Forbidden Magic (12 page)

White Beda had chattered on about how distraught everyone had been trying to find her and that only an hour before they had discovered her horse grazing contentedly in a meadow a short distance further on, Jewel had considered the story she would tell. If she exposed the truth, the queen's knights would hunt the stranger down and slay him, and word of it would reach her father. She truly wished to see the evil knight pay for his deed, but not at the expense of her father. Her shame would be her own, and rather than force him to suffer, she would carry the burden alone as well as endure his anger, for she decided that once she returned to Harcourt she would make known her intent to join the convent and renounce her pledge to marry Sir Amery of Wellington.

Certain her conviction was just, Jewel had accepted the offer of wine from the knight who had hurriedly returned with it, explained how she had simply stumbled and hit her head, and begged that they be on their way.

But now, as they neared the land surrounding Harcourt, Jewel wondered if she could hide the truth from her mother. Lord Alcot had never managed to do so, for it seemed Lady Jocelyn had been gifted with a talent for knowing when her husband chose not to tell her everything. And it appeared that all she had to do was look into his eyes. Would she know the minute she saw Jewel? Would she sense an inner hurt, touch a hand to Jewel's cheek in silent understanding, and wait? And how long could Jewel hold her tongue? A frown darkened Jewel's eyes. Forever.

The caravan of travelers left the valley through a grove of trees and started their ascent up a path that twisted and turned precariously and seemed to guide them through a forest until the way was opened up and Harcourt lay before them, tall and majestic. Rock bluffs surrounded the castle and protected it on all sides. Its farm land was spread out below, and the only means of entrance was a drawbridge that was no w lowered as if to welcome them. The scene was not uncommon, for the lord of Harcourt encouraged his people to seek audience with him no matter what the reason, night or day. Yet as Jewel and her party rode nearer, she experienced a sense of foreboding, a feeling that something was amiss. Serfs hurried about carrying shovels, their expressions pained, and once they saw her, many turned away crying. Jewel could see no other cause but that death had come to Harcourt. Suddenly, panic gripped Jewel's heart.

"Father!" she screamed, kicking viciously at the mare's ribs, and she was nearly thrown from the animal when one of the knights grabbed the reins.

"Nay, m'lady," he ordered firmly. "'Tis evident grief has befallen the castle. Stay with Lady Beda while we seek out one with answers."

"Nay, I will not!" she shouted, tears streaming down her face. "Turn me loose and move aside. I must go to him."

"And I cannot," he argued. "The King's mother bestowed your care unto my hands and I fear what lies ahead too great for you to bear—"

But before the knight could finish, Jewel slipped her leg from the horn of the sidesaddle and slid to the ground. Lifting the skirts of her gunna, she raced off toward the castle gates, her chest heaving with her sobs.

"Father!" she cried out once more, stumbling to halt when she reached the end of the long, wooden bridge and was met by a group of serfs coming from the castle's courtyard. A tiny hand flew to her mouth as she fought back a torrent of weeping, her eyes affixed to the bundle they awkwardly carried, for she had instantly recognized the shape of a man wrapped inside the blanket. Yet amidst the whirling of her emotions, some logic surfaced. The lord of a castle would not be buried in simple cloth but fine silks, and he would be taken to the cemetery on a litter made of rich oak and draped in his colors. The one these serfs carried was of lesser rank and the weight on Jewel's shoulders eased slightly while she prayed her father had been spared. She stood silent as they passed, their faces turned away, and Jewel raised her eyes to look upon the entrance once more. Every muscle tensed when she witnessed a second group leave the courtyard, the body of another cradled in their hands. Spinning around, she viewed the burial ground set away from the hamlet and shaded by a stand of birch trees. Her heart lurched when she saw the numerous mounds of freshly sealed graves. In a time of peace, war had raged about this land, and Jewel knew before the words had been spoken that all who lived within had fallen prey to a cruel enemy. Of a sudden, an eerie coldness seized her slender frame and she hugged the fur mantle to her.

