Forbidden Magic

by Catherine Emm

  "'Tis not the weight of it, but that I cannot give proof as well," Doane replied, sighing. Tired eyes looked up at Amery. "Your father died while dining in the great hall before a host of guests. A toast had been made to his health and long life, offered by Lady Edlyn. All hailed the good wishes and your father drank his share, but when he lowered his cup, it is told, his face whitened and he grabbed his chest. Before any could reach him, he fell dead upon the floor. A priest was summoned and he proclaimed that Cod had willed it so."

  "Then what proof do you lack of so many witnessed my father's passing?" Amery tested, befuddled.

  "There are a few who doubt the priest."

  "Doubt the priest?" Gunther echoed, glancing from Doane to Amery and back.

  "Yea, Sir Gunther. Those who prepared the feast. They suspect 'twas Lady Edlyn's will, not God's."

  "'Tis foolish!" Gunther grunted. "No one has the power to wish another dead."

  "Yea, I will not argue that. No sorcery was practiced, but just the same Lord Ryland died before-his time."

  "At what do you hint, Doane?" Amery snapped. "Tell it pure and do not waste a word."

  Doane paused a moment, rubbing his brow, then set his gaze on Amery again. "I will tell it as they recited it to me. But you must remember that no proof can strengthen the tale." He waited for Amery's nod before continuing, his voice troubled. " Twas Lady Edlyn who came to the kitchen requesting special goblets served. No one thought it uncommon until she forbade anyone but her to carry them to the lord's table. All went about their tasks except Gytha, the nosy one. She followed Lady Edlyn into the hall, hiding in the shadows when Lady Edlyn paused. Gytha is old and her eyesight poor, but she vows she saw the dame set the goblets down and pour a potion into one."

  "Poison?" Gunther asked, astonished.

  "Tis the proof I do not have." Doane sighed. "Nor can anyone say Lord Ryland drank from that cup. But his health was good and too many questions arise with his death."

  Gunther's mouth fell open as he collapsed back in his chair. "Dear God; Amery, the woman is mad."

  "Yea. And cunning as well," Amery pointed out, tawny brows drawn together. "She has murdered to have all she wants and has carefully spun a web around her to keep me from her." His green eyes darkened with his hatred. "But in all her planning, she forgot one thing."

  "And what is that, Amery?" Gunther asked.

  "That Amery of Wellington is no longer a child. The way to the castle may be barred and I might not have an army with which to fight, but I will not simply walk away. She has taken what is mine and I will have it back."

  "Amery," Gunther said softly as he rose and came to stand beside,the man, "I have vowed my friendship and would lay down my life for you. But we number, only two against your half brother and his followers, and Doane has told us we will find no friends here. Pray, how do you plan to succeed?"

  Amery raised a big hand to rest on Gunther's shoulder. "Do not fear, good friend. My hatred has not blinded my common sense. We shall prove my innocence at Harcourt and lay the truth before the people of England for them to judge. Then once my name is spoken with respect, we shall return to Wellington with.' heads held high, many at our backs, and an oath trailing from our lips to see those guilty brought low before us. Twill take time, Gunther, and keep you from Lady Anne a while longer. If—"

  "Do not speak it," Gunther interrupted. "I have ridden by your side these many years and will not turn from you when you need me most. And should the need arise, Burchard will become our haven when those who seek to harm you come too close."

  A smile brightened Amery's eyes as he silently contemplated the man. "Can any other claim such loyalty as I?" He grinned and turned to the old man watching them. "We shall leave you now, Doane, but only for awhile. You may hear of us from time to time, yet know this. No matter what story is spread, the troth of it is that Amery of Wellington has returned to bring peace to his land once more." Glancing back at Gunther, Amery nodded toward the door and the two men quickly gathered their things. They crossed the room and when it seemed they would exit, Amery paused to look back at Doane. "I will not bid you farewell, friend, for it bints of no return. I simply wish you well until next we meet."

  Doane stayed in his chair near the fire enjoying its warmth, but his thoughts went to Amery, son of Ryland, and he smiled. Listening to the pounding of great hooves against the earth outside his humble dwelling, he took comfort in the sound, for he knew the true lord of this land had come to claim the title.

