Love's Magic (9 page)
“I thank you, Lady Celestia. The stallion is generous, indeed.” He paused, then reached beneath his shirt and pulled out his rosary. It was the only thing he, Nicholas Le Blanc, personally owned, and he’d once considered it a talisman against evil. If he’d had it on crusade, mayhap his men wouldn’t have died.
“Take this. It was my mother’s.” A shadowy memory pulled at him of a woman with dark hair, and apples for Saint Vitus’s sake, but no more.
Celestia reached down with a slim, gloved hand to accept the polished wood cross on its worn beads. “Your mother’s? Nicholas, I cannot accept such a beautiful gift.”
He narrowed his eyes, daring her to give it back and add to his public shame.
She straightened abruptly and slipped the chain over her head. “You are certain?”
“Aye,” he said curtly, his heart unaccountably tight.
“I will cherish it. Thank you.”
She sounded sincere, but how could she care for him, even the smallest bit? He’d done nothing but make a fool of himself in her presence. He’d hardly shown her the side of him that was strong and worthy; instead she’d seen him ill and angry and confused. It seemed his destiny was to be his lady’s jester. But only for a short while more, and in the end, she would have Falcon Keep.
Patting the white mare on the neck, he walked back to the magnificent stallion. “Does he have a name?”
She sent a look of approval toward him that went directly to the place his heart was supposed to be.
“Aye, I call him Brenin, which is Welsh for ‘king.'”
“‘Tis perfect.” Nicholas spoke a soft greeting to the animal before mounting. Being of Welsh descent would explain all of the red hair amongst them, he thought, noting that Lady Deirdre was knotting a linen handkerchief between her hands as she cried
He accepted the blame for the family’s upset, on his father’s behalf, simply because it strengthened his own need for revenge. Nicholas could hardly tell the Montehues that their darling daughter would possibly be a widow soon, and returning before summer’s heat. Brenin shifted beneath him and he cantered over to Celestia. “We must leave if we are to reach Middon before dark.”
“I am ready,” she said, holding her body stiff. “I have said my good-byes.”
It was difficult, but Nicholas denied the spark of pride he felt toward her. Worried he might say something he’d regret, he turned his back on her and rode to the front of the line.
The wagon rolled into place, driven by Sir Geoffrey, a graying Montehue knight whom Lord Robert had insisted go with the wagon. Viola and Bess, Celestia’s two maids, sat next to the man on the bench seat.
He whistled, and the men he couldn’t accept as his own flanked the wagon. Stephan guarded the rear, while he and Petyr took the point. Celestia trotted in behind them. Nicholas’s gut ached with tension and memories that wouldn’t die, even though the men in them were nothing but bones in the desert.
The fast clip-clopping of another horse came around the wall and Nicholas reached for his sword—only to find he didn’t have one. Oh, aye, he thought bitterly, I am certainly ready to protect this caravan and all of the people with it.
Bertram, noticing the impotent gesture, tossed his own sword over. Nicholas had not held a weapon in years, yet he caught the heavy weight of the hilt as he’d been trained. “My thanks,” he nodded with a frown.
“You’d slay me?” Lady Evianne, clad in riding clothes and astride a black mare, laughingly joined Celestia at the rear. She looked strong and stubborn, and Nicholas noted the similarity in the grandmother and granddaughter’s daring, oval eyes.
Lady Deirdre moaned, while Ela grinned from her perch atop the stone half-wall surrounding the manor. Lord Robert muttered something, but it was Petyr whose composure visibly crumbled. “Nicholas, Baron Peregrine specifically said he wanted you to make haste. I have overlooked the wagon and the servants, but the old dame? This is too much!”
Sighing, Nicholas patted his stallion’s neck. Petyr grossly overstepped his authority, and Nicholas quickly weighed the consequences of a public reprimand against the need for Petyr to take over once they reached Falcon Keep. He had to have Petyr and the men to help guard the little caravan, and later to care for Celestia whilst he brought justice to Peregrine Castle. He did not expect them to fight the baron. This was his quest alone.
“Nicholas?” Celestia questioned.
