Love's Magic (25 page)

Nicholas reached for Celestia’s hand, and the gentle warmth of her fingers curling over his calmed him as he absorbed the horrible tale.

“The English knights, though taken by surprise, had been better trained; they were not so wild and unruly as the Scottish warriors. They stayed in their formations and fought until the grove ran red with blood. By the time the battle was finished, the lord and his knights were victorious. Unfortunately, Brinden McCarthy and Robbie MacIntosh were both dead. Esmerada fell over their bodies, crying. Her heart had been trampled, as well.”

Nicholas took a deep breath. He could not remember his mother’s face. He tightened his grip on Celestia’s hand.

“And?” His wife was relentless in her pursuit of the truth, and Nicholas knew he should be grateful, yet his head was spinning with too much truth already.

Father Michael looked away. “She shook her fist and cursed your father. She told him and all the servants and guests left alive that she had loved Robbie MacIntosh with all of her body and soul. She vowed she would never be a wife to Philippe Peregrine, that she would never submit to him. Then she ran back toward the keep, and your father chased after her. He was a ruthless man, and Esmerada
was
his wife. He pulled her up over his horse and continued on for the keep. He left the next day.”

“The next day?” Celestia squeaked in surprise.

Nicholas could not believe his ears. “My father raped my mother on her wedding night?” He stood, remembering to duck before he slammed his head against the rafters. “No wonder she gave me away.”

Father Michael pulled Nicholas back down on the bench. “Nay! She never gave you away; we took you.”

“You what?” Nicholas exclaimed in confusion and disbelief. Celestia sidled closer to him.

“Let me explain.” The priest held out a placating hand. “Esmerada, when she found she was with child, hoped that the babe would be Robbie’s. She was happy, she sang and napped beneath the apple trees, dreaming of the future.” Father Michael deepened his voice and leaned close. “She was not content to wait unprepared for the lord’s return. She fortified the keep with extra men, and posted spies to watch the roads. Lord Peregrine was not to be allowed inside Falcon Keep’s walls.”

The priest continued sadly, “But he never came. You were born, and she realized that you had to be the baron’s get, so she sent word to him. He ignored her summons. Esmerada planned and plotted on how she could take her revenge against him. During that time, she allowed no English, nor Scots, in the keep. She began to spend most of her days in the north tower.”

The priest ran his hands over his drawn face. “As the years went by, she grew more pale and thin. Her anger was bitter, and it was poisoning her from within. I begged her to forgive and move on with her life, but she could not.”

He sighed, choosing his words carefully.

“Then she burnt down the apple trees, catching fire to numerous huts and frightening the peasants who worked in the fields. She had a friend who acted as your nursemaid during the times when she was, uh, not herself.”

“Who was she? What happened to her?”

“Ah, Nicholas, I am an old man. It was too long ago. A plain woman, as I recall. It was she who took you to Abbot Crispin.” The priest stared at the floor.

Nicholas shifted on the bench sensing that priest kept a few secrets still. “My mother was a madwoman? And that is why you took me from her?”

“We had to, my son. Were you not listening? Her dementia became worse. We worried that you would be in danger, because she could not forgive you for being Philippe Peregine’s child.”

Nicholas tightened his jaw, grinding his back teeth in frustration. Celestia elbowed him.

Father Michael stood on wavering legs and poured more ale all around. He took a healthy swallow, and gestured for Celestia and Nicholas to do the same. Nicholas pushed his mug away. “I cannot understand all of this. My mother came to her wedding already bedded by Robbie MacIntosh?” He felt sick.

“Aye. Your father, mayhap, had a reason to be angry. Forced to wed away from court at his king’s command,

Lord Peregrine is attacked by his new wife’s lover as soon as the vows are pledged. What was a man to do?”

“Did he ever come back?” Nicholas sat forward, folding his hands over his knee. Rape and murder and curses. Revenge had driven his mother crazy. Would it do the same to him?

The priest squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “It seems that Esmerada sent many letters to her lord, telling him to claim his progeny. Lord Peregrine, well, he became a baron soon enough, was angry and determined not to dance to Esmerada’s tune. He ignored the both of you.”

