Forbidden Magic (11 page)

The lad of no more than ten with blond, curly hair and round blue eyes quickly did as he was bade, but once he stood before Conan, his courage faded, and he glanced fearfully back at Doane. Eager to do as the old man wished, the boy had little realized the task he had undertaken as he had approached the giant stallion. But now he saw that one tug of the steed's huge head against the reins would lift him from the ground and set them off in any direction the destrier might choose.

Amery could sense the cause of the lad's hesitation from the look in his pale blue eyes, and without comment he hastily dismounted to stand near the child. "I call him Conan," he said, removing his helm and reaching for-a pouch beneath his hauberk. "If you give him one of these"—he handed the boy a sugared candy—"he will be as gentle as a kitten. But," he added, dropping a second piece in the open hand, "you must eat one too."

When the child glanced up questioningly, Amery winked, the gesture going unseen by those who observed, and a bright smile flashed from the boy in return.

"As for my friend's steed," he continued, waving a hand toward Gunther, "'tis little more than a mule. No danger there."

The boy giggled, popped the treat into his mouth and easily took Conan's reins from Amery. Cautiously, he held out the candy between a thumb and forefinger, pulling back when Conan raised his nose.

"Nay. Like this," Amery instructed, taking the tiny hand in his own large one and stretching it out flat, the sugar drop positioned on the palm. "He will tickle but not bite."

Another giggle erupted from the boy when Conan did just as the huge knight had said, and Amery laughed, tousling the boy's hair with his wide, hand as he walked past him.

"Have you adopted another son, Doane?" Amery inquired with a grin as he and Gunther followed the old man into his hut.

"Nay, Amery. He is of my own blood. My grandson by my second daughter."

"Ah, yes. As I remember, you had seven."

Doane paused and glanced up at him. "Nine. Two were born after you left." He smiled, extending a hand to denote the crude chairs that sat around the small table. "Please, rest thysehres."

The two men did as bade and settled back to watch the busy
activity of the women in the hut as they started a fire in the
hearth and brought cups and plates made of clay to the table as
well as a jug of goat's milk and a loaf of bread. When the eldest
of the women lifted the pitcher to fill the cups, Amery raised a
hand, declining.

"'Tis not that I insult your hospitality, Doane, my friend, but from what I've seen, you cannot spare a drop."

Doane nodded dismissingly at the women and waited until they had left the hut to allow the men their privacy before he hobbled to a chair placed before the hearth. Easing himself into it, he sighed. "Times are bad, Amery. Since your father died, there has been much sadness here."

"Tell me the whole of it," Amery urged.

Tired brown eyes shadowed by thick white brows looked up at him. "Before your father, my friend, was cold in his grave, Lady Edlyn brought us together to announce the new lord of Wellington, Radolf, second son of Ryland. We could not question it, but I always knew someday you would return home to claim what was rightfully yours. The people of this hamlet feared rule by Radolf, knowing Lady Edlyn would guide his decisions. Your father was always fair with us and gave each an equal share of food, but Lady Edlyn thought us worse than the pigs in the sty. When crops were harvested, they were taken inside the castle walls and we were forced to beg for a morsel to feed our children. Many have died, Amery, since Radolf has been lord."

A huge fist slammed against the table. "And I shall right the wrong done you," he roared, bolting from his chair.

"Nay, Amery," Doane objected. "There is more of which you know not. Please sit and hear it all, for it would be dangerous, to ride into the castle with only one man by your side."

"But those who live there were my father's knights and will pledge allegiance to his son."

"Until this morn when news reached the castle, they would readily have joined you. But not now."

"News?" Amery echoed. "What news? What words could sway their hearts and set them against me?"

"Please sit, my son, and I will tell you," Doane pleaded softly, watching Gunther lay a gentle hand on his friend's arm and silently urge Amery to do as he had been bidden.

"A grievous thing has happened and no easy way to tell it comes to mind but simple verse," Doane began, his expression pained. "Two nights past, Harcourt castle was attacked and all within were slain. Lord Alcot, Lady Jocelyn, Edwina and Ivy, and the young William have met their deaths. Only your betrothed, Lady Jewel, was spared, and I fear simply by the grace of God, for she has been at court these four weeks past."

