Love's Magic (14 page)

She accepted the challenge without thought of failure, catching the bow and quiver from her terrified maid, and notching the arrow as her father had taught her. A calm pervaded her body; she was quick, but not rushed.

Scanning the bushes and trees, she waited, but all was silent. Even the birds were hushed, which told her that the intruders,
human
, were present.

Celestia glanced toward Nicholas, saw him with his sword drawn, his face intent and hard. She abruptly turned her gaze away; she couldn’t afford to be distracted by her husband, not if she was to save his life.

He sat atop Brenin like the warrior he was, his back straight, his eyes trained forward. It eased her fear for him, although her heart beat madly at the sight.

Sir Geoffrey was also armed with a bow and arrow, but hidden within the confines of the wagon covering.

Bertram, Willy, and Forrester had their swords drawn and pointed to the trees, protecting the wagon and the maids.

Celestia didn’t trust the unnatural stillness of the forest. She could see that Nicholas felt the same. Petyr and Henry had slowly brought their horses closer, until they were almost all within the safety of the group.

Nicholas whispered harshly, “Where’s Stephan? He should have been bringing up the rear.”

Petyr made a move to see, but Nicholas held him back. “Wait. Give it a bit more …”

Celestia swallowed and her stomach tightened. The mock battles with her brothers hadn’t prepared her for a real attack. She forced herself to think rationally and to listen deep. There!

Her arrow flew fast and true through the thick of the trees. They heard a scream, then a rustle of branches as they all stayed as if made of marble and waited. Would they be under full attack? Who would dare?

An arrow with white feathers, the same as was stuck in Petyr’s saddlebag, flew with a whistling noise and landed at Ceffyl’s feet. She heard Nicholas shout, “Celestia!” just as she let another arrow loose.

Petyr rushed his horse through the tangle of bushes and trees after the arrow, using his sword to forge a trail. They all tensed, looking around for the next point of attack. Where was the enemy? How many were there?

Three more arrows flew in quick succession from the forest around them. Sir Forrester, the one knight who’d shown her any kindness, dove into the trees after Petyr. “Beware, I’m coming for your head! Ya hoo!”

Celestia stood firm as an arrow nicked her cloak and buried itself inside the tough leather hide of the wagon. Sir Geoffrey’s warning faded as the blood gurgled around the arrow in his throat. Viola was at his side before he hit the ground. Nicholas yelled, “To the wagon!”

They huddled there, in the rain, for what seemed like hours. Celestia’s arms ached with tension from holding the bow in place for so long. They heard a rustling, and all prepared to fight, but it was only Petyr. And he was alone.

Celestia cried out, “You are bleeding.”

Petyr wiped his face with his hand and grimaced in pain. “Aye, my lady, but ‘tis only from the branches and thorns. I couldn’t find any of them, the rogues.”

Nicholas lifted a black brow. “Not even a bloodstain?”

Petyr wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “In this rain, it would have been washed away before I’d gotten to it. Bloody forest!”

Nicholas, his voice scratchy, faced the group. “I say we ride hard for the keep. We should be safe there.” He turned toward Viola. “How is he?” he asked, pointing to the Montehue knight.

Viola stood and wiped her blood-reddened hands on her apron. “He’s unconscious, but alive, Lord Nicholas.” She started to cry, and Bess jumped down next to her. “I can drive the wagon. He can ride in the back, with Vi.”

Celestia, her knees shaking with stress but still astride Ceffyl, instructed Bess to get her herbal bag from the back of the wagon.

“Aye, Celestia, you can ride in the back with your man,” Nicholas said.

“But I—”

Nicholas held up one of the white arrows. “It seems you have kept many secrets from me, my lady. I don’t wish to hear them now.”

By the time Viola had reduced her tears to hiccups, the remaining knights had made a pallet for Sir Geoffrey and Celestia had started the healing process. She cleaned the wound, but felt that there was a piece of feather, or shaft, mayhap, that she wasn’t getting.

