Forbidden Magic

by Catherine Emm

  Lady Jewel, he thought, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair and idly strumming the length of his scar. Tis a shame she must die, but 'twas what Lady Edlyn commanded. Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his arms over his wide, rounded chest and watched the bright flickerings coming from the hearth.

  He had been with Lady Edlyn since they were children playing in the courtyard of Melbourne, her father's castle, and he had silently prayed that someday they would marry. But Edlyn's greed for wealth and noble standing had suppressed all hope, for when her father died and Melbourne was then claimed by her older brother, she left the lands of her childhood to go to London, where she sought a husband with property. Ian had vowed his loyalty to her, offering his protection as the only way he knew to stay at her aide, and had never once told of his love for her.

  Nearly a year passed before Edlyn met Lord Ryland of Wellington, a widower with a young son, and although he was much older than she, Edlyn decided then that he would be her husband. With artful cunning she set her trap and within a month they stood before the altar pledging their love and faithfulness. Ian painfully remembered that day as if it had happened only moments before, for it had been then that he had begun to doubt that Edlyn was capable of any emotion that would not be rewarded with fine clothes, jewels, or titled lands.

  After their marriage, they returned to Wellington, and Lord Ryland offered Ian a place beside him in the management of his lands, which Ian eagerly accepted. Although this man had married the woman he loved, Ian developed great respect for Lord Ryland and in the weeks that passed he came to know him as a true friend. But his devotion to Edlyn never died, and when she began to attack her husband's methods of governing Wellington, he was torn between his friendship with Ryland and his love for Edlyn. She wanted more and demanded that Wellington's army make war upon their neighbors and seize the lands for their own. Until this point, Ryland had given his wife everything, blinded as he had been by his love for her, but when be stood his ground and denied her the one thing she truly sought—power—she fought back the only way she knew how. She closed her bedchamber door against her husband.

  Ian sadly recalled how Edlyn's treatment of Ryland changed him. He became withdrawn and eventually sought out reasons to leave Wellington for long periods of time. And then Edlyn began to take lovers. At first Ian was furious, vowing to inform her husband, but Edlyn quickly rose to the cause and in her own shrewd way seduced Ian as well. Having lived all these years longing to hold Edlyn in his arms, Ian mindlessly relinquished his threat to enlighten Ryland when she offered the promise that he would be the only one with whom she would share a bed. But like the vows of love she had given Ryland, this too was a lie, and the next eve found her in still another's arms.

  Several months went by and Ian was never again allowed into Edlyn's chambers. He soon realized it had been a ploy to trap him into keeping her secret, for how could he go to Ryland with word of his wife's unfaithfulness when he himself had been one of her lovers? But then, unexpectedly, Edlyn mellowed. She seemed happier, content with her life, and Ian suspected she had fallen in love with one of her paramours. Then one day he found her weeping mournfully in her chambers and when he pressed her for the reason, she woefully admitted she carried another man's child. She never revealed the name of the sire, who refused to claim the unborn child, and out of fear her husband would divorce her and send her from the castle, she turned her affection back to Ryland.

  Sitting alone now in this room, Ian wondered what had made him stay by her all these years. She had never loved him. In fact she had many times abused him, and he chuckled wryly to himself, remembering how he had acquired the awful scar that sometimes made it difficult for him to speak clearly with his lower lip so grossly disfigured. It had been the day she had told him of her plan to poison Ryland. He had called her rile names for being so heartless as to kill the man who had given her everything. In retaliation she had taken a heavy candlestick and viciously struck him across the face, tearing open an awesome gash in his flesh; then she had callously left him lying on the floor hi his own pool of blood to fulfill her evil scheme. And now, after all that had happened, he had blindly, obediently, done as she commanded. He was on his way to find Lady Jewel and bring her life to a tragic end.

  A noise brought him around to stare at the doorway of the room, fearful his guilt could be read in his eyes, and he blinked in an effort to hide it. Brother Paul had returned with another monk and before they had stepped inside the chamber, Ian rose to his feet.