Amery's green eyes flashed his rage. "Attacked? Why? Who would do such a thing?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"In my heart I know it is a lie, good Amery, son of my beloved friend," Doane answered, leaning forward in his chair, tears glistening in his eyes. "It has been said that in Lord Alcot's hand a green stone was found, an emerald necklace that belonged to your mother, and you are being held responsible, that it was torn from your neck when Lord Alcot met-his death."

Amery's face whitened with the old man's story. Silent, he rose and went to the hearth to stare into the fire.

"Those who did this came under friendship, Amery, for Lord Alcot and all his knights met them without swords or weapons, opened their doors and arms willingly as if they believed no danger would come from their visitors. Lord Alcot was a great and cunning knight. He must have trusted the man who slayed him; otherwise he would have armed himself. 'Tis why blame of this evil act has been placed on you."

"But Lord Alcot was the father of Amery's betrothed," Gunther pointed out. "Could any who spread the lie explain the reason he would draw his sword against the man?"

"News has reached us of the King's capture and the ransom that is needed to free him. They say all knights of the realm must collect the levies and that Sir Amery sought out his neighbor first. When Lord Alcot refused .. ."

" 'Tis child's reasoning," Gunther stormed.

"Yea, and I told the others in this hamlet such, that Sir Amery had not returned from the Crusade in three years. No eyes fell upon the one who murdered Lord Alcot and none could say Sir Amery had returned. But still they believed. And now that he has come, it sets to fact the lies as they see it."

"Then someone knew we had crossed into this land," Gunther said thoughtfully. "To seal the trap, Amery's presence was needed, to place him near Harcourt castle without witnesses to say the difference. Only I can disclaim the tale, for he never left my side."

"And one against many will not convince them, Sir Gunther," Doane said sadly.

"Then we must find the one who did this and prove Amery's innocence."

"Yea. But you will be hard put to do so. A price has been placed on Sir Amery's head and arty who ride with him."

"A price?" Gunther bellowed. "Who would dare? He is a knight to the king of England!"

"I can name him," the deep voice stated, and both Doane and Gunther turned to look at Amery. Casually, he glanced over at them, a sardonic smile on his handsome face. "My half brother, Radolf, done so by instruction of Lady Edlyn."

"But Amery," Gunther contested, "'twould mean he believes the guilt lies with you."

"Nay, Gunther, ray friend. Whether he believes or not is not his cause, but finding an easy way to set the people of Wellington against me. If all are fooled by his actions, they will turn from me, the rightful lord, and follow the deceitful one. Is that not how it is, Doane?" he asked, looking at the old man.

"Yea, my son. Twas Radolf," Doane said softly, casting his eyes away from his friend. "And I have more of which I wish to speak, Amery, something that saddens my heart more than just the telling of it."

"Then spill the words and ease your burden," Amery urged.

"'Tis not the weight of it, but that I cannot give proof as well," Doane replied, sighing. Tired eyes looked up at Amery. "Your father died while dining in the great hall before a host of guests. A toast had been made to his health and long life, offered by Lady Edlyn. All hailed the good wishes and your father drank his share, but when he lowered his cup, it is told, his face whitened and he grabbed his chest. Before any could reach him, he fell dead upon the floor. A priest was summoned and he proclaimed that Cod had willed it so."

"Then what proof do you lack of so many witnessed my father's passing?" Amery tested, befuddled.

"There are a few who doubt the priest."

"Doubt the priest?" Gunther echoed, glancing from Doane to Amery and back.

"Yea, Sir Gunther. Those who prepared the feast. They suspect 'twas Lady Edlyn's will, not God's."

"'Tis foolish!" Gunther grunted. "No one has the power to wish another dead."

"Yea, I will not argue that. No sorcery was practiced, but just the same Lord Ryland died before-his time."

"At what do you hint, Doane?" Amery snapped. "Tell it pure and do not waste a word."

