A Passionate Magic (18 page)

In the morning Dain was gone before Emma
awoke. On his pillow lay a blue-green bead, large as the tip of
Emma’s little finger, and the exact shade of Dain’s eyes.

“Eight servants are sick,” Hawise said to
Emma, “and twelve men-at-arms. The garderobes are all overcrowded
this morning. I think it’s because our food became tainted from
sitting on the tables too long. Every dish was cold when we ate
it.”

“It is possible that spoiled food caused the
illness,” Emma said, “or it could be that Lady Richenda’s retainers
brought some illness home with them from Tawton Abbey. Are any of
them sick?”

“Only two, my lady. Personally, I am glad I
ate just a bit of bread and a chunk of cheese last night. It’s a
most unpleasant sickness,” Hawise said.

“I will make an infusion of mint leaves and
willow bark,” Emma said. “Tell anyone who feels the need of
medicine to come to me in the stillroom.”

“They are sick of their own gluttony,” Lady
Richenda said in unconcealed disgust when she heard of all the
digestive upsets. “The men-at-arms swill ale like pigs wallowing in
their troughs, and they always overeat. What else can be expected
but illness after such behavior? They don’t deserve any remedy. Let
them recover as best they can.”

Emma thought a little compassion ought to be
expected from the lord’s mother, but she held her tongue. She was
glad to see Dain had come to the great hall in apparent good
health, if not in good spirits.

Blake was up and moving about the great hall,
limping a little and basking in the voluble approval of the younger
squires for the way he was dealing with his first real wound.

Blake gave full credit to Emma for his rapid
recovery, and his adoration of her shone in his young face every
time he looked at her.

“He ought to love me,” Lady Richenda said to
Dain as they gathered for the midday meal. “Me, and not that
troublesome girl who is attempting to usurp my position.”

“You cannot force Blake to love you,” Dain
said in a voice that suggested he was weary of arguing with his
mother. “Love comes where and when it will.”

“What do you know of love?” Lady Richenda
exclaimed scornfully. “All you have experienced is the urge to rut
like a beast in the field. And what did it get you, tell me that!
Nothing but a bastard son, and why you should grieve for him, I
will never understand.”

“No, Mother, you don’t understand,” Dain
said.

“Love, as opposed to lust, is holy, sacred,
and far removed from the desires of the flesh,” Lady Richenda told
him. “So I have always taught you, and I wish you would remember
it.”

“I do require an heir,” Dain said. “Surely
you understand my reasoning. I have a grown-up, willing wife, and I
need an heir.”

“Consummating your marriage was not part of
your original plan!” Lady Richenda screeched at him. “Oh, very
well, then, go spend your lust on your enemy’s daughter. Get her
with child, if that is what you want. Afterward, you can devote
yourself to more exalted objectives – preferably, the destruction
of her family.”

Emma was finding it difficult to keep her
promise to herself not to quarrel with Lady Richenda again. She was
forced to clamp her teeth together to prevent herself from
speaking. She was heartened by the sympathetic glances she received
from Sloan and Todd, and from a few other men-at-arms and some of
the squires and servants. Hawise stood firmly behind her, waiting
until Emma was seated at the high table before seeking her own
place at one of the lower tables. And Blake came to her and took
her hand, a gesture that earned him a scowl from Lady Richenda.

Once again Emma was unable to eat more than a
bite or two of the midday meal. Feeling the need to get away from
the castle, she told Dain she was planning to spend the afternoon
searching for wild herbs and did not mention her intent to go
alone. Blake’s leg was still too sore for much walking, and Hawise
had a full basket of mending to do. Emma slipped through the main
gate with a wave for Todd, who was on sentry duty, and headed for
the path that would take her down the cliff face to the beach.

The wind from the sea was brisk, blowing foam
off the tops of the waves, sending the sand into little swirls
around Emma’s feet. She went to the water’s edge and stood there
with her face into the wind, letting it blow irritation and
unhappiness out of her mind. Then she began to walk along the beach
in the direction of Trevanan.