She would be forced to follow whatever order he gave. He understood too well what it was like to do something against one’s own will. Choosing between Petyr or his temporary wife, it made more sense to allow Petyr his way. Yet he said, “I see nothing amiss for a member of the family to join our party.” Nicholas met the green-eyed glare of Lady Evianne. “You will keep up, won’t you? Or you will ride in the wagon.”
“I will be no hindrance, sir knight.”
“I thought not, my lady.”
Petyr grunted and Nicholas let his hand hover near the hilt of his borrowed sword. It would not do to call the knight out in front of every man here, but Nicholas knew that a reckoning would come. Petyr clamped his lips tight, then, snapping the reins of his mount, he led the way onto the road leading through town, and beyond.
C
elestia waved until she couldn’t see her family anymore. She was surprised at how many of the peasants had come to see her off, as well. Wee Timmy had even brought her a bouquet of dandelions and a plum tart from his mother.
She longed to tell them all that she would be back, but she’d promised Nicholas she’d hold her tongue.
Her tears were gone, and she was empty of all but stubborn determination to keep Nicholas alive until they got the annulment from Baron Peregrine. Nicholas would not be allowed to sacrifice his life for hers.
She reached for her grandmother’s hand. “I should do the mature thing and tell you to turn back, but I will not. What made you come? Did Mother know? For certes, this will not be an easy journey, and who knows what we will find at the end of it. With my luck of late it will be naught but a broken pile of stones.”
“You forget that I was born and raised in Wales, my dear, this is nothing to me. For over sixty years I have lived and never did I shy at an adventure.” She chuckled and pointed to Petyr’s stiff back. “He may not approve that I joined the party, but I do not mind. It is you that your sister and I worry over, so I decided to come along. Ela put my pack in the wagon, and she’ll smooth things with your mother.”
“Ela knew?” Celestia remembered what her youngest sister had said about Nicholas and his gray aura, but kept the information to herself. The last thing she needed on the journey was another evil portent.
“Aye, that child has something of my great granny to her. Eerie, almost.”
“I thought that there was but one healer in each generation.”
If I lose my healing gifts, Ela will be there to continue the line,
Celestia thought with a bit of self-pity. They don’t need me.
“Ela is no healer. I do not understand all that she can do; it is hard to tell with her mischievous ways. She could be a saint or end up in the stocks,” Evianne laughingly shrugged one shoulder as they cantered down the hard dirt road. “‘Tis good that your husband finally put Sir Petyr in his place.” At the sound of his name, the knight turned back and scowled. “Although I doubt he will stay there.”
Celestia felt a thrill at the word
husband,
but didn’t examine why. “I don’t think Nicholas fears anything, including Petyr, or any of the knights the baron sent.”
Evianne clucked her tongue as she always did when teaching a lesson. “Look closer, Celestia. I would say that he lives and breathes fear.”
“Hmm?” Celestia stared at the proud set of Nicholas’s shoulders as he and Petyr led their little band of travelers. He turned his head to the left, then the right, his eyes taking in every rustling tree branch or falling leaf. He didn’t look the least bit afraid. Nicholas was the epitome of knighthood, his borrowed sword resting at his hip but within quick reach of his fingers. The tunic Evianne had sewed fit across the breadth of his shoulders and tapered down to his thigh. The brown hose hugged his legs, and she remembered the muscles in his calves and …
Her skin warmed and she blamed it on the spring sunshine. The mindless travel as they followed the road allowed for plenty of time to consider Nicholas’s past. What was it that drove him to be so very honorable? Celestia quickly tapped the wooden cross around her neck and promised to keep him safe. Whom she made the promise to, she didn’t know.
“Celestia!”
Startled, she tightened her hands on Ceffyl’s reins, and her mare neighed in complaint. “Aye?” she said on an expelled breath.
“I said that tonight we will sleep at Middon, are you ready?”
She hadn’t given where they would sleep much thought at all. “Four days of travel, Godspeed, with two nights in beds, and two under the stars, unless we can find a barn or some such thing. Why would I need to be ready? Think you that we’ll need our own sheets?”