  "This is Brother John," the first announced. "I have spoken with him about the men for whom you search. Thou wilt be pleased to know he can be of assistance." '

  "Yea, Sir Ian," Brother John continued, wringing his hands. "Two knights came here seeking-shelter and information about Harcourt. They told me they had been unjustly accused of the slayings and wished to return there unnoticed to learn what they could that might prove their innocence. I had no way of knowing they only intended to abduct Lady Jewel."

  Ian could see the fine beads of perspiration across the man's balding head and fleetingly wondered how the monk might react if he knew what his visitor had in store for him. Casually, he slowly moved to place himself between the monks and the only exit to the room.

  "I gave them the robes because I believed them," Brother John added, his voice nearly, a whine.

  "Do not blame thyself, Brother," Ian said comfortingly. "Many have been fooled. Dost thou know the names of these knights?"

  "Yea, Sir Ian. One was Sir Amery of Wellington, the other Sir Gunther. We only talked briefly, but I think I heard him say he was from Burchard, on the Isle of Wight. Dost thou suppose that is where they have taken Lady Jewel? I pray God will forgive me if any harm comes to her because of my foolishness."

  Ian smiled crookedly as he reached for the edge of the door and moved to allow it to swing shut. "I am certain He will forgive you, Brother John. Does anyone else know of this?"

  Brother John shook his head, gulping nervously as if some ill-behaved child brought before his father for punishment. "The rest were saying vespers," he replied hesitantly, glancing at Brother Paul with a confused frown, then back at their visitor. "Why dost thou—"

  The monk's face paled a ghostly white and his chin sagged when he saw Ian toss his mantle over his shoulder and swiftly withdraw his sword.

  * * *

  Morning dawned, masked in a blanket of light snow. Sparrows chattered loudly from their perches high in the treetops overlooking the dying flames of a campfire and the man who bit hungrily at the piece of meat he held. When he had finished, he scooped up a handful of snow to wash the grease from his fingertips, then stood, kicking the white substance into the fire to watch it hiss, then steam, and finally die with only a trail of thin gray smoke curling toward the heaven. Stretching, he shook from his mantle the snow that clung to him, bent to retrieve his helm from the log, and quickly slipped it over his head. Readjusting the sword that hung, from his kirtle, he freed the reins of his horse from a nearby tree branch and swiftly mounted, spinning the huge charger toward the road.

  Ian had eaten the last of the food he had brought with him, and the wineskin held only a swallow to quench his thirst. Before he traveled much further, he would have to find a farmhouse along the way where he could refill the leather pouch and acquire more wine to chase the chill of the winter morning from his body. The Isle of Wight was more than a day's journey further on and even then he could not be certain how long it would take him to succeed in finding Lady Jewel, let alone lure her away from Amery's protection.

  Amery, Ian thought with a sigh. He had not seen Ryland's son in nearly six years, though word of his conquests had reached Wellington regularly. His courage and skill with a sword outrivaled all others in King Richard's army and few men openly sought the chance to challenge that notoriety. Though Ian did not lack in valor, he also knew there would be no contest if he and Amery were to meet sword to sword. His youth alone made Amery swifter than he, but even
if their years had numbered the same, Ian doubted he could ever best the man.

  He had watched both Amery and his half brother grow to manhood and had realized when they were but small lads that Amery would be the strongest and more than anyone would deserve to have the lands of his father for his own. A frown settled on his brow as he studied the path his destrier took, for he recalled the cruelty Edlyn had bestowed upon the child from the time of Radolf's birth. She had decided from that moment that her son would inherit Wellington and thus sought to drive the lord's true offspring from the castle. She attempted at every turn to discredit the boy in his father's eyes and easily succeeded, for Lord Ryland's mind had been poisoned from the first, his love for his unfaithful, undeserving wife having overshadowed all else.

  Ian had hated himself for never stepping in to right the wrongs brought against Amery, for in his own strange way he had loved the blond-haired boy. He excused his weakness even now, for somewhere deep inside he knew that one day Amery would have his revenge, and if it meant the spilling of his own blood for his part in Edlyn's heinous scheme, he would hold no blame in his heart for Amery. He only wished he could tell him why...

