Love's Magic (33 page)

“How could he be so evil and have all of this?”

“Mayhap he isn’t as evil as you think, just … misguided.”

“Misguided? Petyr, this is one time that I think you will be wrong.”

They dismounted and handed their horses to a waiting stable lad. “Feed them well, boy, they have been ridden hard.” Petyr tossed him a coin, which the lad caught deftly in one hand.

“Are you ready, me lord?”

Nicholas took a deep breath, his hand over the hilt of his sword. He was coming face to face with the man responsible for ruining his life. “Aye, Petyr. Let us find my father.”

“Too late. I think he has found you,” Petyr pointed to the party coming toward them.

Nicholas found himself rubbing the hem of his tunic for luck. Since when had that become more important than the relic near his heart? He hadn’t even counted it in the things that had made him feel blessed.

There was something the matter with him.

An imposing man with coarse, black, bearlike hair broke from the foursome he was walking with and Nicholas winced as he was enveloped in a hug and squeezed until he thought he’d pass out.

Nicholas took a step back, straightening his tunic and staring at his father in disgust. The man had food in his beard!

“Did we disrupt your lunch?” Nicholas made certain his voice and demeanor were haughty. The baron had much to answer for.

“Just a plate of bread and beef to tide me over ‘til dinner. What a surprise! You look well, my son. The witch beat the curse, eh? Is she breeding yet?”

“No,” he answered, stunned.

The baron slapped Petyr on the back. “Petyr, I have to say that I am impressed. I didn’t think you would ever get Nicholas here.”

Nicholas felt the blood drain from his face as he stared at the man he’d welcomed as a friend not an hour before. “Petyr?”

Petyr shrugged. “Mayhap coin is important, Nicholas. For certes, it is more important than honor. Give your father the relic in your tunic.”

Betrayed!

“I thought Celestia sent you after me? Is she a part of this scheme?”
Of course, she wasn’t,
he immediately discounted the idea.

“I showed her your letter, and it was easy enough to play upon her worry. It helped that she wanted you to have the rosary.”

Petyr had played them both. Were all the knights still loyal to his father? He’d left Celestia in a snake pit. He’d not go down without a fight. Nicholas reached for his sword, but Petyr beat him back, obviously expecting Nicholas to make such a move.

“Careful, Petyr! As my heir, he really should have the use of both hands.”

The baron chuckled, his fat belly jiggling beneath the costly velvet expanse of fabric. He reached his jeweled hand inside Nicholas’s tunic and pulled out the ornate box. He kissed it and laughed. “At long last I have it back! Almost twenty-five years it has been lost to me … damn your mother’s soul!”

His voice remained jovial, as if he cursed Esmerada with joy every day.

Nicholas never sensed the blow from behind.

“Be careful with him, Petyr. I need him until he produces a child to end that damn curse.”

Celestia woke from her nap with a start. The back of her head ached, and when she delicately probed the sore area, it seemed as if it should be bruised, but there wasn’t even a raised bump. She didn’t remember banging it.

She never napped, more the pity, so what was she doing in bed? Not sleeping, but escaping, she remembered with a shudder.
Grainne Kat.
The wily wise woman had set up camp for two days in the main room of the keep. Maude had been shadowing Celestia’s every step. They said that Joseph was away peddling his furs.

If she’d had her choice, she would have picked the company of Joseph over either woman. Mayhap. Her stomach rebelled at the memory of animals skins stretched on the racks.

A knock sounded at her door. “Come in.”

Viola entered the room with Shy Sally on her heels. Shy Sally’s face was streaked with tears, and Viola, who used to be so even-tempered, looked angry enough to burst.

“My lady,” Viola bobbed her head. “Grainne Kat must go. Even Father Michael cannot persuade Beatrice to get into the kitchen and work. The wise woman has them terrified of being here, in this keep, with you—a possible witch—argh!” Viola’s brown eyes nearly crossed she was so mad. “And an angry ghost, and the spirits of the murdered knights in the kitchen—and Bess,” Viola started to cry, “she says that Bess haunts the drawbridge!”

