Forbidden Magic

by Catherine Emm

  Darkness pressed in around them once they stepped outside, the cold night air stung Jewel's face, and she hugged the fur mantle tightly to her, only slightly aware of the strong hand that had taken her elbow to guide the way. Faint streams of moonlight filtered down through the thickness of tree limbs and fell upon Gunther as he stood beside three horses. Oddly, he eased her trepidation a degree. Although he had proclaimed a friendship with the man at her side, Jewel doubted Gunther would allow Amery to abuse her... at least not without a protest of some kind. A half smile touched one corner of her mouth. Perhaps, if they fought...

  "Always scheming, my sweet?"

  The deep richness of his voice, laced with humor, chilled Jewel more than the winter night, and she kept her eyes averted lest he read the truth in them. "Scheming, m'lord? I fear I do not know thy meaning." Hearty laughter filled her ears, and without thinking, she looked up at him.

  "Ah, yes, great pleasure," he murmured with a grin, catching her slim waist in his hands as he lifted her from her feet and gently sat her on the saddle of the smallest steed.

  Jewel remained stone still, watching him take the reins of his own destrier from Gunther and effortlessly swing himself up across the wide back of the animal. What had given away her musings? Did this knight practice sorcery? Whatever reason placed her at his mercy, and she knew she would have to be very careful if she were to succeed in escaping him.

  For the next two hours, they traveled in silence, never passing anyone on the road, jewel could not be sure, but she guessed they were heading south, away from London, and Harcourt. And with each step the mare took, the distance between her and the one man who would rescue her became greater. She could only pray Radolf would find the hut where they had stayed and the monastery that had given them food and the horse she rode. Perhaps if the monks learned of her fate, they would eagerly tell Radolf all they knew of the knights who had visited them and thus set him on the right path. But, for now, she would have to be content in sharing the unwanted company of the men who led the way.

  No other sounds echoed in the forest save the thumping of their horses' hooves along the trail, and, as she began to feel the weight of her journey, Jewel's eyes grew heavy and her head bobbed. She had nearly fallen asleep in the saddle when her mare jerked to a stop and Jewel abruptly came to attention. Conan, Amery's charger, blocked the way, his head held high, nostrils flared, and ears twitching at the noise only he had heard. Before Jewel could question the animal's strange behavior, she saw both Amery and Gunther pull their swords from their sheaths and she suddenly sensed the danger lurking in the blackness ahead of them. A wild animal, perhaps? Or possibly the sort that hid amid the shadows armed with sword and spear to prey upon weary travelers? Jewel's heart lurched. Or might God have shown mercy for her plight and guided Radolf and his men to this spot? She could only pray the latter as the other choices were truly none at all.

  Suddenly Conan reared, and in the next instant the road before them filled with menacing shapes of men and horses numbering twice as many as those seeking to pass. Every muscle in Jewel's slender frame tightened once she saw the band of strangers, for she knew them not to be friends, but raiders, thieves who held no single life more important than their own. She could feel their eyes upon her and a cold fear gripped her soul, for if Amery and Gunther fell victims of the battle, she would be the prize, helpless to stop any of them from having their way with her or killing her out of sheer, demented sport. Her heart thundered in her ears and her thin frame shivered, for she doubted any knight could reign victorious when so greatly outnumbered. She tightened her hold on the reins, ready to jerk the mare around and race off the moment they advanced. Bat to her surprise Amery and his companion were the first to charge, the huge swords they held gleaming in the moonlight.

  The earth trembled beneath the pounding of hooves as the mighty destriers raced toward the thieves and the six sought to flee as the threatening figures narrowed the distance between them. Two swung their horses toward the thick grove of trees lining both sides of the road and disappeared into the darkness. The four that remained readied their weapons, certain the odds played them favorites. But when the knights reached them, the clashing of steel rang only a moment before the screams of the wounded and dying filled the air and the bandits fell to the ground.

