Boadicea's Legacy (12 page)

Os jerked his head up in shock.

“—or lose my abilities to heal. Well, that night, I was offering my abilities as a sacrifice. Meg said that the sacrifice would have to be huge, and that is all I have that is my own.”

Groaning, Osbert shook his head. It would require a miracle to save her, mayhap even two. Lust and desire warred within him. “To be clear, the curse is that if you marry without love, you will lose your ability to heal.”

“Yea. So that night I was offering my gifts, in exchange for a lifting of the curse. Then you came and ruined everything. Tricked me too, because I couldn't see your aura, so I thought Andraste had answered my prayer and the curse was gone as well as my abilities. I was plenty terrified, let me tell you.” She looked at him as if expecting sympathy after her confession.

“You've said enough.” His voice was gruff with emotion. “You prayed to an ancient goddess and expected to be
answered? There is but one true God. What you've told me is heresy and surely evil. Are you in league with the devil? What did you use in your sacrificial ceremony?”

She stood, her veil falling free to the forest floor. Her unbound hair, bright red and curling, fell to her ankles. Fury etched her face as her green eyes flashed with betrayal.

He had no choice. He drew his sword and stepped toward her.

Her heart ached with regret. “You think I'm a witch? Mayhap I am.” That remark earned her another gasp from the Good and Honorable Os.

“I will have to bind you and take you to the church. This must be a test of my faith.”

“Think again before you touch me uninvited, Osbert Edyvean.” She jutted out her chin and quirked a brow. There was no teasing left inside her. What had happened just now? They'd been talking—
talking
. She'd kissed him, but not with malice or temptation. She'd apologized, for pity's sake.

“This is no confessional, and you are no priest to say if I am evil or not. The sacrifice was my abilities. I would never hurt a living creature. Imbecile!”

Why did her chest ache so? She'd known he was superstitious; she'd called him out for it earlier, so why did it hurt her to see the accusation in his eyes?

He took another step toward her.

She refused to budge.

If he dared to lay a hand on her, then she could reach her eating dagger quick enough to make him regret it.

He stared at her, and she read the confused determination in his gaze. Binding her would tear him apart. She would never be able to forgive him. A shadow of something deeper passed over her. It seemed as if they'd argued before.

The chittering of a polecat broke their standoff. She heard the scratch of claws as Henry made his way down the tree trunk and cautiously crossed the clearing. He stared from Ela to Os and then ran up the back of Ela's dress to hide in her hair.

She was ridiculously happy to have an ally.

“Does that polecat only have three legs?” Osbert lowered his sword.

“Aye. I used one for a spell to make coin out of horse manure.” She glared at him, daring, challenging.

“How did he lose his leg? A fight?”

Ela didn't want to speak to Os, not even once he apologized. Which she knew he would do once he realized how gravely he'd offended her.

“Well?” he pressed, reaching out with his hand and coming toward her to let Henry sniff his fingers.

“A trap. He lost his leg to a trap.”

“You saved him?”

“I told you I'm a healer. For certes, now you are going to think that Henry here is my familiar and that I need him
to do dark magical deeds in the dead of night.”

Osbert had the grace to drop his hand and back away.

“I cannot apologize for what I said. They were logical questions, and I had the right to ask them. We travel together. I am to bring you to my liege. Can I do that if you are a danger to him?”

Taken aback, for she was usually exactly right about her hunches, she lifted one shoulder, conceding with that small gesture he may have a point, not that she agreed with it. She touched her lips.

He sat down. “I'll not bind you, if you promise not to run away.”

She sat as well, folding her hands in her lap. Mute with a storm of emotion.

“I don't want to overpower you, and we both know that I could. I would rather have your word.”

“You would trust a witch?” Ela straightened her spine until it cracked.

“You
. I would trust your word, yes.”

She sensed how difficult that decision had been for him and nodded. “I give my word I will not run away.”
Tonight
. Tomorrow was another matter entirely.

Osbert banked the fire until it was merely embers. “We should sleep. There is but one blanket, and you can have it. I have my cloak.”

“No need to be so generous. I have my hair to keep me warm. I'll be fine, right here by the fire.” Stubborn, she lay down on the ground and felt each rock poke her in
the ribs. She pulled her hair around her like a shawl, determined to show him who was the weaker sex! Lulled to sleep by exhaustion, wine, and disappointment, Ela dropped off to sleep, her teeth chattering.

Osbert waited until he heard soft, steady snores, then folded the blanket over her.

In the morning, she was gone.

B
artholomew neighed while Osbert fought down a rising sense of anger.

Anger—at her and at himself for believing her word—had him clambering for his sword. “Damn her,” he said beneath his breath. The blanket he'd covered her with lay folded on a rock, as if mocking his trust with tidiness.

For certes, she was a witch no matter her protests. She upset his emotions as wildly as waves crashing against the rocks.

