A Passionate Magic (21 page)

“There you are, my lady,” said Sloan, rising
from one of the tables. “I’ve a message for you from Agatha. She
will meet you tomorrow afternoon on the beach below the
castle.”

“On the beach?” Emma repeated.

“I think she’d prefer to stay away from the
castle because of Lady Richenda,” Sloan said with a meaningful
look.

Emma smiled her understanding and sent the
captain of the men-at-arms back to his evening meal. She thought it
was far more likely that Agatha was planning to visit with Hermit
and that was why she would be on the beach, rather than out of any
fear of Lady Richenda.

Emma was so tired that she went to bed as
soon as she finished eating. But she could not sleep. After tossing
restlessly for a while she got up and wrapped a shawl around her
shoulders. She was kneeling on the seat in the window niche,
watching the moonlit sea below, when Dain entered the room.

“I have been to see my mother,” he said,
standing so close behind Emma that she could feel the heat of his
body. “Blanche said she swallowed a little broth and ate some
bread. She is sleeping peacefully now.”

“I’m glad. She was in dreadful pain when I
first saw her this morning.”

“I was wrong to mistrust you.” Dain’s arms
came around her, pulling her back against his chest, with her head
resting on his broad shoulder. “I should have known without
question that you are too honest to do aught but good to someone
who is under your care.” His lips brushed across her temple, and a
moment later his warm mouth found the spot where her throat and
shoulder joined. His hands worked their way upward to cup and
caress her breasts, his thumbs teasing both of her nipples at the
same time.

Emma squirmed against him, feeling his
overheated hardness probing at her. Warmth flared within her as he
slid his hands down until he reached the place between her
thighs.

“It has been too long,” he said, echoing her
thoughts.

He turned her to face him, and she imagined
he meant to pick her up and carry her to the bed. Instead, he tore
at his clothes, freeing himself, and then he sank onto the stone
window seat.

“Here,” he said, “with the moonlight on
us.”

He lifted her linen nightrobe, and with his
hands on her hips he pulled her forward until she was straddling
his legs.

“Dain, I am not sure what you want me to
do.”

“I’ll show you. Put your hands on my
shoulders and kiss me.”

He began to touch her, his fingers working a
wild magic on her senses, and when she tore her lips from his
because she had to cry out or die of the passion she could not
control, he began to suck on her breast through her robe, drawing
the slightly rough, moistened linen into his mouth, pulling her
flesh into his mouth, too. And all the time his hands were busy
between her thighs.

“Dain!” She did not know whether she wanted
to flee from him to get away from the erotic sensations that were
overwhelming her or force herself closer to him. He solved the
problem for her by catching her writhing hips in his big hands and
lifting her a little, holding her steady as he slowly began to
lower her onto his hardness, stretching and filling her, engulfing
her in pleasure.

“There’s an advantage to this,” he whispered,
his breath hot in her ear. “It’s you who has to do the work.”

“Not work,” she cried. “Joy. Oh, Dain.” She
was full of him, they were one, and she shimmered into ecstasy
there on the cold stone seat with the silver moonlight flooding
over them. She heard his cry and knew that he had found the same
ecstasy.

A long time later he stood, still holding her
wrapped around him and finally carried her to the bed.

“You’re shivering,” he said, “and so am I.
Even in summer that stone is cold. We’ll not use it often when
winter comes.”

She held onto him, clinging for warmth and
love, while he pulled the quilt around them.

“I’ll warm you,” he said, and began to rub
her back, and her arms, and then her calves and thighs.

Then he was inside her again, hard and tender
at first, then fierce and demanding, and the pleasure came upon her
so suddenly that she screamed from the force of it and gave herself
up completely to love.

She was not at all surprised to find him gone
when morning came, or to discover on his pillow a green pebble,
worn smooth by water, the sort of stone she often saw at the edge
of the sea.

Since she knew it was not Dain who was making
a habit of leaving the mysterious gifts, she wondered how anyone
could enter her room without her hearing or sensing the person’s
presence. Except for the single blue bead, there was no material
value to any of the gifts, but she was certain, without knowing how
she could be so sure of it, that no harm was meant to her or to
Dain, that the offerings were meant as gifts, and that they were
given with love.

