Love's Magic (32 page)

The servants were forced back into the narrow hallway as the dust from the mortared ashlar stones thickened the air. Celestia felt a need to remain as close as possible to the tower, so she wrapped a veil of gauzy material around her mouth and eyes. Viola bravely joined her.

“’Tis too bad that Lord Nicholas couldn’t be here for this.” The maid had to shout over the pounding noise of the knights as they battled the rock.

“Aye. I wish that Nicholas could have held his journey off by a day to see it.” But her husband was too stubborn, too focused on doing the noble thing to see that they needed him here, too.

Father Michael came to stand at her other side, and Viola bobbed her head and left, carefully limping to the right, then left. “Nicholas is going to Spain, my lady? In such a hurry that he leaves you to dispel the ghost of his mother?”

Celestia bristled at the disapproving tone in the priest’s voice. Leaning over to whisper directly into his old ear, she said, “Nicholas found the original relic.”

“What?” Father Michael’s eye widened. “Where? Did he go to see his father?”

“Nay,” Celestia swallowed, glancing around to make sure that nobody could hear her. “Grainne Kat had it. Nicholas took it from her hut.”

Father Michael coughed as a heavy plume of rock dust came toward them. “Nicholas
stole
it away from Grainne Kat?”

She clapped her hand over his mouth. “Shh! How did she come by it? It was never hers.”

He knocked her hand away. “Theft and murder, ghosts and plots. This has never been a peaceful village, my dear.”

“There is a mystery here, and I want it solved. I’ll not have Nicholas go on this journey to reclaim his soul only to come back to a deserted, ill-used heap of stone.”

“So you’ll not be leaving him, my lady?”

“Where did you hear that?”

He lowered his eye. “Gossip, it abounds. But some of us were awake when you screamed that ye would take a lover, my lady.”

Celestia’s cheeks flamed as she recalled the courtyard scene. “Oh.” She put one hand against her churning belly. “Well, I just might do that. And I might leave, but afore I do, I would make things right for him when he comes home.”

Father Michael broke into deep chuckles as he patted her on the arm. “Ye love him, then? It is not often that the scorned woman worries about making things ‘right’ for her man before she leaves him for another. Aye, ye love him, my lady, and you’ll not leave while there is hope.”

She clapped her hands over her ears in a childish gesture. Did the entire keep know that her love was unrequited?

She was a fool.

“Lady Celestia,” Willy yelled with excitement. “We’ve broken through!”

Celestia coughed her way through the thick dust, waving her hand in front of her face, as if that would help. It didn’t.

Forrester took her by the hand. “This way, my lady.”

They had made a hole in the mortar the size of an oak tree trunk. She bent over and peered inside. The stairs leading to the top were dark, until her eyes adjusted. “Why is it so light in there? It’s bright as day—how did I not realize how many windows there were?”

Father Michael called for quiet as the clamoring from behind increased. Everybody wanted a peek at the ghost of Lady Esmerada.

Celestia leaned farther in—first with her head, and then her shoulders. She didn’t mind the dust at all. Excitement brought plenty of air to her lungs.

Inside the tower was a thin and crumbling stairway, and it was suddenly, urgently, imperative that she climb it. Celestia was halfway through the wall when Forrester pulled her back.

“Nay, my lady. It might not be safe. Let us finish clearing the debris, and then I will join you.”

She wiggled out of his hold. “I will go now!” Where was this urge to scramble up those steps coming from? She felt as if she could find her way in the dark, or with her eyes closed and blindfolded. She knew that she belonged at the top of the tower. Apples. Sweet, yet with a sour twist that whetted the appetite.

A screech like a wounded owl penetrated her dreamlike state, and she turned, ready to chastise whoever had broken the trance.

Grainne Kat barreled through the throng of servants, smashing her sideways, directly into Forrester’s waiting arms. Grainne Kat fell on top of them, and the trio hit the stone floor with a thump.

Celestia struggled to her feet, her humiliation warring with the need to retaliate and beat the woman with a huge stick.

“Grainne Kat!” For certes, this woman could give her answers about the relic, and mayhap the baron, as well.

