Love's Magic (27 page)

Nicholas forced her to lie back, her head pillowed on one of his arms. “Are you trying to kill me, Celestia?”

His voice was a low whisper, and his eyes were twin orbs of iron.

“No.” Her voice came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Nay—I was but trying to help you sleep.” Her traitorous fingers traced the hard lines of his face with love instead of anger, pausing over the bruise on his cheek. “You work so hard, and fight your rest. What would happen to me if you were hurt? I thought to help you, as a good wife, and healer, should.”

“You know my past, and yet you betray me anyway?”

“It’s not a betrayal,” Celestia argued in self-defense. “You need to sleep before you kill yourself, and I won’t have that, Nicholas—I won’t!”

Nicholas’s hard gray eyes turned to onyx. “You argue, wife.”

Celestia pressed her body to his, reveling in the weight of him. “Would that I could be your wife in truth.”

She lifted her head to meet his mouth in a kiss as hot as fire. His lips ravaged hers, yet she pulled him closer, harder, wanting to be absorbed into his heat. Nicholas wrapped her hair around his hand and tilted her face so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes.

“You know that I would give you the choice. Why do you make this so difficult?”

He nipped her upper lip with his white teeth, and then licked the spot with a flick of his tongue. She ran her hands in small circles over the muscles in his back, memorizing the feel of him. She would pay the penalty for this act later, she knew, but for now she had what she wanted. Nicholas in her arms.

“I warned you not to play your games with me,” he growled into her ear. She shivered, but did not let go.

“I am not playing a game, Nicholas.” She lowered her eyes. “I love you.”

Nicholas lifted his head and took her chin in his hand. His voice was controlled and matter-of-fact. “You have forced yourself to think of me with love in order to save your family. I’ll not be used like a stallion for stud.”

She protested, but he stopped her with another searing lip-lock that she felt all the way to her toes. Stud services? From the hard length against her thigh, she could well imagine what that might entail. Lifting her hips, she struggled against the pull of the sleeping herbs.

“Mayhap my feelings started that way, but I pledge to you that what I feel for you is true.” She slowly guided his hand to her aching breast. “Do you not feel my heart beating?”

He molded his hand around the plump curve and exhaled, leaning his forehead down against hers. “'Tia! No matter what else happens between us, I am getting an annulment from the baron. Your brothers will be safe, I promise you that.”

Her eyes were heavy, as was Nicholas’s voice. The warm sun beat down on them in benediction. “I made my choice, Nicholas.”

What would he say to that?

“Nicholas?”

His body was heavy on hers, his head cradled between her shoulder and neck. The length of his body relaxed against hers. His breathing was steady, his eyelids closed.

She was too sleepy to laugh.

The sound of horse’s hooves and shouting roused Nicholas from the deepest sleep he’d had since the last time Celestia had drugged him. He rose to his elbows, reluctant to move from her warmth.

Her angel eyes fluttered open, and Nicholas wondered what it might be like to look into them every morning of every day.

He knew that she thought to protect him, and perchance, considering how light-headed he’d been lately, she was right to worry. He wished that she didn’t think she loved him. He knew very well that she wanted to save her brothers. Celestia was a woman who saw something that needed doing, and then took the most direct route there.

While such forthrightness was a good quality in many ways, it also led to self-sacrifice on her part. A sacrifice that he, in good conscience, could not allow her to make.

He’d made a pledge to avenge the men his father had killed, and he would do so. Just as he would save Celestia’s family before taking the baron’s heart and going to Spain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her brilliant eyes filling with tears. “I was going to stand guard while you slept, but you kissed me with wine.”

“You’re sorry I kissed you?” He stared down at her face, reluctant still to get up, even though the horse was coming closer.

“Nay,” she flushed. “Sorry that I let you down.”

She made him want to forget about his previous pledge for vengeance, and that wasn’t at all right. A knight who didn’t stand true to his oath was no man at all.