  Jewel viewed the scene m horror. She had lived the life of a pampered daughter to a great lord, one who protected his family from the cruelty of war, and she had only imagined the flurry of such a contest in the safety of her chambers. To be a witness brought a sickening knot to her stomach and she yanked the mare's reins to one side, placing the bloodied lane at her back, certain she would retch at any moment. She swallowed hard, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, and when she opened them again, a scream lodged in her throat, for it seemed that the two thieves who had fled had appeared from nowhere and one was seizing the reins of her horse as the other lingered behind in false hope of staying the warriors who had killed his companions. Frantic, Jewel kicked out at the one who held the reins, nearly tumbling herself from her mount and scaring the mare. Letting out a panicked whinny, the beast spun its hindquarters about, tugging at the restraint, and collided with the second bandit's horse. He, in turn, was knocked to the ground and his steed sent bolting off down the road. Scrambling to his feet in a rush, for he had seen the two knights raise their swords and spur their destriers on to launch their attack, he raced to hit companion, grabbed the outstretched hand, and swung himself up in back of the man, viciously kicking the animal's sides to send them thundering off down the road, leaving Jewel behind.

  Confused and frightened, Jewel's mare reared, spun around, and raced after the men who sought to escape, her reins having been jerked from Jewel's hands. Free of all restriction, she galloped full speed, unmindful of the desperate cries of her rider or the slight weight that she carried. And the pounding Of hooves behind her as the destriers advanced only urged her on... blindly, wildly. Then suddenly, her rider was lifted from her back.

  Jewel clung frantically to the strong arm encircling her, her eyes shut and tears streaming down her face. And once Amery carefully positioned her in the saddle before him, she wrapped both arms around his neck, hugging him to her, until she heard the deep laughter rumble in his chest. She released her hold immediately and cast her attention on the road ahead of them, watching Gunther and the other men quickly disappear into the darkness, the mare racing alongside them.

  Amery hauled back orn Conan's reins to bring the huge beast to a halt. Several moments of silence passed between them and although Jewel concentrated on the path that seemed to fade into the ebony curtain of night, she was startlingly aware of the green eyes studying her.

  " 'Tis true what they say about you, Sir Amery," she half whispered bitterly, wondering if her voice shook as badly as her hands.

  "And what is that, Lady Jewel?" he questioned, his mirth still present in his tone.

  "That you have no compassion for women." She remained quiet, waiting for the admission she was sure would come, but when the quiet seemed to ring in her ears, she twisted to look at him, seeing the vague smile on his handsome face.

  "And if that were true, little one, then tell me why you're perched on my saddle? Had I no compassion, I could have let the mare throw you and saved myself the trouble of running you down."

  Before he could stop her, Jewel wiggled free and slid to the ground. "Then save your compassion, if that is what you call it," she snapped, glaring up at him. "I will take my chances on the road and return to Harcourt." Lifting the skirts of her gunna, she spun around and started down the path.

  Her steps were sure and quick and never faltered as she lengthened the distance between them, her eyes trained on the gray and black shadows crossing the lane. A crisp breeze lifted the hem of her garments, sending, a shiver up her spine, and Jewel suddenly knew the foolishness of her venture. Harcourt lay many miles further on and the warmth of the morning sun would not grace the land for several hours. Her
fingers and toes were already growing numb, and she realized that without the heat of the mare's body next to her, only a short while would pass before her arms and legs would become too stiff to move. Her pace slowed slightly. And the thieves they had encountered along the trail were not the only raiders who roamed about the land at night. Her fate would be assured if she met another band on foot and alone. Hesitating slightly, she glanced down at the path her feet had taken, then stopped in the middle of the road, listening, No sounds came from behind her, which injured her pride, for she knew Amery had not urged his steed to follow, but instead had allowed her to make her own discoveries about traveling the countryside on a cold winter night. Well, perhaps he was right in this case, but he would not have the satisfaction of seeing her hang her head in shame. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her nose in the air, vowing to find another time when she could leave him without worry for her safety, and she turned back to face him, her humiliation heightening when she noticed how casually he sat watching her.

