Heart's Magic (10 page)

“That would be best, my dear.” Tenderly Brice
touched Donada’s hands. “I promise that Mirielle will not betray
us. We will talk again soon.” He saw her to the door and closed it
after her.

“Brice, have you gone mad?” Mirielle cried,
trying to keep her voice low so as not to disturb the birds. “Have
you considered what Alda will do when she discovers this affair?
She will discover it, make no mistake. Alda may be selfish and
completely dedicated to her own interests, but she knows what
happens within this castle. She will make your life miserable.
Brice, can you not see how you are set upon a self-destructive
path?”

“Listen to me, cousin.” Brice stood with
fists planted on his hips, legs astride, a physically powerful,
determined figure. His hair and eyes were dark and the bones of his
clean-shaven face were harsh. “You and I were given little in this
world save gentle birth. I have undertaken to protect you because
you are my nearest kin and because your father was kinder to me
than my own father ever was. I have promised you that we will rise
in the world, that I will find a way to grasp the power and the
land I desire, and I will always share whatever I have with
you.”

“Brice, this is not the way,” Mirielle
protested. “You regularly commit adultery with Alda, and now you
are lying with Donada -”

“There are few opportunities for people like
you and me, who have no high connections,” Brice interrupted her.
“I have no lands and, thanks to your miserly uncle, you were left
without even a small dowry.”

“If I had a dowry, would you have sold me to
some lord for your own benefit?” Mirielle cried, almost beside
herself with worry for him.

“I would never force you to marry against
your will.” Brice was almost shouting and the birds began to move
about on their perches, making irritated sounds. Brice lowered his
voice but he could not keep the intensity out of his next words. “I
have no more calling to the Church than you have, Mirielle, and so
the only other way for me to earn reknown, wealth, or a title is by
selling my services as a knight. I have no fear for myself; I would
gladly risk wounding or death in hope of gaining what I want so
badly, but if I should be wounded or killed, what would happen to
you then? And where would you live while I am away fighting? I will
not have you become a servant to some great lady nor will I send
you to a convent, not even temporarily, when I know how unhappy you
would be.

“When Alda sent to me after Lord Udo’s death,
asking me to come to Wroxley and hold it as her seneschal, the
invitation seemed like a benediction from heaven,” Brice said. “The
only condition I made to Alda was that you should accompany me.
Mirielle, I do know how hard you work here and how devoted you are
to the welfare of Wroxley and its people. I am grateful to you, if
Alda is not.”

“Sooner or later, Udo’s son will return to
claim his inheritance,” Mirielle said. “Do you imagine he will
allow you to remain as seneschal after he learns of your affair
with his wife? He will turn you out of Wroxley. More likely, he
will kill you.”

“After so many years with no word of him,
Gavin may well be dead. His only son is still a child. Wroxley will
need a seneschal for some while yet. By the time young Warrick is
of an age to be knighted, I will be ready to move on to greater
titles.”

“You cannot be sure these dreams will come to
pass.”

“Do not trouble yourself, Mirielle. I swore
to your father and mother on their graves that I would take care of
you, and I will. I know exactly what I am doing and I know how to
deal with Alda. When I am a great nobleman you will wear silks and
jewels and have servants to prepare those herbal medicines of yours
for you. I will search the world for ancient scrolls and books and
you may sit all day and read them.”

“Brice, your foolish ambition will destroy
you.” If your lust does not destroy you first, Mirielle thought,
but she did not say it. Though she loved Brice, it was clear to her
that he had not thought through his overambitious plans to their
inevitable end.

“Don’t worry. All will be well.” Brice
enfolded her in his arms for a quick hug. Then he patted her on the
shoulder and told her to run along, to leave the mews because it
was time to feed his favorite falcon and he knew she hated to watch
the bird feasting on the living mice or smaller birds that were its
diet.

Mirielle was so upset that she neglected to
tell Brice about Giles’s peculiar questions.

That midday Mirielle sat at the high table in
the great hall, looking around at the people gathered there for the
main meal of the day. How false their faces were, how many improper
motives were hidden behind their banal conversations.

