Forbidden Magic (13 page)

"Radolf," she said solemnly, "you talked at length with my father. What were his feelings for King Richard?"

Puzzled, Radolf frowned. "He thought him wise and good."

"Yea, but did my father not object to King Richard's marching in the Crusade?"

Radolf nodded.

"And if he were here with us now, would he not be angry that the king of England could be foolish enough to fight on foreign soil and allow himself to be taken prisoner?"

"Yea, I suppose, but—"

"Then what do you think my father would have done if one of King Richard's knight's had come to his door demanding silver marks to pay for his release?"

Radolf remained quiet, not wanting to answer.

"He would have said them nay, Radolf. And if you had been that knight, what would you have done?"

"Nay, Jewel, not Amery," he argued fervently.

"Then what other reason can you give? Think on it, Radolf. Is there another in all of the realm who would be callous enough to slay his own father's most favored friend?"

"But you are his betrothed and Lord Alcot of your blood!"

Jewel smiled dispassionately. " Twas our fathers' doing, not his. I was but a child when last he looked upon me and he a man full grown. He would have no love in his heart for me." Sighing, she lay back down on the bed. "Now leave me, Radolf, while I seek my rest. On the morrow, we will decide what course to take." She closed her eyes, listening to his footsteps as he turned and left the room.

In the darkness of her lowered lids, Jewel turned her mind to pleasant things, recalling the happy times she and her family had laughed and played together, the joy her father had experienced when Lady Jocelyn had presented him with a fine, healthy baby boy. She had loved little William with no jealousy or rancor in her heart and believed that someday he would be a brave and gallant knight, a man her father would have been proud of. Her throat tightened and she touched a cool hand to her brow. Their lives at Harcourt had been peaceful and content, their future bright. The day Jewel had been summoned to court as a lady-in-waiting to the dowager queen, she had been filled with such gladness that she had thought her heart would burst, and the pride that had shone in her father's eyes had reaffirmed his love for her, bonding them closer than they had ever been before. And on the morning she had left Harcourt on her way to London, Jewel had thought there could be nothing in the world that would ruin any of it. She had believed she would be married in the near future, start a family of her own, and visit the lord and lady of Harcourt with their grandchildren by her side.

Jewel rolled to her stomach, knotting a pillow beneath her shoulders, and stared off blankly into space. And now even that dream had been taken from her. She would never be able to bear children, for no man would want a wife who was not a virgin. The heritage of Harcourt would die, exactly as its lord and lady had. A sob shook her tiny frame and she bit her lower lip to hah her tears, but just as life's tragedies themselves were unavoidable, her grief overcame her, and Jewel surrendered to a torrent of weeping. She cried for her father, her mother, Edwina and Ivy, and for little William, and the void their passing would bring. Then finally, when it seemed she was drained of tears. Jewel fell into fitful slumber, unaware that Leta, the serving girl Radolf had sent, had entered the room and had quietly sat down in the chair near the hearth to wait.

* * *

"Have you told Lady Edlyn that Lady Jewel is safe?" A smile creased one corner of Radolf's mouth as he watched the activity in the courtyard. "Nay. Let her gloat a while longer. She has waited long for this day." Absently, he tugged his mantle tighter to him and glanced up at the growing number of clouds overhead. "I fear it may snow, Kennard. 'Tis cold enough."

The huge knight frowned irritably, then looked about them to make certain no one would hear. "When will you tell her?"

Grinning, Radolf turned to study his companion. "Pray tell, it does not worry you, does it, my dear cousin?" He cocked his head to one side. "Or do you fear her anger?"

Kennard stiffened with the barb. "Nay, I do not! I am curious, is all, to hear you explain."

Radolf chuckled and gazed out upon the serfs who carried the last of the bodies to the cemetery. "Then you shall enjoy it," he said simply, "for I plan to show her who is the true lord. She has made her final decision."

Kennard considered the man a moment, then shook his head. "I think you misjudge her. Twas not her intent to share."

Whirling on him, Radolf growled, "And 'twas not my intent to kill the one I love. Lady Jewel was spared so that she could become my wife." Angrily, be turned and started across the courtyard. When he reached the gates, he paused, watching the burial procession advance toward the cemetery, only slightly aware of the man who followed.

"Yea, 'twas the plan," Kennard added when he stood at Radolf's side once more. "But there is a chance that your half brother will not allow it."

"Bahh," Radolf exploded. "Let him. Simply because he objects will not make it so. Lady Jewel will have nothing to do with him."

"Then you told her?"

An evil smile distorted Radolf's handsome features. "Nay. I guided her thoughts, but 'twas she who named her betrothed as the guilty one. She was as clay in my hands and in tune will beg me to rule Harcourt as her husband."

Kennard raised his brows, unsure. "To speak of it sounds simple enough, but I have heard a great deal of Amery. You have stolen his land and title, blackened his name, and seek to have his betrothed as well. I do not think he will crawl away as a beaten dog would do. He will come, Radolf, my cousin, as quietly as the clouds drift overhead."

