Forbidden Magic (8 page)

She sat up slowly, afraid her movement would distract him and bring down his fury upon her once more in greater volume. She could not understand why his discovery that he had raped a virgin would infuriate him so or why it mattered now that it was too late. If he was truly used to taking women at his leisure with no thought or guilt over circumstances, why had it troubled him now? She studied the wide back presented to her, its muscular curves and the flexing ripples each time he moved, and she frowned when she saw the ugly scar just above his waist and off to the left side. A trophy from his battles? she wondered, then thought bitterly that if his enemy's aim had been higher, he might have killed the man and she at this moment would be soundly asleep with no other care than finding her escort in the morning. A troubled sigh escaped her when she thought of the shame she must carry to her grave. And what of her father? How could she explain her sudden decision to join a convent without telling the truth? And if she did, Lord Alcot would search all of England until he found the evil knight who had done such a horrible thing. Her father was a great warrior, but the passing of time had slowed his movements and weakened his eyesight. Surely he too would fall victim to this man. And as for Amery ... he would perhaps welcome his freedom.

"Amery," she whispered forlornly and was startled when the knight spun around to face her. She cowered in the far corner of the bed, brown rabbit fur clutched beneath her chin.

"What?" he demanded, his expression lost in the shadows as he stood before the fire. "You spoke. What didst thou say?"

Wide, amber-hued eyes stared back. "Nothing, m'lord," she said softly, fearfully. "'Twas only a yearning of my daydreams."

He snorted disdainfully and approached the bed. "Tis dreams of sleep you should seek, not fantasies in daylight hours. Rest and close your eyes, as I too seek my comfort."

Pulling back the pelts, he lay down beneath them, glaring up at her when she did not move. "You have more to say?"

Jewel nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. "I wish to take my leave."

A smile parted his lips as he reached up to take her arm and draw her down. "Nay, my sweet. I will rest only a while and when I wake, I will want you here." Almost tenderly he covered her trembling body with furs then laid his arm possessively across her stomach as he leaned against the elbow of the other. "Tis warmer here than on the road outside. And by now those who rest in the hall below will have bellies full of ale. If you suddenly appear before them, you will have many to fend off instead of one. Methinks you're safer here," he added, falling back upon the pillows.

Jewel bit off her reply, affixing her gaze to the ceiling overhead, for she knew it would be of little use to argue. And with lack he would soon surrender to his own dreams, freeing her to dress and leave before he knew. If it was his desire to take her again whenever it suited him, she vowed not to make the bout an easy one. She lay quiet, afraid to breathe lest the movement stir his lust and remind him of his promise, and listened to the storm outside the inn. The thunder echoed in the distance and the lightning became less intense. Only the splattering of rain against the roof gave evidence of the tempest that had assaulted the earth, and it too would soon fade, leaving a sweet smell in the air as all had been cleansed. It would be forgotten by morning, yet for Jewel this eventide would live forever in her mind. And what of this man lying at her side? Would he forget so easily? Could what he had done vanish from his thoughts without the slightest twinge of remorse? Tears came to her eyes again. She blinked stubbornly. Perhaps he could forget. And she would be just as strong. He would not be her reason to cry.

Turning her head slightly, she glanced over at him. He lay still, his eyes closed, and she noticed for the first time that his breathing was heavy and even. Asleep so soon? she wondered bitterly. How callous that he should drift off so quickly. More' determined than ever and finding comfort in the fact that she would go against his orders, she carefully lifted the muscular arm resting on her and slid out from under it. Her heart raced and every muscle in her body tensed. If he awoke, now, he would know in an instant what she planned. Gently, she laid his hand upon the pelts that had only moments before felt her weight and stood up slowly. She watched him a moment to make certain he was not toying with her, then backed away to find her clothes. When she neared the tub, she paused, longing to submerge herself and wash the scent of him from her but knew it to be a luxury she could not afford. Glancing at the sleeping form once more, she gathered her damp clothes, quickly donned them, and threw the fox-lined mantle over her shoulders. With boots in hand, she lifted the latch, quietly opened the door, and left the room.

