Forbidden Magic (33 page)

A
cold, dark quiet hugged the earth. Cray clouds suffocated the silver orb of the moon. The road was barren. No nightly hunters stalked their prey and a black omen slithered along the hardened, lifeless ground. Clinging possessively to the black coarseness of the wooden sentinels of the forest, it marked the path a lone rider took, the pounding of his destrier's hooves echoing in the stillness. Beneath his thick fur mantle, his gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The hideous scar that crimped one cheek and disfigured the lower lip of his mouth gleamed white as he clenched his teeth and his eyes were alert for any danger, while, in truth, it was his kin.

Ahead lay the misshapen silhouette of a monastery, another in this knight's quest to find those who had offered food and drink, and possibly shelter, to the ones he hunted. The men of the cloth would bid him welcome and offer wine to warm him and a bed to rest upon, since the hour neared midnight and he had traveled far. But he would question them first and if they gave no assistance in his search as the others before them, he would continue on, for his mission allowed not a single moment to tarry. Lady Edlyn had bid him hurry.

Urging his stallion to a halt outside the monastery, he slowly dismounted, his eyes trained on the yellow shafts of light spilling from the trio of tall, narrow windows across the way as he tied the reins of his steed to a low-hanging tree branch. Pulling his mantle more tightly around him to shield against the chilling bite of the December eve, he passed beneath the granite arches of the cloister and headed down the well-worn path that in the springtime bloomed with radiant flowers and now lay barren and dismal. He passed several doors, dark and sealed against the night, until he came to one that had a tiny sliver of light flowing out from beneath it. On this he rapped loudly, stood back, and waited, scanning the long arcade of thick pillars that added beauty to the otherwise tedious structure. Several moments passed and just when he was about to raise his fist to the door once more, he heard the muted sounds of footsteps coming from inside and growing in volume before the huge barrier creaked and moaned on its hinges and ever so slowly open inward.

"Good eventide, Brother," he said to the dark figure standing before him, the light from behind the monk casting his face in a shadow. "I have traveled far in search of someone and pray thou canst aid in my pursuit."

The man cloaked in brown moved aside, motioning for the knight to enter, and said, "I am Brother Paul. Come warm thyself by our fire and I will bring wine and cheese. The hour is late and perhaps thou wouldst care to spend the night."

"Nay," he replied, watching the monk close the door behind him. "My journey is of great import and cannot be delayed. I am known as Sir Ian and I am looking for those who killed Lord Alcot."

The light from the torches adorning the walls in the corridor fell upon the monk's lined and frowning face when he turned to look at his visitor. "Murderers would not find refuge here, Sir Ian."

"Nay. Twas not my meaning, Brother Paul. They have fled. But before they vanished, they disguised themselves as monks, gained entry into Harcourt Castle, and took Lady Jewel as hostage. I have been sent to find them."

"I understand," Brother Paul said quietly, folding his hands within the large sleeves of his robe as he turned and led him toward an open doorway. "And thou hast come here to this monastery because these men dressed as monks and thou thinkst we might have knowledge of who they were."

"I know the identity of one, Brother Paul. He is Sir Amery of Wellington. Tis the other's I must learn. They would need a place of sanctuary and I suspect they have taken this man's home. Dost thou know of these men?"

Leading the way into the adjoining room, Brother Paul directed Ian to the chairs placed before the hearth and he waited until the knight had seated himself before asking, "How many days have passed since this happened?"

"More than seven."

Brother Paul studied the glowing flames of the fire a moment, then shook his head. "I have not heard of any theft, but perhaps thou shouldst speak with Brother John. He is in charge of laundry. Enjoy the fire, Sir Ian, and I will send him to you.

Ian's dark eyes reflected the reds of the blaze as he watched the monk quietly leave the room and he prayed that this time he would learn the name of Sir Amery's companion. His journey had been long and tiring, and even now it had not come to an end but was only starting. Learning the man's identity meant he would mount his charger again this night and venture onward until he found the place where they had taken Lady Jewel.

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!