She turned her head, finally realizing that someone was approaching. He watched the emotions cross her face. Disappointment, surprise, irritation, and—it stayed at irritation.

Pulling herself from the cocoon of Nicholas’s arms, she got up and waved to Petyr as she marched across the grass to meet him away from the blanket.

“My lord Nicholas was sleeping—what could be so bloody important that you interrupt our tryst?”

Nicholas arose, noticing Petyr’s eyes flicker. “My apologies, my lady. Viola has been laid out by an arrow. It is deep in her side, and she is calling for you.”

Celestia’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Saints forgive my sharp tongue, Petyr. Get the horses, will you?” She turned to Nicholas. “You’ll have to chastise me later, my lord. Will you ride back now?”

Nicholas ran to where the horses were tethered. Falcon Keep was one nightmare after another. There’d been no leads as to who had killed Bess, and now Viola?

If the women were being targeted, then only Celestia was left. The baron’s heart was safe for a while longer. Nicholas would stay and protect his wife.

Celestia must have come to the same conclusion, that she was the last of the three women in their party, because suddenly fear shadowed the brilliance of her eyes and her stubborn chin quivered.

Nicholas handed her Ceffyl’s reins, and he knew that Celestia was out of sorts because she accepted his help to mount.

“I had thought that I would never speak to you again, Celestia, but I find that the extra sleep has calmed my anger. Not that I am thanking you for your treachery, but I will forgive it. You are a healer, and I suppose you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Thank you, Nicholas.”

“If you do it again, I will beat you, as is my right as husband.”

She kept her eyes lowered. “Yes, Nicholas.”

“Is the wound life-threatening, Petyr?” Nicholas asked as the three of them flew neck and neck toward the keep.

“It looks to be, but mayhap our lady will think it not.”

Nicholas had noticed that all of his knights had accepted Celestia on her own merit. He wished that he could be so free.

His breath caught in his chest as she rode Ceffyl to the edge of the drawbridge, only to dismount before the mare came to a complete stop. Nicholas followed her, calculating how he could best be of help.

They ran upstairs to find Beatrice wringing her hands outside Viola’s chamber.

Celestia panted for breath. “Why are you standing out here? Why aren’t you with her? Is she? Oh, no—”

Barging past Beatrice like a five-foot-tall Roman soldier, she halted at the edge of the bed. Nicholas would have hired her on the spot for mercenary work.

Viola’s face was a bloodless mask. The maid’s lank brown hair lay lifeless against the pillow.

Opening her eyes, Viola said, “My lady, I waited for ye.” She lifted her hand and whispered with a lopsided smile, “I tried to tell them to get your bag, but they didn’t.”

Nicholas focused on the one thing he could do. “You need a bag? What kind of bag?”

Holding up a dainty hand, Celestia pulled back the sheet. She said calmly, “You did fine, putting clean cloths to the wound. You’ve learned much from me, but you have a natural talent, too.”

The maid looked pleased at the compliment, and Nicholas recognized the soothing manner that Celestia used with her patients. She used it on him a lot.

Dropping the sheet, she turned to him and said concisely, “Nicholas, I need two buckets of hot water. Beatrice, my medicine bag should be in the solar by the window. Forrester, more clean linens please. Petyr, clear everyone out, would you? This is not a show at the fair.”

Petyr nodded with tight lips, as if annoyed, but then he shooed everyone back. “Everyone to work.”

Nicholas delegated his bucket duties to Willy and then came in to ask Viola some questions. “How are you feeling?”

Celestia rolled her eyes, but the maid answered with a quavering voice, “Like I am dying, my lord. But now that Lady Celestia is here, for certes, I’ll be fine.”

“Of course, you will,” Celestia said.

“It was the Scottish rebels, my lord.”

Nicholas pulled a stool over to the pallet and sat so that he wasn’t towering over the injured maid. “How do you know?” His pulse sped.