W
arm, bright sunshine of early dawn fought to steal between the shutters and spread its cheerfulness into the darkened room. The fire in the hearth had long since died, leaving only the glow of embers and a chill in the air. The sleeping form in the huge bed stirred, burrowing beneath the fur pelts for warmth, then bolted upright to worriedly scan the interior, his expression quickly changing to anger. No other shared the space, only the remains of the bath now cold and forgotten.

"Be damned!" The curse nearly rattled the timbers and green eyes narrowed in rage as Amery threw the covers from him. "The vixen has fled!" His gaze flew to his hauberk and tunic still lying on the chair, and he was certain a thorough search would prove him to be left without a silver mark. "No innocent virgin she," he grumbled, swinging his feet to the floor. '"Twas a thief I bedded."

Lifting his huge frame from the mound of furs, he crossed the room and picked up the garments to examine them. But to his surprise, he discovered nothing had been taken, and absently he dropped the tunic back to the chair, his tawny brows crimped with his bewilderment. A chill rocked his unclothed body and he glanced at the hearth.

Had he slept so peacefully that morning had spilled across the land and guided the damsel's steps from the place without his knowledge? He looked up at the shuttered window, seeing the yellow streams of light pushing in through the cracks. Had she risen only moments ago or while darkness played a friend to hide her travels? He shook his head to clear his befuddled mind and went to the fireplace. Kneeling before it, he stoked the embers, added kindling, and within a few moments had filled the room with warmth from the roaring blaze. He studied it a while, then fell back to one hip; a knee bent and his wrist dangling across it.

Firelight gleamed in his green eyes, reflecting golden flecks in them as he concentrated on the flames. He had bedded many a wench, serving maids and noblewomen alike, tolerated their games, listened to their stories of loneliness, then left them without a care. It had always amused him to witness their scandalous behavior in attempting either to persuade him to their chambers or openly invite him. And once he left their beds to dress, many would beg him not to leave, while' others spoke of then' shame and thought to lay the blame on him. He grunted dispassionately, recalling how it pleased him to simply turn his back and walk from the room without a word. Each seemed to welcome his callousness, and if some truly felt shame, it fled them quickly when they realized it mattered naught to him how disgraced they thought they had become as they chased after him with promises of loyalty or wealth, vowing death by their own hand if he would not relent, then raging when he simply closed a door on them. So why did he sit before the fire now feeling cheated that a damsel had turned the sport on him?

Angrily, he bolted to his feet and quickly donned the loincloth and linen chausses, his ill temper fading when his gaze fell on the wooden tub. Absently, he crossed to it and lingered near its edge, trailing his fingertips in the water's cool surface to watch the pattern of ripples circle out and disappear. Who was she? he wondered, laughing coldly when he remembered her claim to be his betrothed. She had easily changed her mind when he challenged her. The curious frown returned. Yet since she had not intended to steal from him and in truth had never lain with a man, what had been her cause to be alone in a public inn? The keeper had retold the tale of her swearing she had lost her way, but even he had not believed her.

Of a sudden, his anger boiled up again and he struck the water to vent his wrath, showering tiny droplets from the tub. It matters not what name she carries, he fumed silently. She served me well and I am done with her. Hurriedly, he jerked on the rest of his clothes and fastened his sword around his waist. Gathering his coif, gauntlets, and helm from the table, he yanked the door open and stormed from the room.

The hall below was nearly empty and Amery quickly spotted Gunther sitting at one of the long tables, sipping wine to wash down a mouthful of bread, and he frowned when he realized the joy the man would have in learning of Amery's somewhat unusual adventure. He had met Gunther over five years past, when their King had summoned them to join his selected army of knights and they rode together in the Crusade. Though Gunther was several years older than Amery, they had taken an instant liking to each other and a bond of friendship had grown between the two. No other could claim such feeling from the gallant knight of Wellington, for Amery trusted very few. And only three could speak their mind to Amery without fear of angry retribution: Gunther, Lord Ryland, Amery's father, and the King of England.

"Ah, my good friend," Gunther sang out once he looked up and saw Amery approaching, "didst thou sleep well?"