She bit her lip, wondering if she could easily access the marigold powder to keep away fleas.
“I was not referring to unpacking the wagon. I was referring more to the wedding night?”
Celestia turned red. “Gram!” She’d never had reason to lie to her grandmother, but should she tell her of the plan to get an annulment? Mayhap Gram would help. She had the distinct idea that Nicholas might not approve, and since he had issues with trust, Celestia kept quiet.
Her grandmother gave her a knowing look. “I know full well that the marriage was not consummated last night. It was I who checked the sheet, and then I noticed the cut on Nicholas’s hand.”
Humiliation burned deep. “And you kept our secret because?”
“I would know why the two of you schemed together. An old lady’s curiosity? You behaved as if you would be returning to the manor, instead of creating your own home.”
Well.
“Your eyes are sharp, but you are mistaken.” She dropped her voice to a whisper and brought her mare closer to her grandmother’s. “I but begged him to wait until we get to know one another better. I would not risk losing my powers over a love that might not happen. If I do not give my heart, then how can it be broken?”
Whatever else she’d been expecting, it was not the laughter that bubbled from her grandmother’s lips with all the force of a spring flood.
“Hush! This is no jest, but a sound plan.” Nicholas glanced back, his brow arched in question. Celestia waved her hand and waited until he turned around again before hissing, “What is the matter with you?”
“You think that you can fool with your fate so easily? You are married, Celestia. You must make your husband love you. And not just physically, although there is naught to fear, if the man is kind. The pleasures of the body are one of God’s great gifts.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Married, yes. But in name only. We’ve agreed,” Celestia said without looking at her worldly grandmother. She found it much more to her liking to focus on Nicholas’s strong back. “Although the baron has vowed to hold Ed and Ned until Nicholas and I have a child,” her belly warmed at what that act might entail, “Nicholas seems to think he can change the baron’s mind.”
“The baron is up to his arse in something,” Evianne spat. “That old codger can’t be trusted.”
“I keep thinking it has something to do with our family history.”
“Boadicea?”
“What else might it be? Nicholas has no family. His mother is dead, and he was raised by the abbot.” She smiled suddenly and patted Ceffyl’s mane. “What if this is something as simple as the baron realizing how much he’s missed and he wants Nicholas as a father wants a son?”
“That old man just wants a babe who won’t die. An heir to pass on his name to,” Evianne said darkly.
Celestia heard the underlying anger in her grandmother’s tone. “Have you met Baron Peregrine before?”
Her grandmother paused before nodding. “Aye.
There’s never been a reason to tell the tale afore now, and I am not a spreader of gossip.”
Goose bumps raced down Celestia’s spine. “Yes?”
“Fifteen years or so ago, he called me to heal one of his wives. The third one, mayhap, although it doesn’t matter. She and her babe died before I got there.” She glanced toward Nicholas, then back to Celestia. “He told me that he’d been cursed. He wanted me to lift it.”
“What? We don’t know how to do that,” Celestia’s hands chilled even though the sun was warm.
“So I told him, so I told him, but he was torn with grief. Over the child, more so than the wife, but that is between him and God. Still, I’d never seen a man, then or since, so angry. I explained that we are healers. I told him,” the Lady Evianne blushed, “that I was the last of my line.”
“What?”
“What if he wanted to marry you? To stop the curse he believed he was under? Marry a healer, and perchance …”
The cold spread from her fingertips to her toes as she realized what her grandmother was saying. “It is possible, then, that he didn’t know I was a healer, not until recently.”
Her grandmother nodded. “We do our duty, pay our tax, and stay out of the baron’s way. Your father trains many knights who serve the baron, which makes him more valuable than some of the other of the baron’s lords. Mayhap one of those he trained talked of you.”
“Heaven help us,” Celestia slowly blew out an exhale. “Would he have married me off to ensure that the curse visited on him was not handed down to Nicholas?”
She frowned, shaking her head. “A child—he wants to know that his blood will not die out.”
“‘Tia, I am sorry. I wish I had the answers,” Lady Evianne said, her voice wobbling.