Suddenly, Jewel's head shot up, her gaze falling on the castle. 'Twas the custom that the victor seize his spoils and, in silent proclamation of his feat, raise his own flag of colors where the late lord's had hung. But to her surprise, the gold and blue of her father's standard still adorned the peak of the tallest watchtower. Confused, Jewel raised a shaky hand to her brow. What could it mean? Was it possible that the dead had not been slain but that illness had taken them? New hope arising, Jewel smiled through her tears, certain that if she went inside, she would find her father issuing commands with little William by his side. Her shoulders squared, she grabbed both hands full of her skirts and started toward the gates.

"Lady Jewel, wait!" someone shouted from behind her.

The voice seemed to float around her as if coming from all directions at one time. It sounded familiar yet it unsettled her, for she knew it did not belong to one of her family. Stopping just outside the wide doors of the castle, she slowly turned around, searching for the one who had hailed her, and her pulse quickened when she spotted Radolf hurrying toward her.

Sunshine gleamed in his reddish-brown hair, a bright contrast to the white surcoat he wore. His face held no smile as it usually did, and Jewel sensed he felt little happiness. At another time, she would have appraised his good looks as she had often done before, but today she could only see him as a herald of bad tidings and her anxiety mounted.

"Co away," she mumbled, taking a step backward when he continued.

"Nay, Jewel, don't!" he shouted when she turned from him and ran into the courtyard.

The stench that arose from the bloodied soil overwhelmed Jewel and she raised a knotted fist to her mouth to stop her from retching as her eyes wildly surveyed the scene before her. Several rows of blanketed bodies lined one wall of the curtilage, awaiting their turn for burial, and Jewel pulled her attention away from them, frantically and hopelessly looking for her father. Peasant women bustled about the main entrance to the house with buckets of water, brushes, and rags, tears streaming down their faces as they worked, and Jewel's gaze searched the mass of activity for the tall, familiar shape of her mother.

"Lady Jewel, please .. ."

Hearing Radolf 's voice again, Jewel quickly moved toward the entrance. Whatever he had to say did not interest her. Right now she had to find her mother. Lady Jocelyn needed comforting. Hurrying across the courtyard, she pushed her way through the women, determined to go inside, when a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Jewel, please," Radolf whispered, hugging her to him.

"Nay, unhand me!" she cried, fighting to get free, but his iron grip held her close. "I must go to my mother. She needs me." As she strained against his unrelenting grasp, Jewel's tear-filled eyes dartingly scanned the crowd surrounding them. "Mother!"

"She's gone, Jewel. All of them. They're all dead," Radolf said, his own voice tight with grief.

Disbelieving eyes looked up at him. "Nay! Nay, Radolf, they are not!" Her chin quivered. "Oh, dear God, it cannot be! Mother!"

"Jewel, stop," he said more urgently, clasping both of her arms above the elbows and giving her a shake. "You're all that's left and the people of Harcourt need you. You must be strong. Look at me, Jewel, and know I speak the truth. Jewel!" When she refused to do as he bade, he raised a wide hand to clutch her chin and lift her gaze to meet his.

Amber-hued eyes so very similar stared at each other and for a long while both held silent as they searched foe some sanity in this moment of madness. Oblivious to those around them, Radolf released his hold to gently wipe the tears from Jewel's cheeks, his handsome face reflecting his sorrow for the grief Jewel suffered.

"I will always be here for you, Jewel," he whispered tenderly. "I will share your pain, comfort you in your hour of loneliness, and, if it be your want, guide the people of Harcourt. Your father's death does not mean the end of his rule, for he lives on in you. Remember that, Jewel, and govern your subjects as he would have done—with fairness, honesty, and justice."

"But... I cannot. . ." Jewel began, hushed when Radolf pressed a fingertip to her lips.

"Yea, you can." He smiled encouragingly. "With my help, Harcourt and its people will rise united in a quest to honor Lord Alcot's name and serve you as they have him. Now, come," he added, wrapping her tiny frame in a protective arm as he guided her through the arched en try way and headed toward the stairs leading to the bedchambers above, "you must rest and shed your tears privately. We have summoned a priest and after the graves are blessed, I will send him to you."