“I can do better once we reach the keep,” she told Nicholas. He’d dismounted, in order to help lift Sir Geoffrey to the back of the wagon, and then he’d stayed close to her as she’d worked.

“What, you can’t just snap your fingers and heal him?”

Celestia lifted her chin, mostly so that she wouldn’t cry in the face of Nicholas’s sarcasm. “Nay, which is unfortunate. Perhaps then you’d have proof enough to call me a witch yourself, eh?”

His eyes narrowed, and she swallowed hard but didn’t drop her chin.

He pointed to her bag of herbal medicines. “You have opium?”

Hearing the underlying fear in his voice shook her to the core. She looked down and began fidgeting with the ties on the pockets of her bag. “Yes. ‘Tis especially good for injuries of the eye, but it also numbs pain at the site of the wound.” She looked up and longed to take away the haunted shadows in Nicholas’s gaze. “I’ve recently learned something,” she said cryptically, in case any but they two could hear, “about opium, and all of its derivatives, even poppy tea. If one,” she made sure to speak calmly, as calmly as if she were talking about plum pudding, “has been taking it for a long period of time, then the effects change. What once ended pain, now magnifies it.”

His right eye twitched, but he was listening, so Celestia repeated, “It is very common to give poppy tea to someone who is having difficulty sleeping. Many healers would offer this to a patient.”

Would he understand that she hadn’t been trying to poison him?

It looked as if he would say something, but then she heard Forrester and Bertram shouting in the distance. Celestia scooted to the edge of the wagon and jumped down, running after Nicholas and toward the sound of the voices.

They slowed to a stop, and she edged closer to Nicholas, grateful that he wasn’t glaring at her, and grateful that the men had finally returned. All of them except … “Where’s Stephan? He isn’t here.”

He flattened his lips, and then he leaned in close, close enough that she could see his ebony eyelashes. Her stomach knotted so hard she wondered if she’d be sick. “But he is, my lady. His horse returned him, while you were working on Sir Geoffrey.”

Confused, she followed the direction he’d nudged his head. Stephan’s horse was at the back of the line, calmly chewing grass. Something lay draped over the back of the horse, a shape covered by a blanket. The dead knight’s hand could be seen dangling close to the ground.

“Oh,” she brought her hand to her throat, hoping to stop the sudden surge of bile. “Are you certain? I could …”

Nicholas expelled a deep sigh. “You don’t need to see, unless you can bring spirits back from the dead?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer, as if he were afraid of what the answer might be.

“I thought it best if I didn’t call much attention to it. We can give him an honorable burial once we reach the keep.”

Celestia was oddly touched that he said “we.” It was more than likely a slip of the tongue, but she would take it. She sidled closer. “Poor Stephan. He was at our rear? I haven’t seen another person in days, and even then it was only a party of priests.”

“This is empty, wet, miserable country,” Nicholas said with the first bit of life in his voice that Celestia had heard in ages. “A small caravan seemed an easy target. Bastards. Once we reach the keep we can send out some fresh men to scour the woods and find the petty thieves who are responsible.”

“Aye,” Celestia found she had a taste for vengeance, too.

“It sounded like you hit one of them. They didn’t realize they were attacking a wagon protected by the goddess Diana, eh?”

He actually chuckled, and Celestia’s pulse raced.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Nicholas continued.

She wanted to drown in the sound of his laughter, or at the very least, give him good cause to laugh often. Her vision blurred and she looked away. “I stole my brother’s bows when they first left to be fostered. I tried to make my own arrows, but ended up shooting one into the toe of my slipper. My father caught me, and insisted that my grandmother teach me properly. In Wales, it wasn’t considered unladylike to know how to shoot.”

“You are much like your grandmother, then.”

Celestia snickered. “I am hardly a bit like my family, no matter how much I wish to be so.”

Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest. “You ride like you are part of your horse, you shoot a bow and arrow better than most archers, you have the gift of healing … and I’m not quite sure how you
all
ended up with that stubborn chin.”