  Amery had not been affected by the vixen's spiteful decision to walk home, for he knew Gunther would return before she had gotten very far, and a stroll in the crisp, chilling breeze would quickly change her mind. He had returned his sword to its sheath, then leaned forward on the pommel, arms crossed to brace himself, and appraised the agitated sway of skirts as the young beauty jerked them from side to side with each step she took. He had met many a fair damsel in his time, but none as bewitching as she, and never one who preferred her solitude to sharing his company. He found the idea amusing, for whether she wanted it that way or not, he would not let her go until she no longer interested him. His tawny brows came together in an angry frown. Nor would he release her simply because Radolf wanted her.

  His musings were intruded upon when the pounding of hooves against the hard earth filled the quiet. Cautiously he lifted his gaze past the young woman to the road behind her, his hand moving slowly to the hilt of his sword, and he spied Gunther's tall frame astride his horse as he galloped toward them.

  "Lady Jewel?" Gunther questioned, reining his steed to a halt when he reached her. "Art thou safe?"

  Jewel longed to beg his aid in taking her home, protecting her from his companion, and bringing an end to her nightmare, but she knew the effort would be useless. Dropping her gaze away from him, she pulled the fox-lined mantle snugly around her and replied, "Yea, Sir Gunther, no harm has befallen me except to my pride."

  Gunther shifted in the saddle and extended his hand. "Then honor me by sharing our journey and the warmth of my destrier, for I fear the mare has evaded me."

  Jewel smiled up at him appreciatively, about to respond and accept his kindness, when Amery called out.

  "Nay, Gunther. Lady Jewel will ride with me," he said sternly. "And since her foolishness has found her where she is, she will admit to it and set her feet on the path that brings her to my side."

  Gunther frowned, straightening in the saddle, and would have argued the point had he not caught the warning glare of his friend. Instead, he sighed disgustedly and settled back, forced to be content with the knowledge that if nothing else, Amery would never hurt more than her pride. His eyes narrowed slightly as he glowered at his companion, then settled his gaze on the young beauty standing near him, his anger fading when he saw her smile.

  "Yea, Sir Gunther, 'tis my foolishness that has found me thus, and foolishness that has brought about my family's death. Friendship has little meaning when greater goals are sought." She glanced back at Amery. "But hear my words, gallant knight, for of us all, this man's greed will be his downfall." With a proud lift of her chin and before Gunther could reply, Jewel walked the distance that placed her next to Amery and paused,'smiling up at him sardonically.

  "Greed is in truth a devilish creature, little one," Amery replied softly, returning her smile. "One that if cunningly used, can make even the evilest of men appear the saint."

  "Thou art far from sainthood, Amery of Wellington," Jewel hissed, his meaning lost to her.

  Amery chuckled. "And no doubt you will be most eager to spread the tale." He grinned, one hand holding onto the pommel while he bent low to envelop her delicate frame in one arm and lift her to a place in front of him. "But then, 'twas never my intent to win the praise of anyone."

  "Except your king," she dared to correct, feeling the warmth of his body next to hers quickly chase away the chill. She wanted to snuggle closer and enjoy the comfort of his protection but stubbornly refused, sitting stiffly in his arms.

  "'Tis not praise I seek, little one," he murmured, turning his mount and touching his heels to its sides. After he had nodded Gunther on, they resumed their journey, each remaining silent with his own thoughts.

  Chapter 6

  The bright morning sun rose languidly in the crystal clearness of the blue sky, warming the earth and all it touched, and masking the tragedy that had befallen Harcourt Castle as all evidence had been cleared, the dead buried. In the great hall, peasant men hurriedly moved about repairing the huge oak door that had been torn from its hinges by the invaders while the women brought food and wine to break the fasts of their visitors. To look upon the place, all seemed well and as it should be, save for the quiet that reigned over the people, for none spoke as they worked, the grief they suffered showing clearly in their eyes.

  From his corner of the room, Kennard halfheartedly watched the activity of the serfs, his thoughts elsewhere. Radolf had insisted they stay the night, that Harcourt was vulnerable to any lord who wanted to increase his lands by the mere taking of the castle, and that he would not leave Lady Jewel until she agreed to come with him. But Kennard disliked being at Harcourt. Although he could not name it, something bothered him as persistently as a splinter of wood in the palm of his hand. The night past he had experienced a chill that had shaken his entire being—and not once, but twice—a sensation he knew was not born of the winter air. Danger lurked about them, a silent promise that those who had practiced evil would be called upon to redeem themselves. He raised the wineskin to his lips and took a long drink. It was not that he was a coward— far from it. He had bravely faced the enemy in battle and had slain a good number of knights. But what they had done here had been done cravenly, and he felt certain no amount of time would ever erase it from his mind.