  Chapter 4

  A troubled frown marred Jewel's brow as she and her escort traveled the road to Harcourt. The sun shone brightly overhead and warmed the day somewhat but failed to lift her spirits. She had awakened in the stable, groggy from the spill she had taken, to the urgent pleas of Beds, the young maiden instructed by the dowager queen to accompany her. Tears had shone in the girl's eyes, for she had feared Jewel dead. Her head had pounded and at first Jewel had merely lain there gathering her thoughts and praying her vision would clear, until finally the terrifying memories of the past night and bow she had come to be in the stable had come crashing in on her. Frantic, certain the knight lingered in the shadows, she had quickly sat up, only to be overcome with dizziness. One hand cradling her brow, she had weakly asked Beda if only the two of them now shared the stable and she had relaxed when Beda had assured her that no one else was about. Not wishing to stay a moment longer, Jewel had struggled to rise but had been urged by her attendant to remain until one of the knights returned with a cup of wine, and Jewel had reluctantly agreed once she had discovered her knees were too weak to hold her.

  White Beda had chattered on about how distraught everyone had been trying to find her and that only an hour before they had discovered her horse grazing contentedly in a meadow a short distance further on, Jewel had considered the story she would tell. If she exposed the truth, the queen's knights would hunt the stranger down and slay him, and word of it would reach her father. She truly wished to see the evil knight pay for his deed, but not at the expense of her father. Her shame would be her own, and rather than force him to suffer, she would carry the burden alone as well as endure his anger, for she decided that once she returned to Harcourt she would make known her intent to join the convent and renounce her pledge to marry Sir Amery of Wellington.

  Certain her conviction was just, Jewel had accepted the offer of wine from the knight who had hurriedly returned with it, explained how she had simply stumbled and hit her head, and begged that they be on their way.

  But now, as they neared the land surrounding Harcourt, Jewel wondered if she could hide the truth from her mother. Lord Alcot had never managed to do so, for it seemed Lady Jocelyn had been gifted with a talent for knowing when her husband chose not to tell her everything. And it appeared that all she had to do was look into his eyes. Would she know the minute she saw Jewel? Would she sense an inner hurt, touch a hand to Jewel's cheek in silent understanding, and wait? And how long could Jewel hold her tongue? A frown darkened Jewel's eyes. Forever.

  The caravan of travelers left the valley through a grove of trees and started their ascent up a path that twisted and turned precariously and seemed to guide them through a forest until the way was opened up and Harcourt lay before them, tall and majestic. Rock bluffs surrounded the castle and protected it on all sides. Its farm land was spread out below, and the only means of entrance was a drawbridge that was no w lowered as if to welcome them. The scene was not uncommon, for the lord of Harcourt encouraged his people to seek audience with him no matter what the reason, night or day. Yet as Jewel and her party rode nearer, she experienced a sense of foreboding, a feeling that something was amiss. Serfs hurried about carrying shovels, their expressions pained, and once they saw her, many turned away crying. Jewel could see no other cause but that death had come to Harcourt. Suddenly, panic gripped Jewel's heart.

  "Father!" she screamed, kicking viciously at the mare's ribs, and she was nearly thrown from the animal when one of the knights gra
bbed the reins.

  "Nay, m'lady," he ordered firmly. "'Tis evident grief has befallen the castle. Stay with Lady Beda while we seek out one with answers."

  "Nay, I will not!" she shouted, tears streaming down her face. "Turn me loose and move aside. I must go to him."

  "And I cannot," he argued. "The King's mother bestowed your care unto my hands and I fear what lies ahead too great for you to bear—"

  But before the knight could finish, Jewel slipped her leg from the horn of the sidesaddle and slid to the ground. Lifting the skirts of her gunna, she raced off toward the castle gates, her chest heaving with her sobs.