“I saw a plaid,” Viola whispered, her big brown eyes wide with fright. “And then I heard a ‘thwack,’ and then I saw I was hit. The edge of the forest should be safe, Lord Nicholas. I was but looking for berries.”

“I see.” Nicholas hated not being able to protect his people, and he folded his hands over one knee. Then he saw the discarded cloak on the floor by the bed. Bloody and torn, Nicholas’s gut knotted as he picked the thing up. “Celestia, isn’t this your cloak?”

Viola tried to rise from the bed. “Lady Celestia said I could borrow it against the chill, my lord. I didn’t steal it!”

“Calm yourself, Viola. Of course, you didn’t steal it.”

Nicholas looked up and saw the warning in Celestia’s eyes. She was right, again. Viola needed to stop dying before he could question her so hard.

“Nicholas, would you go see what is taking so long with the water, please? Beatrice should have had some boiling in the kitchen. Two separate buckets.” She turned from Viola’s side, pushing Nicholas toward the door.

She tugged his head down, and whispered in his ear, “I will use my hands to heal the wound, but not in front of the new servants. They know me not, and I won’t harm you by people saying that I am a witch.”

Even in the midst of a crisis, she thought of him. He took her by the shoulders and kissed her nose. “Would you not concern yourself about me and my reputation? Heal Viola, as only you can. I have grown used to her.”

Because wherever Viola is, Celestia was near at hand. And, indeed, just knowing that made his blood warm, he realized with a start.

“Go, then! I have much work to do. But only you or Petyr can enter the chamber once I begin.”

“I don’t want Beatrice in here,” Viola agreed weakly. “All she did was wring her hands and cry. If anybody is going to cry around here, it is going to be me.”

Celestia pushed Nicholas out of the room and shut the door, certain he would follow her orders.

Trusting he would keep them all safe.

She didn’t know how much time had passed as she worked over the maid’s wound. It was deep and ragged, and it tore in exactly the same way that Sir Geoffrey’s wound had.

Celestia took extra time cleansing the area, looking for the poisoned pieces of feather. She couldn’t think about who was behind the attack, not yet.

A healer had to concentrate. She’d given Viola an infusion of coltsfoot, balm, and yarrow, to help with internal bleeding and pain. Her family was not certain how their gifts worked, only that they did. Whenever possible, they combined their powers with herbs.

Whispering a prayer, she rubbed her hands together. She visualized the four humors of the body, then focused on the tear in Viola’s side. When her hands were warm, she placed them over the wound. Bending her head forward, she prayed to all the saints to help her heal Viola. She frowned; the wound was deep.

The crimson red of the gash pulsed with gray. Celestia went deeper into her own spirit, moving her hands over the afflicted area, time and again. It was a challenge, and she had to reach deeper and deeper until she wondered if she was using the last of her powers.

But she could not let Viola die.

She kept rotating her hands in a circular motion, hovering a half inch over the skin, until finally the gray burst like a pus bubble and dissipated. Sighing with relief, she wiped the sweat above her brow. “My thanks,” she whispered, keeping her warm hands over Viola’s side until the tissue was a healthy pinkish-red and her hands cooled.

A ceramic pot crashed to the floor. Startled, Celestia rocked back on her heels, neglecting to cover Viola’s healed wound in her surprise. Beatrice stood at the door, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with terror, and Celestia could do nothing but stare at the new cook. Where was Nicholas?

Beatrice opened her mouth and shouted, “Witch! Ye’re a witch, I knew it. I heard that you practiced the black arts, and now I’ve seen it with me own two eyes. I should never have listened to that addle-pated priest—a woman can sense evil. Witch!”

Nicholas ran to the door and stopped behind Beatrice, a look of intense displeasure on his face. “She’s no witch. Stop your yellin', woman.”

But it was too little, too late. Celestia sensed the malevolence in the air as if it were a foul smell. She quickly covered the sleeping maid. The new servants, the ones they’d paid extremely well to come work at the “haunted” keep, had heard every word and were fighting to get into the room and look.