“So you sent me to Abbot Crispin—yet you didn’t tell the abbot that I was legitimate, and you didn’t tell him my proper age. I believed I was a bastard, with no value other than what I could earn for myself.”

Nicholas swallowed a surge of bitterness. What would his life have been like, if he’d grown up acknowledged as the baron’s son? He doubted that his father would have ordered him killed. His gut churned again.

“I did what I thought best,” Father Michael said firmly. “The letter I sent to the abbot gave your father’s name, but we insinuated that you could be in danger from him. Your mother was insane and had tried to throw you from the battlements; I did not want her to find you. I had to put my trust in God that all would be right in the end. The baron had already shown he didn’t believe you to be his, and we worried that he might have you killed. ‘Accidents’ happen, Nicholas, and we wanted you to survive your childhood so that you could come back and claim your birthright. Falcon’s Keep has been in your mother’s family for generations.”

“Some legacy. Nothing but madness and murder.” Nicholas rubbed his eyes, then scratched the back of his neck. His knee started to shake, and he had the overpowering need to punch someone or something.

“Why didn’t you contact me sooner?”

The priest ran his thumb over the long scar on his face. “I was waiting for you to be stronger than your father, strong enough to take your inheritance by force, if need be. It was best to have limited contact with the abbot on your behalf.”

Nicholas growled low in his throat. Damn his father. Celestia placed her hand on the nape of his neck, her fingers soft and soothing against his hot skin.

“I’m truly cursed,” he said, staring at his wife. “Both of my parents have tried to kill me.”

“You cannot blame your mother; she was ill,” Celestia spoke softly. “Before her dementia, she loved you very much—the good Father said so, did you not hear?”

Was there no end to a man’s capacity for pain?
“When she thought me another man’s child, aye, she loved me then.”

Father Michael interjected, “Which brings me to Esmerada’s curse.”

“Am I not cursed enough?” Nicholas slammed his fist down on the table so hard the top cracked.

“After you were safely taken away, Esmerada became more agitated. She walked the battlements of the north tower every eve, her white gown billowing in the wind, her hair flying about like black bats around her face. Esmerada was so pale and fragile, yet she fought the elements and stood on the crenellations shouting her curse, night after night. ‘Tis no wonder that the peasants thought her a ghost. They said she was already dead, that her unhappy spirit roamed the north tower. All of the servants, left Falcon Keep.”

“And what was the curse?” Nicholas sounded weary even to himself, and his shoulders slumped.

“That your father, Philippe Peregrine, would never have another living heir so long as he didn’t claim his firstborn son.
You.
And you had to have a child of your own, ensuring that Esmerada’s bloodline did not die out.”

Nicholas nodded, some of the tension in his neck gone, thanks be to his wife’s magical hands.

Father Michael spread his hands wide. “That is the whole tale. Now, answer me this. Why have you come to Falcon Keep after all this time? The abbot had written to us that you were a knight, and preparing to go on crusade. I’d heard nothing since.”

“I suppose he left out the fact that my liege lord was Baron Peregrine?”

Father Michael’s face lost its ruddy color.

Nicholas longed for his small cell at the monastery–but mayhap that place was not the haven he’d thought it was. He wanted darkness. He needed time to think. His past was full of jagged pieces of half truths. Crossing his legs at the ankle, he tried to appear as if he was not overwhelmed.

Celestia said in a husky voice, “You never answered Nicholas’s question, Father Michael–did the baron return?” Father Michael pointed to his empty eye socket. “Aye. He returned.”

Her chin went up as if she readied for battle—Nicholas had never been so glad to have a champion—in truth, he’d never had a champion. “Speak clearly—no more riddles,” she said.”

“Baron Peregrine came back immediately after King Richard sold Scotland to King William. He said he was missing something from the keep and demanded to know where it was. He was not forthcoming in what the object was; he seemed to think we were deliberately hiding it from him in retaliation for his neglect of Lady Esmerada.”

What other bad news could the priest possbily have to impart?