Seated beside her for this meal was Hugh,
whom she had so quickly—perhaps too quickly?—begun to think of as a
friend, but whose every word she now doubted, not because of
anything Hugh had done but because of Giles’s questions and
actions. Next at the high table she, herself, was doing her best to
conceal her fears for Brice and her unruly emotions toward Giles.
Brice, at the center of the table, was once again sitting in the
baron’s chair. On the surface Brice was the good seneschal, the
firm commander of the castle and its forces, while beneath that
surface he lusted for wealth and power and for two women, either of
whom could destroy him.

On Brice’s right hand Alda sat, gowned this
day in deep blue with her golden hair in an elaborate arrangement
of braids wrapped about her head. Alda spoke peevishly to Brice,
complained of the drafts in the hall and, with breathtaking
rudeness, ignored Giles completely. Yet Mirielle knew that Alda saw
everything that happened in the hall and if aught was amiss,
Mirielle would soon be blamed for it. Mirielle was amazed that
Alda, always attuned to anything that concerned her in a personal
way, did not know of Brice’s liaison with Donada.

On Alda’s right, Giles looked grim. He picked
at his food and drank a bit too heavily. His glance constantly
ranged over the hall. Mirielle wondered if he was counting the
number of men-at-arms.

At one of the low tables Donada sat with her
son, Robin. Mirielle could see her instructing the boy in table
manners. Donada appeared to be serenely unaware of the conflicting
emotional currents in the great hall.

“Have you nothing to say, Mirielle?” Hugh
asked, smiling at her in a friendly way. “I regret that we have so
far today been unable to discuss our mutual work. Perhaps this
afternoon we can find the time.”

“I do not think so. I have my duties to keep
me busy for the rest of the day. Since you and Sir Giles are to
leave Wroxley tomorrow morning, there will be no opportunity for
the lessons we discussed.” She was sorry for it, but she dared not
trust herself alone with Hugh. She did not doubt that if he wished
to do so, he could draw out of her everything she knew about the
castle’s defenses or, worse, all she knew about the desires and
misdeeds of its inhabitants.

“Cousin, you are mistaken.” Brice had
overheard her cool words to Hugh. “Did no one tell you? Well, no
matter. You are always so well prepared that two extra mouths to
feed can mean no more work for you than a few commands to the
servants. Don’t look so surprised, Mirielle. You know Giles’s wound
is causing him great pain. The man can barely eat because of it. It
would be most inhospitable of us to send him out into the rain and
cold in such a state. Our guests will stay with us until the
weather improves.”

Mirielle did not see either Giles or Hugh for
the next day and a half. They did not appear for meals in the great
hall. The servants told her that severe discomfort from his old
wound was keeping Giles in his room, with Hugh serving as his
nurse. Since neither man sent to her for medicine, Mirielle did not
believe the story, but she did not go to the guestroom to
investigate. Fear of her emotional reaction to Giles, and of what
she might be induced to reveal while there, kept her away.

She was not sure whether Giles or Hugh
frightened her more. She knew that Hugh had the capacity to use
real magic upon her. Only the strong core of morality she had
recognized in him had prevented him so far. But if he had not
learned by now whatever it was that he wanted to know, Hugh might
be desperate enough to try to trick her. Giles’s effect upon her
senses was far more unsettling than Hugh’s magic and therefore even
more threatening to her—and to Brice’s wellbeing.

Mirielle was more certain than ever that
there was some secret purpose to the continued presence at Wroxley
of those two men. What that purpose was she could not discern, no
matter how often she considered the possibilities. She knew of no
envious baron with a desire to take and hold Wroxley for himself.
If King Henry had decided to end Brice’s tenure as seneschal he
would simply have sent to the castle his new choice for the post
with an order dismissing Brice, though Mirielle could think of no
reason why the king should be displeased with her cousin.
Conditions at Wroxley had improved during Brice’s service, with a
corresponding increase in the amount of taxes sent to the king. It
did not seem likely that Henry would want to alter an arrangement
that was profitable to him. No, there had to be some other reason
than a royal change of mind or a jealous neighbor that had brought
Giles and Hugh to Wroxley and that now made them extend their
stay.