Celestia paused and bit her lip, surprised that he had noticed so much about her when she thought he’d been preoccupied with other things. “Aye, well, I am hardly a goddess, at any rate.”

“None of us should aspire so high, me thinks,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Celestia put her hand on his arm, careful to keep her fingers on his sleeve. “I was wondering what it would take for you to speak again. I feel awful that it took an attack, and the loss of one of your men.”

Nicholas jerked away from her touch. “Not one of mine, really, one of the baron’s. Why should I speak when I don’t have anything to say?”

Celestia was almost sorry that she had ruined the fragile peace between them. But not sorry enough to stay quiet. “Conversation between people is a way to get to know one another, to build up friendships and loyalties.”

Nicholas slid her a look of rebuttal. “And if I had gotten to know Stephan, then when he died, I could have hurt over the loss?”

Celestia blinked back tears, but blamed the blurriness on the rain. How could he be so unyielding? “Aye. And you would have the warm memories, mayhap, of a friend.”

“His death is another black mark against my soul, and naught more. I should have been attentive, and not lost in my thoughts.”

Seeing a chance, she took it. “It is no great surprise that your mind wanders as it does. When was the last time you slept?”

Nicholas inhaled loudly and then set his jaw. “That is not your concern.”

Celestia bristled. “You do love telling me what is mine to be concerned over. We are married, you and I, and that makes you my concern.”

She tapped her foot, glancing around to see that their conversation couldn’t be overheard. “I will never tell a soul of your nightmares, and that is my promise to you. You need not fear me. I am a healer, as well as your wife. I can make you an infusion of valerian, lavender, and vervain that will help you sleep dreamlessly, no opiates, now that I understand. I have been praying to Saint Raphael the Archangel on behalf of your nightmares. You should pray to him, as well.”

She bravely reached out to place her hand upon his forehead, bare skin to bare skin—knowing before he did it that he would pull away. “Trust me, Nicholas. You can.”

Nicholas’s expression slammed shut like a door in her face. “Nay, and I will not have this conversation again. We ride for the keep, Celestia. I told you before not to waste your wiles on me.”

He was scared. She understood that. It didn’t matter to her breaking heart. Celestia didn’t bother trying to hold back her temper. Taking a deep breath, she shouted to his retreating back, “You are as stubborn as a goat, Nicholas!”

She stuck her nose in the air at the men’s good-natured chuckles over what they assumed was a lovers’ squabble and stuck her fist on her hip. Nicholas mounted Brenin and took off at a fast clip, spewing chunks of dirt. Her first instinct was to get on Ceffyl, and gallop behind Nicholas until she caught him good. She’d sit on him, and force him to listen.

Since she knew that wouldn’t work, she’d have to settle for hoping that Nicholas fell off his abused horse. Maybe a dousing in the mud would change his attitude.

She didn’t worry that he would hurt himself. His head was too hard.

Chapter
Eight

N
icholas’s adrenaline was racing through his blood like poison. He lived off of that energy, needed it so he could stay awake and alert even as he denied his body sleep.

Reaching Falcon Keep with all of his group alive had become a goal that seemed more insurmountable each day. The rain, and the misery of traveling slowly in foul weather, was enough to drive a person mad. While not completely crazy, he wasn’t entirely sane, either, and the blasted rain didn’t help.

He kept his body bent low over Brenin, pushing the stallion through the unknown trail. The horse was massive, yet fast—bred in peace, but born for war. On Brenin’s back, it would take him but half the time to get to Spain, and deliver the baron’s head to the tomb of Saint James.

Nay.

He’d not take Celestia’s gift and use it for such a purpose.

He heard Petyr following on his heels and spurred Brenin on.

The blond knight was proving to be a valuable asset to their party, not that Nicholas would tell him so.
Damn it all, why had he sent Stephan to ride the rear of their caravan?
Stephan had seemed seasoned enough to guard them, while keeping a sharp eye out.

