Forbidden Magic (10 page)

Gunther's broad shoulders drooped with his sigh. Glancing back down at the sleeping face, he shook his head. "I will see he rights this wrong, m'lady," he whispered. "Its accomplishment still baffles me, but somehow I will make him see his error. As I, you will come to know the softer side of this callous knight. I have seen it rarely but know it's there. In time ...." he murmured, turning toward his horse, "in time." Catching the reins of his steed, he mounted and hurriedly followed his companion.

The two men rode in silence until the sun had reached high overhead and they had traveled a good distance from the public inn, having passed no one on the road. Their quiet anxiety bore heavily on Gunther's nerves and though he chanced angry words from his friend, he was compelled to speak. Spurring his horse, he guided the animal alongside of Amery and cleared his throat.

"Once thou hast made claim to your father's land, I will beg my leave, Amery, to visit my wife at Burchard. A long time has passed since last my eyes were blessed with Lady Anne's beauty and I fear she may have forgotten me."

Amery snorted disapprovingly. "'Twould behest for you if she has."

"There are many of us who do not see women as you, my friend," Gunther replied, piqued by his companion's coolness.

"And I call you all fools," he retaliated. "You held yourself from women all the while we marched on distant soil, pledging to hold sacred the vows you spoke at God's altar. Dost thou truly think your wife did the same?"

Gunther's blue eyes darkened. "You tread on dangerous ground, Amery. I call you friend, but you shall not scorn the name of Lady Anne and expect my tongue to hold quiet. You trust few men and His an honor I be one, but the bonds of friendship break much sooner than those of wedlock."

Amery's wide shoulders relaxed with his sigh. "Then I beg forgiveness, friend. My troubles are my own and I should not take them out on you. I have seen Lady Anne and can well understand how she fills your head."

"And 'tis only because you build a wall around you that you have not found the love Lady Anne and I enjoy," Gunther grumbled, setting his gaze on the twisting road ahead of them.

Casually, Amery peered over at his brooding companion, a tired look on his face. How could he make Gunther understand that his mistrust of women had begun during childhood and had been nurtured through the years by constant lies? As a boy he had endured the cruelty of his stepmother only because his father had comforted him and vowed to always stand beside him. But as Radolf grew to young manhood, Lady Edlyn set them against each other, proclaiming her son to be the rightful heir to Wellington, not Amery. Torn between his sons, his logic twisted by his wife's evil words, Lord Ryland slowly withdrew from making any decisions concerning the boys, leaving the judgments in such matters to Lady Edlyn. Although Amery's love for his father never truly died, his respect for the once powerful lord faded and Amery left Wellington to become a knight of the realm. It had saddened him deeply when Queen Eleanor had told him of Lord Ryland's death, which had taken place while Amery had been away, for in his heart Amery had longed to restore the love they had once shared. Now it would never be and he would live out his life wondering if his name had been on the lord's lips when death took him. Casting his gaze upward toward the blue, cloudless sky, Amery thought of Doane, lifelong friend and loyal serf to his father. If anyone could tell him of his father's last words, it would be Doane. He smiled secretly as the old man's lined face with white fluffy brows and bald head came to mind. He had been the reason Amery had stayed at Wellington as long as he had. Doane had guided Amery's thoughts and feelings when Lord Ryland would not, and Amery had come to consider Doane more an uncle than a friend. He, alone, understood Amery. An uncommon lot, we, Amery mused thoughtfully and chuckled. A king's knight and a lowly serf. But had thou been of noble birth, Doane, your name would have been known to Richard.

"Doth something amuse you?"

Amery glanced up to find Gunther watching. "Nay. I only thought how if I were you and was forced to tolerate such moods as mine, I would soon abandon such a friend. Our days number too few for you to be put upon by ill humor."

"I linger only to see the day a fair damsel melts the ice from your heart," Gunther stated simply. "Then I shall be done with you and have cause to celebrate."

