Midnight Magic (11 page)

“Pull harder, Gwendolyn. Remove the ring.”

His flatly delivered command confused her. Why was he not angry at her attempted theft? Did he truly mean to let her have the ring? Why didn’t he move so much as an eyelash? A niggling sense of something amiss caused her to hesitate.

Wary, she asked, “Remove it?”

“Want of the ring is why you braved my chamber in the middle of the night, is it not?”

He knew it was. “You denied me the ring before. Why relent now?”

“Gwendolyn, remove the ring.”

A hint of impatience colored the repeated order. Sweet mercy, why did she question her good fortune that he’d changed his mind? This time she leaned against the edge of the mattress and put a hand atop the coverlet to brace for balance. Nor was she so careful not to touch his hand.

She gripped the ring firmly and pulled hard, twisting it when she thought that might help. Again it refused to slip over the bunched skin at the joint. Soon his finger reddened and began to swell from the harsh rubbing of gold against skin. When she feared she might hurt him, she let go.

“You will have to take it off and give it to me.”

With a deep sigh he rolled onto his back, exposing more of his broad chest than she cared to see, bringing his right arm from beneath the bolster. The muscles in his arms tightened and strained with his effort to remove the ring, but it remained stuck.

“I cannot get it off, either. Care to try again?”

No, she didn’t. “Your finger swells. Perhaps if we put it in cold water for a bit?”

“I tried that. It did not work.”

The hair on the back of her neck itched, but she dismissed the unease over the stubborn ring as unwarranted. She then forgot to think at all when Alberic tossed the coverlet aside and revealed . . . everything.

Sweet Mother Mary! Her hands flew to cover her eyes. Beneath her palms her face grew overly warm with a ferocious blush.

Alberic had the gall to chuckle over her embarrassment.

“Come now, Gwendolyn. In two days’ time we will be husband and wife. Are you not even a wee bit curious?”

She refused to peek between her fingers. “I have already seen more than I ought.”

The ropes supporting the mattress groaned. Gwendolyn took a healthy step backward as his feet hit the floor, then took another prudent step back when she sensed him rise up before her. Though what good so little space would do her should he decide to grab hold of her, she couldn’t say.

“Odell?” he called out.

“My lord,” came the answer from beyond the door.

Almost, her hands slipped from her face. Odell awake, too? Obviously the sleeping potion she’d given both men hadn’t been strong enough. But it should have been; neither man should be so lucid.

Damn.
Had she not used enough of the potion? Or worse, had she used too much and turned the ale unpalatable so they hadn’t drank it all?

“Relieve the extra guards at the postern gate,” Alberic ordered. “Their services are no longer necessary tonight.”

“Not good that I should leave my post.”

“I will bar the door. I doubt I am in any danger from Gwendolyn. She wants the ring, not my blood. Let me know when you return.”

“As you say, milord.”

Alberic moved toward the door. Feeling a bit ill, Gwendolyn allowed her hands to drop away, astounded by the implication of his order to Odell. For two nights she’d observed the postern gate, knew only one guard was normally posted there. If extra guards had been posted, then someone had expected something to happen tonight.

Her escape. Alberic knew! But how?

He hefted the heavy plank from beside the door. The muscles in his back showed no sign of strain as he slid the bolt into the iron holders.

Locking all out; locking her in.

He turned around. She averted her gaze, choosing to stare at a spot on the wall. He said nothing when he passed by her on his way to the table. From the sounds she knew he poured a goblet of wine.

“When in Shrewsbury, I thought to purchase a pair of gloves for myself. Knowing they would be snug, I tried to take the ring off before putting them on. The ring stuck. I thought that odd, so that night I tried cold water and soap, then goose grease. The ring will not come off.”

Gwendolyn groped for a reason other than the one she refused to consider. “The ring is too small. It was not made for you.”

“One would think it was. It fitted perfectly until I tried to slide it beyond the knuckle. Short of cutting off my finger, I fear it must stay where it is. And no, Gwendolyn, I am not slicing off a finger, not even to please you.”