A sinister laugh cut through the still, crisp air. "And it will be his end, for I have put a price on his head. Whoever brings him to me will have a generous reward," Radolf sneered, his gaze settling on the two figures cloaked in brown wandering among the peasants.

"He will not let himself be taken, Radolf," Kennard countered. "It could very well mean his death."

"And would save me the trouble. Do you think after all I've done that I could let him live? As children, we were friends, but now, with all that has happened, we stand apart," he said, his voice low and meaningful.

"But he does not know 'twas you who raised the sword against Lord Alcot."

"And Amery is no fool. Twill not take him long to solve the puzzle."

"Yea, and then what? Are we to stand aside while he names us guilty? You will lose everything... including Lady Jewel," Kennard barked.

"'Twill not happen," Radolf soothed. "Fear not. "Tis why I offered silver for his capture." Smiling confidently, he touched a hand to Kennard's shoulder. "Now, go and fetch yon priest and take him to Lady Jewel. She has need of him."

A look of doubt lingered on the knight's face as he turned from Radolf to do as he had been bidden. He had served at his cousin's side since becoming a knight four years earlier and leaving his home in northern England after a violent quarrel with his father. Radolf and he had shared a mutual dissatisfaction about birthrights, since both were second in line to inherit, and thus was sealed a friendship that would last their lifetime. Each agreed the new lord should be chosen, that he should prove himself worthy rather than have the honor handed to him. They had sat for hours discussing the issue, only to grow more adamant about changing the old ways when they realized idle chatter would do little good. They had never honestly come to any decisions on what could be done but felt confident they would if they continued to work together and vow loyalty to no one else but each other. Kennard had thought they would succeed until he began hearing stories of Amery. The man's skills in battle and keen wit were constantly talked about, and very few knights ever admitted they would enjoy meeting Amery with their swords drawn against him. 'Twas best, they said, to have him as a friend, not an enemy. Kennard's brow furrowed, for surely Radolf had now set the man against them.

Glancing up when he realized he had reached the cemetery and the priests, Kennard experienced a chill. Readjusting his surcoat more snugly around him, he looked up at the sky. Since when could a cold December day cause him discomfort? Shrugging it off as an exception, he settled his concentration on the friars before him.

"You there, Priest," he said firmly and waited until one turned to look at him. "Have you finished blessing the graves?

The friar was garbed in a long, brown robe and his face was all but hidden beneath the hood he had drawn down over his brow. "Yea, m'lord," he answered softly, not lifting his eyes to meet the knight's.

"Then come with me. The Lady Jewel has need of you," Kennard ordered, turning away. He started off toward the gates, failing to notice the exchange of glances between the two friars, for his own worries troubled him more. He crossed the courtyard, entered the manor, and started up the stairs toward Jewel's chambers before he realized that both monks had followed him. He stopped midway up and turned to face them. "There is no cause for more than one," he declared, frowning.

Hands, clasped before him, head bowed, the first nodded. "'Twas our intent to offer prayers and soothe her grief together. Her pain is of a magnitude one single priest cannot lessen easily."

Kennard's frown deepened and his gaze fell to his feet. "Yea, 'tis enough to break a man," he sighed. "Her loss has left its mark on all of us, I fear."

"Were you knight to the late lord of Harcourt, my son?"

"Nay, father," Kennard answered, idly toying with the hilt of his sword, "to the lord of Wellington."

"A friend to Lady Jewel?"

Brown eyes glanced up suspiciously at the priest. "What happened here preys on all knights, Father, whether friend or foe. I saw many gallant warriors buried, slain without a chance to arm themselves, and I know I am not safe from the same fate should I be caught unready."

"Yea, my son," the dark figure agreed, "even I, a priest, must never fully trust that which seems to be."

Kennard relaxed, conceding the fact, then stiffened when it seemed the priest's words hinted at a deeper meaning. One brow rose in uncertainty and he had just, taken a breath to question the man further when the friar extended a hand toward the top of the stairs, distracting him.

"If you will be so kind," he said, "as to show us the way to Lady Jewel . . ."

His curiosity forgotten, Kennard nodded and climbed the remainder of the staircase. They traveled a good distance down the corridor before the knight paused outside a door that was closed to them, raised a large fist to rap softly, then stood back to wait. A moment passed before the wide portal slowly swung inward and a young maiden greeted them.

"Leta, I have brought a priest for Lady Jewel," Kennard advised, gesturing toward the men. "Will she see him now?"

Bright blue eyes lowered their gaze with her curtsy. "A moment, please, and I will ask." The slim figure dressed in simple cloth disappeared from view behind the door and returned a moment later. "Yea, she will see them," she informed them and pulled the portal further open.

"Thank you, my son," the first priest said as he passed Kennard and stepped into the room.

