Return of the Rose (35 page)

And now she was gone. She’d loved him, faults and all. Where was she now?

Amanda touched his forearm. “I beseech you, my lord, if you have any compassion at all, tell me of your wife’s whereabouts, for I believe she may be my sister.”

“Your sister?” he asked as if all the world had gone suddenly insane.

“When I was small I used to watch my father pick flowers from my mother’s garden,” Amanda said. “Taking great care in gathering a bouquet, he would hide the flowers beneath his cloak and leave the castle by foot. I knew of this, for I had spied his ritual many times. And on one occasion I dared to follow him. After a long walk he came to a mound of stones upon the ground. ‘Twas there he laid the flowers, lowering his head in prayer. He said, “Return to us soon, my daughter.”

Amanda looked at Odelia. “Is that not strange? Those words plagued me all that day, but I was young and forgot about it until Robert told me of this woman who is my mirror image and of the necklace so similar to mine.”

With his fingertips, Derek felt the rose-shaped pendant within his pouch. After his wife had left, he’d found it in her chambers. He hadn’t realized he carried it until now.

“Our pendants are of the same rare stone. A gift from my father…mayhap our father.”

Odelia’s eyes widened. “You think your mother gave birth to another daughter who died in infancy? It is your twin sister appearing as a ghost after all these years?”

“The Witch of Devonshire stated such,” Emmon agreed, “except Morgan is no ghost. ‘Twas more like she came through time itself.”

“Emmon,” Derek bellowed, turning to glare at the young knight. “What do you know of all this?”

“When you were gone,” Emmon said. “When I escorted the women to the market to purchase cloth. Not too surprisingly, her ladyship disappeared. A while later, I found her running from the clutches of an old hag. Turned out to be the Witch of Devonshire who shrieked and pointed, declaring that the spell had worked and her ladyship had come back from the dead. Methinks the old woman was so excited I was sure she would expire from the high-strung shrieks she made as we took off.”

Again, Derek threaded his fingers through his hair, wondering why Emmon had not bothered to say a word of this until now. Suddenly it dawned on him that he was to blame. Did he not tell everyone in the castle that he wanted nothing to do with Lady Amanda? Look what happened to Emmon when he came forth.

Derek’s face grew taut with grief and remorse.

A messenger arrived then and everyone in the room glanced toward the door where the newest arrival stood.

Shayna made her way through broken furniture, chipped goblets and broken plates to see what the missive was about. After a moment, Shayna turned to Lord Vanguard. “There is a message for the Earl of Kensington.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed as he came toward her. “I do not believe I heard you correctly.” He took the scroll and read it for himself. He felt all color drain from his face as he turned back to the small crowd that had gathered. “The king it seems has bequeathed to me the Kensington lands as an early wedding gift, thus honoring me with another title: the Earl of Kensington.”

The room grew silent for they all knew something wondrous, a miracle of sorts, had taken place these past weeks.

“We need to find her,” Emmon said, breaking the silence.

“But where would she go?” Matti asked.

“To see the Witch of Devonshire, of course,” Odelia said excitedly. “Morgan mentioned the old woman on more than one occasion. She thought mayhap the witch could tell her why she was sent to this time. I am sure that is where she has gone.”

Dread and misgivings had gnawed at Derek since seeing Amanda come through Braddock’s doors. The thought of his wife disappearing into thin air tugged at his heart. Could it truly be that she spoke the truth all along?

After Odelia told him where he could find the witch’s cottage, Derek took long strides through the hall and to his chambers where he donned a tight-fitting padded doublet. He snatched his broadsword from where it hung by the door and hurried back downstairs and through the lengthy keep, pausing long enough to let Matti place a belt about his waist from which hung a sheath and his dagger. Shayna swung his mantle about his neck and together the entire swarm of castle folk bid him good luck.

He made haste in getting to the stables where the stable master waited with a readied mount. The horse snorted and made a nervous sideways movement, sensing his urgency. Before Derek was full upon the animal’s broad back, his destrier reared up and took off without waiting for the command.