  "Good morningtide, Kennard," a cheerful voice called out to him.

  Straightening in his chair, the knight twisted to watch his cousin descend the stairs, cross to one of the tables filled with food, and lift a jelly tart from a tray. "Good morningtide, Radolf," he murmured, settling back again to concentrate on the fire crackling in the huge hearth next to him.

  "Was thy bed lumpy, dear cousin?" Radolf chided with a half smile when he noticed the irritable frown kinking the man's brow. "Thou seemest in ill spirits."

  Kennard raised the wineskin to his lips and took a swallow. "Nay. Twas soft and I slept well. Tis the light of day that disturbs me."

  Radolf considered his friend a moment while he sampled the tart, then drew up a chair to sit next to him. "Perchance if you ate—"

  "'Tis not food that will ease the aching in my stomach!" Kennard snapped before taking a hearty swig of the wine.

  "And what will, cousin? A damsel in thy bed?" His gaze quickly took in the peasant women sharing the hall. "There are many from which to choose."

  Angry brown eyes glared at him. "Must thou always think of women?" Kennard stormed. '"Twill be your downfall." He stared at the flames again.

  Unaffected by Kennard's strange mood, Radolf chuckled lightly. "Mayhap thy bed was soft, cousin, but thy temper has a sharp edge." He leaned back in the chair, crossed an ankle to his knee, and stuffed the rest of the tart in his mouth, mumbling out of one corner, "Wouldst thou care to tell me what troubles you this morn?"

  Kennard sighed heavily, his anger easing a degree. "Tis what troubles me. I know not the cause."

  Laughing, Radolf reached for the wineskin Kennard held. "Perhaps we should send for the healer. You declare
a rest well taken, curse the thought of a woman beneath you, and seek to drown your troubles in wine when you cannot even name them." He raised the skin high and let the burgundy fluid trickle freely until he had had his fill.

  "Tis difficult to recite, cousin. 'Twas all I meant," Kennard snapped, heaving his large frame from the chair. Crossing to the fireplace, he rested one arm along its stone edge and studied the orange and yellow light flickering against the floor.

  Radolf observed his cousin in silence, knowing that of all the knights who had vowed their allegiance, only Kennard could be called a trusted friend. He enjoyed the man's many moods and the sport of badgering him into doing anything Radolf wanted. Though Kennard stood nearly a full head taller than himself, Radolf often mentally compared his cousin to a small child, eager to do whatever pleased Radolf. With the exception of his mother, Lady Edlyn, Radolf had never sought the approval of anyone for the things he did until Kennard had come to live at Wellington. And now that Radolf was a man, he no longer cared what his mother thought. But Kennard's devotion meant a great deal. Although he teased him, Radolf was truly concerned about the problem that plagued his cousin's mind, and if there were some way he could ease Kennard's distress, he would. Perhaps Kennard did not know what caused his unrest, but Radolf suspected.

  "Tis Amery," he said softly, and waited for his cousin to look up at him. Kennard frowned.

  "Tell me nay if you can, cousin, but would the laughter not shine again in your eyes if you knew my half brother were dead and posed no threat to us?"

  Kennard shrugged with his sigh. "Mayhap," he said. "And 'twould explain the feeling I had this night past while talking to the priests."

  Puzzled, Radolf cocked his head to one side, waiting.

  "I cannot name it, but it set my flesh tingling," he confided, holding his voice to a whisper when two serfs ventured near. He paused only long enough in his storytelling to frown angrily at them for the interruption they had caused and dismiss them with an agitated jerk of his head to seek other duties that would take them elsewhere. Once they had gone, he left his place by the hearth, eager now to narrate it all, and returned to the chair next to Radolf. "Mayhap it was guilt for the evil in which we indulged, but standing near the monks placed doubt in my mind."