  The gray clouds of morning thinned and by early afternoon the warmth of the bright sunlight had spread across the land, melting the snow and buoying the knight's spirits. He came upon a small farmhouse nestled among the trees at the side of the road and reined his horse to a halt outside the front door. As he tied off the steed to the rickety fence surrounding the yard, he heard a man's voice call oat to hint. Looking up, he saw the round figure of the farmer coming from the stable and returned his greeting.

  "I am a weary traveler known as Sir Ian and wonder if I might warm myself by your fire and beg a cup of wine."

  " 'Twould be an honor to have one so noble in our house," the man replied with a smile. "I am called Blagden and live here with my wife, Huette. We were about to eat a humble meal and would be greatly pleased if thou wouldst join us."

  Ian nodded his acceptance and allowed Blagden to lead the way, removing his helm once they had stepped inside the small hut. The warm smells of cooking meats and freshly baked bread filled the space and Ian realized he had not known how hungry he truly was until that moment. Before the hearth, he saw a woman crouched and adding logs to the fire, and she quickly came to her feet when her husband spoke of a visitor. She smiled warmly at him and begged him to take a chair by the fireplace while she fetched him a cup of wine and a plate of food.

  "Dost thou have far to travel?" Blagden asked, watching the knight remove his mantle and gloves, then cross to the hearth where he held out his hands against the heat radiated by the fire.

  "Yea," Ian replied. "Another day's journey or more."

  "Art thou a messenger for King Richard's cause?" Blagden continued, taking the cup his wife had brought to them and handing it to the knight. "We have very little but will give what we can. Perhaps a chicken or two to sell."

  Ian smiled half to himself, wondering what this man would think if he knew his true reason for traveling the road. He took a sip of wine, then looked over at Blagden. "Nay. I merely seek to visit a friend I have not seen in a long while. We fought together in the Crusade but somehow drifted apart." Ian took another drink, oddly enjoying the tale he spun. "I think Sir Gunther will be surprised to see me."

  "Sir Gunther of Burchard?" Blagden asked in surprise.

  Suddenly Ian's game fell short of amusing, for he had never expected this man to know the name he had so carelessly spilled. "Yea," he answered guardedly. "Dost thou know of bun?"

  "Know him?" Blagden laughed, glancing over at his wife. "I am proud to call him friend as well. And thou wilt be pleased to know Sir Gunther is most assuredly at Burchard this moment, for not a week past he and his companions spent the night here."

  "Companions?" Ian asked, feigning interest and at the same time cursing himself for letting it go this far.

  "Yea, Sir Amery of Wellington and his betrothed, Lady Jewel. Sir Gunther bade me speak not of his presence here, but since thou art his friend ..." Blagden paused, his face crimping in confusion when he noticed the angry frown on his visitor's brow and the way his scar whitened as he ground his teeth. Worriedly, he looked at his wife.

  Ian had never hesitated to raise his sword against an enemy, but the thought of killing these two helpless people seemed bitter gall for him to swallow, nearly as bitter as when he had been forced to take the lives of the two monks. Edlyn had given him strict orders to leave no one behind who might aid in her son's search for Lady Jewel. He was to find her first and dispose of her as had been planned the night they had attacked Harcourt. She was a threat to Edlyn's success in obtaining Wellington and Harcourt for her son and had to be eliminated. Setting aside his cup, Ian fleetingly wondered how a man could have the courage to walk into battle knowing his life might end, yet have all valor flee him in the face of the simplest of smiles directed his way by the woman he loved. He could never deny her. Damn this weakness!

  * * *

  Looking out over the long rows of oars cutting into the water in perfect harmony to guide the galley ship toward the Isle of Wight, Ian chuckled at his cleverness and the irony that found him dressed in the robes of a monk. Beside him on the floor sat a wooden trunk bearing what he claimed was a change of clothes, a Bible, and gifts for the lord and lady of Burchard, while in truth it held his armor and sword. He had wasted nearly a week endeavoring to secure passage to the island, for the place was well guarded against strangers who merely wished to view the countryside. Then one night at an inn in a town called Portsmouth, while he sat imbibing a generous amount of ale in the hope of drowning his guilt, it came to him. When all of Harcourt had been surrounded by knights of Lady Edlyn's, how had Amery managed to steal inside unnoticed? And if it had worked so easily for him. .. . Now, all that was left was to find a method by which he could trap Lady Jewel alone.