Ire touched his declaration, but she didn’t know if it was directed at her for the pretense of having accepted her situation, or at himself for his gallantry and gifts gone for naught. Having no answer, she remained silent.

He placed the goblet on the table, and after a few moments of silence, said, “You may turn around now. I should no longer offend your sense of modesty.”

Alberic wore only his forest green tunic. He leaned against the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his long, bare legs crossed at the ankles. Truly, the man was a fine specimen of a hardy, healthy male and, completely against her will, her woman’s places warmed at the sight of all that male flesh on display.

His sensuous perusal of her own state of undress tingled along her bare arms and at the hardened tips of her breasts. She folded her arms over her chest, which only encouraged him to lower his gaze and linger overlong on one particular spot. The light was dim. Surely he couldn’t see much. But maybe he could. Her chemise was thin, and she didn’t have enough arms and hands to cover
everything.

She desperately needed a distraction and to divert his attention.

“You knew I planned to leave tonight.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “You were seen where you ought not to be at strange times. I also assumed you would try to procure the ring before you attempted your escape.” His smile was neither apologetic nor friendly. “I beg pardon, Gwendolyn, but I cannot allow either. You do understand.”

She understood too clearly that someone at Camelen had observed her movements and informed Alberic, most likely a guard she hadn’t seen. She also understood that two days remained before the wedding, not much time to make other arrangements to escape.

None of which mattered if the ring didn’t come off Alberic’s finger. She dare not leave the ring behind.

“You have kept the ring on since the king gave it to you?”

“Aye. Almost a fortnight now.” He frowned and turned the ring in circles. “The ring slid on easily and is not tight or hurtful. I do not understand what hinders me from removing it.”

Gwendolyn was beginning to, and the possibility sent a cold chill through her that had nothing to do with her thin chemise and the lack of a fire in the hearth.

For a moment, again her father sat at the table, distressed, sliding the ring off and on his finger. “From the moment your mother’s father gave it to me until the moment of her death, I could not escape its magic. Now your mother is gone, the magic has escaped, and I would do most anything to get it back.” He’d sighed then. “You see, Gwen, that is why we must find the right husband for you. The magic will not work unless you are mated to a man you can love.”

“Perhaps I should put the ring with the pendant,” she’d offered.

“Nay. ’Tis my duty to pass it on to whomever you wed, nor can I bear parting with it just yet.”

Father had never parted with the ring. He hadn’t passed it on to Madog ap Idwal as he should. Instead, the ring now sat hard on a hand not meant to wear it, attached to a man she could not love.

Was there magic involved? If so, that might explain her forcefully wanton reaction to Alberic, though she didn’t understand why ancient forces wished her to mate with the man who’d killed her brother. But that was absurd. If anything the magic should work in the opposite manner, by inducing the man to fall in love with her, which she allowed might be happening because he’d chosen her to be his wife.

She wished she knew more about the magic. Mother had died mere hours after handing over the artifacts with the barest of explanation and no training in their use. Father had known no more than she’d learned from her mother.

Sweet mercy, if the magic had gone awry she didn’t know how to force it right again.

“Perhaps tomorrow it will come off.”

“Mayhap, but truly, it matters not. The ring may stay on my hand, and you, Gwendolyn, will remain at Camelen. I assume you meant to seek out this Madog you spoke of.”

His obvious dislike of Madog raised her chin. “He
is
my betrothed.”

“No longer.” Alberic pushed away from the table and sauntered toward her, challenging her resolve to avoid retreat. “You must accept that I am now your betrothed and we will be wed in two days.”

“Even over my refusal? You cannot force me.”

He cupped her face with warm palms, and she felt the power in his light touch clear down to her toes.

“I can,” he said softly. “Believe me, I prefer not to use force, but you continue to resist what you cannot prevent. Our fates are sealed. Yield, Gwendolyn.”

“Never.”

She expected anger but received an unnerving smile.

“Never is a long time.”

His kiss was whisper soft against her lips, and only the power of magic could turn it all-encompassing, banishing her resistance and common sense so thoroughly. Every part of her became aware of how closely they stood, how little fabric covered either of them. Too easily she could grab his tunic and pull him closer yet, feel the heat of him against her. Too easily she could melt into a puddle at his feet.

