Forbidden Magic (44 page)

"Nay, our return to London was more distressful than anything we encountered along the way."

A finely arched brow lifted. "I assume you speak of the slaughter at Harcourt."

Gunther nodded and took a drink from the horn.

"Yea, 'twas the center of gossip for some time. Most believe Amery is guilty—everyone but the dowager queen." She smiled sweetly and looked at Amery. "And me, of course."

"Of course," Gunther mocked. He knew it made little difference to Mertice whether Amery had done such a thing or not. She had set her mind on sharing him long ago and would allow nothing to stand in her way. He smiled to himself. Perhaps there had been a slight chance of that happening before, but not anymore. And it was time she came to realize it. He turned to Amery. "Anne has gone to the kitchen to instruct that food be prepared for our journey, Amery. Once we have rested and filled our bellies, I will ask Rickward and Stafford to join in our cause."

"Journey?" Mertice gasped. "But I only just arrived."

Masking his pleasure that his statement had sufficiently upset her, Gunther looked at her and feigned confusion. "You may stay here, Sister. Tis only the four of us who will ride from Burchard."

"But where are you going?"

"To Harcourt, of course." He cocked his head to one side. "Or hadn't you heard? Lady Jewel, Amery's betrothed, is missing, and we think to find her there. Her life is in danger, so we must travel quickly,"

Mertice straightened in her chair. That would mean Amery could be gone for weeks looking for the woman who was right here under their very noses. She had to stop them. She had not traveled all the way to Burchard just to watch Amery mount his destrier and ride off! But how? What could she say to convince them that such a journey was foolish without telling them the truth?

"Doth something trouble you, Sister?"

Jolted out of her thoughts by the amused tone she was sure she had heard in Gunther's voice, she glanced up at him and sneered, "Yea, Brother, something troubles me. I fail to understand why you are willing to go to so much effort for someone who would not appreciate it."

Shocked by her acid declaration, Gunther could not keep his mouth from dropping open, but no words passed his lips. He stared at her in mute disbelief.

"Lady Anne has told me of the circumstances that lead the maid to flee. She doth not wish to marry her betrothed or he her. She was brought here against her will and, at first chance, slipped away when all heads were turned. Methinks it would be a waste of time to chase her down, for no doubt the same would happen again should you hold her prisoner in the castle."

Enraged that his own sister would think him guilty of holding someone against her will unless it was for her own good, he glared down at her and snarled, "She was not bound in chains, Mertice, and we brought her here to keep her safe. Tis the same reason we will go back to Harcourt—to ensure that no harm comes to her!".

"And put your own life in danger?" she countered. "The rumor about Harcourt and Amery also includes you, dear brother, and a price has been put upon your head as well. I'm sure if you asked her, Anne would agree with me when I say 'tis foolish to risk your life for a woman who means nothing to Amery or you! And what danger is she in? Anne has told me that Jewel confessed to Radolf's loving her. She returns to him. Tis obvious it's what she desires, and I say let her go!"

"And I say hold thy tongue!" Gunther exploded. 'This is my home, my food you eat and wine you drink, and my fire by which you warm yourself. 'Tis my decision to let you stay or cast you out into the cold. So be warned, dear sister, if thou dost not agree with my ways, you are free to set your miserable self upon someone else's kindness, and I will gladly show you the door should you choose to leave right now!"

Gunther's voice had risen in volume to such a level that his tirade had drawn everyone's attention. Feeling the surprised looks and curious gazes of all those present in the hall pointed in her direction, Mertice defiantly raised her chin in the air and ignored every one of them as she slowly came to her feet.

"Wouldst thou care to wager a coin, my fickle brother," she hissed, her nose only inches from his, "that your journey will be wasted? You will not find her at Harcourt. You will not find her at Wellington. You will not find her at all. Sir Radolf will make sure of it, and she will give him aid." With that, she gave Gunther an indignant toss of her blond head and stalked away.

"Tis no wonder she cannot find herself a husband," Gunther mumbled to himself as he watched her go. "Who would want her? She is my flesh and blood, and even I am tempted to renounce our kinship." Lifting the drinking horn to his lips, he turned toward the hearth and suddenly remembered Amery's presence when he saw his friend staring at him, a half smile wrinkling his cheek. He lowered the horn and cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Amery," he said quietly. "I should not air my differences so loudly and in public."

"Tis not you who should apologize, friend, but I," Amery admitted, raising a hand to silence Gunther when the man started to disagree. "My troubles have become yours and now stand between brother and sister."

"Nothing stands between Mertice and me," he corrected. "We have always been at odds since childhood. And if thou wouldst know the truth, Amery, I care more for Jewel than the one I call sister."

"And you honestly believe Jewel has somehow left the Isle of Wight to return home?"