She quickly reached the outcropping of rocks
that divided the cove below Penruan Castle from the next, smaller
cove. The tide was just beginning to ebb, and as Emma came to the
rocks the water washed seaward, leaving wet sand. She hurried
around the rocks and into the little cove before the next wave
rolled in. In one hand she held the basket she always carried when
she ventured out to gather herbs, and she told herself she was in
the cove only to pick a fresh supply of samphire.

“No, be honest, Emma,” she scolded herself.
“You are here because you want to explore the cave again, to
discover if there are more footprints in the sand. There is nothing
to fear. No ghost, no demon or spirit of air or water, could
possibly be more fearsome than Lady Richenda’s hatred or Dain’s
cold anger. Besides, everyone to whom I mention the lady in white
claims she is a good spirit, so if I meet her perhaps she will
impart some useful advice. Advice or no, it would be lovely to meet
someone who would listen to me without despising who I am.”

She headed for the rock behind which lay the
cave entrance. As she had done the last time, she left her basket
behind in order to get through the narrow opening. The first thing
she noticed about the damp sand in the outer chamber of the cave
was the footprints where there had been no prints on her previous
visit. They were large prints, some made by bare feet and others
made by someone wearing boots.

Cautiously, she moved toward the second
chamber. There she found the remnants of a fire. A brown cloak and
a leather sack lay at one side of the chamber, and she could tell
by the makeshift spit that someone had been cooking.

The sand was so churned-up by the new
footprints that the entire original row of small prints, the signs
that had frightened her on her earlier visit to the cave, were
completely obliterated.

Emma did not touch the cloak or the sack.
They were the property of the person who was living in the cave.
Feeling as if she was intruding into the home of a stranger, she
decided to leave, and had just taken a step back toward the first
chamber when she heard a rather pleasant masculine voice.

“Agatha, I saw your basket outside. Have you
come to pay a visit?” The man who was speaking appeared suddenly
and stopped in surprise when he saw Emma. “I beg your pardon. I
thought you were someone else.”

“Do you know Agatha? Does she come here
often?” Emma asked, hoping the stranger would say yes and the
puzzle about who had made that first set of small footprints would
thus be solved. She required only a glance at the stranger’s feet
to know he was responsible for making all the other footprints.

“Agatha told me about the cave and said I
could stay here. She hasn’t come to see me since I moved in. I was
hoping she would come; she bakes wonderful bread. I assume she is
your friend, too,” the stranger said.

He was staring hard at Emma, as if he could
not quite believe what he was seeing. It was a perfectly natural
reaction upon discovering an unexpected person in the cave he was
inhabiting. She thought perhaps he was lonely, since he expressed
an eagerness to meet Agatha again. Then she remembered her manners
and decided introductions were in order.

“I am Emma of Wroxley,” she said, “the wife
of Dain, the baron of Penruan.”

“Are you?” Abruptly, the stranger turned to
stare into the fast-rushing water of the underground stream.

Emma took the opportunity to look more
closely at him, noting his untrimmed black hair and gray-streaked
beard, and the way he held his withered right arm and hand close to
his body, as if to protect the damaged limb. She thought she also
detected a scar under the beard. His hair and clothes were clean,
though the garments were well worn and patched.

She was not at all afraid of him. Far from
being menacing, the strange man impressed her as carrying a great
weight of sadness. Emma wished she could see more of his face.

“What shall I call you?” she asked.

“Call me?” He took a deep breath and squared
his shoulders before he faced her again. “Call me Hermit. It’s what
I am. From now until the end of my life.”

“If you are in trouble,” she said, and made a
motion indicating his hand, “or if you are in pain, I will be glad
to help you. I have some skill with healing herbs.”

“No.” He swallowed hard, and it seemed to
Emma that his eyes were suddenly very bright. “Thank you. It’s kind
of you to offer. Agatha gave me salve for my hand.”

“She knows a great deal more about healing
than I do.” Emma began to feel awkward. “I apologize for venturing
into your home without an invitation. I didn’t know anyone was
living here.” She began to edge toward the outer chamber.

“Do you come here often?” Hermit asked.