Doane paused a moment, rubbing his brow, then set his gaze on Amery again. "I will tell it as they recited it to me. But you must remember that no proof can strengthen the tale." He waited for Amery's nod before continuing, his voice troubled. " Twas Lady Edlyn who came to the kitchen requesting special goblets served. No one thought it uncommon until she forbade anyone but her to carry them to the lord's table. All went about their tasks except Gytha, the nosy one. She followed Lady Edlyn into the hall, hiding in the shadows when Lady Edlyn paused. Gytha is old and her eyesight poor, but she vows she saw the dame set the goblets down and pour a potion into one."

"Poison?" Gunther asked, astonished.

"Tis the proof I do not have." Doane sighed. "Nor can anyone say Lord Ryland drank from that cup. But his health was good and too many questions arise with his death."

Gunther's mouth fell open as he collapsed back in his chair. "Dear God; Amery, the woman is mad."

"Yea. And cunning as well," Amery pointed out, tawny brows drawn together. "She has murdered to have all she wants and has carefully spun a web around her to keep me from her." His green eyes darkened with his hatred. "But in all her planning, she forgot one thing."

"And what is that, Amery?" Gunther asked.

"That Amery of Wellington is no longer a child. The way to the castle may be barred and I might not have an army with which to fight, but I will not simply walk away. She has taken what is mine and I will have it back."

"Amery," Gunther said softly as he rose and came to stand beside,the man, "I have vowed my friendship and would lay down my life for you. But we number, only two against your half brother and his followers, and Doane has told us we will find no friends here. Pray, how do you plan to succeed?"

Amery raised a big hand to rest on Gunther's shoulder. "Do not fear, good friend. My hatred has not blinded my common sense. We shall prove my innocence at Harcourt and lay the truth before the people of England for them to judge. Then once my name is spoken with respect, we shall return to Wellington with.' heads held high, many at our backs, and an oath trailing from our lips to see those guilty brought low before us. Twill take time, Gunther, and keep you from Lady Anne a while longer. If—"

"Do not speak it," Gunther interrupted. "I have ridden by your side these many years and will not turn from you when you need me most. And should the need arise, Burchard will become our haven when those who seek to harm you come too close."

A smile brightened Amery's eyes as he silently contemplated the man. "Can any other claim such loyalty as I?" He grinned and turned to the old man watching them. "We shall leave you now, Doane, but only for awhile. You may hear of us from time to time, yet know this. No matter what story is spread, the troth of it is that Amery of Wellington has returned to bring peace to his land once more." Glancing back at Gunther, Amery nodded toward the door and the two men quickly gathered their things. They crossed the room and when it seemed they would exit, Amery paused to look back at Doane. "I will not bid you farewell, friend, for it bints of no return. I simply wish you well until next we meet."

Doane stayed in his chair near the fire enjoying its warmth, but his thoughts went to Amery, son of Ryland, and he smiled. Listening to the pounding of great hooves against the earth outside his humble dwelling, he took comfort in the sound, for he knew the true lord of this land had come to claim the title.

A
troubled frown marred Jewel's brow as she and her escort traveled the road to Harcourt. The sun shone brightly overhead and warmed the day somewhat but failed to lift her spirits. She had awakened in the stable, groggy from the spill she had taken, to the urgent pleas of Beds, the young maiden instructed by the dowager queen to accompany her. Tears had shone in the girl's eyes, for she had feared Jewel dead. Her head had pounded and at first Jewel had merely lain there gathering her thoughts and praying her vision would clear, until finally the terrifying memories of the past night and bow she had come to be in the stable had come crashing in on her. Frantic, certain the knight lingered in the shadows, she had quickly sat up, only to be overcome with dizziness. One hand cradling her brow, she had weakly asked Beda if only the two of them now shared the stable and she had relaxed when Beda had assured her that no one else was about. Not wishing to stay a moment longer, Jewel had struggled to rise but had been urged by her attendant to remain until one of the knights returned with a cup of wine, and Jewel had reluctantly agreed once she had discovered her knees were too weak to hold her.