Although it truly was not what he thought, Gunther would never tell Amery differently. They had spent the night searching behind every tree, every rock and bush, and all they had to show for it were numb fingers and toes and the horses Jewel and Hadwin had taken. It was a long way to walk to where the galley was anchored, and even if she had made it that far, she would not have been able to maneuver it alone. Nay, Gunther truly believed it was too late for Jewel, but he would never tell anyone of his feelings, least of all Amery.

"I believe it is the place where we should go . .. for many reasons," he replied, artfully avoiding Amery's question, "one of which is to acquire the proof you need to verify your innocence. If Sir Ian admitted to being at Harcourt that night, then there are others still alive who can attest to that fact— whether they willingly offer the truth or have it forced from them."

"Yea," Amery murmured with a smile. "And I know the one who will do it. Kennard, Radolf's cousin. He is my half brother's shadow, and wherever Radolf goes, Kennard is not far behind. I should have thought of him sooner and saved everyone a lot of trouble." The humor faded from his green eyes. "Young Hadwin would still be alive, and Jewel

"Tis too late to think of what should have been done, Amery," Gunther encouraged. "Hadwin is dead and nothing can change that. But he will not have died needlessly if we travel to Wellington, take the one who will clear thy name, and see that those responsible are brought to justice. As I see it, Had win's blood is on Lady Edlyn' s hands and those of your half brother, not yours. Jewel may have killed his murderer, but you shall avenge his death."

Some of the pain Amery suffered disappeared from his eyes and a soft smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "And what have I done to deserve your friendship, Gunther? Not many can claim such loyalty in a lifetime."

Reaching out, Gunther placed his hand on Amery's wide shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Tis hard to explain or even understand," he said quietly. "Perhaps it's simply because I care or that I see in you what no one else can."

The smile twinkled in Amery's eyes. "And what, prithee, is that?"

"A man who has more love inside him than any I've known, but also a man who is afraid to give it." Gunther stared at him a moment, silently daring Amery to argue, then lifted the drinking horn to his lips and took a long swallow. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he offered the horn to his friend. "Drink up. Twill be a long time before we enjoy such luxuries again."

With that, he turned and strode away. As Amery watched Gunther's proud gait until the man had disappeared through the doorway into the kitchen, the smile on his lips faded and a sadness replaced the gleam in his eyes. Love. Was he truly capable of such an emotion? And if he was, could he easily give it? He had loved his father, and he had turned against huh. He had loved his half brother when they were boys, but Edlyn had destroyed that affection. And just when he had begun to feel himself weakening toward Jewel, she had left him. A dark frown settled on his handsome brow, and his hand tightened around the neck of the drinking horn. He wanted to lay the blame on her. But in his heart he knew she had fled because of him. He was the reason she was. ... He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Perhaps Gunther believed Jewel had made it off the isle, but he didn't. Not really. She was not strong enough to have made it. It was too cold. There was too much snow to trudge through on foot, too long a distance to travel. The muscles in his throat tightened. Nay, his betrothed was probably huddled against a rock or tree trunk in a place they hadn't searched, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her head resting on them and her eyes closed in eternal sleep. Suddenly he was engulfed in rage. Someone would pay for this—and that someone was Edlyn of Wellington! Tossing down the horn, he angrily picked up his helm and mantle and called to Rickward to have Gunther meet him in the stables. He wanted to be on the road again before the hour was out.

* * *

Adar sat contentedly peeling potatoes at the small table in Ordella's hut with only a vague frown marring her smooth brow. It had been two days since the ones called Hube and Stanmore had brought her here, and she did not know anything more about herself than when she had arrived. Ordella had assured her that in time her memory would return but that she should not force it. Whatever had happened to her must have been horrifying, and to recall it all at one time might be devastating. Adar had to agree, for each night after she had fallen asleep, the same dream haunted her. She could hear people laughing, music playing, and through a haze she could see richly garbed men and women drinking wine. The atmosphere was one of peace and happiness. Then darkness closed in on her and she sensed that she was riding a horse and that the moment was very urgent. She remembered being cold, seeing a campfire, then the dark shape of a monk. But he was not a monk, for the man pulled a huge sword. Suddenly, the snow-covered ground turned a bright red, and Adar woke up screaming. Her only comfort came from the tender embrace of the old woman who had become her friend and Ordella's guarantee that she would never let anything happen to her.

Yet, something else was amiss, and Ordella would not tell her what it was. After Stanmore had left her in Ordella's care that first night, he had never come back to see her, even though the old woman told her repeatedly that he always asked about her. The maid called Celeste had stayed with them, but on the morning of the second day she had left their hut under

Ordella's instructions to go to the granary for flour and never returned. Ordella explained her absence by claiming that Celeste had been called to serve the lady of the castle, but Adar had not believed her. Something was wrong, and Ordella was keeping it from her. And what caused the frown on her brow was the feeling that all of this concerned her. Her gaze shifted ~ to the sleeve of her gown. And there was the matter of her clothes. Although they were tattered and well worn in places, there was no denying the richness of the cloth. If she was nothing more than a serf, how had she come to be wearing such garments?

