Love's Magic (26 page)

Celestia
hated
the look of determined hopelessness on Nicholas’s face.

She leaned forward and pointed at the priest with her mug. “The baron had promised King Richard a sacred relic from Saint James the Apostle as part of his vassal price toward the Crusade. We think that the baron then paid the enemy to attack the caravan, and make it look like it was a Holy Fight—all so that the relic could be ‘stolen’ and returned to the baron. Don’t you find that odd?”

“Celestia,” Nicholas warned. But sometimes her husband was too noble for his own good. She would find the answers, for both their sakes.

“Wait,” she said, keeping her attention on the priest. “The baron knighted his son, and sent Nicholas to lead a retinue of his own men. To protect the false relic.”

The priest rose to his feet, excited. “The finger bone of Saint James! Of course. King Henry had given it to Lady Margaret’s father, Lord Harbotten, as payment for a piece of land or something—it isn’t important—some men hoard holy relics, thinking that it will get them closer to God. Lord Harbotten was a relic collector.”

Celestia slid a glance toward her husband, who studied a bruise on his thumbnail.

She continued, “So King Henry originally gave the relic to Esmerada’s grandfather?”

Father Michael nodded. “Aye. Lady Margaret held it dear. Legend says that sacred relics, especially those from such a venerated saint as Saint James, can turn the tide in battle. Old Henry loved a good fight, but he either forgot Harbotten had the relic or else he was waiting for a worthier battle to use it.”

“But King Richard knew enough about it to ask for the relic specifically, and he knew Baron Peregrine was the only one who could possibly have it, as Esmerada, and all her family, were dead.” Celestia tapped her lower lip with the pad of her index finger.

Nicholas glowered. “What if the Scots, er, Brinden McCarthy, stole it?”

“I don’t know why they would,” the priest said doubtfully.

“For coin, to support the rebellion, naturally. But I don’t think that’s what happened. The way I see it,” Celestia loved to solve puzzles and she felt as if this might be the thread they’d been missing, “Baron Peregrine lost the original relic. That’s what he was looking for when the monastery burned.”

“What?” Father Michael leaned against the rickety table. “I’m sorry, Father,” Celestia said, quickly placing a soothing hand on his. “Abbot Crispin survived the fire, but the monastery is lost. He sent a secret message to Nicholas, warning him that the baron was searching for something. ‘Tis obvious it’s the relic.”

“The baron is evil,” the old man said in a shaking voice.

Celestia picked up Nicholas’s hand and kissed the knuckles, knowing that her next sentence would be hard for him to hear. “What if the reason he destroyed the caravan and had the relic stolen was to protect the fact that it was already gone?”

“So my men, the men he’d given me to lead, were all killed to protect a lie?” Nicholas asked skeptically. “I don’t think so.”

Father Michael sat back down with thud. “My God.”

Nicholas’s fingers tightened upon hers. “He would have killed me, in order to cover up a secret.”

“A sacred relic can’t be used for ill. The baron should be cursed a thousand times over,” the priest said, rubbing at the scar above his empty eye socket.

“It’s my fault.”

“Nicholas, ye’ve been sore used in this life, but you’re not responsible for your father being a blight on humanity. Ye say ye feel great guilt over killing a woman? A woman who tortured ye. Well,” the priest made the sign of the cross, “I absolve ye. Some people deserve to die, and it is our human hand that metes out God’s justice.” Father Michael continued, “If your lady is right, then no sacred relic was lost, and again, ye are absolved.”

“And if my carelessness is at fault?”

Father Michael slammed a fist down on the table. “I absolve thee!” he shouted. “But all the forgiveness in the world will not be enough if ye don’t forgive yerself.”

Celestia’s chest was tight with unshed emotion. The goodly priest had told her husband exactly what he needed to hear. Whether or not the stubborn man would listen, well, that was another basket of thread entirely.

She rubbed the pad of her thumb over the tops of his knuckles, sending what comfort she could.

“I wanted to live,” he said quietly.

“Did you have another choice, Nicholas?” Father Michael made sure that he had the younger man’s attention. “Did you enjoy killing her?”

Red flags of guilt flushed Nicholas’s cheeks. “Aye, I did enjoy killing the foul, rotten whore.”

Celestia pulled her hand free so that she could applaud his revelation. “As well you should have. Let the guilt go, Nicholas,” Celestia said, deliberately covering the new smooth skin where the scars from the manacles used to be. She shivered, thinking his thoughts with him to lessen the impact.
He’d been drugged, held down in the beginning, but toward the end, he lived for the opium and the pleasure that woman had brought. Anything to forget that he was locked in captivity and tortured at the enemy’s whim.
She didn’t blame him for wanting relief from the pain, and she wished he would stop blaming himself. It was only because his shame went so deep that she’d gotten such a clear image when she’d first healed him. Now she could at least soothe him for periods of time without absorbing his despair.