But those woods were strange. Nicholas felt a shiver trail across his shoulders. He felt it, in his gut, and wondered if the others did, too. Too bad for him that the one person who would understand what he was talking about, was the one person he had to avoid at all costs.

Strange or not, the threat to the caravan had been human—he’d heard the yell when Celestia had hit the enemy.

He had thought himself too numb to be struck with such strong fury. Nicholas had learned to disassociate himself while captured, and he’d not gotten out of the habit yet.

Sinking his heels into Brenin’s flanks, Nicholas trusted the horse to find the right footing. It occurred to him that he trusted the horse more than he trusted anyone else, including himself.

The damn arrow had hummed practically beneath his nose and he’d twisted in his saddle, his first thought to protect his wife. He ground his teeth in frustration. By Saint George, she hadn’t needed his bloody protection.

He had turned ‘round only to find Celestia at the wagon, fearlessly defending their party. When the white arrow had landed so hard that it splashed mud up her mare’s legs, he had thought he would choke on his terror.

He’d feared Ceffyl would throw her small, dainty rider to the forest floor and stomp all over her with those deadly hooves.

He’d waited in vain. Celestia had guided the large mare with naught but her knees, and the mare remained as calm as any war-trained battle horse. When would he learn that nothing she did was expected? Healer or witch or simply a woman?

“Lord Nicholas! Nicholas, slow down before you break the tired beast’s legs, I beg you,” Petyr called over the thump of the hooves against the mud.

Nicholas slowed to a canter, and the knight drew alongside.

“What is it, Petyr? I took point, you were to lead them after me. What are you doing on my ass? I’ll have your head if the caravan is attacked again.”

Petyr’s mouth thinned into a straight line before he said, “The wagon is going to lose a wheel, or worse. Bess hasn’t driven a wagon so fast before, and Viola is hard-pressed to keep Sir Geoffrey quiet, with all of the jostling. Your lady is guarding them. I’d trust her at my back.”

Nicholas lowered his chin to his chest and exhaled, not wanting to think about Celestia in danger. She was fearless, and it terrified him. “This means that we’ll be forced to make camp again, one more night.”

“Probably so, but if you keep the lead at such a breakneck pace, it might be days before the wagon is fixed, once broken.”

“You’re right,” he conceded. Nicholas gestured to the emerald green forest around them. “I keep waiting to recognize something, but I don’t. I don’t remember this road, and I barely remember my mother. I have a vague memory of a large, peaked tower and some apple trees. I think.”

“I’ve never been to Falcon Keep, but your f—, the baron, sent a retinue of ten knights ahead. They were to prepare everything for you and your lady wife.”

Nicholas perked up. He would feel much better about his failure with Stephan if he could get the rest of his people safely tucked away. “Think you then that there will be a welcoming party?”

“Aye, and why not?” Petyr relaxed a little and grinned. “A large fire, and dry clothes would be most welcome.”

The weight on his shoulders eased. “I’ll be happy having everyone protected behind solid stone walls. But you are right, I was going too fast.”
Trying to outrun Stephans accusing ghost. Or a different ghost entirely?

He rubbed his face and caught Petyr staring at him. “What?”

Sighing as if he had the troubles of the world on his back, Petyr grouched, “Ye’ve shadows beneath your eyes so purple and mottled that you look like you’ve been in a fight. And lost.”

Nicholas glared.

“I’ve never seen you sleep for long, and ye don’t eat much. You kind of stay to yourself, eh?”

“And what of it?” Nicholas asked rudely.

“You married a fine lady.”

“Not afraid of her ‘magic’ anymore?” He deliberately lifted his upper lip in a sneer. The last thing he needed was a friend. Although the knight had proven himself over and over again on this trip, never shirking a duty, Nicholas couldn’t afford to care.

Petyr grunted, and Nicholas wouldn’t have blamed the man if he’d ridden off. Instead, Petyr explained, “That was most odd, Nicholas, but not bad, not evil, you know. It was more like,” the blond knight stumbled over the words, “sunshine.”