“Perhaps we should not wait until the wedding night,” he suggested, his voice rumbling with desire.

She couldn’t yield, couldn’t let him win. She gained sensibility in a hasty retreat.

His hands spread in a gesture of resignation. “I am willing to wait until after we say our vows, but no longer. On the night after next you will be mine.”

Gwendolyn headed toward the door, not all that sure of her relief at the reprieve. She reached for the latch and found the bolt. She didn’t struggle long with the heavy plank. Alberic came up behind her and lifted the bolt from the holders.

“I will not confine you to your chamber,” he said, “but you will be watched.”

A prisoner in her own home, as she’d been since his arrival. Only now Alberic was on his guard. Truly, she’d failed miserably this night.

As soon as the bolt cleared the door she was out of the chamber and rushing to the security of her own.

She wasn’t quiet enough while entering. Emma opened her eyes and rose up on an elbow.

“Are you all right?” Emma asked quietly.

Gwendolyn slid under the coverlet. “Aye. Sorry I woke you.”

“You are sure?”

“Let it be, Emma.”

Emma closed her eyes, and Gwendolyn snuggled deeper into the feather mattress, knowing sleep impossible.

What a disaster! First she’d been caught and then she’d been kissed. Disasters both. To keep from thinking about the latter, she focused on the former.

What a fool she’d been, thinking herself clever enough to escape. She’d been discreet in filching food. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine how a guard might have seen her near the postern gate. Even when stuffing the small satchel with the artifacts and clothing, she’d done so when neither Emma nor Nicole was present in the chamber.

Over and over she examined her movements, her observations, and couldn’t figure out how she’d been found out.

“You are not all right,” Emma complained. “You flap around like a fresh-caught fish.”

“Beg pardon.”

“Care to talk?”

She couldn’t possibly tell Emma now, her failure too fresh and Alberic’s taste still on her mouth. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

If Gwendolyn hadn’t been looking directly at Emma, she might have missed her sister’s quick glance at the clothing pegs, at Gwendolyn’s cloak.

The thought came in an agonizing rush that Emma wasn’t sure Gwendolyn would be here tomorrow.

Nay, not Emma! But it all made sense. Of everyone at Camelen, Emma knew her best. Who better to notice Gwendolyn’s absence in the middle of the night, and be aware the small satchel wasn’t in its proper place in the trunk?

Damn. Damn. Damn
.

“You knew.” The statement came out as an accusation, and Emma again tossed a glance at the cloak, this time so guilt-laden it tore Gwendolyn’s heart in two.

“I suspected.”

“You warned Alberic.”

“You were about to do something dangerous, Gwen. I knew no other way to stop you.”

Aghast, she asked, “You did not think to speak to me first?”

“Would you have listened had I told you to desist? Sweet mercy, you are so set against this marriage, you planned to sneak out of the castle in the middle of the night! I would wager you still are.”

Gwendolyn turned away, unable to tell Emma the true reason for her need to escape.

Emma continued. “Bandits and wolves roam the forest, and the rogue archer has not been caught. I also feared if you succeeded then Nicole might take it into her head to follow your example. And—”

Gwendolyn ruthlessly cut off her sister’s excuses for delivering her up to Alberic. “And you feared that if I left you might be forced to marry Alberic and thus lose your chance to go to court! Well, you need no longer fear, Emma. Any hope of my escape has been thwarted.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Think what you will, but my reasons were not selfish. I could not bear the thought of you lying dead in the forest.”

Nicole’s head appeared above the end of the bed. “You were planning to leave, Gwen? Without taking me along?”

“Do not be foolish,” Emma snapped at the girl. “Gwendolyn is going nowhere. Now go back to sleep. Let us
all
go back to sleep.”

Nicole’s head sank down below the mattress, and Gwendolyn knew naught else to do than to close her eyes.

The magic had most definitely gone awry.

First Father and William had abandoned her. Then Alberic wielded his authority to decide her future. Even the ring seemed to have turned against her.