“You are strong, strong enough to survive what would have killed a lesser man. Now live again, aye?” The priest reached out to pat Nicholas as if he were the four year old boy he’d known so long ago.

Her husband was breathing like a tourney horse, deep from his chest. How long before he saw what she and the priest could see? God had not turned his back on Nicholas. Instead, Nicholas had plugged both of his ears with his fingers, unable to accept forgiveness.

She hated to see him struggling. “It’s been a long day,” she finally said calmly, using her words and the softest touch of her fingertips to sooth him. “Bess’s death,” her breath caught in her throat, “the revelation of your past, and now you’re wrestling with something that you’ve convinced yourself is true. But it doesn’t have to be.”

Leaning over, she kissed the side of his face. “You are so strong that you can make your life whatever you want it to be.”

She bowed her head, hoping for their future, if he could just forgive himself his past.

Nicholas kept his head buried in his hands.

Enough was enough. She was a person who needed to fix what could be fixed. Celestia stood and lightly trailed her fingers over the back of Nicholas’s smooth, ebony hair. “Come. It will be dark soon, and poor Bess unburied. You have been most kind, Father Michael. You’ll stay the night at the keep? We’ve no beds, but blankets aplenty.”

Nicholas followed her as she led the way outside. Breathing deep of the fresh air, she exhaled, wishing she was truly a witch so that she could cast a spell and make her husband happy. His expression was grim as they waited for the priest to bring around his own mount.

He shut her out with his silence, and it hurt. “So much information, and yet still no answers. We can talk more of this later, in private, Nicholas.”

“Enough talking has been done to last a lifetime,” he growled.

The priest came around the side of the small house, his old horse laden with bags, the greens of a carrot dangling from the nag’s mouth.

Celestia’s stomach rumbled, and she smacked her hand against her forehead. In all of the emotional upheaval, she’d forgotten a very important question.

“Do you, by any chance at all, know where we can hire a cook?”

Chapter
Fourteen

I
t was the sound of her husband’s heavy boots clomping on the stone floor as he tried to sneak out that caught her attention.

She looked up, noticing the faint bruise on the side of his cheek. Willy said that Nicholas had lost his balance while working on the drawbridge, and that it hadn’t been the first time he’d done so. Even Petyr admitted that Nicholas was more surly than usual, and walked around in a daze. Fear for him made her angry. She but wanted a chance to help, and she was the last person to whom he would come.

Celestia threw the hated embroidery hoop on the bench. “Nicholas, you do not need to go into the village again. We have supplies, food, and servants. In the past week you have done the work of ten men.”

Nicholas paused in front of the open keep doors, and Celestia caught her breath as a sudden shaft of light surrounded him like a halo. She stuffed her project into a willow basket next to her chair.

He pushed an overlong strand of thick black hair off his forehead. Celestia’s knees trembled with a spike of uncertainty. Why was being in love with one’s husband so difficult? He’d neatly managed to avoid her and the bedchamber by taking the midnight watch. He looked so tired. She was not sleeping, either, concerned as she was for his health.

She knew he would not appreciate her worry. “I have planned a picnic,” she said.

Panic darted in his eyes. “I am too busy to lie about and eat.”

He was avoiding her, but she would run her prey to ground. “Nay, I have already checked with Petyr, and you can be spared for the afternoon. Beatrice has made some tasty meat pies that will melt on your tongue. I found some wild strawberries and have chilled some wine.”

She babbled on, trying to put him at ease. “Beatrice must have been sent by Saint Martha—she’s the saint of cooks, although she couldn’t help me, more the pity—but that Beatrice. Do you know she can make a marzipan cake shaped like this very keep, all while cleaning the bed linens and dusting the corners?”

Nicholas laughed, then caught himself and bit his lip.

Celestia skipped up to him and shook her head. “Too late, my lord. I saw you smile.” She smoothed down his tunic sleeve. “Besides, it isn’t raining for once. I know Ceffyl could use a canter …”

She flirted with her husband like a shameless hussy. “Oh, I forgot.
Maude
came by yesterday while you were out hunting. She said she’d seen you in the forest, and she’d promised you some more of that jam you
just loved?
”

Obviously recognizing the danger signals, he stammered, “What else was I to say, ‘Tia? She had me pinned up against a tree!”

“Oh, she did?” She quirked one brow up, while keeping the other straight. She knew that Nicholas wasn’t fond of the beautiful Maude, but if she had to trick her husband into a picnic, then so be it. He was too honorable to dally.

“Not like that. Just, ah, Celestia, the woman is wicked.”

She pointed her finger in the middle of her husband’s chest. “Mayhap she is, but she wants you.”