Amery's wide chest shook with his laughter. "Then harden yourself against my biting words, good Gunther, for it will be a long time coming." With a sharp nudge of his heels in Conan's sides, they cantered off down the road and Amery laughed loudly when he heard Gunther's oath hurled upon him. "And be quick, my love-struck knight, for yonder lies the valley of my father's land and I wish to find food and rest within the castle walls."

"I have yet to see such a castle sprout wings and fly away," Gunther shouted. "There's no need to hurry."

"Ah, and if the manor were called Burchard, I would wager I would be left behind," Amery bantered, kicking Bis steed into a full gallop.

"Yea," Gunther returned, "but I have no cause to question what might await me!"

Suddenly Amery yanked back hard on the reins, and Conan's hindquarters were nearly buried in the soft earth as the steed responded to his master's-command. Rearing, he snorted his objection to so quick an end to his unrestricted race. A firm rein calmed the animal and Amery spun the destrier around. "What say you?" he asked, brow furrowed.

Gunther waited to reply until he drew his charger next to Amery's. "The lord of Wellington is dead six months past. You have spoken many times of Lady Edlyn's wish to see your half brother rule. With your absence all these years and the free hand given to the lady, 'twould be a guess, but I suspect you will not be greeted with open arms. 'Twould be wise to approach with caution."

Amery considered his words a moment, then jerked Conan back to the path they traveled. "Yea. You are right. Though Radolf and I were never enemies as children, there's a chance his mind has changed with only his mother to fill his head with thoughts. Twas those few fond memories that spurred my foolishness. Thank you, Gunther."

Gunther nodded and silently cursed the need to warn his friend, for he saw Amery's playful mood darken and the hardened, quiet side of the man surface. Would Amery ever find peace? he wondered sadly.

The castle of Wellington had been erected on the bank of a stream running through the valley. Though narrow, the waterway was deep and served as a moat on three sides of the structure. The fourth held the only entrance to the building, which Was made of stone and mortar, and anyone seeking an audience with its lord must first travel through the serfs' village to reach it. While Ryland had reigned as the lord, the iron-bound door of heavy oak had stood open, welcoming his serfs at all hours of the day to seek his advice on matters concerning, his lands and its people. But with his passing, the barrier had been closed as well as the hearts of those who lived within the walls, and a firm hand now ruled Wellington.

" Tis beautiful, this land of your father's," Gunther said once he and Amery had ridden to the top of the last hill overlooking the castle and had brought their steeds to a halt.

"Yea," Amery agreed softly, noticing little change in the village. "As a child I spent many days playing outside the walls of the castle. 'Twas a time of peace, and friendship ran high." He grew quietly thoughtful, then smiled, recalling something pleasant from his past. "I remember the look my father would give me whenever he came searching for me. Titles-and nobility held little meaning for me as a boy and I would shed my clothes of linen for homespun and play with the others my age from the village." He chuckled. '"Twas hard at times to name the son of Lord Ryland for all the dirt on my face. And he tried to show his displeasure for my lack of concern but always failed. You know, Gunther, I somehow thought he longed to do as I had done, for his true friends lived outside the castle and were never afraid to show their affection,"

"He must have been a good and fair lord to win their respect," Gunther added.

Amery glanced up, his green eyes darkening. "Yea, until Lady Edlyn had her say and Radolf was born. When I was six and my half brother three, I took him with me to the village to play. I loved him and protected him, but Lady Edlyn thought I held jealousy in my heart and planned to harm the child."

Amery's face hardened and his nostrils flared with each breath he took. "She beat me that day and forbade me to leave the castle or play with Radolf from that time on."

"And your father?"

"He argued at first until Lady Edlyn locked her chamber door to him." His hate-filled gaze fell upon the castle once more. "And each time a trinket of any kind was missing or Radolf fell and caused injury to himself, she blamed me. If food wasn't prepared to her liking or I was served before Radolf, she would scream treason, that all favored me over her and her son, 'the rightful heir to Wellington.'" The muscle in his cheek flexed. "God, how I hated her," he said bitterly. "And my father, the lord of all the people, was blind to everything." His anger seemed to vanish as he looked back at his friend, a sarcastic smile twisting his mouth. "Dost thou know how I got this?" he asked, touching the scar on his cheek.