Once they reached the wide, stone staircase, Jewel leaned heavily against Radolf, all strength seeming to have left her. Unmindful of those who stared sympathetically, Radolf gently stooped to lift her in his arms. With little effort, he carried her up the stairs and down the hall to her chambers, kicking the door open with the toe of his boot. He took her to the wide, canopied bed and eased her onto its feathery softness, lingering to brush a strand of coppery hair from her brow.

"Radolf," she beckoned weakly, catching his hand when he turned to leave her, "who would do this?"

His features hardened instantly and with some difficulty he smiled. "We shall talk of it later when you are stronger," he assured her, patting the slim hand wrapped around his own. "The way home was long and much has happened. I will send Leta, a serving girl to Lady Edlyn, to do your bidding, She awaits in the great hall and will help you disrobe so that you may nap—"

"Radolf," Jewel said again more firmly, pushing herself up on her elbows, for she sensed he knew and would not tell unless pressed to do so. Sitting up, she unfastened the strings of her mantle and pulled it from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor beside the bed. "Do not play games. I will know the one responsible, and before you leave my side."

He shook his head determinedly and turned away. "Tis more than you could bear just now, I fear."

"And I will be the one to decide," she answered forcefully, swinging her legs from the bed to stand before him. "Recite the truth or I will find one who will."

Radolf saw the stubbornness reflected in her eyes and prayed for a gentler method of unmasking the evil that had been done. But knowing of none, he sighed, and slowly walked to the window of the room to gaze out upon the land that now had no lord to reign over it. "Those guilty came while the vassel slept," he began quietly. "Those who were spared saw nothing. No one can say the name and show proof and 'tis why I wish to hold my tongue."

"But you suspect?" Jewel questioned.

"Yea, I suspect, but I refuse to believe," he answered angrily.

"You know him?"

"Too well, I fear." He whirled to look at her. "An emerald necklace was found clutched in your father's hand. Neither Roe, your vassel, nor any of the serfs could name it as Lady Jocelyn's and thus it set our minds to thinking it was torn from the one who slayed him." His face contorting with his bitterness, Radolf stalked to the chair before the hearth and threw himself into it. For a long while he stared silently into the crackling blaze, an elbow resting on the arm of the chair, knotted fist pressed against his mouth. And when it seemed he would say no more, he bolted from the place and returned to the window. "Roe sent for me last eve and I came in haste, fearing you would be found among the dead. I have cursed myself for finding a bit of happiness amidst the slaughter, but I knew joy at learning you were safe. Then Roe brought me the necklace and I thought my heart had been wrenched from my chest. It had belonged to Lady Sigrid, Amery's mother."

Jewel's head swirled and she collapsed on the bed, whispering her betrothed's name. Tears filling her eyes, she looked up at Radolf pleadingly, "Are you sure?"

Rushing to her, he knelt at her side and took her hand. "Yea, Jewel, I am sure the gem is Amery's, but the guilt cannot lie on my half brother's head. He is away fighting the Crusade with King Richard."

Jewel felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach. "Nay, he is not," she said weakly. "Two mornings past he spoke with the dowager queen."

"Gossip!" Radolf shouted. "No one has seen him."

"Would you doubt Queen Eleanor? 'Twas from her own lips that I learned of his return."

"But word has come that King Richard is held prisoner. Surely Amery would not desert him for safer ground."

"He did not," she answered quietly, a tear slowly gliding to her chin. "The king sent him to recite the demands of his captors and Her Majesty sent Amery home. He may at this moment be dining in the great hall of Wellington."

"Nay," Radolf argued with a shake of his head as he stood. "With all the facts before us, I still can find no reason for Amery to turn against our father's friend."

The fine arch of Jewel's brow wrinkled with her distress and she longed to deny the slightest possibility that Amery was guilty of such a crime, but in her heart she knew she could not. Amery of Wellington was nothing more than, a name whose face she could not remember. No one spoke of him without relating his hatred of women and Jewel accepted the tale as true. He lived for his lung and country and put them above all else. And now that one of them needed his aid, she could easily find cause for him to draw his sword against her father. A quiet peace settled over her with the revelation and dried her tears. Her time of mourning would have to wait. With Radolf 's help, she would see Amery beheaded for what he had done.