  "Father!" she cried out once more, stumbling to halt when she reached the end of the long, wooden bridge and was met by a group of serfs coming from the castle's courtyard. A tiny hand flew to her mouth as she fought back a torrent of weeping, her eyes affixed to the bundle they awkwardly carried, for she had instantly recognized the shape of a man wrapped inside the blanket. Yet amidst the whirling of her emotions, some logic surfaced. The lord of a castle would not be buried in simple cloth but fine silks, and he would be taken to the cemetery on a litter made of rich oak and draped in his colors. The one these serfs carried was of lesser rank and the weight on Jewel's shoulders eased slightly while she prayed her father had been spared. She stood silent as they passed, their faces turned away, and Jewel raised her eyes to look upon the entrance once more. Every muscle tensed when she witnessed a second group leave the courtyard, the body of another cradled in their hands. Spinning around, she viewed the burial ground set away from the hamlet and shaded by a stand of birch trees. Her heart lurched when she saw the numerous mounds of freshly sealed graves. In a time of peace, war had raged about this land, and Jewel knew before the words had been spoken that all who lived within had fallen prey to a cruel enemy. Of a sudden, an eerie coldness seized her slender frame and she hugged the fur mantle to her.

  Suddenly, Jewel's head shot up, her gaze falling on the castle. 'Twas the custom that the victor seize his spoils and, in silent proclamation of his feat, raise his own flag of colors where the late lord's had hung. But to her surprise, the gold and blue of her father's standard still adorned the peak of the tallest watchtower. Confused, Jewel raised a shaky hand to her brow. What could it mean? Was it possible that the dead had not been slain but that illness had taken them? New hope arising, Jewel smiled through her tears, certain that if she went inside, she would find her father issuing commands with little William by his side. Her shoulders squared, she grabbed both hands full of her skirts and started toward the gates.

  "Lady Jewel, wait!" someone shouted from behind her.

  The voice seemed to float around her as if coming from all directions at one time. It sounded familiar yet it unsettled her, for she knew it did not belong to one of her family. Stopping just outside the wide doors of the castle, she slowly turned around, searching for the one who had hailed her, and her pulse quickened when she spotted Radolf hurrying toward her.

  Sunshine gleamed in his reddish-brown hair, a bright contrast to the white surcoat he wore. His face held no smile as it usually did, and Jewel sensed he felt little happiness. At another time, she would have appraised his good looks as she had often done before, but today she could only see him as a herald of bad tidings and her anxiety mounted.

  "Co away," she mumbled, taking a step backward when he continued.

  "Nay, Jewel, don't!" he shouted when she turned from him and ran into the courtyard.

  The stench that arose from the bloodied soil overwhelmed Jewel and she raised a knotted fist to her mouth to stop her from retching as her eyes wildly surveyed the scene before her. Several rows of blanketed bodies lined one wall of the curtilage, awaiting their turn for burial, and Jewel pulled her attention away from them, frantically and hopelessly looking for her father. Peasant women bustled about the main entrance to the house with buckets of water, brushes, and rags, tears streaming down their faces as they worked, and Jewel's gaze searched the mass of activity for the tall, familiar shape of her mother.

  "Lady Jewel, please .. ."

  Hearing Radolf 's voice again, Jewel quickly moved toward the entrance. Whatever he had to say did not interest her. Right now she had to find her mother. Lady Jocelyn needed comforting. Hurrying across the courtyard, she pushed her way through the women, determined to go inside, when a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  "Jewel, please," Radolf whispered, hugging her to him.

  "Nay, unhand me!" she cried, fighting to get free, but his iron grip held her close. "I must go to my mother. She needs me." As she strained against his unrelenting grasp, Jewel's tear-filled eyes dartingly scanned the crowd surrounding them. "Mother!"

  "She's gone, Jewel. All of them. They're all dead," Radolf said, his own voice tight with grief.

  Disbelieving eyes looked up at him. "Nay! Nay, Radolf, they are not!" Her chin quivered. "Oh, dear God, it cannot be! Mother!"

  "Jewel, stop," he said more urgently, clasping both of her arms above the elbows and giving her a shake. "You're all that's left and the people of Harcourt need you. You must be strong. Look at me, Jewel, and know I speak the truth. Jewel!" When she refused to do as he bade, he raised a wide hand to clutch her chin and lift her gaze to meet his.

  Amber-hued eyes so very similar stared at each other and for a long while both held silent as they searched foe some sanity in this moment of madness. Oblivious to those around them, Radolf released his hold to gently wipe the tears from Jewel's cheeks, his handsome face reflecting his sorrow for the grief Jewel suffered.

