A Passionate Magic (17 page)

“If any harm comes to Emma,” Dain said, “I
will know where to look first. Father Maynard, you are witness to
my mother’s threatening words.”

“Now you will use my priest against me?” Lady
Richenda cried. “What have you left me?”

“Your noble dignity, if only you will assume
it,” Dain said. He headed for the door, pausing just as he reached
it to look back at his mother. “Perhaps you also need reminding
that Father Maynard is not your personal priest. He has been
assigned to the entire parish of Penruan and Trevanan, and thus he
serves all of us.”

“This is your doing,” Lady Richenda hissed at
Emma as soon as Dain was gone. “You have corrupted my son. But I
will live to see vengeance done against you and all your wicked
family. Come, Father Maynard.” The very picture of righteous
indignation, she walked out of the stillroom with her back stiff
and her head high.

“I will endeavor to soften her heart,” Father
Maynard said, lingering for a moment. “I fear it will be a
difficult task. As you have heard, she is firmly set in all of her
prejudices.”

“Father Maynard!” came the imperious voice
from the corridor.

“Yes, my lady, I am coming.” With a smile
that encompassed both Emma and Blake, the priest took his
leave.

“I’ve never seen Lady Richenda so angry,”
Blake said. “She must have had a dreadful fight with her
sister.”

“It’s more likely that hearing Dain agree
with me infuriated her,” Emma said, too distressed by the quarrel
to care if she spoke aloud an opinion better kept to herself. “I
expected Lady Richenda to dislike me, but why does she express such
a fanatic hatred of Agatha?”

“I suppose it’s because Agatha is a healer,”
Blake answered.

“Yes, of course, but it’s more than that. On
the subject of Agatha, Lady Richenda is almost mad. But why?”

“I don’t know, my lady. I think it has always
been that way.” Blake swayed a little, and Emma tightened the arm
she still kept around his shoulders. She could tell by the slightly
blank look in his eyes and the widening of his pupils that the
poppy syrup was beginning to take full effect. He would sleep for a
few hours, which was just what his body required for healing.

“Come on, Blake. “ She steered him toward the
door. “I’ll see you to your pallet and make sure your blanket is
warm enough. Then I’ll ask Todd to look in on you later.”

“Thank you, my lady. You are kind, kinder
than anyone has been to me since my mother died.”

Dain joined Emma in the lord’s chamber that
night, but she could discern no warmth or tenderness in him. Icy,
blue-green fire lurked in his eyes, and his mouth had a familiar
hard look to it. He directed so fierce a stare at Hawise that the
maidservant turned to Emma in concern.

“It’s all right,” Emma said in an undertone.
“Go to your room and close the door. Don’t worry about me. I’ll
call you if I need you.”

“What are you whispering about?” Dain
asked.

“I was only dismissing Hawise for the night.”
Emma approached him, smiling, both hands extended. “Dain, I want to
thank you for shielding both Blake and me today. It was kind of
you.”

“It was no more than my duty.”

“I am sorry, my lord, but you do seem to be
caught between mother and wife, whether you wish it or not. Can you
suggest any method I might employ to lessen Lady Richenda’s intense
dislike of me?”

”You could leave Penruan forever,” Dain said,
“or you could die. Those are the only two remedies I know of to
placate her.”

“Do you want me to leave?” It hurt her to ask
the question, but Emma had to know what Dain would say. His remark
about her dying sent a cold chill up her spine.

”What I want does not matter,” Dain said.
“You are here because I agreed to accept the king’s judgment.”

“Did Lady Richenda also agree?”

“Not she. Not ever. She will hate your family
until the end of her life.”

“Do you hate me, Dain?”

“I wish to heaven I could. It would be so
much easier if I hated you.” There was pain in his face, and a
smoldering desire that flared and glowed as he inspected her from
head to foot. She was wearing only her shift and her hair was not
entirely braided, since Hawise was not finished with it when Dain
appeared. Dain had begun removing his clothes immediately upon
entering the room.

“No,” he said, pulling off his hose and
standing naked before her. “I don’t hate you, as you can see for
yourself.”

