Midnight Magic (22 page)

Gwendolyn tucked the scroll into her clothing trunk, now settled in the lord’s bedchamber beside Alberic’s. She’d been forced to empty the trunk in order to drag it between the bedchambers, and when finished with the task, was disappointed with the result. Her simple trunk didn’t belong in the room. Another trunk did—the mate to the one already there. Her mother’s.

But that was a decision and task for another day.

With a flight of hands Gwendolyn ensured the chain was completely hidden under her chemise, and the pendant pressed flat so no one could detect its presence beneath her clothing.

Nervous, but determined to carry through, Gwendolyn headed down to the hall where preparations were under way for supper. This evening’s meal would be light and cold, preserving both provisions and firewood. Though Gwendolyn doubted the siege would last overlong—surely Alberic would find a way to dispense with Madog in short order—the meager fare would impress upon all that the situation wasn’t to be taken lightly.

All one had to do was look at little Edward’s face to know lives could truly be at risk. His worry for his mother’s safety shone as brightly as a beacon, though he went about setting trenchers on the table as if nothing were wrong.

Gwendolyn resisted the urge to hug the child, mindful of how both Edward and the other pages might react. Best to leave the boy to his duties and not call undue attention to either him or his distress.

So where was Alberic? On the battlements?

The moment she stepped outside, Gwendolyn wished she’d put on her cloak. Fog had settled in, depriving the afternoon of light and warmth.

With a start she wondered if putting on the pendant had caused the fog to descend. Nay, surely not. At the least, she would have had to be thinking of the weather for such a thing to happen. Dismissing her foolish thought, she spotted Alberic along the wall walk near the gatehouse, looking outward toward an enemy camp he probably couldn’t see.

She climbed the stairs with a sense of apprehension and anticipation, torn between wanting her test to prove the legacy valid, and fearing it wouldn’t.

Alberic absently noted her approach, his attention claimed by the threat from without. She halted several steps away, her senses again open to any change in the space between or around them.

The fog didn’t begin to rise. No ethereal light appeared in the sky. Alberic’s ring didn’t glow.

Unwarrantedly disappointed, she continued on until they stood shoulder to shoulder, hands braced on the cold stone, to stare out over the fog-shrouded countryside.

“Any change?” she asked.

“Nay. Ap Idwal is still out there. I wish this fog would clear so I could see what the devil he is doing.”

Given her silly thoughts on the fog, she couldn’t help but smile. “He is probably staring at the keep, wishing the fog would clear so he could see what the devil you are doing.”

He smiled at that, but kept his attention focused outward.

Gathering her courage, holding her breath, she put her hand over his, feeling the ring against her palm.

No angelic chorus sang on high. No dragon reared up out of the mist. No heat flared from the ring to singe her palm.

That her heartbeat sped up and her nether regions warmed signified naught but her usual reaction to Alberic’s nearness.

“Is aught amiss?” he asked.

Nothing. Everything.

Gwendolyn swallowed the urge to tell him of her test. Instead, she let go of his hand and strove for a reassuring tone.

“I came out to ask that you not stay out here much longer. The chill cannot be good for your back, and supper will be served soon.”

“All right,” he said, studying her, his confusion and concern much in evidence.

Gwendolyn quickly returned to the keep. Disheartened, but unwilling to give up too easily, she decided to wear the pendant at least through supper.

When by early evening nothing out of the ordinary had occurred no matter how near Alberic’s side she remained or how often she touched him, Gwendolyn conceded defeat. And when Alberic sat down at a trestle table with Roger and Thomas to ensure they knew what to do on the morn should Madog attack the keep, she made her way up to the bedchamber.

’Twouldn’t do to wait too long to remove the pendant and risk Alberic seeing it.

Against the advancing night, Gwendolyn lit a wood taper from the fire a servant had laid in the hearth and carried it back across the room to light the candle near the door. The wick caught instantly, casting welcoming brightness around the threshold.

Encompassed within the warm, flickering glow, her mood lightened. Perhaps her test hadn’t been a complete failure. All she’d proved, of course, was that the man and woman who wore the jewelry could be near each other without
something
magical happening. She hadn’t known that before, so she had gained knowledge. Not a waste at all.