Celestia blinked away the last vestiges of sleep. “Nonsense. Father Michael blessed her grave himself. And you, Sally? Why are crying?” Celestia rose from the edge of her bed and put what should have been a soothing hand on the peasant woman’s arm.

Nothing happened. She didn’t feel anything, not even a splutter of energy.

It was finally happening.
Nicholas didn’t return her love, and she was losing her powers to heal. Celestia fought her own tears as she tried to sympathize with Sally. “She blames ye, and says ye’r in league with the devil—when it’s her tongue that has everyone riled.”

She removed her hand from Sally’s arm and swallowed hard so she wouldn’t join the two women in a crying heap. “Viola, help me braid my hair, please? You are both right, and Grainne has to go.”

Celestia searched within herself, wondering that she didn’t feel as empty as a spilled jug of milk. Her healing hands, the only thing that marked her as a true Boadicea descendent, were no more.

Her chest ached as if she’d been stabbed, but she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. She would fix what she could. Smiling for the two women, she bent her back and covered her chest with one hand, while putting the other to her forehead.

“’Tis prostrate with grief, I am, me lady, upset that ye’ve called down Esmerada’s wrath; all of us here at the keep are in danger … bwah hahahahaha.”

Viola’s lips curled upward, but Sally—she still looked afraid that Grainne Kat would give her two noses. “She’s good, for certes, just as good as some of the traveling actors we had at Montehue Manor, eh, Vi?”

The maid sniffed. “Aye. Not quite, but with a bit more training, she could take her act on the road. Away from here, anyway.”

“I promised myself that I would open that tower. I was willing to delay, hoping that Nicholas would come home.”

He wasn’t coming. After three days, it was clear that he was on his way to Spain.

Viola finished tying off the last braid. “He’ll come for ye, my lady.”

“Well, we can’t wait any longer.” Having had years of practice hiding hurt feelings, Celestia was able to lead the way downstairs as regal as a queen.

She came to a halt in front of the cushioned bed someone had brought for Grainne’s comfort. “It is time for you to leave. I regret withdrawing my hospitality, but you are disrupting the entire keep. My Lord Nicholas would not be happy, Grainne Kat. I think you know you have overstayed your welcome.”

Mouth opened to argue, the old woman must have realized that it would be a waste of breath. She got to her feet, her body shaking and trembling. “I only wanted to save you from the wrath of Lady Esmerada.”

Celestia remained firm in her resolve to bring order to the keep. “I have no fear of the woman who bore such a fine man as my husband.”

Maude came from the kitchens, holding a piece of toast. She walked toward Grainne Kat, ignoring Celestia completely. “Mother, get back into bed before you fall down.”

Celestia stepped in front of her, bracing her feet to block the way. Maude came to a surprised halt as she bounced off of Celestia’s small frame.

“It is time for you to take your mother home.”

Maude’s lovely eyes turned yellowish at the center, very unattractive, thank the heavens. “She’s ill and cannot be moved.”

Celestia didn’t back down, not even one step. “She’s no more ill than you or I, as well you know. She is here to halt the opening of the north tower, and for no other reason.”

“You mistake me intentions, Lady Celestia,” Grainne Kat warbled. “I but fear for your safety. If you must open the tower, at least take Maude with ye. The Lady Esmerada knows her, and mayhap she can protect you from harm. She’s a hard worker, my Maude.”

Celestia looked over her shoulder at Grainne Kat. “I have yet to see her lift a finger around here. She browbeats the servants, and I won’t have it.”

When she turned back, Maude’s lower lip started to tremble, and two tears slipped like lovely pearls from her eyes. The woman even cried beautifully, Celestia thought with disgust.

“Fine, Maude, come with me—I want that tower cleared today. Willy? Henry! Geoffrey!”

“Yes, my lady?” Sir Geoffrey headed up the line of crimson-clad knights.

Tilting her chin, she spoke calmly and precisely. “We continue with the tower. The servants are all dismissed, and I want a litter made to carry Grainne Kat back to her hut. I will not have my husband return to a keep filled with lunatics!”