Emma was just beginning her descent of the
cliff path the next morning when she looked down and saw Agatha
standing on the beach, engrossed in conversation with Hermit. The
two of them did not look up as Emma crossed the sand to them and
they seemed to be unaware of her approach. She heard their last few
sentences clearly.

”A despicable deed that must be rectified,”
Agatha said with considerable passion.

“After so long, what can be done?” asked
Hermit. “There is great danger if we try to set matters
aright.”

“The girl deserves better,” Agatha responded.
“The time for justice approaches. Truth cannot and will not be
denied for much longer.”

“Agatha,” said Emma as she reached them,
“shall I go away until you have finished your private talk?”

“There’s no need.” Seeming unconcerned at
having been overheard, Agatha handed a cloth-wrapped bundle to
Emma. “Dain’s messenger described Lady Richenda’s symptoms, so I
was able to choose the correct herbs for her. I’ve included a vial
of poppy syrup, too. Be careful not to give her too much. I have
known people to become so attached to the stuff that they want more
and more of it.”

“I don’t think there’s any danger of that
happening with Lady Richenda,” Emma said. “She resents everything I
do for her, so I’m sure she will refuse all my medicines as soon as
she begins to feel a little better. The syrup does make her
loquacious, though. Yesterday she recounted her version of the feud
with Lord Udo. What prideful foolishness it all is.”

“Most feuds are born out of pride,” Agatha
said. “Take good care of that nasty old woman. If she should die
while you are treating her, Dain will have an excuse to blame you
and set you aside so he can resume the feud, thus providing Lady
Richenda, in death, with the vengeance she so craves. She will not
mind dying if death gives her the victory over you and the baron of
Wroxley.”

“She is a most determined lady,” Emma agreed.
Then, deciding there would be no better time to speak up, she
added, “Dain told me about you putting herbs in his wine. That was
not well done.” She could not say more, not with Hermit standing
there with them. She found herself blushing at the memory of what
the passionate results of Agatha’s herbs had been, and she could
not look at Hermit.

“It was only a pinch,” Agatha said, scoffing
at Emma’s irritation. “The boy needed a little encouragement to go
where his heart directed.”

“Dain is not a boy,” Emma said very firmly.
“Nor is he under his mother’s influence, whatever you may think. He
often disputes with her and frequently takes my part against
her.”

”I am glad to hear it,” Agatha said. “Perhaps
time is moving more swiftly than I realized.”

Agatha fell silent, her expression guarded,
as if she was considering some deep secret, and Emma decided it was
best to change the subject. She had already said too much about her
private relationship with Dain.

“Good morning, Hermit.” Emma turned to him,
to find him regarding her with an eagerness that suggested he could
not gaze at her long enough. In another man such a degree of
intensity would have indicated a lascivious interest. She could not
impute such a motive to Hermit. There was warmth and friendliness
in his look, and sorrow mixed with some other emotion she could not
define, but she saw in him no evil intent, no wish to harm her in
any way. In fact, she felt comfortable with him, as if they were
already friends of long standing.

“Good day to you, my lady.” Hermit made a
quick little bow and smiled at her.

Emma could not help smiling back at him,
though she was able to overcome her sudden, absurd desire to hug
him.

“I must be going,” Agatha said. “I left some
medicine brewing back at my cottage, and by now it will need
stirring and a few more herbs added to the pot. Hermit, do not
forget what I have said. See to the girl, and take great care. She
must come to no harm.”

“I understand,” Hermit said.

“Thank you for the herbs,” Emma said to
Agatha.

“I gave them to you for your sake, rather
than for Richenda, whom I would prefer never to help,” Agatha
responded. “What you choose to do with the herbs now that they are
in your hands is entirely up to you.” Leaving her companions,
Agatha set off along the beach in the direction of Trevanan.

“She mentioned a girl,” Emma said to Hermit
when Agatha had trudged around the rocks at the side of the cove
and was lost to sight. “Did she mean me? I cannot think so. I am
not a girl any longer.” Emma paused, eyebrows raised in a question,
hoping he would reveal something.