She looked up from her work when she heard the door latch rattle and quickly left her chair to help Ordella with the things she carried. "How is the baby?" she asked sympathetically.

Hurriedly closing the door behind them, Ordella vented a long, tired, somewhat hopeless sigh. "Not well, I fear. 'Tis difficult for the babe to breathe, and I have used all the potions I can think of. I truly do not understand it when God allows a tiny baby to die."

Setting down the tray on the table, Adar tenderly reached out for the old woman's hand and guided her toward the hearth. "'Tis not our place to question Cod's will." She smiled, gently pushing Ordella into a chair, then turning for the cupboard and missing the old woman's lopsided grin.

"Everyone who lives here thinks I don't believe in God. They say I'm a witch, that I have the powers of the Devil." She cocked her head to one side. "Don't you?"

"And none of them have spent two days with you as I have," Adar replied, taking down a bowl and returning to the hearth. "If thou were a messenger of Satan, you would not care about the baby. 'Tis obvious you do." Crouching before the fireplace, she took the ladle from the kettle of broth hanging on the hook and filled the bowl full. "If the baby cannot breathe, have you tried steam from a boiling pot of water?" she casually asked, handing Ordella the bowl. "My mother used it once—"

Realizing what she had said without any forethought, Adar's eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her breast, fighting just to suck in air. Turning, she staggered back to the table and sat down.

"When, Adar, when did she use it?" Ordella coaxed, hurriedly setting aside the broth and following Adar to the center of the room. "Think. Who had she used it on?"

Adar chewed on her lower lip, frantically searching her memory for the-tiniest bit of her past. But it was lost to her. With a trembling sigh, she looked up at Ordella and shook her head, tears gleaming in her eyes.

"It will come, child," Ordella soothed. "Slowly, but it will come. Be patient."

"And what if you're wrong? Must I live the remainder of my days not knowing who I am? Have I done something terrible, and this is God's way of punishing me?"

"Nay, child," Ordella pledged. "Tis not so. Already you have thought of your mother. The rest will come."

"But what of my dream? What significance does it have? Why does the snow turn red? Is it blood I see? Have I killed someone?"

Ordella shook her head and sat down in the chair next to Adar.

"Then tell me what has truly happened to Stanmore and Celeste, for I fear something dreadful has happened to them, and it is because of me." When Ordella frowned and appeared hesitant to reply, Adar rushed on. "Tell me, Ordella, or I swear I shall leave this dwelling and ask the people of this place. There must be one among them who knows."

"Nay, they do not. No one does." She leaned forward with one elbow on the table and took Adar's hand in hers. "Nor does anyone know you're here, and 'tis why you must not leave this hut.... not until I have learned your secret. I fear for your life, Adar, as did Stanmore and Celeste, and I believe they have paid for your safety with their own."

Adar's tiny chin dropped. "What?" she breathed.

"Yea, 'tis what I suspect," Ordella sadly informed her. "After Stanmore left you here that night, he disappeared. No one has seen him .. nor his companion, Hube."

"And Celeste?"

Ordella shook her head. "She, too, is missing. She never reached the granary where I had sent her. At first I thought she had been summoned to the castle by Lady Anne or, perhaps, even Lady Mertice. But I talked with some of the serving maids in the kitchen and no one has seen her."

"But who would want them . .. disposed off, and why?"

"Until we learn where you came from and what you were doing on the road, we will never know, dear. And 'tis why I have so carefully guarded the knowledge of your presence here. We do not know who your enemies are, and therefore can trust no one. Do you agree?"

Rising, Adar began to stalk aimlessly about the room, deep in thought. She had only just met Stanmore and Celeste, and she could not even remember what Hube looked like, but Adar had considered them friends. There was a chance they had given up their lives for her and they had not even known why. She paused and said, "Yea, Ordella, I agree. I will stay here in your hut until we know the truth." Amber-hued eyes shifted to look at her companion. "But I vow that once I do, their deaths will be avenged."

Ordella watched the young woman with the mysterious past sit back down at the table and again take up her task of peeling potatoes. She did not want to raise Adar's hopes by telling her what she suspected, though in the two days this coppery-haired beauty had spent with her, Ordella had sensed she was not the daughter of a lowly serf. Her style of clothing, mannerisms, and speech hinted otherwise. And now that she had promised to avenge those who had helped her, Ordella was sure of it. Returning to the chair by the hearth, she sat down and studied the bright, orange flames. She would need someone's help in sorting this out, and the only person at Burchard she trusted was Lord Gunther. She picked up the bowl of broth from the place where she had put it and began to eat. But she had been told that the lord had left the castle and would not return for several days. Tired, green eyes glanced over at the one at the table.

Then I will keep her safe until Lord Gunther has come home again, she decided, for he will surely know what to do.