The knight smiled in answer and moved to allow the second to advance, noticing for the first time how the monk kept his head turned from him. But what bothered Kennard more was the size of the man. Not that he hadn't seen one of such stature before, but usually he faced them on a field of battle in full armor rather than in the robe of priesthood. He smiled secretively, thinking that if Lord Alcot had had such a man by his side, their contest would have met difficulty. Shrugging it off as a favor granted him, he started to turn away when another chill raced up his spine and raised the hair en the back of his neck. Startled by the recurrence, for this time he could not lay blame on the cold December day, he halted to look upon the friars once more, only to be met with the dark wood graining of the door as it slowly closed on him. He lingered thoughtfully a moment, then raised a hand to the latch, pulling back when it seemed the metal radiated a strange warmth. He gulped, quickly looked about him for anyone who might have seen, then hurriedly walked away, unaware that the one who had caused his unrest stood listening at the door.

When Kennard's footsteps had faded in the distance, the friar glanced at his companion and nodded, his features veiled in the shadow of his hood. But his eyes quickly took in the scene before him, lingering on the lithe form standing by the window looking out. Lady Jewel had donned a crimson silk gathered just below the bosom to fall fully at her feet and it shimmered almost black with the gentle sway of her body when she turned to greet her visitors. Long coppery curls cascaded over her shoulders and haloed the pale fairness of her face, presenting a vision that would take the breath away from any single man.

"I had hoped your presence would come on the day of my wedding," she said softly, her voice strained, and she looked down at her hands clasped in front of her. "But it shall not be."

"You speak as if the day will never come, my child," the first priest said with a frown.

Looking to him again, she extended a hand toward the pair of high-backed chairs before the fire. "Please sit, Father. I have need to talk and can only share my thoughts with a man of God, someone who will not judge me." Waiting until the friar was comfortable, she motioned toward Leta, who had remained near the door. "Fetch food and wine for the good priests. They must be tired and hungry from their journey."

"Thank you, but no," the first replied. "Our journey has not ended and we must not tarry long."

"Have you time to listen?"

"Of course, my child." He smiled, pulling the hood of his robe from his head. "Tis my wish to help in any way I can. I simply meant there are others."

Absently, Jewel studied the features of the friar, for she had never seen such raven black hair, and his blue eyes reminded her of Lady Jocelyn's. His face was kind and gentle yet at the same time revealed a ruggedness seldom associated with a man of the cloth. It puzzled her. Others with whom she had had occasion to talk seemed compliant, almost humble. This man, however, radiated an underlying sense of strength, alertness, as if he would spring at the slightest hint of danger. She forced her attention to the second man, who had not moved away from the door, and every inch of her flesh tingled with her uneasiness.

The hood of his robe hid his face from view, but as he stood next to the young serving maid, he seemed to tower over her, and his garment failed to disguise his wide shoulders or instill a feeling of sanctity. Something was amiss, but Jewel could not truly say what

"Wouldst thou prefer to rest thyself, Father?" she asked him, one hand extended toward the second chair, and frowned when he simply lowered his head, hands clasped together.

"Father Renshaw is not permitted to speak, Lady Jewel," his companion answered. "He is doing penance."

"Penanee?" Jewel repeated, her eyes still centered on the man. "For what?"

"For a sin that we do not wish to discuss, my child," he replied with a click of his tongue. "My name is Father Dunn and we have traveled a great distance to serve you. Please join me here by the warm fire and let us pray for your loved ones."

Had all the misfortune she had endured in the past two days finally taken their toll or had she heard a mocking undertone in his words? Surely she was only tired, for what humor could a priest find in such a situation? With a heavy sigh, she turned and sat down next to the friar.

"Before we pray, Father, hear my decision."

"Decision?" he asked, glancing back at Father Renshaw, "What decision, Lady Jewel?"

"I have decided to join the convent," she said flatly.

Father Dunn's face paled. "Dear Lord, why?"

Tears came to her eyes and Jewel blinked to stop their, escape. "I have committed a great sin, Father, and will only find peace if I do."

"What sin could be of such magnitude?"

Hands folded in her lap, her eyes lowered, Jewel fought the tightness in her throat. "Some would say 'twas not of my doing, but I. feel the weight of guilt upon my shoulders. I am ... no longer pure, Father, and cannot rightfully stand before the altar as a bride and speak the vows. 'Tis why I must join the convent." Feeling the shame of her admission, she could not bring herself to look upon the priest, and she failed to see the angry frown he cast his companion.

"You speak of guilt. Didst thou entice the man?"

His displeasure still clung to the tone of his words when he posed the question, and though it was truly aimed at another, she assumed the disapproval in his voice was meant for her. "Nay, Father, I did not," she vowed, tears brimming in her eyes when she sat her gaze upon him. "He was a stranger who would not listen and thought I was . .. a ... woman of loose morals. But I assure you, Father, I gave no cause for him to think that!" Father Dunn reached out to take her hand, shaking his head as if to stay her confession, but Jewel would not be swayed. "Nay, hear me out, Father. You must be told the whole of it. A half tale will leave doubt in your mind and you above all others must understand."