Henry helped the old woman to stand, where she wobbled as if trying to find her balance. She kept her gnarled finger pointed at Celestia, while screeching in a language Celestia couldn’t understand.

Cool air swirled at her feet, and Celestia turned her eyes to Father Michael, who was as colorless as a corpse. “Father? What is she saying?”

Brave Viola pushed her way through the tightly packed bodies. “Move over!” She turned Grainne Kat around, spat on the ground, and forked her fingers against the woman’s evil eye. “What are you saying, crone? If it be a curse against my lady, I’ll knock ye flat.”

“Not against Lady Celestia,” Father Michael said, his voice trembling. “She’s speaking of Lady Esmerada’s curse!”

Snorting like a determined boar, Sir Geoffrey demanded, “What language is she speaking? And what is the matter with her eyes? Is she mad?”

Father Michael snapped his fingers under Grainne Kat’s nose. “She’s not speaking in tongues, just the Scottish brogue, so thick that only another Scot can understand it. Grainne Kat!”

The old woman’s eyes shut at the same time as her mouth, and she visibly shivered beneath the onslaught of wild rage.

The servants muttered, and Celestia knew that she’d have to forestall another riot.

When Grainne Kat finally reopened her wicked eyes, they were no longer dilated with fury. “What are you doing?” she rasped.

Celestia stuck her chin in the air, knowing she was being had. How was she supposed to defend herself against the wise woman? The servants, and even her knights, were petrified.

“We are opening the tower.”

“Ye can’t!”

Relying on her own anger, and the pain of some new bruises, thanks be to Grainne Kat’s mad strength, Celestia furrowed her brow and crossed her arms in front of her. “This is my home. I wish to dispel the rumors there is a ghost in this tower.”

The woman’s face paled.

“Just as I will confront you about why you were creating rumors amongst the village about me being a witch. What did you think to gain from such nonsense?”

Grainne Kat seemed to shrink under the confrontational onslaught. She slumped her shoulders and tucked her chin into the folds of her cloak. All of a sudden she was no more than a pitiful old woman, and Celestia knew that the crone had won again.

Tossing the long ends of her veil over her shoulder, Celestia vowed to watch the dame like a cat watched a snake.

Grainne Kat lifted a trembling hand and said in a shaky voice, “Lady Esmerada’s tower cannot be disturbed! Her ghost has been resting, until you came.” She pointed a bent finger at Celestia. “Esmerada is not happy with you living here in her keep.”

The group whispered.

“Now that ye’ve disturbed her in the tower, she’ll haunt ye ‘til ye die.”

The peasants gasped in fright at the prediction, but they didn’t move away. Father Michael had told them all he would no longer allow them succor in the church if they misbehaved, Celestia knew. “You lie.”

Shy Sally said, “Beware, my lady, lest ye get cursed with warts.”

Grainne Kat hissed, and Shy Sally shrank back. “You overstep your boundaries, me lady. I knew the Lady Esmerada well, just as I knew Nicholas when he was but a boy. I know much, Lady Celestia, that you do not. Take care that ye don’t cross me.”

“Cross you? What would it take for you to share some of those secrets, Grainne Kat? Coin? I have plenty of that.”

“My knowledge is not to be bought or sold.”

Knowing she was perchance playing with fire, Celestia sniffed. “Again, I say you lie.”

The peasants were shaking from limb to limb, but they stayed. Celestia was impressed by the control Father

Michael had over his flock.

She instructed Forrester to hit the wall. “The sledgehammer, if you please, sir knight. I say this tower is going to be opened, and that Lady Esmerada’s curse will be dissolved.”

“Nay!” Grainne Kat wailed in fury.

Forrester swung back with all of his might and hit the stones. The muscles in his arms flexed beneath his red tunic, and Celestia gave Grainne a defiant smile. She was the victor here.

“Oh, oh, no. No, Lady Esmerada!” Grainne Kat brought her hand to her forehead and then collapsed in a heap of sodden cloak.