I should have bound her to a tree—hands, feet—but no doubt she would still have been free come morning. Witch
.

He quickly crossed himself, filled with torn emotions he'd taught himself to subdue. She brought them to the fore, and he was at a loss on how to handle them.

Os felt the need to protect her from the dangers of the world. Ela had never seen a man's head severed for believing in a different religion—the streets of Jerusalem had run ruby with blood as the Christians and infidels each fought for their God—and that was during a time of peace.

His faith comforted him, and he had Sir Percy to thank for showing him the way to Christ. He'd grown up on the coastal shores of Yarmouth, where the old ways collided with different gods as each new ship landed.

She shook the foundations of his faith. Surely that was a sin as well.

Sir Percy had preached godliness, yet they still hung rue over the door to keep out evil. Osbert rubbed his cheek, remembering his long-ago jest about covering all angles to enlightenment. Sir Percy had knocked him to his arse with a slap to the face and a warning to be respectful.

His mentor had been tough, but fair, and completely lacking a sense of humor.

Not that Osbert ever complained. Without Sir Percy, he would have died—no laughing matter, indeed.

Even though his impatient warrior's heart told him to charge through the woods, find Ela, and drag her back to the clearing by her hair, Os knew that he owed God a morning prayer of thanks. Sir Percy had taught him to control his temper by Our Fathers and Hail Marys.

When he was finished, Os's anger had faded to a dull, manageable throb.

He turned to Bartholomew and found Ela brushing his horse's mane. He hadn't heard her return.

“Where were you this morn?” He tried to sound as if he hadn't been cursing her name since waking up.

“Bathing. Gathering berries. Are you hungry?” She pointed to a large pile of edible wild berries. “I filled
the waterskins too.”

Os scrubbed his face with his palm. So she hadn't broken her promise, and she'd gathered food and water and bathed. He gulped, seeing in his mind the vision of Ela, her hair wet around her porcelain, naked body.

He'd been cursing her name for the wrong reasons.

“Good. We can leave immediately.” His voice cracked, his mouth dry.

“You should eat first, just to keep your strength up. Who knows what adventures we shall have today.” Henry ran awkwardly across the grass, a twig dangling in his mouth. The three-legged polecat chirrupped, and Ela bent down to take the stick. Then she threw it, and the polecat raced after it.

“Like a dog,” he muttered, walking to the berries. Os popped one in his mouth, letting the tart flavor explode over his tongue. They were the best berries he'd ever eaten, because they'd been gathered for him, by her.

Ridiculous
.

His praying had gotten him nowhere.

Os could not afford to love her, although it seemed as necessary as breathing. He didn't understand why he felt such an immediate connection to her, but it was wrong. He would have to learn to hate her. To make her hate him.

He glared in her direction and was met with a pair of questioning emerald eyes.

“I can feel your confusion. What, please tell me, are you thinking that has you frowning so? You cannot possibly, in
the light of this beautiful morning, still think that I am in league with the devil?”

She laughed, then kissed a besotted Bartholomew on the nose.

Os was powerless to say a word. Ela took his breath away.

Her step was sure and confident, her face beautiful enough to make an angel cry. Her spirit was light and carefree, and her form pure female temptress. If she was truly a test of his faith, then he was losing, by all that was holy, and that angered him.

“You are a woman,” he said coldly. “And from the time Eve tempted Adam with the apple, you've been evil.”

Ela stopped walking toward him and jerked her head back as if she'd been physically slapped. “Nay. You can't believe that.”

“Stop telling me what to believe.” Yes, this was the way to control his impulses—by making her wary of him. No more jests and tempting laughs. He would erect a barrier as solid as any Roman wall. He would be on one side, and she would be on the other.

Sir Percy had always said that to put trust in a woman was a foolish waste of time. They nagged, they took your money, and they were as faithless as a fallen priest. If it was sex you wanted, then you slaked your thirst where you knew what you were getting for your coin.

Os took the rest of the fruit and tossed it to the bushes. “We leave now. We should reach Norwich in less than a week. Pray God that the earl will be in residence, and then
I can be free of you.”

Her face paled beneath her tan. “You promised my father that you would see me safely returned to him.”

He had promised that. But what was more important—to be free of this woman's spell and break a vow, or to risk purgatory and the flames of hell because she made him want to forget everything in her bewitching arms? He shrugged, knowing he had to be cold or risk burning for eternity.

“I will bring you to the earl, and he can decide your fate. I'll not sway him one way or the other, but I will be truthful, my lady. I must be.” He tapped his chest twice. Honor, faith, and logic, that was the creed he'd survived by.

Within moments, they left the clearing to make their way to a road. Os, leading Bartholomew, prayed that he'd passed his test. And that the reward for causing Ela hurt was worth it. He mounted, accutely aware of her behind him.