She then moved to light the candle near the bed, where tonight she and Alberic would again share blankets. Given his earlier suggestion that pleasures untold could be savored in a tub—said too-small tub having been emptied and removed from the room hours ago—she didn’t doubt he’d be amenable to savoring those pleasures on a mattress.

Her breasts tingled at the memory of his hands cupping them, his thumbs grazing the tips, his mouth suckling in the most enjoyable manner.

He’d touched her everywhere, from the light kisses he’d placed on her forehead to the arousing skim of fingers along her legs and between her thighs. Her body fairly hummed with the desire to once more experience the wonders of coupling.

Tonight, however, she intended to give back what she’d received. Surely he would enjoy her hands on him as much as she enjoyed his on her.

Feeling more than wanton, remembering the ultimate pleasure of Alberic’s thrusts flinging her into the heavens, Gwendolyn lit a third candle—and suffered cravings so sharp and deep that they took her breath away.

She trembled with need, so hard she nearly dropped the taper. The yearning for Alberic to take her, here,
now,
weakened her knees.

Even as she whispered his name, a plea she knew he couldn’t hear, she felt heat against her chest.

The pendant.

Alberic squirmed on the bench, anxious to go upstairs and be with Gwendolyn. She’d been attentive all afternoon and through supper, and every time she brushed up against him or touched his hand his loins stirred. All the while he’d tried to concentrate on ensuring Camelen’s defenses were in place for whenever ap Idwal chose to attack, he’d envisioned Gwendolyn in the lord’s bedchamber readying for the night.

Would she, this time, play the bride and await him naked in bed? Or would her modesty again force her to leave on her chemise, giving him the delightful opportunity to remove it?

Either way, the night would prove a delicious diversion from the awkward and irritating problem of being besieged.

On the map spread in front of him, Alberic again stared at the area of the village, his biggest concern. The tenants and their homes were the most vulnerable. He’d seen what a besieging army could do to the countryside when intent upon capturing a castle. Ap Idwal’s intent wasn’t to capture Camelen, but to
rescue
Gwendolyn, so this was no ordinary siege.

Alberic reasoned that if he remained firm in refusing to hand Gwendolyn over, the man might eventually abandon his pointless cause and return to Wales. Maybe. Probably not. Which meant finding a way to force the dolt into seeing reason, because the heavens would rain sheep before Alberic released Gwendolyn into ap Idwal’s care.

She was his wife, his lover. And at this moment she awaited his arrival in the bedchamber. Soft, warm, and welcoming.

Determined to focus on the task at hand, he turned to Roger, seated next to him. “The men know where they must be, and when?”

“Aye, my lord. Not all have weapons, but we can move armed soldiers into position once we know from what direction and in what form ap Idwal begins his attack.”

“The postern gate is secure?”

“As secure as we can make it without nailing it shut.”

Which wasn’t a good idea. The back door to the castle might be needed to move people in or out as circumstances changed.

“The woodpiles are ready for lighting and cauldrons are at the ready,” Thomas said. “Should you decide we must use boiling oil in our defense, we can have it heated in a trice.”

Not for the first time Alberic wished Sedwick or Garrett were present. Roger and Thomas were good soldiers, made excellent squires, but to test their command abilities with so much at stake didn’t sit well.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure of his own command abilities. Until now, he’d trusted his instincts and they’d served him well. But no lives had been at stake. While he accepted the responsibility of keeping all within his charge safe, he truly wasn’t confident he did so in the best manner.

Not that he would confess his unease to anyone. A good commander showed no fear, not even the least doubt.

“We will go over this again before dawn,” he told the squires. “If either of you see some flaw in our plans, I want to hear about it then.”

Their chorus of agreement came at a good time, for he could no longer keep his thoughts from roaming toward the woman who awaited him upstairs.

A sense of urgency discomfited him, prodding him to wonder if something was amiss, and he suddenly found the need to see Gwendolyn and assure himself of her well-being almost overwhelming.