“What, then?” Emma asked. She refused to look
at his erect male flesh. She persisted in gazing directly into his
eyes, for she wanted more from him than lust.

“This.” He caught her about the waist and
pulled her hard against him. “And this.” His mouth bruised
hers.

“Dain.” At first she struggled a little, but
the truth was, she did not want to fight him. She opened her mouth,
accepting his punishing kiss, weaving her fingers through his hair.
She did not even protest when he picked her up, dropped her onto
the bed, and lay on top of her.

She knew he was angry about the dispute
between his mother and herself, and thus she did not expect
tenderness from him, so she was surprised when, despite his anger,
he took care not to hurt her. He handled her expertly, warming her
flesh with his hands and his mouth until her body was ready to
receive him. Then he took her swiftly, with a cold, hard passion
that made Emma’s heart ache and sent tears spilling across her
cheeks.

She attained a brief release when Dain
stroked deep within her one last time, but it was simply a matter
of her body functioning in response to his skill. Her heart and her
soul were not involved as they had been during their previous
lovemaking, and when Dain withdrew from her to lie beside her with
one arm thrown over his eyes she did not know what to say or do to
bridge the chasm between them.

Dain lay still, keeping his arm over his eyes
so he would not have to look at Emma and show her the shame that
must be revealed in his gaze. He was filled with shame, overflowing
with disgust at himself and his actions. Emma deserved better from
him than to be used as a device to relieve his rage. She had
patiently endured his mother’s hostility and sharp tongue. Except
for her declaration that she was not her husband’s enemy, Emma’s
words to Lady Richenda had all been for Robert’s sake, and for
Blake’s protection. Dain refused to believe there was any evil in
Emma’s herbal cures. Sloan praised her competence and kindness,
Blake was devoted to her, even Agatha approved of her.

As his rage slowly ebbed, long years of
strict training intruded on his thoughts, making him angry all over
again because of his weakness toward an enemy whom he ought to
despise. Emma was the cause of the present dissension between
himself and his mother. His immediate problems were entirely Emma’s
fault.

And yet, she was so openhearted and fair, so
kind and affectionate, so accepting of him and his uncertain
temper. Dain’s inner conflict became so strong that he shivered
before he could force himself to lie still.

”Dain?”

Emma’s voice was soft and low-pitched. He
could tell by the movements beside him that she was sitting up and
probably looking at him, so he kept his eyes covered – and cursed
himself for a coward for doing so.

“What is it?” He tried to sound cold and
uninterested, when what he really longed to do was gaze into her
wonderful eyes and beg her to forgive him for treating her as if
her heart did not matter. He wanted to take her into his arms again
and make love to her, and do it properly this time, so they could
both rediscover the soaring joy they had known at their first
joining. There had been no joy in the crude coupling just finished.
There had only been a brief moment of relative calm at the end for
him, and he suspected it was the same for her. He was afraid to ask
her if that was true. Asking would reveal weakness, and he must
remember always that Emma had the potential to be a danger to him
and to his people. When he was with her, he must appear strong and
certain of himself.

“May I ask a question?” she said, sounding
distinctly unsure of herself.

“You may ask,” he said, marveling at her
bravery in the face of his frequent rejection. “Whether I choose to
answer or not will depend upon what the question is.” He braced
himself for a subtle query about the strength of Penruan, or a
request to have family members visit her, so they’d have an
opportunity to spy on him.

“Why does your mother hate and fear
Agatha?”

“What?” Startled out of suspicion and
deliberate coldness, he took his arm from his eyes to stare at
her.

Emma looked back at him, all soft
eyes
and tumbling night-black hair and skin like rich cream, and Dain
wanted her with a need that nearly shattered him, because it
suddenly occurred to him that it wasn’t just her beautiful body he
craved. He wanted Emma to love him; he wanted her heart. He didn’t
know how to ask for her love, or how he would deal with it if she
gave him such a priceless treasure. Nor did he know how to love in
return. His entire life was devoted to hatred, to the quest for
vengeance. Or it had been, until Emma’s arrival.