The helm clanked loudly on the table top. "Yea. The bed and the wench were soft," Amery replied, swinging one leg over the bench to straddle it. He leaned over, took Gunther's tankard of wine, and downed the remainder in one gulp.

Gunther's blue eyes sparkled mischievously as he watched, a smile playing on his lips, and he took note of the four red scratches on the man's cheek. The wench may have been soft, but not an easy conquest. "Doth thy head need clearing?" he asked, unaffected by the warning look he received. "Of sleep or the memories she stirred?" He turned away to retrieve the pitcher of wine and refill the cup. "The sun rose hours ago. Can you say the same?"

"Only now, Gunther, and you, more than any, should sense my mood," Amery warned, tearing a crust of bread.

"Yea," Gunther agreed. "I have endured it many times and bore it always in silence. But this morn I will know the reason. Has the damsel lingered in your thoughts?"

Chewing on the piece of bread, Amery gave his friend a chilling glare. "'Tis the only place she lingered."

All mockery vanished from Gunther's face. "What?"

"Yea, my friend"—Amery grinned, amused by the man's surprise—"the first to prefer that I not share her company. She was gone when I awoke."

Gunther's chin sagged. "Didst thou abuse her?" he blurted out suddenly, knowing no other reason for her to flee.

Amery chuckled. "Nay, my friend. I proclaim no love for them, but I have yet to raise a hand. 'Tis much easier to cause pain by turning my back."

"But, Amery ..." Gunther began, unable to believe. He stiffened abruptly and pressed closer. "Whilst you slept, perchance she stole from you?"

Amery shook his head. "Nay. Nothing was taken."

"Then why? Your conquests in love outnumber your victories in battle. I do not understand." He twisted to rest his elbows on the table and idly toy with the pitcher of wine.

Amery appraised the troubled frown of his friend a moment, his smile reflecting in his eyes. "Doth appear, good Gunther, our wager has done a turnabout."

Puzzled, the man glanced up at him.

"Her memory plagues your mind, not mine. Her body was soft and warm and eased my needs, but I am done with her. You, good friend, are cursed with forgetting."

"Nay," Gunther argued. "Tis only my curiosity that brings words of her to my tongue." He squinted one eye suspiciously. "Her disappearance doth not disturb you?"

"Only that she cheated me of sampling her treasures a second time," he answered confidently yet knew a prickling of untruth. "We shall not meet again and my thoughts are turned to more important matters."

"Yea," Gunther sighed. "The king's ransom."

"Then fill your belly, Gunther of Burchard, for we must travel many days and spread the word. We cannot waste a moment on wondering." His wide hand pressed against the table's surface, Amery pushed himself to his feet and picked up his helm. "I will go to the stable and ready our horses while you eat."

"Nay, Amery. I have finished," Gunther said, rising and gathering his own sword and helm from the table. "We shall go together."

With a sigh, he stepped past his friend and headed for the door, failing to notice that Amery had paused to glance back up at the stairway leading to the rooms above. With an angry frown, Amery jerked his head around and set his attention on the path he took. As he had stated both to the damsel and his friend, Amery would not see the woman a second time and from this moment on, he would not think of her again.

Warm sunshine did little to chase away the cold bite of the December morn as the two knights stepped out into the light. Both pulled their hoods up over their heads as they walked toward the stable, noting as they went that the road was muddy and puddles of water still filled the ruts. They picked the driest route and hurried their passage, too busy with their thoughts to see the smaller set of tracks headed in the same direction.

"Amery, have you an inkling of what to expect when we return to Wellington?" Gunther asked. "Methinks nothing good."

"Yea," Amery agreed quietly. "Lady Edlyn has surely set her son as new lord since my father's death, and even though Radolf and I were friends as children, the dame's poisoned words have surely set him against me. But Wellington's land and people are mine by right and I will return to claim them."