Long strides took him to the stairway. By the time he reached the chamber’s doorway, his palms were sweating. He entered the bedchamber to see Gwendolyn seated on a chair, fully clothed, her hands clasped together.

Not serene, but not troubled, either. She raised an eyebrow at his presence, and he chided himself for his discomfort.

But was her face too pale, or just oddly shadowed? Of the three candles in the room, she’d lit only the one by the door, its circle of light dimming before it reached her.

Unsure of what to do, he leaned against the closed door, wondering what he could say that wouldn’t make him sound like a fool for rushing up here without cause. She would think he’d gone daft.

Still, his instincts gnawed at him, urging both caution and patience. Why that should be he didn’t know yet.

Then he saw her trunk sitting next to his and knew what she’d been doing all this time. Alberic grabbed at what he hoped was a safe subject, like a drowning man thrown a rope he didn’t have time to check for fraying.

“You decided not to keep a separate chamber.”

Gwendolyn glanced over her shoulder at the trunks before she answered. “I probably should have asked your permission first. I know some lords prefer having a chamber to themselves. If you object—”

“Nay, no objection. I hoped you would choose to move in here with me. ’Tis a large chamber with a big bed. I saw no reason why we could not share.”

She rose from the chair, her movement graceful, and as she came toward him he ignored the itch he wanted her to scratch.
Later,
he assured his unruly parts.

“My parents shared this chamber. I saw no reason why we should not. Truth to tell, I intend to have my mother’s trunk brought out of storage and use it for my things. I think it fitting the matching trunks should once more grace the room.”

“Fitting,” was all he could say before Gwendolyn’s hands landed on his chest. She leaned against him, placed her head on his shoulder, and he could do no less than wrap her in an embrace.

Even as he held her tight, noting how right and good she felt in his arms, he felt her shaking. As much as he wanted to believe she trembled for want of him, he sensed otherwise.

“Gwendolyn, what is amiss?”

“Nothing, now that you are here. Have you decided what to do about Madog?”

“Mostly. You shake. Why?”

“The room is chilled. How does your side? Shall I rub more balm on your bruise?”

The room was cooler than usual. And darker. Not only had she lit just one out of the three candles, but the fire in the hearth wasn’t as high as usual. Was she preserving supplies because of the siege?

“Later,” he said of the balm. “If you are cold we can toss more wood on the fire. You need not take your precautions so far that you are uncomfortable.”

“I am most comfortable at the moment. Do you think Madog might listen to reason if someone other than you spoke with him?”

His embrace had never before been deemed comfortable. Warming. Enticing, aye. But comfortable? He decided it wasn’t a bad thing, especially when her trembling eased.

“I doubt Madog would listen to anyone who argues against rescuing you from me.”

“I tried to tell him the other day to leave things be. Perhaps if I made my feelings on the matter clearer—”

“Nay. You are not to go anywhere near the man.”

She sighed. “I do not intend to, but he might desist if I send him a message declaring I would not support petitioning the pope for an annulment. As you told Edgar, all of the conditions for a binding marriage, including consummation, have been met. We are bound by our vows and the legacy. Neither can be set aside.”

He ignored her comment on the legacy. The vows were more than enough binding for him. “I believe ap Idwal would rather see you widowed.”

Gwendolyn tightened her hold. “Which means you are not to go anywhere near the man, either. When the time comes to negotiate a peace, you might consider sending Rhys and Father Paul out to his camp. Madog would respect the priest and the bard, not harm them. I also believe the two of them might bring him to his senses.”

He had no intention of promising not to go near ap Idwal. ’Struth, he would dearly love to take a chunk out of the man’s hide. However, the bard and the priest would make good emissaries, and both were in the keep. Alberic vaguely remembered the priest saying grace before supper and the bard strumming his harp afterward. His mind had been diverted, both by ap Idwal’s menace and Gwendolyn’s attentions.

She still leaned against him, snuggled in for warmth—and comfort he suspected, though he didn’t yet know why. Ap Idwal and his siege didn’t worry her overmuch, as she’d proved to him earlier. So what else bothered her enough to prod
his
instinct?