Nicholas hadn’t been expecting that, and a snort escaped him before he reminded himself to leave the embarrassed man some dignity. “Sunshine?” He blew out a breath of air, but remembered well the warm feeling of Celestia’s dainty hand in his during their wedding ceremony. “Aye, it is a bit like that.”

Petyr shook his head, spraying drops of rain like a dog. “I wouldn’t mind the sun about now.”

“I don’t remember the weather being this dreary when I was a child.”

“You said you didn’t remember
anything.
“ Petyr ducked beneath a branch before it hit him in the head.

“That’s true. Do you have the map?”

“Nay, I left it with Celestia, just in case there was a problem.”

Smart, Nicholas thought. He wouldn’t trust the man completely, but mayhap he wouldn’t dismiss him out of hand, either. “It’s raining too hard, and it doesn’t make sense to push on. We can go back, and decide on where to make camp. I saw a small clearing a ways back, just big enough to pull the wagon off the road.”

“Whatever you say,” Petyr said with a nod.

When they caught up with the wagon, Celestia had already found the little clearing and she was just setting camp. She had Henry and Willy starting a fire, or trying to, and Forrester, with Bertram, was trying to set up the green-and-white tent.

Celestia looked delicious, even dripping wet in the rain. Her hair had escaped her braids and hung in heavy locks down her back. Her dark green tunic was sopped through, and she’d spread her sodden cloak over the wheels, underneath the wagon.

“I doubt that you’ll get a fire going,” Nicholas said, guiding Brenin to a tree near Ceffyl. He dismounted, feeling as if he should apologize.

But once he started, he might not be able to stop.

“Negativity breeds negativity, or at least that’s what Gram likes to say.” She made a weird “humphing” sound, and proceeded to the back of the wagon.

Nicholas followed her, hoping for a private word, but Viola was wringing out wet blankets, as the wagon was not meant to be watertight, and poor Sir Geoffrey was practically floating in the rear.

“I’m sorry for being such an ass,” he said loudly so that he could be heard over the thunder. Luckily for him the thunder stopped rumbling and his apology was heard throughout the forest.

Celestia poked her head out of the wagon. “I beg pardon?”

“I’m sorry.”

She crawled out and peered at him, looking him up and down. “Did ye hit your head? Are you hurt?”

He ground his back teeth. “Nay. And you don’t need to look at me as if I’ve grown two chins. You were right. But that changes nothing, Celestia.” She opened her mouth to argue, and without thought, he leaned in and kissed her.

Her lips were cool, but her breath was warm, and yes, she tasted exactly like sunshine. “I’m still off to see the baron, as soon as you’re safe at the keep.”

Celestia’s eyelids lowered a fraction, and a spark of lust hit Nicholas like a rock upside the head. “How do ye do that? Nay, I don’t want to know.” He walked away before he kissed her again.

Forrester and Bertram, unable to erect the tent, had instead made a roof of sorts, like a giant green-and-white striped sky. The two looked most proud of themselves. Celestia, who had followed behind him, came to a sliding halt.

“Oh, my,” she said with a gasp. “Well!”

Nicholas scratched the back of his neck, wondering how she was going to react to having her precious tent maligned in such a way. It looked nothing at all like the square bower from the night before.

He needn’t have worried that she’d be upset. Celestia glanced up at the large portion of tent they’d somehow managed to affix to three trees, creating a ceiling over the wagon so that Geoffrey would stay dry. Then she took in the two sides that they’d hooked from the tallest branch to the ground, creating walls so the travelers would be protected from the worst of the wind. The other two sides of their camp remained open to the elements, which was wet and cold, but it allowed them a fire.

“Just perfect,” she said with a smile. “Not at all the way the tent maker designed it, but this is much better. We’ll be able to see who’s coming, and protect ourselves from attack, as well as stay mostly dry, and out of the worst of the wind. Thank ye,” she clapped her hands.