She made certain to look at each peasant before her, letting them know her words were final. Most looked shamed by their behavior. Beatrice scowled. “Geoffrey, pay each of them what we promised, but they are finished here.” Celestia paused. “Except for Sally. She can stay if she wants.”

“Yes, my lady, I do want to stay,” she dipped a fast curtsy, missing the dark look Maude was giving her.

“Sir Geoffrey, do you or any of the knights object to opening the tower?”

The old knight shook his head, nay. Willy blurted, “No, my lady. I would slay any ghost for you.”

Henry, not to be outdone, knelt and kissed her hand. “If there are ghastly apparitions to be found, I will save you, my lady!”

The rest agreed, although Celestia ignored the whiteness around Bertram’s mouth, not wanting to call attention to his fear. “Let us finish this, then. Gather what you need, and Geoffrey, be kind when you let the servants go—but get them gone from here!”

Later, Celestia was so exasperated that she took the pick from Bertram and tore the stone from the wall herself. “If there is a ghost, Bertram, you certainly could not hurt them with your axe. Do you understand?”

He looked at the ground, his ears red. Maude stood over the crew as if she were the lady of Falcon Keep, and not Celestia.

It didn’t help, Celestia admitted, that Maude looked fresh and lovely in a gown of green, while she wore an old brown tunic that was covered in dust and grime. She wiped at her brow.

The memory of Nicholas holding her captive in front of the mirror, his eyes caressing her as thoroughly as his hands and words had, warmed away the chill of jealousy.

For certes, the memories of her husband’s kisses downright warmed her from head to toe.

She’d not had another vision, praise all the saints, but that left her with a belly full of worry. Petyr had gone after Nicholas, and surely he’d had time to talk him into returning home. Obviously her husband didn’t want to come. And poor Forrester, she’d sent the young knight on a fool’s errand, twisting her wild imagination into some kind of warning that Nicholas was with her brothers.

Which meant Peregrine Castle.

Nay, she sighed. She was losing her mind as well as her healing touch.

She threw her weight behind the next swing of the pick—challenging one’s strength felt good. It was no wonder men exerted themselves beyond measure.

“’Tis done, I say! There is plenty of room for us all to pass through without the wall falling down upon our heads.”

Henry said, “But my lady, it will take just a bit more time for us to clear the rest of the debris. Your safety matters above all else.”

Celestia looked at him, her blue eye opened wide as she squinted through the dust. “I’ll risk it.”

“Lord Nicholas would not be happy,” he said, his arms crossed.

“Lord Nicholas isn’t here, Henry, thank you. Do you smell that?” Apples. Spiced apples, from cider, or pie—it didn’t matter. Her stomach rumbled, and she had that immediate need to explore the top of the tower. Invisible fingers pushed her forward, and she found herself through the hole and up three stairs before Henry could stop her.

Up and up she climbed the thin circular stairway, her hand against the stone wall so she’d keep her balance. Light filtered through the arrow slits that were everywhere. Had Lady Esmerada expected a siege?

She remembered that Father Michael had said she’d prepared for the worst, poor woman.

“I’m coming, Lady Esmerada, I’m coming.” She finally reached the only room in the tower. The door was closed. A large lock prevented her from pushing it open. The lock appeared old and somehow accusing. As if the lady were trapped inside, and not of her own accord.

Celestia looked around for a key that would, mayhap, be hanging from a hook, but there was none. A chill went up her spine and she reached for the lock. Her fingers were not her own as she yanked down.

The lock opened beneath her hand and spilled to the floor in a puddle of rust.

Behind her, Maude screamed and pulled on Celestia’s dress. Tottering on the edge of a thin step, she couldn’t regain her balance, not with Maude clutching and pulling at her old tunic. The sound of cloth ripping echoed around her and she was falling. Down, down, and down. Her life flashed before her eyes as she hit each stone step, each curve of the sharp rock wall. Nicholas, she thought, Nicholas!