Mirielle tried several times to talk to Brice
about her worries but, since her intrusion on his rendezvous with
Donada, her cousin was avoiding her. To make matters worse, Brice
and Alda had quarreled and Alda was in a nasty mood.

The rain continued unabated, turning both
inner and outer baileys into seas of mud which men-at-arms,
servants, and roaming dogs all tracked into the great hall. Tempers
grew short. Everyone longed for a glimpse of sunshine or at least a
temporary reprieve from the neverending rain.

“I wanted to hunt today.” Alda slammed the
shutter over her bedchamber window, closing off the dismal view of
rain-drenched fields and low clouds. “I am bored. There is no
pleasure to be had here at Wroxley, no entertainment.”

“My lady,” Donada said, “if you will stand
still for just a moment or two more, I will be able to take the
length on this new gown, so I can finish it in time for you to wear
it at tomorrow’s midday meal.”

“Why should I bother?” Heedless of the damage
her action might do to the unfinished dress, Alda threw herself
onto the bed. “What difference does it make if I am well dressed,
or not? There is no one important to see me or to appreciate the
pains I take with my appearance.”

“My lady, everyone who beholds you knows that
yours is a rare beauty,” Donada said with careful patience. The
glance she sent toward Mirielle spoke of her frustration with the
irritable lady of Wroxley.

“If I continue to be so bored,” Alda fretted.
“I will soon develop wrinkles and gray hair.”

“Nonsense,” said Mirielle in a tone of fond
teasing that did not convey what she was actually thinking.
“Everyone who sees you remarks on your beauty and how fresh and
young you look. This dreary weather has put you out of sorts. Alda,
perhaps if you were to take over supervision of the meals you might
find the work would distract you from your boredom.”

“Certainly not. That is your task, Mirielle.
You must earn your keep if you are to remain here at Wroxley.” With
a long sigh Alda rolled off the bed and approached Donada. “Take
the length and then get out. You annoy me, Donada. You are always
too serious.”

Sighing repeatedly, Alda stood still while
Donada marked the bottom of the dress with a round piece of chalk.
Then she pulled off the garment and tossed it into Donada’s
arms.

“Go away and do not bother me again until the
gown is finished. Oh, how I wish it were time to go to court!”

As was often the case, Mirielle did not know
whether to dislike Alda for her selfishness or pity her for the
character flaw that kept her always and only concerned with her
personal comfort and her own needs. And as always in her dealings
with Alda, Mirielle was aware of an undercurrent of aversion
between them. Mirielle put it down to jealousy on Alda’s part over
the warmth that existed between Mirielle and Brice.

“Where is Brice?” Alda demanded, making
Mirielle wonder if the woman could read her thoughts.

“I believe he is with the captain of the
guard,” Mirielle replied.

“Find him. Tell him I want him to attend on
me at once.”

“I am sure Brice will come to you as soon as
he can.” The words were meant to calm Alda. Instead, they
aggravated her already testy mood.

“I did not say, as soon as he can!” she
shouted at Mirielle. “I want to see him now! Immediately! Do you
hear me?”

“I heard you, Alda. I will find Brice and
give him your message.” Having witnessed Alda’s tantrums in the
past, Mirielle knew the time had come to get out of the room as
fast as she could.

As Mirielle pulled the chamber door shut
behind her, Alda shrieked in rage and something hit the door. By
the cracking sound the object made and the seductive odor of roses
that began to drift upward through the narrow space between the
bottom of the door and the floor, Mirielle was sure the broken
object was the bottle of rosewater she had brought to Alda only
that morning. Undoubtedly, Alda would demand a new bottle of scent
once she had calmed herself.

“Let her wait,” Brice said after Mirielle
found him in the great hall and told him of Alda’s insistent
command.

“She is in a high temper,” Mirielle
warned.

“What do I care?” And off Brice went with
Captain Oliver by his side.