  "I will always be here for you, Jewel," he whispered tenderly. "I will share your pain, comfort you in your hour of loneliness, and, if it be your want, guide the people of Harcourt. Your father's death does not mean the end of his rule, for he lives on in you. Remember that, Jewel, and govern your subjects as he would have done—with fairness, honesty, and justice."

  "But... I cannot. . ." Jewel began, hushed when Radolf pressed a fingertip to her lips.

  "Yea, you can." He smiled encouragingly. "With my help, Harcourt and its people will rise united in a quest to honor Lord Alcot's name and serve you as they have him. Now, come," he added, wrapping her tiny frame in a protective arm as he guided her through the arched en try way and headed toward the stairs leading to the bedchambers above, "you must rest and shed your tears privately. We have summoned a priest and after the graves are blessed, I will send him to you."

  Once they reached the wide, stone staircase, Jewel leaned heavily against Radolf, all strength seeming to have left her. Unmindful of those who stared sympathetically, Radolf gently stooped to lift her in his arms. With little effort, he carried her up the stairs and down the hall to her chambers, kicking the door open with the toe of his boot. He took her to the wide, canopied bed and eased her onto its feathery softness, lingering to brush a strand of coppery hair from her brow.

  "Radolf," she beckoned weakly, catching his hand when he turned to leave her, "who would do this?"

  His features hardened instantly and with some difficulty he smiled. "We shall talk of it later when you are stronger," he assured her, patting the slim hand wrapped around his own. "The way home was long and much has happened. I will send Leta, a serving girl to Lady Edlyn, to do your bidding, She awaits in the great hall and will help you disrobe so that you may nap—"

  "Radolf," Jewel said again more firmly, pushing herself up on her elbows, for she sensed he knew and would not tell unless pressed to do so. Sitting up, she unfastened the strings of her mantle and pulled it from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor beside the bed. "Do not play games. I will know the one responsible, and before you leave my side."

  He shook his head determinedly and turned away. "Tis more than you could bear just now, I fear."

  "And I will be the one to decide," she answered forcefully, swinging her legs from the bed to stand before him. "Recite the truth or I will find one who will."

  Radolf saw the stubbornness reflec
ted in her eyes and prayed for a gentler method of unmasking the evil that had been done. But knowing of none, he sighed, and slowly walked to the window of the room to gaze out upon the land that now had no lord to reign over it. "Those guilty came while the vassel slept," he began quietly. "Those who were spared saw nothing. No one can say the name and show proof and 'tis why I wish to hold my tongue."

  "But you suspect?" Jewel questioned.

  "Yea, I suspect, but I refuse to believe," he answered angrily.

  "You know him?"

  "Too well, I fear." He whirled to look at her. "An emerald necklace was found clutched in your father's hand. Neither Roe, your vassel, nor any of the serfs could name it as Lady Jocelyn's and thus it set our minds to thinking it was torn from the one who slayed him." His face contorting with his bitterness, Radolf stalked to the chair before the hearth and threw himself into it. For a long while he stared silently into the crackling blaze, an elbow resting on the arm of the chair, knotted fist pressed against his mouth. And when it seemed he would say no more, he bolted from the place and returned to the window. "Roe sent for me last eve and I came in haste, fearing you would be found among the dead. I have cursed myself for finding a bit of happiness amidst the slaughter, but I knew joy at learning you were safe. Then Roe brought me the necklace and I thought my heart had been wrenched from my chest. It had belonged to Lady Sigrid, Amery's mother."

  Jewel's head swirled and she collapsed on the bed, whispering her betrothed's name. Tears filling her eyes, she looked up at Radolf pleadingly, "Are you sure?"

  Rushing to her, he knelt at her side and took her hand. "Yea, Jewel, I am sure the gem is Amery's, but the guilt cannot lie on my half brother's head. He is away fighting the Crusade with King Richard."

  Jewel felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach. "Nay, he is not," she said weakly. "Two mornings past he spoke with the dowager queen."

  "Gossip!" Radolf shouted. "No one has seen him."