  * * *

  "Radolf, methinks our steeds churn the ground uselessly," Kennard said, disgruntled. "We have searched the monasteries far and wide, and still we have not found a clue. More than a week has passed. Amery has flown to some distant corner where we will not know to look."

  Radolf's brows came together in an angry frown and he gripped his horse's reins more tightly to suppress his ire. "If thou tirest of our journey, cousin, then set thy charger on the road to Wellington. But lam determined to continue I will not rest until Jewel is safe."

  "But Amery will not harm her," Kennard argued. "He took her only as a warning.. . the serving maid delivered his message."

  " 'Tis what he spoke," Radolf barked, "but 'twas not his only reason. He knew I would not send an army to hunt him down and endanger Jewel."

  Kennard raised a skeptical brow. "Perhaps he bargained thou wouldst do just as thou art."

  Amber eyes snapped with fury when Radolf turned his gaze on the man at his side. "Which is?"

  Shrugging, Kennard shifted in the saddle and stared at the road ahead of them. "That thou wouldst come alone looking for her and meet his trap. Tis you he wants . .. not Jewel."

  "Then, prithee, why has he disappeared without a sign to guide us? If it is indeed a trap, how will I find him if he does not show me the way?"

  "He is no fool, this half brother of yours, Radolf," Kennard went on. "He wouldst have you chasing shadows for a time, then dangle a thread before your nose. We must play with caution if we are to be victorious."

  "And I grow tired of your ranting," Radolf replied, looking back to the road once more.

  Kennard's own face wrinkled with his frown, for he wanted to further warn his cousin but knew the uselessness of it. Radolf was determined to search for Lady Jewel at any cost.

  The sun had risen an hour before, but a gray fog clung heavily to the trees and shrubs, curling and floating across the path the knights took. In the near distance pale shafts of light could be seen and Radolf nudged his horse on in hopeful anticipation. They had inquired at so many monasteries and the answer had always bee
n the same—no one had seen Lady Jewel or the men who had abducted her. Amery and his companion would have had to have gotten their disguises from one of these holy sanctuaries and Radolf was positive that if they looked long enough, they would find those who had helped. Nostrils flaring slightly, he ground his teeth as he concentrated on the arched entry way to the abbey. For as long as he could remember, he had hated his half brother. Being Lord Ryland's youngest son, he had never been first in doing anything, and even though his father had seemed to care a great deal about him, Radolf had always sensed the man favored his eldest son. And when the announcement was made that Amery would marry Jewel—the one person who truly mattered to Radolf—the young man vowed revenge. Then his mother had suggested the perfect plan—a way to rid them of Amery and gain the lands of their neighbors. Only Radolf had not totally agreed with the scheme. He would murder those at Harcourt and lay the blame on his half brother, but Jewel would be his!

  Jerking his steed to a halt before the cloister, he dismounted and carelessly looped the horse's reins around the spear point of the iron fence beside him. Not bothering to wait for his cousin, he hastened down the path that led to the main door of the monastery and knocked loudly. Several moments passed before he heard the sound of footsteps from inside, and he turned back to wave at his cousin to hurry. Kennard had just reached him when the heavy door creaked open and they were greeted by a monk with a somewhat anxious expression on his face and the chanting of deep, rich voices in the distance.

  "Excuse us, Brother," Radolf said before the man had had a chance to speak, "but we have journeyed far in search of someone. Perhaps thou canst assist in our quest. I am known as Sir—"

  The friar's eyes widened all the more and before Radolf could finish, the man hastily moved to shut them out.

  "Hold!" Radolf exploded, for his temper had been sorely tested in the past several days and no one had ever dared close a door in his face before. With lightning speed he thrust his hand outward to stop the execution of the friar's plan, then leaned las weight against it and pushed the door wide. "We have not come to rob you, fool. Thou hast little we would want. 'Tis only answers we seek. I am Sir Radolf, lord of Wellington."