“I’ve only been to this cave once before,
when I was gathering herbs that grow in the cliffs,” she answered.
“I promise I won’t disturb you, and I won’t come into your cave
again.”

“It’s not my cave.”

She paused, held by a sense of concern for
him that she could not explain to herself, and by a feeling that he
was of two minds about letting her go. Again, she received the
impression that he was lonely, which was an odd quality in a
hermit, a man who had deliberately chosen to live alone.

“Do you need food or clothing?” she
asked.

“I am used to fending for myself,” he said.
“I want only to be left alone.”

“Then, that is what I will do. If you should
need help of any kind, just tell Agatha, and she’ll get word to
me.”

“Good-bye, my lady,” he said, in a way that
made it clear he was dismissing her.

She left the cave and the little cove
promptly, not pausing to gather any herbs. She took only a bit of
seaweed from the beach below Penruan before she began to climb the
narrow cliff path. When she reached the castle again, she found
Todd still on guard, and she mentioned the stranger to him.

“So, you’ve seen the hermit, have you?” the
man-at-arms said. “When I was in Trevanan yesterday, the local folk
were talking about him. Some say he’s a holy man. Others think he’s
a magician, because he first appeared in the village in company
with Agatha.”

“Which do you think he is?”

“I don’t know,” Todd responded, shaking his
head. “But I do know we ought not to tell Lady Richenda about him.
She’ll have him dragged out of his cave and brought before Dain for
questioning. If the stranger is a holy man, that would be a grave
sacrilege. If he’s a magician, it could be a terrible, dangerous
mistake.”

”I agree with you. I will say nothing about
the man while Lady Richenda is within hearing distance.” Emma did
not think the person who called himself Hermit was a magician. She
had not sensed any magical power emanating from him. From what she
had observed of him, she thought it was more likely that he was a
holy man, driven to lonely wandering by some great sorrow. If he
wanted to be left alone, she would respect his wishes.

She did not even mention Hermit to Dain,
although she was sure he knew about the stranger. It was the sort
of thing that one of Dain’s men, or someone in Trevanan, would
report to him as a matter of course, thinking Dain ought to be
aware of any unknown people in the area. Apparently, Dain did not
consider Hermit to be a danger and was not going to send him away
from his cave.

For some reason that she was unable to
explain to herself, Emma was pleased to know Hermit was going to be
living nearby.

Hermit was almost asleep when he saw
something in the darkness, a shape gliding along the wall of the
cave. It was not the first time. On several occasions since his
first night there he had sensed, or glimpsed, a movement at that
particular spot.

He sat up slowly, so as not to startle
whoever it was. The indistinct shape stopped moving.

“Who are you?” Hermit called softly. “Show
yourself without fear. I won’t hurt you.”

There followed an interminable time during
which Hermit sat where he was, still partially rolled in his cloak,
and the form in the shadows stayed where it was, too.

“Come and sit by the fire where it’s warmer,”
Hermit said when waiting became intolerable. “I have cheese and
some fresh bread that a friend gave me late this afternoon. I’ll
share it with you, if you are hungry.”

The silence continued, though Hermit could
detect an alteration in the quality of the stillness, as if
whatever was just beyond his sight was listening intently to each
word he uttered.

“Do you know Agatha?” Hermit asked. “She gave
me the bread and cheese, and medicine for my hand, too.” He held up
his ruined right hand.

There came a gasp from the shadows, followed
by what sounded like a sob. Hermit continued to talk in hope of
encouraging the unseen soul to come forward and reveal itself.

“Do you know the people at Penruan? I met the
baron’s wife today.” Hermit fell silent, unable to say more on that
subject. Again he waited for a response.

“Penruan.” It was a whisper caught between a
sob and a moan.

“Please join me. I’ll put another piece of
driftwood on the fire.”

Slowly a shape separated itself from the
shadows along the rock wall and came forward. At first Hermit
thought it was a ghost, until the figure drew nearer, and he saw it
was a short, slender female dressed in loose white robes. A silver
amulet set with a large turquoise hung about her neck on a silver
chain. Hermit recognized the stone, for he had seen turquoise
several times during his years of wandering.