“Do you believe in the curse?” Celestia caught the scent of apples, but just for a second and no more.
“I do not know the details of it, I was so frightened of him that night that I didn’t want to stay and ask. But,” she lowered her voice, “what else could kill so many women and bairns?”
Celestia straightened and scoffed, “Poor health, not enough meat or fruit—there are all sorts of things that can go wrong.” Her shoulders slumped. “What are the chances of a babe bringing peace between Nicholas and the baron? Perhaps if he could learn to forgive whatever grudge he holds against his father, he might be happy.”
“Do not meddle, Celestia. Instead put your mind on making your husband love you. You are married in the eyes of the Church and God, and if you would keep your healing powers, Nicholas needs to fall head over heels for you.”
Only that?
“I am doomed, then.” Celestia flexed her gloved fingers around the reins. “For he keeps his heart under strictest guard. He has been sorely injured.”
“Pah—you are thrice as strong as I, so doesn’t that make you the finest healer in all of England?” Lady Evianne’s brows rose so high they disappeared underneath her headdress.
Laughing, Celestia rolled her eyes at her grandmother’s boast. “Mayhap.”
“Then heal your man. Forget the baron, and take the happiness that is yours if you are brave enough to reach for it.”
Courage was not the problem, Celestia thought as she gazed toward her husband. The white arrow she’d seen in her vision could have been a real weapon, or it could be symbolic of something else. She sensed that Nicholas was struggling within his own psyche for a balance of good and evil. Blood on the shaft of a white arrow could mean that, couldn’t it? Chills raced beneath her skin, and she vowed to never let Nicholas out of her sight.
Petyr looked back at the women, then said to Nicholas, “Your bride and her granny seem to be having a lively conversation.”
“Aye, I can hear.” Celestia’s sweet voice called to him, but he plugged his ears.
“Shouldn’t you be using this journey to get to know your wife?”
Nicholas stared straight ahead, for his eyes wanted to do nothing more than gaze at the petite blond who, according to the law, belonged to him.
“She seems nice enough,” Petyr said.
If Petyr was truly supposed to be “his” man, he had an odd way of showing it. Nicholas tightened his jaw. “I suppose. I don’t want to know her.”
“You married her—you can’t just exchange vows with her and then leave her at Falcon Keep.”
The man would not leave him be, so Nicholas cantered forward, thinking it to be a broad enough hint. He didn’t wish to discuss the situation.
“God’s blood! Is that what ye’ve planned? Is that why she’s got more baggage than the king’s court? Her servants, her gold plate—her grandmother, for pity’s sake. You plan on dumping her there, alone.”
Flinching at the accusations, which were exactly true and so were a direct hit, Nicholas’s temper rose until he was close to exploding. The last thing he needed was to lose control. Knights did not lose control, or else they put the caravan at risk.
“Not alone. She’ll have you.”
Petyr grabbed the reins of Nicholas’s horse, jerking them around so that Nicholas swayed on Brenin’s back. “You can’t do it. The baron wanted you to have a true marriage.”
Nicholas snatched them back, damned tired of being told what his “father” wanted. Grinding his teeth, he leaned forward so that Petyr would hear every last whispered syllable. “Ever since I met you, you tell me what I can and cannot do. If you are to be loyal to me, then remember your place. I don’t need a nursemaid.”
Petyr’s lips turned white with anger. “Your father never spoke of you until a few years ago, and then you went off on crusade. I’d like to think you were a real man, instead of the weak, disinterested fool you are now.”
“Enough!” Nicholas punched Petyr square in the nose, his fist landing in the center of the knight’s face with a satisfying crunch. “Mind your business, or be gone.”
Petyr fell from his horse with a loud crash into the brush, blood streaming between his fingers as he covered his face with his hands. “That’s twice now, damn you.”
Satisfied that he’d made his point, Nicholas was surprised to hear a feminine shriek of anger.
“What?” he asked as Celestia quickly halted her mare and dismounted in a fluid jump. She seemed more concerned over the blood pouring from Petyr’s face than any insults the knight might have been spouting.
“‘Tis nothing,” Nicholas said. “I warned him.”
