Love's Magic (15 page)

The arrow from her vision? It hadn’t hit Nicholas. Had it been for her? Reaching down for the prayer beads beneath her tunic, she pulled out the gift from Nicholas.

The rosary glowed with high intensity, like a shooting star, and it burned out just as quickly—leaving behind the scent of apples.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, oh, my,” she said, her heart beating wildly. The vision had showed her the shaft. The rosary smelled like cider. There was a mystery here, and it revolved around her husband. Didn’t it?

Celestia knew in her soul that he was not out of danger. Neither was she.

She took the shaft out of the wagon, but there was no moonlight by which to see. Running her fingers over the silky edges, she noticed a notch of feathers missing. What kind of feathers were they?

Not one to let a puzzle go long without a solution, she put the broken shaft in her medicine bag. She couldn’t name from what bird the feathers came just yet, but she was certain it would come to her.

Glancing toward the horse that carried Sir Stephan’s dead body, she remembered the unease she had felt prior to the attack. The hair on the nape of her neck tingled, and she crossed her arms around her waist. “Stop being such a ninny!” she whispered aloud. After waiting in perfect silence for any type of sound that could be out of place, she forced a smile on her face and joined the others around their pitiful fire. “I will be glad to reach Falcon Keep on the morrow,” she said in general as she took a seat on a blanket roll.

A chorus of “ayes” answered her, and Nicholas, who appeared to be in a mellow mood, thanks to the wine and good company most like, said, “I do hope you will be happy there.”

“Were
you?
”

He tossed a twig into the fire. “I don’t remember.”

The rosary grew warm next to her skin, and she scooted back from the fire.

“Tell us about our new home, won’t you?” pleaded Viola with a pretty grin.

“Yes, do!” agreed Bess.

Nicholas closed his eyes, and Celestia wondered if he would shut them out, as he’d done before. She wished she’d taken a seat next to him, so that she could lend him her strength. He needed to open his heart …

Hadn’t her grandmother told her the same thing? That wily old bird, Celestia thought with a smile.

“I was a boy when I left. Maybe six, I don’t remember. I think there was a river, and mountains. Hills, and caves, secret places that I wasn’t supposed to go,” his voice trailed off, and he looked as if he was concentrating hard on a memory that wouldn’t stay. “And apples. Yes, lots of apples.”

“I love a hot apple pie,” said Bess. Forrester agreed by rubbing his belly.

“Did you have lots of servants?” asked Viola.

“I don’t remember.”

“And horses?” asked Henry.

“I, uh, don’t remember.”

Celestia met her husband’s eyes across the fire. She saw such despair that she feared he would sicken from it. How did he manage to breathe and eat and pretend to be human with all of that pain inside of him? An uneasy silence had fallen amongst the group. Celestia stood, stretched, and grinned as if she were the happiest fool to ever come to the English-Scottish border. “For certes, your childhood home will be lovely and most welcoming.”

She winked at him. “Especially compared to this.”

The next morning, Celestia’s teeth were chattering so loudly that Sir Bertram was able to find her through the thick blanket of fog that wafted all around them.

“Good morning, Lady Celestia.”

“Are you certain that ‘tis morning? How can you tell?” Celestia was too cold for her temper to get more than middling warm.

“Sir Petyr claims to have heard the chirping of a bird.” Sir Bertram’s snort told what he thought of that story.

They made their way to the rear of the wagon, where Bess and Viola sat coddling Sir Geoffrey.

“It’s supposed to be morning!” Celestia quipped.

“Sir Geoffrey, welcome back to the world. You gave us all a scare.”

The Montehue knight, his grizzly gray beard even more of a mess than usual, grinned wide. “Aye, and it’s glad I am, as well, Bertram. I feel well enough to drive the wagon again, and I thank ye, my lady, for all yer kindness.”