Forrester, chivalrous knight, dropped the sledgehammer and knelt at the old woman’s side. Father Michael cleared the way through the crowd, and soon the crone was set up on a cushioned bench in the main room of the keep by the fire with a mug of ale in her gnarled hands.

Placing her hands on her hips, Celestia growled low in her throat. The tower was forgotten as everyone crowded around the wise woman. Grainne Kat had the audacity to wink at her when nobody else was looking.

She stomped her foot at the woman’s daring before admitting that she might have a thing or two left to learn about the road to victory.

Chapter
Seventeen

G
rainne Kat was the center of everyone’s attention, and the old dame was loving every bit of it. Her customers from the village gathered around her feet to show their support for the elderly wise woman.

They were probably afraid of being turned into toads.

Traitors,
Celestia thought as she edged closer so she could hear what the woman was saying. She was jostled from behind. “Beg pardon,” Celestia said as she turned.

Maude grinned at her in a cocky way. “I’m sorry, me lady. I didn’t see you down there!”

Celestia’s vision turned red. “Listen here, Maude,” she began.

Viola bumped into Maude with a plate of scones. “Excuse me,” she trilled, “I’m so clumsy, I was trying to help, my lady, but mayhap my wound is not healed enough.” She ineffectually brushed at the crumbled scone on Maude’s tunic, getting more onto the fabric than off. “So sorry,” the maid said, her lowered brown eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Perhaps ye need to control your staff?” Maude’s pretty lips pursed.

Celestia took the tray from Viola. “You’re flushed, Vi, go take a seat. If Grainne Kat wishes to give her guests refreshments, then her daughter can serve them.” Celestia handed Maude the tray and walked to where she could hear better.

Viola giggled. “I don’t like her, my lady.”

Jealous thoughts chased ‘round in Celestia’s head. She knew Maude wanted Nicholas. “That makes two of us, Viola.”

“Grainne Kat is about ready to tell of the curse,” Shy Sally whispered as Celestia made her way to a bench seat near the hearth. A chill settled at her neck, and she got an immediate vision of Nicholas and her brothers and pink beady eyes.

Her brothers had been turned into rats?

She stood, noticing Forrester gazing at her. Perfect. “I’ll be back in but a moment,” she said softly to Viola.

Celestia hated the visions, especially when they weren’t clear.

Her brothers could not be rats. Not really. And Nicholas? If he were caged again, he would, for certes, go mad. What man who had suffered captivity once could survive it again?

“Forrester,” Celestia tugged at his arm until the knight leaned over. “You must ride in search of Petyr and Nicholas. I believe they are in grave danger.”

He arched a handsome dark brow. “My lady?”

“You will have to trust me. Occasionally I have a, well, hunch. And sometimes I’m right. Ride to the baron’s castle. Be stealthy.”

“I thought my lord went to Spain.”

“Aye.” Celestia smiled and batted her lashes, hoping to charm her way past his arguments.

“Do you have something in your eye, my lady?” He peered at her with concern.

She sighed, and pinched the thin skin between her thumb and index finger until tears came to her eyes. “I’m worried about my noble husband. I won’t sleep, for fear will keep me awake. I beg you, my chivalrous knight, to find my husband and warn him of this danger.”

Celestia felt a moment’s guilt for playing upon his youth. A jaded knight would ignore her silly plea, but according to the minstrels, a young knight simply lived for the next noble quest.

Forrester brought her hand to his lips. “Don’t fret, my lady. You say you want me to ride to Peregrine Castle? I will do it.” He gazed at her expectantly.

She waited.

Finally he asked, “Might I have a token?”

A token? She was going to have to pay better attention. “Of course.” She bit her lip, thinking furiously, before bending over and plucking a small bell from her slipper. “Here you are, Sir Knight. Godspeed, and good luck.”

Forrester looked taken aback by the tiny bell, but accepted it with good grace.

She supposed that she should have offered a lock of hair? This chivalry business was almost as confusing as having a husband. Smiling, she reached up to kiss his cheek. His eyes lit, and he left to do her bidding.