In a blur of dust and rattling of hooves, he sped past the guards and past hard-working serfs as they plowed the fields. He leaned low to avoid the lower branches of alders that lined the path of beaten earth. His wounded shoulder burned and his mind buzzed with the absurdity of it all.

His wife was not Amanda Forrester
?
Every word she uttered had been the unvarnished truth
? It made his head ache to think of it. How could any rational being have believed such a thing? And yet all that had happened pointed to her telling naught but the truth. She was thrown into a strange world and had tried to tell each and every one of them that something unbelievable occurred. But no one would listen.

He tightened his knees into the steed’s side as he neared Swan Lake. He had to hurry and find her, tell her what he should have told her long ago. That he was in love with her and madly so. If everything she told him was true, then the Witch of Devonshire, in all actuality, could send Morgan back in time. He would not allow it.

Time was his enemy now, and he grasped the hilt of his sword, ready to do battle with his invisible nemesis.

His eyes watered, surely caused by the slaps of wind to his face. And yet strangely, he realized he no longer felt so hollow inside. Soothing warmth filled him and it seemed suddenly that he had no room for detestation. Pools of hatred for his father and the mother he hardly knew began to melt within. For the first time in years he felt a strange sense of forgiveness, exoneration for himself and what he had become. The acrid taste that had steadfastly tainted him for most of his life was suddenly gone and in its stead was something sweet and mild.

He bent his heels into the horse’s flanks. Should he find her, he would beg for her forgiveness and not stop until she relented. For was he not the infallible Earl of Kensington? Had Morgan Hayes not apprised him of just that? Even the ambush at Swan Lake was the truth, he realized too late as four men with swords appeared from the denser brush without warning. His horse whinnied and reared high.

The men caught him ill equipped and unprepared as they blocked his path and came at him.

Had he not just gripped his sword, he would not have had sufficient time to retrieve it. But he had, and he did, thrusting the blade into the closest man’s gut and just as quickly extracting the ancient sword so that he could swing forth once more, this time easily severing the arms that held his steed by the reins. That man screamed as he slumped to the ground in his own pool of blood.

Derek’s steed took full advantage of its freedom and raised its front legs as if performing a capriole for its master, giving a snort as its hooves came smashing down upon a third victim. Derek let out a cry when a scorching pain shot through his side as another man lunged from behind and knocked him to the ground.

Derek jumped to his feet with sword firmly grasped. Heated fury bulged from every vein as he turned and spied his adversary. Otgar!