"'Twill not be a simple feat, my friend. The dowager queen told us that six months have passed since your father's death and a vassal's loyalty will find new allegiance quickly, the serfs to follow as sheep. It has been many years since you stepped on the soil of your father's land and memories fade. Some may even think you truly do not care." Stepping from the road into the grass tipped with frost to wipe the mud from his boots, Gunther continued with a secret smile. "Of course, once you and Lady Jewel are married—"

"Hold, good friend," Amery interrupted, stopping outside the stable doors. "'Twas my father's wish I marry, not mine."

Gunther's blue eyes grew shadowed by the drawing of his brows. "What dost thou say? 'Twas a pledge as well. 'Twould be wrong not to marry the damsel since she has been loyal to you all these years."

"You know my ways with women. Would it not be kinder to set her free of such an oath to seek out a marriage of love rather than live out her life with a man who seldom looks at her? Methinks we both would be happier."

"And how many unions are based on love?" Gunther argued hotly. " 'Tis an excuse. Didst thou hate your father as well that you would shame his memory?"

Tawny brows came together in anger. "At times, yea! He showed little courage when his wife laid lies about me. I call him less than a man when swaying skirts could rot his judgment and set his heart against me."

Feeling Amery's rage, his own lessened, and Gunther moved to touch Amery's arm. "Not all are as she. My own wife—"

"Then she is rare!" he stormed, jerking free.

"To me, yea. But there are others and your betrothed—"

"Is no more! I thought long and hard on it, Gunther, and once I visit my home and make known my presence and intent, I will seek her out and give the news."

"And what if she declines and holds you to your pledge?"

A sarcastic smile chased away the lines of anger from Amery's face. "Useless words if I do not wish it to be. No woman will bend me to her ways. Only God and my king will guide my steps to other paths against my will, and then with great reluctance. Speak no more of it. My mind is set," he warned softly and turned to enter the stable, a quiet Gunther close on his heels.

From within the darkened cavity in a far stall, a loud whinny and the stomping of mighty hooves rang out to greet Amery and he smiled, knowing that if all his friends deserted him, Conan, his black charger, never would. Raised by him from birth, the stallion seemed to sense Amery's every mood and welcomed the man's strong but gentle touch, a loving this troubled knight could not share with anyone. Unaccustomed to such narrow quarters, Conan pranced nervously, a huge, muscular rump slamming against the boards of his stall as he snorted his objection, and calmed only when the familiar hand of his master soothingly traced the wide back and spoke his name.

"You have grown used to being free, not made to tolerate restrictions," Amery said with a laugh. "We are much the same, you and I. You And a mare to your liking, mount her, and before you have finished, your eye is on another." Untying the reins that held Conan, Amery backed the steed out of the stall to the large open space in the center of the stable and turned to gather the animal's saddle, blanket, and armor.

"Tell me, friend, do you think the people of England will gladly part with their monies to free their king or shall we meet barred doors and closed minds?" Gunther casually asked as he too readied his horse. He would wait for a better time to further discuss Amery's decision about his betrothed.

"Barred doors have never stopped a knight's entrance before, Gunther," Amery declared with a chuckle. "But most will allow curiosity to get the better of them, and once inside . . . well, only a fool would deny his king's messenger."

"I pray you are right," Gunther said, stretching the muscles in his back once he had completed his task. "I grow weary of battle and long to see Lady Anne." He chuckled with another thought. "Mertice will be pleased to learn of your decision," he half mumbled to himself.

Amery tossed the stirrup over the saddle and tugged at the cinch. "Mertice?"

"My sister. She has been a widow for three years now and set her eye on you the first time she saw you at court." Gunther shook his head. "I told her to find better things to occupy her mind, that you were betrothed and even if you weren't, you would take no interest in her. You have proven my point, dear friend, for you spent a full eve with her and now do not recall her name."

Green eyes lifted to look across Conan's broad back at his friend. "My apologies, Gunther."

"None needed. " Tis Mertice who should beg forgiveness. She is too bold for her own good and embarrasses her family. I take no offense with others who ignore her. Many times so do I." He grinned, then lifted a foot to the stirrup. "Come, my gallant knight, the sun is high and we must see our errands done." Dropping his helm in place, he plucked his shield from the hook where it hung, nudged his horse, and left the stable.