Making her way through the throng, she took her seat on the bench, missing her sisters—all of her family—so much it hurt. Gram would know what to do about the servants, and Galiana would tell her how to capture her husband’s love. She needed her parents, she thought with a sniff, because she was making a mess of running Nicholas’s keep. She was a healer, not a wife. She sniffed again.

She’d hoped to open the tower and dispel the rumor that it was haunted. And yet, how else could she explain the light she’d seen, or the strong scent of apples, when she’d stuck her head through the hole?

Mayhap Ela, with her unique talents, could tell her how to get rid of a ghost. She folded her fingers together and held them in her lap, swallowing the ache lodged in her throat.

Family.

What if this ghost was all that Nicholas had left of his mother? She couldn’t send his mother’s ghost to the other side without his ever “meeting” her …

“Is all well, my lady?” Viola asked.

“Hardly.” Celestia unfolded her restless hands and leaned around the servants all waiting patiently for Grainne to begin. “I’m fast losing interest in this story, old woman,” Celestia waved her hand with a flourish, as if she was introducing a traveling act, and said, “Begin!”

Grainne cleared her throat five times more than was necessary before starting with a surprisingly clear and, loud voice. Celestia barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

“Lady Esmerada was a truly beautiful woman.”

Some of the peasants nodded, though none but Beatrice looked old enough to remember. Celestia pursed her lips. Would the woman never get on with it?

“She had hair as black as a raven’s wing, eyes as stormy gray as the ocean itself. Her skin was white as new-fallen snow—”

Father Michael cleared his throat, and interrupted the wise woman’s tribute. “'Tis true, she was comely.”

Grainne narrowed her eyes, then smacked her lips before continuing. “Esmerada was a lass of sixteen, sweet and kind. She did her parents’ bidding without question. And when she was told to marry an English lord, she did as she was told.”

Celestia noticed that the wise woman’s voice deepened into a Scottish brogue the further she fell into the tale. Who exactly was Grainne Kat?

The old woman’s hands moved as she drew her audience in with her eerie tone. “Even though she’d already given her heart to a brave, braw Scottish lad! The day of the wedding came nearer, and though her Robbie begged her to run away with him, she would not. The English lord came for her hand, and she gave it, like a dutiful
dochter.
”

She still didn’t roll her eyes, though the urge was strong. Celestia noticed that the peasants ate the story up with a spoon.

“Strong winds came along with the Scottish warriors as soon as the vows were said. Brave Robbie was going to save his Esmerada from her cruel fate.” The crone’s face grew mottled with anger. “The lord ordered his soldiers to attack—and he killed Robbie MacIntosh in cold blood!”

A collective gasp came from her audience.

“And her
athair,
too!” She wet her lips, her keen gaze landing briefly on one person before grazing the next. “Poor Esmerada faced the lord over the bodies of her lover and her father. She cursed his foul deed, and denied the marriage!”

Grainne Kat shook her gnarled fist. “He took her to the keep and ravaged her. He beat her black and blue, and then he laid waste to the lands and left her in ruins.”

The peasants sighed. Even Celestia was not unmoved.

“But that is not why she cursed him. Nay—he left her with child. The lord abandoned her with neither coin, nor protection from the Scottish clans that blamed her for Robbie’s death.” Lowering her voice, the wise woman whispered, “She went mad with grief. And that is when she summoned the devil’s own help.”

Celestia wasn’t certain, but she thought she saw true tears in Grainne’s eyes.

“She cursed the lord, denying him any living heir until he claimed his rightful son. Nor would he be allowed to kill off her own bloodline.”

She paused, and sorrow flitted across her wrinkled face. “Esmerada locked herself into the north tower, vowing to kill Lord Peregrine if ever she saw him again. Each night she walked the battlements; each night she yelled her curse to the heavens! Until the night when she could take no more, and she threw herself from the tower, onto the craggy rocks below.”

Celestia rubbed her arms against the sudden chill in the room. Was this the spirit of Esmerada at last? The hair was rising on her arms, and her pulse raced with alarm.

Thinking of Esmerada made her think of Nicholas, and she sent a prayer for his safety. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but it was the only way he would ever meet his mother.