Having no thought other than killing the man, Derek prepared to lunge when five more men, bigger and more vicious than the others, came to stand behind Otgar.

~~~~

A rickety bridge spanned across a wide creek. Morgan stopped to catch her breath and rub her throbbing feet before crossing. She was close. She knew she was nearing the old woman’s cottage for she’d finally come across a small establishment called the Boars Head Inn. The innkeeper had taken pity on her and after filling her with stew and cider he’d pointed her in the right direction.

To think she’d been going in circles for two days now. She crossed the bridge and then climbed a small slope. If she’d stayed on the main road to begin with she would have reached the Witch of Devonshire’s cottage long ago.

Now at last in the moonlight, Morgan caught a glimpse of a cottage set against a backdrop of enormous pines. Overgrown with tangled vines, the cottage had an eerie shadow of darkness veiling it. A shiver ran up her spine.

She stood silent for a moment. Her life held no purpose in this medieval world, although her heart wilted at the thought of leaving Derek forever. She knew she could forgive him, for how could she expect anyone to believe the things she’d told him? But how, she wondered, would she ever forget him?

She listened for the pounding of hooves, still praying that Derek would appear, a knight-errant upon his horse, declaring his love for her. But she heard only the chirping of crickets and the wind as it brushed against the trees.

Her hopes withering, she moved on, feeling a sudden urge to get this over with. It was time to go back. The future was calling her like an invisible emissary whispering in her ear, pulling her closer. She made her way toward the witch’s home.

A small breeze chilled her. Then a streak of lightning sliced through the night and a boom of thunder followed. Perplexed, she glanced upward. No clouds gathered, only myriad stars glittering against the dark sky.

Dread filled her insides and before she knocked, the door creaked open and a dark shadow filled the doorway.

The Witch of Devonshire
.

Long white hair flowed down over frail shoulders. The old woman reached out and touched Morgan’s arm. The woman’s hand shook excitedly and Morgan forced herself to stay calm. “Do you know me?” Morgan asked.

The witch laughed gleefully as she nodded.

“Who am I then?”

“You are Morgeanna,” the witch said elatedly, “twin sister to Amanda Forrester, daughter of the Earl of Silverwood. You were born a sickly child and only I could save you. ‘Twas I, the Witch of Devonshire, who sent you to another world to be healed.”

Twin sister to Amanda Forrester
?
Daughter of the Earl of Silverwood
? The woman was insane, Morgan realized. Over the woman’s shoulder, she saw that the inside of the cottage was bare except for a few crates and an old faded rug atop a dirt floor.

She needed to go home, now more than ever. “Can you send me back? To the future where I belong?”

The witch let out a string of mumble jumble as she threw up her arms. “‘Twould not work!”

“Why not? If what you said about sending me to another world is true, then I don’t see why you couldn’t do it again.”

“Too soon. There is no halo about the moon,” the witch said sharply. “The time is not right and it is not your calling to do so. You belong here now.”

“I don’t care if it’s my calling. I read once that destiny is an invention of the cowardly and the resigned. I believe it’s true and I’m making my own destiny now. I want to go back and see my mother. Do you understand? Show me that you can do this. I don’t care about the moon’s nimbus or where you think I belong. I only know I would be a fool to think that a knight from another world could ever love me. If I can’t have him, then I don’t want to live in his world…your world.” She waved her hand through the air. “Now send me home.”

“The prophecy does not call for sending you back. You are not ailing. What you ask for is absurd.” The old woman turned and went inside, shutting the door behind her.

Morgan stood dumbfounded. After a moment passed, she pounded on the door as if her very life depended on getting inside. “I won’t leave here until you do as I say,” she shouted at the door. “If you don’t send me back, I’ll tell everyone I meet that you’re no witch at all, just an old hag who grows herbs. I’ll forever deny that you sent me through time unless you prove to me that you can do it again!”

The door opened again and this time the witch looked her up and down, scowling with obvious malice as she let her in. “I will rid myself of such an ungrateful wench. What do I care which world you wish to live in or if the time is not right. I have done it before and I shall do it again.”

Ignoring her complaints, Morgan watched the old woman go from one cupboard to another, gathering a large bowl and many small wooden ones. The woman licked at her lips as she mixed and blended assorted herbs. A foul-smelling liquid was added before the witch began to chant and hiss as if she’d forgotten Morgan was in the room.

When the moon was at its brightest, the old woman was ready, and she gestured toward a couch of moss for Morgan to lie on. Morgan did as she said, laying on her back and holding tight to her blanket as if it were a lifeline.

She shut her eyes and listened to the woman’s strange words. A fine dust fell across her face and neck. Within minutes her body felt weightless. And her only thoughts were of Derek and how much she would miss him when she was gone.

~~~~

“At last, Vanguard, we meet face to face,” Otgar said.

Derek’s chest heaved beneath his torn doublet as he glared at the toad-faced man. “So, Otgar, you have naught better to do than hide in the thicket and wait for one lone man?”

Otgar’s lips pursed with suppressed fury. “Aye, there is only one man whose neck I wish to snap like a twig. My brother will not rest in his grave until the deed is done. And neither, it seems, will Lady Leonie, for she proved right in telling me we would not have long to wait for you to come. Braddock will be mine before this day is out and Lady Amanda will celebrate my victory at my side.”

It mattered not that they numbered six and he only one. The veins in Derek’s jaw throbbed and every muscle was taut as he stalked forward. His eyes locked on Otgar’s pitiful face, and he cared not that he was devoid of a horse and armor and only possessed one good arm. He had something mayhap they did not—the determination and will of a dozen warriors. He raised his broadsword skyward in warning, astounding all six men by his steadfast perseverance and by what some might consider to be the harebrained actions of an irrational fool.