Nicholas’s mouth gaped open, and Celestia stuck her fist on her jutted hip. Did he not understand how alluring his gray eyes were? His lashes, his noble nose? His body had strengthened with all of the manual labor he’d been doing, and his skin was burnished gold by the sun.

How could he not
know
this?

She narrowed her eyes, watching closely as he tried to find a way out of spending time alone with her. Celestia tapped her foot and quirked the other brow expectantly until he wisely gave in.

“When are we leaving for that picnic?”

Since she’d gotten her way, she decided not to hold a grudge against him for something like Maude’s unwanted advances.

“Now. Before you change your mind.”

Celestia called for Forrester, who brought Ceffyl and Brenin around from the stables. The new drawbridge was sturdy, and the horses didn’t shy from crossing it.

She waited until they were each over to the grass, then turned and tossed out the challenge, “A race, my lord? Or are you afraid to lose to me?”

Clucking her teeth, she sped off, letting Ceffyl have her head. They tore through the large field, then past the old apple grove, where a few trees had managed to grow and blossom. The sweet perfume called to her, but she didn’t stop. Instead she continued on to the grassy meadow where the old mill lay in ruins. Nicholas was right on her heels.

“I win!” she said, her breath coming in quick gasps.

“No fair, you never told me where the finish line was,” he laughed, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“We can race back, my lord. Mayhap you’ll have a chance, then.” She slid from Ceffyl’s back. “I’m famished, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer, just dismounted and looked around. “'Tis too bad that all this is laid to waste. You could find no place closer to the keep for a picnic?”

“I liked the apple trees, but the mill beckoned. Besides, this area is pretty, too, don’t you think?”

“Not especially.” His voice was grim. “The stream has dried up, and the mill is tipped over on its side, rotting in the weeds. No, I don’t think it is ‘pretty.'”

Determined to change his mind, Celestia twirled around like a little girl. “Pah! The grass is soft and fragrant, the wildflowers are in bloom, and the mill makes for an excellent conversation piece. For certes, if we were to look closely, we might even find the remnants of the stream.”

“Why must you always argue with me?”

She tossed out the blanket until it was positioned just so, then put a bag on each corner to guarantee that it stayed. “A difference of opinion is hardly an argument, my lord.” She put her finger against her lower lip, deliberately drawing Nicholas’s eyes to her mouth. “You try being the smallest in a family of giants, and you’d be ‘arguing,’ too.”

He smiled, relenting a little. “Aye, and would I be as stubborn?”

She raised her chin, but kept her tone light. “Focused. It’s all in how you see it.”

Nicholas stepped closer, as if drawn to her energy, which was good—since she was putting all she had into charming him. She held out her hand. “Will you walk with me to find the stream?”

“And if it isn’t there?”

“It will be!”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“Then I shall owe you a forfeit.”

He stopped in his tracks. “And if there is?”

She laughed, low and husky. “Then you shall owe me one, my lord.”

He looked like a hare caught in a trap, and she reveled in her feminine power, something she’d never realized that she had. She’d believed that her only strength was her ability to heal.
Fate.
Celestia had learned how to love, which meant that she could now lose her heart, in addition to her healing hands.

Not to mention the welfare of her brothers.

She led the way to the tipped-over mill, and Nicholas followed. Reserved at first, it wasn’t long ‘til he was laughing as freely as she’d ever heard. Her spirits rose as they explored the mill and the meadow like children, creating an ease between them that but needed a chance to grow.

They’d ventured far into the trees when she finally stopped and cupped her hand around the curve of her ear. “Listen,” she said, “over there.”

“What?”

She grabbed Nicholas by the hand and pulled him forward. Waiting until she was certain that he heard the trickling sounds of a slow-moving stream, she announced, “I found it!”

Nicholas groaned aloud, but she could tell that he was glad that she’d won the forfeit. His glance was hot, and her body hummed with anticipation.

Since the point of the picnic was to get him to relax, she supposed that she could demand a nap. He couldn’t tell her nay.

But how boring would that be?

Her toes curled within her half boots at the thought of being encircled within Nicholas’s arms. They could nap together, and that might be more fun.

“Come, Nicholas, the water tastes sweet.”

He joined her and they knelt side by side, scooping up the cool water in their hands to sip. Her leg tingled where it brushed against Nicholas’s, and she wished that someday he would come to feel for her what she felt for him.

She sighed and patted stream water on her cheeks in an effort to cool her desire. Then she scooped up another handful and playfully tossed it down Nicholas’s back.

His look of surprise warmed her heart, but the look of revenge had her running as if her life depended on it.

Nicholas chased after her, but even his long-legged stride did not catch her before she fell to her knees on the blanket. She tilted her face up to his and laughed, “I am safe, my lord!”