Celestia rubbed her blistered hands together. She’d sat the night through, her hands over the wound in his throat, putting forth all of her healing energy in addition to the ointment. “I found the culprit this morning. A piece of feather,” she explained to them all. “Poisoned.”

Viola burst into tears and rained kisses over the knight’s face.

“I’d like to catch hold of the weasel bastard,” Sir Bertram groused, “who shot it.”

“The fog seems to be thinning, so let’s see if we can find our way out of the woods first, eh?”

“Aye, my lady. The sooner we’re out of this cursed forest, the better. I swear I heard spirits all night long.”

“You drank spirits, which is why,” Celestia pointed out. She left them laughing around the wagon, and went to share her good humor with Nicholas. Healing Sir Geoffrey had put her back to rights. She found him standing by Brenin, looking weary and worn. His black hair was damp from the fog and curled around his ears and neck, and he was so handsome to her that she had to clear her throat before she could speak. Sir Petyr was gesturing at something on the map.

“Good morn, Nicholas. Sir Petyr.”

Both men turned and gave her greetings, but it was Petyr who said, “We are waiting for the fog to burn off a bit more, my lady, and then we’re on our way.”

“Wonderful news, Petyr.” The knight nodded and left, leaving Nicholas alone with Celestia. He didn’t look pleased.

“I shan’t bite,” she said crossly, wondering at how one man’s surliness could affect her own mood. It was possible that Aunt Nan had the best of it, living with her cats.

Nicholas jerked his eyes to hers, his lips twitching reluctantly. “Probably not, my lady. Unless provoked.”

She arched a regal brow, as she’d seen her mother do time and again. “And do you plan on provoking me?”

“Not intentionally, Lady Celestia. But I have noticed you have an uncommonly sharp tongue.”

Celestia blushed and lowered her eyes. “You have? That is a shame … I was hoping to hide that flaw until you knew me better.”

“I find you fascinating, flaws and all.”

Celestia’s gaze flew to his, but she could already tell that he regretted his words. She turned away to hide the sting of hurt. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, my lord,” she said sarcastically. “I was only curious as to when we would be on our way.”

“Now.”

Celestia lifted her chin and said, “The sooner the better.”

She regretted her haste a while later.

“I can’t see a blasted thing,” she complained to Forrester, who was riding next to her.

“This fog is unnatural, I can sense it,” the young knight agreed.

“Forrester, there is no such thing as witchcraft! Have you learned nothing from me on this journey?”

He stared at her with adoration on his face, and she realized she’d need to be careful. Galiana would know how to flirt just the right way, but she, alas, was not her beautiful sister.

“You are magical, my lady.”

Celestia deliberately wrinkled her nose, something her mother said a lady never did. “No, my young friend. I am blessed by God, and I heal whomever I can.” She made a show of looking up at the sky. “Nay, this isn’t at all enchanted. Just dreary.”

“Mayhap a powerful sorceress is trying to block us from reaching the keep,” he said. When he didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he shrugged. “Although you can tell from the abundant foliage that it rains much in this forsaken land. You realize we have yet to see the sun?” He nudged Ceffyl with his horse. “I’ve seen you heal.”

“I don’t believe in sorceresses,” she laughed lightly, moving her horse so they weren’t so close. “My family’s gifts are a natural phenomenon; I imagine others could be born with similar talents. My youngest sister, Ela, can roll her tongue and I cannot.”

“That’s a talent,” he said, grinning and sticking his tongue out, rolled.

Celestia ducked her head to hide her grin. “Nicely done.”

“I think I’ll ride ahead, my lady. I just wanted to say, well, that,” his face was red beneath his short leather helmet, “I am proud to be your champion!”

He galloped ahead, and Celestia finally allowed the smile to take over her face. She would never, ever betray her husband—even if she remained a maid for life. But still, the young knight’s declaration was a salve to her pride.

So far the trip had been daunting. She was wet and bedraggled, her nose ran, and her hind end was sore. Not a very alluring new bride, even if her husband had been so inclined. She’d need to freshen up, for certes, before they reached Falcon Keep, lest she scare all the people away from her new home … a darkness shrouded her thoughts. She could not envision what her life would be like as its mistress.

