with such imaginings, for that is all they are. Look at you, pale as a ghost. You need rest.”

  “No, I need…” She wrapped her fingers around his and placed a kiss in his palm. “What I need can never be mine.”

  Gareth shook his head and muttered something under his breath. “There you go again. Have faith, lass. I truly believe what is meant will be. I’m intrigued by this voice you’re hearing. I think it means something, and I think you should listen to it.”

  Was he mocking her? She searched his face but saw no sign of scorn. “So, you don’t think I’m losing my mind?”

  “Perhaps I’m losing mine.” He smiled and fingered the gold medallion resting against his chest. “But no, cariad. I don’t think you’re losing yours.”

  The conviction in his tone convinced her. Lora opened her hand and looked at the coin again. “Perhaps I should give it more time, then, like the voice said.”

  “Aye, I believe you should. Don’t despair, my brave lass. Now, go quietly and carefully to your bed. I’ll wait here a while yet, until you’re safely away.”

  She stared up at him for a moment, humbled by his natural nobility that had nothing to do with titles or wealth.

  Pray for us while you’re waiting, Stonemason. God would surely listen, for there is such sweet music in your voice.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered and lifted her face for a kiss. “Even if it’s only from a distance.”

  He met her lips with a growl. The chapel walls amplified the sounds of their passion and surrounded them with soft, sensual echoes that ignited Lora’s blood. An emotion arose within her, so powerful it drained the strength from her limbs and drew tears from her eyes.

  “I love you.” The whisper tore from the depths of her heart and thrust its way into his mouth. “I love you, Gareth.”

  He pulled his head back, breathing hard, desire evident in the taut lines of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze and the hard press of him against her belly. “Christ help me,” he murmured, wiping a tear from her cheek, “for I am truly defenseless in this fight. You must go, Lora FitzGilbert. Go now.”

  A sudden pain throbbed beneath her ribs. She had hoped for a different response, a reciprocal declaration, perhaps, of his love for her. With a stifled sob, she turned to leave, but he caught her hand and held it.

  She looked at him, her chest heaving with unexpressed feelings. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again and released her. Lora smiled, for the words she longed to hear, while not spoken, shone in his eyes.

  Chapter 7

  Although dawn had long since arrived, Lora lingered in bed, unwilling to descend to the lower level. She’d slept little. Fatigue had pushed her into a merciless realm of chaotic thoughts, which still flooded her mind. She had no desire to see Edward, fearful of discovering the reason for his obvious ill-humor the night before. She had her suspicions, but knew that she couldn’t hide in her room all day.

  As if to attest to that unwelcome truth, a tap came to her door and Fritha stuck her blonde curly head into the chamber.

  “Shall I tend you, my lady? ’Tis well past Lauds, and Sir Edward is looking for you.”

  A flutter of nerves leapt in Lora’s stomach. “Yes, of course, Fritha. Come in.”

  “You did not sleep well, my lady?”

  The genuine concern in her maid’s voice threatened to undermine Lora’s weak emotional defenses. Unable to respond for fear of crying, she sat up and shook her head, blinking back tears.

  “Ah, there now,” said Fritha. “’Tis no doubt due to all the excitement. If I may say so, he’s a fine-looking man, your betrothed.”

  “Yes,” Lora managed to mumble. “Edward is handsome.”

  “He instructed me to tell you to dress in a manner suitable for riding, my lady.”

  “Riding?”

  Fritha nodded. “Aye, ’tis what he said. He said he’ll await you in the stables and not to worry about breaking your fast since he’s had the kitchen pack a lunch for you both. It sounds very romantic, my lady, do you not think so? And the weather is perfect for such an outing.”

  The mild flutter turned into a twinge of panic and, for a moment, Lora considered feigning ill
ness or fatigue. She discarded the idea in a heartbeat, knowing such a ploy would not prevent Edward from seeking her out, bedridden or not. His rights as her betrothed were only marginally less than those of marriage. Lora was bound to him, at least on paper. She hoped her father had insisted upon a chaperone.

  Lora’s hope crumbled when she stepped out sometime later and looked over at Rothwyn’s stables. She barely noticed the untainted expanse of a summer sky and the familiar clamor of castle life carrying on around her. The fleeting shadow of a swallow caused her to blink as it sped by, but it was an involuntary reaction. Her anxious mind ignored all but one reality.

  Only two horses were tethered outside the stable door, saddled and ready, a large handsome bay with a white blaze, and a pretty little gray with graceful lines. Neither one, she knew, belonged to her father. The knot of apprehension in her chest tightened at the thought of riding out alone with Edward. She still didn’t know what had brought him to the chapel the previous night. Had he been looking for her?

  As if aware of her presence, he chose that moment to step out of the stable and look over to where she stood. He shrugged and spread his hands, palm-up, in an unspoken but clear message.

  Well? I’m waiting.

  Resentment at his obvious impatience bubbled up and subdued her fear. Lora gritted her teeth and glanced down at her nails, drawing some comfort from their length. If he tried anything…

  Placated by the thought of ploughing several bloody lines across Edward’s arrogant face, Lora grasped a handful of courage, took a deep breath, and set out across the bailey.

  “My lord.” She met his gaze head-on. “Forgive my tardiness. I did not sleep well.”

  He offered her the hint of a smile, raised a brow, and cast a glance at the sun.

  “I beg to differ, my lady.” His voice, while deep and soft, held a trace of skepticism. “It would appear you slept very well, since the day is already half gone. Or perhaps you were late to your bed for some reason?”