After getting lost during Petyr’s “shortcut” through the forest and having to spend one night wrapped in a blanket with his knapsack for a pillow, Nicholas finally arrived at Peregrine Castle bedraggled and dirty from his wild ride.

Brenin was a stallion worthy of the name King. Foam flecked his nostrils, and he wheezed from exertion. Or was Nicholas himself making that noise?

Nicholas dismounted, his legs shaking. He gave the giant horse a pat on the nose and promised him oats and water.

Petyr dragged in behind. “Brenin was born small and sickly, did she say? I’d trade my best suit of armor and two horses for him.”

Rubbing his sore thigh, Nicholas said, “I am not offering him for sale, Petyr. I, too, appreciate his strength. He was a gift, besides.”
From his wife.

“I don’t know what was in that forest, but I’ll not travel through it again,” Petyr promised, his handsome face smeared with moss. “It was filled with haunts.”

“There is no such thing as ghosts, Petyr. And even though we weren’t hit with any, I swear I heard the notch of an arrow in a bow.”

Petyr brushed his unruly blond hair off his forehead. “Well. We are here, now. Should we clean up, perhaps, before storming inside demanding answers?”

Nicholas wanted nothing more than to have his father’s throat in his fingers. Nay, his hands did not need to be washed for such a task.

Petyr cleared his throat. “Nicholas?”

He stared at the castle, which was fortified mightily with several outer walls to be breached. They’d skirted the small village attached to the castle undetected, although they were close enough that Nicholas noticed the small huts in need of repair. The smell of refuse and garbage reached him, and when he looked out to the fields he saw thin women working alongside starved children.

His voice was deep with anger as he answered, “Aye. We’re getting closer.”

“Shall we wear Lady Celestia’s tunics?”

Nicholas reached out one hand to Petyr, resting it on the knight’s shoulder. “You say that you are loyal to me. You say that you bear me no grudge for your brother’s death. Yet how does it feel to be back at the castle, knowing that we are here to bring down your previous liege? Can you stand before me honestly and claim you are my man?”

Petyr dropped to one knee in the dirt and bowed his head. “Lord Nicholas, I swear my fealty to thee. My arms are at your service, my honor bound to yours.”

Hauling the man to his feet with a grin, Nicholas asked, “Did that hurt your pride overmuch?”

Petyr chuckled. “Not as much as I had thought it would. We had all been wondering when you would demand our vows, of your own accord.”

“The other men are content to be at Falcon Keep?”

“We swore an oath to your father. We thought you a sickly, arrogant ass-wipe when we met you, but we have grown to tolerate your surliness. Ye treat us fair, my lord.”

“I should know better by now than to ask you a question I don’t want an honest answer to.”

They cleaned up, and donned their fresh garments. He had his own man by his side, his mother’s rosary around his neck, and he was proudly wearing the crimson and gold tunic Celestia had sewed.

He felt blessed.

His faith was still to be tested. Could he truly give Celestia the annulment and offer her freedom now that he knew how much he loved her? Choice was the only thing he could give her. The thought that she could turn him down without the threat of her family’s ruin hanging over her head turned his blood cold.

Her family would be safe. Would she walk away from him, then?

He rubbed the hem of his new tunic between his thumb and fingers, noticing the uneven stitches of embroidery. His throat clogged with strong emotion, and he pledged to do right by his wife.

“Are you finished admiring yourself in the water’s reflection, Petyr? I would like to get this done with.”

Petyr grunted. “Let us go then.”

They rode through the gatehouse and the bailey, mixing in with other travelers. They were not challenged either time.

“Is that it?”

His father might not give much thought to the villagers, but, for certes, he cared about his castle.

It had four spiked towers and a large, square middle section made of ashlar stones that had been painted blue. The moat sparkled with clean water. The forest had been cut back to allow room for a practice field. Men in blue and gold jousted with covered lances; others perfected their swordplay. Maidens with high headdresses and matching gowns wafted across the patch of green grass, posies in their hands. It looked like a knight’s dream come true.