“That was when he heard
all
of Esmerada’s curse and began to believe it was true. I don’t know who told him of it first, mayhap the villagers. Though I doubt they’d have the courage to taunt such a man. When I could give him no information on his missing object—would that I even knew what it was—nor could I release him of Lady Esmerada’s curse, he grew angry. He and his men tried to burn down the church, and I stepped in front of him. He slashed at my face, and I lost my eye.”

“The baron did that?” Celestia gasped in outrage.

Nicholas closed his eyes, filled with sorrow and regret as his suspicions were confirmed.

“I may have provoked him.” The priest looked discomfited. “I may have taken great relish in telling him I could not release the curse. And of telling him that his son was, indeed, his. He said he’d heard rumors, but he’d never gone to the monastery to see for himself. He was a fool, and I told him so.”

Celestia covered the old man’s hand with her own, amazing Nicholas with her capacity for compassion.

“I paid for my foolish tongue with my eye.”

“I owe you gratitude, Father Michael, for protecting my husband as long as you could.”

“The two of you are married?”

“Aye, I am Lady Celestia Le Blanc,” she said proudly.

Nicholas shifted. How did she do it? Her infernal optimism annoyed the hell out of him.

“How long did the baron stay at Falcon Keep the second time he came?” Nicholas wondered if the joyous news that he had a living son was when his father decided to have him killed.

“A fortnight, perhaps. Not longer than that. He knocked the mill down, chased away the last few stray sheep, and left. He has not been back since. Now will you tell me why you are here?”

Nicholas looked toward the heavens. If this was all God’s plan, as Abbot Crispin had taught him to believe, he did not understand. Nothing about his past made him feel any better about his future. He moved away from Celestia, who had so proudly stated that they were husband and wife.

The more he learned about himself, the clearer it became that his wife deserved better than he. Much better. He looked at the priest, then back at Celestia. It was time to tell the truth, and end this farce of a marriage.

“My father sent me here on the pretext of protecting the keep from Scottish rebels. He coerced us,” he jerked his head toward Celestia, “into marriage. She’s a renowned healer. Now that I have heard Esmerada’s curse, it’s clear that the baron needs me to have a child, thereby freeing him to father living heirs of his own.”

“A healer. Has she helped you, Nicholas? Were you injured on crusade?”

Nicholas would rather walk back to the keep on his hands than talk any more this day.

Celestia whispered, “Don’t give up, now, my lord.”

He thought of the months of torment he’d spent fighting back the longing he’d had for opium and the horrible nightmares that meshed with his memories. How Celestia had reached within his spirit, to try and draw out the cravings as if they were a tumor.

Had she helped him? Even now, her fingers rested against his skin, soothing him.

“Aye. She cured me. Mentally, I was—well, I was not in the best of health. I was not,” he searched for the right words, “well, Father, after what I did to escape my capture. I killed. A woman.”

Father Michael winced. “During a holy war it is sometimes necessary to stray from the commandments. Have you prayed for God’s forgiveness?”

“Aye. But He has not chosen to hear me. I am not worthy, Father Michael.”

The old man frowned. “Not worthy? How so?”

He thought of his mother, who had been raped and gone mad. Her journey into madness had taken years. Would that happen to him? He had to make his father release the Montehue family from their obligation before he turned the bend.

“I plan to kill again.”

Nicholas knew without a doubt that he would be the one to mete out justice to his father, and he was willing to take the stain against his already blackened soul.

Father Michael glanced from Celestia to Nicholas. “I see. Is there no other course for you to take, my son?”

Now more than ever Nicholas knew he had to be his father’s slayer. It was balanced—a life for a life. “No.”

Celestia removed her hand from the back of his neck, folding her fingers around her mug.

“Celestia will never be safe so long as he breathes. He plots and schemes …” Nicholas ground his back teeth together. “For what? I still don’t know.”

“Money, most likely–and power. Land to give his heirs.” Father Michael sighed. Now that he knew the history of his birthright, Nicholas would be content to never see Falcon Keep again.

“You take a risk of dying yourself,” Celestia said softly.

But could he live without seeing Celestia?