“You cheated, wench. I didn’t even know we were playing a game of tag.” He, too, dropped to his knees.

They faced each other, their chests heaving with exertion and physical awareness. She reached out her hand to touch his cheek. The work he had been doing around the keep, as well as the time spent training with the knights, had chiseled his features. “You take my breath away,” she whispered.

His ebony brows arched perfectly over his smoldering dark gray eyes. The shadows beneath them worried her, but she would do what she could to fix that. His shoulders had broadened, and his arms were more muscularly defined beneath his tunic. His jaw was stubborn, but she didn’t care.

She had that same trait.

Leaning forward, she caressed his smooth chin. He was so honorable, and yes, apprehensive. Gram had said that he lived and breathed fear, and mayhap that was so, a week ago. But now he was coming to terms with his past.

After getting a glimpse of his life, she was simply grateful that Nicholas was alive—no matter his moodiness.

He could eat with his toes and she knew that she would find it endearing. When had she turned into a silly female? She didn’t even mind being small with Nicholas at her side; she knew he would protect her. Wouldn’t Galiana love to see her laid so low?

Nicholas stayed very still as she brought her mouth to his. Celestia placed a tiny kiss at each corner of his sculpted mouth before sliding her lips along his. She closed her eyes and nipped lightly at his full, lower lip.

She didn’t protest at all when he clasped the back of her head, angling her mouth so that he had better access. He separated her lips and taught her the wonders of his tongue as it dueled with hers. She crawled closer to him, wanting to feel his body flush against her, knees to knees, breasts to chest. If she was being brazen, she didn’t care. Being with Nicholas was all that mattered.

Sliding her hands up his arms, she marveled in the play of muscle beneath her fingers. She traced his collarbone, and slid her fingers down the open vee of his tunic, following the path her fingers took with light kisses.

With a groan, he pulled her across his lap so that her bottom brushed his manhood. The feel of rigid male, even through her clothes, was enough to send a pool of heat to the apex of her thighs. She tore her lips from his in frustration. As much as she would like an afternoon of seduction, Nicholas’s health came first.

She jumped up and giggled like a fool.

“I forgot to get our basket.”

Narrowing his eyes, Nicholas sat back, his face an unreadable mask as she dropped a napkin over his lap. She pretended not to notice the bulge; instead, she handed him a plate of meat pie and strawberries. “Eat up, my lord. We have plenty.”
Oh, Nicholas would think her a nitwit, no doubt. But it was for his own good.
Her heart beat erratically, and her belly burned with longing.

Nicholas accepted the dish. “Are you trying to fatten me up for a feast that I don’t know about?”

She giggled
again
and brought out the wine, filling his goblet to the very top. “I made this spiced wine myself. I do hope you like it.”

Fluttering her lashes, she hoped he would drain the cup. He did. “Well?”

“It tasted, uh, spicy?”

She dropped her shoulders and pinched a thin piece of skin on her arm until water welled in her eyes. “You didn’t care for it?” Sniffing, she hid her face in her hands.

He quickly held out the empty cup. “Don’t cry, ‘Tia! I thought it was an excellent wine. I doubt you brought enough to satisfy my thirst.”

She blinked her eyes a few times for good measure. He was so predictably honorable. The wine contained thyme and valerian, a combination that would give him sleep, with no opiate at all to send him battling demons instead of counting sheep. “I can make you more, if you find that you truly like it, my lord. A glass of wine helps me to sleep.”

Suspicion dawned in his sharp eyes. “Sleep?”

She scooted back on her heels, hoping to hide her nervousness. “Aye, sometimes I find I am overexcited after a busy day, and a glass of wine relaxes me.”

He looked at her goblet, which hadn’t been filled. “Where is your wine?”

She pleated a napkin in her hands. “The water from the stream refreshed me, my lord.”

“Have some wine, Celestia.”

She giggled and waved the napkin in the air like a flag of truce. “If you feel so strongly about it, I will join you in a cup.” She poured herself a small amount.

“Drink it.”

His eyes bored into her as she pretended to sip.

“Come here, Celestia.”

She knew from past experience that there was no reasoning with him once his jaw was set like that. Walking on her knees across the blanket, she stopped in front of him, determined to hide her fear. The vein at the base of her neck jumped. What would he do to her?

“Open your mouth.”

She tightened her lips, then exhaled and did as he said. Would he understand that she had drugged the wine for his own good? Considering his past, probably not.

He leaned in and sniffed her breath. He cocked his head to the side and took a swallow from his own goblet. Before she could protest, he kissed her, sharing the mouthful of wine between them.

She pounded her fists on his chest, but he didn’t release her until she swallowed the wine. “Nay!” How could she stand guard while he slept if he drugged her, too?