“Not you,” was all Hermit said.

“I have heard her speak before of a girl
whose name she did not mention,” Emma said.

“There are many girls in this area.” Hermit’s
face became a careful blank.

“You are being evasive.”

“Agatha is old enough to have many secrets.
Some of them are not her own.”

“And you are not at liberty to discuss this
one?” Emma mused, nodding her understanding of Hermit’s discretion.
“I apologize for prying. It’s just that there are so many questions
I want to ask Agatha.”

“About her magic?” Hermit met Emma’s startled
look with another of his warm smiles. “Or about your own?”

“You know?” Emma gasped. “Did she tell
you?”

“Agatha would never betray your secret. She
didn’t have to tell me. I recognized you the first instant I saw
you, when I looked into your eyes. I know
your
magic is
meant for good.”

There was some deeper meaning to what he
said; Emma was sure of it. She saw a danger in his kindness and his
ready acceptance of her ability. With a sense of urgency, she tried
to explain without saying too much.

“Agatha knows, and my companion, Hawise, and
now you,” Emma said. “No one else must know. Please, Hermit, keep
my secret. Lady Richenda is so much opposed to magic that she has
forbidden Agatha to enter Penruan Castle.”

“Agatha enters all the same,” Hermit said.
“When Dain summons her, she enters, and he allows her presence in
defiance of his mother.”

“That’s true.” Emma glanced toward the rocks
around which Agatha had disappeared. “Could it be Agatha who-? But
why would she? Oh, how I wish I could talk to her for a longer
time!”

“Perhaps I can help,” Hermit said. “Ask me
the questions you wanted to ask Agatha. What has her ability to
enter Penruan despite Lady Richenda’s ban to do with the confusion
I see in you?”

“Are you a wizard?”

“No,” he responded promptly, “and I thank
heaven for my lack of magical ability. I know the power too well to
want it for myself.”

He flexed the fingers of his right hand, the
movement drawing Emma’s attention. To her eyes, the hand looked
less twisted and more like a normal hand.

“Agatha has a salve to soften the burn
scars,” he said, as if he could read her thoughts, “and she has
suggested I ought to try to use my hand more often and not favor it
as I have done since it was injured. She says use will strengthen
the bones and tendons. Emma, what troubles you? I will not repeat
anything you confide in me.”

She believed him. Something about Hermit’s
quiet manner, added to her perception of a deep sorrow hidden
behind his gentleness, gave her the courage to reveal her troubles
to him. She thought he would understand, so she said to him the
things she hadn’t had the chance to discuss with Agatha.

“Agatha is eager to promote a firm marriage
between Dain and me,” Emma began. “I’m not sure if it’s because she
cares about him and wants him to be happy, which I am certain she
does, or if her chief motive is dislike of Lady Richenda and
disgust with the old feud between Dain’s family and mine.”

“It disturbs you that she put those herbs
into Dain’s wine so he would make love to you,” Hermit said,
looking out to sea and not at her, as if he were as embarrassed by
the subject as she was. “You would have preferred Dain to come to
you out of his own desire.”

“Yes,” Emma said, resolved to get through
this first part of her explanation so he would better understand
her questions when she came to them.

“Any honest woman would feel the same. Now,
why wouldn’t Agatha know as much, being a woman herself?” Hermit
mused.

“Afterward,” Emma spoke into an extended
pause in the conversation, “I began to receive gifts.”

“What gifts?” Hermit asked, slanting a
puzzled look at her.

“From time to time, after Dain has left our
bed, I find objects on his pillow. At first I thought they were
from him, but he insists they are not. The gifts are nothing
valuable, but always something with meaning for me. A flower, an
herb, a blue bead, a seashell-”

”A bead?” he interrupted. “I have found a few
beads in the cave. When I asked Agatha about them, she claimed they
were left there by the Sea People who visited these shores
thousands of years ago, looking for tin. According to Agatha, the
foreigners traded the beads and small gold trinkets for the ore
they considered to be far more valuable.”