Not that she had the second sight, for she didn’t. The occasional vision, mayhap, and perchance because of her healing gift she was more open to intuition than others. And she was frightened by what she wasn’t seeing.

Nicholas and Petyr rode flank to flank. “If the baron sent knights, then where are they? Shouldn’t they have a few men on patrol?” Unease sat behind him like a second rider.

Petyr nodded, his brows drawn. “This place is too bloody quiet, and we should have reached the outer bailey by now. According to the map, we have to go through that, then there’s a large pasture. A stream big enough to support a mill. Then the gatehouse.”

Slowing Brenin to a trot, Nicholas peered out as far as he could. He’d expected a spark of recognition at the very least once they’d left the forest.
Nothing.

It didn’t seem right.

“We’ve got what looks to be a motte-and-bailey-style keep, easily defendable, if this is correct.”

Nicholas finally pulled Brenin to a stop on the wide, yet deserted road. “We should have passed the outer fence by a large round boulder. Either we got lost in the damned fog, or someone has taken down the boundaries.”

“The map got soaked through, mayhap,” Petyr shook his head even as he tried to find an explanation.

Nicholas held his body upright in the saddle. Apprehension tickled the back of his neck. The lack of his childhood memories bothered him, but not overmuch. He had long ago put his mother from his mind; he’d thought himself a bastard with no other kin.

The past few weeks had turned his life topsy-turvy, and he was no closer to redemption. He had a lot of fine reasons for feeling unsettled, he mused silently, but he knew that this particular feeling had more to do with Falcon Keep than his miserable excuse for a life. “The fog’s lifted enough that we can see, although the clouds won’t uncover the sun.” Nicholas laughed harshly. “At least the rain has stopped. I say we go forward.”

Celestia rode up behind them. “Well? Where is it?”

Nicholas said, “What? The keep?”

Petyr grimaced. “We don’t know.”

“You’ve lost an entire castle?” Celestia burst out laughing.

Nicholas and Petyr each sent her forbidding looks, which she blithely ignored. “May I have a peek at the map, Sir Petyr?” Celestia asked sweetly.

Petyr gave it to her, with reluctance. Celestia looked at the map, and then around her. The fog receded farther, and she said, “Ah! There is the mill! We are here.” She pointed to a place on the map, and Petyr groaned in defeat.

Nicholas bit the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t even see it, as it was broken and lying on its side. Where’s the bloody stream?” Was this more of her witchery? Or a trick?

Celestia glowed.

Petyr took back the map and rustled it like he knew what he was doing. “That puts us a half league away from where the gatehouse should be.”

“Wonderful! But where are the sheep? Nicholas, is it supposed to look this deserted? Where’s the village?”

Nicholas gritted his teeth together. He’d been wondering the same things. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

He studied the smart and vivacious woman who was his unwanted wife. “When did you learn to read?”

She grinned, her eyes twinkling in a rare ray of sunshine. “We all learned how to read. Gram insisted.”

How would he convince her to stay behind? He had an inkling that she wouldn’t willingly stay. What really chapped his hide was how enthralled he found himself by the timber of her voice. Her temper, which was loud and quick, even though she tried so hard to control it—her face and her figure.

Her.

His sudden realization caused his knees to tighten, and his horse lurched forward. How had his defenses crumbled so far? Nicholas was attracted to his own wife!

Saint James, preserve me.
He watched her, with some horror, from the corner of his eye as they rode along. Her slender back was straight, and her face shone with good health despite the terrible conditions in which they’d been traveling. She and Petyr exchanged some story, and his eyes followed the way she used her hands to talk. He loved her laugh.

He did?

His chin sank to his chest. A match between them would never work. He would only hurt her in the end. He was doomed, without a soul, on a mission to kill the man who’d given him life …