He could tell she expected him to respond to
her question about his mother and Agatha, so he said the first
thing that came to his mind, not pausing to consider the words he
spoke until they hung in the air between himself and his wife like
dark, glittering jewels that contained the essence of a truth he
did not want to admit.

“My mother fears nothing except the wrath of
God,” Dain said.

“Not so.” Emma’s gaze was steady. “She is
afraid of Agatha. I saw and heard the fear in Lady Richenda this
afternoon, when she thought Agatha had come to the castle during
her absence.”

“You may be right,” Dain said slowly,
considering. “Fear may be a part of the reason why she hates Agatha
so much. How odd that I never thought about her reasons until this
hour.”

“What was the original cause of their
dispute?” Emma asked.

“I don’t really know.” Dain pushed himself up
to sit against the pillows, so his eyes were level with Emma’s. “I
have always assumed they differed because Agatha avoids attending
church, and my mother is deeply religious. Yet, Agatha and Father
Maynard always meet on friendly terms. There is no hostility at all
between them.

“Whatever began the quarrel,” Dain continued,
“it happened long ago, while I was still a small child. My only
reliable memory of that time is of the day when my father died.”
Dain frowned, trying to recapture another memory that slipped away
even as his mind grasped at it. He rubbed at his forehead, where a
dull ache was beginning.

“How did Lord Halard die?” Emma asked.

“He lost an arm in his last battle with Udo,”
Dain said. “He never fully recovered from the wound, and he finally
died a few years later, when I was just five years old.” He lapsed
into silence, trying to recall what else it was that tugged at his
memory. The headache grew worse.

As if she understood that sympathy from her
would be unacceptable, Emma said nothing more. She just laid a hand
on Dain’s bare shoulder.

“If you want to know what set my mother and
Agatha against each other,” he said, “ask Agatha. I am sure my
mother will never tell you.”

He could have taken her into his arms at that
point and possessed her again. His body was more than willing, and
he did not think she would refuse him. But if he took her while his
mind was bemused by thoughts of his dead father and his eternally
vengeful mother, there was a strong possibility that he would not
find this time, either, the complete happiness he had discovered
with Emma the first night they lay together.

“It was an illusion,” he said, fighting his
seductive memories of that night.

“What was?” Emma asked, looking puzzled at
the change of subject.

“Be on your guard with Agatha,” he warned,
ignoring her question. “I know I should have been more careful with
her.”

“I am sure Agatha would never harm anyone,
least of all you. She loves you and wants you to be happy.”

“Is that why she gave me herb-tainted wine to
drink?” he demanded angrily.

Emma’s mouth dropped open, her eyes large and
round, and Dain was so wickedly pleased with the effect his
question had produced that he went on to reveal all of the
story.

“Agatha knew full well I had no intention of
ever consummating our marriage, and she knew why I would not.
Still, she fed me herbs in my wine, herbs that sent me into a state
of desire I could not control.”

“I do not know of any herbs that can overcome
a person’s own will,” Emma declared.

“You may not know of them, but Agatha most
assuredly does. The herbs are the reason why I rode to Penruan so
precipitously, in the dark of night, to lie with you.”

“Why was your desire only toward me?” Emma
asked. “Why not toward any convenient woman? Surely, there is at
least one woman in Trevanan who would lie with you most willingly,
and thank you afterward for the favor bestowed upon her. Why did
you come to me?”

The question stopped his tongue. He could not
tell Emma it was because, even before he drank the wine, his
thoughts and his desire were already fixed on her, and her alone.
He would not admit how much he had wanted her from the hour of
their first meeting. But he could not hide the truth from
himself.

Emma seemed to understand his inner struggle.
She asked no more questions. She just put her head on his shoulder
and her arm across his waist and lay quietly beside him. After a
while, he knew she was asleep.

Dain could not sleep, not even after the pain
in his head eased into a numb blankness that blocked out something
important that he knew he ought to remember. He lay staring at the
gray stone wall opposite the bed, not seeing it, seeing nothing but
a series of conflicting images within his mind, until the candles
guttered out and darkness enveloped him.