Perfect.
Nicholas saw that she’d won over all of his men. Well, not “his” men, but his father’s men. Which was exactly what he wanted. He scratched the back of his neck again. Wasn’t it?

Before long, Petyr had crouched next to the low fire providing the only light and warmth in the dark storm. The confounded rain had reduced itself to spitting in sporadic bursts, and they were able to heat water to drink.

Sir Geoffrey moaned from within the wagon, and they all jumped. Viola sniffed, “I want to press on, afore something bad happens to Geoffrey.”

Bess stared at Celestia. “Why ain’t ye healin’ him, my lady?”

“I’m trying,” Celestia said, poking at a foul-smelling brew she’d concocted. “I need the right instruments, and a clean environment for surgery. I feel like there is something still beneath the skin. I heal him, and the wound breaks open again within hours. It could be the jostling of the wagon, but I don’t think so.”

Celestia’s eyes clouded, and Nicholas could see how heavy her burden lay.

“We might arrive at the keep by dawn, if we’re willing to put the horses and wagon at risk.” Petyr’s reproachful voice gave his opinion of the folly loud and clear.

Nicholas tugged at a loose hank of hair, wishing he had magic of his own. No wonder Celestia had gotten so angry when he’d mocked her; it
would
be easier to snap fingers and be done with it. “We can’t chance the wagon breaking. Then Sir Geoffrey would have no way of getting to Falcon Keep at all.”

Celestia stuck the tip of her finger inside the bowl, then put it to her tongue and grimaced. “‘Tis true, more the pity.”

“We must stay and make our shelter here, for the night.” Nicholas waited for at least Petyr, if not Celestia, to argue with him, but neither did. Instead, all eyes went to the puny flames that fought for life beneath the drizzle.

Celestia set aside the stinky herbal medicine and rubbed her fingers together for warmth. “I’ve made a topical ointment for Geoffrey that will hopefully draw the ill humor out.” She slowly got to her feet, every inch of her body stiff and cold. For once she was grateful for her short stature, as there was less of her to freeze.

Viola made to rise, as well, but Celestia waved her back down. “Sit, Vi, and get warm. This will but take a moment.”

“I still wish to go on, my lady,” the maid said wistfully.

“And get caught by a border patrol? Or worse, the Scottish rebels we’re supposed to be avoiding?” Celestia was only half-joking.

Petyr smiled, his white teeth brilliant in the dark. “It’s a rare sight to see the Scottish and the English get along. King William may have bought his country back, but he wants more. It might be easier to explain our business in the morning light.”

Nicholas looked as if he would say more, but eventually he just nodded. “So be it. For the final night, we shall wrap up in our stinking blankets and eat hard bread. Pass me the wine, Bertram, you old lush.”

Celestia laughed with the others, touched by Nicholas’s rarely used charm.

She backed away from the others and looked in on Sir Geoffrey. His pallor worried her. It had been a very long time since she’d lost a patient, and Celestia was willing to do everything in her power to keep Sir Geoffrey alive.

Hearing the others talk and laugh as she climbed into the back of the wagon kept the ghost fingers from creeping up her back.

She could feel the restless spirits in these woods. They didn’t scare her nearly as much as the malevolent energy, human energy, that was watching them, as well. There was simply no way to climb into the back of the wagon with grace, so Celestia simply hitched her tunic and hiked up, glad that Nicholas was still by the fire.

Kneeling by Sir Geoffrey’s side, she carefully pulled the bandages away from the wound in his throat. It was a testament to her skills that there was a smallish gash left in the skin instead of a gaping hole. But it should have healed completely.

She placed a hand across his brow. No fever. Exhaling, she sat back on her heels, reluctant to join the others while she was feeling so unsettled.

The fire outside suddenly raised high, and it illuminated the inside of the wagon. She noticed the broken arrow shaft. The white feathers, some stained red from the blood of Sir Geoffrey, were bright in the near gloom.