Gunther shook his head.

"From the ring-on her finger when I tried to stop her from killing my puppy. Twas my punishment for disobeying her, she said. But when I ran to my father with word of her cruelty, she labeled me a liar, claiming the animal had fallen down the steps where I had thrown him. 'Twas only Doane who believed me and gave me comfort." A quiet contentment seemed to wash over him as he looked upon the castle again. "But my father can no longer protect her, and I am not a child but a man full grown. She will pay for all the lies, deceit. I will claim what is mine and cast her from the place. Her time has come to pay what is due." Nudging Conan, Amery and the steed bolted off and headed for the village.

Gunther watched as the proud figure of his friend rode further on and was certain no other in the world had heard the man's story as fully as he. His heart ached for the boy of years ago and understood from whence this knight's hatred had come. Yet it had closed his friend's eyes and his heart to all women, for he swore that each was the same as Lady Edlyn. Finally Gunther's curiosity about Amery's tenderness with animals and tiny children had been appeased. They were the only living things that never sought to hurt him; their honesty, innocence and loyalty the only key to unlocking the chains from around Amery's hardened exterior. Visions of the beautiful Lady Jewel came to mind and he raised a brow, wondering. Could she find that key? And now after what had happened, would she even want to try? He frowned, perplexed, and spurred his horse to follow his companion. Amery had stated that only God and his king could sway him, but Gunther decided it would be worth the effort to add a third to his list, and with a little prodding from him. Lady Jewel would be the one.

A silver falcon emblazoned on a black shield gleamed in the sunshine and stopped the children's play in the village as they stared wide eyed and curious. From the doorways of their simple huts, both men and women stared unmoving. A quiet fell among the people as the visitors and mighty destriers advanced, the clanking of armor and pounding hooves echoing throughout the stillness.

From beneath the shadow of his helm, Amery surveyed the people, his-own curiosity aroused when all seemed afraid. Though many years had passed since last they had seen him, the shield bearing his coat of arms, which hung from his saddle, and the colors borne by his charter proclaimed his identity and should not have given anyone reason to fear him.

"Doth seem, Amery, no one wishes us well," Gunther observed, noticing how those they had passed had hastily gathered their children and gone inside, closing doors behind them. "Hath the Lady Edlyn's preaching turned their hearts so quickly?"

"Twould seem," Amery murmured, recognizing several of the older men. His brow crimped. "Do these people not seem ill fed to you, Gunther? And their clothes are little more than rags. I had not heard tales of poor crops this summer past."

"Yea," Gunther answered. "And few have fires burning, for no smoke fills the air. A curious thing, Amery."

Glancing ahead of them, Amery studied the entrance to the castle, his bewilderment deepening. The minutely carved, giant oak doorway was closed, and he had little doubt that if he tried to enter he would find it locked and barred. The torches on either side had not been lit and the stained-glass windows were shuttered, as if protecting those inside. Amery jerked Conan to an abrupt halt and swung the steed around to face the group of nervous men who lingered.

"You there, Ramsden," he thundered, his pointed finger raised in the man's direction. "Stand forth!"

The man of more than three score years lowered his head, clasped his hands as if in silent prayer, and hurried forward. "Yes, sire." His voice came weak and fearful.

"What say you that you dress in rags, starve your children, and turn from me as if I would strike you dead? I am Amery, new lord of Wellington."

"Nay, my son, you are not."

Angrily, Amery yanked his head around to glare at the brazen one who spoke, but his ire vanished when his eyes settled on his old friend, Doane, standing outside one of the huts. He laughed. "No other would call me son but you, or have the courage to question my words." Amery grinned. "Tis good to see that you have not turned against me."

"Never that, Amery, eldest to the late Lord Ryland, never that. As I told you many times, you are the son I never had." Doane smiled tenderly. Leaning against his cane for support, he raised a gnarled hand to indicate his home. "My dwelling is humble but I offer all I have to you and your friend. Come. We shall start a fire and find a crust of bread to share." He motioned to one of the young boys standing in the doorway behind him. "Take Sir Amery's steed and that of his friend and tend to them."